Page 35

N o word came from Father. Clara waited through the New Year, and a bitter cold January. Even the letter Francine had penned on her behalf had been ignored. She’d begged Lucy against the marriage. To no avail.

Never had she spent so much time apart from her family. Never did she think she might endure blindness even this long. But she did and would continue to do so.

She pondered how white the fields must be. In such snow the townsfolk were themselves blinded by the sun’s reflection against stark whiteness of winter. She’d hated the sensation, but still, she longed even for that experience.

She kept warm enough, nearly always perched by the fire knitting.

At least an hour every day, Francine sat with her, showing her new tricks with the needles or just keeping her company.

For weeks, Clara’s knitting lay in knots and messes.

Her first scarf was riddled with missed stitches and extra holes.

Francine stopped reading her book and grew quiet. “Morrie grows great with child.”

“Does she?”

“In a matter of weeks, she will give birth.”

Clara set her knitting in her lap. She’d been as quiet as the winter.

She kept her peace—still uncertain of her duty.

The fact that she’d bargained Morrie’s life still nagged at her.

Father kept tabs on his property if not his daughter.

Unbidden, the overseer had dropped in a few days ago to make sure Jenny and Morrie were in place.

Where they belonged. Later, Mrs. Ramshaw told her that the girl’s pregnancy was carefully hidden by the tall kitchen worktable.

Law itself would keep everything in balance.

She needn’t interfere. And if Morrie managed to escape, it served her family right to lose property.

If Clara hadn’t mattered to them then why should Morrie?

These thoughts left her unsettled. She’d begun to see Morrie as more than property. Another wounded soul.

Francine interrupted her thoughts. “I believe we should make a few things for the baby.”

“Yes. A gift might cheer her.” And assuage the depth of guilt that lay at her family’s door? “Do you believe as your brother? That such people deserve equality?”

“Yes, I do.”

“He doesn’t preach this from the pulpit as I thought he might.”

“Doing so may cause more damage than good. People rarely practice what the preacher preaches.”

“If it is from God, then why shouldn’t they?”

“They must study the Word for themselves. Prove my brother’s sermons true. Commit it to prayer. After all, Daniel is only human. Just like you.”

A deep laugh slipped in with the man himself. “Francine seems convinced I evolved from an ape like Charles Darwin claims.”

“Daniel!” Francine scolded. “Announce yourself next time. You scared the dickens out of me.”

Clara smiled. She’d felt the draft, heard the kitchen door click. Knew his step even before Francine sensed him.

“More snow is on the way. We need to get supplies and get home,” Daniel said. “And how is Miss Stanton on this frigid day?”

She held up the knitting so he could see. “I am a pitiful excuse for a knitter. At least it is something to do. ”

Daniel had kept a distance since Christmas, when he’d so tenderly held her. Kissed her. She couldn’t blame him. Who wanted a blind woman? He’d had a weak moment, and she’d fallen fast. A fool once is a fool twice. Francine had taken his place reading aloud.

“It’s charming. Lots of character,” Daniel said.

A sweet effort...

“I tried to tell her the same thing. We are going to make something for Morrie next week.”

“Ah. Good. Clara, I almost forgot. My step father sent this in hopes that you will be able to read.”

“You mean, for Francine to read aloud?”

“No, actually, it is for you—to read.” Amusement tinged his voice. Why did he jest about such a matter?

She set down her knitting and received a thick stack of paper. Clara took the cards and ran her hands over them, a seeming mishmash of bumps. “I don’t understand.”

“Time for you to relearn your alphabet. Do you feel the dots? Each dot or group of dots represents a letter. Entire books have been copied in this manner so that the blind may read for themselves.”

“I’ve never heard of this. Daniel, I hope you are not playing a trick on me, I thought you to be honest at least.”

“At least?”

Clara licked her lips. She wished he would reach out to her again. With intention. Let her know he cared as much as he seemed to at Christmas. Silly fool, she was. “This is very good of you. Which is the first card?”

“The one with the missing corner.” She felt for the “A”.

Francine and Reverend Merrick left Clara eagerly tracing the dots, over and over. Words she might feel, a word quietly spoken, a story beneath her fingers. She sat there for over an hour before she set them aside and heard Morrie reading for Mrs. Ramshaw .

Timid and stuttering, she read aloud to her teacher’s encouragements. “G-od h-ath n-ot g-given us a s-pir it of f-ear...” Clara finished the sentence in a soft whisper, “but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind...”

She rubbed at her eyes, if only the rubbing gave way to sight.

It did not. Anxiety pressed in, the familiar desperation.

“A sound mind, Lord. Give me a sound mind...” She leaned back in her chair and lifted her face to the ceiling she couldn’t see.

How does one accept an ongoing plight? Accept and not fight it anymore?

Morrie’s and Mrs. Ramshaw’s voices carried another verse from the kitchen, this time in unison.

“Be not thou therefore ashamed of the testimony of our Lord, nor of me his prisoner: but be thou partaker of the afflictions of the gospel according to the power of God; who has saved us, and called us with an holy calling...”

Maybe this suffering wasn’t the end of the story.

Her father may yet agree to the surgery.

He certainly could afford it. She rubbed her finger tips over the bumpy words she needed to learn.

Why did Dr. Rosenthal not tell her of this?

Curious. He of all people ought to have.

Enough waiting. She needed to talk to him.

As soon as the snowstorm blew over, she would board the train to Louisville.

She needed answers.

IT WAS NEARLY TIME .

Her soul had eased open, this was easy to see.

He’d watched her from his pulpit on Sunday’s past, how she inclined her ear to the words he’d prayerfully put together.

To the Scripture she could no longer see for herself.

Her expression had turned from pained to sober over the last few months. Then, from sober to open wanting.

Finally, her sorrow was lifting. She wanted more out of life. The better kind of more.