The Measure of a Heart (26 page)
“We let your husband down,” Anna admitted openly. “We should have supported him better. We didn’t understand his temptation. We thought—well, we just thought that since he had asked for forgiveness—had accepted Christ—Christ can change hearts, you know—really—give an individual a new clean life—and heart. We thought that Matt would be changed. We—”
But the woman looked at Anna as though confused. “He is changed,” she said firmly.
“But I mean—I mean changed from his—his former life.”
“He is,” defended the woman.
“But—” Anna began again, wondering why the woman couldn’t understand her simple explanation.
“Mrs. Barker,” said Mrs. Cross, leaning forward in her chair. “If you had known Matt, if you had seen him on a drunk, then you would know that he has changed.”
“But—but he still—”
“Got drunk,” finished the woman. “Yes. Yes, he did. But even under the influence of the liquor he was different. Don’t you see? He was different. Even the drink did not change that. He drank until he passed out—but when he roused, he didn’t come up cursing—screaming—throwing anything he put his hands on. No—he came up defending me—weeping like his heart would break in two for the remorse he felt. I’ve never seen him like that—never.”
She stopped for a few moments, unable to go on. She wiped at her eyes with the hem of her green-checked apron and took a deep breath.
“Mrs. Barker,” she said, looking directly at Anna, “right there beside his bed that night I knelt right down. I said,
‘God, if you can change a man this much, then you are what I need. Change me, too, Lord. Change me, too.’ ”
With a glad cry Anna was out of her seat and kneeling beside the woman. They held each other, their tears tracing paths down smiling faces. Anna had no words to express her surprise—or joy.
In spite of the great rejoicing over the good news of Mrs. Cross, Anna walked through the days and weeks with heaviness. Austin sensed her change of spirit and tried to discuss it with her but Anna averted any prodding. She didn’t know if her depression was because she was expecting their second child or because she was still grieving over the death of Mrs. Paxton. She had not realized just how attached she had become to the woman.
But Anna’s burden was one far deeper than sorrow. It was guilt. Heavy guilt. Over and over she chastised herself for her clumsiness in her Christian witness. She prayed and she agonized, but she could not shake the heaviness that pulled her down.
She had failed—again. She, the wife of a minister. She had no business calling herself a partner in the faith. She was not fit to be a minister’s wife. She should have recognized that. She should have turned down Austin’s offer of marriage. She was totally lacking in the ability to perform the duties of a minister’s wife.
The more she thought about it, the more depressed she became. She even had difficulty praying. Day after day she struggled on, and day by day her depression settled in more smugly around her until at times she felt she would surely suffocate.
I failed. I failed, her heart kept crying. And Anna feared that she could never be forgiven.
A new baby girl joined their family on September sixth. Maggie was thrilled with her baby sister. They called her Rachael Ruth. The new little one lifted Anna’s spirit to some extent, but the underlying heaviness did not leave her.
She prepared herself for another difficult winter. There would be daily laundry again. Anna would be glad to see the spring.
A missionary barrel came with a visit from the superintendent. It wasn’t really a barrel; it was a box. A box filled with discarded clothes from people who could afford new ones. Anna breathed a sigh of relief. She had been wondering what she would do to outfit her two growing daughters.
Eagerly she began going through the clothes, anxious to find some material heavy enough to make Maggie a new winter coat. She had outgrown her other one and the days were getting colder.
But to Anna’s disappointment, all the material in the box was light summer wear. There was nothing that would do for winter garments.
What can I do? wondered Anna. I can’t make something warm out of this material.
Anna looked at her own winter coat. She could fare better than her young daughter against the cold. But her own coat was almost threadbare. She would really like to do something better than that for the little girl.
It wasn’t until she was plumping up her pillow as she was retiring that the thought came to her. Feathers! Feathers were warm. She could use the lighter material and sew in a lining filled with feathers. That would give the coat lightness but plenty of warmth.
Anna could hardly sleep for her excitement. As soon as she had her breakfast dishes out of the way the next morning, she began to dismantle her pillow. She sewed throughout the day as she found the minutes. By suppertime the little garment was taking shape, and she laid it aside. She should have it ready for Sunday with no problem. And she still had feathers left over. She wasn’t sure whether to make them into a cushion or save them in case she needed them for a warm garment for little Rachael.
That night as they prepared for bed, she noticed Austin’s frown.
“Where’s your pillow?” he asked Anna.
“I’m using the feathers for a coat lining,” she admitted.
“A coat lining?”
“For Maggie. It will be warm, yet light. It’s working well.”
“But what will you do for a pillow?”
Anna shrugged aside his concern.
“It’s probably easier on my neck to sleep flat,” she said easily. “I have this bad habit of wadding the pillow up in a ball.”
But Anna had a difficult time getting to sleep that night.
