Seasons of the Heart: Omnibus

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Seasons of the Heart: Omnibus Page 61

by Janette Oke


  And then I was holding her close, letting her sob against my chest. I don't know which one of us moved toward the other. Perhaps we both did.

  I just held her and let her cry, and I guess I wept right along with her while my hand tried to stroke some of the tangles from her normally tidy hair. I heard my voice on occasion but all I said was, "Oh, Mary. Mary. I'm so sorry. So sorry."

  At last Mary eased back from my arms. We were alone in the big farm kitchen. I looked at Mary, wondering if she was okay, wondering if I should let her go, but she just gave me a little nod and moved toward the cupboard.

  "Papa needs some coffee;" she said matter-of-factly, and began to put the pot on.

  But Mr. Turley did not drink the coffee. I'm not sure that anyone drank from that particular pot. The whole house was too stunned-too much in pain to think of coffee or anything else.

  At last I found something useful to do. I was sent to town to fetch Uncle Nat. I was both glad to go-just to get away from the intense sorrow-and sorry to go, for I hated to leave Mary in such pain.

  The funeral was two days later. Mitch came home, but he stayed only a couple of days afterward and then returned to the city. Mary stayed at her home for an entire week. It seemed forever. Even when she did return to us I hardly knew what to say or do. I knew she was still sorrowing. But how did one share sorrow without probing? The only thing I could think of was to make things as easy for Mary as possible. I made sure the woodbox and water pails were kept full. I helped with dishes whenever I was in the house at the right time. I was extra careful about leaving dirty farm boots outside her kitchen-even stepped out of them before I came onto her back porch.

  Whenever I saw tears forming in her eyes, I wanted to hold her againjust sort of protect her from her pain and sorrow-but it didn't seem like the thing to do. Matilda slipped her arms around her instead, and I left the room, confused and sorrowful.

  Somehow we managed to get through the days until spring was finally with us again.

  CHAPTER 10

  Spring

  I gave my full attention to the land and the planting. I didn't even have time to wonder and worry about which girl I should be courting. Except on those evenings when Will Sanders showed up at our door. He still called at least once a week. I guess getting the crop in didn't cause Will as much concern as it did me.

  He asked Matilda for walks and paid Mary elaborate compliments on her pies and cakes. He suggested picnics and drives. He kept promising to bring out that silver Bentley from the city. I tried to ignore him and go about my daily tasks. I was busy enough that I didn't have too much time to fret-even about Will Sanders.

  Matilda began to coax about the Ford again, so on Sundays we used it to go to church and then sometimes went for a little drive in the afternoons. Matilda always wanted her share of driving. She handled the car quite well, too. Pretty soon she was asking to take it to town on her own or to take Mary home for a visit. I couldn't think of any good reason that she shouldn't, so I let her use the car. It seemed to please Matilda mightily to be behind the steering wheel.

  Mr. Turley wasn't doing too well since his wife's death. In May, Faye got married as had been planned. Mary was her maid-of-honor. We were all invited to the small wedding. Mary wore a gown of soft green that brought out the reddish highlights of her hair and matched the green flecks in her eyes. I thought it most becoming on her.

  Everyone tried to make the wedding a happy occasion, but we all knew that it really could not be. It was the first "big" family event that Mrs. Turley had missed, and I guess we were all thinking of her.

  It was especially hard on young Lil. She knew that she would be the only girl at home now, and I think she dreaded the thought. She also was likely wondering about when it came her turn to wed-would she feel right about leaving her pa at home all alone?

  I suggested to Mary that she might want to spend a few days at home after the wedding, and without argument she accepted.

  She stayed for three days, and when her pa drove her back to our farm to resume her duties, he carried a large box in and set it down just inside the kitchen door.

  We were all glad to see Mary back. As soon as she removed her hat she tied on her apron. The next thing she did was to stir up the fire and put on the teakettle. Mr. Turley watched her move about the kitchen. I wondered what was going through his mind. Perhaps Mary reminded him of her mother. At any rate he sure did seem to be studying her.

