by Janette Oke
I heard Pixie stir and whine a bit as though she was asking what in the world I was up to, but I didn’t even stop to stroke her soft head. I couldn’t stand it one minute longer. I was going to see Mary.
CHAPTER 13
Plans
I DIDN’T EVEN HAVE the good sense to put on my slicker. Before I reached the barn I was soaked. The water ran down the brim of my hat and dripped down the back of my neck. The wind lashed against my body, sticking my pant legs to my limbs and whipping my chore coat tightly against me.
I didn’t dare try to drive the car in this weather. Chester had been given the freedom of the pasture and rarely ever fed near the barn. But one of the work horses was humped up against the corral fence, back to the storm and head hanging down. I called to him and moved to open the barn door. The horse was only too glad to hurry in out of the wind and rain.
I felt almost like a traitor when, instead of producing a scoop of grain, I slipped a bridle over his unsuspecting head. He didn’t fight it but he must have been disappointed.
I had to walk him every step of the way. As I had guessed, the road was already slippery and he wasn’t nearly as sure of foot as Chester. Besides, the heavy clouds made the night so black one could scarcely see the trees by the side of the road.
“Why didn’t I just walk?” I mumbled to myself as we trudged along, but even with my question I knew that the horse was better at picking his way through the mud than I would have been.
There was no light in the Turleys’ windows when I turned old Barney down the lane. I knew they would have all retired long ago, and half my mind kept urging me to turn the horse around and go home in sensible fashion. But I couldn’t. I just couldn’t. The other part of me said I had to see Mary.
I slipped the reins over Barney’s head and flipped them around a fence post. Even to get across the yard was a chore. I slipped and slid my way to the house. My teeth were chattering and my whole body drenched. I’d probably catch my death of cold—but now wasn’t the time to be worrying about that.
Rather than pounding on the door and waking the whole household, I went directly to Mary’s window. I tapped with my fingers on the glass, wondering if she would hear as she slept.
But the blind responded almost immediately and the curtain was lifted back from the pane.
“Who is it?” Mary called softly.
As should have been the case long before now, I felt like a complete fool. What in the world am I doing? What on earth will Mary think? My thoughts and emotions tumbled together. And her pa? If he had been willing to give his consent, he surely would change his mind now. I wanted to bolt and run for cover, but I didn’t. I just couldn’t. I had to see Mary.
“It’s me. Josh,” I said as clearly and quietly as I could, so Mary would hear me but her pa wouldn’t.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” Mary’s voice faltered, and I realized for the first time that of course she would come to that conclusion.
“No. No, nothing,” I quickly assured her. “I—I just had to see you—that’s all.”
Mary hesitated for just a moment. “Go to the door,” she told me. “I’ll be right there.”
And she was, with a heavy housecoat wrapped firmly about her. She held the door for me and then gasped.
“Oh, Josh. You are soaked to the bone. You’ll catch your death!”
I couldn’t deny it, so I just shrugged.
“Get out of those shoes and socks,” she ordered, just the right amount of authority in her voice. “An’ that coat!” she added. “I’ll be right back.”
I laid aside my dripping hat and pulled myself free of the rain-heavy coat. I pulled off the soggy shoes and tugged away the sodden socks. Embarrassed, I noticed the terrible mess that I was making of the Turley entry.
Mary was back just as the last sock came off. In her arms were some dry clothes and a rough towel.
“Mitch left them,” she explained. “Use his bedroom and get out of the rest of those wet things. I’ll put on some coffee.”
“But—but I’ll leave a trail all across your floor,” I said hesitantly.
“A trail I can wipe up. Now hurry,” urged Mary.
I hurried. Actually it was rather fun to be bossed by Mary.
It didn’t take me long to towel myself dry and slip into the borrowed clothes. But I was still shivering as I headed back to the kitchen.
“Your pa’s gonna want my hide,” I said through chattering teeth as I held my hands up to the newly fanned fire.
