Spring's Gentle Promise (8 page)

A chair scraped against the floor. Someone was standing to his feet. I moved quickly to make my escape back to my bed, but Uncle Charlie—or was it Grandpa? no, it was Uncle Charlie, I could tell by the shuffling steps—just moved to the stove for the coffeepot.

I heard the coffee poured and Uncle Charlie sit back down. They sipped in silence for a few minutes, each busy with his own thoughts.

“Maybe Josh really doesn’t care,” said Grandpa.

“He cares,” Uncle Charlie affirmed flatly.

“Yeah—‘bout which one?”

“Can’t answer thet. But he cares. It’s nigh been eatin’ his insides.”

He sure seemed to know a lot—maybe more than I did.

“Hadn’t noticed,” admitted Grandpa. “How’s thet?”

“Little things. He can spend the whole night tossin’ on his bed. I can hear ’im. Then he gets up as touchy as a bear with cubs. I see ’im lookin’ from one girl to the next—an’ when thet there fella showed up tonight, Josh fairly bristled.”

“Thet right? Thet right?” said Grandpa, and for some strange reason there was a bit of excitement in his voice.

I’d heard about enough. The whole thing was leaving me with a sick feeling. I moved back a step, intending to return quietly to my bed. Then a word from Grandpa caught me a blow right in the middle of my stomach.

“Jealous, huh?”

Jealous? Me? Of course I’m not jealous
, I fumed. Jealousy was an evil emotion. It went right along with covetousness. My whole being rebelled against the thought.

“Iffen he’s jealous—then maybe he does care. Or maybe he’s jest plain-out possessive of ’em both,” went on Grandpa.

“I think he cares.”

“ ’Bout who?”

Uncle Charlie thought for a minute. Then answered slowly, “I’m not sure thet even Josh has got thet sorted out yet.”

“Well, he’d better start ’em a sortin’,” Grandpa replied very seriously, “ ’cause thet there young Will ain’t gonna waste ’im no time.”

“Yeah, he’s courtin’. Fer sure he’s a courtin’.”

“He’s a courtin’ all right,” agreed Grandpa again, then repeated on a still-puzzled note, “but I’ll be hanged iffen I can figure out which one.”

I crept back to my room, my stomach still churning and my body tight with tension. Pixie didn’t even move as I eased myself back into my bed. I had been repelled by every word I’d heard. I guess that was what an eavesdropper could expect. Still, I hadn’t planned to eavesdrop—it had just happened, and after the first few words I had overheard, I sure wasn’t going to give myself away.

So Will is courtin’?
Matilda? Or Mary? I sure hadn’t been able to discern which one.
And if he’s courtin’, then we might lose
one of the girls.
The thought was not a comforting one. Matilda and Mary seemed to sort of come as a set. And furthermore, they
both
belonged to us somehow.

But no. That was ridiculous. Even I knew that. The day would come—maybe much sooner than I liked to think—that we would lose one of the girls, or maybe both of them. We couldn’t possibly keep the two of them forever.
Maybe we couldn’t keep
either one of them
, was a startling thought. Will would cart one of them off and then some other young buck would come along and take the other.

The very thought made my blood boil.

But
jealous
? Why would I be jealous? I mean, I had no claim to the girls—no personal claim. I’d never courted either one of them. And they certainly had not flirted with me. Well, not really. Only in a teasing sort of way.

I thought of Matilda’s impulsive little embraces and my face flushed in the darkness. Then I remembered Mary reaching out to gently touch my hand, and the deep look of concern and understanding in her eyes as she did so, and I colored even deeper.
Maybe they do like me—sort of. Not just as family
. The thought was a new one and one that I had not consciously entertained before. But if—if they did—if there was any chance that they did—then I should do something about it. I mean, I didn’t particularly enjoy the thought of spending my whole life as a bachelor like Uncle Charlie. I wanted a wife—love—a family.

But first—there came the courting.

I had no idea how to go about courting a girl. Oh, if it was like this here Will fella handled it, there wasn’t much to it. I mean, he just came over whenever he took the notion and just sorta hung around and teased and complimented the girls some. Any fella could do that.

