For Time and Eternity (29 page)
Discussion Questions
1. The community, the church, and Camilla’s father are all afraid of the Mormons who are camping in their town. Where does that fear come from? If they had acted toward the Mormon people in another way, do you think Camilla might have chosen differently? What might Camilla’s parents have done differently to prevent her running away with Nathan? How much responsibility do they share for her choices as a young teen?
2. Camilla’s parents have a grasp on true Christianity, yet they fail to convey the reality of it to their daughter. How is this experience reflected in the church today? How have you experienced it in your own family or circle of friends? What do you make of the difference between the way Camilla’s father provided spiritual instruction to his daughter and the way Nathan taught his daughters?
3. As a Mormon, Nathan believes that his salvation depends on successfully converting Camilla to the Mormon faith and on taking a wife and starting a family. Yet he promises Camilla that on her first unhappy day, he’ll take her home. Do you think he ever meant to keep that promise? Why or why not? If he did mean to keep it, when and why did he change his mind?
4. What causes Camilla to doubt the Mormon faith after the birth of her son? When she questions the Mormon faith, she sees fear in Nathan’s eyes. What is he afraid of?
5. When Nathan finally convinces Camilla to go back to church, the elder preaches that there are those among them who need to confess their sins. He singles out Nathan and Camilla’s loss of a child. Nathan suggests that Camilla needs to seek forgiveness. What does he think she needs to confess?
6. It was part of God’s plan all along that Camilla write Scripture in her journal so that she would have it as a resource in teaching his Word to her children. Can you think of anything in your past that didn’t seem to have a purpose at the time but made sense later, in light of what you were going through?
7. When Camilla senses the Lord calling her to take a stand for the truth about him, she tries to convince herself that what she has “could be enough.” Has there been a time in your life that you’ve sensed God calling you out of your comfort zone in order to grow closer to him or to become more like him? How did you respond? How would you like to have responded?
8. When the elder is questioning her, Camilla says, “My Lord commands me to obey my husband. And he has been commanded to love me. As long as he is not in disobedience to his command, I see no reason to disobey mine.” Is Camilla right to use God’s command to justify obeying her husband even in his unbiblical desire to take a second wife? Under what circumstances today do wives need to heed this command? When might it be appropriate to disobey one’s husband?
9. After Camilla refuses to be baptized again in the Mormon church, she returns home and discovers that Kimana has been praying for her. Have you ever been forced to defend what you believe even if it isn’t popular? And have you ever felt strong facing a difficult situation and realized later that someone had been praying for you?
10. Discuss Camilla’s decision to leave her children. Why does she feel she must do so? What would you have done in her place? What comfort does Camilla have as she leaves her home? Have you ever had to sacrifice something for your faith?
11. What do you think will become of these characters? If you were writing the second part of the story, what would happen to Camilla? Nathan? Amanda? Kimana? the children?
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ALLISON PITTMAN'S
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Forsaking All Others
Available Summer 2011 from Tyndale Fiction
Chapter 1
Smoke. And darkness. And warmth.
“I think she’s wakin’. Go fetch the captain.” A man’s voice, one I didn’t know. A momentary blast of cold air, and I remembered the storm, the roaring wind and swirling snow that carried me here.
“Ma’am?” Closer now. I felt a warm hand against my cheek. “You’re going to be just fine.”
I wanted to smile, but my lips felt dry, tight. When I tried to speak, they peeled apart, grating against each other like thin, dry bark.
“Don’t you try to speak none. Just show me, can you open your eyes?”
I wanted to, if only to see where the Lord had brought me, but already the voice was falling away, like words being dropped down a well. Sight seemed too heavy a burden, so I contented myself with what senses I could muster—the soft sound of the crackling fire, the sweet smell of the wood burning within it, and the warmth, blessed warmth, covering my body from my toes to my chin. The weight of it pinned me down.
Time passed. How much, I couldn’t know, but enough for me to develop a powerful thirst. I pried my lips apart, worked my tongue between them. Just that little movement brought a presence to my side again. A new touch to my temple, a new voice in my ear. Deeper, stronger.
“Ma’am?”
Of their own accord, my eyes opened. I saw nothing at first, but then he moved into my sight. Long hair brushed behind his ears, a full mustache covering his top lip. His eyes, at first, were closed, and the mustache bobbed as he said, “Thank you, Lord.” Then they opened, and in the firelight they shone warm and brown.
“Where—?”
“Shh.” He held a finger to his lips. “Time enough for that later. I’m Captain Charles Brandon of the United States Army. Outside of Jesus himself, you couldn’t be in better hands. Now, how about some water?”
I gave no response, but I didn’t need to. I tracked him with my eyes as he reached behind and produced a blue tin cup. He took a sip.
“Just testing. Don’t want it too hot.”
Then my head was cradled in his hand and he placed the cup against my mouth. The first sip burned, then soothed as I swallowed.
“Little more?”
I opened my lips wider in response, and I heard him whisper, “That’s a girl,” as he gauged when to take the cup away. He must be a father, too.
“Now,” he said, taking the cup away and laying my head back, “if you’ll consent.” He reached into his coat pocket and took out a thin silver flask. “I’m in no way a drinking man myself, and I don’t want to lead you down the path of evil, but if you’ll permit me to mix just a few drops of whiskey in that water, it’ll toast your blood right up.”
