by Janette Oke
"Where's Grandpa and Uncle Charlie?" I finally asked, realizing it was strange for the two menfolk to be missing from the kitchen at that hour on a wintry day.
"Uncle Charlie went back to his room. To read, he said, but I've a notion he didn't get much sleep last night either. And Grandpa went out to the shed to work on that toboggan he's makin' for Sarah and Jon. He says the weather could turn bitter any day now, and then he won't be able to work outside"
I nodded. Yes, the weather could turn bitter. We were nearing the end of November.
After some more silence, Mary removed our plates and poured fresh coffee. She returned to her chair and sipped the hot liquid slowly. Then she put down her cup.
"Mitch stopped by while you were chorin'," she said simply and my head came around, wondering if Mitch had brought bad news. It had been some time since Mary's brother had paid us a call, and he certainly wouldn't be making neighborly calls at breakfast time.
Mary met my gaze.
"He's tired of the farm;' she went on evenly, but I could see pain in her eyes. I didn't know if she was thinking of Mitch or of her ma and pa.
"He's off to the city to find himself a job. Was goin' on into town to catch the mornin' train."
I forgot my own small problems for the moment. I knew Mary needed all the sympathy and support I could give her. I could see tears glistening in her eyes, but she didn't allow them to spill over. I wished there was some way I could comfort her-give assurance that I knew it was hard for her and cared that she was hurting. But I just sat there, clumsily trying to find words, not knowing what to do or say. Finally I made a feeble attempt to reach out to her, if only by letting her talk about it.
"Did he say for how long?"
Mary's eyes lowered. "He's not plannin' to come back," she said quietly.
"I'm-I'm sorry," I muttered, reaching out to take Mary's hand resting on the checkerboard oilcloth.
"Can-can your pa manage the farm without him?" I went on.
Mary turned to me and the tears did spill over then; she clung to my offered hand as though it were a lifeline. "Oh, josh," she said in a whispery voice, "it's Mitch I'm worried about. I've been prayin' and prayin' that he might become-become a believer. What ever will happen to him if-if he gets in with the wrong crowd in the city?"
I reached over to cover Mary's hand with my other one. "Hey," I comforted, "we can still pray. Prayer works even over long distances. There are `right' crowds in the city too, you know. Maybe God is sending Mitch to just the right people-or person-and he will listen to what they have to say in a way that he might never listen to us:'
Mary listened carefully. She was quiet for a moment and then she turned to me and tried a wobbly smile through her tears. She pulled back her hand and searched in her apron pocket for a handkerchief. After wiping her eyes and blowing her nose, she had control of herself again.
"Papa will manage-I guess;' she said softly. "Mitch never did care for farm chores anyway. But Mama will be heartbroken." And another tear slipped down her cheek.
I sat there thinking of Mary-thinking of her ma and pa and their concern over Mitch.
"Did they have a row?" I asked carefully, knowing full well that it was really none of my business.
Mary smiled. "That's exactly what I asked Mitch;' she answered, "but he said `no, he just announced that he was leaving and they didn't even try to argue him out of it much. He said that Mama cried some-but he expected that"
Mary left the table and began preparing for washing up the dishes.
I thought about her words for a few minutes. There didn't seem to be much I could do about the whole thing.
Then an idea came to me. "Hey, why don't you go on home for a few days?"
Mary whirled to look at me, her eyes wide.
"Oh, I couldn't!" she exclaimed.
"Why not? We could manage for a few days:"
"But-but the meals an' all-"
"We've made meals before" I was sure now that it was just the thing for both Mary and her mother.
"But-but Matilda-her lunch an'-"
"We'll fix Matilda's lunch. I'll do it myself-if she'll trust me"
"But I-I don't know what to say."
"Then go. Really. We can manage-as long as you don't stay away too long."
Mary was torn-I could see that. She wanted desperately to go to her mother, but she felt a deep responsibility to us.
"I mean it, Mary," I prompted further and left my chair to take the dish towel from her hands.
"Now you run off and pack yourself whatever you need for the next few days, an' I'll go out an' hitch Chester to the sleigh"
"Are you sure?" Mary asked one last time.
