Once Upon a Summer (23 page)
“I think we’ve got it,” he replied. “Thet was a first-rate idea, whoever thought of it. Thanks to thet, you folk still have yer home and yer farm.”
He looked at Auntie Lou again, and I knew that he was truly glad that we still had our home.
“The Turleys weren’t so lucky,” he went on. “They managed to save their house by concentratin’ all their efforts on it, but
they lost everything else—all their other buildings, their farm implements, and even most of their livestock.”
I felt mighty bad about the Turleys. At the same time I couldn’t help but feel relief that it looked like our place would be safe.
Cullum turned to follow Joey Smith back to the fire.
I watched Auntie Lou as she looked anxiously through the smoke at each new set of faces. I could see that she was worried.
I wished that Grandpa and Uncle Charlie would hurry and come so that her mind could be put at ease. They came at last, soiled, sweaty, and tired, but overjoyed almost to the point of bein’ silly.
Auntie Lou was right pleased to see them and gave Grandpa a quick hug, but the worried look still didn’t leave her eyes.
“It worked!” beamed Grandpa. “We’re holdin’ it. Still work to do stampin’ and beatin’ out trouble spots, but we’ll hold it.
It worked!”
Auntie Lou jest smiled a sweet smile, like she’d known all along that it would.
Uncle Charlie accepted his coffee, but instead of gulpin’ it down, he sipped it slowly. I was glad that there was no one else watchin’. It would have spoiled his reputation.
“Got enough fire on the outside without havin’ it on the inside, too,” he explained.
They hurried back to take up their pails and shovels. Still Auntie Lou kept watchin’ through the now lessenin’ smoke.
Two fellas came carryin’ Eb Crawford. He had had the misfortune of havin’ a pant leg catch fire as he tramped out flames. He had rolled on the ground as quick as he could, but he still had a very painful leg. They wrapped Auntie Lou’s quilt around his body and Joey Smith was sent to drive him home.
It seemed to me that all of the men must have eaten. Some had even returned for another cup of coffee or a sandwich. The fire was as good as out now. It was decided that many of the men would be free to go home. Only a few would be needed to stay to watch for any unexpected breakouts.
The smoke was still hangin’ in the air but not with the same density that it formerly had.
Auntie Lou still paced agitated-like, and I was about to question her when I saw her face light up. It went from relief, to fear, to relief again, and I saw the preacher walkin’ through the smoke.
Perspiration had made ugly tracks through the coatin’ of soot on his face. His parson’s suit was dirty and smeared from trampin’ fire, sloshin’ water, and shovellin’ dirt. Here and there, all over his clothin’, little holes had burned through the material where flyin’ sparks had landed.
He walked straight to Auntie Lou who was pourin’ coffee with tremblin’ hands.
“It worked.” His voice held intense relief.
Auntie Lou looked at him and her eyes were filled with gratitude.
“Thank you,” she whispered and they looked long at one another. I wondered jest what words they would be usin’ if what they were sayin’ with their eyes would have been said aloud.
Mr. T. Smith came up then and Auntie Lou turned to serve him. Some of the men gathered around, laughin’ and poundin’ the preacher on the back, praisin’ his plan and the way it worked. Everyone was talkin’ and feelin’ good in spite of their tiredness and the blisters on their hands and faces. Grandpa came too.
He wanted a chance to thank all of his neighbors before he sent them on home. He couldn’t voice what he really felt—there jest weren’t words—but he tried and I think that every neighbor there understood what he wasn’t able to say.
Most of them moved out, drivin’ their hayracks or wagons. Through the closin’-in night they went, enjoyin’, at least for a while, its welcome coolness.
“Thank ya, Lou, for thinkin’ of the men,” Grandpa said then. “Guess you can get on back to the house and rest yer-self easy. This here fire’s gonna hold now. Charlie and me will wait around jest to be sure that no live sparks are still hangin’ around.”
“I’ll wait with you.”
It was the preacher who spoke. Grandpa looked hard at him, like he was seein’ the man for the first time.
“Be no need, son.” He said it with feelin’. “Things are settled now, thanks to you—and the Lord—and you sure did earn yer rest at the end of this day.”
“I’d still like to stay if you don’t mind.” He turned to me.
“Josh, would you mind caring for my horse? I left him in kind of a hurry, and I’d sure like him to have some proper attention.”
