Tidings of Comfort and Joy (21 page)
Grant Rockwell.
With numb fingers I tore open the envelope, and read the impossible. Grant wrote that he wanted to see me. He was not sure how he felt about anything, but he missed me and he wanted to see me. If I agreed, he would make a trip to Arden in a week or so.
He wanted to see me.
I sat through a second cup of tea with Rachel, and forced my jumbled mind to discuss all we needed to do that day. But it was as if I was hearing her through the noise of a machine shop. My mind kept shouting out the incredible, impossible news.
And yet my heart was silent. I left Rachel's and started down the lane. These days, she traveled to the orphanage alone. I usually made a quick visit to Colin, then did the shopping before traveling up with the morning bus.
As I walked through the quiet village churchyard, I felt a silent waiting deep within my heart. My mind kept up its frantic tugging, shouting with excitement over the amazing letter burning a hole in my coat pocket. Yet the desire to see Grant was overlaid by all that had happened to me.
In the middle of the courtyard, I stopped. The morning sky was slightly overcast, the clouds as thin as gauze. The sun was gentled to a grand golden orb, and already the day was warmer than it had been in weeks. The grass growing up around the ancient tombstones was brown, the air sweet with the odor of awakening earth. I stood there for a long time, listening to the tangled voices within me.
Finally I closed my eyes and prayed. There was no way I could solve this dilemma myself, I said, and begged the Lord to help me. As I prayed, I sensed a quieting of all my inner noise. I kept my eyes closed even after the prayer had ended, feeling the silence grow and expand, until there was simply no longer room for the clamor.
I opened my eyes. There before me stood a tombstone. The letters had been washed away by the years and the weather. For a brief instant, I imagined that there upon the pale smooth stone were written new words. Words declaring the death of a relationship, one that had never been granted the chance to grow to fruition. It could not be unearthed. It was gone.
I felt no need for tears. My chest did not burn with the tragic remorse of earlier days. There was a sorrow, yes, but it was the quiet sadness of visiting a well-tended grave.
After a time, I turned and continued on to the vicarage. As had become my habit, I knocked and then let myself in. A voice from the kitchen called out, "Is that you?"
"Good morning, Colin." I moved straight for the fireplace. "How are you today?"
"Better. Just a minute, I'm up to my elbows in washingup suds." When I did not appear in the doorway, he called out, "What are you doing?"
"It's chilly in here. And damp. I want to start a fire."
"Well, come, let me see you."
"I won't be a minute." I did not want to go in there. Not yet. Hastily I bundled up several pages of newspaper, then set the kindling and a pair of logs on top. I lit it with a kitchen match. When it was burning well, I fumbled in my pocket and brought out Grant's letter. I stared at it for a moment, then reached out and dropped it into the flames.
There was the sharpest pang, as though a ribbon of steel had been drawn from my chest. Then nothing. No further pangs, no sadness, nothing except a sense of overwhelming rightness.
I rose, and turned and found Colin standing there in the doorway. He was dressed in a pair of old trousers, a shirt, a quilted robe, and tattered houseslippers. He gave me his sweet smile, and said, "But I didn't care to wait another moment. Good morning, Emily."
I stood and stared at him. This dear man, with his unruly hair and his bad heart and his quiet unassuming ways. A man who lived to give, and to do so with all the love he had. A rush of something new flooded me, an affection born of sweetness and sharing. And instantly I knew that here was something solid, something that could indeed remain and grow for a lifetime.
Colin cocked his head. "You have the strangest look on your face."
"I'm glad to see you're doing so much better," I said, my voice weak in my own ears.
"Indeed I am. Shall I make us a cup of tea?"
THE VILLAGE BUS let me off at the orphanage's tall stone entrance gates. I walked down the winding lane, sheltered beneath elms so ancient their girth could not have been encircled by three men. The branches creaked and weaved in the growing wind. I listened to my feet clip over the rounded stones, and breathed in the warm fragrant air. Beyond the empty branches, clouds cantered across the sky. My mind was filled with the wonder of having left behind invisible chains. And of what the future might hold in store for me.
