The Measure of a Heart (2 page)

I’m so—so skinny, she thought to herself for the hundredth time. She made a face at her own reflection in the piece of mirror that hung on her wall. So shiny and—plain. Her thoughts continued.

Small face, skinny cheeks, little bit of a chin, thin lips—only my nose is big, too big for the rest of me. I wish my face was bigger—or my nose smaller. Something—something to balance me off. And I look all lost in all this—this sack of a dress, this hair.

Her eyes lifted again to the mirror. She really did look lost, she concluded, as her blue eyes stared back at her. They looked too big for the small, thin face. Anna flung her hair back from her face and turned away from the mirror in discouragement. Then she reached for a piece of ribbon and quickly bound the hair back at the nape of her neck.

With one last disdainful glance at her own reflection, she left the room and hurried out to help her mother in the kitchen.

Her mother was already speaking when she entered the room.

“As soon as you finish the apples and peelin’ the supper potatoes, the milk and cream have t’ go to the parson’s. She might be needin’ it for her supper.”

Anna nodded and moved quickly to tie a large apron over the large brown dress. She had an added incentive to hurry with the peeling now. She loved the short walk to the parson-age. And she loved her little chats with the kind Mrs. Angus or her elderly pastor husband. Here were people who were really educated—and Anna had so much she longed to learn.

Chapter Two

Surprise

Anna hurried down the road with the pails of milk. Even though she hadn’t been to the parsonage for a while, she knew she would not have long to visit on this night. The supper potatoes were already put on to boil, the withered-apple pies placed in the cooking ovens. Her mama would need her back quickly to set the table and help with the dishing up.

No, this time she wouldn’t get to linger and chat at the parsonage. Still, she had tucked her eighth-grade certificate in the large pocket in her apron—it wouldn’t do to dig in the bodice of her brown dress in order to show it to the minister and his wife. But she was concerned that one of the heavy pails might bump up against it and wrinkle the smooth parchment. Her arms ached as she walked carefully, trying to hurry, yet hold the pails slightly away from her body.

She should have left the certificate at home, she chided herself. She would likely go and spoil it—and she’d never have a chance to get another one.

But Mrs. Angus had made her promise that she’d bring the important piece of paper and show it to her. Anna was both a bit proud and a little embarrassed to be toting around the proof of her accomplishment, but she would never have considered trying to wriggle out of a promise.

So she walked awkwardly—hurriedly—in spite of her discomfort. The pails were heavy enough anyway, but doubly so with the difficult way in which she was carrying them.

She had to stop every now and then to rest her tired arms. That cut into her precious minutes. She would be so glad to exchange the heavy full pails for returned empties.

At last Anna reached the boardwalk that led to the back door of the small parsonage. She was flushed and out of breath as she hastened down the clattering boards, set her pail carefully at her feet, and lifted an aching arm to knock on the door. One hand traced the outline of her precious certificate in the apron pocket. She fervently hoped that she hadn’t wrinkled it, but she could hardly take it out to check lest she be caught with it in her hand. That would appear far too boastful, she was sure.

She sighed a bit impatiently. She knew it often took the elderly woman a few minutes to make her way to the door. She had arthritis in one hip and moved very slowly with her “hobblin’ stick,” as Anna’s small brother Karl called the cane. Sometimes the pastor himself opened the door. Then Anna did not have to wait quite as long for a response to her knock. Either way, she always felt welcomed and accepted at the parsonage. She loved to come. But tonight her stay could not be long. She hated every ticking second that cut back on her time.

And then she heard footsteps approaching the door. Her heart quickened and a smile lit her eyes and gently curved her lips. It is not Mrs. Angus, Anna was thinking, realizing that the steps were moving quickly and lightly across the kitchen floor with no accompanying thump of the cane. But neither did it sound like—

The door opened and a stranger stood with his hand on the doorknob. Anna’s smile quickly faded and she blinked in confusion.

“I’m—I’m sorry,” she began to stammer, taking a step backward. But the man was smiling and motioning for her to enter the kitchen.

Anna held back. She had never seen him before. She knew he was not from their small town—their community.

“You’re the young Trent girl,” he was saying, the smile still on his face. “Mrs. Angus told me you’d be bringing milk.” He placed a hand lightly on the sleeve of her brown cotton and gently urged her into the room. Anna still did not budge.

“Where is Mrs. Angus?” she finally managed. She wished she could still the beating of her heart. Had something dreadful happened? Was Mrs. Angus ill? Who was this—this stranger?

“The Anguses are taking a few weeks off,” he said matter-of-factly. “I’ve been sent to fill in for the summer months.”

Anna didn’t respond, just reached down to lift her heavy pails of milk and move woodenly through the door. She intended to deposit them on the small table against the far wall. She could see the clean, empty pails awaiting her. She wouldn’t need time for a visit after all. Wouldn’t need the certificate that now seemed to hang heavily in her apron pocket.

But he gently eased the pails from her fingers. His eyebrows lifted slightly. “These are heavy,” he observed and Anna nodded her head dumbly.

“Your name is Anna?” he asked, lifting the pails onto the table.

Anna nodded her head again, forgetting that his back was turned to her and that he could not see her response.

He turned to face her and asked again, handing her the two empty pails, “You’re Anna?”

“Yes,” she managed.

“Mrs. Angus was fretting. She hated to leave before you arrived. Said that she wanted to see your school—something-or-other.”

“Certificate,” Anna filled in and had to stop to swallow. “My eighth-grade certificate.”

She felt so silly standing there before this man, talking about eighth grade.

“Did you bring it?” he asked with seeming interest.

Anna managed to lift her eyes to his.

“Yes,” she answered simply.

