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- Story Listed as: Fiction For Teens
- Theme: Inspirational
- Subject: Seasonal / Holidays
- Published: 11/17/2019
Miracle at Coffeeville
Born 1945, M, from Farmersburg, United StatesAt the sound of her husband coming through the kitchen door, Rainey Stuart turned from the cook stove. She
swallowed hard before she said it. The news that had been churning within her all day lay like a weight on her chest.
"The hens quit layin'," she told him, her face reflecting the hopelessness she felt in her heart. There, she said it. Tears gathered in her eyes, but she would not let them fall again. She would do her weeping in private. Buel had enough on his mind.
"That's it then," Buel said, dropping his lanky frame into a rickety wooden chair. Rainey was surprised it didn't break.
Many a time, she warned the children to sit down softly. Her maw gave her those chairs as a wedding present. It wasn't just the sentimental value that kept them from becoming firewood. With the Depression riding them hard, they simply couldn't afford better. She held her tongue, not wanting to add to Buel's misery. The patches on his threadbare bib overalls were tearing loose again. At least his feedsack shirt was holding, although the elbows looked ready to give way. Buel sat with his head in his hands. "No Christmas, not even for the little ones."
Two tears trickled down Rainey's cheeks. She wiped them away with the back of her hands. Every year it got worse. No money for Christmas. Barely enough for vittles. At first, they didn't mind. They had the farm and each other. Then five years ago, Toby came, a loud, red-faced little bundle of joy. With little in the way of material possessions, they shared their love for each other and the land with him. Violet came two years later. Now at three, she followed her mother everywhere.
The Stuarts took no comfort in the fact that folks everywhere in the valley were suffering too. Matty and Jackson Hurtt owned Hurtt's General Store, at least what was left of it. With each passing day, the shelves became barer. When Matty or Jackson faced a neighbor in dire need across the counter, they could not turn them away.
Grandparents themselves, they felt as if each child was their own. At night they retired to their living quarters above the store. They talked about the good old days when prosperity flowed in the small village. On Sundays, they joined their customers in church and prayed for better days. Proud men with no ability to pay had trouble looking them in the eye. Jackson shook their hands as if they were still his best customers. When Matty saw a child with holes in their shoes or the sleeves on their coat two inches above their wrists, she insisted the mother bring them by the store on Monday. Mothers with tears in their eyes promised vegetables and pies in the summer or cash as soon as
their husbands found work. Matty just hugged them and assured them that would be fine.
As good as the Hurtts were, Samuel Owens was the opposite. Samuel owned the bank, the hardware, the feed mill
and just about every other store in Coffeeville. He never extended credit. If a farmer needed seed and didn't have the funds, Samuel would take something of value in exchange. If he had nothing to trade, Sam would employ the man to work in his ever-growing enterprise. Each man's land was slowly absorbed into Sam's farm. As the Depression deepened, the number of Samuel's workers increased. The man seemed to get twisted pleasure from raising the price of his goods while decreasing his laborers’ wages. It was rumored that Samuel's heart had been
broken by a woman back east. All anyone knew was that he arrived in Coffeeville one day in the spring of 1933 with a seemingly limitless amount of cash. Within a week, he purchased the bank. The next day, he raised interest rates and foreclosed on five farms. A tremor of fear ran through Coffeeville and the surrounding countryside. Some ventured to his office to plead their case, but all left distraught, speaking of Sam’s cold heart and the large portrait of a beautiful, raven-haired woman that hung behind his desk. They said the painting was so lifelike they expected her to step out of the frame. Sam never spoke of her, and those who saw the portrait were afraid to ask.
Ironically, his stinginess, greed and indifference to suffering made Coffeeville a more close-knit community. If he threatened to foreclose on a farm or home, neighbors came to the family's aid. Pooling their meager resources, they bought the beleaguered soul one more month. Sam would come to the property expecting to take possession, only to have a wad of cash slapped in his hand and be turned away. The last time it happened, he shook his fist in
the air and shouted, "Go ahead and fight me. I'll get it all in the end!" Turning to his automobile, he bellowed over his shoulder, "Next time I'll bring enough men to run you out of the county!" Everyone believed Sam's goal was to own the entire valley.
