Song for Silas, A
Authors: Lori Wick
A
S
ONG
FOR
S
ILAS
HARVEST HOUSE PUBLISHERS
EUGENE, OREGON
All Scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.
Music and lyrics for “My Rock, Refuge and Savior” by Timothy Barsness and Lori Wick. Used by permission.
Cover by Terry Dugan Design, Minneapolis, Minnesota
Cover images © IMAGINA/Atsushi Tsunoda/Alamy Images; eStock Photo/PictureQuest
Except for certain well-established place names, all names of persons and places mentioned in this novel are fictional.
A SONG FOR SILAS
Copyright © 1990 by Harvest House Publishers
Published by Harvest House Publishers
Eugene, Oregon 97402
www.harvesthousepublishers.com
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Wick, Lori.
A Song for Silas / Lori Wick.
Sequel to: A place called home.
ISBN 0-7369-1534-6
I.Title.
PS 3573.I237H6 1990
813'.54—dc20 |
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All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, digital, photocopy, recording, or any other—except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior permission of the publisher.
Printed in the United States of America
05 06 07 08 09 10 11 / BC-MS / 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
To Mary Vesperman,
secretary and dear friend.
I couldn’t have done it
without you.
Neillsville, Wisconsin
February 1889
“Amy!” Grant Nolan called from inside the house and waited for an answer from the front porch.
He raised his voice and tried again.
“Amy!”
When there was still no answer, he walked to the porch from the living room. Grant stood and stared at his daughter a moment before speaking. “Amy, are you alright?” His brows drew together in a sharp V as she again failed to respond.
He tried again. “Amy, where is Thomas?” Grant watched as his daughter turned to look at him as though seeing him for the first time. Seeing he finally had her attention, Grant repeated, “Where is Thomas?”
“He left.” Her voice was oddly flat and she turned her head once again to stare out into the yard at nothing in particular.
“Did you two have a disagreement?”
“No, he just came by to tell me he can’t marry me because he’s in love with Debra Wheeler.”
Grant stared at his daughter’s sober profile. The wind tossed her hair and she lifted her left hand to remove a few strands from her cheek. Grant’s eyes were drawn to that hand. Empty. He felt his throat tighten at Amy’s loss of the small ruby ring which had belonged to Thomas Blane’s mother.
The empty ring finger confirmed the words his daughter had spoken. The sparkle the ring had brought was completely snuffed out.
Two months ago Amy had nearly floated into the house after she and Thomas had been on a Sunday afternoon ride together, her eyes sparkling, her face shining with happiness.
“Dad.” Amy’s voice had been hushed as though afraid that uttering the words aloud would somehow break the spell. “Thomas asked me to marry him.”
She then had held out her left hand to show the lovely ruby set in a thin gold band. “It was his mother’s, and he wants me to wear it so the world will know I am his.”
Staring at his daughter with a mixture of emotions, Grant had risen to take her in his arms. Pain had mingled with overwhelming joy as he realized that his daughter had grown up and found a Christian man to spend her life with, his sorrow was over the fact that her mother wasn’t there to see and share this special moment.
As though able to read her father’s thoughts, Amy had raised her eyes to meet the loving ones above her. “I feel like Mother can see us and we have her blessing.” Grant could only nod, his heart overflowing with joy for his daughter.
But now that peace had been shattered in a moment’s time. Grant struggled to control his feelings of anger at the thought that anyone would reject his daughter. She had suffered more than enough pain and loss in her young life.
He knew some adults who would not have stood as strong as she had. But Amy was special, gifted and loving, taking each blow in stride, as she placed her small hand in the all-encompassing grasp of Jesus Christ as He had led the way through the dark tunnels of pain. Emerging from each trial more refined, Amy grew stronger and lovelier with every passing year.
Realizing he was still just standing and staring at Amy, Grant noticed absently the way the sun turned her golden hair to a fiery glow. As he walked to join his daughter on the porch swing, he prayed, wanting to comfort but not to intrude. He asked God to help Amy turn to her Lord for comfort as she had always done in the past.
As Grant shifted and settled his weight on the swing, Amy reached for his hand. Father and daughter sat side by side and were comforted with one another’s presence.
Grant Nolan knew without a trace of prejudice that his daughter was the most wonderful one in the world. “Please God,” he prayed silently, “please let Your will for Amy be as special as she is.”
Baxter, Wisconsin
April 1889
Luke Cameron rolled onto his side to better see the little person in bed with him: his son…six months old…Joshua Luke Cameron. Luke’s eyes moved over the cap of dark curls and down to the fan of equally dark lashes that lay still in sleep.
Joshua slept with his chest against the mattress and his little round bottom in the air, one tiny fist pushed into his flushed cheek.
It had been last year, Luke reflected, when Christine was still pregnant, that he and Mac had been talking on Grandma Em’s front porch. Mac’s words came back to him as he looked at the miracle of his son. “God is still faithful even amid our foolishness.”
September 1888
John MacDonald stretched and flexed his massive back and shoulders, causing the chair on Grandma Em’s porch to creak in protest. Luke Cameron was settled on the porch railing, letting the afternoon sun warm his back. It was warm for September—Indian summer—but no one was complaining. The snow would be upon them soon enough.
