Once Upon a Summer (5 page)
“Dear God,” I said, “I wanta thank ya for spendin’ yer time and energy working on my prayer.
“Please, can ya jest forget that part ’bout havin’ him die on the train? It’s okay if he comes—I guess.
“And don’t bother ’bout a new wife. He’d jest bring her, too, and we sure don’t need that. Thank ya. Amen.”
I felt a little better then. I wasn’t sure if it was God that I feared or my family—should they ever find out that I had brought down fire from heaven on a man they loved and wanted. Anyway, God and I had it sorted out now, so there wasn’t much need to worry over it any longer.
I headed for the granary to get the feed for the pigs, pretendin’, as I often did, that I had my own dog runnin’ beside me.
Today he was small and black with a splash of white on his chest, and droopy ears. His coat was curly and his tail fluffed over his back. I named him Shadow because of the way he stuck with me. As I went about the chores, I’d scold him for barkin’ at the pigs, then I’d sic him on the big red bull. He’d pull on my pant legs and nearly trip me by crowdin’ in close to me. I’d try to quiet him down as we fed the chickens.
Grandpa might have frowned on the game had he known, but it sure helped the chorin’ to be a lot more fun. I couldn’t help but think how it would be if Shadow was a real live dog. I had hinted once or twice that it would sure be useful to have a good dog about the farm, but Grandpa didn’t seem to catch on. He once had a dog that he thought an awful lot of. Lived to be fifteen years old, which is awfully old for a dog. Seemed like when he died, Grandpa jest never had the heart to get him another dog. Wasn’t that he didn’t like dogs; he jest hadn’t considered fillin’ the gap that his old comrade had left. I didn’t want to bring sadness to Grandpa, so I didn’t go beyond the hints. Still, I sure did wish that I had me my own dog.
T
HE SUMMER WAS GOIN’
along nice and smooth. The hayin’ was all done and the crops were lookin’ good. I had pushed all thoughts of impendin’ doom from my mind. I was feelin’ like my world would continue on as it was for jest as long as I wanted it to—which would prob’ly be forever—when Grandpa hit me with a real knock-downer.
Now if I hadn’t heard the conversation that night on the kitchen stairs, I wouldn’t have paid any attention to what Grandpa said now.
We were riding home from church on a hot Sunday. It would have been too hot if it hadn’t been for a breeze that was blowin’. I was sitting at the back of the wagon hanging my bare feet down so that they could swing; I’d taken off my Sunday shoes and my socks as soon as we were a respectable distance from the church. Then I heard Grandpa speak to Auntie Lou.
At Grandpa’s words my mind snapped to attention. I had been feelin’ pretty secure thinkin’ that Grandpa and Uncle Charlie had forgotten all about their fool plan concernin’ Auntie Lou. What Grandpa said now made me realize that they still meant business. I twisted around so that I could hear better.
“Are you a-feelin’ up to havin’ some company, Lou? Been awhile since we had anyone in.”
Now Grandpa knew that Lou had no objection to company. She could whip up a meal jest as tasty as any cook in the county. It was Grandpa and Uncle Charlie who usually went thumbs-down on the company idea.
Lou looked at Grandpa with interest showin’ in her face— she didn’t suspect a thing.
“Sure,” she said. “Sounds fun! Did you have anyone particular in mind?’
Boy, does he!
I could have said, but didn’t. I listened hard, curious to find out who had finally passed Grandpa’s and Uncle Charlie’s tests.
“Well, thought maybe we could sorta start with the Raw-leighs. Seem like nice folk. Kinda like to get to know them better.”
Lou’s blue eyes opened wide but she said nothing. I could almost see her thoughts twirlin’ round.
It just so happened that Mrs. Rawleigh was a widow lady, a rather attractive one, too, as middle-aged ladies go. She only had one child, a son in his twenties. They owned a neat and prosperous farm to the east of us. Mrs. Rawleigh had used hired help on the farm for many years, but in the last few years Jedd was doing the farmin’ on his own.
I thought that I could tell what Lou was thinkin’, and it was on the widow—not the son—that her thoughts were centered.
She tried to keep her voice very even, but I caught the tremble of excitement in it.
“Sure, that’s fine—good idea. Did you have any special time in mind?”
Grandpa was feeling pleased with himself. His plan was working well.
“Kinda wondered if next Sunday dinner would be all right.”
