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Wie weet watse jas 'n engel dra?

Who knows what jacket an angel wears?


“Obadjah, Obadjah!”
Haar skril stem veg teen die wind wat nou huil na die onnatuurlike kalmte. Daardie vroeëre kalmte het Sarah verlei om stil na haar eersgeborene te neurie en in haar gedagtes te herhaal: "alles is goed, alles is goed."

'n Skrikwekkende bose vorm, Satan as' t ware, het van die donkergroen groen-grys oortrokkenheid neergekom. Die monster dartel en dans nader, weef en waai. 'n Skrikwekkende gedreun gemasker deur afstand en die wind beroof Sarah van haar stem, maar nie haar wil om te hardloop, hardloop vir haar lewe nie, want die lewe van die kind klou vas aan haar spoorweg verslete calico.
•1•
“Obadiah, Obadiah!”
Her shrill voice fought against the wind that now howled after the unnatural calm. That earlier calm had beguiled Sarah into humming quietly to her firstborn and rehearsing in her mind, “all is well, all is well.”

A terrifying evil shape, Satan as it were, reached down from the darkening green-grey overcast. The monster waved and danced its way closer, weaving and waving. A terrifying roar masked by distance and the wind robbed Sarah of her voice but not her will to run, run for her life, for the life of the child clutched to her trail-worn calico.
 

Dit is die stof wat hom beslis het. Terwyl sy in die wa sit, hoes 'n droë hoes, die stof kruipdieper en ongemaklik haar jong longe. Hulle geliefde eersgeborene huil, die trane loop skoon klinkertjies oor haar verfrommelde wange, die oë toe teen die korrel. Obadjah het besin oor die skoonheid van die verbonde wat hy en sy pragtige Sara gesluit het voor die haastige uittog uit Nauvoo. Hy moet sy verbonde nakom; hy moet sy lieflike nuwe gesin beskerm. Hy lei die osse van die verslete paadjie af met saggeaardheid om 'n roete honderd meter suid van die kolom vir homself te vlam.

Hulle het die party ongemerk gelaat. Toe die ramp plaasgevind het, was die trein van sewentig waens nêrens te sien nie. 'n Wiel sak diep tot by sy as en steek vas in die ingang van 'n onsigbare holte.

Hulle het hul plek naby die agterkant van die lyn behou. Met vriendelike vermaning het Obadja spelende afgedwaalde kinders aangemoedig om by hul gesinne te bly. “Bly op die roete.” Hy het geskree. Nie dat die kinders ag geslaan het op hardloop en 'n vreugdevolle geluid maak nie. Hulle was net so onbewus van die vermanings van 'n ouer so jonk soos Obadja as van die roete, gedra blase wat hul voetelaat skrik het. Obadjah was bekommerd dat een of meer kan verdwaal en was dankbaar dat sy nuwe kind wat net honderd kilometer wes van Nauvoo in sy wagebore is, nog te klein was om te loop.
 
•2•
It was the dust that had decided him. Sitting in the wagon, Sarah coughed a dry cough, the dust was creeping deeper, discomforting her young lungs. Their beloved firstborn cried, tears running clean rivulets down her dimpled cheeks, eyes closed against the grit. Obadiah thought on the beauty of the covenants he and his beautiful Sarah had made before the hasty exodus from Nauvoo. He must keep his covenants; he must protect his lovely new family. He led the oxen off the well-worn path with gentle goading to blaze a trail for himself a hundred yards to the south of the column.

They had left unnoticed by the party. When the disaster occurred, the train of seventy wagons was nowhere to be seen. A wheel sank axle-deep and stuck in the entrance of an unseen burrow.

They had held their place near the rear of the line. With friendly admonishment, Obadiah had encouraged playing straying children to stay with their families. “Stay on the trail.” He’d yelled. Not that the children took heed running and making a joyous noise. They were as oblivious to the admonitions of a parent as young as Obadiah as they were to the trail worn blisters scaring their feet. Obadiah worried that one or more may get lost and was thankful that his new child born in his wagon just a hundred miles west of Nauvoo was still too small to walk.

Obadjah het te voet vertrek om in te haal en om hulp te smeek, soos hy gedoen het, 'n coyotegenaamd, wat om ongesiensredes geroep het en sy uitroep amper vreesbevange was. Obadjah draai om om te kyk vanwaar die geluid kom, sy eie angs weerspieël indie treurige kreet. Daar, op 'n effense knop, sit die coyote na hierdie indringer en staar in sy wêreld van buffelgras en blare. Obadjah het hom voorgestel dat die coyote 'n huishond is wat gestuur word om sy klein gesin te bewaak. Die gedagte het hom vertroos, hoewel hy nie weet waarom nie. Vrae luimer in Obadjah se gedagtes toe hy half half hardloop, in die rigting van die wa-trein struikel, terwyl hy bid. Hy bevraagteken elke besluit wat hulle daartoe lei om van die roete af te dwaal, en rasionaliseer dat hy steeds die verre pad kan sien. Die wa-trein was nie moeilik om te volg nie, maar dit hetdrie uur geneem om die rampokkers in te haal en nog baie uitputtende minute om diegene te vind wat sou kon help. Baie was gewillig, ander te siek. Gou het 'n groep van twaalf van die sterkste manne met grawe en perde bymekaargekom om terug te gaan. Hulle het duisternis gesien waar daar eens 'n vreedsame blouwas.
 
