The Brave Children of Fatima

www.camplittlemore.blogspot.com

Dear Diary,

There we sat in Father's beautiful 1957 Cadillac, with the rain pouring down so hard we could scarcely see beyond the hood! The windshield wipers were working furiously, and every flash of lightning brought another tremendous clap of thunder.

Father LeRoy had pulled off the road, deciding it was too dangerous to continue. Sister Mary Claire held her rosary, while poor Mini curled up on my lap, frightened by the storm.

After quite some time, Robert suddenly leaned forward.

"Father! Look over there! I think I see a farmstead!"

Through the rain we could just make out a farmhouse and several buildings among the trees. Father drove slowly ahead until Robert spotted what looked like a driveway.

But we hadn't gone far when the Cadillac began slipping in the mud. The rear wheels spun helplessly, and suddenly we were stuck!

"Well, children," Father announced, "I believe our automobile journey has come to an end!"

There was nothing to do but walk to the farmhouse.

Robert carried our suitcase, Father struggled with the umbrella, and I carried Mini beneath my coat. The rain blew straight into our faces, and our shoes sank into the mud. Robert even lost one of his shoes and had to pull it out!

By the time we reached the farmhouse, we were thoroughly soaked.

The windows were dark, and nobody answered Father's knocking. Fortunately, the door was unlocked. After calling out several times, Father led us inside to escape the storm.

The house appeared completely deserted.

The Mysterious Note

Father found a handwritten note on the kitchen table, held down by an empty Mason jar.

He adjusted his glasses and read aloud:

To Whoever Comes Along,

The bank foreclosed on our farm. We've lost nearly everything and are heading to California for a new start.

Help yourselves to whatever we left behind. There's food in the storm cellar and good drinking water at the hand pump outside.

Good Luck!

For a moment nobody spoke.

"How terribly sad," Sister Mary Claire whispered.

Father looked around the empty kitchen.

"A farm holds a family's memories, children. Leaving one behind must be very difficult."

Then he smiled at the note.

"And isn't it rather ironic? These poor people have lost their farm and wish the next travelers good luck. And who finds their note but a priest, a nun, and two children whose Cadillac is buried in the mud!"

Robert burst out laughing.

"Well, Father, their good luck hasn't worked very well!"

"Perhaps not, Robert, but we have found shelter and something to eat. I believe our fortunes are improving!"

"Providence, Father," Sister Mary Claire corrected gently.

"Quite right, Sister. Providence!"

Before doing anything else, Father asked us to pray for the family traveling west to California.

Then he and Robert investigated the storm cellar and discovered home-canned peaches, green beans, pickles, preserves, and potatoes.

"Father! They've left us a grocery store!" Robert exclaimed.

There was one difficulty. The drinking water was outside at the hand pump, and it was still pouring!

Father handed Robert a pitcher.

"Congratulations, my boy. You are now chairman of the Water Committee!"

We all laughed as Robert hurried out into the rain.

Our Reading Club — The Brave Children of Fatima

After a little supper, we gathered around the kitchen table beneath the light of our traveling lantern.

I opened our Fatima book and began telling everyone about Lucy, Francis, and little Jacinta.

The three children had been arrested by an official who demanded that they reveal Our Lady's secret. He questioned them, threatened them, and even offered them gold pieces, but they refused.

Finally, he imprisoned them.

Little Jacinta began crying because she feared she might never see her mother again. Francis comforted her, reminding her that they could offer their suffering for the conversion of sinners.

"Oh, Father," I said, "Jacinta was only seven years old!"

"Yes, Kathy. True courage means remaining faithful even when we are frightened."

The children began praying the Rosary, and soon the other prisoners knelt beside them. Some could scarcely remember the prayers, but they joined in anyway.

"Imagine!" Sister Mary Claire said. "Three little children turning a prison into a house of prayer!"

The official then threatened the children with death in boiling oil. Jacinta was taken away first, then Francis, then Lucy. But it was only another cruel attempt to frighten them.