“That’ll be fine. Sure, jest fine.”
I felt the fear and anger risin’ up in me and then I looked at Lou. She was stealin’ little sideways glances at Grandpa. There was a question in her eyes, but humor, too, and I knew that she was thinkin’,
You old fox you—and you never let on!
And suddenly I wanted to snicker. This could turn out to be downright fun if I could jest keep Jedd from takin’ Grandpa’s bait; and that wasn’t going to be an easy task with the bait as pretty as it was.
I was glad that I had been watchin’ Auntie Lou. Knowin’ what I did I would never have taken the turn of thought that Auntie Lou did. It wouldn’t hurt none if I kinda helped those thoughts of hers to do a bit of growin’ before Sunday arrived.
All week Auntie Lou worked on the house and the meal. She must’ve changed her mind about what she’d be servin’ at least four times. She even tried new desserts out on us. They were all good, and I was quite willing to be one of her guinea pigs.
At every opportunity I tried to drop subtle hints or ask leading questions. She didn’t always follow my sneaky thinkin’ and jest looked at me searchingly. Still I kept workin’ away at it.
“Do you think Grandpa is lookin’ happier these days? Seems he’s kinda different somehow”—to which Lou replied that it was prob’ly due to anticipation about Great-grandpa’s comin’ to join us. After several other seemingly unsuccessful tries, I decided that I was going to have to be a bit more obvious.
“How long has Mrs. Rawleigh been a widder?” I was licking cake batter from a mixing bowl.
“Oh, about eleven years now, I guess—maybe more.”
“Sure seems funny.”
“Seems funny that someone’s a widow?”
“No. Seems funny that no one’s noticed how purty she is and married her long before now.”
“I hear tell one or two have tried, but she wasn’t of that mind.”
“Really? Who?”
“Oh—Orvis Bixley.”
“Orvis Bixley? No wonder she wasn’t interested.”
“Nothing so wrong with Orvis Bixley.”
“He’s old.”
“To you maybe, but he’s not so awful much older than the widow Rawleigh.”
“He seems it. She still looks young—and purty, too.”
“You said that.”
“Oh, yeah.” I licked without talkin’ for a while, then set aside the bowl.
“Who else?” I inquired.
“Who else what?”
“Who else tried to marry the widow Rawleigh?”
She looked at me with that questioning look of hers as if to sort out jest what I was fishin’ for. I avoided her eyes.
“I don’t know,” she finally said. “Some hired man that she had at one time, I guess. I don’t know his name.”
I didn’t know jest how to make my point and tie up this conversation.
“Sure wouldn’t blame
any
man for takin’ a likin’ to her.”
I put lots of stress on the
any.
I left. I could feel Lou’s eyes on my departin’ back.
Lou took a break later in the day to sit in the shade on the back porch and do some fancy stitchin’ on a pillowcase. I knew that I still had some unfinished business, but I hoped that I
had given her somethin’ to think on earlier. I came right to the point.
“Do you think that Grandpa would be happier married again?”
She looked up quickly.
“I don’t know.”
“Wonder why he never did?”
“He was too busy carin’ for us I s’pose.”
That was exactly what I had wanted her to say.
“Do you think we’ve been selfish?”
“Selfish? How?”
“Well, if it weren’t for us, he could be married again and happy.” I tried to make it sound like there was no way that Grandpa could have any measure of happiness while unmarried.
“There’s still plenty of time,” Lou said absentmindedly.
“Pa is still young enough to have lots of years of happiness with another wife—if he so chooses.”
“And we won’t stand in his way anymore?”
“I don’t know that we ever—”
“I jest mean that we’re old enough now—me and you—that iffen Grandpa wanted to marry again, we could sorta look after ourselves.”
“What are you driving at?” Lou eyed me suspiciously.
“Well,” I said, and my words were honest, even if my meaning wasn’t. “I somehow got the feelin’ last Sunday when Grandpa asked about havin’ the Rawleighs to dinner that there was more to it than he was lettin’ on.”
Now that was a mouthful. Lou took it the way I had hoped she would. Slowly she reached out to me with a quiet little smile.
“You rascal,” she said. “You don’t miss a thing, do you? Well, I’m glad that you’re not upset. Maybe nothing will come of it anyway.” She thought for a bit.
