The changing of the seasons brought a surprise. Mr. Benton was being sent to South Carolina on a business trip. With Kara and Lisa finishing the school term, Jennie would be the one who could accompany her father. Her boss was lenient in giving her time off. That meant only one thing to Jennie—they would be able to visit Uncle Robert! She remembered the day, now so long ago, when she had commented to Uncle Robert, wondering if she would ever see his farm.
Her father wrote him, asking if they could come for a visit. He wrote back, pleading that they "stay as long as possible" and assuring them that his son Thomas and daughter-in-law Heather were happy to open their home to them. However, a short time before leaving they learned that Uncle Robert was in the hospital, seriously ill. The family suspected hepatitis and insisted they continue with their plans. "It will mean more to him now than ever," they reassured them.
The heat of summer was beating down in full strength when they arrived in South Carolina. The days were hot and muggy, the trees lush with green foilage, woodbine climbing around the trunks. Nights were an endless blanket of hot, sticky heat.
Uncle Robert was settled comfortably in a small-town hospital which lacked the busy, cold efficiency of many city hospitals. There was a homey atmosphere as they walked in. The nurses were friendly and kind. Jennie was delighted to find Uncle Robert sitting in a chair in the corner of his room, rising to greet them. He had lost weight and looked weary, but his happy smile soon erased that first impression. As they visited, he would alternate between sitting in the big red chair in the corner when he felt strong, and sitting up in bed in his weaker moments.
On that first visit, Uncle Robert asked Jennie to go into his bedroom on the farm and take out a picture she had long wanted from his dresser drawer. Then he wanted her to walk to the end of the room where his small collection of glassware and odds and ends of memories from the years was displayed on a shelf and take for herself a small blue jug. "It's been yours, Jennie, for a long time," he said kindly.
Leaving the hospital, they headed directly for the farm. Jennie was excited at the prospect of seeing Uncle Robert's place. He had described it so often on Lord's day afternoons when he had entertained them with his stories from the past. She only wished that he were in the car with them. It was hard to leave him behind, alone in the hospital, when he had so wanted to show them the farm himself.
As they climbed out of the car, the Carters were unaware that they had arrived. So they took a few moments to look around the farm.
In spite of the fact that the house was only about twenty years old, it fit naturally into the setting of the original homestead that had years before burned to the ground. The latticed porch remained as it was before the fire, now a useful part of the new house. The tall massive oaks which graced the farm rose toward the sky, having remained all these years.
To one side of the house stood a large mimosa tree with pink blossoms. Coming from the North, and before that, from the West, Jennie had never seen this kind of tree. Looking up at it, she felt awed over being on the farm, the thrill of being in the South, and a sense of the Lord's love for her in bringing her here at this specific time. It was like a miracle unfolding, as her father had never had business in this section of the country before. Reaching up to a branch of the tree, she picked a pink blossom and dropped it into her dress pocket. When she returned to the hospital, she would take it to Uncle Robert and ask him what it was. Maybe it would please him to see something from his farm.
Walking to the back of the house, the weathered barn caught her eye. She was intrigued with it. The surrounding fields of corn were over five feet tall. Green grapes ripened on vines, and would later turn to a deep purple. Following down the dirt road, they found Thomas mowing the back lawn. He looked so much like his father! When he smiled and spoke to them, Jennie was convinced she could now visualize what Uncle Robert had been like in his younger years.
Thomas' wife Heather came out with the children to welcome them. Already it was like coming home. It seemed like they had always known these kind people. Heather led her to Uncle Robert's bedroom. She smiled warmly at Jennie, "Papa wants you to have his room. You can sleep here while you're staying with us. "
Much later, she sat alone in Uncle Robert's large bedroom. It almost seemed like a small apartment. She knew this room meant a great deal to him. He had described it to her back in Jaffrey, telling her about all the memories he found in that room. She could see clearly how this was "home" to him.
Along one wall was his prized collection of books. She recognized some as being the same ones her father owned. Others he had picked up at library sales for a few coins, collecting them through the years until now he owned a small library himself. How she would love to have just one of the books!
Across from the bookcase stood his dresser. She smiled as she noticed the text to one side which she had painted for him two years before with the border of flowers. To the other side of the dresser hung the wedding picture taken fifty-one years before! That day at the inn he had told them about the wedding. Now his words came back to her and the picture seemed to come alive.
