A Road to Nowhere. Bradleigh Munk
with emotion, and trying to control my tears, I agreed. Following behind, I was thinking, No other person has ever taken the time to help me figure things out, not even my family—wherever they are.
The hallway they entered had two wide doorways on each side, leading into separate rooms. Dining and sitting, he thought; straight ahead was a stairway leading up to the unknown. Down the hall, on the left side of the stairs, they quickly arrived in a brightly sunlit kitchen, where a simple but efficient table sat on the left as they entered. To the right were cupboards painted a clean white; next, a gas range; and finally, at the far end, under a four-paned glass window, a soapstone sink.
“Have a seat. The rest of us will be joining shortly, and we’ll eat soon. Ham okay?” she said with a warm smile.
“Yes, of course, that would be wonderful.”
Soon, stomping could be heard approaching the back screen door; a boy and then an older girl came crashing through, stopping in their tracks when they saw me sitting at the table.
The girl, pretty in a rural way, said, “Hello, who are you?”
Blushing, I found myself unable to form a sentence.
“He’s a guest,” said the mother. “We are all going to have some supper. Martha, would you grab the plates and silverware? Glen, bring over the glasses and set the lemonade on the table.”
We were soon all eating thick slabs of ham, mashed potatoes, and green beans. Everyone was abuzz with conversation when Mary said, “Did you hear about those two men who were found shot on the road to Center City?”
“Now, Mary, we have a guest. Let’s not discuss this again.”
Mary, now a little red in the face, said, “Sorry, Father, it’s just so awful.”
“Young man, you haven’t told us your name. I’m Henry, and this is my wife, Sara; daughter, Martha; and son, Glen.”
Feeling as if I truly belonged, I offered up my name as Clark, Clark Thompson. At least I can remember my name, I thought.
“Tell us, Clark, how did you end up on our doorstep?”
A little embarrassed and turning red, I said, “I’m not sure. One moment, I was at home and, the next, walking down your road.”
“Well, it will be too late to go into town to ask our sheriff, Stan, for help. Why don’t you stay the night, and we can work through this tomorrow?” The offer was welcome and a relief, since I had no idea how I was going to make it back home. Later that evening, Sara made the bed in the small room off the kitchen, with crisp white sheets, and as soon as my head hit the pillow, I was out dreaming of tornadoes and blue amulets, except this one had a stone of red.
The next morning, I awoke to the smell of bacon frying and coffee in the percolator; it sounded like someone taking a deep breath, holding it, then blop, blop (plop, plop). Back home, I would have turned my nose up to coffee made this way; this, however, seemed right, and I was soon scarfing down mounds of scrambled eggs, crisp bacon, and strong coffee.
After breakfast, Henry told Glen that he needed help getting the summer harvest into the hayloft. Glen was excited. “Can I run the elevator?” he asked.
“We’ll see,” said his father. “We don’t have much time. I hear a storm is due to move in by tonight.”
I spoke up and said, “Can I help? I have no experience. However, I’m a quick learner.”
“Sure, we can always use extra help, now that our hired hand has left for other opportunities.”
For the next several hours, the group performed like a finely tuned clock, and before I knew it, I was working like a pro and enjoying it!
Right before the noon meal, Martha and her mother returned to the house to prepare lunch and, shortly after, returned with a pail of cold lemonade. We all stopped to rest and enjoy the cold drink then headed to the house for the meal, cold sandwiches with homemade bread, and thick slabs of ham; it was even better than yesterday.
The skies had started to darken when the three men returned to the barn. Working faster, knowing what was approaching, we all moved and settled each bail until the last square was placed. Huge drops of water started hitting the sides of the building, as Henry secured the door against the wind. We all ran for the back porch, trying to dodge the large drops, making us wetter than if we just walked fast. This didn’t matter; we were all afloat with laughter and a sense of a job well done. I had never felt such satisfaction from working a hard day of manual labor and returning to the house; we all collapsed into the kitchen chairs then gulped glasses of the sweet lemonade.
Strange thing, a conversation about my appearing on their doorstep never materialized, and we were soon planning for the next harvest. They offered the room off the kitchen—small but efficient. I would help in the fields during the day and felt obligated to help with the house chores; Sara constantly complained, in a loving way, by saying, “It’s not something a man should be doing.” I would always respond by saying, “It pleases me to be needed.” I think she fussed just to hear me say that I needed to be needed.
Chapter Five
The Harvester
Strange, he couldn’t remember what he did in life before he came here. Something, I think… He breathed out a sigh. Strange, I just don’t remember, he thought. He had been sent here, a place full of drama and rich with experience, and the time flew without hesitation. Weeks moved into months, and before he realized it, his time was closing in on a year. Martha became a person whom Clark enjoyed spending time with. She was honest with no predetermined agenda, and it soon became evident to anyone taking notice that hearts swelled with love and compassion. He not only had love for this smart and beautiful woman; he couldn’t imagine how he ever survived without this family. His experiences became rich and deep with meaning, evoking new feelings never felt before. As the time came closer to when he arrived a year prior, a special event was planned.
The afternoon was crisp, from the passing winter when he and Henry took a stroll down fields showing only ghosts of the past harvest. “Henry,” he started, “I wanted to have a talk with you alone. I need to ask you a special question.”
“Of course, I have always enjoyed our conversations. Before you showed up, other than Sara, I had no other adult I could be as honest with.” Clark turned a little red, but he continued with what he felt compelled to get off his chest. “I know that a year is quickly approaching since I showed up on your doorstep…” He was having trouble getting the words out.
Henry, seeing his struggle, spoke up, saying, “You have been a gift and a blessing to all of us. I don’t know what we did to deserve a person like you in our family.” This didn’t help the situation.
If he keeps talking like that, I will never be able to ask the question, thought Clark. Because of the emotions filling his eyes with tears, choking them back, he pushed forward and just went for it. “Sir, I would like to ask your permission to marry your daughter.”
It seemed that Henry was quiet for too long. However, he soon turned and said, “I can’t imagine anyone else that I would want to wed Martha.” Clark felt that his heart was singing with the angels that day, and nothing could ever interfere with the happiness he felt pulsing throughout his being.
The date was set for August 4th, and the entire family found themselves caught up in the excitement; it was like the night before Christmas, with everyone waiting for their presents. That special day was full of activity; the entire town came to witness the two commit their love for each other.
August 4 came and went, and by late September, Martha was feeling the effects of the gift from Clark, planning for delivery the next April. When the date came four weeks early, concern was felt by all, including the doctor standing over her in their bedroom. The birth seemed to last for hours; however, to everyone’s relief, the happy moment was completed early in the month of that spring morning. She was small but had a strong heart and soon showed the world that she was determined