Rachel's Prayer (12 page)

“I’m sure George was relieved to hear from William,” Samuel told me when he got back from the Hammond farm. “But he’s not saying much. He told me he’s fine, but I know better just looking in his eyes.”

I wondered about George as I finished picking the peas. He always did his best to act all right in front of Samuel. Even when he’d been walking stiffer through part of the winter, he’d done his best not to show it to Samuel. I was glad the stiffness had seemed to disappear. But George’d been so wild-eyed and unreasonable after that official letter came that I knew he wasn’t really all right. It was normal to worry. Or to be in a state of shock, anger, or despair. But there was something different about George somehow. Something that made me wonder if he had the wherewithal to continue with the farmwork, or even get through this at all.

I prayed for him, right there in the garden. And I prayed for Emmie and Bert and the rest. It had to be hard for them about Joe, but their father’s reaction made things even harder. Samuel said George had been in bed when he took Robert’s letter over. And we had a lot of sun left to the day. He didn’t claim to be sick. He didn’t claim anything at all.

With a sigh, I looked around me at our yard of May flowers. Emma Graham had loved the flowers. When she gave us this farm, just over ten years ago, she’d asked us to keep up the flowers, and plant more, clear to the road. She’d had a lot of ideas how we could take care of the place. But she’d also expected us to take care of the Hammonds, though that hadn’t been clear to us at first. She’d known all along that they would need our help, and that we should end up being about the same as one family.

We’d managed with the kids all right, at least the best we knew how. But it wasn’t so easy with George. There were times when I thought he shouldn’t have needed so much of our help, at least not for so many years. And yet, when he needed help the most was when he wanted it the least.

I sat by the side of the well, by the bluebells and the dayflowers, and shelled out the peas in the sunshine. What might Robert be doing at this very minute? And what about Joe? I tried to imagine a positive explanation for his disappearance but couldn’t come up with anything that made real sense. And the negative possibilities were painful to think about. Yet it didn’t seem right
not
to think about him. We couldn’t just go about our days as though nothing had happened. Maybe George’s extreme reaction was the only way he knew to honor his son.

We had to carry on with things, of course. There was so much work to do around us. But shutting down, at least for a while, drawing back from things and going to bed in the middle of the day might be George’s way of keeping Joe in his thoughts through this trial. It wasn’t good for the rest of his family, but we could certainly understand and be patient with him while we waited for more word.

I decided to make cookies again once supper was out of the way. I’d saved back several small boxes just for mailing packages, and I could send the biggest of those full of cookies for Robert and Willy to share. And Joe loved cookies, especially snickerdoodles, which I hadn’t made since Christmas time. I’d package a box for him and mail it to the address we had. And then pray that he’d have a chance to enjoy his cookies too.

Surely we’d be getting word before long of him getting back to his unit or his base. Maybe he’d been hurt and lost, or had to hide in that strange place. Maybe he was in a hospital hankering to write us a letter to relieve our worrying. He was a brave, sensible young man.

My thoughts turned to Kirk as well. Unlike Joe, he hadn’t planned his military service. He’d been called in the peacetime draft and was less than happy about it at first. But he’d accepted duty well enough and even decided before he left that he’d probably like the army and would gain all he could from the training.

George Hammond had good boys. There’d been some trials, sure. The kind of antics you might expect from boys, especially from Willy and Harry. But over all, they’d been growing to fine young men. There were people at church who said that was because of Samuel and me. But George was still their father, and most of them remembered their mother. I thought it at least partly true that the apple didn’t fall far from the tree, despite George’s problems.

Katie had been across the field picking red clover for tea. I could see her on her way back with her basket full. I’d only made clover blossom tea occasionally until she took a liking to it a couple of summers back. Now she’d gather it herself and set a jar out in the sun to steep for the family. Sweetened with sugar and cooled in the cellar or down the well, it was a nice treat, though Samuel said it tasted a little too much like hay for his liking.

Sarah was inside helping Emmie with her homework. The younger girl needed a lot of help, and Sarah was always glad to do it. I wondered about the school board’s decision to graduate most of the high schoolers early. It didn’t seem to me that any of them were ready. Especially not Rorey, though she fancied herself the most grown-up of them all and was the only one to have gotten a job.

