Page 11 of Hope’s Enduring Echo

Etta

On her knees in the lumpy dirt, Etta yanked out another weed from the base of a green pea bush and tossed it aside. Their trio of chickens, which she’d released from their pen a half hour ago to peck in the grass, waddled over, wings flapping, and battled over the wilted plant. She parted straggly leaves from the scrawny bushes and searched for more scraps of green that didn’t belong in her vegetable plot. Sometimes she wondered why she bothered trying to nurture a garden. Given the limited sunlight that reached her valley home, the plants’ production was paltry at best. But she loved gardening, loved seeing a seed blossom into a plant that budded then bore fruit. Even if the bounty was small, she pushed seeds into the soil each summer and thanked God for every bit of sustenance she could coax from her garden.

If only she could coax Claude into bearing fruit. She closed that thought down quickly lest it lead to bitterness. She didn’t want a negative seed to take root in her soul, but this past week, she’d needed much prayer to hold it at bay.

A movement caught her attention, and she turned. Jennie was trudging up the slight rise toward the line strung from the back of the outhouse to a post Claude had pounded into the ground the year they moved out here. The girl balanced an overflowing basket of wet laundry against her front. The way she staggered as she walked proved the burden taxed her. In years past, Claude carried the full basket to the line and then Etta or Jennie hung the clothes. Did Claude not see his daughter struggling? Or had he ceased to care?

And now her thoughts were leaning toward bitterness again. She stood and caught up to Jennie, wiping her hands clean on her apron as she went. “Wait, honey, let me help.”

Jennie shot a weary grin over her shoulder. “Thanks, Mama.” She plopped the basket down and they each grabbed a handle.

Even sharing the load, the weight tugged at Etta’s arm, but together they reached the sagging line and set the basket on a flat, smooth rock.

Jennie swiped the back of her hand across her forehead. “Phew. I won’t fill the basket all the way before bringing it out next time.”

Etta gave her daughter’s braid a light tug. “Or you could ask your daddy to carry it for you.” Even if he liked to act as if he were in a little world all alone, they shouldn’t play along. They needed to include him, the way they used to.

The girl’s face clouded. “I did. I asked if he’d take one side and help me. He didn’t even answer.”

Frustration billowed in Etta’s middle, but she forced a smile. “He’s probably lost in thought and didn’t even hear you.”

Jennie pulled one of Claude’s shirts from the basket. She gave it several brisk snaps, raising the scent of lye soap, then secured it to the line with wooden pins. “Leo told me Daddy doesn’t like who he is right now any more than we like it and I should be patient with him, but”—she blew out a mighty huff of breath—“sometimes it’s hard.”

Etta raised one brow. “You and Leo talk about your daddy?”

A soft smile fluttered on Jennie’s face. “Leo and I talk about…well, everything. He’s the nicest boy I’ve ever known.”

Etta added a shirt to the line, observing her daughter from the corners of her eyes. When they moved to the cabin, Jennie hadn’t yet reached the age of noticing boys. Since then, with the exception of their monthly visits to town, her only companions were her parents. According to what Leo told Etta, Jennie had spurned the attentions of some other young boys. But apparently she wasn’t completely indifferent. If Etta’s instincts were correct, her daughter was smitten with Leo Day.

She passed behind Jennie and removed another damp clothing article from the basket. “He’s a very polite, personable young man.” She applied the pins and peeked at Jennie between the gently waving shirts. “And handsome, too.”

Jennie shrugged and looked aside. “I suppose.”

Etta laughed softly. She stepped close and briefly cupped Jennie’s flushed cheek. “There’s nothing wrong with acknowledging a fellow’s pleasant features. Truthfully, your daddy’s broad shoulders and velvety brown eyes were what caught my attention first.”

Jennie giggled.

“It’s true.” Etta winked and picked up another of Claude’s shirts. “But it was his honest character, kind spirit, and dedication to the Lord that won my heart.”

A pensive frown creased Jennie’s forehead. “You just described Leo, Mama. And those are all things I like about him.” She hung a pair of trousers. “Even though he isn’t a preacher, he sometimes talks like one. He tells me things he thinks I should know—like what he said about Daddy—even if it might be hard to hear. But even when he says hard things, he says them in a way that lets me know he really cares.” She yanked another pair of trousers from the pile and crushed them against her front, staring across the landscape. “I like everything about him. And I think he might have come to Canon City because I—” She clacked her jaw shut and flopped the trousers over the line.

Etta’s curiosity drew her to Jennie’s side. “He came because…why?”

Jennie pursed her lips for a moment, then said in a rush, “I prayed for a friend.”

Etta’s heart swelled. She squeezed Jennie’s upper arm. “I know you’re lonely out here. But it won’t be much longer.”