My first instinct should have been to say no, but speaking was still beyond my strength, and truthfully, my thoughts were still cloudy enough that his words had no impact. He took my silence as permission and twisted the lid off the flask. With caution and precision, he drizzled a bit of the amber liquid into the water remaining in the blue cup and swirled it.
“For this, you’ll need to sit up a little straighter.”
He moved behind me and this time put his arm beneath my shoulders. I could feel the brass of his cuff-buttons against my skin, hitting me with the realization that I was fully naked beneath a pile of wool blankets and bearskin. I twisted my head, panicked, and he instantly interpreted my terror.
“I know and I’m sorry. But we couldn’t have you wearing twenty pounds of wet clothes. Now I wish we’d had some old Indian woman to help us out, but we’re just a bunch of soldiers. If it helps, I held a gun on ’em and kept ’em blindfolded.”
I didn’t believe him, but I cared a little less.
“When you’re ready, drink this down.”
Just the smell of the whiskey in the water brought new life to my senses. Sharpened them, somehow, opened me up to the thought of drinking it down.
“All one drink,” he said behind me. “If you sip it by half, you won’t drink the rest.”
I nodded, braced myself, and closed my eyes. I don’t know what I was expecting, but I felt only warmth. Heat followed by clarity, and when Captain Brandon lowered me once again to what I now recognized as a buffalo skin–covered cot, I was fully ready to speak.
“Thank you.” My voice was hoarse, and then I remembered screaming into the storm.
He cocked his head. “Doesn’t sound to me like you’re quite up for telling your story.”
He was right. I couldn’t. But it had nothing to do with my throat.
“If it’s all right, though, I’d like to ask you just a couple of questions.” He set the cup on the ground next to him and took a small piece of yellow paper out of the same pocket where he kept the flask. “Can you tell me who Missy is?”
The name shot through my heart. “My daughter. And Lottie.”
He checked his paper, and the pleasant expression he’d worn since my eyes opened to him disappeared, replaced with a furrowed, worried brow. “Are they—were they traveling with you?”
I shook my head as tears gathered in my eyes.
“They’re safe at home?”
“Yes.”
“Well, thank God for that.”
And I did, as my head filled with visions of them, cozily tucked into their bed or sitting on the braided rug in front of the stove happily playing with their dolls at the feet of—
“Nathan? Is he your husband?”
“Yes.” I tried to sit up. “Is he here? Did he come for me?”
“Shh . . .” Again his warm hand soothed my brow; exhausted, I lay back. “No, ma’am. Nobody’s come for you.”
“Then how do you know?”
He showed me the paper. Three words—
Missy, Lottie, Nathan
—and one letter:
K
.
“Kimana.”
He smiled. “Private Lambert wasn’t sure of the spelling.”
“She’s taking care of my daughters.”
“I see.” I could tell he wanted to know more, but I hadn’t the strength. It wasn’t the time. “You’ve been sleeping on and off for close to thirty hours now, and that’s just since we found you. Now, for me you’ve been nice and quiet, but I guess when Private Lambert pulled his shift, you decided to talk a little bit. He picked out a few names.”
“Oh.”
“And he said you seemed to do a lot of praying.”
“Yes.”
“The way I figure, those prayers brought my scouts out to find you. Nothing but unbroken snow, they said; then there you were, hanging on to that horse. Why, that animal herself is a miracle.”
“You have to send her back. To my husband. I stole her.”
“Time enough for that. We’ll get you feeling better, and then we’ll get both of you safely home.”
More tears, and now they fell, sliding straight down into my ears. “I don’t have a home.”
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Now, don’t be silly. Everybody’s got a home.”
“Not me. I had one, and I left it. I had to.”
His voice dropped to a whisper even though, as far as I could tell, the two of us were quite alone. “Are you one of them, then? a Mormon?”
“Yes.” Then quickly, “No. I mean I was, for a time. But not really, not in my heart. And now . . . God, forgive me . . .” Whatever else I meant to say disappeared in the drought of my throat. I mustered what strength I could and turned on my side, my back to Captain Brandon, to curl up with my regret.
Taking a liberty I could have never imagined, he put his hand on my shoulder, tugging me to face him. As I complied, he smoothed my hair from my brow and brought his face so close to mine I could feel his breath.
“Now you listen to me. I don’t want you to be frightened for one more minute. Not for yourself and not for your girls. I’m here for you. The United States Army is here for you. And as I’ve sworn my life as a sacrifice for freedom, I will make it my promise that you’ll have a home.”
“How?” I’d brought the blanket up to my face, and it muffled my question. Still, he heard.
“You leave that up to me. Another drink?”
As an answer, I sat myself up on my elbows, holding the covers nearly to my chin.
Silently, he filled the cup with water from a pot sitting on a grate by the fire and then a little from a clay pitcher. Then he lifted the flask, holding it like a question. Remembering the pleasant warmth, I nodded, and as before, he measured in a tiny stream and swirled the cup. I continued to hold the covers as he tipped the cup against my mouth, and this time I took the drink in several satisfying gulps.
“That’s the last of that for you.”
“That’s fine,” I said, lying down.
“Now sleep. And don’t worry. When you wake up, I’ll be here.”
“And then?”
“And then, it sounds like we might have a bit of a battle on our hands.”