From the Journals of Clara Whitmore, October 3, 1895 - Walnut, Iowa
The Webster Barn Fire
Tonight my hands tremble as I write in my journal, though the boarding house has long since grown quiet. The lamplight wavers, casting soft shadows across my journal, and I find myself whispering the same prayer my mother used to murmur when storms rattled our windows: “Lord, steady my heart.” She always paired it with a verse from the Psalms: “God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.” It is a prayer I have kept close to my heart and leaned on since childhood. A prayer she learned from her own mother, my grandmother, who bore her share of trials with a courage rooted deep in faith.
I couldn’t help but think of her tonight as the flames rose against the dark autumn sky. The fire at the Webster’s barn broke out just after supper. I had been marking my pupils’ spelling papers by the light of my small kerosene lamp when Tommy Jenkins came running down the dirt street shouting that the whole place was burning. The Webster barn.
The window in my boarding room was slightly cracked letting in just a hint of the crisp fall air and I heard the fear and disbelief in his young voice as he ran the dirt streets trying to get everyone’s attention. I slipped on my shawl, pinned my hair back beneath my bonnet, went down the boarding room hallway and hurried out the door. By the time I reached the Websters’ farm, half the town was already there…men in their work shirts and suspenders, women in calico dresses with aprons hastily tied on, all forming bucket lines from the well.
My heart sank. The barn was a terrible sight…flames shooting up the walls, sparks drifting almost like embers of some great sorrow. The dry timbers of the barn, seasoned by years of Walnut prairie summers, burned fast and hot. My heart ached as I saw the Websters standing helpless near the well, their four children clinging to them. Sarah’s sobs carried over the crackling wood, and Milton’s voice broke as he called for the horses, though the men had already led them out.
I joined the women gathering the chickens and coaxing the cows toward the pasture. I struggled slightly as my boots sank into the soft earth, still damp from last week’s rain. Even in the chaos, I felt that familiar tug in my chest…the reminder my mother always gave me…“When trouble comes, child, look for where God’s hand is already moving.” She would quote Romans often…”All things work together for good to them that love God.”
All things.
And tonight, though I am still new to Walnut, I saw that truth lived out in a way that humbled me. These people …many of whom I have known only a few weeks…moved as they were one body, each person stepping in without being asked. It was as if the whole town breathed with a single heart.
As I pen these words, I am still overwhelmed by what I saw. I have never witnessed such unity, such instinctive compassion. Their faith is not merely spoken on Sundays at the small church, it is woven into their actions and their willingness to bear one another’s burdens. Today…I felt almost unworthy to stand among them, yet deeply grateful that God has placed me here. Walnut is a small town that can easily seem like a dot on a map. Not important or of any consequence. Yet, the hearts and courage of these people…tell a story of faith and courage that must be pleasing to God, regardless of the size Walnut shows on the map.
And then there was Josiah Montgomery.
The widower who lives just down the hall from me at The Hinckley Boarding House…a quiet widower who carries his grief like a folded letter tucked close to the heart.
Tonight, though, I watched him move with a strength that surprised me. He climbed atop a rain barrel to pull down a burning beam before it collapsed on the men inside. Such bravery. My heart held its beating as I watched his selfless courage tonight. His sleeve caught a spark, and I saw him slightly wince as he beat it out with his bare hand. The smell of scorched wool and smoke hung heavy around him. Yet he went back again and again, as though guided by something greater than fear.
Watching him, I remembered the story my Great Grandmother Esther Mae used to tell…how, at fourteen, she caught her nightgown on fire while heating an iron by the stove. She said the flames rose so fast she could scarcely think, but in that moment of panic her mother threw a heavy wool blanket over her and smothered the fire. She always said it was God who steadied her mother’s hands, God who kept her alive, and God who taught her afterward that fear is real but so is His presence. Through her life she had learned a quiet calmness to face many difficult seasons. She would often quote Isaiah: “When thou walkest through the fire, thou shalt not be burned; neither shall the flame kindle upon thee.”
I felt that same truth in my own heart tonight.
When the fire finally died down, the barn was nothing but a blackened skeleton…just charred beams jutting upward. The air was thick with the smell of wet ash and burnt hay. The Webster’s stood staring at the ruin…the place Milton’s father had built with his own hands, using primitive tools, the cedar shingles split by neighbors during a long ago barn raising. To rebuild it will take months. They will need lumber hauled from the local Walnut sawmill. New shingles, and nails and hinges from the local blacksmith, forged by Mr. Brannan at the blacksmith shop, and the strength of every neighbor willing to lend a hand. Winter is coming, and the work will be hard.
