“Would you like me to help you?” offered Angela. “It is hard to get it to stay until one gets used to pinning it up.”
Louise nodded, and in the re-pinning Angela was able to retain much of Louise’s little girl look. At first Louise began to protest over the adjusted style but Angela cut in simply with, “This suits you better,” and Louise took a second look in the mirror, grinned at her image, and said no more.
Thomas hustled them all to the buggy and headed the team for the Conroy farm.
“How is Hazel going to get everybody into the living room?” asked Sara.
“I have no idea,” admitted Angela.
“Well, when I get married I’m going to pick June or July so I can have an outside wedding,” went on Sara. “It’s silly to try to get married in October. It could have been snowing on our heads.”
“She had to wait until the harvest was over,” Angela informed her sister.
“Well, there won’t be any harvest to worry about in July,” Sara insisted.
Thomas laughed and reached out a hand to tousle Sara’s hair.
“Don’t you dare,” cautioned Angela. “It took me a good part of the morning to get those curls and ribbons just right.”
Thomas quickly withdrew his hand and laughed again.
Trudie was the first one out to meet them when they arrived. She bounded toward them, her lavender skirts swishing over the grass. She tossed her mane of red hair and gave Thomas a coy look to see if he had taken notice of her. He was busy tethering the horses.
“He hasn’t arrived yet,” Trudie whispered to Angela, “but Hazel says he promised to come.”
Why should Hazel care?
wondered Angela.
She is about to be married
.
Trudie opened her mouth to speak again when Angela noticed Roberta. She was in her own special chair—one from which she could not fall. Angela moved toward the girl to speak to her. Trudie trailed along behind until she realized Angela’s intentions.
“What if he comes?” she whispered frantically. “He’ll catch you talking with her.”
Angela gave Trudie a long look and moved on toward the handicapped girl.
Angela was never sure whether Roberta recognized her or just responded as she would to anyone who came near.
“Hello,” Angela said.
“Hello.” She held out a fragile hand, which Angela took in her own.
“How are you, Roberta?” asked Angela, giving the girl a smile.
“Haz—Haz get marry,” managed the girl, pointing to the spot where a small pulpit had been set up under the trees. October or not—it was to be an outdoor wedding.
“Yes, Hazel is getting married,” agreed Angela, and Roberta laughed gleefully, kicking her legs and clapping her hands.
Then Roberta turned her attention to the restraints that held her in her chair. She picked at them impatiently. “Out,” she said in agitation.
“I can’t take them off. You might fall,” Angela tried to explain. “If you fall and get hurt, you won’t see Hazel get married.”
But the girl still picked at the soft straps that kept her safely in her chair.
“My, you have a pretty dress,” Angela said in an effort to distract her. The dress was becoming. Angela was sure it had been sewn for this special occasion.
But Roberta would not be sidetracked. “Out,” she pleaded again, and Angela was relieved when she saw Ingrid coming to bring the girl a drink and a cookie.
Just before the ceremony was about to start, Angela felt a hand touch her elbow. It was Carter. He had arrived just as he had promised. For a moment Angela wished she were wearing one of the lovely silks or satins she had admired at Carson. But the moment quickly passed. She looked across the yard to where Trudie was standing in her elaborate lavender satin. Angela couldn’t help comparing her simple frock with Trudie’s.
But my own simple dress suits me
, thought Angela.
I am simple—not stunning like Trudie
.
Carter tipped his hat and complimented Angela with his eyes as he gazed on her new gown and her newly trimmed bonnet.
“You look lovely, Miss Peterson,” he said at last, and Angela’s breath caught. She wished to believe him.
“Why, thank you, sir,” she responded, merriment making her blue eyes shine.
Then Angela’s eyes met Thane’s. He was standing as usual with Thomas. The two always managed to get together. Angela gave a little wave and smiled his way. Thane nodded in response, then returned her smile. But Angela noticed that he did not brighten as he usually did. Was something wrong? She felt her throat tighten. She wanted to ask him the reason for his serious look, but Carter was steering her to a nearby bench. Even then she might have tried to push her way through the crowd and speak with Thane for just a minute, but the preacher was taking his place at the front of the gathering. The ceremony was about to begin.
