The Measure of a Heart (6 page)
A joyous shout went up from the assembled little crowd when she made her appearance. They were all there. Her mama—with Karl pressed tightly up against her skirts. Her papa—with young Petey held in his arms. Adam. Horace. Will and Alfred. They were all there—eyes turned to her door, watching for the moment of her appearance. Exclaiming their approval. Clapping their hands to share her joy.
Anna’s eyes filled with tears. She looked around the room at the mended overalls, the brown bare feet, the faded apron over an equally faded dress, and her heart constricted with emotion. She wanted to run to her bedroom and throw herself face down on her bed. It wasn’t fair. It just wasn’t fair that she should have so much—and they so little. But there they all were. Cheering her on. Rejoicing in her blessings. Beaming because of her new wardrobe. What a wonderful family she had! To weep now would be to let them all down.
Anna forced a smile and whirled her way around the circle, presenting one dainty foot and then the other.
“Wow!” hollered Adam.
“You look like a princess, Anna,” called young Karl.
Will and Horace clapped their hands and whistled, and Anna’s mama did not even scold them for doing the forbidden—whistling in the house.
Even young Petey began to squirm in his papa’s arms. “Want down. Want down,” he insisted, and when his father lowered him to the floor he ran to Anna, crouched down, and reached out a pudgy childish hand to feel the shiny new leather, then looked up at Anna and grinned.
Anna noticed the toes protruding from Petey’s worn shoes. He was the only one of her brothers who wasn’t barefoot. “His feet are still too tender,” her mama would say, and so Petey would wear shoes for at least the first part of the summer. But the shoes were Sunday hand-me-downs, and by the time they had reached Petey there wasn’t much wear left in them. Seeing them now made a lump come again in Anna’s throat, and she wondered how much longer she could hold back her emotions.
At last they let her go, each one returning to a task that had to be finished before the supper hour. Anna went back to her room and carefully removed all her finery. She felt like Cinderella after the ball—returning to her rags and her hearth of cinders. Her throat ached with the desire to cry. She cast a glance toward the fine things. The shoes were so stylish—so shiny. And the blouse and suit were—were almost like new. No one would ever know they had been sewn from someone’s hand-me-downs.
But Anna could not shake off her feelings of guilt. She wished deep in her heart that she didn’t have the fine things. They were a reminder of what the rest of her family did not have. If only everyone wasn’t so—so kind—so benevolent. It wasn’t so hard to slip into her rightful place in the world when she was dressed in her mended, faded cotton frocks. But when she was dressed in the fine clothes, the new shoes, the frilly blouse, she was confused. She felt that she was deceiving the world. That she was pretending to be something she was not. Anna could not help but wonder if the Lord, who knew who she really was, would disapprove of her sham.
For a brief moment she gave in once more to her feelings. I’ll not go, she said to herself. I’ll just not go.
But just as quickly, Anna could picture the hurt in her mama’s eyes.
Well, I’ll go, she amended. But I’ll just wear my own clothes.
What had Mama said? Something about not allowing her daughter to bring the family shame. But wasn’t it just as shameful to pretend to be something you were not? Didn’t God judge the heart rather than the outward appearance?
And then Anna’s eyes lit up. She could wear the clothes—for her mama’s sake, just as long as her heart was right.
But, oh, it would be so hard to keep her heart right when—when folks were seeing her as one of them. When they were thinking she thought she was an equal. When they judged her by her outward appearance. When she would need to come back to her work cottons.
In spite of her strong resolve, Anna had to brush away tears before she could return to the kitchen.
The three traveled by train. Anna had never had such a wonderful experience. She had looked forward to the hours of train ride, thinking she would have all that precious time to read and read. But her eyes kept straying from the pages of her book. There was so much to see. She feasted upon the sights, the sounds, the feel of new freedom.
The Anguses seemed to be content to just sit back on the blue plush seats and relax from all their busyness. That was fine with Anna. She needed full concentration to absorb all that was going on around her.
The trip ended far too soon for Anna. Before she knew it the Anguses were gathering up their carry-on items and preparing to depart the train.
“We are to be met by friends—the Willoughbys. We will stay with them tonight,” said Mrs. Angus.
Anna had already been informed of this, but she nodded politely. Mrs. Angus often repeated herself—but then she was getting forgetful.
“Mr. Barker was so sorry that our train was to arrive right when he was busy with graduation rehearsal,” Mrs. Angus went on. Anna had heard that too.
Anna let her mind turn to the rehearsal. What did they rehearse? What needed practicing? Wasn’t there just one way you could graduate?
“Ah—there are the Willoughbys waiting on the platform.” With the words from Mrs. Angus, Anna’s heart began to pound. Now it would all begin. The strangeness, the confusion, the introduction into a world that she did not know nor hope to ever understand.
