Silent Star (5 page)

The boys were quite excited and were still chattering about
the prospect of cake as Estella made her way down the sidewalk. The folks in her neighborhood were poor, but loving and kind. They looked out for one another and they were especially good to her. Howard would be pleased to see it. He’d always worried about what would happen to her if he were to die first.

For a time, he had tried to teach her how to fix things around the house. She loved the memories of working with Howard as he fixed a smoky stove or mended a torn screen. She never gave any real consideration to learning to do the things he taught, however. Her Howard would no doubt be with her until the end of time—at least that was her plan. But not God’s.

She smiled at the memory of Howard lovingly kissing her forehead and saying,
“Stella, you’ve been a good wife. I intend to see you cared for should anything happen to me. I can put money in the bank for you, but you’ll save yourself a whole lot if you just learn to do the little things for yourself.”

He’d tried to invest wisely, but the Depression was hard on the country, and money slipped away as easily as ice melting on a hot Pennsylvania summer’s day. There had been only a small savings remaining when a massive heart attack had taken her Howard away.

But Estella was a wise woman. At least she liked to think herself so. She quickly took what money she had and found ways to make it grow. First she rented out her house and went to live with her mother. She told herself it was for her mother’s sake as much as for her own, but she knew the truth of it. Without someone around, someone to care for, Estella would grow old and bitter before her time.

Pittsburgh wasn’t really to Estella’s liking, but it was where her mother was happy. Her mother suggested Estella sell her house and stay permanently in Pittsburgh, but Estella knew she would never do that. No, someday she planned to go back to the home she’d shared with Howard. And so, with the economy continually growing worse, Estella took on
sewing for a local tailor shop as well as nurturing vegetables in their backyard garden. Selling vegetables or trading them for other store goods, Estella and her mother didn’t have to worry about food.

Little by little she added to the savings Howard had started. With their small house paid for, something Howard had insisted on doing back in the ’20s, and a small pension left to her from Howard’s job, Estella felt relatively safe and without fear of the future. God had always provided. Always.

Reaching the telegraph office, Estella went inside. She felt the dismal spirits of the employees, and her heart went out to them. A young man approached her with such a hangdog expression that she couldn’t help but reach out to him.

“Are you all right, son?”

He looked at her oddly for a moment, almost as if he found it impossible to believe she would ask such a question. “It’s a hard day. It’s been a hard week.”

She nodded. “I heard that things weren’t good. It must be especially difficult for you to be here and see all the sad news come in.”

“Yes,” he said, his voice barely a whisper.

Estella wanted very much to encourage him. “You have a difficult job to do—just as hard as the boys who’ve gone overseas. I’ll be praying for you. Just know that you aren’t in this alone. God is with you.”

“That’s what my mother says,” he agreed.

“Well, she wouldn’t lie—not to a boy so fine as you.” Estella smiled. “Now, I won’t keep you any longer, but the truth is, I’m looking for Andy Gilbert. Is he here or is he out delivering telegrams?”

“Andy didn’t show up today. I couldn’t tell you where he is,” the young man replied. “He didn’t call.”

Estella frowned. “You don’t suppose he’s sick, do you?”

He shrugged. “Sick of the war, like all of us. The boss plans to stop by his house after work, but otherwise I don’t know anything else.”

Estella nodded. “Well, thank you for your time. Now, don’t forget, I’ll be praying for you and your friends here.” She took her leave and headed back in the direction from which she’d come.

Oh, Lord, please let Andy be all right. He’s all alone except for you—and now me. Help me to know what to do.

She prayed all the way to the street on which Andy lived. She had memorized his address and as quickly as her aging legs could manage through the deep snow, she made her way to his small house.

The blue skies overhead cheered her on. In spite of the cold, the sun shone down, warming her as she made her way. Snow capped each bough of the evergreens, sparkling and glinting in the sun. If she’d been fifty years younger she wouldn’t have resisted the temptation to make a snow angel. She smiled as she imagined the comedy of a woman her age stopping to lie down in the snow to create just such a thing.

