by Janette Oke
Willie-Josh's boyhood friend who went to Africa as a missionary and died of a native disease.
Camellia-Josh's first love, but she loved Willie instead.
CHAPTER 1
A Beautiful morning
I was whistling as I left the house. It was early. The sky had brightened, but the sun had not as yet lifted its head above the tree line that marked the border of the Sanders' place-new neighbors in our community.
Even in the dimness of early morning I could see field after neighborhood field as I let my gaze wander around me. First there was ours-I supposed I would always think of the farm as ours-Grandpa's, Uncle Charlie's and mine-though in truth it really was just mine now. Guess that was one of the reasons I was whistling. Just yesterday Grandpa and Uncle Charlie had signed all the official papers to make the farm mine-really and legally mine. Joshua Chadwick Jones the papers read, clear as could be. The full impact had yet to hit me. But I was excited. Really excited. I mean, what other fella my age had a farm of his own, title clear and paid for?
I sobered down a bit. It was a big responsibility cause I was the one who had to make the farm "bring forth" now. Had to support Grandpa and Uncle Charlie and myself and Mary, our housekeeper, and even Matilda, our boarder, though she did pay us some board and room.
I was the one who had to make the right decisions about which crops to plant and which field to plant them in, which livestock to sell and which ones to keep, and where to find the particular animal that would help build up the herd. I would need to keep up the fences, repaint the buildings, work the garden, keep the machinery in working order, watch out for weeds, put up the hay for winter feeding.... The list went on and on-but that didn't dim my spirits. It was a beautiful morning. I was a full-grown man with a place of my own.
I lengthened my stride. I'd been dawdling somewhat while I looked all around. The fields, the tree line, the wooded area where the crick passed through, the pastureland, and then the fields of the Turleys, Smiths, Sanders, the faraway hill that marked another Smith, the road to town-I knew it all. And I loved it more than I would ever have been able to say.
My roots were buried deep in this countryside I had known since a child. This was my life. My whole sense of being and knowing and living and growing were somehow wrapped up in the soil that stretched away before me.
I opened the gate at the end of the lane and took a break in my whistling to speak to the milk cows. The little jersey, one of my most recent purchases, rubbed her head against me gently as she moved to pass by. I reached out and ran my hand over her neck. She seemed satisfied then, and I smiled. She's a great little cow, I gloated. Can fill the milk pail with the richest milk I've ever seen. She was a mite spoiled though. Her former owners had treated her as the family pet.
I hurried ahead of the cows to open the barn door for them. I knew they were right behind me, anxious to reach the milking stall where their portion of morning grain waited. They also wished to find relief from the heavy load of milk that swelled their udders and slowed their walk.
I began my whistling again. A bird joined me, off to the right, and I turned my head to look for it. It was high in a poplar tree by the hen house, and by its vigorous song I imagined that it was just as happy with the early morning as I was.
From somewhere in Turleys' pasture a cow bawled and another answered. Perhaps a mother had become separated from her baby and was calling it for breakfast.
I opened the barn door for the cows and turned right back to the house for the milk pails. I knew the three cows would find their own way to their stalls and be appreciatively feeding on the chop when I returned. I could have gone the entire milking time without fastening the bars that held them in position, but I never did. I knew they wouldn't move from their places, heads between the stanchion bars, bodies motionless except for the ever-flicking tails and an occasional shift of a foot; but when I returned with the milk pails I fastened the bars just as I always had. It was pure habit I guess-but it was the way Grandpa had taught me.
The jersey gazed back at me with soft brown eyes as I hooked a toe under the milking stool and pulled it up to her side.
"What's the matter?" I chuckled. "You think I'm too lazy to bend over?"
I rubbed her side and eased myself onto the stool beside her, then reached out to brush off her taut bag, wash it a bit, and gently start the flow of milk.
"Well, maybe I am;" I conceded. "But a fella has to conserve all the energy he can. I've a busy day ahead. I start plantin' today. Just as soon as I get the chores done. My own fields. Never planted `my own fields' before"
I grinned and began the steady stream of milk that would soon fill the pail with rich, warm, foamy liquid.
