The Winds of Autumn (11 page)
“Good,” he said, his frown replaced by a somewhat distant smile.
“I’ll check with her tonight and let you know in the morning, sir,” I said, and with his nod of agreement I felt I was dismissed.
I left then as dignified as I could manage, careful not to put on my cap, or hoot, or run until I had left the schoolhouse steps.
I guess I ran all the way home, and when I got there I was so out of breath I couldn’t even tell Aunt Lou my good news. I just sat there gulping air, my face flushed from the cold air and the run.
She laughed at me as she put the milk and cookies in front of me. She knew I had something exciting to share, and that I was near to busting for the want of telling it.
“Take your time, Josh,” she said, patting my shoulder. “I’ll be here when you catch your breath.”
Pixie pushed against my leg, wanting up on my lap, and I scooped her up and shared a bit of my cookie. I thought Pixie would be interested in my news, too, but I couldn’t tell her yet either.
Aunt Lou went to the back porch to get more wood for the fire. She seemed to take a little longer than usual, and I wondered if she was doing it on purpose to give me time to catch my breath.
When she came back, she started chatting right away—I think to give me even more time.
“I was just thinking, Josh, it is only three weeks till Christmas. Seems funny. I haven’t even gotten in the Christmas mood yet, though we have been practicing the Christmas music for the church program. Still, it’s coming soon, ready or not.”
I nodded my head and washed down my mouthful of cookie with the cold milk.
“Anything special you want for Christmas, Josh?”
I hadn’t been doing any thinking on that. I shook my head, trying at the same time to come up with an item so Aunt Lou would feel good about getting me something I “wanted.”
I came up empty. Fact was I really had everything I needed. And Camellia’s special friendship was about the only thing I was wanting, and I supposed Aunt Lou couldn’t do much about getting that for me. I was rather on my own there.
I emptied the last of my milk and Aunt Lou pulled out a chair at the table and sat down.
“Can you talk now?” she asked, a bit of a twinkle in her eyes.
“Mr. Foggelson asked me for some help,” I blurted out.
“Help?” Aunt Lou responded, curiosity in her face.
“With geometry.”
“Help
him
in geometry?” teased Aunt Lou, but I knew she didn’t need an answer to that.
“Sort of coachin’—or teachin’,” I went on to explain.
“Oh—h,” responded Aunt Lou, and she gave me one of her shining smiles as only Aunt Lou could when she was very pleased with me.
“You must be doing very well, Josh, for the teacher to pick you to tutor another student. I’m proud of you.” And she reached out and placed her hand on my head for just a moment.
“Then I can do it?”
“Of course. I think it’s an honor—and will also be a good experience for you.”
“He suggested Wednesday night,” I continued, “but I told him it takes all my time to get my chores done before prayer meetin’.”
“Will another evening work?” Aunt Lou asked, genuinely concerned. “I mean,” she went on, “if no other night works, I could help with the chores or—”
I stood up quickly, almost forgetting Pixie on my lap. I was shaking my head as I grabbed for Pixie.
“I’m sure we can work somethin’ out for another time,” I said, not wanting Aunt Lou to even consider choring when she had me around.
“Talk it over with your teacher,” suggested Aunt Lou. “We certainly will co-operate in any way we can.” I knew she and Uncle Nat would do their best to work it out so I could do the “tutoring.”
I was turning to go get changed out of my school clothes when Aunt Lou’s voice stopped me.
“Who’s the lucky student, Josh?”
I turned, not understanding her for a moment.
“Who’s the lucky student?” she asked again, “to have you for a tutor?”
Without me being able to stop it the red began to creep into my face. I wanted to turn away to hide my embarrassment but I knew that would be rude. I tried to keep my voice even, though the thumping of my heart was far from normal.
“Camellia,” I stated as matter-of-factly as I could, trying hard to put no special emphasis on the name.
“Camellia?” said Aunt Lou.
“Camellia Foggelson,” I stumbled on.
“Oh, the teacher’s daughter. Then it
is
an honor, Joshua. If the teacher picked you to teach his own daughter, then he must have a high regard for you.”
I stood there, still blushing, not knowing what to say and wishing to escape to the quietness and privacy of my own small bedroom.
