Cruel Harvest (32 page)

“Frances, get out of that house!” he bellowed.

Daddy cursed me and the Spencers while I remained paralyzed in fear. I was sure we were all going to die this time. With everything inside me, I wished he would just tell Daddy that I was not there.

Again I begged. “Tell him I'm not here!” Mr. Spencer, however, would not lie. I had watched my dad beat men twice Mr. Spencer's size. When he reached down and picked up a small log off the grass, I knew Daddy would kill him if he stood in the way. I could barely stand the horror.

“Get his shotgun!” I whispered to Jackie. “Call the police! Tell him you're calling the police!”

Mr. Spencer did not flinch. I couldn't tell if Daddy could hear me, but I was frantic.

“Tell him you're going to call the police! He's afraid of the police!” My heart was in my throat and I could barely swallow.
Why won't they
listen to me?!

“Don't take another step with that weapon,” Mr. Spencer called out to Daddy.

His voice never rose. He never showed an ounce of fear. Mr. Spencer simply stood up to Daddy with faith in his heart. It was an amazing sight, but one I knew could not last. Daddy had no faith. He did not have an ounce of love in him. When he took a step toward Mr. Spencer, all the bloody battles passed in front of my eyes.

My urging got louder. “Tell him you've called the police!”

Daddy took another step forward; the log looked bigger the closer he came. “Please, oh please, tell him you've called the police!”

That is when Jackie reappeared. In my hysteria I hadn't heard her coming, but suddenly she passed me and walked out onto the porch. She carried a loaded shotgun.

Mr. Spencer did not take his eyes off Daddy. He gently took the gun from his wife's hands and pointed it at the ground.

I thought I'd go crazy! “Point the gun at
Daddy
!” I whispered.

“Get on out of here, Broadus,” he said. “Unless you want to talk like a man.”

I could see the rage filling Daddy's face. His entire being seemed to quiver with malice. He took another step forward and lifted that log out in front of him.

In response, Mr. Spencer raised the barrel of his gun and leveled it at Daddy's chest. Daddy did not stop. He took another step, and then another. I was sure either Mr. Spencer would shoot or Daddy would club him down. In the meantime they would have to take me to the hospital for heart failure!

“Jackie,” Mr. Spencer said, as calm as when this all started, “please go on in and call the police.”

It was as if Mr. Spencer had known all along the power of that one word. It was the only thing Daddy ever truly feared. When he heard “police,” the fight left him. The log fell from his hand, and he backed off.

I heard Jackie making the call from behind me. There was no way Daddy could have heard her talking, but his pace quickened. He fumbled with the door latch for the car. He got in, and I heard his car start up.

“I'm going to kill you all,” he yelled out the window. But there was nothing behind those words. His hold over me broke that night. He would rather lose a fight than deal with the police. If a man like Mr. Spencer, one full of kindness and peace, could stand Daddy down, then I knew I could as well. God gave me the courage, and Mr. Spencer showed me what power there is in staying calm. Although I was not to be free of Daddy's memory for many years, I was finally free of his evil. Daddy could never hurt me again.

Chapter 29
Forgiveness

Physically, I was
free, but Daddy's ghost was not as easy to escape. He followed me through years of my life, haunting my memory and chipping away at any attempts I made to find happiness. I sank very low; I lived hard and was unable to shake the ugly memories of my past. Then God sent a friend and calm presence into my life. His name was Wayne. I had asked God for a man I could pray with who would read the Bible and go to church with me. More than anything, I desired to pray together with my mate—to be with someone who was not ashamed to pray in public.

God lifted me up from wretched depths I won't describe in this book. He gave me a great love for Him and an inner peace that I didn't understand at the time. I wanted to live for Him the rest of my life and share His love with a man that felt the same.

Meeting Wayne changed my life. After many long talks on the phone and one dinner, we decided to go out again. He took me to a nice restaurant, and I sat down across from him, a little nervous. Looking into this handsome man's gentle eyes, I realized how much he did not know about me, or about my lost family. Wayne had a wonderful family, and they were all close. I wondered if he could understand my past.

Through all the battles of my life, one awesome presence had always stayed by my side. I turned to Him at that moment. I would know if Wayne was the one if he prayed with me. From across the table, I looked deeply into Wayne's eyes.

“Will you pray with me and thank God for our dinner?”

Wayne, who was not yet a Christian, nodded eagerly. We joined hands, and I thanked God for our food. After we said amen, I looked at him. He was very serious. I learned later that he had also asked God for someone to pray and go to church with. He had faith, believed in God, and wanted to learn more, but had not yet totally trusted God for salvation. This was a man who would pray with me out in public and not be bothered by people looking at us. He was hungry to learn as much as he could about Jesus.

That moment had a major impact on me. It was a sign, but the years weighed heavy on my heart. It was not until we were married that I fully opened up to Wayne.

“My life has not always been so nice,” I said.

“Nobody's life is
always
nice,” he answered.

“My dad was not a good man,” I began.

I continued on, telling him the story up until I escaped with the help of Mr. Spencer. I was concerned about how Wayne might react, but I couldn't stop. The story ran out of me like rain falling from a heavy gray cloud. When I stopped talking, Wayne took my hand.

“I'm glad you didn't give up,” he whispered.

For some reason, I found it harder to finish the story from there. It was a whole new tale that needed its own time and place.

