The Winds of Autumn

by Janette Oke

  I think Camellia and I were both glad when he finally left us on our own. Camellia told me over and over how “dull” she had found Jack Berry and how much she had missed my visits. I almost got to believing her. I did wonder why it had taken her so long to discover the fact of Jack’s “dullness,” but I didn’t say so.

  I still wasn’t much taken with talk about Jack Berry. I hadn’t forgotten what he’d done to me. It was my right to feel pretty strongly about him, and I managed to keep quite a “hate” for him going.

  In fact, whenever I wanted to spend some time feeling sorry for myself or getting mad about something, all I had to do was think of Jack Berry. I would let that little voice play over and over in my mind, Jack Berry, Jack Berry, and then I would think of the fist coming at me in the dark and the taste of blood and the sting of knuckle cuts and I would lather up real bitter feelings. Actually, I kind of enjoyed it. I must have—I did it often enough. It was the first time in my life that I had a really good excuse to get mad at the world.

  Oh, I had been mad or upset about things in the past to be sure, but always I listened to this little voice saying, Josh, this isn’t right You’re not as bad off as you pretend to be. But when it came to Jack Berry nearly killing me, I felt I had real good reason to nurse my anger.

  Well, I only got that one chance to go over to Camellia’s house and then Aunt Lou announced that she was feeling well enough that I should go on out to the farm like I usually did. She knew how much I missed it. Grandpa promised her that we’d slip into town every few days and see that she wasn’t wanting for anything. Uncle Nat said that he’d see to it that she didn’t do any water hauling or hoeing in her garden for a while yet, and I set off for the farm, anxious to get back to the familiar surroundings of green fields and wooded pastures.

  Pixie was almost as glad to be back as I was. She spent the first ten minutes running round and round in circles and the next ten minutes checking out everything around to make sure it was just the same as when we had left it.

  We all laughed at her, but I knew just how she felt. I was a little anxious to do some checking on my own, as well.

  The place where I was heading was the crik, but I didn’t want to appear too eager—just up and run for it the minute I got in the yard. But my family knew me well. I had just put my things in my room and returned to the kitchen when Grandpa turned to me.

  “You suppose you might be able to catch us a fish or two for our supper, Boy?” he asked. I grinned and nodded.

  “Hear they’ve been biting pretty good,” added Uncle Charlie.

  “What about my chores?” I asked.

  “Reckon we can handle things for ’nother day,” Grandpa assured me. “Catchin’ us our supper will be your job for today.”

  “If you get some big ones,” said Gramps with a wink, “then I’ll go with you tomorrow.”

  So I was soon off to the crik.

  My family must have known I needed this trip—and alone. I’d always enjoyed the company of Gramps. I would look forward to having him go with me on any of the days throughout the summer—except this one day. After so many things had happened, tearing me all up inside and confusing my thinking, I felt that my head was spinning. This day I needed to be alone.

  The crik was about as pretty as I had ever seen it. The water was silvery ripples, almost as clear and clean as when it first splashed out of its hard rock bed at the spring up in the hills. The leaves were new green and they dipped and swayed in the afternoon breeze, flipping snatches of sunshine back and forth on the soft, still air. The birds were all atwitter. They had finished their nest building and were busy now caring for young. Nearby a nest of baby robins called loudly to be fed, reminding me of the two babies at the last church picnic who had thumped on their high chairs with their metal spoons, making one awful commotion.

  The thought of babies turned my thinking back to Aunt Lou and little Amanda. I still hadn’t sorted through the hurt of it all. Aunt Lou was thankful that her little baby, her helpless little deformed baby, had been taken to heaven where she could be whole and without pain.

  I knew Aunt Lou loved her baby so much she was willing to bear the pain of losing the little one if it meant something better for the baby. I knew that Aunt Lou hurt deeply. She said many times how much the prayers of the people kept her bearing that pain each day, and how she depended upon them. Well, I was glad that the people were praying for Aunt Lou. I wanted her to have all the help God could and would give her.

