Spring's Gentle Promise (2 page)

I hadn’t missed Mary’s reference to “a man” and “his fields,” and my heart beat a little faster. Then my thoughts hurried on to Grandpa, rather old and tired out after all his years of farming, then to Uncle Charlie, all crippled up with his arthritis. I wondered sadly just how much sleep he had been able to get over the night hours. My thoughts went on to Matilda. She was testing her pupils again at the nearby schoolhouse, and I knew she had been staying up late marking papers for a number of nights in a row. I nodded my head in agreement with Mary’s simple statement. They all needed their sleep, all right.

“I’ll only be another half hour or so,” I reported to Mary and then went to strain the milk into the bowl of the cream separator.

“You go on,” Mary prompted. “I’ll tend to that.”

My eyes questioned her, though it was true that Mary had often stepped forward to help with such tasks in the past.

Her eyes held mine steadily, and I knew she wished to take over the chore.

“At least let me strain it,” I urged. “These pails are heavy to lift.”

Mary did not argue with that. Her eyes followed the stream of milk from the pail into the large bowl of the separator.

“The jersey’s?” she asked me. But she didn’t wait for my reply. “My, such rich milk. I think I’ll separate it by itself and keep the cream aside. Just think of the butter it’ll make!”

I could hear the smile in Mary’s voice even though I was too busy to look at her face.

I positioned the pail under the separator for Mary and turned to go back to the other chores. On my way to the barn to pick up the remaining pail of milk, I stopped by the tractor and ran a hand over its still-shiny fender. I could hardly wait to crawl up into the seat and begin passing back and forth over my fields, dropping the seed that would mean a bountiful harvest. I lifted my eyes toward heaven, and an unspoken prayer of thanks welled up within me. I’m not sure, but there could have been a few tears in my eyes.

I turned back to the chores at hand. I was whistling a tune I had learned some time back in my childhood, a tune I had sung frequently over the years. But it swelled in my heart in a new way now: “Praise God from whom all blessings flow. . . .”

C
HAPTER
2
Togetherness

I
WAS TIRED AND stiff when I climbed down from the tractor that evening. Already the sun was disappearing in the western sky and there was a slight chill in the air. It was, after all, still early spring. I had been riding the tractor almost constantly since sunup. Mary had brought my noon meal and an afternoon snack to the field to save me time. I was glad I wasn’t driving a team that would need to stop for a rest and nourishment. The tractor didn’t complain about the long hours, though I did need to stop to refuel now and then.

I was a bit surprised at the aches and pains in my back and legs. But then I remembered I’d been bouncing and jostling my way over the field for several hours, and it always took a few days for my body to readjust.

I moved toward the smell of roast beef, my feet reluctant to proceed as quickly as my stomach was demanding. I hadn’t realized just how hungry I was until I smelled supper in the air.

“Are you finally stopping for the night?” Matilda good-naturedly asked.

I tried to disguise my stiffness as I stepped up onto the back porch. Matilda was seated on the porch swing, a cup of tea in her hands.

“I was beginning to think we’d never eat,” she continued. “This is all Mary would let me have to tide me over till supper.”

I stopped mid-stride. “Why?” I asked, surprised. Mary wasn’t one to withhold victuals from anybody.

“Well,” laughed Matilda. “Guess I’m exaggerating some. Truth is, Mary would have let us go ahead, but we all opted to wait for you.”

“I’m sorry—” I began. “If I’d known—”

But Matilda interrupted me. “We all know how important it is to get the crop in. We didn’t mind waiting.” She stood to her feet and took another dainty sip of the tea, then looked at me, her eyes sparkling. “Honest!” she said frankly, and I believed her.

I held the kitchen door for Matilda and followed right behind into the aroma-filled room. Grandpa was reading a paper in his favorite chair by the window. Uncle Charlie sat on the couch along the west wall gently massaging his gnarled hands, and I knew without asking that they were paining him again. As soon as he felt my eyes on him, he stopped the rubbing and let the hands drop idly into his lap.

Mary was at the big kitchen stove spooning food into serving bowls. She turned, glanced over her shoulder and gave me a smile. I thought she would ask a question, but she didn’t—at least not vocally. Maybe her eyes found their answer, I don’t know, but she smiled softly again and turned back to the stove.

“We’re ready as soon as you wash, Josh,” she said.

