by Janette Oke
Grandpa smiled, too, and extended his hand.
“And I’d be right proud to have you do that.” He stole a glance at Auntie Lou, who seemed to be holdin’ her breath, her hands clasped tightly in her balled-up apron. “I don’t think that Lou will be objectin’ to the idea either.”
It seemed pretty obvious that Grandpa had made up his mind about the preacher. He’d won Grandpa’s heart, and I couldn’t see that anyone could convince Grandpa otherwise.
The preacher turned to Auntie Lou then. She finally breathed again and managed a smile in response. Her face was flushed and her eyes looked about to spill over. He crossed to her and took one of her small hands in his.
“Wednesday?”
She nodded. They looked at each other for a moment and then he turned and left. As soon as he was gone, Auntie Lou threw herself into Grandpa’s arms.
“Oh, Pa,” she cried and the brimmin’ tears spilled down her cheeks.
“There now, Baby. There now.” He patted her shoulder. I had never heard him call her Baby before.
“I know what I said about him and how he had nothin’ and I wanted more for you and—and all that; but he’s a man, Honey—a real man. He fought that there fire with all his might; and I reckon iffen he puts his mind to it, he’ll be able to care, somehow, for a mere slip of a girl, even iffen she does jest happen to be the greatest little gal in the world.”
I picked up Pixie and headed outside, stoppin’ only long enough to grab my coat and hat as I left.
Sure, I liked the preacher okay, and Auntie Lou seemed to be right stuck on him, and I sure wouldn’t withhold anything from Auntie Lou; but, boy, was I gonna miss her. I wondered if there was any way that I could be without her and still survive.
I clutched Pixie tight against my chest. I had wanted to find out her first impression of the cold, white world, but somehow it didn’t seem so important now.
I arrived outside jest in time to see the preacher turn his horse from the lane to the road. He had a cold ride ahead. His thin parson suit was still partially wet and the fallin’ snow wasn’t gonna help his comfort none. Uncle Charlie’s old, too-small coat helped some, but left a lot to be desired. Still, I kinda doubted if he’d even notice.
CHAPTER 26
The Lord’s Day and the Lord’s Man
FOLKS WERE STILL BUZZIN’ about the fire as they gathered for the Sunday mornin’ service. The new preacher had won his way into many hearts, not jest by the fast-thinkin’, but also by his ability to pitch in and fight. I noticed several mothers and daughters eyein’ him with added interest.
“Ya haven’t got a fat chance,” I said to myself, and even felt some pride in the fact that he had chosen Auntie Lou above all the rest. I felt sorrow, too, for I still wanted her to stay with us where I felt she belonged.
I was peekin’ around to see where my friends were sittin’— and nearly jumped out of my shoes. Way in the back, lookin’ kind of embarrassed, was Cullum! All I could figure out was that he was there as a favor to the preacher, seein’ how the man was now a hero in these parts.
The preacher wore a suit. It certainly wasn’t brand new, but I guess it was the best he could do. It was properly pressed, and the mended places didn’t show too much. After the openin’ hymn I guess most folks, like me, kinda forgot all about it.
Jest before the preacher was to bring the message, Deacon Brown asked for a chance to speak.
He expressed how thankful the people of the area and the town were to the reverend for his part in fightin’ the fire that could have spelled disaster for so many. Because the parson had suffered the loss of his Sunday suit on behalf of the people, the people had taken up a collection to help him replace his loss. Deacon Brown handed an envelope to the surprised preacher, and the people all clapped as they read his unbelievin’ and thankful face.
The deacon then went on to say that a fund had been set up at the General Store for any and all who wished to help the Turleys get a fresh start. If anyone had a piglet or a calf they could spare, that, too, would be appreciated.
The service then went on as usual.
As we went through the Sunday hand-shakin’ line, I heard the preacher say softly to Auntie Lou, “Wednesday.” She smiled and I thought that she had never looked prettier.
The preacher came Wednesday after supper as planned. He had already taken the train to town to shop for his new clothes. There wasn’t a store in our small town that carried what he needed. He really did look quite grand in his new suit, though he wore a shirt, not his white collar, when he came to call on Auntie Lou.
