Once Upon a Summer

by Janette Oke

  After the dinner and all the comments about how fine the food was, Lou suggested that everyone have their second cup of coffee on the back porch. That way we could all get out of the over-warm kitchen. Folks agreed and soon everyone was seated on the porch sippin’ coffee—except Uncle Charlie. He gulped his.

  A bit of a breeze rustled through the leaves of the honeysuckle vine. It played with Lou’s hair, too—whispin’ it in little curls around her flushed pink cheeks. As I looked at her I thought that her eyes seemed even bluer—maybe because of the blue dress that she was wearin’. I held my breath, hopin’ that Jedd wouldn’t take a good look at her. A fellow would have to have corn cobs in his brain not to see jest how pretty Auntie Lou was. I was about to blurp something out to Jedd to try to keep his attention when Auntie Lou herself saved the day.

  “If you’ll all jest excuse me,” she said, “I think I’ll put the food away.”

  The widow knew perfectly well that a woman couldn’t properly put away another woman’s leftovers, so she gave a sweet smile and remarked, “When you’re ready to wash up, dear, just call.”

  Lou only smiled, then was gone. I followed her in. She glanced back at the porch.

  “Josh,” she said, “I know that it’s a heap to ask, but do you s’pose you could find some way to entertain Jedd?”

  I thought hard and was lucky enough to recall that I’d heard that Jedd Rawleigh liked fishin’.

  “Hear he likes fishin’,” I said. “I could take him to the crik.”

  “On Sunday?”

  “Not to fish,” I hurried on, “jest to look. If he likes fishin’, then he must like the water, too.”

  This earned me a big smile and a quick hug.

  “Good idea,” Lou whispered.

  Only for Auntie Lou would I agree to take someone down to my part of the crik—especially someone like Jedd Rawleigh. I was about to drag myself back out to the porch to do the invitin’ when I got a bright idea. I’d take him to the part of the crik the farthest away from the house. The trail wasn’t too well worn goin’ that way, but I was sure that I could still follow it. I never went over that way much because the crik flowed wide and shallow there and there were no holes for fishin’. The banks were covered with marsh grass and scrub willow, and the whole area was spongy and more like swampland than anything else.

  My eyes must have reflected what I was thinkin’, for Auntie Lou looked at me rather closely.

  “You don’t mind?”

  “Naw, I don’t mind.” I tried to sound very off-hand about it.

  I slipped to the porch now with almost a bounce to my step. Grandpa was listenin’ to the widder tell about her problems with hired men and how relieved she was to have dependable Jedd now doing the farmin’.

  I poked Jedd. “Care to take a little walk?”

  He clambered up and grinned at me, and we started off. We rounded the house and I stopped at the front porch as though I’d had a last-minute thought and pulled off my shoes and socks.

  “Never did feel comfortable in Sunday shoes,” I said, and I carefully rolled up the legs of my Sunday pants.

  Jedd jest smiled, quite willing to accept my boyish whim. Truth was, there was no way that I wanted to be wearin’ my Sunday shoes where I was intendin’ to go.

  “Hear ya like fishin’.”

  He grinned again, then quickly sobered.

  “Ma won’t let me fish on Sunday.”

  “Oh, I don’t fish Sunday either; jest thought that ya might like to check out the crik for some future day.”

  “Sure.” He was grinnin’ again.

  We started out toward the back cow pasture. I glanced around to check if we were being noticed. The widow Rawleigh, Grandpa, and Uncle Charlie still sat on the porch. From my own experience, added to what I was able to piece together from talking to Auntie Lou—plus usin’ my imagination jest a bit—I figure that the rest of that Sunday afternoon went something like this: Uncle Charlie wasn’t doin’ so great at carryin’ his part of the conversation, and when Lou gave him a nod from the kitchen door, he gladly hurried over to her.

  “I know that Mrs. Rawleigh said for me to call her for the washing-up, but she and Pa seem to be havin’ such a nice visit. Do you mind dryin’, Uncle Charlie?”

  Lou said it with her cutest I-know-what’s-really-goin’-on smile and Uncle Charlie jest grinned and got a towel. Truth was, he much preferred being in the kitchen with Lou to sittin’ miserably listenin’ to that chitchat on the porch.