Jennie untangled one of Etta’s aprons from the pile of wet laundry, blowing out a noisy breath. “Please don’t get my hopes up, Mama. It’s been a whole week already and Daddy’s still stuck to his chair.” The bitterness Etta wanted to evade came through in her daughter’s tone. “You can’t know for sure I’ll get to finish school in town.” She clipped the apron to the line with jabs of the pins.

Maybe Jennie was right. Maybe Etta shouldn’t make promises. But she knew deep in her heart that this smart, talented, friendly girl should have the opportunity to attend school and be with others her age. Leo was meeting her need for friendship now, but he would leave at summer’s end. Maybe even before. Jennie’s loneliness would intensify after having enjoyed his companionship.

Etta sent up a silent prayer for guidance, then said, “?‘The effectual fervent prayer of a righteous man availeth much.’?”

Jennie paused in hooking a dress into place on the line and turned in her mother’s direction. Her brow was pinched, but she didn’t seem angry. More contemplative.

Etta smoothed a few wind-tossed wisps of hair from Jennie’s cheek. “You prayed for a friend. Leo came. Does this not prove God answers prayer?”

Jennie’s eyes flooded. “Sometimes He does.”

“Always He does,” Etta gently corrected.

Jennie hung her head. “Mama, you say God always answers, but…” She swallowed. “Sometimes He says no. Like He has about Daddy all these months. He might say no about me going to school.”

Etta couldn’t bear her daughter’s sadness. She pulled her into an embrace and held her tight. “There’s one more answer God sometimes gives. What is that one?”

“ Not now. ” The words were muffled against Etta’s shoulder.

“That’s right. Not now. ” Etta kissed Jennie’s temple and released her hold. “Consider my garden over there. Do the plants spring forth and become heavy with beans and peas and tomatoes overnight?”

A slight grin quavered on Jennie’s lips. “No. Of course not.”

Etta chuckled. “That’s right. Because seeds need time and rain and sunshine to grow and produce their bounty. Sometimes we need time and maybe a little rain or sunshine, too, while we wait. But when the time is ripe, we receive His answer. Don’t give up.”

Jennie rubbed her nose. “Yes, Mama.” She slid the laundry basket closer and resumed hanging clothes.

Etta scuffed across the grass to the garden plot, her gaze fixed on the cabin. From this angle, she couldn’t see the window where Claude spent most of his day. But he was no doubt in his chair, staring. At what? Something outside, or something within? She didn’t know, and it stung that she didn’t know. Shouldn’t she know everything about this man who was the other half to her whole?

She knelt and reached for a weed, but her hand stilled before grasping the pesky intruder. She’d told Jennie that prayers availed much. She was already on her knees. She bowed her head and folded her hands.

Leo

Leo hung the last freshly scrubbed pan on its hook above the massive iron stove, then wiped his chapped hands down the front of his bibbed apron. If any of his college pals saw him now, they’d do plenty of teasing. He wouldn’t blame them either. He’d always considered dish washing a duty for girls. After all, his mother and sisters saw to the cooking and cleaning up at home. But the job offered shelter in a small but cozy room, kept his belly filled, and allowed him several hours each day to search for dinosaur bones. He couldn’t ask for a better setup.

He pulled the apron over his head and dropped it into the laundry bin by the back door, then stepped into the alley behind the hotel. He stretched his taut muscles, his face aimed at the slice of cloud-dotted sky exposed between buildings. The sun didn’t penetrate the alley, but he felt its warmth anyway. It was always warmer in the city than on the hillside near the river where Jennie’s family lived.

Thoughts of Jennie’s family raised a prickle of concern. When he’d told Jennie he believed Claude Ward was fighting an inward battle, he hadn’t stated the term his psychology professor used. Melancholia. The definition from his textbook appeared in his mind’s eye— a quiet form of insanity displayed by unending despondency.

He shuddered. How awful. And equally awful were some of the ways it was treated. He wouldn’t share the term that seemed to fit Claude’s current state of mind, because he didn’t want Jennie to ask how to fix it. He wouldn’t be able to lie to her, but thinking of her beloved daddy being shocked with electricity or having a portion of his brain removed would destroy her tender heart. No, he’d keep his knowledge to himself and encourage her to be patient, to gently prod him to get up and move. Exercise, his professor had indicated, was showing promise in decreasing the symptoms of melancholia. If Claude would get out of his chair and do, as Jennie had so despairingly said, change could come. But Leo would never utter the term melancholia and plant ugly pictures in her mind.

A discarded upturned crate lay against the foundation of the hotel’s red-brick wall. Leo sat on it, crossed his ankles, and leaned against the warm bricks. He linked his hands on his stomach and sighed. On the other side of the wall, the kitchen workers were already scurrying around in preparation for the evening diners. The city sidewalks and streets bustled with Saturday shoppers. But the alley, although smelly from the spoiling food in the waste bins, was quiet. A good spot for introspection.

