The Braxtons of Miracle Springs (9 page)

Nothing changed much for the next several days. Christopher and Pa and the boys went up to the mine the following morning just the same as they always did, though not quite so early.

Pa was a little quieter than normal for the rest of the week. The others, and Almeda and I too, were kind of watching him to see what he was going to decide about the mine. Knowing Pa, he realized it too, and that only increased the pressure on him to make a final decision. When he told us about shutting down the mine, his words were
almost
like those of a decision, but they weren't quite final. Then everything Alkali Jones said had muddied the water about what to do. And when Pa said nothing more, the future was left up in the air, and nobody knew quite what to think or what Pa expected.

Everybody, I suppose, had their own reasons not to talk about it openly, because what Pa had said couldn't help but cast doubt onto everyone's future. Even Christopher and I didn't talk about it right at first, and we usually talked about
everything
.

Two days after Pa's surprise announcement about shutting down the mine, Zack left for the afternoon to Little Wolf's, and Christopher went over to Tom Woodstock's again to help him finish up the fence they had been working on together. That left just Tad and Pa at the mine—Mr. Jones wasn't feeling too well and left early too—and when the two of them came down about four o'clock, it was clear enough they were through for the day, even though they usually worked till six or seven.

It was already obvious that everyone was thinking of a change. Meals gradually grew quieter. Zack began to spend more time with Little Wolf again. Two mornings later Tad rode into town, and we later found out he'd gone to see Mr. Simms about getting his old job at the livery stable back. Mr. Jones—I don't know why, sensing maybe that Pa hadn't taken kindly to his idea—didn't come around for several days.

I didn't like what was going on, but I was afraid to say anything. I don't know what I would have said anyway. Pa was right. If they weren't finding gold, then what was the use of pounding away on rocks for eight, ten, or twelve hours a day month after month?

When Christopher gradually grew quieter and quieter, I began to be even more concerned. It wasn't like him. He had always been so open and communicative; now for several days he hardly spoke whenever we were alone, and when he did speak it was only about the most superficial things.

Finally I just had to ask him what was wrong.

“Christopher,” I said one evening after we had retired to our little home in the bunkhouse, “why are you being so quiet? What's wrong? Have I done something to make you upset?”

“Oh no, Corrie,” he replied, looking at me with a pained expression. “It's nothing about
you
.”

“What, then?”

“It's just . . . I've had a lot on my mind.”

“But what—what about? Why can't you tell me?”

“I didn't want to bother you with it.”

“It's worse
not
being bothered with it,” I said. “What else can I think but that it has something to do with me . . . with us.”

“Oh, but it doesn't at all—that is, not directly.”

“Oh, Christopher, you're just making it worse by being so vague. You've got me really worried. I've never seen you like this.”

He sighed, and I could tell I had only succeeded in adding to whatever the cause was of the burden he was feeling. We were quiet a minute.

“I'm sorry, Corrie,” he said finally. “The last thing in the world I want is for you to think I'm upset with you. I really am sorry.”

“Thank you,” I said softly. “But when a man gets quiet, that's the first thing a woman thinks. I don't know—somehow you can't help it.”

“I suppose you're right,” he sighed again. “But on my side of it, when a man is uncertain about a decision, wondering about the future, asking the Lord what to do in a given situation—sometimes that uncertainty brings with it an introspection and quiet that you just can't help, either.”

“Why can't you just share what you're thinking?”

“Sometimes it isn't that easy.”

“For most men, maybe, but you've always been different. You always talk to me about what's on your mind.”

“It isn't that I'm trying not to talk about this; it's that I just can't—not yet. I just have to sort and pray something through on my own. I don't know how to explain it other than that, Corrie. Even for the most open and expressive of men, there are times when a sense of quiet comes over you that you just can't help. I don't say it's right or good or that it ought to be that way, only that sometimes you can't do anything else.”

I didn't say anything for a moment.

“But don't you see how hard that makes it on a wife like me?” I asked at length.

“Yes,” Christopher nodded. “And I truly mean it when I say that I am very sorry.”

Again it was silent for a minute or two.

“Can't you tell me
anything
about what you're thinking?” I finally asked.

“I'm thinking about what your father said a few days ago—you must realize that.”

“About closing the mine?”

Christopher nodded.

