Samuel Jordan thought back to the last time he saw smoke rising above the pines up the hillside. It must have been a year or so, but he couldn’t say for sure. He had been so focused on getting things done around town that there didn’t seem to be much room in his head for anything that stood in the way of completing his mission. He shrugged it off, picked up his axe and headed to the edge of the clearing. He needed to fell one more big tree for his final vision: a monument of sorts.

He walked along the old growth, looking up at the crystal blue sky that peeked out between the branches. His eyes closed as the warmth from the sun caressed his face. He stood in silence as the soft breeze blew around him. He felt the presence of God, and smiled. He slowly opened his eyes and turned to the right. Before him was a magnificent white oak tree. Smaller pine trees formed a semi-circle around the towering oak. Finding a white oak tree in a forest filled with pin oak and pine was extraordinary. Samuel saw this as a message from his Savior. His vision had been blessed.

He walked over to the oak, his right arm outstretched. As his hand flattened against light gray bark and walked around the base, his fingers tracked across the scaly ridges as his eyes wandered upward. Samuel had never seen a straighter, truer tree.

He surveyed the surroundings and devised a plan that would fell the mighty oak safely onto the ground through a narrow slit that was the path he took. He had no doubt it would work.

He lifted his axe and stood ready to swing. Just as his arms rose and his faithful blade pointed to the sky above, his thoughts went back to that trail of smoke in the woods above him. He must find the source so that his mind can be pure of thought as he wields his faithful axe in the completion of his vision.

He headed to the clearing and across the tree line to a trail he knew all too well.

*****

“Softly and tenderly Jesus is calling, calling for you and for me.”

People inside the businesses of Jordan’s Bend stepped out onto the sidewalk to hear the strong baritone of Samuel Jordan. Borne on the breeze, his pitch-perfect voice bathed the town in a swath of soothing, divine revelation.

“See, on the portals he’s waiting and watching, watching for you and for me.”

Lillian Wagner walked outside her family’s general store when the last customer emptied. She stood, raised her face to the sky, closed her eyes and lifted her palms in the air. She took a deep breath to join the chorus.

“Come home, come home. You who are weary come home.”

The people around her looked at Lillian, turned their heads skyward and inhaled, eager to lift their voices as well.

“Earnestly, tenderly, Jesus is calling, calling, O sinner, come home!”

Lillian had come to cherish these random interruptions. She learned the pattern of Samuel’s singing. One verse at a time. The remainder would follow later. The townspeople went about their business.

*****

The life of a searcher was not a vocation to which Jacob Harris had aspired as a young boy. All he wanted to do was to follow in his father’s footsteps on the family farm. Raise some cattle. Grow corn. Harvest pecans from the orchard. But General Sherman obliterated the dream in his march from Atlanta to Savannah, Georgia. By the time the embers cooled, every square inch of Harris Acres was gone. The Union soldiers butchered the cattle they needed and left the rest to burn. The house, barn, fields and equipment were nothing but ash. The pecan trees reduced to charred trunks. His parents were shot and killed. His older sister was abused and left to die in ways a small boy of twelve could never comprehend. All of them incinerated where they fell.

Jacob was small enough to hide in his “fort”, an underground bunker of sorts that he dug underneath the back porch. It was his refuge. When outside of it, he had to work. He did not escape injury as he emerged. A beam from the porch fell on his right foot, burning his fourth and fifth toes. The people who came to help did the best they could, but they had to amputate. He will never forget the searing pain as it spread up from his foot to his head. Every inch of his body recoiled as he screamed. The ladies tried to soothe him with kinds words and reassurance that he was lucky he survived. Others told him it was God’s will that he lived. He saw nothing reassuring in their efforts. This moment left him to doubt a God that would cause so much pain by killing those he loved and leaving him a cripple.

After the war, his wounds had healed as well as to be expected but his limp remained a painful reminder of the internal conflict he felt. When he reached the age of sixteen, he made a decision to find missing family members lost because of the war. But after decades of effort, his searching days were over. He looked forward to a life of solitude in his cabin on the hillside.

The fire Jacob started had been burning about an hour when he heard signing off in the distance.

A rope bed and a desk were the only furnishings in the cabin when he arrived. He remembered other pieces when he found Caleb Williams here a year prior. A wood stove and a rocker where gone. For now, cooking in the fireplace would have to do.

Jacob recognized the music he was hearing. It was a hymn his mother sang when shelling peas on the back porch. What had sounded like a full choir signing the verse now faded and a louder male voice sang the chorus. He stepped out on the porch.

“Good afternoon, friend!”, said the man carrying an axe. “Welcome to Jordan’s Bend!.” Extending his hand, the man introduced himself. “My name is Samuel Jordan.”

“Jacob Harris.” was his reply as he shook Samuel’s hand and took a sip of coffee.

“What brings you to these parts?”, asked Samuel.

“Retirement.” Jacob didn’t like questions.

“Is that so? Retirement from what, if I may be so bold.” Samuel didn’t trust short answers.

Jacob ignored the question. “What brings you up here?”, he asked.

“I saw the smoke and thought I’d check on things.”, Samuel responded. “The last time I saw smoke from up here, there was a young couple living here. I believe their names were Caleb and Ruth.” He hesitated. “Have I seen you before?”

“Nope.”

Samuel’s face changed from a welcoming grin to a smirk of contempt.

“Well, good friend, we are a community of strong faith and conviction. Do you have a faith home, of sorts?”, Samuel inquired.

“Nope.” Jacob drew a second sip. “Faith turned its back on me. I turned my back on it.”

Samuel’s head tilted to the right. His eyes pinched and he felt his muscles clench.

“I’ve got squirrel on the fire. Good day.” Jacob turned and stepped back into his cabin, leaving Samuel to watch the door close behind him. He had taken an instant dislike of this stranger and his axe.

Jacob didn’t tell Caleb’s parents about Ruth. They had run off together and hadn’t married. Caleb wanted this to remain a secret.

*****

“Time is now fleeting, the moments are passing; passing from you and from me.”

Lillian looked up from the cloth she was cutting for a customer.

“Shadows are gathering, deathbeds are coming; coming for you and for me.”

She stepped outside, raised her hands and her face, closed her eyes and joined the refrain as it grew louder.

“Come home, come home. You who are weary come home. Earnestly tenderly Jesus is calling, calling, O sinner, come home.”

(To be continued.)