Spring's Gentle Promise (9 page)

The winter storms began to abate, and I could sense another spring just around the corner. I could hardly wait. I wanted to get back on my land. I wanted to get the Ford out again and feel the thrill of covering the miles so quickly, the wind whipping around me. As it was, I dreaded each trip to town since I had gone from the motor car back to the slow-plodding team. I put off every journey for just as long as I could.

On one such day I returned home a bit out-of-sorts because of my impatience with the snow-covered road. After caring for the team, I bundled the groceries into my arms and headed for the kitchen and a hot cup of coffee with a bit of Mary’s baking.

No coffee greeted me. Grandpa and Uncle Charlie sat at the table. It appeared that they had been there for hours, not because they wanted to but because they didn’t know what else to do with themselves. It was so untypical that it threw a scare into me right away.

“Where’s Mary?” I asked, my eyes quickly darting about the room.

There was silence; then Grandpa cleared his throat, while Uncle Charlie shuffled his feet.

“She went on home,” explained Grandpa. “Word came her ma was sick.”

“Sick?” I repeated, letting the word sink in and thinking of all those years that Mary’s ma had spent in bed. “How sick?”

“Don’t rightly know,” said Grandpa. “The youngest girl jest came a ridin’ over here—nigh scared to death, and hollered fer Mary to come quick. Mary did. Without hardly lookin’ back—jest jumped on up behind her an’ the two of ’em took off agin.”

I put the groceries down and wheeled back toward the door.

“Mary should’ve taken Chester,” I mumbled as I went.

Grandpa called after me, “Where you off to?” Then he added as kindly as he could, “Josh, at a time like this, sometimes folks only want family.”

But I didn’t even slow down. “Mary’s about as ‘family’ as you can get,” I flung back over my shoulder, and Grandpa didn’t argue anymore.

I didn’t even wait to saddle or bridle Chester. Just untied the halter rope and led him out of his stall. In a wink I was on his back. He wanted to run and I let him. He was hard to hold in with just the halter; I guess I rode him rather recklessly. We were soon in Turleys’ yard, and I flung myself off and tied Chester to the gate before hurrying to the house.

I rapped politely before entering the back porch. There was no answer so I just eased the door open and let myself in. Once in the kitchen, I took a deep breath and the doubts began to pour through me. Who did I think I was that I could intrude upon a family in such a way? Why did I dare come without invitation?

I knew instinctively that the answer to all of the questions was, “Mary.” For some reason I felt she might need me. Still—I shouldn’t have . . . I turned back to wait outside, but just then the younger girl, Lilli, entered the kitchen. She was wiping tears as she came, and at the sight of me she stopped short, sucking in her breath in a little gasp. Then she seemed to realize who it was and took another step forward.

“I—I’m sorry,” I apologized. “I—I thought that I might— that Mary might . . . Could I go for the doc or anything?”

She shook her head slowly, the tears pouring again down her cheeks. I moved toward her but she turned her back on me, not wanting me to see her fresh outburst of tears. I hardly knew what to do or say so I just stood there, carelessly crunching my hat in my hands.

“Josh?” The little gasp that bore my name came from Mary. I wheeled to look at her, my eyes full of questions.

“Josh,” she said again.

I looked into her tear-filled eyes. Her hair was disarrayed and her long skirt spattered with road grime, attesting to the fact of how she had traveled to get to the side of her ailing mother.

I moved forward. “How is she?” I asked. “Could I—”

But Mary cut me short with a tremulous voice. “She’s gone, Josh.”

And then I was holding her close, letting her sob against my chest. I don’t know which one of us moved toward the other. Perhaps we both did.

I just held her and let her cry, and I guess I wept right along with her while my hand tried to stroke some of the tangles from her normally tidy hair. I heard my voice on occasion but all I said was, “Oh, Mary. Mary. I’m so sorry. So sorry.”

At last Mary eased back from my arms. We were alone in the big farm kitchen. I looked at Mary, wondering if she was okay, wondering if I should let her go, but she just gave me a little nod and moved toward the cupboard.

“Papa needs some coffee,” she said matter-of-factly, and began to put the pot on.

But Mr. Turley did not drink the coffee. I’m not sure that anyone drank from that particular pot. The whole house was too stunned—too much in pain to think of coffee or anything else.