As usual, upon my arrival I checked on the kitchen, received a list of tasks from Rachel, then went upstairs to visit Annique. She was doing much better, the brilliant sparkle gradually returning to her dark eyes. I walked down the sick-hall's central aisle, glorying in how many of the beds had been stripped of their linen, and their mattresses rolled up tight. Each empty bed was a joy beyond measure. Not even the fact that we had only two more days with these wonderful children could dim the feeling of triumph.
Annique was sitting up and waving frantically as I approached. I smiled my greeting, and sat down on the edge of her bed. "What is it?" She handed me the hairbrush.
I laughed. "I think you're well enough to do it yourself today." But she had already turned her back to me, so I began brushing the soft dark locks.
It was such a restful, intimate moment. The dark-haired pixie sat utterly still, and began humming a tune. It was a plaintive melody, the lilting rhythm unlike anything I had heard before. Softly she began to sing words I did not understand. I found myself wondering about all the secrets this child carried, all the memories that were a universe away from the here and now. What mother had taught this child these words? What had happened to her family, her home, her world?
When the hair was shining with the luster of youth, I set down the hairbrush and on an impulse untied the little ribbon from my own hair. I gathered up a plait by her right ear, and tied a bow. She turned around, touching the ribbon, cooing, holding her hands in front of her face in a parody of wishing she could look in a mirror. I rose to my feet. "I have a compact in my purse," I said. "I'll be right back."
Rachel found me in the little alcove we used as a volunteer's room, pawing through my purse. "There's someone downstairs for you."
"Do you have a compact? I must have left mine at home."
"I imagine so, dear." She reached into her purse and handed it over. "But I really think you should—"
"I'll be right down." I hurried out.
But when I arrived back at the sick-hall, I halted just inside the doors. Standing beside Annique's bed was Henryk, a boy who was sprouting into a strapping young lad. I could hear their laughter and excited chatter from where I stood. Quietly I let myself back out, and took my smile down the stairs.
To MY SURPRISE, I found the two American airmen standing there in our front hallway. "Bob! Bradley! What on earth are you doing here?"
The two young men boasted grins that threatened to split their faces in two. "Searching for you," Bob announced cheerfully.
"Morning, Emily," Brad said. "How's the reverend?"
"Better. What has you two looking like the cat that swallowed the canary?"
For some reason my question only made them grin the harder. Brad turned to Bob and said, "You go first."
"If you say so," Bob said, his smile like the sun. "But it'd make more sense for you to have the honors."
"Naw, you lead on," Brad replied. "Otherwise your news might get lost in the shuffle."
"But she won't make heads or tails of it."
"Don't matter none." Their grins seemed to compete for size. "Got to tell her in little doses, don'tcha see. Too much and she'll choke like a horse trying to swallow an apple whole."
"Tell me what," I cried, feeling an infectious excitement.
"Somebody better get a move on," Brad drawled. "'Fore the lady jumps out of her skin."
"Okay, okay," Bob sighed in mock resignation. "So I'm telling. Emily, you know what a Constellation is?"
"You mean, like the Milky Way?"
"He means," Brad said, "like the plane."
"Biggest workhorse in the sky," Bob went on. "Sucker can lift a ten-ton load. Ten tons."
"Gotta see that baby in action to believe it," Brad said. "First time I sat in the cockpit, I woulda taken bets it'd never leave the ground."
"Somebody is about to get the sharp end of a stick," I snapped, "unless I hear what this is all about, and right quick!"
"I got one," Bob announced. And stopped. The pair just stood and grinned at me.
"One what?" I shouted in utter exasperation.
"The plane," Bob replied. "Been working like a loony, trying to set it up. Finally came through this morning." He seemed to take vast satisfaction in my confused look, and turned back to Brad to declare, "Told you she wouldn't understand."
"She will soon enough."
Rachel appeared in the doorway, and demanded, "Why on earth is everyone clamoring so?"
"Hey there, Rachel," Brad said.
"Nice weather we're having," Bob said around his grin.
"Never mind that," I cried. "What is going on?"
Brad gave a mock sigh, and unbuttoned his shirt pocket. He drew out a flimsy sheet of yellow paper, and handed it over. "This here is prop number one."
With trembling hands, I opened the page, and read the impossible.
