Spring's Gentle Promise

by Janette Oke

  I couldn’t argue much about that.

  “That’s very kind,” Matilda responded. “I’m sure Josh and Chester will appreciate not having to go out.”

  Well, I couldn’t speak for Chester, but I sure knew how Josh felt about the matter. I didn’t say anything, though. There didn’t seem to be much point.

  “Go ahead,” I told Matilda. “I’ll finish the dishes.”

  “Oh, thank you,” she responded, reaching up to give me one of her impulsive little hugs right there before the eyes of Will Sanders. I was both embarrassed and smug. So what do you think of that, Mr. Sanders? I wanted to say, but I bit my tongue and turned back to wipe the table and rinse the dishpan.

  Matilda was soon back, bag in hand and her warm coat wrapped securely around her. I didn’t even watch them go, and when Matilda called, “Good night, Josh,” I only mumbled in reply.

  I was grumpy all evening. It was almost nine o’clock before I remembered Chester still waiting in the barn, harnessed and ready for travel. Grumbling, I lit the lantern and pulled on my heavy coat.

  “Well, fella, sorry about that,” I apologized as I slipped the harness from his back. “I near forgot about you. Guess—guess you an’ me sorta got—stood up.”

  I flung the harness with extra intensity to hang it back on its pegs, and it made Chester jump.

  I crossed back to him and began to gently rub his neck and his back. The ink that Jon had splashed over him had finally faded away in the sun and rain.

  “Sorry, fella,” I soothed. “Guess I’m just a little out of sorts. First, we’ve been needin’ to do without Mary. It isn’t easy for three fellas to batch anymore when we’ve been used to somethin’ else. An’ then this here fella comes along and takes—just takes right over with Matilda—with Mary, too.”

  I don’t know why I expected a horse to make any sense out of what I was saying, but I went right on talking to Chester for the next five minutes. By the time I got back to the kitchen, I had settled down enough to think that I might sleep.

  “Guess I’ll make it an early night,” I said to Grandpa and Uncle Charlie, and they didn’t seem surprised. They both said good night without really looking up, and I headed on up the stairs to my room.

  CHAPTER 8

  Troubling Thoughts

  BUT I COULDN’T SLEEP this time either. I tossed and turned and roughed up my pillow, but my mind just wouldn’t let my body rest. Pixie got rather impatient with me. She left the warm spot where she always slept curled at my feet and scrambled up beside me. She whined softly, her little body wiggling slightly and her tail thumping. Then she took a lick at my face. I don’t know if she was sympathizing with my misery or telling me to settle down and let her get some sleep, but I did find a bit of comfort in her seeming concern.

  I reached out and ran my hand across her silky back. She let me stroke her a few times and then returned to the foot of the bed, turned a few times and lay down. I heard her yawn as she tucked in for the night. I guess she felt she had done all she could.

  At last I stopped even pretending. I reached out to my night stand and felt around for the small container that held the matches, struck one and lit my lamp. Matilda had just received a stack of new dailies. I decided to get one from the kitchen and read for a while.

  I was surprised when I started down the stairs to see the kitchen light still burning. I wondered if someone was ill. Then I thought of Uncle Charlie. He often got up and sat alone by the warm stove if his arthritis got too painful during the night.

  I decided I’d just join him for a while in the kitchen. Maybe make some hot chocolate or something.

  But as I neared the bottom of the stairs, I heard voices and realized that Grandpa was up, too. I guess I hadn’t been tossing for as long as I’d thought. It had just seemed like hours and hours.

  “You think he’s ‘callin’ ? ” Uncle Charlie was asking.

  There was a moment’s silence before Grandpa responded; then I heard a chuckle. “Thet’s the way I figure it, but I’ll be hanged iffen I can figure out, callin’ on who.”

  “Matilda?”

  “Thet was in my thinkin’—at first—but he paid considerable attention to Mary the other night too. An’ did ya hear him say tonight thet he wanted to see Mary?”

  “Yeah—I heard ’im.”

  I heard a coffee cup being set on the table. A chair moved slightly on the linoleum floor. Then Uncle Charlie spoke again.