At last I found something useful to do. I was sent to town to fetch Uncle Nat. I was both glad to go—just to get away from the intense sorrow—and sorry to go, for I hated to leave Mary in such pain.

The funeral was two days later. Mitch came home, but he stayed only a couple of days afterward and then returned to the city. Mary stayed at her home for an entire week. It seemed forever. Even when she did return to us I hardly knew what to say or do. I knew she was still sorrowing. But how did one share sorrow without probing? The only thing I could think of was to make things as easy for Mary as possible. I made sure the woodbox and water pails were kept full. I helped with dishes whenever I was in the house at the right time. I was extra careful about leaving dirty farm boots outside her kitchen—even stepped out of them before I came onto her back porch.

Whenever I saw tears forming in her eyes, I wanted to hold her again—just sort of protect her from her pain and sorrow— but it didn’t seem like the thing to do. Matilda slipped her arms around her instead, and I left the room, confused and sorrowful.

Somehow we managed to get through the days until spring was finally with us again.

C
HAPTER
10
Spring

I
GAVE MY FULL attention to the land and the planting. I didn’t even have time to wonder and worry about which girl I should be courting. Except on those evenings when Will Sanders showed up at our door. He still called at least once a week. I guess getting the crop in didn’t cause Will as much concern as it did me.

He asked Matilda for walks and paid Mary elaborate compliments on her pies and cakes. He suggested picnics and drives. He kept promising to bring out that silver Bentley from the city. I tried to ignore him and go about my daily tasks. I was busy enough that I didn’t have too much time to fret—even about Will Sanders.

Matilda began to coax about the Ford again, so on Sundays we used it to go to church and then sometimes went for a little drive in the afternoons. Matilda always wanted her share of driving. She handled the car quite well, too. Pretty soon she was asking to take it to town on her own or to take Mary home for a visit. I couldn’t think of any good reason that she shouldn’t, so I let her use the car. It seemed to please Matilda mightily to be behind the steering wheel.

Mr. Turley wasn’t doing too well since his wife’s death. In May, Faye got married as had been planned. Mary was her maid-of-honor. We were all invited to the small wedding. Mary wore a gown of soft green that brought out the reddish highlights of her hair and matched the green flecks in her eyes. I thought it most becoming on her.

Everyone tried to make the wedding a happy occasion, but we all knew that it really could not be. It was the first “big” family event that Mrs. Turley had missed, and I guess we were all thinking of her.

It was especially hard on young Lil. She knew that she would be the only girl at home now, and I think she dreaded the thought. She also was likely wondering about when it came her turn to wed—would she feel right about leaving her pa at home all alone?

I suggested to Mary that she might want to spend a few days at home after the wedding, and without argument she accepted.

She stayed for three days, and when her pa drove her back to our farm to resume her duties, he carried a large box in and set it down just inside the kitchen door.

We were all glad to see Mary back. As soon as she removed her hat she tied on her apron. The next thing she did was to stir up the fire and put on the teakettle. Mr. Turley watched her move about the kitchen. I wondered what was going through his mind. Perhaps Mary reminded him of her mother. At any rate he sure did seem to be studying her.

When the tea was ready and Mary served it up along with what was left of her orange loaf, Mr. Turley sat a long time. Grandpa and Uncle Charlie kept trying to engage him in conversation, but he answered each query scantily. He didn’t seem in any hurry to leave though, and I guessed he was just stalling, hating to return to his empty house. They had dropped Lil off with a friend for a few days, Mary explained.

“Why don’t you just stay on to supper?” I heard Grandpa asking.

“Got chores,” mumbled Mr. Turley, and he seemed to stir himself to leave.

“Chores work up a lot faster on a satisfied stomach,” argued Grandpa.

Mr. Turley nodded and settled in again.

It ended up with Uncle Charlie and Mr. Turley having a few games of checkers while Mary fixed supper. I didn’t see the games, being out with my own chores, but I understand they were played rather absent-mindedly by Mr. Turley. However, they did help to pass some time.

After he had eaten, Mr. Turley still didn’t seem in too big a hurry to leave. He sat toying with his coffee cup and thinking. Finally he spoke out.

“Been thinkin’ on sellin’ off the livestock. Mitch is gone an’ there jest don’t seem to be no point in spendin’ time out at the barn.”

I guess we all sort of looked at him, surprised at his statement. But then, we shouldn’t have been.