CHURCH LED BY PRAYER AND FASTING TO
FIND HOMES FOR YOUR CHILDREN STOP
SEND AS MANY AS Y O U CAN STOP LETTER
FOLLOWS STOP
ELDER BRADLEY ATWATER SENIOR
INDIANA MISSION FELLOWSHIP
Rachel demanded, "What does it say?"
Numbly I handed over the page. Brad was already reaching into his other pocket and came out with a second envelope, this one white and several pages thick. "Prop number two. Arrived by one of our flights yesterday afternoon."
The letter was from Brad's father, informing us that he had taken up our cause with the church's statewide board. It seemed that a number of their churches wanted to do something to help heal the wounds caused by war. Hearing about our orphans, the Elder Bradley Atwater wrote, had united these church members under the banner of a shared cause.
I looked up. "Why haven't you said anything before now?"
"Had to make sure we could pull it off."
Rachel's seamed face appeared unable to find any reason to lift up in hope. "I'm afraid it's all going to be for naught," she said quietly. "The Ministry will refuse to grant us the necessary papers. I feel sure of it."
"Yeah, that's why we had to wait for this other stuff," Bob agreed, his grin not slipping a notch.
"What are you talking about?" I demanded. Brad asked, "You ever heard of the
Stars and Stripes?"
"The American military newspaper. Of course."
"Well, we talked to the colonel who runs our base. And he talked to the general. And the general got on the horn to the
Stars and Stripes.
And they got on to," Brad had to stop and share his joy with his mate. "Who was it they woke up next?"
"I think it was the radio guy."
"Yeah, that's right. NBC. And they talked to the, oh, heck, now I've forgotten."
"Times,"
Bob offered with vast satisfaction. "The
London Times."
"Yeah. And that lady, she got so hot over hearing about what the Ministry's been dragging you folks through, she called some buddy over at Movietone News." Brad patted his hair into place. "Bob and me, we're gonna be movie stars."
"They spent almost an hour filming an interview with us," Bob added. "Asked us near 'bout everything you can imagine and then some."
Rachel and I shared openmouthed stares before the older woman managed, "I don't know what to say."
"Whatever it is, you gotta make it quick," Bob replied. "That is, if you want to be there when the boom falls in London."
"The general and the colonel and the press are all scheduled to land on the Ministry beaches," Brad informed us proudly. "Just after lunch."
"And there's one thing they teach us early on in the army," Bob added, ushering us toward the front door. "You don't want to keep a general waiting."
There was no hope of keeping Colin from coming along. He simply stopped all possible arguments by climbing into the U.S. Army truck's rear compartment and shouting, "Tallyho!"
"Sounds good to me," Brad called back, slamming his door and jamming the truck into gear. "Whatever it was he just said."
Rachel sat up front with Brad, while Bob bounced and swung about with us in the back. When Colin caught sight of my cross look, he grinned and said, "I simply can't imagine not being there for this."
"Don't get your hopes up just yet," Rachel called from the front. "Nothing's guaranteed when it comes to dealing with the Ministry."
"Precisely," Colin agreed, reaching out with both his hands. "I can think of no finer moment for us all to join together in prayer."
WE MADE QUITE a sight, ppearing at the Ministry's entrance barrier with the dozen or so newspeople in tow. The officers had arrived as promised, flanked by soldiers standing at the sort of ramrod attention generated by people of impossible rank. I watched as Bob and Bradley popped from our truck and snapped off crisp salutes of their own. The three men who responded possessed more stars and brass than I had ever seen in person before.
The eldest of them, a gray-haired gentleman with knife-edged features and three stars on his lapels, looked at me and said, "Are you the lady responsible for this?"
"No sir," I replied, turning to where Rachel clambered down, leaning on Colin for support. "That is—"
"She most certainly is," Rachel countered, and used her cane to stump over. "Emily Robbins is the force behind involving you gentlemen in our plight, right from the very beginning."
"I see." Eyes like cannon barrels swiveled back to focus upon me. "Well, Miss Robbins, I'd pin a medal on you, if I could only figure out which one."
"Hold it right there, General." A man wearing a rumpled suit and holding a huge camera shouldered his way to the front. "Shake her hand, will you? That's it. Come on, lady, give us a big smile. No, no, your hair's fine, just leave it and smile. Okay, one more."