From the Improvement Era, July 1929 –
When Strength Returned
By Christie Lund
The train rumbled on, past fields and valleys, mountains and cities, back over familiar landscapes, reminding Charles Carson that he was nearing home. In his delight the churning wheels of the train seemed friendly things repeating the pulsating singing of his heart: “I’m going home, I’m going home.”
His eyes gazed out upon the sunkissed fields of yellowed grain, and he could hardly believe that it had been more than two years since he had seen them all. Two years! And yet it might have been yesterday, so unchangedly familiar everything was. Yes, suddenly this was very real and the past two years were taking on the semblance of unreality — sweet unreality
Mingled with his joy in coming home was a poignant sadness at leaving the mission field; there he had experienced happiness which surpassed everything he had ever known. Now they were passed — the humble serving, the loving companionship, the wholesome, uplifting joy of them, all passed. Would he be able to carry on here with the same high faith and courage that had been his there? Why not? Here was the chosen land of God, the chosen people, here was everything — yet, why had he and many others never realized what was here until they were taken away from it; never really understood and loved it until thousands of miles had been placed between them?
His throat contracted as he remembered how deeply he had been moved as a group of elders had sung, lustily, that favorite “Mormon” hymn, “Oh, Ye Mountains High.” He had realized then, for the first time in his life, what it really means to be a member of the Church of God. Yes, he had learned much in the past two years, least of which was that all-important thing, a sense of real values.
Suddenly he thought of Allie, what a worthwhile friend she had been with her wholesome philosophy, her strength of character, her cheering, kind letters that had meant so much to him. She would make the sort of wife that a man should have, a wife to help when things were hard, to lead him in the right way, to encourage and sustain him in the faith. Yet. he knew that subconsciously he was slightly afraid of her; there was something lacking somewhere, but that the lack might be within himself he did not guess.
His thoughts were interrupted by the shrill whistle of the train. He was home! There was the school house, the station — badly in need of paint and looking very small and dilapidated in the glare of the September sun, but pathetically beautiful to him through his tear-dimmed eyes. He could see his mother, father, friends awaiting him. In anothei moment he was in their arms; they were kissing him, clasping his hand, smiling, crying. He was rushed, amid confusion, to a waiting car when he saw Allie, smiling, cool, — pretty, tears in her eyes. He seized both her hands and whispered. “Hello, Allie! Gee, it seems great to be back. See you later.” She dropped her eyes to hide the exquisite happiness in them.
He was taken home, where a delightful dinner had been prepared in his honor, where a few old friends and neighbors had gathered to welcome him and listen to his experiences. He told them eagerly of the trip across the water, his first day of tracting, his first street meeting. He could not quite get over to his listeners that people out in the world actually stood in awe of them, that they believed it would be the highest privilege in the world to live here in the shadow of the temple. He tried to stir them to a new joy in what was theirs, to a new worthiness of all they had been blessed with, but he seemed unable. Here were these people, their thoughts occupied with the little joys and cares of everyday life, taking their religion more or less for granted. He remembered what one missionary had stated in the field: “The first thing I shall do when I return home is to convert my own family.” His friends, looking at him, heeded not so much what he was saying as they noticed the change that had been wrought in him. The fun-loving boy was now an eloquent, enthusiastic man. A few of them asked themselves if he would not forget all this when he began associating with former friends who were gradually drifting away from the Church.
The week after his return a homecoming party was given in his honor. The program, the games, the refreshments and at last the dancing were carried out successfully. The “fellows” were there in a body, dancing the latest steps, singing the newest songs, quite as they had done when he had been one of them. He told himself, as he glided across the floor with Allie in his arms, that those things didn’t really matter, the boys’ hearts were all right.
“I’m so glad you are home,” Allie said, softly. “It doesn’t seem like any time since you went away — now that you are back.”
“Doesn’t it? I’m mighty happy to be back with you all.” He looked into her adoring eyes, and thought: “It will be better if I marry her and settle down; I’ll never feel quite the same with the old crowd — I don’t want to.” He deliberated in his mind how he should ask her. He would have to be very gentle, gentle and humble, so that she would not notice the lack of pulsating fervor that he had always felt would go with real love when it came. No, this would not quite be as he had dreamed it, but she must never know. He would make up to her in many ways; he would give her everything that a man could give a woman — except that something, that fire which he felt should be the foundation of love.