“Auntie Lou already did,” I blurted out. “Rubbed him down and everything—but I’ll give him a drink. Should be okay for him to have some water now. I’ll put him in the barn and give him a bit of chop, too.”
I would have said more, but I got the feelin’ thet the preacher wasn’t listenin’ anyhow. He was busy lookin’ at Auntie Lou.
It was cool now and as the preacher picked up his shovel and turned to go with Grandpa and Uncle Charlie, I noticed his thin suit.
“Hey wait,” I hollered.
They turned.
“I got Uncle Charlie’s old coat here in Pixie’s box. You want it?”
Grandpa laughed as I hurried to dig out the old coat, but he did commend me.
“Good thinkin’, Boy. It’s gonna get a mite cold afore the night’s over.”
The preacher wasn’t proud; he slipped into that old coat with real thankfulness. It was really tight and the arms were too short, but it sure beat nothin’.
Gramps and I helped Auntie Lou gather the milk cans and cups and the empty sandwich boxes; then we headed for home.
It was quite dark now and the horses, eager to get home, had to slow their pace and pick their way carefully along the road. I didn’t need to do much reinin’. When we reached home I cared for the team and the preacher’s horse while Gramps and Auntie Lou unloaded the wagon and cleaned up the kitchen.
Now that the excitement and scare was drainin’ out of me, I felt dog-tired. I dragged myself to the house. When I entered the kitchen, I checked to be sure that Auntie Lou had remembered to bring in Pixie. She had. Then I checked the clock and noticed with great satisfaction that it was way past my bedtime. I grinned to myself as I scooped up Pixie and started up the stairs. I didn’t even bother to wash. Auntie Lou’s voice stopped me.
“Thank you, Josh, for thinkin’ of that jacket. It was a thoughtful thing to do and I was proud of you.” She smiled at me. “ ’Night now.”
I grinned again and went on up the stairs. This time I was gonna get away with goin’ to bed unwashed, but I was too tired to even enjoy it. I could hardly wait to fall into my bed.
I
AWOKE THE NEXT
day to sounds comin’ from the kitchen. It was more than jest the usual sounds, of Auntie Lou gettin’ breakfast. There was male laughter and talkin’, and the clink of cups bein’ replaced on the table. I jumped out of bed and reached for my overalls. They stunk! In fact, the smell of smoke seemed to hang all about me. I pulled them on anyway and hurriedly buttoned my shirt.
At the kitchen table sat the four men waitin’ for breakfast. Gramps was the only one who looked presentable. The others had washed their faces and hands, but little blisters appeared here and there, and their clothes looked just awful.
They were all in a good mood, though, and I figured that they deserved to be.
“Look outside, Boy,” Grandpa said when I came down— and I did.
There was our whole farm, alive and complete—and covered with a clean, white blanket of new-fallen snow.
“Snow!”
“Yessiree—started as rain ’bout four o’clock this mornin’ and now yer gettin’ yer snow.”
I grinned.
“Won’t need to worry anymore about that fire now,”
Grandpa went on.
Auntie Lou was busyin’ herself flippin’ pancakes and fryin’ eggs and bacon. Uncle Charlie crossed leisurely to the stove to give her a hand. She let him.
I took my place at the table and lifted hot pancakes onto my plate. I refrained from reachin’ for the butter until after we’d prayed. I could hardly wait to introduce Pixie to the snow. I wondered jest what she would think of it.
I ate all that I could hold and the men were still eatin’. They finally indicated to Auntie Lou that they had had enough.
“I really must be going,” said the preacher. “I feel badly in need of a bath and some fresh clothes.”
As I looked at him I wondered what he would do for a suit come Sunday.
“I’ll get yer horse,” said Uncle Charlie. He put on his hat and jacket and headed for the door.
The preacher rose from the table and thanked Auntie Lou for the breakfast. He spoke a few words to Gramps and then turned to Grandpa.
“I’m thankful, Mr. Jones—truly thankful that you didn’t lose your home.”
Grandpa worked at swallowin’.
“And I,” he said, “and I. I’ll never be able to thank
you
enough for the plan that ya came up with and the way that you worked to carry it out. Seemed everywhere that I looked, there you was, diggin’ and trampin’ and pitchin’ water and fightin’ with a wet sack. I’m truly thankful. Any man that can think and fight like that ain’t goin’ to be stopped by the hard things in life, I reckon. Yer gonna make a great preacher—and I—ah—I jest want ya to know that yer more than welcome in my home—and at my table—anytime.”