  I still had some questions, though, and they wouldn’t go away. Why did God let Aunt Lou get the measles in the first place? And why did He work it so Aunt Lou was without Uncle Nat when the baby was born and died? If God was really a God of love, why didn’t He care for her better than that? I sure wouldn’t treat someone I loved in such a fashion.

  No, I just wasn’t ready to forgive God. He could have worked it out much better. I didn’t understand His ways at all. Did He plan for His people to hurt? I had heard preachers say that it was in such times that people learned to “trust” and to “grow.” Well, there must be a better way than that. They were just trying to excuse God for His thoughtless actions, according to my way of thinking. I still had my mind made up. If God treated His good servants that way, then I sure wasn’t going to be one of them.

  I didn’t know if He’d miss my service or not, but I guess I hoped that He would feel pretty bad about it. After all, that was about the only way I had of getting even.

  I caught two nice-sized fish and felt pretty good about myself when I hurried home to show them off.

  “Well, Boy,” beamed Grandpa, “I guess you’ve earned your supper, right enough.”

  Uncle Charlie grinned too and took the fish to fillet them for supper.

  “Do we have a date for tomorrow, Joshua?” asked Gramps. “I sure would like to catch one of those. I’ve been wanting to go fishing, but somehow it just isn’t much fun for me to go on down to the creek without you. You willing to take an old man with you tomorrow? Is it a date?”

  “Sure,” I answered, nodding my head in agreement. “It’s a date.”

  “Good!” said Gramps. “I’ll get my hooks all cleaned up and ready.”

  Boy, did those two fish taste good. Even Pixie got in on it. I fed her tiny pieces of the fish after making good and sure there weren’t any bones in them. She licked her little chops and begged for more. I let her lick at my sticky fingers instead.

  We all went to bed early. I felt tired, though I couldn’t understand why. I had worked lots harder on many days and not felt so all done in. It’s the excitement of coming home again, I decided. I cuddled Pixie close on one arm and settled down to sleep. By now it didn’t even bother me much that I hadn’t taken time to say my prayers.

  Willie rode his old horse Nell over for a visit one day. She was fat and lazy and a little clumsy, but Willie wouldn’t have stood for anyone saying anything mean or teasing about her. He had ridden her since he had been just a kid in first grade, and he loved her just as much now as he had when she’d been a spirited young mare with her head held high and a prance to her step. I knew better than to make any cracks about old Nell.

  We spent our time rubbing down the old horse and talking some boy talk about things we wanted to do with our summer. Already we were talking camping trip again. The further behind us our trip up the crik got, the better our memories of it. We were ready to go again the first chance we got. This time, though, we wouldn’t try to shortcut through the Turleys’ pasture.

  “You know,” remarked Willie, “I sure understand Avery lots better since that trip. He’s a good kid, too. We spend lots of time together now. Was a time when I couldn’t really understand what you saw in the fella. Used to make me kinda sore that you thought him your best friend ’stead of me. Now that I know him, I really like him.”

  I was a little surprised at Willie’s words—not about his liking Avery now that he knew him better, but about him feeling kinda jealous because I had liked
Avery a lot.

  “His ma is feelin’ lots better now,” Willie went on. “An’ I think Avery feels better about things, too. You know, Josh, he’s grown a lot closer to God now that he isn’t so scared an’ he feels more sure of himself an’ all. I think God really worked out that trip so’s I could get to know Avery better and he’d have one more good friend.”

  Willie stopped and thought for a few minutes in silence. I guess I was doing some thinking, too. I had a feeling that Willie might be making a much better friend for Avery than I had ever been. Willie was helping him to understand God better. I had left Avery to do that sorting out all on his own.

  “I’m not sure how it works,” Willie suddenly said. “Do you get closer to God when you are not so scared about other things, or are you not so scared about other things because you are closer to God? What do you think?”

  I looked at Willie’s serious face, then shrugged my shoulders carelessly. How should I know which came first—if either?

