Gift of Faith Page 6
The sound of Rory and Rogan playing drew her gaze to their yard as she neared the house. The two boys were wrestling on the grass, laughing as they half-heartedly pummeled one another.
“Gee, it’s Amy!” Rory shouted, jumping up and rushing over to her, wrapping his arms around her waist in a joyful hug.
“Hiya, Amy!” Rogan said, delivering a hug every bit as enthusiastic as his brother’s had been.
“What’s in the basket?” Rory asked, reaching for the cloth covering the cookies.
“Why don’t you two take that inside the kitchen?” Amy suggested, giving the basket to Rory and following as he and Rogan charged up the steps and threw open the front door.
“Mom! Amy’s here! Amy came to see us!” Rogan yelled as the boys raced through the front room toward the back of the house.
Sarah appeared in the hallway from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. Tears glistened in her eyes as she greeted Amy with open arms. Amy ran straight into them, thinking there was nothing quite as comforting as a mother’s hug, even if the mother belonged to someone else.
“How are you, darling?” Sarah asked when she released Amy and stepped back. She brushed a stray lock of hair behind Amy’s ear and smiled. “Would you care for a cup of tea?”
“Oh, please don’t go to any bother. I just wanted to stop by for a minute and see how you all are doing.”
“As well as can be expected. I think Kade has taken the news the hardest, but he… well, he refuses to accept the truth.” Sarah sniffled and dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief she drew from her apron pocket. From its limp appearance it wasn’t the first time that day it had absorbed her tears.
“I’m so sorry I didn’t come sooner. I was…unable.”
Sarah patted her hand and motioned for her to take a seat on the sofa. “Your father stopped by Tuesday evening and told us what happened. I know you must be livid with Myrtle, but as a mother I can understand her reasoning. I’d do anything to save my children from suffering pain.” Her voice caught and she pressed the hankie against her mouth as she looked away.
“It’s okay, Mrs. Rawlings. I understand why Mother did what she did, even if she had no right to do it.”
“You’re a good girl, Amy,” Sarah said, squeezing her hands then tipping her head in the direction of the kitchen. “It was sweet of you to bring the boys a treat. They’ve gone nearly daffy over those new chocolate cookies you’ve been carrying in the shop.”
“They’ve gotten quite popular,” Amy said, then glanced around, trying to think of something to say.
“We’re still waiting for more news about Marc. Brett wants to wait to plan a memorial service until we have more details. We still don’t even know if they’ll transport his body home or…” Her voice drifted off as she dabbed at more tears.
Amy drew in a deep breath then clasped the woman’s hand between hers. “I don’t think he’s gone, Mrs. Rawlings. In my heart, I still feel Marc is alive. He’s somewhere out there, counting on us to continue praying for him, to keep believing in him, to have faith that he’ll be back just like he promised.”
Sarah shook her head. “No. I can’t let myself hope. It’s too hard to have hope and then lose it, to have your faith uselessly squandered on something that will never come true.”
“But, Mrs. Rawlings, I’m sure that…”
The woman stood with the first harsh, cold look Amy had ever seen on her face. “I absolutely cannot allow myself to get my hopes up, Amy. And I won’t let the boys be misled, either. You know you are always welcome in our home, but do not ever speak of Marc being alive again.”
With that, Sarah turned and rushed from the room.
Amy released the breath she’d been holding and quietly let herself outside. She was almost to the end of the street when a car slowed and a window rolled down beside her.
“Hey, Amy. It’s good to see you out and about.”
She stopped and smiled at Kade Rawlings. “It’s good to be out, sir.”
“Were you visiting Sarah and the boys?”
Amy nodded. “I brought Rogan and Rory some of the cookies they like so well.”
Kade grinned. “I better hurry before they eat them all.”
“Yes, sir. Have a pleasant evening and give Mrs. Rawlings my regards.” She turned and began to walk away with hurried steps.
“Wait, Amy!” She stopped again as the judge opened the door and got out of his car.
“Yes, sir?” she asked as he approached her.
