A New Beginning (16 page)

I was learning real quick that the life of a pastor was more involved than I'd ever dreamed. It wasn't long before I began to see what hard work pastoring could be. I didn't see how Christopher could keep up with his work schedule and his visiting schedule, because for me the latter was just as taxing as the former. Within a couple of months I was starting to get tired—I mean physically
tired
—by the end of every day.

It seemed like everyone needed to try out the new pastor with this problem, that problem, this issue, that issue. Then would come a family crisis, an illness, a conflict, a situation in town, financial difficulties, misunderstandings, and even a few criticisms that came Christopher's way from unnamed sources—day in and day out, it all took its toll on me.

Christopher said it was all part of the ministry and that teaching spiritual principles on Sunday morning was only one very small portion of the whole. Occasionally the misunderstandings and difficulties with people got him down, but all the rest of it seemed to exhilarate him, as if he thrived on being part of men's and women's lives at such a level. But as for me—like I said, it wore me out.

I found myself beginning to wonder if I was cut out to be a minister's wife at all! I was used to having time to write and think and read. And I was used to having more time just with Christopher, but now overnight our lives hardly seemed like our own anymore.

Two things happened around the beginning of that summer of 1868 involving two people I had known for as long as I'd been in California, which was now over half my life. They were two very opposite things—one good and one bad, one that put Christopher into a deeper pit of discouragement and self-doubt than I'd ever seen him in, and the other that confirmed to him more than ever that we'd made the right decision in staying in California. I'll tell you about them in the order they came, which was the disheartening one first, followed by the encouraging one a week later.

The time arrived for Robin O'Flaridy's trial. When they'd visited earlier, Christopher had promised to return for the trial so that he might put in a good word for Robin if possible. By this time Christopher had talked me into returning to Sacramento with him.

We had a good time on the train ride down. It was so nice to get away from Miracle Springs for two or three days and just be alone together. We talked and talked again, like we really hadn't had a chance to in months. Already we were learning that being involved with people can't help but change a man and woman's relationship. They have to share one another with everyone else, and that makes it hard to keep communicating on the same level as when there was only the two of them.

The closer to Sacramento we got, the more I found my thoughts turning to Robin O'Flaridy, and I began telling Christopher so many of the old stories about the shenanigans he had pulled and how I'd tried so hard to get through to him about a different way of living than always trying to dupe someone.

“I am so glad he's finally changed,” I said. “To be honest, I never thought he would. He was such a dyed-in-the-wool conniver!”

I couldn't help laughing as I thought of how he had stolen my idea and scooped me on the Miracle Springs mayor's election between Almeda and Mr. Royce.

“Maybe finally we can genuinely help him,” I added. “I always thought he had great potential to really be someone.”

When we arrived in the capital, we first went to the jail to visit Mr. Harris. He was so happy to see us and seemed to be doing wonderfully. His trial had finally been scheduled for about a month from then, and he said the way it looked he would only have to spend a year or two in prison.

That evening we went out to dinner, then back to the boarding house. The following morning at nine o'clock we went to the courthouse for Robin's trial. We sat down in the visitors' gallery and waited.

Christopher had briefly met one or two of the attorneys involved in the case when he was in the city earlier to post bail, so he recognized the man who approached us, with one of the court bailiffs alongside him, a few minutes after nine. Christopher stood and the two men shook hands.

“Have you seen your friend O'Flaridy?” the man asked.

“No, not since I was here several months ago,” replied Christopher. “We just came down yesterday . . . for the trial. Why, is there—?”

“A problem? Indeed there is. It seems your friend has jumped bail and is nowhere to be found.”

Christopher's face turned white.

“I . . . I don't believe it. I was sure—”

“Believe it, Mr. Braxton,” rejoined the attorney. “I've seen his kind more than I can tell you. You get so you can tell. He's gone.”

“What . . . what does it mean now?” asked Christopher.

“It means, first of all, that you'll never see your two hundred dollars again. It also means that you're now more involved than you probably intended to be. That's why the bailiff is here. He's going to have to take you to the judge. I'm afraid you've got some explaining to do over
your
role in this thing.”

