Log Cabin King Read online

  "Why, come in, son. I’ve been mighty proud to see how your logs are coming down. I went over to look after you left yesterday. You’ve got some beauties, and you’ve got the bark off in just the right size strips. Have you told your Dad about your good progress?" Ira sat in front of the fire and looked down at the floor.

  Had I said something wrong?

  "You all looking forward to a big Christmas?"

  No answer.

  "Down at our little church, we always have a get-together on Christmas Eve. I was wondering if you would like to go tomorrow night. I start out from here about six-thirty and some of the neighbors join me. We get down there about seven-fifteen. It’s a nice little walk."

  "I might as well go. I know for sure that I’m not going back home."

  "Uh oh. Sounds like something’s gone wrong over there."

  "I believe they just can’t stand to buy me anything for Christmas," he exploded, "and I don’t want them to buy me anything. I’m in the way...and those stupid cigarettes!" Ira jumped up and clenched his fists. He nearly shouted, "How can I ask him for any more money?"

  "You can’t son, but I see you are miserable. Have you eaten?"

  "No."

  I went into the kitchen and got out some eggs and milk.

  "You’ve got a common disease, Ira. It’s called Growing Up. The whole family feels sick for a while. There’s a sure cure for it, though."

  No response.

  "Do you know why your Dad is so touchy? He’s nervous and scared. He’s scared that his boy is some kind of a nut or a coward. That makes him feel like a failure as a father. Now, when you’ve got a job and your own home, he’ll look around and square his shoulders and say to the other men, ‘That’s my son.’ And your Mom, Ira. She’s giving you a real compliment. She’s saying, ‘Get out of this nest, you big overgrown bird! I know you can make it on your own.’ Some moms love to spoon-feed their babies. They don’t want their sons to grow up. Didn’t you ever see a fifty-year-old man go home to get a handout from Mommy?"

  No response. ‘

  "I’m telling you the truth. Once I was in a store, Ira, and I saw a lady fussing around buying Easter eggs and toy chickens. She grumbled about fixing this basket for her son. Turned out her son was forty-three!"

  Since he was in no mood to talk, I rattled on: "Harley teases you about welfare, but if you actually tried to sign up, the first thing they would ask you is whether you had turned down a job or not. If you told the truth about your Dad’s offers, they wouldn’t help you. Also, now that you have turned twenty-one, the law wouldn’t force your folks to do anything for you. I’m inviting you to spend the night with me and enjoy Christmas here, but, much as I care about you and admire you, I’d throw you out about April if you began to act like you were getting too comfortable. You think I’m kidding?"

  He barked back, "I don’t want to bother anybody. I’ve looked lots of other places for jobs and just can’t find one."

  "Ira, what you need to realize is that your parents really do care about you. Didn’t they worry about you when you were overseas? Sure they did. You were doing your duty and they respected you. Right now they just don’t know how to feel."

  "My little sister understands me."

  "That’s good, but an overdose of that might fool you. You might lean back on that sweet sympathy and never ask yourself the right questions."

  "Like what?"

  "Like, ‘What was I born for? Who’s my boss? How can I get what I need? What comes after this?’ Here’s your scrambled eggs. Our hens still lay in the winter since we learned to put a light bulb in the hen house."

  "Thank you." He looked out the window. It was snowing hard.

  "After breakfast you can put your stuff up on the porch. What did you bring?"

  "My sleeping bag and my tent. I used to be in the Boy Scouts."

  "Do you have any friends, Ira?...Anybody your own age?"

  "I had three good friends in high school. We were pretty good in basketball. After graduation, I went into the Marines. One of them went to college, and the other two moved out of state. Some of the girls have been calling me, but they talk a lot of dirty stuff."

  He finished his toast and wild strawberry jelly and set his dishes in the sink. "That was very good. I appreciate your fixing it for me."

  He went out into the flurry, but instead of bringing his stuff over, don’t you know that he banged around out there until he got that tent set up! He brought his sleeping bag over and spread it out on a chair to dry. He was miserable without cigarettes and as grouchy as a bear. I gave him some hard candy that I get for my Christmas fixings. I’ve heard that a smoker can be a little bit satisfied with that.

