Long Road Home, The (3 page)

Two days before the wedding, Corrine was completely bedridden. Paul begged her to change the wedding date, but she was adamant. He stood by her bed in acute frustration. The woman Paul had first seen in the living room and found out later was Corrine’s nurse was seated quietly nearby.

“Corrine, you don’t even have the strength to get out of this bed. I don’t mind waiting until you can be up.”

It was no use. Corrine had made up her mind, and Paul couldn’t change it. What surprised him the most was that her parents were all for them being married immediately.

“We were thinking, Paul,” Mrs. Templeton spoke to him in the hallway outside her daughter’s room, “we can hold the ceremony right in Corrine’s room. I know it’s not what you planned, but it would make Corrine so happy, and she’s had so little happiness.”

Paul wondered at that statement, even as he heard himself agreeing to the plan. Why, to hear Mr. Templeton talk, Corrine had had the best of everything her entire life.

Paul and Corrine were married two days later. Corrine’s nurse had helped her sit up against the headboard, and Paul stood next to the bed, her hand in his.

As pale and sick as Corrine looked that day, hope surged through Paul. He knew this was the beginning of a wonderful marriage. He thought of the children they would raise
together and praised God with all his heart for His goodness and love. If he had to spend his wedding night in the room next to Corrine’s and not with her, it was a small thing really in the light of all the years they would share.

The days that followed developed into a pattern of sorts. Paul took all his meals at his wife’s bedside, and the entire house seemed to brighten as their laughter was heard again and again.

They shared with each other from the deepest recesses of their hearts: their hopes, dreams, plans, and prayers. Part of their daily routine was a time of prayer for their life together as man and wife. Even when Corrine’s health continued to decline, Paul did not despair. God had great plans for them.

Lunch time was their favorite time to discuss plans for the future.

“Do you like blue?”

“Umm hmm,” Paul answered around a bite of fried chicken.

“That’s good, because I’d love to have a blue kitchen. I dream about having a quilting bee around my own kitchen table in my own blue kitchen.” Her voice was so wistful; Paul prayed silently he would be able to give her that wish very soon.

“How many ladies from our church attend the quilting bee?”

“I think three, but the entire group is probably 15.”

They ate for a few minutes in silence. There was potato salad to go with the chicken and baked beans. Paul’s favorite pie was for dessert, and he had just taken a bite when Corrine asked about his Sunday sermon.

“I’m in the last chapters in Genesis, and I think it’s going fine.”

“I wish I could be there.”

“Why, Corrine, what’s the matter with me? We always have prayer, but it never once occurred to me to have Bible study together.”

“Oh Paul, could we really? I so miss your preaching. You’re a wonderful pastor—the best I’ve ever heard.”

Paul leaned over his wife’s bed and they shared a loving kiss. “We’ll start tomorrow, and I apologize for not thinking of it before.” Paul’s word was good and they did begin the next day. Corrine had wonderful insights to the passages they studied, and Paul found himself learning from her.

They still prayed every day, and often Paul felt tears in his eyes as he listened to his wife pray for the people of Bayfield. She had grown up here, and her heart was committed to seeing the people she’d known for years understand that Christ died for the sin of all men.

When Corrine’s condition worsened to the point that she could no longer feed herself, a doctor was sent for. Paul did not look at this as a sign of defeat, but of hope. Surely God would use this man to heal his wife.

But it was not to be. Corrine’s condition deteriorated with each passing day. Her room was now a constant swarm of people: Corrine’s parents, the doctor, and three nurses for around-the-clock needs. Paul often could not even approach the bed. When he could get near, it was only to stand at the foot and watch his wife’s pale face on the pillow.

Still he trusted in God. Stories of Jesus healing the blind and lame, Scripture passages of Jesus walking on the water or calming the sea came constantly to Paul’s mind. His was a God of miracles, and Paul knew the healing of Corrine Cameron was going to be one of those miracles.

The days passed slowly. Corrine was not aware of anything now—not of her nurse straightening her pillow or of her husband who stood for sometimes hours and watched her sleep as her breathing became lighter, shallower with each passing hour.