“May I see it?”

He reached out a hand and Anna fumbled in her apron pocket, certainly thankful that she had not put the certificate in the bodice of her brown cotton.

She produced the piece of paper, relieved when she saw that it had not been damaged by the jostling of the pails. She wasn’t sure, though, if she wished to turn it over to a total stranger. Reluctantly she released her hold when his hand reached out to take the paper from her. He studied it carefully, his eyes showing pleasure as he read.

“With first-class honors,” he read softly. “That’s commendable. Mrs. Angus will be very pleased.”

His eyes found hers again and Anna felt her face flushing.

“I’m planning to write them with a weekly report,” he told her. “Do you mind if I share the news with her?”

Anna managed to find her tongue. “How long will they be gone?”

“Only for the summer.” He handed her back her precious certificate, and she quickly pushed it into her pocket. He went on, “A granddaughter is getting married—then they are to take a bit of rest. They’ll be back again when I head back to school this fall.”

Anna looked at him, her eyes growing wider. Why, he must be well past twenty, and here he was still going to school! Boys—men—could be so fortunate.

She wished she could ask him about his school but the words stuck in her throat. She wondered what he was studying—how much longer he could go on with schooling. Oh, if only she were allowed to go on to school—to study. There was so much she didn’t know. She wondered just how long a person would need to go to school before he had learned everything there was to learn.

Her thoughts whirled through her mind and she shifted uncomfortably. Then she noticed the kitchen table where Mrs. Angus always had an African violet, usually with blooms. The pastor’s wife rotated them from creamy white to shades of pink or blue or purple. Mrs. Angus loved her violets. To Anna’s surprise, the table was now stacked and strewn with books of varying sizes. Her eyes widened again. He seemed to notice.

“Commentaries,” he explained simply. “I have to keep studying—even if I am out of class for the summer. Right now I’m working on Sunday’s sermon.”

Anna was unable to respond.

“Have you ever seen a Bible commentary?” he was asking, moving slowly toward the table.

“No,” admitted Anna, her head shaking as her brow furrowed slightly.

“Well, they are books filled with explanations about the Scriptures. They also expand on the stories, give insight into the culture of the people. So that you can understand the meanings of sayings or situations.”

He reached for the nearest book and began to flip the pages. Anna saw pictures tucked among the many words. She yearned to hold the book in her own hands.

“Do you like Bible stories?” he was asking.

“Oh yes,” she whispered.

“Mrs. Angus says that you have a very good mind—are eager to learn. That was why she was so anxious to see your school report. By the look of it, she was right. Honors! That’s good.” He smiled encouragingly at her.

“Actually, the most important learning we can ever do,” he went on, “is to learn the Word of God. That’s why I am going to seminary. To learn God’s Word.”

Anna felt envy wash over her whole being, then quickly rebuked herself.

“I’m through,” the thought spilled out verbally. “I’m all done at school now.”

“With school—maybe. But not with learning. We never need to quit learning,” said the young man, nodding his head at the pile of books. “I don’t plan to quit learning when I have finished seminary. In fact, my learning will have just begun. There is so much more I need to know. Seminary just shows me how to go about finding knowledge.”

The blue of Anna’s eyes intensified. Was there no end to what one could learn? She felt dwarfed—bereft. She was so limited.

“Would you like to borrow a book?” the man was asking.

Anna could only stare. Had she heard him right? Was he actually offering her one of those wonderful volumes?

She longed to reach out and claim the treasure, but she shrank back slightly.

“Would you?” he prompted.

“Oh, I—I couldn’t,” she managed to murmur.

“Why not? Won’t you have time to read?”

“Oh yes. Mama always gives me time when I have a book. In—in fact, they usually have me read the book aloud—to the whole family, but—”

“Then you need a book. Oh, not one of these commentaries but . . . let’s see.” He crossed to the shelf behind him and began to scan the titles.

Anna could only stare. She had never seen so many books all in one place before except at the schoolhouse. This young man was blessed indeed. First of all, to still be able to go to school. Secondly, to have so many, many books at his finger-tips, so much knowledge right at hand.

He chose a book and turned to hold it out to her. “This should be a good one,” he was saying. “I think you and your family will enjoy—”

But Anna could not lift her hand to accept the book. She shook her head again and swallowed with difficulty. “What—what if something happened to it?” she managed at last.

He smiled. It made his whole face light up. “Mrs. Angus would not have spoken so highly of you if you were not to be trusted,” he answered.

“But—” began Anna.

“I know. Even trustworthy people can have accidents. But should you—in spite of your carefulness—then the book can be replaced. Please. Read it. Share it with your family. That’s what books are for.”

Anna could no longer resist. She reached for the book, swallowed again, thinking of the seriousness of trust placed in her. “I will—will be most careful,” she promised solemnly as the volume came into her possession.

“I know you will.” He smiled again.

Then Anna realized that she had taken far more time than she had intended. She backed slowly toward the door. She’d have to run all the way home.

“Thank you,” she muttered, then raised her voice slightly to repeat the words again, “Thank you . . . very much.” Her voice was trembling with excitement and she clutched the book to her bosom.

“When you finish that one, you can exchange it for another,” he promised and he was smiling again.

She answered his smile shyly and turned to go.

“Anna,” he called after her. “You didn’t say if I could tell Mrs. Angus about your grade report.”

Anna turned long enough to nod in agreement, and then she was through the door and out on the board sidewalk. She dared not run yet. He would hear the pounding of her feet. Not till she was out on the dirt road.

But she could hardly wait. More than a need to hurry pressed her forward. Now excitement made it hard for her to keep her steps in check. It would not be difficult at all to run all the way home.