The summer sun warmed the faithful flock gathered in the meadow for Sunday service on a curious collection of wooden chairs, crates, blankets, and the odd fallen log. The breeze rustling the leaves in the glen was gloriously free of the mosquitoes that had plagued the encampment late last evening. Now the voices blended in harmony with the fiddle and harmonica.
Amanda had known “Abide with Me” most of her life but had never paid close attention to the words. But as Sarah had pointed out a week ago, it must have been a lot of folks’ favorite, the way it got requested almost every Sunday. Going into the second verse, Amanda listened even as she sang:
“Swift to its close ebbs out life’s little day;
Earth’s joys grow dim, its glories pass away;
Change and decay in all around I see;
O Thou who changest not, abide with me.”
Certainly this trip had brought about drastic changes. Amanda surmised that other folks’ dreams of a new life had probably been every bit as grand as hers. Yet despite the fact that many of them had already lost friends and loved ones to sickness or accident, they found strength to continue on. Lonely, saddened, they somehow remained hopeful. It had to be of tremendous comfort to know that the Lord stayed ever constant. She observed the peaceful countenances of some of the folks within her range of sight and went on to the third stanza:
“I fear no foe, with Thee at hand to bless;
Ills have no weight, and tears no bitterness.
Where is death’s sting? Where, grave, thy victory?
I triumph still, if Thou abide with me.”
When Amanda saw a woman blot tears on her apron as she sang, her own eyes stung, rendering her unable to voice the lyrics herself. She finally managed to regain her composure for the final lines:
“Heaven’s morning breaks, and earth’s vain shadows flee;
In life, in death, O Lord, abide with me.”
Never again would that hymn carry so little meaning. Amanda realized for the first time that it had not been her own strength that had held her together after the loss of her parents. It had been the Lord all along. His strength, His faithfulness—and those, without a doubt, loving answers to her mama and papa’s faithful prayers. Humbly she bowed her head and breathed a prayer of gratitude.
She opened her eyes to see the jug-eared man most folks had started calling “Deacon Franklin” rise from his seat and move to the vacant spot the fiddler left behind at the close of the song.
“Folks,” he began. “As you’ve figured out by now, I’m not much of a preacher. But like I said before, I love the Lord, and I love His Word. Thought I’d read a favorite verse that has been a real blessing to me for a lot of years. It’s in Romans, the eighth chapter, verse twenty-eight.” He opened his worn Bible to the page his finger had held at the ready. “‘And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose.’”
Looking up from his text, he scanned the rapt faces before him and smiled gently. “There’s hardly a one of us who hasn’t at some time or other questioned the Lord’s doings. Especially these last hard weeks, as we’ve all of us watched helplessly at the hardships that came to folks who were once part of this travelin’ family of ours.”
Bonneted heads nodded, and murmurs circulated in the ranks.
“But in spite of all that comes by,” the leader continued, “whether sickness, or death, or accident, I know we can still trust God. There’s no lack of people in this world who don’t give Him any part of their lives a’tall. Can’t help wonderin’ what gets them through the hard times, or where they turn for help. There’d be none to find if we just threw up our hands and turned our backs on the One who made us, the One who is workin’ out His purposes through all the circumstances of our lives. Yes, I said all,” he injected without a pause. “There’s not one among us who’s here by chance.”
Amanda’s ears perked up.
“It doesn’t make a lick of difference what made us choose to make this trip,” the speaker said with a firm nod. “What does count is that the God who brought us here will never let us down. Think about that today and tomorrow—and all the tomorrows yet to come. Trust your well-being to the Lord and keep a good hold on His strong hand. And whatever effort you’ve been givin’ to complainin’ about hills or rivers or dust or mud, spend instead in thankin’ God for takin’ you through it. If you see somebody beside you startin’ to sag, bolster him up with a kind words or better yet, lend a hand. This journey is gonna take all of us pullin’ together, helpin’ one another along.”
Deacon Franklin rocked back onto his heels and tucked his Bible under one arm, and a twinkle in his eye accompanied his smile. “Well, that’s all I have to say this morning. Be sure and enjoy this nice purty restin’ spot the Good Lord put here just for us, right enough! Now, let’s close in prayer.”
A new calmness began to flow through Amanda’s being as she closed her eyes. The words hadn’t come from behind a proper pulpit. The speaker was not in reality a man called to be a preacher to the masses, and the speech hadn’t even been what one might term a sermon. Yet her spirit felt strangely comforted and encouraged. She almost felt like dancing.
Behind the furrowed gray trunk of a swamp ash, Seth flicked a crumpled leaf through his fingers and headed for the cook wagon. No sense having Red catch him listening in on a sermon, that’s for sure! It wasn’t worth the endless mocking that was certain to follow.
It beat all, though, how this bunch seemed to handle the misfortunes and tragedies that struck so relentlessly now. Unlike some of the travelers he’d taken west in previous years, these folks even seemed sincere in believing what that farmer told them. Took it right to heart. Of course, Grandpa had been that way, too, he remembered. Never once doubting the Good Book or the Lord above. Seth could still picture the shock of white hair above the aged face, could still see the piercing eyes that seemed to see clear into a person’s soul. The old man’s voice contained a gravelly quality, as if preaching had used it up somewhere along the way. But those long arms of his, which could spread so wide to make a point, had felt mighty warm and strong wrapped around a young boy’s shoulders.