“Come along, Mr. Braxton,” now said the bailiff, taking hold of Christopher's arm—a little rudely, I thought. I was too frightened to be angry, but they didn't need to treat him like a criminal! But before I had a chance even to think about it, Christopher was being led away, and soon he had disappeared through a door with the bailiff, two attorneys, and the judge. I sat there I think as scared as I've ever been in my life. Some horrible premonition kept telling me the next time I saw my husband he was going to be wearing handcuffs and be on his own way to jail!

Fortunately, it was not a premonition based in fact. About ten minutes later Christopher reappeared through the same door, face still ashen and visibly shaken. Whatever the judge had said had obviously not been pleasant.

He came back up the aisle toward me, paused, gave me his hand without any change in his expression, and we left the courtroom in silence. Maybe it was just my imagination, but it felt like every eye was upon us.

Once we were outside the courtroom, Christopher said, “I had a bad feeling about it after I talked to Robin when I came down here before, but I didn't want to face it.”

“What kind of feeling?” I asked.

“A nervousness that maybe he wasn't being completely truthful with me. I guess I should have listened to my reservations.”

“There was no way you could have known.”

Christopher just sighed. “Let's get out of here,” he said, “and go home!”

We were back on the northbound train within two hours, during which time Christopher hardly said two dozen words. I'd never seen him like this—so low and despondent, as if he singlehandedly had caused the collapse of the entire justice system of the United States of America. I kept trying to tell him that it wasn't his fault and wasn't even as bad as it might seem.

“When the judge started talking about my being an accomplice in the whole scheme,” Christopher sighed, “I didn't exactly feel as if it wasn't my fault.”

“You—an accomplice!” I exclaimed. “How could they think such a thing?”

“You've got to admit it doesn't look good.”

“If you were in on it, why would you come back?”

“One of the attorneys pointed that out to him. But he was talking about bringing charges against me anyway, until the attorney reminded him I was a minister and had only been trying to help. Then the judge laughed—and that was worse. ‘A fake conversion to weasel bail money out of a parson,' he said. ‘I've seen it so many times. You religious fellows are sitting ducks for their kind!'”

Poor Christopher! His voice was so forlorn as he told me of the painful interview.

“Don't you understand, Corrie?” was all he kept saying, “I gave my word. It wasn't just two hundred dollars, although that's bad enough—we can hardly afford to lose that kind of money. But it was a pledge that Robin would be there. It was my guarantee—that is how the court looks at it. I was honor bound to make sure he appeared. It . . . it just never
dawned
on me,” he added for what must have been the tenth time, “that he wouldn't be there. I had the feeling he wasn't telling me everything . . . but I never dreamed he would just run away.”

His voice and whole expression was so full of disbelief that someone, even someone like Robin T. O'Flaridy, would
not
do what he said. The thing struck him as categorically impossible. How
could
truth be so violated? It was as if his brain could not contain the idea of not doing what one promised.

The first half of the train ride was almost silent. Nothing I could say or do could console poor Christopher. I even began to wonder if he was mad at me for some reason, though I kept telling myself that couldn't be so.

“Do you know what's the worst of it of all?” he said suddenly after we had bounced along for probably thirty entire minutes of silence. “It's not being used and taken advantage of so much. It's not even losing all that money. The Lord will make it back up, and it's his money anyway. But what makes it so hard is for things like this to happen when you're honestly and sincerely trying to
help
people. If I was selfish, if I was mean, if I was out for myself—that would be one thing. But I honestly do want to do good for others, Corrie. I really do.”

“I know, Christopher. And God sees that desire in your heart.”

“But why doesn't anyone else?”

“I do.”

Christopher nodded, then placed his hand on mine.

“And so do lots of people,” I added. “Why else do you think the community wanted you as its pastor? Why else does my family love you so much? Everyone who really knows you recognizes that about you—that you live for others.”

Christopher sighed. I thought I'd never seen someone so dejected.

“I thought I was somewhat discriminating,” he said. “I thought I knew people. But I can't trust myself. Where's my discernment? It's no different than that lady in St. Louis. I think I'm trying to help people, but I'm just a gullible fool.”

“That's one of the reasons I love you,” I said softly.

“What—that I'm a gullible fool?”

“No, that you're always trying to help people.”

