by Janette Oke
When Uncle Charlie sided with Mary, I decided to let them give it a try, wondering if Uncle Charlie was simply saying what he did because he hated extra women in the kitchen.
I needn’t have worried. Before the three days were up Mary had established quite a name for our kitchen. Her meals were wonderful, and she also brought refreshments to the field— steaming coffee, cold milk, sandwiches, cakes and cookies. She fed the men so well, in fact, that it was a good two hours after each meal until they were really able to work well again.
The first night we went in for supper, I could see Mitch Turley straining to get a look in the kitchen window before we entered the room. At first I supposed he was looking for his sister, but I noticed that his glance slid right past Mary, who was at the stove serving up heaping bowls of corn on the cob.
Matilda appeared just then, a big white apron nearly circling her entire frame, making her look even tinier than she actually was, and I heard Mitch suck in his breath.
Mitch didn’t say much at the table, but I saw him stealing glances Matilda’s way. Seeing Mitch watching Matilda made me look at her a little more closely. She seemed to belong in our country kitchen, and I suppose I was getting used to her. But now I watched, and noticed that she didn’t just walk, she floated around, her full-skirted dress swishing about her legs and her hair swishing about her cheeks. She served and smiled and dished out food and witty conversation, making all the men feel that they weren’t quite as tired as they had been when they seated themselves at the table. Some of them even began to make funny remarks and tell ridiculous stories on one another.
Mary worked just as fast—only it didn’t look that way. She moved with a quietness and grace that I hadn’t noticed before. But then, I had never noticed anything about the way Mary moved. She did nothing to draw attention to herself. She had a poise—a serenity that people felt rather than saw. In fact, Mary had a way of making people feel comfortable, at home with themselves.
But Mitch never looked once at his sister—at least, not that I observed. And if Matilda knew that she was being studied, she never let on.
Mitch wore a clean, fancier shirt the next day when he came to work. Usually we wore old, patched, faded work clothes in the fields, because the work of pitching bundles was hard on clothes as well as bodies. Sweat drenched our shirts and straw stuck to them. Wagon wheels sometimes had to be greased and horses curried. A shirt could look pretty bad by the end of the day and nobody wanted to wear a shirt that he had to worry about. But here was Mitch looking like he was heading for town or going to the school picnic.
I guess the other fellas noticed it, too, and having been young once themselves, they pretty well knew the reason for his fancying up. I saw some whispering going on and heard a few laughs, and I knew that something was up. Barkley Shaw seemed to be the instigator; maybe he hadn’t settled down all that much after all.
The day was almost over and we were just finishing up the last couple of loads. I had forgotten all about my suspicions by then, so I wasn’t being very cautious. Mr. Smith was the second last wagon in, with Mitch following right behind him. As the other racks were all unloaded, I sent up an extra two men to help each team driver. Barkley and Joey were standing by, awfully anxious to give a hand to Mitch. I didn’t think a thing of it at the time. Just figured that they were in a hurry to get in for supper.
Smith was soon unloaded and moved his rack out of the way for Mitch to pull up. The unloading went well, and before we knew it Mitch’s rack was empty. Then Mitch went to drive his team on, when there was a thump and one back side of the wagon dropped down much lower than the other.
He halted his team and leaned over to look. To his surprise, his back wheel had come completely off. He said some questionable words, tied the lines securely over the middle post of the rack and climbed down. That was when Joey and Barkley both pressed in, seeming to be awfully concerned about Mitch’s misfortune.
They talked about the wheel for a few minutes and then Barkley moved over to his rack and came back with a can.
“I got some real good wagon-wheel grease here,” he offered. “Might make the wheel work back on a little easier.”
Now if Mitch had known Barkley like I knew Barkley, he would have been suspicious right there. But he didn’t seem to think Barkley was up to anything. He just thanked him and started to pry at that can to get it open.