Over Uncle Robert's bed were more photos on a shelf. She was especially interested in the small pictures of him and his wife Molly, taken just before they were married. How young they were then, unaware of what the years would bring.
Passing a comfortable rocker, she walked to the end of the long room which held much of his present life, as well as many memories. He had requested that she see all of this and take his gift. Otherwise, she would have felt like an intruder. He would want her to come back to the hospital and tell him about each detail she had noticed.
He later explained that the drop-leaf table sitting beneath the built-in shelves holding the pitcher and creamer sets and other mementos from past years, was the one on which he and his wife had entertained so many guests. At one end of the shelf stood the lovely blue jug he wanted her to have. She reached for it carefully, taking it from its niche, knowing it would have a place of honor on her pine desk back home.
Beside these shelves was an open closet, not having a door. As she passed by, she couldn't help but observe the well-worn coveralls hanging on a peg. The knees were bent, as if Uncle Robert had just stepped out of them. They appeared to be awaiting his return. She wondered if he would ever be well enough to put them on again and walk out to his garden, bending over the soil, listening to the sound of the birds he so loved.
She felt herself choking up, so quickly moved to the other end of the room, stopping by his desk. It sat in front of a window which was framed with soft, yellow curtains, making the afternoon sunlight a mellow, golden color. It was here he often sat in the early-morning hours as dawn was breaking, writing letters to those he loved. She could so easily picture him with his white hair, bent over the desk, writing slowly as the first rays of sunlight began to fill the room. An assortment of pens and pencils was stacked neatly in a leather pencil box, other odds and ends were carefully in place just where he left them when he was rushed to the hospital.
Just beyond was his private side door, leading out through the latticed porch onto the dirt road. It was easy to picture him in the early-morning hours going out that door to greet the dawn. He often had said to her, "I never could see a person wasting their time sleeping!"
When Jennie returned later to the hospital, she pulled the mimosa bloom from her pocket. It was crushed and withered, but he readily identified it for her. She sat talking with him, when a nurse came in, placing a beautifully-sliced tomato on his dinner plate. As she left the room through the swinging door, he commented, "Jennie, she took that tomato from her own garden. She knows that fresh garden vegetables taste the best to me." He paused, "I knew her when she was just a little girl."
It was soon evident he was a favorite with the nurses. When he rested, one of them talked with Jennie. After that, she began to suspect he was a lot sicker than he was letting on.
"We all love him so," the nurse said plainly.
On Lord's day afternoon, Jennie and her father brought Catherine Williams, Uncle Robert's oldest daughter, in to the hospital. She sat by her father's bed in the warm sunshine, visiting with him as the Bentons joined in from the background. When Catherine rose to go, Jennie walked down the corridor with her. Reaching the front entrance, she stopped in the bright sunshine and looked Jennie in the eye. Tears were close.
"Papa has cancer. He has only a few weeks to live," she said simply, beginning to cry.
It was such a shock that Jennie, too, found unexpected tears streaming down her face. She could hardly speak. Once again her life was turned upside down.
"Cancer?" she managed to ask. He would face the same death as her dear Aunt Sarah? These two people, who had come to mean so much to her in life, would die the same death? This man who weeks before walked vigorously beside them that day at the inn, looking forward to spring and the summer months of hard work ahead—he was going to live only a few more weeks? She found it almost impossible to believe.
Catherine explained he had not felt well for many months, ever since his return to Jaffrey last September.
Then he had known all that time? Jennie's mind raced back to those hours. How like him to have kept it to himself. She recalled immediately that walk they had taken last fall in the damp autumn leaves. It was then she had told him how happy she was that he was returning well and strong—a whole man. He had known even then. She recalled now how silent he had become when she spoke those words, how he had walked on for some time without speaking.
"You must dry your tears and go back to him with a smile. Don't let on that I've told you," Catherine added.
But Jennie stood alone in the sunshine a long while, waiting, unable to regain the calmness she knew she needed while with Uncle Robert.
Mr. Benton was speaking at the gospel meeting that night and thoughtfully suggested that Jennie spend the time with. Uncle Robert. Thomas, wanting to see his father for a few moments also, offered to drive her to the hospital. As she climbed into the car beside him, she watched his wife Heather waving from the porch, the darling granddaughter Uncle Robert loved so much clinging to her skirts. The home disappeared through the long avenue of trees bordering the dirt road leading from the farm.