But, I knew that wasn’t the way that I’d do it. A girl deserved more consideration than that. I thought she had a right to expect more than that. If I was courting I’d try to think of nice things to do that she might enjoy.

Take Matilda—
she loves flowers—an’ sweet smellin’ perfume—
an’ trips to town an’ pretty new pieces of jewelry
, I listed off.
She likes music—and laughing and picnics in the country and
drives in the motor car.
Wouldn’t be too hard at all for me to think of ways to court Matilda.

What if I courted Matilda? How long did a fella have to “court” before he could properly ask a young woman to marry him? I mean, courting could take a good deal of time and expense. True, a fella could get a lot of enjoyment out of it. Especially if the young woman really enjoyed the courting—like Matilda would. Maybe she’d just want it to go on and on.
Matilda would
like courtin’ all right,
I decided.

But what about after the courting? I couldn’t really picture Matilda in the kitchen, working over a hot stove, baking bread and canning the garden produce. I couldn’t really see her leaning over the scrub board, hair in disarray while she scrubbed at dirty farm socks. Oh, Matilda fit into the courting picture just fine—but the marriage picture wasn’t so easy to visualize.

Now, Mary—I could see Mary doing all those kitchen things. I had watched her perform all the household tasks dozens of times. It seemed so—so
natural
for Mary. She did it without fuss—without comment—and even seemed to somehow enjoy the doing. Mary in the kitchen seemed right reasonable.
But
courtin’?
I couldn’t think of a single way that one would properly court Mary. I mean, she never fussed about perfumes or pretty jewelry or lace hankies or anything like that. She never coaxed for rides in the motor car or asked for picnics. I couldn’t honestly think of a thing that would make Mary impulsively throw her arms around my neck or giggle with girlish glee.

I lay there, struggling with questions I’d never faced before— working them this way and then that way. No matter how I tried I couldn’t come up with any answers. But I knew instinctively that I could no longer just push the matter aside. I had to get it sorted out. My whole future depended on it.

C
HAPTER
9
Eying the Field

E
VEN IF
I
HAD wrestled with the problem for half the night, I was no nearer an answer when I got up to go choring the next morning. This much I knew, I had two girls right at hand who most young men in the area considered first-rate candidates for a marriage partner, and I had been taking them for granted.

I also knew that if I was going to choose one of them—and I figured I would be pretty dense not to—then I was going to need to decide which one and get on with the courting. The trouble was deciding. They were so different—yet both special.

Matilda’s energy and enthusiasm made the house seem alive. We all enjoyed her company. Even Grandpa and Uncle Charlie counted the days until she returned from her trips home. The world just seemed like a nicer place when Matilda was around.

Then I thought of Mary. Mary was quiet—not bouncy. But Mary was—well—supportive. She was dependable and sort of comfortable to be around. I’m not sure how we would have managed without Mary.

Matilda or Mary? How was one to decide? And just what kind of tension would it put on our household if I started to court the one and left behind the other?

Now, I had no reason to think that either girl was sitting around holding her breath waiting for Josh Jones to start calling. Neither of them had led me to think they were interested in me in any other way than as a member of our household. I was maybe being presumptuous to even think that one of them would accept my small gifts and attention.

Then a new thought hit me. What if I picked a girl—Matilda or Mary—and decided to court her and she flatly turned me down? It could happen.

The thought scared me. I remembered what had happened when I had the foolish notion that I could just walk back into Camellia’s life and she had announced instead that she was marrying Willie.

The idea of being rejected was so frightening that I decided, as I slopped the pigs and cared for the cows, that I would just hold back for the next several days and sorta look things over. I wanted to put out a few feelers to see if it appeared that either of the girls might favorably respond to being courted by Joshua Jones.

I was more sensitive to little things as I gathered around the breakfast table with the family that morning.

Matilda was telling a funny incident from school. One of the children had written a composition about winter. He had said in part, “The best thing about winter is that the ‘moskeytoes’ ”—Matilda spelled it for us—“fly south to bite other people.”

Matilda laughed merrily as she told it and Grandpa chuckled and Uncle Charlie grinned. Matilda was a lot of fun.

