Rosie held the large brown bottle up to the light and stared at it critically. Closing one eye, he evaluated the contents, then removed the top and took a sip.
“Wow! That’s right strong stuff. Here—smell it, Drake.”
Drake, who had been reading a newspaper, turned his head just as Rosie shoved the concoction under his nose. Jerking back, he gasped. “What in the world is that stuff?”
Rosie took the bottle back and admired it. “This here is Dr. Mayfield’s All-around, Cure-all, Metaphysical Tonic.”
Drake by this time was accustomed to Rosie’s experimentation with patent medicine. “Why do you waste your money on that stuff? You’re healthy as a horse!”
Rosie gave his friend a reproachful look. “Now, you know I’m not well, Drake! Why, if I didn’t take care of myself, I’d be dead before suppertime!” He took a deep breath and lifted the bottle to his lips again. His Adam’s apple moved up and down, and when he lowered the bottle his face was red. “Whew! That’s powerful medicine. Anything that tastes that bad has to be good!”
Drake went back to his newspaper. The two had been sitting on the front porch of their rooming house, watching people stroll by. It was a warm Saturday morning. They had risen early and had consumed a huge breakfast of pancakes at the boardinghouse table.
Now Rosie said lazily, “It looks like your courtship of Lori ain’t prospering too much, Drake.”
“Just give me time.”
“Well, the fact is that you probably ain’t got too much time. The way I understand it, she’s just visiting here. Won’t be here forever,” Rosie observed.
Throwing down his newspaper in disgust, Drake stared out at a family going by—a husband and wife with six children, stair-stepped down from a boy of thirteen or fourteen to a little one barely able to toddle. He watched until they passed the boarding-house and then admitted, “To tell the truth, Rosie, I never met a girl quite like her. She’s pretty straight-laced, though—goes to church all the time.”
“Well, a smart fellow like you shouldn’t have much trouble figuring out how to handle that.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, if she’s a churchgoing girl, all you have to do is go to church.”
A look of displeasure crossed Drake’s face. “I’m not much for churchgoing!” he snapped.
“I reckon that’s gospel.” Rosie grinned. “I ain’t never known of you hittin’ the glory trail. Why don’t you just give up on her? She seems to be favoring Royal Carter anyway.”
Although Rosie may only have guessed at it, he had hit on a sore spot with Drake Bedford. The young man was accustomed to quick victories over girls. His sleek good looks, his charm, and his musical ability had always made him highly sought after. It had given Drake satisfaction to whip Royal in a fistfight—but for some reason the results had not been satisfactory. He continued to pursue Lori Jenkins, but she had not been as receptive as other young ladies.
“You’re a funny fellow, Drake,” Rosie said idly. “You always want what you can’t have. I remember that horse you wanted down in Shelby County. You remember that steel gray pacer? There was plenty of horses as good as him, but the fella wouldn’t sell. So what did you do? Why, you had to move heaven and earth to get that one horse! I always did think you made a mistake.”
Guiltily Drake replied, “That was a good horse. I won quite a few races on him.”
“Aw, you never got your money back. You know that. You’re just the kind of hairpin who has to have what somebody tells him he can’t. I bet when your mama wanted you to do something like bring in the wood, she’d say, ‘Drake, don’t you bring in the wood!’ And then you’d go bring it in, just to show her you wouldn’t be told.”
“Don’t be foolish!” Actually, Drake realized, Rosie’s estimate of him was not far wrong, and he decided to change the subject.
“It looks like the fighting is heating up.” He motioned down at the newspaper. “The South looked pretty good—winning at Chancellorsville and Second Bull Run—but they don’t look so good now. After Gettysburg and then losing at Vicksburg— well, this war might not last too long.”
“Wouldn’t be too sure about that! Those folks down South are serious. They’ll fight down to the last man.” But then Rosie changed the subject. “Why don’t you and me ride into Lexington? We haven’t been there in a spell. And we’ve got a little cash.”
But Drake shook his head stubbornly. “I’ve got a few chores to do around Pineville. Maybe later, Rosie.”
Rosie squinted with one eye as if examining a specimen in a laboratory. “I can read you like a book. As a matter of fact, I ain’t no fortune-teller, but I can tell you right now what you aim to do, Drake.”
“I don’t think so!”
“You’re gonna ask that girl to go to church just like I told ya.” Rosie nodded wisely, got to his feet, and stretched hugely. “Reckon I’ll take a walk, then. I ought to be able to make a mile or two without passing out. Maybe.”
As Rosie ambled off, Drake wondered how a man as strong and healthy as A. B. Rose could be so concerned about his health. As soon as his friend was out of sight, he got to his feet and left the boardinghouse in the opposite direction.
Pineville was a small town containing no more than four or five hundred full-time residents, and the Jenkins house was only a short walk. Drake stopped in front of the two-story white frame building, looked over the white picket fence, and was pleased to see Lori on the front porch.
