Once Upon a Summer (18 page)
Everything stopped. I expected thunder and lightnin’.
Auntie Lou pushed herself away from Burt and back a pace.
Her eyes flashed. I was hopin’ that she would hit him, but she didn’t. She jest stood there with her eyes blazin’, and when she spoke her voice was even and cold.
“Burt Thomas, don’t you ever come near me again!” She spun on her heel, her skirts swishin’ angrily, and was gone.
No one had even noticed me.
I pushed myself up after Burt had left and gathered Pixie closer.
“Scratch number three,” I whispered to her and started up the stairs grinnin’.
I
T WAS A
tougher gettin’ up for church the next mornin’ but Grandpa saw to it that everybody did. I crawled out sleepy-eyed when I was called, dreading going out to do my chores. I was surprised to see everyone already seated at the table.
“Yer Uncle Charlie took pity on ya this mornin’,” Grandpa said.
Uncle Charlie grinned. “Oh, sure. I git the blame for everything ’round here. It was yer Grandpa who slopped the hogs.”
“Thanks,” I said to both of them.
“Was it a good party?” asked Gramps, addressin’ himself to everyone, but to Auntie Lou in particular.
“Real good,” she agreed.
“Everybody stay late?”
“Pretty late.”
Grandpa decided that it was his turn.
“Thet there young Thomas,” he said, “he sure seems like a fine young fella. I was impressed with the way thet he pitched right in and helped ya like.”
Auntie Lou’s expression did not change.
“You asked him to, Pa, iffen you remember.”
“Well, yeah—“ Grandpa hedged, “but he never tried to git out of it. Some fellas woulda begged of, hunted up excuses—”
“To get out of spending some time with the prettiest girl at the show?” asked Gramps, his eyes narrow.
“Well, I do admit,” grinned Grandpa, “thet it don’t take too much talkin’ to git a young fella interested in givin’ Lou a hand.”
Things were quiet for a moment, then Grandpa tried again.
“Still in all, he does seem like a sensible, steady young fellow. They say he’s a real good worker, got his own piece of land.
Some young girl will be right lucky to—”
“Pa,” she said and her voice was gentle yet angry. “That all may be true, but
I
won’t be the girl. I
have
not, and I
do
not, and I
will never
in the future care for Burt Thomas. He is vain, borin’, and—and a flirt.”
Auntie Lou stood up slowly, untied her apron and draped it over her chair.
“I’m goin’ to dress for church.”
Gramps looked at me and his eyes were twinklin’. Somehow he seemed to know that Auntie Lou was quite capable of handlin’ herself.
Nothin’ of much importance happened at church. I knew that I had to go; it was one of Grandpa’s unwritten laws for our household, but there wasn’t much that he could do to make sure that I was really listenin’.
I turned everything off after the openin’ hymn. If God wasn’t on
my
side, I reasoned that He could jest stumble along without me on His.
I did pull my attention back for a few minutes when there was a stir and Mr. T. Smith stepped to the front. Everyone knew that Mr. T. Smith was the chairman of the church board. He cleared his throat and tried to look like he didn’t consider the position as elevated
too
much above the rest.
“You all know,” he said, “thet our good pastor and his wife have expressed a desire to retire. We will miss them deeply, but we know thet they have earned the right to some pleasant and—and . . .” He stammered around a bit. It was then that I realized that he had memorized his speech and it had slipped from him. His face started to get red. He finally gave up on the prepared speech and hurried on.
“As I was sayin’, we’ll miss them, but we’re happy about it—for the
Whites—
we’re happy that they can retire and rest after their many years of faithful service.”
That last part sounded good and I figured that he may have got hold of a piece of his prepared speech again.
“Although we will miss the Whites, we are happy to announce that yer church board has been successful in findin’ a replacement. The Reverend Nathaniel Crawford will come to take Reverend White’s place sometime in the very near future. We trust that you will all make him welcome and give him yer support.”
A general stir followed the announcement.
Nathaniel Crawford,
I thought. What a name! I had a Bible name, too, and so did my Grandpa, but it sure wasn’t a mouthful like Nathaniel. I dismissed the new preacher as not worth thinkin’ on and went back to my day-dreamin’. It all had very little to do with me.
