by Janette Oke
Grandpa turned to me with a foolish-lookin’ grin.
“If we don’t hurry some, we’ll be late fer dinner and Lou will have both of our heads.”
I grinned back rather weakly, for I was still feelin’ sort of mad that I’d been badly cheated in life. Besides, we both knew that what he’d said wasn’t true. Auntie Lou didn’t make much fuss at all when we were late for a meal. Maybe that’s why all three of us—Grandpa, Uncle Charlie, and me—always tried not to keep her waitin’. I guess we all counted Auntie Lou as someone pretty special. And without really thinkin’ about it, we each tried hard to keep things from being any tougher for her than they needed to be.
CHAPTER 2
Changes
AS WAS OFTEN his habit after our evening meal, Grandpa had me fetch his Bible so’s we could have what he called “family worship time.” I generally found it sort of borin’, listenin’ to all that stuff about “The Lord is my shepherd,” and other things that people wrote way back in ancient times.
Grandpa’s mood seemed to be a little different that night while he read. I guess it was because of the letter from his pa. Anyway, it made me feel a bit strange, too, to see him feelin’ that way.
The letter that Grandpa received was jest the first of the things to start causin’ me to feel a little uneasiness about life—the life of one Joshua Chadwick Jones in particular. The next upsetting thing happened that night after I had been sent to bed.
Now I knew that my bedtime was s’posed to be at nine, but I never did go up when the clock said the time had arrived. I’d wait first to hear Grandpa say, “Bedtime, Boy,” then I’d wash myself in the basin by the door and slowly climb the stairs to my room.
I always kinda figured that maybe some night Grandpa would become occupied with something and forget to watch the clock, but it never happened.
Tonight Grandpa’s mind was busy elsewhere, I could tell that. He had read the letter to Auntie Lou and Uncle Charlie. Auntie Lou had put her arms around each of them and given them a warm hug as the tears formed in her eyes. Uncle Charlie hadn’t said much, but I was sure that he was busy sortin’ memories jest as Grandpa had done, and I felt a tug at my stomach again.
As the hands of the clock crawled toward nine, I waited. If ever Grandpa was goin’ to miss his cue, tonight would be the night. But he didn’t. Promptly at nine he said, “Boy, it’s yer bedtime.” I let out a long sigh. I had been prepared to steal a little extra time like Bell had stolen the extra mouthfuls of summer grass—but it hadn’t worked.
I went through my usual routine. As I headed for the stairs I heard Auntie Lou say, “I think I’ll go up now, too, Pa.” She leaned over and kissed Grandpa on the cheek. “Good-night, Uncle Charlie.” He nodded at her and Lou and I climbed the stairs together. As we climbed she let her hand rest on my shoulder.
“Won’t be long,” she said, “until I’ll have to reach up to put my hand on yer shoulder. Yer really growin’, Josh. Look at those overalls—short again!”
Auntie Lou made it sound like a real accomplishment to outgrow overalls, and I jest grinned.
“ ’Night, Josh.”
“ ’Night.”
I settled into bed but I couldn’t get to sleep. I lay there twistin’ and turnin’, and inside I seemed to be twistin’ and turnin’, too. Finally I decided that a drink of water might help. Grandpa didn’t take too kindly to a boy using the drink excuse too often, but I reckoned that jest this once I oughta be able to get away with it.
My room was the first one at the top of the stairs that came up from the kitchen. I knew that Grandpa and Uncle Charlie would be sitting at the kitchen table having a last cup of coffee before bed and talking over anything that needed talking over, or jest sitting there in companionable silence. I put on my most innocent little-boy expression and started down the stairs. A voice from below stopped me short.
“ . . . it’s the only thing that can be done as fer as I can see.” It was Grandpa talkin’.
I heard a sucking noise. I knew what it was. Folks ’round about said that Uncle Charlie could down a cup of coffee hotter and quicker than any other man they knew. Not too much distinction for a man, but at least it was something, and I often took to watchin’ Uncle Charlie empty his cup, mentally figurin’ if he might have broken his own record. Before Uncle Charlie would take a swallow of the scalding liquid, he would sorta suck in air with a funny whistlin’ sound. I s’pose the mouthful of air served to cool the coffee some on its way down, I don’t know.
