Page 16 of Hope’s Enduring Echo
Leo
Leo spent a restless night, tormented by guilt and worry. What if Mr. Ward had another outburst after he’d left the cabin? What if it went beyond verbal to physical? According to his studies, people with melancholia could engage in violent eruptions. He would never forgive himself if Jennie or Mrs. Ward suffered harm because of him. Deep down, he knew he wasn’t responsible for the man’s erratic behavior. But he’d inadvertently caused it by talking to Jennie about evolution. If only Mr. Ward would have let him explain his personal beliefs concerning the earth’s beginning and growth. But the man’s ability to reason was buried somewhere inside him. Leo had made the right choice to leave without a fuss, but how his heart hurt.
Was it true he’d known Jennie for only ten days? It seemed their friendship was decades old—older, even, than their chronological years. He’d told her he believed God intended for their paths to cross, and he still believed it. But was the intersecting of their lives meant for only a few days? He struggled with accepting the possibility.
He eventually drifted off to sleep and awakened to the sounds of clanking pans and muffled voices. He bounded out of bed and scrambled into his clothes, prepared for a verbal dressing-down for going into work late. But the chef must have recognized the lingering anguish weighing Leo’s soul and took pity on him, because he just told him to jump in and get busy. Leo did so.
The morning flew by in a flurry of activity, and by the end of his shift, he was drained. He ate his late lunch, then returned to his room. His bed beckoned him to nap instead of catch the train. Why not? After all, he didn’t have a guide anymore. The prospect of searching on his own held little appeal after his delightful afternoons with Jennie’s company. Then he remembered the conversation with Mr. Figgins from the Denver museum. Leo had written down the name and telephone number of a Canon City businessman interested in fossil hunting but laid it aside because he was content to search with Jennie. With that option ripped away, he needed a guide. Where had he put the paper holding the information?
A brief search through the desk tucked at the foot of his bed uncovered the paper. He flicked it with his finger, contemplating whether or not to give Mr. DeWeece a call. This uncertainty wasn’t like him. He came here so driven. Why was he now waffling on continuing his hunt? Would he let Mr. Ward’s behavior steal his determination to find the remainder of the skeleton?
He pushed the paper holding Mr. DeWeece’s telephone number into his pocket and went to the hotel’s lobby. The concierge granted permission for Leo to use the telephone. A female voice answered almost immediately, and Leo asked to speak to Mr. DeWeece. A few moments later, he heard, “This is DeWeece. To whom am I speaking?”
Leo cleared his throat. “My name is Leo Day, sir. I’m a student from the University of Denver, studying the field of paleontology.”
“Very well, Mr. Day. What can I do for you?” His tone wasn’t overtly friendly—he sounded as if Leo had pulled him away from something important—but he’d opened the door to conversation. Leo would walk through.
“The director of the Denver Museum of Nature and Science, Mr. Figgins, gave me your name. He said you have an interest in locating the remains of prehistoric animals. I’m in possession of a single bone found a few miles west of Canon City.” The concierge lingered near, aiming his ear in Leo’s direction. Leo turned his back on the man to keep himself focused on Mr. DeWeece. “It’s my goal to discover the entire skeleton, but I’m not familiar with the area surrounding the city. Are you interested in helping me search for the fossils?”
“I am quite interested in seeking out new discoveries.”
The immediate agreement lifted Leo’s spirits.
“But I run a business, son. I limit my fossil-hunting excursions to weekends.”
Only the weekends? What would Leo do with himself the remainder of the week?
“If this suits your schedule, we can arrange to meet this coming Saturday and Sunday—that would be June 19 and 20.” The sound of pages ruffling carried through the line. “Should I add you to my calendar?”
Leo chewed the inside of his cheek. He needed help. He wanted to find the skeleton. But searching on Sunday, when he should attend worship services, went against his conscience. “I, um…”
A slight huff of air spoke of impatience. “Son, we can further discuss this when you know your weekend plans. In the meantime, give me your telephone number and address so I’ll have it for my records.”
