by Janette Oke
“I’ll stick to the list.”
Uncle Charlie pored over the list, mentally examining each candidate. Grandpa waited.
“Hiram—Hiram Woxley. He looks the most likely man to me of who we’ve got here. Boy, there seems to be a dry spell of first-rate men ’round here.”
“Never noticed it before we started lookin’ fer a proper fella fer Lou. Thought the place was crawlin’ with ’em. Everywhere I go I—”
I left. I’d heard enough.
Hiram Woxley was a bachelor. No worry about a widowed mother there. For all I knew Hiram could have hatched under the sand. He had moved into the area fully grown and already on his own. Never had heard anything about any kin.
He was a decent enough fellow—about thirty, always clean-shaven and neat, quiet yet kinda forceful, attended church regularly, and stayed out of the way of girls and kids. He had a big well-kept farm to the south of town; I was sure that the farm, more than the man, had to do with his bein’ on the list.
I laid in bed a long time thinkin’ about Hiram Woxley. What had I heard about him? Most things ever said about him were good. In fact, I couldn’t right remember any disagreeable thing that I could put my finger on.
I was gettin’ sleepier and sleepier and my mind jest refused to keep workin’ on it when it suddenly hit me—his money! Word had it that Hiram Woxley was tight-fisted. In fact, I’d been in the hardware store one time when Hiram was making some purchases. He tried to argue—quietly but stubbornly—the price of everything that he bought. Heard the clerk say after he’d left that he always hated to see him come through the door. Rumor had it that he would about as soon lose a finger as part with a dollar. Surely I ought to be able to use that to some advantage. I made up my mind before givin’ in to sleep that come Sunday I’d see if I could find some way to sorta chat a bit with Hiram Woxley—that is, if I could get near him. As I said, he wasn’t much for kids.
On Sunday mornin’ I managed to somehow talk Auntie Lou into wearin’ her fanciest dress. It was the one that Grandpa had sorta insisted that Lou buy for Mary Smith’s weddin’ last spring. Grandpa liked to have Lou look her best, and even though she bucked at the price, he finally talked her into it. Auntie Lou did look like a million in that outfit.
When she came down the stairs to leave for church, I saw Grandpa and Uncle Charlie exchange worried looks. I could see that they were afraid with Lou walkin’ around lookin’ like that, some young fella was bound to get ideas before they had a chance to steer things in the right direction.
Lou went on out and I followed her, but I heard Grandpa whisper to Uncle Charlie, “Maybe it’ll be all right. Hiram has eyes, too.”
Uncle Charlie nodded. We left for church.
After the service I headed for the yard to see if I could spot old Hiram. The place was buzzin’. Everyone’s mind was on the fact that old Parson White had informed the church board of his wishes to retire before too long and that they should commence the search for a new man. Every tongue was waggin’. Most people were sure that they could never properly replace the well-loved parson. Sounded as though they would have been content to work him right into his grave. Questions were flyin’ back and forth—not that they expected anyone to have any worthwhile answers. Could they ever find anyone who would fit in as well as Parson and Mrs. White had done, and should they look for a man who gave inspiring addresses or one who understood and cared for the people? They all seemed to assume that you couldn’t have both wrapped in the self-same package.
I shrugged my way through it all. It meant nothin’ to me. Some of the older boys were beginnin’ to question this whole idea of church and why any red-blooded, adventure-seekin’ boy needed it anyway. It was more for old folks and kids. I thought about it sometimes, too. Anyway, it sure didn’t bother me none who the old man was who stood up at the front in the black suit and read from the Book. Guess one could do it ’bout as well as another.
I found Hiram over near the fence with some of the other single fellows. It wasn’t hard to figure out the game that was goin’ on. It was “ogle-the-girls,” or whatever you want to call it. As each of the girls made an appearance she was rated. The fellows gave their ratings with grins, elbows, nudges, and comments. Everyone there seemed to understand jest how the system worked.
I stood there quietly, knowin’ that they’d feel me too young to join in if they should notice me. Their full attention was on the church entrance as they waited for another candidate to make her appearance. In the meantime I inched my way cautiously a little closer to Hiram Woxley.
