Sugar Creek Gang Set Books 1-6

by Paul Hutchens

  Then I looked at Miss Trillium, with her pretty crimson cheeks and blue eyes, and said good night again, special. She was holding a bottle with a nipple on it for Charlotte Ann, and she looked up and smiled at me and said, “Good night, Bill.”

  Circus said good night too, and she gave him a nice smile but not nearly as nice as the one she’d given me, I thought.

  Then Circus and I went upstairs.

  Circus didn’t seem very happy, and you couldn’t blame him with his dad drunk and in jail. But in spite of that, he felt sorry for his dad.

  “He’s good to us sometimes,” he said while we were undressing. “One day last week he told Mom he’d never get drunk again in his life, and I saw him give her a big hug like he really meant it. And Mom cried ’cause she was so happy. But those old newspapers and magazines Dad reads have great big whiskey advertisements in them with important-looking men drinking and saying how good it is. And the first thing you know, Dad goes to town and buys some again.”

  Then he said, “You know what I wish?”— and I could see he was getting mad at the people who made whiskey and sold it and advertised it. “I wish,” he said with his fists doubled up and his voice trembly, “I wish they’d just once take a picture of my dad when he’s drunk and looking like he did uptown tonight and put that in their papers and magazines! I bet that wouldn’t make anybody want to buy any!”

  Circus kept his fists doubled up and looked so fierce it almost scared me. Still, I was kind of proud of him that he could get mad at something like that, because it’s all right to get angry at sin. My dad says so. And once even Jesus was angry at some people in the Bible who were doing wrong. I guess maybe God hates sin terribly!

  It didn’t take us long to get ready for bed, and pretty soon we were under the covers with the lamp out and the moonlight shining in on us. Then I remembered. I hadn’t said my prayers.

  In fact, I’d been thinking about it quite a while and didn’t know what to do. I was sure Circus had never said a prayer in his life because even if he did have a good mother, she wasn’t a Christian yet. And she’d never taught him to pray.

  So I began to think that maybe I’d say my prayers in bed. But I remembered the story we’d read in school when we were in the fourth grade about “Little Arthur’s Prayer” and how that brave little fellow had knelt down before a whole roomful of boys and prayed before going to bed. So I lay thinking, wondering if Circus would make fun of me. Then I began to wonder what Little Jim would do if he were here, and I knew that he wouldn’t even think about being afraid or ashamed of praying.

  So I decided on something. And talk about being brave in a fight!—I guess I never had any harder time in my life being brave than right that minute. My heart started beating fast, and I was actually scared to do what I knew I had to do.

  I asked Circus if he remembered “Little Arthur’s Prayer,” and he did. Then I told him about Poetry praying every night before he went to bed. I knew he liked Poetry a lot, so pretty soon I said suddenly, with my heart still beating fast, “Let’s us do it too,” not telling him I always prayed every night anyway, although I guess maybe I should have.

  Circus grunted and then said, “You do it first.”

  Well, in a twinkle I was out of bed and saying my prayers quietly, as I did sometimes anyway, knowing Jesus could hear me even if I didn’t talk out loud. I prayed for Circus’s dad there in jail and for his mother and for his new baby sister. Then I jumped up off my knees with my heart as light as a feather and said, “I guess I feel better now.” And I climbed into bed over on the other side of Circus.

  Circus lay still for about a half minute, and then suddenly there he was down on his knees right where I’d been, his brown hair shining in the moonlight. I guess I never did tell you Circus had the nicest brown hair.

  He told me later that he’d never prayed before in his whole life. (I’d never thought about him maybe not knowing what to say.) But then he jumped up real quicklike and said the same thing I’d said when I got up—“I guess I feel better now.” He got into bed with his face turned the other way on his pillow.

  After a while I said to Circus, “I prayed for your dad.”

  He didn’t say anything.

  I wouldn’t have found out how terribly bad he felt about his dad if I hadn’t put a hand on his shoulder and then felt a teeny wet spot on his pillow like maybe a tear had dropped there.

