Seasons of the Heart: Omnibus

by Janette Oke

  It was a long uphill pull, but she made it-by sheer will-power many said. But never again was she strong enough to be the bouncy young woman that my grandpa had married. He accepted her as she was and gradually talked and loved her into accepting herself as well. She finally agreed that rest periods must now be a part of her daily schedule, but it took awhile to adjust to her new way of life.

  The years slipped quickly by. My pa grew to be a lanky kid, then a young man. But all the while, though her eyes glowed with pride over her son, deep down in her heart Grandma still yearned for a baby girl. Finally she admitted, "If the Lord wills, I still wish to be blessed with a daughter before I leave this old world." My pa was twenty when his baby sister arrived. Grandma was beside herself with joy. She named the wee baby Louisa Jennifer, the Jennifer bein' her own name.

  Even though her prayer had been answered-her dream fulfilledGrandma never regained her strength. Most of the fussin' over her new baby had to be done upon her own bed, she bein' only strong enough to be up for short periods of time. She smothered love on my Auntie Lou. Grandpa often said that Auntie Lou had no choice but to be lovin' when she had love piled on her in such big batches.

  Lou was only two when Grandma's condition worsened. Chad, my pa, was about to go farmin' on his own, havin' met and married a certain sweet young gal by the name of Agatha Creycroft-my ma. That's when Uncle Charlie was sent for. He came gladly and has been with us ever since.

  The next winter Grandma passed away and the two men, a father, more up in years than most fathers, and a bachelor uncle, were left to raise a little girl not yet turned three.

  She was a bright, happy little sprite. Grandma always declared that God sure knew what He was doin' when He saw fit to answer my grandma's prayer. Lou was their sunshine, their joy, the center of their attention. Odd, with all of the love and attention she got that she didn't spoil, but she didn't. She grew up jest as ready to love and accept others.

  Then I came along. My folks were farmin' only four miles away from my grandpa's home place. I was jest big enough to smile and coo when both my folks were killed in an accident on their farm. Again the two men had a child to raise, but this time they had help. The five-year-old Lou sorta claimed me right from the start. I can't remember any further back than to Lou-this strange woman-child whose pixie face leaned over my crib or hushed me when I fussed. We grew up together. She was both parent and playmate to me. The parents that I never knew really weren't missed-except when I would purposely set my mind to wonderin: Usually, as my childhood days ticked by I was happy and content. When Lou needed to go to school, I stayed with Grandpa or Uncle Charlie, chafin' for her return in the afternoon. She would run most of the way home and then she would scoop me into her arms. "Oh, Joshie sweetheart;' or, "My little darlin;" she'd say, then ask, "Did ya miss me, honey? Come on, let's go play"; and we would, while Grandpa got the evenin' meal and Uncle Charlie did the chores.

  At last the day arrived when I placed my hand in Auntie Lou's, and sharin' a pail filled with our lunch, we went off to school together. Those were good years. The two men home on the farm enjoyed a freedom that they hadn't had for years, and I never had to be separated from Lou.

  Grandpa held fast to the rules of proper respect, so at home I always addressed her as Auntie Lou. But at school we conspired to make it jest Lou, in order not to be teased by the other kids.

  The school years went well. I was a fair student and anytime that I did hit a snag, I had special coachin' from Lou who was always near the head of her class.

  As we grew up, Grandpa assigned us responsibilities; Lou took on more and more of the housework, and I began to help with outside chores. Still we used all of the minutes that we could find to play together. I would, with some convincing, pick flowers with Lou in exchange for her carryin' the pail while we hunted frogs. Often she didn' jest carry-she caught as many frogs as I did. She could shinny up a tree as fast as any boy, too, tuckin' her skirt in around her elastic bloomer legs in order to get it out of her way. She could also skip rocks and throw a ball.

  She would take a dare to walk the skinniest rail on the fence and outdo any fella at school. Yet somehow when she hopped to the ground and assumed her role as "girl;' she could be as proper and appealin' as could be, and could give you that look of pure innocence fittin' for a princess or an angel.

  Lou completed the grades in the local school, and then it was me who went off alone each mornin: She stayed behind, responsible now for managin' the house and feedin' two hungry men and a growing boy.

