CHAPTER 45

The Cotton Household

“Grandpa,” a little voice sounded in the room. “What happened to Grandma? We haven’t heard about her in long time.”

“Well, Grandson, I haven’t talked about your grandmother much because she went through a very hard time, and sometimes this story makes her sad.”

There was a sudden hush in the room, and everyone felt quite subdued.

“Mary,” Bill began, “shall I tell the children your story?”

Mary looked up from her knitting. She smiled and then turned back to her labors. “I suppose,” she said. “It might be helpful to someone else.”

Bill remained silent as his lovely bride worked her needles. Mary stopped her labors and glanced around the room. Her eyes finally met Bill’s, and though not a word was spoken, she returned to her knitting with a smile on her lips.

“Well, children!” Bill said. “Your grandmother and great-grandmother were in a terrible predicament. Strange men had broken into their shop and …”

In the darkness of their room, Mary clung to her mother. They could hear the staircase groan under the weight of their intruder. Dolly scanned the room. “Quick!” she hissed. “Slide the bed against the door.”

Though Mary had been paralyzed by fear, her mother’s sure movements gave her a sense of direction. She stepped to the foot of the bed and pushed. Nothing happened.

Dolly had better fortune. She had positioned herself at the heavy headboard. Throwing her considerable weight into the project, Mary not only heard but felt the heavy bed begin to move.

The footsteps on the stairway stopped and then began to race up the stairs.

“Push, Mary!” Dolly hissed.

Frantically, Mary did push. With a lurch, the bed slid noisily across the floor and bumped into the door. At that moment the latch on the door lifted, and the door opened, but only an inch or two.

“Scream!” Dolly cried. “Scream for all you are worth! If there’s a man left in this town that is worth his salt, you’ll get his attention.” She grabbed the heavy brass pitcher from the wash stand. “If it’s a fight they want, it’s a fight they are going to get,” she said, setting her jaw.

Mary trembled as she slid open the bedroom window. “Help!” she cried into the empty street below.

“Scream!” Dolly shouted as she clambered up onto the bed, the brass pitcher firmly in her hand. “Again!” she yelled.

The thick door began to splinter under the intruder’s heavy blows. With a sudden crash, the upper half of the door gave way. A dark shadow filled the doorway. Mary’s nightmare had come to life. Terror swept over the poor girl, and she screamed. Mary’s scream so shocked the intruder, Dolly, and Mary that all three stood stock-still—but only for a moment.

The intruder broke the spell and began to push through the splintered door, widening his path. Mary screamed again and again. Dolly raised the brass pitcher over her head. When the intruder’s head cleared the doorway, Dolly swung the pitcher down as hard as she could. There was the sound of a loud crack, and the man collapsed at her feet.

Between Mary’s screams, Dolly could hear men shouting from the street below. “It’s the Trumbell place!”

Dolly stood over her victim and shouted, “Mary, help me get his sword!” She tugged desperately at the blade that was pinned beneath the man’s body.

Dolly could hear the clash of steel in the rooms below as the garrison finally confronted Dolly’s midnight marauders. Dolly continued her struggle until finally she freed the intruder’s blade, and there she stood on Mary’s bed, brandishing the sword and daring anyone to enter the room.

The sights and sounds were too much for Mary. Her screaming suddenly stopped, and she slumped to the floor.

“It’s a sweet little boy, Mary,” Dolly said gently.

Mary lay still as tears ran freely down her cheeks. “Mama,” she said, breathing deeply, “may I see him?”

Dolly held up a tiny bundle. A squirming red body was lovingly wrapped in the corner of a quilt. Suddenly a little leg popped out, and a tiny voice began to howl.

Mary’s heart melted. “Oh!” she cried. “May I hold him?” Her arms reached instinctively for the bundle.

“Yes, darling.” Dolly sighed, easing the babe to his mother’s breast. “That’s what he’s wanting,” she said.

Within moments, wailing was replaced by sighs.

“Oh, Mama, he’s perfect!” Mary breathed. The tiny babe opened his eyes and stared at his mother. “Oh, you are a darling,” she whispered.

Dolly sat on the edge of the bed. Tightness pulled at her chest, and pain shot down her left leg. Her arms ached, and she felt nauseous. “The night’s been too long,” she thought to herself.

The pain in her chest eased, and she watched Mary cluck and coo to the bundle in her arms. Dolly had never seen her daughter so content. “He is perfect,” she said. “Do you have a name for him?”

“William Trumbell Cotton,” Mary said without looking up.

Dolly caught her breath and grimaced as another “spell” struck and then passed, but she said nothing. She didn’t want to spoil this precious moment for her daughter.

After several days, Dolly was still exhausted. She couldn’t seem to catch her breath, but Mary didn’t appear to notice. She was completely absorbed with young Master William.

