Authors: Kate Benson
Riley
I make my way out of the chapel, savoring the cool night breeze as it falls over my face. I can’t stop the smile moving over my lips as I make my way to the infirmary, nodding a greeting to those I pass along the way.
Pushing my way into the small, weathered building, I’m careful to keep my voice down, thinking of the ill inside. Tiptoeing my way to the far end, I find the small nurses’ station empty. Assuming they’re busy with patients, I set my basket down on the desk and take in the area I’d come to love so dearly.
My eyes make their way up to the small frame in the corner of the desk, smiling sadly as they take in the ivory face of my mother. My fingertips trace over the frame before they fall on her smiling lips, somehow soothing and wounding my heavy, aching heart.
“I miss you,” I whisper to myself, confident in my privacy until another voice breaks through.
“You know, she misses you, too,” the sweet voice says over my shoulder.
Spinning, I wipe my teary eyes and face my best friend, Sara, who is standing behind me. Her blonde hair is framing her smiling face as she reaches between us, taking my hand and giving it a gentle squeeze of reassurance. As my green eyes meet her hazel, I thank God for her friendship for the millionth time as I return the gentle squeeze.
“You know, you shouldn’t sneak up on people like that,” I tease, making her giggle. “It’s not safe.”
“We’re in the infirmary,” she whispers playfully. “If you pass out, you’re in good hands here.”
“Well, that’s a comfort,” I grin, watching her move to the other side of the nurse’s desk, taking a seat in one of the two chairs. “Where’s your mama?”
“She’s gone to the main house to tend to Sister Rachel,” she explains, pulling a nod from me. “She asked me to keep an eye on things until she got back. What’s in your basket?”
“Oh,” I smile, remembering the salve and blankets I’d promised her mother this morning. “I saw her earlier and she mentioned y’all could use a few things, so I brought them on my way home.”
Pulling the contents out, I hand them over, smiling when I see the relief on her face.
“Thank you,” she says. “We’re getting dangerously low on medication and with winter coming, blankets have been in short supply.”
“I know,” I nod in agreement. “I mentioned that to the Reverend and he said they’d be heading into town soon, so he’d try to get you more supplies before the first snowfall.”
“That would be great,” she smiles. “Mama will be so pleased when she gets back.”
“Do you need help putting things away?” I ask, watching her shake her head.
“I think I can manage, but thank you.”
“Okay,” I nod. “I’m going to stop in and see Brother Josiah then.”
“He’d like that,” she smiles. “Oh, and by the way, I have bad news,” she continues, her face holding a sullen expression as she makes her way to the door that leads to the next room. “The twins found your muffins. They didn’t make it.”
“It’s okay, I knew the risks” I giggle with her. “I’ll have some next time.”
Making my way behind the thin divider, I peek in to find Josiah lying quietly in his cot, staring upwards toward the ceiling. When he hears my quiet footsteps, he glances over, a warm smile filling his face.
“Sister Riley,” he grins, warming me. “How are you this night?”
“I’m blessed, Brother, thank you,” I nod, taking a seat in the small, wooden chair at his side. “And you? How are you feeling?”
“This old body of mine is wearing down,” he admits with a sigh as I take his hand, the thin skin bruised and withered with time. “But my heart is full of joy and blessings. I don’t imagine this old soul could ask for better than that.”
“Well, it’s what’s in the heart that counts,” I offer, watching him nod in agreement. “I’ve come to offer my friendship and prayer to you. Would you like that?”
“You know I always do, Sister,” he smiles, patting my hand. “Thank you.”
Bending my head, I begin whispering a quiet prayer, low enough that it’s heard only between the two of us and our Maker. In the years I’d been here, I’d come to grow fond of every piece of our small community, but Brother Josiah has always held a very special place in my heart.
I’d grown up with him just a stone’s throw away in the cottage beside ours. When he lost his wife, Caroline, a few years back, I’d taken it upon myself to check in on him from time to time. They’d never had children of their own and having never met my grandparents, we’d adopted each other as family ever since. His health had been wavering over these past few months, taking with it the last of the resilience I’d hoped to cling to when I lost my mother this past spring.
The thought of losing another person I’d come to grow so close to so soon after was something that filled my still fragile heart with great despair.
Aside from Sara, no one knew of the sadness his impending departure held over me. I knew, especially now that I was working with the Reverend, my fear wasn’t something that would coincide with the beliefs we’d been taught. Josiah would be taken to the Lord, his earthly ailments a distant memory soon replaced with joy and infinite perfection. We’d be expected to celebrate his reunion with the heavens, not mourn the loss of the man we’d be bidding farewell to.
It was us who were left behind who would suffer the most, this I knew.
Seeming to read my thoughts, Josiah squeezes my hand, his deep voice breaking through.
“Your mother would be so proud of you,” he whispers, filling my eyes with tears again. “And when I’m gone, you’ll be okay. Trust in the Lord, as you always have, Riley. He’ll see you through it.”
I nod silently toward him, returning his tired smile and patting his hand in reassurance.
By the time I leave him an hour later, the sun has set and another day on the farm has come to a close. I walk with Sara, telling her about my busy day until we come to the edge of the small walkway leading to her house.
