Winter Is Not Forever (13 page)
For the first time I saw the tears threaten to form. Mrs. Foggelson shook her head slowly, and suddenly her lovely, gentle face looked old.
“I don’t expect so,” she said candidly. “Camellia does not approve of my staying here. She has always been her daddy’s girl, you know. If she goes to anyone, it will be to him.”
I pushed back my chair and got to my feet. I felt so sorry for Mrs. Foggelson, but there was really no way I had of telling her. What could a young fella like me know about the way she hurt? How could I understand her reason for doing what she was doing? And yet, from the expression in her eyes I knew that her decision to remain behind was not made lightly.
“I’d best be going,” I said hoarsely. “I still have things to do before I head for home.”
She nodded in understanding and smiled. “You drop in anytime you can, Joshua.”
I worried about her as I left. The tulips were appearing. Mrs. Foggelson would do just fine tending her beloved spring flowers. But who would be responsible for the many other things that needed tending?
The school year was almost over, and Mr. Foggelson would undoubtedly leave as soon as he was finished with his teaching obligation. That would leave Mrs. Foggelson totally on her own. She hadn’t made many friends in town, either. She would need someone.
I had been brought up to not take kindly to neighborhood gossip, but I knew I had to talk to Aunt Lou. I knew she was busy with all her housework, the church, and baby Sarah, but Mrs. Foggelson would need some lady to talk to, and I figured that Aunt Lou would be just the one. I would help Camellia’s mother all I could. I wouldn’t be able to do much, but I’d pray. And I’d get Aunt Lou.
D
AYS PASSED INTO WEEKS
, weeks to months, and months to years. During those two years I worked hard, occasionally wondering if God would suddenly make up His mind about what He wanted me to do and move me on before I had things under control at the farm. If I had thought it through at the time, I would have realized that our heavenly Father doesn’t do things that way.
With the help of Mr. Thomas, we got the quality seed that we needed and began our crop rotation. But there were no miracles. The land did not turn more productive overnight. By the end of the second year of our new program, Grandpa and I both hoped we were seeing some improvement in the yield—but maybe it was just that we had a wonderful summer for growing.
The herd, too, was slow to increase. We were able to purchase a few good animals from Mr. Thomas, and with the best from our own herd, we began to build for the future. But there were no quick profits on our investment, and we had to watch the farm budget carefully so we wouldn’t overextend ourselves. The calves of that spring were the first real return we saw on our experiment; even Uncle Charlie had to come out to the barnyard to have a look as each one arrived. One of the cows had twins—both little heifers that would one day greatly strengthen our herd.
Aunt Lou’s family was increasing, too. Jonathan Joshua joined Sarah at the parsonage. Sarah, at two years, was so excited that she could hardly contain herself. She called him “my brudder,” and squeezed him each time she came near him. She wanted to share everything with him, from her fuzzy teddy to her breakfast toast. Aunt Lou had to watch her closely.
Willie came home the first summer, excited about how God was helping him with his studies and also his finances. He was just bursting with it all. But he ended up getting a summer job at Gainerville, so I didn’t get to see him nearly as much as I would have liked.
He did talk with me about Camellia, however. She was still angry about her ma staying on in town. Willie said that Camellia had, at one point, become quite open and willing to listen to him as he tried to explain his faith. Then when she got the word about her folks, she completely turned it all off again. Willie said he didn’t dare raise the subject after that. Every time he attempted to say anything about Christianity, Camellia would remind him that her ma had at one time professed faith, and look what she had done to her pa. It wasn’t fair of Camellia, we both knew, but people can reason in strange ways sometimes. Willie urged me to keep on praying, and I promised I would.
Mrs. Foggelson didn’t stay on at the big house after Mr. Foggelson left town. She moved the few things that she still called her own into a single room at the boardinghouse in town and started to take in sewing. There were no silver tea services, no sets of fine china, no flower beds of tulips and roses—nothing but a sewing machine and the bare necessities of life.
But Aunt Lou did befriend her, and she responded. She often walked over to the parsonage for a cup of tea. Aunt Lou was even able to get her to start reading her Bible again—but she still wouldn’t agree to come to church.
Willie didn’t even come home the next summer. He had a job there near the school. I missed him, but I was really too busy to think much about it.