His arm tightened ever so slightly about her waist as he bent his head to murmur: “Allie there is something I want to say to you — can we slip out for a few moments?”
She looked at him questioningly, “Why, yes, I suppose we could.” And the color flooded her cheeks.
They walked out into the cool, moonlit September night. The world was strangely silent except for the strains of dance music which came, as though from a long distance, to their ears. The gaily colored trees swayed softly beneath the glow of the copper, autumn moon, like maidens in bright dresses. It was a perfect night for love, romance. They sat down upon a nearby bench, and as he looked into her eager, upturned face a sudden pain of loneliness or longing shot through his heart. He put his hands on her shoulders, very gently.
“I’m not nearly good enough for you,” he began humbly. “I’m almost frightened when I am with you — but. I — I’ve been planning for two years to ask you something — Allie, will you marry me?”
She raised her hand to his cheek and whispered, “If you really love me, Charles, and want me, I will.”
He took her in his arms and pressed his lips against her hair. She drew back ever so slightly with a little half laugh, half sob catching in her throat, then yielded to his embrace. His lips found hers for a brief kiss, after which there was a reverent silence, neither of them finding words. After a while he murmured huskily: “You won’t be sorry, dear, will you?” She laughed softly, “Oh, I’m sure I won’t. Charles, I’ve always loved you, and your mission has made you a finer man.”
“It did wonders for me, Allie. There’s one thing especially I shall never forget. I only made one convert that I know of, but bringing the truth to her hungry soul more than repaid me for going. I’ll never forget the night we baptized her. It was a windy, cold night when we started for the river. We walked nearly three miles to reach it, to find that the weather made it almost impossible to baptize her. However, she was determined not to postpone it, so we all knelt down in prayer and asked that we would be able to perform this sacred ordinance.” He paused for a minute then went on solemnly, “Honestly, Allie, when we arose from our knees and went into the water there wasn’t any wind. It was as though a voice had said, ‘Peace be still.’ Everything was as silent as the grave. Oh, it was wonderful, the sacredness of that night. I’ll never, never forget that woman’s face as she looked up at me and said: ‘God bless you, my boy. I’ll always remember you and what you have done for me. If ever I can do anything for you, I’ll do it!’ She died within three months after that. Funny, isn’t it, that it should all seem like a dream now.”
“Yes, and you must keep it real by carrying on. How thankful you should be for such an experience.”
“I am thankful, and I want you near me always, so that it will be easy to carry on.”
He kissed her again and they returned to the dance where one of the fellows introduced him to Viola Hemming, a small, blonde girl, who looked up at him with liquidly languid eyes and asked him teasingly where he’d been all his life. He laughed and felt unusually gay as he bantered back and forth with her.
* * *
Several weeks passed; it seemed to Charles that he was continuously thrown in contact with Viola, and. try as he would, he found himself strangely drawn by her cool sophistry. He knew it couldn’t be love and yet she held a fascination for him that no other girl he had ever met had held. In spite of her modern way of talking, she was extremely feminine, and with her woman’s skill she used her charm wisely. To counteract his desire for Vi he lavished attentions upon Allie, took her to church, to shows, to dances; was always gracious and kind to her, telling himself that he didn’t really care at all for Vi and that he would forget easily. But in that peculiar way things have of getting around in a small town, word came to Allie that he was quite attentive to Vi. Allie only smiled, but one day she saw them walking up the street together and the expression in his face hurt her; she had never seen that look of adoration and joy in his eyes before. And suddenly she seemed to have known for a long time that his love for her was cold; though she had been so blinded by the fire of her own emotion that she had not realized it. She tried to tell herself that it was nonsense to think he could love anyone else when he was always so kind to her. Kind! As if that were enough!
Time passed, she knew he was seeing Vi and felt sure he loved her. She must give him up, gracefully, gladly even — for it would mean happiness to him. Out of the numbness of her heart a voice said, indignantly, “He isn’t man enough to tell you — you ought to hate him.” But another voice answered: “No, he’s just a little boy, and I love him — love him — will always love him.”
One night he came to see her and she knew instinctively that this was the end. A cozy fire burned on the hearth, the room was gleaming under its glowing lights and receding shadows. Her cheeks were flushed and she looked extremely lovely in the simple black frock she wore, with a soft lace collar against her throat. As she looked into his eyes and saw the distressed expression there she wanted to take him in her arms. Oh, why did he seem such a little boy, so helpless, so in need of what she could give him?
