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Letter
#1 " A Child is God's Promise There Will Be A Tomorrow " ~ Friday, April 19th,
1946 . Dear Sir, . I hope You
don't mind my troubling You in the middle of the day, Father, but the doctor says I needed to be still and I ache too much
to lie down. It don't seem fitt'n to be a'bed in broad daylight, if'fn you know what I mean, Lord! Amos was so kind as could
be, and the children fussed over me so much you would have thought I was on the express train for glory land, sir! Pardon
my laughter, I don't mean to seem to make light of their love and concern, I'm just a little overwhelmed by so much attention.
It don't fitt'n neither. My place is to be taking care of them as You designed, but Pa's right. If'fn I get better, I'll have
plenty of time to take up the slack! Meanwhile the fields need tending and I can hear the boys chasing the hennies, but there
isn't anything I can do about it right now, it's their way of letting odd steam, and don't we both know it? They figure if'fn
I come to the back door and holler at them, then all is well. I may just go to the window. They can't see where the sound
comes from, but in another minute or two, Lord. My head is swimming right now. This here sickness grates on the morrow of my
bones, for a fact honest, though the news Molly Beatrice just shared with me in the kitchen after the doctor left, her planning
to be a first-time mama at twenty three when I already had half of my kids on the ground running brings me a pure and hopeful
joy I confess I crave! Though I dare not ponder on the secret things between a man and his wife, James having come home from
the War in the Pacific with only one arm and two stumps for legs! That he came home to us at all is such a miracle for all
that he seems to have expanded his touch beyond what he could physically aspire. I've always been proud of my oldest boy,
and have been able to depend on him to the last breath, no matter how difficult the cost, but that resolve has hardened to
a beetle like shell around him! It pains me, Lord! He's my own flesh and blood, the firstborn of me and Amos' youthful dreams,
but I swear, if I look at him off-guard and I see a stranger there, I smile at him and he moves his lips but it never reaches
his eyes. They're like a deep,dark pool at the bottom of a well and only You can go there to rescue him from the terrible
things he saw at war. I'm only his Ma. Only a woman. That means less than what it did to the idealistic boy who pledged his
love to Molly Bea at the family picnic down at The Meadows so short a time ago. I never understood how the Old Folks could
say forty years seemed like a day, but now I do, These eight years feel like eighty But that's all behind us now, ain't it,
Lord? A family, his graduation in September from Bible College? the hard part's behind us now! And what a relief, if I dare to
admit it, because I know neither child wanted to move back to the farm from the City. I didn't want too, that's for a fact
honest. And witht he baby coming and him still in school and couldn't support them without quitting so near to graduation,
its a sign from You Father, ain't it? Oh, I know! Don't scold me great One, we ain't suppose to believe in signs and omens,
but we can believe what our eyes see in front of us, can't we? Especially hwen it leads to giving you the glory and praise
You are so worthy of, Lord God!
So much has already happened since the first day of January. For the first time since the Army returned him for being under-aged,
Richard has thrown his heart and soul back into his last months of school and pleasing his Pa. Amos agreed to sign the papers
in two years when he turns eighteen so he can go into the Army Air Force proper. I wish he didn't wish it so intense, but
he spent most of his life being taught to do the right thing, and it ain't like he doesn't know what he's getting into, already
having 'mustered' past 'Boot Camp' and such men's speak, Sir. Though I am shocked that he could see the harm what brung his
two older brothers, Tom passing away in his father's arms and James with only one good limb left to him after his ship was
sunk....I fear that sandy is the only one who'll keep the family homestead alive, now that Penny Acres has made it clear she's
happy where she is, and James, he's so changed on the inside he wouldn't survive if'fn we tried to shut him up with tractors
and harvest times! Please help him first, Father. It's medicine enough for me to see You are back in his life despite the
bitterness and rebellion he first come home with. Who wouldn't?
The oddest thing happened, thought, and I hesitate to bring it, except that You already knew it as it happened, before I even
did, if I had half a mind's thought to it, I expect. This being Good Friday and we was all in church and all, as a welcomed
change from the sameness of life on a farm; early to rise, early to bed, with the same chores waiting to be done over at first
light and all, but being a mother myself, I glanced down the pew past James and Molly Beatrice, past Richard and Sandy, mistaking
the tall girl standing beside him shy holding his hand for Penny Acres at that age, I tried to bring mymind back
to the solemn occasion what brought us into town while the sun was so cold and bright on the awakening land, when I felt seized
by a moment of eternity, as if Iwere the one suspended beside the Cross no longer needed, but it was Your
mother's face I saw! She didn't know the joy yet to come, but I knew! I found myself lifted away from the life we lived before
the suicide bombers struck Pearl Harbor, lifted away from the life we lived with ration books and black outs, looking past
the tears and sorrows to the next breathless moment about to be! What You must have felt in that instant after you spoke the
end end to your trial but before You stepped into the long journey home to your Father, Sir. The memeory of your past being
present but no longer able to hold You fromthe future stretching out untouched and boundless. I guess that's where we stand
as the farm settles down and we shake off the city pace from the soles of our shoes and our souls. I guess I was born to be
the wife of a farmer, even if'fn my children have a different path to trod. I can't think of any finer life than the one You've
granted me in your mercy with my dear, kind man!