  When the tea was ready and Mary served it up along with what was left of her orange loaf, Mr. Turley sat a long time. Grandpa and Uncle Charlie kept trying to engage him in conversation, but he answered each query scantily. He didn't seem in any hurry to leave though, and I guessed he was just stalling, hating to return to his empty house. They had dropped Lil off with a friend for a few days, Mary explained.

  "Why don't you just stay on to supper?" I heard Grandpa asking.

  "Got chores;" mumbled Mr. Turley, and he seemed to stir himself to leave.

  "Chores work up a lot faster on a satisfied stomach;' argued Grandpa.

  Mr. Turley nodded and settled in again.

  It ended up with Uncle Charlie and Mr. Turley having a few games of checkers while Mary fixed supper. I didn't see the games, being out with my own chores, but I understand they were played rather absent-mindedly by Mr. Turley. However, they did help to pass some time.

  After he had eaten, Mr. Turley still didn't seem in too big a hurry to leave. He sat toying with his coffee cup and thinking. Finally he spoke out.

  "Been thinkin' on sellin' off the livestock. Mitch is gone an' there jest don't seem to be no point in spendin' time out at the barn"

  I guess we all sort of looked at him, surprised at his statement. But then, we shouldn't have been.

  "Anythin' over there thet you might want fer yer herd, Josh? Got one real good milker. She's had her three sets of twins already in jest five years of calvin:"

  It sounded good. I nodded. "Might take a look at her;' I agreed.

  "Got one first-rate brood sow, too. Averages nine per litter. No runts. Though she's big, she's careful. Never laid her on a piglet yet. You know how some of em big sows just go `plop' right down in the middle of the litter. Well, not this one. Coaxes 'em all off to the side 'fore she goes down"

  That sounded impressive all right. I nodded again.

  "Come over some time, Josh. See if there be anythin' ya'd like. Rather sell 'em to you than off fer slaughter:'

  I stood to my feet when Mr. Turley stood.

  "You're sure you want to sell?" I asked. I still found it hard to believe.

  He sighed deeply. "Yeah;" he said at last. "Been thinkin' on it fer some time. Just don't cotton to the idee of spendin' hours out chorin' when the winds start to howl agin. Best time fer sellin' is when they're nice an' fat on summer grass. I'll sell 'em off gradual like an' be done with 'em by fall."

  "Sure," I nodded. "Sure. I'll be over first chance I get"

  "No hurry," went on Mr. Turley. "Come as soon as yer crop is all in."

  Then he kissed Mary on the cheek, thanked Grandpa for supper and picked up his hat.

  I felt so sorry for the man that I ached inside. I was glad I had more chores of my own that needed doing. At least they would keep me busy for a while and out of sight of Mary's sorrowful eyes.

  When I came in from chores Mary had the big box up on the kitchen table and was carefully lifting something out from the wrappings to show Matilda.

  "Oh," I heard Matilda gasp. "It's just beautiful!"

  "I think so;' Mary said softly. "Even when I was a little girl I used to admire them. They sat in Mama's buffet, and I'd look at them and look at them. Mama wouldn't let me touch them. She didn't want fingerprints all over them. Then when I got older Mama taught me how to handle them carefully. I was even given the privilege of cleaning each piece:"

  "How many are there?" Matilda asked.

  "The large tray, a smaller tray, the coffeepot, teapot, creamer and sugar bowl, plus a sugar s
poon and a cake server"

  "They are beautiful!" Matilda said again.

  I watched as Mary lovingly ran a hand over the silver pieces sitting before her on the table.

  "Pa found a note Mama left in her Bible;' she stated, tears in her eyes. "She said that I was to have the silver. She left Mitch her Bible, Lil her ruby pin, and Faye her china"

  "Oh-h-h," murmured Matilda. I could tell she wanted to say how fortunate Mary was, but that hardly seemed appropriate under the circumstances.

  We didn't have to wonder how special the silver was to Mary. After fondly gazing at each piece, she polished them all once more. Then she began to carefully wrap them in the soft pieces of cloth they had been snuggled in and, with tears in her eyes, placed them tenderly back in the box.