One by one the girls appeared and were judged by the fellows. Finally I saw Auntie Lou’s head appear above the crowd on the steps. By almost a miracle it seemed that the whole crowd cleared around her as she stopped to chat with the parson’s wife.
The sun was shining right down on her, reflectin’ a shimmer of light on the curls that fell to her shoulders. Her eyes were shining and even from where we stood you could see the blue of them. She was smiling—a beautiful, typically Auntie Lou smile, full of warmth and pleasure in living. Her dress was beautiful, but as I looked at her, even I could see that she would have been pretty even if she’d been wearin’ a feed sack.
Every guy around me seemed to hold his breath, and then as she moved on they all let it out at once. “Toad” Hopkins threw his hat in the air and let out a whoop. Shad Davies bellowed, “Whoo-ee!” while Burt Thomas and Barkley Shaw started to punch each other in the ribs, grinning like they were plumb crazy. Things finally settled down some.
“Wow,” said Joey Smith, “some looker!”
I figured that it was time to make my presence known. I took a big gulp of air.
“Well, she oughta be.” I tried hard to sound real disgusted.
“Coulda bought me all the fishin’ gear I’ve a hankerin’ for and a .22 rifle, too, for the money that her outfit cost my grandpa.”
I didn’t hang around to see what effect my words had, but pushed my way through the knot of fellows as though the thought of it all still made me mad. I figured I had at least given old Hiram something to be a-thinkin’ on. Maybe it would work, maybe it wouldn’t; I didn’t know, but I’d keep workin’ on it. Bit by bit a fella should be able to get the message across that a wife could end up costin’ a man a powerful lot of money. I was bankin’ on the fact that Hiram Woxley would want to be good and sure that she was worth it.
CHAPTER 8
Surprises
UNCLE CHARLIE HAD FULFILLED his duty in gettin’ the invitation to Hiram Woxley all right, but he was not able to make it for the next Sunday’s dinner. It seemed that there were others in the area who saw Hiram as a good prospect for their daughters. He had agreed to grace our humble home with his presence in two Sundays. I was glad for the breathin’ time.
I said nothin’ at all to Lou about the stir that she caused when she left the church—saw no reason to. Lou wasn’t the kind that would let it go to her head, but still I felt that it would serve no good purpose for her to be a knowin’.
Grandpa had been keepin’ a sharp eye on the south field, and on Tuesday he decided that it was ready to put the binder to it.
I loved harvest time, even if I knew it meant school again soon. Our school always started a little late to give the farm boys a chance to help their pas. When we did get back to class, the teacher worked us like crazy to get us caught up to where we should be. We really didn’t mind the extra work. We were glad for a chance to have the late summer and early fall days.
With Grandpa and Uncle Charlie now in the fields all of the chores fell to me. That was all right, though I was pretty tired some nights. A few times I could hardly wait for Grandpa to call, “Bedtime, Boy,” but I always managed to hang on.
I felt that with Hiram Woxley expected in a week-and-a-half, Uncle Charlie and Grandpa had no other immediate plans for Auntie Lou, so I kinda relaxed and let my thoughts go to other things.
I figured that it was about time for the fish in the crik to really start bitin’. I was
anxious for a chance to get a try at them. I kept my eyes open for a break in my work that would give me a little fishin’ time.
Lou was busy, too. There was stuff from the garden that needed preservin’, and hungry men to feed every day and lunches to fix for me to run to the field, plus all of her usual household chores. She didn’t seem to mind it, though, but like me, she was good and ready for bed come nightfall.
Lou was working on a batch of bread and I was splittin’ up some wood to get a little ahead so I could work in that fishin’ trip when I heard a wagon comin’. I recognized Mr. T. Smith’s team even before it turned into our lane. It was kind of unusual for a neighbor to come calling during harvest, so my head came up rather quick-like. Mr. T. pulled his horses up and flipped the reins. I went forward to say a howdy, more out of curiosity than friendliness. It was then that I spied an elderly man beside him on the high wagon seat.