One Sunday, Reverend Leo Simpson called for a time of prayer.
Joshua Creton spoke up. "Preacher, prayin' is good, but what we need is money."
"What we need, Joshua," Reverend Simpson said gently, "is the provision of the Lord." With that they prayed. Each
time the kind pastor ended his prayer by asking God to bless their tormentor. Several of the people grumbled about the minister's prayer, feeling the Lord had blessed Owens enough and them too little.
Thanksgiving came and went with scant celebration. The people of Coffeeville hunkered down, hoping the spring of ‘34 held better promise. Men combed the surrounding forests for wood and food. Those working for Owens begged for more money. One cold winter night, they congregated at the door of his big house on top of Sugar Hill. Sitting by the never ceasing fire, Sam watched them enter his mansion, a smirk playing across his face.
"We's families ain't got nothing to eat," Buel said, holding his hat and clenching and unclenching his work-worn
hands. His eyes wandered over the richly appointed room. He felt ashamed that the grand piano, the statues and the paintings of unfathomable value filled him with bitter envy. Where the furniture came from Buel couldn’t imagine, but it surely was not from the Sears catalog.
"I pay you a good wage," Sam said, cutting into a thick steak. He put a chunk in his mouth and chewed while cutting
another. The smell of the well-seasoned meat made the farmers' mouths water.
"By the time we'uns make your payments, we ain't got nothing left," another complained.
"If you don’t like working for me, I'll be glad to replace you!" Sam barked at the trio standing before him. "Now get
out of my house. You weren’t invited, and your boots are staining my carpet."
As they left, Buel said, "Well, I reckon things can't git much worse." The others nodded in agreement.
He was wrong. The next week, Sam foreclosed on the general store. Hearing of the impending calamity, the people came together as they had in the past. They sent the elderly preacher to Owens’ office at the bank as their representative. Sam leaned back in his plush leather chair and smiled. Opening the collection bag, Reverend Simpson said, "How much do they owe you, Mr. Owens?"
"Two thousand dollars," Sam said, his grin widening.
Reverend Simpson stared in shock at the banker. With everyone in the village─even the children─contributing, they
had garnered only $50. "How much to tide their loan over until next month?" the reverend asked, his mouth dry and his heart breaking for his people.
"A thousand dollars, and unless you have that amount in that bag, this conversation is ended. Now you must excuse me, I'm very busy."
As Reverend Simpson turned toward the door, Sam called, "Since you're here, let me give this. It’ll save me the
expense of having it delivered." He handed him a folded sheet of paper.
With trembling hands, the elderly pastor read the foreclosure notice for the church. He stared at the tyrant, his eyes filled with pity and dismay. This was the end. Soon Sam would indeed own the entire valley, including the church.
"I'll wait until after your Christmas service but not an hour more." Knowing the people would agree, Simpson
offered Sam the money in the bag just to redeem the church for a few weeks. The banker refused it. His harsh laughter taunted the pastor as he hurried to leave.
As Christmas approached, Sam's wrath escalated and he drove his men without mercy. The joyous season became a time of drudgery. Every evening, men dragged themselves back to cold houses that now belonged to the banker. The children’s dreams died as they looked into their parents' faces.
The Hurtts continued working at the general store as Sam's employees. Sam kept the shelves stocked and set the
prices. It broke Matty's heart each time she saw a child with holes in their shoes or a hungry look on their face. She could do nothing about it.
Then Matty and Jackson did something the mere thought of which would have horrified them before. They began
falsifying the books. In the storage room they stacked empty boxes that had contained the shoes and coats they gave away. They opened the cans from the bottom and placed empty ones back on shelves. To the eye, the storage room appeared to be well stocked. In reality, it was half empty. The hoax would spell their end; both of them knew it. It was inevitable that Sam would find out and what he would do was anybody's guess. Jackson said the least he expected was to be driven from the store his grandfather built. If Sam got the law involved, they could be looking at a stretch in Grandville prison.
