Once Upon a Summer (3 page)
Grandpa sighed deeply, like an old wound was suddenly painin’ him. He roused and I could hear him rattlin’ around with the coffeepot. Now I knew that he was agitated. Grandpa never, never drank more than one cup of coffee before bed, but I heard him pour them each another cup now.
“Yer right,” he finally said; “it’s been tough fer Lou.”
“What’ll happen is, she’ll go right from keepin’ this house to keepin’ someone else’s.” A slight pause. “And that might happen ’fore we know it, too.”
“Lou? Why she’s jest a kid!”
“Kid nothin’! She’s reachin’ fer eighteen. Her ma was married at that age iffen you’ll remember, and so was her grandma.”
“Never thought of Lou—”
“Other people been thinkin’. Everytime we go to town, be it fer business or church, I see those young whipper-snappers eyin’ her and tryin’ to tease a smile or a nod from her. One of these days she’s gonna notice it, too.”
Grandpa stirred uneasily in his chair.
“She’s pretty.”
“ ’Course she’s pretty—those big blue eyes and that smile.
Why iffen I was a young fella, I’d never be a hangin’ back like I see those fellas doin’.”
Uncle Charlie had barely finished his sentence when Grandpa’s fist came down hard on the table.
“Confound it, Charlie, we been sleepin’. Here’s Lou sneakin’ right up there to marryin’ age, and we ain’t even been workin’ on it.”
“And what ya figurin’
we
git to do ’bout it?”
“Like ya say, it’s gonna happen, and it could be soon. We gotta git busy lookin’ fer someone fittin’ fer Lou. I ain’t gonna give my little girl away to jest any starry-eyed young joe who happens to come along.”
“Don’t ya trust Lou?”
“Look! Ya know and I know that she can’t see evil in a skunk! Now iffen the wrong guy should start payin’ calls, how is a young innocent girl like Lou gonna know what’s really under that fancy shirt? You and I, Charlie, we’ve been around some. We know the kind a fella that would be good fer Lou. We’ve jest gotta step in there and see to it that Lou meets the right one.”
“How we gonna manage that?”
“I don’t know ’xactly; we gotta find a way. Git a piece of paper, Charlie, and I’ll find a pencil.”
“Fer what?”
“We gotta do some thinkin’ and make a list. We don’t wanna be caught off-guard.”
Uncle Charlie grumbled but I heard him tear a spent month from the calendar on the kitchen wall and return to the table.
“Let’s be systematic ’bout this,” said Grandpa. “We’ll work to the south first, then west, then north, then to the east, includin’ town.
“First there’s Wilkins—no grown boys there. The Peter-sons— all girls. Turleys—s’pose that oldest one must be gittin’ nigh to twenty, but he’s so shy.”
“Lazy too—never lifts a hand if he doesn’t have to.”
“Put him on the re-ject side.”
The pencil scratched on the paper, and I could picture Jake
Turley’s name bein’ entered on the back side of the calendar sheet under “rejected.”
“Crawfords—there’s two there: Eb and Sandy.”
“Eb’s got a girl.”
Again the pencil scratched and another candidate was eliminated.
“Sandy?”
“He’s ’bout as bullheaded as—”
“Scratch ’im.”
“Haydon?”
“There’s Milt.”
“What do ya think ’bout Milt?”
“He’s a good worker.”
“Not too good lookin’.”
“Looks ain’t everything.”
“Hope Lou knows that.”
“He wouldn’t be so bad if it wasn’t fer his crooked teeth.”
“Lou’s teeth are so nice and even.”
“S’pose all their kids would have crooked teeth like their pa.”
I heard the pencil at work again and I didn’t even have to wonder what side Milt’s name was bein’ written on. By now I’d had enough. Jest as I pulled my achin’ self up from the step and was about to turn back up to bed, I heard Uncle Charlie speak again.
“We still haven’t settled ’bout Pa.”
“No problem now,” said Grandpa. “It’ll take him awhile to git here and with Lou married and settled on her own, she won’t need to be carin’ fer three old men. We can batch. We’ve done it before.”
Uncle Charlie grunted, “Yeah, guess so.” They went on to the next neighbor and I went back up the stairs.
