Rachel's Prayer (20 page)

Sarah helped me get Rorey’s wet clothes off. Rorey couldn’t be much help at that, still crying and hurting so bad as she was. I checked her over the best I could to see if there were anywhere else she was hurt, but I only saw scratches and bruises. Nothing serious.

Once we got her dressed in the dry nightgown, I sent Sarah to make her some mullein and shepherd’s purse tea. Katie was fetching a couple of towels and the old sheet I’d saved back. When Samuel came in, he helped me move Rorey to the davenport. She was still crying, all the way into the sitting room. By the time we got her there, I felt like crying too.

“I’m gonna splint your arm,” Samuel told her. “It’ll hurt, but do your best not to pull away from me, all right?”

She nodded, biting her lip again. “Do you think Pa’s gonna be upset?” she asked us through her tears.

“Any man’d be bothered to see his little girl hurting,” Samuel replied.

“I’m not so little,” Rorey answered back, surprisingly. “You are to a pa.”

He adjusted one of the towels to make it longer one way than the other and folded it carefully around the broken arm. “Too bad the ice isn’t here already, but we can keep this still, and it’ll feel some better.”

“Good of Franky to go get ice,” Rorey said bravely, trying not to let on about the pain so much.

“Yes, it was,” Samuel agreed. “And after that horse got home, if you hadn’t been here, he’d be spending the rest of the night out looking for you. You’ve got a fine brother there.”

Rorey didn’t say anything more. But she nodded, and then she closed her eyes for a minute, and silent tears streamed her cheeks.

A thousand things raced through my mind. If there were more people down our country lane, the county would have covered the whole road with rocks by now so it would be passable even in the wet weather. If we lived closer to the hard road, getting out would have been no problem at all. If we were in town, we might have an electric refrigerator with ice in the freezing section. We wouldn’t have to worry about dirt roads. And it wouldn’t be so far to the doctor, either.

There’d been several times since we came here that being closer to the doctor and having decent roads would have helped us considerably. Certainly, those times were few and far between, thank the Lord, but there’d been more than enough of them. The fire. The horrible night when Emma Graham and Mrs. Hammond both died. The day Franky’s leg was broken. Thelma’s baby being born in my bedroom. Samuel falling through the pond ice.

Lord, you’ve brought us through so much. And this might be small compared to some of that. Broken arms heal. But, oh God, they hurt. Help us through this now.

Samuel put a board against each side of the towel on Rorey’s arm, and I helped him tie them in place with torn strips of bedsheet. That way her arm wouldn’t be bending or moving much, even if she managed to sleep. I tried to get her to drink some of the tea Sarah had made because I thought it might help the pain. But she couldn’t manage much. She said her stomach was feeling nervous, whatever that might mean.

By the time Frank got back, the rain had started again, so he was soaking wet like his sister had been. But he had ice, wrapped in three dishtowels and two layers of burlap bag to try to keep it over the distance. I wasn’t sure at first the best thing to do with the ice now that we had it, but I finally decided to untie the boards for now, put ice between two layers of towel, and tie that on loosely with another towel around it. It was awkward, bulky, and of course uncomfortable, but we had to do something for her.

I hoped she could sleep. The night would go faster. I worried about tomorrow. With all this rain, the roads would still be bad for hours, maybe more than a day. When could we get to the doctor? I knew people who claimed to never go to a doctor at all no matter what happened, but I wanted to be sure the arm was set right, and we couldn’t be sure of that at home.

Samuel offered Frank dry clothes to stay the night, but he declined, saying he’d better go back home and let the rest of the family know what had happened.

It bothered me a little for him to go back through the timber when it was thundering again outside, but he went, and he was surely right that it wouldn’t be proper to leave his father wondering.

After several hours, Rorey finally slept fitfully. By then I was exhausted, but I slept near her in a chair in case she waked. In the night we had secured her arm more completely with one of the boards again and wrapped it to her chest to stay completely still. Samuel put the rest of the ice in the cool pit for me until she woke, and then I would put some on her arm again.

