by Janette Oke
“Thank you, God,” I said, shutting my eyes tightly for a moment. Then I turned my full attention back to Mary. “I was so scared—so scared that—that—I didn’t even know until— until Billie brought the word—”
“I’m sorry, Josh. We had no way of getting help. No way of letting you know. We couldn’t get to a neighbor’s. Couldn’t even get to the road an’—your supper—?”
I stopped her. The memory of my impatience over our meal not being ready made me flush with shame. I looked at Mary’s face, swept soft and pale in the lamplight. “I should have known. I should have realized before,” I admitted. “I don’t know how I could be so dumb.”
“You had no way of knowin’,” argued Mary. “Sometimes we are later than we plan. Things—things just happen that delay us. But to miss the supper hour—No one could have guessed that we were lyin’ there in the ditch,” Mary explained and I realized that once again she was finding excuses for me. She was always doing that. Getting me off the hook when I did or said something stupid.
I brushed a wisp of hair back from her face. “Maybe deep down inside I knew all the time,” I murmured, “but it took something like this for me to realize—”
Mary’s eyes were puzzled. “You couldn’t have known ’bout the accident,” she said.
“No,” I answered. “I’m talkin’ ’bout me—us. I was scared to death, Mary, that I’d lost you—before I’d really found you. I didn’t realized until—until—” I stopped with a shudder.
“Josh,” said Mary softly but insistently, “what are you talkin’ about?”
I looked at her—my Mary, lying there white and quiet on the neighbor’s borrowed bed. She could have been killed! My heart nearly stopped even at the thought. I could have lost her. But she is still here.
I tried to speak but I choked on the words. I swallowed hard and tried again, looking directly into Mary’s eyes.
“I—I love you,” I managed to blurt out. “Maybe I always have—at least for a long time, but—but I was just too blind to see it—until now. I—”
But Mary’s little whisper stopped me. “Oh, Josh,” she uttered, her hand coming up to touch my cheek, and I could see tears filling her eyes.
My own tears came then. Sobbing tears. I laid my head against Mary’s shoulder and wept away all the pent-up emotions of the past dreadful hours. Mary let me cry, her hand gently stroking my head, my shoulder, and my arm.
I didn’t bother to apologize when I was finished. Somehow I knew Mary wouldn’t think an apology necessary.
“I love you,” I repeated, conviction in my voice.
“Bless that ol’ car,” Mary said with a little smile.
“What?”
“Bless that car. An’ the rain. An’ the slippery road. An’ our upendin’.” Mary was smiling broadly now, but her words made no sense at all. I wondered if she maybe was hallucinating.
“Oh, Josh!” she exclaimed, her eyes shining, “you don’t know how long I’ve wanted to hear you say those words.”
“You mean—”
“I have loved you—just forever,” she stated emphatically. “I began to think that you’d never feel the same ’bout me.”
I felt as if there was a giant explosion somewhere in my brain—or in my heart. I love Mary. Mary loves me back! She would get better. We could share a life together. I could ask Mary to be my wife.
I had to put it in words—at least some of it. “You love me?”
Mary nodded. “Always,” she stated simply.
“And I love you—so much.”
Mary nodded again, her face flushed with color.
“Then—” I began, but stopped. I hesitated. It didn’t seem fair to her somehow. Slowly I shook my head.
“No, no,” I said. “I’m not gonna ask you now. Not yet. I’m gonna court you properly. Give you a little time.”
A small question flickered in Mary’s eyes.
“But not much time,” I hurried on. “I couldn’t stand to wait long now—now that I know. And one thing you can be sure of—I’m gonna come askin’—so you’d best be ready with an answer.”
“Oh, Josh,” Mary whispered.
Doc’s timing couldn’t have been worse. I had just kissed Mary—for the first time—and found it quite to my liking. Knowing now that she wasn’t seriously injured, I drew her a little closer. Mary’s eyelashes were already fluttering to her cheeks in anticipation of another kiss, her arms tightening about my neck. I don’t know if it was the opening of the door or Doc’s “ahem” that brought me sharply back to reality, but I sure did wish he could have delayed just a few minutes more.