  Grandpa cleared his throat. "Would ya like to put em there in the corner china cupboard;" he ventured, "where ya can see em?"

  Mary hesitated, looked across at the cupboard and then went to give Grandpa a little hug. I don't know what she whispered to him, but Grandpas mustache twitched a bit and Mary began clearing a spot for her silver on the middle shelf. It did look pretty there, and it sure did dress up our farmhouse kitchen.

  I guess we got rather used to it after a while, but I noticed Mary frequently glancing that way. She even used the set for tea when Aunt Lou dropped out one day, and the Sunday of Uncle Charlie's birthday she served us all our afternoon coffee from the shiny coffeepot when she served his birthday cake. Sarah thought it was just wonderful.

  "Where did you get it, Aunt Mary?" she asked, her eyes shining. And Mary's eyes shone just as much as she answered.

  "It was my mama's."

  "I have never seen anything so pretty," went on Sarah. "Where did your mama get it?"

  "It was her grandma's-a wedding present from an elderly lady she worked for. Mama said it was a shock to everyone. The older lady was usually sour and tight with her money, and no one could believe it when she gave Great-grandma such a beautiful gift"

  Mary chuckled softly. It was the first I had heard her laugh for some time. She smiled often, sincerely, almost sadly, but she did not laugh. With the soft laughter a heavy weight seemed to lift from me deep down inside somewhere. I looked around the circle, wondering why there was no celebration, but no one else seemed to have noticed that Mary was laughing again.

  Still I tucked the sound of that laughter away inside and replayed it over and over during the next days.

  As soon as I finished the spring planting, I went over to see Mr. Turley. I ended up buying the cow he told me about plus a couple of her heifers. I also bought the sow along with the recent litter. We decided we shouldn't move her at the present, so Mr. Turley agreed to feed her for a few more weeks.

  Mr. Turley carried through with his plans to sell off all his livestock, and neighbors dropped by to look over the animals and buy what they figured they could use. I thought it strange for a farmer to be without stock. But I guess the fields were enough to keep one man busy, and, as Mr. Turley had said, Mitch didn't seem inclined to come back home. It sounded as if he liked city life and was happy with the job he had found.

  Lilli was restless, though. She didn't even plant much of a garden. Mary planted even more and prepared herself for a busy canning season. She went over to her ma's cellar and brought back some boxes of canning jars so she could fill them for her pa and Lil.

  Matilda suggested to me that Mary might like another trip over to see Faye before her busy summer began. Mary didn't get together with her sisters nearly enough, I knew.

  "I'll see what I can do;' I nodded to Matilda as we sat idly swinging on the back porch swing.

  It was the first we had spent any time together for several months, and with school almost out I immediately thought ahead to Matilda being gone for another summer. I wondered if I had allowed my busyness to interfere with courting again. If I keep on at my present rate, I'll never get around to findin' myself a girl, I concluded.

  Maybe I'd lost my sense of urgency. Word passed around the neighborhood that Will Sanders had decided he preferred city living and had left his brother's house to return there. I felt a bit of smugness when I reminded myself of it.

  My thoughts were interrupted by Matilda.

  "You needn't do anything about it, josh," she was saying. "I can drive Mary over to Faye's"

  I was about to object when I realized that there was really no reason why Matilda couldn't. She could drive the car as well as I could. And Mary might not feel as rushed if I weren't hanging around, impatient to get back to some farm chores.

  I nodded without saying anything, wondering if I was about to get another impulsive hug. Rather shamelessly I wondered if this time I should do some huggin back. But the hug never came. Just then the back door opened and Mary stepped out with a tray of cold lemonade.

  "Guess what?" squealed Matilda. "Josh says I can take the car and drive you over to see Faye before I leave for the summer"

  Mary's eyes shone in the soft darkness, and I could see her appreciative smile. She didn't speak, but her eyes met mine and I read the thank you there. For a moment I wondered what it would be like to get a hug from Mary. And then I remembered the time when I had held her-not like Matilda, bouncing in and out of my arms with a quickness that took one's breath away. Mary had lingered, had leaned against me like a lost child, drawing strength and understanding from me. I had felt protective, needed. In spite of the sadness of that moment, I treasured the memory. Yet I couldn't really explain-

  My thoughts were interrupted.