I would never have been able to explain to anyone why I talked to the cow. I mean, no one would understand if they hadn't spent time in a barn at 5:00 in the morning doing the milking.
A barn cat, meowing, brushed itself against my pant leg. I didn't know if the soft sound was my welcome or an urge for me to hurry. I stopped long enough to squirt some milk in the cat's direction. It immediately sat back on its haunches, front paws batting in the air as though to capture every drop of milk and direct it toward its open mouth.
We were rather good at this-the gray tom and I. But then, we'd had a few years of practice. He sat there guzzling contentedly as I gave him squirt after squirt.
"Go on, now," I said at last. "I've got chores to do. You'll get your fill as soon as I'm done here"
The cat seemed to understand. He walked off a few feet and sat down to begin carefully grooming his spattered face.
The milking didn't take long, so after giving each cow a final pat on the flank, I left them, and carried two brimming pails of milk to the house. I would need to return for the third one, which was now hanging on a peg beyond the reach of the barn cats.
In spite of the early hour, Mary was moving briskly about the kitchen when I entered with the milk. I thought I noticed a certain gleam in her eyes-but perhaps it was just fanciful on my part. The fact that I was feeling so good seemed to be affecting my whole outlook on life.
Pixie was there too, rubbing against my legs, looking for her share of attention. I reached down and scratched her soft, silky ear. She was no longer the puppy I had learned to love. The years had passed by and Pixie was now old in dog years. She had remained behind, curled and contented, when I'd left my bed that morning. And I had been happy to let her sleep on. I rubbed her soft side and she licked at my hand.
"Mornin', Josh;' Mary said cheerily. And without even waiting for my reply she went on, "My, you're up early. Don't know how you can even see out there in the barn:"
"I waited for some light," I answered with a smile. "At least it was gettin' light when I went out:' Then I added, "True, the barn stays dark a bit longer than the outside world, but I know my way around out there well enough that I don't need much light:"
Mary smiled, adding to the brightness of the morning.
"Do you want to eat early?" she asked.
I still have some chores to do:'
Mary's eyes lifted to the kitchen clock, and mine followed.
"Guess I will be ready before the rest of them," I admitted. "Want to start plantin' just as soon as I can:'
"I'll git your breakfast," Mary said simply and moved toward the pantry.
"Thanks. I-I hate for you to get breakfast twice, but I'm kind of anxious-"
I needn't have tried to explain. As Mary tied her apron around her slim waist, without even turning to look at me she answered, "In plantin' and harvest time, a man doesn't want to lose any time gittin' to his fields. An early breakfast is no problem-an' we sure don't need to be wakin' the rest of the house"
I hadn't missed Mary's reference to "a man' and "his fields;' and my heart beat a little faster. Then my thoughts hurried on to Grandpa, rather old and tired out after all his years of farming, then to Uncle Charlie, all crippled up with his arthritis. I wondered sadly just how much sleep he had been able
to get over the night hours. My thoughts went on to Matilda. She was testing her pupils again at the nearby schoolhouse, and I knew she had been staying up late marking papers for a number of nights in a row. I nodded my head in agreement with Mary's simple statement. They all needed their sleep, all right.
"I'll only be another half hour or so," I reported to Mary and then went to strain the milk into the bowl of the cream separator.
"You go on;' Mary prompted. "I'll tend to that"
My eyes questioned her, though it was true that Mary had often stepped forward to help with such tasks in the past.
Her eyes held mine steadily, and I knew she wished to take over the chore.
"At least let me strain it;' I urged. "These pails are heavy to lift."
Mary did not argue with that. Her eyes followed the stream of milk from the pail into the large bowl of the separator.
"The jersey's?" she asked me. But she didn't wait for my reply. "My, such rich milk. I think I'll separate it by itself and keep the cream aside. Just think of the butter it'll make!"