  We sat by the fire all that day, when he wasn’t pacing around in a nervous fit. I told him all about how Tim and I built our little house and about the different coal booms and busts. He shyly told me of his daydream of building a log palace for a real queen. He had her all pictured in his mind. She would be pure and sweet and quiet and beautiful. But were there any queens around these days?

  Chapter 4

  I fixed some pork chops and homemade applesauce for supper. He fed the rabbits for me and dried the dishes.

  We started down the road toward church, crunching the new frosting that covered every rock and stump. It should have been dark, but it was one of those bright nights and the snow added its glisten. It was so delightful for me to have company. This boy would never know what an empty spot he was filling. Human companionship...what a pleasure! His voice was low and soothing. We talked about Indians and the early settlers.

  We passed the Tate place. I had never been able to interest them in going to church. Their four walls and goods weren’t really much in this world’s value, but to them, it was all in all.

  We passed Harley’s. I told Ira about our little group. We were a close-knit congregation. I had brothers and sisters aplenty in that gathering.

  "Is that why you told me to call you ‘Sister Dicey’?"

  "Why sure. What do they say at your church?"

  "Well, I haven’t been in a long time, but we always went to Sunday School. I guess we just said Mr. and Mrs."

  "That’s okay if the love is just the same. At our church, we feel as if we have been rescued out of deep troubles by the same Father, so we just naturally feel like kinfolk. And besides, it’s in the Bible."

  "I read the Bible a lot over in Afghanistan. That’s when I began to want to live clean. There were some whores who were really after me—or my money—but I didn’t want to have to remember that twenty years from now."

  "Good thinking. Besides, you’ve probably saved yourself some unhandy sickness. Were you able to do as well about drugs?"

  "I smoked more than ever, but I never tried the other stuff."

  "I thought every boy would try anything once."

  “Well, I’m so hooked on tobacco, I thought I better not try anything else."

  "Didn’t the other boys call you names?"

  "You better believe it! Some people can’t stand to be called names, but I figure if it’s not true, I don’t need to get mad, and if it’s true, I shouldn’t get mad."

  "Ha, that’s a new one to me!"

  "I figure, the trouble’s in the other guy’s head. Let him worry about it."

  We stopped and knocked for the Foster sisters. They were ready, and as jolly as I had ever known them. I introduced our new neighbor to them and we joked all the way to the bridge. It was slippery but a car had been over it, leaving a dirty track all mashed down.

  Sister Ryan and her children were ready. (They had always been Catholics ‘til they moved up our hollow.) "Well, Sister Dicey, don’t tell me you trapped a man way up there. I knew you were always working on something, but this beats all."

  We all laughed.

  "This is Old Man Harless’s son. Ira, Sister Ryan’s husband works for your Dad; so do some of
the older Brothers."

  We could see the lights, now. Cars were pulling in. A guitar was already at work. They could never wait ‘til starting time.

  There was lots of calling back and forth. The sky was clear now, and the Christmas stars were all shining their best.

  "Father, please hear my prayers," I asked, as I took one last glance at the sky before going in. Ira would have asked someone for a cigarette outside the church, but no one seemed to have one. He saw some young people. He recognized a couple from his high school days. They were married and had a baby. They had never been very popular at school. He sat down on the back row, clasping his hands, looking down at the floor. I suddenly realized how hard it was for him to be here; to be in a public place, to meet strangers, to run the risk of facing God.

  But suddenly, the music began in earnest, and Tommy, the preacher, was moving in and out of the rows welcoming everyone. He had a punch on the shoulder for some of the men...and women...a handshake here, a hug there. He was a package of happy energy. When he got to the back row, I peeked. He got right to Ira—looked him right in the eyes—and threw both arms around him.

  "I don’t know you, honey, but the Holy Spirit whispers to me that Jesus loves you very much."

  Ira dropped his head. Were there tears? Yes, he was dabbing away at his cheeks. Oh what a beautiful sign. "Thank you, Father."