When they were seated near the fire and had discussed all the generalities, there was an awkward silence after which he began, hesitatingly:
“Allie, there’s something I have to tell you — I — ”
She could not bear his confused perplexity. She restrained her tears and smiled, a pitiful little smile.
“It’s all right, Charles,” she said, “I know what it is, I’ve heard and you mustn’t feel that you are obligated to me at all. We all change our minds — and — it’s quite — all right. We can still be friends.”
He dropped his locked hands between his knees and sat staring into the glowing fire, his face stricken and pale.
“Gee, I’m sorry, Allie. I didn’t want it this way. Why, you’ve been the best, truest friend a fellow ever had. I wouldn’t hurt you for the world — but — well, I just can’t help it. You don’t hate me do you?”
She patted his hand reassuringly, assuming a lightness of tone she did not feel.
“Charles, how could I hate you? Don’t be foolish. Run along home now and if you ever need me, why. I’m the same old Allie.”
“Listen,” he said, quickly, “you can help me now. Hold me to my promise, it will be better for us all if you and I marry. I feel as though I was groping for something — I’m afraid — help me.”
She arose. He had hurt her pride. “No,” she told him, “there are times in our lives when no one can help us. some things we must face alone. Be honest to your true feelings and everything will be quite all right, I’m sure.”
As he walked home he wished she had taken it any way but this, she was so brave, and it hurt him more than if she had wept or pleaded with him. But she would always be strong in the face of any issue, brave and calm and sweet. He felt he would always remember her, standing pale and beautiful, with the firelight caught in her dusky hair and soft-brown eyes. He felt like a child who wants two toys and has to make a choice between them.
The next evening he called on Vi, the exhilaration he should have felt at being able to go to her free was strangely lacking. His steps lagged. He entered the house only to find a possible rival before him. Vi introduced the two, “Charles, this is Aaron, an old friend of mine who may decide to stay in our town permanently.”
The two shook hands with the constraint that two men feel when both are calling upon the same girl. Aaron was good looking in a flashy way; clever, boisterous, arrogant. Charles felt an immediate dislike for him and with difficulty forced himself to laugh at his cheap jokes. After a time, however, the stranger arose to go, “Well, folks,” he drawled, stretching himself lazily, “I s’pose I’ll have to let you miss me. I must toddle on. Give me my hat, will you, Vi?”
She gave him his hat and accompanied him through the door to the porch, pulling the door after her as she went out. Charles, though irritated, told himself that it was all right. Several moments passed and a gust of winter wind blew the door ajar and he could not help seeing the two in each other’s arms — kissing. He turned his head. his whole being sick with a sudden nausea. Vi broke away from the embrace and hurriedly stepped into the house, never guessing he had seen.
She was flushed and smiling as she dropped her thinly clad body on the couch beside him and raised her eyes. She could not miss the anguish in his face.
“What’s the matter, big boy?” she asked softly, “Tell Vi.”
“Nothing,” he evaded, “nothing.” “Yes, there is. Tell me.” She slipped her warm little hand into his, but received no answering pressure from his.
“Well, I’ve broken with Allie,” he told her, doggedly.
Her laugh rang through the room, “Surely I wouldn’t let a little thing like that worry me. I suppose the saintly one put up quite a battle.”
“No, she did not,” he exclaimed, almost angrily, “Allie’s not that type.”
The girl was wise enough to know that she was using the wrong method, so she changed instantly. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, pressing his hand again, this time his fingers clung to hers.
“Oh. Vi, he muttered, “let’s get married, soon, I’m so darned wretched.”
He took her in his arms and she lifted expectant lips to his. While he was kissing her he kept remembering that she had kissed Aaron also, he imagined that her lips were still warm from that contact.
When he released her she smiled a little petulantly.
“I’m sorry, darling, but I don’t want to get married.”
“You mean,” he questioned, “not now?”
“I mean, not for a long, long time.”
“Then you don’t love me?” incredulously.
“Of course I love you, but not like that.”
He looked at her unbelievingly, as though he were seeing her for the first time. “You mean,” he demanded hotly, “that you love me just the same as you do your friend Aaron, for our kisses?”
“Leave my friend Aaron out of this, please.”
He laughed bitterly, “I might have known. Well, you accomplished what you wanted to, I hope you are satisfied.”
He wanted to tell her that she was not worthy to live in the same town with the “saintly one,” but good manners closed his lips.
