by Janette Oke
"How's the work coming, josh?" Uncle Nat asked after I had finished off a second piece of lemon pie.
"Good;' I said, feeling kind of grown up and important. "We're haying now.
"How's it look?" Uncle Nat had been in a farming community long enough to know how important a good hay crop was.
I sobered a bit then. "Not as good as I had hoped;' I said honestly. "Don't really understand. We got lots of rain, but it still looks a bit skimpy"
Grandpa entered the conversation then. "Soil's getting a bit tired;' he offered. "It's been planted for a lot of years now. That hay field has been givin' us a crop for nigh unto forty years, I guess. Deserves to be tired:'
"Could you use some help tomorrow?" Uncle Nat asked. "I could spare the day."
"Sure," I grinned at him. "I sure could use someone on the stack"
"I'll be here;' he promised.
"I'll send the lunch," promised Aunt Lou. "I'll need to get rid of the rest of this chicken somehow."
I looked forward to the next day as I climbed the stairs to my room that night. It would be good to have Uncle Nat's help. But more than that, it would be good to have his company.
The day was a hot one; both Nat and I sweated in the midmorning sun.
When it was time to take a break for lunch, we decided to slip into the shade of the trees on the creekbank to have our meal. We gave the horses a drink from the stream, then tied and fed them and lowered ourselves to the cool grass in the shade of a large poplar.
After Uncle Nat asked the blessing on the leftover chicken and Aunt Lou's other good things, we chatted small talk for several minutes. At length Uncle Nat looked directly at me and asked candidly, "How's it going, josh? You liking being a summer farmer?"
"Sure;' I answered. "Like it fine:"
"Are you any nearer an answer?"
I hesitated. "You mean, about what I should do?"
Uncle Nat nodded and I shook my head.
"Still bother you?"
"I guess it does;' I answered honestly. "If I let myself think on it, it does:"
"You planning to go to school somewhere this fall?"
"That's the problem;" I said quickly. "I'd thought that I'd just come on out and help Grandpa get the crop in and then I'd stay long enough to help with the hay. But as soon as haying's over it'll be time to cut the green feed, and then harvest-and on and on it goes. There doesn't seem to be a good time to leave."
Uncle Nat nodded.
`Another thing;' I said confidentially. "Things need a lot of fixing up around here. I hadn't realized it before, but I guess farming is getting too hard for Grandpa and Uncle Charlie" I hoped with all of my heart that Uncle Nat would understand my meaning and not think I was being critical of the two men. After all, I was still smart enough to know that they knew far more about farming than I did.
"I'd noticed;' said Uncle Nat simply.
I took heart at that and dared to go on. "This hay crop, for example. I think Grandpa is right; the land is tired. But it's gotta do us for years and years yet. There isn't any more land than what we've already got, Nat. We've gotta make this do for all the years God gives us. What do we do about it? Do we just wear it out?"
It was a hard question, one I had been thinking on a good deal lately.
"There are ways to give it a boost," said Uncle Nat, reaching for another sandwich.
I perked up immediately.
"Like what?"
"Well, not being a farmer I don't know much about it;' Uncle Nat went on, "but I know someone who does:"
"Who?"
"There's a fella by the name of Randall Thomas who lives about seven miles the other side of town;" went on Uncle Nat. "I was called out there to see his dying mother. She wanted to talk to a preacher. Don't know why. She had things to teach me. A real saint if ever I met one:'
I wasn't too interested in the saintly woman who probably had gone Home to glory by now. I wanted to hear about the farmer.
"Well, this farmer has been busy studying all about the soil and how towhat did he call it?-'rotate' crops to benefit it. Real interesting to talk to:'
I was all ears. So there was a smarter way to farm the land!
"You think he'd talk to me?" I asked, very aware of the fact that I was still only a boy in some folks' thinking.
"I'm sure he would. Said if there was ever anything that he could do for me in return for calling on his mother, just to let him know."
I took a deep breath.
"So when do you want to see him?" asked Uncle Nat.
