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Authors: Kathleen Morgan
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them …” Abby’s voice faded as Hannah gave a soft cry and buried her face in her hands.
“Yes. Yes, I did!” Muffled through the barrier of her hands, her words sounded strangled and harsh, but Hannah didn’t care. “I’m no good at being anyone’s friend. You might as well know it now, rather than later when you might really need me.”
“Oh, Hannah, Hannah.” Abby rose from the table and came around to hug her. “Why do you see only your failings and limitations, and ignore all the other, far more numerous times you’ve done good?”
“Because I c-can’t see how I’ve h-helped,” she sobbed. “All I know is I failed Hu Yung and Ella when they needed me. Hu Yung might still be alive if I’d been more sensitive to her pain, and Ella … well, I didn’t know what to say or do to comfort her.”
“You can’t save everyone, Hannah,” Abby crooned, stroking her hair. “All anyone can do is try. Be there for another, do your best, and love with all your heart. That takes a lot of trust, courage, and patience, though. After all, we don’t always know for quite some time what impact we’ve had, or how it all fits into God’s plan.”
Hannah lifted her tear-streaked face. A tiny ray of hope touched her heart. “I do try to believe that—about God, I mean. It’s just so very hard to accept, or to trust in Him sometimes.” She gave a shaky little laugh. “It’s also so very hard to wait patiently for His results.”
Abby chuckled. “Ah, yes. Patience is hard. I struggled a lot with that when I first came to Culdee Creek. Conor and Beth set about testing me at every turn … Believe me, I questioned the Lord and His will a lot in those days.”
By now, Hannah knew Abby’s story well—the loss of her first husband in a tragic railroad accident and then, less than a year later, the death of her five-year-old son from diphtheria. It had taken great courage to accept the job of housekeeper and tutor at Culdee Creek. Especially considering Conor MacKay’s less-than-commendable reputation in those days.
“But you persevered,” Hannah said, finishing her story for her, “and now you have your reward.”
“Rather, I’ve received a glorious gift,” Abby corrected gently, “in Conor and his children. And in receiving it, I’ve learned that everything God gives us is good—the pain as well as the happiness.”
“I doubt Devlin thinks so just now.” Or me, either, for that matter, Hannah silently added. Sometimes, especially when talk turned to things spiritual, Abby could speak in such riddles. How could the pain of someone’s death ever be something good? What good had come of Hu Yung’s and Ella’s deaths?
“No, I don’t imagine Devlin would be inclined to see any hope in his loss,” Abby agreed with a soft sigh. “He’s a man beset with personal demons, many of which he carried into his marriage with Ella. He’s come a long way since then, but the wounds of his childhood pain him still.”
“Well, mine pain me, too,” Hannah ground out, struggling to contain a sudden surge of bitterness, “but I haven’t let it eat me up, or used it as a club against others.”
“I know you haven’t, Hannah.” Compassion warmed Abby’s eyes. “I remember you telling me how hard you tried to care for your poor mother when she turned sick after your papa died. And then how you were sent to that orphanage …” As if in remembrance, she shivered. “I don’t know how you managed to stay at that terrible place as long as you did.”
“One way or another, I should’ve,” the girl muttered, the memories flooding back. “If I had stayed just a few more years, until I came of age, I might have left with a passel more opportunities than I ever gained by being forced to work in a brothel.”
“Conor would say you make your own opportunities out of what life deals you. And I’d say that’s what you’ve done in the past year since you came to Culdee Creek.”
The savory, herb-laden
“Yes. Yes, I did!” Muffled through the barrier of her hands, her words sounded strangled and harsh, but Hannah didn’t care. “I’m no good at being anyone’s friend. You might as well know it now, rather than later when you might really need me.”
“Oh, Hannah, Hannah.” Abby rose from the table and came around to hug her. “Why do you see only your failings and limitations, and ignore all the other, far more numerous times you’ve done good?”
“Because I c-can’t see how I’ve h-helped,” she sobbed. “All I know is I failed Hu Yung and Ella when they needed me. Hu Yung might still be alive if I’d been more sensitive to her pain, and Ella … well, I didn’t know what to say or do to comfort her.”
“You can’t save everyone, Hannah,” Abby crooned, stroking her hair. “All anyone can do is try. Be there for another, do your best, and love with all your heart. That takes a lot of trust, courage, and patience, though. After all, we don’t always know for quite some time what impact we’ve had, or how it all fits into God’s plan.”
Hannah lifted her tear-streaked face. A tiny ray of hope touched her heart. “I do try to believe that—about God, I mean. It’s just so very hard to accept, or to trust in Him sometimes.” She gave a shaky little laugh. “It’s also so very hard to wait patiently for His results.”
Abby chuckled. “Ah, yes. Patience is hard. I struggled a lot with that when I first came to Culdee Creek. Conor and Beth set about testing me at every turn … Believe me, I questioned the Lord and His will a lot in those days.”
By now, Hannah knew Abby’s story well—the loss of her first husband in a tragic railroad accident and then, less than a year later, the death of her five-year-old son from diphtheria. It had taken great courage to accept the job of housekeeper and tutor at Culdee Creek. Especially considering Conor MacKay’s less-than-commendable reputation in those days.
“But you persevered,” Hannah said, finishing her story for her, “and now you have your reward.”
“Rather, I’ve received a glorious gift,” Abby corrected gently, “in Conor and his children. And in receiving it, I’ve learned that everything God gives us is good—the pain as well as the happiness.”
“I doubt Devlin thinks so just now.” Or me, either, for that matter, Hannah silently added. Sometimes, especially when talk turned to things spiritual, Abby could speak in such riddles. How could the pain of someone’s death ever be something good? What good had come of Hu Yung’s and Ella’s deaths?
“No, I don’t imagine Devlin would be inclined to see any hope in his loss,” Abby agreed with a soft sigh. “He’s a man beset with personal demons, many of which he carried into his marriage with Ella. He’s come a long way since then, but the wounds of his childhood pain him still.”
“Well, mine pain me, too,” Hannah ground out, struggling to contain a sudden surge of bitterness, “but I haven’t let it eat me up, or used it as a club against others.”
“I know you haven’t, Hannah.” Compassion warmed Abby’s eyes. “I remember you telling me how hard you tried to care for your poor mother when she turned sick after your papa died. And then how you were sent to that orphanage …” As if in remembrance, she shivered. “I don’t know how you managed to stay at that terrible place as long as you did.”
“One way or another, I should’ve,” the girl muttered, the memories flooding back. “If I had stayed just a few more years, until I came of age, I might have left with a passel more opportunities than I ever gained by being forced to work in a brothel.”
“Conor would say you make your own opportunities out of what life deals you. And I’d say that’s what you’ve done in the past year since you came to Culdee Creek.”
The savory, herb-laden
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