He opened the gate, walked up to the steps, and lifted his hat. “Good morning, Lori.” He smiled. “You’re up early for a Saturday.”
“I’ve got a lot of work to do. I have to help my aunt clean house today. No work tomorrow— Sunday, you know.”
“Yes, I know. I came by to ask you if I might take you to church.”
Drake’s words were innocent enough, but Lori gave him an odd look. “I didn’t know you went to church, Drake.”
“Whatever’s given me a bad reputation like that?” Drake knew he was looking very handsome that morning. He wore a blue shirt with buttons in cavalry style, a pair of light gray trousers, and his boots—as usual—were black and glossy and shone in the July sunlight. His crisp hair was neatly cut, and his teeth looked very white against his tanned skin. “Maybe I haven’t gone to church as much as I should, but I’d like to go tomorrow. Why don’t you take pity on me?”
Lori thought for a moment and nodded her head. “All right. My uncle and aunt would be glad to have you join us,” she said.
So he would be going with the family, not just with her. Drake had expected this, and it was fine with him. He knew he had to start somewhere. He said, “I’ll be here a little early. Give my best to your uncle and aunt.”
He turned and walked away.
Lori watched him go, thinking, It’s a shame to be so suspicious of a young man—but he’s gotten quite a bad reputation. A small smile turned up the corners of her lips. Well, it won’t hurt him to hear a sermon.
Sunday morning dawned, and Drake was at the Jenkins house by nine o’clock as he had promised. Lori welcomed him, and he sat for some time with Hamilton Jenkins, her uncle, while Mrs. Jenkins and Lori applied final touches to their costumes.
Mr. Jenkins, a tall, bluff man with a pair of direct blue eyes, ran a hardware store. If he had a low opinion of Drake, thinking him rather wild, he let none of this show. “We’re glad to have you go to church with us, Drake,” he said. “I think you’ll like the preacher.”
“I’m sure I will, Mr. Jenkins,” Drake said politely. He was wearing a light gray suit today with a snow-white shirt and a black string tie.
As he spoke, the two women entered, and he stood. “Well, we men sometimes have to wait for the ladies,” he observed with smile, “but they are worth waiting for.”
Both Lori and her Aunt Mae smiled at the compliment. Drake had a way of saying such things that made them appear not to be flattery but the simple truth.
“Why, thank you, Drake,” Lori said. She was wearing a simple white dress with blue trim at the neck and on the sleeves. The skirt fell to the tops of a pair of dark blue shoes.
Her aunt had on a more serious brown dress, and both women wore hats.
“Well, we’d best be going,” Mr. Jenkins said. His wife took his arm, and he led the way out of the house.
Lori walked alongside Drake, and soon the foursome arrived at a white frame building with a steeple that pierced the sky. It was a well-built, snug church, not large but sturdy.
Inside, Drake saw that the walnut pews were well made. They had been varnished, and they gleamed in the sunlight that poured in through the tall windows running down each side. The floor was solid pine, also highly polished.
The Jenkinses drew attention as they took seats close to the front. Drake would have preferred the back of the church, but he had no choice. Sitting down beside Lori, he felt a nudge and looked back to see an elderly lady with pure white hair offering him a hymnbook.
“Thank you, ma’am,” he said, and smiled at her.
At the front of the church was a raised platform, covered with wine-colored carpet. There was a sturdy pulpit, a table bearing a pitcher and a glass, and two chairs—one on either side of the pulpit. One chair was occupied by a heavyset man, whose face was red from a collar that seemed too tight. This was the song leader, Drake soon learned. The other was the minister, he supposed—a tall, gray-haired, dignified-looking man of about fifty.
The song leader got up. “We’ll now lift our voices in song to the Lord.”
Drake shared his songbook with Lori, which gave him an opportunity to lean closer to her. Despite Rosie’s words about his lack of church-going, he had been to revival meetings and was familiar with most of the songs, for the congregation sang such old favorites as “When I Survey the Wondrous Cross.”
Drake’s beautiful tenor rose above the rest of the congregation, almost seeming to be a solo. Admiring looks came from many in his vicinity, and when the song was over Lori whispered, “You have such a beautiful voice, Drake! I’m glad to hear you using it to praise the Lord.”
Her words made him feel a little ashamed. I shouldn’t be doing this, he thought. There are other ways to court a girl. Somehow this isn’t right.
After the song service, the leader took his seat, and the pastor stood up. His name was Brother Morgan, and he had a pleasant baritone voice. There was little nonsense about him—no stories, no jokes. At once he opened his worn black Bible and began to read from Luke, chapter 15.
Looking up from the Bible, Brother Morgan said quietly but in a firm tone, “Our subject this morning is salvation—something every man and every woman must consider. The Bible from beginning to end states that all men are lost. The book of Romans says that ‘all have sinned and come short of the glory of God.’ That same book tells us that ‘the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life.’ You all are aware that the Bible speaks of a place of eternal fire. You also have heard me say, many times, that heaven is the place where we live forever in fellowship with God.