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Obadiah had departed on foot to catch up and beg for help, as he did, a coyote called, yelping for reasons unseen, its cry almost fearful. Obadiah turned to look from whence the sound came, his own anguish reflected in the mournful cry. There, on a slight knoll, sat the coyote staring at this invader in its world of buffalo grass and sagebrush. Obadiah imagined the coyote to be a domestic dog sent to guard his small family. The thought gave him comfort though he did not know why. Questions loomed in Obadiah’s mind as he half-ran half stumbled his way towards the wagon train, praying as he went. He questioned his every decision leading them to stray from the trail, rationalizing that he could still see the distant path. The wagon train was not difficult to follow, yet it took three hours to catch up with the stragglers and many more exhausting minutes to find those who could help. Many were willing, some too sick. Soon a group of twelve of the strongest men gathered with shovels and horses to head back. They saw darkness where once there had been a peaceful blue.

“Obadja. Obadja!” Paniek het die kreet verander in 'n desperate snikkende gebed om hulp. Sarah het weer geroep, maar hierdie keer in gebed meer pleitend. 'n Stem wat sagter is as wat sy ooit gehoor het, het in haar gedagtes opgekom met vlugtige dringendheid, een eenvoudige woord,' Hardloop '.

Met haar klein kindjie vasgeklou, het sy gehoorsaam. Sy het nie geweet waarheen om te hardloopnie, en daarom het sy net gehardloop. Die monster het van die lug af geklou en na haar gesteek en haar wese en die van haar kind begeer. Sy hardloop en hardloop. Haar wa ontplof agter haar, skeur onherkenbaar met tornadiese krag en versprei haar wêreldse goedere wyd. Sarah het geval en in bewustelose vergetelheid verval.

So vinnig as wat dit gekom het, beweeg die tornado verder noord-oos toe. Sarah het wakker gewordvan die traanbesmeerde gesig van haar geliefde Obadja. Die vreugde wat haar gevul het, was vlugtig. Haar kleinding is weg. Angs diep en diep het haar hartgevul, die pyn wat haar siel seer as 'n deel van die angs van die Verlosser in Getsemane. Snikend klou sy vas aan Obadjah, sonder om te weet wat om te doen.

 

Een van die mans het versprei om iets van waarde te soek. Hulle was op soek na dit wat uit die verspreide oorblyfsels gered kon word. Die geskree kom van een wat net anderkant 'n effense knoppie staan. 'Kom, kom hier! Obadja, Sara, kom! ” Diestem is gevul met dringendheid.

Sara skeur haarself van Obadja af weg en hardloop na die stem. Obadiah het geveg om by te bly.

Daar net anderkant die knollie lê 'n dooie coyote (jakkals), sy gegolfde jas bebloed en beskermend gekrul om 'n klein snikkende kind.
 

•4•
“Obadiah. Obadiah!” Panic changed the cry to a desperate sobbing prayer for help. Sarah called out again, but this time in prayer more pleading. A voice more gentle than she had ever heard entered her mind with fleeting urgency one simple word, “Run.”

With her little child clutched close, she obeyed. She did not know where to run, so she just ran. The monster clawed down from the sky, reaching for her, desiring her very being and that of her child. She ran and ran. Her wagon exploded behind her, ripped beyond recognition with tornadic force, widely scattering her worldly goods.
Sarah fell and fell into unconscious oblivion.

As quickly as it had come, the tornado moved on, heading northeast. Sarah awoke to see the tear-stained face of her beloved Obadiah. The joy that filled her was fleeting. Her little one was gone. Anguish profound and deep filled her heart, the pain searing her soul as it were a portion of the Savior’s agony in Gethsemane. Sobbing, she clung to Obadiah, knowing not what to do.

A shout came from one of the men who had spread out searching for anything of value. They were looking for that which could be salvaged from the scattered remnants. The shout came from one standing just beyond a slight knoll. “Come, come here! Obadiah, Sarah, come!” The voice was filled with urgency.

Sarah tore herself away from Obadiah and ran towards the voice. Obadiah fought to keep up.

There just beyond the knoll, lay a dead coyote, its ruffled coat bloodied and curled protectively around a small sobbing child.
 

'n Pionierstorie deur Jonathan Rimington
©2020 Rimington
 
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A pioneer story by Jonathan Rimington
©2020 Rimington