The Winds of Autumn (9 page)
“His daughter,” he said. “Who else?”
“His daughter!” we all fairly exploded.
“Good grief!” said Avery. “I thought you had some
news
.”
“Guess his daughter can come out of her own house iffen she has a mind to,” I stated sarcastically and turned away from Jack.
“Come on,” chimed in Willie. “Let’s get to school before we freeze to death.”
Jack looked disappointed. For some reason I failed to understand; he had been so excited over his silly bit of news.
“Wait, fellas,” he said as we walked away. “Wait—”
But we didn’t even want to hear about it.
Jack tried again. “Why the rush? Don’t you want to hear—”
“Why should we care if his kid runs down his walk?”
demanded Avery. “Is she weird or somethin’?”
Jack pulled me to a stop and the other fellas turned to look at him.
“You haven’t seen her?” asked Jack.
We shook our heads, and I tried to shake off Jack’s restraining hand.
“Have ya heard about her?” Jack continued.
“I heard he had a kid,” I shrugged.
“Yeah, me, too,” said Willie, his expression saying, “So what?” He turned away. “C’mon, let’s get in there before that bell rings.”
Jack let me go then but he had this funny look on his face.
“I think you boys are in for a big surprise,” was all he said.
We looked at Jack like he’d lost his senses.
We pushed our way into the small hallway and shook the snow from our coats before hanging them up on our assigned pegs. I felt myself straining forward, trying to catch a glimpse of that new teacher.
Other students crowded into the entry. We exchanged a few teasing pleasantries with the other fellas and let the girls pass without comment. One or two of them looked our way and giggled a bit. Girls were awfully silly, if you asked me.
There was no way we fellas would have entered the schoolroom before the bell rang. It just wouldn’t have looked right, somehow. Yet all of us were so anxious to get a look at the man who would be teaching us for the rest of the school year. From the stories that had been circulating, I didn’t know whether he would have a long, curling black mustache and shifty eyes, or horns and a red tail.
Anyway, we were still standing there, straining to look around the door that wasn’t opened quite wide enough for us to see into the room, when the other door opened and a gust of winter snow swirled in. Behind the snowflakes was the most beautiful creature we had ever seen. I guess our mouths all dropped open. I mean, there she was just a few feet from us, brushing the snow from a green velvet-looking coat, her cheeks flushed a rosy pink, and blue, blue eyes peering out at us from under a white fluffy hat. She took the hat off to shake the snow from it, and brownish-red curls tumbled down all around her shoulders.
Guess Avery found his voice first.
“Who is that?” I heard his hoarse whisper.
I was too busy just looking.
She glanced again over our way and instead of lowering her eyes and flushing in embarrassment or giggling like the other girls, she gave us a flashing look with just the hint of a teasing smile in it and then she was gone through the door.
“Who was that?” Avery croaked again.
“Oh,” said Jack with a real smart-alecky grin, “that’s just the teacher’s daughter.”
“Why didn’t you tell us?” asked Avery.
“You weren’t interested in the teacher’s kid. Remember?”
I gave Jack a withering look and pushed my way past the other boys. The bell hadn’t rung yet, but I couldn’t wait to see if I was dreaming or what.
I found my way to the desk I considered mine at the back of the room and managed to sit down without stumbling over anyone. My books slid carelessly onto the wooden tabletop in front of me and my eyes traveled over the room.
Sure enough. There she was. She had removed her green coat and was wearing a blue dress that brought out the blue of her eyes. Every eye in the room was on her.
Somewhere a bell rang and through a mental fog I saw other students bringing themselves to attention. A voice at the front of the room was speaking to us. Somehow the words got through to me and I suppose I obeyed the orders I was given.
I read when asked to read—answered when spoken to— worked the sums I was given—took part in a spelling bee—even said “No, sir” and “Yes, sir,” and somehow made it through the morning, but my mind sure was on other things.
When we were dismissed for the noon hour, all us older fellas clustered together talking, and a good share of the talk was about the teacher’s daughter. I listened but did not take part much. I mean, it seemed sorta crude to be discussing her in such a fashion.
Skeet Williams had Jack Berry by the front of the shirt. “What’s her name? What’s her name?” he was persisting. Jack had suddenly taken on a swaggering air, knowing he was the only one who had really seen this new girl before classes had begun.
