by Janette Oke
"Thank you, sir;' I said sincerely, "for all you have done to make your daughter the beautiful person she is. I will love her always, I promise you"
Then we moved toward each other and I have never had such a bear hug. It suddenly hit me-I have a pa! I mean, a real pa! I hadn't had one of my own since I had been a small boy. I stepped back and looked at this man who now was a part of my life. I couldn't express all I was feeling. Instead I said, rather hoarsely, "How about comin' for supper-Wednesday night?"
He nodded his head and climbed into his wagon. `And Lilli, too, of course;' I called after him. I watched him go until he turned the corner, and then I hurried in to tell Mary of my invitation to her pa-our pa-before I forgot.
It was late by the time we got home. We unpacked the car of the gifts and things Mary hadn't wanted to leave in town-things like her ma's silver tea service. We also had Mary's suitcases, although many of her belongings still waited in her downstairs bedroom, not having been moved back to her home after her accident.
There would be no honeymoon-at least not at the present. I was sorry about that. Mary and I had talked it over, and she had assured me she didn't mind. But still I felt she was a bit cheated out of what she rightfully deserved.
"After harvest;' I'd promised her.
"Josh," she insisted, "the important thing is that we will be together, not where we will be together:" I loved her even more for that.
As we carried Mary's personal things into the house, it became apparent that we menfolk, in all our hurrying and scurrying on short notice to prepare for the wedding, had given no thought to the room arrangements.
"Where should I put these?" Mary asked innocently.
"I-I-in-in my room, I guess;' I began, but even as I said the words I knew that wouldn't work. I had the smallest room in the house. My tiny closet was already crowded with my few things. Mary's would never fit there too.
Grandpa cleared his throat. "The master bedroom;' he said. "I'll git my things right outta there;" and he moved to do just that.
"Oh, no;" insisted Mary. "I wouldn't think of putting you out of your room, Grandpa"
A debate ensued, but Mary prevailed. It was finally decided that Mary and I would use Lou's old room. It was much roomier than mine and had a much larger closet. I carried Mary's things up to the room, and while she unpacked I busied myself making the evening coffee.
Mary was soon back down and took over in the kitchen. "Boy, is it ever good to have you back!" I teased.
"So you just wanted a cook!" she teased right back.
I looked around at Grandpa and Uncle Charlie. They both wore a very satisfied expression, and I figured that bringing Mary permanently into our family was about the smartest move I had ever made.
CHAPTER 15
Beginnings
With the weather turned for the better, our household back in order and my wife nearby, I got back to the haying again. Mary immediately took over her kitchen. My, how she did scrub and clean. I'm embarrassed to admit we menfolk had let things get even worse than I had realized.
She organized the rest of the house too-like moving the rest of my belongings from my old room to our new one, straightening the pantry, properly patching my worn overalls, sorting out the canning jars in the cellar and all sorts of other tasks. Every time I came in she was busy with something, though she often stopped to give me a hug and a kiss.
On Wednesday night the Turleys came for supper. Mary did herself proud, but then I guess her pa and Lilli were used to Mary's good cooking. I had to remind myself that Mary had likely cooked Pa Turley more meals than she had cooked for me.
Mary made life totally different for me when she was there. I could hardly wait to get in from the field at night-and I'd always enjoyed field work. I looked toward the house a dozen times a day just to see if I could catch a glimpse of her. And she often slipped out with a drink of cold water or fresh buttermilk. She even came to the barn when I was milking and laughed as I squirted milk to the farm cat, chatting about her day, her plans for the house or garden while I did my chores.
Of course Grandpa and Uncle Charlie were awfully glad to have her back as well. Uncle Charlie seemed to walk a little jauntier, and Grandpa took to chuckling a good deal more. Though I was quite willing to share Mary's return with them, I marveled at the fact that she was really minejust mine-in a very unique and special way. Every day the word "marriage" took on a new meaning for me, and I thanked God over and over for her and that He had thought of such a wonderful plan.
Friday night after all the chores had been done, the supper dishes washed and back in the cupboard, and we were gathered around the kitchen table enjoying various activities, I suddenly remembered my resolve to look up the word cherish.
My dictionary was up in my old room, I thought. But when I climbed the stairs to get it, I found that Mary had moved my few books as well. I went to Lou's room-I had to get that change made in my mind, to stop thinking of that room as Lou's-it was mine now, mine and Mary's. After rummaging around for a bit I found the dictionary. I flipped through the pages and came to the word.
"Cherish-to hold dear, to treat with tenderness, to nurse, nourish, nurture, foster, support, cultivate."
Wow! I read it again-and again. I had promised before God to do all that! I marveled. It had seemed to me that my loving Mary was sort of beyond my control. I mean, who could help but love Mary? But "cherish"-that was different. Most of the words in the definition were words of choice, of action-not feeling.
I knelt beside our bed with the dictionary open before me, and I went over each word in the list one at a time, promising God in a new way that with His help I would fulfill my promise to Him and to Mary. I even did some thinking on just how I might keep the promises. I prayed that God would help me to be a sensitive and open husband for Mary.