“What about it? I don't see why that would cause such a melancholy to come over you. You're not finding any gold anyway, even you said that.”

“It's not about the gold,” replied Christopher with just a touch of exasperation in his voice that I could even think such a thing.

“What, then?”

“Don't you see?” Again I felt the exasperation.

“I guess I don't.”

“If we quit working the mine, then where does that leave us, Corrie?”

“What do you mean? It doesn't leave us anywhere. It leaves us right here. What do you think, that Pa will ask us to leave?”

I suppose there might have been a little exasperation in my tone by this time, too.

“Of course not.”

“They love having us here.”

“I know that. What I'm saying is where does it leave us as far as the future is concerned? What will I do?”

“I don't know—work like you did before the mine partnership? You're a hard worker. You'll find something.”

“It was different then. I'd just come here, and I needed something to occupy my time and earn a few honest dollars. It's all changed now.”

“How?”

“Corrie, how can you even ask such a thing? We're married now. That changes everything. What do you think, that I'm going to be satisfied supporting a family doing an odd job here and an odd job there, living forever in the back end of a barn?”

“What's wrong with this?” I asked. “I think it's romantic.”

“It is. I think it's romantic, too. I love it here. But, don't you see, it can't last forever. Someday we will have to think of the future, of what I am going to do with my life, of what kind of a life I am going to provide for you and our family. When your father said what he did the other night, suddenly that
someday
crashed in upon me and I realized that maybe I needed to think about that future now.”

At last I saw what had so burdened Christopher down. Of course it would have made him anxious. How could I have been so insensitive to what he was going through?

“Christopher, I'm sorry,” I said. “I think I'm beginning to understand.”

“Don't worry about it. You didn't do anything wrong.”

“Still, I'm sorry.”

“Apology accepted. Thanks. What about mine?”

“Your what?”

“My apology,” smiled Christopher, and it
was
good to see him smile.

“Your apology accepted, too,” I said, returning his smile.

He stretched his arm around me and pulled me closer to him where we had been sitting together on the bench. I snuggled in close, and we sat contentedly like that for five or ten minutes without saying anything more.

“It's different for you,” said Christopher at length. “This is your family. You have been here most of your life. As much as I love your family, and as much as they have accepted me and I know they love me, I'm still not as much a part as you are.”

“Of course you are, Christopher. You and I are one now.”

“On one level. But can't you see that to accept that fully is difficult for one like me, one who hasn't known
family
like this in the past? I don't want to be beholden to your father beyond what is proper. I appreciate all he's done. But you heard him—the mine is now draining him financially, and there is no denying we contribute to that. If the mine's not going to produce, then I have to begin carrying my fair share as the head of
our
family.”

“I see what you mean.”

“There we are again at the question of our future. We can't just stay here indefinitely when to do so might eventually mean that your father would have to sell some of his land.”

“But you'll get a job, and then you'll begin paying for our share of the expenses. And the Supply Company's still doing well.”

“True. But there we are again at what I'm going to do with my life. Odd jobs or working for Almeda at the Mine and Freight are just not a permanent solution. I'm willing to work at anything the Lord gives me. You know that. At the same time, I want my life to count for something in people's lives.”

“Your life
will
count, Christopher. You could clean out horse stalls every day and your life would count, just because of the man you are.”

“I know,” he sighed. “Of course you're right. But I'm concerned for what kind of life I'll be providing for you, too.”

“I will be just as happy married to a stable hand as to the President of the United States—just so long as it's
you
. I don't care where we live or how much we have. We can live in a cottage somewhere, or the back of a barn, or even in a huge mansion. It is you and me that make it a home, Christopher.”

“I know,” he smiled. “I suppose that's another difference between men and women. Most women can be happy under any circumstances, as long as they have a man who loves them and does his best to take care of them. For a man, however, there are so many other factors that contribute to his sense of worth. A man
has
to try to build a meaningful life for himself and his family. It's just the way we are. As much as I love it here right now, I could not feel worthwhile as a man if I did not try eventually to provide better for you.”

“I understand,” I said. “Just so long as you know that all I want is to be with you.”

“I think I realize that.”

Again silence fell. It was late, and all we could hear in the warm early summer's darkness outside was the sound of crickets in branches of the oaks. Everyone else in the big house was sound asleep by now. It was probably between eleven and midnight.

