by Janette Oke
We all looked at one another and our empty stomachs began to grumble even louder. We said nothing, but the expression in our eyes was shared agony.
It was Avery who stepped up to the door and rapped gently. Fourteen-year-old Mary answered and looked rather surprised when she saw all three of us standing there. She just stared at us.
“Who is it, girl?” called Mrs. Turley, and I was sure enough relieved to hear her voice.
“Boys,” answered Mary, and I was afraid she was going to close the door on us and go back to her kitchen duties.
“Well, invite them in,” instructed Mrs. Turley, and she came through the kitchen and stuck her head out the door so she could see for herself.
“Come in. Come in,” she invited us cheerfully, and we followed her into the kitchen. Her blue gingham sleeves were rolled up and there was flour on her hands and apron.
“What can we do for you, boys?” she asked. Mrs. Turley was known in the community as one who did not bother none with beating around the bush.
“We’d like a drink, please,” responded Avery without hesitation. “We’ve been out on a camping trip and we’re on our way home. It’s powerful hot walking and we just thought that you might be kind enough to let us have a drink.”
“Mary, get the boys some cold milk,” said Mrs. Turley, and she went back to rolling out piecrust. Now, milk sounded a whole lot better than water.
“Never did care for milk all on its own,” Mrs. Turley went on. “Mary, slice them some fresh bread and get out some of that strawberry jam.” Mary hurried to carry out the instructions while Mrs. Turley deftly worked with her rolling pin, and we looked at one another like we’d been offered an expenses-paid trip to New York City. About that time I was blessing my best friend Avery for talking us into stopping.
“So you been campin’,” remarked Mrs. Turley.
We managed to reply around giant bites of strawberry-jam-covered fresh bread. Mrs. Turley was a great baker.
“Where’d ya go?”
“Up to the crik mouth, ma’am.”
“What fer?”
That one caught us a bit off guard. Why had we gone?
“Just to see the spring,” said Willie. “We’d never been there.”
“Neither’ve I,” said Mrs. Turley, “an’ I don’t plan to waste no time in goin’ way up there either.” Then her voice softened and she even smiled. “But, then, I guess young boys with energy to spare don’t quite look at things the way a tired ol’ woman does.”
We didn’t quite know how to respond to that one. None of us were eager to refer to Mrs. Turley as a tired old woman while we sat at her kitchen table wolfing down her delicious homemade bread.
“Mary, cut them each another piece,” said Mrs. Turley, watching us for a moment, “an’ get them some more milk.”
“That is mighty delicious, ma’am,” said Avery. “We did have us some bad luck and ended up with no breakfast this morning.” I held my breath for a moment, but Avery was smarter than I gave him credit for—he said nothing at all about that Turley bull.
“Then you’d best have a piece of apple pie,” answered Mrs. Turley, not missing a beat with the smooth action of her rolling pin. “Mary, cut them a piece of that pie in the window. Mind you, be careful now. It’s still hot.”
“Oh, but—“ started Willie, and I kicked him under the table.
“Sure does smell good, ma’am,” I cut in quickly.
Mary was generous with her servings and I suddenly gained a new respect for the girl.
The pie was just as good as it had smelled, and we were given more milk to help cool off each bite. Boy, did it hit the spot!
“Mrs. Turley,” I said as I washed down the last swallow with milk, “that was about the best apple pie I ever tasted.”
“That’s nice to hear,” she said matter-of-factly without smiling. “The way my menfolk swallow the food around here, I’m not sure whether it be good or not. They just gulp it down and leave the table.”
I supposed Mrs. Turley might not be the only woman with that complaint. I decided then and there to pay a few more compliments to the cook—whoever it might be.
We thanked Mrs. Turley again, paying her lavish compliments on her bread and pie, which eventually left her beaming, and turned back to the dusty road again.
As we left, Willie turned to Mary, who was busy cleaning up after us.
“And thank you, Mary,” he said, “for feedin’ us an’ all.”
A bit embarrassed, Avery and I quickly echoed his thanks. Mary gave us a shy smile.
Once back on the road with our stomachs full and our spirits revived, we began to pay more attention to the fall day, pointing out items of interest to one another.