When I had finished my rather lengthy prayer, I heard a stirring at the door. It was Mary.
"I-I'm sorry, josh. I didn't mean to interrupt. I-I-"
But I held my hand out to her.
"I want to show you something;' I said, indicating the open book before me.
I rose to my feet and sat down on our bed. Mary crossed the room and sat beside me.
"Do you know what `cherish' means?"
"Cherish?"
"Yeah. What we promised to do for each other last Sunday."
"Oh!" Mary exclaimed, her eyebrows lifting.
I traced the dictionary meaning of cherish while Mary read the words for herself. When she finished, her eyes met mine. We just looked at each other for a few minutes and then Mary spoke.
"Rather scary."
She was so serious, so solemn, that I began to laugh. I laid the dictionary on the bed beside me and reached for her. She snuggled into my arms and put her head against my shoulder, but I gently turned her face so that I could look directly into her eyes.
"Mary Jones;' I said, enjoying the sound of her new name, "before God and with you as my witness, I promise to love you, to hold you dear, to treat you with tenderness, to nurse you, nourish you, nurture you, foster you, support you and cultivate your individuality-till death us do part:"
I had needed to refer to the dictionary beside me a few times during my little speech, but I meant each word in a new way. When I finished there were tears in Mary's eyes.
"Oh, Josh," she murmured softly, "I love you so much"
That was really all I needed to hear.
I kissed her again.
"When you left the kitchen and didn't come back, I was a little worried," she admitted. "I thought-well, I don't really know what I thought."
"It took me awhile to find the dictionary," I confessed, "and then when I did, I needed some time to think it through and to pray for God's help:"
I shifted so I could gather Mary more closely to me. The dictionary fell unheeded to the braided rug. I was through with it for the moment anyway.
"I need to go make the coffee;' Mary murmured, but she didn't sound too convincing.
<
br /> "Uncle Charlie knows how to make coffee: 'l reminded her.
"Yes-" But I stopped her protest with another kiss.
"We don't get much time alone;' I reminded her. "I want you to tell me all the ways you can think of for me to keep the promises I've just made:"
It was some time later that the smell of fresh-perked coffee drifted up the stairs and into our room, and Mary and I smiled at each other. It seemed that Uncle Charlie had found the coffeepot.
I finally finished the harvest. It wasn't a great crop, but it would get us through. The fall had been a dry one. In fact, the last moisture we got was what had come in July to delay my haying. I smiled every time I thought of that rain. It had speeded up my marriage to Mary, and for that I owed the rain a great deal.
We decided to further postpone our honeymoon. Mary said it was silly to spend the money when it might be needed elsewhere.
Mary got all her garden taken care of, and we settled in for another winter-one totally different for us, for now we had each other.
Matilda and Mary kept in touch by way of letters. Matilda's leg had mended well and she was enjoying her new school. There were even hints that some young man she had met was becoming rather special to her.
In November Lou gave birth to another girl, Patricia Lynn, her coloring darker than Sarah's. This little mite demanded a bit more attention than Sarah had as an infant. I looked at Lou with her family of four and wondered what it must be like. Certainly it meant work and sacrifice-but I figured it would be more than worth it.
With Matilda gone we had decided to subscribe to our own paper. I guess we had all become intrigued with the reading material that kept us informed of the world's events. Many evenings were spent sharing the paper around the kitchen table.
We were saddened and horrified by the news reports of the stock market crash. It seemed to be of great significance to many people-even causing suicides and such things. I couldn't understand how that whole financial world worked, though I did feel sorry for those who were directly affected by it all.
It sure didn't have much affect on our life, however. I mean, no one in our small community ever had money to invest in any stocks or such. The results of that crash would have little, if any, repercussions in our town, I reasoned. We were a bit relieved when the newspaper stopped screaming horrid headlines about the crash and went on to something else.
Winter came-according to the calendar-though the look of things didn't change much. There was no snow to speak of. The weeks trailed on, following one right after the other, and the world outside was just the samebrown and bare. Mary kept talking longingly about snow, and I must admit I was wishing for a good snowfall, too.
Christmas was nearing, though it was hard to get in the holiday spirit without a white world outside. But family members began to sneak around on their way to hide something somewhere. Secret whisperings and plottings made life rather interesting and fun. Then the whole house began to smell like a bake shop as Mary turned out special cakes and cookies. I wondered if we'd finish eating all those things even by Easter time.
Mary talked about trimmings for the tree, and I hoisted the boxes down from the attic and she went through them. I'd never realized before what a sorry lot they were. Mary set to work making new ones and even spent some of her egg money in town to replace several items. I could see that she received a good deal of pleasure out of making Christmas something special for all of us.
I looked forward to Christmas-but it sure would be nice to have some snow.
CHAPTER 16
Christmas
One little skiff of snow dusted the ground a few days before Christmas, and Mary got all excited over it. But it sure didn't last long. Before it had even covered the ground it began to melt off again. Mary was disappointed and I was disappointed for her. There wasn't anything I could do about snow for her Christmas, though.