“Here, use this,” Barkley said, offering him a piece of metal to pry with. Mitch went to work. I could see the lid gradually coming loose as Mitch worked his way around it with the lever. Just as it opened, Barkley tripped forward over a rough bit of ground that had been there all of the time and smacked right into Mitch’s extended arms. The can flew up, along with its contents, and Mitch stood blinking through a covering of dirty black oil.
“Oh, man!” exclaimed Barkley, snapping his fingers and shaking his head in fake exasperation at his mistake. “I must a’ got the wrong can.”
Mitch stood looking down at his fancy shirt. It was streaked and splotched with dark patches.
“Here, fella,” spoke Joey in a sympathetic voice, “let me clean ya up some,” and he grabbed a handful of straw and began to wipe at Mitch’s chest.
At first Mitch just stood there silently and let Joey wipe away—until he saw that the straw also contained clumps of exposed soil. Every swipe that Joey took left a smeared streak of Jones’s farmland behind.
By then others had gathered and were guffawing at Mitch’s expense. I figured that things had gone quite far enough.
“Okay, fellas,” I said as quietly, yet authoritatively, as I knew how, “let’s not keep supper waiting.”
Most of the men moved on then, and I turned to help Mitch get the wheel back on his wagon.
“I’ll lend you a shirt when we get to the house,” I promised quietly, then added as an afterthought, “It won’t be fancy, but it’ll be clean.”
CHAPTER 23
Settling In
I SPENT SEVERAL MORE DAYS back on the road with the threshing crew, and then we were finally finished for another fall. As usual, after the harvest was over things settled down considerably. There still was lots to do, but we were at least allowed a decent night’s sleep in between the doing. I was glad to be home instead of on the road, and I think Grandpa and Uncle Charlie were glad to have me at home, too.
As soon as the grain was portioned out—for sale, for feed, and for seed—we got out our pencils and scraps of paper and began to figure what our profits would be.
We all worked on it. Matilda was a real whiz in math and even outfigured me at times. Mary hadn’t had as much book learning but she had an uncanny sense of rough calculations. More than once she surprised us at how close she came to the correct answer—in just seconds, too.
There were many reasons to be concerned with the year’s profit; my primary goal was to establish whether we had made enough to be able to purchase the tractor I had my heart set on. I had discussed it with Grandpa and Uncle Charlie, and they seemed almost excited about the idea.
After a great deal of figuring and working things one way and then another to try to cover all of the possibilities, it was decided that there was money, with some left over. With the decision finally made, I could hardly contain myself.
The tractor had to be ordered for delivery and would be shipped in on an incoming freight train. While I waited, I busied myself with other things.
Matilda decided to have a school social and worked hard to talk us all into going. I really don’t think that any one of us could have turned her down, but we teased along, letting her think we still hadn’t made up our minds. By the time the night came she was all in a dither. It was rather a big undertaking for her first community affair. There would be games, some special music, and refreshments, and Matilda had to organize it all.
I think she was relieved to come down from her room to find us all waiting for her in the kitchen, dressed in our best and ready to go. She gave a glad little squeal and th
rew her arms around Grandpa’s neck.
Uncle Charlie and I just looked at one another and grinned. We had known all along that we’d be going.
This time for sure there were too many of us for the light buggy, and we still didn’t have snow so we couldn’t take the sleigh. Taking the rather cumbersome wagon meant we had to leave early so Matilda could be there to make the final preparations. When the crowd began to arrive, we were ready.
I noticed Mitch as soon as he came in the door. He had been at our house a few times over the past weeks—to visit Mary, he said. Uncle Charlie and Grandpa would just smile and wink at that. Mary always seemed pleased to see him. I knew she was praying for him and hoping that he was ready to show some interest in church again. Tonight he was dressed all up in a brand-new suit that I figured he must have purchased with his harvest money. He looked pretty good, too. For a moment I wished I hadn’t ordered that tractor. I could have done with a new suit myself.
Matilda started the evening with some “mixers” just to get folks moving about and talking to one another. Harvest had kept everyone too busy for visiting.
After spending a half hour or more playing the games, Matilda went on to her program. Several of the school children sang songs or recited pieces. Some of them were good, some not so good. But we all clapped anyway, and some of the young fellas lined up across the back of the room, whistling shrilly.