“Do you see why I've been so quiet, what I mean when I say I have a lot on my mind?” Christopher asked finally.

I nodded.

“I've been talking to the Lord about all of this too—even though I haven't been talking to you about it as much as maybe I should have,” he added with a smile. “But so far there just haven't been any answers.”

“There will be,” I said. “I have confidence in your ability to hear the Lord when he speaks.”

“I've been trying to listen. But if he's speaking, his voice is awfully soft.”

“He'll show you what to do when the time comes.”

“Would you pray with me?”

“Of course.”

We quieted ourselves as we sat there close together. I was so thankful that we'd talked. Just getting it out in the open helped me feel so much better. But I knew that simply talking wouldn't help Christopher through the predicament of uncertainty. He needed to know what to
do
.

“Father,”
said Christopher softly,
“we come
to you in some perplexity concerning the future. But you
are our Father, and our concerns are really no concerns at all once we lay them in your hands. So
I do that at this moment—I lay my uncertainties
and anxieties and questions and concerns in your hands. Take
care of us, Lord. Do with us what you will.
And show me what you would have me do. Until
that time, let me honor you by serving those around me with the loving heart of a friend and the
willing hands of a servant. Thank you for caring for
us, Lord. Amen.”

What was there for me to add that would not have been mere words? Christopher had prayed what there was to pray.

Quietly, therefore, all I added was a soft amen of my own.

Immediately when Christopher came into the house one evening a day or two later, we all knew he had big news.

He'd been gone most of the afternoon. He'd told me he was going into town, but when he wasn't back by suppertime I was beginning . . . not to worry exactly because I knew I had nothing to be anxious about, but to wonder what he'd been up to for so long.

We were all sitting at the supper table with his empty plate vacant when we heard his horse ride up. Then a few minutes later, when he burst through the door.

“Where have you been?” I asked.

“From that big smile on his face, I'd say he's been up to no good,” said Pa with a grin of his own. It was so good to see them both smiling at the same time again.

Christopher took off his hat, hung it on the peg, then walked over slowly to the table and sat down, everybody watching him, waiting for him to say something.

“Well, are you gonna tell us or aren't you?” said Zack finally. “The rest may be able to sit there like cats has got their tongues, but I want to know what's up.”

Christopher threw back his head and laughed, then began dishing food onto his plate from the bowls as I handed them to him.

“I spent the afternoon with Alkali Jones,” he said.

“Alkali—nothing's wrong, is there?” asked Pa. Mr. Jones had hardly been around all week.

“Nothing at all. Quite the contrary, in fact,” answered Christopher, taking a bite of roast beef. “If you'll all just go back to your suppers and let me get a little food into this hungry stomach of mine, I'll tell you all about it.”

We all began eating again, and gradually Christopher filled us in on his visit with Mr. Jones.

“A couple of weeks ago,” he began, “Alkali began to be on my mind. We'd been working close together up at the mine one afternoon. We had talked some, but it wasn't that particularly—nothing either of us said. It was just that I began to see him in a new light, began to see him as a
person
just like me.”

He paused and thought for a moment, then smiled.

“You know how it is sometimes,” he went on. “You're acquainted with someone for years, but all the while they remain impersonal to your eyes. You never see
inside
them. Then all of a sudden, one day you look and behold them in a new way, see expressions on their face that pierce your heart, maybe see a vulnerability or a loneliness in their eyes. You find yourself amazed that you didn't see them this way before.”

As he spoke, Christopher looked around at the rest of us. There were a few nodding heads, and it was clear we knew exactly what he was talking about. We'd all had exactly that same experience with people we'd known. Almeda especially was listening intently. She loved Christopher so much. Sometimes when he spoke like this, she would start crying, just from being so happy that I had a sensitive, caring man as my husband.

“Every time this happens to me,” Christopher continued, “I find new places opening up in my heart for the person God is suddenly revealing to me. What else can you say but that all at once you
love
that person . . . maybe, for the first time, a little bit like Christ himself loves him.

“Well, that's how I felt toward Alkali. I had always thought he was an interesting old character. But now I just suddenly found that I
loved
him in a new and deeper way than before.

“When a love like that blossoms in your heart, it changes everything about how you relate and interact. When you love someone, you can't ignore them or behave impersonally to them. You immediately want to reach out and help and find ways to go out of your way for them.

