Sarah Redeemed Page 3
“Ah, what a good boy.”
As Rose transferred the toddler to Sarah’s arms and placed a bag inside the door, she smiled again. “God willing, Matty will have a little brother or sister later this day.”
“I shall pray for a safe delivery for Joy.”
“Thank you, Sarah. Our trust is in the Lord.”
Sarah tucked Matthew into her bed and laid down beside him, her face near his. His gentle, whiffling breath was sure and steady. She inhaled the sweet smell of his skin and hair.
O Lord, I do not envy Joy the many heartaches she has already endured in her life, but I am so very glad for her that you have given her this precious boy and this new baby. Thank you for blessing her and Mr. O’Dell and for seeing their child safely into the world.
She did not give voice in prayer to her own longing for children. She accepted that children were beyond her reach.
A FEATHER-SOFT OBJECT brushed against Sarah’s nose. She sighed in her sleep and turned her head away from the annoyance. But when a damp, pokey thing tried to pry her lips apart, Sarah jerked awake—and found herself face to face with a dark-eyed toddler—who chortled when she startled.
He prodded one of her nostrils. “Nose,” he announced.
“Um, yes, it is. Good morning, Matty.” She blinked her eyes at the clock; it read a quarter to six. “My, you are an early bird, are you not?”
He grinned larger and pushed a finger between her lips. “Mowff.”
“Mouth. Yes.”
Sarah nibbled his finger. “Teeth,” she said.
He laughed, a great belly laugh, and Sarah laughed with him. She pointed to her eye. “What is this?”
“Eye.”
She indicated her ear. “And this?”
“Ear!” he shouted—inches from said appendage.
“Ow. It most certainly is.” Sarah pushed the covers back. “Shall we get up, wee boy?”
Matty clambered from the bed. As he stood, he looked around, confused. “Mama?”
“Your mama is at home. You get to spend the day with me. Will that be fun?”
He pointed at her. “Sar.”
“Yes, Matty. I am Sarah.”
“Where Mama?” A finger slid into his mouth, a mouth trending toward tremulous.
Oh, dear. I had best think fast.
“How would you like a cup of milk, Matty?”
He stared around, still confused, but he nodded.
“There’s a good boy. Do you need a dry nappy first?”
SARAH THOUGHT SHE AND Matthew would be the first in the house to rise this early on Sunday morning, but she found Mr. Wheatley, the wild tufts of his hair scruffier than usual, seated in the kitchen, sipping on a steaming cup of coffee.
“Why, what have we here?” he asked with mock concern.
Matthew ran to him and scrambled onto his lap. “Milk,” he demanded.
“Say, ‘Milk, please,’ Matthew.” Sarah was already pouring milk into a tin cup with a sturdy handle.
“Milk, pease.”
Mr. Wheatley patted Matthew’s hand. “Good man.”
Matthew patted him back. “Goo-man. Milk, pease.”
He took hold of the cup Sarah placed on the table and gulped down half of it in a go.
Mr. Wheatley beamed with unfeigned pleasure. “I take it Miss Joy is about the business of bringing Master Matthew’s new brother or sister into the world?”
Sarah had her own cup of coffee now and drew on it before answering. “She is, Mr. Wheatley. Mr. O’Dell fetched Miss Rose near two o’clock in the night and brought Matty for me to watch. If we receive no news by ten this morning, we shall take Matthew to church with us.”
By eight, the house was waking up to its Sunday morning routine. Breakfast on Sundays was at nine, later than usual, allowing everyone—but especially Marit, Palmer House’s cook—an extra measure of sleep and a more relaxed start to the day.
Marit entered through the back door, leaving baby Toby with her husband Billy, but bringing her two older boys, Will and Charley, with her. However, when the boys discovered Matthew in the kitchen, they could not contain themselves. Marit shooed them all outside to play.
“Would you like me to watch over Matthew, Miss Sarah?” This offer came from Blythe, Palmer House’s newest addition. The fifteen-year-old girl, a cloud of bright curls swirling about her head, had arrived at the house in Breona and Pastor Carmichael’s care two weeks prior. She had been found, wandering alone and not quite in her right mind, during the church’s street ministry. Blythe had been in poor health when Sarah met her, so weak and painfully thin that her eyes swam like overlarge pools of midnight blue in her slender face.