The preacher extended his hand, his face lightin’ up.
“Thank you, sir. Thank you.”
He hesitated a moment and then hurried on, seemin’ to sense that he mustn’t miss this chance of a lifetime.
“This may seem like taking advantage of the situation, Mr. Jones, but I—I would like to request your permission to call on your daughter—not as a minister, sir,” he added with a smile.
Grandpa smiled, too, and extended his hand.
“And I’d be right proud to have you do that.” He stole a glance at Auntie Lou, who seemed to be holdin’ her breath, her hands clasped tightly in her balled-up apron. “I don’t think that Lou will be objectin’ to the idea either.”
It seemed pretty obvious that Grandpa had made up his mind about the preacher. He’d won Grandpa’s heart, and I couldn’t see that anyone could convince Grandpa otherwise.
The preacher turned to Auntie Lou then. She finally breathed again and managed a smile in response. Her face was flushed and her eyes looked about to spill over. He crossed to her and took one of her small hands in his.
“Wednesday?”
She nodded. They looked at each other for a moment and then he turned and left. As soon as he was gone, Auntie Lou threw herself into Grandpa’s arms.
“Oh, Pa,” she cried and the brimmin’ tears spilled down her cheeks.
“There now, Baby. There now.” He patted her shoulder. I had never heard him call her Baby before.
“I know what I said about him and how he had nothin’ and I wanted
more
for you and—and all that; but he’s a man, Honey—a real man. He fought that there fire with all his might; and I reckon iffen he puts his mind to it, he’ll be able to care, somehow, for a mere slip of a girl, even iffen she does jest happen to be the greatest little gal in the world.”
I picked up Pixie and headed outside, stoppin’ only long enough to grab my coat and hat as I left.
Sure, I liked the preacher okay, and Auntie Lou seemed to be right stuck on him, and I sure wouldn’t withhold anything from Auntie Lou; but, boy,
was I gonna miss her.
I wondered if there was any way that I could be without her and still survive.
I clutched Pixie tight against my chest. I had wanted to find out her first impression of the cold, white world, but somehow it didn’t seem so important now.
I arrived outside jest in time to see the preacher turn his horse from the lane to the road. He had a cold ride ahead. His thin parson suit was still partially wet and the fallin’ snow wasn’t gonna help his comfort none. Uncle Charlie’s old, too-small coat helped some, but left a lot to be desired. Still, I kinda doubted if he’d even notice.
C
HAPTER
26
The Lord’s Day and the Lord’s Man
F
OLKS WERE STILL BUZZIN’
about the fire as they gathered for the Sunday mornin’ service. The new preacher had won his way into many hearts, not jest by the fast-thinkin’, but also by his ability to pitch in and fight. I noticed several mothers and daughters eyein’ him with added interest.
“Ya haven’t got a fat chance,” I said to myself, and even felt some pride in the fact that he had chosen Auntie Lou above all the rest. I felt sorrow, too, for I still wanted her to stay with us where I felt she belonged.
I was peekin’ around to see where my friends were sittin’— and nearly jumped out of my shoes. Way in the back, lookin’ kind of embarrassed, was Cullum! All I could figure out was that he was there as a favor to the preacher, seein’ how the man was now a hero in these parts.
The preacher wore a suit. It certainly wasn’t brand new, but I guess it was the best he could do. It was properly pressed, and the mended places didn’t show too much. After the openin’ hymn I guess most folks, like me, kinda forgot all about it.
Jest before the preacher was to bring the message, Deacon Brown asked for a chance to speak.
He expressed how thankful the people of the area and the town were to the reverend for his part in fightin’ the fire that could have spelled disaster for so many. Because the parson had suffered the loss of his Sunday suit on behalf of the people, the people had taken up a collection to help him replace his loss. Deacon Brown handed an envelope to the surprised preacher, and the people all clapped as they read his unbelievin’ and thankful face.
The deacon then went on to say that a fund had been set up at the General Store for any and all who wished to help the Turleys get a fresh start. If anyone had a piglet or a calf they could spare, that, too, would be appreciated.
The service then went on as usual.
As we went through the Sunday hand-shakin’ line, I heard the preacher say softly to Auntie Lou, “Wednesday.” She smiled and I thought that she had never looked prettier.