Paul left her side only for brief times. He wanted to be the first person she saw when she again opened her eyes. Finally,
in exhaustion, Paul retired to his room to fall fully clothed onto the bed for a time of fitful sleep.

He awoke some hours later to a commotion in the hall. Rising from the bed disheveled and disoriented, he stumbled to his wife’s room just as the doctor was turning from the bed. The doctor looked to Corrine’s parents and gently shook his head. Paul watched Corrine’s mother bury her face in a hand-kerchief and felt as though he were in a dream.

For the first time in weeks Corrine’s room seemed to be clear. Paul approached the bed, still not believing the evidence staring him in the face. His wife could
not
be dead. He had prayed; he had asked God to heal her. She could
not
be dead.

Paul looked down at his wife’s still form. He stared at the sheets over her chest for a long time, but there was no movement. For days her breathing had grown quieter, barely audible, and now there was complete silence.

Paul reached out and picked up her hand. Lifeless. In that instant, something cold squeezed around Paul’s heart. What a fool he had been to think she would live. Her parents had known, he realized now. His prayers, his belief had been useless. They had encouraged the wedding because they knew she was going to die. He wondered if Corrine had really known how serious her condition was.

God had let her die. God had done this. Paul bent over his wife’s body. Her brow was cool as he gently kissed her. His eyes moved over her beloved features one more time as his hand smoothed her hair. He looked at no one as he turned from the bed, and no one spoke to him or tried to stop him. It didn’t take him long to pack his few things. After all, he didn’t possess much—he was just a poor preacher.

He thought absently as he left the house in the still dark of night that he really ought to let his grandmother know there had been a change in his plans.

Bruce Mines, Ontario

Even as Paul dealt with the loss of Corrine, another family, many miles away in a Canadian province, was also saying good-bye to a loved one.

“The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord.” The minister’s final words were spoken through clenched teeth, necessary to avoid chattering. The frigid wind whipped at coats and skirts, causing the handful of mourners to huddle even deeper beneath whatever covering they wore. The service was over, collars were pulled higher, and movements were stiff as the people began to walk away from the grave.

The two grave diggers stood off to one side. Even in gloves, their hands and fingers felt like ice as they gripped the handles of their shovels. They watched until the only mourner left was a small woman. Seemingly unaffected by the wind and cold, she wore a coat that was threadbare in places. She stood looking into the hole, and the men could see her mouth moving, although the wind didn’t allow them to catch the words. Assuming she was praying, they looked away to give her privacy.

The woman had not heard anything anyone had said to her, so deeply was she drawn into her grief. Now, if anyone had
really cared to observe, they would have realized she was not praying but speaking into the grave.

She didn’t begin to pray until she turned from the hole in the ground and then only to plead, “Please, Father, help me.”

Once out of the cemetery and into the churchyard, she made straight for a wagon. The older man and woman standing beside it watched her in opposite fashions. The woman’s eyes were filled with sorrow, compassion, and love, while the man’s eyes were cold and angry. He spoke as the young woman neared.

“It’s all your fault he’s dead. You and your religion, you and your work for God. There was nothing wrong with his life the way it was, and then you come along and fill his head with ‘life for God’ talk.” The words were spat at her in anger and bitterness. She stood in agony and let them come. “I can’t stand the sight of you! He’s dead and you’re alive. I wish you were dead, too. You get your things and get out of my house.”

Both women watched the man stomp away, leaving them with the wagon and horse. The older of the women spoke when her husband was out of earshot. “He’s wrong; he’s so wrong.” The woman continued even though tears clogged her throat. “He’s out of his head with grief, and I’m not sure he knows what he’s saying, but he
is
wrong.” The woman reached and hugged the younger woman.

“I could never have asked for a more precious daughter-in-law, and I know my son had never been happier before he met you and turned his life over to God. But you do have to go away. I’m afraid for you if you stay here because he’s so angry and bitter.” They were holding on to each other’s hands now, and the older woman’s voice became desperate. “Are you listening to me?”