Leo shared the telephone number and address for the hotel, then said, “I’ll contact you as soon as I know whether this weekend will work for me.”
“Fine. Good day, now.” A click severed the connection.
Leo settled the telephone handpiece in its cradle but didn’t release it. There was another call he felt compelled to make. To his father.
The realization so startled him his knees wobbled. He leaned against the sturdy counter and checked the grandfather clock ticking from the corner of the lobby. Given the day and hour, Father was likely in his office. If he was deep in study, he would ignore the telephone’s ring, but he might pick up. And if he did, what would Leo say? Would Father listen or launch into another lecture about Leo’s choice of study? In his current state, both weary and heartsore, he wouldn’t respond well to criticism. Yet the desire to tell his father about Jennie’s family, to ask him and Mother to pray for the Wards, was too strong to ignore.
He glanced at the concierge, ready to ask if he could make another call, but the man’s not-so-subtle eavesdropping on his conversation with Mr. DeWeece stifled the request. The Wards’ situation was too personal to share on a public telephone. He thanked the concierge and returned to his room. He sat on the edge of the bed and contemplated his options. His gaze drifted to the desk, and he rolled his eyes at his own inability to see the obvious. Why not write a letter?
The day he’d arrived in Canon City, he sent a picture postcard of the hotel to his parents so they’d know where to reach him if need be. A couple of days later, he mailed a postcard with a watercolor image of columbine to his sisters so they wouldn’t feel left out. This past Saturday, a fat envelope with notes from every family member arrived.
He crossed to the desk and sat in the creaky chair, then took out the short missives. Each person had included at least one question. Daisy wanted to know if he’d found a candy shop, no doubt hoping he’d send her a treat for her July birthday. Myrtle begged him to send more pretty postcards to paste on her wall. Mother expressed concern about whether he was eating right, and Father inquired if he’d located a church where he felt at home. He’d planned to write a lengthy letter on Saturday since his weekdays were taken with work in the morning and searching for fossils in the afternoon. But he wouldn’t go out today.
He took his journal and pen from the desk drawer and turned to a clean page. He started to write, “Dear Father, Mother, and Sisters,” but decided against it. His sisters needn’t be privy to Jennie’s situation. Instead, he wrote, “Dear Little Pests.” His sisters would find it amusing. He kept the note short, letting Daisy know there was no designated candy shop but that a good variety of sweets could be had at the drugstore. He asked what she liked better, gumdrops or licorice whips, knowing full well she preferred fruit-flavored hard candies because they lasted longer.
What was Jennie’s favorite candy?
With a grunt of irritation, he pushed the thought aside and focused on writing a little something for Myrtle. He promised to collect a variety of penny postcards and send one each week as long as Myrtle agreed to ask permission before applying paste to a wall in the parsonage. He ended their missive with, “Enjoy your summer break, but be good helpers for Mother. I love and miss you.” Amazingly, he did miss them. More than he’d thought possible before moving away from home. He’d actually been lonesome for them. How lonely it must be for Jennie to be the only child and so far from town.
And now he was thinking of Jennie again. Gritting his teeth, he signed the girls’ letter and started on a fresh page.
Dear Mother and Father,
I pray you are both well. I am doing fine. Since I work in the hotel kitchen, I am provided with meals by the hotel. The chef’s cooking is very good. Not as good as Mother’s, of course. How could it be? But I am well-fed, and you can tell the girls I have dessert every day. Won’t they be envious?
I attended the Presbyterian church on my first Sunday in town. Yesterday, I visited the Baptist church. There are three other churches in Canon City, and I plan to visit each before choosing one for the rest of my weeks here.
If he began hunting dinosaur fossils with Mr. DeWeece, though, he wouldn’t be in church at all. Guilt nibbled at him. Should he tell his parents about his dilemma? Then he decided against it. He already knew what they would say to him—honor the Lord. If he confessed he was even considering something else, he would hurt and disappoint them.
