Chapter 20
Almeda Confides

What’s the matter, Almeda?” I asked. My first thought was that something I’d said had hurt her feelings.

“I’m sorry, Corrie,” she said, looking over at me. I’d never seen such an expression on her face. To me, Almeda had always been so strong, so in control, so much older and more mature than I. For three or four years she had been the one I had looked to for help and advice. I guess before that moment it had never crossed my mind that she had inner struggles too. But that look on her face, with tears silently running down her cheeks, was a look of confusion and uncertainty and pain—a look I had never expected to see from Almeda!

I reached over and took her hand.

The gesture made her cry even more for a minute, but I kept my hand on hers, and she held on to mine tightly. Finally she reached inside her pocket for a handkerchief, then blew her nose and tried to take a deep breath.

“I’ve been struggling with this for several days,” she finally said, “ever since coming back from Sacramento and getting sick. I suppose I’ve needed someone to talk to. But I haven’t even been able to bring it up to your father yet, because I haven’t known how to put into words all that I was feeling.”

“What is it?” I said. “Is there something wrong between you and Pa?”

“Oh, no. Nothing like that. Although it certainly has to do with your father.” She paused, took another breath, then took my hand in both of hers again.

“I’ve always been a pretty independent sort of woman, Corrie,” she said. “Just the other day, when I was sick, I heard your father saying to the doctor that I was the kind of woman who was used to doing what I liked. When the thought of going to Sacramento came to my head, just like your father said, I didn’t ask him, I just said I was going and that was that—I went. Perhaps getting sick, and hearing those words of Drummond’s, and realizing that my impetuousness could have cost our baby’s life—all that set me to thinking about some things I hadn’t ever thought of in quite the same light before. And last week, as I lay in bed recovering, I spent a lot of time in prayer. And I must tell you, I’m having to take a new look at some things in myself. It’s not an altogether pleasant experience!”

She paused for a moment, dabbed at her eyes, then went on.

“Ever since I was a child I’ve had a determined streak. And that’s not necessarily a bad thing. My past was anything but a spiritual one. I did not begin walking with God until I was in my mid-twenties, and before that I was a much different person than the one you have known. I did much that I am not proud of. And when I discovered who my heavenly Father was, and realized that he loved me and desired something more for me than what I was, I set my heart and mind to give myself to him completely. As a Christian, my inner determination has been a good thing. I have wanted to settle for nothing less than God’s fullest and best for me. I have determined to give my all to him, in every aspect of my being, to let him re-make me into what he wants me to be, rather than just settling for what I have always been. And thus, I really am a different person than I was fifteen years ago. He has created in me a new heart, a new mind. And I am thankful that he gave me the determination to seek him with my whole being. Some people do not have that hunger, that earnest desire to give their all to God. But he gave me that hunger, and I am glad.

“After Mr. Parrish died, I’d have never made it in business in Miracle Springs without being what your Pa calls ‘a mighty determined lady.’ I had to fight for what I wanted to do, and prove myself to people, mostly to the men of this community. It’s just like what we have talked about before, Corrie—fighting for what you believe in. God puts that fight, that determination into women’s hearts too, not just men’s. He fills women with dreams and desires and ambitions and things they want to do and achieve, and I really believe that God wants determined daughters as well as determined sons, willing to believe in things strongly enough to go after them. Like your writing. I think God is filling you not only with the desire to write, but the determination to fight for it, even when it might mean occasionally standing up to Mr. Kemble and speaking your mind.

“But on the other hand, there’s a danger women face that men don’t. Sometimes a single woman, who has only herself to depend on, can get too independent and lose sight of what it means to live in partnership with someone else. After I lost my first husband, I got accustomed to doing things for myself, in my own way, without asking anyone’s permission or what anyone thought. I had to, I suppose.

“But when your father and I were married, I continued thinking pretty much the same way, even though I was a wife again. I didn’t really stop to consider that maybe now I had to alter my outlook. I still thought of my life as mine to live as I saw fit. Once when we were talking about your future, I told you that I was the kind of woman who believed in exploring all the possibilities for yourself that you could. When your father suggested shutting down Parrish Freight for a while, so that I could be a more traditional wife and mother, I nearly hit the roof. I wasn’t about to have any of that, and I told him so!

“The trip to Sacramento and getting sick last week suddenly made it clear to me that I have carried that independence into my marriage with your father. I haven’t stopped to consider things, or to ask him about what I do, or to defer to him in any way as my husband, I’ve just gone on ahead and done what I wanted to do. And the instant I realized it—I have to tell you, Corrie, it was very painful. I love your father so much. Realizing that I haven’t been to him what God would have me be fills me with such remorse and sadness and—”

She stopped and looked away. I could feel her hand trembling in mine. I knew she was weeping again. After two or three minutes of silence, she continued.