Not one revealed the secret.

At last they were returned to their families.

"Three children against a powerful man," Robert said, "and the children won!"

Father smiled. "Because they trusted God more than they feared men."

Our Lady Returns

Four days later, on August 19, 1917, Our Lady appeared again to the children at Valinhos.

She looked upon them with great compassion and reminded them to pray much and make sacrifices for sinners.

When I finished, the room was quiet except for the rain tapping against the windows.

"Father," I asked, "could we offer our troubles today for sinners? Even getting stuck in the mud?"

"Certainly, Kathy. Every little difficulty patiently offered to God can become an act of love."

"Then I'll offer my muddy shoe!" Robert announced.

"And I'll offer my wet stockings!" I added.

Everyone laughed.

Our Hail Mary in the Farmhouse

Before ending our meeting, Father suggested that we offer a Hail Mary for the family who had lost their farm, and for all those who were suffering or far from home.

Then he turned to me.

"Kathy, would you lead us in prayer?"

"Yes, Father," I answered.

We gathered around the little lantern. Sister Mary Claire folded her hands, Robert bowed his head, and even Mini settled quietly beside my chair.

Outside, the rain continued falling softly upon the old farmhouse roof.

I thought of the three little children of Fatima praying in their prison, and of the family somewhere on the long road to California.

"I folded my hands, closed my eyes, and began our prayer.

The Road to Ames

Dear Diary,

I used to think an adventure began with a secret passage or a mysterious message hidden inside a book.

Ours began with the windshield wipers.

They swept back and forth as fast as they could, but the rain kept getting ahead of them. Beyond the windows of Father LeRoy’s Cadillac, the Iowa fields had become enormous brown lakes. Corn stood in flooded rows, and the harvesting hadn’t even begun.

Robert sat beside me with our book open between us. Mini slept against my leg. In the front seat, Sister had just been reading about the crowds traveling to the Cova da Iria at Fatima.

“Carriages, automobiles, bicycles—even donkeys,” Robert said. “Everybody going to the same place.”

“Fortunately,” Father said, “we have a Cadillac.”

Then the radio crackled.

“Motorists are warned to avoid flooded roads—”

Father turned up the volume.

“The bridge on the approach to Ames has washed out. Seek an alternate route.”

Nobody spoke.

Rain hammered the roof, and Father tightened his hands on the wheel.

“Washed out,” he repeated.

He seemed beside himself for a moment. Then he pulled into a gravel entrance.

“The map, Sister. We’ll have to find another road.”

Sister unfolded it across her knees. Robert leaned forward to help.

“There’s a road right there.”

“That,” Father said, “is a fold.”

Even Sister smiled.

Father traced a thin line with his finger.

“This secondary road should bring us around to the highway beyond the bridge.”

We turned onto it, and soon there was nothing around us but flooded fields and fence posts disappearing into the rain. Visibility was terrible. Father leaned forward, watching every foot of pavement.

Then something came floating along the ditch.

A broken fence rail.

I sat up straight.

“Father—”

“I see it, Kathy.”

A moment later, he stopped the Cadillac so suddenly that Mini scrambled to her feet.

“We must not go farther.”

We all saw why.

A torrent of muddy water was pouring across the road ahead. Branches spun through it. The pavement disappeared beneath the rushing water and emerged again on the other side.

Robert closed our book.

A heavy limb struck something under the surface, reared up, and vanished.

Father checked behind us and carefully backed the Cadillac onto the rise we had just passed. There he stopped and shut off the engine.

“We’ll conserve gasoline,” he said.

Without the engine running, we could hear the roar of the water.

“Are we stranded?” I asked.

“For the time being.”

He turned toward us.

“But we are safe here, and safe we will be if we stay on this rise in the road. We have water, food, and a Cadillac.”

Mini gave a small bark.

“And Mini,” Father added.