I crossed to the corner sink with its big farm basin and noticed that it had already been filled with warm water. I didn’t know who had thoughtfully supplied the water, but I did think, with appreciation, that I sure was well looked after.

It didn’t take long to scrub my face and hands clean enough to appear at the supper table. By the time I’d re-hung the towel, the rest of the family had gathered around the table. I took my place beside them and bowed as Grandpa asked the grace.

When we lifted our heads and began to help ourselves from Mary’s heaping bowls, Grandpa spoke for the first time.

“How’d it go, Boy?”

He still called me “Boy.” Guess to Grandpa I would always be Boy no matter how old I grew or whether I was a farm owner or not. I didn’t mind. It made me feel “belongin’.”

“Good,” I replied around a mouthful of fresh bread.

“Tractor workin’ right?”

I nodded, my mouth too full to venture an answer.

Uncle Charlie took a long draft of his coffee. “Thet there noise must nigh burst yer eardrums,” he ventured. “Think I’d rather drive me a team.”

I grinned. Uncle Charlie had a bit of a hard time adjusting to farm machinery that didn’t require four-footed horsepower.

I swallowed sufficiently to make a decent reply. “It’s noisier but faster, and one needn’t stop for restin’ or feedin’ either.”

Uncle Charlie chuckled a bit. “I had my eye on the field, Josh,” he reminded me, “and seems to me I saw ya stop different times today to feed thet critter’s iron belly.”

I laughed along with Uncle Charlie. He’d made his point.

“I think I’d like to drive a tractor,” put in Matilda, and I chuckled again at the picture that little bit of a woman would make up there on the seat of the big tractor.

Matilda must have misread my laughter, for her chin went up stubbornly. “I could, you know,” she argued. “Bet I could. All you have to do is to put your foot on that—that thing, and move that lever now and then and turn the wheel where you want it to go.”

Even Grandpa was chuckling now.

Matilda looked to Mary. “We could—couldn’t we, Mary?” she challenged.

Mary fidgeted slightly. “I—I don’t really know, but I—I think I’d just as soon leave the tractor to Josh.”

Her eyes met mine for an instance. I noticed the slight color flush her cheeks before she lowered her head. For some silly reason I couldn’t have explained, I felt that I had just been given a compliment. Mary often affected me that way—with just a look or a word she could make me feel like a man—a man in charge and capable. I felt my own cheeks warm slightly.

“Someday—” began Matilda, and I looked at her, waiting for her to go on. I was hoping to be able to tease her good-naturedly just a bit; but she would not meet my eyes, and she let the rest of her comment go unsaid.

Supper finished up with Mary’s bread pudding, one of my favorite desserts. There was thick whipped cream for the topping, and I was sure this was how some of the jersey’s cream had been used.

After enjoying a man-sized portion, I reluctantly pushed back from the table and got slowly to my feet. Uncle Charlie moved at the same time, and I knew he was getting set to give Mary a hand with the dishes.

“I can help tonight, Uncle Charlie,” Matilda spoke up.

Now there was nothing new about Matilda calling him Uncle Charlie. Both she and Mary called him such, just like they did when talking to my grandfather. It seemed to please everyone all around. Guess we felt more like family than employer and employee and boarder. What had caught my attention was Matilda’s offer. Not that Matilda didn’t often help Mary with her household chores, but lately Matilda had been too busy to do anything but correct papers and prepare lessons.

“What happened to the classroom work?” I asked her.

“All done. Finally! And believe me, I feel like celebrating.”

Matilda swirled around, her long, full skirt flowing out around her. In one hand she held the sugar bowl and in the other the cream pitcher.

Uncle Charlie looked at her with a twinkle in his eyes. “Seems like ya oughta find a better way to celebrate than with the cream and sugar,” he teased.

“Well, Josh is always too busy to celebrate,” Matilda teased back, pretending to pout. And she looked deliberately at me and exaggeratedly fluttered her long, dark eyelashes.

Laughter filled the kitchen. Matilda was always bringing laughter with her lighthearted teasing, but for some reason this time her teasing did not have me laughing. It gave me a funny feeling way down deep inside, and I moved for the peg where my farm jacket hung beside the door.

“Where ya goin’?” asked Uncle Charlie, and when I turned to look at him I caught his wink directed at Matilda. “Gonna feed thet there tractor agin?”

“I’ve got chores,” I answered as evenly as I could.

