by Janette Oke
“What are they like?”
As we continued fishin’ Gramps described to me the trapeze acts, the jugglers, the sword swallowers, the fire eaters, and the animal acts. I sat there so amazed by it all that I sometimes even forgot to jiggle my hook.
“I know what I’d like best,” I said slowly.
“What?”
“The animal acts.”
“You like animals?”
“Love ’em.”
“Then I guess it’s a good thing that you live on a farm.”
“That’s never helped me none.”
“You have all kinds of animals here,” responded Gramps.
“Sure, dumb ol’ chickens and pigs, barn cats and cows. I don’t mean that.”
“I’m sure that you must have spring calves and—”
“Who would ever train a spring calf?”
“Oh,” said Gramps catchin’ on. “You mean animals that you can train to do special things.”
“Yeah,” I sorta mumbled, but I had a lot of feelin’ in what I said. “Like roll over and sit up and beg and things.”
Gramps jest nodded his head. He started to say something but jest then his line jerked. Both of us were on our feet and I found myself yellin’.
“It’s a dandy! Easy does it. Bring him in. That’s right.
Give him a little line. Bring him in again. Good work! It’s a dandy!”
I don’t know who was the most excited when Gramps landed that fish—him or me; but we both whooped and danced around—me in my rolled-up farm overalls, and him in his tight-legged white underwear.
When we finally stopped pattin’ each other on the back, we decided that we’d better call it a day. I could tell by the sun that it would soon be chore time and besides, we could hardly wait to show Auntie Lou.
Gramps picked his overalls off the bush and tied them around his neck. He wasn’t goin’ to chance wet legs on the return trip. We both pulled up the legs of what we were wearin’ as far as we could, then gathered our poles and the lunch pail; the fish were strung on a piece of string. We started back across the crik, me leadin’ the way again.
When we reached the bank, Gramps put his overalls on again and dressed his feet. Gatherin’ all of our things together, we started for home.
“We must do this again, Josh.”
“I’ll soon be back in school.”
“Then we must try to do it at least once more before you go.”
“Maybe we can—iffen I can jest keep the work caught up, maybe we can.”
“I’ll lend a hand,” said Gramps, and I knew that he would.
CHAPTER 11
Number Two
ALL OF THE MEN of the house had been feelin’ concern for Auntie Lou, though I guess none of us had expressed it to each other. Harvest and cannin’ time was an awfully hard time of year for a farm woman—yet Auntie Lou was jest a slip of a girl and carryin’ it all.
I tried to be sure that she always had lots of wood and water on hand without havin’ to ask for it. Uncle Charlie most always picked up a dish towel when he got up from the supper table, and Grandpa stood guard at the door like a sentry to be sure that no one entered the kitchen with dirty boots or pant-leg cuffs. He needn’t have botherd. We all had checked ourselves by the time we got there anyway.
Gramps was Lou’s biggest help. He watched like a hawk and knew when there was a job that could use an extra pair of hands. Auntie Lou and he chatted and laughed as they worked together. They enjoyed one another, that was plain.
Gramps was the only person that I was willing to share Auntie Lou with without feelin’ jealousy. I enjoyed the pleasure that they took from one another’s company—but then they always included me if I was around.
In spite of the help that we all tried to give, Auntie Lou’s job was still a big one; as the Sunday drew near when we were to entertain Hiram Woxley, I think Uncle Charlie felt a mite sorry that he had asked him, knowin’ full well that it added to Lou’s work.
Sunday came. Lou didn’t fuss around for Hiram Woxley like she had for the widow Rawleigh—he was Uncle Charlie’s guest. She would serve him a good Sunday dinner and that was that.
I still felt a bit uneasy about the whole thing. What if the fella should take a shine to Lou? Worse yet, what if she should take a likin’ to him?
Anyway, there we were, right smack-dab in the middle of the Sunday that I had tried hard to pretend would never come.
We went to church as usual. I didn’t pay much attention to the message that Parson White gave. It was all about “being prepared” and I wasn’t plannin’ on “going” for a good long time yet. I didn’t like thinking about dying anyway, so I switched my mind over to something else.