I think I'll lie down after all and close my eyes for just a minute, Lord. I feel so much better having shared this with You! . Respectfully, .
Maude Amy Webb of Slumerbrook
Farm . ◊
Letter #2 " A Rare Sunday Indeed! " ~ Sunday, April 21st, 1946 . Dear Sir, . While it is most gratifying to be present in the front pew on the last Sunday of the month as my son gave his first sermon, not even fully ordained or accredited as yet - I could not see the faces of the people sitting in the small church behind me. I wonder if they marveled at his zeal for You once his hands stopped trembling from stage fright for speaking in front of so many people for the first time. My mind torn between the letter we received from the Missionary Clinic in Africa warning me that my Baby was never coming from her work among the poor Blacks on that Continent and my shocking fear of seeing how much my shy oldest born was absorbed into being the center of a forceful argument where no one could dare risk contradicting him in the midst of his heated statements. I felt Tom Dear lean his shoulder against me, in my imagination, rolling his eyes at his older brother and I had to raise my lace handkerchief to my mouth to stifle a nervous giggle. I wondered if James would have chose this way if his first youngest brother was alive to sit here and make faces at him? But am I just being unkind to the man James has become because I don't like him near as much as I did the boy who worked beside his Pa or worked in the office at Willis Sannyonson's lumber mill to help the war effort in the first days he come home from the War? I love him, I must. I'm his mother. But he's found another means for bullying and I hate the thought I am powerless to do anything but to leave him to Your gracious hands and bite my tongue. I guess going to Darkest Africa with Diane Sannyonson was no greater leap than my leaving our farm and moving into the city, with my brother Tom's gracious help. The children seem to have grown up so fast in those terrible years. It wasn't as though we knew when it was going to end, or how, although I admit the thought of our not helping to win the War, especially after the Japs bombed Pearl Harbour, or how. And I had such freedom with the first paycheck from Ponce's Hotel! I even shared a third of it with Tom, but when I was drawn back to the stink and the sameness of the homestead after his tragic, and to me, unnecessary death, we found the paper bills slipped into an envelope in his Bible, marked "For Sissy's marriage". And I suppose in remembering that, the silent depth that runs through the men of our family, an in dear Amos, that I find comfort in knowing that time will hone the passion into compassion and he will be the leader I always dreamed my children would be. For their lives will extend into the future, and their hands will shape, a world already as foreign to me as any that I might expect if I landed on the moon an found it already populated! After all, didn't you warn us by Your ancient wise men that even if we make our nests among th stars, You will see and know our ways? I fear that Penny Acres is too young. yes, she and Diane Sannyonson sailed to Africa without anyone of us but Diane's uncle Willis, but she was always the bold one and my baby the follower. I admit to an uncomfortable amount of relief, simply between you and me, Lord, that she won't be exposing herself to heaven only knows what germs in those dingy, ill-equipped mud huts Diane craves in her blind ambition to use her uncle's money to become a doctor. The wife of a rich man who owns lands and diamonds as easy as fields yield weeds is beyond my experience but I can see it as a better experience, even if she's exchanging one bullying person for another. we cannot choose our children's lives anymore than we can choose their dreams. She's a strong girl for one so young. She and Sharon McFadden became as thick as thieves as Nurse Sharon took care of her dying brother his last days. I always thought she might be content to get her nursing degree and help out in the clinic at Shantytown? But...oh dear, help me hide the sigh I almost allowed to escape. It's so quiet in here you could hear a pin drop! " Let us pray? " Forgive me Lord, I need to pay more attention to the Service. Perhaps later we can talk again? If'fn You aren't too busy? . Respectfully, . Maude Amy Webb of Slumberbrook Farm . ◊ Letter #3 " The Spelling Word For The Day Is ... " ~ April 30th, 1946 . Dear Sir, . While Amos Dear is pulling 'Nervous Nellie" into the automobile shed, I've asked to sit here for a minute on the porch steps while I'm waiting for him. Yes, it would be more comfortable sitting on the chair, Sir, but I wouldn't be able to see the stad from under there, or feel as though You could see my face, and after such a rare night out I want to be able to share my joy with Thee, Jesus! It's funny, there was so muhunusual action to get ready this afternoon! That, in and of itself, made my heart pound and flung the good sense plum so far out of my head that it must have landed in the yard of the chicken coop, I do declare! Must'tae scared the chickens out of a month's growth! ... I guess You heard when my Baby Sandy asked me to help him with his vocabular final's test next week? While he acceepted it with good grace, its pointing me toward something I need to ask Your help with - while I can still feel, you know? Now, that's odd! ... I've stolen my own