Matilda began to gather her school supplies and reach for her heavy winter wraps as soon as Grandpa had finished with our morning devotions. I had a sudden inspiration.

“Chester’s in his stall,” I said. “How would you like me to hitch him to the sleigh and drive you to school?”

She looked at me, her eyes big with unasked questions; then she threw her arms around my neck with a little squeal of delight.

I took that as her yes, and I grinned to myself as I shrugged into my heavy coat and headed for the barn while she finished her preparations. Maybe courting wasn’t so hard after all.

It was colder and another storm was dumping more snow. I was glad I had thought of driving Matilda to school. It would have been rather miserable walking.

I tucked the heavy lap robe closely about her and we started off, Chester tossing his head and snorting, anxious to get out to the open road for a good run. Matilda leaned into the wind, anticipating the speed of the open cutter skimming over the frozen ground.

I watched her face. She loved a good run. If she had been holding the reins, she no doubt would have given Chester his head and let him run at a full gallop. As it was, I let Chester do a bit more running than I normally did, just so that I could watch Matilda’s enjoyment.

When we got to the school I helped gather her things and climb from the sleigh. Her face was flushed—whether from excitement or the cold wind, I couldn’t tell.

“I’ll be back to pick you up after school,” I promised, and she flashed a beautiful smile.

I waited long enough to see her into the school building, noting as I did so the smoke curling up from the brick chimney. The Smith boy had done his work and the potbelly stove would be spilling its welcome warmth into the room.

Matilda turned and gave me a bit of a wave just before she closed the door. I waved back and clucked to Chester, who turned smartly around and headed back out the school gate.

I felt good about the little drive to school. Oh, I hadn’t made any kind of open statement or anything, but Matilda certainly had not been adverse to my company. I would just sort of keep my eyes open and see what the future days might bring.

But maybe while I was waiting, I should come up with some plan to sorta “test out” Mary.

My plan might have worked just fine had it not been for Will Sanders. I mean, the “wait and see” didn’t seem too practical when he turned up on our doorstep every few days.

I still didn’t care much for the guy. Grandpa’s midnight discussion with Uncle Charlie kept running through my head.
He’s courtin’ all right,
I decided—but like Grandpa, I couldn’t figure out which girl he had his eye on.

I didn’t have much to say when he arrived, just sat back watching the situation. He teased and flirted with Matilda, but then he turned right around and asked Mary to a Pie Social in town. It happened to be on the night of Matilda’s annual school program, so Mary turned him down. He smiled and said, “Next time” and Mary nodded her head.

When Christmas came, along with it came Will Sanders as well. He brought each of the girls a gift, a pair of warm gloves. After he finally left for home that night, the girls openly talked about it.

“I never dreamed we’d be on his Christmas list,” said Matilda. “I never even thought to put his name on mine.”

“Me neither,” said Mary, studying the fingers of the gloves absent-mindedly. “What do we do now? I s’pose it would be terribly rude not to give a gift in return.”

She looked imploringly at Matilda as though she wished her to say that it wouldn’t be rude at all. Grandpa said it.

“Seems to me that one shouldn’t feel obligated, things bein’ as they be.”

I wasn’t quite sure what Grandpa meant, but I was willing to agree.

The girls kept on mulling over the problem.

“I know,” said Mary suddenly. “Let’s give him a gift together!”

“Together?” echoed Matilda.

“One gift—from both of us.”

Matilda’s face brightened. “Let’s!” she squealed.

A few days later they were wrapping up a pair of socks and putting both names on the card. I won’t pretend I didn’t get a bit of satisfaction from the arrangement. Then it hit me—perhaps the girls didn’t care too much either for the fact that Will had not openly made known whom he was courting.

On Christmas morning I unwrapped my own gifts. Matilda gave me a pair of fine cuff links. Mary gave me a hand-knit scarf and gloves set. I don’t know when she ever found the time to do it without my knowing, but I sure did take pleasure in the gifts, realizing how special they were and how they bespoke the two givers.

Will Sanders
, I breathed, but not aloud,
it’s your turn to be
jealous!