Rose of RiverBend, page 12
If my marriage was to survive.
“Isn’t that the opposite of minding your own business?”
“The Bible says, Faithful are the wounds of a friend. A true friend will hurt you to save you from yourself—and Amalie was a true friend.”
Lucy studied Rose intently.
Rose’s voice grew softer. “I have rarely spoken of this to anyone, because it was such a hard lesson, but I feel that you, as Amalie’s great-granddaughter should know what she did for me. That is, if you are interested.”
Lucy leaned forward, her elbows on her knees. “You know I am. You are just spinning this out to keep my attention, aren’t you?”
“Yes and no. No, because it was one of the most difficult days in my walk with the Lord and in my marriage to Jan. It very nearly broke me.” She paused, the weight of that day still heavy. “Nearly broke us, Jan and me.”
Frowning, Lucy took the cups from the stove and handed one to Rose. “If you wish to tell it, Aunt Rose, I will listen . . .”
Rose smiled. “Thank you for being considerate of my feelings. Yes, it was a difficult day, but I struggled through it to the other side, with thanks to Amalie. That is my point. Sometimes, the issues of life appear insurmountable, but with God’s grace, we can reach the other side and go on from there.”
Lucy nodded and raised the cup to her lips, ready for Rose to talk.
“It was spring, and Joy was about nine months old. She was teething, poor baby, and utterly miserable. It was all I could do to keep up with my chores and take care of her at the same time. Night after night, she had wakened in the night screaming. After a week of it, I was so very tired.”
The details were fresh in Rose’s mind—Joy’s soiled bedding, the overflowing coffeepot, Joy flinging her milk everywhere yet screaming for more, the potatoes boiling over. Jan walking in on the hectic scene.
“There I stood, the kitchen a mess, breakfast late, Joy screeching and pitching a right fit, and Jan’s wide eyes fixed not on the mess, but on me. When I looked down, I realized I was still wearing my nightgown. Oh, I had thrown an apron over it, but I had been out to the pump to fetch water, to the barn to do the milking, and to the yard to stake out the goats. In my nightgown.”
Lucy spluttered and spat the tea in her mouth back into her cup. She tittered and laughed and rocked forward and back in her chair. “Oh! Oh, my! Oh, I cannot—this is too priceless. I wonder if my grandpa or uncles saw you.”
Rose was not amused. “I am glad my tale entertains you.”
Lucy reined in her laughter, but she was still aquiver with it. “I-I am sorry.”
“You spend a great deal of your energy apologizing, Lucy.”
Lucy sobered then. “I suppose I do. Please. I do wish you to finish telling me.”
“Jan was very understanding that morning. He took Joy so I could dress, comb my hair, and fix breakfast.”
Lucy’s mouth puckered in disappointment. “That is it? That is all that happened?”
No, it wasn’t the end. The worst was ahead.
Rose moistened her lips. “I had seeds to plant that day, and I usually brought Joy with me when I went outside. I was always so careful with her—always. Stomp down the nearby grass, as Jan had showed me. Call Baron and have him lie close to Joy, within reach of her. Bring the goats, too, and stake them near Baron, for he was guardian to us all, our protector. But I was short on sleep and weary that day.”
Rose blinked slowly, the years dropping away. She could see the scene, just as it had been back then, the color and texture of the prairie grass, the dark, moist soil of the unplanted garden.
Spring. When the prairie rattlers left their dens to bask in the sun.
“I spread Joy’s blanket as I always did. Put it on the edge of the garden spot. Sat her on it with her little dolly. I was focused on digging the furrows just right, straight as a string, and Joy was being so good. Happy to play with her baby, her gums not hurting her right then.
“I-I lost track of time. Was not paying attention—until Jan roared behind me.”
Rose looked into Lucy’s face, saw it crease with dread.
