Spring's Gentle Promise (18 page)

“Hear you haven’t been feeling so well, young lady,” Doc said as he stirred in some cream into his cup.

“A bit of a flu bug, I guess,” Mary answered off-handedly as she passed him a plate of cookies.

“Maybe,” agreed Doc. “It sure is making the rounds again. But Josh thought I should check it out, just in case.”

All eyes turned to me. I was especially aware of Mary’s.

“It’s not always flu when the stomach acts up,” Doc went on. “Josh is right,” he said in answer to Mary’s expression. “No harm in checking.”

After we had finished our coffee, Doc sent Mary up to our room to prepare for the examination.

“Do—do you think it’s serious?” I ventured before Doc went up to join her.

He put his hand on my shoulder as he rose. “No point in worrying about it till you have something to worry about, Josh,” he said, while Grandpa and Uncle Charlie nodded solemnly in agreement.

He wasn’t gone long. When he appeared in the doorway I was all ready for the explanation of Mary’s illness. I started to ask but Doc stopped me. “Mary is waiting for you,” he told me, and I felt my heart constrict with fear. I ran up the stairs two at a time and flung the door open.

Mary was propped up on two pillows. Instead of pale, now her cheeks were a trifle flushed and—I crossed quickly to her after swinging the door closed behind me. I wanted privacy if I had to hear the worst.

“Sit down, Josh,” Mary said gently. I did so and took her hand in mine.

“Is it—? Are you really sick?” I managed.

“No,” Mary answered and her eyes were shining. “I’m just fine.”

“Then—then—?”

Mary began to smile, then giggle. Here I was about to die of worry and she sat there giggling like a silly schoolgirl.

“Josh,” she began, and took a deep breath to try to calm herself. She seemed about to explode with excitement. “How would you like—like to be a father?”

“I’d like it,” I stammered. “You know I would. We’ve talked about it—”

“Good,” squealed Mary, “because you are going to be one!”

Her words didn’t make much sense, but the way she was pulling on my arm and beaming made me realize that something good was happening—something extraordinary. I started sorting through the conversation again, looking for the answer and finally it got through to me.

“You mean—now?” I yelled back, grabbing her by both shoulders.

“Well—well—” she teased, but I had already jumped up from the bed. I ran down the hall and bounded down the stairs two or three at a time. “We’re gonna have a baby!” I shouted to Grandpa and Uncle Charlie, who were both on their feet and hollering along with me before I could make full circle. Then I ran back up the stairs again and grabbed Mary. I held her close and we laughed and rejoiced together.

I finally stopped rocking her back and forth and held her at arms’ length. “You didn’t know—?” I questioned, gazing into her face. Somehow I thought that women automatically knew these things.

“I suspected,” she admitted, “but I still wasn’t sure.”

“When?” was my next question.

Mary screwed up her face. “The timing’s not great,” she said slowly. “The baby will arrive right in the middle of harvest.”

“We’ll manage fine,” I quickly assured her. “We’ll find you some help.”

“So this is why you’ve been feelin’ sick?” I went on.

She nodded.

“I don’t remember Lou being sick like that. It scared me,” I admitted.

“Some women are. Some women aren’t,” Mary explained matter-of-factly. “Anyway, it shouldn’t last for long, Doc said.”

But Doc was wrong. Mary continued to feel sick for many weeks. Months, in fact. She lost weight and looked pale and fragile. It tore me apart to hear her in the mornings. I felt responsible for the way she was feeling and I sure would have gladly taken her place.

We menfolk took turns cooking breakfast. I even hung a blanket over Mary’s door so the odors from the kitchen wouldn’t bother her as much. Other than that, it seemed we simply had to wait it out.

In March we had a visit from Lilli and Pa Turley. They brought both good and bad news. Lilli brought the good news. Bubbling as she shared it, she told us that Avery had asked her to marry him and she had said yes. The wedding was set for June.

Pa’s news brought sadness to Mary’s eyes.

“I’ve decided to put the farm up for sale,” he informed us.

I saw Mary start and wondered what thoughts were going through her mind. She didn’t speak them then; she simply nodded.

