by Janette Oke
Then Willie introduced Mary. He spoke clearly and without embarrassment. I couldn't help but marvel at the way he handled it.
"This is Mary Turley," he said. "Mary lives out our way. We-Josh and I, and several others here-went to school with Mary for a number of years."
As we played some games, there was some mixing up of the seating, and Willie and Mary got separated. But Mary seemed to be having a good time. I was glad to see that she felt at home among us.
I had always thought of Mary as a plain girl, and maybe she really was, but tonight she was pretty in her own way. She had a smile that drew smiles in return, and her eyes were deep and intense. Her manner kept my eyes wandering back to her. She seemed so grown-up and self-assured compared to most of the girls I knew.
And then I remembered why I hadn't seen much of Mary for the last several years. Her ma had been sick, and Mary had needed to take over the running of the household and the cooking of the meals. She hadn't been able to go on to school in town like she had wanted to. I hadn't given it much thought when I heard about it. But now, looking at Mary, I realized she had likely done more growing up than the rest of us who hadn't borne similar responsibilities.
Not at all somber or morose, she laughed and enjoyed the games as much as anyone at the social, but she did carry the air of one who had learned a good measure of self-assurance.
After the games were over, Uncle Nat brought out his guitar and we gathered in a circle and sang every hymn we knew by heart. Mary didn't seem to know many of the words, but she listened in appreciation and once or twice I noticed her small foot tapping in time with the music. Though I wasn't sitting close enough to her to be sure, I had the feeling that she was humming right along.
When Aunt Lou served refreshments, Mary volunteered her help. I was busy pouring the punch, so we exchanged a few pleasantries. I asked about her ma, feeling apologetic that I hadn't taken more of an interest sooner. Mary smiled when she told me that her ma was much better-even able to be back in her own kitchen again.
I thought of Mrs. Turley and that big kitchen. I well remembered the day that Willie, Avery, and I stopped by on the way back from our hike along the creek. We were half-starved, and Mrs. Turley's well-stocked kitchen had about saved our lives. I remembered Mary too, a rather gangly, freckle-faced girl at the time. I never would have dreamed that she would become the well-poised young lady that I saw before me now.
"I'm glad about your ma;' I assured her.
"Me, too;' said Mary. "It was hard to see her so sick"
There was no mention about the hard years that she had put in being housekeeper and nursemaid. She just seemed to have a sincere appreciation that her ma was feeling better.
"Maybe you can come to our next social;' I dared venture.
"I'd love to," responded Mary and I could tell by her shining eyes that she really meant it. I wanted Mary to be a part of our Youth Group. I wanted her to feel welcome. Yet she really wasn't a believer, and I couldn't help but question Willie's actions. Here he was courting a girl who was not a Christian, and I-I had to give up my relationship with Camellia for that very reason. It didn't seem fair somehow, and yet I had no doubts about Willie and his commitment to his faith. Still-was Willie taking chances going out with a non-Christian girl? My line of reasoning directed my thoughts to Camellia and they lingered there, remembering her sparkling eyes, her long, burnished tresses. She was the prettiest girl I had ever seen. If only-but my thoughts were interrupted by Aunt Lou's call for me to refill the punch glasses.
CHAPTER 3
Great News
All the next week we had glorious spring weather, and folks began talking about spring fever. I don't know exactly what kind of fever hit me, but I had an awful time concentrating on my studies.
Final exams were just a few weeks away, and our grades on those finals could have a great deal to do with our being accepted into college. Maybe that was why I was having such a difficult time. Most of the others already had a college picked and a vocation to pursue as well. Daily, it seemed, someone asked me, "What are your plans, josh?" and I would mumble, red-faced, that I still hadn't decided for sure.
For sure? That made it sound like I had several considerations. The truth was, I was about as far from knowing what the future held for me as I had been on the first day I climbed the steps of the schoolhouse.
I avoided folks as much as I could. I didn't want to answer any questions when I still didn't really have an answer.
As a result, I hung around home a lot. I pretended to be studying, and Aunt Lou and Uncle Nat certainly approved of that. I was trying, but my mind just didn't seem to want to stay with the books.
