A New Beginning (5 page)

By the time we reached the Rutledge home, already several buggies and horses stood outside.

Christopher reined in the horse to a trot, then to a walk as we approached the house. Already a sense of eerie quiet was stealing over us.

Christopher parked the buggy and set the brake. We all got out quietly, suddenly becoming very aware of noise. We walked inside.

No one was in the living room. We continued toward the bedroom, tiptoeing as we crept forward. The door was open and we could hear a few subdued voices coming from inside.

Harriet Rutledge glanced up from the bedside as we entered. She rose and came toward us.

“Oh, Almeda . . . Corrie,” she said, then was suddenly in both our arms together.

“Harriet,” whispered Almeda tenderly, “I am so sorry. Is he . . .”

Harriet shook her head. “I don't know,” she said, then began to cry softly.

Christopher walked past us toward the bed, where Doc Shoemaker and Pa and a few other men were gathered. Pa and Uncle Nick had arrived only a few minutes before us, and the doctor was trying to explain to them Rev. Rutledge's condition.

“He's had a stroke of paralysis,” I heard him say in a subdued tone. “You never know exactly what part of the body these things will affect.”

“Will he—” Pa said, letting the anxious expression of his face finish his question.

“Too soon to tell,” replied the doc. “Usually if a man lives for twenty-four or forty-eight hours after an attack of this kind he's got a decent chance—but you never know what's going to happen.”

“Ain't there something you can do, Doc?” asked Uncle Nick.

“Not a thing,” sighed Doc Shoemaker, shaking his head slowly. “I wish there was, but I've got to wait just like everybody else.”

Christopher listened to the brief conversation in silence. He probably knew better than anyone in the room that in a crisis such as this, his own profession, and that of the man lying motionless on the bed, was more required even than that of the physician in attendance.

Harriet and Almeda now approached the bed. I followed a step behind them. Almeda gently reached forward and took the limp white hand of her long-time friend. Tears rose in her eyes.

“The dear man!” she whispered again as she softly caressed the aging skin.

Christopher now began to pray aloud. Though no one had expected it exactly, it felt like the most natural thing in all the world. Some of the men's hats came down off their heads as he spoke.

“Dear Father,”
he said,
“great Physician, Healer, and
Giver of life—we place our dear friend, your servant
, Avery Rutledge, into your hands. Touch him in this moment
, fill his limbs with your life. Heal him, dear Lord
. Make him whole again.”

A few amens and sniffles sounded through the small bedroom. Harriet and Mary were both crying.

Almost as if Christopher's prayer had awakened him, Rev. Rutledge now opened his eyes about halfway. His head did not move, but I could see his eyes glance first in one direction, then another, taking in his closest loved ones gathered about his bed.

“Ah, all my friends here,” he whispered softly, “come to help ease an old man's dying.”

His voice sounded different and weak, and only half of his lips moved as he spoke, as if he were talking out of only one side of his mouth.

“Oh, Avery—please don't say such a thing,” sobbed Harriet, sitting on the side of the bed and laying her head on his chest.

Rev. Rutledge struggled to lift one of his arms, but couldn't. Almeda saw it and now took the arm and helped him lift it the rest of the way, laying it around Harriet's shoulders. Tenderly his fingers moved up and down as if to comfort his wife.

“Don't worry, Harriet,” Rev. Rutledge whispered. “I'm not afraid. I've had a good life . . . the Lord's been better to me than I deserve.”

Harriet continued to weep softly with her head on his chest.

The minister glanced up, his head now turning slightly. His eyes fell on Pa.

“Drum Hollister,” he said, speaking very slowly, “you've been a good friend all these years . . . the best kind of friend . . . kind of man who will speak the truth. I've been more thankful for you than you can know.”

He lifted his hand slightly from Harriet's shoulder. Pa seemed to know what he meant and stooped forward. Gently Rev. Rutledge touched his forehead, as if blessing Pa one last time.

“Thank you, Drum . . . for being the man you are . . . and being my friend.”

Pa gazed deeply into his eyes, then stepped back with a nod, a sniff, and a smile, unable to say a word. Tears were streaming down his face, but he hardly seemed to notice, and he did nothing to wipe them away.

Rev. Rutledge now spoke a few words to Uncle Nick, then to a few of the others. His voice was not strong but sounded deliberate. I could tell he was determined to say what he wanted to say, whatever the effort and no matter how long it took.

“Almeda,” he said, turning toward the side of the bed where she and I stood beside Harriet, “my dear friend whose efforts brought me to California so many years ago . . . you will always hold a fond place in my heart. Thank you . . . for all you have meant to Harriet and me.”

Almeda leaned forward, tears dripping from her eyes as she did, and lovingly kissed the minister on the forehead.

“Oh, and, Corrie,” Rev. Rutledge now said to me, “you dear young lady—what joy you have brought to my life.”