No! Dolly told herself. I won’t mention my troubles. Young William’s fever is enough for Mary to worry about. Dolly lifted a pail of cool water and tiptoed into the room, hoping not to disturb the baby.

Mary looked up. “Mother, I wish Dr. Ganton hadn’t left with the army. I don’t think William is getting any better.”

Mary failed to see the lines etched on Dolly’s face. Suddenly the older woman gasped and grabbed for a chair. Water spilled as the pail hit the floor.

“Mother!” Mary cried, leaping to her mother’s side. “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t … get … my breath!” Dolly panted. Her face was drawn and gray. “I can’t …” And then all was silent.

“Mother!”

Some days later, a young man by the name of Walley heard screams from the abandoned side of town, and he went to investigate. Under one of the huge cottonwood trees that lined Orchard Creek Avenue, he noticed a woman lying facedown in the dirt. He watched for quite some time as she pounded the ground with her fists and screamed in anger at God. Finally the young woman’s hysteria slowed to deep, retching convulsions. “Ma’am,” the lad whispered, stepping closer. “Ma’am!”

Mary lifted her head. Her face was puffy from crying, and dark circles surrounded her eyes. She saw the boy but turned away, trying to ignore him.

“Ma’am!” the boy tried again, a little frightened. “Can I get someone to help you?” he asked.

“No one can help me!” Mary screamed.

Walley stepped back quickly. “Is something wrong?” he asked, not knowing what to say.

“I can’t go home,” Mary cried, vaguely waving her hand in the air.

“Why?” Walley asked.

“Everyone is dead!” Mary wailed. She had finally admitted it. Her mother had died carrying water to her room, and fever had taken the life from her baby boy. Mary had covered her mother where she’d fallen on the floor, and baby William was carefully wrapped in a blanket lying on her bed. She turned on Walley as if it was his fault and screamed, “Go away! Leave me alone!”

The boy backed away slowly, and the woman took no more notice of him. Reaching an intersection of streets in town, Walley stood indecisively for a few moments. Suddenly he said, “I know. I’ll get Captain Armonson.” With that, he turned and raced toward the garrison.

Captain Armonson of the Capri garrison did come and help Mary back to her home. In the hours that followed, men came to remove the bodies of her mother and her son, carrying them to the cemetery where they were given a proper burial.

The third day after Mary met Captain Armonson, she was beginning to adjust to her new life. That evening when Armonson came to call again, he asked her, “Are you sure you will be all right?”

Mary was in her own kitchen. She felt more composed than she had in days. “I’m sure,” she said, but her heart quelled at the thought of being alone. She watched Captain Armonson from behind the dark veil she wore. He was so much like Bill. “Captain,” she said, “you have been so kind. Thank you so much for all you have done.”

“You have suffered a great tragedy, Mrs. Cotton,” Armonson said. “Should I send a man around once in a while to see how you are doing?”

Mary glanced at the boy beside Captain Armonson. She had begun to enjoy the lad who had found her wallowing in pity some days before. “No, Captain,” she said. “Just send Walley when you can.”

The young boy’s eyes sparkled, and he grinned from ear to ear. “I can carry water or dig potatoes or whatever, Mrs. Cotton,” he said, bubbling with excitement.

Mary nodded at Captain Armonson. “We’ll manage nicely,” she said, rising from her chair. “You have more important duties than to tend a troublesome woman like me.”

Captain Armonson smiled. “No trouble, ma’am. I’ll send Walley by every morning to check on you.”

With that, both Walley and Captain Armonson left the house, and Mary was alone.

Just two days later, Mary was scraping the last of the flour from her crock and sifting it into a mixing bowl. Walley would be here soon, and she didn’t want to be late.

Mary had grown quite fond of Walley. Each morning he arrived with a large pail of water and something else besides. Sometimes it was an armload of potatoes from a neighbor’s garden, or maybe a load of wood from a deserted back porch. Though he was looting her neighbors’ deserted gardens, Mary didn’t know how she would have survived without him. His visits broke the lonely ritual she observed each day.

She poured thin batter on a hot griddle. “Pancakes for us both,” she mused. As she waited to flip the first cakes, she searched her larder for the last pat of butter. “We’ll have a party today, for I don’t know what we’ll eat tomorrow—unless Walley steals more potatoes.” Inwardly she hoped the lad would find something. She had come to depend on him so much.

Suddenly she heard someone calling, “Mrs. Cotton!” The voice was coming from her front door, so Mary hurried through the house.

Opening the door, she discovered Walley, laden with not only a large pail of water but many fine potatoes as well.

“Walley!” she exclaimed. “Where did you find such nice potatoes?”

“They are from the garrison larder, ma’am,” he said.

“Walley!” she gasped. “How could you?”

