Sharon Cebula

God’s Plan for Jack

Jack lived his whole life in Akron. He watched it grow up out of orchards, farmland and woods into a tangle of crossroads and industry. He saw the first rubber factory go up, the first phone lines, the first department store downtown. He remembers when the town’s first fire truck was pulled by horses. It came to his Aunt Ida’s house in North Hill when Jack was just five and he burned her house down.

He’d been playing on the braided rug in the living room, trying to build a little boat from some kindling. It was cold, long after Christmas, snowing a little outside the frosty windows of Aunt Ida’s wood frame house. Cold inside, too, even with the little potbelly stove simmering away. You could tell it was simmering from the teapot on top, wrapped in a tea cosy Ida had knitted herself, steam wafting from its spout. Ida continuously warned Jack not to touch that potbelly stove.

“You’ll burn yourself!” was her mantra.

Jack was so cold, though. He could understand why Aunt Ida was so concerned about him burning himself. She became very upset when Uncle George had near cut his foot off chopping wood last fall. Jack would feel really bad if she had to get that upset again. So he thought pretty hard and figured it out.

He stretched up as tall as he could, all the way up on his tippy-toes, reached his hand up as long as he could make it, keeping his balance, careful not to lean forward and singe his wool sweater, and he snatched the cosy off the teapot. He made only a brief exhale of relief and easily twisted the handle to open the door. Glorious heat spread out on his face and chest. He literally glowed with happiness.

Jack settled back down on the braided rug to resume his boat building. He was so proud of helping himself and not bothering his aunt. The popping of the fire reminded him of the time Aunt Ida had popped corn for him to eat. It was warm and salty and comforting. He didn’t notice the embers jumping out of the stove until one landed on his little boat and started to smolder.

That’s when Ida came running out of the kitchen and scooped him up off the rug. She went running out into the snow and they watched the house burn together. Jack cried a little but Aunt Ida rubbed his back and thanked God that they were both safe.

When the fire truck finally came, Jack was mesmerized by the pair of burly draft horses. Sweaty despite the cold, their breath snorting clouds of steam into the air, they seemed uninterested in the commotion, safe inside their blinders.

Aunt Ida didn’t yell, didn’t hit Jack, didn’t say one unkind word. She just thanked God over and over that they both escaped with their lives. She was strong in her faith and believed that everything had a place in God’s plan. She lived with Jack’s family the rest of her life.

Years later, when Jack got the baseball scholarship to that big university on the east coast, Ida was too frail even to get out of her chair and hug the young man.

“Don’t burn the place down,” she said.