Jack hated to admit it, but he didn’t know her name.
“It’s Camellia,” piped up Andy Johnson, with a measure of authority.
“How do you know?” Jack challenged him, hating to grant any further knowledge of the new girl to anyone but himself.
“The teacher—her pa—called her that. Didn’t ya hear him?”
Jack hadn’t heard him. I hadn’t either. But then, I hadn’t heard much the teacher had said that morning.
“Camellia,” said Avery in a sort of whisper. “That’s a flower, ain’t it?”
There were many knowing nods and cute comments. I walked away from it all. The way the fellas were carrying on was almost as bad as girls giggling. I just didn’t like the feel of it all.
Avery followed me. I walked over the frozen schoolyard kicking up clumps of roughed-up snow, dried grass and anything at all that showed.
“What’s the matter, Josh?” Avery said at my sleeve. “You mad about somethin’?”
“Naw,” I said. “I ain’t mad.”
“You’re not gettin’ those there measles, are you?”
My head jerked up. “No, I’m fine—what gives ya a silly idea like that anyway?”
“Well, yer so quiet-like. Usually you join right in the funnin’.”
“Funnin’!” I said sourly. “Is that what that was?”
Avery looked at me in surprise.
He started to say something back but I cut in, “I mean, it don’t seem fair somehow to stand talkin’ about—about people with them not even there to defend themselves or nothin’.”
“We weren’t saying nothin’ bad,” argued Avery.
“Well—‘bad’ all depends,” I continued. “I mean, iffen she—she’s a nice girl, then she might not like a bunch a fellas pickin’ her over like that—like she was just somethin’ to gawk at or somethin’.”
Avery swallowed.
“I mean,” I went on, “why don’t we just forget that girl and go play Fox and Goose or somethin’?”
“You don’t like her much, do you? I mean, what’s she done—?”
I looked Avery square in the eye. I wanted to tell him just how dumb he was—but he was my best friend. He flinched some at my look and scuffed his feet back and forth on the solid ground.
“It’s got nothin’ to do with likin’ or not likin’,” I finally said. “I don’t even know her—yet. Neither do you. Nor do any of those other fellas. But standin’ around talkin’ about her doesn’t do anybody any good. We might as well be playin’ or somethin’.”
“I’ll get the guys,” said Avery, but before he turned to go he said one more thing—quiet and almost condemning—“You’re gettin’ more like your preacher uncle every day, you know that? Ever’body in town knows he won’t tolerate nobody talkin’ ’bout nobody,” and Avery wheeled and was gone.
I knew Uncle Nat didn’t care none for town gossip. He had been the butt of it far too much himself as a kid growing up in a difficult situation. But I hadn’t known he had a name about town for not allowing it in his presence.
Well, maybe I had learned it from my uncle Nat. I didn’t like the feel of gossipy tongues either. And I wasn’t one bit ashamed of the fact.
Avery gathered up the fellas and we set us out a ring for Fox and Goose. The game got pretty lively, but I noticed fellas continually casting glances over at the girls’ side where the new girl, Camellia, was playing tag.
She fit in real nice and ran about as fast as Mary Turley, who was considered a real good athlete for a girl.
The bell rang and we got to go back into the warm schoolroom. I couldn’t help but notice how pretty Camellia was with her cheeks flushed and her coppery hair tousled from running in the wind.
At the close of the day all of us older fellas left the schoolyard together, and you can just guess what the topic of conversation was. But I didn’t want to listen to it. It just didn’t seem right somehow for them all to be talking about her and laughing and joking and all. I pulled away from the rest of them and said I had to hurry and get home ’cause Aunt Lou might be needing me.
I guess I ran all the way—I don’t really remember.
When I came into the warm, fresh-bread-smelling kitchen, Aunt Lou looked just fine.
“So how was your first day back at school, Josh?” she asked me.
I answered, “Fine.”
“Was it good to be back?” she questioned.
I said that it was.
“And what is your new teacher really like?”
I started to answer, then stumbled to an embarrassed halt. I suddenly realized that I had no idea. I couldn’t even remember what the man looked like.