“Thank you,” I said through my tears. I reached out, took his hand for just a moment, and gave it a gentle squeeze. Imperceptibly I felt him return it and knew it was his way of passing on his blessing to me.

He continued to glance about, and now his eyes fell on his own eight-year-old daughter.

“My dear, dear Mary,” he said in the most tender voice imaginable. “I love you more than you can realize.” He paused to take a shallow breath. “I want you to do something for me,” he added after just a moment. “Will you?”

“Anything, Papa,” said Mary.

“I want you to pray to our God to show you how much your father has loved you . . . will you do that?”

Mary nodded.

“And then I want you to remember,” her father went on, “that I am not really your Father. God only gave me . . . gave me to you for a little while, to help you learn about your real Father. He . . . is my Father too—and the Father of all of us. So if you miss me when I am gone . . . you must remember that I am with your real Father . . . remember that he is a better Father than I could ever be. I shall be with him and I shall speak of you often to him . . . and you may trust him for everything, . . . for he is a good Father, and he loves you even more than I do . . . and that is a great deal indeed—for I love you very, very much.”

By now we were all crying, though doing our best to do so quietly. But at these last words of her husband's to their daughter, Harriet again broke into sobs.

“Dear, dear Harriet,” said the minister softly, patting her again as much as he was able, “how I have loved you! But do not grieve for me . . . for I am happy. Thank God that he allowed us . . . these wonderful years . . . these years together—”

A choking sound came to his voice.

Doc Shoemaker stepped forward.

“Christopher . . .” came Rev. Rutledge's voice again. He seemed to be looking around, and now his voice was so weak I could scarcely hear it. Christopher stepped forward and bent his face down toward the bed. “Christopher . . . you must—Chr . . .”

Again he paused, breathing heavily. He was laboring and could hardly get the words out.

“ . . . you . . . must—Christopher . . . take . . . take care . . . of my people.”

Christopher was nodding as he spoke.

Suddenly Rev. Rutledge's eyes opened wide and seemed to fill with light. His mouth opened as he struggled to raise himself off the pillows. The half of his mouth that he could move seemed trying to say something.

“Harriet!” he finally managed to exclaim in a whisper barely audible. “Harriet . . . it's—it's . . . do you see—”

But then just as suddenly his whole frame seemed to collapse. His mouth relaxed in a smile as he fell back into the bed. I looked up from his mouth to his eyes and saw that they were now closed, though the light that had been in them seemed to linger just a few moments longer upon his face.

I knew he was dead.

Avery Rutledge, the man we had known and loved, was now with his Lord.

Christopher and I went over to the Rutledges the next morning to see if we could help Harriet with anything. Christopher said he would take care of the arrangements if she wanted. He went to see the undertaker, Mr. Olerude, and he and Harriet and Christopher scheduled the funeral for Saturday, just three days before we were to leave. Harriet asked Christopher to officiate and asked Pa to deliver the eulogy.

What neither Christopher nor I realized was that during this same time there were other talks and arrangements going on around the community that had nothing to do with the funeral. While we had been at the Rutledges and in town on Thursday morning, Mr. Shaw, Mrs. Bosely, Aunt Katie, and Mr. Harding all came to pay Pa and Almeda a visit. Christopher and I didn't know anything about it until that same evening, just after supper, when a large buggy pulled up in front of the house. Almeda, who had been expecting them, jumped up to answer the door. There stood the same two men and two women, along with Harriet Rutledge.

“We have visitors,” announced Almeda, leading the five newcomers into the house.

Everybody greeted one another. The three ladies and two men all had expressions on their faces that should have made me suspicious, as should have the fact that Almeda had made two extra pies that day and had just begun to make a new and large pot of coffee a few minutes before their arrival. It was an odd assembly of visitors, too, and I don't know why I didn't recognize it immediately as the committee, but I think my mind was still too preoccupied with Rev. Rutledge's death and our impending departure.

“Actually, we've come to see you, Christopher . . . Corrie,” said Mr. Shaw after everyone had taken a seat and Almeda had poured coffee all around.

Christopher and I glanced at one another with bewildered expressions. My first thought was that the visit must have something to do with our leaving. Christopher thought it had to do with preparations for the funeral. We were both wrong.

“We're here on church business,” continued Mr. Shaw. “I know a man's death is a time when you sometimes don't think about much else. And meaning no disrespect to Avery, because everyone in town loved him, and Harriet knows it,” he said, glancing over to where Harriet sat, “but as soon as we all got word that the Lord had taken him, some of us on the church committee found ourselves thinking about what we ought to do, and we realized maybe we didn't have a whole lot of time to deliberate on the matter.”

He paused and glanced around at some of the other committee members.

“I went out to see Katie last night,” now said Mrs. Bosely, “right after I heard about poor Avery. I mentioned the matter to her, then the two of us went to see Patrick, and then on my way home I stopped by the Hardings. And after we'd all talked about it, we realized we had all found ourselves thinking the same thing.”