“I want to ask you a question and I expect you to give me an honest answer.”
The encounter with Sarah was still fresh and hurtful, so Amy hesitated to agree, but she nodded her head.
“Do you really and truly believe Marc is gone?”
Rather than blurt out her answer, she took a moment to study the older gent who looked so much like the man she loved. Easily, she could picture Kade Rawlings as one of the legendary deputies who enforced the law when Pendleton was a rather wild western town. There was a look in his eyes, one that mirrored what she knew shone in her own. Hope and faith mingled there, refusing to let go.
“Marc is not gone. He promised to come home, and he’ll come home.” Relief swept over her when Kade grinned.
“That’s what I hoped you’d say. Poor Sarah refuses to even consider the possibility the telegram was a mistake, but as sure as we’re standing here, I’m convinced that boy is alive even if we have no idea where he might be. You might not have had time to notice, but the telegram referred to him as Private M. Rawlings. Unless our boy got demoted, which I can’t imagine, he was a corporal last I heard. Private M. Rawlings could be anyone. I’ve made phone calls to everyone I know trying to get information about Marc’s whereabouts.” Kade patted her on the arm. “Despite what others say, I think you and I should make a pact to keep our faith in Marc and not let it waver. What do you think? Are you willing to do that?”
“Yes, sir!” Excited to find someone else, someone besides her father who encouraged her to not give up hope, she hugged the judge.
He chuckled when she stepped back. “Now, anytime you need a boost, you come see me and I’ll tell you a story about my grandson. I know him as well as anyone and I reckon you do, too, seeing as how he’s set to marry you the minute he gets back.”
“Thank you, Judge Rawlings. And if you need any encouragement, please come to the bakery. I’ll give you one of the cookies the boys are so fond of and share a few stories from Marc’s letters.”
“It’s a deal,” he said, holding out his hand to her. She shook it, feeling more lighthearted than she had for a while. “You need a ride home?” he asked when she moved back a few steps.
“Thank you, but I’ll be fine. I love this time of year when it’s so pretty outside with the changing colors.”
“Enjoy it while it lasts, Amy. Tell your folks hello for me.” Kade got back in his car and waved before he turned it around in the street and drove back to check on his daughter-in-law.
A week later, Amy was working with her mother in the kitchen. Her father had gone to the depot to pick up a shipment of supplies after they’d closed the bakery for the afternoon at four. Amy was busy peeling potatoes for their dinner while her mother cut up a chicken to fry. She glanced over at her mother, tired of the tense silence that stretched between them. It was time to settle matters and move on.
“Who’s Clarence?” she asked, turning to face her mother.
Myrtle’s knife stopped, poised above the chicken leg she’d been about to cut, and she looked at Amy with wide eyes.
“Who’s Clarence?” Amy repeated. “Dad said to ask you about Clarence.”
Myrtle began cutting the chicken with a fury, tossing the pieces into a shallow pie tin.
“Mom?” Amy wondered if her mother would continue to ignore her or say something. When the chicken was cut up and the pieces coated in flour and spices, her mother washed her hands, made two cups of tea, and motioned for Amy to join her at the table.
“There are times when I really should fasten your father’s lips together with glue.” Myrtle took a sip of her tea then glanced at Amy.
“If Dad spoke out of turn and you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine,” Amy said, standing at the table, thinking it probably best if they just returned to the stiff silence that had lingered between them for far too long.
“No. I’ll tell you, but it’s not something I like to talk about.” Myrtle helped herself to a broken sugar cookie from the plate on the table.
Amy sank onto a chair across from her mother, picked up the tea, took a sip, and waited.
Her mother cleared her throat, drank more tea, then finally looked at Amy. “When I was seventeen, I fell in love with a boy named Clarence Anderson. He was a sweet boy, shy, full of dreams and plans. A week shy of my eighteenth birthday, he asked me to marry him and I said yes. Determined to set aside money to buy a small farm before we wed, he set off to make his fortune. We lived in Pennsylvania then, you know.”
