Spring's Gentle Promise (25 page)

Authors: Janette Oke

BOOK: Spring's Gentle Promise

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I need my family,
I kept saying over and over to myself.
I
need Mary.

But I was caught in a box. If I went home to Mary I would surely lose the farm. Even if I wasn’t able to save anything for the bank loan, my being here away from my family would sow “good faith,” I reasoned. Yet I wondered how much longer I could hold on here. If only—if only God would provide some way for me to make those payments—to hold the land. If only—if only the rains would come so the land could produce again.

I started praying. “God,” I admitted, “I’m at the end of myself. There’s nothin’ that Josh Jones can do to provide for a future—any future for Mary, for my sons. I can hardly provide for the present. I don’t know which way to turn, Lord. I just don’t know how we can go on like this. I need them. They need me. But to lose the farm. What would we do then? Where would we go? We have nothin’, Lord. Nothin’.”

The Bible slipped from my fingers and rested on the bunk beside me. I picked it up and held it to my chest for a moment, thinking and praying silently, then I shifted it back to read again. My eyes fell to the page that had opened before me. At some time in my growing years I must have read the passage, for it was underlined as though it had impressed me. I read it again now.

Although the fig tree shall not blossom,
neither shall fruit be in the vine;
the labour of the olive shall fail,
and the fields shall yield no meat;
the flock shall be cut off from the fold,
and there shall be no herd in the stalls.
Yet I will rejoice in the Lord,
I will joy in the God of my salvation.
The Lord God is my strength.

I reread the passage again and again until the tears that filled my eyes prevented me from reading it further.

It was all coming clear to me. The welfare of my family didn’t depend on my strength. If so, they would be utterly destitute. I had been totally inadequate. But even more astounding, it didn’t depend upon my fields either, or the herds that I had so carefully built. It was God all the time—just like Mary had tried to tell me. It was God who had cared for my family—had met their needs. We didn’t need anyone or anything else.

“ ‘I will rejoice in the Lord—the Lord God is my strength,’ ” I kept repeating over and over. Oh, what a freedom! I could finally let go. I could shift my heavy load onto another’s shoulders. Somehow— somehow God would work it out. Somehow He would see us through. Maybe we
wouldn’t
keep the farm—but if not—well, He’d help us to manage without it. Somehow!

By now soft snoring reached to me from the other bunks and I knew the men around me were getting much-needed rest. Yet I continued to inwardly pray and praise until late into the night. When I rose the next morning, it was with new strength.

When I picked up my pick and shovel and fell into line, the task had not changed—but my attitude had. God was in charge now—I would simply wait for Him. But for now—for now I was on the payroll of the government. They expected a full day’s work. All through the morning the sound of rhythmic blows sounded on the gravelly banks around me. The work continued on the irrigation canal gradually worming its way across the barren and desolate prairie land. By this time in the season, the sun had climbed higher in the sky and beat on our backs with intensity, making us sweat heavily with each swing of the pick or scoop of the shovel. Men complained of the heat as ferociously as they had complained about the cold.

“Wish it would rain,” grumbled a voice to my right. “Sure would be a relief from this dust.” I wasn’t the only one who often lifted his eyes to the sky, but still no clouds formed.

I lifted my pick again to let it strike the ground with a dull thud. My back ached, my shoulders ached, my arms ached. I was about to swing again when a voice stopped me. Someone was calling my name.

“Jones,” I heard again. “You’re wanted.”

I hoisted my pick and shovel and followed the beckoning hand. One never dared leave tools behind. You were useless on the job without them, and there simply was no money to replace them should they disappear.

“The phone!” shouted the messenger. “Over in the foreman’s shack.”

I flipped my pick and shovel over my shoulder and started at a jog for the building, my insides churning. Who would be phoning me and what possible message could they have?

With a trembling hand I picked up the receiver. There was a crackling in my ear.

“Hello!” I hollered into the mouthpiece.

“He—lo,” came back a broken response. It was Grandpa. My whole body froze. Something must be terribly wrong. He wouldn’t squander money on a telephone call unless it was extremely important.

“That you, Boy?”

“It’s—it’s me. Josh,” I managed.

“Hang on!” yelled Grandpa.

I was about mad with anxiety. Why would he call me and then say “hang on”? Then another voice came on the line.

“Josh?” It was Mary. I felt great relief. At least Mary was all right.

“Josh?” she said again.

“Mary! Mary, what’s—”

“It’s raining, Josh.” Silence. “It’s raining.”

I looked out at the clear, hot afternoon sky. There wasn’t a cloud in sight. No—wait! Way to the northwest I could see clouds against the distant horizon.

“It settled in right over us. It’s been raining for three days now. I waited to call until I was sure it wasn’t just a shower. I—” But then Mary began to weep.