“I had forgotten to stomp down the grass. I had forgotten to call Baron. Had forgotten to bring the goats and stake them around Joy. I had forgotten Joy altogether and left her unprotected. She had crawled off her blanket into the path of a rattler. It had coiled and warned her, but she did not recognize the danger and I . . . I was preoccupied.
“Jan had promised to bring the hoe and help me with the furrows. By God’s great provision, he arrived just as the snake drew back to strike.”
Lucy whispered something under her breath.
“I know. I know, Lucy. I cannot sugarcoat it and call it forgetfulness or preoccupation. It was neither of those. It was neglect. I had neglected Joy.”
Rose shivered. “Jan struck before the snake did. He severed its head, and its blood spattered Joy, her dolly, her blanket.
“I rushed to pick her up, but Jan grabbed her up first and held her away from me. He would not let me touch her. I had never before seen him as angry as he was that day, nor did I after.”
Except one time . . .
“He . . . he said things that scorched my heart. That tore my soul. My neglect had nearly killed our baby, the child God had given us to heal our grief. I had . . . I had almost killed . . . ”
Rose exhaled and found she could not quite draw another breath. She tried, but her lungs would not respond, would not obey.
“Aunt Rose? Aunt Rose!” Lucy was by her side, her hands on Rose’s shoulders. “Aunt Rose! Please!”
A shuddering breath racked her body. Another. Another, easier this time. Another. Rose placed her hand on Lucy’s. “I . . . I will be all right. In a moment.”
Rose expected Lucy to feel relieved. Instead, Lucy reacted in anger. Then melted into tears.
“You scared me! You-you-you scared me!”
Rose stood and tottered on her feet. “Come, dear. Come.” She held Lucy’s face to her shoulder. “I am fine now. Just an old woman having a moment. Everything is all right.”
Eventually, Lucy drew back, a little embarrassed, and they both sat back down. Lucy stared at the floor. “You . . . you might have killed Joy.”
“Yes, I am aware, thank you.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
“Afterward, I was devastated and overcome with guilt. I was exhausted—but inside, I was filled with excuses. And Jan? I did not know him. I had never seen that man before. He would not let me have Joy, and his eyes were as cold as ice. So . . . I ran away. I ran along the creekbank and across the bridge to Amalie. She loved me. I knew she would comfort me. See the situation from my perspective.”
Rose held her head in her hands. “However, things did not go the way I thought they would. Your great-grandmother, after listening to me recite my tearful tale but understanding only a few words, called Søren from the barn to translate.”
I did not want to repeat my tale to Søren. I was humiliated as it was, and the poor young man had already been privy to things not of his concern, and yet . . .
“Amalie insisted that I begin again. Mortified, but certain I was not really at fault, and convinced that Jan had been taken over by a wicked creature, I told my story again. They nodded their understanding. Both of them were as sorry as I could have hoped for, but I also saw disappointment on their faces.”
Disappointment and censure. The look in Søren’s eyes was worse than Amalie’s. How I hated watching his opinion of me sink.
“When Amalie sent Søren away, she sat me down at the table, that same table still in your Aunt Meg’s kitchen, and opened her Bible. She handed me the English Bible Søren used, and she had me read along in English while she read aloud in Riksmål.
“Confess your faults one to another, and pray one for another, that ye may be healed. That was the verse she read. Confess? I did not want to confess. I had not purposefully left Joy unprotected. How, then, was this lapse a sin to be confessed? But she put her hand on my arm and slowly, painfully, put her own words into English.
“‘You mus’ da care take for Joy,’ she said. ‘Alla times, is big, most job. No ’scuse, Rose. You go. Tell God. Tell God gud. Tell Jan. You pray. Helbrede. Heal. You heal.’”
“With that, she hugged me tight and sent me home, her meaning clear in my mind.”
You must take on the care of Joy, completely, fully. At all times, it is your biggest, most important work. No excuses, Rose. Go and make your confession to God—and make it a good one.