Sister handed around sandwiches and spread a blanket over Robert’s knees and mine. I tried to eat, but I kept watching the place where the road disappeared.

Our book lay on the seat, still open to the Fatima chapter.

“Those people had to wait too,” I said.

Sister looked back at me.

“At the Cova?”

I nodded.

“They came all that way, and the children didn’t appear. They didn’t know what had happened.”

“They became angry,” Robert remembered. “Some wanted to march to Orem.”

Thunder rolled across the fields. I glanced down at the page—the sudden flash, the thunder, and the white cloud around the little oak.

“Then they knelt and prayed,” I said.

Sister nodded.

“Their waiting became prayer.”

I looked through the rain-streaked window. I wanted to be brave, but I also wanted dry socks and a road that stayed where a road belonged.

“Father, were you frightened when you saw the water?”

“Yes, Kathy,” he answered. “And that was our signal to stop.”

He looked toward the crossing, then back at us.

“We have a good place to wait. We’ll stay here until we know we can leave safely.”

Robert tucked the blanket around Mini, who promptly wriggled out and settled on our feet instead.

I took another bite of my sandwich.

The rain still poured. The bridge to Ames was still washed out. But inside the Cadillac, we were together, and our Reading Club meeting wasn’t quite finished.

Father turned in his seat.

“Kathy,” he said, “would you end our Reading Club meeting by leading us in a Hail Mary?”

Our First Road-Trip Meeting at Pilot Rock

October 18, 1957

Dear Diary,

Our great road trip to Iowa City began this morning!

Father LeRoy arrived early in his Cadillac, and it was quite a sight when we finally had everyone and everything tucked inside. Sister Mary Claire brought our suitcases and a basket of food, Robert carried the road maps, and I kept The Fatima Story safely beside me. Mini had her own blanket and little traveling dish.

The morning was bitterly cold. Frost covered the grass, and yesterday’s puddles had frozen solid. Still, the sky was blue and beautiful, and we were all far too excited to complain.

Before traveling very far, Father surprised us by stopping at Pilot Rock. The enormous old boulder stood upon the hill beneath the wide Iowa sky. Father said it would be the perfect place for the first meeting of St. Mary’s Traveling Reading Club.

We bundled ourselves in coats and scarves and gathered on the sheltered side of the rock. Mini explored every inch of the ground before sitting beside me, looking very proud to be included.

I opened our Fatima book and briefly reminded everyone where we had stopped. Lucy, Francis, and Jacinta had been deceived by the Administrator and carried away to the jail at Ourem. Although they were frightened, they had resolved to remain faithful and never reveal Our Lady’s secret.

Father said that the great rock behind us made him think of their courage.

“They were only children,” he said, “but their faith was firm as a rock.”

Sister Mary Claire added that being brave does not always mean doing something grand. Sometimes it means quietly standing by the truth when everyone around us says we are wrong.

Before leaving, we stood together beside Pilot Rock and Father asked me to lead The Readers Club in a Hail Mary for courage on our own journey through life. Then Sister opened her basket and passed around warm cinnamon rolls wrapped in a clean towel. Mini received a small piece without frosting and ate it in two quick bites.

Soon we were back in the Cadillac, with the heater running and our Fatima book safely packed away. Father unfolded his map, pointed toward the east, and announced, “Next stop—Ames, Iowa!”

Pilot Rock was a wonderful beginning to our adventure. Our Reading Club has left the church basement, but it certainly has not stopped meeting.

Love,
Kathy

A Cold Morning and a Wonderful Invitation

Dear Diary,

Winter seems to be arriving early at Camp Littlemore. This morning the wind was so cold that even the puddles in the church driveway had a thin covering of ice. The apple tree behind St. Mary’s was bare and shivering, so we held our Reading Club meeting in the warm church basement.

Father LeRoy had built a little fire in the stove, and Sister Mary Claire served hot cocoa while we settled around the long table. Mini curled up close to my feet, where she could enjoy the warmth and keep watch for anything that might fall from someone’s plate.