A sick feelin’ in my stomach was spreadin’ all through me. We were an unusual family, I knew that, but we belonged together. We fit somehow, and I guess I was foolish enough to somehow believe that things would always stay that way. Suddenly, with no warnin’, everything was now about to change. Jest like that, I was to trade Auntie Lou for an old tottery great-grandfather that I had never seen. It sure didn’t seem like much of a trade.
I started going to my room and then changed my mind. I couldn’t resist going on down the hall to the end room where Auntie Lou slept. I paused at her door which was open just a crack. I could hear her soft breathin’. I pushed the door gently and eased myself into the room. The moon cast enough light through the window so that I could see clearly Auntie Lou’s face. She
was
pretty! I had never thought about it before. I had never stopped to ask the question nor to look for the answer. She was Auntie Lou. She was jest always there. I’d never had to decide what she was to me. Now that I might be losing her I realized that she was
everything—
the mother I’d never known, a big sister, a playmate, my best friend. Auntie Lou was all of these and more, wrapped up in one neat little five-foot-three package.
I swallowed the lump in my throat, but I couldn’t keep the tears from runnin’ down my cheeks. I brushed them away feelin’ angry with myself.
There she slept, so peaceful-like, while downstairs two old men were deciding who she would spend the rest of her life with; and Lou was so easy goin’ that they’d likely get away with it. Unless . . .
I backed slowly out of the door and tip-toed to my room, makin’ sure I missed the spot that always squeaked. Down below the voices droned on. I shut my door tight against them and crawled back under the covers. I realized suddenly jest how tired I was. I pulled the blankets right up to my chin.
Somehow there had to be a way I could stop this. Somehow! It wasn’t gonna be easy; it was gonna take a lot of thinkin’, but surely if I worked it over in my mind enough I’d find some way.
My thoughts began to get foggy as I fought sleep. I’d have to figure it all out later. Then a new idea flashed through my mind—prayer. I’d already said my evenin’ prayers as Auntie Lou had taught me, but this one was extra. I’m not sure jest what I asked from God in my sleepy state, but I think that it went something like this:
“Dear God. You know what they’re plannin’ fer Auntie Lou, but I want to keep her. You didn’t let me keep my ma—or my pa. You didn’t even give me any memories. Now you gotta help me to find a way to stop this.
“And about Great-grandpa—maybe you could find him a new wife, even if he is old, so that he won’t need to come here. Or maybe he could die on the train comin’ out or somethin’. Anyway, please do what you can, God. You sorta owe me a favor after all you’ve taken from me. Amen.”
Satisfied that I had done what I could for the time bein,’ I crawled back into bed. I wasn’t sure that God would pay too much attention to my prayer, but anyway, I’d tried. Tomorrow I’d work on a plan so that I’d be ready on my own if God decided not to do anything for me.
I went to sleep with the voices from the kitchen risin’ and fallin’ as the two men sorted through their lists. I wondered if they had come up with anyone for the accepted side of the page yet. Then I rolled over and went to sleep.
T
HAT HAD ALL TAKEN
place yesterday. Somehow as I sat on my log it seemed long ago and hardly even real, yet at the same time, present and frightenin’. I had to worry it through and find a solution.
Again, as I had in times past, I wished that I had a dog. Somehow it seemed that jest the presence of
something
with me would make the whole thing easier to handle. Well, I
didn’t
have a dog, so I’d jest have to find an answer on my own.
Before, I had always been able to go to Auntie Lou with the things that bothered me, but I knew this was one problem that I couldn’t discuss with her. On the one hand, I found myself achin’ to tell her so that she would be warned; on the other hand, I knew that I would do all that I could to hide the ugly facts from her—to protect her from knowin’.
Guess I should explain a bit about Auntie Lou and why she is only five years older than me. Grandpa had met and fallen in love with my grandma, a bubbly wisp of a girl. They married young and went farmin’. A year later they had a baby boy whom everyone said was a combination of the two of them. He had the colorin’ and the size of my grandpa who was a big man, but the disposition and looks of my grandma.
When my pa, who they named Chadwick, was three years old, Grandma was stricken with some awful illness. I never did hear a name put to it, but she was dreadfully sick and the baby that she was expectin’ was born only to die two days later. Grandpa and the doctor were so busy fightin’ to save my grandma that the loss of the baby didn’t really hit them until Grandma came ’round enough to start askin’ for her. She had wanted that baby girl so much and she cried buckets over losin’ her. For days she grieved and cried for her baby. The doctor feared that she would jest sorrow herself right into her grave, so he had a talk with Grandpa.