Yet even in their grief, I saw something remarkable…the Websters were not alone. Before the embers had cooled, neighbors were already speaking of a barn‑raising, of sharing tools, of taking in the livestock until shelter could be built. It struck me then how deeply these people trust God and one another. Their faith is not fragile…it is the kind that stands firm through fire. I felt a stirring in my heart…certainty that Walnut is where I belong.
I watched as Sarah wept into Milton’s coat, and he held her as though holding on to hope itself. I prayed silently for them…that God would give them comfort, that He would provide what they need, that He would remind them, as He reminded my great grandmother, that even in the flames He does not leave us. The verse “Cast thy burden upon the Lord, and he shall sustain thee” came to mind as I observed all these things.
As we walked back toward town, lanterns bobbing in the dark, Josiah fell into step beside me. He didn’t speak much. But he asked if I was cold and offered his coat…a sturdy wool one I’ve seen him wear on his early morning walks to the livery where he helps with the horses. I declined, though the gesture warmed me more than wool ever could. There was soot on his cheek and a quiet weariness in his eyes, but also something steady…something that made me think he, too, knows what it is to lean on God when the world shakes. I thought of the verse the minister said after a Sunday sermon “The Lord is nigh unto them that are of a broken heart.”
Now, as I sit in my small boarding room, the boarding house settling into stillness, I can hear Josiah moving about in his room…perhaps tending to that burned hand. Mrs. Harrow keeps a tin of salve in the kitchen cupboard, made from beeswax and turpentine. Perhaps, I will bring him some in the morning. It is a small kindness, but kindness is one of the ways we carry each other through the trials God allows us to face. Mother always said that faith is not only believed but lived, and she would quote James…”Be ye doers of the word, and not hearers only.”
Tonight I pray for the Webster’s, for our town, for the strength to meet whatever comes next. And I pray with gratitude…for neighbors who rush toward danger, for a community that stands together, for a town whose faith is as steady as the prairie horizon, and for a God who remains faithful even when the fire rages.
Before sleep gathers around me, one verse settles over my spirit like a warm quilt…”The Lord shall preserve thee from all evil: he shall preserve thy soul.” — Psalm 121:7
In those words, I’m reminded that God’s protection is not fragile or distant. It is active, deliberate, and deeply personal. He guards not only the body but the very soul…the part of us that longs for Him, the part He formed with His own hands in the secret place. Even when the world feels uncertain, His keeping is steady and unchanging.
And so I pray.
May the Lord place His mighty hand upon this land…this small, quiet corner of the world that might look insignificant on a map but is fully seen by the One who watches over every sparrow. May His presence rest here like the morning dew, gentle yet unmistakable. May His peace settle over every home, every heart, every weary mind. May His angels stand watch through the night. May His Spirit breathe life into places that feel forgotten. And may God Himself draw near, not as a distant idea but as the Shepherd who never loses sight of even the smallest sheep. For the One who keeps Israel neither slumbers nor sleeps.
And He keeps us too.
Let peace come over my tired soul. In Jesus Name, I pray these things.
Clara Whitmore
(As imagined by Shelly Thompson)
*Interesting fact about this writing. My great grandfather was Milton Webster McKeever and my great grandmother was Sarah McKeever. The Barn that burned in this journal entry belonged to Milton and Sarah Webster. I used their first names with my great grandfathers middle name as the last name of the family in the journal entry. They also had four children, including my grandmother Millie McKeever, that our shop is named after. There are many hidden things within these journals.
Click here if you've just found this page and would like to read from the beginning.
The Webster Barn Fire
Tonight my hands tremble as I write in my journal, though the boarding house has long since grown quiet. The lamplight wavers, casting soft shadows across my journal, and I find myself whispering the same prayer my mother used to murmur when storms rattled our windows: “Lord, steady my heart.” She always paired it with a verse from the Psalms: “God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.” It is a prayer I have kept close to my heart and leaned on since childhood. A prayer she learned from her own mother, my grandmother, who bore her share of trials with a courage rooted deep in faith.
