Christmas brought about illness in the Big House. Uncle Jay, Sam and Tom came down with some sort of flu. Christine and Marcus were busy playing nurses for those three. Fr. James had received a letter from the Bishop of Kansas City-St. Joseph via a person who hand delivered it at the door of the Big House right after Thanksgiving, calling the new priest to work in a parish of 300 people in southern Missouri.
Fr. James had consecrated Hosts for the family, blessed holy water and other sacramentals and promised a visit after Christmas. But, the denial of Mass and confession wore on the small band of Catholics. They prayed the rosary together daily. Fr. James was also missed in the fields and in the farm buildings. His strong hands made up for the aging ones of the old helpers. Tom's birthday on December 10th introduced him to his seventieth year. And Sam, who turned seventy-two on November 29th, seemed years younger than Tom.
Marcus was the "young' un" at a cool sixty-five, while the patriarch, Uncle Jay, cleared eighty the April before. Marcus and Christine had decorated a tree while the others were down sick. They had gathered small gifts for each man, like a new Nebraska hat for Jay, and a new shirt for Tom. Sam's present, pipe tobacco, lay unopened, as he was too ill to pay attention to it.
Christine marveled at the strength of body, mind and character of these four men. She knew that she would never see their likes again when they moved on to God's place for them. "Her" Michael had been cut from another die. His world consisted of business and urbanity. Maybe that is why she had been attracted to him in the first place, as he was so different from the rest of her family. But, now her world became the farm again, with Christine finding new skills for helping around the Big House. She knew how to sew and to cook, which helped Uncle Jay make time for the farm work now that Fr. James had left.
Christine felt the lack of Fr. James keenly, not only because he was her brother, but because he was of her generation. They shared many unspoken experiences and customs not shared with the older ones, four of whom would be Christine's parents' ages, if they had still been alive.
The day after Christmas came and then the next, followed by heavy snow for a week, and finally the beginning of the new year. No word came from the south of the state where Fr. James worked. Christine would slip out of the house and go to the cavern chapel to pray for him. She said over and over to God, "Thy will be done."
On January 4th, Sam died of pneumonia from complications of the flu. The doctor had come in through the snow and ice merely to declare him to far advanced to move or to live. Sam had been on the farm for over fifty years, and all felt his loss like that of a blood brother. Sam, Tom and Marcus were cousins, the only Brunderbergs left besides Uncle Jay, Fr James and Christine. The young woman watched the dying out of her family with a strange interest. She had never thought of families just ending, but here was proof that the Brunderberg line from Adam was disappearing into history. Objectively, Christine could see how the unmarried men led to this silent passing of a name. Subjectively, she felt a bit guilty that she had no children of her own to carry on at least some of the genes and blood.
This afternoon, the day after Sam's funeral in ______City, Christine tromped through the snow to the small stable to feed and water Scullery Maid. This had been Sam's job, as he had raised the horse from a colt. The mare seemed mopey, so Christine spoke gently to her and combed her long hair. While in the stable, Christine thought she heard a voice call her name softly. She looked up and saw no one. Then, she saw a strange scene, like a movie in front of her, superimposed on the wall. Someone was walking on a cliff by the sea and someone was calling her name.
Christine had seen this "vision" before, but could not make out who was calling her. Someone needed her, but she could not see a face. In fact, she only saw the shoes of someone on the cliff, as if she was in the place of the caller.
Christine stopped combing Scullery Maid and said a short prayer. "God, whoever this is who is calling my name, bless them. I do not know what to do but pray."
Then, she picked up the two empty pails and trudged through the snow back to the Big House. At four in the afternoon, darkness had swallowed up the farm, but the yellow lights of the kitchen beckoned like a beacon over a cold, white sea.
Christine then heard a voice she knew and loved. Fr. James had come home. Maybe he could explain her strange vision of the unknown person asking her for help. But, she wondered, why was he back so soon, less than a month after being assigned to that parish several hours south of the farm? Christine could hardly wait to see him, and she practically ran into the mud-room, tripping over Addie, who slept on the ledge between the door and the porch.
to be continued....