  But I didn’t tell him I’d felt it. I just rolled over and said, “Good night.”

  14

  When Circus and I woke up the next morning, the sun was already shining into our window, making a big yellow square on the green wallpaper just above the foot of the bed.

  We lay there for a minute before getting up, and I was looking at the sunlight when all of a sudden there was a little shadow moving around in it. I knew right away that it was a bird sitting on our windowsill, a sparrow maybe, preening his feathers and making bird noises. His little head with its tiny sharp bill kept bobbing around, just like the bobber on my fishing line had done that day when I’d caught the black bass.

  Circus let out a big loud yawn that scared the bird, and it flew away. And just that minute Charlotte Ann started crying downstairs.

  “See there!” I said to him, sitting up in bed and pretending to be angry. “You woke her up!”

  But he just grinned at me and said, “I’ll run downstairs and let her look at me, and she’ll stop crying right away.” He rolled out of bed.

  Both of us dressed in two jiffies, me putting on overalls so I could help Dad with the chores—that is, if they weren’t already done.

  Then we went tumbling downstairs and out of doors, like two frisky colts. Just that minute Circus saw our big, high grape arbor with a crosspiece at the top. Right there where there weren’t any vines was a good place to do athletic stunts. Quick as a monkey he was right up on it, “skinning the cat” and hanging by his legs.

  “Hey!” I cried to him, “you’ll get your good clothes all wrinkled and dirty!”

  He looked at me surprisedlike, his face looking awful funny upside down, for he was still hanging by his legs. His brown hair was all tangled on top of his head.

  He got down right quick and said, “That’s right! I have to be careful!” And he really meant it.

  But we had so many things for a boy to climb on—such as the big cherry tree, the high rope swing in our walnut tree, and the ladder leading up into the haymow in the barn—that I had to take Circus back upstairs to my room and get a pair of overalls for him, or his clothes wouldn’t have been fit to wear to Sunday school. You see, I’d made up my mind he was going to Sunday school with me.

  “I won’t go to Sunday school with you,” he said. “My clothes aren’t good enough for that.” And he looked sort of sad again. Maybe he’d happened to think about his dad in jail. I don’t know, but he didn’t act like Circus after that, and I felt very sorry for him.

  “Besides,” he said, “people will look at me and won’t like me ’cause my dad’s in jail. Anyway, I haven’t been to Sunday school since I was little.”

  Just then my dad came out of the barn with two big pails of milk, each one with about an inch of rich, yellow foam on top.

  “Why didn’t you wake me up?” I said to him, feeling guilty because I hadn’t helped him. Even if I didn’t like to work, I do like to help my dad get the work done. It’s only good-for-nothing boys that won’t help their parents without being scolded.

  But Dad just laughed. “You don’t have company every day, so I decided to let you sleep.”

  I thought that was pretty nice of him.

  After breakfast Circus and I helped with the dishes. Soon it would be time to go to Sunday school, and he still hadn’t made up his mind to go. We all told him his clothes looked good enough, and just to keep him from feeling embarrassed, I put on my second-best shoes instead of my best. And since he didn’t have a good cap, we would both go bareheaded.

  “Besides,” I told him, “I’ll bet
Jesus didn’t have a lot of fancy clothes to wear when He was a little boy ’cause His folks were poor.”

  “Were they?” he asked, surprised.

  “Sure,” I said, “and when He grew up, He didn’t even have a nice home to live in or any money to pay taxes with. Why, one time He sent Peter down to the lake with his fishing pole and told him he’d find the money to pay their taxes right in the fish’s mouth.” I explained that Jesus was probably trying to teach Peter that God was able to take care of him.

  But Circus, not having heard the Bible explained very much, didn’t quite understand what I was talking about.

  “Is that in the Bible?” he asked.

  We were standing up in our big high swing just then, facing each other and pumping ourselves higher and higher.

  “Sure it is!” I said. “There’s some of the best stories in the world right in the Bible.”

  “Do you suppose there’ll be any jails in heaven?” he asked after a bit.