We even started to reminisce about our camping trip. We first discussed all of the good things about it, like the colorful fall leaves, the fact that it hadn’t rained, the clarity and freshness of the crik the closer we got to the spring. Then we started discussing the other things that had happened. We passed that old bull in the pasture, and the whole fearful experience came flooding back. But soon we were seeing the funny side of it all, and we laughed and pounded one another on the back and nearly rolled on the ground. Before we realized it we had quite convinced ourselves that our camping trip had been a tremendous success, and we could hardly wait to get home and tell everyone about it. In fact, we decided, there really wasn’t one thing about it that we’d change even if we could. Well, maybe enough food for one last breakfast.
Just the same, I was looking forward to a good sleep in my own bed, with no one there to pull off the covers or breathe in my face.
CHAPTER 8
School Again
I WOULDN’T WILLINGLY HAVE admitted it to anyone, but I was missing school. The local grapevine tried to keep up with the School Board’s search. Rumors were always circulating about as to who they had contacted and where he or she was from and when the new teacher might be coming, but the school door stayed closed. I was getting restless, and I guess most of the other students were feeling the same way. Why, I even took to studying my textbooks—in the privacy of my own bedroom, that is.
I spent the time at the farm with the three men. Grandpa kept looking for little jobs to keep us all busy, but there really wasn’t too much more that needed to be done before winter set in. Gramps laughingly suggested that we all take up knittin’, but Uncle Charlie said that “mendin’ was too close to a needle of any kind” for him.
It really hadn’t been that long since our teacher had quit—it just seemed like forever.
I rode into town with Grandpa every chance I got and over to Willie’s a couple of times, and over to Avery’s once. I even visited Mitch Turley, who had quit school as soon as he could talk his folks into it. I knew Mitch wouldn’t understand my hankering to be back in the schoolroom again, so I didn’t even mention it to him. Instead, I told him all about our hike up along the crik. It sounded better every time we three fellas told it.
Anyway, I was bored. Guess I was sorta getting on the nerves of the men at the farm because one day Grandpa came in and said he was going into town and I might like to pack up my things and go on back to Aunt Lou’s. The latest rumor had it that a new teacher was on the way and school might start just anytime.
Well, we had heard that before and it hadn’t amounted to anything, but I didn’t argue. I packed up my little valise, threw it in the back of the wagon, then went back into the big farm kitchen to tell Gramps and Uncle Charlie goodbye, scooped up Pixie and we started off for town.
“Feel that bite in the wind, Boy?” Gramps said as he turned up his collar. The wind really caught a body all right when you were perched up on the high seat of that wagon. I nodded my head and turned up my own collar.
“Winter might finally be on its way. Don’t know when we ever had us a fall like this one.”
I nodded again and looked at the trees lining the roadway. The branches were whipping back and forth and the leaves were dancing here and there, as though scu
rrying about to find the right bed for snuggling down before the snow started falling.
Grandpa clucked to the horses to hurry, and then I saw him look toward the sky.
My eyes followed his, and it sure did look like snow weather all right. I purposely didn’t think about the wood it would take for the fires and the extra work in choring. I smiled to myself and thought instead about sliding down snow-covered hills and skating over frozen ponds.
When we got to Aunt Lou’s there was no one to answer our light rap on the door. Grandpa walked right on in, like it was our custom when he brought me back to town, sorta halloing as he did.
“Guess Lou is out—“ He stopped quick-like when we heard a noise from the bedroom.
Grandpa cocked his head and listened a minute. “Lou?” he called.
“In here, Pa,” came the weak answer.
We both walked to the door of Lou’s room. She was laying there with flushed cheeks and the blind on the window drawn.
“Ya feeling poorly?” asked Grandpa softly, and I wondered why he even asked. Lou wasn’t one to lay around in bed in the middle of the day.
She smiled, but it was kind of fragile-like.
“Not too bad,” she answered, “but Doc says I’m to stay here for a couple of days.”
Grandpa walked over to Lou’s bed. Automatically, it seemed, his big work-calloused hand reached out and rested on Lou’s brow.
