The Measure of a Heart (23 page)
Anna nodded solemnly.
“That man has never kept his hogs fenced properly. Been a problem over and over. Folks are getting mighty sick of his slackness.”
Anna said nothing.
“I’m sure folks will side in with you if you lodge a formal complaint,” he instructed. “Everyone knows that you needed those vegetables. You might not get all you have coming, but the court would at least make him stand good some of the damage.”
Anna looked up in surprise, then managed a weak smile.
“No,” she said softly. “Scripture says that we aren’t to take a brother to court.”
“He’s not a brother,” argued Mr. Briggs. “He hasn’t been near a church since his mama had him christened.”
Anna threw another piece of potato in her pail and sighed.
“The truth is, Mr. Briggs,” she said slowly, “I have no idea how we’ll ever make it through the winter ahead. But I wouldn’t feel right about taking anyone to court. We’d never have a chance to win the man to the Lord if we did such a thing.”
Mr. Briggs shrugged and kicked at a lump of dirt at his feet.
“And that is more important than eating?” asked the man, a bit sarcastically.
“Yes,” said Anna, meeting his eyes directly and evenly. “Yes, it is.”
The man shuffled uncomfortably for a minute, gazing off
into the distance to avoid the candid eyes of the small woman. Anna reached to pick up one more chunk of carrot.
“Whose pigs are they, anyway?” she asked, and then wished she hadn’t. It would have been easier not to carry a grudge if she didn’t know.
“Fella by the name of Carl.”
Carl? thought Anna. The name was familiar. And then she remembered the young boy. Carl. She hadn’t seen him for some time. She had liked the shy lad. Well, that was one more reason for not pressing for damages.
“We’ll manage,” said Anna with more confidence than she felt. “I’m not sure how—but God won’t let us down.”
Mr. Briggs nodded, but it was clear that Anna was beyond his understanding. He wished her a good day and left her alone.
Anna was just about to pick up her pails of vegetables and head for home when Austin arrived carrying Maggie.
He surveyed the damage and reached out his hand to Anna. “Pretty bad, eh?” he commented.
Anna nodded. There was no use denying it.
“Too late to plant anything,” observed Austin, and again Anna nodded. Though the weather was still nice, it was time for harvesting, not planting.
“That’s all that was left?” asked Austin, nodding his head toward the pails.
“That’s all,” said Anna wearily.
Austin handed Anna the baby and picked up the pails.
“Guess we might as well get them on home,” he said and they started off together.
Word soon spread. Carl’s pigs had completely destroyed the preacher’s crop, but the preacher had no intention of suing.
Some folks saw the decision as noble. Other folks thought the parson a fool. After all, he did need the vegetables and he certainly had a good case. The pigs had been caught in the act, and everyone knew where they came from.
Austin was completely unaware of the comments that swirled around them.
But when the talk finally settled down, the one fact remained. The local preacher was more interested in the soul of a man than he was in his own welfare. In spite of themselves, the community folks could not help but admire such a man.
No one seemed to know that it was Anna who had turned down the invitation to present a lawsuit.
“Matt wants to be baptized,” announced Austin, his voice filled with excitement. Anna shared his joy.
“That’s wonderful!” she exclaimed.
Fall was upon them, with winter fast approaching. It really didn’t seem to be a good time of year to be baptizing folks in the local stream.
“When?” was Anna’s question.
“Just as soon as we can arrange it.”
“This fall yet?”
Austin nodded. “I hope we can get it all in place for next Sunday. I need to meet with the board. They will want to hear his statement of faith.”
It’s too cold, Anna wanted to object, but she held her tongue. Austin was the one to make such decisions. He was the minister of the church.
The church board met with the candidate and expressed satisfaction with his responses and recommended him for baptism. The final arrangements were made.
They met at the creek for the morning service. The day was cold with a brisk wind blowing from the north. Anna felt herself fidgeting and scolded herself for her lack of faith.
It was a thrill to see Austin’s first convert as he waded out into the stream and stood, tears running down his face as he witnessed to his new-found faith to all those who watched from the shore.
“I know I’ve had a reputation in this town,” he told them. “A reputation that I’m not proud of. But God has changed all that. You are looking at a new man. A new Matt Cross. From now I hope to gain a new reputation. One of love and compassion toward my family and neighbors. One of devotion to my Lord. I have seen that kind of love and devotion in action. It opened my eyes to the truth.”
He looked directly at Anna when he said the words.
Even in baptism he is looking at his little Maggie, thought Anna, who was holding her small daughter, and tears came to her eyes.
After the baptismal ceremony, Matt wrapped himself in a wool blanket and huddled together with his family.
Austin stood before the group in his wet clothes and preached a short sermon from the Word.
He’ll catch his death of cold, Anna fretted. The wind will chill him to the bone.
They had discussed the problem. He should have had a change of clothes. But he had only one Sunday suit.
