The Winds of Autumn (7 page)

The sun was just pulling itself radiantly from its bed to greet the new day. I thought I could feel excitement in each ray that reached out to send delightful warm shivers along my back and across my shoulders. The sun’s warmth joined the campfire in taking the last of the night’s chill from our bones.

As soon as we began to thaw, we started to think about eating. We were all hungry but, like I had found out yesterday, there really wasn’t much left in our packs to eat. Oh, we had a little butter, some syrup, a mixture of flour, salt and pepper, and a few little things like that. But that didn’t sound like a breakfast.

“What’re we gonna eat?” asked Avery, mournfully digging through the remains of our camp supplies.

“Guess we’ll have to fish,” responded Willie.

“We didn’t have much luck last night,” Avery grumped.

“Didn’t you get any?” I asked, realizing then that I had fallen asleep before they had returned.

“Not a nibble,” answered Avery shortly. The remembrance of it still irked him.

“Might be biting better this morning,” I said as cheerfully as I could.

“Sure hope so,” cut in Willie. “I’m near starved.”

We picked up my pole and without speaking further headed for the crik. I led the way to the hole where I had been successful the day before, and we settled ourselves down to some serious fishing. Avery remained behind to keep the fire burning and get the frying pan hot.

We sat in silence for many minutes, not wanting to scare the fish and spoil our chances for breakfast.

Then Willie spoke in a whisper, “This trip isn’t just what we’d expected, is it?”

I looked at him in silence. I knew it wasn’t, but I wasn’t sure just how much I was willing to admit—even to myself. Maybe camping wasn’t really all it was cracked up to be, anyway.

“Not that I haven’t enjoyed it,” Willie hurried on, “but you must admit we’ve sure had our share of bad breaks.”

I thought about Avery, my best friend for many years, and how he had sorta botched up a lot of things for us.

“Wasn’t Avery’s fault.” Willie’s declaration seemed to answer my thoughts. “Can’t really say he’s had the best time in the world either. I mean, who’d care to be chased by a bull? And then that dunkin’ in the cold crik wasn’t exactly fun. He’s been just as hungry as the rest of us—and just as disappointed about missin’ out on not seein’ the spring, too.”

I nodded my head in agreement. It had been a rough trip for Avery—and him not even caring too much for the out-of-doors besides.

“I’ve been thinkin’,” Willie said thoughtfully, “maybe God sorta arranged this trip.”

I looked up then, square at Willie. Now, where did he ever get an idea like that?

Willie returned my look and his eyes did not waver.

“Did you know that Avery is painin’ inside?”

“Avery?”

“Yeah. He never says much—but yesterday when you were gone to the spring, well, we got to talkin’ an’ Avery opened up an’ really said what he was feelin’. You know his mom’s been awful sick an’ that Avery already lost a brother. I think he wanted this trip to kinda get away and do some thinkin’. He’s scared, Josh. He’s really scared. He’s got this silly notion that God is just out to hurt him or somethin’. He’s just sure his mom is gonna die—an’ for some reason he thinks it’s his fault.”

“Avery?” I said again, a little too loud. I checked myself. I sure didn’t want to be scaring away our breakfast fish.

“Well, we had a long talk—an’ then we prayed together. We gotta help him, Josh. Show him that we’re his friends and we’ll stick with him. Show him that God really does love
him
.”

I nodded again. It sure did give one something to think about all right. If we hadn’t had all of our “bad luck,” Willie never would’ve had the chance to talk and pray with Avery like he did. We still wouldn’t have known that Avery needed special friendship at this time.

We fished in silence again, but it was no use. The fish just weren’t biting. We got up and moved on down the crik and tried another hole, and then another. Still nothing. I was beginning to wonder if maybe God had it in for all three of us.

“We better give up,” said Willie. “Iffen we don’t get packed up and on our way, we won’t make it back home today.”

I knew Willie was right but, boy, was my stomach complaining. We went back to the campsite, and Avery’s face, which brightened at our return, quickly fell again when he saw we had no breakfast.

We began to pack up our gear. I was about to throw out the remaining flour mixture when Avery hollered at me.

“Hey!” he yelled. “Don’t throw that out. It would make a pancake.”