Rose lifted her head a little. Lucy’s eyes were fixed on the floor, but she was nodding to herself. Agreeing with Amalie.
Rose sighed. “My city-dwelling friends would have sympathized with me. They would have scoffed at Amalie and brushed away her loving rebuke. They would have sneered, mocked her, and called her unsympathetic and harsh. After all, it was an unintentional slipup, and disaster was averted—yet those same acquaintances would have criticized me for choosing to live in an uncivilized wilderness where such tragedy could occur in the first place.
“I had to face a disconcerting truth about myself. You grew up on the prairie, Lucy. You grew up knowing the dangers. I did not. I had to accept that the ‘rules’ of the prairie do not bend to our expectations, that lack of vigilance can spell death.”
Lucy said softly. “Children used to get lost in the prairie grass. They would wander into it, never to be found. We were warned continually of the dangers. I have looked after my baby sister, Adele, since she could toddle. I would never let anything happen to her.”
Rose nodded. “Yes. The dangers and responsibilities were bred into you—but not me. On my way home from Amalie’s, I began to perceive how I was using my inexperience and fatigue as excuses for not fully shouldering my responsibility for Joy’s safety. I could not afford even a moment’s carelessness when it came to her. She was completely and utterly dependent upon me. My responsibility. Mine. Tired or not, overburdened or not, my vigilance was required.
“Then, the Holy Spirit reminded me of Jesus’ parable of the Sower and the Seed, found in the Gospel of Mark, Chapter 4. I recalled how Jesus had to explain the parable to his disciples, and I am so glad he did. Jesus said:
“Do you not understand this parable?
How then will you
understand all the parables?
The sower sows the word.
And these are the ones
along the path,
where the word is sown:
when they hear,
Satan immediately comes
and takes away the word
that is sown in them . . .
And others are the ones
sown among thorns.
They are those who hear the word,
but the cares of the world
and the deceitfulness of riches
and the desires for other things
enter in and choke the word,
and it proves unfruitful.”
Rose scrubbed at the lines of her tired face. “I am not saying I willfully sinned, Lucy, but I did need to own my carelessness. After all, the word we know as ‘sin’ means to trespass, but it also means to miss the mark.
“On that walk home, I confessed to the Lord that I had missed the mark when it came to protecting Joy. I had fallen short of my duty to her, and in doing so, I had also failed Jan. No, it had not been my intention to do so, but it did not matter that my failure was unintentional, because the dangers of the prairie—or the world, for that matter—do not lessen with our ignorance nor pause to consider our intentions.”
Rose looked up to see Lucy studying her intently. “I had to admit that, amid the cares of my life and my desire for something as secondary as planting my garden, I had allowed myself to become distracted—and it is when we are distracted, careless, or thoughtless that the enemy makes his move on us or those we love.
“You see, like the rules of the prairie, the rules of the spiritual realm do not bend to our expectations, either. Satan is wicked and he does not play fair. It is no wonder, then, that Jesus cautions us often, at least a dozen times in the Gospels, to watch or to watch and pray.
“Once I had owned up to and confessed my sin, I was able to recall the remainder of Amalie’s counsel.”
Confess to Jan. Pray. Pray for healing.
Rose turned her face to the front door. “When I came through that door over there, Jan was rocking Joy beside the fire—in that rocker over there in the corner, sitting where you are sitting now. He lifted his eyes to me, and I witnessed his grief. I knelt by the chair and confessed that I had been at fault, that I understood the gravity of my omission. He wept and held me close. He, too, confessed his faults—he had allowed his fear to run roughshod over his normally self-controlled emotions, and he had used his anger to hurt me, because I had nearly hurt our dear baby. We confessed our faults, forgave each other, and received the Lord’s forgiveness. Jan and I prayed together, prayed for each other.
“I came to understand that day how necessary it was to confess my faults—that is, if I intended to grow in my faith. Over time, Jan and I healed together. Grace upon grace upon grace!”
