Winter Is Not Forever (19 page)
“Are you done yet?” she asked, handing the catalog back to me. “I am.”
I nodded. “I’m done, too,” I told her. I still had so much to think about, but now wasn’t the time. I would reread the letter and digest the contents.
“Now where?” asked Sarah as I lifted the reins.
“The hardware store. I need some nails, and some rivets for fixing the harness.”
Sarah waited patiently while I made my purchases; then we crossed the street to do the grocery shopping.
As I was depositing the parcels in the wagon, Sarah looked at me with big blue eyes. “Do you need anything at the drugstore?” she asked.
I shook my head and was about to lift her up to the wagon seat when I stopped. “Why?” I asked her.
“Just wondering,” she said with a shrug of her slight shoulders.
A light began to dawn. “You know I told you I couldn’t buy any candy today.”
“I know,” she said with a sigh, then added sweetly with a tip of her head, “but I didn’t know if a soda counted or not.”
“Come on, you little trickster,” I laughed, taking her hand. “I don’t know about a soda, but an ice cream cone might be okay.”
Sarah skipped along beside me, her tiny face beaming.
“I want chocolate,” she chirped. “What do you want, Uncle Josh?”
When I reached Aunt Lou’s to drop off Sarah and pick up Grandpa, I heard part of a conversation that wasn’t really intended for me. I was not trying to eavesdrop; I just came in quietly and at the wrong time.
Sarah had not come in with me. As we pulled into the yard we saw little Janie Cromstock from two houses down. She and Sarah were good playmates, and Janie called Sarah to come play on her new swing.
“Can I please, Uncle Josh?” she pleaded.
“You have to ask your mamma,” I reminded her.
“Can you ask for me? Please?” Her big eyes searched mine. “You’re going in anyway,” she reminded me.
“Okay,” I said, “I’ll ask, but if it isn’t okay with your mamma I’ll call you and I’ll expect you to come right home.”
She nodded in agreement, and tripped off after Janie. Thinking Jon might be taking his afternoon nap, I entered the back porch quietly and upon hearing my name hesitated a moment.
“ … does Josh think?” Aunt Lou was asking Grandpa.
“He kicked about it,” Grandpa said in reply and then chuckled. “But he didn’t make as much fuss as I feared he might.”
“So are you going to do it?”
“Have to get it past Charlie first,” said Grandpa matterof-factly. “And do you think he’ll agree?” Again Aunt Lou was questioning.
“Just depends.” Grandpa sounded thoughtful. “I know Charlie needs the help, but I also know that Charlie needs to be needed. Iffen he can give up his household duties and still feel he’s not just in the way, then I think he’ll agree. It all depends.”
I knew then that Grandpa had talked to Aunt Lou about his crazy scheme. I was about to burst in and tell Aunt Lou what I thought of the idea when I heard her say, “It would be such a load off my mind. I worry so about you—all of you. I think that it would be the wisest thing you’ve ever done.” Then she added quickly with a chuckle, “Since you had me, of course.”
I knew better than to let my feelings be known. I hesitated, made a bit of noise with the door and tapped lightly before entering the kitchen. Grandpa and Aunt Lou were sitting at the table sipping from tall lemonade glasses. Lou looked up.
“Did you sell Sarah?” she asked playfully.
“She begged to go to Janie’s to try a new swing. I said I would ask your permission. Can she?”
Aunt Lou shrugged and laughed. “I guess she already has,”
she responded.
“Yeah, but I told her I’d call her if it wasn’t okay with you.” “It’s okay. At least for a few minutes. I’ll call her after she’s had a while to play.”
Aunt Lou rose to pour me some lemonade and pushed the oatmeal cookies toward me.
“Get everything ya needed?” asked Grandpa, and I nodded. “Got a letter from Willie, too,” I said.
“Any news?”
I turned to Aunt Lou, who had asked the question. I wasn’t one for sharing gossip, but I felt that she had to know some of the information Willie’s letter had contained.
“I know how you have been seeing Mrs. Foggelson and studying the Bible with her and all since she started coming back to church again. I know that you are excited about the way she is seeking to let God lead in her life again.” I hesitated. “But I also know that you, like me, have been a little impatient with her for not going back to Mr. Foggelson.”
Aunt Lou nodded, her big blue eyes intense.
“Well, Camellia went to see her pa and found out the truth,”
I said. For a minute I couldn’t go on. I felt like I was about to disgrace the whole Foggelson family.
I swallowed hard. “It wasn’t Mrs. Foggelson’s idea to stay behind. Mr. Foggelson had found a—a ‘more compatible’ someone.”
I heard Aunt Lou’s little gasp; then her eyes brimmed with tears. “The poor soul,” she whispered.
“She has never breathed one word about it,” Aunt Lou continued. “It must be terribly hard for her—folks all blaming her, and all.”
I nodded.
Just then Jon came toddling into the kitchen. His eyes were still bright from sleep, his cheeks rosy, his hair rumpled, and his clothes slightly damp from the warmth of his bed. He dragged a lumpy-looking discarded doll of Sarah’s behind him, and when he saw us his eyes lit up and he headed straight for Grandpa.
He was met by open arms and Grandpa cuddled him close and kissed his flushed cheeks.
“Thought yer goin’ to sleep the whole day away, Boy,” Grandpa told him. “ ’Fraid I wasn’t even goin’ to get to see ya.”
Jon pointed at the cookie plate and then squirmed to get down. I was flattered when he ran to me as soon as his little legs hit the floor. But my ego didn’t stay inflated for long. It turned out I was closer to the cookie plate than Grandpa, and as soon as I picked the little boy up, his pudgy hands were grabbing for all the cookies on the plate.
