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johannahreardon.com
Category:
Inspirational
ISBN-10: 1475123051
Type: Fiction
Copyright: June 16, 2011
ISBN-13: 9781475123050
Price: $2.99 (eBook)
At the death of her father, Rachel leaves everything she knows to join her uncle on his farm where she becomes involved with a poverty-stricken family led by a violent, unreasonable man. Her relationship with his six-year-old son transforms her as much as it changes the boy. She also finds her ideas of romance, comfort, and security taking a blow. Will Tory help her in her new journey?
At the death of her father, Rachel and her sister leave everything they know to join her uncle on his farm. As a deeply committed Christian, he begins to share his faith with Rachel by his deeds as well as his words. Because of her uncle, Rachel becomes involved with a poverty-stricken family led by a violent, unreasonable man. Her relationship with his six-year-old son transforms her as much as it changes the boy.
Rachel also finds that her ideas of romance, comfort and security take a blow as she learns to think in entire new ways. When she meets Tory, will he be the kind of person that will help her in this new journey?
Excerpt
“Rachel, Raacheel…” Fay’s call jolted me out of my daydreams as I walked along the shore throwing pebbles into the rushing water. The peace I had been enjoying now shattered at the sound of her panic stricken voice. It had to be Papa. I picked up my skirts, wadding them in a knot by my hip so that I could run faster.
As I approached the house, breathless and frightened, I noticed an unfamiliar horse tied to our fence post. Entering, my eyes first rested on a quiet figure standing in the shadows at the corner of the room. Before my mind could dwell on the question of who it could be, my sister, Fay, embraced me as she sobbed uncontrollably. I turned my head slowly to look at our father, afraid to see the inevitable.
He laid so quietly, just a wisp of the big man who used to carry me on his shoulders when I was a child. I pulled myself from Fay’s grip and walked hesitantly over to his bed. “Oh Papa!” was all I could manage to croak out of my raw throat.
I touched his hand and kissed his forehead, anxious to do these things before he turned cold.
Fay continued to cry, her hands covering her face as she stood helplessly in the center of the room. The figure in the shadows now moved over to Fay. He removed his hat as he nervously turned it around in his large work-worn hands.
“I’m sorry, Ma’am. I wish there was somethin’ I could’ve done. Do you want me to fetch the parson?”
Fay pulled herself together through sheer force of will as I had seen her do countless times before. “Yes. Pastor Watson knows that we’d be needing him soon. Thank you ever so much for stopping.”
With that, the strange man dropped his hat onto his head and rushed out of the house with a relieved look on his face.
Fay and I were alone, feeling like two baby birds whose mother was just shot out of the air. I knew Fay’s tears were not for grief alone but fear for our future. We seemed to have nothing to say to one another at this awful moment.
Fay sank into a chair, leaning her head on her crossed arms. I went back outside to my beloved river, but the rapid movement of the water, which had comforted me a moment before now sounded harsh and demanding, as if it were washing my life away with the current. My tears joined the flow of water surrounding me, making me feel as I did when it rained for days on end, listless without a desire for anything. At the dawn of each day for seventeen years, I’d risen to my father’s voice. Now I’d never hear it again.
I pulled my knees up to my chest, wrapping my arms around them and rocked myself back and forth, as a mother rocks a child. My body ached for someone larger and stronger to hold me and comfort me, but there was no one, so my own two arms were all I could use to ease my pain. I don’t know how long I remained in this position, except when I unwound myself, I was so stiff that I could hardly move. When I finally stood, I thought of Fay. Guilt pushed me back to the house, although I felt that I never wanted to enter it again. All I really wanted to do was to put our small boat on the water and let the river take me where it would, but that would never do. I’d have to come back some day, so I might as well face it now.
When I stepped into the darkness of our kitchen, I was shocked to see Fay busy
preparing dinner. “We might as well eat early. I’ve got to go into town and wire Emily. We are going to join her and Adam in Montana. I’ve given the entire matter a lot of thought. We can’t stay here alone, Rachel.” Fay had that determined look, which defied any disagreement.
