Silent Star (10 page)

But he was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities: the chastisement of our peace was upon him; and with his stripes we are healed. All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned every one to his own way; and the Lord hath laid on him the iniquity of us all.

His tears fell onto the pages as he bowed his head and wept silently.

“I’ve gone astray. I’m just as guilty as those who wounded you, Lord.” From deep within, the ice that encased his heart began to crack and fall away. “I’m worthless. I’ve despised you and rejected you. Oh, God, I’m so sorry.”

The truth awoke in him an overwhelming, stabbing pain. It
permeated his entire being. All the misery he’d tried so hard to shield himself from—the sorrow he’d tried to ignore—it was all there.

God, this hurts so much.

He saw the faces of his neighbors and former friends. He saw their fear. The blind raw fear that dictated their actions. His heart pounded, threatening to burst.

But it wasn’t just this. “It’s not just the people in town—it’s not just the way they’ve acted toward me. It’s the war . . . my friends are dead.”

Another reality he’d not given validity to. This truth had been buried deep inside along with the images of those boys he’d grown up with.

Ray Masters, Jerry Gilpatrick, Brian Connors, the Harrison boys . . . and so many others.
We’ll never play baseball again at the Fourth of July celebration. We’ll never go fishing off Crawson’s Bridge.

In his mind, Andy could see each of his boyhood friends—smiling, laughing, just as they were before they went away to war.
Why should they be dead while I’m still alive?

Then came the guilt. Suppressed and black, hardened with age. “Oh, why am I still here? I could have died in the accident. I should have died.” With the look of each mother who’d joined the gold-star club, Andy saw the accusation—the glaring question: “Why wasn’t it you instead of him?”

Then suddenly Andy realized it wasn’t their accusation at all. He was seeing a reflection in their eyes of the questions that he held in his own heart.

The purging went on as years of rotten bitterness, putrid envy, and aloof disregard came surging upward.

But he was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities: the chastisement of our peace was upon him; and with his stripes we are healed.

The words echoed in Andy’s mind.
He was wounded for our transgressions. . . .
Jesus bore it all. The guilt, the insult,
the misery and bitterness. Andy could almost visualize the scene—Jesus nailed there to the cross.

Andy raised his head and whispered, “And with his stripes . . . we are healed.”

He struggled to regain his composure. Sitting up, wiping at his eyes, Andy wondered if such healing could really be had. He looked at the words again, trying hard to take them in, to understand.

Startled to hear voices outside his door, Andy got to his feet before anyone could knock. He opened the door, throwing it back in almost wild abandonment, to find Mrs. Nelson and Mary Beth. For a moment they exchanged a glance—almost as if each party knew that there had been an important breakthrough that evening.

Finally Mrs. Nelson was the one who spoke. “Andy? Are you all right?”

He motioned them to come in. “I’ve been reading.”

“Ah, well, it’s a good night for that,” Estella said, heading into the kitchen.

“What were you reading, Andy?” Mary Beth asked.

Andy motioned them to the table. “Isaiah.”

The women exchanged a look. Andy knew they were surprised, so he hurried on to explain. He needed to tell them everything before it spilled over and reduced him to a blubbering ninny. “I’ve felt so long that there was no reason to go on. Life is just so hard, and the way folks made me feel—the way I made myself feel . . . I didn’t think I could go on.”

“But now?” Estella asked, meeting his gaze.

Andy looked deep into her eyes. “Now it’s different. Those verses made it different.”

Mary Beth stepped closer. “How, Andy?”

“He knows how it is,” Andy whispered. “He knows what I’m feeling because they did it to Him too.” His voice took on a tone of awe. It was all just really starting to sink in and make sense. “You tried to tell me, but I didn’t understand. It didn’t seem possible, but it’s all there. They despised Him.”

“Who?” Mary Beth’s voice was barely audible.

The word came from Andy’s mouth in complete reverence. “Jesus.”

Estella went to the open Bible as Andy continued. “It says there He knew what it was to be despised and rejected. To have people turn away—even hide their faces from Him. He knows how I feel—what I’ve gone through.”

Mrs. Nelson nodded. “Indeed He does.”