The end came at five o’clock on Christmas Eve. All day, low and threatening dark clouds rode the sky. Snow was
coming; you could smell it in the air. Matty was sweeping up and preparing to close. Behind the counter, Jackson worked on the ledgers. Sam strode through the front door, setting the bell jingling. Without a word to the two former owners, he headed for the back room. Matty looked at Jackson, aware their deception was about to be discovered. A passerby heard Sam's angry shout all the way out in the street. He charged out of the storage room with what had been a can of peaches. Upending the can, he threw it on the counter. The empty can jumped,
bounced onto the floor and rolled under the wood stove.
"You'll pay for this!" he screamed, shaking his fist in Jackson's face. "Both of you are going to jail!" He returned to
the back room, his rage increasing with each can or box he found empty. Matty and Jackson watched, shedding tears not for their own fate but that of their neighbors. Like a madman, Sam tore the storage room apart, his curses ringing in the air.
"Enjoy your last night of freedom," Sam blustered as he stormed out into the gathering dusk. Matty and Jackson sat
down by the potbelly stove in the middle of the store. With sinking hearts, they awaited the arrival of the sheriff.
As night fell, the heavy clouds turned loose their burden of snow. Yet, oddly, the air seemed to grow warmer.
Undeterred by their thin, ragged clothing, children ran outside to build snowmen and throw snowballs. The air felt balmy and pleasant, like a fresh spring day. Parents watched in amazement from their porches. The sky glowed as if lit by a full moon, yet no moon appeared.
On his knees in the church, Pastor Simpson prayed, his eyes misting with tears for his people. Suddenly he felt a
comforting hand on his shoulder. He looked up, expecting to see his dear wife, then remembered she was home with the Lord. The church was empty.
The only chill in Coffeeville on the night of December 24, 1933, was in the heart of Sam Owens. Many tears were
shed that night, most of them by loving parents. Another Christmas would pass with nothing to give their children.
With crying hearts, their prayers for a miracle rose to the God of the universe.
Walking in the woods behind the barn, Buel was the first to hear it. The horn pierced the night like the trumpet of God. He saw the light on the engine shining steady and true like the Star of Bethlehem. Turning in the direction of his home, he ran, his feet pumping and snow flying in all directions. Coming around to the front of the house, he saw Rainey and the children on the porch. "It be a-comin' up the old line to Coffeeville!" Buel exclaimed, his breath coming in spurts. "What's it mean, Mamma?" Toby asked, turning his face to the two people he trusted most in the world. "Can't no train run on that track," Rainey said with bewilderment furrowing her brow. "They done took up the
rails last summer." "Well, I don't know how she a-doin' it, but she's a comin' anyhow," Buel said, watching the freight train cross Blackman's Gap. The train seemed to glow with an inner light. "Ain't never seen one run that fast. Must be doin' a hundred mile an hour." "She'll never make the bridge, it'll never hold her," Rainey said, her voice rising with alarm.
Buel and Rainey braced themselves to witness a disaster. They looked at each other with disbelief as the train crossed the rickety wooden trestle with scarcely a tremor.
"That be her signal she's a-gonna stop at Coffeeville," Buel said as the horn gave two long toots and one short.
Dashing through the house, Rainy blew out the lantern while Buel banked the stove. The family hurried through the
deepening snow to the small village. The same urgency drew people from their homes all across the valley. Having heard the train, everyone in Coffeeville and the outlying farms gathered at the abandoned depot.
The crowd watched in hushed astonishment as dozens of heavily muscled men in snow-white uniforms unloaded the boxcars at dizzying speed. The people's amazement increased at the stacks of goods being laid on the platform. There were cases of food, farm tools, clothes and shoes in every size, even sacks of feed for the animals and toys of every description.