Sarah did not know Blythe’s story. Her name implied a happy, carefree being, and she may have been so at one time, but it was apparent to everyone that the sweet girl was fragile—wounded in both body and spirit. The day Blythe arrived, Rose had spent an hour sequestered with the Carmichaels in the parlor before they took their leave. When Rose reappeared, her eyes were red from weeping.
After she had recovered herself, Rose showed Blythe to the room she would share with Pansy, another relatively new girl. Then she had asked Pansy and Ruth to draw a bath for Blythe and find her some clean, comfortable clothes from the donations gathered by the Christian women’s group that helped support Palmer House.
That evening at dinner, Rose had introduced Blythe, although, by then, most everyone had already said hello to her. Without placing too much emphasis upon the newcomer’s delicate state, Rose had murmured, “While Blythe is adjusting to life at Palmer House, she will be keeping company with Marit and Olive during the day and helping with whatever occasional light tasks they find for her.”
Olive was Palmer House’s housekeeper. She had lived in the house for nearly as long as Sarah had. When Breona, their previous housekeeper, had married Pastor Carmichael, she had continued on in the housekeeping position until she was expecting her first child. Midway through her pregnancy, she had trained up Olive to take her place. With Corrine’s marriage and departure from Palmer House, Sarah considered Olive her closest friend in the household.
Rose’s comments regarding Blythe’s unexacting duties signaled to the family at Palmer House that Rose’s first concern was for Blythe’s health. To everyone gathered at the table, it was evident that Blythe needed rest and healing before she undertook any strenuous responsibilities. They knew, too, that Marit would take Blythe under her wing and urge extra bits of food on the girl between meals.
When Sarah first set eyes on Blythe, she had experienced a visceral need to shelter and protect the girl. Blythe, in response, had attached herself to Sarah’s side like a shadow clings to a body at midday.
As Sarah considered Blythe’s offer to watch over Matthew and studied her hopeful expression, she felt a wave of compassion for the girl. She knew Blythe was not fit enough to chase after a two-year-old tornado, but she saw Blythe’s willing, eager heart. More than that, Sarah recognized how Blythe longed to “fit in” and belong to Palmer House’s unconventional family.
“Shall we watch him together?” Sarah offered with a smile. She threaded her arm through Blythe’s thin one and drew her outside. Under the warm late-summer sun, they trailed behind the threesome crew of boys to “keep an eye” on Matthew, who was considerably younger than Billy and Marit’s boys and unaccustomed to their rough and ready ways.
“He is such a beautiful lad,” Blythe murmured.
“That he is,” Sarah agreed.
“I-I hope—that is, Miss Rose suggested that I might . . . that I might someday marry and have a baby. A family.”
It was impossible to miss the yearning in Blythe’s soft voice; Sarah even understood Blythe’s desire for a child to love.
“If it is God’s will, dear one, I am certain the right man will come along.”
“But how do we know what God’s will is, Sarah? Miss Rose talks so much about Jesus, but I do not understand half of what she says.”
Sara
h led Blythe to a stone bench in the shade of a tree where they could watch the boys. “Shall we sit here, Blythe? I shall try to explain.”
Blythe was keen to comply. “All right, Sarah.”
Sarah pursed her lips. “Let me see. Where to begin. Well, do you know that God, our heavenly Father, has made everything? Everything we can see and everything we cannot see?”
Blythe’s eyes widened. “So much? Even the sky?”
“The sky, the sun, the moon, the stars—God made it all. And he made us, each one of us, in his image and likeness. People are the only thing in all of God’s creation made in his image—which is why he calls us his children and himself our Father.”
“I have never had a father,” Blythe whispered. “Only Uncle Jack. I wonder what it is like to have a father.”
Sarah did not respond to Blythe’s pensive reflections: She had not had a father either and experienced her own difficulties trying to visualize God as her loving heavenly Father.
