A Quiet Morning by Lake LaVerne

A Quiet Morning by Lake LaVerne
www.camplittlemore.blogspot.com

Dear Diary,

I woke up in Ames this morning and lay still for a moment, remembering where we were. We were safe, Father’s car was out of the mud, and nobody had to go anywhere in a hurry.

I kept picturing the county tow truck pulling Father’s Cadillac from that muddy field driveway. I remembered the cable drawing tight and all of us watching, hardly daring to breathe until the car finally moved. I don’t think I have ever been so pleased to see tires on a proper road.

Yet there were things about the farmhouse I was sorry to leave. I remembered the comforting heat from the wood stove and how pleasant the house had felt after we had been cold and worried. Down in the storm cellar, the shelves held all those jars of food, each carefully labeled. Someone had spent many summer hours preparing them.

I wondered about the farmer and his wife who had left it all for California. Did she miss her kitchen? Did he think about his fields? I made the Sign of the Cross beneath the bedcovers and asked God to keep them safe and give them a happy future.

After breakfast, Father LeRoy suggested a gentle outing to see Iowa State College and Lake LaVerne.

“A little walking will do us good,” he said.

“On something firmer than a field driveway,” Robert added.

Father laughed. “That is my preference, too.”

The campus was a lovely place to recover from an adventure. Students in wool coats and sweaters passed us with books tucked under their arms. I tried to imagine being old enough to know my way among all those buildings. The tall Campanile rose above the trees, and when its bells sounded, we stopped to listen.

At Lake LaVerne, the water caught the pale sunshine. We watched the swans glide past, looking perfectly unconcerned about the weather or anyone’s travel plans. Mini stood very straight beside me, ears forward, until Sister Mary Claire reminded her that we were visitors and should behave accordingly.

By late morning, the sunshine had warmed a sheltered grassy spot beside the lake. Father spread out our blanket, and we settled down for Reading Club with our coats still buttoned. Our Fatima book had come through the adventure with us.

I read the summary of the September apparition. Thousands of people had gathered to pray, bringing their worries about husbands, children, and others they loved. The account described a light moving through the sky and white petals falling and disappearing before they reached the ground. Lucy, Francis, and Jacinta saw Our Lady, who asked them to continue praying the rosary for peace and promised to return in October.

Then we read about the children’s exhaustion. So many strangers wanted to question them that they scarcely had a moment to themselves.

“They were only children,” I said. “I think I would have wanted to hide.”

“They needed quiet, too,” Sister said. “Remember how they went back to the place where the angel had appeared, whenever they could.”

Robert looked across the lake. “Like having somewhere to catch your breath.”

I thought our little patch of grass was doing that for us.

Jacinta’s vision of hungry people made me remember the cellar shelves.

“All those jars at the farmhouse,” I said. “I keep thinking about how much work went into them—and how wonderful they would look to someone with nothing to eat.”

Father nodded. “Remember that feeling when you have an opportunity to share.”

The next part brought us to October thirteenth. People waited through cold rain, and the ground became a sea of mud. Lucy’s parents went with her despite their fear of what the crowd might do if the promised miracle did not happen.

After our own muddy adventure, it was easier to imagine wet shoes, chilled hands, and the longing for somewhere warm. But those people stayed and prayed.

“Lucy must have been glad to have her mother and father beside her,” I said.

“I expect their presence meant a great deal,” Father answered.

When Our Lady appeared, she identified herself as Our Lady of the Rosary. She asked the people to amend their lives and turn away from sin. Then the rain stopped, the clouds parted, and Lucy called for everyone to look at the sun.

That was where today’s reading ended.

Robert leaned forward. “We’re stopping there?”

“We’ll have something wonderful to open the book to next time,” Sister said.

Mini had fallen asleep against my shoe. She seemed quite willing to wait.

Before we packed up, I read a prayer for all of us:

Dear Lord, thank You for bringing us safely through the storm and for the people who helped us. Bless the farmer and his wife on their journey to California. Give food to those who are hungry, shelter to those who are cold, and courage to those who are afraid. Our Lady of the Rosary, help us to pray faithfully and to be generous with what we have. Watch over our little company as we continue our journey. Amen.