CHAPTER 12
Courtship
WHEN I GOT BACK down to the kitchen, Grandpa and Uncle Charlie had arrived as well as Uncle Nat. Everyone was concerned about the girls, and the talk in the room was hushed and stilted.
But I wanted to shout and skip around the room like Pixie used to do. It seemed impossible that just a half hour earlier I’d had the scare of my life. Now I was walking on air. With all my heart I wished that I could share my good news—but I knew that wouldn’t be right. Especially when Mary couldn’t be with me. Yet I was fairly giddy with my new-found love. I felt several sets of eyes on me, and I wondered if they could see right through to my heart. I fought hard for some composure.
“They’re fine,” I said as nonchalantly as I could. “Both of ’em. Only scratches and cuts and bruises and a broken leg.”
I knew that description didn’t exactly go with “fine”—but I guess the group around the kitchen table was willing to chalk it up to my relief.
“Thank God!” said Grandpa, and Uncle Nat echoed his words. Then we were all bowing our heads while Uncle Nat led us in a prayer of thanksgiving. As soon as we had finished our prayer they wanted a more complete report.
“So Miss Matilda’s leg was broken,” Mr. Smith pointed out with a knowing glance around the room.
I nodded.
“What else?” prompted Grandpa, referring to Matilda again. “What other injuries? Is she hurt bad?”
“Just cuts and bruises. Nothin’ that won’t quickly heal. She was worryin’ about the motor car.” I was still uncomfortable that she would even think about that when all I wanted was for the two girls to be alive and well.
“An’ Mary?” asked Uncle Charlie, his voice quivering a bit.
At the mention of Mary’s name, my heart leaped in my chest and I was sure my face must be flushing.
“She’s fine—just fine.” I couldn’t keep some excitement from creeping into my voice no matter how hard I tried. “She— she has some cuts—one above her eye, one on her arm. Lots of bangs and bruises—but not even a broken bone.” They were all so intent in their worrying over the girls that they missed my intensity. Anyway, no one looked at me like I expected them to look. They just muttered words of relief and joy and glanced at one another with a great deal of thankfulness.
“She was pinned,” insisted Mr. Smith, who must have told them that Mary, having been pinned under the automobile, could be in serious condition.
“Doc says she was lucky,” I explained. “It was mostly the sleeve of her coat that was pinned to the ground. Oh, her arm is cut some—but it could have been bad—really bad.”
There were murmurs again.
“Now, Josh, you just sit yerself right down here and drink a cup of coffee,” Mrs. Smith was saying. “You are ’most as pale as a ghost.”
All eyes turned back to me. And then the funniest thing happened. The whole world began reeling and spinning like you’d never believe. I felt myself a-reeling and spinning right along with it. But I didn’t seem to be keeping up somehow—or else I was going faster. I tried to walk to the chair that Mrs. Smith had indicated, but my feet wouldn’t work. Besides, the chair had moved. I didn’t know what was happening to me.
I guess Uncle Nat caught me. I really don’t remember. I came to my senses on Mrs. Smith’s couch with Doc bending over me and a whole cluster of people hove
ring near. It took me awhile to realize what was going on, and then I felt like a real ninny. I mean, it was the girls who had been hurt in the accident and here I was doing the passing out.
I struggled to sit up, but Doc reached out a restraining hand.
“Take it easy, Josh,” he cautioned. “You’ve been through quite a bit tonight.”
Was it my imagination or was there a bit of a chuckle in Doc’s voice? I remembered the scene that he had walked in on upstairs, and I felt my face flush. But no one else seemed to notice.
“Mrs. Smith is bringing some broth and crackers,” Doc said. “You probably didn’t have any supper.”
I refused to be fed like a child, though I did obey Doc and sat up slowly. Then I carefully spooned the broth with its crumbled crackers to my mouth. My head soon began to clear and things came into focus again. With the return to awareness came the recollection of my recent discovery, and I could scarcely conceal my excitement.
As soon as I was able to convince Doc that I could walk a straight line, I stood to my feet.
“Can I see Mary—the girls—again?” I asked.
