Miracle at Coffeeville - D A Case

 

 Miracle at Coffeeville

Rainey Stuart turned from the cook stove as her husband came through the kitchen door.

"The hens have quit layin'," she said, her face revealing the tragedy she felt in her heart.

"That's it, then," Buel said, dropping his lanky frame in the rickety wooden chair. Rainey was surprised it didn't break. Many times she cautioned the children to be careful. Her maw gave her the chairs for a wedding present; it wasn‟t just the sentimental value. With the depression riding them hard they just couldn‟t afford better. She held her tongue, not wanting to add to Buel's misery. The patches on his threadbare bib overalls were tearing loose again. At least his feed sack shirt was holding although the elbows looked ready to break through. "No Christmas, even for the little ones."

Two tears trickled down Rainey's cheeks. She wiped them away with the back of her hands. Each year got worse. No money for Christmas. Barely enough for vittles. At first they didn't mind, they had the farm and each other, then five years ago Toby came, a loud, red faced little bundle of joy. With little material goods they shared their love for each other and the land with him. Violet followed two years later, now at three she followed her mother everywhere.

Matty and Jackson Hurtt owned Hurtt General Store, or at least what was left of it. With each passing day the shelves became barer. When Matty or Jackson faced a sufferer across the counter, they couldn't turn them away. Grandparents themselves, they felt as if each child was their own. At night they retired to their living quarters above the

store and talked about the good old days, when prosperity flowed carrying the small village with it.

On Sundays they met with their customers in church and prayed for better days. Proud men with no ability to pay had trouble looking them in the eye. Jackson shook their hands as if they were still his best customers. When Matty saw a child with holes in their shoes or no coat she insisted the mother bring them by the store on Monday.

Mothers with tears in their eyes promised vegetables and pies in the summer and cash as soon as their husbands found work. Matty just hugged them assuring them that would be fine.

As good as the Hurtts were, Samuel Owens was the opposite. Samuel owned the bank and hardware, the feed mill and just about every other store in Coffeeville. Sam never extended credit. If a farmer wanted seed and didn't have the funds Samuel would take something in exchange. If he had nothing to trade, Sam would employ the man to work on his ever-growing farm.

As the depression deepened Samuel's number of workers increased. Samuel raised the prices of his goods, while lowering the wages of his laborers. It was rumored Samuel's heart was broken by a woman back east. All anyone knew was he arrived in Coffeeville one afternoon in the spring of 1933 with a seemingly endless amount of cash. Within a week he purchased the bank.

The next day he raised interest rates and foreclosed on five farms. A tremor of fear rolled out of Coffeeville into the surrounding countryside. Some came into his office

to plead their case. They left distraught, speaking of his cold heart and the large portrait of a beautiful raven haired woman. The painting seemed so life like they expected the woman to step out of the frame.

Sam never spoke of her and those who saw her were afraid to ask. By his very presence Sam made Coffeeville a close knit community, if Sam threatened to foreclose on a farm or home neighbors came to the family‟s aid. Pooling their meager resources they bought the beleaguered one more month. Shaking his fist in the air Samuel shouted "Go ahead, fight me, I'll get it all in the end!"

Turning to his automobile he shouted over his shoulder, "Next time I'll bring enough men to run you out of the country."

One Sunday Reverend Leo Simpson called for a time of prayer. Joshua Creton spoke up.

"Preacher, prayin' is good, but what we need is money."

"What we need, Joshua," Reverend Simpson said gently,” is the provision of the Lord." And with that they prayed. Each time the kind pastor ended his prayer asking God to bless their tormentor. Several of the people complained quietly about the minister's prayer feeling the Lord had blessed Owens enough and themselves too little.

Thanksgiving came and passed with scarcely a notice. The people of Coffeeville hankered down hoping the spring of 1934 held a better promise. Men searched the surrounding forest for wood and food. Those working for Samuel Owens begged for more money.

In his big house on top of Sugar Hill, Owens sat by the never ceasing fire.

"We‟s families ain't got nothing to eat." Buel said clenching and unclenching his hands. His eyes wondered the richly appointed room.

"I pay you a good wage." Sam said cutting a thick steak. The smell of the well seasoned meat made the farmers mouths water.

"By the time we'uns make your payments we'uns ain't got nothing left." Another ventured.

"If you're tired of working for me, I'll put someone in your place," he bellowed at the trio of men standing before him. "Now get out of my house, your boots are staining the carpet."

