The Travels of Increase Joseph: A Historical Novel about a Pioneer Preacher

30. Transition

II. Chapter 30 Transition Henry Bakken met Henrietta and Little Joe at the train depot in Plainfield and they rode back to Link Lake, along vast potato fields that were recently planted and hayfields that would soon be ready for cutting "How was the fair?" Bakken inquired. "Wonderful," his daughter answered. "Simply wonderful. And look at this." She showed her father her notebook that was crammed full of writing . "I have enough material for a half dozen articles , maybe more." As they rode, Little Joe remained silent, alone with his thoughts and the memory of the bitter exchange he'd had with his wife. While Henrietta was talking, Little Joe thought about his need to talk with his father. Once they were home and unpacked, Little Joe told Henrietta he must visit Increase Joseph. When he arrived at the Link cabin, he spotted his mother sitting on the front porch, in her rocking chair. "Where is father?" Little Joe asked. "Gone for a walk. He does that a lot lately. worry about him. He thinks all his work has been The Travels of Increase Joseph 265 for naught, that people are ignoring his message," Elwina said. "I know," said Little Joe. "It is a great worry of his. I must reassure him that he is right, no matter what others are saying and doing. Which way did he go?" "Probably to his favorite place, under the big oak tree back of the church where he can see the lake." As Little Joe left the cabin, he noticed a menacing bank of black clouds that had quickly come up in the west and was rolling across Link Lake. He hurried toward the oak tree that he could see in the distance. A figure of a man sat under it, scarcely visible. Flashes of lightning tore across the blackening sky as Little Joe hurried toward the tree. Thunder shook the ground. Little Joe expected his father to get up and head back toward the cabin to avoid being drenched. But the man in black did not move. "Father," Little Joe called. "Father, the storm! The storm!" But the famous preacher did not respond . The first big drops of rain splattered in the dust of the dim trail that led to the giant oak. A gust of cold wind was followed by the rumble of nearby thunder. Little Joe pulled his black hat down hard to keep it from blowing off. Rain began falling as if God himself were pouring barrels of water on the landscape. Rivulets of water began gushing down the trail. A simultaneous flash of lightning and deafening thunder nearly threw Little Joe to the ground. For a moment he was stunned by the earth-shaking report. He looked toward the oak tree and his 266 Apps father. Through the pouring rain, he glimpsed a huge white gap that had opened in the top of the ancient tree. His father continued to sit under it, like a black statue. "Father, Father," Little Joe called as he ran in the rain toward the tree. "Father," he called again. "Father!" His famous father sat with his eyes open, looking through the rain toward the lake. Water ran from the brim of his black hat and dripped on his long white fingers that held the Red Book. "Father," Little Joe said again, this time quietly. But he knew there would be no answer. Tears welled up in his eyes. He took the Red Book from his father's hands and shoved it in his own pocket, out of the weather. Little Joe knelt in front of his father and began talking through his tears. "Father, you were correct, as you have always been. You warned me about what I would hear in Chicago. You've long known that change and progress were overtaking us, and we must be aware of the consequences. But your warning became a whisper, a quiet voice in the stampede of shouts about progress no matter what the consequences. Oh, Father, you must hear me. I beg forgiveness for doubting you. "I've turned over and over in my mind your words spoken just last week. You said, 'No matter how fast things change, hold on to those that don't.' You have reminded us in a hundred ways that there can be no true progress without respecting land, without people respecting each other, without worshiping a...