Part 3
Jo
let her pen wander over the paper in absent trails.
She couldn’t concentrate on writing.
There were so many things troubling her.
She had seen Nick come out of the barn in a hurry with a frightened
expression on his face, and she wondered about it.
Was there something he wasn’t telling her?
She was afraid to ask him, and she had been so touched by his prayer and
she hadn’t wanted to interrupt him then.
Maybe it was none of her business anyway . . .
“Jo?” It was Nick, standing in the doorway, looking hesitant.
“Nick . . . what is it?”
“I was just wonderin’ how you’re doing.”
He looked almost apologetic.
Jo attempted a smile, but failed miserably at any
guise of happiness. “Not so good.
I . . . don’t think I’m truly saved, although I’ve always tried to
do my best and—”
“Jo, what do you mean?
You’re the best woman I’ve—”
“No, Nick!
I’m not! And I don’t
feel sorry, either. I’ve done
things my own way mostly, and I can’t seem to give it up!
I know God is not pleased with me.”
“Jo,” Nick frowned, “you’ve done so many
good things, brought up so many fine children!
How can ya’ think God’s not pleased with you?”
Jo bit her lip.
“I’m flattered you think so well of me, Nick, but you can’t see my
heart. Only God can, and I think so
many bad things!”
Nick was silent for a moment, then looked
intently at Jo’s downcast eyes and remarked,
“Jo, I’m not much of a--what do ya’ call it?--theologian? . . . In
fact, I’m not so sure about all this God stuff, but I do know that if anyone
would make it to heaven, you would.”
The pen in Jo’s hand squiggled over her paper
again. She sighed.
“You don’t understand. The
Bible says that it’s not by works, but by faith and repentance that a person
is saved!”
“And ya’ don’t have those?” Nick probed
hesitantly.
Jo didn’t want to meet Nick’s eyes. “I
don’t think so.”
The very air in the room seemed still.
Nick twisted his hat in his hands. “Then
I’ll . . . keep praying for ya’, Jo.”
“Thank you.”
“Why’d
you come back?”
“How’re you
doin’?”
“Are
you staying at Plumfield with us?”
Isabel
straightened and smiled. “My, so
many questions at once! I don’t
think even I have ever been so talkative!”
She laughed and tucked a stray wisp of hair behind her ear.
“Well . . . we’re waiting,” Nan prodded.
Dan shot Nan a disapproving look, but Isabel just
smiled.
“Well, I . . . I just couldn’t stand being
away from Franz!” She dipped her
head, suddenly looking very shy.
The wagon wheels crunched over the gravelly road,
and Dan slapped the reins against the horses, glancing uncertainly towards the
other kids.
“He . . . well, we—liked each other.
I left because my family needed me, an’ I just . . . well, missed Franz
so much.” Isabel played with the gloves that she held in her hands.
“Franz left,” Nan broke in matter-of-factly.
Isabel stared at them and gasped, “What!?”
“He loved you so much that he had to go see
you,” Nan added, smiling.
Isabel’s mouth dropped open and she was
speechless for once.
“Yeah, Nan’s right,” Dan affirmed.
Nat nodded.
Bess smiled at Isabel, undoubtedly thinking how
romantic the predicament was.
Isabel was staring wide-eyed and unseeing.
“He went all that way for me?” she said more to herself than anyone
else.
“It’s just like a storybook,” Bess said in
satisfaction.
Dan rolled his eyes but stopped himself from
saying anything.
“What am I gonna do?” Isabel wondered.
“I have to see Franz!”
“Oh, we’ll think of something,” Nan replied
confidently.
The
wind was picking up again. Dark
gray clouds seemed to be angrily coming towards Plumfield, growing, swirling,
snarling. Trees, like frightened
children, trembled wildly in the wind. The
darkness—it was upon him again. He
could almost feel the rolling beneath him, could almost see the shadow of the
man, tumbling, arms outstretched, falling over into the crashing waves.
Nick closed his eyes
and put his head into his hands, but the images still burned in his mind.
Timothy, tall,
gawky—just a kid. His freckled
face was always lit up by a smile. He
washed the deck, carried messages, always grinning and joking.
“Hey, Nick, when you gonna teach me to be a gentleman?”
Nick, deadpan,
replied, “Nope, can’t—Never was a gentleman.”
They had shared
everything. Tim was like another
little brother, only more submissive.
The ship was
tossing . . . wind shrieking, waves snarling.
Nick had sent Tim to check on the captain. . . . He had only caught a
glimpse of Tim’s horror-streaked face as the ship had tossed the boy out.
Nick clenched his jaw
to fight off the tears, the anger. He
balled his fists, hating himself for his irreversible mistake of sending Tim out
in that weather. It should've
been me!
“Nick?”
Nick jerked, blinking
back tears. Jo was standing there,
her eyes filled with concern. Nick
avoided those eyes—if he let himself look into them, he would be lost.
Nick couldn’t speak.
“Are you all
right?” Jo asked softly, coming closer.
“Sure,” he managed
to croak out.
Jo smiled.
“That was the worse lie I’ve ever heard!”
Nick looked out at the
lowering clouds. “Jo, I—I
don’t know if I can talk about it.”
Jo was quiet, staring
out at the clouds with him. “It
looks like a bad one,” she remarked.
Nick’s jaw tensed,
and he looked away.
“Nick—I’ll leave
if you want me to. . . . But maybe I can help you.”
Nick’s face
crumpled, and he couldn’t hold back the tears.
“No—you can’t.”
Jo’s arm encircled
his shoulders in a comforting way. “Just
tell me,” she said softly.
“I killed a boy,”
he choked out. “He was my best
friend!” He wiped his face and
closed his eyes tightly.
Jo stared at him
dazedly, her mouth open but unable to say anything.
“Tim—I sent him
out in a storm—on the deck. And
he—was washed overboard!” Nick
buried his head in hands.
Jo swallowed.
“Oh, Nick!”
The wind howled under
the eaves and blew Jo’s hair across her face.
Her vigor was returning. “Nick,
it wasn’t your fault! You
couldn’t have stopped the storm, or known what would happen!
Don’t blame yourself!”
“But the ship was
tossing so much, I shoulda’ known! I
didn’t need to send him out there!”
"Nick, these things just happen! You are not to
blame!"
"Then who is? God?"
Jo jerked as if someone had slapped her. She felt
a confusing rush of emotion and doubts. God was in control of the weather
. . . He could have kept the boy from dying! She shivered, as much from
the fear of the unknown as from the cold.
