The Tender Flame (23 page)

“Yes, one. How will I ever be able to thank you?”

“The only thanks I want, Lydia, is to see you happy and well taken care of.”

The next day, Joshua Cornell was installed as assistant pastor of the church. His ordination was set for the next Sunday night.

On the following Monday, August 14, Josh received a letter from Jessica Smith. That evening in his room, he wrote a reply. In it, he cautiously asked if there was a young man in her life. He went on to tell her about his ordination service and thanked her for praying for his ministry. The rest of his letter was taken up with Carrie Smith’s illness, and he assured Jessica he would tell his parents about it, and the family would be praying for Carrie daily.

He signed the letter
Love, Josh
.

On August 16, Jessica Smith was on her hands and knees in the kitchen, scrubbing the wooden floor with a brush. A bucket of hot, sudsy water was at her side. She heard a knock at the front door and started to get up, but her mother, who was in the parlor, called out, “I’ll get it, Jessica!”

Jessica blew at a stray lock of hair on her forehead and continued to scrub. When she stopped to dip the brush in the bucket again, she heard a familiar voice talking to her mother.

Footsteps echoed in the hall as Jessica heard Brenda say, “You just sit down, Mrs. Smith. I’ll find her.”

When Brenda entered the kitchen, Jessica noted an envelope in her hand. “What’s that?”

“A letter.”

Jessica dropped the brush in the bucket and rose to her feet. “From President Ulysses Simpson Grant? Or someone else?”

“Someone else!” Brenda said with a giggle. “It was last week that I
got the letter from President Grant, wanting my expert advice on how to run the country.”

“All right, Miss Smarty, who— Wait a minute, is it—”

“Uh-huh. Gil Simmons!”

“Well, what does he say?”

Brenda’s eyes danced with excitement. “He says he’s received several letters from young women in reply to his ads, but none of them intrigued him like mine. There are two full pages in here, giving all the details about himself. He’s a genuine Christian, without a doubt. He teaches a Sunday school class and is active in his church’s visitation program.”

“This is sounding good,” Jessica admitted. “What else?”

“Well, he’s done well in gold mining, but he recently bought a gun and hardware store in Carson City because he says one day the gold will play out.”

“Smart man.”

“He sent a photograph of himself. Want to see it?”

“Of course.”

Brenda pulled out a daguerreotype of a smiling Gil Simmons, standing at the mouth of a gold mine. She handed it to Jessica, who raised her eyebrows and said, “He’s good-looking.”

Brenda chuckled gleefully. “I know. And he wants me to send a picture of myself. So … what do you think?”

Jessica handed the picture back. “Well, I’ve already said I could never be a mail order bride, but Gil Simmons certainly sounds like a fine Christian man. If you should feel the Lord is in it and you go out there, does Gil expect you to marry him right away?”

“Oh no. He says in here that if, after more letters and much prayer on both our parts, we feel I should go to Carson City, he will put me up in a boardinghouse at his expense, and we can try a courtship. If, after an agreed amount of time, we feel the Lord is in it, we’ll get married.”

Jessica nodded her approval. “I like this man. Do you feel comfortable sending your picture and another letter?”

“Yes, I do. So what do you think?”

“I think you should write another letter and send your picture.”

Brenda laughed. “Oh, I’m so glad! ’Cause I already wrote the letter, put in a photograph, and mailed it on the way over here!”

“You stinker! Why were you asking for my advice?”

“I just wanted to see what you’d say. Since the Lord has already given me peace in my heart about it, I went ahead with it.”

Jessica moved to her friend and hugged her. “Brenda, if you go to Nevada, I’m going to miss you terribly!”

“Maybe you can come out for a visit. You keep saying that you love the West and want to see more of it.”

“Yes,” said Jessica, blinking at her tears. “Maybe someday I can come and visit you.”

In late August, Josh received a second letter from Jessica. He read it in the privacy of his room that evening. She began by telling him that her mother’s condition was not improving; she asked that he and his family continue praying for her. She told him that her best friend, Brenda Moore, whom he had met at the church in Fairfax, might be going west to Carson City, Nevada, to get married. A smile tugged at Josh’s lips when he read about Brenda possibly becoming a mail order bride.

Just before closing off the letter, Jessica wrote:
You asked in your last letter if there was a young man in my life. I have dated several young men from the church, but there’s no one special. I’m leaving it in God’s hands. Whenever He is ready to bring that certain someone into my life, I’m ready. Please write again soon. Love, Jessica
.

After reading the letter twice more, Josh sat down at the desk in his room and penned a reply. He told her that Pastor Farrington’s plan was to groom him for about a year, and if at that time he thought he was ready to be the pastor, Farrington would retire and step aside. Josh went on to say that he and his family were keeping her mother before the Lord every day and trusting that she would soon show improvement.

He then told Jessica of Oregon City’s continual growth and that many souls were being saved and added to the church, which was keeping him quite busy as he took over more and more of the pastor’s responsibilities.

