She finished cleaning the stove, when Sam ransobbing, through the kitchen, and burst through the back door.Tillie moved to the kitchen window and watched him race to thebutcher shop and slip inside. She stared at the can of stoveblacking and the rag in her hand, put them down, and went outside.It seemed a long march to the butcher shop, a place she never likedgoing to, but she needed to know he was all right. When she reachedthe door, she didn’t know what to do.
Should she knock? Should she leave him alone?She didn’t want to intrude on his private mourning. Tillie shookher head to clear her thoughts and knocked. “Sam? It’s me. Can Icome in?”
She paused, but there was no answer. Sheknocked again, more insistent. “Sam, I know you’re in here. I sawyou. Let me in.” As almost an afterthought, she added, “Please.”Again, there was no answer, so she opened the door and entered.
The smell of congealed blood and animal partsmade her stomach flip. She stifled a gag and glanced around, but inthe growing dark, couldn’t find him.
“Go away.” His voice came from the backcorner.
She closed the door and felt her way towardthe sound of his voice. “No.”
When her foot hit his toe, she stopped andsat next to him. “I’m sorry. I know you like George as much as therest of us.”
“The rest of us? You didn’t like George. Youwere always mean to him.”
A dagger of guilt sliced through her heart.She paused, measuring her words. “I’m truly sorry for that. I wasjealous of the time he took from Maggie. It was wrong of me, Iknow, but now I realize I liked him. He was ever the gentleman tome. I wish I could tell him I’m sorry.”
Sam sniffled. Though she couldn’t see him inthe gloom, from the rustled movements she had the impression hewiped his nose on his sleeve. She shifted a little.
“I liked George a lot.” Sam’s voice shook.“He treated me good.”
“Well,” Tillie said. “He treated you well.”The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. She bither lower lip and squeezed her eyes shut. Stupid. “George liked youa lot, too.” She tried to amend.
“Tillie?”
“Yes.”
“Would you mind leaving me alone? I want tothink.”
She didn’t move or speak. She couldn’t thinkof anything appropriate to say. “Of course.” She rose to her feet.“I’m sorry about what I just said. That was stupid. You’re a niceboy, Sam. We all like you.” She felt her way to the door. There,she stopped and again tried to think of something comforting. “Comeinside when you’re ready.”
* * * *
She went in search of Father. Although she’dgrown too old to sit in his lap, perhaps he would hold her closeand cuddle her as he used to when she needed comfort.
She found him still in the parlor, the bigfamily Bible open on his knees. She crossed the braided rug andstood next to him. The book was open to Psalm 23, his eyes closed,his lips moving.
Her hands curled into fists. Her body tensed,and she ground her teeth together. Father wouldn’t make time forher until he finished praying. She turned to leave him to hisprayers, but he clamped his hand on her wrist.
“Sit and pray with me.” His head remaineddown, his eyes closed.
She studied him, noticing for the first timea round spot on top of his head.
“What good does prayer do, Father? It didn’tstop George from being killed, did it? Pray for what?”
Father stared at her. His reddened eyes shonewith unshed tears.
Her spine stiffened at the pity in his gaze.“Well?”
His jaw loosened, and tenderness smoothed thecrinkles around his eyes. His gentle thumb stroked the back of herwrist. “Oh, daughter, prayer isn’t about keeping people alive ornot. He’s going to judge us all when we die—yes, even you, someday.The wages of sin is death. The question is, will you be judgedworthy of heaven or hell? That is what prayer does for us. Itbrings us to the Lord contrite and humble, so we can live inobedience and He can intercede for us in Paradise.”
Tillie gave an exasperated cry and wrenchedfree. “I don’t understand you, Father. Why would you worship a Godwho would condone such a terrible war? Why should I? A God whowould let good people like George or perhaps even James or Williamdie?” She backed away. “No. I don’t think He cares about whathappens to us. If He even exists.” She clambered upstairs, hopingto escape her father’s wrath.
* * * *
At the top of the stairs, she cringed fromthe weeping emanating from Maggie’s bedroom. She inched open hersister’s door. Maggie lay on her bed across the room, curled into aball, sobbing into the pillow.
Tillie stepped inside and closed the door.Easing herself down on top of Maggie’s Log Cabin quilt, she pressedup against Maggie’s back and slipped her arm around her in a clumsyattempt at solace. Maggie rolled over and nestled her head onTillie’s shoulder, crying out her anguish while Tillie heldher.
After an hour, Maggie’s breathing changed,and she snored in exhausted slumber. Tillie eased off the bed andheaded to her own room.
After changing into her nightdress andbrushing her hair, she scrambled into bed. She lay wide-awake,listening to the crickets’ comforting chirrup outside, thinking ofGeorge and all the times she’d been mean to him, either to his faceor behind his back. She wanted to apologize and now she couldn’t.The verse in James, chapter four came to her. She began to whisper,“Whereas ye know not what shall be on the morrow. For what is yourlife? It is even a vapor, which appeareth for a little time, andthen vanisheth away.”
Tillie kicked the covers off and lay spreadeagle on her mattress. Sweat trickled down her neck and stuck hernightdress to her body. She slid the hem up her legs as far as shedare, and dangled her left leg over the side, swinging it to catcha breeze. Perhaps the breezeway would offer fresh