Hazel made her entrance and all eyes turned to the bride.
Charlie arrived at the Peterson door one evening. The wind held a chill, and Thomas quickly bid him enter and warm himself while Angela hustled to put on the coffee. One look at the poor man and she sensed something further was wrong.
“He’s gone,” Charlie said, lowering himself into the chair Thomas offered.
“I’m so sorry,” said Angela, setting the pot on the stove and crossing to Charlie. “When?”
“This afternoon—’bout four.”
“You need some sleep. You look worn out. Why don’t you just stay here for the night and—?”
“No. Gus will need me.”
Angela let the matter drop.
“When will the funeral be?” asked Thomas.
“We haven’t made those arrangements yet—and there might be some complications.”
“Complications?”
Charlie nodded his head. “The boss said, ‘No service.’ He just wanted to be buried on his own land. But the new boss says thet’s heathen. Says there’s no way he’s gonna jest stick his pa in the ground without some ceremony.”
Angela nodded, new respect for Carter growing in her thinking.
“Sounds reasonable to me,” expressed Thomas.
Charlie nodded his head. “Well, I gotta say thet I agree with ’im on thet one. Still, it’s hard not to carry out the boss’s wishes.”
Angela laid a hand on the bent shoulder. She understood how he must feel.
“You’ve served him well for many years,” Angela reminded him. “I guess no one could expect more than you have given.”
Charlie stayed long enough to drink a cup of coffee and eat a slice of lemon loaf. Then he bundled up in his heavy coat and headed back across the empty field.
“If things had continued on as they have been, I’ve not sure Charlie could have taken it much longer,” observed Thomas.
Angela nodded in agreement. “The poor man,” she said in a whisper. “He looks like a bearded ghost. He’s lost weight, Thomas, and his eyes look sunken from lack of sleep.”
“Well, it’s over now, I guess.”
Angela nodded again and then a new thought struck her. “But not for poor Mr. Stratton,” she said. “For him—there is an eternity ahead—and I fear for what it holds for him.”
Thomas lifted his head to look at her.
“Oh, Thomas,” admitted Angela. “I never once tried to share my faith with him.”
“Pa tried,” responded Thomas.
“He did?”
“More than once. I was with him one time. I remember. Pa said that the caring for the state of one’s soul was the most important job a man had to do in life. Then he invited Mr. Stratton to church.”
Angela waited.
“The man cursed at Pa. I will never forget it. It shocked me that a man would speak in such a way. Then he clenched his fist and shook it in Pa’s face. Pa never even blinked. I was hoping Pa would punch him.” Thomas stopped to smile momentarily at the memory, then went on.
“Pa didn’t back down, but he allowed the man some self-respect—even though he knew he was wrong. ‘Mr. Stratton,’ he said. ‘A man’s got a right to make his own decisions in life. I’ll grant you that. But I’ll also continue to pray for you—and if you ever want to discuss the matter—well, you’ve got a neighbor and friend just over the fence.’”
“He said that?”
“I was so proud of my pa that day,” declared Thomas. “I knew right then that it took a bigger man to extend his hand than it did to fight.”
Angela picked up the empty coffee cups.
“Thomas,” she said. “We have been so blessed—you and I—to have parents like we had. It just hurts me to think that all the—the memories that we treasure—the—the younger ones can’t share. Our folks—through their teaching, built such a strong, sure base for us.”
“We share them in our game and in our Memory Book.”
“But that’s not the same as getting them firsthand,” insisted Angela.
“But it is still important,” Thomas replied.
Angela crossed to the kitchen shelf that held their Memory Books. There were three scribblers now—all recording the things family members had recalled about their parents. She let her hand caress them gently. They
were
important. In sharing memories, they had grown even closer as a family.
“Yes,” Angela agreed. “It’s the best we can do.” Then she lifted her head and spoke again to her older brother. “Thomas, we must be careful to be kind to Carter. He doesn’t even have any memories of his father. Only rumors. And I don’t think he and his mother are on very good terms at present, either. I could—could hear it in his voice when he spoke of her.”