  We were swinging awful high right then, back and forth, the cool air blowing against our faces, our shirt sleeves flapping, our hair getting all mussed up and needing combing again before we could go to church. “Jails!” I said, trying to remember something I’d heard our minister say. “No, I don’t think so. What would God want jails up there for!”

  Circus didn’t say anything for a minute. Then he asked, “Then what’ll He do with people that get drunk and kill people and things like that?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, thinking I’d ask my dad or mom or Little Jim or somebody as soon as I got a chance. Then I happened to remember. “One day Little Jim said, ‘I think maybe all the people who aren’t saved won’t get into heaven at all but will have to go to … to some terrible jail!’” I told Circus.

  He looked awful sad, and we both forgot to pump, and our swing started to slow down. “You mean … hell?” he asked.

  And that’s how I began to wonder whether I was saved myself or not. I knew I wasn’t a drunk like Circus’s dad or a robber like the man at Old Man Paddler’s cabin, but I felt that I needed Jesus anyway. For if people didn’t need Him, why did He come down here from heaven to die for them?

  I didn’t tell Circus how I felt just then nor my dad nor anybody. But I thought maybe sometime I’d tell Little Jim, and I might even tell Jesus Himself the next time I prayed.

  Pretty soon, away we went in Dad’s car to Sunday school, stopping at Poetry’s house for him and at Dragonfly’s for him. Big Jim and Little Jim were waiting for us in front of the church when we got there.

  Our class had the nicest teacher. She knew all about boys, and we could tell by the way she looked at us that she liked us and wouldn’t get angry if we forgot to listen for a minute or maybe whispered or something. It was especially hard for Poetry to be good in either church or school on account of his being so mischievous. But even a mischievous boy can be good if he wants to.

  The only thing wrong with going to Sunday school on a hot day is that you have to wear shoes, and you keep wanting to take them off and go running lickety-sizzle through the woods or go swimming or fishing. And if your teacher doesn’t understand boys, it’s even harder.

  Right after Sunday school, we all went outdoors a while for some fresh air before the bell rang for church to begin. Then we went back inside. Every one of us stayed for church too. Big Jim had talked to us about that once.

  You see, for a while last year, after there’d been a fire in our own church, we all went to a Sunday school in town. Right after Sunday school was over, almost half the other boys and girls went home, not even staying for church! Big Jim was disgusted, and Little Jim thought it was terrible. Think of it. Not staying for church service. Shucks! Didn’t those kids’ parents know anything? Didn’t they know that if you don’t want a boy to grow up to be no good at all, he’s got to go to Sunday school and church when he’s little! Anybody ought to know that!

  When we were back inside, my dad saw us boys sitting in a row all by ourselves, with Poetry and me side by side. He gave me a look with his eyebrows down that said, “Now, then, William Jasper Collins! You see to it that you don’t get into mischief!”

  Maybe our pastor wasn’t the most wonderful speaker in the world, and maybe I couldn’t understand everything he said, but he always had something in his sermon that a boy could understand. And that made it interesting. I guess he remembered when he was a boy and couldn’t understand everything either unless it was explained in boy language. Anyway, his sermons helped you to love Jesus a little more. And when he told an interesting story to explain some Bible verse, I always sat up and listened even if I had been wiggling around a little bit before that.

  The music started, and we were all singing away. Poetry growled along trying to sing bass, but he couldn’t because his voice was half soprano and half something else. Somebody’s baby started to cry, and I forgot all about the song and everything else for thinking of Charlotte Ann.

  I looked at Circus, and he looked at me. And then he looked at the baby, just as he had looked at Charlotte Ann last night, but it didn’t do a bit of good. In fact, the baby cried even louder than before! And for a minute I had a hard time to keep from laughing. But pretty soon they took the baby out.

  We finished the song and were starting another when all of a sudden the door opened, and somebody came in and started walking down the aisle toward the front of the church. And would you believe it? It was Old Man Paddler himself, his long white hair combed nice and neat. He had a good suit of clothes on, and he was walking pretty spryly for such an old man, looking just like Moses or somebody.

