The High Calling Read online

  © 2006 by Gilbert Morris

  Published by Bethany House Publishers

  11400 Hampshire Avenue South

  Bloomington, Minnesota 55438

  www.bethanyhouse.com

  Bethany House Publishers is a division of

  Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan

  www.bakerpublishinggroup.com

  Ebook edition created 2011

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of the publisher and copyright owners.

  ISBN 978-1-4412-7061-0

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, D.C.

  Scripture quotations are from the King James Version of the Bible.

  Cover illustration by William Graf

  Cover design by Josh Madison

  To Leonard Owen—

  The Good Book says, “There is a friend that sticketh closer than a brother.” I haven’t had too many friends like that, but I’m proud to have you, Len. Thanks for being my friend!

  CONTENTS

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  PART ONE

  June-August 1937

  1. Out of the Past

  2. State Fair

  3. “Never Trust a Limey on a Coon Hunt!”

  4. Kat Gets an Offer

  5. Yellow Light, Red Light

  6. “For the Rest of Our Lives”

  PART TWO

  March-July 1940

  7. A Word From God

  8. A Much-Needed Leave

  9. Luncheon With the Nobility

  10. A Cowboy in London

  11. The High-Flying Cowboy

  12. The Face of Death

  PART THREE

  July-September 1940

  13. Cowboy Breaks the Rules

  14. “I Shouldn’t Have Come Here”

  15. Eagle Day

  16. Missing in Action

  17. Bernie

  18. Death From the Skies

  PART FOUR

  September-October 1940

  19. “No Time-Outs in a War”

  20. A Call for Help

  21. Meredith

  22. Skirmish Over France

  23. Eject!

  24. No Higher Calling

  About the Author

  CHAPTER ONE

  Out of the Past

  “Michael, you stop that!”

  Katherine Winslow was deluged with a pail full of soapy bath water that struck her square in the face. She wiped her eyes, then grabbed one of the three youngsters who were laughing and wrestling in the tub. “Michael, you deserve a spanking for that!”

  “I ain’t Michael. I’m Temple.”

  “I should’ve known it was you. Now you three rinse yourselves off and don’t you dare throw any more water on me!”

  Temple grinned at her impudently. “You’re gonna have to take a bath anyway before we leave for the fair, ain’t ya? I was just helpin’.”

  Kat bit her lip to keep from laughing. She could not help but think how her five-year-old half brothers were so different in behavior while physically as alike as three peas in a pod. The triplets had been a trial for her father, who was somewhat old to be raising young children. If it had not been for the steadiness of their mother, Missouri Ann, the boys would no doubt have perished.

  “Why did you think it was me?” Michael demanded.

  “I don’t know. I just called out the first name I could think of.”

  “Well, I’m the oldest, and I ain’t mean like Temple is.” Michael was indeed the oldest of the three boys, being some ten minutes older than Samuel—who was approximately an hour older than Temple. Michael always maintained that his seniority enabled him to make the decisions. Samuel, the quietest of the three, rarely argued with this, but Temple, a rebel through and through, would argue with a signpost.

  Picking up the pail that had just been emptied on her, Kat turned the water on and began rinsing the boys off. When they were all relatively free of soap, she ordered them out of the tub, handing them each a towel. “Now, dry yourselves off.” As she watched, a smile tugged at her lips. There was something inherently amusing in three redheaded, blue-eyed boys looking so much alike. She had helped raise them and knew firsthand what a great effort that was.

  The bathroom door opened and a large woman with black hair accented by one broad silver streak and snapping black eyes came in. “Aren’t these young’uns dressed yet?”

  “Aw, Ma, it’s Michael’s fault! He had so much dirt it took this long to get him clean.”

  Somehow Missouri Ann Winslow had no trouble telling her three sons apart. “You would blame it on your brother, Temple. Now you hush up and get into these clothes.”

  Missouri Ann turned to her stepdaughter with a smile. “You look like you got in the tub with ’em, daughter.”

  “I might as well, Mom.” Kat laughed and ran her hand over her sopping hair. She shook her head and smiled ruefully. “It’s like giving a bath to three yearlings—only not as easy.”

  “You go on and get dressed. I’ll take care of these rascals.”

  “All right, but get them out of here so I can take my own bath.”

  Missouri Ann glanced back at her stepdaughter as she herded the boys out. “You sure aren’t going to get much of a vacation here this summer. You’ll be itching to go back to that college right soon. You won’t be getting much rest, but you’ve already been a heaven-sent blessing to me!”

  “This is such a nice change of pace after studying so hard all year, and you know how I enjoy the boys.”

  After Missouri Ann had shut the door, Kat quickly drained and refilled the tub. She undressed and climbed in, soaking in the luxurious quiet and thinking of how close she had grown to her stepmother. Her own mother had died when she was ten, and when her father had married Missouri Ann Ramey, many had said the marriage would fail. Lewis was much older than his wife, and she was almost his exact opposite in temperament. She was an outspoken Christian who witnessed to everyone she met and had visions and dreams, which to everyone’s surprise, except the family, seemed to come true.