  There were several bunches of singers. Sometimes the whole building rocked with joy. Some of the sisters danced, and one man couldn’t keep from running up and down the aisle.

  Brother Melvin called for prayer and different ones were named—some sick, some in sin. When we all prayed aloud, I guess it would scare a stranger. I wondered if Ira was enjoying the service.

  Brother Bob went up and asked for testimonies. One small crippled brother stood up shakily and raised both his arms as he praised the Lord. A lady out in front called out "God bless my brother!" The whole group said "Amen!"

  A sister stood and confessed her sin of criticizing her loved ones. "Since God humbled himself to us at this Christmas time, I want to humble myself to love others more." Everyone said Amen. Some shouted aloud.

  I stood and introduced Ira. "As you all know, my end of the hollow is mighty quiet since Tim’s whistle is busy over in glory, but now there’s a chopping and a pounding as this young fellow is bringing down the logs for a home. Isn’t it a grand thing in this day and time, for a young man to be building instead of tearing down? He’s come through the sorrows of army life and would desire your prayers."

  Of course, Ira was mortally embarrassed, I could guess.

  After a few more testimonies and concerns mentioned, an ancient sister made her way to the front. A hand or two reached out to steady her. She stood behind the pulpit and spoke with beautiful, quiet assurance. "The Lord has told me that I am to go home tomorrow to be with Him and He has asked me to sing for Him here tonight—which I am happy to do." She lifted her eyes and her voice right into "Lead Me Gently Home, Father."

  Some up toward the front began to stand and praise the Lord in tongues. One young girl—eyes closed—moved out into the aisle and walked straight and surely toward the front door. As she came to the last aisle, she turned and spoke a message directly at Ira. Eyes closed, she turned and went back to her seat. By this time, the little lady had finished her song.

  Two men came in the door behind the pulpit with a large cardboard box. They were grinning as they saw the children squirm with excitement. Starting at the front row, they reached in their box and pulled out a brown paper bag of Christmas treats for everyone there. We grannies were just as much favored as the youngest babe. Ira looked surprised when he, too, was lovingly handed a sack, with words of blessing and Christmas cheer.

  After the service, I steered Ira around the back of the church to the rooms where Tommy and his wife live. I often visited there late at night.

  Ira was shy as usual, but Tommy soon had him warmed up.

  "Sir," inquired Ira, "when was that girl in Afghanistan?"

  "Which girl do you mean, Ira?" he asked.

  "The girl that came back to the back of the church and talked in Pashtun with her eyes closed."

  "Why, she’s never been out of this state that I ever heard of."

  "Well, that is really strange. When I was over there, I was on patrol duty and we passed a river where people in white clothes were being ducked under the water. They were all Afghans and didn’t speak our language. I can never get it out of my mind how one of the men came up out of the water calling out loudly in our English language, looking straight at me, ‘Jesus wants you to be His servant-boy.’ The other guys with me heard it too, but we had no idea what was going on. Then tonight this girl speaks the same words to me in a language she doesn’t know."

  Tommy put his hand on Ira’s arm. "Do you accept?"

  Ira answered softly, "May I accept when there is so much that I don’t understand?"

  "If you have an accepting heart, Ira, you will be shown all the truth that you need at the right time."

  "I would like to be the servant-boy of Jesus," Ira stated firmly.

  Tommy kneeled down by the couch and Ira joined him. When they arose, Ira had put his life into Jesus’ care.

  We gathered up our Christmas treats and started home. "Rich boy," I thought, as I looked at the coal operator’s son. "You are rich indeed, holding that bag of candy...all you own in this world, but ready for the next world. Hallelujah!"

  Chapter 5

  We must have sat there by the fire until three a.m. Ira would talk, and I would show him a verse in the Bible that matched his words. We nibbled on our candy and hammered at the nuts on the hearth. It was one of the sweetest times, in my life.

  I was awakened Christmas Day by a knock on the door.

  "Just a minute," I yelled as I put on my red flannel robe...the one Tim had given me so many Christmases before.