“I'm not sure I didn't,” I said.

“You're here now, with me.”

I had struggled
when I left the Spencers. I found work, but I was young, inexperienced, and had no skills at all. I got involved with a man, the father of my two children, who was not much different than my father. He was a mean, controlling alcoholic. He threatened to take my children away from me if I didn't do exactly as he ordered. I felt completely alone, and he pushed alcohol on me until I began to drink along with him. I finally found the strength to divorce him, but the habits stuck, and fear engulfed my life.

“I believe that
God brought us together,” Wayne said softly.

I smiled at him. “After my son went into the army and my daughter went to college, I moved to Tennessee.”

He grinned at me from across the table. “I'm sure glad you did!”

“I was so lost, and I remember praying one night, asking God to allow me to find a house close enough to a preacher so that I could learn more about God. With all my heart I wanted to learn how to be saved, and I felt if I lived within a few blocks or even a mile or so of a preacher, it would not be a burden on a man or woman who knew the Lord to tell me about Him too. When I looked for a house to buy, I searched a long time. After months of searching I finally found the house I felt I could make into a home.

“When I was following the Realtor back to her car to sign the papers, she looked over at the house next door and said, ‘You'll like your neighbors. The pastor of First Baptist Church lives right next door.' She didn't notice that I had stopped walking!”

“I prayed a similar prayer,” Wayne confessed shyly. “How were you saved?” he asked.

Our food showed up then. I smiled at him.

“That's a real long story.”

On a morning
years later, Wayne came to our kitchen table with a serious look in his eyes. While he had searched for my family, he was also searching for something else. I knew this, but I never let on that I did. It was not something I wanted him to find. It was something I wanted buried in the past and never brought back again.

While he was searching for Brenda, he had brought the topic up.

“I think we need to find your dad's grave.”

“No, I don't think so,” I said.

“You've found love, Fran, but you can't be totally free until you find forgiveness too.”

I shook my head. “I forgive.”

“Not your father,” he said.

He was right. I was already saved, and I tried to live a life in touch with God, but I still had not truly found the strength to forgive the one who had torn my family from me and ruined years of my life. I resented everything about my dad, and I felt I had every right to.

“I don't think this is the right time, honey,” I said to Wayne, and that was the end of that. Or so I thought.

A few years
later it came back up. This time, though, Wayne knew more.

“I found your dad's grave,” he said that morning as I sat at the table drinking coffee. I almost choked.

“How did you do that?” I asked. I was shocked and on guard. “I don't think I want to know where he's at.”

Wayne ignored me. “He is in an unmarked grave in Cowpens, South Carolina.” Cowpens was only three hours from our home. “Fran, I think we should go down there and put a headstone on his grave.”

I looked at my husband for a minute. “Why on earth would I want to do that?”

“Because no grave should go unmarked.” I thought about what he said.

“And I want you to do one more thing.”

“What else?” I didn't think I was going to like this.

“I want you to think of something you want to say to him. Then we'll have the stonecutter write it on his stone.”

He sounded so sincere about it that I decided not to put up a fight. I could do this for my husband, for the man who had shown me that true kindness and love still existed. So he took me to a shop that sold grave markers. When we arrived, I chose a small stone.

“What do you want engraved on it?” the man working there asked.

I took a deep breath before answering. “Matthew 6:15,” I answered.

“What is that verse, if you don't mind me asking?” The man looked kindly at me.

“But if you do not forgive others their sins, your Father will not forgive your sins.”

“Oh. That is nice. Come back in a week and we'll have it ready for you.”

A week later we returned. The man told us to pull around back and open the trunk. Two very large men appeared and placed the stone in the back. The car bounced when they let go of it.

“That is heavy!” I said.

“Weighs about three hundred pounds, ma'am.”

I looked at the stone. It was only about two feet high and two feet across. Wayne started the engine, and we drove off. Not a block away, I turned to look at him.

“How are we going to get that thing out of the trunk?” I asked.

He shrugged. He recently had back surgery and could in no way lift that stone. A part of me was relieved. If there was no way to remove the stone, there would be no need for me to go through with this. I didn't say anything else as we drove off to Cowpens.

We came to
a stop at a tiny cemetery right in the heart of town. The grass was green with large patches of brown. Some of the graves looked unkempt, but others appeared as if someone came each and every day to care for them. My heart rose up to my throat when Wayne opened his door.

“Come on, honey,” he said.

I got out and walked around to the trunk. He had it open.

“What now?” I asked, half hoping we would go back home.

He paused, scratched his head, and looked around. Suddenly, he pointed behind me. I turned, and through a line of tall oaks, I saw a family having a backyard barbeque. There were about two dozen people scattered across the lawn. Wayne would not give up. He walked us over to the yard. Not knowing what else to do, I approached an older man and introduced myself.

“I have not seen my father in over thirty years, and I just found his grave,” I explained. “It is unmarked, so we brought a stone.”

I did not even have to finish my story. Three young men sitting nearby jumped to their feet. They offered to help and followed us back to the cemetery. They reached in and took out the stone as if it were made of cork and placed it exactly where I asked.

“We have money. I can pay you,” I said.

They laughed and said no. Nodding to us, they walked off to rejoin their party. I watched them go and then turned to Wayne.

“The Lord sent us help,” I said. “I guess it is His will.”