Chapter Six

October came with wonderful color: bright yellow poplars, dark red maples, and the nearly fluorescent orange of the pumpkins when the sun shone directly on them from its lower position on the horizon.  The early pumpkin harvest came just in time for Frank to make a final trip to the market that year. It was closing day for the open air produce fair and a glorious day it was: seventy-five degrees, full sun, with happy tones everywhere.  And to his customers’ joy, Emma had found a pasteboard box and filled it with twenty ½ pint size jars of homemade strawberry jam – great for a breakfast topping on pancakes or French toast, better on buttered homemade bread that is still warm right out of the oven, and best on vanilla bean ice cream.  It was a confectionery delight that never went out of season, full of sugar.

Another peddler swooped in as soon as she saw Frank place the box on his truck’s tailgate. She purchased the first jar of jam and then flaunted her prize by carrying it throughout the square. A line quickly formed at the rear of the flatbed from Sweetened Vales, and Frank was quickly busy, although the pumpkins, as pretty as they were, garnered much less attention.

A large calloused hand extended toward him. A welcoming gesture, it was a greeting, a friendly handshake from an old friend.

“John!” Frank exclaimed with great enthusiasm, “John Johnson, well it sure is good to see you!”

“Good to be here, old buddy,” he replied with a broad smile while pumping his arm to emphasize the greeting.

“I saw your wife in June,” Frank remembered. “She said you had it bad then.”

“Much better now,” John answered. “Thanks for asking. The cough still comes during the night sometimes, but most of the time I get a good, uninterrupted sleep,” he informed. “Need the rest.”

“Great news!” Frank exclaimed. “Em will be so happy to hear it.”

“Not just me,” John informed. “Seems the folks around here are all gettin’ better, almost like there’s a miraculous healing, or something.”

“Well thank Goodness for that!” Frank cheered.

“It must be all those delicious strawberry desserts we’re eating,” he said jokingly as he patted his stomach. “Gained a few pounds too.”

“I always say,” Frank responded with a smile, “love is the main ingredient in Em’s cakes and jams,” he paused and scratched at his forehead. “She says it is His mercy.”

#

The blue planet tilts on its axis during its orbit around the fiery star. Seasons change and winter claims its place with a cold chill. 

It seems that time has slowed despite earth’s wild race, moving 67,000 miles per hour to complete its annual orbital path, a loop consisting of 584 million miles.

 Another year concludes with 31 million moments of mankind’s striving, and they are gone forever, relegated to their memory banks.

#

Next spring in early April, there was a celebration held in the fellowship hall, a covered dish dinner. The crowd of elderly folks was much larger than usual or expected. Many in attendance had not been there during the previous year’s event.

After they sang several old hymns accompanied by the piano, Jerry Kravitz broke out his fiddle and played Morrison’s Jig.  There was a stunned pause and then feet began stomping as everyone clapped, but the high stepping of this song was much too vigorous for this crowd. Jerry was clearly showing off.

The last note of the violin’s melody faded as the pianist began to play a traditional waltz, “Moon River,” a song that speaks of a couple’s commitment, “chasing after our rainbow’s end.”

 Jerry carefully placed his instrument on the top of the piano and offered his hand to Betty who without hesitation stood and accepted his invitation. It was a public display of the deep affection they each felt for the other. They embraced and gracefully glided across the open floor as they slowly shifted and slid their feet in unison to the music, a display of the harmony they shared as each humbly granted to the other, his and her life’s mate, unfaltering devotion.  They felt the years, nearly forty if counted, layered upon them with kindness as they travelled through time together. Tears glistened in the corner of Betty’s eyes.  She was grateful and invigorated, feeling life at its very best.

And just then there was a whispered notion, much like the sharing of a rumor, and it floated on the lips of others in the room as it spread throughout. “Isn’t it true that the doctor gave Betty only three months to live? And that was nine months ago? Well, it’s a miracle!”

As the proclamation was spread from person to person the revelation of its meaning became known and the words reverberated louder and louder each time they were repeated. Old Bertha nodded as Linda enunciated the message close to her hearing aid. “It’s a miracle that Betty is still alive.”

And just then Bertha shouted at the top of her lungs. “We are being healed… and it’s a miracle!”

Emma slowly stood and a hush fell across the room. Without words she demanded and immediately received the respect as given to a king’s herald. “I have a thought,” she offered and reached into her dress pocket to retrieve a small piece of paper.

“Do not judge a song by its duration nor by the number of its notes.  Judge it by the way it touches and lifts the soul.” She paused and looked at the faces around the room. Her dear friend, Ethel, was nodding in agreement. 

“When something has enriched your life,” she continued and returned a quick glance, “And when its melody lingers in your heart, it remains unfinished, because it is endless.  Such joy endures for all eternity.”

Emma bowed her head as if praying and everyone waited with baited breath in silence as she still stood in their midst. “We must give thanks to God for the mercies He hath bestowed upon us. I love this verse of prose,” she stiffened and cleared her throat before reciting from memory, “As the dawn mists over the horizon and the sun closes its evening shade, He is always near.”

Emma smiled broadly while saying, “Thank you,” and reached for her seat before carefully lowering herself. As she fell softly onto the pad of the folding chair silence endured until Jerry picked up his violin and began playing a few measures of a familiar refrain. After a short introduction, he sang loudly in invitation for the others to join in the song.

“Summer and winter, and springtime and harvest, sun, moon and stars in their courses above, join with all nature in manifold witness, to Thy great faithfulness, mercy and love.”

“Great is Thy faithfulness! Great is Thy faithfulness! Morning by morning new mercies I see.  All I have needed Thy hand hath provided – great is Thy faithfulness, Lord unto me!”

 “Please join me in the last verse,” Jerry interrupted the song briefly.

“Pardon for sin and a peace that endureth, Thine own dear presence to cheer and to guide; strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow, blessings all mine, with ten thousand beside!”

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