The younger woman nodded, pain squeezing her heart at the thought of leaving this woman whom she loved, this
woman who was the mother of her husband, now the only tie to his memory.

“You must go away for a time. I’ve got a small amount of money, enough to see you out of town and I’m not sure how far. Maybe you could go spend some time with your aunt in Wisconsin.”

They looked at one another and hugged again, each one unable to see any other road to take at this point. They climbed aboard the wagon and went back to the house to pack a bag for the young widow.

At the house, the grieving father did not make an appearance. After packing her few belongings, she was able to get to the train without mishap. It was just as she boarded, took a seat, and looked out the window back at the train station that she caught sight of her father-in-law. He stared at her—his face still a cold mask of bitterness.

Again she prayed the only words that would form in her grief-soaked mind: “Please, Father, help me.”

Baxter, Wisconsin

Paul stood quietly in his grandmother’s living room, his back to two of his brothers—Luke and Silas—and his brother-in-law, John “Mac” MacDonald. Emily Cameron sat just in the next room at the kitchen table, petitioning God with all her soul on behalf of her youngest grandchild.

Without turning, Paul spoke. “I came here to tell Gram of my plans, not get a sermon from my brothers.”

“I thought giving sermons was your job,” Luke said.

“Not anymore.” His voice was implacable, hard.

“Paul, I realize I don’t know how you feel, but I don’t believe for a minute that God has deserted you. I—”

“That’s right, Silas. You don’t know how I feel, so don’t say God hasn’t deserted me. How was Amy when you left the house today, Silas? She was fine, wasn’t she? Don’t forget for a second you still have a wife and haven’t the faintest idea of what it feels like to bury one.”

Silas had no reply to this, and he exchanged a look with his brother and Mac—they just as helpless as he in the face of Paul’s bitterness.

“Your sister will want to see you, Paul.” Mac spoke now, his deep voice gentle. “I don’t know what I’ll tell her if you go without seeing her.”

If the men could have seen their brother’s face, they would have known Mac’s words had hit home. Paul and Julia had always been close. But Paul took a moment and effectively pushed his sister’s face from his mind.

“Just tell her I’m sorry I missed her.”

“I’ll tell her, Paul, and I’ll tell you outright. I’m disappointed in you. I’ve never known you to be so selfish.”

Paul turned from the window at this remark, his voice cool. “I don’t agree with you, Mac, considering I wouldn’t have seen any of you if you hadn’t been here working on Gram’s house. I can hardly be sorry if my plans don’t include a visit to everyone.”

“What about the plans for your church? What will the people in your church do for a pastor?”

Paul turned once again to the window upon Luke’s question. It wasn’t his problem any longer. He couldn’t possibly go on teaching about a God he could no longer trust.

He had trusted God at one time—trusted Him with everything. But God had let him down. When he believed God could take care of the most important person in his life—Corrine—God had failed him.

Anger and bitterness surged through him, and it was evident in his voice, a voice his brothers knew better than to argue with. “I’m leaving tomorrow, and all the talk in the world isn’t going to stop me. I’m not sure where I’ll end up, but I told Gram I would stay in touch with her.”

Grandma Em sat in the kitchen and listened to the words and then the sound of someone going up the stairs. She had never felt so totally helpless.

It didn’t take long for the three men remaining downstairs to move into the kitchen.

Luke asked, “You heard?”

Grandma Em could only nod.

“I’m afraid he’s going to have to work this out for himself.” Mac’s voice was sad and resigned.

“He’s so bitter.” Grandma Em’s voice was filled with anxiety. “I would have thought nothing could make Paul turn his back on God.”

“I feel the same way, Gram,” Mac assured her. “But regardless of Paul’s feelings, God has not turned
His
back on Paul. He’s still God’s child and, no matter how far down Paul goes, God will be faithful.”

“We never even met Corrine.” Grandma Em sounded as if she had just realized this. The table fell silent, each person experiencing grief over the loss of a granddaughter/sister-in-law he or she had never even seen.

Upstairs sat the man with whom they grieved, even more bitter than they imagined, making plans to walk down a road that would take him far from his family and into a life where his God would not be welcome.