Reverend White started his message. I listened for jest a minute or two to find out what I’d be missin’. It was on repentin’ again. I’d heard that before. This time he was usin’ poor ol’ Paul as his example of a wicked man turned good. I tuned out. Ol’ Paul probably never, ever had anything bothersome happen to him. Why shouldn’t he be good?
After church Avery Garrett and I chased a few girls with grasshoppers that hadn’t been smart enough to tuck themselves away for the cold weather ahead. Then Grandpa called that we were ready to go home.
I didn’t bother takin’ off my shoes. It was cool enough now that they felt kinda good on my feet.
I thought of Cullum and wondered if he’d get all his crop in before winter hit. I sure hoped so. I wished that I was big enough to give him a hand. Maybe someday I’d be able to.
The talk at the table was about the new preacher. Folks were wonderin’ where he was from, and what he’d be like, and what he had for family. The only thing I wondered was if he’d still preach on “gettin’ ready” and repentance and all. I didn’t care much for those kinds of sermons. Something about them made me feel a queer twistin’ deep on the inside of me.
I shrugged my shoulders. I really wasn’t plannin’ on lis-tenin’ much anyway, so I guessed it really didn’t matter what he preached about. I asked to be excused and went to find Pixie.
T
HE MEN HAD
to town that Saturday, and Auntie Lou and I were enjoyin’ a rather leisurely day at home. I was glad to have a full day with Pixie. As little as she was she had already learned to bark on command. I still hadn’t been able to teach her to be quiet though.
I worked with Pixie all that morning, tryin’ to get her to roll over when she was told. Her pudgy little legs and round body couldn’t manage the trick too well. Lou joined me on the kitchen floor as I worked and played with my dog. We couldn’t help but laugh at Pixie’s silly antics as she tried hard to twist herself over.
It wasn’t until about three o’clock that I decided to chop and haul wood. I put Pixie in her box; I didn’t want to take any chances on her getting in the way of the axe or flying wood chips. She needed a nap anyway.
I was busy choppin’ wood, admirin’ myself for my strength, when I heard a funny sound comin’ from the direction of the barn. I had never heard a sound like it before, so I sank the axe head into the choppin’ block and went to investigate. I found it all right. An old sow had found a pail somewhere and she had her head caught in it. She was gruntin’ and squealin’ and runnin’ into feed troughs and fences, shakin’ her tin head back and forth as she went.
I couldn’t help but laugh at her; she looked and sounded so funny.
After I had seen enough of the entertainment she provided, I decided that I’d better do something about it. I climbed into the pen.
I managed to herd her into a corner and get my hands on the pail. I pulled hard but nothin’ gave. After several more attempts to release her, I finally realized that I wasn’t accomplishing a thing except to work up a sweat. I decided to go for Auntie Lou. Maybe she’d know what to do.
She laughed, too, when she saw the sow, but she got down to business much quicker than I had.
“We’ve got to pull it off.”
“But how?”
“I don’t know, but I’ll help you. Come on.”
She led the way back to the house, and when we got there she turned to me.
“Josh, bring me one of your shirts and a pair of Uncle Charlie’s overalls.”
I couldn’t see what that had to do with gettin’ the pail off that pig, but I went to do it. She took the clothes from me and hurried off to her room.
She looked pretty funny when she came down. She had plaited her loose curls into two long braids that hung down her shoulders; that was the first thing that I noticed. The rest of her I could hardly recognize. She was into the clothes that she had asked me to get. The shirt was a mite too small and the overalls way too big, and she made quite a sight. She grabbed a piece of twine from a kitchen drawer and wrapped a loop around her middle. The big baggy overalls were brought in to fit her tiny waist. They bunched up on either side of the string, givin’ her a crazy clown appearance. She rolled up the cuffs. It looked like she should have rolled up the crotch, too, but there wasn’t much that she could do about that. Pushin’ her feet into her gardenin’ boots, she took a silly curtsy and said, “Straight from Noo York.”
I laughed then. I wanted to before but I didn’t know if I dared. She laughed with me, slappin’ her funny bulgin’-overall tummy.
“What’d you do that for?” I asked when I could talk again.
She was sober now.
“We gotta get the pail off that pig, and I’ve a notion that we’ll have to throw her to do it. I’m not about to go wrestlin’ a pig in a dress.”
