The Measure of a Heart (13 page)

“Well, first we have to get permission to use the lot. Then we need a cleaning crew. At first it will be just you and me, but when others see that we are really serious about helping the town youngsters, then maybe they’ll pitch in, too.

“We’ll need a sign—right away—so that the children . . . the boys will know what we are doing. ‘Carlhaven Sports Block, a Safe Place to Play, Dedicated to the Town Young,’
or something like that.” She paused a moment to organize her thoughts, then continued.

“We’ll clean it up and put in a ball diamond. Maybe even get donations for a ball and bat—or a football—or whatever. At the far end we could even put in a swing or two for younger children—and a sandbox. We could do all sorts of things if we get enough people behind it. The more we can get involved in it the better our chances of making it a success. Folks will feel that it is their project and they’ll pitch in and lend a hand. We might even have a fund-raiser . . . a picnic or pie social. We could set up a committee. We—”

“Whoa,” said Austin, raising his free hand. “You are way ahead of me. I’m still back there somewhere on the cleanup.”

Anna smiled and took a deep breath. “Oh, Austin. It could work. I’m sure it could. I mean, we . . . the town, has never done anything for the children. No wonder they are roaming the streets.”

Austin picked up his fork and speared a potato from his stew. “I’ll talk to the town fathers,” he promised. “It sure won’t hurt to try.”

The town officials were pleased that the young minister was serious about meeting the needs of the children in this practical way. Anna heard all about the meeting when Austin reported to her at the supper table.

“At first they seemed really hesitant—doubtful—but gradually they saw the advantage of the plan. I guess the mayor started things going our way. ‘It’s a good idea,’ he said. ‘And the lot is just standing empty. Might as well be put to use. It’s an awful weed patch anyway. But it sure is going to take a lot of work.’ ”

“I told them I was willing to be the first volunteer.

“ ‘Put that in the minutes,’ the mayor nodded to the town secretary.

“I thought he was just referring to my volunteering for the job, but then he went on, ‘The lot is to be turned over to be used as a playground.’ Then he turned back to me. ‘Anything else, Pastor Barker?’

“ ‘A couple of things,’ ” I said. ‘We’d like permission to put up a sign right away, announcing our plans for the area. And we’d appreciate the assistance of the town in raising funds to buy equipment.’

“That seemed to shake them up some. ‘What sort of equipment?’ The town banker seemed the most worried.

“ ‘A bat. Balls. Perhaps a swing or two. Maybe a sandbox for the younger children,’ I told them, hoping that I had remembered all the things on your list.

“Heads began to nod.

“ ‘How do you propose we raise those funds?’ asked the schoolteacher.

“ ‘Voluntary donations,’ I said. ‘Maybe a fund-raiser of some sort. Perhaps we could set up a committee.’

“The silence didn’t seem very promising to me, but then one head after another began to nod. The mayor even smiled.

“ ‘I like it,’ he said. ‘The lot is yours. Go ahead and get started. We’ll see if anything comes of it.’

“Well, it wasn’t exactly a strong endorsement or a commitment for backing, but at least it’s a start. I thanked the town council and excused myself.”

Anna’s face beamed as she listened to the account. She was so pleased that they had official permission. She was very proud of Austin for handling the situation so well.

Chapter Eleven

Struggles

The very next morning, Austin was out in the vacant lot, his old trousers tucked into the tops of his boots, a worn work shirt rolled up at the sleeves. Anna was busy making the sign, anxious for the town to know what was going on in the weedy lot.

The unruly “gang” dropped by midmorning. “Hey, Preacher,” the taunts began. “You lookin’ fer your dinner?”

“You diggin’ yerself worms?”

“Here, Preach,” called one of them, tossing a rock in Austin’s direction, “eat this.”

They left when they found that all he did in response was to smile and wave his hand.

After finishing her sign, Anna hastened to take it to Austin along with his hammer, some nails, and a stake. The sign looked quite good, considering the material she had to work with.

But when they came to resume their toils the next morning, the stake had been pulled from the ground, the sign broken in three pieces and stomped on repeatedly, and all of the debris that Austin had carefully scythed and raked to a pile had been scattered again across the lot.

Anna could have cried.

Back to work they went—Anna with her small stock of paints and Austin with his scythe and rake. That evening they did not leave a pile of debris behind them. At the close of the day, Austin set a match to the waste and they stayed to watch until the fire had consumed the dried weeds and grass and was totally out. Then Austin pulled the stake with Anna’s sign from the ground and carried it home.

Anna was so tired she had little energy left to prepare the supper.

