by Janette Oke
I could understand now why Auntie Lou braided her hair back.
Even my short hair got full of dirt.
“We’ve got to throw her somehow,” panted Auntie Lou. I went for some ropes.
“Now if we can jest get these on her somehow and get her down, one of us can hold her while the other works the pail.”
Away we went again. I got one rope on a front foot. It trailed around behind her as I ran after her, grabbin’ and strugglin’ to get another rope on her hind foot. Auntie Lou tried to help. After a lot of effort I finally got the second rope on. Lou sorta held the pig at bay while I got an end of each of the ropes. I pulled the tension up until I figured that it was jest right, and then I gave a sudden heave against those ropes with every ounce of energy that I had left. It pulled her feet right out from under her and she went down. Auntie Lou and I both pounced at once, pin-nin’ her to the ground.
“You get the pail,” I said between clenched teeth.
She lifted herself back from the pig and grabbed the pail, eyein’ the situation to determine jest how the head was stuck and which direction to pull.
“Hurry,” I told her, feelin’ the pig gatherin’ herself together to make an effort to get free.
Auntie Lou grabbed the pail and laid back, pullin’ with everything that she had. The pig squealed like we were cut-tin’ her throat—about that time it didn’t seem like such a bad idea.
The pail all of a sudden made a funny suckin’ sound, and Auntie Lou went flyin’ backwards. The pig gave a big heave and left me layin’ on the ground as she squealed her way around the pen draggin’ the ropes behind her.
I heard a funny noise from Auntie Lou and looked up to see her sittin’ in the pig trough. Potato peelin’s and apple cores were splashed up her arms. She even had some of the slop on her face; she sat there blinkin’ those big eyes and makin’ horrible faces. One braid had broken loose and scattered hair about her face in a disorganized fashion. Uncle Charlie’s overalls were an awful mess. Boy, did I want to laugh, but I didn’t.
I got myself up off the ground, gave myself a quick dustin’ and went over to help Auntie Lou out of her trough-strad-dlin’ position. While I was hoistin’ her up, I heard Grandpa’s voice.
“Trouble?”
We didn’t bother lookin’ up, but kept busy dustin’ ourselves off.
“That sow had her head caught.”
“So I saw.”
“You saw it?” I felt like sayin’, If you saw it, where were you?
but I held my tongue.
Auntie Lou stood there shakin’ the messy stuff from her hands and arms. Her baggy, borrowed pants dripped peelings and slop. Grandpa cleared his throat.
“It ’pears that we came at a bad time. I brung the new parson here, out for supper.”
Both Auntie Lou and I jerked as though we had been prodded; sure enough, there he stood.
He was dark. His hair looked like it would curl if he were to let the cut go for an extra week. His eyes were a dark brown, surrounded by thick lashes and heavy eyebrows. He was taller than Grandpa, but he was slimmer—except for his shoulders.
They were broad. The thing that struck me was his age. He didn’t look to be more than twenty-five. For some reason I had jest thought that all preachers were old.
Lou was sizin’ him up, too. I wondered jest how her eyes saw him. No one spoke for a minute and then Lou said, very softly, “Excuse us, Parson. We weren’t expectin’ company.”
Everyone laughed then and the tension was broken somewhat.
“This is Parson Crawford,” said Grandpa, feelin’ that all things were now restored to order—but he was a man. Auntie Lou didn’t quite share his opinion. Her cheeks flushed a deep rose beneath her pig-slop freckles.
“How do you do, Reverend Crawford.”
“How do you do, Miss Jones.”
“He’s come to supper,” Grandpa reminded Lou.
Auntie Lou gathered together all of the dignity that she could muster. She looked straight at Grandpa’s eyes. I had never seen her put her foot down so definitely and completely before and I don’t think that Grandpa had either. Still she spoke in an even, sweet voice. She even managed a charmin’ smile, but everyone knew that she meant exactly what she said.
“Supper will be ready in two hours. I would suggest that you use the time to show the Reverend the farm or to have a nice get-acquainted chat on the porch.”
Loud and clear she was sayin’, “Don’t anyone dare to step into my kitchen or come near me ’til the appointed time.”
Grandpa got the message. He cleared his throat again.