“Captain Armonson sent them,” Walley explained. “Rations are low everywhere, and he thought you might need them.”

Mary relaxed. “Thank heavens,” she sighed. “You must thank him for me.”

Walley grinned, and then he produced something else. “I found this too,” he said, pulling a large black book from under his shirt.

“A book?” Mary asked. “Where did you find this?”

Walley squirmed a bit uncomfortably. “In the church.”

“Walley!” Mary exclaimed. “You wouldn’t steal from a church, would you?”

“I didn’t steal it,” Walley countered. “I only borrowed it so you could read to me. I’ll take it back, I promise.”

Mary felt a deep revulsion. She wanted nothing to do with God. God had allowed her husband to leave with the army. He had let her mother die, and He’d taken their precious baby away from her. She certainly didn’t want to read about God, but the prospect of another lonely day loomed large before her.

“All right,” she said reluctantly. “Only, let’s celebrate with hotcakes just now. Who knows what tomorrow will bring?”

After cleaning the breakfast dishes, and since it promised to be a lovely day, Mary and Walley settled on the front steps of the shop to read. Mary marveled at the lad beside her. Though it was obvious that he couldn’t read, Walley understood every word. Frequently he would ask her to reread certain passages, for he didn’t want to miss a single thought.

I just wish Walley could read this for himself, Mary thought.

As the days slid by, Mary began to discover that reading to Walley not only filled many lonely hours but it brought healing to her own heart as well.

Armed with Walley’s careful mental notes, Mary began to enjoy the Bible’s unfolding drama. She discovered the patriarchs and Psalmist felt many of the same fears and frustrations she did. But while they found their strength in God, she began to realize that she didn’t even know Him.

But Mary was content. Walley provided everything she needed. Each morning he arrived with food, water, and other supplies. She had no idea where things came from, and she soon stopped asking. Walley’s companionship gave her ample reason to get up and face each new day.

One day, Mary paused while reading. Tears filled her eyes, but she didn’t want to cry because she knew Walley would ask questions.

The Bible lay open on her lap, but her heart was in turmoil. She had just finished reading of the crucifixion of Jesus Christ. She could not imagine people being so cruel. Why would anyone kill a man so blameless and good? she wondered.

Walley’s voice shattered her thoughts. “You must understand this better than anyone.”

Bewildered, Mary shook her head. “Why would you say that, Walley?”

“God’s only Son died, just like yours,” Walley said seriously.

The truth of Walley’s words struck home. God had lost His only Son, and so had she. There were differences, of course. Jesus had been brutally murdered by the very people he had come to save. Her son, on the other hand, had died of a fever. If only she had known what to do or where to take her baby, he might still be with her. Mary felt so guilty. I loved William so much, she thought. When I lost him, I thought it was God’s fault.

Tears rolled down Mary’s cheeks. Would I have killed Jesus? She hated to admit it, but she had been so angry at God when baby William had died that she probably would have driven the nails in Jesus’s hands if she could have.

“You know,” Walley said quietly, “Jesus is kind of like my dad.”

“How?” Mary asked meekly. This child was teaching her, whether he knew it or not.

“Dad loved Amity so much that he was willing to lay down his life for her,” he said.

“Walley,” Mary said, puzzled, “I don’t see how that fits in with this story.”

“Jesus loved you and me so much that He was willing to die for us!” Walley stated.

Mary was troubled. She felt silly asking a child questions, but she needed to know. “Walley,” she said, “I know the Bible says that Jesus died to take man’s sin away, but if He did remove sin, why is evil still in the world, and why do we have to suffer?”

Walley looked at her with keen, clear eyes. “Miss Mary,” he began, “the crucible is for silver and the furnace for gold, but trials come to test our hearts.”

Mary frowned, and Walley continued, “We know ore is thrown into a furnace to melt the gold trapped within. Once melted, the gold runs into a pan and is given to the goldsmith to make beautiful things, like a crown or a setting for a jewel. The stone from which the gold came is worth nothing and is discarded.

“Trials come into our lives to prove what kind of people we are. Just as a lump of ore is thrown into the fire, so a sinful world hurls difficulties and hardship our way. Those trials will bring out the good that is inside while exposing the bad for what it is and eventually throwing it away. Trials reveal that some people have really good hearts, while others are cold as stone.”

“But how does one know whether a heart is good or bad?” Mary asked.

“God always knows the good from the bad,” Walley said, “but there are things that are obvious to everyone. A good heart is kind, generous, and open to sharing God’s love. And as a special blessing, the Lord grants His peace to all who trust in Him.”

“And they won’t have any more problems?” Mary asked.

“I didn’t say that!” Walley countered. “And neither did Jesus. Remember, He said, ‘In this world you will have tribulation, but be of good cheer, for I have overcome the world.’”

Mary could remember reading those words, but she hadn’t understood them then, nor did she now.

