Emiline dreams of being a fair lady. She longs for drama, fashion, cities and fancy tea parties. But as a twelve-year-old, farm girl in the late 1800's, those things seem to be out of her reach. Meanwhile, a mystery begins to grow as she and her bes...
"Stole the teacher's lunch!" the lady explained frantically. Jane cocked her head to one side curiously.
"Who?" she asked. Mrs. Bufford pointed a meaningful finger toward the store, looking very suspicious.
"The stranger," she whispered. "He looks like a tramp to me. He probably rode the train into town and you know the station is only a few miles away from the schoolhouse! What do you think? It sounds probable doesn't it?" Jane took a deep breath.
"I don't know," she answered at last. "Now, excuse me, but I really do have to get home." Jane left her neighbor and forgot all about the strange young man she had seen that morning, but Rene kept stewing over the whole thing for days. Soon enough, she began whispering the rumor in other people's ears and suspicion filled all of the town's people's hearts. Wherever the stranger went, they eyed him cautiously, marking down every detail about him. He never spoke a word. Sometimes he nodded his head or tipped his hat. There was something strange about him; something that the people could only describe as mysterious. Mrs. Bufford kept a watchful eye on the man.
"He bought a shovel, a saw and a wheel barrow!" she gossiped one day. "What do you think of that, Jane?"
"It sounds like he's a hard worker," the lady replied calmly.
"But working hard at what? He doesn't live here. What does he mean to do with all of those tools?" Jane looked at her with a questioning frown. She couldn't have cared less what the man wanted to do, but she had to wonder what Mrs. Bufford was pondering in her mind.
"I don't know what you're getting at," she said at last. The old woman leaned a little closer.
"What if he's burying something or someone?" she whispered. Jane shook her head and laughed the woman's suspicious words away. She knew better than to believe Rene Bufford, but there were many other people who took her rumors for facts. Soon most of the town was scrutinizing the man. Any time something bad happened and every time something went missing, they all suspected the stranger.
One wet Sunday, the raindrops were tumbling down from the dark sky and the dry ground had turned into slippery mud. It was a cold sort of rain, but beneath their umbrellas none of the townsfolk minded it at all. Their heavy boots splashed through the puddles as they stepped down from their buggies and marched into the dry comfort of the church.
Dorothy was the only one who didn't have shoes to keep her feet clean and dry, but she didn't mind the feel of the mud. She smiled up at her father as she jumped out of the wagon.
Ed followed her with a stifled moan that made her heart fill with pity. Besides an occasional groan of pain, he never talked about the way he felt. Even though he had been injured and was almost crippled, he had the strength of love to support him.
Sunday was always a happy day for Dorothy. She and her father sat down on the last pew, and as Mr. Holland began reading the Bible, she closed her eyes and began to picture everything he was saying. He was reading the last words Jesus had spoken to his disciples before he had been led away to be crucified. One passage sank into her heart and rang like music in her ears.
John 13: 34 A new commandment I give unto you, That ye love one another; as I have loved you, that ye also love one another. By this shall all men know that ye are my disciples, if ye have love one to another.
It wasn't a moment later that the church door opened with a gust of wet air. The girl and everyone else looked over their shoulders to see who had arrived. By now, the young man who was quietly shutting the door behind him was well known in the town. Mrs. Bufford gave a frightened gasp.
"It's him!" she whispered to the lady beside her. Everyone looked around uneasily. So many stories had been circling around about this odd, young man. Now, as the stranger came near the last pew, the people began scooting to the far end to avoid him.
Dorothy and her father were the only ones who stayed where they were.
Dotty kept her eyes shyly on the floor as the man sat down a little ways away from her. She felt too timid to look up at him, but she couldn't help but notice that he was soaked through and through. A puddle of rain water was gathering beneath his wet shoes.
"Poor man," she thought caringly. She had heard enough rumors about him to know that he didn't have a home. "What will he do if it keeps on raining? Will he have to sleep in the rain?"
An awkward silence fell across the room, with an occasional whisper of suspicion echoing among the pews. Noticing the strange disturbance, the preacher broke the rude quiet of the church and greeted the newcomer.
"Hello there, Mister," he said kindly. "If you're wantin' to follow along, we're readin' the thirteenth chapter of St. John."
Gaining some courage, Dorothy glanced up at the stranger beside her. She was just in time to see a sparkling smile of gratitude cross his face. Then, he took something out of a pocket somewhere in his wet coat. It just looked like a lump of old cloth, but as he unwrapped it, the girl saw a small Bible.
Another moment of silence followed, but this time it was the preacher's fault. He wasn't searching through his Bible or planning what to say next, his eyes were still fixed on the stranger and a thoughtful frown had wrinkled his old brow. At last he shook his head, as if dismissing a senseless idea and began preaching once again.
Dorothy wasn't sure if she listened very well after the stranger came in. But, her mind was full of the good words that Jesus had spoken, and the Holy Spirit was alive in her heart, teaching her all things. She kept looking at the man seated beside her, wishing that somehow she could help him, and praying that Jesus would give him a safe place to stay.
Once the sermon was finished and the preacher's wife began playing a final hymn on the old organ, the stranger got up and walked out almost hastily. The rain was still pouring and the wind outside was howling.
Soon, all of the people had filed outside, said their goodbyes and were heading home. Dorothy huddled close to her Father and leaned her head on his broad shoulder as they drove down the road. She was still thinking about the poor man; still wondering what would happen to him that night. It would be miserable to sleep in the blustery wind and the drizzling rain. Her mind was still pondering those thoughts when she saw him walking down the road a few yards ahead of them. It only took a moment for their buggy to catch up to him. To Dorothy's surprise and joy, her father began slowing the horse's pace.
"It's a wet day to go on foot," Mr. Perkins said. The man looked up at him with a laugh and said something too quiet to be heard.
"Where are you headed?" Ed asked. The man gave an uncertain look. Even though he was quiet, the rumors Mr. Perkins had heard gave him a good idea of the man's dilemma. "You don't have a place to stay do you?" he asked.
"No," the man answered shaking his head. The wind was still screaming wildly, and it's loud voice made the man's word unable to be heard. Dorothy looked up at her father and smiled to see a look of pity in his eyes.
"Well, then, climb up here and I'll give you one. I can't see a man stayin' the night in a storm like this. We've got a fine chair and some good food to share." The young man's face brightened with a grateful smile. Then, he sat down, dripping wet beside Dotty, and they headed home.
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