Rorey was a worry sometimes, more than her brothers. Headstrong and willful, she didn’t always make the wisest of choices. Samuel and I had tried to guide her, but George scarcely thought she needed guidance.

“Let her pick a boy an’ get married soon as she’s a mind to,” he’d said. And in his opinion, that was all the thought for her future that was necessary.

I dumped empty pods from my apron into a bucket for Frank to take over to the pigs later. Then I took my bowl of peas toward the house to start supper. The sky was clouding over. It looked like we were in for some rain.

Heavenly Father, let the natural rain water our fields, and at the same time rain peace down on our hearts about Joe. Rain your faith and courage upon George, and Joe too. And Kirk, Robert, and William. Bring us all together again.

With another sigh and a glance at the clouds above me, I went in the house. Sarah and Emmie were just closing their books at the kitchen table.

“I can help you make supper,” Emmie was quick to offer.

Sarah moved the books and started setting the table without saying a word. I asked Emmie to get me the butter from the cellar, and she ran to obey as quickly as she could.

For some reason, my eyes filled with tears. I couldn’t imagine loving any of these kids more. I couldn’t imagine any other kind of life. But I felt like we were at the junction of changes that I didn’t want. I couldn’t have explained anything to the girls about it. I just leaned to the cupboard to get a pan for the peas, dipped in a little water from the pail, and turned to the stove.

Life was never easy. It was like a bendy road, first this way, and then that. Up and down and around corners, till you didn’t know what direction you were going or what you’d meet up with next. But God works all things for good. I remembered reading that. He works all things for good for those that love him.

And we love you, Lord,
I prayed in my heart.
Joe loves you. Even George loves you, at least I think he does, in his own way. Let good come. Like the rain, let it pour down on our lives. Let the war end swiftly, and then the sun come out. Let the clouds of uncertainty be swept away.

For some reason I thought of the book that Frank had liked so well,
In His Steps.
No wonder he’d liked it. I’d found it pretty inspiring too. Adding a chunk of wood to the stove, I thought about the pledge all those characters had made and what it had done in their lives. What would Jesus do in this situation, right here and right now? I dropped a piece of wood, and it went rolling a few feet.

Sarah looked up. “Mom? Are you all right?”

“Sure, honey. Just dropping things.” I picked up the wood, gave it a sling into the stove, and shut the iron door with a clank. There was a war going on. A terrible war with enemies who committed terrible things. My only son was about to be in the very midst of it. Along with three young Hammonds that I’d fed, guided, and loved all these years. And one of them was missing. What would Jesus do in my place?

It was a good thing I’d set the pot down and wasn’t holding anything else. It was a good thing Sarah had turned around getting plates out of the cupboard and Emmie was out of the room. I started shaking. Standing there at the stove, my hands were shaking. And churning in my heart was the knowledge of exactly what Jesus would be doing.

“Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you.”

I didn’t know of a single thing I could do good for someone so far away as Germany or Japan. But I knew I could pray. The knowledge of it nearly choked me somehow, it came so fast. Pray for our enemies.
Oh, God, how?

“Sarah, do you mind watching the peas and helping Emmie make everybody some egg salad?”

She looked at me with some surprise. “I don’t mind.” I went straight for the bedroom.

“Are you all right, Mom?” Sarah asked again.

“Yes,” I assured her from the bedroom doorway. I closed the door behind me and got down on my knees.

I didn’t know how to pray the kind of words a situation like this warranted, but I expected there were plenty of Germans who prayed, plenty of Japanese who wouldn’t harm a fly. I prayed for them. I prayed for their soldiers. And then, hardest of all, I prayed for their leaders, selfish, power hungry, or mad; I prayed for them all. And then my strength spent, I lay on the bed for a moment. My eyes filled with tears, but only a single one dripped down. I wiped at it and then at my whole face before I could present myself to the girls again. By that time they had supper on the table and didn’t ask what I’d been doing. I was glad, because I didn’t think I could find the words to tell them.