On one particularly lovely spring evening, when the fragrant smell of early spring blossoms wafted in my open window, making it even more difficult to concentrate, I sat at my small desk trying hard to think through the math computations before me, but my mind refused to deal with the equations.
My thoughts insisted on flitting about. Graduation was getting nearer with each passing day. I thought of my future still unplanned, as far as I could see. I thought of Camellia and her intention to leave for distant New York and her training in Interior Design. How would she ever manage in such a big, indifferent city? How could her father sanction such a venture?
The soft spring breeze brought a fresh whisper of fragrance to my nose and reminded me of the roses along the creek bank every springtime. I could picture the young blades of greenery poking their slim heads through the soil. I could almost smell the freshness of the gently flowing water and hear the splash of a fish breaking the surface to snatch at a fly, then slip back into the coolness of the stream again.
The call of the creek turned my thoughts to Gramps. I still hadn't gotten used to his being gone. Each time that I went home to the farm I found myself searching for signs of him. The empty chair at the table looked too forlorn, the place where his worn farm sweater had hung looked bare and dejected, the padded chair by the well-lit kitchen window where he sat to read his Bible and work his crossword puzzles looked far too lonely.
I wouldn't have wished him back; I knew that. He had gone to a far better place than his dwelling here had been. But even that thought did not erase the ache I carried around with me.
Even though I stayed here in town during the week with Aunt Lou and Uncle Nat, I loved the farm. I loved the soil. I treasured the spot that held my roots buried so deeply. I loved the springtime and the planting of the seeds. I loved the summer as we watched the green begin to appear and then mature as the weeks passed by. I loved the autumn, when it was so evident that God was good and was again supplying the needs of His people.
Even the winter months were enjoyable. I loved the frosty mornings when the steam rose from the pail of warm milk I carried from the barn to the house. I loved the smell of the warm straw I spread out to bed down Bossie or one of her stallmates. I loved the soft mewing of the barn cats as they coaxed for their morning breakfast of warm, fresh milk.
The farm was a good place to be. I guess I loved most everything about it.
And then I thought again of Grandpa and Uncle Charlie, and suddenly a new thought occurred to me. What would happen to the farm when they were no longer able to care for it? I had never thought about it before; I just assumed that they would always be there, farming, just like they had been doing ever since I could recollect. But of course they wouldn't. Couldn't. The quickly passing years were taking their toll on Grandpa and Uncle Charlie. They didn't walk as erectly or as quickly as they used to. Even I could see that. And Uncle Charlie seemed to be faring a bit worse than Grandpa. I had noticed it the last time we had chored together. He was getting much slower in movement than he used to be, even a bit clumsy with his hands. I'd had to undo the knot that tied the gunny sack of grain. He had tried but couldn't manage it.
The thought of Uncle Charlie and Grandpa no longer able to carry on the farming made me restless and uneasy. I couldn't imagine life without the farm. It didn
't matter if God called me to be a preacher in some far-off city or even a missionary, like Willie, to some distant land, I still wanted to think of the farm as home. I still wanted to be able to visit it when I had opportunity, to bring my family, if I ever had one, to feel the kinship with the soil and to watch things grow. I felt that my roots would always be there in that land that Grandpa had tilled ever since I could remember. To sever those roots would in some way be losing a part of me.
My reverie was interrupted by a soft whine under my feet. "Pixie!" I said. "I didn't know you were here. I haven't been paying much attention to you, have I, girl?" The little dog wagged her tail happily and jumped into my lap. I snapped shut my math book and pushed it aside. I couldn't study now. I needed a break. Pixie jumped down as I stood and stretched. "Maybe I'll go to the kitchen for some of Aunt Lou's cookies and a glass of milk:" I was about to leave the room when I sensed more than I actually heard a strange commotion in the kitchen.
It wasn't loud and it wasn't hasty. It was just different somehow. I listened more carefully; for a time I heard nothing. Pixie ran to the door and barked softly; then I heard the quick, quiet step of Uncle Nat approaching my door. I stood motionless, my hand going up to push back the hair that flopped over my forehead.