Tonight, I am thankful for dry shoes, a safe place to sleep, and the sound of bells across a peaceful campus. I hope the farmer and his wife have found something peaceful at the end of their road, too.

Love,
Kathy

A Cozy Kitchen in the Storm

The Storm Cellar
www.camplittlemore.blogspot.com

Dear Diary,

After supper, Robert announced that being stranded had improved considerably.

I agreed. Canned vegetables and meat had never tasted so good.

Robert had stoked the little wood cookstove until it crackled cheerfully. The old kitchen still had a table and enough chairs for us, and we drew them close to the warmth. Rain rattled against the windows, but inside, our damp coats were drying and Mini lay stretched out near my feet.

It was hard to believe that only hours ago we had been staring at a torrent pouring across the road.

Father laid the former owners’ note on the table.

“They couldn’t have known who would need their kindness,” Sister said.

I thought of the root cellar where we had found our supper. In the lantern light, the jars had looked like treasure—peaches, beans, carrots, and preserves, all neatly waiting on their shelves.

I wondered where the owners were tonight, and whether someone was being kind to them.

Robert put another piece of wood into the stove.

“There,” he said. “That ought to keep us comfortable.”

Then Sister opened our Fatima book, and we began our Reading Club meeting around the kitchen table.

Tonight we heard about Jacinta carrying home the branch on which Our Lady had rested her feet. Lucy’s mother would not believe her at first. But when she took the branch, a wonderful perfume rose from its leaves, and everyone nearby noticed it.

I tried to imagine it. Our kitchen smelled of wood smoke and supper. What would it be like if a fragrance from an ordinary branch suddenly made everyone stop and listen?

“Did Lucy’s mother believe her then?” I asked.

“She began to listen differently,” Sister said. “She and the family became gentler toward Lucy.”

I was glad. It must have been terribly lonely to tell the truth and still be scolded.

Then we read about the sacrifices the children made for sinners. Some were so painful that I looked up from the book.

Father noticed.

“Their wish to help others came from love,” he said. “You needn’t hurt yourselves to follow that love. There are plenty of chances to be patient, generous, and helpful.”

Robert glanced at the supper dishes.

“Even washing those?”

“An excellent beginning.”

The part I kept thinking about was the hungry children waiting beside the road. Jacinta and the others gave them their lunches, although it meant going without food themselves.

I looked at my empty plate.

Only a little while ago, I had been hungry. Someone I had never met had left food for us, and now I was warm and comfortable with a full stomach.

“Father,” I said, “the people who lived here shared their supper with us. They just weren’t here to hand it to us.”

He looked at their note.

“Yes, Kathy. They did.”

A sudden gust shook the window. Mini lifted her head, and we all listened as something outside banged twice.

Robert started to rise, but Father held up his hand.

“Stay here.”

He took the lantern and checked from the doorway. A loose shutter swung in the wind.

“Only a shutter,” he reported, coming back into the kitchen.

“Quite enough excitement for tonight,” I said.

Robert grinned and gathered the plates.

“I’ll wash if Kathy dries.”

“I will.”

There was warm water on the cookstove. Sister helped us tidy the kitchen while Father checked the stove and set aside wood for the morning.

Before we finished, I found a scrap of paper and wrote a note to leave beside the owners’ message.

Thank you for helping us. We were very hungry, and your supper was wonderful. We washed everything and left plenty for the next people. We are praying for you.

I signed it from all of us.

“And Mini,” Robert reminded me.

So I added her name too.

When I sat down again, Mini rested her chin on my shoe. The stove gave a little pop, and Father settled into his chair.

We still didn’t know when we would reach Ames. But for that evening, we had a warm kitchen, a good supper, and our book open on the table.

I hoped the owners would someday come home and find our note.

I wanted them to know their kindness had reached us.