  The dishes were done in jig time, and Uncle Charlie reluctantly eased himself toward the door again. You see with the front parlor closed off, the only way out of the house was the back door, so for Uncle Charlie it was either stay cooped up inside or else pass by the two guardin’ his exit. He hesitated a moment, then stepped out onto the porch.

  “Oh, my,” said the widow, suddenly come to remembrance seein’ Uncle Charlie materialize before her. “How the time has been flyin’! I’m sure that dear Louisa must be ready with those dishes by now.”

  “All done,” said Uncle Charlie, and Grandpa favored him with a hard look. Uncle Charlie chose to ignore it. “Jest finished.”

  Uncle Charlie appeared to be going right on down the steps so Grandpa stopped him.

  “Where did the young’uns git to?”

  “Went fer a walk, I take it.”

  “That’s nice,” smiled Grandpa, picturin’ Jedd and Lou strol-lin’ through knee-deep meadows hand and hand, she wearin’ a flower that he’d pinned in her hair.

  Wasn’t quite that way though. Jedd and I were sloggin’ through marshy ground fightin’ willow bushes. I was all right. I was barefoot and I made good and sure that my pant legs stayed rolled up to above my knees. Jedd wasn’t farin’ as well. His Sunday shoes were smeared with mud, and even though he lifted his pant legs some in the soggier spots, they were still splashed and spotted. He puffed as he pushed his way through the heavy growth. I kept assurin’ him every few minutes that it wouldn’t be long now, and we’d be there any minute, and the crik was jest beyond thet next clump.

  As for Auntie Lou, she had confided to Uncle Charlie that she thought she would take a little walk. Supposin’ that she had prearranged to meet “someone,” he jest smiled and said, “Good idea.” So after the dishes were done, Auntie Lou picked up a book and prepared to make her escape. She was more resourceful than Uncle Charlie. She climbed quietly and carefully through the kitchen window and walked down to the pond where she sat and read until she was needed to serve afternoon refreshments.

  Uncle Charlie remained only a few moments on the back porch and then moved on, mumblin’ something about stretchin’ his legs a bit and checkin’ the horses. That left Grandpa and the widow. Guess the day dragged somewhat for him. He never was much of a talker, but he wasn’t a bad listener and the widow seemed to prefer it that way.

  When the sun swung around to the west, Auntie Lou decided that she’d best get back to the kitchen and get the tea on. She entered the kitchen the same way that she had left, gently coaxin’ her full skirts over the window ledge.

  I finally did stumble upon the crik—such as it was up that way. Sure weren’t much to brag about as criks go and even the slow Jedd recognized that it wasn’t housing any fish. I seemed right surprised and disappointed about it all, though I did manage to keep from tellin’ an outright lie. We started back, sloshin’ our way through marsh and muck. Jedd’s Sunday-go-meetin’ clothes looked worse all the time, and I began to wonder if I’d gone a mite too far.

  When we got back to the house, we were later than we should have been. Tea and strawberry shortcake were all laid out. Uncle Charlie had again put in an appearance. The widow hadn’t slowed down much, though she was concerned about the lateness of her Jedd.

  When she got her first good look at him, her eyebrows shot up so high that they nearly disappeared into her pompadour hair style.

  Me, I looked fine. I had carefully rolled down my pant legs, easin’ out the creases the best tha
t I could, and brushed off the loose twigs and bits of dirt. I’d also cleaned my feet off with water from the rain barrel, dried them on the grass and put my socks and shoes back on. I was most as good as new. Jedd, now, was a different matter. His shoes and socks were a sight, and his pant legs didn’t look so great either. He had twigs and spider webs and other clutter still clingin’ to his clothes and his hair.

  When the widow finally caught her breath, she gasped, “Where have you been?”

  I let Jedd answer. He gave a rather weak smile, “To the crik.”

  Now I saw Grandpa’s eyebrows go up. He knew all of the paths to the crik and every inch of the territory through which the crik flowed. I knew that it was obvious to him jest what part of the crik we had visited. He looked at Jedd, then at me, Jedd’s clothes, my clothes. He frowned. Something here was strange and would bear his checkin’ out later after the company left.