Uncle Nat didn't even knock. He opened the door gently and poked in his head. He was wearing his hat, something that Uncle Nat didn't usually do in the house.
"Lou says it's time, Josh;' he said in almost a whisper. "I'm going for Doc"
My mouth went dry and my breath seemed to catch in my chest. It was time. The very thought sent a shiver of fear running all through me. I had known all along that we would face this eventually, yet I still wasn't prepared.
For some reason the little unknown somebody that Aunt Lou had been carrying had seemed so safe and protected as long as her body enclosed it. But now it was time for this baby to enter the world-a world where sickness and dangers abounded. Would the little one make it? To face the loss of another baby would be too much for any of us to bear.
I wanted to run to Aunt Lou to assure myself that she was all right, but my feet refused to move. I tried swallowing, but my mouth was too dry. I felt like urging Uncle Nat to hurry, but I realized we had things rather backward.
"I'll run for Doc;' I managed to say. "You stay with Aunt Lou"
Uncle Nat didn't argue. He stepped wordlessly aside so I could leave the room.
I was almost to the kitchen door before he called softly after me, "No need to run, Josh. Lou says there is lots of time:"
I heard him, but I was already running by the time I had reached the back door. By the time I left the parsonage yard I was in full stride.
All the way to Doc's house I prayed urgently for Aunt Lou. I prayed for the new baby. I prayed that Doc wouldn't be out in the country somewhere on a house call.
By the time I reached Doc's front door I was breathing hard. I rapped loudly and stepped back to wait. I could hear movement inside, and that was encouraging. Doc answered the door himself and didn't even make a comment when he saw me standing there, my sides heaving from running. He just reached to the hat tree by the door to retrieve his hat and picked up his black bag from the small table, all in one motion, and called out to his wife that he would be at the parsonage, and we were gone.
We didn't run. Doc's slower pace frustrated me, and I found it hard to match his methodical stride, but I did try. We walked in silence until Doc seemed to feel I had enough breath to talk.
"When did the contractions start?" he asked me.
"I dunno;' I admitted dumbly. "Uncle Nat just came to my room and said it's time"
"Did Lou have supper with you?" Doc asked further.
"She-she-" I thought back. "She was at table with us, but she didn't eat much. Just sorta pushed her food around on her plate:"
I hadn't paid much attention to it at the time.
"She didn't say anything," I added.
"She wouldn't;' commented Doc, and he picked up speed, for which I was thankful.
When we reached the house Uncle Nat was not there to greet us. Doc knew the way to the bedroom, so after letting him in, I knew there was little else that I could do-except keep praying.
The time dragged on forever. Or so it seemed. In reality I guess that things happened in good time and order. But for me, it seemed an eternity. I paced back and forth in the kitchen, and I paced back and forth on the porch, and I paced back and forth on the front board walk that led up to the small parsonage.
At last I heard the small, funny, squeaky cry of a newborn, and I knew it was finally over. I strained with my whole body to catch any further sounds. I guess I was listening for a cry from Aunt Lou. None came. And then I heard laughter and the voice of Uncle Nat raised in prayerful thanksgiving. I breathed again and ran toward the back entrance.
Uncle Nat met me in the kitchen, his face beaming. We didn't even speak to one another, just stopped long enough for a quick embrace and then hurried on to the bedroom. I suppose there were tears on both our cheeks, tears of relief and joy.
Doc was talking when I entered the room. I wasn't sure if he was talking to Aunt Lou or the tiny bundle he held in his big hands.
"Sure surprised me;' he was saying. "I was looking for a big, bouncing boy, but just look at this young'un. Healthy and hearty as you please:'
Lou was smiling a contented, love-filled smile. She still looked pale to me-but, oh, did she look happy!
Doc continued speaking to Aunt Lou. "You did a fine job, little ladyand just look at your reward. Beautiful baby. Just beautiful. Reminds me of her mamma when I delivered her some twenty-odd years ago:"
The word her caught my attention. It was a girl! Aunt Lou's dream had come true and Doc's "big boy" had been a girl instead. I grinned and suddenly felt shy and awkward. I hung back a bit, not really knowing what to do or say. Aunt Lou sensed it immediately. She raised slightly from her pillows and held out her hand to me.