Standing in the shadows, the people watched, mystified. Who could have ordered so many supplies? Soon the platform and the surrounding area were covered as the provisions piled up. Surely even Sam Owens couldn't afford what all of this would cost. A man in dazzling white clothing stepped down from a passenger car the people hadn't noticed before. With tentative steps, Buel dared to approach him. His face radiant, the man smiled at the ragged farmer. Holding his old tattered hat in his hands, Buel hung his head, his heart burning. "Ah... er... sir, kin you tell me who all this belongs to?"
The man laid a gentle hand on Buel's shoulder. A surge of hope ran through the broken-hearted father. He was filled with faith and hope for the future, his children, and a life beyond this one. He looked up into eyes that touched his soul, eyes reflecting a heart overflowing with love. He felt as if he had known this man all his life.
"Hey, what's going on here? I didn't order all this stuff!" Sam Owens shouted as he ran up to the train. "Load it back
on. I am not paying for any of it."
Dropping his hand from Buel's shoulder, the man turned to face Sam. Owens slid to a stop. He opened his mouth to
speak, but fell silent. The compassion in the man's eyes penetrated Sam's stone-cold heart. The look awakened feelings he thought he had left behind years ago. Suddenly, Sam gasped. His hand flew up to his mouth. The people stared in astonishment. Standing on the passenger car’s steps was the woman in the portrait. The man in white extended a hand to the lady and helped her down. It was then the people saw the scars on his hands, long, jagged marks that seemed to go all the way through. As though in a trance, Sam drew near the woman, then they were in each other's arms. The woman's tears spilled down her face and fell onto the back of his coat.
Sam moaned as if in pain. "I'm sorry, my dear, I am so, so sorry," he murmured into his wife's hair.
"Oh, I love you, Sam. I've missed you so much," Victoria Owens said, hugging her husband tightly.
Smiling, the man with the scarred hands nodded to the men who had unloaded the train. They climbed back on board. Then, as if on a coiled spring, the train sprang forward into the night and disappeared.
Stunned, the people approached the piles of supplies. Each item carried a tag that read, To the people of Coffeeville in answer to your prayers. From your loving Father.
"Look everyone, look at this," Pastor Simpson said, pointing to the ground. The people stared in amazement. Some
began to weep, others to laugh, others to shout praises. Except for the marks of shoes and boots, the snow was unbroken. There was no sign a train had come through Coffeeville.
The people gathered in the church that night in thanksgiving to He who supplies all our needs and to celebrate
the birth of their Savior.
"Where we gonna put it all? We'uns can't get that much inside tonight," Buel said.
Trembling, Sam Owens rose to his feet. Holding fast to his wife's hand, he said, "Good friends. I have treated you
terribly. Yet tonight God has given me a great gift. My wife and I were separated many months ago because of my
foolishness. Now God has restored her to me. What more could I ask for? Please feel free to use the general store to
stow the goods, and if there's not enough room, use my... er... our home."
Smiling, Victoria Owens waved to the crowd and hugged and kissed her husband. With tears flowing down his
cheeks, Pastor Simpson led the congregation in a rousing rendition of Joy to the World.
And Sam was good for his word. The people of Coffeeville came through the Great Depression with everyone's farm or business intact. Sam tore up the foreclosure notices and gave back every property he had seized. He restocked the general store and sold the goods at his cost. No person in the community ever again went hungry or shoddily
clothed.
Victoria Owens never could explain how she came to be on the train. On the night of December 24, 1933, she felt a compelling urge to go to the railroad station in Chicago. The next thing she knew she was stepping off the mysterious train into her husband's arms.
Passed down from generation to generation, folks still talk about the miracle at Coffeeville. Young and old alike
marvel about it and find enduring hope remembering the Christmas Eve when God answered the prayers of his people.
Miracle at Coffeeville(Darrell Case)
At the sound of her husband coming through the kitchen door, Rainey Stuart turned from the cook stove. She
swallowed hard before she said it. The news that had been churning within her all day lay like a weight on her chest.
"The hens quit layin'," she told him, her face reflecting the hopelessness she felt in her heart. There, she said it. Tears gathered in her eyes, but she would not let them fall again. She would do her weeping in private. Buel had enough on his mind.