 

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

 

Kathy's Birthday

Biscuits, Butter Gravy, and Our Lady’s Promise

 

September 29, 1957

Dear Diary,

Rain again! Harvesting was at a standstill, and everyone seemed to be watching the sky for a change. Our Reading Club met in the church basement, where Sister was busy at the stove making biscuits and butter gravy. Mini shook the raindrops from her coat before settling near my chair, her nose already working.

While the biscuits baked, I read my summary of the end of Chapter Four.

“On May 13, 1917, Lucy, Francis, and Jacinta took their sheep to the Cova da Iria after Sunday Mass. They ate lunch, prayed the rosary, and began building a little stone house for a game.

“Suddenly, they saw a brilliant flash, although the sky was clear. Thinking a storm was coming, they gathered the sheep. Another flash stopped them, and near a young oak tree they saw a beautiful Lady dressed in radiant white.

“She reassured them and told Lucy that she came from Heaven. She asked the children to return on the thirteenth of each month for six months, promising to tell them who she was in October. She assured them that they would go to Heaven, adding that Francis must pray many rosaries.

“The Lady asked whether they would offer sacrifices and accept suffering for the conversion of sinners and in reparation for offenses against God and the Immaculate Heart of Mary. The children willingly agreed. She promised that God’s grace would sustain them.

“When she opened her hands, a wonderful light filled their souls, and they knelt in adoration. Before departing, she asked them to pray the rosary devoutly every day for peace in the world and the conversion of sinners.”

I put down my paper.

“Their day began so ordinarily,” I said. “Mass, sheep, lunch, and a game.”

“And they answered so willingly,” Sister added, bringing the biscuits to the table.

Father LeRoy nodded. “Remember the promise that went with their answer: God’s grace would help them. We can ask for that help in our own difficulties, too.”

We thought of the farmers waiting for their fields to dry, with so much work still ahead.

“We’ll remember them in our prayers,” I said.

Then Sister ladled butter gravy over the warm, split biscuits. Dear Diary, Sister’s butter gravy must be about the best gravy ever made. I asked how she made it and wrote down her simple recipe:

Sister’s Butter Gravy

4 tablespoons butter


3 tablespoons all-purpose flour


2 cups milk


Salt and black pepper to taste

Melt the butter in a skillet over medium-low heat. Stir in the flour and cook for one to two minutes, stirring constantly. Slowly whisk in the milk until smooth. Simmer gently, stirring, until thickened, about three to five minutes. Season to taste. Add a splash more milk if needed, and spoon over hot biscuits.

“Nothing very fancy,” Sister said.

Father took another spoonful. “There’s no improvement I can suggest.”

Mini sat beside him, remembering their last meeting and that fortunate double-yolk egg. This time I offered her a tiny crumb of plain biscuit. She checked Father’s hands afterward, just in case.

Before we left, Father raised his hand in blessing.

“May almighty God bless you, the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit.”

“Amen,” we answered.

Then I offered a short prayer:

Dear Jesus, thank You for this warm table and the kindness we share. Bless the farmers waiting through the rain. Help us say yes to You with willing hearts, and teach us to pray faithfully for peace. Mary, our Mother, keep us close to your Son. Amen.

Love,
Kathy

The Angel Reappears

September 24, 1957

Dear Diary,

It was raining again so our Reading Club continued The Fatima Story today in the Church basement. Sister and I brought hard-boiled eggs, and there was toast and butter to go with them. But first, I read my chapter summary.

“Several months after his first appearance, the angel returned to Lucy, Francis, and Jacinta in the garden behind the well. He called himself the Angel of Portugal and asked them to pray, offer sacrifices for sinners, and pray for peace in their country. His words helped the children understand how deeply God loved them and how they could love Him in return.

“Throughout the summer, they continued tending their sheep while making prayer part of their days. In autumn, the angel appeared a third time, surrounded by brilliant light and holding a chalice beneath a suspended Host. He taught them a prayer to the Holy Trinity and gave them Holy Communion. Afterward, they remained in prayer, filled with peace. Finally, they gathered their sheep and went home, tired but joyful.”

For a moment, we were quiet.