I had a hard time at first findin’ something that I cared to spend all that time on; then I thought of Gramps’ circus and I settled back on the hard wooden bench to enjoy my stay. Of course it was the animal acts that I thought on.
I pictured myself as a ringmaster, with a tall black stove-pipe hat like Gramps had described, and a bright ruffly shirt and red swallow-tails. I didn’t carry a whip—only a little pointin’ stick, and I had dogs—lots of dogs, and all kinds, all sizes. They could all do different tricks, and the people roared and clapped and yelled to see us again and again. Before I had even taken my final bow, the service was over and the people were leavin’ the church. I couldn’t believe that time had gone so fast.
Soon we were all loaded in the wagon, headin’ for home. I sat at the back. As soon as we turned the corner, I whipped off my Sunday shoes and my socks. I saw Gramps watchin’ me.
“No use wearin’ out good Sunday shoes ’fore ya need to,” I explained.
Before I knew it Gramps had moved from his wagon seat and was easin’ himself down beside me; then he, too, reached down and carefully removed his shoes. He put them far enough into the wagon so that they wouldn’t jiggle out and swung his legs contentedly back and forth.
“Those rascals always have pinched me,” he whispered in my ear.
When we turned in the lane, we both hurriedly put our socks and shoes back on. With Hiram comin’ I supposed I would be stuck in them for the entire day.
Lou was unflurried as she finished the dinner preparations. Hiram drove in and was heartily welcomed by Grandpa and Uncle Charlie—and I guess two out of five ain’t bad. It wasn’t long until Lou summoned us for dinner. She placed Hiram down at the end with Grandpa and Uncle Charlie, and Gramps and I were on her right and left.
I could see that Hiram was mightily impressed with Lou’s cooking and the knot started tightenin’ up in my stomach again. I even refused a second piece of pie. I cast around in my mind for comments that I could make on jest how expensive it was to set such a good table, but anything that I could come up with I knew was in Grandpa’s category of rudeness so I had to let them go unsaid.
As soon as the meal was over, Uncle Charlie took charge. He wasn’t goin’ to ball things up like Grandpa had.
“Now Lou,” he said, “seein’ as how you been a-workin’ so hard on the cannin’, bakin’, an’ all, you deserve ya a little rest. Why don’t you jest go on out on the back porch and relax and visit with Hiram a bit, while yer pa and me do up these dishes.”
Lou looked up, her puzzlement showin’ clearly, but before she could venture a protest, Grandpa cut in quick.
“Good idee,” and he almost pushed Lou toward the door.
Then he went one step further. “Pa, why don’t you an’ Josh have ya a game of checkers. I’ve been tryin’ to teach him, but you know that I never was the checker player that you are—an’ I’ve forgot a lot of the good moves.”
Now Grandpa was a right good checker player when he took the time to play. Fact is, he had rather made a name for himself in our community. We had played checkers a fair amount on long, quiet winter evenin’s, but never before in the busy days of harvest. Even on Sundays at harvest time a man was more inclined to jest sit and relax or read, rather than to work hard on “thinkin’.”
&nbs
p; Uncle Charlie was busy banging around the dishpan and filling it with hot water from the kitchen stove’s reservoir, and Grandpa was scurryin’ around the table gathering up the dishes.
In preference of makin’ a scene, Lou, still with a bewildered look on her face, allowed herself to be shuttled out the door and onto the back porch. Hiram grinned as he followed her, and my stomach lurched again.
“Checkers are right over there, Pa. You get them, Boy—you know where they are.”
So Gramps and I were herded into the far corner of the kitchen and stationed over the red and black checkerboard.
My heart wasn’t in it nor my mind on it, and I played a horrible game. I began to wonder why I wasn’t losing even worse than I was; then I realized that Gramps’ mind definitely wasn’t on the game either.
When the noise of the clatterin’ dishes was at its height, Gramps whispered to me without even liftin’ his eyes from the board.
