A Short Story: A Godly Woman

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Anyone who knew Grandma Farsey knew that she was a God-fearing woman--she had been all her life. Raised by somber parents who believed strongly in a God of vengeance, she worked hard to ensure for her own family the joyless existence she'd known, and that she believed was necessary for their salvation.

In the Farsey home, any attempt at humor was quickly extinguished and labeled "sinful foolishness". Merriment was out of the question. Far from being joyous occasions, holidays were passed in quiet contemplation of the Bible, fasting and longer than usual prayers--and only proper Christian holidays, at that. None of those pagan revelries some folks celebrated. Not even in work could contentment be found, for although farmyard and household chores were to be completed efficiently and correctly, any hint of satisfaction with a job well done was viewed with tight-lipped condemnation as the sin of pride.

Like every grandma, Maude Farsey had once been young. She'd married as expected and been a dutiful wife, presenting her husband with a son within the first year of marriage. The next baby, a girl, was stillborn, but was followed quickly by another boy. Then came twins, a girl and a boy, too tiny to live, both of them gone within a day. A year later, another girl, this one healthy, was born. Maude didn't question God's will, but after this sixth baby, she did sometimes wonder whether her husband might be taking the scriptural advice "be fruitful and multiply" a little too seriously.

She didn't have to wonder much longer. Late that summer, Mr. Farsey was grievously injured in a fall from the hayloft. He struggled for breath and moaned in pain for three days, then, mercifully, he succumbed. At the funeral, Maude sat stiffly in the pew, then stood dry-eyed with her children as the coffin was lowered into the grave. The Lord giveth, and The Lord taketh away. Maude bore her loss stoically and didn't remarry.

When the first son was 16, he decided to seek his fortune at sea. He headed for Boston, signed on as a deckhand and sailed on a merchant ship bound to China. He sent letters for a year or so, from godless countries where people worshipped idols, then the letters stopped and he was never heard from again. The second boy had been lost years ago to a sudden fever at the age of five. And the girl....she'd lived. Long enough, Maude reckoned, though she was gone now.

Maude Farsey was no longer a godly young widow. She would always be a godly woman, but these days Maude was known as Grandma Farsey.

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One of Olivia's earliest memories was of finding some pretty flowers blooming near the spring house. Still young enough to take innocent pleasure in nature's beauty, the little girl had stuck several of the blossoms in her hair; and taken some to Grandma, thinking that she would like to look pretty, too.

But Grandma had slapped Olivia's hands, making her drop the flowers. She said that God's gifts were not for selfish little girls to destroy, and snatched the remaining flowers none too gently from Olivia's hair. Then she'd set the child down firmly on a rough wooden bench by the kitchen door and said, "Self-adornment is a sin, Olivia, and only heathens defile themselves in such a way". Olivia had to remain on the hard bench until supper, to think about what she'd done. She sat quietly on the bench, and just when it seemed that she couldn't think any more, Grandma said that supper was ready.

As she grew, Olivia's young life seemed to be a series of harsh lessons. Soon after she started school, Olivia was sorely punished because she had been disrespectful of The Lord's Day and The Lord's House. What she had really done was giggle when Will Simmons, one of her new schoolmates, caused something of a stir in church. The real culprit wasn't Will--it was his dog. Wherever Will went, the dog followed. He was usually content to wait outside for Will to reappear, but the church door had been left open, since the day was hot. The sermon had been long, and when it ended at last, the choir had started to sing. Will's dog decided enough was enough. He entered through the open door, trotted down the center aisle, sat down and howled along with the closing hymn. It wasn't just Olivia, everyone had laughed--except for Grandma Farsey. Nevertheless, it was Olivia's behavior that Grandma was responsible for. Outraged by the girl's irreverence, she did not spare the rod.