“The sheep still had to be brought home,” Sister said. “That little detail stayed with me.”

“With all that had happened, they still had their ordinary work to do,” I agreed.

Father LeRoy nodded. “And ordinary duties give us plenty of opportunities to love God—being patient, helping willingly, remembering someone who needs our prayers.”

We talked about how a small kindness can require a little sacrifice: giving someone our time, taking a turn at an unwelcome chore, or holding back an unkind word.

“I could work on doing a chore without announcing how much trouble it is,” I admitted.

That earned a gentle laugh around the table.

Then we passed the toast and eggs. Wouldn’t you know it—Father LeRoy peeled his egg, broke it open, and found a double yolk!

“Well now!” he said, looking thoroughly pleased. “Your hens have been generous, Kathy.”

Mini appeared beside his chair so promptly that I wondered whether she had been counting eggs all along.

“And I see someone has come to admire it,” Father added.

He broke off a small piece of plain egg and offered it to her. Mini accepted with the greatest delicacy, then sat gazing up at him as though he had just become her favorite member of the Reading Club.

“There goes my faithful companion,” I said.

“Only as far as the egg,” Sister replied.

Before we left, I offered our closing prayer.

Dear Jesus, thank You for loving us through the ordinary moments of our days. Teach us to pray faithfully, to help willingly, and to offer our little difficulties with love. Bring peace to our country and draw wandering hearts close to You. Bless our Reading Club, our homes, and dear Mini. Help us remember You when there is work to do as well as when we are quiet in prayer. Amen.

Love,
Kathy

 

The Angel of Peace

September 18, 2026

Dear Diary,

Our Reading Club met outside once more today, enjoying the pleasant weather while it lasts. A gentle breeze accompanied our gathering, and Father LeRoy joined us for lunch.

Thanks to Father and the Church oven, we enjoyed a cheese pizza topped with four eggs, their yolks still soft! We divided it carefully, enjoying the warm cheese and golden yolks, and thanked Father for such a delicious treat.

As usual, I read the summary of our chapter from The Fatima Story.

The children had taken shelter from heavy rain in a rocky hollow where they could still watch their sheep. After lunch and the Rosary, they were about to play when a rushing wind and a brilliant light startled them.

A beautiful young man, shining like crystal in the sun, approached through the air.

“Do not be afraid. I am the angel of Peace. Pray with me.”

Bowing his forehead to the ground, he repeated three times:

“My God, I believe, I adore, I hope in Thee and I love Thee! I beg pardon from Thee for those who do not believe, who do not hope, who do not adore, and who do not love Thee!”

He told them that the most holy hearts of Jesus and Mary would be moved by their prayer.

After he disappeared, the children remained filled with a sweet awareness of God’s presence. They had many questions, but one thing was certain: they must pray. Again and again, they bowed down and repeated his words.

Their example stayed with me. I do not need to understand everything before turning to God. I can begin by offering Him my faith, my trust, and my love.

Our afternoon also reminded me of Jesus waiting in the tabernacle. I wanted to visit Him before going home and pray for those who have forgotten His love.

Dear Jesus, help me to pray attentively and trust You with my questions.

Good night, dear Diary. May Jesus and Mary watch over all those I love, and may St. Joseph keep us in his care.

With love,

Kathy

 

Little Shepherds and Egg Salad Beneath the Apple Tree

Dear Diary,

The weather was so lovely today that we took advantage of it and held our Reading Club meeting beneath the apple tree. Robert and I sat across from Sister and Father, while Mini settled near the lunch basket. She seems to know exactly where a corgi is most needed.

I read the summary of Chapter Two aloud. Lucy had begun tending her family’s sheep in the hills, and Francis and Jacinta missed her terribly. When their mother allowed them to care for their own flock, the three children could spend their days together again.

“They made looking after sheep sound like a holiday,” Robert said.

“Work is often happier when it’s shared,” Sister answered.

We talked about how the children hurried through their rosary after lunch because they were eager to play and pick blackberries.

“I might have been thinking about the blackberries, too,” I admitted.

