(December 1943: Lincoln County, West Virginia)
The tragedy unfolded one day before Mavarine’s birthday. The next time we saw our precious girl, she lay peacefully in an open casket with a gentle netting draped over her face. The days that followed proved to be the hardest days of our lives. Mavarine wore a pale pink dress with the doll she had begged us for tucked at her side. Our whole family would never be the same. Despite the heaviness of loss, we knew that the loving presence of the Lord would help us through the valley. The comfort of His refuge would fill the sorrowful space in our hearts.
“If I hadn’t asked yall to come to the parade, this wouldn’t have happened. It’s all my fault,” Della’s voice rang of guilt. She began to cry after the service was over and we were alone as a family. We all needed each other.
“Don’t blame yourself. There’s nothing nobody could do,” Grace said as she walked over to sit beside Della. She took her in her arms. How could a family move forward from a great tragedy such as this? How would we live on? Would we ever do more than barely exist? Gordon and his cousins played in silence. Nothing felt right without Mavarine and I knew it would affect him too; my heart couldn’t take it.
Two weeks passed by. Frank and I were starting to open up to each other a little at a time. He felt an even deeper sense of helplessness. It was still hard to accept that sometimes life isn’t fair.
“I want my little girl back! I can’t take it no more. I need to see her!” I cried out, leaning into Frank’s chest. “I can’t take livin’ in this house!”
“I know sweetheart,” Frank replied, stroking my long black hair.
“I know we are supposed to have faith and keep livin’, but how do you wake up every day? I asked tearfully. “How do you breathe?”
“Maybe we should move back into our old place,” he offered, wiping his tears away. “We would be closer to our folks,” he continued softly, “A change of scenery couldn’t hurt.”
“I don’t understand this,” my voice shook with unthinkable pain. “How will we live without her?”
“I don’t understand it myself, but we got to be strong for Gordon,” he replied. “The Lord will take care of us some way.”
“Movin’ might be a good idea,” I said looking up at Frank. “I want things to be normal again. I miss her so much.”
“We still have each other,” he leaned in to kiss me. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
The next few weeks welcomed us home with our family and back into the familiarity of the farm and the encouraging hearts of those who loved us. God provided a source of refuge and a haven made for healing. His sheltering arms enveloped us time after time, and this situation would prove to be no different. He would always be enough. We would forever find comfort in His refuge.
“In God is my salvation and my glory; the rock of my strength, and my refuge, is in God” (Psalm 62:7)
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