He went to a new paragraph—the paragraph he needed to write to unburden himself.
My very first Friday here, I planned to take the train to Pueblo, but I didn’t get all the way there. I was watching out the window, and I saw a girl carrying what I could tell was a fossilized bone. So I disembarked early and asked the girl if I could examine it. As it turned out, I became friends with the girl—her name is Jennie—and her parents, who live along the pipeline that delivers water to Canon City. Jennie’s parents, Claude and Etta Ward, gave Jennie permission to show me some places on the mountain where more bones could be found.
You’re likely wondering why her father didn’t offer to show me. He was injured in an accident some time ago and suffered permanent damage to his leg. He no longer does a lot of walking. Jennie has assumed his duties as inspector of the waterline, which means she isn’t able to attend school. Additionally, the loss of mobility has affected Mr. Ward’s mental well-being. He’s become emotionally unstable.
He stared at what he’d just written. Should he have put that down? The statement could be perceived as harsh and critical. Yet he wanted his parents to understand the problem so they would be able to pray specifically for the family. After a moment of internal debate, he chose not to scratch it out and continued the letter.
During our excursions on the mountainside, I had the opportunity to encourage Jennie and share verses I hoped would comfort her. But yesterday her father became angry about
His fingers froze. If he truthfully recorded what precipitated Mr. Ward’s outburst, it would give Father fuel to dissuade him from continuing his course of study. He didn’t want to lie, though. Maybe saying Jennie’s father became angry was enough of an explanation. A man who was emotionally unstable likely wouldn’t need much of a reason. It would suffice.
He marked through the word about and continued, sharing how he’d been forbidden from seeing Jennie again. A lump filled his throat, and he blinked to clear his vision before he could add another paragraph.
I’m concerned about Jennie’s and her mother’s well-being. I encouraged Mrs. Ward to visit a doctor for suggestions on how to help Mr. Ward overcome his state of despondence, but I wish I could do more. Would you please pray for the Ward family? I’m sure the Lord will direct you in how to pray, but I ask that you plead healing for Mr. Ward, safety for Mrs. Ward and Jennie, and freedom for Jennie to go to school this fall. She’s very bright and a gifted artist. She drew the location where we found a fossilized shark tooth and also a beetle embedded in rock. Both sketches were very well done.
He jolted. When he gave Mrs. Ward the sketchbook for Jennie, he didn’t remove the drawing of the beetle. A sense of loss fell over him. He pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes closing. After a few minutes of silent self-recrimination, he lifted the pen and went on.
Jennie wants to study art, but unless she is released from what should be her father’s duties, she won’t have the opportunity. Please pray she will be able to use the gifts God gave her and won’t lose heart. She has faith, but it’s being tested. Please pray hope will reign victorious in her soul.
He finished by telling them a bit about his job and co-workers and ended with a promise to write again soon. He signed the letter, then set it aside so the ink could fully dry before folding it and sealing it in an envelope.
The afternoon loomed in front of him—long, lonely hours. He missed Jennie. And Mrs. Ward, who had made him feel welcome from the very first time he crossed the threshold of that little cabin. If only he could check on them and make sure they were all right. The anguished sound of Jennie’s weeping echoed in his mind. Her look of betrayal when her daddy claimed he couldn’t be sure what the two of them had been doing those hours alone was embedded in his memory as permanently as that beetle’s scales were in rock.
Had the man calmed down and asked forgiveness for the hurtful things he’d said? Leo doubted it. But he hoped that at the very least Mr. Ward had held his tongue and resisted inflicting any more verbal wounds on his daughter. Leo stood and paced the length of the room, running his hand through his hair. There had to be a way to check on Jennie without violating Mr. Ward’s order to stay away.
Just like that, an idea came to him. He trotted to the desk, yanked up his pen, and began to write.
Dear Jennie…