“Especially the big ones,” Robert added.

Sister smiled, but reminded us that prayer deserves our attention, just as a friend does when we are talking together. That made me think about the times I finish my prayers without remembering much of what I’ve said.

Father spoke about the children’s ordinary lives—their chores, games, and family evenings—and how little they knew of what God had prepared for them.

“We aren’t given every tomorrow at once,” he said. “We can ask for the grace to be faithful today.”

I liked that. The chapter’s ending made me wonder how much good could begin with a little faith, hope, and love in our own hearts.

Then we unpacked lunch: egg salad sandwiches and sliced tomatoes. Robert noticed that the egg salad was especially yellow.

There was a very good reason. Mini had been given some of the egg whites in her own little dish!

“I see someone has had a say in the sandwiches,” Father said.

Mini kept eating, quite satisfied with the arrangement.

We lingered beneath the branches after lunch, enjoying the pleasant weather and talking about the next chapter. Before we left, I read our closing prayer slowly, remembering Sister’s words.

Dear Lord, thank You for this beautiful day, our food, and our friendship. Help us to do our work willingly, pray with attentive hearts, and grow in faith, hope, and love. Blessed Mother, watch over our reading club and our families, and lead us closer to your Son. Keep us in Your care until we meet again. Amen.

Chapter One with Dunlap Jam

September 16, 2026

Dear Diary,

Another damp and chilly morning brought our Reading Club back to the church basement. Mini, my faithful Corgi, settled beneath my chair, keeping watch for anything that might fall from the table.

Four copies of The Fatima Story had been found in the church library, so everyone came prepared. I began by reading my chapter summary.

“Lucy, ten years old, and her cousins, Francis and Jacinta, are inseparable friends. Lucy is sensible and truthful, with her mother’s gift for storytelling. Jacinta is lively and tenderhearted, while Francis is quieter and very affectionate toward his sister. They play and dance, then rest behind the garden well, where Lucy tells stories about Jesus, His Mother, and the saints. Lucy has received her First Communion, and her cousins eagerly long to receive Jesus, too.”

“They sound like children we might know,” someone said. “Playing, dancing, even pouting!”

We smiled over Francis enjoying the dignity of being older, yet giving in to his little sister out of affection. Beneath my chair, Mini rested her chin on my shoe. She knows something about affectionate persuasion herself.

Another round of toast arrived. This time the butter was soft, and there was plenty of strawberry jam, made by Father LeRoy with Dunlap berries from his garden.

Father explained that Dunlaps were grown for taste, rather than for the store shelf. We certainly appreciated the difference. The jam tasted of summer, despite the weather outside.

The jar went around again. Mini’s ears rose at the clatter of plates, and I gave her a tiny corner of plain toast. She accepted it solemnly, then inspected the floor for further blessings.

Returning to our chapter, we talked about Lucy’s mother and the stories she shared.

“I wonder whether she knew how closely the children were listening,” I said.

That brought memories of our own mothers, grandparents, and teachers—the voices we still remember telling us about Jesus.

Jacinta’s words touched us all: “Poor Lord! I won’t sin any more. I don’t want Jesus to suffer.”

“She wanted to love Him better,” someone said simply.

Francis became quiet and thoughtful instead. We agreed that people take things to heart differently. Those who say the least may still be listening deeply.

Mini was now asleep, one paw across my foot. I took care not to disturb her.

We ended with the children’s longing for Holy Communion. Their eagerness stayed with me. I want to carry a little of it to Mass—to arrive with gratitude and take time to prepare my heart.

Before we cleared the table, I prayed:

Dear Jesus, thank You for our friendship and the food we shared. Help us to be truthful like Lucy, tenderhearted like Jacinta, and attentive like Francis. Bless those who teach children to love You. Renew our joy in Holy Communion, and help us carry Your kindness home. Bless Father LeRoy, our Reading Club, and dear Mini, whose faithful company brings me such happiness. Amen.