“Your father has been so good to me,” she said. “He has never pressured me, never said a word. He has let me be myself, and even be independent. Yet now I see that I have done some things that perhaps he wouldn’t have wanted me to.

“Why, this whole thing of running for mayor—I never asked him about it, Corrie. We prayed about it when I decided to get back in the race, but I never really sought your father’s counsel as a man of wisdom. The initial decision for me to run was a decision I made. I never even sought his advice as my husband and as the leader of this family. I genuinely thought I was being led of God, and perhaps to a degree I was. But the point is, I never consulted your father in any way or allowed him to help me arrive at a decision. You were there that evening last July—I simply walked in and announced that I had decided to run against Royce.”

Again she stopped, tears standing in her red eyes. “Don’t you see, Corrie—I haven’t been fair to your father at all! My determined nature just lost sight of the fact that we’re not supposed to act independent of men, but with them, and following them, and allowing them to help guide us. God made women to live with men, not to act independently of them—especially in a marriage. And I haven’t done that with your father, the man I love more than anyone else in the world!

“Probably God was trying to get my attention even before last week. From the very start of the election, all the mischief and deceit Franklin has been up to—maybe that has been the Lord’s way of telling me some of my priorities haven’t been as he would have them. When he started spreading those rumors about me, even then God was stirring me up, though I didn’t know what he was trying to say.”

“But what could all those lies about you have to do with what God wanted to say to you?” I asked.

A faraway look passed across Almeda’s face. “Yes, a good portion of what people were saying was false, Corrie,” she said softly. “But not everything. I lived for many years outside God’s plan for me, and I had much to repent of. He had many things in my character to change. Perhaps I will have the opportunity to tell you about it one day. I would like that. Your father knows everything. I have held no secrets from him. And it is to his great credit that he married me knowing what he knew. I love him all the more for it.

“And so when Franklin began stirring up the waters of my past, God began to probe the deep recesses of my heart as well. And now I find myself wondering if this whole election came up, not so that I could become mayor of Miracle Springs, but so that I would finally face some things in my own heart that I had never let go of, so that I would put them on God’s altar once and for all.”

“But surely you can’t want Mr. Royce to be mayor!” I said in astonishment.

“Wouldn’t it be better for me to withdraw from the election, even if it means giving the mayor’s post to him, than to go ahead with something that is outside of God’s will for me?”

“I suppose so,” I answered hesitantly. “But I just can’t stand the thought of Mr. Royce getting his own way and gaining control of this town.”

“I can’t either,” she replied. “But he is not a Christian, and I am. Therefore I am under orders to a higher power. To two higher powers—the Lord God our Father, and to my husband Drummond Hollister. And maybe it’s time I started to ask the two of them what I am supposed to do, instead of deciding for myself.”

“I just can’t abide the thought of Mr. Royce being mayor.”

“Look at me, Corrie,” she said tenderly, placing her hand gently on her stomach. “The baby that is your father’s and mine is beginning to grow. Before long I will be getting fat with your own new little brother or sister. Do I look like a politician . . . a mayor?”

“I see what you mean,” I said.

“Do you remember what you said when we first started talking, about the two parts struggling inside you?”

I nodded.

“It’s the same thing I’ve been wrestling with. It’s hard. It’s painful. That’s why I’ve been praying, and crying. I want to be mayor. But at the same time, my first calling is to be a woman—to be your father’s wife, to be a mother to his children, and this new child I am carrying. Balancing the two is very difficult! That’s why I don’t know what to tell you to do about your article and Mr. Kemble. Because I don’t even know what I’m supposed to do in my own dilemma.”

We both were silent for several minutes. “What will you do?” I asked finally.

“I don’t know,” Almeda answered. “But the one thing I do have to do is talk with your father—and pray with him. This is one decision I am not going to make without him!”

She looked at me and smiled, wiping off the last of the tears on her face with her handkerchief.

“Thank you for listening, Corrie,” she said. “You are a dear friend, besides being the best daughter a woman could have. Pray for me, will you?”

“I always do,” I replied. I leaned toward her and gave her a tight hug. We held one another for several moments.

“Oh, Lord,” I prayed aloud, “help the two of us to be the women you want us to be. I pray that you’ll show Almeda and Pa just what you want them to do. And help me to know what you want me to do, too.”

“Amen!” Almeda whispered softly.

When we released each other, both of us had tears in our eyes. They were not tears of sadness, but of joy.