I could follow her reasoning but she sure did look funny. I had never seen Auntie Lou in anything so ridiculous before.
We had us a real time with that old sow. She was as dumb as she was stubborn. I couldn’t figure out why she wouldn’t cooperate—at least a little bit. We chased and caught her and struggled—jest to lose her again. Around and around we went.
I could understand now why Auntie Lou braided her hair back.
Even my short hair got full of dirt.
“We’ve got to throw her somehow,” panted Auntie Lou. I went for some ropes.
“Now if we can jest get these on her somehow and get her down, one of us can hold her while the other works the pail.”
Away we went again. I got one rope on a front foot. It trailed around behind her as I ran after her, grabbin’ and strugglin’ to get another rope on her hind foot. Auntie Lou tried to help. After a lot of effort I finally got the second rope on. Lou sorta held the pig at bay while I got an end of each of the ropes. I pulled the tension up until I figured that it was jest right, and then I gave a sudden heave against those ropes with every ounce of energy that I had left. It pulled her feet right out from under her and she went down. Auntie Lou and I both pounced at once, pin-nin’ her to the ground.
“You get the pail,” I said between clenched teeth.
She lifted herself back from the pig and grabbed the pail, eyein’ the situation to determine jest how the head was stuck and which direction to pull.
“Hurry,” I told her, feelin’ the pig gatherin’ herself together to make an effort to get free.
Auntie Lou grabbed the pail and laid back, pullin’ with everything that she had. The pig squealed like we were cut-tin’ her throat—about that time it didn’t seem like such a bad idea.
The pail all of a sudden made a funny suckin’ sound, and Auntie Lou went flyin’ backwards. The pig gave a big heave and left me layin’ on the ground as she squealed her way around the pen draggin’ the ropes behind her.
I heard a funny noise from Auntie Lou and looked up to see her sittin’ in the pig trough. Potato peelin’s and apple cores were splashed up her arms. She even had some of the slop on her face; she sat there blinkin’ those big eyes and makin’ horrible faces. One braid had broken loose and scattered hair about her face in a disorganized fashion. Uncle Charlie’s overalls were an awful mess. Boy, did I want to laugh, but I didn’t.
I got myself up off the ground, gave myself a quick dustin’ and went over to help Auntie Lou out of her trough-strad-dlin’ position. While I was hoistin’ her up, I heard Grandpa’s voice.
“Trouble?”
We didn’t bother lookin’ up, but kept busy dustin’ ourselves off.
“That sow had her head caught.”
“So I saw.”
“You saw it?” I felt like sayin’,
If you saw it, where were you?
but I held my tongue.
Auntie Lou stood there shakin’ the messy stuff from her hands and arms. Her baggy, borrowed pants dripped peelings and slop. Grandpa cleared his throat.
“It ’pears that we came at a bad time. I brung the new parson here, out for supper.”
Both Auntie Lou and I jerked as though we had been prodded; sure enough, there he stood.
He was dark. His hair looked like it would curl if he were to let the cut go for an extra week. His eyes were a dark brown, surrounded by thick lashes and heavy eyebrows. He was taller than Grandpa, but he was slimmer—except for his shoulders.
They were broad. The thing that struck me was his age. He didn’t look to be more than twenty-five. For some reason I had jest thought that all preachers were old.
Lou was sizin’ him up, too. I wondered jest how
her
eyes saw him. No one spoke for a minute and then Lou said, very softly, “Excuse us, Parson. We weren’t expectin’ company.”
Everyone laughed then and the tension was broken somewhat.
“This is Parson Crawford,” said Grandpa, feelin’ that all things were now restored to order—but he was a man. Auntie Lou didn’t quite share his opinion. Her cheeks flushed a deep rose beneath her pig-slop freckles.
“How do you do, Reverend Crawford.”
“How do you do, Miss Jones.”
“He’s come to supper,” Grandpa reminded Lou.
Auntie Lou gathered together all of the dignity that she could muster. She looked straight at Grandpa’s eyes. I had never seen her put her foot down so definitely and completely before and I don’t think that Grandpa had either. Still she spoke in an even, sweet voice. She even managed a charmin’ smile, but everyone knew that she meant
exactly
what she said.
