The Little Sparrows (8 page)

W
hen Frances Roberts awakened, she opened her eyes and glanced toward the window. Just outside the guestroom, sunbeams were filtering through the branches of the trees. The splash of sunlight formed a backdrop of emerald patches and golden bars on the wall opposite the window.

Frances sighed, threw back the covers, and rose wearily from the bed. She yawned, stretched her arms, and hobbled stiffly to the washstand. She looked at herself in the mirror on the wall, noting her tired eyes. After pouring water from a pitcher into the washbasin, she splashed it briskly on her face.

Most of her night had been spent in prayer for the precious Marston children, seeking God’s comfort for them in the loss of their parents and asking for the wisdom she needed to give them the help they deserved.

As she dabbed a towel on her face, she looked at her reflection and shook her head. “If only I were younger,” she said. “But what I see and feel this morning reaffirms what I said yesterday. Those sweet babies need young parents. People with means, and the energy to care for them and raise them.”

Frances hung the towel on its rack and sighed. “Lord, please
see that a Christian couple adopts them, even if there’s no one in the church who can do it. Keep Your mighty hand of protection on them and guide them in their young lives.” She brushed her hair, made the bun at the nape of her neck as usual, then dressed, made her bed, and went to the kitchen.

She built a fire in the cookstove, then took down the iron kettle from the compartment on top of the stove.
Oatmeal this morning
, she thought.
Since I was a small child, oatmeal has been a comfort food for me. And those dear children could use all the comfort available
.

With breakfast cooking, Frances slowly made her way down the hall to the girls’ room. She paused at the closed door, listening for any sound from within. She heard the quiet murmur of voices, punctuated periodically with a sniffle.

“Lord, help me,” she whispered, and opened the door. The pathetic scene that greeted her brought a lump to her throat. Lizzie was curled up in her sister’s lap in the middle of Mary’s rumpled bed. Mary had her arms around her and Lizzie’s head lay on her chest. They both looked at Frances. Their usually bright eyes were dull and red-rimmed. Tears glistened on their pale cheeks.

Mary’s voice cracked as she said, “We talked long into the night, Mrs. Roberts. And … and now Lizzie understands what death means, and that Mama and Papa will never be coming home.”

Frances’s hand went to her mouth as she hurried to the bed. She lowered her body on the bed and gathered both girls in her arms. She spoke softly to them, attempting to bring comfort to their broken hearts.

Mary was too young to carry this heavy load, and Frances could see that she was trying with everything that was in her to ease her little sister’s heartache and give her comfort.

Moments later, Johnny appeared at the door with tears on his face. Mary saw him first, and when Frances noticed her looking toward the door, she turned her gaze. Sympathy lanced her heart and she extended a hand toward the boy. “Come here, Johnny.”

As Johnny moved toward the bed, it was evident by the look on his face and the determined set of his jaw that he was trying desperately to do his best to be strong. But when he reached the bed, he began sobbing and crawled up onto the bed. Frances and the girls made room for him. He and his sisters clung to each other, seeking what solace they could find.

“Mary, Johnny,” Frances said, her voice raspy, “you won’t be going to school today. Lizzie needs you, and I’m sure you wouldn’t be able to concentrate on your lessons.”

Mary turned sad eyes on her. “Thank you, Mrs. Roberts. You’re right. Johnny and I wouldn’t be able to concentrate on what our teachers were saying. And we do need to be here with Lizzie. At least in this house, where everything reminds us of Mama and Papa, it makes us feel closer to them. And besides, Johnny and I would like to be here when Pastor Moore comes, so we’ll know what happened about finding us a home.”

Frances nodded. “Of course, honey.”

“I was thinking about Pastor Moore talking to all those people about taking us into their homes to raise us …”

“Yes?”

“Will … will we have any say in the arrangements that are made for us? I mean, if someone wanted to take us, but we didn’t think we would be happy there, would we be able to tell Pastor Moore how we felt?”

By the slight tremor in Mary’s voice, Frances could tell she was fearful of the answer. She patted her cheek. “Honey, I’m sure Pastor Moore will want to hear how you feel about any home where you are being considered, and he’ll take your feelings into
consideration. But you must remember he can only do so much.”