With his head resting against the warm bricks, he closed his eyes and considered how he might be able to help the Wards. He already prayed for them each day, but was there something more—something tangible—he could do to encourage them? Mrs. Ward had kindly shared meals with him. Maybe he could ask the cook for some day-old sweet rolls to bring as a gift. Would Mr. Ward read a magazine? There were several interesting periodicals for sale in the drugstore. Father enjoyed The Saturday Evening Post, with its variety of articles. Leo didn’t have a large sum of pocket money available, but he could afford to spend five cents on a magazine.

He liked the ideas for Mr. and Mrs. Ward, but what about for Jennie? His sisters enjoyed receiving new hair ribbons and lace handkerchiefs, but he wasn’t sure if Jennie would have much use for them. At least not living where she did now. A smile tugged at his cheeks. How sweetly feminine she’d looked in her church dress last Sunday. But she moved much more freely and gracefully in her boots and britches than she had in the full skirt and dainty shoes. He’d never met a girl as unpretentious as Jennie, and he liked the ease with which she carried herself. If he gave her ribbons or lace, she might surmise he thought she needed to gussy herself up. She might start feeling conspicuous in her everyday clothes. He shook his head—frippery wasn’t an option. What could he give her that would be practical yet personal so she’d know he put some thought behind it?

Just like that, he knew. He bolted to his feet, reaching into his pocket for the change he carried. He counted out the coins, eagerness building in his chest to make the purchase, already envisioning her delight. Surely, thirty-five cents would be enough. He turned toward the opening to the street, but a noise—a whimper?— drew him up short. Something was in distress. He cocked his head, an ear tipped in the direction of the sound.

Scuffling noises came from behind the rubbish bins, and another distinct whimper followed. Rats, feral cats, and an occasional raccoon sometimes rustled through the bins, but none of those animals made the kind of sound he’d heard. So what was back there? Leo slowly advanced toward the bins, moving as quietly as possible to avoid startling the creature, whatever it was.

He stopped next to the bins and leaned sideways, peering behind, and his heart lurched. He slowly lowered himself to a crouch and extended his hand. “Hey there. Are you lost?”

The pup, filthy and so thin its ribs showed, flattened itself to the ground and stared at Leo with wide brown eyes. It quivered from speckled head to scrawny tail. Its obvious terror made Leo want to cry.

He wiggled his fingers. “C’mere. I won’t hurt you.” But the puppy inched backward until it was out of sight. Leo pinched his chin, considering his options. If he chased it, it might bolt into the street. He couldn’t bear the possible consequence of such an action. Somehow he had to coax it to come to him. Food could convince it. He’d noticed quite a bit of leftover ham on the lunch plates he’d emptied into the scrap bucket. Would he be able to retrieve some of it from the barrel?

He straightened and looked into the barrel. Yes, a few pink pieces of meat were half-hidden in the disgusting mix of garbage. Grimacing, he rolled his sleeve back and reached in. He pinched out two good-sized slices, then returned to his crouched position. He tore a sliver from one of the slices and tossed it in the direction the pup had disappeared. At once, its little nose poked out and its sharp teeth snatched up the bit.

Leo continued plying the pup with pieces of meat, luring it closer with each toss. When the puppy was within arm’s reach, Leo dumped the remaining greasy chunks on the ground. The moment after the pup gobbled the last bite, he scooped it into his arms. It flailed its legs, yelping as if he’d struck it, but Leo tucked it close under his chin and murmured, “Sh, sh, you’re all right. I won’t hurt you.”

Apparently, the pitiful animal had little fight left in it, because it slumped in his arms and hid its face in the bend of his elbow. Although it smelled awful and its dirt-caked paws left smears on Leo’s clothes, he stroked its trembling neck and continued to soothe it, his chest aching with compassion. The poor little thing wouldn’t survive on its own. But what could he do with it? If he got caught with a smelly dog in the hotel, he’d be fired. Even if he managed to keep it hidden until he left town, the college wouldn’t welcome a canine attendee. And never mind taking it home to his family. Mother had never allowed them to have a pet—they were messy, she said.

But what about the Flankstons? They had their own house, and by the end of the summer, Jennie would be with them. She’d love having a puppy, wouldn’t she? If he did a good enough sales job, he could probably convince Jennie’s aunt and uncle to take in this poor little dog.

He lifted the pup’s head with his hand and smiled into its sad brown eyes. “You come with me. You’re getting a bath. And then I’ll make you look spiffy by tying a ribbon around your neck.” Pink or blue? He sneaked a glance at the pup’s other end and grinned. Blue. Perfect. The pup would look a county fair prize with a big blue ribbon under his chin.