by Janette Oke
Perspiration had made ugly tracks through the coatin' of soot on his face. His parson's suit was dirty and smeared from trampin' fire, sloshin' water, and shovellin' dirt. Here and there, all over his clothin; little holes had burned through the material where flyin' sparks had landed.
He walked straight to Auntie Lou who was pourin' coffee with tremblin' hands.
"It worked." His voice held intense relief.
Auntie Lou looked at him and her eyes were filled with gratitude.
"Thank you;' she whispered and they looked long at one another. I wondered jest what words they would be usin' if what they were sayin' with their eyes would have been said aloud.
Mr. T. Smith came up then and Auntie Lou turned to serve him. Some of the men gathered around, laughin' and poundin' the preacher on the back, praisin' his plan and the way it worked. Everyone was talkin' and feelin' good in spite of their tiredness and the blisters on their hands and faces. Grandpa came too. He wanted a chance to thank all of his neighbors before he sent them on home. He couldn't voice what he really felt-there jest weren't words-but he tried and I think that every neighbor there understood what he wasn't able to say.
Most of them moved out, drivin' their hayracks or wagons. Through the closin'-in night they went, enjoyin; at least for a while, its welcome coolness.
"Thank ya, Lou, for thinkin' of the men;' Grandpa said then. "Guess you can get on back to the house and rest yerself easy. This here fire's gonna hold now. Charlie and me will wait around jest to be sure that no live sparks are still hangin' around."
"I'll wait with you:"
It was the preacher who spoke. Grandpa looked hard at him, like he was seein' the man for the first time.
"Be no need, son:" He said it with feelin: "Things are settled now, thanks to you-and the Lord-and you sure did earn yer rest at the end of this day."
"I'd still like to stay if you don't mind" He turned to me. "Josh, would you mind caring for my horse? I left him in kind of a hurry, and I'd sure like him to have some proper attention:"
"Auntie Lou already did," I blurted out. "Rubbed him down and everything-but I'll give him a drink. Should be okay for him to have some water now. I'll put him in the barn and give him a bit of chop, too:"
I would have said more, but I got the feelin' thet the preacher wasn't listenin' anyhow. He was busy lookin' at Auntie Lou.
It was cool now and as the preacher picked up his shovel and turned to go with Grandpa and Uncle Charlie, I noticed his thin suit.
"Hey wait;' I hollered.
They turned.
"I got Uncle Charlie's old coat here in Pixie's box. You want it?"
Grandpa laughed as I hurried to dig out the old coat, but he did commend me.
"Good thinkin; Boy. It's gonna get a mite cold afore the night's over"
The preacher wasn't proud; he slipped into that old coat with real thankfulness. It was really tight and the arms were too short, but it sure beat nothin.
Gramps and I helped Auntie Lou gather the milk cans and cups and the empty sandwich boxes; then we headed for home.
It was quite dark now and the horses, eager to get home, had to slow their pace and pick their way carefully along the road. I didn't need to do much reinin' When we reached home I cared for the team and the preacher's horse while Gramps and Auntie Lou unloaded the wagon and cleaned up the kitchen.
Now that the excitement and scare was drainin' out of me, I felt dogtired. I dragged myself to the house. When I entered the kitchen, I checked to be sure that Auntie Lou had remembered to bring in Pixie. She had. Then I checked the clock and noticed with great satisfaction that it was way past my bedtime. I grinned to myself as I scooped up Pixie and started up the stairs. I didn't even bother to wash. Auntie Lou's voice stopped me.
"Thank you, josh, for thinkin' of that jacket. It was a thoughtful thing to do and I was proud of you:' She smiled at me. " 'Night now."
I grinned again and went on up the stairs. This time I was gonna get away with goin' to bed unwashed, but I was too tired to even enjoy it. I could hardly wait to fall into my bed.
CHAPTER 25
Next Mornin'
I awoke the next day to sounds comin' from the kitchen. It was more than jest the usual sounds, of Auntie Lou gettin' breakfast. There was male laughter and talkin; and the clink of cups bein' replaced on the table. I jumped out of bed and reached for my overalls. They stunk! In fact, the smell of smoke seemed to hang all about me. I pulled them on anyway and hurriedly buttoned my shirt.