Amy nodded, not wanting to disrupt the story. Her parents rarely spoke of life before they moved to Pendleton and opened the bakery back before Helen was born. She knew her mother’s parents had been better off than many, making their money in an investment business. Her father’s family had been bakers, though. It’s where he learned the business and then taught it to her mother.
“Clarence decided to find a high-paying job and promised to return when he’d made enough to buy a farm. I begged him not to go, but men will do what they want regardless of what we say. He ended up working in a mine in West Virginia. He wasn’t making any better money than he would have made at home with me. In fact, my father had offered to hire him, but he refused. Then one day, his sister knocked on our door to tell me there had been a horrible explosion at the mine and they weren’t sure whether he was alive or dead. More than three hundred men were in the mine when it exploded. It took a long time for them to bring up the bodies. Reports trickled out that there were men still alive, waiting to be rescued. For long, tortuous days I waited, hoping and praying Clarence survived. He didn’t, but I’ll never forget the waiting. It was horrible and seemed never-ending.”
Myrtle sniffled and dabbed at the tears Amy hadn’t even noticed were running down her mother’s cheeks.
“I’m sorry, Mom.”
“I know, honey. And I’m sorry for what I did. I just wanted to spare you that awful waiting. I thought if you could sleep and rest until the letter arrived confirming the details, it wouldn’t be so bad, but the letter still hasn’t arrived, or at least it hadn’t the last time your father spoke to Brett. With the military mail such as it is, who knows when or if it will ever get here.” Myrtle cupped Amy’s cheek. “I truly am sorry, Amy. I had no right to give you that medication, to make you unaware of your surroundings. It was wrong of me to do it, but I really did just want to keep you from experiencing that same pain I endured.”
“Oh, Mom.” Amy hurried around the table to give her mother a hug. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that so young.”
“And I’m sorry I’ve been so ornery with you about Marc. He’s a fine, brave young man and if you truly believe he’ll come home, then I won’t say another word about it.” Myrtle brushed at the tears on her face with her ever-present hankie.
“Thank you, Mom.” Amy kissed her cheek then returned to her chair. “I’m going to go on with life as I was before the telegram arrived. Until someone can prove without a single doubt that Marc has passed, I refuse to believe it. I have faith he’ll return to us when he’s able.”
Chapter Eight
November 26, 1942
Dear Marc,
Your grandfather insisted we join your family for Thanksgiving today. Of course, with all of your extended family, the only place large enough to seat everyone is your grandmother’s restaurant. My dad and yours spent quite a bit of time talking about how they’d handle the battle plans in Europe. Most everyone was quiet, subdued, our thoughts on the war and you. However, the twins added a bit of excitement to the gathering. Rory and Rogan convinced several of your younger cousins to perform in a play they directed about the first Thanksgiving.
Needless to say, the production was quite exciting and ended with your rascally brothers setting off a pan full of firecrackers in the kitchen. Your grandmother shouted at them in Italian while your aunt Rachel threatened to ban them for the rest of their lives from ever setting foot in the restaurant again…
November 28, 1942
My darling Marine,
I took Rory and Rogan with me out to Sage Hills Ranch. Baby Hope seems to grow and change so much each time I see her. She smiled at me today and looked adorable in a little pink gown her mother painstakingly created for her.
While I was in the house with Delaney and Dill, and Klayne was working in the equipment shed with Butch and Duffy, Ryatt and your brothers decided to build their own airplane. They somehow managed to cobble together an apple crate attached to two kites with mismatched wheels on the bottom of the crate for landing gear.
The only reason those three boys are alive at the moment is because Klayne thought they’d grown awfully quiet and went to check on them. He found them in the loft of the barn. Rory was in the crate with Rogan and Ryatt ready to push him out to see if the plane would fly. Can you imagine? Your little brothers get into enough trouble without any outside influences, but them together with Ry is a recipe for disaster…
December 1, 1942
Dearest Marc,
I know I just sent you a letter, but I had to share what your brothers did when they got home from school today.