“With pepper in it?”

“It’s worth a try,” Avery insisted. “I’m so hungry I could eat anything.”

But he wasn’t. I mean, he took that flour mixture, stirred in the one egg that we’d forgotten we had, added some crik water and fried the flat, rather distasteful-looking thing in butter in our frying pan. It didn’t smell so bad as it cooked, but it didn’t look too great. Avery then poured what was left of the syrup over it and sat down to have his breakfast. By then Willie and I were wishing we’d spoken up for some as well. But Avery took one bite and spit it clear across the campsite. Guess it wasn’t going to be the answer after all.

We finished up our packing in silence. Inwardly I wrestled with the fact that Avery had wasted that last good egg.

Our packs were much lighter now, and we distributed the load as evenly as we could. Aunt Lou’s pot still didn’t clean up too good after the scorched beans. I was glad she had insisted on sending an old one. It sure was a sorry mess now.

We decided to stay on the south side of the crik rather than try to cross the fallen log again. We knew our way quite well, and we knew that if we followed the crik all the way to the Turleys’, the bridge would get us across to our proper side then.

It was another beautiful fall day, and I guess that we could have really enjoyed our hike home had our stomachs not been so empty. As it was, it was a little hard to concentrate on the blue sky and the whispering fall leaves.

It was well past noon when we reached the Turleys and we had already determined to not follow the crik through their pasture. We didn’t want an encounter with that bull again.

We were about to go on by their farmstead on the road when Avery stopped us.

“How about we go on in?” he suggested.

“For what?” asked Willie.

I was afraid Avery wanted to tell them about their mean old bull or something, and then they could very well say we had us no business being in their pasture anyway.

“For a drink,” responded Avery. “Even a little water would help my stomach some.”

We looked at one another and nodded. Maybe some water would help.

As we neared the Turley house I began to wish we hadn’t stopped. Wafting out of the kitchen window and down the lane to greet us was the most wonderful smell you could imagine. Mrs. Turley was baking apple pie.

We all looked at one another and our empty stomachs began to grumble even louder. We said nothing, but the expression in our eyes was shared agony.

It was Avery who stepped up to the door and rapped gently. Fourteen-year-old Mary answered and looked rather surprised when she saw all three of us standing there. She just stared at us.

“Who is it, girl?” called Mrs. Turley, and I was sure enough relieved to hear her voice.

“Boys,” answered Mary, and I was afraid she was going to close the door on us and go back to her kitchen duties.

“Well, invite them in,” instructed Mrs. Turley, and she came through the kitchen and stuck her head out the door so she could see for herself.

“Come in. Come in,” she invited us cheerfully, and we followed her into the kitchen. Her blue gingham sleeves were rolled up and there was flour on her hands and apron.

“What can we do for you, boys?” she asked. Mrs. Turley was known in the community as one who did not bother none with beating around the bush.

“We’d like a drink, please,” responded Avery without hesitation. “We’ve been out on a camping trip and we’re on our way home. It’s powerful hot walking and we just thought that you might be kind enough to let us have a drink.”

“Mary, get the boys some cold milk,” said Mrs. Turley, and she went back to rolling out piecrust. Now, milk sounded a whole lot better than water.

“Never did care for milk all on its own,” Mrs. Turley went on. “Mary, slice them some fresh bread and get out some of that strawberry jam.” Mary hurried to carry out the instructions while Mrs. Turley deftly worked with her rolling pin, and we looked at one another like we’d been offered an expenses-paid trip to New York City. About that time I was blessing my best friend Avery for talking us into stopping.

“So you been campin’,” remarked Mrs. Turley.

We managed to reply around giant bites of strawberry-jam-covered fresh bread. Mrs. Turley was a great baker.

“Where’d ya go?”

“Up to the crik mouth, ma’am.”

“What fer?”

That one caught us a bit off guard. Why had we gone?

“Just to see the spring,” said Willie. “We’d never been there.”

“Neither’ve I,” said Mrs. Turley, “an’ I don’t plan to waste no time in goin’ way up there either.” Then her voice softened and she even smiled. “But, then, I guess young boys with energy to spare don’t quite look at things the way a tired ol’ woman does.”