They parted in silence, she with a shrug of the shoulders, he with no backward look for her who had been the cause of his sacrificing so much. He rushed out into the night, blinded by angry tears; hurt, consumed with shame, anger and regret. What did anything matter now? He had lost Allie forever for this — this mockery. He deliberately turned his footsteps to the center of town where he knew he would find the fellows.
For several weeks following that he dissipated his strength, trying to forget. At first he wouldn’t drink with the boys; he continued with his Church duties but he seemed like one walking in a dream and gradually he slackened in his attendance, began taking a drink now and then to be sociable. He told himself he was happy, was having a good time, but his heart knew it was not true. One night he and some others were standing on the usual street corner; they had had a drink or two. Allie passed and spoke to him, but there was an expression of infinite pity and disgust in her face. It was as if she, with that look, had turned a blinding light upon him and he was able to see himself as he must look to her — as he really must be. “Allie — ” he said to himself, “Allie — so good, so sure of the way — and I — lost.” The words kept torturing his mind, “Lost — lost — ” He left the crowd and went home. When he reached his room he sat on the bed and stared unseeingly into space; a dry, tearless sob tearing through his body. “I’m lost,” he cried, in a frightened voice, “lost — in all the world there is no one who really cares, not in ten worlds, no one to help me — God, in heaven, forgive me.” He threw himself on his knees and wept convulsively, as a child weeps.
It was very dark in the room, dark on all sides of him, and to his pounding senses the darkness seemed permeated with loud, raucous noises, like the moan of the wind on stormy nights. The darkness was broken in one small spot and light was filtering through; slowly like sunlight filters through the crevice in a rock. He was sure he could see someone in the light, coming toward him. And then there was a great silence, a peaceful silence, and a voice said:
“God bless you, my boy.” It was a familiar but startling voice.
“Who are you?” he asked tremulously.
The voice answered, softly, tenderly, “Once I was in darkness and you were in the light and you came to me and shared your peace; you gave me of your light and I was lifted up where I could see and understand the truth, and know the mercy of God’s ways. Look up, my boy! You are not lost, you have just wandered a little, blindly. You are not weak, your two young arms lifted me easily from the deep water; the strength of your faith made all the elements of the earth and sea stand still — reach up to the light — be true! God will help you as you helped ‘me. He loves you and wants you to win.”
He arose in a stupor, switched on the lights. He ran his hands across his eyes. He was trembling and yet peace and joy were in his heart. No, he was not weak, he was strong! He was not afraid. He would fight the fight alone. Alone — yet not alone.
The following Sunday night he went to Church. He knew the hardest part of the fight would be getting his feet back once more in the right way. He was humble and ashamed and expected to be treated as an outcast, but everyone was very kind, welcomed him as the proverbial prodigal son must have been welcomed back to the fold. Perhaps these kind people understood, too, that he had just wandered a little, blindly.
But Allie in her position at the organ, seemed unattainable and distant and beautiful as a dream. He did not dare ask to accompany her home, even when he saw her leave a group of friends and start homeward alone. But he did dare walk a short distance behind her, unnoticed. They walked from the center of town to the side streets which were dark. He seemed suddenly afraid that something might happen to her. She did not seem so strong, so self-reliant as he had thought she was; tonight at the organ she had looked pale and sad. Oh, if he could only hope to live to be worthy of having her love him again, for he was quite sure that whatever love she had felt was long since dead.
It must have been a kind and benevolent fate that contrived to let things happen as they did, for she had walked that way many times alone and nothing unusual had happened. But as Charles came behind her several feet and turned a corner he saw her caught in the arms of a large, familiar figure. He did not wait to think, but rushed forward like some animal who springs to protect a loved one, and with a terrific blow sent her assailant to the ground.
“Charles!” Allie cried, a trembling note of joy in her voice.
He took her gently, unresistingly in his arms. “Oh, Allie — you mustn’t ever walk alone again — I’ll never let you be alone — ever — Oh, sweetheart, I love you so.”
Her cheek was wet against his strong shoulder. He kissed her tears away, buried his face in the soft loveliness of her hair; she seemed suddenly very frail and helpless and sweet. And she needed him. He was whispering again those old, ever new words, “I love you, love you, — love you.” He was sure now that he loved her with that perfect love that a man can feel only for a good woman.
So absorbed were they that neither of them noticed the drunken form of his one-time rival, Aaron, rise and stagger away from them.