I nodded my head and began setting the table, amazed that she could cook dinner with our father growing cold in the next room. And I knew better than to argue with her. Even if I objected to joining our sister and her husband, it would matter little. Twelve years my senior, Fay raised me since our mother died when I was a baby. She made the decisions, even when Papa was alive.
“Who was that man, Fay?”
“Just a passer-by. Father saw him out the window and told me to call him in. By the time I returned he’d quit breathing.” Fay’s voice trailed off into a whisper as she fought her emotions. The quiver in her composure caused my throat to constrict and made further conversation impossible.
Somehow we got through that awful dinner. Without speaking, Fay shoveled the food into her mouth, while I mostly stirred mine around the plate. Each time I got close to my mouth with a bite, my stomach flipped like a fish out of water. Fortunately Fay was too caught up in her own emotions to notice. I moved things around enough that it looked like I’d eaten a bit.
The parson arrived as soon as we finished dinner. His face looked as sober as if it had been his own father who had passed on. He stared at the ground most of the time and shook his head side to side repeatedly. Quoting Scripture and murmuring condolences, his voice became a hum in my ears like a mosquito’s buzz. Relief flooded over me as he and Fay solemnly made their way into the other room to make the funeral arrangements while I washed the dishes. As the water swished in the dishpan, my tears began again in earnest, turning the dishtowel into a giant handkerchief.
The day of the funeral was even worse. Folks from all over came to help us commit Papa to the dust. Some of them I hadn’t seen in years, but the whole countryside turns out for a funeral. I hated repeating the same meaningless nonsense over and over to each person as they tried to “comfort me in my sorrow.” None of them were very good at it, so I began to feel that I was in a dream state I couldn’t shake. My emotions went numb that day. I quit crying and nodded to each person as they continued to mutter sayings they’d heard others impart during funerals of their own. You’d think with all that practice, someone would figure out something useful to say, like “This is horrible, isn’t it? I hate it” or “I can’t think of anything to say at a time like this because there just isn’t anything to say.” Not that these words would really do anything except make me feel like people were being honest. The only good thing about the funeral is that by the end of it, the numbness had passed, and I was so mad, I could have kicked a mule. Mad felt better than sad, so I stayed there a while.
Not that anyone noticed. Fay continued on with our plans without consulting my feelings whatsoever. She noticed my banging things around a little more than usual, I know, because she said, “Stop that right now, Rachel. You’re giving me a headache.” So that was that. I had to be mad by myself.
She decided we’d go see our mother’s brother, Uncle Charles, before settling in Montana. He lived in Illinois, two days of train travel from our home in Bevel, Missouri. We’d only been to see him once before in our lives, and I’d been pretty young then. I could recall him being a dignified, quiet man. The trip didn’t sound very exciting. But then again, nothing sounded very exciting. I just couldn’t find enthusiasm for anything. If I could, I would have given Fay a piece of my mind about what I wanted to do, but I had no idea what I wanted to do, so I let her lead me like a little lost lamb.
The day we left for the train station with all our worldly possessions in our trunks, I looked back at the only house I’d known. The new tenants arrived just as we were leaving. As they waved cheerfully at our passing buggy, my anger flared again. How dare they be so happy about our shattered lives! I knew that wasn’t fair, but I chose to feel that way anyway.
I’ll say this for the parson. He practiced what he preached. His buggy was the one taking us to the station. He unloaded our trunks himself and hugged us both as though we were long lost daughters, even though we barely knew him. He’d just recently moved to the area, and we were not regular churchgoers. I’ve got to admit that I felt warmly toward him at the moment.
We boarded the train without a backward glance as the steam rushed from the engine, so loud I could barely hear the people talking next to me. As we pulled out of the station, I watched the town, which I knew better than my own face, recede in the distance. As the sound of the train bumping over the rails filled my mind, I tried to shake off the numbness of the last few weeks. I hadn’t yet learned that sorrow can make us wise if we let it do its work, therefore I found myself in a prison of my own making, seeing only that life as I had known it, was gone forever.