"That's it then," Buel said, dropping his lanky frame into a rickety wooden chair. Rainey was surprised it didn't break.
Many a time, she warned the children to sit down softly. Her maw gave her those chairs as a wedding present. It wasn't just the sentimental value that kept them from becoming firewood. With the Depression riding them hard, they simply couldn't afford better. She held her tongue, not wanting to add to Buel's misery. The patches on his threadbare bib overalls were tearing loose again. At least his feedsack shirt was holding, although the elbows looked ready to give way. Buel sat with his head in his hands. "No Christmas, not even for the little ones."
Two tears trickled down Rainey's cheeks. She wiped them away with the back of her hands. Every year it got worse. No money for Christmas. Barely enough for vittles. At first, they didn't mind. They had the farm and each other. Then five years ago, Toby came, a loud, red-faced little bundle of joy. With little in the way of material possessions, they shared their love for each other and the land with him. Violet came two years later. Now at three, she followed her mother everywhere.
The Stuarts took no comfort in the fact that folks everywhere in the valley were suffering too. Matty and Jackson Hurtt owned Hurtt's General Store, at least what was left of it. With each passing day, the shelves became barer. When Matty or Jackson faced a neighbor in dire need across the counter, they could not turn them away.
Grandparents themselves, they felt as if each child was their own. At night they retired to their living quarters above the store. They talked about the good old days when prosperity flowed in the small village. On Sundays, they joined their customers in church and prayed for better days. Proud men with no ability to pay had trouble looking them in the eye. Jackson shook their hands as if they were still his best customers. When Matty saw a child with holes in their shoes or the sleeves on their coat two inches above their wrists, she insisted the mother bring them by the store on Monday. Mothers with tears in their eyes promised vegetables and pies in the summer or cash as soon as
their husbands found work. Matty just hugged them and assured them that would be fine.
As good as the Hurtts were, Samuel Owens was the opposite. Samuel owned the bank, the hardware, the feed mill
and just about every other store in Coffeeville. He never extended credit. If a farmer needed seed and didn't have the funds, Samuel would take something of value in exchange. If he had nothing to trade, Sam would employ the man to work in his ever-growing enterprise. Each man's land was slowly absorbed into Sam's farm. As the Depression deepened, the number of Samuel's workers increased. The man seemed to get twisted pleasure from raising the price of his goods while decreasing his laborers’ wages. It was rumored that Samuel's heart had been
broken by a woman back east. All anyone knew was that he arrived in Coffeeville one day in the spring of 1933 with a seemingly limitless amount of cash. Within a week, he purchased the bank. The next day, he raised interest rates and foreclosed on five farms. A tremor of fear ran through Coffeeville and the surrounding countryside. Some ventured to his office to plead their case, but all left distraught, speaking of Sam’s cold heart and the large portrait of a beautiful, raven-haired woman that hung behind his desk. They said the painting was so lifelike they expected her to step out of the frame. Sam never spoke of her, and those who saw the portrait were afraid to ask.
Ironically, his stinginess, greed and indifference to suffering made Coffeeville a more close-knit community. If he threatened to foreclose on a farm or home, neighbors came to the family's aid. Pooling their meager resources, they bought the beleaguered soul one more month. Sam would come to the property expecting to take possession, only to have a wad of cash slapped in his hand and be turned away. The last time it happened, he shook his fist in
the air and shouted, "Go ahead and fight me. I'll get it all in the end!" Turning to his automobile, he bellowed over his shoulder, "Next time I'll bring enough men to run you out of the county!" Everyone believed Sam's goal was to own the entire valley.
One Sunday, Reverend Leo Simpson called for a time of prayer.
Joshua Creton spoke up. "Preacher, prayin' is good, but what we need is money."
"What we need, Joshua," Reverend Simpson said gently, "is the provision of the Lord." With that they prayed. Each
time the kind pastor ended his prayer by asking God to bless their tormentor. Several of the people grumbled about the minister's prayer, feeling the Lord had blessed Owens enough and them too little.