"Well, I don't know. Hafta get the hay off, and then the green feed-"
"And then the harvest," put in Uncle Nat.
"But I would like to talk to him;" I continued. "I'd like to get the crops planted right next spring an'-"
Uncle Nat was looking at me.
"So you plan to farm again next year?"
I shrugged. "I guess so. I mean, I still don't know what else I'm supposed to do, and Grandpa still needs me an' .. " It tapered off. There was silence for a few minutes and then I found my voice again.
"Do you think I'm wrong? Do you think that I should be tryin' harder to find out what God wants me to do with my life? It's not that I don't want to know, or don't want to obey Him."
"Are you happy here?" Uncle Nat asked me again.
"Yeah, I guess I am"
"You don't feel uneasy or guilty or anything?"
"No" I could answer that honestly. I was still puzzled, still questioning but I didn't feel guilty.
"Then, Josh, I would take that as God's endorsement on what you are doing;" said Uncle Nat. "For now, I think you can just go ahead and keep right on farming. If God wants to change your direction, then He'll show you. I'm confident of that."
It sure was good to hear Uncle Nat put it like that.
We tucked away the empty lunch bucket and moved to the creek for a drink of cold water.
"And, Josh," said Uncle Nat just as we turned to go for the horses, "while you are here, you be the best farmer that you can be, you hear? Find out all you can about the soil, about livestock, about production. Keep your fences mended and your buildings in good repair. Make your machines give you as many years of service as they can. Learn to be the best farmer that you can be, because, Josh, in farming, in preaching, in any area of life, God doesn't take pleasure in second-rate work:"
I nodded solemnly. I wasn't sure how much time God would give me to shape up Grandpa's tired farm before He moved me on to something else, but I knew one thing. I would give it my full time and attention until I got His next signal.
CHAPTER 8
Sunday
Willie came over to say goodbye before boarding the train that would take him away from our small community to the far-off town where he would continue his education. He was so excited that he fairly babbled, and for a moment I envied him and his calling. I would sure miss him, I knew that. It wouldn't be quite the same without Willie.
"You'll write?" Willie asked.
"'Course I will:'
"I'll send you my address just as soon as I'm settled;' he promised.
"Let me know all about your school:"
"I will. Everything," said Willie.
"What happens now-with Mary?" I asked suddenly, feeling concern for Mary and her mother.
"What happens? What do you mean?"
"For church? How will they get to church?"
"Mary is going to drive. I suggested that you might not mind picking them up, but Mary insisted that she'd drive them."
"Good," I said, and then hastily added, "but I sure wouldn't have minded taking them."
"I was sure you wouldn't, but Mary is quite independent."
We were quiet for a few moments; then Willie broke the silence. "Take care of her, Josh. She's a pretty special person"
I looked at Willie, my eyes saying, "I told you so;' but Willie didn't seem to catch the look.
"She's my first convert, you know," he went on, and then added quietly, "She often
surprises me. She knows some things about being a Christian that I still haven't learned in all my years of trying to live my faith:"
I nodded. Mary certainly was putting many of us to shame.
I saw Camellia off yesterday," Willie said, and my head jerked up. I had hoped to learn of Camellia's parting date so that I could see her off myself, but I had been so busy with the farm. A funny little stab of sadness pricked at me somewhere deep inside. I couldn't even answer Willie.
"She sure was excited;' Willie went on.
Yes, Camellia would be excited.
"Her pa seemed excited too, or proud or something, but her ma didn't seem to be too sure that they were doing the right thing:"
I wanted to ask Willie how Camellia looked, how she was wearing her hair, what her traveling dress was like, all sorts of things so that I could sort of picture Camellia in my mind, but I didn't.
"She had more trunks and baggage than would be necessary for ten people," Willie was laughing. "I think her ma even packed her a lunch:'
I still said nothing, and Willie thought that I'd missed his point. "They feed you on the train, you know."
I hadn't known. I had never traveled by train in my life, but I didn't admit my ignorance to Willie.