Mary lowered her eyes. “I know.”

Frances put a chipper sound into her voice. “Tell you what, babies—I’ve made oatmeal for breakfast. Let’s all go to the kitchen and I’ll serve it up. You can get dressed after we eat.”

It was a sad little trio that walked down the hall and found their places at the big round table.

Johnny took one look at the chairs his parents had always occupied, swallowed hard, and said in a squeaky voice, “Mama and Papa will never sit in those chairs again.”

In unison, he and his sisters burst into tears.

Frances gathered them in her arms again. “It’s all right, babies. Go right on and cry. God gives us tears as a means of helping our broken hearts to heal.”

All three clung to her tenaciously while tears flowed.

“Did you know that in the Bible, it says that God puts our tears in a bottle? He keeps our tears and remembers our broken hearts.”

Johnny sniffed and looked up with awe in his eyes. “Really?”

“Yes, really. The Lord said He will supply all our needs. You remember that Pastor Moore preached on this subject not long ago, don’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Well, God knows that when we have a broken heart, it has a need. It needs healing. So He has supplied a way to heal it. Somehow, our tears help to heal our broken hearts.”

Johnny sniffed again. “Wow! He is a great God, isn’t He?”

“Yes, Johnny. Indeed He is.”

Frances dished up the hot oatmeal, added a pat of butter and a lump of brown sugar to each bowl, and placed them before the children. Then she put a stack of buttered toast in the middle of the table and a cup of milk at each child’s plate.

She brought her own bowl of oatmeal and a cup of coffee and took her seat. Heads were bowed, and Frances prayed over the food. She also asked the Lord to comfort the Marston children in their sorrow.

When she lifted her head and opened her eyes, all three of the children sat staring at their food. “Well, go ahead. Eat your breakfast.”

Mary, Johnny, and Lizzie set pain-filled eyes on her.

“Oh. Now, sweet babies, I know it isn’t easy to swallow past the lump each of you has in your throat, but please try. You must eat. Your parents would want you to eat. Let’s do it for Mama and Papa, okay?”

Mary’s voice was strained as she said to her brother and sister, “Let’s eat for Mama and Papa.”

When breakfast was finished, Mary said, “Mrs. Roberts, I’ll do the housecleaning while you and Johnny are washing and drying the dishes.”

“I’ll help you clean the house, Mary,” volunteered Lizzie.

The foursome stayed busy with a variety of chores while they remained alert for the sound of hoofbeats. They were hopeful that when Pastor Moore arrived, he would have good news.

While Mary went about sweeping and dusting, Lizzie was close by, doing what she could to help. Often Lizzie would move up to Mary and cling to her. She would stop her work and simply hold her little sister until once again she was comforted.

It was early afternoon when the buggy came to a halt in front of the house, and all three of the Marston children bolted through the door and onto the porch with Frances not far behind.

A chorus of voices greeted Pastor Darryl Moore, and he greeted them in return as he stepped out of the buggy. Frances could tell by the look in the pastor’s eyes that all was not well, but pretending not to notice, she invited him in and they all went into the parlor and sat down. Frances and the children were seated on the sofa, facing the pastor, who was in an overstuffed chair. Lizzie was on Frances’s lap, with Mary on one side and Johnny on the other.

Pastor Moore cleared his throat. “Well, my news is not the best. There is no one in the church who can take you children on a permanent basis. We have some families who are willing to take you temporarily, but even then, you will have to be split up. There is no one who has space for all three of you.”

Mary leaned forward. “Pastor Moore, is there someone who would take two of us? I have to be with Lizzie, even if Johnny has to stay somewhere else.”

Johnny felt a cold ball like ice form in his stomach. He couldn’t bear the thought of being separated from his sisters.

Pastor Moore nodded. “I’ll see what I can do, Mary. I think there is one family who might take both of you girls. I will talk to them, and let you know as soon as I can.”

Frances and the children walked the pastor to the door, and when he was driving away, Johnny began to cry.

Mary looked at him with concern in her eyes. “Johnny, what’s wrong?”

“I don’t want to be separated from you and Lizzie!” he sobbed. “You two will have each other, but what about me? I’ll be alone! I’m only six years old. Mama and Papa are dead. I need to be with my sisters!”

