The Winds of Autumn (22 page)
We sat under the big poplar tree in the yard and ate cookies and drank some of Uncle Charlie’s fresh lemonade until our sides ached. Then we decided to go down to the pond and try skipping rocks.
“Did ya hear that the School Board is lookin’ for another teacher?” Willie asked off-handedly, slicing his rock against the surface of the pond.
I hadn’t heard and my thoughts immediately went to Camellia rather than to her father.
“Why?” I asked Willie.
“They didn’t like all the stuff he was teachin’. Like evolution an’ everything.”
I could believe that. I didn’t think Grandpa would have been too happy either if he’d known what was being taught.
“That’s why he got kicked out of his last school, ya know,” went on Willie.
“Yeah,” I replied as matter-of-factly as I could. “I heard.”
I didn’t explain.
“When are they leavin’?” I asked next.
“He’s still tryin’ to convince the Board to let him stay,” Willie answered. “Don’t think there is much chance, though. Some of the members are really upset about it. They say it wouldn’t have been so bad if Foggelson had taught it as theory, but he’s been teachin’ it as unquestioned fact—like it was the only way it could have happened. That’s what they don’t like.”
“What do you think?” I asked.
“I don’t think he should teach it as fact either. It mixes up some of the younger kids an’—”
“I don’t mean that,” I cut in.
“What do ya mean?”
“I mean, do you think it coulda happened that way? Like evolution?”
“Things just happenin’ instead of God makin’ them?”
“Yeah. Do you think it coulda?”
“Isn’t what the Bible says. Sounds crazy to me. Actually, it’s a lot harder to believe in evolution than in a Creator. What do you think?”
“Yeah,” I agreed a little slowly. “It does sound rather crazy.”
“You hear about Old Sam?” Willie said next.
“What?”
“He asked to be church custodian—without gettin’ paid— just as a thank you to God for cleanin’ his life up while there was still time. He’s over there cleanin’ an’ polishin’ every minute he gets. He’s doin’ a good job at the livery stable, too. They gave him a raise already.”
“A raise?”
“Yeah—a little bit more money. They wanted to see first if he’d really be dependable—or iffen he’d just go off drinkin’ again when he got his first wages. He didn’t. An’ Mrs. Larkin says he’s a good boarder. Keeps himself an’ his room nice and tidy an’ comes to meals on time. He even helps some around the place.”
I stopped throwing rocks and looked at Willie.
“Well, if that don’t beat all,” I declared, feeling some grudging gratitude toward Old Sam. I knew it sure would help Uncle Nat out a powerful amount. He’d been doing the janitorial duties at the church along with all his other work.
We threw rocks until we spotted an old mother duck bringing her new hatching of ducklings to the pond for a swim, and then we flopped down on the warm, moist ground to watch them play around in the water.
I was still thinking of Camellia and questioning if she’d have to move away and wondering what she thought about it all when Willie cut into my thoughts again.
“Guess you must feel kinda special glad about Old Sam,” he said.
“What do ya mean?” I asked.
“Well, about him making things right with God. None of us thought it could ever happen. We thought that Old Sam was too bad a sinner for God to even care about. Guess we thought he was goin’ straight to hell. But there must have been some spark of conscience in him, for him to stop and help you when you fell in the dark and hurt your head like that, so you must feel good—”
I’d heard enough.
“I didn’t fall!” I hissed, anger making my voice brittle.
Willie looked at me like I had lost my senses.
“I didn’t fall,” I said again. “It was that stinkin’ Jack Berry—”
“What ya talkin’ about?” exclaimed Willie, raising up on one arm so he could look me full in the face.
“Jack Berry,” I repeated hotly. “He was there waitin’ for me under that tree in the schoolyard. He was mad ’cause I was seein’ Camellia and he liked her. He grabbed me and started punchin’ me in the dark. I couldn’t see who it was or anything. I tried to fight back—and I got in a few good punches, too—and then he hit me again and I slipped and ended up fallin’ and hittin’ my head on that rock, and that yellow coward ran off and left me there to freeze to death, for all he cared.”
Willie sat right up and looked at me like I’d gone plumb crazy or something.
“Where’d you get that wild idea?” he asked.
“What d’ya mean?” I snapped back. “I was there, wasn’t I?”
