Read Online Clara Callan by Richard B. Wright - Free Book Online
Authors: Richard B. Wright
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the day with Evelyn and Vivian Rhodes, going over the first scripts of our show.
I found your letter upsetting, to say the least. You say you no longer believe in God? How could that happen? You were always so religious, or at least I thought you were. You and Father never missed church on Sunday mornings, and when I was home on weekends and slept in, you and Father would give me such dagger looks when you got home from church. What on earth happened? You read the Bible almost right through one summer! Remember? You must have been only eleven or twelve, but you spent nearly every day that summer reading through those long chapters of the Old Testament. I thought for a while you were going to be a missionary or something. I’m worried about you, Clara. I just don’t understand how you could lose your faith like that. I wish you would talk to someone about all this. I know you don’t think much of this new minister, but maybe if you told him sincerely how you feel, he might be able to help. I mean, isn’t that what he’s trained to do? It just strikes me as odd. You of
all people! What would poor Father think?
I’m afraid I have to run because a girl down the hall (she’s a nurse)has asked me to go to the movies with her this afternoon. She’s from some place in Minnesota, a small town like Whitfield, and last night she said she was feeling a little blue and homesick. Well, it’s been awfully wet and gloomy down here and I’m feeling a bit that way myself, so what better place to be when you’re feeling blue than at the movies. Ruth will be at the door any minute, so I’ll say goodbye for now and get this in the mail. Please write and let me know if you have talked to anyone about all this.
Love, Nora
P.S. It occurs to me that all this may have something to do with Father’s passing. It will soon be a year, and you are probably dwelling on that. You have to put things behind you, Clara.
Saturday, April 13
A letter from Nora advising me to talk to Jackson about my apostasy. Well, she can forget about that. Jackson is the last person on earth I would approach. Have gone instead to the poets. Reading Vaughan and Dickinson at two o’clock this morning.
I saw eternity the other night
Like a great ring of pure and endless light,
All calm, as it was bright;
And Emily D.
I shall know why, when time is over
And I have ceased to wonder why;
Christ will explain each separate anguish
In the fair schoolroom of the sky.
He will tell me what Peter promised,
And I, for wonder at his woe,
I shall forget the drop of anguish
That scalds me now, that scalds me now.
But they lived in other centuries when it must have been easier to believe.
Monday, April 15
Father died a year ago today. A windy cool Sunday with dampness in the air. After dinner he looked out the window and told me he thought he might spade the flower beds by the side of the house, but it looked too much like rain. Said he wasn’t feeling well and took some bicarbonate of soda. I told him he always ate too quickly and he said it was a habit picked up from years of eating in boarding houses before he married. He said he would lie down until the indigestion passed, and so he climbed the stairs to his bedroom. His final words came from the head of the stairs. “Why don’t you play something?” I told him I would, but then after I finished the dishes, I sat down to read the rest of the Herald and forgot.
At three o’clock I went upstairs; I can’t remember why. I could see his stocking feet through the open doorway of his bedroom. He had slept, I thought, too long and would have trouble in the night, so I approached him. He was lying on his back, and when I entered the room, I knew at once that he was dead. I just knew, and I was startled a little at my own certainty. It was the greyness of the flesh around his eyes, I think. Or the perfect stillness of his body. I didn’t touch him, but I knew he was dead.
Went over to the Brydens’ and Mrs. Bryden met
I found your letter upsetting, to say the least. You say you no longer believe in God? How could that happen? You were always so religious, or at least I thought you were. You and Father never missed church on Sunday mornings, and when I was home on weekends and slept in, you and Father would give me such dagger looks when you got home from church. What on earth happened? You read the Bible almost right through one summer! Remember? You must have been only eleven or twelve, but you spent nearly every day that summer reading through those long chapters of the Old Testament. I thought for a while you were going to be a missionary or something. I’m worried about you, Clara. I just don’t understand how you could lose your faith like that. I wish you would talk to someone about all this. I know you don’t think much of this new minister, but maybe if you told him sincerely how you feel, he might be able to help. I mean, isn’t that what he’s trained to do? It just strikes me as odd. You of
all people! What would poor Father think?
I’m afraid I have to run because a girl down the hall (she’s a nurse)has asked me to go to the movies with her this afternoon. She’s from some place in Minnesota, a small town like Whitfield, and last night she said she was feeling a little blue and homesick. Well, it’s been awfully wet and gloomy down here and I’m feeling a bit that way myself, so what better place to be when you’re feeling blue than at the movies. Ruth will be at the door any minute, so I’ll say goodbye for now and get this in the mail. Please write and let me know if you have talked to anyone about all this.
Love, Nora
P.S. It occurs to me that all this may have something to do with Father’s passing. It will soon be a year, and you are probably dwelling on that. You have to put things behind you, Clara.
Saturday, April 13
A letter from Nora advising me to talk to Jackson about my apostasy. Well, she can forget about that. Jackson is the last person on earth I would approach. Have gone instead to the poets. Reading Vaughan and Dickinson at two o’clock this morning.
I saw eternity the other night
Like a great ring of pure and endless light,
All calm, as it was bright;
And Emily D.
I shall know why, when time is over
And I have ceased to wonder why;
Christ will explain each separate anguish
In the fair schoolroom of the sky.
He will tell me what Peter promised,
And I, for wonder at his woe,
I shall forget the drop of anguish
That scalds me now, that scalds me now.
But they lived in other centuries when it must have been easier to believe.
Monday, April 15
Father died a year ago today. A windy cool Sunday with dampness in the air. After dinner he looked out the window and told me he thought he might spade the flower beds by the side of the house, but it looked too much like rain. Said he wasn’t feeling well and took some bicarbonate of soda. I told him he always ate too quickly and he said it was a habit picked up from years of eating in boarding houses before he married. He said he would lie down until the indigestion passed, and so he climbed the stairs to his bedroom. His final words came from the head of the stairs. “Why don’t you play something?” I told him I would, but then after I finished the dishes, I sat down to read the rest of the Herald and forgot.
At three o’clock I went upstairs; I can’t remember why. I could see his stocking feet through the open doorway of his bedroom. He had slept, I thought, too long and would have trouble in the night, so I approached him. He was lying on his back, and when I entered the room, I knew at once that he was dead. I just knew, and I was startled a little at my own certainty. It was the greyness of the flesh around his eyes, I think. Or the perfect stillness of his body. I didn’t touch him, but I knew he was dead.
Went over to the Brydens’ and Mrs. Bryden met
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