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Hope for Tomorrow

By Michelle De Bruin

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Chapter 1
Oswell City, Iowa
August, 1910
“The Lord bless you and keep you.” A tremor shook Reverend Logan De Witt’s outstretched hand as Walter Brinks entered the church.
The teenage son of the family who managed the hotel carried a white slip of paper and paced the back of the sanctuary. The Oswell City Hotel was the only place in town with a telephone. Someone in Logan’s care was about to receive bad news.
He swallowed and attempted to finish the blessing. “The Lord make his face to shine upon you—” A drop of water from above splattered his sermon notes. He wrestled with the longing to move them out of harm’s way, but a full sanctuary waited on him to finish the benediction. “—and be gracious to you.”
A second fat drop fell, headed not for all those well-chosen words from hours of study, but for his nose. It rolled off the tip and spilled onto his Bible.
His chest tightened at the audacity of these shameless drips. A little water damage to his sermon he could deal with, but spoiling his Bible was another matter entirely. He lifted his gaze to the vaulted ceiling above just in time to watch a third drop plummet from the heights. More followed. Splat. Splat. Splat. All over the eighth chapter of Romans.
Pews creaked. Someone in the front row coughed. The time had come to wrap up the service, but Walter chose that moment to stride down the aisle and join him at the pulpit. Two more drops splashed his nose. He snatched up his Bible.
Walter nudged him. “Pastor Logan, I’ve got a message for ya.”
Bad news had no place in the benediction.
“This is for you.” Walter laid his slip of paper on the pulpit and ran out as quickly as he’d appeared.
A sour taste filled Logan’s mouth, making speech even more difficult. “The Lord lift his countenance upon you . . . and . . . and give you p . . . p . . . peace.” He’d come so close to getting through the service without a stutter. He fled the pulpit to read the note while everyone sang the Doxology.
Reverend De Witt,
A man named Vern Patterson called here. He says your mother wants you to come home as soon as possible. Your sister found your father on the floor of the barn at milking time this morning. The doctor said he suffered a heart attack. I’m sorry you have to find out about your father’s death like this. Let me know if there’s anything I can do.
George
A heavy weight sank in his stomach. His tall, strong father was dead. Tears gathered in the corners of his eyes while the truth pierced his heart.
A line of people eager to make weekly contact with their pastor formed. Logan stuffed the paper in his pocket and met the task of shaking hands.
The line shortened until Paul Ellenbroek, mayor of Oswell City, stood before him. “Wonderful sermon, Logan, but it looks like the rain from last night’s storm felt the need to attend church today.”
“Yeah, and determined to find a way in.” Logan rubbed his forehead. “I didn’t know the roof had any holes.”
Paul studied him. “Is something wrong? Why was Walter here?”
He wished to reply, but his tongue had stiffened again. He depended on Dad for the support his prayers and encouragement brought to his ministry. Who would pray for Logan now? Whose eyes would shine with love for Logan and pride in his sense of call?
Logan’s thoughts returned to the note. “My father died of a heart attack. I have to return to the farm.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. You have my sympathies.”
Lorraine, Paul’s beautiful, dark-haired daughter, left her group of friends and joined their conversation. “Pastor Logan, you will be happy to hear that Mother intends to start coming back to church next week. Isn’t that great news?”
“Yeah. Wonderful.” Logan’s voice went flat. He should celebrate with her, but if Mrs. Ellenbroek felt well enough to attend church again, that meant she’d no longer need Logan to call on her. And if that happened, his pattern of spending Sunday afternoon with Lorraine would end.
A question lingered in Lorraine’s large brown eyes. “Aren’t you happy for Mother?”
“I . . . uh . . . well.” Logan’s tongue stiffened. Good grief. Whenever the beautiful Lorraine Ellenbroek turned her attention on him, he couldn’t force a word out to save his life. He cleared his throat.” Of course I am. You and . . . and your father must feel . . . relieved.”
Lorraine’s features relaxed. “Yes, we are. She wants to get out again. See her friends. Attend social functions with Father. He’s had to go so many places alone. It’s hard to see her ill.” She grasped his hand for a short moment. “Keep praying for Mother.”
“I will.” Paul walked over to a group of businessmen, leaving Logan alone with Lorraine. “You probably saw Walter come in earlier.”
Lorraine nodded. A concerned expression claimed her face.
“He brought news that my father died. I must return home as soon as possible.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“This means our dinner date for Friday won’t work out.” Logan ran a hand through his hair. After gathering every last bit of his courage to ask her to dinner, now he must cancel.
“Perhaps another time.” She offered him a faint smile.
He tried to return the smile, but the fear that he’d lost his chance drowned it out. His shyness around beautiful women interfered too often with his ability to secure dinner dates. In his handful of past attempts to spit out the invitation, a polite “no” had been the response. At least Lorraine had accepted. He didn’t want to let such an astonishing opportunity pass him by. But now he was the one saying “no.” His gaze shifted to the floor. Maybe he should give up and resign to living the single life.