I read today’s part of our Fatima story. After the beautiful events at the Cova da Iria, the crowd went home singing praises to the Blessed Virgin. Lucy’s heart was peaceful, and she knew that she would never doubt Our Lady again. However, her troubles were only beginning.

Lucy’s mother and sisters still did not believe her, and their harsh words caused her great sorrow. The newspapers began printing cruel stories, claiming that the children were foolish or dishonest and that the events at Fatima had been invented by the Church. The government officials were also becoming alarmed by the great crowds gathering to pray.

The Administrator of the district was especially determined to put an end to everything. He ordered Lucy, Francis, and Jacinta to appear before him. Francis and Jacinta’s parents refused because the children were so young, but Lucy went with her father. Although the Administrator questioned and threatened her, she would not deny what she had seen or reveal Our Lady’s secret.

Then, on August 13, he came to the Marto home pretending to be friendly. He told the children that he wanted to visit the Cova da Iria because, like Saint Thomas, he had to see before he could believe. Instead, he tricked the three children into his carriage and carried them away to Ourem. When the carriage stopped, they discovered that they had been brought to the town jail.

The Administrator told them that they would not be released until they revealed the secret. The children were frightened, but they resolved that they would rather die than betray the confidence Our Lady had placed in them.

When I finished reading, the basement was very quiet. Father said that courage does not mean that we are never afraid. True courage means remaining faithful to God even while we are frightened. Sister added that Lucy, Francis, and Jacinta were only children, yet they showed more strength than many grown people.

Then Father’s face suddenly brightened.

“I have some news for the Reading Club,” he announced.

Father said that he has been called to Iowa City for a meeting, and he  invited all of us to travel with him! A generous and well-to-do member of the Church has offered to pay all of our expenses. Tomorrow morning Father, Sister Mary Claire, Robert, Mini, and I will begin our journey.

For a moment I could hardly believe him. Robert immediately began asking how far it was and what route we would take. Sister reminded us to pack warm clothing, and Father said there would be plenty of room for our luggage in his Cadillac.

Of course, we are taking our Fatima books along. Father said that a road trip is no reason for the Reading Club to miss its meeting. We can read and discuss the story along the way, and perhaps hold one of our meetings in an entirely new place.

Tonight I must pack my warmest coat, gloves, pajamas, toothbrush, diary, and rosary. Sister helped me prepare a little blanket and dish for Mini. Mini does not know that she is going to Iowa City, but she knows that something exciting is happening. She has been following me from room to room, inspecting everything I place in the suitcase.

Before we left the church basement, we prayed for Lucy, Francis, and Jacinta as they entered the jail, and Father gave us his blessing for tomorrow’s journey.

The frozen puddles may have ended our meetings beneath the apple tree for a while, but they certainly have not ended the adventures of St. Mary’s Reading Club.

Tomorrow, we are off to Iowa City!

Love,
Kathy

Pray for Peace

Praying at the Oak Tree

The day the children had been waiting for finally arrived. At noon, Lucy, Jacinta, and Francis stood near the green oak tree, happy and eager to see the Lady again. About sixty people had come to watch. The children’s parents had been unsure about letting them go, but at last they gave permission.

As they waited, the children prayed the rosary. Then Lucy saw the bright light and called out, “She is coming!” They hurried toward the oak tree. There was the beautiful Lady, surrounded by the same lovely light.

Later, the priest’s warning troubled Lucy deeply. She wondered whether what they had seen could be the devil’s work. Frightening dreams disturbed her sleep, and her heart grew heavy with worry. At last, she decided she would not return to the Cova da Iria.

Jacinta cried, and Francis begged her to come, but Lucy was too afraid. She was only ten years old and carrying such a heavy burden. Even on this painful path of faith, she needed kindness, comfort, and understanding.

The Rest of the Birthday Cake