  I showed Willie all of Pixie’s tricks, and then he wanted to see if she’d do them all for him. When she did some of them, he was real pleased with himself. He’d always wanted a dog of his own, he said.

  We sat under the big poplar tree in the yard and ate cookies and drank some of Uncle Charlie’s fresh lemonade until our sides ached. Then we decided to go down to the pond and try skipping rocks.

  “Did ya hear that the School Board is lookin’ for another teacher?” Willie asked off-handedly, slicing his rock against the surface of the pond.

  I hadn’t heard and my thoughts immediately went to Camellia rather than to her father.

  “Why?” I asked Willie.

  “They didn’t like all the stuff he was teachin’. Like evolution an’ everything.”

  I could believe that. I didn’t think Grandpa would have been too happy either if he’d known what was being taught.

  “That’s why he got kicked out of his last school, ya know,” went on Willie.

  “Yeah,” I replied as matter-of-factly as I could. “I heard.”

  I didn’t explain.

  “When are they leavin’?” I asked next.

  “He’s still tryin’ to convince the Board to let him stay,” Willie answered. “Don’t think there is much chance, though. Some of the members are really upset about it. They say it wouldn’t have been so bad if Foggelson had taught it as theory, but he’s been teachin’ it as unquestioned fact—like it was the only way it could have happened. That’s what they don’t like.”

  “What do you think?” I asked.

  “I don’t think he should teach it as fact either. It mixes up some of the younger kids an’—”

  “I don’t mean that,” I cut in.

  “What do ya mean?”

  “I mean, do you think it coulda happened that way? Like evolution?”

  “Things just happenin’ instead of God makin’ them?”

  “Yeah. Do you think it coulda?”

  “Isn’t what the Bible says. Sounds crazy to me. Actually, it’s a lot harder to believe in evolution than in a Creator. What do you think?”

  “Yeah,” I agreed a little slowly. “It does sound rather crazy.”

  “You hear about Old Sam?” Willie said next.

  “What?”

  “He asked to be church custodian—without gettin’ paid— just as a thank you to God for cleanin’ his life up while there was still time. He’s over there cleanin’ an’ polishin’ every minute he gets. He’s doin’ a good job at the livery stable, too. They gave him a raise already.”

  “A raise?”

  “Yeah—a little bit more money. They wanted to see first if he’d really be dependable—or iffen he’d just go off drinkin’ again when he got his first wages. He didn’t. An’ Mrs. Larkin says he’s a good boarder. Keeps himself an’ his room nice and tidy an’ comes to meals on time. He even helps some around the place.”

  I stopped throwing rocks and looked at Willie.

  “Well, if that don’t beat all,” I declared, feeling some grudging gratitude toward Old Sam. I knew it sure would help Uncle Nat out a powerful amount. He’d been doing the janitorial duties at the church along with all his other work.

  We threw rocks until we spotted an old mother duck bringing her new hatching of ducklings to the pond for a swim, and then we flopped down on the warm, moist ground to watch them play around in the water.

  I was still thinking of Camellia and questioning if she’d have to move away and wondering what she thought about it all when Willie cut into my thoughts again.

  “Guess you must feel kinda special glad about Old Sam,” he said.

  “What do ya mean?” I asked.

  “Well, about him making things right with God. None of us thought it could ever happen. We thought that Old Sam was too bad a sinner for God to even care about. Guess we thought he was goin’ straight to hell. But there must have been some spark of conscience in him, for him to stop and help you when you fell in the dark and hurt your head like that, so you must feel good—”

  I’d heard enough.

  “I didn’t fall!” I hissed, anger making my voice brittle.

  Willie looked at me like I had lost my senses.

  “I didn’t fall,” I said again. “It was that stinkin’ Jack Berry—”

  “What ya talkin’ about?” exclaimed Willie, raising up on one arm so he could look me full in the face.

  “Jack Berry,” I repeated hotly. “He was there waitin’ for me under that tree in the schoolyard. He was mad ’cause I was seein’ Camellia and he liked her. He grabbed me and started punchin’ me in the dark. I couldn’t see who it was or anything. I tried to fight back—and I got in a few good punches, too—and then he hit me again and I slipped and ended up fallin’ and hittin’ my head on that rock, and that yellow coward ran off and left me there to freeze to death, for all he cared.”

