Once Upon a Summer

by Janette Oke

  Gramps had wanted to go, too, to do what he could as a fire fighter, but Grandpa had put his foot down.

  “I jest don’t want to chance it, Pa.” Grandpa had said.

  “ ’Sides, yer needed here—in case this don’t work.”

  I took the tremblin’ Pixie from Auntie Lou’s arms. She stood there silent and white. Her eyes watched the departin’ men and horses—one wagon in particular—where the preacher was hitchin’ a ride. I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothin’.

  Auntie Lou suddenly came alive. I wondered for a minute what she was up to and then I realized where she was headin’. The preacher’s horse stood where he had wandered after bein’ left on his own. His sides still heaved with each breath he drew, and he was flecked with foam from runnin’. Auntie Lou walked up to him. He trembled and moved away a step, but she spoke softly and he let her gather the reins in her hand. Still speakin’ she slipped his saddle and hung it on the rail fence; then she proceeded to rub him down with handfuls of dry grass.

  The horse responded to her voice and hands, and gradually stopped shakin’. The rubbin’ seemed to settle him down, and by the time he was dry his sides had stopped their jerky heaves. Lou continued rubbin’ and soothin’, talkin’ all the while. I don’t know what she was tellin’ that horse, but it seemed to have a quietin’ effect. By the time she had finished and had tethered him, he was ready to eat a bit.

  I hadn’t stirred. I felt nailed to the spot, unable to think or move. As Auntie Lou walked back toward the house, I looked again to the west. The fire had definitely drawn closer. I wondered if they’d be able to hold it, if the preacher’s vee would really work. I shuddered and held Pixie so tight that she squirmed and whined.

  “You’d best get on with the chores, Josh.”

  It was Auntie Lou speakin’. She spoke jest as though nothing out of the ordinary was happenin’.

  “Do you want some milk and cookies first?”

  I shook my head no, and went in to change my school clothes.

  Gramps and Lou followed me in. Her face was still pale, but other than that she looked composed enough, “It could be a long fight,” she said. “I’d best get on a big pot of coffee and make up sandwiches for when it’s over.”

  Gramps spoke then for the first time.

  “I was wondering, my dear, if we should pack some blankets and clothing into that wagon just in case we need to leave in a hurry—in case it doesn’t work.”

  “It’ll work.”

  Auntie Lou seemed so confident of the fact that I could almost believe it too.

  Gramps smiled and let it go, and when Auntie Lou washed her hands and moved to her cupboards to set to work, he did likewise.

  I made sure that Pixie was in a safe spot where I could find her quickly if I needed to, and set out to care for the chores.

  The smoke hung heavy in the air now and at times you even could see the flicker of the flames.

  I did all of the chores. Even milked Bossie. She fidgeted some, a rarity in Bossie. She usually stood still as stone for milkin’.

  Instead of puttin’ her back to pasture, I jest left her in the

  barnyard; then I went to the house with the milk.

  I knew by the look to the west that the fire had reached the

  vee. They’d be fightin’ there to hold it—all those neighborfolk and Grandpa and Uncle Charlie—and the preacher.

  I had counted fifteen of them in all. Not many men to fight a runaway stubble fire, what with the fields as dry as matchsticks, but at least there was little wind blowin’ to fight against them. That would give them a little extra time and make their efforts more effective.

  I hurried the milk to the house. The pail wasn’t as full as usual. I didn’t know for sure if that was Bossie’s fault or mine.

  Auntie Lou and Gramps had finished fixin’ and packin’ sandwiches. The big black kettle filled with coffee was steamin’ and fillin’ the kitchen with its pleasant aroma.

  “Josh,” Auntie Lou said as I stepped through the door, “set the milk down and bring all of the milk cans. Fill two of them with water from the pump and bring the other one to me.”

  I ran.

  It was a big job pumpin’ those cans of water. Guess it wouldn’t have been so bad if I wouldn’t have been in such a hurry. I was out of breath by the time I got the job done. I couldn’t carry the full cans on my own, so I put the lids on and let them sit.

