by Kate Seredy
Soon, the crowd began to move toward the barnyard and Gran jumped up. “Selling livestock next.”
Mother rose too. “Gran, you know what John said,” she wagged a finger, smiling at Gran’s innocent face. “NO COW! Remember?”
“Not one,” Gran nodded. “You’d better come with me, Molly. I want you for a witness. Then, whatever happens, you can tell John that I haven’t opened my mouth.”
“I . . . think . . . I’d better,” Mother agreed, her voice full of suspicion. The three followed the path that Gran plowed into the crowd. Gran wasn’t satisfied until she was right in the front row, under the auctioneer’s nose. Mr. Van Keuran stood close by and his wife shouted a greeting from the top of an old wagon. One after the other of the large Holstein cows were led out and sold to different buyers. The auctioneer, not Mr. Felter but a jolly dark man whom everyone called Tony, seemed to know most of the people. After each sale he told the clerk the buyer’s name. Then a sweet little brown cow was led out. “She’s a Jersey,” Gran announced, her eyes very bright. Mr. Van Keuran straightened and stepped a little closer.
At first several voices were shouting bids, but gradually all were quiet and the only voice was that of Mr. Van Keuran. Suddenly Mrs. Van Keuran started to wave her arms and she shouted: “Jake! Jake Van Keuran, look what you’re doin’ !” He looked up at her hi a startled way. She was pointing to something near him with one arm and holding her finger to her lips, frowning and shaking her head—the very picture of disapproval. She looked so funny that Mother started to laugh. “What’s the matter with her?” she whispered to Gran. Gran stood with eyes cast down and her face innocent.
“She must have seen something we can’t see,” she whispered back. “Oh,” grunted Mr. Van Keuran, as if he suddenly understood. He scratched his head and said to the auctioneer: “All right, Tony, I’m through.”
“Last call, men,” shouted the auctioneer. “Fifty-five dollars is the bid, who’ll make it sixty?” He waited a moment, then turned to his clerk. “All right, Mrs. Preston for fifty-five. Next!”
In the next few minutes things happened so fast that Mother never knew how they happened at all. She was still gasping at Gran’s innocent face, when another Jersey cow was brought out. The auctioneer, with his eyes on Gran, simply asked: “Anyone over fifty-five dollars, men? Same breed, same age, same weight . . . anyone say sixty?”
At the same time Mr. Van Keuran spoke, close to Gran: “You’d ought to have told me . . . I wouldn’a bid against you.”
“All is fair in love and auctions,” Gran chuckled, nodding to the auctioneer, who again said to his clerk: “Mrs. Preston, fifty-five. Next!”
Mother finally found her voice just to lose it again: “Gran! You . . .” she stammered, shaking her arm, “Gran, you . . . aren’t . . . you didn’t . . .”
“Told you I wouldn’t. Never opened my mouth,” Gran said primly. Then she looked up at Mr. Van Keuran. “Not bad. Always was fond of Jerseys. More butter-fat.” She was taking money out of her pocketbook and now she ducked between two big farmers to get to the clerk. “I want to settle,” Mother heard her say.
Dick pulled at Mother’s hand. “I know how she did it,” he said, grinning at her dazed expression. “She just wiggled a finger every time the auctioneer looked at her.”
“She sure knows her way ‘round, the old girl does,” chuckled Mr. Van Keuran. “There ain’t a trick she missed all day. No, sir. Ain’t no grass growin’ under HER feet—bet she can out-smart any mother’s son, includin’ Tom McNeal.”
“She did,” Mother said with a sigh that ended in a giggle. “Including her own. And including YOU, Mr. Van Keuran. You see,” she said, when he looked surprised, “we are not farmers. I had never even seen a farm before Sunday. John hasn’t been near one since he was five years old. I’ve tried to tell you before but you wouldn’t listen. You just . . . jumped to conclusions because Gran . . . wanted you to. Now I’ve told you and I’m sorry if you won’t like us any more but, that’s the truth.”
Mr. Van Keuran listened to her with his mouth open. Then slowly a wide, toothless grin broke out on his face. He put his hands on his hips and let out one ha-ha that made people turn and laugh with him. He laughed until he was red in the face, breaking into fresh bursts at the sight of Gran, who had come back and now stood in front of him, her head cocked to one side, her lips puckered into a patient smile. He pointed at her but he couldn’t speak because another fit of mirth shook him from head to toes.