We didn’t quite know how to respond to that one. None of us were eager to refer to Mrs. Turley as a tired old woman while we sat at her kitchen table wolfing down her delicious homemade bread.

“Mary, cut them each another piece,” said Mrs. Turley, watching us for a moment, “an’ get them some more milk.”

“That is mighty delicious, ma’am,” said Avery. “We did have us some bad luck and ended up with no breakfast this morning.” I held my breath for a moment, but Avery was smarter than I gave him credit for—he said nothing at all about that Turley bull.

“Then you’d best have a piece of apple pie,” answered Mrs. Turley, not missing a beat with the smooth action of her rolling pin. “Mary, cut them a piece of that pie in the window. Mind you, be careful now. It’s still hot.”

“Oh, but—“ started Willie, and I kicked him under the table.

“Sure does smell good, ma’am,” I cut in quickly.

Mary was generous with her servings and I suddenly gained a new respect for the girl.

The pie was just as good as it had smelled, and we were given more milk to help cool off each bite. Boy, did it hit the spot!

“Mrs. Turley,” I said as I washed down the last swallow with milk, “that was about the best apple pie I ever tasted.”

“That’s nice to hear,” she said matter-of-factly without smiling. “The way my menfolk swallow the food around here, I’m not sure whether it be good or not. They just gulp it down and leave the table.”

I supposed Mrs. Turley might not be the only woman with that complaint. I decided then and there to pay a few more compliments to the cook—whoever it might be.

We thanked Mrs. Turley again, paying her lavish compliments on her bread and pie, which eventually left her beaming, and turned back to the dusty road again.

As we left, Willie turned to Mary, who was busy cleaning up after us.

“And thank you, Mary,” he said, “for feedin’ us an’ all.”

A bit embarrassed, Avery and I quickly echoed his thanks. Mary gave us a shy smile.

Once back on the road with our stomachs full and our spirits revived, we began to pay more attention to the fall day, pointing out items of interest to one another.

We even started to reminisce about our camping trip. We first discussed all of the good things about it, like the colorful fall leaves, the fact that it hadn’t rained, the clarity and freshness of the crik the closer we got to the spring. Then we started discussing the other things that had happened. We passed that old bull in the pasture, and the whole fearful experience came flooding back. But soon we were seeing the funny side of it all, and we laughed and pounded one another on the back and nearly rolled on the ground. Before we realized it we had quite convinced ourselves that our camping trip had been a tremendous success, and we could hardly wait to get home and tell everyone about it. In fact, we decided, there really wasn’t one thing about it that we’d change even if we could. Well, maybe enough food for one last breakfast.

Just the same, I was looking forward to a good sleep in my own bed, with no one there to pull off the covers or breathe in my face.

C
HAPTER
8
School Again

I
WOULDN’T WILLINGLY HAVE
admitted it to anyone, but I was missing school. The local grapevine tried to keep up with the School Board’s search. Rumors were always circulating about as to who they had contacted and where he or she was from and when the new teacher might be coming, but the school door stayed closed. I was getting restless, and I guess most of the other students were feeling the same way. Why, I even took to studying my textbooks—in the privacy of my own bedroom, that is.

I spent the time at the farm with the three men. Grandpa kept looking for little jobs to keep us all busy, but there really wasn’t too much more that needed to be done before winter set in. Gramps laughingly suggested that we all take up knittin’, but Uncle Charlie said that “mendin’ was too close to a needle of any kind” for him.

It really hadn’t been that long since our teacher had quit—it just seemed like forever.

I rode into town with Grandpa every chance I got and over to Willie’s a couple of times, and over to Avery’s once. I even visited Mitch Turley, who had quit school as soon as he could talk his folks into it. I knew Mitch wouldn’t understand my hankering to be back in the schoolroom again, so I didn’t even mention it to him. Instead, I told him all about our hike up along the crik. It sounded better every time we three fellas told it.

Anyway, I was bored. Guess I was sorta getting on the nerves of the men at the farm because one day Grandpa came in and said he was going into town and I might like to pack up my things and go on back to Aunt Lou’s. The latest rumor had it that a new teacher was on the way and school might start just anytime.