He was dressed in a brown tweedy suit rather than in work clothes. His hat was a jaunty small-brimmed affair—not wide-brimmed to shed rain and sun like the locals wore. He had a clean-shaven face except for a carefully trimmed white mustache. I sized him up pretty good in the brief time I had, then looked again to study his face. In his eyes I saw a twinkle that made me take to him right away, but I held myself back. I wished that Mr. T. would speak up and explain the presence of the stranger before I showed rudeness by asking.
“Howdy,” I said, including them both. That much I felt sure was safe without bein’ rude—Grandpa wouldn’t tolerate “lip” from a youngster.
“Howdy,” Mr. T. replied, but the older gent just gave me an amused smile. “Brought yer great-granddaddy.”
My eyes jerked back to the old man, and at the same time my blood started churnin’ all through me. This was him? Sure wasn’t the package that I’d been expectin’. There were no baggy unkempt pants, no tobacco-stained chin, no glassed-over watery eyes. This alert, well-kept gentleman with the sparkle in his eyes was my great-grandpa?
Blood went pounding through my head, and I jest couldn’t seem to think or move. I had me a lot of feelings that I couldn’t put a name to—relief I guess, maybe a little leftover fear and— funny thing—jest a small amount of pride too. I suddenly realized that I was standin’ there with my eyes buggin’ and my mouth hangin’ open.
“Howdy, Joshua.” He said my name like he had said it many times before, like it was something really special to him. But the “howdy” sounded new on his tongue.
I coaxed out a rather hesitant smile and bestirred myself.
“Howdy, sir,” I managed to answer.
He laughed at that—a nice, full, fun-filled laugh, and then he busied himself with gettin’ down from the wagon. He took it slow and careful, but he was steady and as sure of himself as I would have been.
Mr. T. was busy setting down Great-grandpa’s belongings. I reached up to give him a hand. After all was unloaded Mr. T. gathered up the reins and prepared to climb back up into the wagon.
“Wouldn’t you come in, Mr. T.? Lou would be pleased to serve coffee,” I asked, rememberin’ some of the manners Grandpa had tried so hard to instill in me.
“No, Joshua,” he answered, “I best git back to the cuttin’. Had to go in to the smithy to git some repairs done or I’d be home at it now. Seein’ how I was comin’ by on my way home, I was pleasured to have the company of yer great-granddaddy when I heerd he was in town and lookin’ fer a way out.”
“Thank you,” I said. “We all most appreciate that. Grandpa will be much obliged.”
“No trouble—my pleasure.” He turned then to my great-grandpa. “Nice to have met you, Mr. Jones. Hope that we have the pleasure of gittin’ good acquainted-like.”
“And I thank you sincerely,” said my great-grandpa, ex-tendin’ his hand, “for the safe and appreciated transport—and for the enjoyable company. I’m sure that we will have future opportunities to get better acquainted.”
Mr. T. smiled, nodded, and turned the team in a big arc and left the yard. I came alive with excitement. I could hardly wait to show Great-grandpa to Auntie Lou—or Auntie Lou to Great-grandpa, I wasn’t sure which. Something deep inside of me told me that they belonged to each other. I guess maybe it was those clear blue eyes that looked like the whole world was a fun place to be.
“Come on in, Great-grandpa.” I hurried him. “I’ll bring in yer things later.”
He picked up one small bag, and I grabbed a couple of suitcases and we went through the gate, around to the back porch and into the kitchen.
Lou was jest lifting golden-crusted bread from the oven as we walked in. Her face was flushed and her hair curled around her forehead.
“Lou,” I blurted out before she could even look up. “Great-grandpa’s here.”
She put down the hot pan and turned to us. For a very brief time they looked at one another, and then with a glad cry Lou rushed to him. He was ready for her, his arms held open wide. They laughed and hugged and laughed again. Anyone watchin’ would never have guessed that they were seein’ one another for the very first time. I saw tears on the cheeks of each of them. I wasn’t sure whose tears they were. Great-grandpa squeezed Lou close.
“Louisa,” he said, “little Lou. You’re just like your daddy said.”
“Oh, Grandpa,” she pulled back now, “it’s so good to have you. So good. But how did you get here?”
“A kind neighbor.”