I heard that sound now and I could almost see the steaming cup leaning against Uncle Charlie’s lips. He’d be sittin’ there with his chair tilted back slightly, restin’ on only the back two legs. This was hard on chairs, I was told when I tried to copy Uncle Charlie, but nobody ever scolded Uncle Charlie for it.
There came the sound of the cup being replaced on the table and then the gentle thump of the two front legs of the chair joinin’ the back two on the hardwood kitchen floor.
“Do ya think he’ll agree to it?”
“I don’t know. He’s so stubborn ’n’ independent. You remember that as well as I do. But now, maybe he’d welcome the change. He’s gonna be powerful lonely. Ya know what she was to him.”
By now I had changed my mind about the drink of water and settled myself quietly on the step. I could feel a shiver go through my whole body. Things were changin’. I didn’t know why and I didn’t know how it was going to affect me, but I wasn’t welcomin’ it.
“Well, we’ve at least gotta try. We can’t jest let him stay there alone. I’ll go to town tomorrow and call him on Kirk’s tellyphone. It’ll take him awhile to sort things out, but I really would like him to come and stay. Lots of room here. No reason at all that he can’t move right in.”
“S’pose.”
I knew that they must be talking about Great-grandpa. Why, he was an old man. I had watched the old men in town shufflin’ their way down the street, lookin’ weak-kneed and watery-eyed. Sometimes three or four of them gathered on the bench outside the livery stable and jest sat and talked and chewed tobacco that dribbled down their old quivery chins and stained their shirt fronts. I don’t suppose I could have put it into words, but I didn’t like the idea of an old man coming here—even if he was my great-grandpa. I didn’t want to hear anymore, but I couldn’t pull myself away.
“Something seems to bother ya,” Grandpa said to Uncle Charlie. “Don’t ya agree that Pa should come?”
Uncle Charlie stirred himself.
“Well, he’s got to be looked after, that’s fer sure, and I’m— well, I’d be right happy to see him. It’s been a long time, but I was wonderin’—maybe—maybe I should go on back East and sorta care fer him there.”
Grandpa seemed surprised at Uncle Charlie’s suggestion; I knew that I was. I jest couldn’t imagine life without Uncle Charlie.
“You wantin’ to go back East?” Grandpa exclaimed.
“Lan’ sakes no.” Uncle Charlie’s reply was rather loud, as though Grandpa was kinda dull to even think that such a thing could be possible.
“Ya thinkin’ Pa couldn’t make the trip?”
“By the way his letter reads he’s still sound enough.”
“Then what—”
“Lou.”
“Lou?”
“Yeah, Lou.”
“Lou wouldn’t object.”
“No, she wouldn’t. That’s jest the point—she should.”
“I’m afraid I don’t follow.”
“Daniel, how many other seventeen-year-old girls do ya know who care fer a big house, a garden, chickens, two old men, and a boy?”
There was silence for a while and then Uncle Charlie spoke again.
“And now we want to saddle her with another old man. Ain’t fair—jest ain’t fair. She should be out partyin’ and—”
Grandpa cut in. “Lou ain’t much fer partyin’.”
“ ’Course she ain’t. She’s never had a chance. We’ve kept her bakin’ bread and scrub
bin’ floors ever since she laid her dolls aside.”
Silence again. Grandpa broke it.
“Ya think Lou’s unhappy?”
“ ’Course she’s happy!” snorted Uncle Charlie. “She’s too unselfish not to be happy. She knows if she wasn’t happy we’d all be miser’ble. Lou wouldn’t do that to anyone.”
Grandpa sighed deeply, like an old wound was suddenly painin’ him. He roused and I could hear him rattlin’ around with the coffeepot. Now I knew that he was agitated. Grandpa never, never drank more than one cup of coffee before bed, but I heard him pour them each another cup now.
“Yer right,” he finally said; “it’s been tough fer Lou.”
“What’ll happen is, she’ll go right from keepin’ this house to keepin’ someone else’s.” A slight pause. “And that might happen ’fore we know it, too.”