joy? Why do you suppose I did that? I suppose I'm trying to look too far into the future with only what I know or suspet now. I can only go so far ahead on my own strength, when I should be leaning on Yours! Oh! H4ere he comes! I'll not be the cost of that there smile on his face. Oh, Lord! What did I ever do worthy of the love of this dear, good man? God bless you, Sir, and good night. . Respectfully, . Maude Amy Webb of Slumberbrook Farm . ◊ Letter #4 Super Bowl XI Sunday, Bailing me out Monday January 17th, 1977 - Hi Dad! - Gosh I miss you! Even more as we watched the game, since Oakland took out our Minnesota Vikings 32 to 14. It would have been so much more fun watching the game with you there, if though we lost. Having Mars and the babies home is like the sun breaking through on a cloudy day when you least expect it! We picked up Aunt Penny at the airport then swung by the hospital to pick up Mars. She wanted to sleep in ‘her’ room, where she slept when your parents were alive? But Aunt Sunny had the wall moved to accommodate her dark room and what’s left was turned into a sewing room. Your room is pretty much Mar’s sewing room, especially as she made layettes for the babies, and the new curtains for the kitchen, but with Susie’s help we put everything is boxes and took them upstairs to the attic since next week we have to clear everything out of the attic to put in new insulation, so they won’t be forgotten up there or anything. And we found the boxes of old linens and things your Mom put away so lovingly, so we put them out to make her feel more at home after so many years in Africa with her husband and family. It’s funny, you know? The whole house, even without the additions Aunt Sunny made before she married Lionel and moved to Philadelphia? It seemed so much ‘bigger’ as I remember it from playing here as a kid. Go figure. I had the strangest dream last night. Aunt Queenie gave me a photo album of you and Uncle Beau and your older brother Tom, and Aunt Penny as kids? The color snapshots were all faded to yellow and its difficult to discern anything more than the outline, but the black and white photos were intact, although they were twenties years older. And looking at them as Aunt Penny helped us to write down the names Aunt Esther couldn’t remember made me feel like I’m standing right there, because so little of the basic structure of the house has been changed in the last fifty years since you were a kid. Uncle George couldn’t speak to us civilly, for a while I was afraid he was blind because his eyes wouldn’t focus on us and his direct gaze used to be the most intimidating thing about him, for all that everyone talked about how shy and diffident he was as a youth before his father Harlan’s bluster. He kept snapping at Aunt Queenie and calling her by her Christian name “Esther”, like he was mad at her. I guess we all grieve in different ways. Aunt Queenie lost a son with George Junior’s death too. And now she’s lost a friend and a companion. I guess I always thought it should be that way? Always friends, always lovers, but any time I get too close to Mars now she glares at me! I guess if I just went through what she’s been through I’d want to nip it in the bud, ‘at the source’ too, so to speak. I don’t know, dad, It’s funny. Seeing you sitting all apple-checked and far as a hen on grain in the galvanized wash pan on the kitchen table while Grandma Webb held you from splashing the water in the tub, I could just as easily picture it being Chuck or Aimee in there, but in a way I can’t fathom, at the same time I felt like I was the man taking the picture, and I’d just lost a seventeen year old son, not just a good friend a few years younger than me! Does that sound strange? Once you have babies, you’re vulnerable, And men aren’t suppose to be vulnerable, dad! A man is supposed to be strong, protect the ones we love, provide for them, perish to save them, if that what it takes! But the rain hasn’t stopped since it started on Friday morning, and I look at the soil and I wonder if it will all wash away? Will there be anything left of it to make the plants grow once we plant them in the spring? What happens if we wake up one morning and find one of the babies dead like we’ve been hearing about on the T.V? What if I do such a terrible job of rearing them that one of them turns out to be a thief, or a murderer, or worse, a lazy bum? Sometimes I wish we’d never gotten them started. But it was so much fun, we’ll probably do it again – eventually. Hopefully before the babies are old enough to ask us what sex is, because right now, I’m afraid I’d tell my boy to wait until he’s THIRTY before he puts himself at risk trying to meet somebody else’s needs, but frankly, Dad, I don’t think he’d listen any more than I did at that age! Gosh that chuckle felt good!! Oops…that tentative wail was just the start. As soon as one baby makes ups its mind to cry, the other joins in lustily, and Mars already has her hands full. I’d better go. But thanks for listening, Dad. See ya` later,
Hank . ◊ Letter #5 A Nod to the past January 21st, 1977 - Dear Heavenly Father, - Wasn’t that something on this evening’s news? President Carter pardoning nearly all Vietnam War draft dodgers? It didn’t help Uncle George, but Mars and I pray that you can. Please give my best to Dad. Sincerely, Hank and Marsha Webb Slumberbrook Farm . ◊  |
Asia Rachael Cohen
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