"I'm sure;' and I turned her gently around and urged her toward her bedroom door.
Mary left then but turned back to say over her shoulder, "But the dishesI haven't even finished the dishes"
I looked at the dishes that remained. Mary had already washed up from the first breakfast.
"I'll do the dishes the minute I get back;' I promised her, and Mary went.
As soon as she had disappeared I lifted my winter coat and hat from the peg by the door and went out to harness Chester as I had promised. Mary was out, valise in hand, just as I pulled up in front of the house. I helped her tuck in and we were off. Chester was feeling frisky, not having been used much, and he headed for the road at a fast clip. I had to slow him down to make the turn at the corner.
Mary and I didn't talk much on the way over. But we both enjoyed the brisk run in the cutter. I could sense the tension leaving Mary's body and see the shine return to her eyes. I was pleased that the idea of her spending some time at home had come to me.
As we turned down the Turley lane Mary spoke for the first time.
"How long should I stay?"
"Well-as long as you think you should," I responded slowly.
Mary smiled mischievously. "Are you trying to get rid of me, josh?"
"Truth is;' I answered, matching her mood, "I'm sorta hopin' that you'll get to missin' us real soon:'
Mary's face flushed slightly, and I couldn't help but laugh.
"Seriously?" she said when her composure had returned.
"Seriously-how about until Sunday?"
"That long? This is only Wednesday."
"I know-an' I'll be counting every day-so don't be late"
Mary flushed again.
"I was wonderin;' she said after a moment, "if Matilda might like to come join me on Friday evening. She's never spent time at my house before an'-an' I think that her-her cheery mood might be good for Mama."
I pulled Chester up to the front of Mary's house. "I'll tell Matilda;' I promised. "I'm sure she'd love to come and I'll bring her over"
I helped Mary out and then lifted Chester's reins again.
"Will you come in, josh?" asked Mary.
"I think you and your mama need to meet alone;' I said thoughtfully. "Besides," I went on in a lighter tone, "I've got to get on home to those dishes, remember?"
Mary laughed softly, and then grew more serious.
"Thanks, Josh;' she said. "For understandin'-an'-everythin:"
I nodded and climbed back into the sleigh.
"And, Josh;' Mary called softly. I turned to look at her. A few scattery snowflakes were falling about her. Some of them rested on the hair that escaped beneath her fur-trimmed hat. Her eyes were shining, her face lightened by some impulsive but pleasant thought. I waited, thinking what a picture she made as she stood there, valise in hand.
"Josh," she said again. "A motor car is nice. Really. But-but you sure can't beat a wintry sleigh ride behind Chester, can you?"
I chuckled. Mary had summed up my own feelings.
"We should do it more often," I answered. "Remind me:"
And with one last grin I turned Chester around and left the lane at a fast clip. Mary was quite right. You couldn't beat a wintry sleigh ride behind Chester, and I was all set to enjoy it to the full.
But for
some reason, the ride back home wasn't as pleasant as I had anticipated.
I didn't need to do the dishes when I got home. Uncle Charlie had already washed and put them in the cupboard. He had also made a fresh pot of coffee, and Grandpa had joined him at the kitchen table for a cup. When I walked in both pairs of eyes turned to me.
"Somethin' wrong, Boy?" asked Grandpa.
I poured myself some coffee and joined them at the table before explaining all about Mitch leaving and Mary's concern for her ma.
"You done right, Boy," said Grandpa. "We been hoggin' too much of Mary's time. Her ma needs her too:'
Uncle Charlie just slurped his coffee and then tilted his chair on the two back legs.
"What about Matilda?" he asked at length.
"Mary wants her to come and spend the weekend;' I answered. "I'm sure Matilda will be glad to"
"This is Wednesday," went on Uncle Charlie.
"We'll manage until Friday," I assured them both, and Grandpa nodded.
"I don't have anything pressing right now. Just chores. I can help in the house," I added.
Uncle Charlie hid a smile. "Never did cotton to yer cookin, Josh;" he teased.
I just grinned. "Then you cook an' I'll do dishes;' I challenged him.