“Lou? Why she’s jest a kid!”
“Kid nothin’! She’s reachin’ fer eighteen. Her ma was married at that age iffen you’ll remember, and so was her grandma.”
“Never thought of Lou—”
“Other people been thinkin’. Everytime we go to town, be it fer business or church, I see those young whipper-snappers eyin’ her and tryin’ to tease a smile or a nod from her. One of these days she’s gonna notice it, too.”
Grandpa stirred uneasily in his chair.
“She’s pretty.”
“ ’Course she’s pretty—those big blue eyes and that smile.
Why iffen I was a young fella, I’d never be a hangin’ back like I see those fellas doin’.”
Uncle Charlie had barely finished his sentence when Grandpa’s fist came down hard on the table.
“Confound it, Charlie, we been sleepin’. Here’s Lou sneakin’ right up there to marryin’ age, and we ain’t even been workin’ on it.”
“And what ya figurin’ we git to do ’bout it?”
“Like ya say, it’s gonna happen, and it could be soon. We gotta git busy lookin’ fer someone fittin’ fer Lou. I ain’t gonna give my little girl away to jest any starry-eyed young joe who happens to come along.”
“Don’t ya trust Lou?”
“Look! Ya know and I know that she can’t see evil in a skunk! Now iffen the wrong guy should start payin’ calls, how is a young innocent girl like Lou gonna know what’s really under that fancy shirt? You and I, Charlie, we’ve been around some. We know the kind a fella that would be good fer Lou. We’ve jest gotta step in there and see to it that Lou meets the right one.”
“How we gonna manage that?”
“I don’t know ’xactly; we gotta find a way. Git a piece of paper, Charlie, and I’ll find a pencil.”
“Fer what?”
“We gotta do some thinkin’ and make a list. We don’t wanna be caught off-guard.”
Uncle Charlie grumbled but I heard him tear a spent month from the calendar on the kitchen wall and return to the table.
“Let’s be systematic ’bout this,” said Grandpa. “We’ll work to the south first, then west, then north, then to the east, includin’ town.
“First there’s Wilkins—no grown boys there. The Peter-sons— all girls. Turleys—s’pose that oldest one must be gittin’ nigh to twenty, but he’s so shy.”
“Lazy too—never lifts a hand if he doesn’t have to.”
“Put him on the re-ject side.”
The pencil scratched on the paper, and I could picture Jake
Turley’s name bein’ entered on the back side of the calendar sheet under “rejected.”
“Crawfords—there’s two there: Eb and Sandy.”
“Eb’s got a girl.”
Again the pencil scratched and another candidate was eliminated.
“Sandy?”
“He’s ’bout as bullheaded as—”
“Scratch ’im.”
“Haydon?”
“There’s Milt.”
“What do ya think ’bout Milt?”
“He’s a good worker.”
“Not too good lookin’.”
“Looks ain’t everything.”
“Hope Lou knows that.”
“He wouldn’t be so bad if it wasn’t fer his crooked teeth.”
“Lou’s teeth are so nice and even.”
“S’pose all their kids would have crooked teeth like their pa.”
I heard the pencil at work again and I didn’t even have to wonder what side Milt’s name was bein’ written on. By now I’d had enough. Jest as I pulled my achin’ self up from the step and was about to turn back up to bed, I heard Uncle Charlie speak again.
“We still haven’t settled ’bout Pa.”
“No problem now,” said Grandpa. “It’ll take him awhile to git here and with Lou married and settled on her own, she won’t need to be carin’ fer three old men. We can batch. We’ve done it before.”
Uncle Charlie grunted, “Yeah, guess so.” They went on to the next neighbor and I went back up the stairs.
A sick feelin’ in my stomach was spreadin’ all through me. We were an unusual family, I knew that, but we belonged together. We fit somehow, and I guess I was foolish enough to somehow believe that things would always stay that way. Suddenly, with no warnin’, everything was now about to change. Jest like that, I was to trade Auntie Lou for an old tottery great-grandfather that I had never seen. It sure didn’t seem like much of a trade.