“How was your day?” I ask her, smiling when I see her lips quirk up on either side.
“It was good,” she beams, scarlet touching her cheeks. “Brother Tobias came by the infirmary today.”
Sara had set her eyes on Reverend Tucker’s son, Tobias, some time ago. Ever since, she’d hoped she’d be betrothed to him when the time came. He was a nice boy, humble and honest as they come. He’d always expressed an interest in Sara as well, so to the rest of us in the community, we’d always thought it would be a good fit. With her eighteenth birthday passing just a few weeks after mine, she’d been eagerly awaiting the Reverend to announce if we’d all been right.
The sounds of her young twin brothers, David and Elijah, fill the air, their laughter singing out like music over the cool evening breeze. As her front door gently swings open, their mops of golden hair dance down the stone sidewalk, barreling toward us.
“Sara!” they sing in unison, their laughter contagious as they jump into her already outstretched arms.
“Hiya,” she smiles, kissing them each before releasing them, sending them toward me.
“Hello there,” I beam, returning their hugs and smiling at their excitement. “Did you have a good day today?”
“Yes, we ate your muffins,” they giggle, making me laugh.
“I heard,” I grin back at them as they smile in unison, tugging on Sara’s hand and leading her toward the house.
“Come and play with us!”
“I’m being beckoned,” she giggles, smiling over at me. “If you need anything, you know where I am.”
“Thank you,” I smile warmly, releasing her hand and watching her go for a moment before turning back toward me. “Be blessed!”
“And you!” she calls back. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I make my way to the small, stone house I’ve called home my whole life and push open the door, lighting the small lantern nearby, illuminating the living room.
I push the door shut, closing myself inside and releasing a deep breath of exhaustion. I fill the large pot on the small stove, heating water for my bath before setting the lantern on the small table beneath the mirror and pulling my clothes off. As the water slowly heats, I study myself in the mirror, taking in the reflection of the pale faced, dark-haired girl staring back at me.
My green eyes, the color of the pine trees in summer, have always been my favorite feature. Over the past months, though, their color has faded, much like the vibrance of the trees that surrounded our farm.
I trace my full, pink lips with my fingers, taking in my bare, petite frame, studying the freckles sprinkled over my shoulders with scrutiny.
I’d never thought myself to be a very pretty girl. In fact, next to someone like Sara whose long, blonde strands and bright smile illuminated her features, I’d always felt painfully plain. However, I knew I’d been blessed with a good heart and a face that showed my inner light.
Picking up the shears from the small cabinet where my lantern rests, I make quick work of tidying up the strays that litter my soft bangs. Pleased with the results, I replace the shears to their spot and turn to see the pots on the stove steaming.
I fill the basin, saving just enough for my nightly cup of tea before I slip into the water, the warmth instantly soothing my tired joints as I scrub the evidence of the day away.
Leaning back into the water, I rest my head against the edge of the basin, my thoughts wandering into a place somewhere along the path of my forgotten dreams and my obligation.
Pulling myself back to reality some time later, I release a sigh and stand, drying my bare body and pulling my worn nightshirt on over my head.
“Dreams are for people who aren’t at peace with their reality, Riley,” I remind myself quietly, releasing the tie from my hair. “Be content in your blessings, find purpose in your duties.”
I sip my tea and make my way to my bedroom, reading my Bible before drifting off to what I hope will be a dreamless sleep.
Tomorrow is a day that’s sure to be full of obligation and duty.
There’s no place for dreaming in a reality like mine.
Riley
“It’s on days such as these, those riddled with trials, sacrifice and mercy that we should look to the Lord. We shall follow His great word, His wise prophecy and know that in His hands, we are secure,” the Reverend speaks loudly, pulling a nod from each member of the congregation.
We stand before him amongst the withering crops, taking in the drought that has had such a negative impact on our production over the past few months.
The east end of the farm isn’t one I’d visited often, even as a girl. I always found it odd how we could share such a great relationship with every facet of our community, but still be so widely spread apart.
Looking over the people I’ve come to know as family, I’m ashamed to say there are a few that I’ve rarely spoken to in my lifetime.
It’s not out of judgment or lack of interest that I’ve not come in contact with this part of my community. On the contrary, I’d always held those who cared for our crops in the highest regard.
More often than not, I’m sad to say that aside from our weekly services at the church, most of the people I’d come to know from the far east side of the farm had been due to them falling ill.
However, being the daughter of the head nurse at the infirmary, it wasn’t often I had time to explore the quaint area we called home.
Every person, every single life that was a part of this great community was given a purpose. Even years before we’d been given our proper work assignments, there were chores, duties for which we were responsible. We each had a role with which we were expected to fulfill in order to ensure the future success of the place we called home.
My mother explained it to me like a quilt.
Each square on its own was beautiful, unique even. However, in order to reach our greatest potential, we must come together, each piece completing its duty of offering warmth, comfort and a helping hand.
That’s what this farm, our home, had always been. A great way of offering our helping hands, our own unique gifts to one another in order to serve the greater good.
I smile quietly to myself, the treasured memory of my mother explaining to me the way our world works filling me with deep love and great pride.