“I will keep the message short,” Austin had promised Anna, and she had to be satisfied with that.
But by the time they had traveled home in the buggy, Austin was so cold that his teeth were chattering.
“You get out of those wet clothes and into bed,” Anna told him. “I’ll take care of the mare.”
He didn’t argue. Picking up Maggie, he hurried into the house.
When Anna returned from the barn where the mare was stabled, he was still shivering. He had removed the wet clothes and pulled on some old pants and a heavy shirt, but the fire had died down and the room was cool.
Anna sent him to get a quilt off the bed while she busied herself with stirring up the fire again.
Unconcerned, Maggie crawled about the room, investigating things that she had left behind that morning.
“You need some hot soup,” Anna said to her husband, but she did not have hot soup. She fixed hot tea instead.
“Here drink this . . . then get to bed.”
The dinner was a simple one. Steamed vegetables, a fried egg, and bread. Anna wished she had something more nourishing.
Austin continued to shiver for most of the day in spite of Anna’s attempts to warm him. She heated towels in the oven and kept rotating them in his bed, tucking them in closely around him. Still he shook.
He’ll catch a death of cold, she fretted.
By nightfall he had stopped shaking. By morning he was flushed with fever. He coughed and sneezed by turn and Anna knew they were in for a good fight.
She needed something nourishing. She needed broth. But there was no meat in the house—and no hope of getting any. Anna fixed cups of tea and coaxed her husband to drink as much as he could.
By evening his cold was even worse. If only I had chicken, Anna thought. I could make him chicken soup. Mama always made chicken soup to fight a cold.
But Anna did not have chicken.
By the next day the cold had settled into his chest. Anna knew that she must keep him in bed. She made a mustard plaster and wrapped his throat with a wool sock dipped in kerosene.
That was all she could remember of her mother’s secret remedies. Inwardly she fretted that she was no better at being a nurse than she was at being a minister’s wife.
If only I had chicken, she fussed again. And then Anna took her need to the Lord in prayer.
“God, I don’t know how to treat such a bad cold. The only thing I know is chicken soup—and I don’t have a chicken. Show me what to do, Lord.”
It was late in the afternoon when Anna decided to run to the store. Clutching a few coins in her hand and holding her shawl closely about her, she hurried down the walk to the street. Perhaps she had enough money for a drumstick or a thigh. Maybe even a wing. She’d swallow her pride and see what Mr. Parks would do for her.
She had just pushed through the gate when she nearly ran into Mr. Brady.
In his hand he carried the biggest rooster Anna had ever seen. She slid to a stop and stared at the bird.
“Wagon wheel ran right over his neck,” he said, reading the question in her eyes. “Missus said to get rid of him. She was in no mood to cook up this tough old bird.”
Anna still stared, her eyes wide, mouth dropping open.
“I thought Mr. Parks might like him for his dog. Couldn’t feed him to mine—might make a chicken killer of him—but Parks’ dog isn’t around chickens.”
Anna swallowed hard and found her voice.
“When—when did it happen?” she asked shakily.
“Just happened. Figured the dog might prefer him while he’s still warm.”
Anna lifted her eyes from the dangling rooster. She decided to be honest and direct. Austin’s health depended on nourishment.
“Mr. Brady,” she said slowly. “I have just been praying for chicken to make soup for my husband. I—I—”
It was his turn to look surprised.
“You want this old fella?” he said, lifting up the bird.
“If—if you wouldn’t mind,” replied Anna.
“He’ll be tough.”
“I’ll stew him.”
For a moment he looked doubtful and then he slowly extended the rooster to Anna. “I rung his neck soon as I hit him,” he said, “so he should be fine for eating.”
Thank you, Lord, said Anna inwardly and reached out to accept the bird.
“Expect you might have to stew him for a long time,” apologized Mr. Brady. “He’s been around for a lot of years.”
But Anna was not worrying. The Lord had answered another prayer.
“Thank you. Thank you,” she was saying over and over, not sure in her own heart if she was talking to Mr. Brady or her God. She waved the hand that still clutched its coins and turned toward the house.
“Thought she was off to somewhere,” she heard Mr. Brady say to himself as she hurried away. But she didn’t stop to explain. She was anxious to get the big rooster into the stewing pot.
Anna never did know if it was the chicken soup that started Austin on the mend or just the natural course of the illness. But she was always quite willing to give God all the credit for supplying the chicken at just the right time. The whole family had enjoyed the rich chicken soup.
Ben and Sid entered her kitchen when she answered their knock. It was not unusual for them to pay her a visit. They would run in occasionally to see Maggie, share some exciting bit of news, or look longingly toward her bread crock.
Anna sensed that something was different about this visit. The boys did not rush to play with Maggie. They did not begin on some adventure story, with both trying to tell her about it at once as they usually did. They did not even glance toward her bread crock. They took chairs by her table and sat silently, shuffling their feet and fiddling with their hands.