William Krueger - Ordinary Grace

I heard the sound of the Indian Chief long before Gus pulled up beside me.

“Hop in,” he said above the rumble of the engine and nodded toward the sidecar. “I’ll take you home.”

I didn’t argue.

That night after Emil Brandt and my grandfather and Liz had all left and Jake was sleeping, I lay awake listening to the sound of the wind in the trees outside my window. It was a fierce wind and I heard anger in the way it shook the leaves and bent the branches. I thought that a storm might sweep in behind it but I heard no thunder and when I got up and went to the window and looked outside I found to my surprise that the sky was clear and full of stars and the moon was about to rise.

I couldn’t stop thinking about Warren Redstone. The weight of my guilt over letting him go was crushing me. I tried to pray but had no idea what to say except that I was sorrier than I’d been about anything ever. I kept seeing the sweep of Ariel’s hair in the river current and the flutter of her red dress and, on the trestle above, Redstone sneaking away. I balled my fists and pressed them into my eye sockets as if to push those images out of my head.

The light was on in the hallway and I heard the heavy restless tread of my father descending the stairs. I left my room and saw that although it was late my parents’ bed was empty. I went to the landing. I couldn’t see much of the living room below but I could tell that it was dimly lit with the glow of a single lamp. I heard my father speak.

“Would you like some company?”

He received no response.

“I should probably close the windows, Ruth. It feels like a storm.”

“I like them this way.”

“Would you mind if I sat here with you and read?”

“Do whatever you like.”

Things were quiet. Then my mother said, “The Bible?”

“I find comfort in it.”

“I don’t.”

“I won’t read aloud.”

“If you must read that book read it somewhere else.”

“Is it God you’re angry with, Ruth?”

“Don’t use that tone with me.”

“What tone?”

“Like I’m one of your flock. Lost. I don’t need your help, Nathan. Not the kind of help you’re going to offer from that book.”

“What kind of help would you like?”

“I don’t know, Nathan. But not that.”

“All right. I’ll just sit then.”

A few moments of tense silence followed, then my mother said, “I’m going to bed.” She said it in a way that made me think she was irritated with my father, with his presence, though what he’d done to make her angry I didn’t know. I heard the floorboards yield under her weight and I went quickly to my bedroom and lay down with the door open. She came up the stairs and went into the bathroom and I heard water run in the sink and heard her brush her teeth and gargle briefly. She crossed the hallway and entered her bedroom and closed the door. My father didn’t follow her upstairs.

I lay for a long time listening to the wind grab the trees and shake them. I was still wide awake when I heard the front door open and close. I swung my feet off the bed and hurried to the window and saw my father cross the street to the church. He went into the sanctuary and was lost to me in the darkness there.

In my pajamas and barefoot I went downstairs and out the front door and followed where my father had gone. The night was warm and the wind against my face felt fevered. I climbed the steps to the church and saw that the door had not shut completely and the wind had pried it open just enough for me to slip inside without a sound. My eyes had already adjusted to the night and in the dark of the sanctuary which was far from total I saw the black shape of my father at the altar. His back was to me. He struck a match and put the flame to the wicks of the candles that flanked the altar cross on either side. He blew out the match and knelt before the altar and bent himself so low that his forehead touched the floor. He stayed that way a long time and was so silent I thought maybe he’d fainted.

“Captain?”

Gus stepped in from the doorway that led to the basement stairs. My father rocked back and came upright. “What is it, Gus?”

“Nothing. Heard someone up here, thought it might be you. Thought maybe you’d like some company. Was I wrong?”

“No, Gus. Come in.”

I sank quickly to the floor and made myself small in the shadows near the front door. My father put his back against the altar and Gus joined him and leaned back too in a way that seemed familiar and relaxed.

My father said, “I did come looking for company, Gus. I hoped God might have something to say to me.”

“Like what, Captain?”

My father was quiet and because the candles were on the altar behind him his face was in shadow and lost to me. Finally he said, “I’ve been asking the same questions of him over and over. Why Ariel? Why not me? The sins are mine. Why punish her? Or Ruth? This is killing her, Gus. And the boys, they don’t understand, they just hurt. And it’s my fault. All my fault.”

Gus said, “You think God operates that way, Captain? Hell, that sure ain’t what you’ve been telling me all these years. And as for those sins of yours, I’m guessing you mean the war, and haven’t you always told me that you and me and the others we could be forgiven? You told me you believed it as surely as you believed the sun would rise every morning. And I’ve got to tell you, Captain, you seemed so certain that you got me believing it too.” Gus sat forward and looked at his hands which were wax-pale in the candlelight. “I can’t see any way that the God you’ve talked yourself blue to me and everyone else about would be responsible for what happened to Ariel. I can’t believe God would hurt that beautiful child in order to call you to account. No, sir, I don’t believe that for one moment.”

This seemed odd to me coming from Gus because mostly what I’d always heard from him was a questioning of everything my father spoke for.

“Seems to me you’re just kind of reeling here, Captain. Like from a punch in the face. When you come around you’ll see that you’ve been right all along. I know I give you a hard time about your religion but damned if I’m not grateful at heart that you believe it. Somebody’s got to. For all the rest of us, Captain, somebody’s got to.”

Gus stopped talking and I became aware of an odd and disconcerting sound that was growing louder in the sanctuary. I didn’t understand at first what it was or its source, and then I realized that it was my father crying. Huge sobs erupted from him and boomed off the walls. He bent and wept into his hands and Gus leaned to him and held my father dearly.

And as quietly as I could I crept outside into the night and the wind.

In light of Ariel’s death, the district superintendent had offered to see to the services in all the churches under my father’s charge that Sunday. My father agreed to this for the early service in Cadbury and the late service in Fosburg, but he insisted on leading the worship at Third Avenue Methodist in New Bremen himself.

The wind that had raged the night before had blown away the humidity and cleaned the sky and the day was sunny and beautiful. I’m sure services at Cadbury and Fosburg were poorly attended because I saw so many members of those congregations filling the pews of Third Avenue to hear my father preach. Mrs. Klement was there with Peter and I was surprised to see her husband Travis dressed in a rumpled suit and looking ill at ease beside her. Like the others they were curious, I’m sure, what this suffering man could possibly say that was good about God. My mother and Jake had both refused to come and my father would never have forced them. But my grandfather and Liz, who were Lutheran, came with me, and Gus was there and we all sat together in the first pew up front. After forty years I still remember that service well. The processional hymn was A Mighty Fortress which was one of my favorites and although my mother wasn’t present to lead or to lend her clear soprano, the choir sounded lovely. Lorraine Griswold on the organ didn’t miss a note. The scripture lessons were taken from Ecclesiastes and Luke. Bud Sorenson, who was the lay reader and who often stumbled over the text, on that morning read perfectly. And I imagined that they were all so flawless because they wanted to do their best for my mother and my father and in memory of Ariel.