“What’s going on here, Joshua?”
I was a bit surprised that he had picked it up so quickly, and for a moment I wondered jest how much I should tell him.
I decided to jest blurt it all out. Boy, did I need an ally, and for some reason I had the sure feelin’ that Gramps would be on my side.
“Grandpa and Uncle Charlie are lookin’ to marry off Auntie Lou.”
He waited a few minutes; then as Uncle Charlie rattled the cutlery, he whispered again. “Does she know it?”
“Hasn’t a notion!”
I thought that I heard him say “good” but I wasn’t sure.
“Is she interested?”
“Nope,” I replied with confidence. I would explain more later.
This time I was sure that I heard him say “good.”
“Know anything about this Hiram guy?” Gramps’ eyes still hadn’t left the board.
I knew that Gramps meant anything that was unfavorable.
“Only that he likes money,” I whispered back, pretending hard that my next move really had me puzzled.
Gramps stood up.
“You’re no match for me, Joshua,” he said teasingly— “unless you work on your game. Anyway, I think that that’s enough checkers for today. Let’s get some air.”
I saw Grandpa and Uncle Charlie look at one another nervously as Gramps and I moved toward the kitchen door. I’m sure that Gramps noticed them, too, but he never let it slow him down none.
“There’s a game called ‘ring-knife’ that we used to play when I was a kid. You use your jackknife. You draw a circle on the ground, see, and you place small stones in it—so far apart— then you stand back and toss your knife. Your knife has to stick upright in the ground—that means that you have to miss those stones. Each time that you succeed, you get to move back a pace.
If your knife doesn’t stand up, you have to start over. Winner is the one who can tally up the most paces back. At the end of the time limit each player uses his best score. Want to try it?”
I felt that I was pretty good with my knife and the game sounded kind of fun so I agreed.
By now we had walked together onto the back porch. Auntie Lou and Hiram were sippin’ lemonade and chattin’ about something. Hiram looked down-right pleased with himself, but Auntie Lou still hadn’t quite been able to shake off her look of confusion.
Gramps stopped to exchange a few words.
“Joshua and I are going to have us a little game here.”
We went on. Gramps drew out the circle in the dirt, and we each placed three smooth stones inside it.
It was easy for the first few paces, but it got tougher as we went along. We made the first game jest ten minutes. I had tallied up eleven paces as my best score and Gramps ten.
As I was retrievin’ our knives for another go at it, Gramps did a rather funny thing. He pulled out his purse and handed me a dime. His voice was low.
“Been meaning to give you this. When you go to town next time, I’d like you to pick out a good fishhook for me—one that you think would have those fish squirming for a chance at it.”
Seemed funny to me that Gramps would be thinkin’ of fishhooks at such a time, but I nodded and put the dime in the pocket of my pants. I don’t know jest what brought my head up at that particular time, but as my glance went to the porch I saw Hiram lookin’ at us. I thought nothing about it except the usual fear and anger at seein’ him there with Lou. I handed Gramps his knife. He carefully cleaned the blade of his knife and we started a new game. This one ended again as Gramps consulted his pocket watch. I bettered my score a bit that game, and Gramps ended up two paces behind me.
“Been thinking, Joshua,” he said as we retrieved our knives, “maybe you’d best get two hooks so that we’ll each have one.”
Hadn’t realized jest how “hooked” on fishin’ Gramps was after only one trip to the crik. He took out his change purse and handed me another dime. He jiggled the coins as though he was having trouble locating jest the right one. I dumbly put the dime in my pocket knowin’ that it was more money than I needed for two hooks. I’d git the best ones that I could find and give Gramps back his change.
Gramps raised his voice. I was only a few paces from him— but he did have his back to me, so maybe he thought I had walked away.
“Okay, Joshua, that’s enough practicing. Let’s get into the real game now.”
It was then that I noticed Hiram edgin’ his way off the porch and over toward us. Gramps stood there examining his knife and cleaning the dirt from the blade. Hiram came in closer.
“Interestin’ game,” he finally said.
