The White Knight (18 page)

“Make it a short one,” Sunny said, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “I'm starving to death.”

Asa didn't quite manage to hide his grin. “All right, Sunny. I'll do my best.” They all bowed their heads, and Asa asked a brief and fervent blessing. As soon as he said amen, Sunny said, “I want one of the legs.”

“A leg it is.” Asa had been elected to do the carving, and he sliced off one of the huge legs and handed it to Sunny. “What will you have, Phyllis?”

“I want white meat.”

“Fine. Let me slice off some of this breast.” Rather awkwardly Asa cut the turkey up, handing out portions of white
or dark meat as each person directed, and finally he served himself.

“I'm surprised you didn't eat the parson's nose,” June said, her bold eyes filled with mischief.

“What's the parson's nose?” Gladys asked shyly. She had been abused by her stepfather and had not said a word to anyone for the first two weeks she was at the Haven.

“It's the tail.” June laughed. “We always called it that at home.”

Asa found June amusing. “When I was growing up, we were lucky to get the parson's nose or anything else. Eleven of us in the family, and even this huge turkey wouldn't last more than a few minutes. We could strip a bird quicker than you could blink.”

Everybody was in a festive mood and all of the girls contributed to the polite conversation, many of them sharing some of their own Thanksgiving traditions. When the girls were clearing the table, getting ready to serve dessert, Asa said, “I want to ask your girls to take part in the Christmas pageant at church.”

Phyllis and June both shook their heads as he had expected, but to Joelle's pleasure, the other three agreed.

“I'll let Mrs. Anderson know she can expect you when rehearsals start next week.”

Joelle cut the pies and Shirley asked everyone which kind they wanted. When everyone had a piece, June said suddenly, “Wait a minute. I don't think any of us are gonna be here for Christmas.”

“What are you talking about?” Joelle asked, a puzzled expression on her face.

“I heard you talking to that banker man on the phone. People are saying the bank's gonna foreclose on this place. We'll all have to leave here.”

“Is that right, Joelle?” Phyllis asked, giving her a hard look. “Are we going to be thrown out of here?”

Joelle covered herself well. She simply smiled and said,
“You all know that things are tight all over the whole country. It's no different here, but God is going to provide. I don't want any of you to worry.”

Phyllis and June gave each other cynical looks. “I don't think so,” Phyllis said darkly. “I think we're all gonna be booted out. Bankers never give anyone a break.”

“I'm going to see Mr. Damon at the bank tomorrow,” Joelle said. “And I want you all to pray that God will give us favor again so the bank will give us more time to make the mortgage payment. If he'll just give us the extra time, we should have the money soon.”

“What I heard about old man Damon is he ain't giving nobody nothin',” June said.

“That's right.” Phyllis nodded. “He threw the Samuels family off of their farm when they couldn't make their payments. He'll do the same thing to us.”

Joelle changed the subject, but afterward, when the dishes had been put away and the girls had gathered around the dining table to play Monopoly, Asa and Joelle were sitting alone in the parlor.

“Is the financial situation really as bad as it seems?” Asa asked.

“It's going to take the grace of God to get us through, but if God has called me to keep this farm for these girls, then He'll provide a way. But I'd appreciate your prayers, Asa.”

“I'll have the whole church pray. We all want the Haven to keep on going.”

****

The sun was hidden behind threatening clouds. It was a cold day, even though it was noon, and Joelle shivered as she stood outside the old First National Bank building. There was a forbidding look to it, with bars on the windows as if it were a prison.
It's like they're keeping the money inside and not letting any of it get out,
she thought.

Joelle tried to will herself forward, but although she had
prayed much for courage to face the banker with a plea for an extension, Leon Damon's reputation was known throughout the county. He was not a cruel man, but he was strict in his handling of the bank's money. Very rarely did he show any mercy. His excuse was always, “It's not my money. I'm responsible for the people who entrust us with their savings, so we can't take any chances.”

As Joelle stood there, she tried to compose a speech that would impress the banker, but absolutely nothing came to her. Finally she knew there was nothing to do but simply go in and talk to the man. Forcing herself to move forward, she went through the doors of the bank and found the office of the president, which was closed. She moved reluctantly over to the silver-haired woman who sat behind a desk and said, “Miss Lucille, I need to see Mr. Damon if I can.”

“Let me see if he's busy, Joelle.”

Joelle stood there while the woman knocked on the door. “Do you have time to see Joelle Garrison, sir?”

“Certainly. Send her in.”

Coming back, the secretary said, “You can go on in, Joelle.”

“Thank you.” She moved with such difficulty it was like wading through water. She prayed as she walked.
God, you haven't given us a spirit of fear, so help me not to be afraid but to have faith in you.

Leon Damon stood up as she entered. He was a short, rotund man with a pair of steady gray eyes. He was balding with only a fringe of hair around his crown, but he smiled at her slightly—as much of a smile as he ever allowed himself.

“Hello, Joelle. Sit down, won't you?” He indicated a chair and waited until she was seated.

“Thank you.”

“I suppose you've come in to talk about your loan.” Damon seated himself in his leather chair, leaned forward, and locked his fingers together, resting them on the desk.

“Yes, sir. I need to ask you for a little more time to make the mortgage payment.”

Damon did not answer at once, but there was something disturbing in his gaze. “Joelle, everybody admires you for what you've tried to do for those girls, but you know some things are better done by well-established organizations. There are bigger organizations that will take these girls in.”

“I know that, sir, but God has put it on my heart to help those who are in trouble. I don't think they would last long in some of those bigger places. They need love and personal attention and someone to show them compassion. All they need is a chance.”