“You had the doc?” he asked. I knew that fact concerned Grandpa. One did not call the doc just for sniffles or a tummy ache.
“I’m fine, Pa, really I am,” Lou assured him quickly. “Why, I really don’t feel too sick at all—but Doc says at my age, I best stay in bed. Measles can bring complications.”
“Measles?” I guess Grandpa and I both said the word together.
Lou looked just a mite embarrassed.
“Little Sarah Smith had the measles and then her mama got them, too. I took over a couple books and some chicken soup— and—well, I guess I had no business being there. Anyway, I now have the measles and Doc says, ‘Stay in bed,’ and Nat says, ‘Stay in bed,’ so—I stay in bed.”
By the way she said it, I knew staying in bed was not easy for Aunt Lou.
“You should have sent for us, honey,” Grandpa was saying.
“I’m not sick, Pa. Really. I sure didn’t need to go trouble someone else over it.”
“Well, Josh is here now,” said Grandpa. “He’s right handy.
He can do any running that needs being done. He can cook, too. Charlie’s been teaching him a few things since he’s been so bored this week.”
Lou gave me a smile. “Good to have you back, Josh,” she said. “I’ve been missing you.” I knew it was more than just someone to run her errands. Aunt Lou really did miss me when I was gone—me and Pixie.
I put Pixie in Aunt Lou’s outstretched arms and the little dog lay there, her small tongue busy on Aunt Lou’s face. For a moment I was scared—could dogs pick up measles? And then I figured likely not and dismissed my fears.
“I’ll just put my things in my room,” I said.
By the time I was finished unpacking my few belongings, I could hear the kettle singing. Grandpa was busy making Aunt Lou some fresh tea. I’d noticed some laundry on the line when we drove in, so I decided I’d best slip out and get it before that storm arrived. When I had finally untangled the things that were wrapped around the string of wire, my fingers were tingling with the cold. Yep, winter sure was on its way.
Nearing the house, I could hear Aunt Lou laughing. I don’t know what story Grandpa was telling her, but they seemed to be enjoying it together. I folded up the wash, enjoying the fresh, outdoorsy smell of it, and put it in the basket. By then the feeling was back in my fingers.
“Josh,” called Aunt Lou, “there are cookies in the pan on the table. Mrs. Brown just brought them this morning. Help yourself and bring some in for Pa, please.”
“Anything you need before I start hauling wood?” I asked Aunt Lou around the cookie in my mouth as I handed the pan to Grandpa.
“Could you run to the store for some pork chops for our supper?” she asked me. I nodded that I could and pushed the last of the cookie into my mouth so I’d have two free hands to button up my coat.
The butcher shop was always a busy place. Sometimes I had been there when I’d had to wait in line for ten or fifteen minutes. It wasn’t my favorite spot. I didn’t care for the smell, the mixture of sawdust and fresh meat. I didn’t like to look at the cases full of chunks and pieces that used to be someone’s cow or hog, either. I would have rather waited outside, but the wind was cold so I stepped in and took my place in line—for once a short one.
The butcher took care of each customer one by one, and when he had handed Mrs. Olaf her brown-wrapped hamburger and marked it on her sheet, he turned to me.
“Howdy, Joshua. I’m supposin’ you’ve heard the good news?”
I hadn’t heard any news, good or bad, that I recalled, so I shook my head.
“No, sir,” I stated.
“You didn’t? Well, boy, yer holiday is ’bout over. The new teacher arrived on today’s train.”
I guess he’d expected my face to fall or me to start to grumble or something, for he was all ready to laugh a big laugh at my expense. There must have been a little smile that crossed my lips or showed in my eyes or something, ’cause he looked real surprised and then sad, like I’d spoiled his fun or something.
“Ain’t ya upset?” he asked me.
“No, sir,” I answered honestly.
“Ya like school?” he went on, incredulous.
I was a little slower to answer that one. I mean, I didn’t want to be thought strange or something. I swallowed. “I reckon I do,” I said.
He shook his head as though to clear it of cobwebs, and then he said a funny thing. “Good for you. Maybe ya won’t need to spend yer life standin’ over foul-smellin’ meat all day.”