  Mrs. Rawleigh went to work on Jedd. I thought that he looked rather like a big overgrown schoolboy as she brushed and wiped and scolded. Eventually she declared him fit to partake of the strawberry shortcake, though he still didn’t look none too good.

  As soon as we were finished at the table, Uncle Charlie went with Jedd to get the team, and the widow turned her attention back to Grandpa.

  “This has been just delightful, Daniel.”

  She stretched as many syllables out of his name as her tongue could possibly manage.

  “We must do it again soon.”

  Grandpa looked uncomfortable. I could see tiny beads of sweat standin’ on his forehead, but he remained a true gentleman and a perfect host.

  “Very nice,” he smiled. “It’s been our pleasure. Very nice.”

  He seemed to get a sudden inspiration.

  “ ’Course it’s gettin’ mighty close to harvest time now. ’Fraid I’m gonna have to forsake pleasure fer a while and pursue work instead.”

  Mrs. Rawleigh beamed. So clever this man, and such a gentleman.

  “Of course, but one must rest on the Lord’s Day, even in harvest. We’ll expect you to return our good pleasure and join us for Sunday dinner one day soon.”

  “That would be most gracious of you and we’d be delighted to do so.”

  Grandpa was really squirmin’ now. It was quite obvious, even to him, that the widow had somehow gotten entirely the wrong idea.

  “Next Sunday then?”

  “Next Sunday.” Grandpa forced a weak smile.

  The widow turned to the rest of us and nodded her goodbye.

  “And again thank you for the lovely dinner, dear,” she said to Auntie Lou. “You are indeed a real credit to your father.” She turned those admiring eyes full on Grandpa and flashed him a most inviting smile. Grandpa’s hand went up to ease his collar. I’m sure that he felt he would choke.

  Eventually we got them headin’ for home. Grandpa walked back to the house sheddin’ his tight collar and shakin’ his head. Things had somehow gone all wrong, it seemed. He decided to hold his judgment until he got Lou’s report on the day. Surely she had gotten to know Jedd sometime during the long hours. Grandpa sat down at the kitchen table and mopped his brow.

  “Nice folks.” He was speakin’ to Lou. Uncle Charlie and I both knew that, even if we were sittin’ there.

  “Um humm.”

  “Had a nice visit with Mrs. Rawleigh.”

  “We saw that,” said Lou with a twinkle and Grandpa’s face reddened. He tried to ignore it and went on.

  “Did you get a chance to visit with Jedd?”

  “Much as I cared to,” she promptly responded.

  “When?”

  “At the table.”

  Now Grandpa knew full well how much visitin’ Lou and Jedd had done at the table. I doubt that there was even so much as “Pass the butter.” He gazed up at Lou. She looked back evenly, then rose and crossed over to behind his chair, and in her little girl way put her arms round his neck.

  “Oh, Pa,” she said as she laid her cheek against his. “It needn’t spoil anything—honest. I just can’t stand Jedd Raw-leigh, that’s all. But if you—if you enjoy the company of Mrs. Rawleigh, that’s fine. I promise. I won’t interfere; I’ll be as agreeable and as—as—”

  He jerked upright and looked at Lou like she’d lost her senses. Grandpa was gettin’ the full message now.

  “You think that I—that I—you think that I care in some way fer the widow?”

  “Don’t you?”

  Grandpa’s face was beet red and the cords in his neck showed up plain.

  “ ’Course not!” he stormed. “ ’Course not.”

  “Then why—”

  “I jest wanted you to—“ Grandpa was trapped and he knew it. He couldn’t let Lou know that he was out to get her married off; he couldn’t lie either. He finally sputtered to a close.

  “Jest—jest forgit it. Forgit it all. It was all kinda a mistake—”

  “But the widow Rawleigh,” cut in Auntie Lou.

  “What about her?” Grandpa almost snapped, and he never snapped at Lou.

  “We’re invited there for Sunday dinner.”

  “We’ll go as we said.” Grandpa was definite on that.

  “But she thinks—“ Lou hesitated.