At the kitchen table sat the four men waitin' for breakfast. Gramps was the only one who looked presentable. The others had washed their faces and hands, but little blisters appeared here and there, and their clothes looked just awful.
They were all in a good mood, though, and I figured that they deserved to be.
"Look outside, Boy," Grandpa said when I came down-and I did.
There was our whole farm, alive and complete-and covered with a clean, white blanket of new-fallen snow.
"Snow!"
"Yessiree-started as rain 'bout four o'clock this mornin' and now yer gettin' yer snow."
I grinned.
"Won't need to worry anymore about that fire now," Grandpa went on.
Auntie Lou was busyin' herself flippin' pancakes and fryin' eggs and bacon. Uncle Charlie crossed leisurely to the stove to give her a hand. She let him.
I took my place at the table and lifted hot pancakes onto my plate. I refrained from reachin' for the butter until after we'd prayed. I could hardly wait to introduce Pixie to the snow. I wondered jest what she would think of it.
I ate all that I could hold and the men were still eatin' They finally indicated to Auntie Lou that they had had enough.
"I really must be going," said the preacher. "I feel badly in need of a bath and some fresh clothes:'
As I looked at him I wondered what he would do for a suit come Sunday.
"I'll get yer horse;' said Uncle Charlie. He put on his hat and jacket and headed for the door.
The preacher rose from the table and thanked Auntie Lou for the breakfast. He spoke a few words to Gramps and then turned to Grandpa.
"I'm thankful, Mr. Jones-truly thankful that you didn't lose your home"
Grandpa worked at swallowin'.
"And I," he said, "and I. I'll never be able to thank you enough for the plan that ya came up with and the way that you worked to carry it out. Seemed everywhere that I looked, there you was, diggin' and trampin' and pitchin' water and fightin' with a wet sack. I'm truly thankful. Any man that can think and fight like that ain't goin' to be stopped by the hard things in life, I reckon. Yer gonna make a great preacher-and I-ah-I jest want ya to know that yer more than welcome in my home-and at my table-anytime"
The preacher extended his hand, his face lightin' up.
"Thank you, sir. Thank you:"
He hesitated a moment and then hurried on, seemin' to sense that he mustn't miss this chance of a lifetime.
"This may seem like taking advantage of the situation, Mr. Jones, but I-I would like to request your permission to call on your daughter-not as a minister, sir;' he added with a smile.
Grandpa smiled, too, and extended his hand.
"And I'd be right proud to have you do that" He stole a glance at Auntie Lou, who seemed to be holdin' her breath, her hands clasped tightly in her balled-up apron. "I don't think that Lou will be objectin' to the idea either'
It seemed pretty obvious that Grandpa had made up his mind about the preacher. He'd won Grandpa's heart, and I couldn't see that anyone could convince Grandpa otherwise.
The preacher turned to Auntie Lou then. She finally breathed again and managed a smile in response. Her face was flushed and her eyes looked about to spill over. He crossed to her and took one of her small hands in his.
"Wednesday?"
She nodded. They looked at each other for a moment and then he turned and left. As soon as he was gone, Auntie Lou threw herself into Grandpa's arms.
"Oh, Pa." she cried and the brimmin' tears spilled down her cheeks.
"There now, Baby. There now." He patted her shoulder. I had never heard him call her Baby before.
"I know what I said about him and how he had nothin' and I wanted more for you and-and all that; but he's a man, Honey-a real man. He fought that there fire with all his might; and I reckon iffen he puts his mind to it, he'll be able to care, somehow, for a mere slip of a girl, even iffen she does jest happen to be the greatest little gal in the world:'
I picked up Pixie and headed outside, stoppin' only long enough to grab my coat and hat as I left.
Sure, I liked the preacher okay, and Auntie Lou seemed to be right stuck on him, and I sure wouldn't withhold anything from Auntie Lou; but, boy, was I gonna miss her. I wondered if there was anyway that I could be without her and still survive.
I clutched Pixie tight against my chest. I had wanted to find out her first impression of the cold, white world, but somehow it didn't seem so important now.