  "When should we go?" Matilda was asking Mary.

  Mary put the tray down and handed each of us a glass. "We don't have long," she reminded Matilda. "You have only another seven days to teach"

  Had time really slipped by so quickly? It seemed that the year had just started, and here we were heading into another summer vacation.

  "I know," moaned Matilda.

  "I think we should go at a time when we don't have to worry about darkness;' went on Mary. "Maybe Saturday."

  "Saturday," said Matilda. "That sounds great!" Then she had the good grace to turn to me. "Will you need the Ford for anything on Saturday, Josh?"

  I shook my head. I still had field work to do.

  "Then we'll leave on Saturday morning;' agreed Matilda.

  Mary seemed to think carefully about it. "I guess we could," she said at last. "I could leave dinner all fixed for the men, and we'll be sure to be back in plenty of time for supper:'

  When Matilda went to school the next day, Mary sent a note for Faye, and Matilda sent the note home with one of the students who rode past Faye's new home. A reply stated that Faye would be watching for the two of them the next Saturday.

  Saturday morning I moved the car from the shed, filled it with gas and checked the tires. One needed more air so I got out the pump and pumped it up until I was sure it was okay. Then I left the keys on the table for Matilda and went off to the field to do some summer-fallow work that needed doing.

  I was interrupted midafternoon by a sudden rain squall. I studied the dark clouds for a few moments and headed in with the tractor.

  I hope the girls aren't on their way home now, I thought, but the shower passed over. When the girls did not arrive, I dismissed the incident from my mind and started some evening chores.

  By suppertime there still was no sign of an approaching car. I remembered Mary's words about being home in plenty of time to get supper, and I felt just a little aggravated that her visiting had put us hungry menfolk from her mind.

  I went on to further chores and was surprised when Grandpa joined me at the pig barn. After making small talk for a few minutes, he turned to me. "The girls aren't home yet, josh."

  It wasn't news to me. I nodded rather glumly.

  "It's past suppertime;' went on Grandpa.

  "Guess we can get our own supper," I grumbled. "We've done it before."

  I wondered why Grandpa or Uncle Charlie weren't in the kitchen doing just that
. Why should I need to do the chores, then-?

  But Grandpa kicked at a fluff ball; then his eyes met mine. "It's not like Mary, Boy."

  It finally got through my thick head. Grandpa was worried. I threw a look at the sky. It was getting rather late. I should have been worried. I just hadn't been thinking straight.

  "I'll get Chester;" I said, throwing my slop buckets down beside the pig pen. But I hadn't even gotten the saddle on Chester's back before I heard voices. Someone was "yahooing" my grandpa. I left Chester and went to see who had come and what news he had brought. It was one of the young Smiths, but he had already delivered his message, whirled his horse and was on his way back down the lane.

  I started to holler at him to come back; then I noticed Grandpa still standing there, his hands lifted helplessly to the gatepost as though to steady himself. I hurried to him. His face was shaken.

  "The girls-" he choked. "There's been an accident. The car flipped"

  CHAPTER 11

  An Awakening

  I just stood there, staring at Grandpa, trying to get his meaningless words to make sense to me. I couldn't get them to connect somehow.

  "Wh-what?" I finally heard myself stammer.

  There was no response from Grandpa. He still clung to the post, weaving slightly as though fighting against a strong wind.

  Uncle Charlie seemed to bring us both back to reality. He had hobbled out with his two canes to see what the commotion was about. He had heard the galloping horse-and I knew he realized it meant some kind of trouble. I could read it in his face when he demanded an explanation.

  "What is it? Is it the girls?"

  "They-they flipped the car" I mouthed the words but still did not really understand them. "The Smith kid-" But that was all I knew. I reached out a hand and squeezed Grandpa's arm.

  "What did he say?" I insisted.

  Grandpa shook his head as if to clear it. Still, it was a moment-a long moment-before he got his dry lips to form words.

  "He said they-flipped the car"

 

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