“I think she spoiled him—then became angry when he wanted to be his own man instead of her little boy,” observed Thomas.
“Well, he needs friends. If one doesn’t have family—then one needs friends even more.”
———
The funeral service was held two days later. Reverend Merrifield conducted the brief ceremony, and Mr. Stratton, Sr., the community’s rich man, was laid in the town cemetery with an appropriate stone marking his final resting place.
Most folks from the area attended the service. Only a few, like Mrs. Blackwell, declined.
“I had nothing to do with the man while he lived,” she observed sourly, “so I see no reason to have anything to do with him when he’s dead.”
Mr. Blackwell came into town to get a harness repaired and slipped, unobtrusively, into the gathering.
The three mourners who stood close to the graveside made quite a contrast. Carter towered above the other two. He was dressed in a fine dark suit. His broad shoulders wore it well and his head was bowed just enough to show proper respect for the man who had been his father, but whom he had never known. The two little men who stood beside him wore the same suits they had worn for funerals over many years. The garments were faded and wrinkled—much like the two who wore them. But the faces of the two little gentlemen were etched with genuine grief. Charlie stopped to brush away a tear now and then, unaffected by the crowd of observers.
There wasn’t much the Reverend Merrifield could say in comfort to the bereaved, so he spoke to those who remained behind.
“I go to prepare a place for you,” he quoted and then lifted his eyes to the neighbors.
“Friends—Christ spoke those words—and so we know them to be true. He has gone to prepare a place for us—for each one of us. But for us to take advantage of His goodness—we must prepare our hearts for that place.
“Have you considered what you must do? Christ will keep His word. The place will be prepared and waiting. It will be ready when you depart this world—if you also have made preparations.
“God has told us in His Word what we must do to prepare. ‘Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ and thou shalt be saved.’ Repent—turn from your wickedness and unto God. Ask God to forgive those wrongs—those sins of the past—and to give you a clean heart—clean thoughts, clean actions—so that you might be prepared for the place He has prepared. Accept the forgiveness of God through the death of His Son, and be baptized in faith.”
As the sermon continued, Angela stole a look at the crowd of neighbors all around the graveside. How many of them might need to hear the words being spoken? Had she really been concerned about their eternal destinies—or had she been too busy caring for her family?
Mama would have found the time—I know she would have
, Angela thought.
I must be careful so I don’t get too taken up with duties that I forget people
.
Angela glanced again at the three menfolk at the grave. Carter stood respectfully, yet locked away. Angela could not read his thoughts or feelings. Charlie mourned openly. Poor little Charlie. The long illness of his boss and friend had almost done him in. Gus looked uncomfortable, as if he wished the parson would hurry. His hand supported Charlie by holding his elbow. It was touching to see the two elderly, wizened little men sharing their grief in such a manner.
———
“What will you do now?” Angela asked Charlie and Gus.
She had bundled up a few loaves of fresh bread in a clean kitchen towel and taken them across the field. She sat in the big kitchen. Now that Gus had been freed to return to his regular duties, he had scrubbed and polished until everything shone again.
“I guess I jest go back to my cookin’,” said Gus lightly.
“And you?” asked Angela turning to Charlie. “Will you be riding again?”
Charlie shook his head slowly. “I’m too old for ridin’. Got no yen to be back out in the sun and the snow. My bones ache and the old breaks give me a twinge now and then. I guess I’ll just find me a little shack somewhere and sit and rock.”
Angela smiled. If anyone deserved to sit and rock, she felt Charlie did.
“Why do you need a shack? There’s plenty of room here.”
“Thet’s what I been tellin’ ’im,” cut in Gus. “No reason I can see fer ’im to be lookin’ fer another place. No reason.”
Charlie shook his head.
“I ain’t no use to nobody here anymore,” he insisted. “Ain’t gonna sit around an’ jest get in the way.”
“Why don’t you come live with us?” Angela asked so suddenly that she surprised even herself.
Charlie looked up quickly to see if he had heard her right.
“We can make room,” Angela continued, her mind busily trying to work out her plan.
Charlie was shaking his head slowly.
“Sure we can,” she said. “I’ll speak to Thomas. We’d love to have you—all of us would.”