“Come, Josh,” said Auntie Lou.
On the way to the house she spoke again and her voice had a tremble.
“Josh, I want you to put the tub in my room and carry me up some bath water.”
I nodded. I wondered how she planned to get out of those drippin’, messy pants without draggin’ them through her kitchen. I underestimated Auntie Lou. She gave me another order.
“Josh, when you go in, hand me that blanket from the kitchen couch—out the east window.”
She kept right on walkin’ around the house. I gathered up the blanket, hoisted up the window, and handed the blanket to her. She threw it around her shoulders and somehow under its cover, she freed herself of Uncle Charlie’s awful overalls. Still clutchin’ the blanket around her she climbed through the open window, shut it behind herself, and headed for her room. Uncle Charlie’s pants lay where they had fallen, drawin’ the flies.
I didn’t hang around after I had seen to the bath water. I needed some scrubbin’ up and a change of clothes myself, so I cared for that and then went back to my job of cuttin’ wood.
I don’t know jest where the four menfolk passed the time, but promptly when the two hours were up, they were marchin’ toward the kitchen. It was cool outside in the fall evenings, and they really weren’t dressed for it; I suppose that they were all right glad to get into the warmth of the kitchen.
Supper smelled good, too, and as it was later than usual, everyone was powerful hungry.
Lou hadn’t really fussed about the meal. It was the usual, simple yet tasty fare that we normally enjoyed. The table was laid with the everyday dishes. It was clear to me that Auntie Lou wasn’t out to impress the new preacher.
She was dressed neatly and carefully in a blue and white housedress, a clean apron tied around her waist. Her hair hung down around her shoulders. It still wasn’t fully dried from its recent washin’. Her face was flushed a light pink, but whether it was from workin’ over the hot stove or her memory of recent events, I wasn’t sure.
She acted the perfect hostess—quiet and polite, lookin’ after the needs of those at her table, but no more. The parson seemed to enjoy the cookin’—especially the hot biscuits. He ate them until he seemed embarrassed, and then ate another one anyway.
Like Auntie Lou, I didn’t have too much to say during the meal. I was busy lookin’ over this new preacher, tryin’ to figure him out. I jest couldn’t put my finger on any good reason why a young, manly fella like him would want to be a parson. There were so many other things that he could have chosen—like bein’ a cowboy or a sheriff or a wrestler. (Avery Garrett had told me about wrestlers. His uncle had watched a match once.) But here he was, a preacher. I jest couldn’t figure it out. It was clear that he wasn’t in it for the money. Even I noticed that though his suit was neat, it was well worn and even looked to be carefully repaired in a spot or two. No, I couldn’t figure it out. I finally concluded that he must be a fair amount crazy—or at least a little slow. As I listened to the conversation, that theory didn’t add up either. He seemed bright enough, and pleasant, too. It was all a puzzle to me. I felt real curiosity about the man. He was certainly a strange one.
Before he left he admired Pixie. Now anyone smart enough to see what a sharp little dog Pixie was sort of had one foot in the door with me.
When he turned to go he spoke softly to Auntie Lou.
&n
bsp; “Would you and Josh mind walking me to my horse?”
Auntie Lou looked surprised, but there wasn’t really any way that she could graciously refuse; anyway he had included me. The rest understood that they hadn’t been invited and busied themselves at putterin’ with the dishes.
We walked out slowly, no one sayin’ anything at first, and I was wonderin’ jest what this was all about.
“I just want to thank you again for the tasty supper, Miss Jones. I—uh—“ he flushed a bit, then a teasin’ smile played about his lips. “I—uh—know what an unpleasant situation it was for you, and I apologize. Next time that I come for a meal, it will only be at the invitation of the hostess.”
Auntie Lou didn’t say anything, but her blue eyes widened. She nodded and then looked down for a minute.
“Again, I say thank you,” and he touched his hat briefly.
Auntie Lou looked up then. Their gaze held for a minute and then the new preacher turned to me. He held out his hand like I was a full-grown man or something.
“Take good care of Pixie, Joshua. She looks like a real winner. We’ll see you both in the mornin’.”
