Spring's Gentle Promise (6 page)

And then the winter snows came deep enough that the car was no longer practical. I drove it into the shed I had built for it and we started using the team again. Never had the trip to town seemed longer than when we were forced to travel it again by sleigh.

The dog was making an awful commotion one evening, and we all rose from our places to look out the window. We hadn’t been expecting any callers. The evening was chilly, but not inhuman. There was no sharp wind blowing and the moon was bright. Still, we couldn’t figure out why anyone would be making house calls on horseback at such an hour. I had a momentary pang that something might be wrong in town and Uncle Nat had come to inform us.

But it wasn’t Uncle Nat. Relieved, I realized the traveler was a stranger. Well, not exactly a stranger. I had seen him once or twice, and from the greetings later in our kitchen, I came to realize that both Mary and Matilda had met him before.

But when Grandpa had answered his knock and opened the door, he didn’t seem to know who the young man was. He extended his hand cordially anyway and offered for the young fella to come in.

“Don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure,” Grandpa was saying as he shook the hand firmly, and the man answered cheerily enough, “Sanders. Will Sanders. We bought the place just over yonder,” and he nodded his head to the east.

“Sanders,” repeated Grandpa. “Thought I’d met Sanders.” Grandpa looked a bit perplexed. “Thet weren’t yer pa, were it?”

“No, sir. My oldest brother. He bought the place. My pa’s been gone for nigh unto seven years now.”

“Sorry to hear thet,” Grandpa said sincerely. “Come in an’ sit ya down. Is there something we can be a helpin’ ya with?”

The young man smiled easily. “Thank you, no,” he answered evenly. “Just callin’.” He made no move toward a chair.

All of this conversation had taken place while the rest of us looked on. I guess Will figured it was time to change all that. His eyes traveled around the room. He nodded briefly to Uncle Charlie, studied me for a moment and then turned his gaze toward the two girls. That was the first he smiled. He reached to remove his hat and with a slight nod in the girls’ direction said, “Hello, Miss Turley, Miss Hopkins.”

That was when I began to study the man before me.

A little taller than me, his shoulders were broader, hips slimmer. Even in the lamplight I could see the waves of dark hair and the deep-set dark eyes. His jaw was rather square and his nose straight. When he smiled he showed a row of even, white teeth. Even I was smart enough to know that ladies would consider him a good-looking man. I stirred uneasily as Mary and Matilda acknowledged his greeting. Both of them had a flush on their cheeks and shine to their eyes.

Mary was the first to move forward.

“Won’t you come in, Mr. Sanders,” she greeted him cordially. “Here, let me have your hat and coat.”

Will Sanders passed Mary his hat and took off his heavy winter coat. Mary took both to a peg reserved for visitors’ wraps in the corner.

I had never seen Matilda silent for so many minutes before.

“I didn’t realize you were staying on,” she finally ventured with a shy look in Sander’s direction.

“Well, I had thought about going back to the city for the winter, but my brother said he could sure use some help with the choring.”

I shifted uneasily again.

“Have you met Josh?” asked Mary, returning from hanging up the man’s hat and coat.

The eyes shifted to me. He studied me for a moment before saying slowly, rather deliberately, “I don’t believe I’ve had the privilege,” and he smiled a bit too familiarly, I thought.

I stepped forward and extended my hand. It seemed like the neighborly thing to do. He shook it firmly. I wondered if he was trying to make me cringe under his grip. I found my fingers tightening around his. I wanted the man to know that other men had strength in their hands as well.

For a moment our eyes locked, and I could see in his expression some sort of challenge. I wasn’t sure what it was all about, but I sure felt ill at ease.

After just sitting around for a spell thinking up things to talk about like weather and cattle feed, Matilda suggested that we play some Chinese checkers. We moved our chairs into position around the table. The game went well enough. For some reason I can’t explain, it was very important to me that I win. I did. But just. Then the next game was won by Mary. That didn’t bother me a bit, but it did bother me some that young Sanders came in second.

Mary fixed a little snack, and Grandpa and Uncle Charlie joined us around the table. Matilda carried most of the conversation. She and Sanders chatted on merrily, and occasionally he turned and offered some comment to Mary and she responded. I didn’t pay too much attention to it all. I couldn’t see where it concerned me much anyway. Then a comment of Matilda’s caught my ear.