“Mr. T. Smith brought him,” I offered. I wanted to be sure that they still knew that I was around.
“Sit down.” Lou was still in a happy fluster. “Sit down and I’ll get you some coffee. Josh, you run to the well and get some cream.”
“No need for me, my dear. I drink my coffee black.”
Lou nodded to Great-grandpa and turned to me again.
“Josh, do you want to whip up some grape juice for yourself?”
The grape juice was always kept on the pantry shelf. It was jest a matter of dilutin’ it some with cold well water. I was even allowed the liberty of sprinklin’ in a bit of sugar.
“You know,” said Great-grandpa, “I think that maybe I’d prefer a bit of that grape juice, too. It was rather a warm trip sitting out there in the sun—and Lou,” he added with a twinkle in his eye and a small twitch of his mustache, “just one slice of that delicious-smelling bread.”
I fixed three glasses of the grape juice while Auntie Lou sliced some fresh bread and put out some homemade butter and crabapple jelly.
We had fun around the table. Great-grandpa told some stories about his long trip on the train—how one big lady had motion sickness, and how a little man with a funny box was discovered to have a pig in the passenger car. He also told of a mother with three small children who was havin’ a very tryin’ time until my great-grandpa offered to play games with the little ones. He said it made the miles go quicker for him, too. The young woman cried when she thanked him at the end of her journey.
All at once I glanced at the clock. The time had been racin’ by and I had lots of chores that needed doin’ before the men-folk got in from the fields. I jumped up rather suddenly and headed for the door.
“Josh,” Great-grandpa called after me. I thought that he might be goin’ to mention the fact that I hadn’t asked to be excused, so I stood there feelin’ rather sheepish.
“Josh, you are the chore-boy in harvest time, I assume.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you have many chores?”
“Quite a few, sir.”
He smiled.
“Let’s see now.” He seemed to be workin’ on something as he tugged at one side of his mustache. “We should be able to come up with something better than ‘sir’ for you to address me by, shouldn’t we?”
“Yes—Great-grandfather.”
He laughed again.
“Now that,” he said, “is really a mouthful. That will never do. You could drown or starve at the table before you got my attention with all of that to say.”
I smiled.
“You call Daniel ‘Grandpa’?”
I nodded.
“Then it can’t be just grandpa or we’d never know whom you meant.”
He worked on his mustache some more.
“Grandfather is too dignified for me.” He wrinkled his nose in a humorous smile. “On the other hand, Grandpappy is not dignified enough. That leaves Gramps. What do you think of Gramps?”
“I rather like it, sir.” I tried biting off the “sir,” but it slipped out anyway. He smiled.
“Okay, Gramps it will be. Lou can call me Gramps, too, and then you’ll both know whom you are talking about.”
I grinned. It would be nice to share the name with Lou. I glanced again at the clock. It was gettin’ late.
“Now then,” said Gramps, “do you suppose an old man trailing around with you while you do the chores would slow you down too much?”
“Oh, no, sir—Gramps.”
“Good! You run along and get started, and I’ll get changed into the overalls that I bought in town. I’ll join you as soon as I can.”
I was off on a run. I knew what needed to be done and what I should tackle first to get it out of the way; I worked as quickly as I could, feeling an excitement that I couldn’t put into words at the thought of Gramps comin’ to join me.
Tonight my dog was a rusty brown with soft eyes and long droopy ears. But I had little time for her after explainin’ the reason for my rush.
“Ginger, ya jest gonna have to stand aside so you don’t git tramped on ’cause I’m in a hurry to git as much done as I can before Gramps comes to help me.”
The pigs must have wondered what had happened, the way that I ran with the slop-pails and chop. Then I took the grain and water to the chickens. On the lope, I left for the pasture gate to let Bossie down the lane. I didn’t dare to run her and I felt all agitated at her slow walk for fear Gramps would be waitin’ for me. He was, though he didn’t seem at all put out about it.
His new overalls looked strange on him. He had rolled up the cuffs so that they wouldn’t drag in the dirt. He wore a new pair of farmer’s boots, too, and an old sweater that he referred to as his “gardenin’ sweater.”