I nodded. I’d be there. Grandpa would see to that. The next mornin’ was to be Pastor White’s final message and the congregation would be introduced to Reverend Crawford. There’d be a potluck dinner afterward, and then the next Sunday we’d have our new preacher. I might even listen a little—jest the one Sunday—jest to see what kind of preacher a man like him would be.
I watched him mount and start down the lane. When I turned around Auntie Lou was already back to the house.
CHAPTER 21
Parson Nathaniel Crawford
ANOTHER WEEK PASSED. It was rather strange. Not the week really—but Auntie Lou; and Lou bein’ the pivot for my whole world, she made everything else seem strange, too.
Gramps developed a bit of a cold, and Auntie Lou fussed and stewed about that, tryin’ every remedy that she knew. Gramps tolerated it all good-naturedly, but I really think that he would have rather jest left that cold on its own. It wasn’t that bad a one anyway.
Besides, I don’t think that it was Gramps’ cold that was really botherin’ Auntie Lou. It jest gave her somethin’ to do with her fidgeting.
Sunday finally rolled around. The breakfast table that mornin’ was full of talk of the new preacher, wonderin’ what his “delivery” would be like and if he’d be able to help the young folks and still support the old. Gramps added with a chuckle that he sure didn’t expect him to have trouble gettin’ the young women out. Auntie Lou, who had been lookin’ down at her plate and playin’ around with a piece of bacon, looked up after that remark, then quickly dropped her eyes again.
I was afraid that she was comin’ down with Gramps’ cold— she seemed so off-her-feed for some reason; but no one else seemed to notice anything wrong.
Lou suggested that maybe Gramps should jest stay home and nurse his cold, but Gramps would have none of it. He never missed worshippin’ on the Lord’s Day, he said. He had so much to be thankful for, he maintained, and he planned on bein’ there to tell the Lord so. Auntie Lou seemed to think that Gramps could have had his little talk with the Lord jest as well from his own bedroom, but Gramps gently but stubbornly disagreed.
“Not forsaking the assembling of ourselves together,” he quoted. “We weren’t meant to praise Him solo, but as a great chorus.”
Then he laid a hand lovingly on Lou’s shinin’ hair and his eyes were wet.
“Just like your granny, fussing over those you love. I’m just fine, little Lou, truly I am, but thanks for caring.”
He leaned over and kissed Auntie Lou on the cheek. Lou knew that she had lost as far as Gramps goin’ to church was concerned; but though she still looked worried, I think she was pleased to know that he realized jest how much she really cared about him. She turned to her dishes then, rushin’ with them so that she could be ready for church.
Uncle Charlie grabbed a tea towel to give her a hand and they hurried through the mornin’ chore. As always, when they were finished, Auntie Lou reached up on tiptoe and gave Uncle Charlie a light “thank-you” kiss on the cheek—Uncle Charlie’s reason for helpin’ her so often.
Auntie Lou ran up the stairs to her room as though she was really late—she wasn’t. Fact was, she had a bit more time than she usually had on Sunday mornin’s.
But she sure took a long time a gettin’ ready. By the time she appeared again, we men were all standin’ around in the kitchen waitin’, ready to go. In fact, Grandpa was gettin’ impatient. He kept pullin’ out his watch and checkin’ the time. He was jest ready to call—I could see it comin’—when Lou came down the stairs. At the sight of her we all sorta drew in our breath. She was wearin’ her new cream-colored dress that Grandpa had given her for her birthday. The pink trim on it made her cheeks show a rosy pink. Her hair was brushed until it shone and was pinned up in a special way, with little whisps of curls teasin’ around her face. She carried Uncle Charlie’s shawl over one arm and the locket that Gramps gave her hung around her neck, layin’ softly against the creamy bosom of her dress. I looked and sure enough, in her hand she held my lace handkerchief.
“Like it?” She stopped and turned quickly around for us to see each side of her. Her blue eyes sparkled with teasin’ and pleasure.
“For my men,” she said. “Nellie has been coaxin’ me to wear it, and I thought, why not?”
Guess Gramps said it for all of us tongue-tied men.
“Little Lou, you look like an angel—and I’m proud to be able to escort you to church.”
He offered his arm. Auntie Lou accepted it and they walked out together. The rest of us followed.