“My pa would sleep through a hurricane,” answered Mary as she placed the coffeepot on the stove.
“He would?”
“He would.”
Mary had returned to her room while I had been changing and was now fully dressed. She’d even taken the time to tie her apron carefully over her kitchen frock. I noticed, though of course I didn’t comment, that Mary was not wearing one of her Sunday frocks as she normally did when I came calling and that her hair was not as neatly groomed as usual. She had simply tied it back from her face with a ribbon.
“If nothing is wrong—with anyone,” she said carefully, not looking at me from her place at the stove, “do you mind telling me what brings you out on such a night as this?”
I held my breath. Was there just a trace of scolding in Mary’s voice? Was she angry with me? She had good reason to be. I waited a moment. Mary waited also.
“I—I couldn’t sleep,” I answered lamely.
Mary swung around to get a look at me. She must have thought I’d taken leave of my senses. The scar across her forehead from the accident showed faintly in the lamplight. It reminded me of how close I had come to losing her.
“You—you couldn’t sleep?” she echoed and turned back to put another stick in the fire and needlessly shift the coffeepot.
There was more silence. Mary broke it. “That seems—seems like a rather—rather poor reason to be out ridin’ in a drenching rain, Josh,” she said quietly.
“It—it is,” I admitted. Then I hesitantly went on, “Except that I knew the reason I couldn’t sleep was because—because I needed to see you.”
Mary stirred slightly but she didn’t turn around to face me.
“I—I missed you,” I stammered to a conclusion.
I saw Mary’s back stiffen slightly. “You could have told me that at a sensible hour, Josh,” she reminded me.
She was angry with me. Mary, who never got angry with anyone—who always found some reasonable explanation for the dumb things I did—who fought for me, defended me. She was angry—and I had never had Mary angry at me before.
Rooted to the spot, I was unable to decide what to do next. I should never have come—not at such an unearthly hour, not in the rain that dripped muddy puddles all over her floors. I had been inconsiderate and stupid. I had been thinking only of my loneliness—not the feelings and rights of Mary.
But Mary was speaking again—and there was a tremor in her voice. “I waited for you all last evening—all this evening. I knew you weren’t busy. There was nothin’ you could do in the rain. But you didn’t come. An’ finally I—”
But I had stopped listening to the actual words and was hearing the meaning loud and clear. Mary wasn’t angry with me because I had come. She was angry with me because I hadn’t come sooner.
I looked at her straight, slim back with the neatly tied apron, the gently sloped shoulders set in a plucky line, the head stubbornly lifted. It was enough to propel me forward silently, swiftly. I slipped my arms around her and buried my face in her hair. Tears came to my eyes, though I don’t really know why.
“Mary,” I whispered, “I came because I couldn’t stand being without you any longer. I was so upset about the weather I didn’t want to come and burden you with it all. But I—I can’t bear it without you. I—I want you to marry me—as soon as possible. I can’t stand being apart like this. Please, please forgive me for coming so late but—”
Mary turned in my arms. She was looking directly at me
when I opened my eyes.
“Oh, Josh!” she cried. “Yes. Yes,” and her tears mingled with mine as she pressed her cheek against my face.
I don’t know how long I might have gone on holding her, kissing her, had not the coffeepot boiled over. With a little cry Mary jerked away from me and rescued the pot.
“Sit down,” she said, wiping her eyes with a corner of her apron and nodding toward a kitchen chair. She hurried to clean up the stove and pour the coffee.
She pulled her chair up next to mine and rested her chin in her hand. “Now, sir, you were saying—?” she teased.
I laughed right along with her. Then I sobered. “I—I guess I was asking you to marry me and not in the most orthodox way,” I admitted. “Not at all like I had planned. I’ve just gone and ruined the whole thing. I—I mean—I had these great ideas. I spent hours thinking about it. Selecting just the right words. Not just—just blurting it out.” I stopped and shook my head. “I’m—I’m sorry,” I whispered.