“No doubt they’d have me hauled off to the county home for the feebleminded,” she mused.

With that thought still giving her cause to smile, Estella found herself in front of Andy’s house.

“Seems like a nice place,” she said as she observed the small one-story home. There was no sign that anyone had been about. Andy’s walkway was deep with snow. “I’ll have to be careful,” she murmured. “Otherwise, I might end up making that snow angel after all.”

She cautiously made her way up the walk, brushing the snow back and forth with her booted foot. It was a slow process, but it gave a hint of a clearing and helped Estella to better make her way. There were patches where ice had formed beneath the snow, making it even more risky, but her need to know if Andy was all right drove her forward in mock bravery.

Reaching the door, Estella knocked loudly. No one answered. She knocked again, but still there was no response. Reaching her gloved hand to the doorknob, Estella tried it. The knob turned and the door opened without any trouble.

She peeked her head in and called out, “Andy? Andy, are you here?”

She hated to just walk in but felt she had no choice. Something wasn’t right. She was sure Andy would have gone to work if he were able.

“Andy?” she called again, now walking down the hall. She didn’t even bother to take off her boots, figuring she would clean up the mess later.

Estella passed the front room and continued toward the back of the house. She noted the small kitchen and cold stove. The chill of the house was almost as bad as outside.

“Andy?”

She opened a door and found a bedroom. The coldness was worse here, as the room had been shut off from the rest of the house, shades pulled. As her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, she could see that the room was neatly kept. The bed was made and the little dresser on the far wall had a neat arrangement of personal items a woman might use.

“This must be his mother’s room,” Estella whispered to herself.

Pulling the door closed, Estella crossed the hall to the only other door. This one stood ajar.

“Andy, are you in there?”

She pushed open the door and could see the outline of someone in the small iron bed. Coming across the room, she reached down to touch Andy’s face. He was burning up with fever.

“Oh, Andy, I’m so sorry. I should have come sooner.”

He opened his eyes but didn’t really seem to see her. He moaned and coughed and then closed his eyes again, as if the entire matter had been too much effort.

Estella knew what she had to do. She quickly went to the kitchen. Pulling off her outdoor things, she mentally planned what to do first.

“We need some heat in this house,” she declared. She
looked to the stove and found a scuttle of coal sitting beside it. “Good. At least I won’t have to go searching.”

She quickly built a fire in the stove and put water on to boil. The steam would make it easier for Andy to breathe, and she could also use some of the water to make soup. “If I can find some ingredients,” she said to herself.

She looked in the cupboards and drawers. There was such a small selection to be had and what she really needed was a fresh piece of chicken. Why, with that, she could make a nice pot of broth. Nothing made a person feel better faster than chicken soup.

After a futile search, Estella decided there was no other option but to go back out and walk to the store. She had her ration coupons and could probably get some small piece of meat. It wouldn’t be much, as she couldn’t afford much.

“Lord, you know what this boy needs. You know I hate to leave him here, but I must. Go before me, Lord,” she prayed as she pulled on her coat.

The market was nearly eight blocks away, but Estella made the trip without any trouble. She prayed as she went and it seemed to make the time pass more quickly. To her sorrow, however, she found the store closed. The sign read:
Due to the death of our son, Tom, we will be closed today.

She shook her head. “Poor folks.”

“Mrs. Nelson? Is that you?”

Estella looked behind her to find the pastor leaning out the window of his car. He was a young man, generally full of energy and excitement. His smile had warmed her on many occasions, but today was not one of those days.

“Why, Pastor Bailey, what brings you to town?” She walked to the vehicle as he stepped out.

“It’s a sad time, as I’m sure you know. I’ve been making rounds and visiting with my flock. So many have lost children or husbands. It’s truly a time of mourning for Haven.”

Estella nodded. “I came to the market, but it’s closed. They’ve lost their son, Tom.”

“Yes, I know. I visited with them last night.” He looked to the store window, then back to Estella. “What brings you out? It’s very cold. Can I give you a lift?”