Katie and Sarah were both awake very early in the morning, a Thursday. Maybe none of us could sleep very well. Samuel had already gone out to milk. Rorey woke in a while and lay very still and quiet.

“Mrs. Wortham, I’m supposed to work today. How will we get word to Mrs. Mendel? I don’t want to lose my job.”

“You won’t be back to work this week at all,” I predicted. “But if we can’t get a message to Mrs. Mendel, she’ll just assume you had trouble getting back into town today because of the storm. I expect there’ll be a number of branches and trees down in the area. I thank the Lord we didn’t have a branch through our roof.”

“What if I can’t do things? I’m right-handed.”

“People find ways to manage,” I told her. “It’s only temporary.”

I was glad that she seemed to be feeling better. The arm still hurt but considerably less than it had last night. I decided not to move it at all, even to apply more ice or get Rorey a change of clothes. She was managing better with it secured as it was, and I thought we’d better leave it till we had her to the doctor. When Samuel brought the milk in, he told me he’d checked the road when he first went out. The rain had stopped hours ago, but the dirt road was still too soggy for our truck tires.

“Samuel, I’m sorry,” I said. “If we lived by the hard road and had electricity, life would be easier sometimes, just like you said.”

“It’s not your fault. It’s only us and Hammonds out this way, with just Posts and Muellers on the connecting road. There just hasn’t been the money to service us.”

“I’m the one who wanted this farm.”

“And thank God you did,” he answered me. “What do you think our lives would be like without it?”

“I don’t know. Maybe better.”

“We had nothing, Juli. And the Hammonds had nothing. God has blessed us here. You know that. Rorey will be just fine. Don’t worry, all right?”

I nodded, but I could see the concern on his face, calm as he was. He would have taken Rorey into the Mcleansboro hospital last night if he’d thought there was any practical way to do it. And he was wanting to go as soon as possible now.

“We might try horses in the daylight, Juli. It’ll be a little easier. And it’s clear this morning. That’s a good sign. The road’ll dry, but it’ll be hours in the low spots, and I don’t want to wait that long.”

I thought it’d be a while anyway because we had no horses of our own, which had never been much of a problem before, any more than Hammonds not having a truck. But this morning I expected that Samuel would have to go to the Hammond farm for the horses. Before he could leave, though, they came to us.

Frank and his father came riding through the timber side by side. I’d never seen that happen before on any occasion. George was on Star and Frank was on Tulip. They’d come to check on Rorey and see what it was that could be done. Samuel and I met them on the porch to talk things over.

“I think we can get her to town,” Samuel said. “But we’ll need both horses. I wouldn’t want to send one person with her alone. We can have somebody holding her in the saddle, and another person along in case they need a hand.”

“Wouldn’t be as much weight on the horse for me to ride with her instead of you or Pa,” Frank offered. “She might sit alone all right, but she’s not used to riding with one arm. I can ride her double.”

Samuel nodded. Frank’s words made sense. He probably weighed less than Rorey did, but he was strong.

“Star’s the one can better handle the weight a’ two,” George told them. “You take Tulip, Samuel. She’s none the worse for wear.”

But Samuel looked at him oddly. “I thought you’d want to go.”

“Don’t know the doctor,” George maintained. “An’ I ain’t no good tellin’ people nothin’. Shoot, I wouldn’t know what to do.”

“Just get her there, that’s all you have to do,” Samuel said with what sounded like frustration.

But George shook his head. “You’re good with these kind a’ times. You always know how to make things work. I’d trust you real good takin’ my girl in there to see the doctor. I’d trust you at it better than I would me.”

Samuel was quiet for a minute. I knew he didn’t think it right that George, being the father, wasn’t wanting to go. But I thought
I’d
trust Samuel at the task better than I’d trust George too. George hadn’t wanted a doctor called for the birth of any of his children, which could have been serious when Emma Grace was born breech. And after we took Frank to the hospital with his broken leg, George took him out of that hospital far sooner than the doctor was willing for him to go. I still wondered if that might have made a difference with his limp.

Maybe Samuel was thinking the same things. “All right,” he told George. “But you tell her.”