“Josh has a new Ford, but with the snow so deep he has it put away for now.”

I felt my pride swell a bit. Here was one area where I had an edge on the city slicker fella. But his words quickly cut me down to size again.

“I have a silver Bentley, but I left it in the city. I wasn’t sure of the country roads, and I didn’t want it damaged. I’m thinking of bringing it on out in the spring.”

I had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.

Mary said nothing but Matilda swooned. “A silver Bentley! I saw one of those in an advertising pamphlet. They are just gorgeous.”

The young man nodded matter-of-factly as though a silver Bentley was really the least of the “gorgeous” things he possessed.

After a lot of small talk, mostly centered on Will Sanders, he finally decided to go. If he expected an argument from me, he sure was mistaken. But as he took his leave, he promised to be back. Not “may I” or “by your leave” or anything like that. Just “I’ll drop back again the first chance I get.” I cringed inside.

After he’d finally gone I went up to bed as soon as I could tactfully excuse myself. Even with my door closed I could hear Mary and Matilda talking and giggling like a couple of schoolgirls. The whole thing disturbed me so much I could hardly concentrate as I read my nightly Bible passage and tried to pray. Yet I couldn’t put into thoughts or words just why I felt as I did. I tried hard to shove the uneasy feelings aside and get to sleep, but it was too big a job for me. I tossed and turned until I heard the clock strike three—still sleep eluded me. I slammed my fist into my pillow and wished fervently that I had never laid eyes on the guy.

C
HAPTER
7
Changes

I
AWOKE STILL TIRED and grumpy from my lack of sleep. I had never felt quite so disturbed in my entire life, and I couldn’t make heads or tails of it. I knew it had something to do with that young whippersnapper Will Sanders, but what he might have done to merit such feelings on my part I had no idea. He seemed like a decent enough chap, and he certainly had behaved himself in gentlemanly fashion while he had been a guest—though an uninvited one—in our home.

No one else seemed to take offense at his sudden appearance, and
some
members of the household actually seemed to favor his visit.

Somehow I knew he had touched on a raw nerve. After pondering the situation, I realized I resented the attention that Matilda and Mary had given to him. I had no reason to resent it, but the feeling was there. I felt challenged—backed up in my own corner. But what was I trying to defend? And why did the presence of the new neighbor put me on the defensive?

I shoved the whole thing aside, for it was more than I could deal with in my present mood.

I finished the chores and returned to the house for breakfast. I was later than usual in coming in and the table was nearly cleared and empty.

“Matilda had to eat so she could get to school on time,” Mary explained without a hint in her tone that my lateness had made it difficult for anyone else.

Mary dished out two plates of pancakes and bacon and poured two cups of coffee, which she brought to the table.

“Grandpa and Uncle Charlie joined Matilda,” she continued. She did not comment on the fact that she had waited for me.

I just nodded to Mary, and when she joined me at the table I said the table grace as usual.

“Anything wrong at the barn?” she questioned.

For a moment I didn’t follow her, and then I realized she noticed I had taken an unusually long time with the chores.

“No,” I replied hurriedly. “Just the usual. Guess I was just plain slow this mornin’. I didn’t sleep too good last night for some reason.”

I figured the matter was explained sufficiently and could be dropped, but Mary’s eyes searched my face.

“You’re not comin’ down with somethin’, are you?” she asked, her eyes troubled.

“Me? No, just—just somethin’ I ate, I s’pose. I’m not used to eating so much before I go to bed.”

Mary let it go but I could still feel her eyes on me. I didn’t dare leave any of my breakfast on the plate like I wanted to.

We continued the meal in silence—there wasn’t much I wanted to talk about anyway. Mary, sensing it, didn’t try to involve me in meaningless conversation.

“Where’s Grandpa and Uncle Charlie?” I finally asked, realizing it was strange for the two menfolk to be missing from the kitchen at that hour on a wintry day.

“Uncle Charlie went back to his room. To read, he said, but I’ve a notion he didn’t get much sleep last night either. And Grandpa went out to the shed to work on that toboggan he’s makin’ for Sarah and Jon. He says the weather could turn bitter any day now, and then he won’t be able to work outside.”