“I’ve given it a lot of thought,” went on Pa Turley. “Mitch isn’t interested in farmin’. He has him a good job in the city now.” Pa Turley sat twisting his coffee cup this way and that as he looked into the steaming interior. “Don’t ’spect he’ll ever return home to the land . . .” His voice trailed off.

“Never was no good at batchin’,” he mused after a moment of silence.

“What will you do?” Mary finally found voice to ask. My thoughts had already jumped ahead, and I was about to call Mary aside to suggest that we offer Pa the downstairs bedroom.

“Emma—yer aunt Emma over to Concord—has been after me fer some time to move in with her. She’d like someone about the house to keep things in order like—an’ she knows I don’t wanna be alone. She thinks thet it would work best fer both of us.”

“And what do you think?” Mary asked calmly.

“I’ve no objections,” Pa Turley answered a bit quickly. “Always got along with Emma the best of any of my sisters.”

Mary looked at me and I nodded. She took a big breath as though in relief, her eyes thanking me as she said, “You’re welcome here, Pa.”

Pa Turley pushed back his chair and waved the offer aside in one quick motion. “Oh, I couldn’t,” he protested.

“And why not?” questioned Mary. “We’ve got the room. We’d be glad to have you, wouldn’t we, Josh?”

“Sure would,” I assured him. “A room right there,” I said, pointing to the downstairs bedroom, “or one right up there at the head of the stairs. Take your pick.”

Pa Turley seemed to be having a mental debate. He finally sighed deeply and pulled his chair closer to the table and his cup.

“Much obliged,” he said with feeling. “Guess it’s always good to know thet yer wanted. But—I think thet we’d best leave things be. I—I would be welcome here. I know thet. But Emma—Emma needs me. There’s a difference there, ya know? No, I think thet we’d best let things be as planned.”

Mary and I looked at each other, and we knew that we had to let him decide the matter. “Well, as long as you know you’re more than welcome, Pa,” I told him.

“You’ll visit?” asked Mary.

“Oh, why sure,” he promised. “Got three girls all a’livin’ here. ’Course I’ll visit. ’Sides, I sure wanna keep up on the grandchildren.”

Mary and her pa smiled fondly at each other.

That night Mary and I lay in our bed talking over the day’s events. I decided to tell her what had been churning through my mind ever since the Turleys’ visit.

“I’ve been thinkin’,” I said softly into the dark, “I’d like to buy Pa’s land.”

I felt Mary move slightly in order to see my face. It was too dark in the room, so she settled back in her spot beside me.

“You need more land, Josh?” she asked.

“Not—not really. Not right now. But—but it was your home, your family’s land for as long as I can remember—as long as
you
can remember. I thought—I thought it might be hard—that you might sorta like to keep it.”

There was silence and then Mary said softly into the night, with a break in her voice, “Thank you, Josh.”

I ran my hand over her soft hair and traced the scar over her eye with one finger. “Besides,” I went on slowly, “who knows? Maybe we’ll have a son and he’ll need the land. I’d be pleased to give him his grandpa’s farm to work.”

Mary chuckled at the thought and put her head on my shoulder. “If you can—if you can work it out, Josh, I’d be most happy about it,” she whispered, and a sob caught in her throat. “It would only seem right, wouldn’t it—and it would make Papa so happy.”

I decided on a trip to town the very next day to see what arrangements could be made.

The banker was agreeable, and Pa Turley sure was. It took some time to get all the paperwork sorted out and processed. But in the end the Turley farm belonged to the Joneses. Pa acted like a heavy burden had been lifted from his shoulders when I handed him the check for the farm. He couldn’t say anything. He just reached out and gave me a big bear hug, and I knew he felt that he wasn’t really giving up the land—just handing it on to his family.

He had a farm sale then and packed his few belongings for moving on to his sister’s. Lilli went to live with Faye to await her wedding to Avery.

Mary and I drove Pa into town to catch the train for Concord. He’d already said goodbye to his other two daughters. He didn’t have much to say on the way, but his eyes sure did study out every farm and field as we traveled along.
It’s like he’s closing
the door on his past life,
I thought,
and getting ready to open a
new one.

When we got into town he excused himself and said he’d like to take a bit of a walk before the train pulled in. Mary had groceries to purchase and I had some harness parts to pick up, so we let him off and promised we’d be there at the station when the train arrived.