While Frances and Lizzie looked on, Mary wrapped her arms around her little brother. “Johnny, I don’t want to be separated, either. The Lord will fix it. He will give us a family somewhere
who will take all three of us. We’ll try not to be a bother to them. We’ll work hard to do our part around their house. Surely there’s someone that will understand and let us stay together.”

Johnny’s entire body shook as he continued to sob.

Mary hugged him tighter. “Please stop crying, Johnny. It’s going to be all right. I won’t let them separate us.”

Johnny’s blinked at his tears. A hopeful look came into his eyes. “Promise?”

Mary took a deep breath. Her throat tightened, but she got it out. “I promise.” She kissed his cheek and released her hold on him.

Johnny sniffed, ran a shirtsleeve across his face, and looked up at Frances. “Mrs. Roberts, why did God take Mama and Papa to heaven when we need them so much?”

The silver-haired woman met his questioning gaze. “I can’t tell you why He took your parents, Johnny. But I can tell you this—God never makes mistakes. He had a reason for doing so, but we might not know what it was till we get to heaven and He explains it to us. Let’s go into the parlor. There’s a Scripture I want to show you that is related to your question.”

Moments later, the children were seated on the sofa, and Frances was on the chair where the pastor had sat earlier. Johnny had gone to the guest room and brought Frances’s Bible to her.

She opened the Bible, and while she was flipping pages, she said, “I want to read you a very special verse from Romans chapter 8.” She found the page. “It’s verse 28. Paul is addressing God’s people. Listen. ‘And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose.’ Did you notice he said
all
things?”

Mary nodded. “Yes, ma’am. I remember Mama and Papa talking about this verse. Papa pointed out the word
all
. And he pointed out the words
work together
. He said all things that come into our
lives are not good, but that they
work together
for our good.”

“He was right, honey. And only God could make it work like that. What I wanted to do was to help you understand that
all things
—including this tragedy—will work together for good, and you will see it one day.”

Johnny set serious eyes on Frances. “Mrs. Roberts?”

“Yes, honey?”

“Mary told me that God will take care of my sisters and me. She said He will see to it that we have food and clothes and a place to live. Do
you
believe He will?”

Frances smiled. “I sure do, Johnny. Let me read you what the Lord Jesus said about that. It’s in Matthew chapter 10.”

She flipped pages. “Verses 29 through 31. Listen to Jesus as He talks about little sparrows.”

Lizzie’s eyes came to life. “I like sparrows, Mrs. Roberts!”

“You do, huh?”

“Mm-hmm. They come into our yard a lot. And doves do too. Sometimes Mama lets me put out bread crumbs for ’em.”

Frances nodded. “Well, listen to what Jesus said about those little sparrows, honey. ‘Are not two sparrows sold for a farthing? and one of them shall not fall on the ground without your Father. But the very hairs of your head are numbered. Fear not therefore, ye are of more value than many sparrows.’ When Jesus said that one of those little sparrows shall not fall to the ground without your Father, He is telling us that those little sparrows are never alone. God is always with them.”

“Mrs. Roberts?” Mary said.

“Yes, dear?”

“Didn’t Jesus talk about the little sparrows in the book of Luke, too?”

“Yes, He did, honey. He said almost the same thing, but it might be good if I show it to you. The way Jesus put it in Luke’s
gospel strengthens what I was about to say next.” Turning to Luke 12:6–7, she said, “Now, listen closely. ‘Are not five sparrows sold for two farthings, and not one of them is forgotten before God? But even the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Fear not therefore: ye are of more value than many sparrows.’

“Now, we saw in Matthew that Jesus spoke of a little sparrow falling to the ground, but that our heavenly Father is right there with him when he does. As I said, He is telling us that those precious little sparrows are never alone. God is always with them. In Luke’s account, Jesus said that not one of them is forgotten before God. Sometimes in our lives, things happen that break our hearts. And sometimes we feel so lonely in our troubles that we think God has forsaken us and even forgotten us. But Jesus is trying to get us to see that this will never happen. Notice in both accounts, he tells us not to be afraid because we are of more value than many sparrows.