“The chores be all done, Boy,” cut in Grandpa.

I stood, my outreached hand dumbly dangling the jacket, my eyes moving from face to face in the kitchen. They all seemed to be in a jovial mood, and I wasn’t quite sure if they were serious or funnin’ me. It was to Mary that I looked for the final answer. She just nodded her head in agreement.

“All of them?” I had to ask.

“All of ’em,” said Grandpa.

For a moment I wanted to protest. It was my farm. I could do my own chores. But then I quickly realized how foolish that was—and how tired I was—and my hand relinquished my coat to the peg again. I turned and smiled at the household of people.

“Thanks,” I said simply and gave my shoulders a slight shrug. “Thanks to whoever did them.”

“We all pitched in,” replied Grandpa. “Little here, a little there and had ’em done in no time.”

“Thanks,” I said again.

“So you see,” teased Matilda, fluttering her eyelashes again, “you will have time to help celebrate.”

I was ready for the challenge now. “Okay,” I answered, “checkers—right after dishes.” And I reached for a tea towel and stepped up beside Mary. “I’ll dry—you put things away,” I dared order Matilda.

“Checkers?” Matilda commented. “Not exactly a corn roast or a pie social—but I guess it’ll have to do,” and to the accompaniment of chuckles from the two older men, she moved quickly to put away the dishes as I dried them.

When the last plate was on the shelf, Matilda and I turned to the checkerboard, and Mary picked up some handwork that always seemed to appear when she had what she called a “free moment.” Grandpa and Uncle Charlie spent a little more time poring over newspapers. I wasn’t sure if we had received a new one or if they were just rereading an old one, but I didn’t ask. Beside us on the bureau squawked the raspy radio. I enjoyed the soft music but paid little attention to the commentary that interrupted it at intervals.

It wasn’t too hard for me to beat Matilda at checkers. She had a keen mind and could have offered some real serious competition if she hadn’t been so impatient. As it was, she played more for the fun than for the challenge, and for three games in a row I turned out the victor.

At the end of the third game I stood and stretched.

“Is that enough ‘celebratin’ for one evening?” I teased Matilda.

“It’ll do,” she answered with a flip of her head that made her pinned-up curls bounce. “But next time I’ll insist on lawn croquet.”

Matilda was an expert at lawn croquet. In fact, whenever there was a matchup, I always hoped Matilda would be my partner. Now I just smiled and tried to stifle a yawn.

Mary laid aside her handwork. “Would you like something to eat or drink before bedtime, Josh?” she asked me and started to leave her chair for the cupboard.

“No, thanks. It’s been a long day. I think I’ll just go on up to bed.” As soon as I said the words, I realized the day had been equally long for Mary. “You must be tired, too,” I said, studying her face. “You’ve been up ’most as long as I have.”

Mary brushed the remark aside and went to put on a pot of coffee for Grandpa and Uncle Charlie.

There was the rustle of paper as Grandpa put down what he was reading and took off his glasses.

“I’m plannin’ to go on into town tomorrow, Josh,” he said, folding up his glasses and placing them on the bureau beside the sputtering radio. “Anything you be needin’?”

I tried to think but my head was a bit foggy. I finally shook it. “If I think of anything I’ll leave a note on the table,” I promised. “Can’t think of anything now.”

“You got a list, Mary?” went on Grandpa. “Or would ya rather come on along and do yer own choosin’?”

I stood long enough to watch Mary slowly shake her head. “It takes too much time to ride on in and back,” she said. “I’ll just send a list.”

I took three steps toward the stairway and then turned. “I’ve been thinkin’,” I said, half teasingly but with a hint of seriousness, “maybe when we get in this year’s crop, we oughta get us one of those motor cars. We could be in town and back before ya know it.”

I don’t know just what I expected, but I sure did get a reaction. Grandpa raised his shaggy eyebrows and studied me to see if I was serious. Uncle Charlie stopped rubbing his gnarly fingers and stared open-mouthed. And Mary stopped right in her tracks, one hand reaching out to set the coffeepot on the kitchen stove. But Matilda’s response was vocal. “Yes!” she exclaimed, just like that, and she clapped her hands and ran to me. “Oh, yes, Josh!” she said again, her cheeks flushed and her eyes shining. “Get one, Josh. Get one.” And she reached out impulsively and gave me a quick hug that almost knocked me off balance.