I nodded. Yes, the weather could turn bitter. We were nearing the end of November.

After some more silence, Mary removed our plates and poured fresh coffee. She returned to her chair and sipped the hot liquid slowly. Then she put down her cup.

“Mitch stopped by while you were chorin’,” she said simply and my head came around, wondering if Mitch had brought bad news. It had been some time since Mary’s brother had paid us a call, and he certainly wouldn’t be making neighborly calls at breakfast time.

Mary met my gaze.

“He’s tired of the farm,” she went on evenly, but I could see pain in her eyes. I didn’t know if she was thinking of Mitch or of her ma and pa.

“He’s off to the city to find himself a job. Was goin’ on into town to catch the mornin’ train.”

I forgot my own small problems for the moment. I knew Mary needed all the sympathy and support I could give her. I could see tears glistening in her eyes, but she didn’t allow them to spill over. I wished there was some way I could comfort her—give assurance that I knew it was hard for her and cared that she was hurting. But I just sat there, clumsily trying to find words, not knowing what to do or say. Finally I made a feeble attempt to reach out to her, if only by letting her talk about it.

“Did he say for how long?”

Mary’s eyes lowered. “He’s not plannin’ to come back,” she said quietly.

“I’m—I’m sorry,” I muttered, reaching out to take Mary’s hand resting on the checkerboard oilcloth.

“Can—can your pa manage the farm without him?” I went on.

Mary turned to me and the tears did spill over then; she clung to my offered hand as though it were a lifeline. “Oh, Josh,” she said in a whispery voice, “it’s Mitch I’m worried about. I’ve been prayin’ and prayin’ that he might become—become a believer. What ever will happen to him if—if he gets in with the wrong crowd in the city?”

I reached over to cover Mary’s hand with my other one. “Hey,” I comforted, “we can still pray. Prayer works even over long distances. There are ‘right’ crowds in the city too, you know. Maybe God is sending Mitch to just the right people— or person—and he will listen to what they have to say in a way that he might never listen to us.”

Mary listened carefully. She was quiet for a moment and then she turned to me and tried a wobbly smile through her tears. She pulled back her hand and searched in her apron pocket for a handkerchief. After wiping her eyes and blowing her nose, she had control of herself again.

“Papa will manage—I guess,” she said softly. “Mitch never did care for farm chores anyway. But Mama will be heartbroken.” And another tear slipped down her cheek.

I sat there thinking of Mary—thinking of her ma and pa and their concern over Mitch.

“Did they have a row?” I asked carefully, knowing full well that it was really none of my business.

Mary smiled. “That’s exactly what I asked Mitch,” she answered, “but he said no, he just announced that he was leaving and they didn’t even try to argue him out of it much. He said that Mama cried some—but he expected that.”

Mary left the table and began preparing for washing up the dishes.

I thought about her words for a few minutes. There didn’t seem to be much I could do about the whole thing.

Then an idea came to me. “Hey, why don’t you go on home for a few days?”

Mary whirled to look at me, her eyes wide.

“Oh, I couldn’t!” she exclaimed.

“Why not? We could manage for a few days.”

“But—but the meals an’ all—”

“We’ve made meals before.” I was sure now that it was just the thing for both Mary and her mother.

“But—but Matilda—her lunch an’—”

“We’ll fix Matilda’s lunch. I’ll do it myself—if she’ll trust me.”

“But I—I don’t know what to say.”

“Then go. Really. We can manage—as long as you don’t stay away too long.”

Mary was torn—I could see that. She wanted desperately to go to her mother, but she felt a deep responsibility to us.

“I mean it, Mary,” I prompted further and left my chair to take the dish towel from her hands.

“Now you run off and pack yourself whatever you need for the next few days, an’ I’ll go out an’ hitch Chester to the sleigh.”

“Are you sure?” Mary asked one last time.

“I’m sure,” and I turned her gently around and urged her toward her bedroom door.

Mary left then but turned back to say over her shoulder, “But the dishes—I haven’t even finished the dishes.”

I looked at the dishes that remained. Mary had already washed up from the first breakfast.