At the end of the letter, Josh told her that God had that special man all picked out for her, and when it was His time, He would bring them together.

E
ARLY IN THE LAST WEEK OF
A
UGUST
, Jessica Smith stood at the door of her parents’ bedroom and observed her mother sleeping. She appeared to be getting worse. Each day, she seemed to tire more easily. Yet she insisted on being awakened in time to go to the kitchen and start supper. It was barely three o’clock now.

Jessica pulled the bedroom door closed and made her way through the house and out to the backyard. The garden was ripe and ready for picking.
Looks like I’ll spend the next few days canning vegetables
.

As far back as Jessica could remember, her mother had been an energetic person, loving her home and family. Since the Smiths had moved to Montgomery Village, each spring Carrie had planted and grown a first-rate vegetable garden, as well as a beautiful, fragrant flower garden.

Jessica had watched her mother delight in gardening, from the planting to the harvesting and even beyond, as she prepared savory dishes from the fruits and produce. Then as the summer days began to wane, Carrie had busied herself canning and drying the remainder of her crops.

This year—even with the disease evident in Carrie’s body—Jessica had watched her mother pore over seed catalogs from various companies on the East Coast, making decisions about what fruits and vegetables she would plant.

Time turned back in Jessica’s thoughts to last spring. It was a breezy morning in late April …

Carrie was at the kitchen table, making out her list of seeds and cuttings for her beloved garden. She looked up to see Jessica smiling at her.

“Got everything picked out, Mama?”

“Just about, honey.” Carrie placed a limp hand to her tired eyes and rubbed them.

“Mama, you didn’t sleep very well last night, did you?”

“Not really.” Carrie glanced back at her catalogs. “I was up several times. Some nights I wake up and my breathing is labored. Sometimes I rest better sitting up in a comfortable chair, so I go into the parlor and sit. Before dawn, I go back and crawl in bed so your father won’t know I’ve been up most of the night.”

“I know, Mama.”

“You do?”

“Daddy sleeps much deeper than I do.”

“Please don’t say anything to him.”

“I won’t, Mama, but maybe you should ask the doctor for something to help you sleep.”

Carrie was studying one of the catalogs. After a moment, she said, “I will, if I don’t start sleeping better.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“All right,” said Jessica, getting up from her chair. “I’ll go out and sweep the front porch and the sidewalk. Be back in a little while.”

When Jessica was out of the kitchen, Carrie put her head down on the table, resting it on her arm. “Lord,” she said, giving in to her tears, “please give me strength.”

When Jessica touched her shoulder, Carrie looked up, startled. “I … I thought you went out to sweep the porch and sidewalk.”

“I started out, Mama, but I came back and stood over there by the door. I just couldn’t leave you.” Jessica leaned down and put her arms around her mother.

“Honey, I’ll be fine. I’m just a little tired.”

“Mama, you’re more than just a little tired. Come on, now, be
honest. Tell me what’s making you cry like this.”

Carrie took a hankie from her apron pocket and wiped away all traces of tears. She forced a smile to her lips and said, “I’m fine. Really, I am.”

“How about some nice hot tea?”

As soon as the water came to a boil and Jessica had brewed the tea, she placed a steaming cup in front of her mother. Then she reached over and clasped her mother’s thin hand in her own young, capable one.

“Mama,” she said tenderly, “you were crying because you’re not sure you have the strength to plant your gardens this year. That’s it, isn’t it?”

Carrie sat with her head bowed. Her lips began to tremble, and with tears shining in her once-bright eyes, she looked up through wet lashes at her daughter. There was a long silence; then as tears slipped down her pale cheeks, she said, “Jessica, I … I know I won’t have the strength I need to plant and work my garden this year.”

“Oh, Mama …”

Carrie sniffed and said softly, “I know it’s silly for me to carry on like this over my gardens, but they’ve always been such a joy for me, and through the dark, cold days of winter, I’ve always looked forward to planting and working them.”

Jessica swallowed a sob that was trying to escape her tight throat. “Mama, you’re not being silly. There’s nothing wrong with you loving your flowers and your fruits and vegetables. Tell you what. I’ll do the work, and you do the supervising. Pick out what you want planted, then guide me as I do it. I’ll do the planting, weeding, watering, and harvesting. You make sure I’m doing it right, and together we’ll have the best yield ever. All right?”

Carrie placed her hands tenderly on either side of Jessica’s face. “Honey, that would make me very happy. Let’s pick out the seeds together.”

Mother and daughter bent their heads over the catalogs strewn on the table and eagerly made their plans.

Jessica let her gaze roam over the colorful, aromatic flower garden and the rich garden of fruits and vegetables. Truly, this year’s gardens had been the best ever. Maybe her mother would be able to help a little with the canning. Enough, at least, that the project would be hers as well as Jessica’s.