Spring's Gentle Promise (3 page)

“Whoa-a,” I said, disengaging myself from her arms. “I said ‘maybe’—after the crop is off. I’m just plantin’ it, remember? We’ve got a long time to wait.”

Matilda stepped back, her eyes still shining. She clapped her hands again, not the least bit daunted. “Now, that’s what I call really celebrating, Josh,” she enthused, her hands clasped together in front of her.

I let my eyes travel back over the room. Mary had finally set down the coffeepot. Uncle Charlie had closed his mouth and was chewing on a corner of his mustache, and Grandpa’s eyebrows were back where they belonged.

I shrugged my shoulders carelessly. “It’s just something to be thinkin’ on,” I repeated lamely and headed for the stairs and my bed.

C
HAPTER
3
Visitors

T
HE SPRING PLANTING WENT steadily forward. The tractor chugged on with only minor adjustments and repairs. The family continued to help with evening chores and work about the farmyard. Only one rain slowed me down and then it was just a few days—enough for me to sort of catch my breath and do a few little extras that always seem to need doing around a farm.

Matilda never gave me a moment’s peace about the motor car. I began to wish I hadn’t mentioned it. Still, her enthusiastic arguments in favor of the vehicle may have gone a long way toward influencing Grandpa and Uncle Charlie. At any rate, I never did hear much opposition to the idea, and everybody seemed to be holding their breath—waiting to see what the harvest would bring.

About the same time I finished the planting, the school doors closed for another year and Matilda left for her home again.

“Oh, Josh,” she enthused on before departing, “I can hardly wait for fall—and the car. It’ll be such fun, Josh!” She emitted a strange little sound like a combination sigh and groan.

“I haven’t promised,” I reminded her. “Just said I’d be thinkin’ on it.”

“I know. I know. And it will be such fun!” Apparently Matilda didn’t want to hear of the possibility of
not
getting a car, so I let the matter drop.

As usual, Matilda and Mary’s goodbye was rather emotional. They had grown to be like sisters in their affection and missed each other during the summer months.

“Oh, I’ll be lonely without her,” Mary half-whispered after Matilda was gone, and she slyly wiped her cheek with her handkerchief.

“Summer will pass quickly,” I tried to console her.

“The house is always so—so
quiet
when she’s gone,” she responded.

It is quiet without Matilda’s bubbly enthusiasm,
I mentally agreed.

“You’ll be busy with the garden,” I reminded Mary.

She nodded; then after a moment of silence she said wistfully, “Maybe Lou will let Sarah Jane come visit for a while. She is ’most as chattery as Matilda.”

I smiled at the thought. Sarah Jane was getting to be quite a little lady. And it was true that she was “chattery.”

“Maybe,” I responded, “for a few days. Lou counts on Sarah for running errands and entertaining her two little brothers.”

Mary thoughtfully spoke as though to herself. “Lou does need her more than I do. It was selfish of me to—”

But I interrupted. “It wasn’t selfish. Grandpa and Uncle Charlie—and me—we all look forward to her coming.”

“Maybe we could have Jon come to the farm, too,” Mary brightened. “That would leave Lou with just the baby.”

I wasn’t sure Mary wanted to take on the lively Jon plus all of the household and garden chores of farm life. I was about to say so, but she placed a hand on my arm, seeming to know just what I was thinking.

“It wouldn’t be so bad,” she argued. “Sarah would help with Jon, and there is lots for a boy to do on the farm, and the garden isn’t ready for pickin’ or cannin’ yet, and he’s usually not
too
rascally.” She looked a bit doubtful about her last statement. “Besides,” she hurried on, “it sure would make the house more—more—”

I looked at the small hand resting on my arm. It was hard for me to argue against Mary, but I did wonder if she was thinking straight to figure that Jon wouldn’t take much time or trouble.

“It would help the summer pass more quickly,” she finished lamely.

“Why don’t you try it for a few days—to start with? Make sure you aren’t gettin’ in over your head,” I advised.

Mary smiled, and I knew she was pleased with my qualified consent.

It wasn’t that Jon was a bad boy, and it certainly wasn’t that I didn’t love my young nephew, but he was one of the busiest and most curious children I had ever known. His poking and prodding into things invariably got him into some kind of trouble.

“Keep him away from the tractor,” I added quite firmly, remembering the time Jon had poured dirt in the gas tank.