  “Maybe he’s jest sorta lookin’ ’em both over.”

  “A man don’t git hisself nowhere a doin’ thet,” observed Grandpa.

  Uncle Charlie snorted. He’d been a bachelor all his life. Maybe he knew the truth of the statement. I had never thought to wonder if there had ever been a young lady or ladies in Uncle Charlie’s life way back when.

  “Nowhere. Thet’s it exactly—nowhere,” said Uncle Charlie.

  “ ’Course they’re both awful nice girls,” put in Grandpa.

  “Yup. Both awful nice girls,” agreed Uncle Charlie.

  “Don’t rightly know which one I’d pick myself.”

  Uncle Charlie seemed to be giving the matter considerable thought. I heard the coffee cups again.

  “You know anythin’ ’bout this here fella?” Uncle Charlie asked, and I could follow his line of thought. No good-for-nothin’ was gonna come along and make things miserable for one of his girls, no siree.

  Grandpa let out his breath in a raspy little sound. Finally he said slowly, “Checked a bit in town,” then added quickly to try to justify himself, “Jest fer the record ya know. They say they’re a fine family. Three boys. Lost both folks when the youngest was jest a tyke. Thet’s Henry. Will is a couple years older. The oldest son an’ his wife took in the two younger boys. Will went on to school an’ then worked in the city fer a spell.”

  There was a moment of silence while the two men thought about Grandpa’s information. Grandpa broke it.

  “Couldn’t find no skeletons a’tall,” he admitted.

  More silence. I didn’t know what the emotions were down there in that kitchen—but my stomach was churnin’ and my mouth went all dry. I hadn’t realized it until my palms began to hurt, and then I noticed I had my fists curled so tightly that my nails were digging into them.

  “Anyways—as I see it,” went on Grandpa, “Josh better hurry an’ make up his mind as to which girl he wants—or he’s gonna be takin’ the leftovers.”

  I felt all the air leave my lungs.

  “Maybe he don’t want neither,” responded Uncle Charlie.

  Grandpa snorted. “Iffen he don’t,” he said matter-of-factly, “he’s dumber’n I took ’im fer.”

  I had long since forgotten about Matilda’s newspapers. I had even forgotten about the hot chocolate. The conversation down below had my blood boilin’ and was givin’ me the chills—both at the same time.

  “Hard choice,” Grandpa was saying reflectively. “Real hard choice.”

  “Can’t have ’em both,” spoke up Uncle Charlie.

  “Maybe it’s been the wrong thing to have ’em both here,” said Grandpa after a pause. “I mean, seein’ both girls—so different— yet so—so special, an’ gittin’ to feel like they was more like family than—than young women to court.” A long pause. “An’ how in the world does a fella go about courtin’ a girl thet lives in the same house as he does anyway?”

  “Yeah,” agreed Uncle Charlie, “an’ when ya like ’em both, how do ya court the one ’thout the other feelin’ left out an’ such?”

  “Well, this here Will don’t seem to have ’im no problem— he’s courtin’, an’ thet’s fer sure.”

  There was silence for a minute.

  “Do ya think the girls—?” began Grandpa but Uncle Charlie cut in.

  “You seen an’ heard ’em same as me. Any girl is flattered by courtin’.”

  “Do ya think they know which one he’s picked?”

  “I dunno. Maybe. Women have an uncanny sense ’bout thet,” mused U
ncle Charlie.

  At the time I didn’t even stop to wonder where Uncle Charlie got all his knowledge about the fairer sex.

  A chair scraped against the floor. Someone was standing to his feet. I moved quickly to make my escape back to my bed, but Uncle Charlie—or was it Grandpa? no, it was Uncle Charlie, I could tell by the shuffling steps—just moved to the stove for the coffeepot.

  I heard the coffee poured and Uncle Charlie sit back down. They sipped in silence for a few minutes, each busy with his own thoughts.

  “Maybe Josh really doesn’t care,” said Grandpa.

  “He cares,” Uncle Charlie affirmed flatly.

  “Yeah—‘bout which one?”

  “Can’t answer thet. But he cares. It’s nigh been eatin’ his insides.”