“But what good do I really do anyone? This kind of thing seems to happen over and over. You'd think someone with my background would be more naturally suspicious of people. As ill-treated as I was, you'd think I'd have a healthy, sober-mindedness about people and their motives. I'm beginning to think a little mistrust might be good in my case!”

“You don't really mean that.”

“I haven't even told you about the Draws family back in Richmond. I don't
want
to tell you—it's too painful to remember all I tried to do for them, and what happened in the end.”

“Maybe that's one of the chances you take when you try to help others.”

“It seems like it ought to turn out differently.”

“Jesus said to give, and you obeyed. You were trying to do right.”

“And look what's come of it?”

“It hasn't hurt us. We've only lost some money.”

“Almost all we had in the bank! And what good have we done Robin? We've just allowed him one more successful con. How does this help him see his need of the Lord? And besides all that, what can the truth of the gospel look like to those men back there who think I'm just a foolish pastor without an ounce of brains.”

“We were trying to do what we thought was right. I know what it looks like to you now, but I can't help it, Christopher—I hope we always do that.”

It was the middle of the following week when Mr. Royce the banker came out to the house for a call none of us would ever forget. Christopher was more like his old self again by then, though I could tell the O'Flaridy incident was still weighing on his confidence.

Mr. Royce came mostly to see Pa, but when he found out that Christopher was there too, he asked if he could talk to both of them together. It was obviously intended to be a talk between men, so Christopher and Pa took Mr. Royce into our little bunkhouse home, and I went into the big house.

Christopher told me about it that evening.

“I've been needing to talk to you for a long time, Mr. Hollister,” Mr. Royce began.

“Please, Franklin,” Pa stopped him. “I thought we were past those formalities a long time ago. You gotta call me Drum.”

“All right, er . . . Drum,” replied Mr. Royce. “I'll try.” He paused to clear his throat nervously. Christopher said he'd never seen a man so nervous, which, the way I'd known Mr. Royce from years past, really was unusual. I could hardly imagine it even though Christopher was telling me every detail.

“Go on . . . go on, Franklin,” Pa tried to encourage him. “You're among friends here.”

Mr. Royce nodded his head, then did his best to get what he'd come for out of his mouth.

“I suppose I knew this day would have to come sooner or later, Hollis—, er . . . uh, Drum. You and I've had our differences over the years—”

“Long time ago, Franklin,” interrupted Pa again. “No hard feelin's on my end, that's for sure, and I can tell you the same's true for Almeda, and that's a fact.”

“I believe you, Drum. It is because I know what you say is true that I'm here. You're a man of your word. Everyone knows that, and, it may surprise you to learn, I know it too.”

Pa nodded in grateful acknowledgment but did not reply.

“You see, I've been watching you, Drummond Hollister,” Mr. Royce continued. “I've been watching you all these years without even knowing I
was
watching you. Somehow, even in the midst of some pretty rough differences we had, I knew you bore me no malice. You got angry with me a time or two, but I deserved it. You gave me a pretty sound thrashing that day in my office. But I deserved worse than the bloody nose and bruised jaw you gave me. Yours was the right kind of anger for a man to have, but mine was purely selfish. Even when you went into business against me, down inside—though I was furious at you—I knew you were only doing it to help people whose needs I was too selfish to see.”

I couldn't believe what Christopher was telling me! Franklin Royce, the slick and shrewd banker, was the last person I ever expected to be saying such things!

“I resented you, Drummond. I resented your beating me in the mayor's election, I resented how you saved your friends from my foreclosures, I resented that everyone looked up to you, I resented that Miracle Springs' most beautiful woman fell in love with you, and I resented your success and reputation in the high political circles of Sacramento. Most of all, I resented the simple fact that everyone liked you, while I know they didn't like me.”

“Aw, you're being too hard on yourself, Franklin,” said Pa. “Folks maybe don't show it like they should, but they like you just like—”

“That's another thing I know about you, Drummond,” interrupted Mr. Royce this time. “You're a terrible liar. You once called me a liar, and you were speaking the truth. But you're too honest a man for it yourself. I doubt if you could tell a lie if you had to, so let me continue before you attempt to go any further with the one you just started.”