Thanksgiving came and went with scant celebration. The people of Coffeeville hunkered down, hoping the spring of ‘34 held better promise. Men combed the surrounding forests for wood and food. Those working for Owens begged for more money. One cold winter night, they congregated at the door of his big house on top of Sugar Hill. Sitting by the never ceasing fire, Sam watched them enter his mansion, a smirk playing across his face.
"We's families ain't got nothing to eat," Buel said, holding his hat and clenching and unclenching his work-worn
hands. His eyes wandered over the richly appointed room. He felt ashamed that the grand piano, the statues and the paintings of unfathomable value filled him with bitter envy. Where the furniture came from Buel couldn’t imagine, but it surely was not from the Sears catalog.
"I pay you a good wage," Sam said, cutting into a thick steak. He put a chunk in his mouth and chewed while cutting
another. The smell of the well-seasoned meat made the farmers' mouths water.
"By the time we'uns make your payments, we ain't got nothing left," another complained.
"If you don’t like working for me, I'll be glad to replace you!" Sam barked at the trio standing before him. "Now get
out of my house. You weren’t invited, and your boots are staining my carpet."
As they left, Buel said, "Well, I reckon things can't git much worse." The others nodded in agreement.
He was wrong. The next week, Sam foreclosed on the general store. Hearing of the impending calamity, the people came together as they had in the past. They sent the elderly preacher to Owens’ office at the bank as their representative. Sam leaned back in his plush leather chair and smiled. Opening the collection bag, Reverend Simpson said, "How much do they owe you, Mr. Owens?"
"Two thousand dollars," Sam said, his grin widening.
Reverend Simpson stared in shock at the banker. With everyone in the village─even the children─contributing, they
had garnered only $50. "How much to tide their loan over until next month?" the reverend asked, his mouth dry and his heart breaking for his people.
"A thousand dollars, and unless you have that amount in that bag, this conversation is ended. Now you must excuse me, I'm very busy."
As Reverend Simpson turned toward the door, Sam called, "Since you're here, let me give this. It’ll save me the
expense of having it delivered." He handed him a folded sheet of paper.
With trembling hands, the elderly pastor read the foreclosure notice for the church. He stared at the tyrant, his eyes filled with pity and dismay. This was the end. Soon Sam would indeed own the entire valley, including the church.
"I'll wait until after your Christmas service but not an hour more." Knowing the people would agree, Simpson
offered Sam the money in the bag just to redeem the church for a few weeks. The banker refused it. His harsh laughter taunted the pastor as he hurried to leave.
As Christmas approached, Sam's wrath escalated and he drove his men without mercy. The joyous season became a time of drudgery. Every evening, men dragged themselves back to cold houses that now belonged to the banker. The children’s dreams died as they looked into their parents' faces.
The Hurtts continued working at the general store as Sam's employees. Sam kept the shelves stocked and set the
prices. It broke Matty's heart each time she saw a child with holes in their shoes or a hungry look on their face. She could do nothing about it.
Then Matty and Jackson did something the mere thought of which would have horrified them before. They began
falsifying the books. In the storage room they stacked empty boxes that had contained the shoes and coats they gave away. They opened the cans from the bottom and placed empty ones back on shelves. To the eye, the storage room appeared to be well stocked. In reality, it was half empty. The hoax would spell their end; both of them knew it. It was inevitable that Sam would find out and what he would do was anybody's guess. Jackson said the least he expected was to be driven from the store his grandfather built. If Sam got the law involved, they could be looking at a stretch in Grandville prison.
The end came at five o’clock on Christmas Eve. All day, low and threatening dark clouds rode the sky. Snow was
coming; you could smell it in the air. Matty was sweeping up and preparing to close. Behind the counter, Jackson worked on the ledgers. Sam strode through the front door, setting the bell jingling. Without a word to the two former owners, he headed for the back room. Matty looked at Jackson, aware their deception was about to be discovered. A passerby heard Sam's angry shout all the way out in the street. He charged out of the storage room with what had been a can of peaches. Upending the can, he threw it on the counter. The empty can jumped,
bounced onto the floor and rolled under the wood stove.