I couldn’t help but think of her tonight as the flames rose against the dark autumn sky. The fire at the Webster’s barn broke out just after supper. I had been marking my pupils’ spelling papers by the light of my small kerosene lamp when Tommy Jenkins came running down the dirt street shouting that the whole place was burning. The Webster barn.
The window in my boarding room was slightly cracked letting in just a hint of the crisp fall air and I heard the fear and disbelief in his young voice as he ran the dirt streets trying to get everyone’s attention. I slipped on my shawl, pinned my hair back beneath my bonnet, went down the boarding room hallway and hurried out the door. By the time I reached the Websters’ farm, half the town was already there…men in their work shirts and suspenders, women in calico dresses with aprons hastily tied on, all forming bucket lines from the well.
My heart sank. The barn was a terrible sight…flames shooting up the walls, sparks drifting almost like embers of some great sorrow. The dry timbers of the barn, seasoned by years of Walnut prairie summers, burned fast and hot. My heart ached as I saw the Websters standing helpless near the well, their four children clinging to them. Sarah’s sobs carried over the crackling wood, and Milton’s voice broke as he called for the horses, though the men had already led them out.
I joined the women gathering the chickens and coaxing the cows toward the pasture. I struggled slightly as my boots sank into the soft earth, still damp from last week’s rain. Even in the chaos, I felt that familiar tug in my chest…the reminder my mother always gave me…“When trouble comes, child, look for where God’s hand is already moving.” She would quote Romans often…”All things work together for good to them that love God.”
All things.
And tonight, though I am still new to Walnut, I saw that truth lived out in a way that humbled me. These people …many of whom I have known only a few weeks…moved as they were one body, each person stepping in without being asked. It was as if the whole town breathed with a single heart.
As I pen these words, I am still overwhelmed by what I saw. I have never witnessed such unity, such instinctive compassion. Their faith is not merely spoken on Sundays at the small church, it is woven into their actions and their willingness to bear one another’s burdens. Today…I felt almost unworthy to stand among them, yet deeply grateful that God has placed me here. Walnut is a small town that can easily seem like a dot on a map. Not important or of any consequence. Yet, the hearts and courage of these people…tell a story of faith and courage that must be pleasing to God, regardless of the size Walnut shows on the map.
And then there was Josiah Montgomery.
The widower who lives just down the hall from me at The Hinckley Boarding House…a quiet widower who carries his grief like a folded letter tucked close to the heart.
Tonight, though, I watched him move with a strength that surprised me. He climbed atop a rain barrel to pull down a burning beam before it collapsed on the men inside. Such bravery. My heart held its beating as I watched his selfless courage tonight. His sleeve caught a spark, and I saw him slightly wince as he beat it out with his bare hand. The smell of scorched wool and smoke hung heavy around him. Yet he went back again and again, as though guided by something greater than fear.
Watching him, I remembered the story my Great Grandmother Esther Mae used to tell…how, at fourteen, she caught her nightgown on fire while heating an iron by the stove. She said the flames rose so fast she could scarcely think, but in that moment of panic her mother threw a heavy wool blanket over her and smothered the fire. She always said it was God who steadied her mother’s hands, God who kept her alive, and God who taught her afterward that fear is real but so is His presence. Through her life she had learned a quiet calmness to face many difficult seasons. She would often quote Isaiah: “When thou walkest through the fire, thou shalt not be burned; neither shall the flame kindle upon thee.”
I felt that same truth in my own heart tonight.
When the fire finally died down, the barn was nothing but a blackened skeleton…just charred beams jutting upward. The air was thick with the smell of wet ash and burnt hay. The Webster’s stood staring at the ruin…the place Milton’s father had built with his own hands, using primitive tools, the cedar shingles split by neighbors during a long ago barn raising. To rebuild it will take months. They will need lumber hauled from the local Walnut sawmill. New shingles, and nails and hinges from the local blacksmith, forged by Mr. Brannan at the blacksmith shop, and the strength of every neighbor willing to lend a hand. Winter is coming, and the work will be hard.
Yet even in their grief, I saw something remarkable…the Websters were not alone. Before the embers had cooled, neighbors were already speaking of a barn‑raising, of sharing tools, of taking in the livestock until shelter could be built. It struck me then how deeply these people trust God and one another. Their faith is not fragile…it is the kind that stands firm through fire. I felt a stirring in my heart…certainty that Walnut is where I belong.