My mind wandered back to my father. In all my seventeen years, it was he who brought the joy into our daily tasks. Fay kept the order and the discipline, and Papa gave us laughter. I loved to sit by his side after a hard day of work and listen to his stories. My favorite was his account of how as a little boy he saw Abraham Lincoln pass in a carriage while he was visiting St. Louis. It brought a smile to my face now and broke my dismal mood as I thought of my father as a child, enchanted at seeing the president.
As I gazed out the window watching the fields pass in a blur, I tossed around questions like a flock of birds circling a field. Would I ever see him again? I wanted to think that Papa had gone to a better place but I had no basis for this assurance. I wanted to believe in God, yet mine was a vague belief. Inside I balled my fist and muttered, “Why, God, did you take him?” When someone dies, whom can we blame but God? Yet even as I blamed him, I felt that I was shaking my fist in ignorance.
“Why do you do this to yourself?” I muttered under my breath. I’m not a moody personality so it always disgusts me when my disposition is overtaken by emotion, which had been pretty much a constant state for the last few weeks. I forced myself to think of something else. Maybe it would do me good to move about. I slipped out of my seat and walked up the aisle. It always made me feel like giggling when I tried to walk in a moving train. I was sure this must be how a toddler feels when he is taking his first steps.
I almost made it the length of the train when the railcar I was in careened sharply to the left. The motion threw me on top of a young man seated near me. I began to gather myself to rise; I knew by the burning on my cheeks that they had turned scarlet. I was sure of it when I looked this man in the face. His initial reaction had been one of surprise, but his expression changed as his smile spread across his face like a sunrise peeking over the horizon.
“Well, an angel from heaven has plopped upon my lap,” he laughed. He was a handsome man with very blond hair; it had not browned as so many blondes do. His eyes were a cool, clear blue, and he had a fine chiseled nose. I could tell by his suit that he was a man of means, young though he be. He wore an air of complete confidence, as though he controlled all circumstances.
“I’m sorry—the train—I didn’t mean to!” I stammered in humiliation. I now became aware of the other passengers looking at me in disapproval, although I detected a glimmer of amusement on an elderly man’s face.
“Now, I don’t think it’s a bit awful. It made a dull ride a lot more interesting.” I was at once both attracted to and repulsed by this gentleman, if gentleman indeed he was. I had an overriding feeling that I should get back to Fay as quickly as possible. This was not the kind of man with which one felt safe.
“I’m glad to have amused you for a moment, but I must get back to my sister,” I responded acidly, more to assuage my wounded pride than out of contempt for this man.
“Now wait a minute,” he reached for my hand as he spoke. “I don’t even know your name.”
“Rachel, Rachel Scott. I must go now,” I answered more civilly this time, although I pulled my hand back as if a snake had bit it.
Trying to hurry down that rocking railcar was almost impossible, fearing each moment that I’d land on someone else’s lap. What worried me more was that I felt his eyes following me all the way, sending quivers of fear up and down my spine. Whether this was a good or bad feeling, I wasn’t sure.
When I reached Fay again, the humor of the situation struck me. I giggled to myself as I thought of the foolish picture I made and the look of shock on the young man’s face. I decided not to tell Fay about the episode. It would only upset her. Later she would think it was funny, but now she would be concerned for my dignity and the propriety of it all. Yes, it would be a secret between that young man and me. I tucked my hair back into its tidy bun and smoothed my wrinkled skirts. I was already a mess. What a sight I would be after a day and a night in a train. That thought made me giggle again. Fay had been resting, but now she opened one eye to peer at me. I quickly sobered up on the outside but continued to chuckle within. Perhaps my trek through the railcars had helped my gloomy mood after all.
My thoughts began to slowly trickle in another direction, as the beginning of a waterfall wears a new path in the stone. Maybe change isn’t so bad after all. Who knows what could be in store for me now? If Papa were alive, I would most certainly have spent my entire life in Missouri. Even if the circumstances for leaving were depressing, I was offered a new chance at life. In the astounding resilience of the young, the adventure of the unknown began to replace the loss of the familiar. To my amazement, it was not just relief but anticipation that gripped me when the conductor announced our stop in Wesley, Illinois.
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