They were still talkin’ when I was sent up to bed. They didn’t seem to pay too much attention to the rest of us, though Auntie Lou did think to put on the coffee for Grandpa and Uncle Charlie. Gramps had given me a knowin’ wink and excused himself earlier than usual.
Uncle Charlie and Grandpa took their coffee and moved to the checkerboard in the far corner of the room.
I went up to bed draggin’ my heels. I sure would have liked to hear what was bein’ said, but even I knew better than to try to listen. The preacher and Auntie Lou spoke kinda soft anyway, and I didn’t suppose that their voices would even carry as far as the stairs.
The next day we had more snow, and Grandpa decided that it was time to change from the wagon wheels to the sleigh runners. I went off to school wishin’ that I could hang around and get in on the changin’.
Friday night the preacher came again. This time Auntie Lou had invited him for supper. It was almost more than I could do to sit at that table watchin’ him watchin’ Auntie Lou with that self-satisfied look in his eyes. She rested her hand ever so lightly on my shoulder as she placed a refilled plate of biscuits on the table. It’s really true, I thought to myself. God’s gonna take away Auntie Lou, too.
I excused myself from the table, sayin’ that I didn’t feel too well—which I truly didn’t—and went up to my room. I laid there for a long time tryin’ to sort it all out, wantin’ to cry and yet not able to. Auntie Lou came up with a worried look on her face and felt my forehead.
“You’re not gonna be sick, are ya, Josh?” she asked me and there was fear showin’ in her voice.
“Naw,” I said, “I’m fine, jest a little off-feed, that’s all. I’ll be fine come mornin’.”
She still looked unconvinced and leaned over me fixin’ my already okay pillow and brushin’ back my hair. For a moment I felt a sense of victory that I still had the power to pull her away from the preacher; then the anger filled me again—not at Auntie Lou, not even at the preacher really. I mean, who could blame the guy for fallin’ hard for Auntie Lou? Still, the angry feelin’ gnawed at me, and I turned away from Auntie Lou.
“I’m fine,” I said again, “jest need some sleep, that’s all.”
She rested her hand on my head again.
“I love ya, Josh,” she whispered, and then she was gone.
I cried then; I couldn’t help it. The tears jest started to roll down my cheeks and fall onto my pillow. I wished with all of my heart that I had remembered to bring Pixie, and then I felt her lickin’ my face. She had come lookin’ for me.
I drew her close and cried into her fur. At least I still had Pixie. If God would jest leave her alone—keep His hands off— at least I’d have her to love. I didn’t even try to choke back the tears but jest let them run down my cheeks, where periodically Pixie’s little pink tongue whisked them away.
CHAPTER 27
Another Sunday
WE HEADED TO CHURCH in the sleigh the next Sunday. I loved the crunch of the runners on the new snow.
The sun was shinin’, glistenin’ off the snow on the roadway and the fields. It was gettin’ close to Christmas now and the feelin’ was already in the air.
The preacher directed the service in his new set of clothes, sincerely thankin’ the people for the opportunity of purchasin’ them. He looked jest fine.
Already folks had heard that he was callin’ on Auntie Lou; some of the gi
rls wore disappointed looks, and their mothers weren’t quite so quick to shove them forward at every opportunity.
I didn’t listen much to the sermon. It was on the love of God, and I wasn’t sure if I could swallow it—not with Auntie Lou sittin’ there beside me, her eyes on the preacher’s face. Instead, I decided to dream up a new trick to teach Pixie, somethin’ really spectacular that no other dog had ever, ever learned to do. Already, Pixie could beg, roll over, play dead, sit, and walk some on her hind legs. She wasn’t a puppy anymore, but she was pretty small even though she’d grown a lot. She was a smart dog, and I guess I would have jest about given an arm for her.
I had a hard time comin’ up with something within a dog’s reach that someone else hadn’t already tried. The service ended without me gettin’ the problem worked out.
