Faithful Unto Death

Overwhelmed

night, men shot in their beds and their wives dragged away shrieking, never to return, their children snatched away with them, or left to wander until taken in by a nearby farmer, or handed casually to the nearest mission school, or left to die of hunger and exposure. British and American diplomats remonstrated with Sultan Hamid, who had no liking for either of these unbelieving nations. In response, he would declare a temporary lull in the hostilities and allow the renegade Kurds to do his work for him. “What can we do against these mountain bandits?” he would protest. “We are helpless even to protect our own citizens.” After a suitable time, his specious grip on the troops would loosen, and the ferocity of attacks again increased. Five hundred Armenians would die this month, twenty-‹ve the next, and nobody knew how many the next; Armenians who disappeared seldom returned, and those few who did reported systematic massacres that, we now know, served as dress rehearsal for events in Europe ‹fty years hence. Overwhelmed “anna, aren’t you ready yet?” Henry, spruce and neat in his new broadcloth suit, paced impatiently in the passageway. Lottie, in her new gingham dress with a tiny velvet ribbon at the neck, held his hand. Henry had recently been elected as a trustee of the church, and tonight was his ‹rst public appearance as an elder of the community. Grand Traverse College would dedicate the new Barber Hall, and Henry was to speak at the dedication. “Not yet, Henry.” Anna sounded harassed. “Why don’t you go on ahead and leave me Lottie to help with the children?” “Lottie, I think I could eat some of those peas you had for dinner,” came Charlotte’s querulous voice from her downstairs room. Lottie stood indecisively; a slap sounded from upstairs, followed by a thin wail. Lottie started toward the stair. “You go and see to your aunt,” said Henry in a low voice. “I’ll go up and help get the children dressed.” He went upstairs and stopped in the doorway. Anna, tears in her eyes, held a sobbing Josie. On Josie’s tiny cheek, red ‹ngerprints glowed. Her nose ran, unnoticed, down the front of Anna’s good slate 86 taffeta. Will, his roundabout partially buttoned, stood mutely behind her, ‹ngers in his mouth. “Anna, what in the world?” “I had Will nearly dressed and Josie’s gown on her, then she was naughty and wouldn’t hold still and tore the buttonhole . . .” “Anna, she’s a baby, how could she tear a buttonhole?” “Oh, Henry, what could you possibly know about it? Now she’ll have to wear her second-best.” Anna abruptly set Josie back on the bed and began to ruf›e through a jumble of indistinguishable odds and ends of children’s clothing in the press. Henry ‹nished with Will’s buttons. “Take him downstairs, please, Anna, and I’ll ‹nish dressing Josie.” “Oh, that won’t do, you’ll dress her in one of her old gowns and not even know the difference.” “That’s as may be, Anna. Please take Will and go downstairs. Please.” Anna paused, then bowed her head and reached for Will’s hand. Henry buttoned Josie into a pinafore that looked clean and presentable and picked her up. “Anna,” said Henry the next morning as he sat at the breakfast table, “let me advertise for help from the college. The children are too much for you, now that Lottie’s at her art classes.” He tactfully omitted mentioning the burden Charlotte had become to all of them. Anna sank onto her chair by the stove. “I can’t say I’d mind having a capable pair of hands around the house,” she admitted reluctantly. “Where would she sleep?” “I hadn’t thought that far,” confessed Henry. “She could stay in my room with me,” offered Lottie, excited at the idea of having a college girl as a roommate. “I think we could clear out the west room downstairs,” suggested Anna. “The boys can help me.” Roy looked up from his plate. “I have band practice this afternoon, Mother. Maybe Ralph . . .” “Your practice isn’t until midafternoon, Roy, and it won’t hurt you to help move some boxes around this morning.” It was decided. Anna stood at the door of the small room at the end of the hall and surveyed the chaos. Odds and ends of furniture, boxes of broken household items awaiting...