An unbidden memory came to the fore of times he and Drew had ridden double on old Lulabelle while Gramps took them along on a preaching trip. He’d sit the two of them right in the front row, where one look could still their squirming through the longest sermon. Seth smiled, knowing if he thought back far enough, he’d have to admit there was a time he thought of becoming a circuit-riding preacher himself! Wouldn’t Red get a kick out of that!
Seth emitted a ragged breath. A lot of years had passed since then. He’d ended up on a far different path… but a very small part of him was starting to hunger for the kind of sincere faith he’d known as a young lad.
“Sarah?” Alvin extended a hand as they left the service. “Will you come for a walk with the rest of us? Aunt Harriet wants me to pick her some currants and chokecherries.”
She smiled, but shook her head, mildly disappointed. “Can’t. I promised Bethany I’d help her make a flower crown.”
“You could do that later.”
Sarah felt compelled to refuse. “I wouldn’t want to disappoint her, Alvin. She’s only a little girl, and I—”
“—sure spend a lot of time with kids that aren’t even related to you,” he finished. “You used to be more fun.”
Ignoring the critical note in her friend’s usually jovial tone, Sarah just nodded. “I still like to have fun, Alvin. But sometimes there are other things that need doing. Anyway, it’s hard to resist a pair of big blue eyes.”
“Exactly.” A rakish gleam lit the hazel depths of Alvin’s. “Won’t I ever get to finish that sketch I started of you?”
“Sure you will. We’ll have plenty of time together, you’ll see. Now, I really must go. Thanks for the invitation, though.”
“Right.” The edge of his lip took on a strange curl before he turned and strode away.
Almost wishing she’d accepted, Sarah stared after him. She felt Amanda step to her side.
“It’s really sweet of you to turn down an afternoon’s frolic just to keep a little girl happy.”
“I promised,” Sarah Jane said simply.
“I know. I’m very proud of you.”
“Really?”
A blush tinted her sister’s cheeks. “Well, it’s just—You know. When we first spoke of coming west, I was afraid you’d get in one pickle after another. But you’re changing by the day.”
Sarah cocked her head back and forth. “I imagine it’s called growing up.”
“I suppose. Just wanted you to know, I like the change.”
“Thanks, Sissy. And while we’re at it, I’d like to say I’m sorry for not being more help sewing, cooking, driving… I’ve let you down. That’s going to change, too.”
When the company again took up the journey, a new, lighter mood prevailed… until the nine-year old Thornton boy, riding the tongue of his family’s wagon on a dare, plunged under the wheels shortly after departing Ash Hollow. An unexpected funeral took place that noon. The little body was laid to rest in a grave dug right beneath the rutted trail. The wagons to follow would pack the earth hard again, too hard for wolves to ravage.
And another new baby came into the world that night.
“‘The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away,’” Mrs. Randolph muttered as Amanda poured a cup of coffee for them both outside the schooner. “My old heart goes out to Jennie. He was their only boy, you know. The others are girls. He’d have been a big help when they got settled in Oregon.”
Sipping her own coffee, Amanda could barely swallow.
“Say, these are right fine apple fritters your Sarah made.”
“She’s been—well, we’ve been practicing.”
“And it shows.”
“Thanks to you.”
The older woman sloughed off the compliment. “Pshaw. You’d have picked up all the cookin’ you needed in time anyway.”
“Even if that’s true,” Amanda said, patting her friend’s arm, “you surely made it much easier for us. We both appreciate it.” She paused with a smile. “I don’t know if I’m going to want to part with you when we get to the California Trail and you and Mr. Randolph head off to go be with your sons. What did you say their names were?”
“Nelson Junior an’ Charlie,” the older woman said proudly. “Don’t mind admittin’, though, if I had my druthers I’d still be back home in our Allegheny Mountains. At my age, thought of sittin’ in my rockin’ chair in front of a cracklin’ fire was soundin’ mighty pleasurable. But when Nelson, the oldest, got the notion to go see what lay beyond the hills, he up and took our other’n and they lit out. Ended up in northern California—far as they could get—then convinced their pa an’ me to come, too. One of ’em might even come to meet us partway.”
Amanda smiled. “Well, it’ll truly be a whole new life for you then—without having to start from scratch, like most of. us. You might even arrive to discover they’ve built you a nice little cabin, fireplace and all, complete with a rocker.”
“If not, I brung my own along,” she admitted with chagrin. “Didn’t want to take a chance. It was my own ma’s. Our two boys got rocked on it, so did our girl. ‘Course, little Rosie wasn’t with us too long…” Blinking away a sudden sheen in her faded blue eyes, she looked Amanda up and down, then tapped a crooked finger against her bottom lip in thought. “You’d make our Charlie a pretty fair wife, if you don’t mind my sayin’ so.”
Amanda, having raised her mug for another sip, swallowed too quickly and choked instead.
“There, there,” her neighbor crooned, thumping her on the back. “Just take a deep breath, now. You’ll be right as rain.” Barely stopping, she resumed the conversation where she’d left off. “Nelson Junior took himself a wife out west. Found her in Sacramento. Name’s Cora. But our Charlie’s still loose.”
Amanda had to giggle.
Barely stopping for breath, Mrs. Randolph rambled on. “‘Course, I know you an’ Sarah Jane have high hopes of openin’ a store an’ all—which sounds fine. Real fine. I think folks will need new clothes, just like you said.” Handing Amanda her empty mug, she ambled to her feet. “Well, I’d best be gettin’ back. But store or no store, give some thought to my Charlie, would you? Don’t mind tellin’ you, a body could do worse havin’ you for a daughter-in-law.”
At this, Amanda couldn’t resist hugging her. “Or you for a mother-in-law. Thanks for coming by.”