Mary reached out a hand and touched my cheek. “Sorry? Sorry for missing me? For loving me?”
“For spoiling what should be one of your most treasured memories. For blundering into something that should be very special.”
“Josh,” said Mary softly, her eyes filling with tears and her voice soft with emotion, “I have just been told that I am loved. I have been asked if I will share your life—for always. Josh, it doesn’t get any more special than that.”
A tear slid unchecked down Mary’s cheek. I reached out a finger and brushed it away.
“I don’t even have the ring,” I confessed.
“You’ll get it soon enough,” Mary defended me.
“I—I haven’t even spoken to your pa.”
“He’ll give his blessing.”
Then I took a deep breath. “That’s not all,” I admitted slowly as Mary waited. “I—I don’t want to wait,” I burst out. “Not till after harvest. Not a month. Not even a week if—”
Mary’s eyes flew wide open.
“I know it’s not fair. That it’s terribly selfish. But you won’t come home until we are married and I guess I couldn’t bear it even if you did—but honestly, Mary, I don’t want to wait any longer to get married. I know—I know it’s not reasonable, that a girl needs lots of time to make her dress and sew her pillowcases and—and do whatever else it is that girls do, but—”
“Sunday?” said Mary.
“We really don’t need a big fancy cake an’ all the trimmings, and we’ve got pillowcases, an’ you could wear that pretty blue—”
“Sunday?” said Mary again.
I frowned, not understanding.
“I think I could be ready by Sunday if you can,” Mary said calmly.
“Sunday? Which Sunday?”
“Next Sunday.”
“Next Sunday?”
“This is Tuesday,” said Mary, laughter in her voice. “That leaves us Wednesday, Thursday, Friday and Saturday. Then comes Sunday. I can be ready by Sunday.”
“By Sunday? Next Sunday?” I stammered.
“Are you trying to back out?” she teased.
“Of course not. I—I just supposed that you’d need—”
“You told me already that you planned to propose—remember? Well, there is no cake or dress ready—yet. But Lou said she would bake the cake, and I did find a piece of lovely material and I’m really quick with a sewing machine. Both Faye and Lilli will help. They promised. And as for the pillowcases, Josh—that is the one thing that is ready.”
Neither of us had paid any attention to the cups of coffee that now sat cool and unwanted before us. I pushed my cup farther away so I wouldn’t tip it over when I put my arms around Mary.
“Sunday,” I grinned. “Sure. Sunday.” Then my mind began to whirl. I had a few things that needed doing before Sunday, as well. How in the world would I get it all done in time? First thing in the morning I’d need to head out for that ring. Two rings, in fact. Then I’d—I’d—well, I’d talk to Uncle Nat and Aunt Lou, that’s what I’d do. They’d have a whole list of things I needed to attend to. I had no idea.
Mary stirred. “Pa?” she said.
“You said he’d sleep through a hurricane,” I reminded her.
“And so he would,” Mary smiled, ruffling my still-wet hair, “but not through the marriage of one of his daughters. You’d best try to get a comb through that hair while I go wake him,” and she kissed me on the nose and went off.
My head started working again. “Barney,” I muttered. “I didn’t care for Barney.” I looked about the kitchen for a slicker, not wishing to get a soaking again. Mitch might not have left anything else behind.
I spotted a slicker belonging to Mr. Turley and took the liberty of borrowing it just long enough to lead the horse in out of the rain and toss a bit of hay in the manger.
When I returned to the kitchen I managed to comb my hair and smooth some of the wrinkles out of Mitch’s worn shirt. There was nothing I could do about the short legs on my pants. Mitch wasn’t quite as tall as I was.
Mary and Mr. Turley arrived in the kitchen together a few minutes later. He still looked sleepy and confused, but Mary was radiant. She had changed her dress to the pretty blue one I had referred to earlier. Her hair was carefully pinned up, too. She gave me an encouraging smile, and I took a deep breath and began my little speech.