I arrived outside jest in time to see the preacher turn his horse from the lane to the road. He had a cold ride ahead. His thin parson suit was still partially wet and the fallin' snow wasn't gonna help his comfort none. Uncle Charlie's old, too-small coat helped some, but left a lot to be desired. Still, I kinda doubted if he'd even notice.
CHAPTER 26
The Lord's Day and
the Lord's Man
Folks were still buzzin' about the fire as they gathered for the Sunday mornin' service. The new preacher had won his way into many hearts, not jest by the fast-thinkin; but also by his ability to pitch in and fight. I noticed several mothers and daughters eyein' him with added interest.
"Ya haven't got a fat chance;' I said to myself, and even felt some pride in the fact that he had chosen Auntie Lou above all the rest. I felt sorrow, too, for I still wanted her to stay with us where I felt she belonged.
I was peekin' around to see where my friends were sittin'-and nearly jumped out of my shoes. Way in the back, lookin' kind of embarrassed, was Cullum! All I could figure out was that he was there as a favor to the preacher, seein' how the man was now a hero in these parts.
The preacher wore a suit. It certainly wasn't brand new, but I guess it was the best he could do. It was properly pressed, and the mended places didn't show too much. After the openin' hymn I guess most folks, like me, kinda forgot all about it.
Jest before the preacher was to bring the message, Deacon Brown asked for a chance to speak.
He expressed how thankful the people of the area and the town were to the reverend for his part in fightin' the fire that could have spelled disaster for so many. Because the parson had suffered the loss of his Sunday suit on behalf of the people, the people had taken up a collection to help him replace his loss. Deacon Brown handed an envelope to the surprised preacher, and the people all clapped as they read his unbelievin' and thankful face.
The deacon then went on to say that a fund had been set up at the General Store for any and all who wished to help the Turleys get a fresh start. If anyone had a piglet or a calf they could spare, that, too, would be appreciated.
The service then went on as usual.
As we went through the Sunday hand-shakin' line, I heard the preacher say softly to Auntie Lou, "Wednesday." She smiled and I thought that she had never looked prettier.
The preacher came Wednesday after supper as planned. He had already taken the train to town to shop for his new clothes. There wasn't a store in our small town that carried what he needed. He really did look quite grand in his new suit, though he wore a shirt, not his white collar, when he came to call on Auntie Lou.
They were still talkin' when I was sent up to bed. They didn't seem to pay too much attention to the rest of us, though Auntie Lou did think to put on the coffee for Grandpa and Uncle Charlie. Gramps had given me a knowin' wink and excused himself earlier than usual.
Uncle Charlie and Grandpa took their coffee and moved to the checkerboard in the far corner of the room.
I went up to bed draggin' my heels. I sure would have liked to hear what was bein' said, but even I knew better than to try to listen. The preacher and Auntie Lou spoke kinda soft anyway, and I didn't suppose that their voices would even carry as far as the stairs.
The next day we had more snow, and Grandpa decided that it was time to change from the wagon wheels to the sleigh runners. I went off to school wishin' that I could hang around and get in on the changin'.
Friday night the preacher came again. This time Auntie Lou had invited him for supper. It was almost more than I could do to sit at that table watchin' him watchin' Auntie Lou with that self-satisfied look in his eyes. She rested her hand ever so lightly on my shoulder as she placed a refilled plate of biscuits on the table. It's really true, I thought to myself. God's gonna take away Auntie Lou, too.
I excused myself from the table, sayin' that I didn't feel too well-which I truly didn't-and went up to my room. I laid there for a long time tryin' to sort it all out, wantin' to cry and yet not able to. Auntie Lou came up with a worried look on her face and felt my forehead.
"You're not gonna be sick, are ya, josh?" she asked me and there was fear showin' in her voice.
"Naw," I said, "I'm fine, jest a little ofd feed, that's all. I'll be fine come mornin."
She still looked unconvinced and leaned over me fixin' my already okay pillow and brushin' back my hair. For a moment I felt a sense of victory that I still had the power to pull her away from the preacher; then the anger filled me again-not at Auntie Lou, not even at the preacher really. I mean, who could blame the guy for fallin' hard for Auntie Lou? Still, the angry feelin' gnawed at me, and I turned away from Auntie Lou.