  It was my turn to run home at day's end, knowing that if I hurried there would still be a few minutes of fun before chore time. We still knew how to make the most of the minutes that we had. We took quick trips to the crik where we laid on our stomachs and startled minnows or worried turtles. We visited the pond where we skipped rocks or turned over stones to see who could win by findin' the highest number of insects underneath. We hunted bird nests, being careful not to disturb the inhabitants. We played on the haystacks, makin' ourselves a slide that was a bit hard on the clothes, but great fun regardless. On colder days we'd tell a story or play a game-or jest talk.

  All of the time that I was growin' up with Auntie Lou, I had never stopped to consider what kind of a human being she was. She was jest there; she was necessary, she was mine, and now, now all of a sudden, I was forced to realize that she was a girl-a girl almost a woman, a girl who might marry and move away to live with some man. Again anger swept through me. I hated him-this other man whoever he would be; I hated him. Somehow I planned to stop this awful thing from happenin' if I could. I still hadn't figured out how I'd do it, but I'd take 'em as they came, one by one, and I'd git rid of 'em. They'd all be on the reject list.

  I pushed my toes down deeper into the mud. The water gurgled about my legs. A small turtle poked his head above the water's surface beside the log, and I reached down angrily and pushed him under again. I hadn't hurt him, I knew that, but somehow I felt a tiny bit better gettin' a chance to spend some of the meanness I was feelin'

  I heard a soft step on the trail behind me and knew without havin' to look that it was Auntie Lou. Only she walked like that-gently and quickly. I didn't even turn my head but busied myself tryin' to get my face back to what she was used to seeing so that she wouldn't start askin' questions. I heard her slip her shoes off and then she stepped to the log. Her hand rested on my shoulder for balance as she carefully sat down beside me and stretched her feet into the water.

  We said nothin'-jest sat there swishin' our feet back and forth. She tucked her skirts up so that the hems wouldn't reach the water. She seemed to settle in for a long stay.

  "Hungry?"

  All of a sudden it hit me. Boy, was I hungry! I glanced up at the sky and was shocked at where the sun hung. It must've been past time for lunch. I should have been to table ages ago. I supposed she'd waited and waited. I started to stammer an apology or an excuse; I wasn't sure which it was going to be, but Auntie Lou interrupted me.

  "Brought some lunch."

  Then I spied our old lunch pail in her hand.

  "Pa and Uncle Charlie went to town. They want to git in touch with Grandpa right away. They're gonna try to telephone him. Doesn't it seem funny to be able to talk with someone hundreds of miles away? If they can't git him by phone, they'll send a telegram."

  As Auntie Lou talked she removed the lid and passed the pail to me to help myself to the sandwiches. I fairly drooled.

  "Boy;" I said, avoiding the Great-grandpa issue, "never realized how hungry I was. Good thing that ya came along or I might've starved right here and slipped into the crik, stone dead"

  Auntie Lou giggled softly as though what I had said was really clever.

  "Good thing that I saved the turtles and the fish from the disaster"

  We ate in silence for a while. Finally Lou broke it.

  "Did ya know that Pa is goin' to ask Grandpa to come out here to live, now that Grandma is gone?"

  I nodde
d my head, hopin' that she wouldn't ask me where I'd gathered the knowledge. She didn't.

  "What do you think?" I finally asked.

  `About Grandpa comin'?"

  "Yeah:"

  I pulled out another sandwich.

  "I hope he does. What do you think?" Lou returned the question.

  I hunched my shoulders carelessly.

  "Don't know. Doesn't matter to me much I guess. It's you that'll have to wash his clothes and get his meals and care fer 'im iffen he's too old to care fer himself."

  "He'll care fer himself."

  I turned toward her. My voice sounded sharp and impatient. "He's an old man, Lou-an old man. He's my great-grandpa. He could be yer greatgrandpa, too, as far as years go. We don't know; he could be drooly or halfblind or all crippled up with arthritis or anything!"

  Lou's answer was typically Lou.

  "If he is-then he needs us even more"

  I turned back to the water and kicked my feet harder. Lou wasn't going to see it. She didn't want to see it. She was going to let them bring him out herethat old man. Then the only way she would be freed from the burden of carin' for him would be to marry some young fella and move away. I kicked again.