Anna got through the first evening in fitting form. No one knew of her inner agony. No one sensed that she felt overwhelmed by her new surroundings.
She had promised herself to keep her eyes and ears attuned to the manners and words of those around her and to follow their lead. What she did in actuality was to naturally keep her mind and heart open to the needs of others. Anna was never conscious of doing so. It had come from years of unselfish living, of practice within the home in which she had been raised, of an inner commitment to her God and His created people. It was as natural to her as her breathing. And so without thinking, she sought small ways to help, to reach out a hand of assistance, to give a tiny word of encouragement. To gently ease someone’s burden. To naturally be polite and courteous.
And so the Willoughbys saw exactly what the Anguses had seen for many years. A slight yet not fragile person—well mannered and well groomed, looking out at the world with a pair of wide, honest blue eyes that accented a small oval face. A polite, gentle young woman with a kind, sensitive spirit, devoted to her God and considerate of others.
“The graduation service will be at ten,” said Mrs. Angus. “That will be followed by a reception for the special guests of the graduates. Reverend Angus and I will be attending because of his part in the reception. You will be the guest of Pastor Barker.”
Anna knew all that, but she smiled and nodded her head. Then an awful thought struck her.
“Does that mean I won’t be sitting with you?” she queried.
“Oh, we can sit together for the service. At the reception we may need to sit at a separate table. I don’t know the seating arrangements, but by then you will be with the Barker family, so you won’t be deserted.”
Near panic seized Anna. The Barker family. She had only thought of Mr. Austin Barker. She was sure she could feel reasonably comfortable with him. But his family? How many Barkers were there? Would she be among a whole group of strangers?
“Only his father and mother were able to come,” went on Mrs. Angus. “He has three married sisters and a married brother. Austin is the youngest family member. Two of the girls are missionaries and the brother is a seminary professor.”
If the words had been meant to encourage Anna, they had quite the opposite effect. How would she ever manage with such saintly people? Surely his father and mother must be—be extraordinary to have raised such an educated and devout family. Anna would not fit in at all. For one moment she considered taking to her room. But her mama would be so disappointed. She would expect a full description of the event when Anna returned home. No, Anna couldn’t back out now. She steeled herself for what lay ahead and followed Mrs. Angus into the crowded sanctuary.
It was a long and glorious service. Anna loved every minute of it. She intently drank in every movement, her ears cocked to every sound. She must be able to give a full account when she returned home. But even with her intensity, Anna knew that she would never be able to do justice to what she was witnessing.
At last they began to award the degrees, names in alphabetical order. There were only three young men who preceded Austin.
“Austin Tyler Barker, by the authority that is invested in me . . .” the robed man was saying, and Anna felt her heart swell with pride as she watched the young man reach out to accept the hard-earned degree. And then the gentleman in the robe added a few more words that puzzled Anna, “Magna cum laude,” he said.
Anna repeated the words over and over to herself. She wanted to be sure to remember them so that she could ask Mr. Barker. She did hope they weren’t any kind of embarrassment to the recipient. Perhaps she shouldn’t ask—maybe simply find some way to look them up for herself. The man on the platform hadn’t used the words when speaking to the other three young men who had received their diplomas.
Anna heard similar words—at least part of them—again as they continued through the graduation ceremonies. On two other occasions the gentleman in his robes said “Cum laude” as he handed a degree to another young man.
Anna could hardly stand the suspense. She longed to lean over to Mrs. Angus and ask her about the strange words. But Anna had been taught not to whisper in church, so she held herself determinedly in check.
It was Mrs. Angus herself who broke the silence. “Cum laude means with honor,” she whispered in Anna’s ear.
Anna’s eyes widened. With honor? That was very nice.
Then a new thought struck her. If “cum laude” was with honor, what was “magna cum laude”? She did hope it did not mean without honor. Oh, poor Mr. Barker if it should mean that. To have it announced right out in public for everyone to hear. What a shame! What an embarrassment!
At last they were standing, watching the robed and hooded young men make their way down the long aisles of the auditorium. She could bear it no longer. She leaned toward Mrs. Angus and whispered as softly as she could, “What does ‘magna cum laude’ mean?”
The older woman could not hear her words and Anna had to repeat them louder, her face flushing with embarrassment.
“What does ‘magna cum laude’ mean?”
“That means with great honor,” returned the lady, and Anna felt her heart leap. Her Mr. Barker was the only one in the entire graduating class to receive the greatest of honors.
Anna’s emotions pulled her this way and then that way. She was anxious to meet Austin Barker again. It had been two years since she had seen him—even though they had faithfully exchanged letters in the intervening time. Yet she was nervous about seeing him again. She had totally forgotten he was so nice looking—that is, if she had ever really noticed before. She had been far more interested in his books than she’d been in him. But as he had stood on the platform, receiving the reward for his work of four years, he had no book in his hand. Anna was forced to see the young man himself.