"You'll pay for this!" he screamed, shaking his fist in Jackson's face. "Both of you are going to jail!" He returned to
the back room, his rage increasing with each can or box he found empty. Matty and Jackson watched, shedding tears not for their own fate but that of their neighbors. Like a madman, Sam tore the storage room apart, his curses ringing in the air.
"Enjoy your last night of freedom," Sam blustered as he stormed out into the gathering dusk. Matty and Jackson sat
down by the potbelly stove in the middle of the store. With sinking hearts, they awaited the arrival of the sheriff.
As night fell, the heavy clouds turned loose their burden of snow. Yet, oddly, the air seemed to grow warmer.
Undeterred by their thin, ragged clothing, children ran outside to build snowmen and throw snowballs. The air felt balmy and pleasant, like a fresh spring day. Parents watched in amazement from their porches. The sky glowed as if lit by a full moon, yet no moon appeared.
On his knees in the church, Pastor Simpson prayed, his eyes misting with tears for his people. Suddenly he felt a
comforting hand on his shoulder. He looked up, expecting to see his dear wife, then remembered she was home with the Lord. The church was empty.
The only chill in Coffeeville on the night of December 24, 1933, was in the heart of Sam Owens. Many tears were
shed that night, most of them by loving parents. Another Christmas would pass with nothing to give their children.
With crying hearts, their prayers for a miracle rose to the God of the universe.
Walking in the woods behind the barn, Buel was the first to hear it. The horn pierced the night like the trumpet of God. He saw the light on the engine shining steady and true like the Star of Bethlehem. Turning in the direction of his home, he ran, his feet pumping and snow flying in all directions. Coming around to the front of the house, he saw Rainey and the children on the porch. "It be a-comin' up the old line to Coffeeville!" Buel exclaimed, his breath coming in spurts. "What's it mean, Mamma?" Toby asked, turning his face to the two people he trusted most in the world. "Can't no train run on that track," Rainey said with bewilderment furrowing her brow. "They done took up the
rails last summer." "Well, I don't know how she a-doin' it, but she's a comin' anyhow," Buel said, watching the freight train cross Blackman's Gap. The train seemed to glow with an inner light. "Ain't never seen one run that fast. Must be doin' a hundred mile an hour." "She'll never make the bridge, it'll never hold her," Rainey said, her voice rising with alarm.
Buel and Rainey braced themselves to witness a disaster. They looked at each other with disbelief as the train crossed the rickety wooden trestle with scarcely a tremor.
"That be her signal she's a-gonna stop at Coffeeville," Buel said as the horn gave two long toots and one short.
Dashing through the house, Rainy blew out the lantern while Buel banked the stove. The family hurried through the
deepening snow to the small village. The same urgency drew people from their homes all across the valley. Having heard the train, everyone in Coffeeville and the outlying farms gathered at the abandoned depot.
The crowd watched in hushed astonishment as dozens of heavily muscled men in snow-white uniforms unloaded the boxcars at dizzying speed. The people's amazement increased at the stacks of goods being laid on the platform. There were cases of food, farm tools, clothes and shoes in every size, even sacks of feed for the animals and toys of every description.
Standing in the shadows, the people watched, mystified. Who could have ordered so many supplies? Soon the platform and the surrounding area were covered as the provisions piled up. Surely even Sam Owens couldn't afford what all of this would cost. A man in dazzling white clothing stepped down from a passenger car the people hadn't noticed before. With tentative steps, Buel dared to approach him. His face radiant, the man smiled at the ragged farmer. Holding his old tattered hat in his hands, Buel hung his head, his heart burning. "Ah... er... sir, kin you tell me who all this belongs to?"
The man laid a gentle hand on Buel's shoulder. A surge of hope ran through the broken-hearted father. He was filled with faith and hope for the future, his children, and a life beyond this one. He looked up into eyes that touched his soul, eyes reflecting a heart overflowing with love. He felt as if he had known this man all his life.
