The Winds of Autumn (10 page)
After our dinner together, I helped Uncle Charlie with the dishes. We settled down with hot coffee and Aunt Lou’s cookies to watch the storm and play checkers. Gramps took on Grandpa and Uncle Charlie challenged me. My mind wasn’t on the game too much and I didn’t play as well as I should have.
“I think I’ll have a nap,” stated Gramps, who often had a nap in the afternoon.
“Me, too,” I said, standing up and yawning, and all eyes turned to look at me.
“Been studyin’ too hard, Josh?” asked Grandpa.
“Well, no, not too hard,” I stammered. “But I do need to study a fair bit to make up for all that time we lost.”
I could tell all the menfolk approved of my statement.
Fact was, I
had
been studying hard. I guess I was out to prove to the new teacher that I had a “good mind,” knowing he admired one and all. I wasn’t sure how Camellia felt about a good mind, but I didn’t think it would hurt my cause none to impress her father.
“Might as well have yer nap,” Uncle Charlie said. “Nothin’ better to do.”
I did go to my room and lie down—but I couldn’t sleep. I just lay there, tickling Pixie under the chin. I promised her we’d get back to town all right—before too long too.
I don’t think Pixie was as interested in town as I was. I worried about Camellia and her folks maybe being caught short of wood or something and not making out well in the storm. I worried about other fellas maybe going over to check on how they were and making a good impression on her. I knew if I’d been in town, I sure would have been over there at her house, checking to see if there was anything I could do for them.
Thinking didn’t help and sleep would not come. I pulled out one of my old storybooks from a trunk I had my “treasures” in and tried to read. Either the story had changed—or I had. I couldn’t get interested in it—and it had been my favorite.
I finally gave up and just lay there listening to the wind howl. Would Aunt Lou and Uncle Nat be worried that we might try to come into town in the storm and then fret when we didn’t arrive? No, they knew my grandpa better than that. He had far too much sense to head out into this storm.
When I heard voices down below, including Gramps, I knew all three men were around and stirring again. Then I heard the rattle of dishes—one of them was preparing our supper. I figured it must be chore time again, and I was glad for a good reason to leave my bed.
For two more days the wind howled and blew the snow around. In some places the drifts were higher than my head. I didn’t recall ever seeing a worse blizzard. We managed to keep ourselves quite busy, shoveling our way to the stock and chopping and hauling. Even so I chafed some.
On Wednesday the weather finally broke and the sun came out. But you could see it would be unwise to try to push a team through those drifts to town.
It turned out that I missed the whole week of school. I studied at home. It gave me something to do, and I sure didn’t want to get behind the rest of my classmates.
On Sunday morning we did bundle up and head for church. Grandpa was worried about what Aunt Lou and Uncle Nat had been eating. They always got farm produce from us, like their milk and eggs and cream. Their extra garden vegetables and fruit were kept at the farm in the root cellar, too, and Grandpa always supplied them with fresh meat and poultry that was either just butchered or kept on big ice chunks in our sawdustfilled ice house.
“They do have ’em stores in town,” Uncle Charlie reminded Grandpa.
“No reason to spend money when you don’t need to,” was Grandpa’s response, so the sleigh was loaded with food, and we bundled up well and headed for church.
I put Pixie in her box in my bedroom when we got to Aunt Lou’s and then helped unload the sleigh before we went to church. Uncle Nat was already over at the church, building up a good fire to take the chill off the cold room.
Aunt Lou said they had fared well during the storm, though Uncle Nat had fretted a bit about some of the parishioners, especially the older ones. He was afraid they might not have been prepared for the cold weather.
He had even brought Old Sam home with him and kept him on the living room couch, but Sam had left again some time during the night on Friday. Uncle Nat had supposed he had gone in search of a bottle.
Old Sam was the town drunk. I suppose there are nicer ways of stating it—but that’s the plain fact.
He had been in our town for as long as I could remember. I don’t recall ever having heard a last name for him. Everyone just called him Sam, or Old Sam.
