Two Rings, One Heart. Martha Mason

was in her sixties and retired. She seemed to be at loose ends most of the time. Her husband had died years before. Then Mitchell, her only child, had deserted her as well as his wife and children. Life had been far from perfect for her, but she didn’t dwell on that. Megan always included her in all the family activities.

      “Mom, my camping trip is tomorrow too!” Zack said anxiously, realizing this would be the first time both he and his sister would be gone overnight at the same time. “I could cancel,” he offered, obviously trying not to sound disappointed.

      “No way! You guys have been planning this trip for weeks. You’re going,” she said stubbornly.

      Zack knew that was the end of the discussion. His mother had made up her mind. He was a little relieved. He really didn’t want to give up the camping trip. Then again he felt a little guilty leaving her alone.

      Megan helped Zack load his gear into his friend’s father’s Jeep the next evening. It was a guys’ weekend. Zack didn’t get much of that being surrounded by women. “Have a good time!” Megan said, waving as she watched them drive away.

      Zack was doing really well for a kid growing up without a father. She tried her best, but sometimes it wasn’t enough. There were some things a mother just couldn’t do.

      With the kids out of the house, it was unusually quiet. Megan found herself at loose ends staring out the window. The farm was mostly gently rolling land, but at the back of the property were foothills into the nearby Blue Ridge Mountains.

      She put on some old clothes and started walking down the dirt road that led to the river. She crossed the old wooden footbridge and started climbing the timeworn, rutted-out path. Out of breath when she reached the top, she turned to look back.

      The view always made her heart swell, and at the same time humbled her. Below, like a picture, lay her farm. The farmhouse, barns and buildings that made up Meadow Flowers paved their way along the dirt road ending near the river. Each improvement looked as though it belonged, not as though it were an after-thought. Megan had planned it that way from this very spot. It was her favorite place. The kids called it “The Hill.”

      Megan moved on to an ancient-looking rock and climbed onto it, thinking back to the circumstances that had brought her to this point in her life. The summer she was sixteen, Mrs. Thurlow opened a small flower shop to keep herself busy while her husband farmed. The shop was just a hobby but Mr. Thurlow hired Megan to keep his wife from overworking herself. Megan had just wanted to make a little spending money.

      At first the shop had very few customers. Once in a while a friend of Mrs. Thurlow would stop by for fresh flowers to put on the table for dinner guests. Other than that, Megan spent her time pulling weeds, pruning shrubs or helping can vegetables.

      Even though she was learning a lot about gardens and plants, she was bored stiff. With her quick mind and lots of time to think, she began coming up with ways to improve business. There was always an excess of fresh vegetables. With the Thurlows’ permission, she put a sign near the road advertising homegrown vegetables for sale.

      Before long they had a number of regular customers and began getting orders for flowers to be delivered. Mrs. Thurlow had never learned to drive, but Megan had an old car. The two of them would arrange flowers, then set out to deliver them, carrying along a variety of vegetables just in case they could sell some along the way. Usually, they sold everything.

      Mrs. Thurlow loved it. She would get to visit her friends, and make a few dollars to boot. Megan also loved it. She was no longer pulling weeds or canning vegetables.

      When Megan graduated from high school, Mrs. Thurlow wanted her to work full time and offered her a percentage of what they made. Megan was planning to marry her high-school sweetheart, and needed the job.

      By this time, Mrs. Thurlow just wanted to keep her around. Megan made her feel years younger, the older woman had told her. The delivery trips were like an adventure. Megan always seemed to think up something to keep things interesting. They would stop for ice cream or go by the pond with stale bread and feed the ducks, or ride up to the highest hill just for the view.

      Megan had a way with Mr. Thurlow as well. She would bring him a box of jelly doughnuts or pick up the latest trade paper for him. It was his suggestion to give Megan a percentage. He knew she would earn it.

      Years later, the Thurlows made the difficult decision to retire and move out west with one of their sons. He had a ranch, and told his dad that he needed help with the chores. They all knew it was because of the health problems that Mr. Thurlow was experiencing. Yet it was the best decision for the couple.

      It was bad news for Megan. The young girl that the Thurlows had hired for a summer job was now the mother of two small children and raising them as a single parent. She had no training or experience outside the flower shop. The thought of trying to find a job to support her family was frightening.

      The Thurlows were well aware of her situation. They offered to sell her the farm, knowing she loved Meadow Flowers and dreamed of owning it one day. Megan went to her bank and tried to secure a loan. The only collateral she had was her old car and the bedroom furniture Mitchell had given her for their first wedding anniversary. The bank had no interest in either, and turned her down flat. She went to several more banks and loan companies, receiving the same response at each.

      With no place else to go, Megan finally turned to God. Dear God, I don’t know what to do. I know, with Your help, I can run this business and pay back the money I borrow. If there’s any way possible for me to buy this land and if it’s Your will, please show me the way. In Jesus’ name, amen.

      When she got the last negative loan report, she figured it just wasn’t meant to be. She braced herself to tell the Thurlows. Parking near the kitchen door of the farmhouse, she knocked on the door.

      Mrs. Thurlow answered, smiling. “Megan, this is a surprise!”

      “Could I talk to both of you?” she asked seriously.

      “Of course, come in,” Mrs. Thurlow said, leading her into the family room. “Please sit down.”

      Mr. Thurlow was reading the paper. Megan nervously waited until she had their full attention. “What can we do for you?” Mr. Thurlow asked, putting the paper down.

      Megan sighed. “I just came over to let you know I can’t get a loan.”

      “We were afraid of that,” Mrs. Thurlow said sympathetically.

      “I wanted to let you know as soon as possible,” Megan said, getting up to leave.

      “Sit down! We’ve just been discussing a notion. See what you think of it,” Mr. Thurlow said, motioning for her to sit down.

      The Thurlows had so many exciting plans. She was really pleased for them, but she wasn’t sure she could hear about their unfolding adventure today without crying. Yet out of love and respect for the pair, she put on a happy face and sat back down.

      Mrs. Thurlow spoke up first. “You know I’ve spent all of my life here. Our children have lives of their own. They don’t plan to come back here. We hate the thought of developers dividing up the land into housing tracts, but it’s a small farm and no one else really wants it.”

      Except me! thought Megan.

      “You know we have a developer that wants to buy it, don’t you?” Mrs. Thurlow asked, then she continued

      on before Megan could respond. “He wants to cut it up—”

      Megan could see Mr. Thurlow was getting impatient with his wife’s lengthy story. “What would you think if we loaned you the money?” he blurted out.

      Megan’s mouth fell open. “I don’t understand.”

      “Well, we would act like the bank. Sell you the place at a decent interest rate. You would make the payments to us. If you can’t make a go of it, the farm would come back to us. We’ll get a lawyer and do it all legal and business-like,” he said, brushing it off and making it sound unimportant.