As they left the house Buel said "Well I reckon things can't git much worse." The others nodded in agreement.

However he was wrong. The next week Sam foreclosed on the general store. Hearing of the impending predicament the people came together as they had in the past. Sam just smiled. They sent the elderly preacher as their representative.

Opening the collection bag Reverend Simpson said. "How much do they owe you Mr. Owens?"

"Two thousand dollars," Sam said his grin widening.

Reverend Simpson stared at the banker in shock. With everyone, even the children contributing, they had gathered only fifty dollars.

"How much to tide their loan over until next month," The Reverend asked, his mouth dry, his heart breaking for his people.

"A thousand dollars, and unless you have that amount in the bag this conversation is ended. Now you must excuse me I'm very busy."

As Reverend Simpson turned toward the door, Sam called "Since you‟re here let me give this, it saves me the expense of having it delivered."

With trembling hands the elderly pastor read the foreclosure notice for the church.

He stared at the tyrant his eyes filled with pity and dismay.

“I‟ll wait until after your Christmas service, but not an hour more.”

Simpson, knowing the people would agree offered Sam the contents of the bag. The banker refused. His harsh laugher rang in the Pastor‟s ears as he left the bank.

As Christmas approached Sam's wrath increased driving his men without mercy. The joyous season became a time of drudgery. Each evening men drug themselves to cold homes now belonging to the banker. The dreams of the children died as they looked into their parent's faces.

The Hurtts continued working at the general store, now however as employees. Sam stocked the shelves raising the prices. It broke Matty‟s heart each time she saw a child with holes in their shoes or the hungry look in its face. Then Matty and Jackson did something which would have horrified them before. They began falsifying the books. In the storage room they stacked empty boxes which used to contain shoes and coats. Empty cans were put back on the shelves filled with pebbles for weight. The end was coming each of them knew it. It was inevitable that Sam would find out. What he would do was anybody's guess; Jackson said the least he expected was to be driven from the store his grandfather built.

The end came on December 24 at 5 PM in the evening. All day the dark clouds were low and threatening. Snow was coming; you could smell it in the air. Matt was sweeping up preparing to close; Jackson behind the counter working on the accounts.

Sam strove in through the front door setting the bell jingling. Without a word to the two former owners he headed for the backroom. A passerby heard his angry shout all the way out in the street. He charged out of the storage room with what was purposed to be a can of peaches. Upending the can he threw the stones on the counter.

“You‟ll pay for this!" he shouted shaking his fist in Jackson‟s face. “Both of you are going to jail.”

He returned to the backroom his rage increasing with each can or box he found empty. Matty and Jackson watched, shedding tears not for their own fate but that of their neighbors. Like a mad man Sam tore the storage room apart.

“Enjoy your last night of freedom,” Sam shouted running out in to the gathering dusk.

As night fell the heavy clouds turned loose their burden of snow. Yet the air seemed to grow warmer. Children played outside building snowmen, having snowball fights. Unhindered by their ragged clothing the air like a pleasant spring day. Parents watched from their porches in wonderment. The sky glowed as if lit by a full moon.

In the church on his knees Pastor Simpson prayed, his eyes misting with tears for his people. Suddenly he felt a comforting hand on his shoulder; he looked up expecting to see his dear wife and then remembered she was home with The Lord. The church was empty.

The only cold in Coffeeville on the night of December 24, 1933 was in the heart of Sam Owens. Many tears were shed that night, most of them by loving parents. Another Christmas would pass with nothing to give their children. Their hearts crying, their prayers rose to The God of the universe asking for a miracle.

Walking in the woods behind the barn Buel was the first to hear it. The horn pierced the night like the trumpet of God. Then he saw the light on the engine flashing steady and true like the Star of Bethlehem. Turning in the direction of his home he ran snow flying in all directions. Coming around the house he saw Rainey and the children on the porch.

“It be a comin‟ up the old line to Coffeeville,” Buel said, his breath coming in spurts.

“What‟s it mean mamma?” Toby asked turning his face to the two people he trusted most in the world.

“Can't no train run on that track,” Rainey said bewilderment filling her face. “They done took up the rails last summer.”

“Well, I don‟t know how she adoin‟ it, but she's a comin‟ anyhow,” Buel said watching the freight train cross Blackman‟s Gap.

“Ain't never seed one run so fast, must be doin‟ 100 mile an hour.”

“She‟ll never make the bridge, it‟ll never hold her,” Rainey said with alarm in her voice.