  Much to my amazement, there stood two sweet-looking girls.

  "Why, children! Come in! Don’t stand out there in the cold. Have you walked up here? Do I know you?" "We are looking for Ira Harless," said the blonde.

  "Oh, I’ll bet my reindeer that you are Ira’s sister. Do you know we talked here half the night and he’s not up yet? Here, let me have your coats and start some coffee. Is anyone waiting? Can you stay all day?"

  The girls grinned at each other. No wonder. Silly old woman, so thrilled to have company.

  "Ira, wake up, boy! You’ve been found. He’s planning to set up his tent over on his property today, but it snowed so hard yesterday."

  The girls started both talking at once. "We were worried about him. He went off so mad. Mom’s worried. So cold, no groceries...."

  "Well, old Robinson Crusoe hasn’t done too badly up this hollow. Everyone is good to their neighbors. We all like Ira and won’t let the wolves get him. We’ll just save him up for snake season." I thought that was real funny and I laughed. I had the girls some applesauce cake and nuts laid out when Ira came out through the curtains in his socks and his same Army fatigues.

  The dark-haired girl sat quietly while Ira and his sister talked over things at home.

  I tried to get her talking, but she kept turning back to listen to them. It seemed she was a girlfriend of the sister, and they were both about fifteen. She was a doll. Her long sleek hair was shiny. (How did these parents keep so much shampoo and hot water?) She was round everywhere. Probably worried about her weight while her mother worried about keeping the boys away. She had those sparkly eyes that look as if they’ve been polished·—very dark brown—and then skin that looked like the inside of a rabbit’s ear.

  Since I didn’t get to talk, I had to meddle. "Look at that gorgeous female! Now, Ira could just fall for her. Too young. Her father won’t let her out. But maybe that’s just the kind Ira wants! Look at her. She keeps her eye right on him. I believe she loves him. Wonder if he knows. Wonder if I hadn’t better
mind my own business?"

  I fixed some hot chocolate. Dear Little Thing doesn’t drink coffee.

  Ira looks relaxed. Say...he hasn’t said a word about I cigarettes. I wonder....

  Seems the girls’ parents think they are somewhere else. They have to go.

  "Goodbye! You girls come back any time you can. Merry Christmas!"

  Ira hadn’t even told me what their names were when somebody else stepped up on the porch.

  When I opened the door, Brother Bob and Brother Stanley were there.

  "Come in, boys. How about some Christmas cake? Welcome to you both."

  The men sat down by Ira after shaking hands around.

  Brother Stanley began. "Son, we were mighty happy to hear that you came into the Kingdom last night. Oh, I see you don’t know about the Kingdom yet. Well, that’s all right. We’re so happy to be your brothers. We were wondering if you might need some help with your logs."

  "I’ve got a good stout mule," Brother Bob offered, "and Stanley always keeps a good chain saw. We could help you make short work of getting your logs laid up ‘til spring."

  "That sure is good of you. I appreciate the offer," he said.

  "We thought you might need a little bit of encouragement with your Dad," said Stanley. "We both work for him and we know that he won’t take it too kindly about your coming to our church. He might make fun of you at first."

  "Does he know about it?" Ira asked.

  "Oh, sure. We invited him ‘til he finally came one night. But he was really scared and has been making fun of us since."

  "Still," cut in Brother Bob, "we try to give him an extra good day’s work and we keep praying for him." "Say, son, would he let you work for him? You’ll need some money for roofing and all."

  Ira looked down at his hands, looking inward to all his old hang-ups. He jumped straight out of his chair. "No cigarettes, no cigarettes...I don’t have any cigarettes!"

  "Sorry, son, we don’t have any either..." started Bob.

  "I don’t need any cigarettes, praise God, praise God!" Ira fell back laughing and crying. "I’ve forgotten all about cigarettes," he muttered joyfully. "Oh, thank you, Jesus! I must be really saved. Say—maybe I’m not scared of mines anymore! Maybe I’m not scared of anything anymore!" He jumped up—ran out the door—and raced around the snowy yard, still in his socks.