Pa was quiet. Christopher watched both men, almost wondering why he was there with them. Yet it was wonderful to behold at the same time, and he never thought of leaving.

“I'm ashamed to say all this,” Mr. Royce continued, “but I'm finally beginning to see some things clearly that I should have seen years ago. The main thing I am seeing is the very thing that's been right in front of my eyes all this time, but which I was too blinded by resentment and my own pride and anger to see. That is the simple fact that you, Drummond Hollister, are a good and unselfish man.”

Even as the words were coming out of his mouth, Christopher said that Mr. Royce could tell that Pa was getting ready to interrupt him again. So he put up his hands before Pa could say a word and kept right on talking.

“I know, I know,” he said, “that you're no saint and that you've had troubles with the law and that you spent some years doing things you probably wish you hadn't. But that doesn't take anything away from the fact that ever since I've known you at least, you've been trying to do good to your neighbor, and that even includes me. You'd have done anything for me in a second if I'd have let you, wouldn't you have?”

“'Course I would, Franklin,” replied Pa, softly and seriously. He was deeply moved by what Mr. Royce was saying.

“Now I knew that when you and your kids got back together, and when the Rev. Rutledge came, and then when you and Almeda got married, I knew you were spending more time in the church. There was talk about town about Hollister ‘gettin' religion,' but inside I scoffed at it. I knew what you were up to. I knew that it was all just a ploy to get your hands on Almeda's money. Even after you invited me to your home for Christmas dinner that year, though it became civil between us, down inside I still resented you.

“Do you see . . . do you see what a snake I've been, and why I had to come talk to you? Like I said, I was watching—watching it all. I was watching to see, secretly hoping you'd go out and get drunk or be found with another woman or get caught with your hand in the till of the Mine and Freight Company. I wanted people to see that you were a phony and a hypocrite.”

Mr. Royce stopped and looked away, obviously full of emotion.

“I am ashamed of myself for saying so, but that is how I felt. But you disappointed me, Drummond. Because you
weren't
a phony. Whatever kind of religion you found, it was obviously real and important to you. I could see you were a different kind of person than I was. Oh, I went to church like all the other respectable citizens of Miracle Springs. I had to. I am a businessman and must watch my reputation. I must be upstanding in people's eyes.

“So I sat in church with you and the others. But you were different. You were a man of an entirely different sort of character than me. You
did
the kind of things the Reverend talked about, and the sort of things your son-in-law's been speaking of these last few Sundays.”

He glanced over at Christopher as he said this, then back.

“You really did put other people ahead of yourself,” he said, again to Pa. “You were kind, you were humble and gracious. As I said, I knew you'd do anything for me if I'd have given you the chance.

“All these years you have been a burr under my saddle, Drum Hollister. How many times I wished you'd move to Sacramento so I could be done with you! You were the constant reminder that I was not the man I should be. You were self-content, to all appearances happy and at peace with yourself and the people around you. I, on the other hand, was bitter, angry, selfish.” He paused briefly, then added, “I don't mind telling you . . . I was lonely too.

“What kind of life is that! Can any man or woman be happy in such a miserable state?

“Of course not. I have money and all it can buy. I am probably the richest man for a hundred miles. But no one would mistake me for a happy man. I am nothing but a proud old selfish miser. I am getting older and grayer and richer by the day . . . but there is no happiness, no inward contentment to go along with it.”

A long pause followed. Christopher said the emotion in our little bunkhouse was thicker than he'd ever experienced between three men.

“Not long ago it dawned on me,” Mr. Royce went on, “that you were the man you were, free from all these miseries that hounded me. And I began to ask myself
why
you were free from them, and I began to realize it was because you had
forgiven
me. You truly treated me like a brother would treat a brother, and I knew you meant it. I tried to put you out of business. All the evil I tried to bring upon you—my God! I am mortified to admit it now!—but, Drum . . . surely you cannot have forgotten, I tried to have you killed!

“And yet . . . and yet,” sighed Mr. Royce, calming and suddenly speaking very softly and shaking his head back and forth as if the very thought was still too much for him to comprehend, “ . . . and yet, in spite of all that, I knew you bore me no ill will. You cast the deciding vote that kept Finchwood out of Miracle Springs back in the fifties. I knew in your heart there was nothing but love toward me.

