by Janette Oke
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.
CHAPTER 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.
“I’ll do the dishes the minute I get back,” I promised her, and Mary went.
As soon as she had disappeared I lifted my winter coat and hat from the peg by the door and went out to harness Chester as I had promised. Mary was out, valise in hand, just as I pulled up in front of the house. I helped her tuck in and we were off. Chester was feeling frisky, not having been used much, and he headed for the road at a fast clip. I had to slow him down to make the turn at the corner.
Mary and I didn’t talk much on the way over. But we both enjoyed the brisk run in the cutter. I could sense the tension leaving Mary’s body and see the shine return to her eyes. I was pleased that the idea of her spending some time at home had come to me.
As we turned down the Turley lane Mary spoke for the first time.
“How long should I stay?”
“Well—as long as you think you should,” I responded slowly.
Mary smiled mischievously. “Are you trying to get rid of me, Josh?”
“Truth is,” I answered, matching her mood, “I’m sorta
hopin’ that you’ll get to missin’ us real soon.”
Mary’s face flushed slightly, and I couldn’t help but laugh.
“Seriously?” she said when her composure had returned.
“Seriously—how about until Sunday?”
“That long? This is only Wednesday.”
“I know—an’ I’ll be counting every day—so don’t be late.”
Mary flushed again.
“I was wonderin’,” she said after a moment, “if Matilda might like to come join me on Friday evening. She’s never spent time at my house before an’—an’ I think that her—her cheery mood might be good for Mama.”
I pulled Chester up to the front of Mary’s house. “I’ll tell Matilda,” I promised. “I’m sure she’d love to come and I’ll bring her over.”
I helped Mary out and then lifted Chester’s reins again.
“Will you come in, Josh?” asked Mary.
“I think you and your mama need to meet alone,” I said thoughtfully. “Besides,” I went on in a lighter tone, “I’ve got to get on home to those dishes, remember?”
Mary laughed softly, and then grew more serious.
“Thanks, Josh,” she said. “For understandin’—an’—–everythin’.”
I nodded and climbed back into the sleigh.
“And, Josh,” Mary called softly. I turned to look at her. A few scattery snowflakes were falling about her. Some of them rested on the hair that escaped beneath her fur-trimmed hat. Her eyes were shining, her face lightened by some impulsive but pleasant thought. I waited, thinking what a picture she made as she stood there, valise in hand.
“Josh,” she said again. “A motor car is nice. Really. But— but you sure can’t beat a wintry sleigh ride behind Chester, can you?”
I chuckled. Mary had summed up my own feelings.
“We should do it more often,” I answered. “Remind me.”
And with one last grin I turned Chester around and left the lane at a fast clip. Mary was quite right. You couldn’t beat a wintry sleigh ride behind Chester, and I was all set to enjoy it to the full.
But for some reason, the ride back home wasn’t as pleasant as I had anticipated.
I didn’t need to do the dishes when I got home. Uncle Charlie had already washed and put them in the cupboard. He had also made a fresh pot of coffee, and Grandpa had joined him at the kitchen table for a cup. When I walked in both pairs of eyes turned to me.
“Somethin’ wrong, Boy?” asked Grandpa.
I poured myself some coffee and joined them at the table before explaining all about Mitch leaving and Mary’s concern for her ma.
“You done right, Boy,” said Grandpa. “We been hoggin’ too much of Mary’s time. Her ma needs her too.”
Uncle Charlie just slurped his coffee and then tilted his chair on the two back legs.
“What about Matilda?” he asked at length.
“Mary wants her to come and spend the weekend,” I answered. “I’m sure Matilda will be glad to.”
“This is Wednesday,” went on Uncle Charlie.
“We’ll manage until Friday,” I assured them both, and Grandpa nodded.
“I don’t have anything pressing right now. Just chores. I can help in the house,” I added.
Uncle Charlie hid a smile. “Never did cotton to yer cookin’, Josh,” he teased.
I just grinned. “Then you cook an’ I’ll do dishes,” I challenged him.
Uncle Charlie nodded. “It’s a deal,” he agreed.
“We’ll manage,” Grandpa concluded, but I could tell by his tone of voice that he was a mite doubtful. I guess none of us realized how much we’d come to depend on Mary till she wasn’t there.
Matilda was looking forward to spending the weekend with Mary and her family. The plan was for us to have our Friday supper, do up the dishes and then I’d drive Matilda over to Mary’s house.
We were just finishing the cleaning up when the dog announced a visitor. It was Will Sanders again. This time he’d come by sleigh. I grinned to myself when I saw him. He certainly hadn’t lost any time in making good on his promise to return, but this time he had been outfoxed. We were almost ready to leave for the Turleys’.
Grandpa opened the door and welcomed him. He came in confidently and took in the whole kitchen scene with one sweeping glance. I don’t know if I just fancied it or if he really was amused to see me wiping the dishes.
“What a shame!” exclaimed Matilda. “We are just finishing up here, and then I am off to the Turleys’ to join Mary for the weekend.”
“I understood that Mary lives here,” he responded.
“Well, she does,” hastily explained Matilda, “but she’s been spending a few days at home with her folks this week. She doesn’t get to see much of them even though she lives so close, so Josh sent her on home for a few days.”
Matilda gave the last bit of news with a hint of pride in her voice, but I think Will Sanders might well have missed the meaning of it all. At any rate, he let it go by completely and surprised me by saying to Matilda, “Then let me drive you.”
Now just a minute here, I wanted to cut in, but instead I said as calmly as I could, “I already have my horse ready and waiting in the barn. All I need to do is hitch him to the sleigh.”
“But mine are already hitched and waiting. No use for you to go out in the cold when I can just run Matilda on over.”
He ignored my scowl and hurried right on, “I wanted to see Mary anyway.”