“Tomorrow is Wednesday,” Austin observed as he washed off the day’s grime at the corner basin. “Should we put aside the calling this week and concentrate on the lot?”

Anna considered the idea for a few moments. “No,” she said at last. “I don’t think we should allow it to interfere with our visitation duties. We’ll just have to fit it in when we have time.”

Austin nodded. “I agree,” he responded as he ran the rough towel over his hands and face. “So, where do we call tomorrow?”

“Mrs. Dobber hasn’t been well. Perhaps we should check on her. Nettie asked me on Sunday if we could stop there if we get a chance.”

Austin nodded. It seemed that their day was all arranged.

The thumping on the door didn’t sound like a fist rapping, more like a stick banging. As Anna hurried toward it, the thought that it might be the neighborhood boys, up to some other unkind trick, crossed her mind.

But when she opened the door she was surprised to see Mrs. Paxton, raised cane in hand.

“One of them’s ready,” said the woman without preamble, and Anna had to quickly sort out the meaning of her words.

The violets!

“Oh,” she smiled, reaching for a towel to dry her hands. “May I see it?”

But the elderly woman was already thumping her way down the walk on her return trip home.

Anna removed her apron, threw it on a kitchen chair, and followed her neighbor.

It was a pale blue flower, with a heavy fringe of white around the ruffled edge. Anna thought it was beautiful.

“Isn’t quite what I had in mind,” the old woman said gruffly.

“But it’s beautiful,” Anna remonstrated sincerely, wishing she could reach out and touch the delicate blossom but fearing that she would be reprimanded, perhaps rapped across the knuckles with the ever-present cane.

“Pretty enough,” said the woman, and for the first time ever Anna thought she heard some softness in her voice.

“Do you name them—as you create them?” asked Anna. The woman looked up, a startled expression on her face.

“What for?” she asked.

Anna shrugged. “I don’t know. I just thought that—well—roses have names. And Mrs. Angus always knew the names of her violets. She’d introduce me to them—sort of. ‘And this is Woodland Snowdrop and this is Pink Lace.’ I don’t know if they already had names or if she named them.”

“They have names,” responded Mrs. Paxton. “Least when you buy them, they have names. When you do your own . . .” She didn’t finish.

“I think they should have names,” Anna dared to continue. “It must be rather sad to be nameless.”

“You talk like they were people,” said Mrs. Paxton, looking at Anna rather suspiciously.

“Isn’t that how you think of them?” responded Anna without turning her face from the flower. She was sure that it was, but would the woman dare to admit it? “Like friends?
Or family?”

The old woman stirred restlessly but did not answer the question. “You can name it if it pleases you,” she finally responded and Anna felt honored.

“Oh, could I? I would love to. If—if you’re sure you don’t mind.”

“Doesn’t mean I’ll be calling it that,” the older woman quickly retorted.

“Of course not,” replied Anna softly. “But I will enjoy thinking of it—with a name. Let’s see. It is so blue. Such a soft, yet bright blue—and with that lovely fringe. It looks like a lady in a shimmering crinoline.”

Anna lifted her hands and folded them in front of her face as she thought deeply.

“What about Azure Princess?” she asked the older woman. “Awful big name for such a tiny flower,” the woman responded, but Anna noticed just a hint of humor in her tone and that she did not argue.

The Barkers continued to call on the Lawes. At supper, the parson was even asked to say the table grace, and on more than one occasion, Austin had a chance to remind the couple that they would be more than welcomed to the town fellowship.

“We’ve been thinking about it” was the usual reply, but the Barkers never saw them in the church service.

However, the Lawes did continue to supply milk and eggs, and Anna was so thankful for the welcome addition to their daily diet. Whenever she had a bit of milk and a few eggs to spare, she made a custard, and always she took a generous dish of it across the street to Mrs. Paxton.

Anna’s visits with Mrs. Paxton became more frequent. She even wondered, at times, if she didn’t see the older woman’s eyes light up when she opened the door.

Their conversation usually was of violets. Anna longed to turn it to more personal issues and to things of God. She knew the woman still harbored deep bitterness over events of her past.

Anna did not feel free to ask about those events. She knew instinctively that thoughts of them still held much pain. But she did want to have the opportunity to present the truth of God’s love to the sorrowful woman.

One day, Anna decided to try. She gave her best efforts, choosing her words carefully, but later as she reflected on the conversation she felt she had done a very poor job.

“Mrs. Paxton,” she had said, “I’ve been praying a lot for you over the last several weeks. I—I feel great concern for—for—” Anna was interrupted.