"Hey, what's going on here? I didn't order all this stuff!" Sam Owens shouted as he ran up to the train. "Load it back
on. I am not paying for any of it."
Dropping his hand from Buel's shoulder, the man turned to face Sam. Owens slid to a stop. He opened his mouth to
speak, but fell silent. The compassion in the man's eyes penetrated Sam's stone-cold heart. The look awakened feelings he thought he had left behind years ago. Suddenly, Sam gasped. His hand flew up to his mouth. The people stared in astonishment. Standing on the passenger car’s steps was the woman in the portrait. The man in white extended a hand to the lady and helped her down. It was then the people saw the scars on his hands, long, jagged marks that seemed to go all the way through. As though in a trance, Sam drew near the woman, then they were in each other's arms. The woman's tears spilled down her face and fell onto the back of his coat.
Sam moaned as if in pain. "I'm sorry, my dear, I am so, so sorry," he murmured into his wife's hair.
"Oh, I love you, Sam. I've missed you so much," Victoria Owens said, hugging her husband tightly.
Smiling, the man with the scarred hands nodded to the men who had unloaded the train. They climbed back on board. Then, as if on a coiled spring, the train sprang forward into the night and disappeared.
Stunned, the people approached the piles of supplies. Each item carried a tag that read, To the people of Coffeeville in answer to your prayers. From your loving Father.
"Look everyone, look at this," Pastor Simpson said, pointing to the ground. The people stared in amazement. Some
began to weep, others to laugh, others to shout praises. Except for the marks of shoes and boots, the snow was unbroken. There was no sign a train had come through Coffeeville.
The people gathered in the church that night in thanksgiving to He who supplies all our needs and to celebrate
the birth of their Savior.
"Where we gonna put it all? We'uns can't get that much inside tonight," Buel said.
Trembling, Sam Owens rose to his feet. Holding fast to his wife's hand, he said, "Good friends. I have treated you
terribly. Yet tonight God has given me a great gift. My wife and I were separated many months ago because of my
foolishness. Now God has restored her to me. What more could I ask for? Please feel free to use the general store to
stow the goods, and if there's not enough room, use my... er... our home."
Smiling, Victoria Owens waved to the crowd and hugged and kissed her husband. With tears flowing down his
cheeks, Pastor Simpson led the congregation in a rousing rendition of Joy to the World.
And Sam was good for his word. The people of Coffeeville came through the Great Depression with everyone's farm or business intact. Sam tore up the foreclosure notices and gave back every property he had seized. He restocked the general store and sold the goods at his cost. No person in the community ever again went hungry or shoddily
clothed.
Victoria Owens never could explain how she came to be on the train. On the night of December 24, 1933, she felt a compelling urge to go to the railroad station in Chicago. The next thing she knew she was stepping off the mysterious train into her husband's arms.
Passed down from generation to generation, folks still talk about the miracle at Coffeeville. Young and old alike
marvel about it and find enduring hope remembering the Christmas Eve when God answered the prayers of his people.
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Shirley Smothers
12/25/2023What a beautiful story. Inspiring and full of hope. May this story come true for millions. Good reading and Merry Christmas.
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Joel Kiula
12/25/2023This is wonderful. You have a great way of writing. Thank you for sharing
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Lillian Kazmierczak
12/28/2021What a marvelous story! It couldn’t have shown up at better time. That is a story I will tell my grandkids so Imcan keep that spirit alive! Very well done!
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Lillian Kazmierczak
12/25/2023Darrell, I loved this story! Heartwarming and perfect for this time of year. A terrific short story star of the day!
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Darrell Case
12/29/2021Lillian
Thank you. I hope you and your family had a wonderful Christmas and many more to come. It is great to know about your grandchildren. I hope they enjoyed the story. God bless you.
Darrell
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Kevin Hughes
11/17/2019Darrell,
I know you put this up for Thanksgiving, but boy oh boy, would it make a wonderful Christmas Story!
Smiles are plastered all over my face. Good job!
Smiles, Kevin
COMMENTS (11)