He had worked at odd jobs here and there when he had been a younger man and before the bottle took complete control of his life, but he didn’t even try anymore. I don’t know where he got money for booze. He sure never had money for food. Some of the town people gave him a meal now and then just out of charity. He didn’t have money for clothes either. Uncle Nat watched that department and tried to keep Sam dressed so he wouldn’t embarrass folk or freeze to death in the cold weather.
Truth was, Old Sam was as much a part of our town as the butcher or the grocer, and everyone sort of used him as the example of complete godlessness and waste. Mamas would say to their sons, “You don’t want to turn out like Old Sam, do you?” The menfolk would say about their lazy employees that “he’s about as useless as Old Sam,” and angry fellas would say to one another, “Why don’tcha go join Old Sam, where ya belong?” or “You smell as bad as Old Sam”—but nobody could do anything to change Sam from what he was.
Uncle Nat had tried. Boy, had he tried. He was always trying to clean Sam up and feed him nourishing food. He tried even harder to get him to know that the only way he could
really
clean up his life and make something of himself was to give his life completely over to the Lord Jesus. I had heard Uncle Nat tell Sam that many times myself. But Sam would just whimper that it was too late. Nothing could be undone that was done. And then Uncle Nat would insist, “Jesus can do it, Sam. He can make a new man of you if you’ll let Him. No sinner is too black for the Lord to wash clean as snow. No sin is too great for God to forgive,” but Sam would just shake his head, clutch his bottle and whimper.
I knew, without even asking, that Uncle Nat had probably already been looking for Sam in all of his favorite hangouts— like the livery stable, the back porch of the grocer’s, the shed in the schoolyard, and the little barn out back of the town hall. I knew, too, that as soon as the morning service was over, Uncle Nat would be out looking for Sam again.
When we entered the small church my eyes quickly scanned the room, but the Foggelson family was not in attendance. I was keenly disappointed. I sincerely hoped nothing had happened to any of them during the storm.
Avery and Willie came over to me and started talking about the blizzard here in town—the Smiths’ chimney fire and the Bases running out of firewood and needing to burn some of the furniture, and how Mitch Turley froze the tip of his nose and needed to see the doc.
I wasn’t too interested in all the news. I was still wondering about the Foggelsons.
It turned out that I really hadn’t missed much school. It was Thursday before classes were held, and then only a few of the students braved the weather. More measles were going around. Folks hoped the cold weather would put a stop to the spread. Only one patient had been really sick—the little Williams girl. The doc was hoping she was now on the mend; but there was some concern about her eyesight, for some reason none of us really understood.
After the service we shared dinner at Aunt Lou’s, and before we even had time for a visit Uncle Nat excused himself from the table. I knew he was off looking for Old Sam again. I pushed back, too, and went for my heavy coat.
“I’ll help you,” I said. “I’ll take the road down past the school.”
Uncle Nat nodded, appreciation in his eyes. We left the house together, while the three older men visited with Aunt Lou over coffee before helping her with the dinner dishes.
I hadn’t bothered to explain to Uncle Nat that the Foggelsons lived down the school road. Here was a ready-made opportunity to check and be sure that everything was fine there.
When I got to the Foggelsons’, I was relieved to see smoke curling briskly from both their chimneys. The house didn’t look like it had suffered any from the storm, but I walked up to the back door and knocked anyway, practicing in my mind what I would say, depending on who answered. It was Mrs. Foggelson—at least I figured it must be her. She did look a lot like Camellia, with the same blue eyes and clear skin and hair almost as pretty, though she wore it all piled up on top of her head.
“Yes?” she said rather hesitantly.
“I’m Joshua Jones,” I said quickly, to explain myself and keep her from shutting the door. “I’m one of your husband’s students, and I just wanted to check to see that you’re not needin’ anything—I mean with the storm and all—I thought that—”
But she interrupted, “How sweet,” sorta dragging out the words and smiling nice as she said them.
I stammered then. My planned speech went flying right out of my head and I couldn’t think of one sensible thing to say.
“We are fine, Joshua,” she was saying. “But we do thank you for stopping by. The storm was a nasty one, wasn’t it?”
“I’m right glad,” I stumbled, my face beginning to redden. “I mean, I’m glad you’re fine.”
“Would you like to come in?” she was asking, holding the door wide open for me.