  He sure seemed to know a lot—maybe more than I did.

  “Hadn’t noticed,” admitted Grandpa. “How’s thet?”

  “Little things. He can spend the whole night tossin’ on his bed. I can hear ’im. Then he gets up as touchy as a bear with cubs. I see ’im lookin’ from one girl to the next—an’ when thet there fella showed up tonight, Josh fairly bristled.”

  “Thet right? Thet right?” said Grandpa, and for some strange reason there was a bit of excitement in his voice.

  I’d heard about enough. The whole thing was leaving me with a sick feeling. I moved back a step, intending to return quietly to my bed. Then a word from Grandpa caught me a blow right in the middle of my stomach.

  “Jealous, huh?”

  Jealous? Me? Of course I’m not jealous, I fumed. Jealousy was an evil emotion. It went right along with covetousness. My whole being rebelled against the thought.

  “Iffen he’s jealous—then maybe he does care. Or maybe he’s jest plain-out possessive of ’em both,” went on Grandpa.

  “I think he cares.”

  “ ’Bout who?”

  Uncle Charlie thought for a minute. Then answered slowly, “I’m not sure thet even Josh has got thet sorted out yet.”

  “Well, he’d better start ’em a sortin’,” Grandpa replied very seriously, “ ’cause thet there young Will ain’t gonna waste ’im no time.”

  “Yeah, he’s courtin’. Fer sure he’s a courtin’.”

  “He’s a courtin’ all right,” agreed Grandpa again, then repeated on a still-puzzled note, “but I’ll be hanged iffen I can figure out which one.”

  I crept back to my room, my stomach still churning and my body tight with tension. Pixie didn’t even move as I eased myself back into my bed. I had been repelled by every word I’d heard. I guess that was what an eavesdropper could expect. Still, I hadn’t planned to eavesdrop—it had just happened, and after the first few words I had overheard, I sure wasn’t going to give myself away.

  So Will is courtin’? Matilda? Or Mary? I sure hadn’t been able to discern which one. And if he’s courtin’, then we might lose one of the girls. The thought was not a comforting one. Matilda and Mary seemed to sort of come as a set. And furthermore, they both belonged to us somehow.

  But no. That was ridiculous. Even I knew that. The day would come—maybe much sooner than I liked to think—that we would lose one of the girls, or maybe both of them. We couldn’t possibly keep the two of them forever. Maybe we couldn’t keep either one of them, was a startling thought. Will would cart one of them off and then some other young buck would come along and take the other.

  The very thought made my blood boil.

  But jealous? Why would I be jealous? I mean, I had no claim to the girls—no personal claim. I’d never courted either one of them. And they certainly had not flirted with me. Well, not really. Only in a teasing sort of way.

  I thought of Matilda’s impulsive little embraces and my face flushed in the darkness. Then I remembered Mary reaching out to gently touch my hand, and the deep look of concern and understanding in her eyes as she did so, and I colored even deeper. Maybe they do like me—sort of. Not just as family. The thought was a new one and one that I had not consciously entertained before. But if—if they did—if there was any chance that they did—then I should do something about it. I mean, I didn’t particularly enjoy the thought of spending my whole life as a bachelor like Uncle Charlie. I wanted a wife—love—a family.

  But first—there came the courting.

  I had no idea how to go about courting a girl. Oh, if it was like this here Will fella handled it, there wasn’t much to it. I mean, he just came over whenever he took the notion and just sorta hung around and teased and complimented the girls some. Any fella could do that.

  But, I knew that wasn’t the way that I’d do it. A girl deserved more consideration than that. I thought she had a right to expect more than that. If I was courting I’d try to think of nice things to do that she might enjoy.

  Take Matilda—she loves flowers—an’ sweet smellin’ perfume— an’ trips to town an’ pretty new pieces of jewelry, I listed off. She likes music—and laughing and picnics in the country and drives in the motor car. Wouldn’t be too hard at all for me to think of ways to court Matilda.

  What if I courted Matilda? How long did a fella have to “court” before he could properly ask a young woman to marry him? I mean, courting could take a good deal of time and expense. True, a fella could get a lot of enjoyment out of it. Especially if the young woman really enjoyed the courting—like Matilda would. Maybe she’d just want it to go on and on. Matilda would like courtin’ all right, I decided.