"I'm fine;" I said again, "jest need some sleep, that's all"
She rested her hand on my head again.
"I love ya, Josh," she whispered, and then she was gone.
I cried then; I couldn't help it. The tears jest started to roll down my cheeks and fall onto my pillow. I wished with all of my heart that I had remembered to bring Pixie, and then I felt her lickin' my face. She had come lookin' for me.
I drew her close and cried into her fur. At least I still had Pixie. If God would jest leave her alone-keep His hands off-at least I'd have her to love. I didn't even try to choke back the tears but jest let them run down my cheeks, where periodically Pixie's little pink tongue whisked them away.
CHAPTER 27
Another Sunday
We headed to church in the sleigh the next Sunday. I loved the crunch of the runners on the new snow.
The sun was shinin; glistenin' off the snow on the roadway and the fields. It was gettin' close to Christmas now and the feelin' was already in the air.
The preacher directed the service in his new set of clothes, sincerely thankin' the people for the opportunity of purchasin them. He looked jest fine.
Already folks had heard that he was callin' on Auntie Lou; some of the girls wore disappointed looks, and their mothers weren't quite so quick to shove them forward at every opportunity.
I didn't listen much to the sermon. It was on the love of God, and I wasn't sure if I could swallow it-not with Auntie Lou sittin' there beside me, her eyes on the preacher's face. Instead, I decided to dream up a new trick to teach Pixie, somethin' really spectacular that no other dog had ever, ever learned to do. Already, Pixie could beg, roll over, play dead, sit, and walk some on her hind legs. She wasn't a puppy anymore, but she was pretty small even though she'd grown a lot. She was a smart dog, and I guess I would have jest about given an arm for her.
I had a hard time comin' up with something within a dog's reach that someone else hadn't already tried. The service ended without me gettin' the problem worked out.
As soon as I could, without bein' too pushy, I made my way past the preacher, shakin' his hand briefly. I then joined Avery and Willie in a corner of the churchyard where they were messin' around in the snow.
"Bet I could take off of Mr. T.'s hat," bo
asted Willie.
"Thought you been to the altar and prayed for God to forgive and help you;' countered Avery. "Yer s'posed to be good now, not mean:"
Willie changed his tune.
"Said bet I could, not thet I was gonna try."
"Does it really work?" asked Jack Berry who had joined us.
"What?"
"Goin' to the altar. I mean, do ya feel different, or anything?"
"Well, it ain't the goin' to the altar;' said Willie. I had the feelin' that he was repeatin' what the preacher had said. "It's the prayin' thet makes the difference, and a fella can pray any place."
"But does it work?"
"Yeah;' said Willie, and his eyes lit up. "Yeah, it really did. I mean-I used to be all mean and feelin' mixed up inside, and now-now, thet I told God I was sorry and thet I wanted to quit bein' thet way, I feel;' he shrugged, "kinda clean and not fightin'-mad anymore:"
"Ya mean-kinda-peace."
"Yeah, I guess so," Willie answered. "Jest don't feel all sad and troubled and scared. Yeah, guess that's peace, huh?"
We all stood around Willie. I suppose every one of us wished that we could feel the things he described. Mitch Turley came over and we left our discussion and went back to makin' snowballs.
I was turned facin' the church steps where the preacher stood talkin' to old Mrs. Adams. She was almost deaf and he had to lean over and raise his voice to be heard. He stopped in mid-sentence and his head jerked up; then without even excusin' himself he was off on the run toward a team hitched at the side rail fence. I looked over to see what was makin' him run so. What I saw made the back of my neck feel like a snake was movin' up my spine.
There was Pixie, my little dog! Somehow she had followed us to church, and there she was now, runnin' under `Toad' Hopkins' team. Now Toad drove the spookiest horses around and when that small dog started dartin' among their hooves, they near went wild.
I started toward the team, too, but before I could get anywhere near them the preacher was already there. He placed a hand on the nearest horse and spoke soft words in an effort to soothe him, but he didn't wait for the horses to quiet down-not with Pixie under there, threatenin' to be tramped on at any minute. No sirree, that preacher went right under, too.