As soon as I could, without bein’ too pushy, I made my way past the preacher, shakin’ his hand briefly. I then joined Avery and Willie in a corner of the churchyard where they were mes-sin’ around in the snow.
“Bet I could take off ol’ Mr. T.’s hat,” boasted Willie.
“Thought you been to the altar and prayed for God to forgive and help you,” countered Avery. “Yer s’posed to be good now, not mean.”
Willie changed his tune.
“Said bet I could, not thet I was gonna try.”
“Does it really work?” asked Jack Berry who had joined us.
“What?”
“Goin’ to the altar. I mean, do ya feel different, or anything?”
“Well, it ain’t the goin’ to the altar,” said Willie. I had the feelin’ that he was repeatin’ what the preacher had said. “It’s the prayin’ thet makes the difference, and a fella can pray any place.”
“But does it work?”
“Yeah,” said Willie, and his eyes lit up. “Yeah, it really did. I mean—I used to be all mean and feelin’ mixed up inside, and now—now, thet I told God I was sorry and thet I wanted to quit bein’ thet way, I feel,” he shrugged, “kinda clean and not fightin’-mad anymore.”
“Ya mean—kinda—peace.”
“Yeah, I guess so,” Willie answered. “Jest don’t feel all sad and troubled and scared. Yeah, guess that’s peace, huh?”
We all stood around Willie. I suppose every one of us wished that we could feel the things he described. Mitch Turley came over and we left our discussion and went back to makin’ snowballs.
I was turned facin’ the church steps where the preacher stood talkin’ to old Mrs. Adams. She was almost deaf and he had to lean over and raise his voice to be heard. He stopped in mid-sentence and his head jerked up; then without even excusin’ himself he was off on the run toward a team hitched at the side rail fence. I looked over to see what was makin’ him run so. What I saw made the back of my neck feel like a snake was movin’ up my spine.
There was Pixie, my little dog! Somehow she had followed us to church, and there she was now, runnin’ under ‘Toad’ Hopkins’ team. Now Toad drove the spookiest horses around and when that small dog started dartin’ among their hooves, they near went wild.
I started toward the team, too, but before I could get anywhere near them the preacher was already there. He placed a hand on the nearest horse and spoke soft words in an effort to soothe him, but he didn’t wait for the horses to quiet down— not with Pixie under there, threatenin’ to be tramped on at any minute. No sirree, that preacher went right under, too.
I stopped in my tracks, too scared to even holler.
The horses pitched and plunged and then out from under them—some way—the preacher rolled, and he held Pixie in his arms.
Everyone else had been too busy talkin’ to even notice what had happened, and I guess the preacher was glad that they were. His new suit was snow-covered and had a patch of dirt on one pant leg where a horse’s hoof had struck him.
He brushed himself off quickly. I noticed that when he walked toward me he limped, though he was tryin’ hard not to.
He felt Pixie to make sure that she had no broken bones.
She was tremblin’ but she seemed unhurt. He handed her to me and I cuddled her close. I finally found my voice.
“Ya coulda been killed.”
He didn’t say anything for a minute and then, “She’s okay, Josh.”
“Are you?”
“Sure—I’m fine—just bumped a little. Don’t bother mentioning it, all right?”
I nodded. I swallowed hard and stroked Pixie’s brown curly head.
“I didn’t know,” I said, “that ya liked dogs so much that you’d—you’d risk yer life for ’em.”
He looked at me then, and reached out and put a hand on my shoulder.
“Sure—sure, Josh, I like dogs real well. But it wasn’t for Pixie that I had to get her out. It was for you, Josh.”
My eyes must have shown my question, for he steered me away from the crowd and we walked off a few paces together, him still limpin’.
“I know how you love Pixie, Josh, and I know how a fella can feel cheated when he loses what he loves. You now, you’ve already lost your mother and your pa, and then you lost your first dog. Lou told me all about it. Pretty soon—well pretty soon—I hope that you’ll be called on to share the most important person in your life, Josh. You might feel like you’re losing her, too—but you won’t be. Lou will always love you—always. She’s worried about you, Josh. She’s afraid that you might not understand, that you’ll be hurt and grow bitter.”
