needed someone to help? What if you were that child?”
He twitched, feeling like a knife had been plunged into his solar plexus. The occasional word of Betsy’s song reached him. Behind him in the brush he could hear the crack of branches as Ted stepped on them. Flames licked the air. Sparks exploded, sizzling through the night.
“I was that child.” He hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but it couldn’t be lassoed back.
“What?”
“Things got tough after my pa left. Some days we didn’t have enough to eat.” Never enough, and lots of times nothing at all.
“And no one helped you?”
“I don’t remember thinking they should.” And once he started to work, they always had food. He never looked back.
“I will never walk by a child in trouble and not stop to ask if I can do anything.” Crossing her arms, she glared at him.
“It’s a mighty good thing you told me this.” He narrowed his eyes. Wonder what other little philosophies she has hidden up her sleeve.
For a moment more she glared at him. Then she giggled. “Guess you already figured it out.” She sobered. “I didn’t mean to cause you so much trouble.”
He shrugged, then refilled their cups. She moved over on the log, making room for him. They sat side by side, staring into the flames. Her shoulder whispered against his arm. She seemed so small beside him. He was certain he could wrap his arms around her with plenty of room to spare.
Her hair had a fresh summer-day scent, and he breathed deeply. He wanted to draw her close. But he sat as still as the log on which they perched, uncertain how she would react. A nerve twitched in his arm. Maybe she was wanting this as much as he.
“Do you believe in God?”
“What?” If she wasn’t the blamedest one for talking all the time.
“I said, do you believe in God? I guess you must, seeing as you wanted a God-fearing woman for a wife.”
He sighed. “ ’Course I do. My mother taught me it was so.”
Maggie nodded. “Mine too. What all did she tell you about Him?”
Crane tried to remember. “She said things like God made everything. She said He would take care of us. Other things.” It was so long ago.
Maggie grabbed his arm, sending warm waves along its length. “What did she say about Him taking care of us?”
Pa had been gone a few days, maybe a week—he couldn’t remember for sure—but long enough that Crane had grown suspicious.
“Where’s Pa?” he’d demanded yet again.
His mother turned away but not before Crane caught the flash of pain in her face. “He’s away.”
“Is he coming back?” Crane insisted. He had to get rid of the awful feeling in the pit of his stomach.
But she had turned slowly. “Come sit by me, Byler. I’ve something to tell you.”
Inside he had screamed, “No! I don’t want to hear it!” But he let his mother draw him to the big old armchair and pull him to her lap.
“I don’t know when your pa is coming back.”
The pain in his stomach erupted.
“But I know he will come back.” She smiled as she brushed his hair from his forehead. “Because I prayed about it. And God has said He’d take care of us, so I know He’ll send Tom back. I promise you.” She stroked his forehead, her words driving back the pain.
But Pa had not come back.
That was the last time his mother had held him. It was the last time he believed a promise.
Maggie tugged at his arm. “Tell me what she said, what she meant.”
Ignoring the stabbing in his belly, Crane said, “After Pa left, she prayed. She said she knew God would bring him back. She hoped and hoped, but when he didn’t come back, she began to die inside.”
At first, he had thought she was angry with him, that somehow it was his fault Pa had left. That was why she no longer laughed with him, or tickled him, or told him jokes. It was years before he figured out it was because of her own heartbreak. Not until now did he realize she simply couldn’t survive without hope.
In happier
He twitched, feeling like a knife had been plunged into his solar plexus. The occasional word of Betsy’s song reached him. Behind him in the brush he could hear the crack of branches as Ted stepped on them. Flames licked the air. Sparks exploded, sizzling through the night.
“I was that child.” He hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but it couldn’t be lassoed back.
“What?”
“Things got tough after my pa left. Some days we didn’t have enough to eat.” Never enough, and lots of times nothing at all.
“And no one helped you?”
“I don’t remember thinking they should.” And once he started to work, they always had food. He never looked back.
“I will never walk by a child in trouble and not stop to ask if I can do anything.” Crossing her arms, she glared at him.
“It’s a mighty good thing you told me this.” He narrowed his eyes. Wonder what other little philosophies she has hidden up her sleeve.
For a moment more she glared at him. Then she giggled. “Guess you already figured it out.” She sobered. “I didn’t mean to cause you so much trouble.”
He shrugged, then refilled their cups. She moved over on the log, making room for him. They sat side by side, staring into the flames. Her shoulder whispered against his arm. She seemed so small beside him. He was certain he could wrap his arms around her with plenty of room to spare.
Her hair had a fresh summer-day scent, and he breathed deeply. He wanted to draw her close. But he sat as still as the log on which they perched, uncertain how she would react. A nerve twitched in his arm. Maybe she was wanting this as much as he.
“Do you believe in God?”
“What?” If she wasn’t the blamedest one for talking all the time.
“I said, do you believe in God? I guess you must, seeing as you wanted a God-fearing woman for a wife.”
He sighed. “ ’Course I do. My mother taught me it was so.”
Maggie nodded. “Mine too. What all did she tell you about Him?”
Crane tried to remember. “She said things like God made everything. She said He would take care of us. Other things.” It was so long ago.
Maggie grabbed his arm, sending warm waves along its length. “What did she say about Him taking care of us?”
Pa had been gone a few days, maybe a week—he couldn’t remember for sure—but long enough that Crane had grown suspicious.
“Where’s Pa?” he’d demanded yet again.
His mother turned away but not before Crane caught the flash of pain in her face. “He’s away.”
“Is he coming back?” Crane insisted. He had to get rid of the awful feeling in the pit of his stomach.
But she had turned slowly. “Come sit by me, Byler. I’ve something to tell you.”
Inside he had screamed, “No! I don’t want to hear it!” But he let his mother draw him to the big old armchair and pull him to her lap.
“I don’t know when your pa is coming back.”
The pain in his stomach erupted.
“But I know he will come back.” She smiled as she brushed his hair from his forehead. “Because I prayed about it. And God has said He’d take care of us, so I know He’ll send Tom back. I promise you.” She stroked his forehead, her words driving back the pain.
But Pa had not come back.
That was the last time his mother had held him. It was the last time he believed a promise.
Maggie tugged at his arm. “Tell me what she said, what she meant.”
Ignoring the stabbing in his belly, Crane said, “After Pa left, she prayed. She said she knew God would bring him back. She hoped and hoped, but when he didn’t come back, she began to die inside.”
At first, he had thought she was angry with him, that somehow it was his fault Pa had left. That was why she no longer laughed with him, or tickled him, or told him jokes. It was years before he figured out it was because of her own heartbreak. Not until now did he realize she simply couldn’t survive without hope.
In happier
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