I could hear the smile in Mary's voice even though I was too busy to look at her face.
I positioned the pail under the separator for Mary and turned to go back to the other chores. On my way to the barn to pick up the remaining pail of milk, I stopped by the tractor and ran a hand over its still-shiny fender. I could hardly wait to crawl up into the seat and begin passing back and forth over my fields, dropping the seed that would mean a bountiful harvest. I lifted my eyes toward heaven, and an unspoken prayer of thanks welled up within me. I'm not sure, but there could have been a few tears in my eyes.
I turned back to the chores at hand. I was whistling a tune I had learned some time back in my childhood, a tune I had sung frequently over the years. But it swelled in my heart in a new way now: "Praise God from whom all blessings flow... "
CHAPTER 2
Togetherness
I was tired and stiff when I climbed down from the tractor that evening. Already the sun was disappearing in the western sky and there was a slight chill in the air. It was, after all, still early spring. I had been riding the tractor almost constantly since sunup. Mary had brought my noon meal and an afternoon snack to the field to save me time. I was glad I wasn't driving a team that would need to stop for a rest and nourishment. The tractor didn't complain about the long hours, though I did need to stop to refuel now and then.
I was a bit surprised at the aches and pains in my back and legs. But then I remembered I'd been bouncing and jostling my way over the field for several hours, and it always took a few days for my body to readjust.
I moved toward the smell of roast beef, my feet reluctant to proceed as quickly as my stomach was demanding. I hadn't realized just how hungry I was until I smelled supper in the air.
"Are you finally stopping for the night?" Matilda good-naturedly asked.
I tried to disguise my stiffness as I stepped up onto the back porch. Matilda was seated on the porch swing, a cup of tea in her hands.
"I was beginning to think we'd never eat;' she continued. "This is all Mary would let me have to tide me over till supper:"
I stopped mid-stride. "Why?" I asked, surprised. Mary wasn't one to withhold victuals from anybody.
"Well;' laughed Matilda. "Guess I'm exaggerating some. Truth is, Mary would have let us go ahead, but we all opted to wait for you."
"I'm sorry-" I began. "If I'd known-"
But Matilda interrupted me. "We all know how important it is to get the crop in. We didn't mind waiting." She stood to her feet and took another dainty sip of the tea, then looked at me, her eyes sparkling. "Honest!" she said frankly, and I believed her.
I held the kitchen door for Matilda and followed right behind into the aroma-filled room. Grandpa was reading a paper in his favorite chair by the window. Uncle Charlie sat on the couch along the west wall gently massaging his gnarled hands, and I knew without asking that they were paining him again. As soon as he felt my eyes on him, he stopped the rubbing and let the hands drop idly into his lap.
Mary was at the big kitchen stove spooning food into serving bowls. She turned, glanced over her shoulder and gave me a smile. I thought she would ask a question, but she didn't-at least not vocally. Maybe her eyes found their answer, I don't know, but she smiled softly again and turned back to the stove.
"We're ready as soon as you wash, Josh;' she said.
I crossed to the corner sink with its big farm basin and noticed that it had already been filled with warm water. I didn't know who had thoughtfully supplied the water, but I did think, with appreciation, that I sure was well looked after.
It didn't take long to scrub my face and hands clean enough to appear at the supper table. By the time I'd re-hung the towel, the rest of the family had gathered around the table. I took my place beside them and bowed as Grandpa asked the grace.
When we lifted our heads and began to help ourselves from Mary's heaping bowls, Grandpa spoke for the first time.
"How'd it go, Boy?"
He still called me "Boy." Guess to Grandpa I would always be Boy no matter how old I grew or whether I was a farm owner or not. I didn't mind. It made me feel "belongin
"Good;' I replied around a mouthful of fresh bread.
"Tractor workin' right?"
I nodded, my mouth too full to venture an answer.
Uncle Charlie took a long draft of his coffee. "Thet there noise must nigh burst yer eardrums;' he ventured. "Think I'd rather drive me a team:"
I grinned. Uncle Charlie had a bit of a hard time adjusting to farm machinery that didn't require four-footed horsepower.