He handed me my package and turned to enter it on the sheet that he kept for Uncle Nat.
I didn’t rightly know what to say, so I just mumbled my “thank you” and pulled open the door. Besides, I was suddenly in a great big hurry to get home. I had real honest-to-goodness news!
When I reached the house out of breath from running against the wind, Uncle Nat had arrived home from the church and was sitting by Aunt Lou, looking relieved to see her obediently in bed and visiting with Grandpa.
“New schoolteacher’s here!” I gasped out to all three of them.
“Is she now?” said Grandpa with a smile. “Then the rumor was right this time.”
“He,” put in Uncle Nat mildly.
We all looked at him.
Grandpa’s eyes returned to my red-flushed face.
“When did she get here, Boy?”
“He,” said Uncle Nat again.
We seemed to catch his meaning then—at least Grandpa did.
“It’s a man?”
“Right,” said Uncle Nat.
“How old a fella?” asked Grandpa, and I wondered if he was thinking about whether the new teacher would be able to handle the older boys.
“Near middle age, I expect,” responded Uncle Nat.
“Middle age,” repeated Grandpa, seeming to ponder the information. “Did he come alone?”
“No, he has a wife and child.”
“Child?” This question, too, was from Grandpa.
“A girl,” said Uncle Nat, and I immediately dismissed the fact from my mind. If it had been a boy I might have been interested in his age.
“That’s nice,” Grandpa was saying. “Real nice. You’ll be able to get back to yer studies, Boy.”
I nodded and then realized I still held the brown-paper-wrapped pork chops in my hands.
Grandpa stood to his feet and gathered up the cups. “I’d best be gettin’ on home ’fore that storm strikes,” he said. “Josh, did you bring in the milk and butter?”
“Yes, sir,” I answered him.
“Then
I’d best get a-rollin’. You take care now, Lou, ya hear? Josh is here and he’s happy to do yer runnin’.”
Lou smiled. “I promise!” she said. “Though I sure don’t feel sick anymore.”
“I’ve had an awful time keeping her down,” remarked Uncle Nat.
“No use takin’ chances,” Grandpa reminded Aunt Lou. Then he added thoughtfully, “I thought you had the measles when you were just a little tyke.”
“Doc says that they were the Red measles,” Aunt Lou replied. “These are the German. One is not usually as sick with them, but occasionally there are complications.”
“Well, you take care.” Grandpa leaned over to plant a kiss on Aunt Lou’s cheek, reached out and tussled Pixie’s ear, and then turned to me.
“Glad about your school, Boy,” he said again with a quick pat on my shoulder.
He turned to Uncle Nat. “Any idea when classes will start?”
“I heard them say next Monday,” he replied.
I was rather disappointed about that. It was Wednesday. I’d been hoping that school would take up again the next morning. I was anxious to get a look at that new teacher. I’d never had me a man teacher before.
“Guess he needs a couple days to settle in,” Grandpa was saying.
He placed his hand on my shoulder again and gave it a slight squeeze like he always did when we said goodbye, and then he was off. Uncle Nat went out with him.
It was then that I finally delivered the package of pork chops to the kitchen.
Uncle Nat turned to me good-naturedly. “You can have your pick, Josh,” he said. “You want to cook supper or haul the wood?”
I didn’t hesitate for one minute. “I’ll haul the wood,” I responded and went to slip out of my good jacket and into my choring coat before leaving the warm kitchen.
The wind sure enough smelled of snow.
CHAPTER 9
The New Teacher
OVER THE NEXT FEW days there was little time for chafing over school to start. With Aunt Lou still confined to her bed and Uncle Nat busy with church duties, I had plenty to keep my hands and mind busy. The first snowstorm came sweeping in too, and that meant more wood and coal to haul. Boy, was it cold! It seemed that Old Man Winter wanted to make up for lost time, all in a day or so—thought we’d had it warm and sunshiny for quite long enough. The snow piled up overnight and the north wind whipped it into little drifts all around the corners of the house. I had to shovel my way to the coal shed and the woodpile. It did look awfully pretty out though.