Mary just nodded. “I’ll check with Lou next time I’m in town,” she promised. I couldn’t help but think that a break from Sarah and Jon might be a welcome change for my Aunt Lou.

True to her word, Mary made arrangements with Lou. And before the week was out, Sarah and Jon had joined us at the farm. Sarah busied herself with copying the activities of Mary. She helped bake bread, churn butter and wash clothes. She even spent time in the garden pulling weeds—along with a few carrots and turnips—and washed dishes, very slowly, doing more playing in the soapy water than scrubbing the plates and cups. But Sarah seemed to fit very nicely into the farm life, and we all enjoyed her chatter and sunny disposition.

Grandpa and Uncle Charlie tried their best to keep young Jon entertained. They whittled him whistles and slingshots, fashioned him fish poles and found him a barn kitten. But, still, Jon seemed to be continually slipping out from under supervision, off finding entertainment of his own making.

In the few days he was with us he got into more scrapes and mischief—not out of naughtiness but “just tryin’ to he’p.” He dumped all the hens’ water and filled their drinking dishes with hay—he said they looked hungry. He tied the farm dog to a tree with so many knots that it took Grandpa most of an afternoon to get him released again—he said he was afraid “Fritz might get runned over by the tractor.” He shot a rock through the front room window with the slingshot he was not to play with around the house—he said that it “went off” when he wasn’t ready. He picked a whole pail of tiny apples that were just beginning to form nicely on the apple trees—he wanted to help Mary with an apple pie. He visited the hen house and threw a couple dozen eggs at the old sow who fed in the nearby pen—he wanted to teach her a trick, “like Pixie,” of snatching food from the air.

And, as far as I was concerned, the worst stunt of all was helping himself to a bottle of India ink from Matilda’s supply desk and sneaking up on unsuspecting Chester, climbing the corral fence and pouring it all over the horse’s back. He wanted to “surprise Unc’a Josh” with a pretty, spotted horse like one he had seen in a picture book.

We had a family council that night. I was ready to send Jon on home, but Mary argued that he really wasn’t naughty and needed a chance to learn about the farm. Grandpa sided with her. How could the boy learn what he could and couldn’t do if he wasn’t given the chance to do a little exploring? So Jon stayed on, but we gave the four-year-old more rules and tried to watch him even closer.

I was busy repairing the back pasture fence when Jon joined me one afternoon.

“Hi, Unc’a Josh,” he greeted me warmly. I looked at the bright eyes and mop of brown hair.

“Hi, fella,” I responded a bit cautiously. “Does Mary know you’re here?”

Jon did not answer my question but held a little red pail as high as his short arm could hoist it.

“Brought ya a drink,” he announced. “Are ya thirsty?”

The summer sun was hot, and I
was
thirsty. I stopped to wipe the sweat from my brow and reached for the pail the boy held out to me.

“Auntie Mary said ya would be thirsty,” Jon continued. Lou had her children refer to Mary as “auntie” as a term of respect.

My eyes shifted to the nearby farmhouse. I was close enough that I didn’t need to be waited on—I could walk to the house or the well for a drink. Still, maybe Mary thought a bit of a stroll and an “errand” would do the small boy good. I sat down on the grass and pulled Jon onto my knee, one hand supporting the pail.

“Where’s Mary?” I asked him, looking at the dirt streaks on his hands and face.

“Busy doin’ some’pin,” he answered.

“So you brought me a drink?”

He nodded.

“That was mighty nice,” I complimented Jon. “Thank you.”

I lifted the pail to my lips. The water was not as cool as usually comes from our deep well, and I couldn’t help but wonder just how long Jon had been on his journey. At least it was wet. I took another long drink.

“So what have you been doing today?” I asked Jon.

He thought about that for a few moments before answering.

“I he’ped Grandpa hoe the garden,” he said brightly and then added more soberly, “but he said, ‘Thet’s enough, Jonathan,’ and sent me back to Auntie Mary.”

I tousled his hair. “And why did he do that?” I questioned. “Did you mix up weeds and vegetables?”

Jon nodded his head, his eyes thoughtful. “I guess it was peas,” he said somberly, and I had to hide my smile.

