Bridge to Haven (11 page)

I miss you, Joshua. I haven’t had a hamburger and shake since you left! But I’m mad at you, too. You invited your dad to your boot camp graduation ceremony. Why didn’t you invite me? I would have come. I wouldn’t care if I missed church for the rest of my life! And don’t tell me I should be ashamed of myself for having such a bad attitude. I hear that enough from Mitzi.

I am mad at her right now, too. She already made me learn to play every hymn in the book, but that’s not good enough for her. Now she’s making me memorize a different one every week. I was so mad I wanted to punch her. She just smiled.

I took her copy of “Maple Leaf Rag” and said I wasn’t giving it back. She came right out on her front porch and yelled loud enough for everyone in the neighborhood to hear that I’d never get the rhythm right without her. Priscilla and Peter said I can practice at the house, but I know that won’t last. There’s always the piano at church, but I don’t think your dad or the board would approve. Do you? Ha-ha.

Write soon. I love you.

Abra

Zeke entered Bessie’s café and found the booths all full of early morning customers. He spotted Dutch on a stool at the counter and took one next to him. “Good morning.”

Susan Wells stood a few yards away, jotting down an order. She glanced at Zeke. “Be right with you, Pastor Freeman.”

Dutch looked at him solemnly. “Any word from that boy of yours?”

“He’s in Texas, training to be a medic.”

Dutch rubbed his head and rested his arms on the counter. “Not much I can say to that, is there?” He sipped his coffee.

“How’s Marjorie?”

“She won’t set a date yet.”

Zeke knew what the problem was. “Have you put away Sharon’s picture?”

Dutch frowned as though thinking about it. “Is that what’s bothering her?”

Bessie came out of the kitchen with plates stacked up her arm and delivered the breakfast platters to a booth near the front. “Mornin’, Zeke. Susan, see he gets what he wants.”

Susan set a mug in front of Zeke and filled it with steaming hot coffee. She refilled Dutch’s. A bell sounded, and Susan headed for the kitchen.

She came back and asked Zeke if he was ready to order. He said he’d like the lumberjack breakfast with orange juice. She didn’t linger.

Dutch watched her go. “I don’t think she likes you.”

“I make her nervous.”

He laughed. “You used to make me nervous, too. I knew you were after my soul.” Dutch raised his hand for the check. “Gotta get back to work.” Susan put his bill on the counter in front of him. As she headed for the register, Dutch stood and slapped Zeke on the back. “Good luck, my friend. I think you’re going to need it.”

Zeke took Joshua’s latest letter out of his jacket pocket. He’d read it a dozen times already and would read it a dozen more before he received another.

He wondered what war would do to Joshua. Some men survived physically, but came home soul-wounded. Gil MacPherson still had episodes of deep depression. The onset of the Korean War had stirred up his nightmares again. The poor man still dreamed of the carnage of Normandy and friends who’d died there, one in his arms. Several others manifested battle fatigue in lesser degrees. Michael Weir worked constantly, leaving his wife alone and lonely. Patrick McKenna drank heavily.

Oh, Lord, my son, my son . . .

His son was a man of peace being called into war. He’d be in the middle of the fighting, traveling with his unit, carrying medical supplies. He had to be ready to give emergency aid to the wounded. Zeke had to remind himself frequently that no matter what happened, Joshua would never be lost. His future was safe and secure, even if his body wasn’t. Despite knowing that, fear could be a relentless enemy, attacking him when he was tired and most vulnerable.

“A letter from your son?”

Startled, Zeke glanced up. Susan held his breakfast platter and a pot of coffee. “Yes.” He folded the letter and tucked it into his jacket pocket.

She set his plate down. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“I see it as a kindness that you did.” He smiled. “He’s doing well, but asking for prayer that he will be up to the job they’re giving him.”

“What job will he have?”

“Medic.”

“Oh.” She closed her eyes.