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When Olivia was a little older, Grandma overheard her talking to a girl from her class about Elizabeth Martin's new birthday dress. Elizabeth's parents owned the dry goods store, and Elizabeth had more and fancier dresses than the any of the other girls. Olivia's friend said "It's the pink dress that was in their store window". Grandma heard Olivia answer, "Oh, it's so pretty! I'd give anything to have a dress like that.". That night after supper, Grandma told her to go to her room and get her best dress. Olivia brought out her dark blue Sunday dress, thinking that Grandma must have noticed the loose button. Next morning Grandma took the dress to her sewing circle and put it in the box for the needy. When Olivia asked about her dress, Grandma said "Never mind that dress. It's gone to someone who will appreciate what is given to her." She told Olivia what she'd overheard, and said "When you wear your everyday dress to church, you are to remember that envy is a sin, and covetousness is an abomination to God"

Olivia didn't want to be an abomination. She tried hard to avoid wickedness, but unlike Grandma Farsey, who could easily see sin, Olivia just couldn't recognize evil, though it seemed to be everywhere. She promised Grandma that she'd try harder to please her. Grandma only sighed."It's not me you need to please, Olivia," she said tiredly. "It's God."

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Singing was Olivia's greatest joy. When she was 14, she was asked to join the church choir. Happy, because she knew this was something Grandma would approve, she ran all the way home to share the wonderful news. But Grandma chastised her for unladylike behavior. "Running in the streets like a heathen!" she scolded "What must people think?". Even after learning the reason for the excitement, Grandma didn't seem pleased. She wiped her hands on her apron, looked at Olivia without smiling, and just said "No." Olivia was so heartbroken that she dared to plead, "But Grandma, why?" Grandma didn't even look up from the peas she was shelling. "Don't ask again." she said.

Olivia didn't ask again, but a few weeks later, Mrs. Grenville, the pastor's wife, stopped to visit. Before she left, she asked Grandma if, as a special favor to the whole church, she would consider letting Olivia join the choir. She said that Olivia's voice was a gift from heaven, and should be shared to the glory of God. Grandma Farsey was caught off guard. She couldn't think of a way to explain to the pastor's wife that being in the choir would only worsen the girl's naturally sinful tendencies. Her own natural tendency was to say no to anything Olivia asked, but against her better judgment, Grandma gave her grudging consent--on the condition that neither Olivia's chores nor her schoolwork suffered as a result.

Olivia had never been happier than she was after joining the choir. Soon, she was singing a solo piece each week. She made sure to give the credit to God when people praised her singing. She didn't want to be called prideful and made to quit. She was careful not to let Grandma Farsey know just how happy she was; how much she enjoyed the choir. She understood now. Her joy would be judged sinful and taken away. Almost a year had passed, and though her chore list seemed to get longer each week, she did the extra work with a happy heart.

One morning she was gathering the eggs and singing softly to herself as she so often did these days. As she hummed and sang bits of a favorite new song about a young girl in love with a soldier, Grandma burst into the henhouse in a fury, scattering the hens and startling Olivia so much that she dropped most of the eggs.

"What did I hear you singing just now?" she demanded. Hardly aware that she had been singing, Olivia stammered in surprise."Do you deny that you were using your God-given talent to sing about sin and lust?" Grandma's voice was cold. Olivia couldn't believe what she was hearing. She tried to explain that she hadn't done that, hadn't meant to--but she was cut short. "A voice that sings in praise of immoral behavior is hardly fit to glorify The Lord.", Grandma announced. "You will not mock God by singing in the choir again." Olivia didn't try to hide her tears, as Grandma added "You will also stay silent when the congregation sings in church"

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On the morning she discovered that Olivia had gone, leaving a note pinned to her pillow, Grandma was hardly surprised. Hadn't the girl's own mother done just the same thing?

"The Devil's own, that one was", thought Grandma Farsey of her daughter. Turning her back on a good Christian home to take up with a n'eer-do-well who probably already had a wife. Why else wouldn't he have married the girl instead of abandoning her a year later. Left to fend for herself in a shanty town, she'd died from typhoid not long after. "God's judgment", Grandma Farsey had thought.

But her daughter had left one thing--a small sickly infant. Olivia--the living reminder of her mother's folly. The news, in a letter from the undertaker who'd buried her daughter, was a shock, but Maude Farsey had borne the disgrace and done her Christian duty. She surely had, traveling by train to collect the baby, nursing the frail infant to health, raising her in a God-fearing home, guiding her to choose good over evil--only to find that what she'd always suspected was true: the child was just like her mother.

"Well, this one will answer for her sins, too", Grandma Farsey thought as she prepared to start the morning's chores. Crumpling Olivia's note, she tossed it into the woodstove unread, just as she'd done with her daughter's letters years before. She allowed herself a long sigh as she tied on her apron, then she picked up the flour sack and started to make the bread, taking comfort in the certain knowledge that she'd done her best.

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