At the rustle of my coat, Mini woke and stretched, ready to lead me home. I tucked my book under my arm, grateful for a morning of good company, thoughtful conversation, and Father’s strawberry jam.

Love, Kathy

 

A New Story

 

Tuesday, September 15

Dear Diary,

The reading club met in the church basement today because the weather was cold and wet. Rain tapped at the windows while Father LeRoy hurried about with mugs of hot cocoa and plates of buttered toast. Since he had called the meeting before we could put together a list of books, he had chosen our new story himself: Our Lady of Fatima.

I thought the sudden meeting might spare me from giving a chapter summary. No such luck. Father was so eager to begin that he brought me a copy of the book last night. I read the first chapter before bed, though I would have liked one more evening to prepare.

I told the club about Fatima, the Portuguese village of stony hills where children helped their families by tending sheep. According to the story, the village was named for an Arab maiden who became a Christian and was buried in a chapel there more than seven hundred years ago. The monastery around the chapel disappeared, but the chapel remained, and houses gathered beside it.

The chapter then described the troubled years after Portugal’s revolutions, when people faced opposition to the practice of their faith. Even in Fatima, it said, some families had begun to neglect the evening rosary. But the chapter ended with a promise: Our Lady would come to that little village and choose three children to help bring her message of peace to a world troubled by war.

Father leaned forward as I reached that part, as though I might go on to the next chapter. I was relieved when he finally let me close the book. On the walk home, with the rain still falling, I found myself thinking about those three children. They must have believed they were simply going about another ordinary day with the sheep. I wonder what they thought when their lives began to change.

Good night, dear Diary.

The Last Page Under the Apple Tree

Dear Diary,

We met once more under the apple tree this morning, bundled in sweaters and jackets against the cool autumn air. I was grateful for another gathering in our familiar spot, though I had been dreading this meeting a little. We had reached the last chapter of Our Lady of Lourdes, and I simply didn’t want the book to ever end.

I read the chapter summary aloud through teary eyes. More than once, I had to pause and steady my voice.

Bernadette was no longer at Lourdes. She had entered the Sisters of Charity at Nevers, taking the name Sister Marie-Bernard. After all the crowds, questions, and excitement surrounding her, she had chosen a quiet life caring for the poor and sick. She wanted neither money nor recognition. Her treasure was in belonging to God and serving those who needed tenderness.

What touched me most was that her simplicity remained. Even through illness and suffering, she carried on with patience. Having delivered Our Lady’s message, she was content to step out of sight.

Then came that final thought: the very book that had told us so much about Bernadette would never be read by Sister Marie-Bernard herself.

I sat quietly for a moment after reading that. A few leaves stirred above us. It felt like watching someone dear walk away down a peaceful path, glad for her, but wishing she could stay a little longer.

Our discussion was especially tender today. We talked about how difficult it can be to do something good without wanting anyone to notice, and how Bernadette found a whole life’s purpose in humble service. I wondered aloud how often I overlook an opportunity to care for someone because I am busy thinking about something less important. This last chapter gave me plenty to carry home in my heart.

And then, of course, there was ice cream.

Robert had brought Dairy Queen soft serve, along with hot fudge tucked into a small thermos to keep it warm. Ice cream on a chilly morning might have seemed a curious choice, but the warm fudge tipped the scales toward comfort. With our jackets pulled close and that lovely chocolate melting into the soft serve, we were quite happy to linger beneath the apple tree.

Mini had a little dish of soft serve, too, and attended to it with a seriousness that made us all smile. Every so often, I looked down to see how the dish was coming along. There was very little left to wonder about!

None of us wanted this to be the end of our meetings. We agreed that we would keep gathering, although we still have to choose another book and find four copies of whatever we decide upon. That may take a little searching. For today, it was enough to know that there would be another meeting.

Before we said goodbye, we bowed our heads beneath the apple tree for a blessing:

“May the Lord bless us and keep us, guide us safely home, and help us carry the kindness we have shared into the lives of others. May Our Lady watch over us until we meet again. Amen.”