“Matilda is already sleeping—and Mary might be, too. I gave her a little medicine to help. You can peek in on her—but just for a moment. You hear?”
There was a twinkle in Doc’s eyes and I caught a quick wink. I flushed and nodded, then headed for the stairs.
Mary was almost asleep when I crept quietly to her bedside.
“Doc says I can say good night,” I whispered, “but I’m not to stay long.”
Mary gave me a dreamy smile—brought on more by the sleeping powder than by my presence, I was sure.
“How are you feelin’?” I asked, taking her hand.
“Sleepy,” she murmured.
I kissed her fingers.
“You’re not backin’ out on me, are you?” I teased. “Haven’t changed your mind, now that you’ve had a little time to think on it?”
Mary tried a smile. It was weak and lopsided in her relaxed state. Fighting hard to keep her eyes open, she squeezed my hand. “You don’t get off that easy, Josh,” she teased back. “I’m holdin’ you to your word.”
I leaned over and kissed her. “I love you, Mary,” I told her again. “That’s never going to change.”
She stirred and tried to smile again. Sleep had almost claimed her.
I knelt down by her bed, my arm around her blanketed form, my other hand still holding hers.
“Go to sleep,” I whispered. “I’ll stay with you until you do.”
She moved her head so her cheek rested against mine and then she sighed contentedly. It was only moments until her even breathing told me she was sleeping soundly. I leaned to kiss her forehead before standing to my feet.
She slept so peacefully, so beautifully. Even with bandages and bruises, she’s the most—the most lovely girl in the world, my Mary, I thought. I could hardly wait for the time when she would be well and whole again—for the real courting to begin.
“Good night, Mary,” I whispered. And then after a quick look around to see if Doc was lurking in the doorway, I tried a new word I’d never used before, just to see how it sounded. “Good night, sweetheart.”
It sounded just fine.
Matilda’s folks hired a motor car to come and take her home where her mother could nurse her back to health again. Since school was nearly out for the summer anyway, they just let the kids go a little earlier than usual.
Mary went back home to her pa and sister Lilli. I missed her something awful at our house, but it did make things a bit easier for me in regards to courting. Like I said before, how does one go calling on someone who is right there in your own house? Mary said that her being home with her pa right now was working out good because it would help to keep tongues from wagging. I hadn’t even thought on that, but if it made Mary feel more comfortable with the courting, then I was quite happy to put up with batching it for the summer months.
I was in for a great deal of good-natured teasing when family and friends learned that I was actually courting Mary. I didn’t mind. In fact, I rather enjoyed it. I didn’t see Mary objecting much to it either. It was rather nice to be known as a couple. Made us feel that we really belonged to each other in some way.
I took a hammer and mallet to the frame of the Ford and to the fender dents. It wasn’t a good job, but when I was done she could at least stand on four wheels and make it slowly down the road again. I even bought some paint and touched up the scars, but she never did shine and sparkle the same. I will admit that I sure didn’t like the way she looked, but to my surprise it really didn’t matter as much as I had thought it would. And, I reminded myself, the accident, dreadful as it was, had brought Mary an’ me together.
In the absence of Mary, Uncle Charlie took over the kitchen duties again. His cooking wasn’t near as good as it used to be. I suppose there were times I might’ve even been tempted to complain a bit—but I wasn’t noticing much what I was putting in my stomach anyway. I was far too busy thinking of Mary.
Every day that I was able to finish up my work early enough, I chugged over in my beat-up Ford to call on her. I brought her field flowers that I knew she admired. I kept finding little things in town to bring a shine to her eyes. I picked the produce from her garden and toted it over so that she and Lilli could can it for fall. I tucked a member of the new litter of kittens in my shirt as soon as its mama had weaned it and took it over to Mary as a surprise. I brought news of Grandpa and Uncle Charlie and shared bits of information about the farm and clippings on garden care from the farm paper. And we spent hours just talking—about our plans, our dreams, our goals, and getting to know each other better.