“Anythin’ over there thet you might want fer yer herd, Josh? Got one real good milker. She’s had her three sets of twins already in jest five years of calvin’.”

It sounded good. I nodded. “Might take a look at her,” I agreed.

“Got one first-rate brood sow, too. Averages nine per litter. No runts. Though she’s big, she’s careful. Never laid her on a piglet yet. You know how some of ’em big sows just go ‘plop’ right down in the middle of the litter. Well, not this one. Coaxes ’em all off to the side ’fore she goes down.”

That sounded impressive all right. I nodded again.

“Come over some time, Josh. See if there be anythin’ ya’d like. Rather sell ’em to you than off fer slaughter.”

I stood to my feet when Mr. Turley stood.

“You’re sure you want to sell?” I asked. I still found it hard to believe.

He sighed deeply. “Yeah,” he said at last. “Been thinkin’ on it fer some time. Just don’t cotton to the idee of spendin’ hours out chorin’ when the winds start to howl agin. Best time fer sellin’ is when they’re nice an’ fat on summer grass. I’ll sell ’em off gradual like an’ be done with ’em by fall.”

“Sure,” I nodded. “Sure. I’ll be over first chance I get.”

“No hurry,” went on Mr. Turley. “Come as soon as yer crop is all in.”

Then he kissed Mary on the cheek, thanked Grandpa for supper and picked up his hat.

I felt so sorry for the man that I ached inside. I was glad I had more chores of my own that needed doing. At least they would keep me busy for a while and out of sight of Mary’s sorrowful eyes.

When I came in from chores Mary had the big box up on the kitchen table and was carefully lifting something out from the wrappings to show Matilda.

“Oh,” I heard Matilda gasp. “It’s just beautiful!”

“I think so,” Mary said softly. “Even when I was a little girl I used to admire them. They sat in Mama’s buffet, and I’d look at them and look at them. Mama wouldn’t let me touch them. She didn’t want fingerprints all over them. Then when I got older Mama taught me how to handle them carefully. I was even given the privilege of cleaning each piece.”

“How many are there?” Matilda asked.

“The large tray, a smaller tray, the coffeepot, teapot, creamer and sugar bowl, plus a sugar spoon and a cake server.”

“They are beautiful!” Matilda said again.

I watched as Mary lovingly ran a hand over the silver pieces sitting before her on the table.

“Pa found a note Mama left in her Bible,” she stated, tears in her eyes. “She said that I was to have the silver. She left Mitch her Bible, Lil her ruby pin, and Faye her china.”

“Oh-h-h,” murmured Matilda. I could tell she wanted to say how fortunate Mary was, but that hardly seemed appropriate under the circumstances.

We didn’t have to wonder how special the silver was to Mary. After fondly gazing at each piece, she polished them all once more. Then she began to carefully wrap them in the soft pieces of cloth they had been snuggled in and, with tears in her eyes, placed them tenderly back in the box.

Grandpa cleared his throat. “Would ya like to put ’em there in the corner china cupboard,” he ventured, “where ya can see ’em?”

Mary hesitated, looked across at the cupboard and then went to give Grandpa a little hug. I don’t know what she whispered to him, but Grandpa’s mustache twitched a bit and Mary began clearing a spot for her silver on the middle shelf. It did look pretty there, and it sure did dress up our farmhouse kitchen.

I guess we got rather used to it after a while, but I noticed Mary frequently glancing that way. She even used the set for tea when Aunt Lou dropped out one day, and the Sunday of Uncle Charlie’s birthday she served us all our afternoon coffee from the shiny coffeepot when she served his birthday cake. Sarah thought it was just wonderful.

“Where did you get it, Aunt Mary?” she asked, her eyes shining. And Mary’s eyes shone just as much as she answered.

“It was my mama’s.”

“I have never seen anything so pretty,” went on Sarah. “Where did your mama get it?”

“It was her grandma’s—a wedding present from an elderly lady she worked for. Mama said it was a shock to everyone.

The older lady was usually sour and tight with her money, and no one could believe it when she gave Great-grandma such a beautiful gift.”

Mary chuckled softly. It was the first I had heard her laugh for some time. She smiled often, sincerely, almost sadly, but she did not laugh. With the soft laughter a heavy weight seemed to lift from me deep down inside somewhere. I looked around the circle, wondering why there was no celebration, but no one else seemed to have noticed that Mary was laughing again.