Church conference time was approaching again, and Anna both looked forward to it and dreaded it at the same time. It would be good to see others who had the same desires—the same ministry as she and Austin. It would be nice to sit and chat with ladies who would understand her thoughts, her feelings. It would be nice to enjoy meals with a bit more variety. But Anna felt uncomfortable as she prepared their meager wardrobe for the coming event.
Her best dress was showing wear, besides being dreadfully out-of-date. Austin’s good Sunday shirt was frayed at the collar and cuffs. The babies were short of suitable garments. She would need to rinse out clothing at the end of each day. Anna wished for another missionary barrel so that she might have some material for sewing.
Anna watched for the dray wagon each day, hoping for a freight delivery to her house but none came. Anna knew that she had little time left. She needed to take some action.
The first project was Austin’s shirt. Carefully she removed the material from the back and sewed in its place a bleached portion of flour sacking. Then Anna took the shirt material and fashioned new cuffs and a collar. When she had done the best she could do, she washed the garment; and after allowing the shirt to flutter in the soft afternoon breeze, she ironed it until the new collar and cuffs, stiffened with her flour starch, were without wrinkle. Anna looked at the result and felt a measure of satisfaction.
Austin spied the shirt as soon as he came in the door for supper.
“A new shirt! Where’d that come from? Just in time for Conference, too.” He beamed his pleasure.
Anna was pleased.
Austin crossed to the shirt and let a finger trace over the stiff collar.
“Mama make it,” piped up Maggie.
Austin laughed and scooped the little girl up into his arms.
“Your mama is a whiz,” he informed her, “but she couldn’t make a shirt.”
“A-huh,” said Maggie, emphatically nodding her head. “Mama did.”
Anna felt her cheeks begin to flame. She felt almost deceitful. Austin was celebrating a new shirt—a new shirt with a flour-sack back. What would he say when he discovered the truth? Would he be too ashamed to wear it? He would be the only minister at Conference in such a circumstance. The other wives—
“I—I didn’t make a new one,” Anna quickly admitted, her eyes on the cutlery that she was placing near each place at the table. “I just—just made new cuffs and a collar.”
There, it was out.
Austin reached out to lift a sleeve and study the cuff. “You did a great job,” he commented.
Anna felt the air enter her lungs.
“Where did you get the material?” Austin asked innocently and Anna felt her cheeks flush again.
She turned and moved to the stove to dish up their supper.
“I—I had to—to take it from the back,” she admitted, her head down, her face red.
“From the back?” Austin’s voice, for the first time, was sounding concerned. He reached out and turned the shirt slightly.
“It’s got a back,” he said and Anna thought she heard relief in his voice.
Anger? Defiance? Defeat? Shame? Anna wasn’t sure of the emotion that spurred her to answer sharply. “It has a back made of flour sacking.” She almost spat out the words and the potato pot was set back down on the iron stove with a louder-than-usual bang. Anna could feel tears stinging her eyes and threatening to spill down her cheeks. She fought against them with all her strength.
But Austin seemed not to notice. He was still studying the shirt. Anna wondered what she would do if he refused to wear it. She could hardly undo the collar and cuffs and return them to the back of the shirt again.
“Ingenious,” she heard Austin mutter. “Ingenious!”
Anna’s head came up. Austin was still holding Maggie, but his hand was gently caressing the back of the shirt. There was a satisfied smile playing about his lips.
“Here I’ve been fretting about the state of my collar—praying that somehow the Lord would provide a new shirt for Conference—and—and it was as simple as this.”
Anna wasn’t sure about the last statement. She had labored over the shirt all day. It had taken real effort to get the collar to sit just right and one cuff had nearly brought her to tears.
“You have a very special Mama,” Austin was telling Maggie. “Did you know that?”
Maggie answered by nodding her head vigorously.
“You won’t be able to take your coat off,” Anna reminded Austin, feeling a need to put things back into proper perspective.
“That’s no problem,” he assured her.
“What if it gets too warm?”
“I’ll just keep the vest on.”
“No,” said Anna, shaking her head, the shame of it staining her cheeks red, even at the thought. “Even the vest would not hide the shoulders. The difference will show.”
“Then I’ll leave my coat on,” Austin went on, unperturbed.
“And if everyone else has his off?” pushed Anna.
Austin laughed. It seemed that facing reality was not as difficult for him as it had been for Anna.
“There is nothing wrong with being different,” he said and he reached out to draw Anna to him. Maggie’s little arm came out, too, making it a three-corner hug.
Anna let the tears slip out unattended. She was so thankful that her husband was appreciative rather than scornful of her efforts. How she longed to clothe her family properly. Surely a more skilled woman would have found a way—some way—to better care for their needs. She had never seen Reverend Angus look as shoddy as Austin was becoming. Mrs. Angus had seen to that.