Walley went on. “Jesus wants everyone to experience a place of peace, a refuge, like Stonewall—a safe place to go, regardless of what is happening in your life.”

“Where is this refuge, Walley?” Mary asked. Her heart longed for such a place, but she had no knowledge of such a retreat nearby.

“Peace is found in the person of Jesus Christ, Miss Mary.” Walley’s voice was confident.

Mary wanted to believe, but how could she? “Walley, how can Jesus give me this peace? Didn’t He die for our sins?”

“He died, yes, but He was raised to life on the third day, and now He sits at the right hand of God the Father,” Walley said. “He wants you to abide in Him that He might live through you. That is where you find true peace: not in the absence of trouble but in the presence of the Lord!”

Mary felt desperate. “Walley, I don’t know Him. I don’t know how to reach Him.”

“Believe in the Lord Jesus, and you will be saved,” Walley quoted. “Miss Mary,” he said, searching her eyes, “do you believe Jesus is the Son of God?”

“I have no reason not to,” Mary said. “It says so in this book.” Her fingers reverently touched the book in her lap.

“Do you believe you are a sinner in need of a savior?” Walley asked.

“Walley!” Mary blushed, color rising in her cheeks. She could not look him in the eyes. “I …” She paused. “I guess I’m not perfect.”

Walley smiled, but his eyes fell. “Miss Mary, do you realize you can’t reach the Father or that blessed place of peace without help from a stronger guiding hand?”

Pride suddenly welled up in Mary’s soul. How dare this young boy tell her what she could and could not do! Though she did not speak, her face stiffened with determination, and when her eyes met his, they were cold and hard.

Walley’s enthusiasm faded. “Miss Mary,” he whispered, “we choose where we live.”

“What do you mean?” Mary’s voice was brittle, and it sounded harsh within the confines of the room. She was sorry. She didn’t mean to be angry.

“Every day we choose whether we will live inside or outside the Lord’s peace and protection. I chose to stay in Capri rather than follow Aunt Hilda to Waterfront,” Walley said.

Mary remained silent, but her mind was busy. Life hadn’t given her a choice. Or had it? She thought of all the people who had offered to take her east. She had stubbornly refused every offer. At the time, she had thought she knew what was best, but now she was alone. She had no husband, no mother, and no baby. Her dreams had vanished. All she had was a skinny kid who was rapidly turning into a preacher!

Mary’s voice broke the silence. “Walley, I’m stuck here. There is no other place I can go.”

“Do you mean here in Capri?” Walley asked, his head tipped to one side.

Mary nodded.

“We’re not stuck!” Walley grinned. “The road is still open. We can flee to Stonewall tonight. I’ll go with you.”

Mary felt her heart skip a beat. Who was this child, anyway? “But Walley,” she protested, “what will I do with my things?”

“Leave them!” he said. “Pack a few clothes, and let’s go!”

A daring urge swept over Mary. Should she try it? “Maybe,” she said aloud, but even as she spoke, common sense began to wash over her. “Walley, I can’t just leave all my things. Besides, I don’t know anyone at Stonewall.”

“I’ll bet there are a lot of people you know who are already there,” Walley stated.

The gentle Ella Walton came to Mary’s mind. How she longed to see Ella again.

Walley sensed her indecision. “The longer we wait, the harder the journey may become. Master Devia may close the road before long. His influence grows stronger within the barracks and what is left of the city.”

Mary shivered. “But Master Devia is from Amity! He would not bring trouble upon his own people as Jabin would have done.”

“I don’t know,” Walley said uncomfortably. “The things I hear don’t sound too good. I really don’t want to find myself in his camp.”

“Walley,” Mary said. “You don’t sound like yourself!” She had heard reports of men on the march, bringing peace to Amity. If the last report she had heard was true, they were near Capri. Besides, Captain Armonson knew of their approach. He had hoped they would bring more food to what was left of Capri.

Mary began to dream. If there was a large army coming, wasn’t it likely that Bill would be among them? That thought filled her with the deepest longing. “No, Walley,” she said firmly. “I cannot leave Capri tonight.”

Though his face fell, Walley put on a brave smile as he rose to leave. “Very well,” he said, “but you must remember that no matter what happens, you can choose to live in the peace and presence of the Lord. The key is faith. Reach out to Him in faith, and the Lord will grant you His peace and rest.”

Mary could sense Walley’s disappointment, and she hated that she had caused it. She rose and followed the boy to the front door. “Thank you, Walley.” She felt as if something very important was slipping away from her. “Walley?” she called after him. “Will you be by in the morning?”

“I will if I can,” he answered.

Mary was troubled by Walley’s parting words. After locking the door, she turned weary steps toward the stairs and climbed to her bedroom, knowing she would long consider the words spoken this day.