  I tell you, we all sat up and took notice, and for a minute the singing almost stopped. Little Jim’s mother, who was playing the piano, turned halfway around and actually struck some of the wrong keys.

  Our minister must have known him, for, after looking surprised, he came right down off the platform and went to him and shook hands, smiling all over as though Mr. Paddler was his very best friend. He whispered something in the old man’s ear, and I saw the old head nod as though he was saying yes.

  Then we went on singing.

  Pretty soon I knew what our minister had said to him, for when we’d finished the song and we’d read some verses out of the Bible, he said, “I’m sure we are happy to have one of our charter members with us this morning after a trip around the world, one whom many of you have known and loved. At this time we shall be led in prayer by Seneth Paddler.”

  And the old man just lifted his fine old gray head toward the ceiling with his face turned up and his eyes shut. And his kind voice started in praying, trembling along as if it wasn’t very strong and might break at any time.

  I shut my eyes the way you’re supposed to when anybody prays, and for a minute it was almost scary in that church because it seemed heaven had moved right down to earth. I actually had to open my eyes to be sure it wasn’t so. And, say, that old man’s white forehead was shining, and his long whiskers looked awful pretty. I actually kept my eyes open almost all the rest of the way through his prayer, forgetting to close them.

  And do you know what? I never told anybody before, but just as Old Man Paddler was finishing his prayer, I shut my eyes real quick and told Jesus I loved Him and asked Him to come into my heart for sure, so I’d know whether I was saved or not. Then I prayed real quick for Circus’s dad, too, and got done at the same time Old Man Paddler did.

  And do you know what else? From that minute on it seemed that Jesus and I had a secret together. I knew I was a Christian, and I was sure that some day Circus’s dad would be saved and wouldn’t get drunk anymore, and Circus wouldn’t have to run away, for his dad would be good to him, and Circus could have a cornet and play in the band, and his mother would be happy, and they’d all go to church like families are supposed to.

  The meeting was over, and we went home, Circus riding with Big Jim and his folks.

  After dinner at our house, I saw Dad get his big black Bible and go out to the car. I knew h
e was going to town to the jail and talk to Circus’s dad. So I ran down to the barn and climbed up into our haymow and went way back up in the hay where nobody could see me, or even hear me, and got down on both of my knees and told Jesus about our secret. I asked Him to help Dad and to make that part of the secret about Circus’s father come true just as quick as He could.

  Then, to make it seem like a bargain, I took my little New Testament—I still had it in my pocket from carrying it to Sunday school—and stuck it there in a crack in a log and left it. And all of a sudden I began to be awful happy because now I was sure that Jesus had truly forgiven my sins. I even cried a little bit all by myself, and I didn’t care if I did. I loved Jesus so much inside that it seemed my heart would burst.

  When I climbed down out of the haymow, there at the bottom of the ladder was old Mixy, our black-and-white cat. I felt so good I just scooped her up in my arms and hugged her and yelled, “Whoopee!”

  But Mixy didn’t seem to appreciate the fact that I was happy, for she got scared when I yelled, “Whoopee!” She scrambled out of my arms and went lickety-split across the barn floor and crawled into a hole that leads under the barn.

  Then I went up to the house to see Charlotte Ann and maybe do a little errand or something for Miss Trillium, if she wanted me to, and to wait for Dragonfly, who had promised to come over to play with me that afternoon.

  15

  Charlotte Ann still wasn’t very cheerful, nothing like I hoped she would be a week or two later when she’d gotten used to living in this world and maybe had decided that my red hair and freckles weren’t anything to be afraid of.

  She didn’t need to act so disgusted with my hair! When you got a look at her black curls up real close, they looked as if maybe they’d be dark red themselves some day. But then, of course, she didn’t know that. Babies don’t know anything, in fact; nearly all babies don’t, except Charlotte Ann.

  I stood there beside Mom’s bed, where she was resting, and I looked at the golden fawn lilies I’d picked, with the blue and purple violets mixed up with them.