"Come see her, Josh;" she encouraged. "Like Doc says, she's beautiful"
I moved slowly forward just as Doc reached down and laid the precious bundle in Aunt Lou's arms. The little face was red and wrinkled and her eyes were almost squinted shut. She had a thatch of dark hair that for the moment was plastered tightly to the well-shaped little head. She really wasn't all that beautiful, as Doc and Aunt Lou were insisting, but even I knew she was very special.
And then she waved a small fist frantically in the air and went searching for it with a puckered-up mouth. Miraculously, she managed to connect the two and began sucking noisily. We all laughed and Aunt Lou held her even closer and Uncle Nat's eyes filled with tears again. She was beautiful.
When Aunt Lou could speak again she looked down at her baby and then up at me. "Sarah Jane;' she said, "meet your cousin, Joshua Jones. He's about the finest cousin a little girl could ever have. You're a lucky little girl, Sarah Jane-No, not lucky-blessed:" Aunt Lou gave me one of her special smiles. I could feel the firm arm of Uncle Nat about my shoulders, and it gave me a warm family feeling.
I looked down again at the tiny bundle in Aunt Lou's arms. Since my own folks had died, Aunt Lou had been like a mother and aunt all rolled up in one. Now I had little Sarah Jane too. I might not be all that Aunt Lou had generously boasted me to be, but I knew one thing. I loved that little bundle with all of my being, and I knew instinctively that no harm would ever come to her that I had the power to stop.
CHAPTER 4
Sharing the News
"Somebody's gotta go to the farm!" I burst out excitedly, tearing my eyes from the baby and Aunt Lou to implore Uncle Nat.
"I guess that can wait 'til morning," Uncle Nat said, and I could see he wasn't too anxious to leave his wife and new daughter.
"Morning? This news will never keep until morning. And Grandpa and Uncle Charlie would never forgive us!"
"It's pretty late;' Uncle Nat continued. He reached down to lift his pocket watch. "It's almost midnight" Then he spoke to brand-new little Sara
h Jane. "You missed being born on your grandmother's birthday by about ten minutes, little one:"
Uncle Nat didn't talk about his ma too often, but I could tell by his tone that he would have been real pleased if Sarah had prolonged her coming just a bit.
I wasn't put off by Uncle Nat's diversion.
"Midnight or not;' I went on, "someone should go out to the farm. I can go. Chester could find his way even if it was pitch dark-and it's not. Looks really light out yet. Moon must be shining-"
"Well, Lou?" Uncle Nat asked. Lou just smiled and nodded. "Bring me a pen and the writing tablet;' she said, and I knew it was decided that I could go.
Aunt Lou had to have her hands free to write, so Uncle Nat lifted the small bundle of baby from her arms and began pacing the floor with her, talking softly to her all the while. I didn't listen to what he said, but now and then I caught a word. He was already telling her about God. Imagine! A tiny tyke like that, and Uncle Nat was already preaching the little one her first sermon.
Aunt Lou found it a bit difficult to write, propped up on her pillows like she was. I guess she wanted to tell Grandpa and Uncle Charlie about the new baby herself, because she seemed to write on and on. I wondered how she could find so much to say about someone she had just met, so to speak.
At last she was done and folded that paper and handed it to me and laid the tablet and the pen on the small night table by her bed. She smiled again-that contented, happy smile-but I could see she was really tired.
A movement caused us all to look at the doorway. It was Doc. I had quite forgotten about him. Guess he had been in the kitchen having himself a cup of tea while we all got acquainted with Sarah Jane, and now he was back again to check everything one more time and tuck Aunt Lou and the baby in for the night. I kissed Aunt Lou on the cheek, took one more look at Sarah Jane to see if she had grown or changed any yet. I was always hearing ladies exclaim how quickly babies did that. But she looked just the same to me, only she had fallen asleep-right in the middle of Uncle Nat's sermon.