He stopped and turned me to face him.
“Lou is afraid that you blamed God for your first dog being killed. She’s afraid that she couldn’t make you understand that God loves you, that He plans for your good, not your hurt.
“It’s true that things happen in life that seem wrong and are painful, but it isn’t because God likes to see us suffer. He wants to see us grow. He wants us to love Him, to trust Him.”
I thought back about Willie sayin’ that he felt clean and not scared or mad inside anymore; I knew that that’s what I wanted, too. I fought with myself for a minute, wonderin’ if God could really forgive me for the selfish way that I’d been thinkin’ and feelin’. The preacher said that God loved me. If He loved me, then I figured that He’d forgive me, too.
“Can we go somewhere private a minute?” I asked.
“Sure,” he said. He placed an arm around my shoulder, and we went through the side door into his study in the little church.
Still clutchin’ Pixie close, I poured it all out—how I’d been feelin’, how I doubted God, blamed God, even tried to ignore Him if I could. I told, too, about what Deacon Brown had heard and passed on to my grandpa and how I had withheld the truth in a selfish effort to keep Auntie Lou. I cried as I told the preacher, and I think that he cried some, too. Then we prayed together. Willie Corbin was right. It did work! I felt clean and forgiven—and even better yet, loved.
I smiled up at the preacher, and I even thought I loved him, too. I was glad that Auntie Lou had picked him. She sure knew how to pick a man.
“Thanks, Nat,” I said. That’s what Auntie Lou had been callin’ him, and I guessed that I’d better get used to it, too—at least until I could rightfully say Uncle Nat.
We hugged each other close; then I picked up Pixie and went to find my family. I had something pretty excitin’ to tell them on the way home.
CHAPTER 28
Postscript
WELL, I GUESS THAT jest about sums up the tellin’ of how Auntie Lou did her own choosin’ and ended up with the best man in the whole county—and how I did my own choosin’ and made friends with God.
Auntie Lou and Nat didn’t rush about gettin’ married. Nat was determined to have somethin’ to offer a wife, so it was the next fall, jest after Auntie Lou’s nineteenth birthday, that they became man and wife.
Gramps worked out a couple of little things for them. First off, he reminded Grandpa that it was quite the accepted thing for a girl to have her mother’s fine things when she married; so all of our front par
lor furniture and the fancy dishes went with Auntie Lou to the parsonage.
Gramps went a step further, too. As his weddin’ gift to Auntie Lou and Nat, he gave them a fine one-horse buggy.
Grandpa and Uncle Charlie caught the feelin’ of excitement about the comin’ event, and both managed to find ways that they could be involved in helpin’ the young couple, too, without offendin’ Nat any.
And Auntie Lou—she was about the prettiest and happiest bride that anyone had ever seen. Nat, standin’ there beside her with his grin almost as broad as his wide shoulders, looked real good, too.
And then—bless their hearts—they had a surprise for me!
I was at the end of the schoolin’ that could be had in our one-room school, so they convinced Grandpa that since I was an apt student, I should have the advantage of the extra grades that the town school had to offer. So when Auntie Lou and Uncle Nat settled into the parsonage, I moved in with them. I even got to take Pixie with me.
I would spend the week with them and go home every Friday afternoon to spend the weekend with the menfolk at the farm. Gramps and I crowded in a lot of good trips to the crik.
The three men worked out their own system for the batchin’ chores, and it seemed to work out quite well. Of course Lou still fretted some about them and visited often to sort of keep things in order. She never let me leave on a Friday without sendin’ home some special bakin’ with me.
So my weekdays were spent with Auntie Lou and Uncle Nat, sharin’ in the life and the love of the parsonage, and my weekends were crowded with activities on the farm with three men who loved me. I got the very best of two different worlds. Now how’s that for a happy endin’?
Books by Janette Oke
ACTS OF FAITH*
The Centurion’s Wife • The Hidden Flame
CANADIAN WEST
When Calls the Heart • When Comes the Spring
When Breaks the Dawn • When Hope Springs New