“
Sometimes, it takes a village, Riley
,” she’d always said, her kind voice, her loving smile filling my mind’s eye with warmth and comfort even now.
“The fruits of our labor shall be rewarded with great results,” the Reverend continues, his deep, booming voice pulling me away from my wandering thoughts, filling me with guilt for having drifted off to begin with. “If only we continue to place our trust in His path for our future, the light He so graciously puts in our path.”
“Amen.”
The voices of the men of the east end of our small, farming community sound out in approval of the Reverend’s words.
His wisdom, his words of community and faith fill my heart with gratitude as I whisper my thanks for his leadership in these trying times.
For the third month in a row, our crops have come up short. Each time he’d been asked to visit, to bless the land, he’d traveled here to the far end of the property to lend words of blessings and promises of a better tomorrow.
Our community had seen times like these before. Helpless as they’d made us feel, the Reverend has always had a way about him that calmed our nervous thoughts.
With a quick sermon and a few words of comfort, he was able to regenerate our belief that the future of our small home was one that offered blessings as it always had. No matter how much despair had filled our hearts, no matter how helpless we might feel at the beginning of each of our hardest days, his words, his presence alone served as a simple reminder that this community was one that had both seen and overcome the hardest of times.
If we stuck together, continued to weave the quilt that was our community while maintaining our faith, our light, we would always persevere.
As he comes to a close, he smiles widely at the people surrounding him, offering all of us a final promise of hope.
After a moment, he gestures for me to join him, leading me toward the women with a warm smile.
“Sisters,” he nods in their direction, presenting me to the fairer members of the group. “Sister Riley has come here with me to help offer you her prayer and friendship in these uncertain times,” he continues. “If there’s anything she can do to help ease your minds, please don’t hesitate.”
“Thank you, Reverend,” they reply in unison, each of them offering me a small smile of appreciation.
“Shall we pray?” I ask nervously.
Willing my voice to even out so that I might be able to offer them the guidance they’d been promised, I slowly begin to steady my breaths. It takes a moment, but by the time I find myself hand in hand with my sisters, I grow more confident.
We bow our heads, eager to soak in the mercy and glory awaiting us. My nerves have me stumbling at first, but after a few moments, the thick air of sadness is replaced with a calming blanket of hope and light.
I thank each of them for coming, offering my friendship and warm wishes before I make my way back to Reverend Tucker.
He speaks quietly to the men, his voice so low that I can’t quite make out what he’s saying to the elders, Brothers Abraham and Ephriam.
I can tell by their mannerisms that prayer isn’t what they’re discussing, but I know enough about the community I’ve called home, my place within it, that I don’t dare ask.
“Be blessed,” he says quietly a moment later, his voice breaking my thoughts as I glance up to see him making his way back to me. “You did a wonderful job today, Riley,” he offers, his approval making me smile. “Our sisters look much more at ease after having spoken with you. You should feel peaceful about the work you’ve done here to...”
“Help! Help!”
His words of praise are cut short by the sound of two of our younger members calling out to us from beyond the trees.
They race toward us, continuing to call out to us in panic as my heart lurches in my chest.
I watch with the other women as Reverend Tucker, Abraham and Ephriam race toward them at the edge of the land.
When three more figures come into view, two I know and one I can’t determine as he’s spread out on the grass, I swallow the nerves bubbling up into my chest.
The women around me need to remain calm, know that they’re safe. They’ll never be able to do that if I lose my senses.
Once the small group accompanying the Reverend make their way to the boys, their voices are quieter, shouting no longer needed as they’ve grown closer.
“What’s happened?” the whispered voices around me ask, but I don’t know, so I can only shake my head in confusion along with them.
“I’m so sorry, but I’m really not sure,” I admit, reaching to my side to console Abraham’s wife. “I’m not sure, but I have faith that everything will be just fine. The Reverend is here. Whatever it is, I know he’ll keep us safe. Just embrace your light, sisters.”
The women begin to nod their agreement and in a moment of clarity, I know exactly what will help.
Softly, I begin to hum the opening chords of ‘Down in the River to Pray’, first to myself and then louder for the women surrounding me.
When I was a girl, I was afraid of the dark, always wondering what lurked within the shadows. We’d heard stories of what happened out beyond our farm. While I’d secretly been intrigued by the promise of something different, I’d been assured nothing beyond the tree line was safe, feeding my fears. At least once a week, I’d wake from nightmares to find my mother smiling down at me, humming sweetly until I grew calm.
The looks on the faces surrounding me were much like mine when I feared the shadows.
I’m not sure why, but it seemed right.
Slowly, the women and girls around me begin to quietly sing along, their voices sounding shaken at first. By the time we make it to the part that had always been my favorite, they seem to calm.
Smiling quietly to myself, proud of the comfort I’d been able to offer, I begin the next verse, only to be cut off.
“Riley!” the Reverend calls out, cutting me off and effectively sending another jolt of worry into my chest. “Sister Riley! Come quick! We need your help!”
“I’ll be right back,” I promise them, thanking them for their concern as I break free from their hands.
In the next breath, I’m running.