“Then I brought in the clothes for Auntie Mary,” he began, but ended with a shrug of his small shoulders. “But she hada take ’em back agin. They wasn’t dry yet.” Then Jon added quickly as though with great relief, “But Auntie Mary din’t scold me. Jest took the clothes and hung some back up an’—” His eyes lowered and then lifted again to mine. He finished with a grin that told me everything was all right. “An’ washed some of ’em agin an’ then hung
them
back up, too.”

Poor Mary. She had enough work without re-doing the wash.

“Here comes Aunt Mary now!” Jon excitedly pointed toward the farm buildings.

He was right. Mary and Sarah were coming our way.

“We brought you something, Uncle Josh,” Sarah called before they reached us.

I looked at the small container in Sarah’s hands and then to Mary. Both young ladies seemed pleased with themselves.

“Do I have to guess?” I asked Sarah.

Puffing, she reached the spot where Jon and I still sat on the ground.

“It’s a drink,” she said proudly.

“A drink? That’s nice. But Jon here”—I ruffled the boy’s hair again—“he already beat you to it. But I guess another drink would—”

But I stopped. The mention of the drink brought to me by young Jon had made Mary’s face blanch, her hand went to her mouth and she stood staring down at the red pail.

“Is something wrong?” I asked Mary, but it was Sarah who answered the question for me, though in a rather roundabout fashion.

“In that?” she squealed, pointing her finger at the red pail in the grass. Before I could even answer her she went on, “Jon was botherin’ Grandpa in the garden—hoeing up things— so Grandpa gave him that pail and sent him to water the flowers.”

That didn’t sound so bad. I didn’t mind sharing water with the flowers. But Mary’s face was still pale and she hadn’t said one word except for a gaspy little, “Oh, Joshua.”

“But,” went on Sarah, “Jon was dipping water from the stock trough!”

For a moment my stomach rebelled. I even thought I might be sick. The thought of the horses and cattle slurping and snorting in my drinking water made my insides heave. I looked up at Mary’s white face and agonized expression. And then the whole thing struck me funny, and I pulled Jon closer into my arms, rolled over in the grass and began to tickle him and laugh. Not just little chuckles, but outright guffaws. Mary’s color returned to normal, and I saw she was trying to hide a snicker behind her hand. Then she looked at Jon and me tumbling on the grass together and began to laugh right along with me. Now my stomach hurt from laughter.

When we finally got ourselves under control, we all sat down on the ground together and shared the cool lemonade Mary and Sarah had brought.

“I guess if I can drink with the cows and horses, I can use the same cup as family,” I said and began to laugh again.

“We have cookies, too,” Sarah informed me importantly. I think she was trying to get me to settle down. She didn’t seem to understand why I thought my drink from the stock trough was so funny. I tried to respond properly to Sarah’s announcement.

“Cookies? What kind? Where did you find cookies?”

“They’re sugar cookies and I made ’em—myself.” And then she quickly corrected her statement. “Auntie Mary and me made ’em.”

“Can I have one? Can I have one, Sarah?” Jon was asking. Sure enough, there were some for all of us.

I guess the lemonade and the sugar cookies had a settling effect on my stomach. At any rate, I suffered no ill effects from drinking water out of the stock trough, though I did determine that in the future I would carefully check any food or drink offered me from the hand of my young nephew.

C
HAPTER
4
Summer

T
HINGS SETTLED DOWN AGAIN after Sarah and Jon went off to their home. I think even Mary was glad for the peace and quiet, though she never admitted it. She had much to do, with the garden now in full swing. Her hands never seemed to be empty nor her body still.

The summer was busy for me as well. There was haying, the war with farm weeds, the continual care of the stock and fences; and before we could scarcely turn around, the summer would be drawing to an end.

I was glad for Sundays. It was the one day of the week that, with a clear conscience and no guilty feelings, one could actually take a bit of a break. It was good to be driving into town for the church service—though I must confess that as I sat behind the slow-moving team, I kept thinking more and more of the time we’d save in traveling if I had that motor car.

On a couple of Sundays we stayed on to dinner with Lou and Nat and their three. That was about the only chance we really had to catch up on the happenings of one another’s lives.

Baby Timothy was growing so fast it was hard to keep up to him. He celebrated his first birthday in June and was busy with the task of learning how to walk—how to run might more aptly describe it. Timmy wanted to be in on the fun with his older brother and sister and tagged around after them as fast as his sturdy little legs would allow.