means anything?”
“It might. Your mother would have known. She was very close to God. He spoke to her often in dreams.” Charity stirred. Bryce gave her a careful look and said, “All this you’ve told me about Oregon, you think I can help you with that?”
“I don’t know how you could, Uncle Paul.”
Paul Bryce was a deeply religious man. He believed in the supernatural, that God entered into the lives of people. His sister had been a fine Christian, and their mother had been devout. He sat silently for a time and said, “Well, if God is in it, we’ll find out. Let me pray on this, Charity.”
“All right, Uncle Paul. I hope God speaks to you.”
Chapter Five
CHARITY HAD EXTENDED HER visit to three days, and she had given away all her tracts and, of course, all the food she had brought. A feeling kept pulling at her, and each time she had thought she was ready to leave, something had prevented her. She spent a great deal of time alone, praying and seeking the face of God, as she always did, but for some reason she knew with certainty there was a purpose in her being here. She would not have put it in those terms, but it kept her at her uncle’s house longer than she had first intended.
Finally, on the fourth day of her visit, she had risen early and was fixing breakfast when her uncle came in. He was dressed and ready for work in the same dark suit he always wore, and he greeted her pleasantly. But with one glance at him, Charity knew something was on his mind. He was a smiling man, as a rule, but now there was a seriousness about him. He accepted the cup of coffee she offered and said, “Sit down, Charity. There’s something I may need to tell you.”
“All right, Uncle Paul. What is it?”
The simple question seemed to trouble Paul Bryce. He turned the cup around and around in his hand, studied it as if there was an answer to be found in the black coffee, and finallyhe looked at her. “There’s something that has come to me, and I wonder whether I should mention it or not. It’s about Oregon.”
Instantly Charity grew alert. “About Oregon? What about Oregon, Uncle Paul?”
“The difficulty seems to be getting there. From what I understand the land there is wonderful. They get plenty of rain, and crops would grow well. If a man wanted to go into logging, there’s the logging industry. There’s the biggest stand of timber on the continent, I believe, but getting there has been a problem for many.”
Charity sat very still. Hope was rising within her, and she said, “I’ve been praying every day for an answer. What is it you’ve been thinking?”
“This may not be of God,” Paul said slowly, “but it’s come to me so strongly that at least I can mention it. It has to do with your making the trip safely from Pennsylvania to Oregon, and I warn you that it may be simply wishing on my part— something I would like to see happen because I want your family and the people of the Way to prosper.”
“Tell me what it is, Uncle, please.”
“Well, I’ve told you that Casey Tremayne was a Western man. He knows that country. I’ve spoken with him without telling him anything about you or your problem there at the Pilgrim Way. He has been over the Oregon Trail several times and knows it well. He’s a Westerner. Knows animals, and I think it’s possible that he might lead you there safely.”
“But he’s a prisoner.”
“He’s eligible for parole, and he’ll be coming up any day now, but he won’t get it—that is, unless there are special circumstances.”
“What do you mean, Uncle Paul. I don’t understand you.”
“I’ve thought this out. I believe that I could get the parole board to issue a tentative or conditional parole to Tremayne and any of his fellow prisoners who have his same limitations. We have some hard men in here, men who likely will come up for parole many times and be turned down because of their behavior, but I’m in good standing with the members of the
“It might. Your mother would have known. She was very close to God. He spoke to her often in dreams.” Charity stirred. Bryce gave her a careful look and said, “All this you’ve told me about Oregon, you think I can help you with that?”
“I don’t know how you could, Uncle Paul.”
Paul Bryce was a deeply religious man. He believed in the supernatural, that God entered into the lives of people. His sister had been a fine Christian, and their mother had been devout. He sat silently for a time and said, “Well, if God is in it, we’ll find out. Let me pray on this, Charity.”
“All right, Uncle Paul. I hope God speaks to you.”
Chapter Five
CHARITY HAD EXTENDED HER visit to three days, and she had given away all her tracts and, of course, all the food she had brought. A feeling kept pulling at her, and each time she had thought she was ready to leave, something had prevented her. She spent a great deal of time alone, praying and seeking the face of God, as she always did, but for some reason she knew with certainty there was a purpose in her being here. She would not have put it in those terms, but it kept her at her uncle’s house longer than she had first intended.
Finally, on the fourth day of her visit, she had risen early and was fixing breakfast when her uncle came in. He was dressed and ready for work in the same dark suit he always wore, and he greeted her pleasantly. But with one glance at him, Charity knew something was on his mind. He was a smiling man, as a rule, but now there was a seriousness about him. He accepted the cup of coffee she offered and said, “Sit down, Charity. There’s something I may need to tell you.”
“All right, Uncle Paul. What is it?”
The simple question seemed to trouble Paul Bryce. He turned the cup around and around in his hand, studied it as if there was an answer to be found in the black coffee, and finallyhe looked at her. “There’s something that has come to me, and I wonder whether I should mention it or not. It’s about Oregon.”
Instantly Charity grew alert. “About Oregon? What about Oregon, Uncle Paul?”
“The difficulty seems to be getting there. From what I understand the land there is wonderful. They get plenty of rain, and crops would grow well. If a man wanted to go into logging, there’s the logging industry. There’s the biggest stand of timber on the continent, I believe, but getting there has been a problem for many.”
Charity sat very still. Hope was rising within her, and she said, “I’ve been praying every day for an answer. What is it you’ve been thinking?”
“This may not be of God,” Paul said slowly, “but it’s come to me so strongly that at least I can mention it. It has to do with your making the trip safely from Pennsylvania to Oregon, and I warn you that it may be simply wishing on my part— something I would like to see happen because I want your family and the people of the Way to prosper.”
“Tell me what it is, Uncle, please.”
“Well, I’ve told you that Casey Tremayne was a Western man. He knows that country. I’ve spoken with him without telling him anything about you or your problem there at the Pilgrim Way. He has been over the Oregon Trail several times and knows it well. He’s a Westerner. Knows animals, and I think it’s possible that he might lead you there safely.”
“But he’s a prisoner.”
“He’s eligible for parole, and he’ll be coming up any day now, but he won’t get it—that is, unless there are special circumstances.”
“What do you mean, Uncle Paul. I don’t understand you.”
“I’ve thought this out. I believe that I could get the parole board to issue a tentative or conditional parole to Tremayne and any of his fellow prisoners who have his same limitations. We have some hard men in here, men who likely will come up for parole many times and be turned down because of their behavior, but I’m in good standing with the members of the
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