Andy went to her and Mary Beth followed. “You tried to show me that—to tell me about Jesus and how His friends deserted Him. But I just couldn’t see it until I read it there in chapter fifty-three.”

Andy noted they were still wearing their coats and hurried to remedy the situation. “I’m sorry. Here I am just talking and talking and you’re standing here. Let me take your coats and then you can sit down.”

Mrs. Nelson smiled. “Andy, you never have to worry about such things.” She handed over her coat and scarf. Mary Beth did likewise.

Andy hung the coats on a hook by the back door. “I need to tell you both that I prayed. For the first time in a long time, I really prayed.” He turned back to find a look of satisfaction on Mrs. Nelson’s face.

“And what did you pray for, Andy?” she asked.

Mary Beth took the seat beside her at the table and nodded. “Yes, what did you pray for?”

Andy joined them. “Forgiveness.” He sat down opposite the women and closed the Bible. “I prayed for forgiveness.”

****

Estella wanted to sing and shout all at the same time as she listened to Andy talk of how God had broken through the hardness of his heart.
This is all I wanted for him, Lord. Just to know your peace and love—to feel that there was hope.

“I just got wrapped up in my own selfish need,” Andy said softly. “There were things I wanted, I needed—and so many losses in my life. I felt like God was robbing me . . .
like He was a thief in the night stealing away all the people and things I loved.”

“Sometimes God needs us to put our house in order,” Estella said. “He works to help us eliminate the clutter. Not by taking away loved ones, but rather by showing us ways to rely more on Him and less on the world.”

“I remember my mother and father talking about that,” Andy said, nodding. “I guess I really miss them most of all. I sit here alone and the house seems so empty, so sad. I really hate it. I never knew that until tonight. I had thought the house actually helped me feel closer to my folks, but instead it just reminds me that they’re gone. I was in their room tonight, and while special memories came to mind, the pain was all fresh.”

Andy’s thoughts continued to pour out. “I remember the last Christmas we had together. Dad and I went together to buy Mom a special blue plate that she wanted. I’d saved up to buy it, but I didn’t have quite enough. Dad paid the rest and we agreed it’d be from both of us. About a month after Mom died, I accidentally broke that plate. It was like losing her all over again.”

Andy looked so forlorn Estella wanted to comfort him, but she held back. She felt it was important that he express all of these emotions.

“Having my mom and dad die,” Andy finally continued, “is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me. I’m still not sure how to deal with it—even now.”

“When I was a little girl,” Mary Beth said, “I remember thinking that the worst thing in the world was to be poor. We had more than some because we lived on a farm, but I would see the things my friends owned and wish I could have more than I had. Every Christmas my folks would do their best to make sure we had something under the tree, but it was never much and never what I really wanted.” She paused and sighed.

“I know that sounds terribly selfish,” she went on. “I don’t like to admit it, but it’s the truth. Now I’d just like to have
Sammy back safe and sound. Now the worst thing is having him gone and not knowing if he’ll ever come back.”

“The worst thing to me was losing my dear husband.” Andy and Mary Beth looked to Estella and nodded as though they understood. “I married quite young; I was only sixteen. Howard hung the moon and the stars as far as I was concerned. He was a handsome man,” she remembered with a smile.

“He was also very prudent. Saved money and paid cash for everything. We never did without, and every Christmas was always quite special. Howard always liked to surprise me with special little gifts. He treated me like a queen.” She paused and bowed her head. “Then one day, he was gone. Just like that. No warning. No second chances. No last farewells. But you know,” she met Andy’s gaze, “for all the pain of losing him, I wouldn’t trade for a minute what we had. The loss is hard, but it would have been harder still to have never had him in my life—to have never known his love.”

She looked to Mary Beth. “We have no way of knowing what will happen in the future. Sammy may be found and come home. Or he might not return to you again. But having had him in your life for the years God has already given is a precious gift that you must never trade for sorrow.”

“I won’t. I promise,” Mary Beth declared adamantly.