Uncle Charlie nodded. "It's a deal;' he agreed.
"We'll manage;' Grandpa concluded, but I could tell by his tone of voice that he was a mite doubtful. I guess none of us realized how much we'd come to depend on Mary till she wasn't there.
Matilda was looking forward to spending the weekend with Mary and her family. The plan was for us to have our Friday supper, do up the dishes and then I'd drive Matilda over to Mary's house.
We were just finishing the cleaning up when the dog announced a visitor. It was Will Sanders again. This time he'd come by sleigh. I grinned to myself when I saw him. He certainly hadn't lost any time in making good on his promise to return, but this time he had been outfoxed. We were almost ready to leave for the Turleys'.
Grandpa opened the door and welcomed him. He came in confidently and took in the whole kitchen scene with one sweeping glance. I don't know if I just fancied it or if he really was amused to see me wiping the dishes.
"What a shame!" exclaimed Matilda. "We are just finishing up here, and then I am off to the Turleys' to join Mary for the weekend:'
"I understood that Mary lives here;' he responded.
"Well, she does," hastily explained Matilda, "but she's been spending a few days at home with her folks this week. She doesn't get to see much of them even though she lives so close, so josh sent her on home for a few days:"
Matilda gave the last bit of news with a hint of pride in her voice, but I think Will Sanders might well have missed the meaning of it all. At any rate, he let it go by completely and surprised me by saying to Matilda, "Then let me drive you:"
Now just a minute here, I wanted to cut in, but instead I said as calmly as I could, "I already have my horse ready and waiting in the barn. All I need to do is hitch him to the sleigh:'
"But mine are already hitched and waiting. No use for you to go out in the cold when I can just run Matilda on over:"
He ignored my scowl and hurried right on, "I wanted to see Mary anyway."
I couldn't argue much about that.
"That's very kind;' Matilda responded. "I'm sure josh and Chester will appreciate not having to go out."
Well, I couldn't speak for Chester, but I sure knew how josh felt about the matter. I didn't say anything, though. There didn't seem to be much point.
"Go ahead;" I told Matilda. "I'll finish the dishes:"
"Oh, thank you," she responded, reaching up to give me one of her impulsive little hugs right there before the eyes of Will Sanders. I was both embarrassed and smug. So what do you think of that, Mr. Sanders? I wanted to say, but I bit my tongue and turned back to wipe the table and rinse the dishpan.
Matilda was soon back, bag in hand and her warm coat wrapped securely around her. I didn't even watch them go, and when Matilda called, "Good night, Josh," I only mumbled in reply.
I was grumpy all evening. It was almost nine o'clock before I remembered Chester still waiting in the barn, harnessed and ready for travel. Grumbling, I lit the lantern and pulled on my heavy coat.
"Well, fella, sorry about that;' I apologized as I slipped the harness from his back. "I near forgot about you. Guess-guess you an' me sorta gotstood up."
I flung the harness with extra intensity to hang it back on its pegs, and it made Chester jump.
I crossed back to him and began to gently rub his neck and his back. The ink that Jon had splashed over him had finally faded away in the sun and rain.
"Sorry, fella," I soothed. "Guess I'm just a little out of sorts. First, we've been needin' to do without Mary. It isn't easy for three fellas to batch anymore when we've been used to somethin' else. An' then this here fella comes along and takes-just takes right over with Matilda-with Mary, too"
I don't know why I expected a horse to make any sense out of what I was saying, but I went right on talking to Chester for the next five minutes. By the time I got back to the kitchen, I had settled down enough to think that I might sleep.
"Guess I'll make it an early night;' I said to Grandpa and Uncle Charlie, and they didn't seem surprised. They both said good night without really looking up and I headed on up the stairs to my room.
CHAPTER 8
Troubling Thoughts
But I couldn't sleep this time either. I tossed and turned and roughed up my pillow, but my mind just wouldn't let my body rest. Pixie got rather impatient with me. She left the warm spot where she always slept curled at my feet and scrambled up beside me. She whined softly, her little body wiggling slightly and her tail thumping. Then she took a lick at my face. I don't know if she was sympathizing with my misery or telling me to settle down and let her get some sleep, but I did find a bit of comfort in her seeming concern.