“What in the world is the matter with HIM?” Gran demanded finally.
He gasped a few times, jabbing his forefinger against her shoulder. “If ’n you ain’t a card,” he managed to say at last, “if’n you ain’t the smartest female that ever come into Orange County . . .” he didn’t finish, just grinned his admiration, shaking his head.
“I told him that we were . . . city slickers,” Mother said with an amused glance at Mr. Van Keuran. “He doesn’t seem to mind.”
“It don’t matter now,” he chortled. “She ain’t. Just leave it to her— she’ll make farmers outen you in no time ‘t all.”
Still grinning, he waved and turned to go, because the crowd was moving toward the hog pens. The Prestons were left lone, with two little brown cows that had been tied by the barn door. Dick and Janet petted them, shyly first, but they were so gentle and sweet that the children forgot any fear they might have felt. Mother, her head still whirling with the surprises of the last few minutes, absentmindedly leaned against the sleek brown side of a cow. Gran smiled in a satisfied way. “In no time at all,” she said under her breath. “Well, Molly,” she went on, “are you ready to go home?”
Mother made a vague gesture. “The things we bought . . .”
“Jake’ll bring all that in the truck. We’ll drive home in . . . well,” Gran smiled, “that’s a little surprise for you.”
“For ME, Gran?” Mother pointed to herself, the beginning of a laugh shaking her voice, “Oh no. Nothing you could conjure up could surprise me. Nothing! Were you to . . . charge up here like Ben Hur in a chariot behind panting steeds, I . . . I wouldn’t even blink an eyelash!”
Gran nodded. “That’s good. They aren’t panting yet, but no doubt they will by the time we’re home.” She turned and pointed to the maple tree. Under it stood a nice old surrey to which Lady and Clover Girl had been hitched. “The . . . chariot. It’s waiting.”
Frank, too, was waiting for them, fondling his horses; he seemed a very much happier boy. He smiled at Dick and gave Janet a real grin. “Gee, you did me a good turn, getting your Grandmother. Mr. Van Keuran said she’s one in a million.” Then he offered to help load some of the breakable articles into the surrey and he tied the little brown cows behind it.
“What are their names?“ Janet asked.
“Pop never bothered naming cows. They’ve got numbers, but Pop just called these the Jerseys.”
When everything was ready and Gran scampered into the driver’s seat, Frank pulled some papers out of his pocket. He held them up to Gran. “Here is the contract, Mrs. Preston. I showed it to Pop and he thought it was fine. He said I was lucky and . . . I guess I am. And . . .“ he hesitated, “I sort of wrote out what they were used to. Carrots and maybe a little sugar . . . if you want to bother . . . and, that Lady is ticklish around her belly when you clean her. You’ve got to talk to her or she’ll shy. But . . . you know how to handle them,” he added when Gran smiled at him. She put the paper away.
“Thank you, Frank. And don’t forget any time you happen to visit around here, I want you to come and see your mares. We’ll let you know how they are, anyway.”
They waved good-by and Gran drove out of the yard.
Dick and Janet had never before ridden in a horse-drawn vehicle. Lady and Clover Girl were moving at a slow comfortable pace.No one said anything until Dick remarked:
“It’s nicer than riding in a car. Things wait until you can really look at them—they don’t run away.” He and Janet were riding on the back seat;
behind them, the little cows lowed uneasily once in a while, but trotted along contentedly enough. Mother sat by Gran. She was very quiet. Now and then she sighed but they sounded like happy sighs. They were, because suddenly she put her arm around Gran.
“Teach me how to live, Gran, will you? The way you do. Why, I am . . . I feel all . . . quiet and sunny inside, like the countryside . . . at peace.”
Gran didn’t answer, just smiled at her. Janet spoke from the back seat: “I can almost count the flowers. The pretty white ones with the yellow eyes are all looking at me. What are they, Gran?”
“Daisies,” Mother said quickly, laughter in her voice. “Even I know that much . . . but not very much more.”
“And the yellow ones, look, Gran, by the little brook.”