"Josh;' Mary said on the Saturday before Christmas, "we need to get a tree"
That was no problem. We had lots of small trees down along the crick that would look good with Christmas decorations.
"I'll get one;' I promised.
"I thought maybe we could go together," offered Mary, and I grinned in appreciation.
"Great! When would you like to go?"
"Right after dinner-if that's okay with you:"
"Fine."
And so the two of us headed out for the crick bottom right after the noon dishes were done.
It was colder than it had looked. I wondered if Mary might not be bundled up warmly enough, but I guess the vigorous walking helped keep her warm. Anyway, each time I asked her, she assured me that she was just fine.
The farm dog went along with us. Truth was, any time one of us went out, we didn't get far without Fritz at our heels. We didrit mind. It would have been fun to have Pixie along too, but she couldn't run very well anymore. She seemed to have arthritis like Uncle Charlie. Anyway, she didn't do any more walking than absolutely necessary. I even carried her upstairs each night. Most of her day was spent curled up in her little box behind the stove.
The pond in the pasture was frozen, and we took some time to slide back and forth. Sorta like being a kid again.
"We should have a skating party," enthused Mary, but I really didn't know who would want to come. All our old friends were either married with youngsters to care for or else had moved away.
For some reason I thought of Willie-maybe because he had skated with me on this very pond. Boy, I missed the guy. It still didn't seem real to me that he was gone-actually in heaven. I could see his face so plainly, could hear his banter and laughter-could sense his feel of mission and commitment when he spoke intensely of the needs of African villages for the gospel. Boy, I missed Willie.
I thought of Camellia. She had gone across the ocean to Willie's people now. I put money for her support in the collection plate the first Sunday of each month, and Uncle Nat forwarded it on to the Mission Society. We got an occasional prayer letter from Camellia, too. She loved Willie's Africans. She was kept busy with her nursing, for they were a poor people and many of them, old and young alike, had physical needs. Camellia was glad God had called her to this work. I still had a hard time picturing Camellia, the golden girl, trudging through destitute villages, visiting dirty, unkempt huts with medicines and love. But God did wonderful things with those who obeyed Him. Used people in ways we would have never dared suggest. Mary and I prayed daily for Camellia.
Mary brought my thoughts back to the present with a j erk when she lost her balance and ended up on her back in the middle of the ice. I was afraid she might have hurt herself, but she was laughing as I bent to help her and soon we were both down on the ice rolling and laughing.
It was fun until old Fritz jumped right into the middle of the fracas. He was barking and prancing and taking quick licks at our faces. By now Mary and I both decided we'd had enough, so we scrambled to our feet and started off again on our Christmas tree quest.
I'd figured it would be a quick, easy task. But with every tree I pointed out, Mary was sure we could do just a bit better. So on we walked, checking out tree after tree.
I was beginning to worry about getting home to do the choring when Mary at last found the very one she was looking for. It was about my height, with full, even branches.
"It will fit just fine in the parlor;" Mary exclaimed and then added matterof-factly, "Of course I will need to trim it up a bit"
I smiled wryly. She could trim it all she pleased just as long as we could cut the thing and get on home.
It wasn't hard to cut it down. It was a bit harder to get it home. There was no snow, so we couldn't drag it because Mary was afraid of damage to some of the branches-probably the ones she'll eventually trim off anyway, I thought but didn't say. That meant we had to carry it. Mary insisted on sharing in the effort. I lifted the big end and she took the small one, but carrying a tree, particularly one that has large, full branches and sways in the middle, is not an easy task.
>
We tripped about as much as we walked. The dog didn't help matters. He kept running around the tree and our feet, constantly getting in our way and tripping us up even more.
"Why don't I carry it?" I finally suggested.
"Oh, Josh. It's too heavy for one person"
I could have told her that it was too heavy for two people-but I didn't.
"I think it would be easier," I dared insist.
Mary looked reluctant. "Do you want it on your back-or your shoulder?" she finally conceded.
"My shoulder;' I decided.
"I'll help you lift it up:"
It didn't work very well that way either. Possibly it would have if Mary had allowed me to trim off some of the bottom branches-but she wanted the branches to come right down to the parlor floor. It was prettier that way, she said. So I was trying to carry a tree on my shoulder with branches right down to the bottom of the trunk. They poked me in the face and knocked off my hat.
I finally dumped the thing to the ground, and Mary gave a little gasp, fearful that I had broken some of her precious branches-which there were far too many of anyway.
"Look," I said, a little out of patience, "why don't I just get the team and wagon and come and haul it home?"
"Can you drive back in here with the team and wagon?" Mary wisely asked. I would have had to cut my way in and out again. There were no trails except those the cattle had made, and they were too narrow for a wagon to travel.
"Then I'll hook Barney to the stoneboat;' I threw out, keeping my voice even.
Mary tipped her head slightly to consider it.
"It should work," she nodded in agreement. "You can sorta snake your way in and out among the trees"
I didn't like her description. "Snaking" didn't seem like much of a way for a man to travel.
"We need to put it someplace so you can remember where to find it," Mary continued, and I got even more huffed at that.