“Sir, I realize that this is an untimely hour, and I apologize for that—but I would—would like to ask for your daughter Mary’s hand in marriage, sir. I—I love Mary deeply and she has—has honored me by returning the love, sir, and—”
I guess Mr. Turley had heard enough or maybe he was just anxious to get back to bed. He reached out and shook my hand vigorously. “I’d be proud, Son,” he said huskily. “I’d be proud.” Then in a slightly choked voice, he added, “It woulda made her mama very happy.”
Mary slipped an arm about me and gave me a squeeze and then she ran off to waken Lilli and tell her the good news.
No one went back to bed that night, not even Mr. Turley. We stayed up until the sky began to lighten. The sun never did come out because of the clouds, but I didn’t mind them anymore. We talked the night away, making our plans for the coming wedding. Then with the daybreak I kissed Mary goodbye, borrowed Mr. Turley’s slicker again and mounted Barney for the trip back home.
I got home before Grandpa or Uncle Charlie had left their beds. Pixie was waiting for me, though, sniffing at the door, a confused look in her eyes.
I picked her up and held her close. “Pixie,” I told her, “I’m getting married. Not ‘sometime,’ but Sunday. This Sunday.” Then I threw all caution to the wind and bellowed for the whole house to hear. “I’m getting married! Sunday! This next Sunday. You hear! I’m getting married!”
CHAPTER 14
Sunday’s Comin’!
I SURE WAS RELIEVED when it stopped raining. I had lots of plans to make and traveling to do, and it would have been most miserable trying to do it all in the pouring rain.
As it was, the roads were rutted and muddy, so it was out of the question to use the motor car. Mostly I rode Chester, and the horse heard many declarations of love that week. Even if they weren’t meant for him.
I don’t know what I would ever have done without help from Uncle Nat and Aunt Lou. Even Grandpa and Uncle Charlie lent a hand—mostly doing up my chores while I ran about. They were ’most as excited as I was.
I asked Avery to be my best man. A lump came into my throat as I made my choice. I knew Willie would have been standing at my side had things turned out differently.
Mitch would have been my second choice—mostly for Mary’s sake, but Mitch sent back word that he wouldn’t be able to make it by Sunday, and he gave Mary and me his best wishes. So I went to call on Avery and he grinned from ear to ear as he accepted my invitation.
Mary picked Lilli to be her maid of honor, and she was pretty excited about it too.
True to her word, Aunt Lou made the cake. She als
o organized some of the church ladies who offered to serve a meal following the ceremony. Everyone seemed anxious to help out, and I knew that some of the reason was because Mary had lost her mama.
Even Sarah got involved. “Mama says I can serve the punch, Uncle Josh,” she informed me and I gave her a hug and told her I knew she’d do a great job.
On Thursday I made the long trip to get the rings since our little town did not have what I considered suitable for Mary. How I wished for better roads and the automobile, but Chester did the best he could. We were both tired when we got home that night; even so I cleaned up and headed for Mary’s house. I figured Chester had used his legs enough for one day, so I walked. It wasn’t that far to Mary’s if you cut across the pasture.
She looked a bit surprised when she opened the door to my knock.
“Expectin’ someone else?” I bantered.
“No, Josh,” she laughed, drawing me in. “But I wasn’t expectin’ you either. I thought you’d be far too busy to come callin’.”
“I was,” I teased. “I am—but I thought you might like to have this before Sunday.” I held out the little box that held her ring.
Mary gave a little gasp and reached out her hand. I pulled the box back. “Not so fast,” I told her. “You haven’t yet told me what a wonderful guy you’ll be marryin’ come Sunday.”
Mary glanced back at the table behind her. I could see bits and pieces of soft white material scattered over it.
“If you don’t stop pesterin’ me and be on your way, there won’t be a wedding,” she warned me. “No dress—no wedding.”
I turned to look more closely at the table, but Mary put a hand over my eyes.
“No peeking,” she commanded. “It’s not fair to see the dress before the ceremony.”