Leon Damon listened as Joelle spoke, but when she was finished, he said, “I've been thinking a lot about your place there. You don't have much income. I know you work part-time at the hospital and you're doing your very best for those girls. But sooner or later the money just isn't going to be there and that will leave me no choice. I hope you don't think me a hard man, but I'm responsible to our depositors. I can't gamble with their money. Surely you can understand that.”

“But, Mr. Damon—”

“Let me finish, Joelle. As I say, I've been thinking about this, and I've come up with what I think may be the best answer. I'm going to go out on a limb and make you a personal offer. I'm going to offer to buy your place. You have enough equity that you'll be able to pay off the loan and have some money left over. Then you can look into buying or renting a smaller place. You won't have that mortgage payment hanging over you.”

“Thank you for the offer, Mr. Damon, but that's not exactly the plan I was hoping for. Besides having sentimental value, my parents' farm provides good teaching opportunities. If we lived somewhere in town, my girls would never have the opportunity to learn some of the skills that come with living on a farm.” She sighed. “Could you please give me another month to come up with the money I owe?”

Leon Damon hesitated, then shrugged his beefy shoulders. “All right, Joelle. Because I believe you're going to figure out
a way to get your hands on that money, I'm going to let you skip your payment this month. We'll just look for the double payment next month. You do understand this is because we have to protect our depositors.”

“Thank you for your consideration, Mr. Damon,” she said as she rose. She couldn't have hoped for a better outcome.

“Meanwhile, give some more thought to my offer to buy your place. It's really the only way I see that the Haven will survive.”

“Yes, of course. I'll think about it.”

****

As Joelle left, Thad Sears, the vice-president of the First National Bank, entered. “Did she take the offer, Leon?”

“No, she didn't.”

“Unfortunate.” Sears shook his head with regret. “Well, how much time did you give her?”

“Just another month.”

“She'll never make it. She's going to lose that place. I hope you made that clear to her.”

“Of course I did,” Damon said sharply.

Sears walked over to a map of the area on the wall and placed a bony forefinger on it. “This property of hers is in the ideal spot for a housing development. We could put up some cheap houses there, rent them out, and clean up.”

Damon studied the vice-president, then said cautiously, “We've got to be careful, Thad. We can't be the villains in this case.”

“What are you talking about? It's a business arrangement.”

“The people might see it differently. Some of them will see this nice Christian girl trying to do a good thing while the big bad bankers are trying to take her place away from her.”

“Hmm . . . I suppose you may be right about that.”

Leon Damon was silent for a moment. “It's too bad, Thad. You know, I really admire that woman. She's got grit, and I like that in anybody—man or woman. She took care of her
parents, gave up marriage, but she's bitten off more than she can chew.”

“Too bad,” Thad Sears said with a shrug. “But business is business.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

End of the Road

By mid-December the cold weather arrived in earnest. The first half of the month was the coldest December people could remember. Those who lived in the South would thereafter refer to the winter of 1940 as the “bad winter,” and all events would be reckoned by it: “That was before the bad winter of '40,” or “That happened just after the bad winter.”

Luke had endured the cold as stoically as he could, and now he shivered as the biting wind cut through the lightweight fabric of the only jacket he had with him. While he was thinking longingly of the warm jackets he knew were in his closet at home, something cold bit his cheek. He looked up to see by the glow of the streetlights tiny flakes of snow swirling in the hard northeast wind. He wished fervently he were back in Spain with its heavenly warm sunshine. Lexington, Kentucky, however, was no Spain, and the winter was bringing nothing but misery to Luke.

He finally reached the mission where he had been staying for three days, having drunk up all of his earnings. The only job he could hold down was being a dishwasher at a greasy café. He had left his room in the mission to buy some whiskey, and now the pint was hidden in his pocket. Entering the mission, he avoided everyone, for he could not bear the thought of being preached to. He couldn't understand why people insisted on sharing their faith with him and wanted to shout at them, “I know the truth! I've been preached to all my life. Just leave me alone.”

He stumbled up the stairs, entered his small room, and kept his jacket on. Eagerly he took the bottle out, removed the cap, and downed three swallows. He sank down on the bed as the liquor bit at him and the warmth spread throughout his body. He had not eaten since the noon meal, and the alcohol hit him hard. Awkwardly he removed his shoes, still holding the bottle, then lay down on the narrow bed and pulled the blanket up over him, shivering from the cold and the alcohol.

He kept sipping at the bottle, longing for oblivion, but his mind would not shut down. For some reason he began thinking of the sermon he had heard the day before. If you stayed in the mission, you were required to listen to the sermons. Usually Luke managed to ignore them, but this time the preacher's words kept drilling at his mind. The young man had preached from Psalm 15, beginning with the words “Who shall dwell in thy holy hill?” But that was not the verse that suddenly came back to Luke. He remembered the preacher saying,
“This psalm tells us who a righteous man really is, and in verse four it says a righteous man is ‘he that sweareth to his own hurt, and changeth not.' ”

The verse came clearly to Luke, even though his mind was foggy from the alcohol, and he wondered vaguely,
What does that mean? A man that sweareth to his own hurt and changeth not?
For a long time he lay there trying to make sense of it, and then somehow it came to him.
Why, that means when a man swears something, he has to do it, even if it means he gets hurt keeping his word. Like if he told a fellow he'd sell him a car for five hundred dollars and somebody else offered him six, he couldn't change his mind and take the higher offer. He had promised to sell it for five, so he has to keep his word and take his lumps.

Through his alcoholic haze, Luke again heard the words of the preacher, who had finally summed it up by saying,
“A man keeps his word, brethren, even if it hurts him.”

Those words burned into Luke's mind. He managed to put the cap back on the bottle and set it on the floor beside
his bed. He pulled the blanket over his face and tried to clear his mind, but the preacher's voice kept repeating in his mind,
“A man keeps his word even if it hurts him.”

****