  Willie sat right up and looked at me like I’d gone plumb crazy or something.

  “Where’d you get that wild idea?” he asked.

  “What d’ya mean?” I snapped back. “I was there, wasn’t I?”

  “Yeah, but you didn’t say anything about any of that after you were hurt. You said you musta fallen. You said you couldn’t remember.”

  “I couldn’t. Not for a long, long time—an’ then once after Jack started to see Camellia, he admitted it himself. Said he’d beat me up even worse the next time if I saw Camellia again.”

  Just thinking about it made my blood boil.

  “Why didn’t you say somethin’? I mean, after you remembered? Why didn’t you tell us?”

  “What good would that do?” I asked bitingly, and Willie nodded. He wasn’t as riled up about the whole thing as I was, but still I could see it all troubled him. After all, he did consider me one of his best friends.

  “That’s about the most rotten thing I’ve ever heard,” he stated at last. “How could Jack do such a thing?”

  “That’s good ol’ Jack for ya,” I said sarcastically.

  “Did he ever say he was sorry?”

  “Are you joshin’?” I scoffed. “He wasn’t sorry, not ever. He would have done it all over again if he’d had the chance.”

  “That’s rotten,” said Willie. “Really rotten.”

  There was silence for a few minutes while Willie plucked at the grass and I hammered one little rock against another. I guess I was wishing I had Jack Berry’s fingers between them.

  “No wonder he didn’t dare show up back at school,” Willie remarked thoughtfully.

  It was the first time I had thought about that, and I realized Willie was right. Jack likely did quit school because of the fight. Somehow the fact that he had lost something in the exchange brought me satisfaction.

  “There’s talk in town about Jack, too,” Willie went on and his voice sounded a bit sad.

  “What?” I asked, wondering if I was even interested.

  Willie lowered himself back onto his elbow and started pulling up little bits of grass t
hat he threw to the side. He was stalling.

  “What?” I asked again.

  “You knew that Jack left town, went to the city.”

  I nodded. Camellia had told me that.

  “I guess he and Camellia had a fight or somethin’. Least that’s what the talk says. I don’t know anything about it or what they was fightin’ about,” went on Willie.

  “Maybe they didn’t even fight,” he surmised. “Maybe she just changed her mind, I don’t know. Seems that Camellia, or her pa—I don’t know which—thinks a fella should be smart an’ make lots of money if he wants to call on her. Anyway, Jack left, an’ he was plannin’ to make himself rich real fast to impress Camellia or her pa. Well, I guess he tried—but not in the right way. Not many folks know much about it yet, but Jack landed himself in jail.”

  Willie looked so mournful when he said the words, like we should all be grieving over good ol’ Jack or something. The whole thing hit me as funny—funny and terribly just. I threw back my head and laughed.

  Willie looked up in surprise and then threw his next handful of grass at me.

  “What’s wrong with you, anyway?” he said hotly. “What’s so funny about a fella bein’ in jail.”

  “Nothin’,” I answered, trying to control myself; “only it couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy.”

  Willie gave me a stern look and pulled himself to his feet. He looked upset and Willie didn’t get upset often.

  Suddenly I was upset too. I sprang to my feet beside Willie.

  “Oh, come on, Willie,” I argued. “The guy jumped me in the dark and could’ve killed me. What do you expect me to say?” I changed my voice to a whining sing-song, “Poor, poor little Jackie. Someone has done him dirt.”

  Willie turned and looked at me, not pleased with my little charade.

  “This is the real world, Willie,” I continued, really in a lather; “the fella only got what’s comin’ to ’im.”

  Willie stood and looked at me for a long moment. “It doesn’t hold up, Josh,” he said, his voice even and controlled.

  “Whatcha talkin’ about?” I threw back at him, angry that he was now calm and I was still upset.