  But what about after the courting? I couldn’t really picture Matilda in the kitchen, working over a hot stove, baking bread and canning the garden produce. I couldn’t really see her leaning over the scrub board, hair in disarray while she scrubbed at dirty farm socks. Oh, Matilda fit into the courting picture just fine—but the marriage picture wasn’t so easy to visualize.

  Now, Mary—I could see Mary doing all those kitchen things. I had watched her perform all the household tasks dozens of times. It seemed so—so natural for Mary. She did it without fuss—without comment—and even seemed to somehow enjoy the doing. Mary in the kitchen seemed right reasonable. But courtin’? I couldn’t think of a single way that one would properly court Mary. I mean, she never fussed about perfumes or pretty jewelry or lace hankies or anything like that. She never coaxed for rides in the motor car or asked for picnics. I couldn’t honestly think of a thing that would make Mary impulsively throw her arms around my neck or giggle with girlish glee.

  I lay there, struggling with questions I’d never faced before— working them this way and then that way. No matter how I tried I couldn’t come up with any answers. But I knew instinctively that I could no longer just push the matter aside. I had to get it sorted out. My whole future depended on it.

  CHAPTER 9

  Eying the Field

  EVEN IF I HAD wrestled with the problem for half the night, I was no nearer an answer when I got up to go choring the next morning. This much I knew, I had two girls right at hand who most young men in the area considered first-rate candidates for a marriage partner, and I had been taking them for granted.

  I also knew that if I was going to choose one of them—and I figured I would be pretty dense not to—then I was going to need to decide which one and get on with the courting. The trouble was deciding. They were so different—yet both special.

  Matilda’s energy and enthusiasm made the house seem alive. We all enjoyed her company. Even Grandpa and Uncle Charlie counted the days until she returned from her trips home. The world just seemed like a nicer place when Matilda was around.

  Then I thought of Mary. Mary was quiet—not bouncy. But Mary was—well—supportive. She was dependable and sort of comfortable to be around. I’m not sure how we would have managed without Mary.

  Matilda or Mary? How was one to decide? And just what kind of tension would it put on our household if I started to court the one and left behind the other?

  Now, I had no reason to think that either girl was sitting around holding her breath waiting for Josh Jones to star
t calling. Neither of them had led me to think they were interested in me in any other way than as a member of our household. I was maybe being presumptuous to even think that one of them would accept my small gifts and attention.

  Then a new thought hit me. What if I picked a girl—Matilda or Mary—and decided to court her and she flatly turned me down? It could happen.

  The thought scared me. I remembered what had happened when I had the foolish notion that I could just walk back into Camellia’s life and she had announced instead that she was marrying Willie.

  The idea of being rejected was so frightening that I decided, as I slopped the pigs and cared for the cows, that I would just hold back for the next several days and sorta look things over. I wanted to put out a few feelers to see if it appeared that either of the girls might favorably respond to being courted by Joshua Jones.

  I was more sensitive to little things as I gathered around the breakfast table with the family that morning.

  Matilda was telling a funny incident from school. One of the children had written a composition about winter. He had said in part, “The best thing about winter is that the ‘moskeytoes’ ”—Matilda spelled it for us—“fly south to bite other people.”

  Matilda laughed merrily as she told it and Grandpa chuckled and Uncle Charlie grinned. Matilda was a lot of fun.

  Matilda began to gather her school supplies and reach for her heavy winter wraps as soon as Grandpa had finished with our morning devotions. I had a sudden inspiration.

  “Chester’s in his stall,” I said. “How would you like me to hitch him to the sleigh and drive you to school?”

  She looked at me, her eyes big with unasked questions; then she threw her arms around my neck with a little squeal of delight.

  I took that as her yes, and I grinned to myself as I shrugged into my heavy coat and headed for the barn while she finished her preparations. Maybe courting wasn’t so hard after all.

  It was colder and another storm was dumping more snow. I was glad I had thought of driving Matilda to school. It would have been rather miserable walking.