“Is she a poor student?” queried my aunt.
“She’s ’bout the best in the class,” I blurted out too quickly.
“She always leads everyone in English and Social Studies. She’s real good at Art and Readin’ and everything. She even beats me in Arithmetic an’—“ I stopped. I realized I was sounding like I thought Aunt Lou had insulted her. I also realized Camellia was a good student. A very good student. She led the class in almost every subject. So why was I being asked to tutor her? I hadn’t given it a thought before, I was so excited over the possibility of just being with her. And if I did take on tutoring her, could I keep my thoughts on the geometry problems long enough to be of any help to her? Some strange doubts and feelings began to flood over me. I turned to go to my room.
Aunt Lou must have sensed my confusion, for she did not question me further or try to stop me.
All the time I was changing into my clothes for chores, my mind wrestled with the problem. Why was Mr. Foggelson asking me to tutor his daughter who clearly needed no tutoring? Was
I
failing geometry? Was this a way to help me without me feeling embarrassed over it? No, that didn’t make sense. I was having no trouble with the work. In fact, I had just gotten a grade of 98 percent on my last test. Was Camellia really having trouble with this part of the work? Well, maybe. Maybe she hadn’t gotten her usual high-nineties score last time. I was sure Mr. Foggelson expected only top grades from her. Perhaps he really did want tutoring help for Camellia.
I tried to push the weighty problem to the back of my mind and think on other things, but it kept popping to the front again, insisting on my full attention.
I picked up Pixie and headed out through the kitchen to get my heavy coat.
“You’d best stay in,” I told the little dog. “It’s too cold out there for you tonight.”
Aunt Lou, busy peeling the supper vegetables, gave me a smile as I walked by, but said nothing further about my tutoring. I was glad. I wasn’t quite ready to discuss it yet. I had to do some more sorting out first. I had been so excited about it and was nearly bursting to share it with some of the fellas. Now I just wasn’t so sure. Maybe I wouldn’t say anything about it at all. Might be better if I sorta kept it to myself, at least until I had it figured out.
M
R. FOGGELSON’S EYES MET
mine the next morning as soon as I entered the classroom. I could not avoid him without being rude, so I sorta smiled and nodded my head slightly, and he understood that I had talked to my aunt Lou and uncle Nat.
Fact was, we’d had quite a discussion about the matter. After the chores were all done, the evening meal over and we’d had our evening devotions together, Aunt Lou brought up the subject again.
“Josh has had quite an honor today,” she told Uncle Nat. “The teacher has asked him to help his daughter, Camellia, with some geometry that she is not quite understanding.”
Uncle Nat’s eyes lifted from the Bible he was replacing on the small corner table.
“That so?” he said. “Good for you, Josh,” and he gave me a smile and a playful slap on the back.
I blushed a bit and shifted my feet some.
“When?” asked Uncle Nat.
“We haven’t worked that out yet,” I stammered after Aunt Lou waited for me to answer the question. “He had suggested Wednesday, but I told him I couldn’t get my chores done soon enough. It’s all I can do to get finished in time for prayer meetin’ and I sure wouldn’t have time—”
“If it’s the only night that will work for them, we probably could work something out,” said Uncle Nat. “Maybe a bit more wood chopping other nights, and on Wednesday I could try to get home earlier and—”
“Ain’t no sense you takin’ on more,” I found myself saying.
I knew that Uncle Nat was already too busy. He hardly had any time at home.
“I’m sure another night will work just fine,” I continued.
“I’ll talk to Mr. Foggelson tomorrow.”
“We’ll co-operate in any way that we can,” said Uncle Nat as they both smiled at me, and I knew they would.
Then Uncle Nat turned very serious. He spoke slowly and deliberately, “This might be an answer to my prayers, Josh. I called on the Foggelsons as soon as they moved to town and invited them to join us in worship.” Uncle Nat paused for a moment, and I knew he was carefully choosing each word. “Mr. Foggelson said they had no need nor interest in church. That it was for the deprived and unlearned—as a crutch—that educated men had other things than myths and fables to give their attention to. He also said his wife and daughter were free to make their own decision, but when his wife looked up after his comment, I got the feeling that the decision had already been made for her, too.”