T
HE NEXT DAY I
made a point of taking a real good look at our new teacher. I didn’t want to be caught again in an embarrassing situation like I had with Aunt Lou the night before. If necessary, I would even figure out his shoe size!
His name was Mr. Foggelson, that much I knew. So Camellia’s last name would be Foggelson, too. Camellia was an only child. Everyone said she most favored her ma, so I guessed her ma must be a fine-looking woman.
But I was off track again. Back to Mr. Foggelson, our teacher—he was of medium size, neither big nor small. He didn’t have a long, black mustache and shifty eyes, and he certainly did not have horns and a tail. He was clean shaven and had blue eyes—well, not real blue like Camellia’s but sort of a gray-blue. His hair was medium brown in color, not dark, not light, and it didn’t have the rich reddish-brown tones of Camellia’s hair. His chin was neither jutting in a stubborn way nor small and lost in his neckline like a mousy man’s might be. He was a rather ordinary-looking man.
His voice was well-modulated and even-pitched, neither high nor low. He taught with authority without being overbearing. He seemed to know the subject matter well. He was patient with the slow learners, but seemed to show real appreciation for a good mind. All in all, I had to admit he would probably be the finest teacher I had ever had in my limited years of schooling.
Having carefully made my mental report for Aunt Lou or anyone else who might ask, I went back to letting my thoughts wander to other things—like whether Camellia liked to skate on frozen ponds or toboggan down steep, bumpy hills. I was imagining her with her hair flying in the wind and her cheeks flushed from all the excitement.
I wonder if she’d like to go out to the farm with me?
I thought. I was sure Gramps had never seen such a pretty girl and would never believe my description of her.
I wondered if she liked dogs and how she would feel about my Pixie. Somehow I could picture her with Pixie in her arms, running her slim, long fingers through the soft, fluffy fur. I could hardly wait to get the two of them together, sure that it would be instant, mutual love.
Will I stutter and make silly blunders before I even have a chance to show her that I am different than the other fellas?
I worried.
That I really do care about her as a person, not just a pretty face?
And then I realized that “a pretty face” was all I really knew about Camellia. Well, I’d just have to set myself to finding out more about her.
The week rushed by—all too quickly, I thought, filled as it was with daydreams and snatched glances and “chance” encounters. I wondered just how I would manage the whole weekend without even a glimpse of her or anything. Many of my classmates lived right in town and would have the opportunity to see Camellia as she went to the grocer’s for her ma, or out for a walk with her pa, or something. Me, I’d be out at the farm with the menfolk—all alone.
I didn’t talk to any of my family about Camellia. Not that I wasn’t thinking about her some—I just didn’t know what to say or how to say it. I tried whispering a few little things to Pixie— and then felt my cheeks get hot with embarrassment.
I got through Saturday, though my mind really wasn’t on my farm chores. I was looking forward to Sunday. I was just sure that Camellia and her folks would be at Uncle Nat’s church, his being the only church in town. I could hardly wait to have Gramps see her. He’d notice her for sure—I mean, she stood out in a crowd, and then he’d ask me who this new girl was and I’d be able to say, “That’s Camellia Foggelson, the daughter of the new teacher.” I wouldn’t have to say that she had the bluest eyes in the world, or the prettiest brown-red hair. Gramps would see all that for himself.
But when I crawled out early for church on Sunday morning, we had ourselves a storm brewing like I’d never seen before. The wind was howling and the snow was drifting so bad you couldn’t even see the barn.
“Whoo-ee,” remarked Uncle Charlie as he looked out the frosted window, “would you look at her howl!”
“Guess this here winter is determined to make up for our fine fall,” stated Grandpa.
“Gonna be tough gettin’ to church,” I mumbled, more to myself than to anyone else.
“Won’t anyone be able to get to church this mornin’,” Grandpa stated as known fact. “Doubt even the town folk will make it.”
You can bet I was some disappointed about that. Suddenly the long, quiet Lord’s Day stretched before me empty and desolate. How in the world would we ever fill it?
The only excitement in the day was fighting our way against the wind to care for the team, the cows, hogs and chickens. They were all mighty glad to see us. Back in the house, bone-chilled and tingling, we were all glad for a good wood supply against the cold.
