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Elizabeth
Johnson finished up the last of the supper dishes and put a plate of food in
the stove for Brock, who still wasn’t home yet. Then she tidied up her roomy
kitchen that was lined with cupboards that were filled with fine china and
crystal glasses, and every baking supply one could possibly need.
Afterwards, she walked into the dining room, where
Rowdy was playing with a small set of plain wooden blocks and his favorite toy
soldiers.
“Where’d your brother wander off to?” Elizabeth
asked as she brushed crumbs off the linen tablecloth and straightened the
chairs.
“Said he had some readin’ to do,” said Rowdy,
though he didn’t take his eyes off of the block tower he was constructing.
“Reading? Why school’s almost over with now.
What’s he reading?” She knew that Buck only spent time reading if his arm
was being twisted.
“The Bible.” Rowdy said it as if it was the most
natural thing ever.
“The Bible? Whatever gave him that notion?”
“Mr. Hawkins. He reads his Bible all the time, says
he’s gotta feed his spirit.”
Elizabeth’s heart sank. She wondered what this
stranger had been telling her sons, and what her boys had been sharing with him.
“Is Mr. Hawkins hoping to be a man of the cloth one
day?”
“Nah, he just wants to raise horses and farm.
He’s real smart though. He knows as much about the Bible as pa does about the
law.” Rowdy looked up at his mother with amazement, as if being well versed in
the Bible was something only a preacher could accomplish.
“Ma, why don’t you read you Bible anymore?”
Elizabeth sat down next to her son, feeling a bit
weak in the knees. She searched for her words as saddening memories flooded her
mind.
“I guess after your brother died, I didn’t really
believe that God cared about me, and I wondered if He ever had.” She spoke
softly, with painful honesty. Elizabeth never spoke of Michael anymore, but the
years had failed to dull her heartache and sorrow.
“Mr. Hawkins says that God loves everybody the
same.”
Elizabeth thought about that for a moment, and she
wondered if she even knew what love was anymore.
“Ma, is Michael in heaven?”
“Of course he is, child,” Elizabeth said with
conviction. It had been so long since that precious name had been spoken in her
house.
“Are we all going to go to heaven and see him again
someday?”
Sitting with her elbows on the table, Elizabeth
closed her eyes and had to cover her mouth. All she could see was Michael, her
dead son. She thought this sudden rush of grief might make her suffocate, but
she was able to calmly gain her composure.
“It’s starting to get late. Why don’t you go on
and get ready for bed,” she instructed.
Rowdy obeyed her promptly. Elizabeth sat at the
table, somewhat frozen by her son’s comments. Since Michael’s death, she’s
shown little interest in much of anything, including Buck and Rowdy. It was like
she became consumed by a fog of depression, and she stopped loving the things of
God. She abandoned her faith, and her heart grew stony and cold. Before long,
her boys had become known troublemakers, and her husband a workaholic.
Elizabeth softly patted her cheeks. Then she took a
deep breath and decided to look in on Buck. She quietly walked into his room and
found him asleep. The Bible was open and lying on his chest, while the light of
a lantern flickered beside him. Buck was still in his work clothes, and one of
his arms was hanging over the bed. His mother carefully made him more
comfortable and leaned over and kissed him tenderly on the cheek—something
she hadn’t done in a long time. She stared at him, wondering what kind of man
he would become without the genuine love and guidance that he (and Rowdy)
deserved from both of his parents.
After blowing out the light, Elizabeth took the Bible
and left Buck’s room. She went into the parlor, where a fire was raging and
crackling, providing her plenty of light. Elizabeth stood there, staring at and
squeezing what used to be her most valued material possession.
“Why, God, why?” she implored.
Though she was tempted to open the book and scan over
her favorite passages in search of peace, she just couldn’t do it. She was too
afraid to trust in God again and to find solace in His word. So she left the
Bible on a table and retreated to the sanctuary of her room, sobbing with every
step she took.
©2004 StoriesByEmail.com
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