I closed my book gently afterward and held it in my lap a moment longer. I will remember this morning: the cool air on my cheeks, the warm fudge, our thoughtful conversation, and the dear company gathered beneath the branches.

I am still sorry to have finished the book. But tonight, when I think of Bernadette, I think of her tending someone sick, doing the small work before her with love. Tomorrow, I hope I will remember to do the same.

Our Lady of Lourdes, gentle Mother, pray for us. Bring comfort to the sick, courage to those who suffer, and peace to every troubled heart. Help me to follow Bernadette’s example of humility, patience, and faithful service. Watch over our little reading circle and all those we love, and lead us ever closer to your Son, Jesus. Amen.

Mary's Birthday Party

Mary's Cake Recipe

September 8, 1957

Dear Diary,

Today is the birthday of our Blessed Mother Mary. We had planned to read the epilogue of Our Lady’s Story of Lourdes, but Father LeRoy said it could wait until tomorrow.

“Today,” he told us, “we should give all our attention to Mary’s birthday.”

We gathered beneath the apple tree behind the church, where Father’s housekeeper had prepared a beautiful birthday cake. It was a tall lemon-and-blueberry cake with four golden layers and white cream-cheese frosting between them. Fresh berries surrounded a little statue of Mary dressed in blue, and ten white candles stood in a circle to represent the ten decades of the Rosary. A cold jar of Robert’s Jersey milk completed our little feast.

Father’s housekeeper told us how she made the cake. She began with two round white cakes. After slicing each cake in half, she brushed the layers with thawed lemonade concentrate. Then she stirred lemon extract into the cream-cheese frosting and spread it between the four layers. She frosted the top, arranged the fresh berries around Mary, and added the candles. Sister Mary Claire said we must write the recipe down because such a lovely cake ought to become a yearly tradition.

Before Father lit the candles, we each offered a quiet Hail Mary as our birthday gift to Our Blessed Mother. Then we sang “Happy Birthday.” Father said that Mary does not need earthly presents, but she is always pleased when her children remember her with love and try to please her Son.

The cake tasted wonderful—soft and lemony, with sweet frosting and berries. The cold Jersey milk went perfectly with it. Mini sat beside me looking hopeful until she received a little dish of Jersey milk. That made her feel included in the party too.

Father reminded us that Mary’s birthday is a happy day for the whole world, because the little girl born on this day would one day become the Mother of Jesus—and our heavenly Mother as well.

We ended our celebration by praying another Hail Mary together, and Father gave us his blessing beneath the apple tree.

The epilogue will still be waiting tomorrow. Today belonged to Mary.

Happy Birthday, dear Blessed Mother!

Love,
Kathy

Where Are They Now?

September 7, 1957

Dear Diary,

After Mass this morning, our reading club met beneath the apple tree for the potluck dinner we had planned.

Sister Mary Claire brought a large pot of good old-fashioned Iowa chili. Father LeRoy supplied bread and butter, and we had warm blackberry cobbler with cream for dessert. Robert also brought a bottle of cold Jersey milk.

His other contribution surprised everyone. He arrived with a platter of tacos and a little brass handbell. When Father asked what he called his unusual dish, Robert rang the bell and announced, “Taco Bell!”

Nobody had ever heard of such a thing in 1957. We laughed and decided that Robert had invented both the food and the name.

Mini received a bowl of plain ground beef with a little dab of cream. She seemed to think the potluck had been arranged especially for her.

When dinner was finished, I read Part Six, which we called “Where Are They Now?” It told what had become of many of the people we had met throughout the story.

Those who had been miraculously healed were still in good health. Their continued recovery remained a living witness to the mercy shown at the Grotto.

Bishop Laurence was still serving as Bishop of Tarbes, and Father Peyramale had recovered from his illness. He remained the beloved Curé of Lourdes, always ready to help whenever there was good to be done.

We also learned that Bernadette’s mother died on December 8, 1866, the Feast of the Immaculate Conception. Bernadette’s father remained a poor miller, supporting his family through the work of his hands. Although a magnificent church was rising at Lourdes, the Soubirous family continued to live quietly and humbly.