I watched as Sarah wept into Milton’s coat, and he held her as though holding on to hope itself. I prayed silently for them…that God would give them comfort, that He would provide what they need, that He would remind them, as He reminded my great grandmother, that even in the flames He does not leave us. The verse “Cast thy burden upon the Lord, and he shall sustain thee” came to mind as I observed all these things.
As we walked back toward town, lanterns bobbing in the dark, Josiah fell into step beside me. He didn’t speak much. But he asked if I was cold and offered his coat…a sturdy wool one I’ve seen him wear on his early morning walks to the livery where he helps with the horses. I declined, though the gesture warmed me more than wool ever could. There was soot on his cheek and a quiet weariness in his eyes, but also something steady…something that made me think he, too, knows what it is to lean on God when the world shakes. I thought of the verse the minister said after a Sunday sermon “The Lord is nigh unto them that are of a broken heart.”
Now, as I sit in my small boarding room, the boarding house settling into stillness, I can hear Josiah moving about in his room…perhaps tending to that burned hand. Mrs. Harrow keeps a tin of salve in the kitchen cupboard, made from beeswax and turpentine. Perhaps, I will bring him some in the morning. It is a small kindness, but kindness is one of the ways we carry each other through the trials God allows us to face. Mother always said that faith is not only believed but lived, and she would quote James…”Be ye doers of the word, and not hearers only.”
Tonight I pray for the Webster’s, for our town, for the strength to meet whatever comes next. And I pray with gratitude…for neighbors who rush toward danger, for a community that stands together, for a town whose faith is as steady as the prairie horizon, and for a God who remains faithful even when the fire rages.
Before sleep gathers around me, one verse settles over my spirit like a warm quilt…”The Lord shall preserve thee from all evil: he shall preserve thy soul.” — Psalm 121:7
In those words, I’m reminded that God’s protection is not fragile or distant. It is active, deliberate, and deeply personal. He guards not only the body but the very soul…the part of us that longs for Him, the part He formed with His own hands in the secret place. Even when the world feels uncertain, His keeping is steady and unchanging.
And so I pray.
May the Lord place His mighty hand upon this land…this small, quiet corner of the world that might look insignificant on a map but is fully seen by the One who watches over every sparrow. May His presence rest here like the morning dew, gentle yet unmistakable. May His peace settle over every home, every heart, every weary mind. May His angels stand watch through the night. May His Spirit breathe life into places that feel forgotten. And may God Himself draw near, not as a distant idea but as the Shepherd who never loses sight of even the smallest sheep. For the One who keeps Israel neither slumbers nor sleeps.
And He keeps us too.
Let peace come over my tired soul. In Jesus Name, I pray these things.
Clara Whitmore
(As imagined by Shelly Thompson)
*Interesting fact about this writing. My great grandfather was Milton Webster McKeever and my great grandmother was Sarah McKeever. The Barn that burned in this journal entry belonged to Milton and Sarah Webster. I used their first names with my great grandfathers middle name as the last name of the family in the journal entry. They also had four children, including my grandmother Millie McKeever, that our shop is named after. There are many hidden things within these journals.
Click here if you've just found this page and would like to read from the beginning.
Shelly Thompson, Owner of an 1875 historic Bank Building in Walnut, Iowa, that housed the Boarding Rooms in the late 1800's.
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Shelly Thompson is the Publisher for The Notebook Cafe -- Inspired Words for the Journey, and owner of Millie McKeever's Vintage & Home Decor and Coffee Bar located in the quaint historic town of Walnut, Iowa. 'The Gathering Room' offers a place where women gather to share a time of fellowship, devotion, and a tour the circa 1875 historical bank building restored by Shelly and her husband. Shelly is the author of two books. Entwined; now in its fourth printing; and Heart of a Warrior - A Legacy of Faith; in its sixth printing. Her current writing project is 'The Boarding Room Journals'. Taking a giant leap of faith Shelly left the corporate world in 2015 to pursue a dream God gave her of developing a monthly inspirational faith based online reading café of words and encouragement. Today, The Notebook Café reaches over one million people each month. Shelly has also developed The Notebook Cafe Annual Woman's Conference and women's retreat. In addition to operating The Notebook Cafe shop, Millie McKeever's Vintage & Home Decor, Shelly and her husband, Dave, spend time with their family and many weekends working on home renovation projects…that thankfully never seem to end.
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