I was hoping for a fall wedding. Just as soon as the harvest was in and the fall work was done. But I hadn’t yet mentioned that to Mary. I was waiting for just the right time. It seemed to me that the right time would be somewhere in the first part of August—after the haying was done and before I went full tilt into harvest. That would give me time to shop carefully for a ring—maybe even go into Crayton. It would also give Mary time to make her wedding plans after she had said yes.
But before all that could take place, I had to ask her pa for Mary’s hand in marriage. I wasn’t worried about the prospect. I was confident that Mr. Turley would not hesitate in giving us his blessing. He had already indicated as much on more than one occasion. Still, I planned to fit in with all of the social obligations and do my courting in the proper fashion.
I fervently hoped and prayed that all the farm work would move along properly so that as much of my time as possible could be spent with Mary and so that none of the fall work would delay our plans. Things did go along quite well until we hit mid-July. I had been sweating over the haying, hurrying it up so that I might pass on to the next stage of the work. Just getting from one task to the next seemed to somehow hurry the days along until I could be with Mary.
But rain stopped the scheduled progress. Gazing at the foreboding sky, I sensed it was going to be more than just a shower. I felt awfully agitated as I steered the tractor through the gate and headed for its shed. I cast another look at the sky. From one horizon to the other, dark, ominous clouds hung above me with no break in sight.
I thumped a fist against the steering wheel. The dumb weather is going to go and throw everything off schedule! I fumed.
I did the chores in a sullen mood and went in for supper. Uncle Charlie was serving up his tasteless stew—again. I couldn’t help but think of Mary’s cooking. The roasts, the biscuits, the gravy. Then my eyes noticed big pieces of peach pie sitting on the counter.
“Where’d the pie come from?” I asked, knowing without asking that it wasn’t Uncle Charlie’s doing.
“Mary brought it over. She came to pick the beets.”
Mary had been here—and hadn’t even waited to see me.
“She was goin’ to take ya some lunch in the field, but thet dark cloud came up an’ she knew she had ta beat it home,” expl
ained Grandpa.
I nodded then, simmering down some.
I ate the stew, all the time thinking ahead to that pie. It was just as good as I knew it would be. My longing for Mary increased with each mouthful, not because of the pie itself. It was just a reminder of how much I missed her.
After supper I sorta kicked around. I helped with the dishes, noticing how careless we were about keeping the big, black stove shined up. I made a hopeless botch of sewing a patch on my faded overalls. I tried reading the farm magazine, but the words wouldn’t sink into my thick skull. Finally I gave up. Scooping up Pixie, I headed upstairs for bed. But I couldn’t sleep. I just kept thinking about Mary. Pixie seemed to know that something was bothering me. She licked at my hand and whimpered softly.
“Sorry, Old Timer,” I said, swallowing my frustration. “I just miss her. So much. I know that courtin’ is s’posed to be a special time—yet I keep thinkin’ that if it wasn’t for courtin’, she could be here now where she belongs—with us. I don’t know how much longer I can stand this—this waiting.”
It wasn’t that Pixie was unsympathetic—but she was getting old. I guess she figured that she deserved a good sleep even if I couldn’t manage one. She took one lick at my cheek and then excused herself, settling in at her customary spot at the foot of the bed.
I lay there in the darkness, hurt and lonely, angry with the rain that still relentlessly pounded the roof above my head. It’s slowin’ down everything, I reasoned unrationally. I’ll have to wait even longer for Mary.
The next day it continued to rain. I wanted to go to see Mary, but I decided my mood was so sour that I’d better keep to myself.
In the evening I moped around again. I don’t know how Grandpa and Uncle Charlie put up with me. Finally I motioned to Pixie and headed for bed.
She didn’t spend much time sympathizing that night. She must have figured it was my problem. After one lick on the cheek she found her way slowly to the foot of the bed and settled herself in with a deep sigh.
I lay there listening to the wind and the rain and hating both of them along with my own feelings. I couldn’t sleep. I tossed and turned and sweated and shivered by turn. Grandpa and Uncle Charlie finally went to bed. I saw the light pass by my door, and then I was in total darkness. At last I could stand it no longer. I crawled from bed and pulled my pants back on. I shrugged into my shirt and grabbed my socks and shoes. I knew I would be quieter going down the stairs barefoot.