Boy, would I have loved to have gone in, but I found myself saying, “Thank you, no, I’ve gotta get. I mean—I’m helpin’ Uncle Nat look for Old Sam. I mean, well—he always worries that he might freeze to death—or somethin’.” Then I hurried on, blurting out some further explanation that didn’t need to be made, “He’s not our kin or nothin’; it’s just that Uncle Nat always worries over folks—I mean, he’s the preacher and his job—“ But I finally stopped, feeling more embarrassed than ever.
“I see,” said the pretty Mrs. Foggelson, giving me another melting smile. I wasn’t sure if she did see or not, but I knew I had to get out of there before I said something even dumber.
I mumbled a goodbye, placed my cap back on my cold head, and started off almost on the run.
It turned out I was the one to find Old Sam. He was huddled in a corner of the woodshed behind the town hotel. His teeth were chattering and his beard was matted, and even in the crisp cold winter air, he smelled bad. He was still clutching a bottle, though it was an empty one. I couldn’t figure out why he wasn’t dead. Guess maybe all the alcohol maybe preserved him, like cucumbers in vinegar, or something. I knew I couldn’t move him all alone, and I didn’t know what to do with him anyway, so I went home for help.
Uncle Nat was still out, so Uncle Charlie and Grandpa hitched the team and went off for Old Sam. When they got him back they put him to bed on a cot in the living room, and Aunt Lou made some hot soup to try to get down him. I left the rest of them fussing over him and went to my room. I figured I had already done my part. I wasn’t too crazy over the dirty old coot anyway. But I knew Uncle Nat would be powerful glad to see he was still alive. I guess I was glad for that fact too.
E
VERY FELLA IN OUR SCHOOL
—every one in his right mind, that is—was sorta sweet on Camellia. As you can probably tell, I was no different. Some days I had so much trouble keeping my mind on my work that I scarce understood the words in my lesson books. This was new to me, having always being considered a good student and enjoying the work and all.
I managed somehow to keep up with the rest of the class, but I guess I picked up the new knowledge subconsciously or something, for I don’t really remember learning it.
Every recess and noon hour we fellas spent our time trying to get Camellia’s attention, though none of us would actually admit to it. Some were a little bolder than others. Me, I hung back trying not to look too forward, trying not to look too obvious, but all the time thinking of little things that I might do or say if I got the opportunity.
The opportunity came in rather a strange way.
For some reason I didn’t understand, Camellia’s pa seemed to take a liking to me. He talked with me a lot and often asked me to stay after classes just to chat about some book or some new idea. On several occasions he made a pleased comment about my “good mind.”
Anyway I got the surprise of my life one day when Mr. Foggelson, Camellia’s pa, asked me to stay after class again. As I explained, staying after class was nothing new, the fellas were already teasing me some about that, but Mr. Foggelson’s words sure did surprise me.
“Joshua,” he said—he always called me Joshua, real proper-like—“ Joshua, I wonder if you would have time to help me out.”
I certainly wanted to help the Foggelson family if I could, but I wasn’t sure about the time part. I did have a lot of chores to do at home, and I would need to check with Aunt Lou before I could give an answer. I figured Mr. Foggelson must have some wood that needed chopping or something like that, which could take a lot of time, all right.
Mr. Foggelson went on, “Camellia is having a bit of trouble with that new concept in geometry, and you have grasped it thoroughly. I thought she might find it easier to understand from one of her fellow students than she does when her father tries to explain it. I have a tendency to be a bit impatient with her at times, I fear. Do you think you could find the time?”
I would find the time. My head was nodding yes before I could even discover my voice.
“Very good,” said Mr. Foggelson approvingly. “Would Wednesday after school suit you?”
I was nodding again and then my head began to clear, and I knew I’d better do some real thinking on the issue.
“I’ll need to ask my aunt Lou,” I managed. And then I even had the presence of mind to say, “Wednesday might not work. I have a lot of chorin’ to do, and I need to get it all finished by prayer meetin’ time.”
“I see,” said Mr. Foggelson rather slowly, a slight frown on his face.
“Oh, I’ll do it,” I hastened to inform him. “We’ll arrange something, Aunt Lou and me—and I,” I corrected myself quickly.