“Buttercups,” Gran said with a side glance at Mother. “Now you know more.”
“Daisy and buttercup. Lesson number one,” Mother chuckled and Dick exclaimed: “SAY! Would it be all right to call our cows Daisy and Buttercup?”
Mother turned a shining face to Gran. “When we get home I’ll just say: ‘Mr. John Ward Preston, meet Lady and Clover Girl, Daisy and Buttercup. They are the surprise element your mother mentioned this morning.’ ”
Gran chortled. “What’s more, Mr. Preston, you should continue, they are carrying little surprises of their own, but you’ll have to wait until April to see some of them.”
“NO! Foals?”
Gran bobbed her head. “Both mares were bred last month.”
“Oh but, Gran . . . then they shouldn’t work, should they? Isn’t that bad for them . . . or something?” Mother looked Worried.
“Bad for them,” Gran snorted. “What did you do when Dick and Janet were coming . . . sit in the parlor and fan yourself?”
“Well,” Mother said with a smile, “not exactly. I worked hard, but I didn’t run around pulling a chariot full of . . . city slickers. Well, if you say it’s all right . . .”
“Lesson number two,” Gran said dryly, “a mother is a mother, horse, or human. OR cow.”
“I see,” Mother said after a moment’s silence. “Whatever YOU do, Gran, there’s more to it than meets the eye. And when are the calves coming?”
Gran sighed: “Molly, can all people in the city be as dumb as that? Frank’s father said the Jersey calves are due day after tomorrow, but—with this three-mile walk—well—I’ll sleep in the barn tonight, anyway. Can’t take chances.”
“Not alone you won’t, Gran. I’ll take my lesson number three so I’ll know what to do—next time.”
Dick and Janet had listened eagerly and now Dick asked: “May we come too, Mother? I want to see the new calves the minute they are born. Will they be as wet and . . . sort of tottery like Janet?”
“Like . . . Dick Preston, what do you mean?” Mother turned to stare at him.
“He means Andy’s calf, Mother,” Janet giggled. “Andy had a new calf Sunday and he called her Janet for me and I gave her my red hair-ribbon. Now I’m her godmother!”
“May we come, Mother?” Dick persisted. Mother looked undecided for a moment, then she said, her arm tightening around Gran, “You might as well, children. Something tells me that you’ll grow up to be farmers. What’s more,” she added when Gran gave her a sharp, but smiling glance, “when it comes to a showdown, I’ll be there, pitching for you.”
“Good girl,” Gran said softly. Then she clucked to the’ horses because, just around the bend, the roof of their house came into view. She sighed: “We might as well hurry and get it settled.”
When they passed between the gate posts, Mother remarked: “This old gate—it has bothered me since I first saw it. How can anyone close off a public road?”
Gran explained: “I asked Jake about that too and he told me that our place and his are at the end of this road. It doesn’t go any farther.”
Mother sighed, smiling a satisfied smile. “Hmmm. I don’t mind. I am very glad the gate was open to let us in.”
CHAPTER VIII
THE BEST THAT’S IN US
THAT day seemed destined to be the day of surprises; not only for Mother, the children and—so far—unsuspecting Father, but for Gran too. There was no one in sight when they drove in, not even Funnyface. The yard was quiet and deserted and Father didn’t appear to greet them.
“Perhaps it’s just as well,” Gran chuckled, driving directly to the barn. “He might be keeping Andy company; maybe taking lessons himself,” she twinkled at Mother.
They led the tired cows into the barn where, days ago, Gran had cleaned up around a few stanchions.
“Fifth columnist,” Mother chuckled under her breath. “Certainly prepared the ground for the enemy!” Then, quite cautiously, but tenderly just the same, she stroked Daisy and Buttercup. “Nice little enemies,” she whispered. “I think I’m going to love you.”
Dick and Janet watched with great interest while Gran unharnessed the horses. Then they brought water for all the animals and helped Gran to feed them. Gran even had a small bag of feed stowed away in the surrey, enough for a couple of feedings.
“Sugar!” Janet exclaimed. “I’ll get some from the house.” In a little while she was back with a whole box of lump sugar.
“This is all we have, Gran,” she said. Her voice sounded funny. Gran peered at her.