There was a bit of a pause and next thing Grandpa was on the line again. “Rainin’, Boy,” he informed me. “Third day. Just comin’ down like ya haven’t seen in years.” He chuckled. “Clouds still hangin’ over us. We near got drowned comin’ into town.”

“Sun’s still shining here,” I managed to reply. I was trembling now, still hardly able to believe the report.

“Maybe it’ll move yer way after it’s finished with us,” Grandpa chortled.

Then he spoke words that I will never forget. “Come home, Boy,” he said.

“Come home?”

I heard him swallow. “We already got some crop in.”

“Crop?”

“Yep.”

“Who?”

“Mary an’ me. Some of it’s showin’ already. This rain will really bring it.”

“How’d you—? Where’d you get the seed?” I floundered.

“Bought it.”

“Bought it
how
? Where’d you get the money?” I asked, unable to grasp what Grandpa was saying.

“Mary gathered it—somehow—she’s been savin’ pennies. Little bit each month from what you’ve sent. I don’t know how she did it, but she managed to git herself quite a little pile.”

“But surely that wasn’t enough to—” I could imagine the small bit of seed those few dollars would buy.

“Well,” confessed Grandpa, “she—she also sold the silver tea service.”

“What? Where?”

“Some lady—out-of-towner. Seemed to want it real bad. Took a mighty fancy to it. Paid a good price, Mary said.”

I was too stunned to speak. I knew how much that tea set had meant to Mary. For a moment I just stood there, thoughts whirling round and round as I tried to take in everything Grandpa was telling me. The silver tea set—gone. Mary saving, planting. A crop already in the ground and growing. It was all too much— too much for me.

The realization of the cost of the call finally got me talking again. “Is she still there? Mary?” I asked.

“Yep,” and I heard Grandpa hand her the phone.

“Mary?”

“Yes.” Her voice was no more than a whisper.

“Mary, I’m coming home.”

There was only a little sob, caught somewhere in Mary’s throat.

“I’m leavin’—I’m leavin’ right now.”

“Oh, Josh,” sobbed Mary.

“Mary—I love you.”

I hung up the receiver then and turned to the foreman at the desk. “I’m leavin’,” I informed him. “I’m going to pack up my gear and will be right back to pick up my pay. Someone else can have my spot on the crew.”

He nodded. It was done ’most every week. An exchange made.

I ran all the way to the bunkhouse. I was going home!

I’m goin’ home!
I exulted.
Back to my wife—my Mary. Back to my
family. Back to my farm.
We hadn’t lost it. The rains had come. Sure, things were tough. Sure, we had a ways to go in order to rebuild, but we still had our home—our land. We were going to have another chance. God was giving us another chance for seedtime—and harvest!

E
PILOGUE

T
HOUGH THE STORY OF
J
osh and his family has been totally fictional, readers like to feel that they know a little about what happens to the characters in the future. So let’s travel on and add a bit to the family story.

Though the years following the drought were difficult for the Jones family, Josh eventually became known as the best and most prosperous farmer in the area. But with the increase in crop production and the rebuilding of his herds, Josh never did flaunt or waste his wealth. Besides Camellia in Africa, he eventually shared in the support of nine other missionaries.

To the family were born six children. William and Daniel were joined by Andrew, Violet, Irene, and Walter. Andrew was the one to farm the Turley home place. And like his father and mother before him, he too became actively supportive of missionaries, among whom were three members of his own family. William went to Sierra Leone, Violet to Japan, while Daniel pastored a small mission church among the Canadian Indians. Irene married Phillip Moresby, the son of the doctor who came to take Doc’s place. Phillip trained as a physician and joined his father in the family practice. Walter, Josh and Mary’s youngest, eventually was lost in the Korean war.

All five of the remaining Jones children married. To Josh and Mary were born twenty-three grandchildren, and they saw the arrival of seventeen great-grandchildren to bless their old age.

Grandpa lived to be ninety-six, but Uncle Charlie left behind his arthritis-ridden body at the age of seventy-four.

The family has scattered now. With the passing of time and the mobility of our age, they no longer cluster about the home farm. Where do they live? Well—here and there. Perhaps—just perhaps—you share your neighborhood with some of them.

Books by Janette Oke

A
CTS OF
F
AITH
*

The Centurion’s Wife • The Hidden Flame

C
ANADIAN
W
EST

When Calls the Heart •
When Comes the Spring

When Breaks the Dawn • When Hope Springs New

Beyond the Gathering Storm

When Tomorrow Comes

L
OVE
C
OMES
S
OFTLY

Love Comes Softly • Love’s Enduring Promise

Love’s Long Journey • Love’s Abiding Joy

Love’s Unending Legacy • Love’s Unfolding Dream