  “Thinks what?”

  “Well,” said Lou rather perplexed by the whole new situation, “bein’ a woman myself and seein’, I’m sure she thinks that you do care.”

  “What in the world would ever give her that idea?” Grandpa huffed.

  “Well, you extended the invitation, you talked—alone—for many hours.”

  Grandpa swung around.

  “Where were the rest of you anyway? Charlie! Where did you disappear to so convenient? You could’ve listened to the account of her goiter operation jest as easily as me. Where’d you get to anyway? And Boy—” But I was already up the steps on the way to change my clothes and get to the woodpile. Thought that it wouldn’t hurt to chop a bit of extra wood; Lou must have used an awful lot in that old kitchen stove in order to cook a meal like that.

  The topic of the Rawleighs was not discussed again. We did go there for Sunday dinner as promised, but we didn’t stay late, and Grandpa had given us all strict orders before we left home that no one was to desert the room. We thanked our host and hostess after a rather uneventful stay and headed for home.

  Mrs. Rawleigh wasn’t half the cook that Auntie Lou was. Grandpa, more with silence than words, ordered the whole case dismissed.

  Mentally I crossed Jedd Rawleigh from my list—a bit smugly, I’m afraid.

  CHAPTER 7

  Hiram

  THE WHOLE EPISODE DID manage to shake Grandpa up some, and I thought that maybe he’d drop any further efforts— but no such luck. I had gone to bed and was almost asleep when I heard the coffeepot rattlin’ and the murmurin’ of voices from the kitchen. I hiked myself out from under the warm covers and eased my way down the stairs. Sure enough, the two of them were at it again.

  “ . . . weren’t either my own fault,” Grandpa was sayin’. “I was deserted, that’s all.”

  “Well, the first mistake came by pickin’ on a widder. We

  shoulda thought how it’d look. Tongues are still waggin’.”

  Grandpa took a swallow of coffee that was too hot. I could

  hear him gulping in air to cool his tongue.

  “Whole thing was ridiculous. How people could think that I’d be—I’d be—.” He couldn’t find words to express his feelin’, so he jest ended with a “humph.”

  There was the sound of Uncle Charlie pursin’ his lips and suckin’ in air and then a long contented sigh after the hot coffee washed down his throat. His chair hit the floor to rest on all four legs again.

  “So we struck out,” he said matter-of-factly. “Nobody said that we were gonna git on base first time at bat. We ’xpected that it would take some time and some doin’, so we don’t quit now. We keep on a-lookin’ before some young punk decides to do some lookin’ on his own.

  “You see
those faces at church? Ya saw what happened last week? That there young Anthony Curtis, without a nickel to his name or a roof to put over his head, walked right up to Lou, twistin’ his hat in his hands ’til he nearly wore out the brim. He asked her outright iffen he could call.”

  “I didn’t know ’bout that,” Grandpa replied with concern in his voice.

  “We were lucky this time. The guy’s got a face like a moose.

  But someday—someday it’ll be a good-looker and Lou will forgit to look past the face.”

  “Did you hear Lou’s answer?”

  “ ’Course I did. She said she was awful sorry-like, but she was awful busy gettin’ ready fer the arrival of her grandpa from the east, and after that it would be harvest and all.”

  “Good for Lou.” Grandpa chuckled with relief. “She can set ’em down iffen she wants to.”

  “That weren’t the real reason though.”

  “ ’Course not. Like you say, the guy ain’t exactly a good-looker.”

  “That weren’t the reason either.”

  “No?”

  “No.” Charlie paused. “It was Nellie Halliday. Lou knows that Nellie has had a crush on that there Anthony Curtis ever since she was twelve years old. Lou didn’t want to hurt her.”

  “Nellie Halliday?” Grandpa chuckled again. “That’s sorta like a moose and a porcupine.”

  Uncle Charlie was in no mood to appreciate Grandpa’s humor. “This ain’t gettin’ us nowhere. Let’s get down to business.”

  “Who should we try for next?”

  “You chose Jedd Rawleigh,” said Uncle Charlie; “how ’bout me havin’ a crack at it now?”

  “Fair enough—long as you stick to the list we made up.”