Love Spilled Out

How many children do you have?” Mrs. Mabrie wrung out the towel after its thorough rinsing, and placed in a basket.

“Two,” said Ada, rubbing the fabric of the shirt against itself. Suddenly she stopped, looked out across the waters of the Platte before returning her attention to the shirt. “No. One.”

She didn’t notice, but Mrs. Mabrie stopped what she was doing and looked at her companion. Ada took her washboard and thrust it into the water, with her lips pursed and her jaw clenched. She grabbed her soap from beside her, vigorously rubbed a stain with it and threw the soap back into its place. She felt her eyes burning and the inside of her nose tingling with moisture, but set her jaw to prevent more useless tears, tears that only made her feel worse and had no power to bring Johnny back. Ada took the shirt, smacked it hard against the washboard and rubbed the fabric back and forth against the slats as hard as she could.

It was the first time she had been asked that question. ‘How many children do you have?’ seemed casual enough, one she had always answered so effortlessly, without giving it any thought. ‘Two’ had always been the answer, the correct answer—the only answer possible. But now, on the banks of the Platte River, so far from home—so far from anything comfortable and familiar—‘two’ was as far from the correct response as Missouri was from the Oregon Territory. Ada continued to scour the shirt, so deep in thought that she didn’t realize the shirt was already more than clean, or that Mrs. Mabrie had been watching her every move.

“Ada?”

Mrs. Mabrie watched Ada scrubbing the shirt over and over, far more than what was necessary, wearing out both the shirt fabric and her fingers at the same time.

“I think it’s clean enough, Ada. You don’t want to wear a hole in it.”

Ada continued her frantic scrubbing, ignoring Mrs. Mabrie’s concern. Without a word, Mrs. Mabrie placed her hand over Ada’s to prevent her from any more washing. Ada sat motionless, knowing it would be futile to keep her closely-held feelings from someone like Mrs. Mabrie. She dreaded it, fearing the sadness it would dredge up, but she sensed that Mrs. Mabrie would be a compassionate and trustworthy confidant.

“You have lost a child, haven’t you?” Mrs. Mabrie’s voice was as gentle as her hand that still rested on Ada’s.

Ada remained silent and motionless, fearing the dark, hideous emotions now raging within her, and dreading the thought of facing the horror of it. She knew that talking about Johnny’s death could unleash a landslide of ugly thoughts and feelings that should be left buried, never to be examined or explored. A Christian woman—a dignified Christian woman—must do all she can to keep these kinds of feelings firmly in control, otherwise she might risk shocking or offending a devout believer like Mrs. Mabrie.

I don’t want to talk about it now, thought Ada. I just can’t. Not here. Not ever.

Mrs. Mabrie moved close to Ada and put one arm around her waist and the other on Ada’s arm. Something about Mrs. Mabrie’s gentle touch and quiet manner calmed Ada’s spirit, and she couldn’t help but be reminded of her own mother, a woman so full of tenderness and compassion, who would have comforted Ada in her sorrow, if she were still alive. Now Ada melted into Mrs. Mabrie’s embrace and felt her weary heart begin to surrender. She drew in a deep breath and hung her head in defeat.

“Dear child,” said Mrs. Mabrie, stroking her tenderly. “I’m so sorry.”

Suddenly Ada felt waves of grief rushing in, like a river overflowing its banks, overtaking every part of her being, and her body began to convulse with each choking sob. For the first time in many years, Ada felt like a child again, helpless and hurting, safe in the arms of someone maternal, kind and nurturing. It felt odd, this reversal of roles—Ada, for so many years the mother, now becoming the little child.

“How long ago?”

Ada felt weak and leaned on Mrs. Mabrie for support. “He ... died last fall.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. How old was he?”

“He was only fourteen—my firstborn.”

“Oh, what a pity. What was his name?”

“Johnny. John. After my husband. He got the fever and the ague and there just wasn’t anything to be done.” Ada sat up slowly and brushed tears from her face.

“If it helps, dear, you can talk about him any time you want to,” said Mrs. Mabrie.

“I don’t know why the Lord would take him from me,” said Ada. “Sometimes I just can’t bear it.”

“We live in a fallen world, Ada, which means we will all see hardship, sorrow and grief. Our Lord even promised it when He said, ‘In this world you shall have tribulation.’ But He also said, ‘I have overcome the world.’”

“But He has also promised to bless us. Give us good things.”

“So, you have placed your trust in Him, Ada?”

“Yes,” said Ada. “Ever since I was a young girl. I have prayed. Many times. I just don’t feel any better.”

“Allow yourself as much time as you need to grieve,” said the older woman. “If this happened only a few months ago, you will be sorrowful for a long time. It’s natural. He has promised to be very near to the brokenhearted, like you.”

“But I just have to know why. Why him? Why so young? Why that dreadful way?”

“You will never know that, Ada. What we need to do is live by faith, placing our hand into the hand of our Lord and trust that He will guide us. If we insist on answers to everything we ask Him, then we are living by sight. He wants us to live by faith.”

Ada looked out over the rippling waters of the Platte, knowing everything Mrs. Mabrie said was true, but it didn’t satisfy her longing to comprehend God’s reasons for this tragedy. If only He would explain His purpose in all this, I would be satisfied, thought Ada. All He has to do is tell me why. I would still have faith in Him—maybe even more.

“He loves you so much, Ada. He knows what you are going through.”

The older woman’s words burned inside Ada, like alcohol on an open wound, and she braced herself against its sting. If God truly loved her, why would He make her endure such a terrible tragedy? Would a God who is loving and kind allow her to suffer this much heartache and just expect her to blindly trust His wisdom?

Ada felt it was no use to continue talking with Mrs. Mabrie, if all she was going to do was tell her to pray and trust. She had prayed. And trusted. Perhaps she never would feel better, never feel anything but confusion and betrayal over Johnny’s sudden death.

“I think I should probably get back to my washing,” Ada said, standing up suddenly and turning away from Mrs. Mabrie. She grabbed the shirt she had been washing and dropped it back into the basket. “The day is getting away from me.”

“Would you allow me to finish your laundry, Ada? Please.” Mrs. Mabrie stood up and looked at Ada. “Grieving for your boy is much harder work than washing.”

Ada glanced back at Mrs. Mabrie and felt the muscles of her face tighten with anger, and all her feelings of grief and betrayal came pouring out of the depths of her being. “Why can’t anyone tell me why he died? All I want to know is why.” Ada made tight fists with both her hands, gritted her teeth and began to shout. “I don’t know why God would put me through this.” She glared at Mrs. Mabrie as if the older woman was partly to blame. “I have lived a life of faith and obedience and He does this to me! I just want to know why!”