I settled him back and removed all of them except one, then pushed the plate out of reach. He lay back against me, munching on his cookie.
I held him until he was finished and then Grandpa stood. “We best be gettin’ on home, Boy,” he said, studying the clock on the wall.
“Have you started the harvest yet?” asked Aunt Lou as Grandpa retrieved his stained, floppy hat.
I knew that the question was directed at me. I was the one who made the major decisions at the farm now. Grandpa and Uncle Charlie, without really saying so, had handed the reins to me.
“Not yet. Hope to get going just as soon as it dries.”
“Expecting a good yield?”
“Looks good so far, if the frost just stays away.”
“Suppose you’ll be pretty busy for the next few weeks then,” continued Aunt Lou.
“Expect to be.”
“We won’t be seeing much of you for a while.”
“Only on Sundays.”
“Maybe I can sneak out and give you a hand now and then,” she continued. “Sure would be nice if you had some regular help.”
I couldn’t help but smile. I hoped Aunt Lou didn’t think that she was being subtle. It was all too obvious what she was hinting at. It was also obvious that she was on Grandpa’s side.
G
RANDPA DIDN’T WASTE
much time in presenting his idea to Uncle Charlie. I had wondered just how he would go about it. I figured he’d wait until I had gone up to bed and the two of them were sitting around the kitchen table having their last cup of coffee. I even had the notion that I’d like to slip down the stairs and sit on the step to hear his presentation.
But he didn’t choose to do it like that. Perhaps he knew Uncle Charlie so well he decided that if it came to pick and choose, Uncle Charlie would side with him rather than me.
At any rate, we had just finished up the chores and the supper dishes and Uncle Charlie had hung the dishpan back on the hook when Grandpa came right out with it.
“I suggested to Josh today on the way to town that it might be a good idea to get ourselves a little help.”
My mouth fell open at Grandpa’s directness, but it didn’t seem to throw Uncle Charlie a bit. He never missed a beat, just went right on swishing the dishrag over the checkered oilcloth that covered the table.
“What kind of help?” he asked.
“Cooking. Cleaning. Help with harvest and canning.” “Anyone in mind?” asked Uncle Charlie. I was surprised when I looked at him that he had a twinkle in his eye. “Mary Turley,” said Grandpa.
“Oh,” said Uncle Charlie with the same twinkle, “then I take it yer dependin’ on Josh to bring in the help, not you?”
I started to say something but Grandpa cut me short. “What’re you aimin’ at?”
“Aimin’? Why, I ain’t aimin’ at anything. I thought the way you started off that
you
was aimin’ to bring a wife fer someone into this here house.”
“A wife?” snorted Grandpa. “Fiddlesticks! Josh can get his own wife.”
“I’m glad we’re all clear on that,” I said with a bit of goodnatured sarcasm.
“Then what did you have in mind?” asked Uncle Charlie, giving the table one final lick with the cloth.
“A hired girl,” stated Grandpa.
“Oh,” said Uncle Charlie. Just “Oh.”
“Mary Turley says she’s willin’ to work out fer a spell,” went on Grandpa.
“Still think my idea is a more permanent arrangement,” smiled Uncle Charlie. “How long do you expect a girl like Mary Turley—an’ at her age—to be available to babysit three bachelors?”
“Ain’t babysittin’!” protested Grandpa. Uncle Charlie didn’t even seem to notice.
“How do we pay her?” he asked, and I held my breath. Here was the craziest part of Grandpa’s scheme in my way of thinking. Wait until Uncle Charlie heard the whole story!
“We board the new teacher,” said Grandpa matter-offactly.
Those words stopped even Uncle Charlie. He straightened up as far as his crippled back would allow and looked sharply at Grandpa.
I could see the questions in his eyes, but he didn’t voice them. Grandpa took the opportunity to hurry on.
“We got two extry rooms here. The schoolteacher gits one, the hired girl the other. That way neither of ’em are put off ’bout living in a house with three men. Then we take the board payment from the teacher an’ pay the hired girl. Works good for everyone.”
Uncle Charlie snorted. I knew he had some doubts.
“Where’s the flaw?” asked Grandpa a little heatedly.
I could hold back no longer. I leaned forward in my chair and laid my hands out on the table. “It’s a crazy scheme. A crazy scheme,” I informed Uncle Charlie. “We’ve got no business filling our house up with women. We’ve gotten along all of these years, and I see no reason why we still can’t. They’ll just come in here and start putting on white tablecloths and asking us to take off our work boots an’ starching all the shirts an’—”
I hadn’t run out of steam, but Uncle Charlie moved away from both of us. I thought that he was dismissing the whole crazy idea, but he was just hanging up the dishrag.
As he approached the table I started in again. “I know it’s tough for a while at harvest, but harvest doesn’t last long, and we can always get help. I’ll bet we can get Mrs.—”
“I hope not,” cut in Uncle Charlie. “Nearly drove me crazy, that woman.”
“Then we’ll get someone else. There are lots of women who cook out at harvest time. We’ll—”
“Name me a few,” said Grandpa. “Remember the time we had finding someone last harvest?”
It was a sobering fact. We’d had a tough time. All of the neighborhood women were busy with canning and their own threshers every fall.
“Well, we still don’t need someone to live in, to stay here and change everything about our lives. We have our own way of doing things. Our own routine. We wouldn’t feel like it was even our house anymore.”
Uncle Charlie lowered himself slowly to a chair at the table. I could see that his back was giving him pain again.
“And where would we put them?” I went on. “The upstairs bedroom is Aunt Lou’s and the downstairs one”—I waved at the door of the small room off the kitchen—“is Gramps’.”
Uncle Charlie didn’t seem to be listening to me and Grandpa wasn’t saying much.