The next day Grandpa washed and combed my pa and dressed him in his fanciest clothes. Then he lifted the little fella up in his arms and they paid a call to Grandma’s bedside. Grandpa never did say what words were spoken as he and the boy stood there by the bed, but Grandma got the message and from then on she laid aside her sorrow and determined to get well again.
It was a long uphill pull, but she made it—by sheer willpower many said. But never again was she strong enough to be the bouncy young woman that my grandpa had married. He accepted her as she was and gradually talked and loved her into accepting herself as well. She finally agreed that rest periods must now be a part of her daily schedule, but it took awhile to adjust to her new way of life.
The years slipped quickly by. My pa grew to be a lanky kid, then a young man. But all the while, though her eyes glowed with pride over her son, deep down in her heart Grandma still yearned for a baby girl. Finally she admitted, “If the Lord wills, I still wish to be blessed with a daughter before I leave this old world.” My pa was twenty when his baby sister arrived. Grandma was beside herself with joy. She named the wee baby Louisa Jennifer, the Jennifer bein’ her own name.
Even though her prayer had been answered—her dream fulfilled—Grandma never regained her strength. Most of the fussin’ over her new baby had to be done upon her own bed, she bein’ only strong enough to be up for short periods of time. She smothered love on my Auntie Lou. Grandpa often said that Auntie Lou had no choice but to be lovin’ when she had love piled on her in such big batches.
Lou was only two when Grandma’s condition worsened. Chad, my pa, was about to go farmin’ on his own, havin’ met and married a certain sweet young gal by the name of Agatha Creycroft—my ma. That’s when Uncle Charlie was sent for. He came gladly and has been with us ever since.
The next winter Grandma passed away and the two men, a father, more up in years than most fathers, and a bachelor uncle, were left to raise a little girl not yet turned three.
She was a bright, happy little sprite. Grandma always declared that God sure knew what He was doin’ when He saw fit to answer my grandma’s prayer. Lou was their sunshine, their joy, the center of their attention. Odd, with all of the love and attention she got that she didn’t spoil, but she didn’t. She grew up jest as ready to love and accept others.
Then I came along. My folks were farmin’ only four miles away from my grandpa’s home place. I was jest big enough to smile and coo when both my folks were killed in an accident on their farm. Again the two men had a child to raise, but this time they had help. The five-year-old Lou sorta claimed me right from the start. I can’t remember any further back than to Lou—this strange woman-child whose pixie face leaned over my crib or hushed me when I fussed. We grew up together. She was both parent and playmate to me. The parents that I never knew really weren’t missed—except when I would purposely set my mind to wonderin’. Usually, as my childhood days ticked by I was happy and content. When Lou needed to go to school, I stayed with Grandpa or Uncle Charlie, chafin’ for her return in the afternoon. She would run most of the way home and then she would scoop me into her arms. “Oh, Joshie sweetheart,” or, “My little darlin’,” she’d say, then ask, “Did ya miss me, honey? Come on, let’s go play”; and we would, while Grandpa got the evenin’ meal and Uncle Charlie did the chores.
At last the day arrived when I placed my hand in Auntie Lou’s, and sharin’ a pail filled with our lunch, we went off to school together. Those were good years. The two men home on the farm enjoyed a freedom that they hadn’t had for years, and I never had to be separated from Lou.
Grandpa held fast to the rules of proper respect, so at home I always addressed her as Auntie Lou. But at school we conspired to make it jest Lou, in order not to be teased by the other kids.
The school years went well. I was a fair student and anytime that I did hit a snag, I had special coachin’ from Lou who was always near the head of her class.
As we grew up, Grandpa assigned us responsibilities; Lou took on more and more of the housework, and I began to help with outside chores. Still we used all of the minutes that we could find to play together. I would, with some convincing, pick flowers with Lou in exchange for her carryin’ the pail while we hunted frogs. Often she didn’ jest carry—she caught as many frogs as I did. She could shinny up a tree as fast as any boy, too, tuckin’ her skirt in around her elastic bloomer legs in order to get it out of her way. She could also skip rocks and throw a ball.
She would take a dare to walk the skinniest rail on the fence and outdo any fella at school. Yet somehow when she hopped to the ground and assumed her role as “girl,” she could be as proper and appealin’ as could be, and could give you that look of pure innocence fittin’ for a princess or an angel.