I started going to my room and then changed my mind. I couldn’t resist going on down the hall to the end room where Auntie Lou slept. I paused at her door which was open just a crack. I could hear her soft breathin’. I pushed the door gently and eased myself into the room. The moon cast enough light through the window so that I could see clearly Auntie Lou’s face. She was pretty! I had never thought about it before. I had never stopped to ask the question nor to look for the answer. She was Auntie Lou. She was jest always there. I’d never had to decide what she was to me. Now that I might be losing her I realized that she was everything—the mother I’d never known, a big sister, a playmate, my best friend. Auntie Lou was all of these and more, wrapped up in one neat little five-foot-three package.
I swallowed the lump in my throat, but I couldn’t keep the tears from runnin’ down my cheeks. I brushed them away feelin’ angry with myself.
There she slept, so peaceful-like, while downstairs two old men were deciding who she would spend the rest of her life with; and Lou was so easy goin’ that they’d likely get away with it. Unless . . .
I backed slowly out of the door and tip-toed to my room, makin’ sure I missed the spot that always squeaked. Down below the voices droned on. I shut my door tight against them and crawled back under the covers. I realized suddenly jest how tired I was. I pulled the blankets right up to my chin.
Somehow there had to be a way I could stop this. Somehow! It wasn’t gonna be easy; it was gonna take a lot of thinkin’, but surely if I worked it over in my mind enough I’d find some way.
My thoughts began to get foggy as I fought sleep. I’d have to figure it all out later. Then a new idea flashed through my mind—prayer. I’d already said my evenin’ prayers as Auntie Lou had taught me, but this one was extra. I’m not sure jest what I asked from God in my sleepy state, but I think that it went something like this:
“Dear God. You know what they’re plannin’ fer Auntie Lou, but I want to keep her. You didn’t let me keep my ma—or my pa. You didn’t even give me any memories. Now you gotta help me to find a way to stop this.
“And about Great-grandpa—maybe you could find him a new wife, even if he is old, so that he won’t need to come here. Or maybe he could die on the train comin’ out or somethin’. Anyway, please do what you can, God. You sorta owe me a favor after all you’ve taken from me. Amen.”
Satisfied that I had done what I could for the time bein,’ I crawled back into bed. I wasn’t sure that God would pay too much attention to my prayer, but anyway, I’d tried. Tomorrow I’d work on a plan so that I’d be ready on my own if God decided not to do anything for me.
I went to sleep with the voices from the kitchen risin’ and fallin’ as the two men sorted through their lists. I wondered if they had come up with anyone for the accepted side of the page yet. Then I rolled over and went to sleep.
CHAPTER 3
About Lou
THAT HAD ALL TAKEN place yesterday. Somehow as I sat on my log it seemed long ago and hardly even real, yet at the same time, present and frightenin’. I had to worry it through and find a solution.
Again, as I had in times past, I wished that I had a dog. Somehow it seemed that jest the presence of something with me would make the whole thing easier to handle. Well, I didn’t have a dog, so I’d jest have to find an answer on my own.
Before, I had always been able to go to Auntie Lou with the things that bothered me, but I knew this was one problem that I couldn’t discuss with her. On the one hand, I found myself achin’ to tell her so that she would be warned; on the other hand, I knew that I would do all that I could to hide the ugly facts from her—to protect her from knowin’.
Guess I should explain a bit about Auntie Lou and why she is only five years older than me. Grandpa had met and fallen in love with my grandma, a bubbly wisp of a girl. They married young and went farmin’. A year later they had a baby boy whom everyone said was a combination of the two of them. He had the colorin’ and the size of my grandpa who was a big man, but the disposition and looks of my grandma.
When my pa, who they named Chadwick, was three years old, Grandma was stricken with some awful illness. I never did hear a name put to it, but she was dreadfully sick and the baby that she was expectin’ was born only to die two days later. Grandpa and the doctor were so busy fightin’ to save my grandma that the loss of the baby didn’t really hit them until Grandma came ’round enough to start askin’ for her. She had wanted that baby girl so much and she cried buckets over losin’ her. For days she grieved and cried for her baby. The doctor feared that she would jest sorrow herself right into her grave, so he had a talk with Grandpa.