“Yeah, but you didn’t say anything about any of that after you were hurt. You said you musta fallen. You said you couldn’t remember.”
“I couldn’t. Not for a long, long time—an’ then once after Jack started to see Camellia, he admitted it himself. Said he’d beat me up even worse the next time if I saw Camellia again.”
Just thinking about it made my blood boil.
“Why didn’t you say somethin’? I mean, after you remembered? Why didn’t you tell us?”
“What good would that do?” I asked bitingly, and Willie nodded. He wasn’t as riled up about the whole thing as I was, but still I could see it all troubled him. After all, he did consider me one of his best friends.
“That’s about the most rotten thing I’ve ever heard,” he stated at last. “How could Jack do such a thing?”
“That’s good ol’ Jack for ya,” I said sarcastically.
“Did he ever say he was sorry?”
“Are you joshin’?” I scoffed. “He wasn’t sorry, not ever. He would have done it all over again if he’d had the chance.”
“That’s rotten,” said Willie. “Really rotten.”
There was silence for a few minutes while Willie plucked at the grass and I hammered one little rock against another. I guess I was wishing I had Jack Berry’s fingers between them.
“No wonder he didn’t dare show up back at school,” Willie remarked thoughtfully.
It was the first time I had thought about that, and I realized Willie was right. Jack likely did quit school because of the fight. Somehow the fact that he had lost something in the exchange brought me satisfaction.
“There’s talk in town about Jack, too,” Willie went on and his voice sounded a bit sad.
“What?” I asked, wondering if I was even interested.
Willie lowered himself back onto his elbow and started pulling up little bits of grass that he threw to the side. He was stalling.
“What?” I asked again.
“You knew that Jack left town, went to the city.”
I nodded. Camellia had told me that.
“I guess he and Camellia had a fight or somethin’. Least that’s what the talk says. I don’t know anything about it or what they was fightin’ about,” went on Willie.
“Maybe they didn’t even fight,” he surmised. “Maybe she just changed her mind, I don’t know. Seems that Camellia, or her pa—I don’t know which—thinks a fella should be smart an’ make lots of money if he wants to call on her. Anyway, Jack left, an’ he was plannin’ to make himself rich real fast to impress Camellia or her pa. Well, I guess he tried—but not in the right way. Not many folks know much about it yet, but Jack landed himself in jail.”
Willie looked so mournful when he said the words, like we should all be grieving over good ol’ Jack or something. The whole thing hit me as funny—funny and terribly just. I threw back my head and laughed.
Willie looked up in surprise and then threw his next handful of grass at me.
“What’s wrong with you, anyway?” he said hotly. “What’s so funny about a fella bein’ in jail.”
“Nothin’,” I answered, trying to control myself; “only it couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy.”
Willie gave me a stern look and pulled himself to his feet. He looked upset and Willie didn’t get upset often.
Suddenly I was upset too. I sprang to my feet beside Willie.
“Oh, come on, Willie,” I argued. “The guy jumped me in the dark and could’ve killed me. What do you expect me to say?” I changed my voice to a whining sing-song, “Poor, poor little Jackie. Someone has done him dirt.”
Willie turned and looked at me, not pleased with my little charade.
“This is the real world, Willie,” I continued, really in a lather; “the fella only got what’s comin’ to ’im.”
Willie stood and looked at me for a long moment. “It doesn’t hold up, Josh,” he said, his voice even and controlled.
“Whatcha talkin’ about?” I threw back at him, angry that he was now calm and I was still upset.
“You know what Scripture says about forgivin’.”
“The jerk jumped me in the dark!” I insisted hotly. “What do you expect? That I’m just gonna say, ‘I forgive you, Jackie. I know you didn’t mean no harm’?”
“ ’Course he meant you harm,” agreed Willie. “Iffen what you say is right—an’ I have no reason to doubt your word, Josh. ’Course he meant you harm. But is that what the Bible says? ‘Forgive them only if they meant no harm’? No. It says ‘forgive them.’ Period. That’s what Jesus did. Do you suppose Jack did you more harm than the mob did to Him?”
It was a silly question and we both knew it.
“He doesn’t deserve forgiveness,” I said, not ready to give in. “Anyone who would wait in the dark—and—”
Willie didn’t even wait for me to finish.
