Song for Silas, A (7 page)

Grant was starved for news from town and fired many questions at Silas and Amy during supper, much to the relief of both. Time had not allowed them to sit long on the road, and they were still both in deep thought over their unfinished conversation.

“Amy,” Silas had said, “I don’t have answers for you right now. I need to think and pray before I can advise you, and I’m not even sure I should do that. You may need to work this out for yourself. But I’m glad you told me and when you want to talk, you know I’m here.” Amy had thanked him. The regret and concern she had seen in his eyes had somehow given her a small measure of peace. She didn’t feel quite so alone in her pain.

Amy had just finished the dishes when Grant called her to his room. Silas had helped him into bed after supper, then he went out for a final check on the cows. Grant asked Amy to play for a while, and Silas found her seated at the piano and playing softly when he returned.

Moving quietly, Silas settled onto the couch and let the music flow over him. Amy was in profile to him as she played, and Silas watched with the eye of a fellow musician. As always, her style and grace were beyond compare. Her hands moved with confidence as she played from memory. Silas recognized the music, noticing she went from hymns to a more difficult
piece that had a soothing, almost haunting melody. His head fell back to rest on the couch and, as his eyes slid closed, he began to reflect on the day.

The Randalls wanted Amy to come and live with them— what a mess! The conversation Silas had overheard at the wagon now made complete sense. Judging from the words Evan had directed at Silas, he seemed very confident Amy would come as soon as Grant was on his feet. Silas had to admit to himself, his first reaction to the idea was negative, but who was he to judge? Maybe God wanted Amy living in town.

Amy, as far as he could see, had been working hard all her life to balance her affection between her father and uncle—a position she had not asked for but one which had been thrust upon her at birth. Judging from the relationships Amy had with both men, it was obvious she was doing an excellent job. Silas felt a bit of anger that she should now be forced into making this kind of a decision. Possibly some of the anger could better be termed frustration at having no advice to give this young woman. She held a special place in his heart, as a younger sister would. His feelings must have shown on his face because he opened his eyes when the music stopped to find Amy watching him. “The music is supposed to relax you, Si, not make you frown.” She smiled at him as she spoke, but her eyes were questioning.

“It wasn’t the music, Amy, I can assure you. Nothing has changed in four years; you still play like an angel.”

“Just exactly how many angels have you heard play?” Amy’s voice was a bit mocking.

Silas gave her a stern look. “I can see there are other things that haven’t changed in four years; we’ve talked about this before. When someone compliments your playing, you thank them—not belittle your work with some light remark.”

“But Silas, that’s just it, it’s not work. My playing has always come so easily that I feel guilty accepting compliments.”

“It’s still a gift from God, and to make light of it is wrong.” The two sat regarding each other in stubborn silence for some moments. Amy spoke first.

“Were you frowning over what I told you in the wagon?” Amy was sure her dad was asleep, so she did not drop her voice.

Silas’ voice was serious as he answered. “It hasn’t been far from my thoughts since you told me. Would you like to talk about it?”

Gone was the big brother who scolded her for a flip response to his compliment. In fact, Silas’ voice was so tender that Amy nearly cried. She spoke slowly and Silas listened without interruption.

“A few weeks before my dad’s fall, Uncle Evan approached me about coming into town to live with them. Somehow he has the impression I’m unhappy out here on the farm. Nothing could be further from the truth.” She paused, but Silas kept quiet.

“Silas, had you heard I’d been engaged?” At his nod she continued. “The boy I was engaged to is from town and well, Uncle Evan felt I would meet someone else if I lived there. I’ve so wanted to talk with my dad, but I’m afraid he’ll think I’m staying here out of some sort of obligation and it wouldn’t be the truth. I don’t want to move into town, but I have no idea how to tell my uncle without hurting him or making him think Dad is forcing me to stay.

“I know my uncle never meant to be mean, but he said the most eligible boys were from town and they would naturally want a wife from town. Debra Wheeler lives in town. She’s Thomas Blane’s new fiancée, and Uncle Evan thinks if I had been from town Thomas would not have broken up with me. I didn’t tell my uncle that I plan to never marry, but I couldn’t
help but feel a little hurt when he implied I wasn’t good enough. I also know my uncle has never accepted Christ, and I’m afraid that if the bond between us is broken, he’ll never come to know the Lord.”

Even in the light of this man’s need for salvation, Silas was working hard at keeping a normal expression on his face as rage boiled within him. How dare her uncle make Amy feel as though she were not good enough! Thomas Blane was a fool and obviously didn’t deserve her. Silas would have laughed if he’d known how closely his thoughts echoed those of Evan Randall, a man he was having more and more trouble liking all the time.

“I know you can’t tell me what to do, but thank you for listening, Silas.”

Silas’ heart nearly broke at the forlorn look on her face. “You’re right, sweetheart, I can’t tell you what to do. But I will say this: I think you’re doing your father a great injustice. Part of the hurt you’re feeling is because you want to talk to him. I know he’ll listen and help you, and you know it too. Even with a broken leg he’s still the father who loves you with all his heart. He’ll not let you down.”

Amy sat and stared at Silas as the truth of his words came through to her. How many times had she asked God for help while possibly missing how close it had been all the time? “Thank you, Silas.” Amy spoke the words softly and moved to her bedroom. Silas blew out the lanterns and headed for his own room.