“Okay, so Pa wants to get to know the widow Rawleigh better. I don’t know her well, but if Pa likes her, she has my full approval. She seems nice enough. If Pa, and I say
if
he likes her, then I,
and
you, we won’t say anything. We’ll jest do our best to make everything as pleasant for Pa as we can. I’m kinda glad that you caught on to it, too. Now I know that I can count on you to help me.
“Now above all, we mustn’t seem to push or fuss. That would jest make them self-conscious and uncomfortable. They have to work this out for themselves in their own way—and time. And we disappear—if we can.
“Remember, until Pa wishes to state his own case, we play ignorance. Okay?”
“Okay,” I agreed.
“There’s only one little thing that bothers me.”
“What’s that?”
“That Jedd! To think that I might end up with him for a brother!” Lou made a sour face and shuddered. “But that’s our secret, okay?”
I grinned. It was sure okay with me all right.
“Not so fond of Jedd myself,” I said.
“Well, let’s try not to let it show if we can help it.”
I nodded, feelin’ sorta like takin’ on something big. Lou didn’t care much for Jedd. That sure helped my situation a heap!
I was jest about to draw a deep breath in relief when a funny thought went flittin’ through my brain; and with it came a –feelin’ of uneasiness.
What if Grandpa really did go and fall for the widow Rawleigh?
I reckoned that I’d hate to lose Grandpa jest about as much as I’d hate to lose my Auntie Lou. Naw! Grandpa’d have more sense than to go and do a thing like that. Still it would bear some watchin’. Anyway, I could only handle one worry at a time, so I’d have to let that one pass for the time bein’.
I picked up the milk pails and puckered my lips into a whistle, trying to drum up confidence that I wasn’t too sure I felt. Anyway, the whistlin’ helped some.
S
ATURDAY WAS CLOUDY WITH
a stiff wind blowin’. I saw Grandpa look out the window to check the skies several times. He seemed really worried that his well-laid plans might all come to ruin. A few times I saw him and Uncle Charlie sort of huddled together talkin’ in low tones. I pretended not to notice, although I was near dyin’ to know what was being said.
Lou was busy with final preparations in the house. She even toyed with the idea of opening up the front parlor, but Grandpa said that it wasn’t necessary. The parlor had been closed and all of the furniture covered with sheets ever since Grandma had died. When I was little I was scared of that room; then one day Auntie Lou took me by the hand and showed me under all the sheets—nothing but furniture. There was some pretty fine furniture too—even an organ.
At first Grandpa had said, “Men don’t have time to spit and polish all that fancy stuff.” Later he changed it to, “No use Lou havin’ to fuss with that; she’s already got enough to do.” But I think that the real reason for the parlor staying closed had something to do with Grandma and how Grandpa missed her. Anyway, in spite of Lou’s offer, the parlor again stayed closed. The dinner table was laid as usual in our big kitchen with the family living quarters off to one side. Grandpa said that Lou kept it pretty enough for
any
company.
After the scare that the weather gave us on Saturday, Grandpa was relieved to see the clouds blown away and the sun comin’ out again on Sunday mornin’.
I hadn’t seen him in such good spirits for a long time, and Auntie Lou and I exchanged a wink as we watched him polishin’ his shoes and brushin’ his hat. Lou was convinced that he had taken a shine to the widow all right; and I might even have begun to worry myself if I hadn’t overheard Grandpa whisper to Uncle Charlie, “Remember, this is jest for a get-acquainted like—no pushin’ today.” Uncle Charlie nodded and grinned.
The ride to church was pleasant. Even the service was okay. The singin’ was really good—jest as though the folks were like birds glad to see the sun again and wanting to sing their hearts out. Old Parson White brought a sermon that even boys could understand and didn’t mind listenin’ to. Even Willie Corbin left off carvin’ initials in the pew and paid attention; Jack Berry only pulled out his warty frog to shove it toward the girls once. I was sure that after church he’d be mad at himself for missin’ so many good chances.
While folks stood around out in the sunshine after the service, Grandpa removed his hat and approached the widow Rawleigh to check that their plans to come to dinner were all in order. I saw some eyebrows go up. Mrs. T. Smith and Mrs. P. Smith were talkin’ nearby. Mrs. T. stopped mid-sentence and gave the old-eyebrow trick to Mrs. P. She responded, I knew that they were thinkin’ the same way as Auntie Lou was concernin’ this Sunday dinner date. I snickered and ducked behind some of the boys so folks wouldn’t wonder if I was up to some kind of mischief.