  "Yer pant legs are all wet, Josh:" She said it softly, matter-of-factly, but I knew that what she really meant was that my pant legs had no business being wet.

  "Sorry," I mumbled and squirmed back farther onto the log so that my legs didn't reach as deeply into the water.

  She didn't comment further but jest passed me the cookies and an apple.

  "Are ya worried, josh?"

  "Worried?"

  "Yeah, that Grandpa might not fit in or like us or something?"

  The last thing that I was worried about was whether Great-grandpa would like us or not, but I didn't say that to Auntie Lou. I shrugged.

  Auntie Lou took a delicate bite from her apple.

  "Don't think that ya need to worry none. Pa has told me some things about him. I think that we'll git along jest fine"

  "Maybe;" I said, not committing myself.

  Lou put the lid back on the pail.

  "Well, I'd best git back to the house. Still haven't finished the washin'jest the socks left. Ugh! I hate scrubbin' socks:'

  She screwed up her face, then laughed at her own teasin: Sure, I thought, you hate scrubbing socks and here ya are askin'for some more. But I didn't say it.

  "Pa said that you should hoe another row or two of potatoes this afternoon."

  I started up from the log, knowin' that if those potatoes were going to get done, I'd better get at them. Lou put on her shoes and we started off toward the house together, her shoes and my bare feet leaving side-by-side prints in the dust of the path. She hummed as she walked and swung the pail playfully in large sweeps.

  "Lou?"

  "Yeah."

  I hesitated. "Oh, skip it;' I finally said.

  She looked at me, her big blue eyes looking serious and even bluer.

  "Go ahead;' she said. "If ya have something to say, say it:"

  "Are you plannin' on gittin' married?" She stopped short and looked sharply at me like I'd lost my senses.

  "Me?" She pointed a finger at herself.

  "Yeah."

  "Whatever made ya ask somethin' like that? Why I-I ain't even got a beau:' She blushed slightly.

  "Well, I don't mean tomorrow or nothin' like that-but someday?"

  "Someday?" She thought a bit and chuckled then. "Oh, josh, ya dumbhead" She ruffled my mop of hair. "Yeah, I s'pose. Maybe someday I'll git married:"

  Fear grabbed at my throat. She seemed to like the idea by the light in her eyes. Then she hurried on.

  "Someday, maybe, but not fer a long, long time:"

  I could feel the air comin' back into my lungs.

  "Ya sure?"

  "I'm sure. Why, I haven't even given it any serious thought. And I sure am not ready to take on another man and another house jest now."

  "Yet you'd take on Great-grandpa?"

  "That's different," said Lou. She sounded so certain that I was prepared to believe her. "Grandpa is ours and he will be in the same house. It scarce will make any difference at all:"

  I wanted to believe her. With all of my heart I wanted to believe her. If it was like she said and Great-grandpa fit into the house and the family, and everything worked out well, maybe Grandpa and Uncle Charlie would soon realize that they wouldn't have to marry Auntie Lou off after all. Maybe it could work out. I still didn't welcome the idea of the old man comin', but I no longer felt such a knot of fear tearin' at my insides.

  CHAPTER 4

  Correction

  Feelin' a little better after my talk with Auntie Lou, I set to work on the potato patch with real determination. By the time I heard the team returning from town with Grandpa and Uncle Charlie, I was on my fourth row. Uncle Charlie took the horses on down to the barn, and Grandpa came out to the garden to see me. He was right pleased with what I had accomplished. I puffed with pride a bit.

  "I think you've worked long enough in the hot sun, Boy. Best leave the rest for tomorrow. Let's go see if yer Auntie Lou has somethin' cold to drink:'

  Uncle Charlie fell in step beside us as we headed for the house. I didn't ask the question that I was dying to ask. I knew that it would all be laid out before us at the time of Grandpa's choosin:

  Lou had some cold milk and man-sized sugar cookies sitting on the table. We three sat down after washing our hands at the washbasin and drying them briskly on the rough towel.

  I looked at Lou; I could see that she wasn't goin' to wait long for details on what happened in town. If Grandpa didn't soon volunteer the information, she'd start askin' questions.

  Grandpa took a long drink of his milk. Lou had enough patience to let him swallow.