“It’s got nothin’ to do with what he deserves. Can’t you see that? You don’t answer for Jack Berry; you answer for Josh Jones. The wrongs of Jack have nothin’ to do with you. Aw, come on, Josh! What Jack did was pure rotten. Nobody’s arguin’ that Jack
deserves
your forgiveness, at least not in man’s thinkin’. But God doesn’t reason like that. Whether you forgive Jack or not really isn’t goin’ to hurt Jack Berry. It only hurts you, Josh. You happen to be my friend, an’ I think that
you
deserve forgiveness.”
“Me?” I said in shock. “What did I do?”
“Hate! Plan revenge! Hold bitterness! All those things are wrong and need forgiveness, too. God says He will only forgive us as we forgive others. I don’t want you to be unforgiven, Josh.” His voice broke.
Willie, my best friend, had tears in his eyes. He turned from me and kicked at a stone. I knew he was fighting to get back some control.
As I watched him, his words, and the truth of them, kept pounding through my brain. Wow! I hadn’t thought of all that.
Willie was still swallowing hard. When he turned back to me, he was a bit pale and his voice trembled as he spoke.
“I gotta get home, Josh. I’ll see ya Sunday,” and Willie turned and left, traces of tears still in his eyes.
I watched him go. Inside I was all mixed up. I was still angry with Jack Berry. I still couldn’t feel sorry that he had gone and got himself thrown into prison off in some big city somewhere.
Then I started to think about what it would be like to be in a big city all on your own and in some jail somewhere locked up, not knowing anyone and being shut away from the green grass and the blue sky. I guess I wouldn’t like it much.
But he deserved it,
I kept telling myself. And then my mind flipped to some of the things that
I
deserved. I thought about my anger, hate, evil thoughts, selfishness—as bad as what Jack was in jail for.
The whole thing was so confusing. I didn’t know what to think about anything anymore. I turned to the pond again and started throwing rocks, but my heart just wasn’t in it. None of them “skipped.” They just smashed into the blueness of the pond, then sunk to the bottom.
G
RAMPS AND I DID
go fishing a number of times. We usually took along a bucket with some lunch so we could sit and snack alongside the stream. In the clear, warm summer air it was cozy and relaxing and fun. Grandpa called it “lazy” weather. One sure didn’t feel like doing much. You could use up a whole afternoon just laying on your back looking for funny shapes in the clouds or watching the new ducklings on the pond or something.
On one such afternoon as we headed for the crik again, Gramps looked up at the almost cloudless sky. “Ah-h, summer,” he said. “Seems that God is always closest to earth in summer.”
I wasn’t sure if I shared Gramps sentiment, but I wasn’t about to spoil our day by saying so.
We took off our shoes and socks, rolled up our pant legs and waded the crik to get to our favorite fishing hole. We spread our belongings out around us on the bank so we wouldn’t have to get up for anything, then set about getting our lines in the crik water.
Before we even had time to drop a line in, a shadow swept slowly past in the water in front of us. We both nudged one another at the same time and leaned as far forward as we dared, to get a good look. It was all I could do to keep from jumping right in and trying to grab that big fish with my bare hands.
“Wow! Did you see him?” I whispered in excitement to Gramps. Almost at the same moment he said, “Did you see him? Biggest fish I ever saw! Oh, boy, Joshua, this is going to be fun!” and we both got serious about it, too excited to even think about munching on our sandwiches and brown sugar cookies.
Sorry to say, we never did see that big fish again, but we caught three others—two of them a nice size and the other a rather scrawny little thing. We kept it anyway. It would taste just as good as its bigger brothers and, anyway, its mouth was torn from the hook and we didn’t want it to suffer.
Fishermen aren’t much for visiting. I mean, you go fishing so you have you some thinking time. The notion that talk might scare the fish is just a ruse. What fishermen are really saying is, “Please don’t interrupt the solitude. I’m communing with myself and nature out here.”
When the sun swung to the west, we decided we should be getting on home, so we picked up our belongings and waded the crik again. Drying our feet on the grass, we sat down to slip back into our shoes and socks. We picked up all our gear and our empty lunch bucket and started down the trail to the farmyard. I was thinking of Camellia and how she might look at this quiet place when Gramps interrupted my thoughts.
“How’s little Lou?”
I was surprised at his question. He had seen Lou just the day before, and I supposed he would have seen how she was most as good as anyone.