I found it awfully hard on the ears, and then I remembered times when my friends and I had done the same thing because it seemed like the thing to do. Now it just seemed loud.
The last item on the program surprised me; Matilda sang. I had no idea that she had such a voice. In fact, I could hardly believe it as I listened to her. To think such a full, melodious sound was coming out of such a little frame was almost unbelievable. I guess that others felt that way too; the room was totally quiet. Even the babies seemed to stop their restless stirring, and when it was over there was thunderous applause and more shrill whistles. People kept crying “Encore! Encore!” until finally a flushed Matilda sang us another. But she wouldn’t sing a third number though, no matter how we coaxed.
When the refreshments were served, several neighborhood women gave Matilda and Mary a hand. They had all brought sandwiches and pastries from their own kitchens.
We all assured Matilda that her evening was a complete success as we bundled up against the cold and started off for home. It was a bright night with a full moon, and the horses had no trouble at all seeing where they were going.
Once again I was on the front seat driving with one girl on each side of me. Grandpa and Uncle Charlie had crawled up on the back seat and bundled themselves into heavy quilts. The cold made Uncle Charlie’s arthritis act up, so Mary had made sure that we had lots of blankets along.
At first the ride was rather quiet, with only an occasional comment followed by some laughter. A shooting star caused some oohs and aahs from the girls. Mary told Matilda she had a lovely voice and begged her to sing the song again. Matilda began to sing, softly at first, and then Mary joined in, and the beautiful sound drifted out over the moon-drenched countryside. It was a well-known hymn, and by the time they got to the second verse I could hear Grandpa humming along with them. Then he stopped humming and began to sing, and then Uncle Charlie joined in, softly, shyly.
Matilda gave me a little poke, and I sang, too—a bit hesitantly at first, and then much more bravely. Soon we were all singing, full voice. We finished the song and went on to another one and then another and another. As soon as we had completed one, someone would lead out in another.
All the way home we sang. I had never had an experience like it in all my life. Somehow in the singing we had drawn closer together against the coldness and the darkness of the world around us. It all seemed so natural, so right.
For the first time I was sorry to see our farm come into view. I could have gone on and on just driving and singing and being close to those I cared about. Just as we pulled up to the house a star fell, streaking its way downward, then burned out and was gone—and the spell was broken.
Sarah came to visit. It had been a long time since she had spent time with us at the farm, and we had missed her.
“Oh no!” said Uncle Charlie in mock horror. “What am I gonna do with two bosses in the kitchen?” Mary and Sarah both laughed.
I came home from town midafternoon to find Mary and Sarah elbow-deep in flour as they rolled and cut sugar cookies. Uncle Charlie sat in his favorite chair by the window working a crossword puzzle, but every now and then he would steal a peek at the activity. I knew that he was enjoying their fun almost as much as they were.
“What would you like us to make for you, Uncle Josh?” Sarah called. Without hesitation I answered, “A tractor.” It had seemed like the tractor was taking an interminable time to come.
Sarah laughed at my response but Mary gave me a sympathetic smile.
“I don’t know how to make a tractor,” Sarah giggled.
“That’s too bad,” I said shaking my head. “If you could make me one I could cancel my order.”
Uncle Charlie’s head lifted from the crossword. “No word?”
I shook my head in disappointment.
“I thought you didn’t need a tractor ’til spring,” Sarah offered as she patched up the leg on a cookie dog.
“I don’t.”
“Then why are you so apatient?”
She tipped her head to the side and sucked some cookie dough off a finger as she waited for my answer. I waited too. I wasn’t sure how to answer her. At last I had to smile.
“I’m ‘apatient,’ “ I said honestly, borrowing her word, “because I want it so much, not because I need it so much.”
“Oh!” nodded Sarah. She could understand that.
She thought for a moment and then her face brightened. “Then I know,” she said matter-of-factly. “Pray. Pray an’ ask Jesus to help you wait. Before I had my birthday one time I was apatient an’ Mamma told me to pray, an’ I did, an’ Jesus helped me wait.”