“Ever play ring-knife?” Gramps asked.
“Nope.”
“Know the rules?”
“I’ve been watchin’.”
Gramps sensed his interest.
“Want to join us?”
Hiram grinned then.
“Sure would like to give it a try.”
He pulled out his pocket knife and checked the tip for sharpness.
“We were just about to start the big one. Go ahead and take a few practice throws.”
Gramps hauled out his watch and studied the time while Hiram threw. He looked pretty good with a knife.
Gramps let him have three throws from varyin’ distances.
“Okay,” he said, watching his timepiece carefully as though it had to be the exact second for startin’, “Joshua, you start.” A pause, then a flash of the watch in his hand—“Go.”
I threw—my knife stuck upright. The game was on.
“Hiram,” Gramps said with a nod.
Hiram threw. His knife held firm. Gramps took extra time as he threw, as though the game had suddenly become very important. I sensed the change and it made me feel that maybe we had jest been foolin’ around before. Hiram seemed to sense it, too, and I could see the excitement in his face.
Gramps measured the distance, judged the position of the stones, studied his knife carefully for balance, and threw. His knife stood upright and I heard him sigh with satisfaction.
We all picked up our knives and backed up a pace. The rounds went much more slowly now. Gramps seemed to set the pace. He played so differently that it was hard to believe we were playin’ the same game that he had first introduced me to. Round by round we studied, threw, took our paces backward, and retrieved our knives. Uncle Charlie and Grandpa came to watch for a while with anxious looks on their faces; but seein’ our deep involvement, they finally shrugged and went away.
I’ll say this for Hiram. When he takes to a game he does it with his whole heart and soul. I’d hardly seen a man so keen about playin’ a game. Gramps was serious about it, too; he played slowly and carefully, but he seemed to have a calmness about him that Hiram was lackin’.
All the rest of the afternoon we played. Pace by pace we stepped back until we were so far away that we could hardly see the circle—then we’d go back to start over.
I moved backward and forward more often than the others. It was hard to believe that I had actually managed to beat Gra
mps in my first two games. Beginner’s luck—I guess.
Hiram was in a sweat. It stood out in little drops on his forehead, and it wasn’t due to the pleasant fall day.
Lou had long ago taken her leave. I had spotted her heading toward the crik with a book in her hand. Uncle Charlie and Grandpa paced back and forth on the back porch, scowlin’ and upset, but the game went on.
Gramps and Hiram hung together pace by pace. Occasionally Gramps consulted his pocket watch, rattlin’ its chain rather unnecessarily as he did so; then he’d shake his head to indicate that time still wasn’t up and we’d go at it again.
Frankly, I was getting rather tired of the game, but Hiram didn’t seem to be. Gramps was one pace behind him and Hiram seemed determined to keep it that way.
Gramps looked at his watch again.
“One minute to go. This will be our last throw.”
Hiram chewed his lip. They were now both standing together at their record distance. If they both made it, it could end up a tie. Of course I was pullin’ for Gramps. I was so far behind that I didn’t even count anymore.
Hiram almost looked in pain as he lined up for his last toss. I thought that he was never goin’ to let go of that knife, but he finally did; the blade flashed as it arced through the air. It hit the ground with a soft sound; it had cleared the stones—it quivered as it held upright. Hiram looked like he would whoop, but he didn’t. He whipped out his handkerchief and wiped his brow.
It was Gramps’ turn now. He took his time and aimed carefully. A calmness still showed in his face. I would have loved to put a toe to Hiram’s knife. I was hopin’ for at least a tie—that would take the sting out of the situation.
Hiram was almost jumpin’ out of his shoes; I was afraid that his agitation would disturb Gramps’ concentration. I sent him a scowl but he didn’t even notice.
Gramps’ knife finally left his hand and made a clean, quick flight toward the circle. It seemed that the whole of me went flyin’ with that knife. No one stirred—or even breathed. I waited for the soft sound of the blade slippin’ into the dirt, but instead there was a sharp “clink” and a clatter. Gramps’ knife had hit the largest rock.