14

Frank

I tried to pour myself into workin’ just as much as I could in the days and weeks after we got that letter. When I wasn’t in the field I was fixing tools or in the garden, tending stock, or mending fence. Seemed like there were a hundred things waitin’ on a pair of willing hands, just like every spring. For a while, I didn’t get much wood work done, but that was all right with me.

Pa stayed in bed a lot, but at least he wasn’t takin’ off again. I guess Mr. Wortham had pretty much talked him out of that. Rorey wouldn’t hear any more about school now that she had a job, but I made Emmie and Harry and Bert keep goin’ to the end of the school year, even though there were days they didn’t feel like it. Harry especially thought he oughta stay home and work. And there was plenty to do, so he was glad when they let out for the summer.

It wasn’t hard to keep everybody busy, but I didn’t push Pa ’cause I didn’t figure it’d do any real good. He would get up a little while, ’specially if Mr. Wortham was around, and act like he was gonna be busy at somethin’ or other around our place. But he didn’t get much of anythin’ done, he didn’t join us in the fields, an’ he was always back in bed ’fore I got back to the house.

Mr. Wortham talked to him some more. Pastor come out and talked to him too. But I wasn’t sure if it was really doin’ any good. He got so he’d cuss me when I come to check on him, and then he’d hardly get up at all. After another week or so of that, I told Mr. Wortham that Pa was taking things too hard about Joe, that thinkin’ about him and waitin’ to hear some kind of word was making him sick. I understood him in it, at least a little, but it wasn’t doin’ him nor anybody else any good.

“I understand it too,” Mr. Wortham told me. “But life is going on around him, especially with the rest of his kids. He’ll have to open his eyes and see that.”

I told Pa about my talk with Mr. Wortham when I got home from the field that day. I was hopin’ that and the farm work waitin’d be enough motivation to stir him back to himself at least a little, but he didn’t pay no attention. He didn’t eat supper that night, didn’t even answer when Rorey came home an’ tol’ him she’d make a cake just for him.

I knew there was somethin’ wrong about Pa different than the way the rest of us was handling being worried over Joe. But I didn’t know what to do about it. I was glad when Rorey said she’d stopped to see Lizbeth in town an’ told her how Pa was acting. The next day was Saturday and Lizbeth’d be out to see us. I knew that. And she was always good at reasonin’ with Pa. She’d know what to do.

I prayed for him that night. I prayed a lot, that we’d get answers and everything’d be all right again. But in the morning, Pa was worse. I didn’t so much mind him cussin’ at me. That wasn’t far off normal ’cause he’d always had a short fuse with me anyhow. But Bert checked on Pa first, an’ he tore into him jus’ for knockin’ on the door. And then Emmie tried bringin’ him breakfast right to his bed, and he yelled at her so hard it made her cry. I sent ’em both to the Worthams again. There wasn’t no use them stickin’ around bein’ treated like that. They’d seen too much a’ Pa bein’ ugly already.

We ate without him since he didn’t want nothin’ anyway. Then after Bert and Emmie left and Rorey took off to her job, Harry and me worked a while in the barn. Harry was pretty solemn, the quietest I ever seen him, and it bothered me, knowin’ he was concerned over Pa right now maybe as much as he was about Joe. Finally, I left him alone a while and decided to try talkin’ to Pa myself ’fore Lizbeth got there.

I prayed on the way in the house.
Lord, help me handle this the way you would. Help me to be wise and kind and patient, and strong enough not to be upset if he don’t respond.

I went in the house with my breath feelin’ heavy, like somethin’ about the air around our place was getting harder to breathe. I knew it was just the gloom. Just sadness hangin’ over the place like a fog. I wished I could take Mama’s old broom and sweep it away.

“You oughta get up,” I told Pa as gentle as I could when I got to his room. “You wanna put a comb through your hair? Lizbeth’s comin’ over.”

“Lizbeth knows her way ’round this place,” he grouched at me without even moving. “She don’t need me for nothin’.”

“She’ll think you oughta put your hands to somethin’, Pa. You’re makin’ things worse for Emmie and Bert, and Harry too, carryin’ on like this. It’s got ’em upset. More’n they oughta be.”