Mac, short for MacDonald, watched as his two sons, Calvin and Charles, charged out of the house. He followed their progress as they raced down the front porch steps and off to the willow tree to swing on some of the bare switches. His face reflected the pride he felt.
“It’s hard to believe Cal is nine years old.” Luke nodded as he also followed the progress of the boys—his nephews—as they raced around in the autumn sun.
“What’s even more amazing,” Mac replied, “is all your sister went through to get him here.”
“I don’t remember Julia having a hard time with labor and delivery,” Luke answered, with a puzzled look on his face.
“She didn’t have a hard time having Cal, just carrying him, and I’m afraid it was all my fault.”
Luke stared at his brother-in-law, wondering what in the world he was talking about. Mac met Luke’s stare and confessed, “I was scared to death for Julia to have Calvin.”
Luke squirmed a bit at hearing these words. They so closely echoed his own thoughts now that Christine, his wife, was nearly seven months along with their first child.
Mac, seeming not to notice Luke’s discomfort, went on. “Julia was over six months along before I realized she knew I was scared.” Mac shook his head at the remembrance.
“Everything was fine with Julia and the baby and she knew it, but to give me peace of mind she worked twice as hard as she needed, carefully not showing me her exhaustion and never complaining about the way her body ached. But I didn’t see any of it. The worst part was, I stopped touching her. I was afraid that if I even hugged her, I’d hurt the baby. Julia was over two-thirds of the way into her pregnancy, and I had never even felt the baby move. I can’t believe how much I missed. She was working like a horse, and I was treating her as though
she were made of glass. She told me later she had never been so hurt, thinking I was repulsed by her pregnant shape.”
Mac again shook his head at his own stupidity. “Sometimes God allows us to go through some painful times. But we learned from it, and the rest of Julia’s pregnancy was wonderful. God is still faithful even amid our foolishness.”
Later that night, Luke knew he had to confront his wife. The lamp was blown out, and Luke lay in the darkness gathering courage to speak, knowing if he waited too long Christine would fall asleep. Wordlessly he moved and took her into his arms. Christine was so surprised by this action that for a few minutes she uttered not a sound, but lay in tense silence. When was the last time Luke had held her like this? How many times had she begged God, “Please, Lord, let Luke’s affection for me return after the baby is born”?
But his touching her so suddenly like this was not a comfort. Her back began to ache with the tense way she held herself, waiting for whatever bad news he must have to tell her. When she could no longer stand it, she asked in a shaky voice, “Luke, is something wrong?”
Luke knew this was his chance. She was waiting and ready. All he had to do was explain to her about his fear and how much he loved and wanted to take care of her. But Luke decided foolishly not to burden her with all his fears. “No, Christine, everything is fine.”
The next week was torture for both husband and wife. Luke, having decided to show Christine how he felt, only managed to confuse her by the change in his behavior. By Sunday of the next week, Christine’s confusion had turned to anger and, after serving breakfast, she had quietly informed her husband she would not be going to church that day.
Christine was in the bedroom when she heard the horses move away pulling the wagon, so she was very surprised to hear someone walking down the hall.
Luke stopped just inside the doorway and found his wife in the rocker by the stove. Her eyes met his for just an instant before returning to the mending in her lap. “I thought you went to church with Si.”
“You’re angry.” It was a statement and not a question.
“What makes you think that?” Christine asked as she viciously jabbed the needle into the shirt in her hands.
“Christine, we’ve got to talk.”
Something in her husband’s tone made Christine look up. Their eyes met and she knew he was as miserable as she. What followed were hours of soul-baring. Fear, pride, anger, hurt—they all were confessed to each other and then to God. The fear Luke had felt about losing Christine in childbirth, and the rejection Christine felt because of that fear, turned to love and new commitment.
Later, as Luke’s hands lay on Christine’s stomach feeling their child move within, Mac’s words came back: “God is still faithful even amid our foolishness.”
The sound of booted feet coming down the hall brought Luke back to the present. He rolled to his back and watched his wife enter the room.
Christine Cameron, even in denim jeans and a man’s shirt, was poised and lovely. Luke smiled at the sight of her.
She sat down on the edge of the bed and leaned to kiss her husband.
“Did I wake you?”
“No.”
Husband and wife spoke in hushed tones even though they knew it was unnecessary. The high activity level of their son caused him to sleep deeply whenever he slowed down long
enough to let slumber claim him. Saturday had developed into a routine of Luke and Josh taking a nap together giving Christine a bit of free time. Most days she went riding with Julia.
Christine reached across her husband to tenderly pat her son’s bottom. She smiled as he moved and shoved his balled-up fist into his mouth.
“You weren’t out for very long. Would you care to join us?”
Luke’s inviting smile was tempting. The bed was plenty big enough to hold them but she felt dusty from her ride. Luke saw her hesitation and began to pull gently on her arm. Christine had just settled comfortably in Luke’s embrace when they heard the front door open and close.
“Anybody home?”
Luke and Christine were out of bed in a flash upon hearing that deep voice from the living room. Silas was home.