  Auntie Lou came out, followed by Gramps. They both were carryin’ the baskets that had been packed with sandwiches and cups. I watched as they deposited them in the light wagon that had been left for our escape. They both studied the sky to the west. It was gettin’ quite dark by now so the red glow showed up even brighter. The cloudy billows did seem to come from a narrower strip and we began to have real hopes that the men were holdin’ the fire.

  The remainin’ milk can was filled with the steamin’ coffee, and it was placed in the wagon with a heavy woolen quilt tucked securely around it. We loaded the cans of cold water, and after Auntie Lou did a final check to be sure that we had everything, we started off.

  “We’ll go around by the road,” Auntie Lou advised and I knew that she was right. If we followed the road there was no danger of bein’ trapped by a fresh outbreak of flames.

  I tucked Pixie in a box with Uncle Charlie’s old jacket inside. There was no way that I was chancin’ leavin’ her at home alone.

  I drove, Gramps not havin’ much experience with team drivin’, and Lou wantin’ to let me feel like a man.

  It seemed to take forever to get to the fire. Now and then the smoke would almost make us choke, and we had to breathe through a sleeve or some other piece of our clothin’. The horses were skitterish, not likin’ the smoke one little bit, and it took all of my attention jest to keep them under control.

  It appeared that the sky was cloudin’ up some, but it was awful hard to tell what was true cloud and what was smoke cover.

  We pulled the team up short of the actual fire site, and Gramps walked on ahead to see how things were farin’ and to pass on the word that we were there.

  He came back almost on the run. They were doin’ it—they were holdin’ the fire! Little fires were still breakin’ out all along the plowed vee, the men not havin’ time to plow as many furrows as they really needed. But they were holdin’ it, and already it was startin’ to diminish.

  The word of our bein’ there passed along the ranks quickly; the men came two-by-two to take a sandwich and coffee break. Most of the men were more anxious for some cold water. I guess Auntie Lou had figured that when she set me to gettin’ the two cans filled.

  Two-by-two they came, hurriedly, anxious to get back to their spot in the line, their faces soot-streaked, their clothes smoke-smellin’. Some had small burns and Auntie Lou set Gramps to cleanin’ them up and wrappin’ the ones that needed it with strips of clean white cloth and strong smellin’ ointment.

  Auntie Lou poured coffee and served sandwiches and asked the news of the fire from each new pair that came. We found that the fire had given them all a real scare at one point. It had jumped the crik at a narrow spot, and the men fightin’ there had had to call on others to help them get the new blaze under control. The men along the road and the vee had had to cover more area then, and it looked for a while that the fire was goin’ to win. A few more men had arrived from the surroundin’ farms, and that had added, jest in time, fresh strength to the firefighters. They were able to hold it and eventually beat it back.

  I saw Cullum comin’ for refreshments along with Joey Smith. He looked as sooty as the rest of them, even though he had been one of the late arrivers, havin’ farther to come than others. He drank his coffee a little slower than some, and all the time he kept stealin’ glances at Auntie Lou. She didn’t seem to notice. I asked Cullum how things were goin’.

  “I think we’ve got it,” he replied. “Thet was a first-rate idea, whoever thought of it. Thanks to thet, you folk still have yer home and ye
r farm.”

  He looked at Auntie Lou again, and I knew that he was truly glad that we still had our home.

  “The Turleys weren’t so lucky,” he went on. “They managed to save their house by concentratin’ all their efforts on it, but

  they lost everything else—all their other buildings, their farm implements, and even most of their livestock.”

  I felt mighty bad about the Turleys. At the same time I couldn’t help but feel relief that it looked like our place would be safe.

  Cullum turned to follow Joey Smith back to the fire.

  I watched Auntie Lou as she looked anxiously through the smoke at each new set of faces. I could see that she was worried.

  I wished that Grandpa and Uncle Charlie would hurry and come so that her mind could be put at ease. They came at last, soiled, sweaty, and tired, but overjoyed almost to the point of bein’ silly.

  Auntie Lou was right pleased to see them and gave Grandpa a quick hug, but the worried look still didn’t leave her eyes.

  “It worked!” beamed Grandpa. “We’re holdin’ it. Still work to do stampin’ and beatin’ out trouble spots, but we’ll hold it.