Father said that the miracles did not end when the people returned home. Each healed person carried the story of Lourdes into the years ahead.

Now we have only one more meeting before we finish Our Lady of Lourdes. We will read the short epilogue together. I am thankful that we still have one final gathering beneath the apple tree to look forward to.

We ended with a prayer, thanking Our Blessed Mother for guiding our reading club and asking her to lead us always closer to Jesus.

Just as I said “Amen,” Robert rang his little bell once more.

Mini looked up quickly. I believe she thought it meant second helpings.

Love, Kathy

 

The Little Drop That Could Not Be Stopped

September 5, 1957

Dear Diary,

There was a real chill in the air this morning when we met beneath the apple tree behind St. Mary’s. Summer is still here, but it certainly did not feel like it today. Father, Sister Mary Claire, Robert, and I all had our jackets on, and even Mini seemed pleased to settle close beside us instead of wandering very far.

Father looked at our copy of Our Lady of Lourdes and reminded us that we are almost at the end now.

“Only two tiny parts after today,” he said.

That made everyone a little quiet.

Then Father asked me to read my chapter summary.

My Chapter Summary

Today’s part compared the story of Lourdes to a tiny drop of water coming down from the mountains.

Men might try to stop such a little stream by piling up earth, stones, and even great walls. For a while they might think they had succeeded. But the water keeps coming. Little by little it rises until at last it finds its way through, and what was once a quiet stream may become a mighty torrent.

The author said that this was like Lourdes.

At first there was only Bernadette, a poor young girl kneeling at the Grotto. Then came a few women with flowers, an old farmer praying, and a handful of people carrying candles.

Officials tried to stop them.

But the faith of the people could not be stopped.

In time, the little gatherings became great processions. Pilgrims came from far away. A magnificent church rose above the Grotto, and people from throughout the Christian world came to Lourdes to pray.

The little drop had become a mighty river.

But the chapter ended with a warning too. God gives His gifts to us, but then He asks us to care for them. We must remain humble and faithful so that we do not spoil through pride or carelessness what God has begun.

When I finished, Robert said he liked the part about the water finding its way through the wall.

Father nodded.

“Human beings sometimes imagine that they can stop what God intends to accomplish.”

Sister said she especially liked the final lesson.

“A gift from God still has to be treasured,” she said. “We cannot simply receive something beautiful and then forget to care for it.”

I thought about that for a while.

Perhaps our Reading Club is a little like that too. It began with only a few books beneath an apple tree. Now it has given us so many afternoons together, so many prayers, discussions, trips, treats, and things I never would have learned by myself.

Then Sister opened her basket.

Inside was a beautiful chocolate pie with a graham cracker crust and a thick whipped topping.

That improved everyone's spirits immediately.

Sister cut large pieces for us, and Robert poured the milk. The pie was rich and creamy, and the graham cracker crust was just right.

Mini received a little dish of whipped cream all her own.

She looked into the dish, looked at Sister, and then began licking so happily that Robert said Mini had officially approved today's refreshments.

After our discussion, Father reminded us that tomorrow we would meet again after Sunday service.

“And since we are so close to finishing,” he said, “I think we should have a potluck dinner.”

That caused quite a discussion of its own.

Sister said she would bring something. Robert immediately began making plans, and I started wondering what I could contribute. Father said the only rule was that no one was to turn the potluck into a competition.

Robert looked disappointed.

Before we left, Father asked me to say our closing prayer.

We bowed our heads beneath the apple tree.

Dear Lord,
thank You for the good things You begin in our lives.
Help us to care for Your gifts with humble and grateful hearts.
Keep our faith strong, and never let pride or fear keep us from following You.
Bless our Reading Club and everyone gathered here.
Amen.

Father gave us his blessing.

As we gathered our books, I looked at the apple tree, the church, and our little meeting place.

The book may almost be finished.

But somehow I do not think our Reading Club is.

Perhaps a little beginning, cared for properly, can keep growing for a very long time.

Just like that tiny drop of water.

Love,

Kathy