"She hasn't decided if she will get home for Christmas;' Willie went on, answering the question that was burning in my mind.
"Will you?" I asked, making it sound like that was the most important thing in the world to me at the moment.
Willie shook his head slowly. There was concern in his eyes. "I wish I could, but it's far too expensive to travel that distance. I'm sure I will be ready for some familiar faces by then. Four months away is about long enough for the first time from home, don't you think?"
I nodded.
"Well, I'd best get going" Willie reached to shake my hand. I extended mine, and then we both forgot that we were grown men saying goodbye to each other. We remembered instead that we were lifetime buddies, and the months ahead would be very long. Before I knew it we were soon giving each other an affectionate goodbye hug.
After Willie left I tried to get back to work in the field, but it was hard. Seeing my best friend riding off down the road, knowing that he would soon be on his way to Bible school, gave me an empty feeling in the pit of my stomach. Besides, Willie's news that Camellia had already left on the train for New York without my having the chance to tell her goodbye didn't do much to cheer me up. I had never felt so lonesome in all my life.
It wasn't long until Willie's first letter arrived. He was so full of excitement that he wrote pages and pages. I read it over and over, trying to get the feel of how it would be to be away from home.
I wasn't expecting any letter from Camellia, though I would have welcomed one. I did take a bit of a walk one Sunday while the rest of the family lingered over another cup of coffee after Aunt Lou's dinner. I went by the Foggelsons; hoping that I might accidentally meet Camellia's mother. It took quite a while and quite a few trips past their place, but eventually I did see her. She was watering her marigolds and I tipped my hat and greeted her like a mannerly boy was supposed to do. Then I casually asked her about Camellia.
Tears came to her eyes and she fought to control them. It frightened me. For a moment I was afraid that something dreadful had happened to Camellia, but when she spoke I realized that it was just the loneliness of a mother for her child.
She tried to smile.
"She is very excited about-about being on her own and the city and her classes and new friends:" Then she added thoughtfully, "She-she hasn't said so, but even though she sounds cheerful, I think she has been just a bit lonesome"
The tears came again and Mrs. Foggelson attempted to smile in spite of them.
"I hope she is;' she said wistfully, as though to herself. "I am"
I waited for a minute and then asked the question that I had really come to ask.
"Will she be home for Christmas?"
"No. Her father decided that she needs to make the adjustment to being on her own, away from family. It's much too far to travel, he says. I suppose he is right, but-Oh, my! How I dread the thought of Christmas without her!"
I was surprised somewhat that Mr. Foggelson, who doted on his only daughter, could consider Christmas without Camellia.
Mrs. Foggelson continued. "Mr. Foggelson needs to make a business trip east the last week of November. He will travel on to New York and take Camellia's gifts, and check to see how she is doing. He says that's quite enough:"
My feelings for Mr. Foggelson hit an all time low. He had always felt that Camellia was his individual possession, but how could he do this to the girl's mother? And her friends? And how could he do it to Camellia? If she was really homesick, did he think that the sight of "dear old dad" was all she needed?
I couldn't even speak for a few moments. The angry thoughts were churning around inside of me. I looked away from the tears in Mrs. Foggelson's eyes and studied the distant maple tree, its bare arms empty as they reached upward against the gray autumn sky.
At last I found my voice. I even managed a smile. I guess I felt more compassion for Mrs. Foggelson at that moment than I had ever felt before. This man, her husband, had robbed her of so much-her faith, her selfesteem, and now her only child. I wondered just what kind of account he would give before God on the Judgment Day.
I smiled and touched my hat again. "I'll keep in touch;' I promised, and then stammered, "If that's all right"
"I'd love to see you, josh. I need someone to talk to, and one of Camellia's friends would-"
She didn't finish, but I thought I understood. And her words, "one of Camellia's friends;" echoed in my mind as I tipped my hat again and started back down the sidewalk toward home.
"Josh," Mrs. Foggelson's soft voice called after me.
I turned to look back at her.
"Keep praying-please;' she almost pleaded.