Soon they were on the open country road with cattle grazing under sheltering shade trees, twilight falling about them, lights appearing in the white farmhouses. Thomas spoke, "Papa has cancer, Jennie. He only has a short time to live."
How thankful she was Catherine had told her earlier. Only her knowing before made it possible to keep her composure now, as she rode along with Thomas. "Papa is ready to go," he said slowly. They both knew that he would want to be in the presence of his Lord and Savior. Thinking of the many dear ones already with the Lord, Thomas continued, "So many that he loves have gone on before him." Pausing for a moment, he added, "Your visit has meant so much to him, Jennie. We're so glad you could come now before he gets worse."
Once more, Jennie marveled at the Lord's perfect timing. A few more weeks and it would have been too late. Not only that, but the Lord was removing her terrible fear of sickness. She no longer dreaded seeing him there in the hospital. Rather than flee (as she would have done in the past), the only thing that filled her thoughts now was to in some way lessen his suffering.
They rode on in silence, both of them trying to absorb the realization that this one so dear to them would soon be taken from them. Jennie was grateful to the Lord that Uncle Robert had these loving children to care for him. Thomas told her how they wanted to carry out his wishes these last, hard days, to make things as easy for him as they possibly could. Thomas' deep love for his father did not have to be put into words; his devoted care in these hours was proof enough. Uncle Robert had written that there had not been many roses along his pathway. Jennie recalled the day she had read that letter in the woods behind the meeting room. She was sure Thomas' love for his father was one of the brightest roses across his pathway.
Dropping her off at the hospital, Thomas hurried in for a brief "hello", then left them to visit. Uncle Robert asked Jennie if she would read a few verses from Psa. 34. She gladly complied as she sat in the big chair by his bed.
She began reading: "I will bless the Lord at all times: His praise shall continually be in my mouth. My soul shall make her boast in the Lord: the humble shall hear thereof, and be glad. 0 magnify the Lord with me, and let us exalt His name together. I sought the Lord, and He heard me, and delivered me from all my fears. They looked unto Him, and were lightened: and their faces were not ashamed. This poor man cried, and the Lord heard him, and saved him out of all his troubles."
When she came to the next verse it was too hard to continue. Tears were welling up in her eyes. She thought she had shed them all that afternoon in the cornfield on his farm. Not wanting Thomas and Heather to see her cry, she had fled to those sheltering cornstalks as she absorbed the words Catherine had told her earlier. And now the tears were returning. It was impossible to go on reading and hold them back.
"Just close it," he soothed her in his kind way, understanding. "I'll read it later." They sat in silence for a long while, then he spoke up at last, "It was good of you and your father to come all this way." Again there was silence. "I'll never see you folks again."
She felt it was his way of bringing his death out in the open, perhaps wanting to find out if she knew yet. Almost without hesitation she answered brightly, aware that it was the Lord who gave her these words in reply. She told him of their farewell back in Jaffrey to Billy, the young boy whose parents so often left him alone. "When he told us good-bye," she said, "he told us, 'I may never see you again on earth... but guaranteed in heaven!"
Uncle Robert broke into a happy smile. Her answer had been enough.
It was evident that the Lord's perfect will was enough for Uncle Robert. As they sat together talking, the sound of cicadas chirping in the heavy foilage came through the open window. There was no struggle—peace filled the room. Uncle Robert knew he would have to suffer, that he had so little time left on this earth; yet he was able to smile and speak freely of the Lord's love for him.
Jennie thought of how many times she had wanted to submit to the Lord in her life. What had been wrong? The answer came to her in the silence of this hospital room. She had accepted the Lord's will with reluctance, not with joy. That must be the secret of victory. Always, underneath, she felt she deserved some credit for taking her disappointments. Now, in the face of this hour, she knew she deserved no credit at all. She was ashamed of herself.
The Lord was exchanging Jennie's fear for the peace so evident in Uncle Robert. It was the peace that passeth understanding. Uncle Robert was not thinking of dying; rather, he was anticipating with joy the knowledge that he would soon be in the presence of the Lord he had loved so many years, and his sufferings would be over. He knew that he would be satisfied in the Lord's presence. Even in his weakness, she sensed that he was, with expectation, awaiting that time.