There was silence for several moments.
“Maybe God can use you in some way, Josh, to bring His light to this family.”
The thought kinda scared me. I was no preacher or anything. If Uncle Nat had failed to convince the man, then surely there was nothing I could do. I mean, it was real scary—to have someone’s eternal destiny, so to speak, resting on my shoulders. Actually, I expected to take that responsibility someday. I was sorta thinking about being a preacher like Uncle Nat. I really respected him—and so did the other people of the town. Wherever he went folks greeted him and doffed their caps and listened to what he had to say with real respect. And he was the one they called on when there was sickness or an accident or trouble of most any kind. I bet there wasn’t a fella who got called on more—unless it was the doc. Even then the two of them most often ended up in the same house, for the same need—doc with his black medical bag and Uncle Nat with his black Book.
Well, even if I did hope to one day be a preacher too and looked up to by the people, I wasn’t quite ready for that responsibility yet, and the thought of being the one to help some family, especially the family of my teacher, see the need for Christ and the church—well, I didn’t know if I could do that. Still, I said nothing. Just squirmed a bit.
“Let’s pray,” suggested Uncle Nat.
We had just finished praying, but after a brief glimpse at Uncle Nat, then Aunt Lou, I bowed my head like they were doing.
“Dear Lord, our Father,” began Uncle Nat. “We thank you for this opportunity that has come to Josh to enter the home of the Foggelsons. Help him to be sensitive to your leading and to let his light shine for you. May he be used of you, Lord, and be instrumental in bringing this family to the place where they realize that education, as good as it is, is not enough to prepare one for life after death. That one cannot better the mind sufficiently to redeem the soul—that only through the death and life of Jesus Christ can we have our sins forgiven and our lives changed. Amen.”
I gave a great deal of thought to Uncle Nat’s prayer. I had never considered the possibility of a man like Mr. Foggelson being denied heaven. I mean, he was decent, intelligent, and a gentleman. Everyone nodded to him and greeted him with respect. Yet here he was, not believing in God and not ready for heaven. If he should have an accident or a sickness and die—I didn’t even want to think of it. It was easy for me to understand about Old Sam. He was wicked. The fella was always drunk. He couldn’t even care for himself properly. He didn’t wash, he didn’t change his clothes. He didn’t even eat most of the time. Uncle Nat had to look after him constantly and pour soup down him or he wouldn’t even have survived from week to week. But Mr. Foggelson? It was awfully hard for me to put the two men in the same category—“lost.”
So that’s how I came to be back in class, trying not to let on to Mr. Foggelson that I knew he was a sinner, that he would not be allowed into heaven unless he chose to repent of his sin. It wasn’t my rule, it was God’s rule—it was that simple, that straightforward. There was no middle road. No other option. There was only heaven and hell, and heaven was for those who called on the Lord God to forgive them for their wrongdoings. If one chose to ignore God or deny that He had a right to direct one’s life, that person would not be allowed into heaven, no matter how good other people thought he was.
I was glad we went right to our history lesson so I could lower my eyes to my book.
At recess and lunch time I didn’t say anything to the other fellas about tutoring Camellia. Not even to Willie or Avery. I tried to join in with the games as usual, but it was difficult. My mind just wasn’t on them. I think the others noticed my lack of concentration and my quietness—I caught a few glances my way, but no one said anything, for which I was glad.
I also noticed a few glances from Camellia. She looked over my way several times and once even smiled before I could turn away. My stomach gave a flop and I missed the tag on Avery. I tried to fake a trip so the fellas wouldn’t guess what had really happened. I don’t think I brought it off very well.
After school I knew I would be questioned by Mr. Foggelson, so I didn’t even try to hurry putting away my books and gathering up my lessons to take home.
He came with a big smile.
“Well, Joshua, did you get permission from your aunt and uncle?”
“Yes, sir,” I answered, swallowing hard and trying to raise my eyes to Mr. Foggelson’s face.
“Good,” he beamed. “When can you begin?”
“Thursdays seem to be best, sir. Right after school, if that suits you.”
“That suits me just fine. And Camellia, too. She’s happy to hear you can help her.”