I reached out and ran my hand across her silky back. She let me stroke her a few times and then returned to the foot of the bed, turned a few times and lay down. I heard her yawn as she tucked in for the night. I guess she felt she had done all she could.
At last I stopped even pretending. I reached out to my night stand and felt around for the small container that held the matches, struck one and lit my lamp. Matilda had just received a stack of new dailies. I decided to get one from the kitchen and read for a while.
I was surprised when I started down the stairs to see the kitchen light still burning. I wondered if someone was ill. Then I thought of Uncle Charlie. He often got up and sat alone by the warm stove if his arthritis got too pain ful during the night. I decided I'd just join him for a while in the kitchen. Maybe make some hot chocolate or something.
But as I neared the bottom of the stairs, I heard voices and realized that Grandpa was up, too. I guess I hadn't been tossing for as long as I'd thought. It had just seemed like hours and hours.
"You think he's `callin' ? " Uncle Charlie was asking.
There was a moment's silence before Grandpa responded; then I heard a chuckle. "Thet's the way I figure it, but I'll be hanged iffen I can figure out, callin' on who:'
"Matilda?"
"Thet was in my thinkin'-at first-but he paid considerable attention to Mary the other night too. An' did ya hear him say tonight thet he wanted to see Mary?"
"Yeah-I heard 'im"
I heard a coffee cup being set on the table. A chair moved slightly on the linoleum floor. Then Uncle Charlie spoke again.
"Maybe he's jest sorta lookin' em both over"
A man don't git hisself nowhere a doin' theta observed Grandpa.
Uncle Charlie snorted. He'd been a bachelor all his life. Maybe he knew the truth of the statement. I had never thought to wonder if there had ever been a young lady or ladies in Uncle Charlie's life way back when.
"Nowhere. Thet's it exactly-nowhere," said Uncle Charlie.
"'Course they're both awful nice girls," put in Grandpa.
"Yup. Both awful nice girls;' agreed Uncle Charlie.
"Don't rightly know which one I'd pick myself."
Uncle Charlie seemed to be giving the matter considerable thought. I heard the coffee cups again.
"You know anythin' 'bout this here fella?" Uncle Charlie asked, and I could follow his line of thought. No good-for-nothin' was gonna come along and make things miserable for one of his girls, no siree.
Grandpa let out his breath in a raspy little sound. Finally he said slowly, "Checked a bit in town;' then added quickly to try to justify himself, "Jest fer the record ya know. They say they're a fine family. Three boys. Lost both folks when the youngest was jest a tyke. Thet's Henry. Will is a couple years older. The oldest son an' his wife took in the two younger boys. Will went on to school an' then worked in the city fer a spell:'
There was a moment of silence while the two men thought about Grandpa's information. Grandpa broke it.
"Couldn't find no skeletons a'tall;' he admitted.
More silence. I didn't know what the emotions were down there in that kitchen-but my stomach was churnin' and my mouth went all dry. I hadn't realized it until my palms began to hurt, and then I noticed I had my fists curled so tightly that my nails were digging into them.
"Anyways-as I see it," went on Grandpa, "Josh better hurry an' make up his mind as to which girl he wants-or he's gonna be takin' the leftovers:'
I felt all the air leave my lungs.
"Maybe he don't want neither;' responded Uncle Charlie.
Grandpa snorted. "Iffen he don't," he said matter-of-factly, "he's dumber'n I took'im fer"
I had long since forgotten about Matilda's newspapers. I had even forgotten about the hot chocolate. The conversation down below had my blood boilin' and was givin' me the chills-both at the same time.
"Hard choice;' Grandpa was saying reflectively. "Real hard choice"
"Can't have em both;' spoke up Uncle Charlie.
"Maybe it's been the wrong thing to have 'em both here;' said Grandpa after a pause. "I mean, seein' both girls-so different-yet so-so special, an' gittin' to feel like they was more like family than-than young women to court" A long pause. "An' how in the world does a fella go about courtin' a girl thet lives in the same house as he does anyway?"