The harvest weather was better and the crops were in on time. The next winter was milder, too, and our few animals fared much better.
When spring returned, we planted again—this time with some of our own seed. We had chosen the best, spending many of our winter evenings gathered around the kitchen table carefully sorting out seed for planting. For Uncle Charlie it was difficult; his twisted hands found it almost impossible to handle small things.
That third year on the farm, the crop that we planted gave us the best yield we had seen for some time. The hay did especially well, and the pruned-back fruit trees began to bear again like they hadn’t in years. We’d have several pigs ready for fall market, and the cattle, though slow to make a comeback, showed good quality in the small herd we were developing.
We were even able to put out money for paint, and in between the haying and the harvesting I was able to paint the buildings, including the house. It sure did make the whole farm look better.
I even began to think about a tractor, though I didn’t mention it to Grandpa and Uncle Charlie. I knew they would be likely to think I was moving a bit too fast.
The crop was all in, and I had just celebrated my twentyfirst birthday when I got a letter from Willie. We hadn’t been writing quite as often as we once had, and I was pretty excited when I saw his handwriting. Willie was now in his final year at the college and would soon be a mission candidate. I knew he was excited about finding which foreign field God had in mind for him. I would have been excited too, but the thought of Willie graduating was a reminder to me that I was already four years behind in my preparation time. It would take a good deal of extra hard work once God showed me what He wanted me to do with my life.
I just had to write,
Willie said,
and share with you the most exciting news. Camellia has become a Christian. I won’t tell you any more about it than that, as she wants to tell you all about it herself when we come home for Christmas. Yes, you read that right. She is going to come home to see her mother. She knows that they must get some things straightened out between them.
I couldn’t believe it! It was just too good to be true. And yet I didn’t know why I found it so hard to believe. I had been praying daily for several years for that very thing to happen. The tears began to fill my eyes, and I brushed them away with the back of my hand.
Camellia was a Christian! Camellia would be coming home at Christmas! It all seemed like a miracle. Praise God! Bless Willie!
I read on, the pages blurred now from the tears in my eyes.
We’ll be there on Monday’s train,
Willie went on.
It arrives
at 11:35 a.m.—or is supposed to. Remember how we used to go down to the station to watch for the train—not to see the train as much as to watch the people? Remember how some of them would get so irate because the train was always so late? Well, if it’s that late on Monday, the 21st of December, I might understand for the first time why they acted as they did.
My eyes slid to the calendar. The twenty-first was twelve days away. How would I ever be able to stand the wait?
Then I let out a whoop and raced up the stairs two at a time to tell Grandpa and Uncle Charlie the good news.
I
DAYDREAMED MY WAY
through the rest of the day and tossed my way through the night. After such a long time, I would see Willie and Camellia again! Camellia had become a Christian!
The next morning I saddled Chester and headed for town. I couldn’t wait to tell the good news to Uncle Nat and Aunt Lou.
Sarah saw me coming and met me at the door. “Hi, Unca Dosh!” she shouted before I even had time to dismount. She was still having trouble with her
j’s
. And I was still waiting for the day when she could properly say uncle, though I must admit that I secretly thought “Unca” sounded pretty cute.
I picked her up and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Hi, sweets.”
“Have you been to da store?” she asked coyly. “No, I came straight here to see you.” I kissed her cheek again. Sarah knew that only shopping brought us to town midweek. She squirmed to get down, and I set her on her feet.
“Can I go wif you?” she asked, her big blue eyes pleading.
“I don’t need to go to the store this time,” I replied, feeling quite flattered that she wanted to be with me every moment that I was in town. “See?” I continued, pointing to Chester, “I didn’t even bring the wagon—just Chester.”
Sarah’s lower lip came out, and I thought for a moment that she would cry.
“I’m not going to the store,” I repeated quickly, crouching down to her level.
The tears came to her eyes then, and she looked at me as she tried to blink them away. “Then how can you get candy?”
For a minute I didn’t quite understand. Then it dawned on me. We came to visit
after
shopping, and we always had a small bag of treats for Sarah.
I couldn’t help but laugh. The little beggar hadn’t done a great deal for my ego, but at least she was honest and forthright.
“No candy this time,” I said, tousling her curly hair. “Too many sweets aren’t good for you. Where’s your mamma?”
