With relief Jennie learned that some time ago the Lord had evidently directed her father to make reservations at a small cottage near the ocean for these very days, never dreaming that Aunt Sarah would be so sick. Now, in view of Jennie's exhaustion and the strain she was going through, he insisted they go ahead with their plans for the short family vacation. He felt there would be plenty of time to visit with Aunt Sarah when they returned. In addition, the Adams' own daughter was arriving for a two-week stay. So Jennie really wouldn't be needed.
As they drove over the familiar highway to the cottage, much of the weight of the last days dropped away. Even though Jennie continued in prayer, she found the complete change of scenery was a remedy.
They settled into a simple cottage that night, the owner having left a silver pitcher filled with a large bouquet of the wild roses that grew in profusion through the area. Later they came across the roses everywhere—sometimes banks of them growing midst the yellow summer grass that covered the acres of beach. They would look up from the beautiful flowers that surrounded them to see white seagulls soaring, swooping, bending against the blue sky above. It was refreshing, revitalizing. The salt air was a tonic for them all.
Two days later, an early summer storm came through. Jennie, Kara and Mr. Benton were exploring the area when the sunny sky turned to gray—then to an angry turquoise—and waves began crashing in to shore. With very little warning, the storm hit.
It began by whipping everything in sight out of place: little scraps of paper swirling in the air, a garbage can lid rolling along the sidewalk above the beach, someone's hat racing down the sandy stretch. Along the path leading toward the ocean, tall hedges of honeysuckle vines were thrashing in the wind. Struggling, those on the beach found it difficult to walk against the force of the gale. Car doors quickly slammed shut as relieved occupants hurried into shelter.
Mr. Benton, however, was not about to seek shelter. He filled the air with laughter as the wind tossed his hair. The three Bentons inched their way against the violent gusts, barely able to stand against them.
They might have withstood the gale, except for the sand being whipped up into their eyes. Mr. Benton spotted a snow fence and suggested they retreat there. Such a fragile-looking snow fence with little strength in its slender slats, yet behind it they found complete calm—a haven from the blast of the storm. They huddled there together, amazed that by stepping just a few inches beyond, they would once again be at the mercy of the winds and blowing sand. Kara tried it once, but quickly returned to their refuge.
Jennie thought how she, too, was in the midst of a storm. She now saw how she needed just such a refuge as the Lord, in His love, could provide in the face of Aunt Sarah's death. A verse came to her mind which she found later in the Old Testament. "And a man shall be as a hiding place from the wind, and a covert from the tempest; as rivers of water in a dry place, as the shadow of a great rock in a weary land." (Isa. 32:22And a man shall be as an hiding place from the wind, and a covert from the tempest; as rivers of water in a dry place, as the shadow of a great rock in a weary land. (Isaiah 32:2)) It described the afternoon experience perfectly, a lesson she would not soon forget.
When the storm abated, they drove into the small town to pick up some freshly baked bread to add to the supper Mrs. Benton was preparing back at the cottage. They found everyone excited. The shop owners were about the only ones left, most people having taken shelter in their homes or rented cottages.
When they returned, sunshine was streaming into the room through the frilly white curtains. There was a chicken baking in the oven and Lisa was curled up on the floor playing with Muffin. It felt good to be back at last.
The closest gathering was in a large city some distance away. The next night they drove in for the reading meeting. Mr. Benton felt this was the most important part of the trip, knowing how much of an encouragement their visit would be to his friend, John Mackey, one of only two brothers in the gathering there, the second a kindly older gentleman. An older lady who came faithfully all through the years completed their small group of three.
The meeting room was in a rather poor section of the large city. As they drove through the streets, they locked their car doors. It was a neighborhood where a lot of mischief could take place. This was further borne out by the heavy iron gratings on shop windows.
At last they came to the old brown building where John Mackey sat alone, waiting for the meeting to begin. His face broke into a radiant smile as the five of them entered the room. Their efforts to come were already rewarded.
The evening being warm, the door was left open with a fan going. Outside, the katydids beckoned with their constant chirp, chirp, chirp. In the distance, the voices of children could be heard. They sounded happy, in spite of their poverty. Perhaps they did not know how little they had in life.
Jennie felt a closeness in this small group. In the midst of the heat, the hum of the katydids and the laughter of the children, John Mackey's happy voice rang out as he spoke of his joy in having the privilege of being part of this small testimony for the Lord. The gathering in Jaffrey had seemed so small, but now she acknowledged in her heart, with thankfulness, how much fellowship they did have to enjoy there.
John Mackey was speaking: "Even two or three people can give expression to the truth, going back to that which never changes. Two or three can enjoy what was enjoyed at the time of Pentecost when there were some 3,000 added. In Acts 2:41, 4241Then they that gladly received his word were baptized: and the same day there were added unto them about three thousand souls. 42And they continued stedfastly in the apostles' doctrine and fellowship, and in breaking of bread, and in prayers. (Acts 2:41‑42) we read, 'they that gladly received his word were baptized: and the same day there were added unto them about three thousand souls. And they continued steadfastly in the apostles' doctrine and fellowship, and in breaking of bread, and in prayers."'
His faith seemed so bright that the girls found themselves listening with eagerness. Abruptly he stopped in the middle of a sentence when he noticed a small child standing in the doorway. His face broke into a tender smile as he called out to him, "Not tonight, dear; come another time." The little boy hurried away into the darkness, apparently having wanted one of the candy bars that Mr. Mackey often kept on hand for the Sunday school children. Children were one of his delights and his large, happy Sunday school attested to how much they loved him in return.
John Mackey had never married, but chose instead to care for his widowed mother whom he dearly loved. He found his contentment in nephews and nieces, in being part of the testimony, and in his love for the many children who, through his efforts, came faithfully week after week to hear the way of salvation.
Mr. Benton and Mr. Mackey enjoyed discussing the portion of scripture for the evening. After the meeting John Mackey came over to them, his face aglow. "Thank you so much for coming," he said over and over again. "We're so few here, it means more than I can express."
Jennie recalled their trip to New York, seemingly so long ago now, and the resentment she had felt at having to go to that little gathering on the way.
Now there was a change within her, for her heart was filled with joy at the thought that their coming brought a measure of happiness to Mr. Mackey.
Mr. Mackey interrupted Jennie's thoughts as he spoke. "I want to tell you girls a story about your grandfather," he said with a bright smile. "Many years ago when your grandfather still lived in Oregon, I made a visit there and spent time in several gatherings. All the people and the fellowship seemed so wonderful to me, in contrast to the loneliness here." The girls could readily understand how he felt.
"A good many encouraged me to move there and make a new home for myself. I was quite excited over it. When I. returned home, I wrote a letter to your grandfather and told him my exercises."
The girls were surprised to hear that he knew their grandfather. Memories of their trip to New York filled their minds immediately.
"He wrote back to me," John Mackey continued, "and counseled, 'John, I cannot tell you what course to take. Only the Lord can do that. But if He has given you some sense of a work to do for Him where you are now, do not leave until He makes it clear that you should do so."' He smiled. All these years he had stayed. "I remain here!" he finished simply, with a joy that far overcame his lonely circumstances.