I wondered what the little walk was about. Figured he might have some old friends he wanted to say goodbye to or something—and then I saw him head off in the direction of the cemetery.

He was going to say his goodbye to Mrs. Turley. Guess he missed her far more than any of us knew. More than he’d ever miss the farm. Maybe sister Emma would be good for him— though of course I knew she’d never take the place of the one he had shared life with for so many years.

Like we’d said, Mary and I were both there when the train pulled in. ’Course the tears flowed some with the goodbyes. I knew it was hard for Mary, but she was brave about it. And then the train was pulling off and we were alone on the platform, the wind whipping Mary’s coat about her small form. I took her hand and led her from the station. More than ever, she was mine to care for now. She had neither ma nor pa to lean on when she needed them. I was really all she had.

C
HAPTER
19
Happiness

W
ITH THE ADDITION OF the Turley farm, I had even more fields to plant that spring. I knew Pa Turley had been a good farmer in his day, but perhaps he’d sorta lost heart since the death of Mrs. Turley. Anyway, there was a lot of catching up to do in working up the land.

Mary was patient about my long, long days. Many times I saw her only at breakfast and for a few minutes at supper before I fell into bed exhausted. She didn’t make many trips to the fields, either, with refreshments as she had usually done. Partly because it was more difficult for her with the baby coming, but mostly because some of the new fields I worked were so far away. Instead, she packed a lunch for me each morning.

We didn’t get much rain at all that spring, so I wasn’t slowed down any with the planting. In fact, it was so dry that neighboring farmers were all talking about it and wondering if the seed would have enough moisture to sprout.

The crash of the faraway stock market did affect us. I guess it affected the whole world. Everyone sorta held their breath, waiting to see just what calamity would strike next. I prayed that there wouldn’t be one and that I would be able to take care of the family members who were my responsibility.

Lilli married in June as planned. Pa Turley came back for the wedding and spent a few nights with us before returning to Aunt Emma. Mary was so glad to see him. While he was there, he and Grandpa and Uncle Charlie all worked on a cradle together. They seemed to take great pleasure in the project, and Mary of course was thrilled.

The grain did start to grow. Here and there green shoots began to poke their heads through the soil, and I felt more relaxed. With a good rain I was sure we’d be well on our way. But the rains still didn’t come, and pretty soon the small spears began to turn kind of yellow and wilt in the sun. I guess I should have faced the facts then, but I still kept hoping that with a good rain the grain could pick up again.

The summer was a hot one too. I felt sorry for Mary, being heavy with child as she was. The heat was especially hard on her. But she didn’t complain. Just slowed down with the many jobs she had. Without rain her garden wasn’t looking near as good as it normally did, and that bothered her. She and Grandpa carried pails of water to some of the plants, but it was too much work to try to water the whole garden.

When haying time came, the crop was thin and stunted. I worried about how we’d make it through the winter for feed as I put what hay we had up into stacks. Wasn’t near as much as most years.

I guess the thing that kept me going that summer, the knowledge that brought excitement to both Mary and me, was the anticipation of the arrival of our child. The whole family was waiting for the baby, and now that Mary had gotten over her morning sickness and seemed to be feeling fine except for the heat, we were all sorta counting the days.

What harvest there was that year was so thin and runty, I wondered if it really merited cutting—but like all the farmers around me I went to work in the fields anyway. Lilli came to help Mary. It sure was decent of Avery to allow her to come, them being newlyweds and all. Mary was grateful for the help, and she and Lilli seemed to get along real good in the kitchen together. They didn’t even need to talk about certain things— seemed to just understand what each one was supposed to do without saying so.

While Lilli was there, most of the canning was done. I had our little bit of grain ready for the threshing crew. Mary was hoping we’d get the crew out of the way before our little one decided to join the family. For her sake, I was hoping so too.

Mary and I talked a lot about our coming baby. Of course we talked “boy or girl.” I told Mary I’d be happy with either one—but I think she knew I figured a son would be pretty nice. I mean, I had this extra farmland and all, and I sure did hope that someday a son would be farming it.
But a girl would be nice,
too,
I decided as I thought of Sarah and little Patricia. Patty was walking now. She was over her fussiness and was a cuddly, lovable, contented little darling. I didn’t mind the thought of a daughter one little bit.