“What are you grinning like a Chessy cat for? Silly, one lump for each would have been enough.” Janet just bobbed her head and kept on grinning. Gran shrugged and went to finish the work around the animals. After one more look at the cows she was ready to go in. They picked up all the things they could carry and started for the house. Gran left the barn door open. “Just in case,” she announced.
Mother said fervently: “I hope to goodness they wait until tomorrow. John will be just . . . wild, anyway. Where in the world CAN he be?” she wondered.
“He is in the house,” Janet said airily. “I talked to him.”
“Why didn’t he come out then?” Dick asked. “Is he . . . angry?”
“Oh no. I didn’t tell,” Janet giggled. “He is . . . kind of busy.” She stood aside when they reached the kitchen door, watching their faces with a beaming smile. Father was not there but his handiwork was all over the place. The whole kitchen had been painted a lovely pale yellow, the windows were sparkling clean, the floor had been scrubbed. The doors of the corner cupboard were open and inside it was painted blue. Poor old Eureka had been transformed into a gleaming, shining black beauty; she was right on the job, too, with red eyes glowing through the slits on the fire-door and pots puffing and steaming comfortingly on her broad back. Even the table had been set with a clean tablecloth and candles ready to be lighted.
Mother found her voice first; it wasn’t very steady. “Oh John, you darling,” she said to no one in particular, her eyes as bright as stars. “Where IS he, Janet?”
“Kind of . . . busy,” Janet repeated, but she motioned toward the door leading into the hall. Now they could hear snatches of someone whistling. Mother dropped her bundles on a chair and ran toward the sound, Dick hot on her heels.
In the doorway of the old parlor they stood entranced again. One of the walls had already been transformed from dirty mud-brown to a warm, pale cream and Father was busy on the second wall.
“Hello,” he said, turning to grin at them when the footsteps paused in the doorway.
“Oh John,” Mother cried, running toward him, “you big b . . . boob, you!”
“Hey! I’m all paint,” he protested, but she hugged him, unmindful of his bespattered overalls and the dripping brush. He winked at Dick over her shoulder. Dick winked back and left them.
In the kitchen he found Gran happily humming a tune and cleaning a lantern. “Your father did a day’s job, Dick,” she nodded at him. “What’s he doing now, nursing a lame back?”
Dick grinned. “When I saw him, he was smearing paint . . . all over Mother and he didn’t look lame at all.”
Gran smiled. “He’ll do,” she said, deep satis
faction in her voice.
For a while, all through supper, it was decidedly Father’s evening. He was quite proud of the transformation he had wrought in the kitchen and talked about his plans to paint and clean all the rooms in the house. While they ate his surprise supper, a great quantity of canned vegetables and a small mountain of canned corned beef hash, they never once mentioned the other surprises that were waiting for HIM. He liked the lamps and other small articles they had brought in and listened with great interest to Mother’s account of all the things she had bought.
“And you, Mom?” he smiled at Gran, raising one eyebrow. “Bet you had a hard time keeping your promise!”
Gran looked down on her plate, her face puckered into the queerest expression. Mother said, laughing much harder than the occasion warranted: “John, I swear she never opened her mouth to bid. To me, it was the most amazing performance.”
Father looked at her suspiciously. “What’s so VERY funny about keeping a promise?”
“Oh, not only that,” Mother said hastily. “Everything was very funny today. You should have seen Mr. Van Keuran’s face when . . . when I told him we were not what he thought we were. You could have knocked him down with a feather, but after a while he didn’t seem to mind.”
“You should have seen Mother’s face though, Dad,” Dick said, “when she found out he hasn’t any license to drive and no brakes on the truck!”
“WHAT?” exploded Father, looking quite horrified. After he had heard the story, he was still upset. “None of you is to ride in that truck again! How did you ever get back?” the thought suddenly occurred to him. “You didn’t come with him, did you?”
“Oh no. Gran had arranged for . . . different transportation,” Mother said, not looking at him. Her face was flushed and, to Father, all of them looked quite ready to burst out laughing. There wasn’t an eye that met his as he looked from one to the other.
“Well,” he said finally, “whatever deviltry is behind this, will have to wait. It’ll come to my ears, don’t think it won’t.”