Rose again sighed. “It was a turning point for me, Lucy, a place of maturation. That terrible incident forged a determination within me that has seen me through many difficulties. The women of this land epitomize unfaltering courage, but they did not come by their courage without testing. I thank God that Amalie spoke truth to me on the day of my testing. Through her wise counsel, the Lord brought me through that troubled sea to a safe harbor.”
“Is that all it takes? Sheer determination?” Lucy asked.
“Ah, I see your point. No. Sheer determination or strength of will does not result in godliness or maturity. Those who take that route find frustration and defeat. My determination that day was to surrender to the Lord and daily seek for his strength, his wisdom, his help. I determined to lean upon him utterly. Completely. It was the Lord who spoke these words, My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness.”
Lucy did not say anything for many moments. Rose had eaten a cookie and finished her tea before Lucy spoke.
“Do these testings, as you call them, appear in unexpected ways? What I mean is . . . could my testing look different than yours?”
“Yes, I should think so.”
“You said you wanted to tell me about Amalie . . . but I think you also told me these things so I would know that you are not the perfect woman all of RiverBend thinks you are.”
Rose bent her head once. “That is an accurate insight, Lucy. However, I would add that I do not believe all of RiverBend thinks of me as you describe. Those who actually know me also know my flaws. Perhaps I opened myself to you so that you might take me down from that pedestal you believe our family and friends have placed me on. Only the Lord is worthy of an exalted place. Then, perchance, you will discover that your anger toward me is misplaced?”
Rose watched Lucy frown and hoped the girl was reevaluating her feelings. If so, Rose had achieved her objective.
Her first objective.
Rose had spent two afternoons with Lucy speaking only of her own life and experiences. She hoped through her openness that Lucy would grow to trust her, to become comfortable talking with her. Then, if it was the Lord’s will, she might unburden herself to Rose.
This was what she had prayed for.
“Meg tells me you are an exceptional scholar. I am convinced after talking with you these few hours that you are perceptive, too. Your parents must be proud of you.”
Lucy shrugged. “My teachers want me to go to college, but my parents are blind to its value. They cannot see any future for me except marriage and children and farming.”
“We faced a similar quandary with Joy. She has a head for figures that outstripped her teachers. She wanted to go to business school. We dipped into my savings to let her go.”
“My family has no savings to ‘dip into,’” Lucy sneered.
“When will you finish your schooling here?”
“A year from this spring.”
“So soon! And have you prayed about your future?”
“What would be the point?”
“Do you believe God answers prayer, Lucy?”
“I do not know. Sometimes, I suppose. But not of late.”
Not of late?
Rose asked the questions she had been working up to. “Lucy, what do you want to do with your life? What are your hopes and dreams?”
“My hopes and dreams?”
“Is it your wish to go to college? If so, have you prayed for the Lord to open a door for you? What about after college? Do you wish for a husband? Children?”
In an instant, the fragile tête-à-tête between them shattered. Hardness settled on Lucy’s features . . . but not before, for the most fleeting of moments, Rose thought she glimpsed something else. Sorrow? Anguish?
Then it was gone, replaced by anger.
She uses anger to hide her pain?
“No, Aunt Rose, I do not wish for a husband. What I wish is to go home now.”
Rose blinked in confusion. “Why, Lucy. Child, have I said something to offend you?”
Lucy stood. Her words were low. Tight. Rigid with rage. “I am leaving, Aunt Rose. You may follow me, but you cannot stop me.”
As if adding an exclamation mark in conclusion, thunder crashed overhead. The ongoing rumble of it shook the house, and rain pummeled the roof. Lucy was already through the door. Rose heard her run down the steps and away from the house.
She murmured softly, “Lord, please show me what is wrong.”
A drip plopped from the ceiling onto the floor, followed by a thin but steady stream. She got up and slid the old washtub under it, added wood to the fire in the stove, and sat down to wait for Karl to come pick her up.