“This morning I have chosen one of the most dramatic pictures of salvation in the entire New Testament—the story of the Prodigal Son.”
He settled himself behind the pulpit and began to tell how the young man in the story had deliberately thrown away his inheritance. He painted vivid word pictures of what it meant to go away from God.
Drake had not planned to listen and at first had been more conscious of Lori’s sitting beside him than he was of the sermon. However, he soon found himself caught up in the preacher’s message.
Brother Morgan told how the young man began to go wrong. Here he drew on his imagination and spoke of the ways that young men and women go wrong at the present time. They sometimes begin to drink and gamble and associate with low companions, he said.
Drake kept a straight face, but he thought, I think Brother Morgan’s been reading my mail. He stiffened as the message grew more pointed.
Finally the preacher described the end of the young man—he was reduced to eating with hogs.
“Sin always brings us to a sad end,” Brother Morgan said, his voice rising. “It is never unpaid for. Whatever a man sows, that must he also reap. If you sow corn, you will reap corn; if you sow wheat, you will reap wheat; and if you sow sin, you will reap sin’s result: death and hell.”
Drake could not turn off his thoughts and ignore the sermon as he had often done before. With relief, he finally sensed the conclusion coming.
“And here is this young man,” Brother Morgan said. “He’s lost everything. The Scripture says that he ‘came to himself.’ He remembered what home was like and in desperation said, ‘I will arise and go to my father, and will say to him, Father, I have sinned …’ “
Brother Morgan looked out over the congregation, and his eyes met, perhaps by accident, those of Drake. “That’s what every young man and young woman who’s gone away from God needs to do. Each one needs to say, ‘I will arise and go to my Father.’“
Drake wanted to break his eyes away, but the eyes of the preacher were locked with his.
Brother Morgan said gently, “When he returned, he saw his house far away. Then he saw his father. And the old man who had been so wronged by this boy—what did he do? He ran to meet him. The boy began to confess his wrong, but his father said, ‘No, you’re my son, who was lost and now is found.’
“Jesus Christ is God’s way of making things right between Himself and His erring sons and daughters. I invite you to look to Jesus this morning and do as this young man did—repent of your sins and arise and come to your Father.”
There was a rustling as the congregation stood to sing a hymn.
Drake felt strangely moved by the sermon—so moved in fact that his hands trembled holding the songbook, and Lori looked up at him.
The preacher was stationed at the front door as the congregation filed out, and when Drake passed by, Brother Morgan took his hand.
Drake felt the minister’s strong grip. “Fine sermon, Pastor,” he muttered.
“Thank you, my friend.” Brother Morgan held on for a moment and said so quietly that no one but Drake could have heard, “God is waiting for you, young man. Don’t pass Him by!”
Drake looked up, startled, and then ducked his head and left.
The Jenkinses insisted that he take dinner with them, and Drake availed himself of the opportunity. Afterward he sat on the front porch with the family, talking.
When Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins went into the house for a nap, Lori asked, “Did you enjoy the service, Drake?”
“Fine preacher,” Drake admitted. “Don’t know if I ever heard better.”
“Yes, I think so too.”
Then he said, “I’d like to do this again—with you, I mean.”
Lori gave him an odd look. “I think that would be fine, Drake—but it won’t be possible.”
“What do you mean? What’s wrong?”
“Oh, nothing’s wrong, but I’ll be going home to Chattanooga later this week.”
Drake felt suddenly depressed. He said lamely, “Lori, can’t you stay a little longer? We’re just getting to know each other.”
“I’d like to stay longer,” she admitted, “but my parents wrote that they need me at home right away. My sister’s ill, and I need to help take care of her.”
The rest of the visit was not happy for Drake.
When he finally rose and she put out her hand to say good-bye, he said, “I’ve never felt about a girl as I do about you, Lori.”
“Oh, you’ve said that before.”
Since this was true, Drake flushed slightly. “Well, perhaps I have,” he admitted, “but I mean it this time. I want to see you again. Will you write to me?”
“Of course, if you write me first.”
Drake wanted to kiss her good-bye, but he knew that was impossible. He picked up his hat and left the porch, then turned to wave.
She waved back, and he felt even worse.
Later that afternoon Rosie walked out onto the boardinghouse front porch, took one look at Drake, and asked, “What’s the matter with you? You look like an accident going somewhere to happen.”
“Nothing’s wrong with me!”
Rosie stretched his lanky form over one of the porch chairs. “That gal—she’s really got you going, don’t she?”
At first Drake did not answer. Then he looked at his friend. “I’ll tell you the truth, Rosie—I’m in love with her.”
He saw Rosie’s look of disbelief. Drake Bedford had courted many girls, and Rosie was aware of his record.
“Well, it won’t hurt you to suffer a little bit, I reckon,” Rosie said. “You’ve brought enough grief to a whole passel of young ladies.”
“You don’t believe me, but it’s true.” Determination came into Drake’s eyes. “Somehow I’m going to see more of her—watch and see if I don’t!”