Buel and Rainey braced themselves to witness a tragedy. The train crossed the rickety wooden trestle with scarcely a tremor.

“That be her signal she's agoina stop in Coffeeville,” Buel said as the horn gave two long toots and one short.

Running into the house Rainy blew out the lantern while Buel banked the stove. The family hurried through the deepening snow to the small village. The same urgency drew people from their homes all cross the valley. Having heard the train everyone in Coffeeville and the outlying farms gathered at the abandoned depot.

Dozens of heavily muscled men in snow white uniforms were unloading boxcars at astonishing speed. Their amazement increased at the stacks of goods laying on the platform. There were cases of food, farm tools, and clothing in every size, even sacks of feed for the animals and toys of all kinds. Standing in the shadows the people watched their eyes filled with bewilderment at who could have ordered so many supplies.

Soon the platform and the surrounding area were covered as the supplies piled up. Surely even Sam Owens couldn‟t afford what this would cost. A man in dazzling white clothing

stepped down from a passenger car the people hadn‟t noticed before. With hesitant steps Buel dared to approach him the man who smiled at the ragged farmer. The man‟s face seemed to glow as if lit from the inside.

Holding his old ragged hat in his hands Buel hung his head, his heart burned.

“Ah…er… sir kin you tell me who all this belongs to?”

As the man laid his hand on Buel‟s shoulder, a surge of hope ran through the brokenhearted father‟s body, faith for the future, hope for his children, and hope for a life beyond this one. He looked up into eyes searching his soul, eyes displaying a heart overflowing with love.

“Hey, what‟s going on here? I didn‟t order all this stuff!” Sam Owens shouted running up to the train. “Load it back on, I am not paying for any of it.”

Dropping his hand from Buel‟s shoulder the man turned to face Sam. Owens opened his mouth to speak, but fell silent. The compassion in the man‟s eyes touched Sam‟s stone cold heart. The look awakened feelings he thought he had left behind years ago. Suddenly Sam gasped. The people stared in wonder.

Standing on the steps of the passenger car was the woman from the portrait. The man extended a hand to the lady to help her down. It was then the people saw the scars on his hands, long, jagged marks that seemed to go all the through. As though in a trance Sam drew near the woman, then they were in each others arms. The woman‟s tears spilled down her face falling on the back of Sam‟s coat.

Sam tears were evident in his eyes.

“I‟m sorry dear, I‟m so, so sorry,” he murmured into his wife‟s hair.

“Oh, I love you Sam. I‟ve missed you so much,” Victoria Owens said hugging her husband tightly.

Smiling, the man with the scarred hands nodded to the other men who had unloaded the train. The men climbed back on board. Then the train, as if on a coiled spring, sprang forward into the night and disappeared. Stunned, the people approached the piles of supplies. Each item carried a tag which read:

To the people of Coffeeville in answer to your prayers.

From your loving father.

“Look at this” Pastor Simpson said pointing to the railroad tracks. The people stared in amazement. Some began to weep, others to laugh, others to shout praises. Except for the marks of shoes and boots the snow was unbroken. There was no sign a train had come through Coffeeville.

The people gathered in the church that night in thanksgiving to him who supplies all our needs and to celebrate the birth of their saviour.

“Where we gonna put it all? We'uns can't get that much tonight.” Buel said.

Trembling, Sam Owens stood to his feet holding fast to his wife‟s hand he said, “Good friends. I have treated you terribly. Yet tonight God has given me a great gift. My wife and I were separated many months ago because of my foolishness. Now God has restored her to me, what else could I ask for? Please feel free to use the general store to stow the goods and if there‟s not enough room, use my…er…our home.”

Smiling, Victoria Owens rose to hug and kiss her husband. Tears flowing down his cheeks Pastor Simpson led the congregation in a rousing rendition of „Joy to the world.‟

And Sam was as good as his word. The people of Coffeeville came through the Great Depression with everyone‟s family farm and business intact. Sam tore up the foreclosure notices. He restocked the general store selling goods at his cost. No person in the community ever went hungry or need of clothing.

Victoria Owens never could explain how she came to be on the train. On the night of December 24, 1933 she felt a compelling urgency to go to the railway station in Chicago. The next thing she knew she was stepping off the mysterious train into her husband‟s arms.

Passed down from generation to generation folks still talk about the miracle at Coffeeville. The Christmas Eve when God answered the prayers of his people.

Merry Christmas

Darrell Allan Case