What do I know of fathers, loving or otherwise?
She preferred to think of Jesus instead—as either a babe in the manger or as he hung on the cross—helpless. Much easier to visualize.
A tug on her sleeve brought her attention back to the present.
“Sarah?”
“Forgive me, Blythe. Where was I? Yes, because God made us in his likeness, we are, each of us, special to him. Still, even though God loves us very much, each of us strays from him. We sin against God and against others. We wander far away from God until we are lost, so very lost, and cannot find our way to him. Do you know what it feels like to be lost, dear one?”
Blythe grew still, her expression frozen and hunted. “Oh, yes. I think I have been lost forever.”
Moisture glistened in the girl’s eyes. “I do not want to be lost anymore, Sarah.”
“And that is why God the Father sent Jesus, his Son. Jesus died upon the cross to pay for our sins; then he rose from the dead, so we could have the hope of the resurrection when we die, too.”
“But if I am lost, how do I find my way back to God?”
“Ah, that is where I am going, my sweet girl. Jesus said he came to seek and save those who are lost—lost just like you and lost just like me. In fact, God our Father sends Jesus to find each of us. If we are sorry for our sins and call upon Jesus, he will come to us and wash us clean.”
“Jesus will come to me? To me? How?”
“His Spirit will come and live within you. You will feel him inside, forgiving you, healing you, taking away all of your guilt and shame.”
“H-he will take away my shame?”
There was something so urgent in Blythe’s voice that Sarah turned toward the girl.
“Yes, Blythe. Jesus will take away your shame. All of it.”
Blythe exhaled and leaned against Sarah. “Please, Sarah, I want to call upon Jesus.”
“Then we should pray, right here, Blythe, for Jesus is willing to save you, at this very moment.”
Sarah and Blythe slid from the bench to their knees. Blythe clasped Sarah’s hand as if it were the only lifeline between her and heaven. “O Jesus,” she wept. “O Jesus!”
“Jesus, please forgive all my sins—I am so sorry,” Sarah prayed.
“Yes, Jesus! Please forgive me. I am so sorry. I am so ashamed.”
“Jesus, please come into me by your Holy Spirit and wash me clean.”
“Jesus, please come into me and wash me clean.”
“Take away my shame, Lord Jesus, and make me wholly yours.”
By now, Blythe was overcome and could scarcely speak. “T-t-take a-away my sh-shame, Jesus! P-please take it a-away. Please.”
“Make me completely yours, Jesus,” Sarah whispered.
“Make me yours, Jesus. All of me. Please, Jesus.”
Sarah let Blythe cry herself out, and the girl repeated again and again, “Th-thank you, Jesus, for t-taking away my shame. Th-thank you.”
A little while later, as Blythe was wiping her eyes, something damp poked Sarah’s cheek.
Sarah laughed softly. “Why, Matthew O’Dell.”
THE NEWS DID NOT COME until late that Sunday afternoon when Rose telephoned. Sarah, sitting on pins and needles in Palmer House’s great room with most everyone else, jumped when the telephone jangled at last.
Sarah picked up the receiver. “Hello?”
“Joy and Mr. O’Dell have another baby boy!” Rose’s voice overflowed with happiness. “They have named him Jacob. Both he and Joy are doing well.”
“Praise be to God,” Sarah whispered.
“Yes. To God be all the glory.”
Sarah mouthed to the girls gathering around her. “A boy!”
Her announcement generated smiles and cheers of thanksgiving.
“Sarah,” Rose continued, “I know you must work tomorrow and that you require a good night’s sleep tonight. Mr. O’Dell will come fetch Matthew home after dinner this evening.”
“I would so love to see the new baby.”
“Perhaps we can arrange that, if Mr. O’Dell is amenable to another trip.”
When Sarah hung up, she gathered Matthew into her arms. “Guess what, Matty? You have a baby brother.”
He slid his finger into his mouth, not at all sure what she meant.
IT WAS NEAR SEVEN O’CLOCK when O’Dell’s knock sounded on the door to Palmer House. Mr. Wheatley let him in.
