dirty, but it felt better. Anything that has to do with that awful night had best be buried in the ground.”
“I think so too,” he said. “And now you had better bury your memories by giving them to God.”
“I want to—I really do. But first I had to tell you. You are my husband.”
“That was a nice thing to do,” Jake said, drying his hands on the dish towel.
“And now, you scat off to the living room and let me finish my work,” Hannah said. “You’ve done enough and plenty.”
“I’ll take the ice cream freezer to the barn, and then I’m done for the night,” Jake said with a sigh. “And what a night it has been.”
Hannah held the door open as Jake went out with the ice cream canister in both hands. Five minutes later he was back and settled down in the living room to read. Finishing in the kitchen, Hannah made two trips out to the springhouse with the extra food, taking care that Jake didn’t hear her open and close the kitchen door. He would have been up in a flash to offer his help, and he had already done enough for one night.
The poor man. First Mr. Brunson spilled his story on him, and then she had to add to his load. Turning on the flashlight only when she came close to the springhouse, she stored the items, making sure the latch was securely in place. There had been no bear problems since Mr. Brunson had killed the grizzly all those months ago, but neither she nor Jake wanted to take any chances. When she was finished in the kitchen, she moved toward the bedroom, asking Jake if he was ready to retire for the night.
Jake yawned and followed her readily into the bedroom. As she prepared slowly for sleeping, Jake quickly changed out of his clothes and climbed into bed. By the time she joined him, he appeared to be asleep, his even breathing a comfort to her.
“So why did Mr. Brunson make you think of Peter?” Jake asked suddenly, and Hannah jumped under the covers.
“Because so many things can go wrong when you think you love someone. We need to pray for Mr. Brunson.”
Eight
Hannah sat on the hard bench without moving. Bishop John’s wife, Elizabeth, sat beside her, but Hannah’s eyes were on Jake’s face. He looked tired—and had ever since he came down from the morning ministers’ conference upstairs. She could read the signs in the tenseness of his jaw and in the deepening lines on his face. Jake was much too young for the heavy responsibilities laid on his shoulders. He should be sitting on a bench across the room, seated among the men his own age, instead of standing up front by the kitchen doorway, closing out the main Sunday sermon.
Did Da Hah always know what He was doing? Jake didn’t complain, so why should she? But then he didn’t have to watch himself suffer as she did.
Bishop John’s eyes were also on Jake’s face, watching him from the ministers’ bench set up against the kitchen wall. He looked pleased, nodding from time to time, so Jake must be doing okay. Of course Jake always did okay, regardless of what was required of him. So perhaps Da Hah had known what He was doing.
“The Scripture says,” Jake said, his hands hanging by his side, pacing slowly in front of the doorway, “that ‘man shall not live by bread alone, but by every word that proceedeth out of the mouth of God.’ Jesus Himself quoted those lines from the Old Testament, applying it to Himself. If Jesus needed those words, then we need them even more urgently.”
Jake paused in his pacing and seemed to be thinking, his eyes looking down. He looked up and continued. “We, as the people of God, can get so busy with our work, with our jobs, with our farms, that we forget there is more to life than what we can see. Just as the physical body needs food, so too our spiritual man must also be fed the spiritual Word of God. And this is true today even more than ever before.
“Trouble gathers in the world. The devil goes about not only as a roaring lion seeking whom he may devour, but
“I think so too,” he said. “And now you had better bury your memories by giving them to God.”
“I want to—I really do. But first I had to tell you. You are my husband.”
“That was a nice thing to do,” Jake said, drying his hands on the dish towel.
“And now, you scat off to the living room and let me finish my work,” Hannah said. “You’ve done enough and plenty.”
“I’ll take the ice cream freezer to the barn, and then I’m done for the night,” Jake said with a sigh. “And what a night it has been.”
Hannah held the door open as Jake went out with the ice cream canister in both hands. Five minutes later he was back and settled down in the living room to read. Finishing in the kitchen, Hannah made two trips out to the springhouse with the extra food, taking care that Jake didn’t hear her open and close the kitchen door. He would have been up in a flash to offer his help, and he had already done enough for one night.
The poor man. First Mr. Brunson spilled his story on him, and then she had to add to his load. Turning on the flashlight only when she came close to the springhouse, she stored the items, making sure the latch was securely in place. There had been no bear problems since Mr. Brunson had killed the grizzly all those months ago, but neither she nor Jake wanted to take any chances. When she was finished in the kitchen, she moved toward the bedroom, asking Jake if he was ready to retire for the night.
Jake yawned and followed her readily into the bedroom. As she prepared slowly for sleeping, Jake quickly changed out of his clothes and climbed into bed. By the time she joined him, he appeared to be asleep, his even breathing a comfort to her.
“So why did Mr. Brunson make you think of Peter?” Jake asked suddenly, and Hannah jumped under the covers.
“Because so many things can go wrong when you think you love someone. We need to pray for Mr. Brunson.”
Eight
Hannah sat on the hard bench without moving. Bishop John’s wife, Elizabeth, sat beside her, but Hannah’s eyes were on Jake’s face. He looked tired—and had ever since he came down from the morning ministers’ conference upstairs. She could read the signs in the tenseness of his jaw and in the deepening lines on his face. Jake was much too young for the heavy responsibilities laid on his shoulders. He should be sitting on a bench across the room, seated among the men his own age, instead of standing up front by the kitchen doorway, closing out the main Sunday sermon.
Did Da Hah always know what He was doing? Jake didn’t complain, so why should she? But then he didn’t have to watch himself suffer as she did.
Bishop John’s eyes were also on Jake’s face, watching him from the ministers’ bench set up against the kitchen wall. He looked pleased, nodding from time to time, so Jake must be doing okay. Of course Jake always did okay, regardless of what was required of him. So perhaps Da Hah had known what He was doing.
“The Scripture says,” Jake said, his hands hanging by his side, pacing slowly in front of the doorway, “that ‘man shall not live by bread alone, but by every word that proceedeth out of the mouth of God.’ Jesus Himself quoted those lines from the Old Testament, applying it to Himself. If Jesus needed those words, then we need them even more urgently.”
Jake paused in his pacing and seemed to be thinking, his eyes looking down. He looked up and continued. “We, as the people of God, can get so busy with our work, with our jobs, with our farms, that we forget there is more to life than what we can see. Just as the physical body needs food, so too our spiritual man must also be fed the spiritual Word of God. And this is true today even more than ever before.
“Trouble gathers in the world. The devil goes about not only as a roaring lion seeking whom he may devour, but
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