Grant lay quietly in his bed listening as Silas climbed the stairs to the attic. He stared at the ceiling, feeling old beyond his years and helpless. He wanted to pray but didn’t even know where to begin. After all he’d overheard tonight from the living room, the pain in his heart overpowered the pain in his leg. He felt a single tear slide down his temple, his heart crying
out to God as it had so many times past, “Please God, let Your will for Amy be as special as she is.”

“You got the note?”

“I got it.” The voice answering was sharp with anxiety.

“What’s it say? We got another job to do?”

“Patience man, this barn’s been standing alone for years. A light burning in here and we’re as good as found out.”

The testy man’s companion peered out into the ebony night. There didn’t appear to be anyone about, but one couldn’t be too careful. Suddenly the attention of both men was drawn upward by the sound of fluttering wings—bats, no doubt. Each man reacted in his own way—one suppressed a shiver, the other pulled his hat a bit closer about his ears, and whispered, “Well, if we can’t read it here, let’s get back to town.” The man was not about to admit his fear, but he nearly sagged with relief when his partner moved toward the horses.

As always the two were plagued by the identity of their employer, or rather the lack thereof. When at first their services had been employed, the jobs were nondescript and, even though the margin was narrow, within the confines of the law. But all this had changed a number of weeks back when they were asked to rob a farmhouse. The amount taken was very small, but it became obvious that they were being tested when the next farm robbery had yielded a substantially larger amount.

Even as the men climbed stairs at the back of the largest saloon in town and entered their room, each harbored a small hope within his breast that this note would give some clue as to the identity of the mysterious, darkly cloaked figure with whom they were doing business.

The letter began “Dear Silas” and it was from his grandmother. She wrote of herself and the family, along with asking many questions as to the welfare of the Nolan household. Silas had had precious few moments with his Grandma Em in the last month, what with his trip to Chicago and then leaving almost immediately for Neillsville. He missed her more than he thought possible. The letter was the next best thing to talking with her, but it made him feel the void of her missing presence all the more.

Unbidden, the fact came to Silas’ mind that his grandmother was not getting any younger. He couldn’t imagine life without her, and he immediately pushed the thought aside. She was with them now and he could see no reason to torture himself with images of a future without her.

An unfamiliar man’s voice drifted up through Silas’ open bedroom door to interrupt his musing. He listened for a moment from his place on the bed and caught sounds of Amy’s voice before setting his letter aside and descending the stairs to appease his curiosity.

“Oh Silas, I’m glad you came down,” Amy spoke the minute she spotted him. “This is Doc Schaefer. He’s here to check on Dad.”

The men shook hands and exchanged pleasantries. Both Silas and Amy watched as the doctor moved into Grant’s
bedroom with easy familiarity, shutting the door behind him. Amy headed back into the kitchen and Silas went outside.

The weather was warm, surprisingly so for this early in the year, but the ground was still too wet to even start thinking about the crops. Silas’ mind turned to the painting of the house.

Grant must have worked quickly because the front and sides of the house were done, leaving just the back and the trim. Standing at the back of the house, Silas could see where Grant had started to paint at the apex of the gabled roof. His eye measured the distance from the spot near the roof to the ground. No wonder Grant was in pain. Silas winced at the thought of Grant’s fall.

“When do you plan to start?” Amy spoke as she came around the corner of the house.

“Monday morning, pending the weather.”

Amy nodded and looked to the small section her father had already painted, far above the ground. She didn’t say anything to Silas but she was determined: Come Monday she would be out here holding the ladder when he climbed it.

The couple began moving toward the front of the house. “I’ve asked Doc to stay for supper, it’s nearly ready.”

“I thought I smelled pie,” Silas said with a pleased grin.

“That you did—last year’s peaches.” Silas held the door for Amy and, as they entered the house, the aromas that assailed Silas told him Amy had been hard at work.

Doc Schaefer was an easy man to talk with or rather to listen to. He knew everyone within miles and loved to give the latest news to any willing ear. Silas learned that Carrie Nelson had just given birth to a large, healthy girl and that he suspected Maria Southern was carrying twins.

The doctor’s diagnosis on Grant had been a little less than encouraging. The healing process was slow and Grant would be off his feet for an indefinite period of time. Grant had not
joined them at the supper table this night, and Silas strongly suspected his spirits were low. Both he and Amy had been in to check on him before retiring for the night and, even though Grant was talkative, Silas knew he was discouraged over his bedridden state.

Amy went to bed with much the same thought as Silas. She reached for the Bible she kept on the table by her bed and turned to the Book of Isaiah. In the fifty-fifth chapter, verses eight and nine she read, “For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, saith the Lord. For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts.” Reading these words helped restore some of Amy’s peace and calm her questions about why so many painful things had entered their lives.

Suddenly Amy remembered something. She jumped out of bed to look for a poem she had written after her mother died. It was in the bottom of the chest which sat at the foot of her bed. After reading it over again, Amy thought of how good it would sound put to music.

Amy got back into bed with a purpose in her heart. She would try not to dwell on her dad’s accident or on the answer she must give to her uncle and she would give special attention to putting some notes to the words of her poem.

When Amy finally did drift off to sleep, it was with a more peaceful heart and with joy that tomorrow was Sunday, a day set aside for fellowship and learning about her Lord.