(December 1943: Charleston, West Virginia)
December rolled around before we knew it and the Christmas parade came to town. Della’s baby, Anna, would be in it this year. An evening spent with family was the perfect way to drum up some extra Christmas cheer. There were blessings to be thankful for this year: Frank made a full recovery and both Mavarine and Gordon had accepted Christ as their Savior. Life on the farm wasn’t the same as our time grew busier. The newness of everything brought so much peace and joy to our lives.
“Awe, look there she is!” Della shouted excitedly. Mama and I smiled, looking on as baby Anna made her appearance on a tiny float wearing the cutest red dress and black buckle baby shoes. The whole family planned to watch the parade, and then Frank and I were going to go Christmas shopping with the kids. Mavarine’s eighth birthday was around the corner and she was begging for a doll for Christmas. Gordon wanted a toy train set. We felt blessed to be in a season where we could afford more than before.
“I’m having so much fun!” Mavarine let out a happy squeal as she saw Santa. As the parade ended, the crowds returned to their normal sort of busyness. Frank, me, and the kids started walking down the street. It was fun to walk into so many stores and hear the distant sound of children laughing. The night was the perfect picture of joy.
In the blink of an eye, everything changed.
Frank caught Mavarine as she suddenly plummeted to the ground. Screams of terror were the only sounds that could escape me as we both noticed the blood pouring out of her tiny chest. A thick pool of dark red blood surrounded her body. Our little girl became lifeless in an instant. Time simply stood still.
“My baby! My baby!” I screamed in horror, embracing Mavarine. “Somebody help my baby!” I screamed so loud but felt like no one heard me. I sobbed, my thoughts a scattered mess. “What’s happened?!” I cried out, collapsing into a ball on the sidewalk. I went into shock, still clutching onto my precious girl. A nearby toy store owner called the police, and they arrived quickly. A lone officer stayed by my side, attempting to calm me down.
“You don’t understand. We was just walkin’ and then she was gone. What happened to my baby?” I cried out again, my eyes filling with fresh tears.
“Ma’am, we’re doing everything we can to figure this out. I’m so sorry, your little girl is gone. A ricocheted bullet appears to have bounced off from somewhere and struck her, traveling right through her chest cavity,” The policeman gently grabbed my shoulders. “We aren’t sure exactly where the bullet came from. But I promise you, we will find out.”
He ushered us away from the scene. I held onto Gordon as tight as I could. The night that was full of joy turned into a nightmare in a matter of seconds. Our little family would never be the same again. The loss of such a beautiful soul left such a hole in our hearts; when death rips someone away, the pain never disappears. We knew as a family that we needed the Lord more than ever. His presence and the comfort of His refuge both served as the rock of strength that our family would forever stand on.
"We are troubled on every side, yet not distressed; we are perplexed, but not in despair;
Persecuted, but not forsaken; cast down, but not destroyed;"
2 Corinthians 4:8-9
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