  Kat lay down flat in the tub and lifted her legs in the air, toes pointed at the ceiling. She had been looking forward to the Georgia State Fair for weeks and could hardly believe the day had finally arrived. I hope Hercules wins that blue ribbon tomorrow. He deserves it. He’s the most beautiful Black Angus in the state. She quickly finished her bath. She removed the stopper and watched the water as it swirled in a miniature whirlpool, something that always fascinated her.

  She got out and dried off and then made her way to her bedroom. She took her time getting into her pale blue cotton dress she had laid out. It had a scalloped white collar, three-quarter-length sleeves, and a high waist cinched in by a white belt. As she fixed her hair and put on her makeup, her mind was on the fair, which was always the high point of the Winslows’ summer. “Lord, I’d appreciate it if you’d let Hercules win that blue ribbon!” she prayed aloud and then grinned at herself in the mirror. She completed her ensemble with a pair of white patent-leather shoes and a cloche hat with the brim turned up.

  ****

  Clint Longstreet, Kat’s brother-in-law and the family’s farmhand, tugged at the harness on the massive Black Angus steer, but it was like trying to move a mountain. “Come on, you ornery critter!” he muttered between gritted teeth. “Get in this here trailer before I build a fire under you!”

  “Why, Clint, I’m surprised! You can’t even load a bull onto a trailer.�
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  Clint turned to see Kat, who had come up behind him. He had watched her change from a scrawny tomboy into a tall beauty. She was five-foot-ten, with a mass of tawny hair and large, clear gray-green eyes that dominated her features. Her wide mouth, high cheekbones, and squarish face were strong rather than exceptionally feminine.

  “You look good enough to go to church, Kat. Shame to waste that new outfit on nothin’ but a state fair.”

  “I’ll wear it to church Sunday. Here, let me get Hercules into that trailer.”

  Stepping back, Clint watched as Kat stepped up beside the massive steer. The beast tried to lick her face, but she jerked her head away and laughed. “No, you can’t do that, Hercules. Now come along, boy. Up into the trailer . . .”

  Hercules was as docile as a kitten with Kat, who had raised him from the time he was able to stagger around as a newborn calf. Clint admired Kat tremendously. She was a fine athlete who enjoyed playing softball, basketball, and many other sports—including football. Once she had argued with Clint that she ought to go out for the high school football team, but he had told her father about her plan, and her father had talked her out of that!

  She moved easily, and Hercules followed her up into the trailer. She stood with the animal for a moment, one arm around his neck and the other hand getting a thorough licking. “You’re going to win that blue ribbon tomorrow. You hear me?” Turning, she came down off the ramp. “He’s going to win, Clint.”

  From where they stood on the porch, Lewis and Missouri Ann Winslow could easily hear her words. Lewis was not a large man and did not look his sixty-three years. His hair, once brown, was now pure silver, but his dark brown eyes were as clear as ever. He had lost his first wife in 1927 and never thought to marry again—but Missouri Ann had burst into his life almost with the violence of a hurricane. Now he put his arm around her and hugged her. “You know, Missouri, I think tomorrow’s going to be a hard day for Kat.”

  “Why would you think that?”

  “I don’t think it’s hit her yet that Hercules is going to be made into steaks. She’s made a pet out of him. I told her not to do it, but you know how she is—stubborn as a blue nose mule.”

  Missouri Ann put her arm around Lewis and held him. She was slightly taller than he and heavier built, but that had never been a problem for either of them. “She’ll grieve herself a spell, but I reckon she’ll handle it.”

  “You’ve done a good job with her, honey.”

  “Why, she didn’t take much raisin’. You know she talks all the time now ’bout finding out God’s will for her life. I think that’s wonderful.”

  “That’s your doing. She got her Bible training from the right place. Missouri Ann Winslow’s Bible College.”

  She smiled at his teasing. “Well, she’s a fine young woman, and God’s going to use her.”

  Lewis’s eyes were on his daughter. He thought about what a difference Missouri Ann had made coming into his life when he had almost given up. “You know, I think my favorite verse of Scripture is the one in Proverbs that says, ‘Whoso findeth a wife findeth a good thing.’” He leaned over and kissed her, which surprised her. He was affectionate enough in private but usually was somewhat restrained in public.

  “Well, I’ve got a verse that’s not in the Good Book but it ought to be—‘She that findeth a husband findeth a real good thing.’”

  “Come on, wife. Let’s load up the kids and get into the car. Maybe I’ll win you a Kewpie doll at the shooting gallery.”

  ****

  The smell of hot dogs and mustard and fresh brewed cider was in the air as Kat wandered past the booths that offered the food. The air was alive with laughter and shouting as the fun seekers had come to Macon for the Georgia State Fair. Her dad had helped her unload Hercules at the agriculture building, and she now had the rest of the day to enjoy the fair. The livestock judging wouldn’t start until tomorrow. As she wandered among the rides, she looked up at the Ferris wheel, remembering the first time her father had taken her on one. She had been terrified by the height and still remembered how he had put his arms around her and held her tightly, promising her she would be okay.