  It worked!”

  Auntie Lou jest smiled a sweet smile, like she’d known all along that it would.

  Uncle Charlie accepted his coffee, but instead of gulpin’ it down, he sipped it slowly. I was glad that there was no one else watchin’. It would have spoiled his reputation.

  “Got enough fire on the outside without havin’ it on the inside, too,” he explained.

  They hurried back to take up their pails and shovels. Still Auntie Lou kept watchin’ through the now lessenin’ smoke.

  Two fellas came carryin’ Eb Crawford. He had had the misfortune of havin’ a pant leg catch fire as he tramped out flames. He had rolled on the ground as quick as he could, but he still had a very painful leg. They wrapped Auntie Lou’s quilt around his body and Joey Smith was sent to drive him home.

  It seemed to me that all of the men must have eaten. Some had even returned for another cup of coffee or a sandwich. The fire was as good as out now. It was decided that many of the men would be free to go home. Only a few would be needed to stay to watch for any unexpected breakouts.

  The smoke was still hangin’ in the air but not with the same density that it formerly had.

  Auntie Lou still paced agitated-like, and I was about to question her when I saw her face light up. It went from relief, to fear, to relief again, and I saw the preacher walkin’ through the smoke.

  Perspiration had made ugly tracks through the coatin’ of soot on his face. His parson’s suit was dirty and smeared from trampin’ fire, sloshin’ water, and shovellin’ dirt. Here and there, all over his clothin’, little holes had burned through the material where flyin’ sparks had landed.

  He walked straight to Auntie Lou who was pourin’ coffee with tremblin’ hands.

  “It worked.” His voice held intense relief.

  Auntie Lou looked at him and her eyes were filled with gratitude.

  “Thank you,” she whispered and they looked long at one another. I wondered jest what words they would be usin’ if what they were sayin’ with their eyes would have been said aloud.

  Mr. T. Smith came up then and Auntie Lou turned to serve him. Some of the men gathered around, laughin’ and poundin’ the preacher on the back, praisin’ his plan and the way it worked. Everyone was talkin’ and feelin’ good in spite of their tiredness and the blisters on their hands and faces. Grandpa came too.

  He wanted a chance to thank all of his neighbors before he sent them on home. He couldn’t voice what he really felt—there jest weren’t words—but he tried and I think that every neighbor there understood what he wasn’t able to say.

  Most of them moved out, drivin’ their hayracks or wagons. Through the closin’-in night they went, enjoyin’, at least for a while, its welcome coolness.

  “Thank ya, Lou, for thinkin’ of the men,” Grandpa said then. “Guess you can get on back to the house and rest yer-self easy. This here fire’s gonna hold now. Charlie and me will wait around jest to be sure that no live sparks are still hangin’ around.”

  “I’ll wait with you.”

  It was the preacher who spoke. Grandpa looked hard at him, like he was seein’ the man for the first time.

  “Be no need, son.” He said it with feelin’. “Things are settled now, thanks to you—and the Lord—and you sure did earn yer rest at the end of this day.”

  “I’d still like to stay if you don’t mind.” He turned to me.

  “Josh, would you mind caring for my horse? I left him in kind of a hurry, and I’d sure like him to have some proper attention.”

  “Auntie Lou already did,” I blurted out. “Rubbed him down and everything—but I’ll give him a drink. Should be okay for him to have some water now. I’ll put him in the barn and give him a bit of chop, too.”

  I would have said more, but I got the feelin’ thet the preacher wasn’t listenin’ anyhow. He was busy lookin’ at Auntie Lou.

  It was cool now and as the preacher picked up his shovel and turned to go with Grandpa and Uncle Charlie, I noticed his thin suit.

  “Hey wait,” I hollered.

  They turned.

  “I got Uncle Charlie’s old coat here in Pixie’s box. You want it?”

  Grandpa laughed as I hurried to dig out the old coat, but he did commend me.

  “Good thinkin’, Boy. It’s gonna get a mite cold afore the night’s over.”

  The preacher wasn’t proud; he slipped into that old coat with real thankfulness. It was really tight and the arms were too short, but it sure beat nothin’.