“Ah, that knowledge burned in my soul, Drummond. It has burned in my soul till this very day. I knew I had to get it out, take the red-hot coal out of my heart and get rid of it. I knew I had somehow to make things right with you. But I didn't know how. I did not know what to do. I did not know how to replace the bitterness with forgiveness.”

He stopped, drew in a breath, then glanced toward Christopher.

“Until this son-in-law of yours got up and took the pulpit the second or third week after the church made him pastor. I had already been stirred up plenty from what you told of your own history the week before that, young man,” he said to Christopher. “But then on that day I'm talking about, you plunged a knife straight into me. I remember the exact words. They have burned themselves into my brain since. ‘When your duty,' you said, ‘becomes clear, waste not a second. Where is the first opportunity to do that thing? Go, then, and do it without delay. Then, and only then, will life spring up and blossom within you.'

“I knew my duty,” Mr. Royce went on, talking again to Pa, “if I was to be a
man
and cease being this sniveling coward that I had let myself become, was to come and talk to you, Drummond. I had known it for some time, but even after young Braxton here said what he said, I couldn't bring myself to come immediately as he said. I've waited far too long. I should have done it that same week, but I just couldn't get up the courage. But then these last three nights I've hardly slept a wink, and I knew God was telling me I couldn't put it off any longer. But at last here I am—perhaps not ‘without delay,' yet I am here nevertheless, prepared to do my duty, which I now see plainly enough.”

He stopped and looked down at the floor. Both Pa and Christopher, Christopher told me, were bursting with love for the poor man, agonizing to see what he was having to endure at the hand of his conscience, yet unwilling to intrude in the holy moment.

“I was so aware, Corrie,” Christopher said later, “of the purifying scalpel in the Father's hands, cutting through the thick crusts of self to make a door where he might himself enter and dwell with the dear man for the rest of eternity. Your father and I dared not speak. We had to allow God to carry out his own work.”

After a few moments Mr. Royce looked up, then gazed straight into Pa's face and spoke again, this time in a tone of determination and resolve.

“So this is what I have come to say to you, Drummond Hollister,” he said. “I want to tell you that I know now why you have the respect of your friends and the citizens of this community—it is because you are an upright and honest man. More than that, you are a good and unselfish man. You live your religion, and I want to acknowledge that to your face.”

Pa nodded his gratefulness for Mr. Royce's words.

“You could have ruined me if such had been your intent,” he went on. “When you helped out Douglas and Shaw when I tried to foreclose, every person in this community would have left my bank if you'd told them to. You could have opened your own bank, like you were talking about, and you'd be sitting where I am today. You could have run me out of town and everyone would have cheered.

“But you didn't. You didn't even let Finchwood bring his bank in here. I'll never forget that speech you made at the town council meeting back in '57. I'm sure you remember it?”

Pa nodded.

“Both you and Almeda voted in my favor. I had done all I could to ruin you both, and yet you sided with
me
. You talked that night about what being a Christian meant to you, and I suppose that was the first time it began to dawn on me that something was going on with you that I didn't understand. You talked about loyalty and friendship and doing good to our neighbors. I was grateful, of course, but down deep it made me even more resentful. Everyone looked up to you even more after that night. You were a bigger man than I was, and everyone knew it.

“I could never admit it, but the people chose the best man for mayor. You did good for Miracle Springs. I would only have sought good for myself. The town owes you a debt of gratitude . . . and so do I.

“So that is the second thing I want to say to you. Even though far too much time has passed since I should have said it, I'm saying it now—thank you, Hollister. I did you wrong, and you returned nothing but good to me. You were everything a friend and neighbor ought to be, though I deserved none of it.

“Then the third thing I've got to say is just this—I'm sorry for what I've done. I'm giving you my apology too for thinking wrong things about you and holding these grudges for so long.

“So I'm giving you my hand now,” he said, holding out his hand toward Pa. “I know we've shaken hands before, but this time I'm giving you my hand in thanks and apology, and to say that I respect you as a man and a Christian . . . and that from now on I want to be your friend.”

The two men shook hands.

Christopher said Pa's eyes had tears in them.