They stopped here on their way home and got a few cookies, then said your sister was hoping I’d come by later to share a dress pattern with her. I sent them on their way, finished with our afternoon customers, then headed toward your house with the dress pattern.
About halfway there, a big, gangly dog loped down the middle of the street toward me wearing what looked like Ruby’s favorite red sweater. Not far behind the dog were Rory and Rogan, hollering for it to come back as they tried to catch up to the dog. When I heard Ruby yelling for the boys to get back to the house so she could box their ears and threatening all manner of punishments, I knew the sweater was, in fact, hers.
Apparently, the dog is a stray the twins have been feeding on the sly. They decided he looked cold and wanted to warm him up. Somehow, they managed to stuff the animal’s front legs through the sleeves of the sweater then buttoned him into it.
It was quite a comical sight, even if I could sympathize with poor Ruby over the loss of her lovely sweater. It’s a wonder your sister has any clothes, or hair ribbons at all with Rory and Rogan around.
By the way, your family is now the proud (or reluctant, depending on who you ask) owner of a long-legged, mottled, slobbery mutt named Barkley.
As I finish writing this note, I’m curled up on my window seat, looking outside at a bright star, thinking of you out there, somewhere, sitting underneath the same big sky, thinking of me, too. I love you so much, my darling. Know you are always in my thoughts and ever in my prayers.
Forever yours,
Amy
December 3, 1942
To the most handsome Marine in the service,
(Yes, Marc, that’s you.)
I’ve been staring at the photo you sent to me way back in June. Have I ever told you how mesmerizing your eyes are? Well, it’s true. You can perfectly dazzle a girl just by casting those incredible opticals her direction.
I shouldn’t tell you, but my knees feel as weak as yesterday’s leftover pudding when you look at me like you’re thinking about kissing me (which I would most assuredly welcome). Between your thick, dark lashes and those incredible green peepers, you really can leave a girl in quite a trance.
But enough of that.
I thought you might like to know some of the happenings around town. The soldier recreation hall recently opened and was in need of a piano so guess who donated one? Your
Aunt Ilsa. It was so kind of her to do that and I’m sure the soldiers appreciate it.
The town is gearing up for a scrap drive. The McBride family has offered to have their café as a collection point. Rory and Rogan, along with Ryatt and Grady Hill have vowed to collect the most scrap and win the grand prize of a box of chocolate bars.
Oh, and apparently there are five hundred sheep lost in the mountains. One of the sheep ranchers waited until the weather turned bad to go collect his sheep from the summer pasture. A storm rolled in before he got them off the mountain and when he counted, five hundred of them were missing. Everyone has been asked, through an advertisement in the newspaper, to keep an eye out for them. Maybe he needs to find Little Bo Peep to help round up his sheep.
The high school’s annual Christmas program is set for next week. Do you remember the year Santa’s pants fell off? That was a memorable Christmas performance for certain. Poor Mr. Arbuckle refused to ever play Santa again. It was probably for the best anyway. Santa ought to be round and jolly, not so skinny he can’t keep his britches up.
Speaking of Santa, I’m not sure he’ll be stopping at the Rawlings home this year. Your little brothers have been unable to stay out of trouble. Several people are speculating how your parents and Ruby will survive when the boys are home for a week when school is out for the Christmas holiday. At least in the summer there are lots of places they can run off their excess energy.
Last night, I was over at the house, dropping off a batch of holiday sweet breads Mom wanted your family to try. She’s convinced the recipe is lacking something but wanted their opinions. I’d just started up the porch steps with the bread when I heard your dad yell from the carport. I ran around the corner of the house to see him picking himself up off the ground. When he took a step forward, his feet slid out from under him and he crashed into the car. He did that twice more before he gave up trying to walk and crawled out of the carport on his hands and knees then very cautiously got to his feet. As soon as he could walk, he bellowed for the boys. Two little faces peeked around the back corner of the carport, looking decidedly afraid of the trouble they were in, and with good reason. Your dad got quite a shiner from the collision with the car door the first time he fell. Your gramps thought it was hilarious, but Sarah told him not to laugh in front of the boys.