Heart of the Wilderness (27 page)

“Aunt Sophie, this is Kendra. She goes to the university too. We just rather—rather bumped into each other.”

The last words were said with a grin. Kendra smiled and reached to shake the hand that was extended.

“We are going to walk together on Monday,” went on Amy. She sounded as excited as Kendra felt.

“It’s nice to meet you, Kendra,” said the older woman.

Kendra thought the lady had such beautiful warm eyes. She hated to turn from them.

“I must go,” she apologized. “Mrs. Miller will be waiting.”

“Do stop in anytime,” the woman offered, and Kendra could feel the sincerity of her words.

“Thank you,” she managed to mumble, then turned to go out into the cold.

She could scarcely slow down her anxious feet. She could hardly wait to get home to tell Mrs. Miller. She had a strange, wonderful feeling that she had found a friend.

Over the weeks that followed, the two new friends exchanged many ideas between them. The girls walked to and from university with each other almost every morning. They visited back and forth, studying together, sharing hot cups of cocoa and freshly baked ginger cookies.

The deep, dark empty feeling that had been loneliness gradually began to leave the heart of Kendra. It was so much nicer when one had a friend.

“I’ve finally found it,” said Amy breathlessly as she waved a sheet of paper under Kendra’s nose. “I had almost given up.”

Kendra’s brow furrowed in perplexity.

“The rest of the poem,” Amy reminded her and Kendra took a deep breath. She had almost forgotten the poem. She had been so relieved to have a friend that her quest for answers had been temporarily set aside.

“Oh!” she exclaimed now, almost squealing in her eagerness. “The poem.”

“I brought the first page too,” put in Amy. “Just in case you have forgotten how it starts.”

Kendra accepted both sheets and began to read aloud.

Who put the stars in the evening sky?
Who gave the waters their azure blue?
Who set the rainbow up on high?
And sprinkled the grasses with morning dew?

Who hid the fawn with its dappled sides?
Who taught the salmon to swim the brooks?
Who buried gold in the heart of the earth?
Planted wood violets in shadowed nooks?”

Who told the crocus that spring had come?
Brought the butterfly from the cocoon?
Who put the song in the robin’s heart?
Governed the tides by the distant moon?

Who put the “wonder” within my breast?
Set off the “joy bells” within my soul?
Who gave a reason to even exist?
Made earth a “mission” and heaven a “goal”?

Mere chance occurrence? Complete mystery?
Of course there’s a reason, if only we prod.
Nature demands it—and so does my heart.
There’s only one Answer. Only one God!

Kendra looked up from the page. She liked the poem. Something within her responded to it. But she didn’t understand it. Not really. She felt a moment of deep disappointment. She still didn’t have her answer. Even Nonie had told her this much.

Her eyes returned to the last few lines. She read them over again.

Mere chance occurrence? Complete mystery?
Of course there’s a reason, if only we prod.
Nature demands it—and so does my heart.
There’s only one Answer. Only one God!

Only one God! Did Amy really believe that?

“I—I really don’t understand . . .” began Kendra hesitantly.

“I told you I’m not a very good poet,” shrugged Amy. “I—I guess the poem was—just for me. To express how I feel about—about God creating everything. About—the—the purpose of life.”

“But—” began Kendra. That was exactly what she didn’t understand. Who was God? Her grandfather had told her that God existed only in the myths of the white people. The Indians called Him by another name—The Great Spirit or the Old One or some other rather mysterious title of honor.

“I like the poem,” Kendra was quick to assure Amy. “I really do. But I—Do you really think—? I mean, do you really believe— about—about God?”

Amy’s eyes widened. “You don’t?” she asked, incredulous.

Kendra opened her mouth and then closed it again. Somewhere deep within her was a little voice that wished to say that she did believe. But how could she believe in One she had never known? She shrugged her shoulders and tried to smile.

“I really don’t know much about Him,” she informed the other girl, trying hard to make the words sound casual and of little importance.

Amy seemed to have recovered. “How about this?” she said. “Would you like to come to church with me on Sunday?”

“Church?”

Kendra had doubts about church. She had heard some very strange rumors about what went on there.

“Yes. I go with my aunt and uncle to a church near here. It’s not big—but they really are nice people. I felt at home almost at once.”

Kendra hesitated. “I don’t know,” she stalled. “I promised Mrs. Miller that I’d give her a hand with a quilt on Sunday.”

“Maybe another Sunday then,” replied Amy easily, seeming quite willing to make it another time.

There was something different about Amy. The more time they spent together, the more Kendra sensed the difference. Even though Amy was buoyant and outgoing, she was just so much more settled than others her age. So at peace with herself and her world. So confident that things were under control.

But whose control? Amy admitted to not being in charge of her own life, her own fate. She made frequent references to God. She talked just as though she herself knew this mystic being. Yet there was no fear in her voice when she spoke of Him as there had been when Nonie talked of one or another of the spirits.

Kendra was puzzled.

“How did you—learn—so much about—about this white man’s spirit?” Kendra dared to ask one day.

“Who?” asked Amy, puzzled.

“This—this God,” replied Kendra.

“God? Oh, He’s not the white man’s spirit. Or the white man’s God. He’s everyone’s God—the Creator God. He doesn’t belong to the white man any more than the—sun or moon belongs to the white man.”

“But—?”

“He created all men. All things.”

It sounded like more myths.

“But how do you know this?” asked Kendra.

“It’s all in the Bible—the whole story,” replied Amy, not one bit put off by Kendra’s asking.

“The Bible?”

“You don’t have a Bible? I’ll lend you one. You can read it for yourself.”

Kendra did read it for herself. Over the weeks that followed she spent every minute she could spare reading the account for herself. Deep within her she felt she had finally found the answers to her questions. It was not a myth. It was
truth
. There really was a God in heaven—just as she had wondered, had suspected all along. He really
did
create the universe. All the things that Amy’s poem had referred to and so much more. Kendra was glad to discover such a God—but she was just a bit afraid of Him, too.

“I think I’d like to go to church with you on Sunday,” Kendra surprised Amy by saying. They had been doing homework together on a Saturday afternoon. Kendra thought she might as well say the words before Amy asked her again. Amy always seemed to offer another invitation each Saturday.

Amy’s eyes lit up. Kendra knew that she was pleased that her standing invitation had finally been accepted.

As Sunday followed Sunday, Kendra began to put all the pieces together. There was a God. Not a mystic, unknown someone, out there somewhere. A real Person, a revealed and understandable God. He created people, who sinned. This caused a chasm between human beings and their Creator. They hid from God and at the same time turned their backs on Him and wished to be left on their own.

But God loved the creation of His mind, His hands. He knew that the people He had created were lost—blinded—and left to the devices of the Evil One. He had a plan whereby mankind could once again be restored to a place of fellowship. Sin had to be dealt with, had to be justified. Kendra supposed that it must have been the hardest part of the plan for a holy God to carry through. It meant sending His Son, His only Son, to take the penalty of death for people—the sinners.