Silent Star by Tracie Peterson Page B

rippling through the congregation. Finally someone from the back called out, “He’s not dead—he’s not even in the service.”
    “Well,” she began hesitantly, “that is where you’re wrong.” Her voice was soft and gentle, like a mother offering tender correction. She looked across the room, seeing each face—knowing they were all suffering, yet feeling confident that they needed to know what they’d done. “Andy serves, just asyour sons and husbands do. He bears the weight of a war-related job, and because of what that job represents, you have shunned him, pushed him away as if he had caused your misery. In the saddest way you’ve taken his life as surely as war has taken the lives of the boys represented here.”
    Silence filled the room. Estella met Mary Beth’s face and felt encouraged when the young woman nodded solemnly.
    “He’s just a boy . . . barely a man. Just like those we’ve sent across the seas. He needs love and companionship, but few of you have offered him much of anything but sorrow.” She stepped closer to the front row.
    “Is it his fault that his job should give him such a horrible task? Should he have suffered—been put to death in the spirit—all because your own pain is so great? Has any one of you stopped to realize that many of the boys who fought and died . . . were Andy’s friends?”
    She noticed Mr. McGovern. “Do you realize how Andy rejoiced when word came that your boy was found? Mr. and Mrs. Iseman, do you know how broken up Andy was when he had to bring that telegram about Sammy? It just devastated him.” She looked back across the room. “He’s just a nice boy doing his duty in the only way he can.” Estella could no longer keep the tears from streaming down her face.
    Mary Beth got up from her seat and came forward. Standing with Estella, she put her arm around the older woman in support.
    “She’s right, you know. Andy is one of the sweetest people I’ve ever known. He had to quit school when he was fifteen to go to work after his father died. I’m confident he never complained about it because that’s not the kind of person he is,” Mary Beth said softly. “But I do know he’s in pain all the time. I’ve seen him grimace when he walks. His own injury from the accident and then losing his folks have left him hurting.”
    For several moments no one said anything. Estella looked at the congregation, desperately hoping she had gotten throughin some small way. They stared at her in stoic silence. Even Pastor Bailey didn’t know what to say.
    “There’s a young man who is sitting alone tonight—on Christmas Eve,” Estella told them. “He has no one to comfort him, no one to share his fears. You’ll all go back to your homes and share your pain together. You’ll hope and pray and dream of better times while that boy is swallowed up in the sadness that has become his life. I don’t think it would be possible for me to stand before my Lord—to look Him in the eye—if I did less than extend the hand of friendship to one of His own.”
    Estella headed toward the door with Mary Beth on her arm. They paused momentarily at the pew where the girl’s folks sat.
    “Mama, Poppy, may I go with Mrs. Nelson?”
    Her mother sat with her head bowed, but her father looked up and nodded. “I think that would be fine.”
    Estella was proud of the girl. She had no idea what the future might hold in store for Mary Beth and Andy, but she thought they’d make a fine couple. Maybe the Lord thought so too. She smiled to herself and began to hum. It was a beginning.

SEVEN
    Andy opened the door to his mother and father’s bedroom. The cold air rushed out, leaving him chilled. He switched on the light and looked around for a moment. The linoleum floor bore several rag rugs and at the window hung curtains his mother had made only a few years before the accident. Across the room his parents’ bed stood. It seemed small—cold.
    His mother’s good friend Harriet