  Gramps and I helped Auntie Lou gather the milk cans and cups and the empty sandwich boxes; then we headed for home.

  It was quite dark now and the horses, eager to get home, had to slow their pace and pick their way carefully along the road. I didn’t need to do much reinin’. When we reached home I cared for the team and the preacher’s horse while Gramps and Auntie Lou unloaded the wagon and cleaned up the kitchen.

  Now that the excitement and scare was drainin’ out of me, I felt dog-tired. I dragged myself to the house. When I entered the kitchen, I checked to be sure that Auntie Lou had remembered to bring in Pixie. She had. Then I checked the clock and noticed with great satisfaction that it was way past my bedtime. I grinned to myself as I scooped up Pixie and started up the stairs. I didn’t even bother to wash. Auntie Lou’s voice stopped me.

  “Thank you, Josh, for thinkin’ of that jacket. It was a thoughtful thing to do and I was proud of you.” She smiled at me. “ ’Night now.”

  I grinned again and went on up the stairs. This time I was gonna get away with goin’ to bed unwashed, but I was too tired to even enjoy it. I could hardly wait to fall into my bed.

  CHAPTER 25

  Next Mornin’

  I AWOKE THE NEXT day to sounds comin’ from the kitchen. It was more than jest the usual sounds, of Auntie Lou gettin’ breakfast. There was male laughter and talkin’, and the clink of cups bein’ replaced on the table. I jumped out of bed and reached for my overalls. They stunk! In fact, the smell of smoke seemed to hang all about me. I pulled them on anyway and hurriedly buttoned my shirt.

  At the kitchen table sat the four men waitin’ for breakfast. Gramps was the only one who looked presentable. The others had washed their faces and hands, but little blisters appeared here and there, and their clothes looked just awful.

  They were all in a good mood, though, and I figured that they deserved to be.

  “Look outside, Boy,” Grandpa said when I came down— and I did.

  There was our whole farm, alive and complete—and covered with a clean, white blanket of new-fallen snow.

  “Snow!”

  “Yessiree—started as rain ’bout four o’clock this mornin’ and now yer gettin’ yer snow.”

  I grinned.

  “Won’t need to worry anymore about that fire now,”

  Grandp
a went on.

  Auntie Lou was busyin’ herself flippin’ pancakes and fryin’ eggs and bacon. Uncle Charlie crossed leisurely to the stove to give her a hand. She let him.

  I took my place at the table and lifted hot pancakes onto my plate. I refrained from reachin’ for the butter until after we’d prayed. I could hardly wait to introduce Pixie to the snow. I wondered jest what she would think of it.

  I ate all that I could hold and the men were still eatin’. They finally indicated to Auntie Lou that they had had enough.

  “I really must be going,” said the preacher. “I feel badly in need of a bath and some fresh clothes.”

  As I looked at him I wondered what he would do for a suit come Sunday.

  “I’ll get yer horse,” said Uncle Charlie. He put on his hat and jacket and headed for the door.

  The preacher rose from the table and thanked Auntie Lou for the breakfast. He spoke a few words to Gramps and then turned to Grandpa.

  “I’m thankful, Mr. Jones—truly thankful that you didn’t lose your home.”

  Grandpa worked at swallowin’.

  “And I,” he said, “and I. I’ll never be able to thank you enough for the plan that ya came up with and the way that you worked to carry it out. Seemed everywhere that I looked, there you was, diggin’ and trampin’ and pitchin’ water and fightin’ with a wet sack. I’m truly thankful. Any man that can think and fight like that ain’t goin’ to be stopped by the hard things in life, I reckon. Yer gonna make a great preacher—and I—ah—I jest want ya to know that yer more than welcome in my home—and at my table—anytime.”

  The preacher extended his hand, his face lightin’ up.

  “Thank you, sir. Thank you.”

  He hesitated a moment and then hurried on, seemin’ to sense that he mustn’t miss this chance of a lifetime.

  “This may seem like taking advantage of the situation, Mr. Jones, but I—I would like to request your permission to call on your daughter—not as a minister, sir,” he added with a smile.