Christopher and I still sat listening, having no more idea what they were all talking about than when they'd begun.

“What they're trying to say,” now put in Mr. Harding, “is that the four of us got together this morning and came out to pay a visit to your Pa, Corrie, and Almeda to ask them what they thought, and then to Harriet this afternoon to consult with her. And the long and the short of it is that we're here to ask you, Mr. Braxton, if you'd consider taking Avery's place and becoming the new pastor of the Miracle Springs church.”

My heart skipped a beat when I heard the words. I could hardly believe what I had just heard Mr. Harding say!

I glanced over at Pa, then Almeda. Both of them were grinning and looking at me as if in delight to have been part of the secret.

I broke into a smile, then looked at Christopher. His face showed that he was just as stunned as I had been.

“I . . . I don't know what to say,” he said haltingly. “This comes . . . as quite a surprise,” he added, finally smiling, “as you might imagine. You all know that Corrie and I are planning to leave for the East in just five days.”

“Believe me, we
do
know,” laughed Aunt Katie. “That's why we acted so quickly, as Patrick said. We knew we had no time to lose.”

“But . . . but we've already made our plans. We're all packed, and the tickets are bought and paid for.”

“We realize that, Mr. Braxton,” said Mr. Shaw. “The church is prepared to reimburse you for the tickets if you cannot get a refund.”

“Oh no—that's not what I meant,” said Christopher. “It's not the expenditure so much as the fact that I had made the decision to go based on what I thought was the Lord's leading. Now this suddenly casts everything into a new light. I'm just at a loss to know how to respond.”

As they talked, I could hardly contain myself! It was with
great
difficulty that I sat there and didn't start blabbing away. But I knew the decision was between Christopher and the others . . . actually, it was between Christopher and the Lord.

“All we're asking is that you pray about it, Christopher,” said Aunt Katie, “and ask the Lord if perhaps this is what he wants you to do.”

“I can promise you I will do that,” replied Christopher.

“Remember what you told me about circumstances on the way down to Dutch Flat,” now put in Zack from across the room.

“Yes, you're right,” smiled Christopher, glancing over at him. “I do remember. Why else do you think I'm suddenly so confused!”

Everyone else now joined him in laughter.

“What do
you
think about all this, Harriet?” Almeda now asked.

“I cannot think of anything that would delight me more,” the minister's widow replied. “I don't want to say anything to sway you one way or the other, Christopher,” she went on, “because of all things I know that Avery would want you to do the Lord's will. But I will tell you this, that ever since word came to us right after the first of the year that you two planned to leave Miracle Springs, Avery was concerned for the future of the church. Several times he said to me, ‘I'm confused, Harriet. I don't know what the Lord is doing, because I always thought Christopher and Corrie would take over the church when I retired. It gave me a great feeling of peace to know the Lord was preparing them to follow my pastorate. I was so certain of it. Now I don't know what will become of the church when it is time for me to step down.'”

As she spoke, it was like listening to Rev. Rutledge talking to us again, and everyone became quiet and thoughtful.

“He knew his health was failing,” Harriet continued. “We both knew a change was coming. Of course, we did not expect it to be quite so sudden—”

She stopped and glanced away momentarily, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief.

“So you see, Christopher,” she went on once she had composed herself, “knowing that your following him was Avery's heart's desire—well, you can see why nothing could please me more.”

Christopher nodded. “I understand,” he said softly. “You are very kind. So was Avery to place such confidence in me.”

He drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“But you are also right in what you say, that we must do whatever
the Lord
wills, not what any of us might ourselves want.”

He rose from his chair.

“If you will all excuse me, I would like to go outside and have some time alone with the Lord before I say anything further.”

He turned to go.

“There is just one other small request we have,” interrupted Mr. Harding.

Christopher stopped and turned.

“As this has all happened so suddenly, and as you are not leaving until next week, well, whatever your decision, we were hoping you might take the pulpit for this Sunday.”

Christopher smiled. “A reasonable enough request,” he said. “Let me just go have some time to myself, and then we can talk about it further.”

He turned again and left the house.

Almeda rose and walked into the kitchen. “Pie anyone?” she announced. “Fresh baked today!”

Christopher returned about fifteen minutes later.

Everyone was talking gaily, even Harriet, enjoying pie and coffee. I was both jubilant and nervous and knew I was talking far too much and too excitedly, but I couldn't help it.

Christopher walked in. Everyone quieted and turned toward him.

“All right,” he said, “I think I can tell you this much at present. I
will
preach on Sunday. And it just may be that it will be used by God to show us what his will is concerning the future. Perhaps you shall all hate my sermon and withdraw the request!”

Everyone laughed. “Little chance of that, son,” said Pa.

“Well, in any event, I shall be happy to stand in Avery's shoes at least this once. I will hope, as well, to be able to give you my answer to the larger question you have posed.”