“And, Andy, I know your loss is great. My own dear mother passed away just months ago. I don’t think a child ever gets over losing a mother. After all, mothers are the ones who give their children life—they’re the ones who dry their children’s tears and tuck them in. Losing a mother is like losing a part of yourself. And losing your father . . . well, that to a man is an overwhelming moment. It’s a passing of the mantle of responsibility. It’s facing mortality, and it’s hard. Sons look to fathers as their pillars of strength and stability. When that’s gone . . . well, it’s difficult, to say the least.

“As I look around us at the community, I see a number of children who will grow up without their fathers. Most are
younger than you were, Andy, when you lost your father. Some barely even knew their fathers. They will suffer this loss deeply, and we must always be mindful of that.”

Andy agreed. “I wish this war would end. I’m so—”

Just then there was a commotion outside the house. A knock sounded at the front door, and Andy’s expression registered surprise. “Who could that be? All my friends are here.” He looked at Estella and Mary Beth, almost as if he wondered what he should do.

Estella shrugged. “You won’t know unless you go see.”

Andy nodded and reluctantly got to his feet. He looked almost scared. Estella got to her feet. “I’ll come with you.”

“Me too,” Mary Beth declared.

They went to the front door together. Andy opened it and looked out. “It’s like the entire town is here.” He stepped back a pace, unsure if they might do him harm.

Estella looked out and felt her chest tighten in the emotion of the moment. “No, it’s just the church. Your church, Andy.”

He opened the screen door and was greeted by Mr. McGovern. “Andrew, we’ve come to say how sorry we are.” The man’s eyes filled with tears. “It wasn’t until tonight—until I heard Mrs. Nelson speak at church, that I realized how bad things were for you. How we’d caused you so much pain.”

“I don’t understand,” Andy said, looking to Estella and then back to Mr. McGovern.

Estella reached for Andy’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “It’s Christmas Eve—a night for miracles.”

“Andrew, we were mindless of the way we were treating you. When word came that our boys were wounded—dying—it was far easier to blame you for the bad news,” Mr. Harrison said, moving forward. Mrs. Harrison was on his arm, nodding, crying.

“We were wrong,” Bob Davis added.

“Yes,” came the murmured voices of a dozen or more people.

Mr. McGovern reached out to grip Andy’s shoulder. “We’ve come to ask your forgiveness, son.”

Estella stood in the wonder of it all. A night of forgiveness . . . a night of healing. She saw the gleam in Andy’s eyes. It was a light of hope.

“I don’t know what to say,” Andy mumbled. He looked down at the ground, tears threatening to spill from his eyes.

“Forgive us, Andy. Forgive our blindness and our cruelty. Forgive our ignorance,” Mr. McGovern replied. He pulled Andy into a bear hug and Estella dropped her hold on Andy’s hand. Things would be different now. Andy would never again be alone—of that she was certain.

Smiling, she stepped back and looked at Mary Beth. The young woman seemed mesmerized by the unfolding events.

One by one the folks from the Eleventh Street Methodist Church came forward to hug Andy and give their apologies. When they’d all left except for Mr. and Mrs. Iseman, Mary Beth stepped forward. She’d gone and retrieved her coat and now was ready to say good-bye.

“I need to go home with my folks,” she told him.

“First, I need to say something,” her mother declared, stepping forward. “Andy, I’m sorry for the way I behaved in the store. It was wrong of me and I’m very much ashamed. I wondered . . . if you might join us for Christmas dinner tomorrow.” She looked past him to Estella. “You too, Mrs. Nelson.”

“Why, that sounds like great fun. What do you think, Andy?”

He looked to Mary Beth and smiled. “I’d like that . . . a lot.”

“Good. I’ll expect you both around two,” Mrs. Iseman told them.

Mr. Iseman shook Andy’s hand. “Glad you can make it.”

As Mr. and Mrs. Iseman started down the walkway, Mary Beth reached out to give Andy a hug. Then she surprised both Estella and Andy by planting a kiss on Andy’s cheek.
“Someday,” she whispered, “the war will be over and the sadness will be behind us. Someday there will be room for happiness and joy again.” She started to go, then turned at the door with a smile, adding, “And maybe . . . love.”

She left quickly after that, giving Andy no chance to speak. Estella watched the play of emotions on the young man’s face.
Yes
, she thought,
maybe there will be room for love.