George went straight to the sitting room to find his daughter. Rorey was leaning against the cushions with Sarah beside her.

“Your brother an’ Mr. Wortham’s takin’ you into the hospital,” George said. “You be still as you can, and don’t fret for nothin’.”

That was all. But Rorey must have been used to her father’s manner by now. She nodded. “Wish I didn’t have to go in Sarah’s gown, purty as it is. But I don’t wanna try pulling nothin’ else on.”

She didn’t want to try eating either. I packed some biscuits for Frank and Samuel and a change of clothes for Rorey. They lifted her onto the horse and the movement hurt, but she managed all right. I knew she’d be fine. Just uncomfortable and inconvenienced for a while as the arm mended. I hoped she could keep her job, though it seemed rather doubtful. I wasn’t sure it would be safe for her to take a horse into town for work the way she’d been doing, now that she’d have only one arm to use for a while.

George stuck around for only a few minutes after they left, and then he started back through the timber toward home after uttering a barely audible, “Thank you, Mrs. Wortham.”

Sarah and Kate were neither one hungry for breakfast, and I suggested that it might benefit us all to lie down again for a few minutes before getting on with the business of the day.

“Did you ever notice how much alike Dad and Franky are?” Katie suddenly asked. “They think things through kind of the same, and they work like a team.”

“That’s what makes them good business partners,” I answered her. “And good as family.”

Sarah didn’t say a word. She just looked at us like we were offering her a new revelation. Then her eyes turned for a moment toward the door, and I wished I could know what she was thinking. Katie’d told me about Sarah and Frank taking a Ferris wheel ride, just the two of them, though Sarah hadn’t mentioned it. And I’d noticed them talking alone both before and since then. I knew things were changing. And eventually Sarah would talk to me, I knew that too. She’d always confided in me about almost everything. But she liked to have her thoughts in order first. She liked to have a grasp on her feelings if she could. And I thought, just maybe, that might take a little while.

21

Sarah

July 30, 1942

Dear Sarah,

I felt sorry for Rorey when you told me what happened, but Willy said it served her right for riding Tulip in a storm.
We prayed for her to mend quickly. Maybe by now she’s lots better already.

We’re moving tomorrow. I can’t tell you yet where we’re going, but Willy is pretty excited. He’s been waiting quite a while “to get into the real war,” and he’s hoping they put us where we can be of use.

I want you to know that I’m not deeply afraid, even if I do feel a little scared sometimes on the outside. I wrote in Mom and Dad’s letter all I can tell you of what we expect to do next, so I won’t get into that here. But you asked me a while back about understanding God, and I thought I ought to reply to that subject, even though I avoided it before.

You might think I sound like a preacher, Sis. But I do believe it’s possible to understand God better than just what we know when we first say we believe. I think the more you talk to him and look for him in his Word, the more you can understand not just about what he’s done but the way he is and the way he wants us to be. It’s probably a good idea to talk to Frank about it. He’ll probably have even better insight than mine, and you sure don’t have to feel shy. You said he’s talking to you more. So it’s only natural that you should talk more to him too.

I’m happy for you in that, because I think everybody should have someone who’s easy to talk to. I like writing to you, but I write to Rachel too, and I find it more and more of a blessing not just to get her letters but to share things with her. I still pray Rachel’s prayer every night. And sometimes I think I feel God talking to me while I’m doing it, telling me that he’s going to answer. Maybe not how we think, but some way better. I want us all to be strong, and have peace. But I think sometimes understanding God comes a little easier in the hard times, and maybe that’s the reason for this war in the first place. I never would have thought like I do now if I weren’t here. I never would have prayed like I do now. God is calling me, Sarah. It’s frightening, because I don’t know what he wants, but he’s calling me.
I feel more sure of it every time I pray.

Help Mom not to worry for me, all right? Tell her about Rachel’s prayer. And tell her that Rachel and I both know God is calling us for something. Maybe he can use us together after the war is over. I don’t know for what. But I aim to be obedient, whatever it is. I doubt I’ll ever sit in church again and wish I was out playing baseball. Thank you for your letters, Sis, and keep things going on the home front for me.