I nodded solemnly and swallowed hard. I wasn't sure if she meant to pray for Camellia, or for herself, or that she would soon see Camellia againor all three, but I'd pray. I'd pray lots and often. Living with a man like Mr. Foggelson, I felt that she really needed prayer.
I still hadn't controlled my anger toward Mr. Foggelson by the time I reached Aunt Lou's. I thought of walking right on by and spending some more time alone with my thoughts, but the realization that I didn't have too long until I'd need to go home for choring prompted me to turn into the yard.
Baby Sarah had just been fed when I reentered the house. She was in a happy mood, and Aunt Lou passed her to me, knowing that I would soon be asking for her if she didn't. She gurgled and cooed and even tried to giggle. Then she did the unforgivable. She spit up all over my Sunday shirt.
Aunt Lou jumped to run for a wet cloth, and Uncle Nat reached out to quickly rescue Sarah. I loved Sarah, but I sure did hate the feel and the smell of being spit up on. I guess I made some faces to show my disgust, and they laughed at me and ribbed me a lot.
Aunt Lou cleaned me up the best that she could, apologizing for the mess. She offered to wash my shirt, but I didn't have anything else along to wear and I figured I ought to be man enough to put up with a little bit of baby spit-up.
The need for laundering brought our thoughts back to Uncle Charlie and his washing machine.
Uncle Nat agreed to order the machine, and Grandpa and I both felt good about that. Now laundry wouldn't be quite so hard for Uncle Charlieespecially after my Sundays with little Sarah!
After a while I unobtrusively left the dining room and wandered down to the room that had been mine for so many years. The door was open, and it sure looked different. Aunt Lou had everything so neat and tidy, with new curtains on the window-white and frilly, not the kind of curtains a boy would have enjoyed. I had preferred my old tan ones, but these did look real nice. Little throw cushions were propped up against the pillows, too. I would have found them to be a nuisance.
I stood there for a few minutes looking around me and thinking back over the
years; then I reached out with a toe and pushed the door shut. I knelt by the bed. "Father;' I began, "you know how I feel about Camellia, and how sorry I am for Mrs. Foggelson. Well, I'm too angry right now to pray for Mr. Foggelson, but I do want to ask you to take care of Camellia and bring her into a relationship with Jesus...."
As I prayed for Camellia and her mother, my anger began to subside, and I began to realize how wrong my own attitude had been.
"Lord, Mr. Foggelson is a possessive and selfish man, and he's done some terrible things to his family. But I guess he needs you about as much as anyone I know. Help him find you too, Lord-and help me forgive him:"
By the time I finished praying, I could think of the Foggelsons without feeling that turmoil of anger inside.
I rose and left the room, peeking into Aunt Lou and Uncle Nat's bedroom, where little Sarah now slept peacefully in her crib. She looked sweet, one little hand clutching the edge of her blanket and the other curled up into a tiny fist by her cheek. Her soft lashes against the pinkness of her skin looked so long and thick. Her hair, a little damp, curled closely to her tiny round head. It was getting lighter in color all the time; eventually it might be the same color as Aunt Lou's.
I reached down and smoothed out her blankets, then stroked the top of her head. She didn't even move. When Sarah slept, she really slept. Aunt Lou was thankful for that. There were many interruptions in the parsonage, and if the child had been a light sleeper, she might have never gotten a decent rest.
I heard stirring in the kitchen then and I knew that Grandpa and Uncle Charlie were preparing to leave for home. I whispered a few words to the sleeping baby and went out to get the team while they said their goodbyes.
CHAPTER 9
Winter
I was kept so busy that fall that I scarcely had time to miss Willie and Camellia. It seemed that I should have been in about three places at one time. There was so much to do, and only Grandpa and Ito do the farming.
Grandpa had slowed down a lot, too. I hadn't realized until I was working with him just how difficult it was for him to put in a full day's work at the farm. I should have never left them alone while I went to school in town; I should have been there sharing in the responsibility. Maybe then things wouldn't have gotten so far behind.