I swallowed sufficiently to make a decent reply. "It's noisier but faster, and one needn't stop for restin' or feedin' either"
Uncle Charlie chuckled a bit. "I had my eye on the field, Josh," he reminded me, "and seems to me I saw ya stop different times today to feed thet critter's iron belly."
I laughed along with Uncle Charlie. He'd made his point.
"I think I'd like to drive a tractor;' put in Matilda, and I chuckled again at the picture that little bit of a woman would make up there on the seat of the big tractor.
Matilda must have misread my laughter, for her chin went up stubbornly. "I could, you know," she argued. "Bet I could. All you have to do is to put your foot on that-that thing, and move that lever now and then and turn the wheel where you want it to go."
Even Grandpa was chuckling now.
Matilda looked to Mary. "We could-couldn't we, Mary?" she challenged.
Mary fidgeted slightly. "I-I don't really know, but I-I think I'd just as soon leave the tractor to josh"
Her eyes met mine for an instance. I noticed the slight color flush her cheeks before she lowered her head. For some silly reason I couldn't have explained, I felt that I had just been given a compliment. Mary often affected me that way-with just a look or a word she could make me feel like a man-a man in charge and capable. I felt my own cheeks warm slightly.
"Someday-" began Matilda, and I looked at her, waiting for her to go on. I was hoping to be able to tease her good-naturedly just a bit; but she would not meet my eyes, and she let the rest of her comment go unsaid.
Supper finished up with Mary's bread pudding, one of my favorite desserts. There was thick whipped cream for the topping, and I was sure this was how some of the jersey's cream had been used.
After enjoying a man-sized portion, I reluctantly pushed back from the table and got slowly to my feet. Uncle Charlie moved at the same time, and I knew he was getting set to give Mary a hand with the dishes.
"I can help tonight, Uncle Charlie;' Matilda spoke up.
Now there was nothing new about Matilda calling him Uncle Charlie. Both she and Mary called him such, just like they did when talking to my grandfather. It seemed to please everyone all around. Guess we felt more like family than employer and employee and boarder. What had caught my attention was Matilda's offer. Not that Matilda didn't often help Mary with her household chores,
but lately Matilda had been too busy to do anything but correct papers and prepare lessons.
"What happened to the classroom work?" I asked her.
"All done. Finally! And believe me, I feel like celebrating"
Matilda swirled around, her long, full skirt flowing out around her. In one hand she held the sugar bowl and in the other the cream pitcher.
Uncle Charlie looked at her with a twinkle in his eyes. "Seems like ya oughta find a better way to celebrate than with the cream and sugar," he teased.
"Well, Josh is always too busy to celebrate;' Matilda teased back, pretending to pout. And she looked deliberately at me and exaggeratedly fluttered her long, dark eyelashes.
Laughter filled the kitchen. Matilda was always bringing laughter with her lighthearted teasing, but for some reason this time her teasing did not have me laughing. It gave me a funny feeling way down deep inside, and I moved for the peg where my farm jacket hung beside the door.
"Where ya goin'?" asked Uncle Charlie, and when I turned to look at him I caught his wink directed at Matilda. "Gonna feed thet there tractor agin?"
"I've got chores;' I answered as evenly as I could.
"The chores be all done, Boy," cut in Grandpa.
I stood, my outreached hand dumbly dangling the jacket, my eyes moving from face to face in the kitchen. They all seemed to be in a jovial mood, and I wasn't quite sure if they were serious or funnin' me. It was to Mary that I looked for the final answer. She just nodded her head in agreement.
"All of them?" I had to ask.
"All of em;' said Grandpa.
For a moment I wanted to protest. It was my farm. I could do my own chores. But then I quickly realized how foolish that was-and how tired I was-and my hand relinquished my coat to the peg again. I turned and smiled at the household of people.
"Thanks;' I said simply and gave my shoulders a slight shrug. "Thanks to whoever did them"