Paul returned and held his timepiece out. “I found out that a train is departing in an hour. Take as much time as you need on the farm. We’ll manage here.”
Logan wanted to believe him, but so many things crowded the schedule. How would they ever get along without their pastor? “The men’s Bible study breakfast is tomorrow morning. The pie social is Tuesday night. The banker’s wife is in the hospital. And now we’ve got this leak in the roof.”
Paul shook his hand. “I’ll take care of it. Don’t worry. I’ll even find someone to preach for you next Sunday. You have our sympathy and our prayers.”
“Plan on my return in time for Katie Wegman’s wedding. She asked me months ago to perform the ceremony.”
“I’ll let the board know.”
Reality cloaked him like the black robe he wore over his suit. He loved his life, his work, and the people in Oswell City. But he loved Silver Grove too. His mother and sister stayed on his mind. He must get home to see them. Their hearts were surely as broken as his.
***
Silver Grove, Iowa
An evening breeze tousled Logan’s hair as he walked the familiar road to the farm. A windmill creaked on the neighbor’s land. Crickets whirred in the grass, cows lowed in the distance, but it was the ache to see Mama again that propelled him down the lane. He crossed the porch where the paint had worn away, exposing the boards. Bursting through the door, he called out. “Mama.”
The lace-trimmed hanky she held to her face fell away. Her eyes grew wide as she rested her hand on her chest. “Logan.” His name came out like a blend of a relieved gasp and a desperate cry as she got up from the table to embrace him. “I’m so glad you could get here today.”
“I came as soon as I heard.” He swallowed the thickness in his throat.
Tears spilled over her cheeks. “I’ve needed you.”
She sagged against him and clung to him. His heart broke all over again. Footsteps sounded from the parlor. Wiping her eyes, she pulled away to set out cups and a coffeepot.
“Logan. Good to see you. My sympathies.” Peter Betten, his best friend from seminary, entered the kitchen and shook his hand.
“Thanks.” He should say more, but no words could describe his pain. Pete nodded and joined him at the table where they each took a coffee cup.
He’d rather talk about anything except his raw feelings, so he changed the subject to his friend’s wife. “How’s Anna?”
“Wonderful.” Pete’s mustache twitched above a smile. He pushed up his wire-rimmed spectacles and smoothed his dark red hair. His features sobered. “She helped your mother prepare the body for burial. The coffin was delivered an hour ago.”
“Have you made any plans yet?” Logan choked out the words.
“Dad is laid out in the parlor,” Mama whispered, wiping her eyes with a corner of her apron. “All the neighbors will be stopping in tomorrow afternoon.”
Logan managed nothing more than a nod. Words lodged in his throat. Maybe later he’d thank everyone for all they’d done.
“The funeral is Tuesday morning at the church,” Pete said between sips of coffee.
Mama joined the men at the table and drank her coffee in silence.
Usually he was the person with the words that brought comfort to others, and now he was the one in need of consolation. He sipped from his cup, glad that neither one of the people in the room expected an answer. He had none to give. Not this time. Logan gulped the rest of his coffee in a vain attempt to clear his throat of the emotion that clogged it. He calculated the distance to the stairway. Maybe he could escape before anyone noticed the tears ready to flow.
Pete walked by and patted his shoulder. “See you tomorrow.”
Logan nodded.
Mama disappeared upstairs after Pete left. Logan went to the parlor where he ventured close to the open coffin, his gaze traveling over the still form. Dad’s hands were folded over the dark blue suit and white shirt. A small cut near the hairline gave witness to a hard fall against the barn floor. The blond hair so closely resembling Logan’s was combed away from the face. The mouth held a serene smile. His eyes were closed.
Those eyes would no longer shine with love. The mouth’s task of smiling at him and the heart’s job of beating in prayer for him were completed. Dad’s life was over. Logan wiped his eyes, trying to get himself to believe it.
“Logan?” A quiet, familiar voice spoke his name.
He glanced up and scanned the parlor. “Tillie.” His kid sister occupied one end of the settee, her eyes stained red.
A sob choked her. “You’re home again. You’re really here. I can’t believe it.”
He caught her in a solid hug. “I came as soon as I could.”
She responded with more tears.
Logan held her tightly while they leaned on each other. After several moments, he turned towards the coffin, still embracing her. “You remember his excitement about going to Heaven someday.” Dad was there now, alive in a city sparkling with the light of his Lord. “He loved us, Tillie. Very much.”
“I loved him too.”
Dad was gone. Dad was gone. The words pounded through his head. Oh, Lord, I need You. It’s hard to think of the future without my father in it. He should’ve lived much longer.
Wiping her eyes, Tillie released him. “I’m exhausted. Good night.” She headed for the stairs, leaving him alone in the darkened parlor.
He should follow her example and get some rest so he could survive tomorrow. The days ahead asked of him stamina he couldn’t produce on his own. He’d welcome all the support and encouragement he could get right now, but the person he counted on to offer it was gone.

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