Her reaction allowed one of Satan’s darts to get through a chink in his armor. Fear clawed at him.
Lord!
Zeke prayed.
Lord, I know You love him even more than I do.
“God is sovereign, even in times of war.” He took up the napkin and unrolled the silverware.

“You’re not afraid for him?”

“Oh, I know fear, but every time it hits me, I pray.”

“Prayer never did me any good.” Her expression grew troubled. “But I guess God listens to ministers more than someone like me.” She moved away before he could comment, and she kept her distance. She filled his cup one more time and left his check on the counter. Zeke left enough to cover breakfast and a generous tip. He turned over the check and wrote,
God listens to everyone, Susan.

1951

Dear Joshua,

Peter said training to be a medic means you will be going to Korea. Is that true? I hope he’s wrong about that. If he isn’t, I hope the war ends before you finish training! Peter listens to the news every night, and Edward R. Murrow never says anything good about Korea.

Christmas was nice. Mitzi helped with the pageant. Mr. Brubaker played piano this year. Did you know he used to be a concert pianist? Mitzi says he played at Carnegie Hall. She told Priscilla and Peter I should take lessons from him once a week. I asked her if she wants to get rid of me. She says we can concentrate on ragtime now. Penny and I went to Cinderella.

Other than that, I study and do my chores and practice piano like a good little girl. That is the sum total of my boring, pathetic life. Haven is the dullest town on earth.

When I grow up, I am moving far away to a big city. You will have to come and visit me in New York or New Orleans and see the Mardi Gras! Maybe I’ll go to Hollywood and become a movie star. I want to live somewhere exciting where people have fun! You owe me two letters now.

Love, Abra

Abra came home from Mitzi’s after a long lesson with Mr. Brubaker. Priscilla greeted her and went on peeling potatoes. “There’s a letter from Joshua on your bed.”

Abra ran upstairs. She hadn’t seen or heard from Joshua since he came home on leave before Thanksgiving. He had taken her to Bessie’s Corner Café once, and she felt oddly shy with him. He looked different. He stood straighter and seemed older, more reserved. He wasn’t a boy anymore, and she was very aware of their five-year age difference. She had never before been tongue-tied with Joshua, nor felt the strange swirling tingles in her stomach when he looked at her.

Dumping her books on the desk, she grabbed for the thin blue- and red-striped military mailer. She tore it open carefully. Only a few lines this time.

Dear Abra,

By the time you read this, I’ll be in the air and on my way to Korea. I told Dad I didn’t want anyone knowing I had my orders. It would have spoiled my time at home. I’m sorry I didn’t say good-bye. I thought it best at the time. Now I’m sorry I didn’t.

I’m praying you will fix your mind steadfastly on Jesus and trust Him no matter what happens. God has a plan for each of us, and this is His plan for me. I will do my best to fulfill my duty and come home in one piece.

Please thank your mom for the picture.

I’ll love you forever.

Joshua

Abra wept.

Zeke took his place in the pastor’s chair to the right of the pulpit as Abra finished a medley of hymns and the congregation settled into their seats. Abra’s playing had improved markedly since Ian Brubaker had begun working with her. She played with more skill than Marianne ever had, but mechanical skill could not replace the outpouring of one’s spirit into the music. Zeke prayed as he watched and listened.
Lord, what will it take to open this child’s heart to the depth, breadth, and height of Your love for her?

Zeke spotted a new face among the familiar. Susan Wells sat in the back pew, moving slightly to the right to hide behind the Beamers and the Callaghans. Zeke almost smiled, but thought better of it. Let her think he hadn’t noticed her. He didn’t want her to slip out the door and run away. She had been running for a long time, and she looked weary of it.

Opening his Bible, Zeke turned to the Sermon on the Mount. Pages rustled as Zeke began to read aloud. “‘Blessed are the poor in spirit: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are they that mourn: for they shall be comforted. Blessed are the meek: for they shall inherit the earth. Blessed are they which do hunger and thirst after righteousness: for they shall be filled.’”