  Now as she looked up, a whim swept over her. She had not ridden the Ferris wheel for several years, for she was still not completely free of her fear of large machinery. Nevertheless, she stepped up and paid her fare, and just before the attendant put the bar down, a voice said, “Mind if I share your seat?”

  Looking up, Kat saw a short, muscular young man with a sunburned face and a pair of impudent blue eyes, grinning at her. “There are plenty of other seats,” she said.

  “But none with such a pretty girl on them. Come on, have a heart.”

  Ordinarily Kat would have refused, but something about the fellow’s air pleased her. He had a fresh-looking face and freckles galore. “All right, but you stay on your own side.”

  “My name’s Dave Tompkins.”

  “That’s a nice name,” Kat said but did not give her own. The bar snapped in front of them, and the seat swung as they went upward.

  “I didn’t get your name.”

  “People just call me Kat.”

  “Cat? That’s your name?”

  “A nickname.”

  Kat hung on to the bar as the Ferris wheel swept into the full cycle. As it rose, she glanced out, enjoying the panorama of the fair. They were higher now than all the other rides, and she heard people laughing and screaming as they were turned upside down and swung in circles. Far off was the agricultural building, where the livestock judging would take place. Farther off were the tree-covered hills, which actually looked soft from this distance.

  Dave Tompkins made a valiant effort to get Kat to talk about herself, but when the ride ended, he knew no more about the tall young woman than when he had gotten on. “Better give me your telephone number,” he said urgently. “I might need to call you.”

  “Thank you very much, but I don’t think so.” Kat laughed at his expression and said, “You’ll find some girl to give you her number. Good-bye, Dave.”

  He seemed a nice enough fellow, but she was not particularly interested in dating at the moment. She left the young man staring after her with disappointment etched on his features and forgot about him almost at once. Kat continued on her circuit of the rides and the games of chance, then happened to pass by two young women who were gazing up at a large poster. Curiosity caused her to pause, and as she looked up at the poster, a grin turned up the corners of her lips.

  “He’s a dream, ain’t he?” The speaker was a rather tall, gangly girl who was wearing a bright red dress that made her sallow skin look terrible. She poked the girl beside her with her elbow and said, “What do you think, Roxy?”

  “Well, I’ll tell you what I think.” She leaned to whisper something in her tall friend’s ear, which caused the girl to laugh stridently.

  “Me too,” she said.

  The girl called Roxy was wearing a tight dress that set off her full figure admirably. Her hair was more carefully done than her friend’s, but there was a boldness in her dark eyes. “His name’s Brodie Lee,” she told Kat. “I seen him do his stunt flying yesterday.”

  “He ain’t as pretty as that picture, is he?” the other girl asked.

  “Why, yes he is!” Roxy said. “He’s better lookin’ than Robert Taylor. You know what? I’m gonna see if I can get him to take me out.”

  “Bet’cha can’t!”

  “You hide and watch me!” Roxy told her friend with confidence. “Come on. It’s almost time for the stunt flying to start. I’ll be right there when he gets out of that there airplane!”

  ****

  Brodie Lee’s hands moved on the stick, and his feet worked the pedals almost as if he were playing a pipe organ. The biplane flipped upside down, and he shoved the throttle forward. Even though the ground was nothing but a blur under him, he always knew exactly where he was at all times. He watched the ground grow closer and felt the shoulder strap cutting into his
shoulders as he skimmed along. Most men would have wondered if the safety belt was going to hold, but Brodie never gave a thought to things like that.

  Somehow skimming across the fields upside down with the blades of the propeller dangerously close to the grass filled him with a keen pleasure. He was aware that several things could go wrong that could kill him instantly, but that was something that happened to other fellows—not to Brodie Lee!

  His upside-down view of the field revealed telephone wires strung between poles just ahead, and instead of flipping the plane over, he simply went under them.

  “That ought to give ’em something to holler about,” he proclaimed and laughed loudly. Then he flipped the plane over, banked it sharply, and steered back toward the field, which was lined with spectators. “You got your money’s worth that time, I reckon,” he said as he brought the plane in for a perfect landing. He got out and leaped to the ground.

  His mechanic was striding toward him, his face like a thundercloud.

  “Don’t say it, Fred!” Brodie started.

  “I will too say it! You’ve got no business goin’ under them wires! You’re gonna kill your fool self!”

  “Not a chance. I was born to be hanged. Better check her out, Fred. She might need a little tunin’ up.”

  Leaving the plane and the unhappy man, Brodie strolled toward the crowd and was soon surrounded by the curious and the admiring. One of them proved to be a reporter with a camera who insisted on taking several pictures while Brodie answered questions.

  The questions were familiar enough, and Brodie had answered them many times. As he gave his usual answers, his eyes went over the crowd and stopped when they fell on a well-shaped girl whose dark eyes were fixed on him. She had a slight smile on her lips, and as their eyes met, something seemed to pass between them.

  Brodie answered another question and then said, “That’s all for now, folks. There’ll be another performance tomorrow—same time. I’ll do something real special for you. It’d be nice if you’d come back.”

  The crowd slowly broke up as the dark-eyed girl came forward.

  “Could I have your autograph?” she asked.