Boy, I kept thinkin’, if Cullum could see her now—bet even he wouldn’t think that goin’ to church was such a bad idea.
I wasn’t worried about Jedd Rawleigh or Hiram Woxley or even Burt Thomas anymore. It wasn’t that I wanted her goin’ off with Cullum either, but I was sure that he would take real pleasure in seein’ Auntie Lou like that.
The warm Indian-summer weather was back again. It was nice to leave for church without havin’ to bother to bundle up so that you could hardly move.
Grandpa pushed the team a bit. We had started later than usual, and Grandpa wasn’t one to favor being late for church. We made it on time. As we walked to the door, I could feel the stir around us. Most of the young fellas were hangin’ around outside yet—sorta gettin’ all the air that they could before goin’ in to sit a spell. At the appearance of Auntie Lou there was a great deal of head-turnin’, feet-shufflin’, and elbow-pokin’. She greeted them with a shy smile and a cheery good mornin’ as she passed—jest as she always did, nothin’ more nor less.
We took the usual pew. This morning instead of coaxing to sit with the boys, I joined my family, and planted myself between Gramps and Auntie Lou. I could feel eyes on us, and though I knew it was Auntie Lou they were lookin’ at, it still made me squirm. I could hear a few girls’ whispers, and I guessed that they were probably discussin’ Auntie Lou’s dress—girls bein’ so taken up with what one another is wearin’.
The new pastor took his place and the attention shifted— especially that of the girls. Boy oh boy! I thought, he looks even taller and younger up there behind the pulpit. Preacher has no business lookin’ like that. He’s supposed to be sorta world-worn and old lookin’. I hadn’t figured out yet what he was to do with his time while waitin’ to get old, if he felt a call to preach.
He smiled at his congregation and his eyes seemed to take us all in. Auntie Lou wasn’t returnin’ his look. She was fidgetin’ with a lace corner on her hanky.
The openin’ part of the service went pretty much as usual. The songs were the ones that we were familiar with. Mrs. Cromby tramped away at the pump organ in the same fashion as always, and Mr. Shaw boomed out in a bass voice, not always quite on key. The ushers gathered the Lord’s tithes and offerin’s, and Deacon Brown led in prayer.
It was f
inally time for the sermon and even the boys my age were quiet and waitin’. I was right curious as to what kind of talkin’ this new preacher would do. I didn’t plan on really listenin’—jest sorta checkin’ up on what he had to say.
His voice was pleasant enough, and one soon forgot how young he looked. His manner and his delivery sort of caught me up somehow, and I got to feelin’ like what he had to say had greater authority than his alone.
When I summed it all up later, I felt rather tricked. Really it was the same thing that I’d been hearin’ all my life—only put to us in a different way. “God’s Glorious Provision” he called it, and went on to tell of man’s need because of him bein’ a sinful creature and what God had done to care for that need. Yea (that was his word)—yea, completely and forever erased the need, by supplyin’ man’s salvation, through the redemptive death of our Lord.
As I say, I’d heard it all before, but one thing sorta caught me and had me puzzled. This preacher looked like what he was talkin’ about filled him with such happiness that he was about to bust. It seemed that he was pleased to pieces that God had gone out of His way to do all that for man. “Mercy,” he called it—mercy and grace—mercy bein’ the withholdin’ of what you really deserved, like a woodshed trip if you’d been bad; and grace—the gettin’ of what you really didn’t deserve, like the extra dish of ice cream when there were six servin’s and five people to share them.
At the end of the sermon we sang, “Amazin’ Grace,” and a look at the preacher’s face told everyone that he truly thought it was amazin’.
Willie Corbin went up and knelt at the front cryin’ and the new preacher went to pray with him. Now I knew Willie Corbin, and if ever a fella had need to be a bit concerned about some of his carryin’ on, it was Willie. I jest hoped that it wouldn’t take all the fun out of him.
I followed my family out of the pew when the pastor finally dismissed the people. Boy, was the church gettin’ short of air. I couldn’t wait to get outside.
Willie Corbin sat there at the front, grinnin’ from ear to ear, as his ma and pa hugged him, wipin’ away tears with the pastor’s handkerchief.