  "Did you reach him?"

  Lou didn't play little games of beat-around-the-bush. She was always honest and direct. So was Grandpa.

  "Yeah, we did. Had to make two calls on the tellyphone. Some contraption, that. Couldn't believe my ears. Here I was a-talkin' to my own pa hundreds of miles away. A few years ago iffen someone had said that sech a thing would be possible, they'd laughed him out of town:'

  "Or locked him up;' Uncle Charlie suggested.

  "Why two calls?" asked Auntie Lou.

  "First time he wasn't in"

  Lou was gettin' real impatient by now.

  "But you did get to talk to him?" She prodded.

  "We sure did-both of us. He could hardly believe it. Said it made him so lonesome that he felt like jest hoppin' a west-bound train."

  There was a moment's silence as Grandpa sat there lookin' down at his milk glass. Uncle Charlie was lookin' down, too, as he twisted his glass'round and 'round in his big fingers.

  "Does he plan to come?"

  Both Lou and I seemed to be holdin' our breath. Grandpa looked up.

  "Yeah, he'll come! He's missin' Ma something awful. He'll come! It'll take him awhile to get everything all cared for, but it shouldn't be too long; then he'll be out-by harvest time for sure."

  "Did he-did he sound ... ?" I knew that my question wasn't coming out right. I wanted to know if Great-grandpa sounded like he still had all of his senses in spite of his age, but I didn't want Grandpa and Uncle Charlie-or Auntie Lou-to figure out what I wanted to know. I wished, as I stammered around, that I had never opened my mouth. Uncle Charlie seemed to realize that I was squirmin' like a bug on a hot rock.

  "Sounded good-real good. Voice still strong and steady. Talked of his garden!"

  Uncle Charlie's eyes took on a twinkle.

  "S'pose he out-hoed you today, josh-and you figure that you had a pretty good day!"

  I squirmed a bit more and reached for another cookie, more or less jest for something to do. In spite of my embarrassment I was glad now that I had asked the question. I had heard what I'd wanted to hear-about the old man's health, that is, not about his plans for a train-trip west. I still felt mighty uneasy about that. Still, it was only
midsummer, and anything could happen between now and harvest time-well anyway, almost anything.

  "Iffen you'll excuse me;' I said, "I think I'll be finishin' that row before chore time:'

  I could feel three pairs of eyes on my back as I left the kitchen, and I knew that they must all be wonderin' iffen I'd had too much sun. I had never laid claim to enjoying hoein; and truth was, I didn't care much for it now; but it was the only excuse that I could come up with for gettin' away from the table. I knew very well that the three of them were gonna go on talkin' about Great-grandpa; and as they talked their faces and their voices showed that they were all excited about his soon comin: The fact that I didn't share their enthusiasm made me feel kinda mean-like. Yet there was no way that I knew of to change the way I was feelin; so I chose to get me out to where there was no one to search me out.

  I finished the row in record time and still had a few minutes to kill before I needed to start on the chores. I decided to take a walk to the pond to check on the ducks that had nested there.

  The mother had hatched seven ducklings and already their feathers had changed. Every time I saw them they had grown some.

  They didn't seem to mind me around as long as I didn't try to get too close. I would sit on the shore, my back against a big of tree and watch their funnin' around as long as I wanted to.

  For some reason they failed to amuse me today. Guess my mind was too heavy with other things. Lou certainly hadn't seemed upset to hear that Greatgrandpa was plannin' to come. In fact, she had looked pleased and excited about it. Whether she really meant it or was just tryin' to please Grand-pa and Uncle Charlie, I wasn't sure. If she really did mean it and didn't mind takin' on another family member, even if it was an old man, maybe I could relax again. I sure did feel mixed up. It wasn't until I had been threatened with losing Auntie Lou that I realized just how important she was to me.

  I was headin' back toward the barn when I remembered about my prayin the night before. Maybe God did choose to answer a kid's prayer. Jest as I started to feel kinda good about it, I remembered other parts of my prayer. If God really took me seriously, then I had the feelin' that He didn't care much for some of what I'd been askin' for. My conscience started a-prickin' at me, and I realized that if I wanted any peace, I had some correctin' to do. I stepped off the path into the trees and knelt down.