“I have a young friend who is desperately ill. I need to get a piece of chicken so that I can make him some broth. I suppose you could drop me off at the grocery store on Second.”

“I can do better than that,” he said. “I happen to have some chicken at my house. One of the farm families I visited yesterday gave it to me. I’d be happy to share my blessing with you.”

Estella smiled. “I asked the Lord to go before me, and I see He has done just that.”

“Indeed. He’s always faithful, even in times like these.” He helped Estella to the car and opened the door for her. “So who is your friend?”

“His name is Andy Gilbert.”

He frowned. “I know Andy. He and his mother used to attend our church—at least until she became too sick. I visited her several times but then just seemed to lose touch until she passed on. Sad situation. I don’t think there were more than a handful of people at the funeral.” He went around and got in the car.

Estella shifted to look at him. “Why did you stop going to see them?”

“Andy seemed so hostile to my company. He even told me he wasn’t interested in hearing about God. I think he blamed God for his mother’s illness. He actually asked me to stop coming by, and I guess I found it easier to comply than to fight it.”

“Still, it hardly seems right that everyone just let the boy go his own way. He has no friends—and it appears folks avoid him because of his telegram deliveries.”

The young minister nodded. “Yes, I’ve heard that. Other delivery boys have mentioned such things.”

“You should speak to the congregation about it,” Estella said, feeling the need to point this out.

“I doubt they would hear anything I said on the matter.” Bailey pulled into the parsonage drive and turned. “People are caught up in their own pain. I’m sure the delivery boys couldn’t possibly have it as bad as the young wife or mother who has lost her husband or son.” He opened the car door and quickly stepped out. “Now, you stay right here, and I’ll bring the chicken to you.”

Estella watched the slender young man make his way slipping and sliding through the snow. Apparently he’d had no time to shovel his walk before heading out on his calls.

She sat thinking about Pastor Bailey’s words and knew that this was how most people probably felt. Of course losing a loved one couldn’t be compared to anything else. There was no other cut that went quite so deep, or pain quite so sharp. Still, Andy’s hurt was real—as no doubt was the misery of the other delivery boys.

The pastor reappeared, sliding his way back to the car. He’d almost made it back when his feet went out from under him and he disappeared from Estella’s sight. She gasped and reached for the door handle just as he popped back up, red in the face but apparently no worse for the wear.

“I’m afraid this walk is more icy than I realized,” he offered, climbing into the car. He handed Estella a small sack. “Here, I hope this will be enough.”

Estella looked inside. “Oh my, but of course it will. I hope you kept some for yourself,” she replied, noting that he’d given her two large pieces of raw chicken.

“I did. I’m not much for cooking, but Mrs. Parks from next door is always happy to help out.”

Estella nodded. “Nadine is a good woman. I’m so glad to have made her acquaintance. Now, if you wouldn’t mind taking me back to Andy’s place, I’d surely be grateful.”

“Of course,” Pastor Bailey replied. “I consider this to definitely fall into my duties as a pastor. They give us extra gas rations, you know.”

“The Lord always sees to His own,” Estella murmured.

They rode in silence for several moments before Estella decided to brave revealing her thoughts. “You know, you have the ability to influence and encourage folks from your position in the pulpit. And as Christians, we ought to bear one another’s burdens and give help to those in need.”

“Absolutely!” he said with great enthusiasm. “I couldn’t agree with you more.”

“I know folks are hurting; just as you said, their own pain is so great they can’t see the pain they’re causing others.”

“I’m sure you’re probably right,” he said with less excitement in his tone.

“I think you could go a long ways to help folks understand what they’re doing. Especially with Christmas coming up and such. I hate to think that young Andy and others like him will feel ostracized throughout the holidays. Andy doesn’t even have family members to gather him near.”

They arrived at Andy’s house just then and the pastor, appearing quite uncomfortable with the entire conversation, hurried around to assist Estella out of the car. “Let me help you. I see the walk here also needs to be cleared.”