It sounded so simple. Maybe it was simple. I ran a hand over Sarah’s curly head. “Maybe I’ll do that,” I said huskily.
She seemed perfectly satisfied that the matter had been taken care of and could be dropped.
“Would you like a horse?” she asked.
“I’ve already got a horse,” I informed her.
She giggled again. “Well, this one don’t need hay, or oats, or anything,” and she handed me a slightly damaged horse with crooked legs.
I ate the horse in two bites.
“Mamma don’t let me do that,” said Sarah seriously, her eyes big. “She says I might choke and throw up.”
I wanted to tell Sarah that such talk wasn’t very ladylike and then I was reminded by a little glance from Mary that I had provoked the whole thing.
“I shouldn’t have done it, either,” I admitted. “I promise not to do it again.”
I gave Sarah another pat, grinned sheepishly at Mary and went on up to my room.
The question of where Sarah should sleep at our house hadn’t really been solved. I offered to sleep on the cot, but Grandpa refused. He didn’t say so, but I think it had something to do with him having gotten two boarders for our extra bedrooms. Uncle Charlie said he would, but it was hard enough for him to get a decent night’s sleep in his own bed.
Grandpa ended up on the cot that first night. He looked awfully tired the next morning.
We talked again about letting Sarah take the cot. The idea didn’t seem like a good one—not that the cot wouldn’t fit Sarah better than it had Grandpa, but simply because she would be kept awake so late. Sarah would never go to sleep as long as there was stirring in the kitchen, yet none of the rest of us were ready for bed at seven-thirty.
Mary finally worked it all out. “Move the cot into my room,” she suggested. “There’s plenty of room; Sarah can go to bed at the proper time and the rest of us can keep our own beds.”
“That’s awfully
kind of you, Mary,” Grandpa started to protest, “but you shouldn’t have—”
“Nonsense,” she said. “I love her company and you know it.”
So the cot was moved into Mary’s room and Sarah was tucked in for the night. It was a much better arrangement. After Sarah had returned home the next day, I offered to move the cot out, but Mary wouldn’t hear of it.
“Just leave it there,” she said. “It’s not in my way, and it will be all ready for the next time she comes.”
The snow came softly at first, then heavier and heavier until there was a deep ground cover. I didn’t like the idea of tiny Matilda heading off for school across the open field. It was already knee deep and there would be no path.
“Take Chester,” I urged her.
“I’ll be fine,” she insisted. “A little snow won’t hurt me. The walk does me good. Besides, there’ll be worse storms before the winter is over. I might as well get used to it.”
I stopped arguing, but I will admit I cast a glance out the window now and then until she passed out of sight, just to be sure that she would make it to the schoolhouse.
Storm followed storm, and we settled into another winter. Soon we all had adjusted to it, and I no longer fretted when Matilda left for school, her high boots clearing a way through the drifts and her arms full of textbooks.
Shortly before Christmas the tractor finally arrived. The station master sent out word to us with one of our neigbors. Mr. Smith seemed to be quite pleased to have been chosen to bear the news. There weren’t too many tractors in our part.
I rushed off to town to pick it up and it looked like the whole town was there to watch me take delivery.
I had thought from reading the manuals that a tractor would be easy enough to handle. But we had a real time getting it fired up, and by the time the blacksmith came to give me a hand, my face was red and my fuse short.
Then I had to back the big monster up in order to get it turned around. That seemed to be harder than backing a horse and buggy. We had to start it twice more, because I kept killing the engine. I finally did get it heading the right direction, with all eyes of the townsfolk upon me. But then, not wanting to hog all the road, I got a little too close to the edge of the roadway. Those big steel wheels just seemed to pull me right on down into the ditch, and the tractor stalled again. When the helpful blacksmith and I did get it started, I wasn’t sure how I was going to get myself out of there. But to my amazement, those same steel wheels that took me down so unexpectedly also took me back out, and I was off down the road heading home.