It was Mr. Carter's first Lord's day with the Benton. They knew he would enjoy seeing the back gardens, even in the dead of winter. So before their meal, the family showed him the backyard. He carefully observed each small detail from the brick path of Jennie's garden to the carefully trimmed hedges. It was not hard for him to picture how it would all look in springtime when the tulips began poking their heads through the soil once more. Jennie explained where she had planted everything, describing the bright colors soon to appear when the long winter ended.
They lingered in the garden as he spoke of the farm that would always be home to him. He told them of the blue morning glories that climbed the lamp post each summer and the bright patch of zinnias his daughter-in-law planted near the kitchen window.
The family noted that he was still a handsome man, with his head of snowy-white hair and his expressive brown eyes. Having been a farmer all his life, he was still rugged and strong, with capable big hands and wide shoulders.
Soon they were all sitting at the round table in the dining room.
After dinner they sat in front of the fire and Mr. Carter spoke, "Peter, whenever there was a spare moment in the summer time, and all winter long besides, I was out chopping wood for our many fireplaces." They were remembering the old days on the farm, and Peter's visit there as a young boy.
"What I remember best," Peter Benton recalled, "was that strange bathroom you had upstairs with all the doors in it. Four doors, wasn't it?"
Robert Carter laughed heartily, "Yes, that was some bathroom. And you know, now and then my sister-in-law, who was a bookworm, would take it upon herself to try to store her books in that tub! Of course, we'd have to get them out quickly! She had so many books that when all available space in her bedroom was filled up, she'd try to put a few in the tub—no doubt thinking to make space for them before the day was done. But how many times we'd find them stacked there!"
He sat back in his chair, remembering all those years and recalling how that same sister-in-law had such a love for little children. "She would take them out at night on the lawn and they'd all sit there, looking up at the stars," he explained. "She knew the name of nearly every star that was ever given a name. The children just loved her!"
Someone once told the Benton of their own experience at the Carter farm, commenting, "They just couldn't do enough for us! They were so hospitable and kind." People often came and stayed, sometimes for weeks at a time. Even during the hard depression, their home was a haven to many and a place of blessing through the passing years.
"Your dear parents, Peter," he continued in his southern way, "were so good to me over the years." There was evidence of his great affection for them. "They took me in when I was a young man and gave me a home away from home. And, of course, you know that eventually your mother and my wife became the very best of friends."
"Mr. Carter," Jennie interrupted, "would you mind telling us about the fire?"
He looked at her a long moment, his eyes that had sparkled with happiness the moment before now filled with an overwhelming sorrow. The hurt expressed could almost pierce into a person's heart.
"How long did it take you to get over the fire, Mr. Carter?" queried Jennie.
He looked at her again, unable to comprehend her question. At last he spoke, slowly, as if it had all just happened yesterday. "One never gets over a thing like that, Jennie." He spoke gently, but his voice was firm.
Jennie wondered if she should have asked. She felt a great admiration for this man, but mingled with it was a bit of fear. There was a dignity and reserve about him that made her a bit reluctant to draw closer.
He was thoughtful a moment before he started speaking about the fire. "It was a meeting night," he said quietly. "We had all gone to the reading meeting. As we came home, we saw the flames from up the road. I just knew it was our house on fire." He looked at them again as he remembered. "You can't imagine a moment like that, to come home from the reading meeting and see your house in flames."
"What did you do, Mr. Carter?" Jennie asked with awe.
He smiled gently at her. "What could I do?" he asked seriously. "I ran toward the house, hoping to rescue something from the flames, but it was too late. I got into one room, grabbed a photograph album and some silverware and just as I ran out, the walls collapsed where I had been standing the moment before." He felt deeply thankful simply to have had his life preserved.
Shifting his position by the fire, he began to describe the lovely old home. "The house was constructed entirely of wood," he began. "It was a big, rambling, two-story house. The inside walls were all groove and tongue, and there was no insulation. Being decades old, it burned like kindling."
He paused, "There were some priceless antiques in there, pieces that had been handed down from generation to generation. They were things with many memories attached to them. A lot of people who visited us were fascinated with the age and uniqueness of furnishings from so long ago.
"It was a mercy," he went on, "that no one was in the house that night. No one was harmed or burned. No lives lost." The family was listening, engrossed in the story.
"You see, the old homestead," he explained, "was in the family a long time. The property came into the family just after the Civil War. My father-in-law farmed there many years, then turned the farm over to me.
"The Lord's people were so good to us. There was no insurance to cover the loss. One by one, letters came with checks enclosed, until we received $12,000, which was enough in those days to build a nice little ranch house. My wife was getting older and it was difficult for her to care for the big two-story house. It was hard for her to climb the steps. So in this way the fire may have been a blessing. We built the new, smaller house with all the windows facing in the same direction as before. All that remained of the old house was the foundation and we built on that."
Peter Benton asked, "Did you ever find the cause of the fire?"
Mr. Carter gazed at him for a moment, his eyes troubled. "Yes," he answered, "that was the hard thing about it all. The electric company wired our electricity in a faulty way. It was this that started the fire. Although proven beyond a doubt, they never gave us a penny—not one penny." He was quiet a moment; then remembering, he said with intense feeling, "I don't know what we would have done without the love and care of the Lord's people to us. It was amazing."
Something was added to the two week-night meetings in Jaffrey. Mr. Carter never missed a meeting. As they drove up to the meeting room one evening for prayer meeting, Peter Benton commented, "He's such a bright spot!"
They watched him walk slowly across the snow-covered lawn to the meeting room, his white head bent a little, his Bible carefully tucked under the sleeve of his coat. He waited in the entry hall for them, greeting them warmly. "Why don't you people just call me Uncle Robert," he suggested with a smile. "I'd like it that way."