“Congratulations, Mr. O’Dell, sir. We are all as pleased as punch for you and the missus.”
O’Dell, elated but short on sleep, grinned. “Thank you, my friend. I have come with orders to fetch our older son home to meet his little brother. Where might he be?”
“Matthew is a-sleepin’ on Miss Sarah’s lap in the great room. Wore himself out today a-playin’ with Will and Charley but refused a nap when we all could see he needed one in the worst way.”
“No, Matthew does not care for naps.”
“Gave Miss Sarah a run for her money, the little man did. Her trying to put him down for a sleep t’was like tryin’ to put socks on a rooster, I calculate. Leastwise ’till he passed out over his plate at supper.”
O’Dell found Sarah as Mr. Wheatley has promised, glued to her chair by Matthew’s sleeping weight.
“I am here to take Matthew home. If you are willing, you may come along, and I promise to bring you back before ten o’clock.”
“Oh, yes, please. I am sorry Matthew is sleeping, and I do hope he will not be up all night as a result of his late nap. He simply refused to go down earlier, but I could not keep him awake through dinner.”
“I understand. Let us stir him now so that he will be alert enough to meet Jacob when we get home.”
They managed to rouse the boy, but he sat, groggy-eyed and listless in Sarah’s arms during the drive. However, when Matthew caught sight of the house O’Dell and Joy rented and recognized it as his home, he bounced up and down on Sarah’s lap. “Mama! Mama!”
O’Dell took him from Sarah, then helped her from her seat and set Matthew on the stone path that led to the house. Rose stood in the front doorway, waving to him.
“Gramma! Gramma!”
“Come to Gramma, sweetheart,” Rose called.
She swept him up in her arms, but after a quick hug, Matthew wanted down.
“Want Mama.”
Rose set Matthew on his feet, and O’Dell squatted beside him, holding him still. “Matthew, listen to Papa. Mama is in bed, and you mustn’t climb on her. She needs to rest a little.”
“Mama sick?”
Sarah heard the panic in his voice.
“No, she is only tired. You have a new brother, Matty. His name is Jacob. Can you say Jacob?”
“No. Want Mama.”
“Would you like to see the baby?”
“Baby?”
“Yes, your baby brother, Jacob.”
“’Cub?”
“Yes, Jacob. Would you like to see the baby?”
His eyes widened. “Yes, Papa. See baby.”
Matthew had eyes only for Joy.
“Mama!”
Sarah was likely more excited to see the baby than Matthew was at the moment, but she would not have missed witnessing his first glimpse of his brother for the world. She slid around the side of the bed opposite Joy where she could watch. Rose joined her there.
O’Dell held Matthew over Joy, allowing his little arms to wrap around her neck without putting any weight on her. Joy hugged him back and kissed him repeatedly.
“Oh, Matty. Mama is so glad to see you.”
O’Dell pulled a chair up to the bedside and sat down, Matthew on his knee. Matthew had not noticed the tiny bundle snugged against Joy’s far side—not until Joy lifted the babe, placed him in the crook of her arm closest to Matthew, and turned back a corner of the flannel bunting, exposing a plump but miniscule face topped with spikes of black fuzz.
Matty went still; he stared and stared, his eyes wide with wonder. Then he looked up at O’Dell and giggled.
“What do you think, Matty? This is your baby brother, Jacob.”
Matty clasped his hands together and leaned forward. “Baby?”
“Yes,” Joy said. “Your baby brother.”
Joy lifted a flannel fold, exposing the tiniest pink fingers Sarah had ever seen. Joy reached for one of Matthew’s hands.
“Give me your finger, Matty,” she instructed. She held his hand with his chubby index finger extended, and brushed his finger over the baby’s hand.
Matty shivered with excitement. “Baby!”
“Yes.” She released her hold on Matthew’s hand. “Touch him gently, dear.”
Matty stroked baby Jacob’s Lilliputian hand and shivered again. And when the baby’s diminutive fingers unfurled under Matty’s touch, Matty leaned closer and cooed. “Li’l baby. Li’l baby ’Cub.”