“That's what I wanted to do for Alkali. For the next couple of days I couldn't find enough to do for the dear man! I was nearly obsessed with trying to find ways . . . just to love him as Jesus would if
he
had been working alongside him. Of course I had to keep what I felt mostly inside, or else he'd have thought I was doting on him. I didn't want him thinking I thought he couldn't hold up his end of the work.”

Christopher paused and took a few bites while we all waited for him to continue.

“Then that evening came when you, Drum, spoke about the future of the mine, and Alkali said we ought to try in a different direction. And ever since . . . well, it's no secret that we've all been wondering within ourselves what the future does hold.”

He paused, and a few nods went around the table.

“Anyway, since then Alkali hasn't been around much. In fact, there were three or four days when we didn't lay eyes on him at all, and I began to wonder what the future held for him, too—not in relation to the mine, but in relation to God.

“As I lay in bed two nights ago, I found myself praying for him again. As I did, the thought struck me that he was an old man. I felt the Lord might be speaking to me, telling me that perhaps Alkali didn't have that much time left.

“‘Is that why you opened my eyes to him, Lord?' I asked.

“But I didn't sense any answer coming, only that he was my brother and that I was to continue to love him.

“Then yesterday—you remember, Drum,” said Christopher, glancing toward Pa, “Alkali showed up again to work, and we were all up at the mine. But then about midway through the morning he said he wasn't feeling well. Then Nick kidded him and even tried to coax one of his stories out of him, but he couldn't even get a chuckle out of him. Not too long after that, Alkali went home for the rest of the day.”

Pa nodded, a deep look of concern now on his face. The supper had by now grown cold, and nobody was thinking about food by this time.

“He was coughing pretty bad, too,” said Tad.

“Yeah, now that we're talking about it,” added Zack, “he did look more than a mite paler since we'd seen him last. I noticed that he seemed more tuckered out than usual.”

“I noticed, too,” said Christopher. “And as I was praying for him last night, I realized that those are the kinds of things you just can't ignore unless you want to wake up one day and find out that you waited too long . . . and by then it's too late. That's when I decided—right when I was praying—that today I was going to go see him and talk about some important things with him.”

Christopher paused and took a deep breath, suddenly conscious, I think, of how long he'd been talking and wondering if we were getting bored with it.

Becky got up to get the coffee. A glance around the table was all Christopher needed to make him continue. Every one of us loved Alkali Jones, too, and we were anxious to know what had gone on between them.

“So I went to see him out at his cabin this afternoon, and that's where I've been ever since.”

“How'd it go?” asked Pa.

“What happened?” asked Almeda almost at the same instant.

Christopher laughed.

“He invited me in, surprised to see me. He'd been lying down and was only half dressed. The place was a mess—”

“Always is,” put in Pa.

“The sweet old man!” said Almeda, and I could tell the emotion of Christopher's story had gripped her.

“He offered me a chair, the only one in the room I could see, and he sat down on the edge of his bunk. It was cold in there, and I noticed there wasn't a fire in his stove. The day was warm enough, but you know how the cabin sits in the shade. So I asked if he'd like me to build him one. He said he'd be much obliged. He'd have done it himself, he said, but he was just too bushed, and he'd been in bed most of the day. I asked if he'd had anything to eat. He said he hadn't.”

“Oh, but why didn't he—” began Almeda, but then stopped and turned away, her eyes filling with tears. She put a handkerchief to her face and was silent.

“He had some wood, so I built a good fire, and while it was warming the place up, I went outside and chopped up a good supply from his logs into smaller pieces and brought enough inside to last him a couple of weeks or so. He followed me out—he didn't have any shoes on, just socks—and we chatted while I chopped up the wood. Then we went back inside, and I put together a pot of what I could find from what he had into a soup and set it on the warming stove. We chatted some more, but I wanted to get some food into him before getting down to the business of why I had come.

“People can't concentrate too well about serious things when they're hungry. That's one thing I have always noticed about Jesus in the Gospels—that he was always intensely practical about food.

“Anyway, after an hour or so, after we'd shared a couple bowls of my watery soup, and walked around a little outside together, and when the cabin was warm and comfortable, Alkali and I sat down again, me in the chair, he on the edge of his bunk, and I finally got around to the reason why I felt God had prompted me to come visit him.”