by Janette Oke
"What would you like us to make for you, Uncle Josh?" Sarah called. Without hesitation I answered, "A tractor." It had seemed like the tractor was taking an interminable time to come.
Sarah laughed at my response but Mary gave me a sympathetic smile.
"I don't know how to make a tractor," Sarah giggled.
"That's too bad;' I said shaking my head. "If you could make me one I could cancel my order"
Uncle Charlie's head lifted from the crossword.
"No word?"
I shook my head in disappointment.
"I thought you didn't need a tractor 'til spring;' Sarah offered as she patched up the leg on a cookie dog.
"I don't"
"Then why are you so apatient?"
She tipped her head to the side and sucked some cookie dough off a finger as she waited for my answer. I waited too. I wasn't sure how to answer her. At last I had to smile.
"I'm `apatient, " I said honestly, borrowing her word, "because I want it so much, not because I need it so much."
"Oh!" nodded Sarah. She could understand that.
She thought for a moment and then her face brightened. "Then I know," she said matter-of-factly. "Pray. Pray an' ask Jesus to help you wait. Before I had my birthday one time I was apatient an' Mamma told me to pray, an' I did, an' Jesus helped me wait."
It sounded so simple. Maybe it was simple. I ran a hand over Sarah's curly head. "Maybe I'll do that;' I said huskily.
She seemed perfectly satisfied that the matter had been taken care of and could be dropped.
"Would you like a horse?" she asked.
"I've already got a horse;' I informed her.
She giggled again. "Well, this one don't need hay, or oats, or anything;' and she handed me a slightly damaged horse with crooked legs.
I ate the horse in two bites.
"Mamma don't let me do that," said Sarah seriously, her eyes big. "She says I might choke and throw up:"
I wanted to tell Sarah that such talk wasn't very ladylike and then I was reminded by a little glance from Mary that I had provoked the whole thing.
I shouldn't have done it, either;' I admitted. "I promise not to do it again."
I gave Sarah another pat, grinned sheepishly at Mary and went on up to my room.
The question of where Sarah should sleep at our house hadn't really been solved. I offered to sleep on the cot, but Grandpa refused. He didn't say so, but I think it had something to do with him having gotten two boarders for our extra bedrooms. Uncle Charlie said he would, but it was hard enough for him to get a decent night's sleep in his own bed.
Grandpa ended up on the cot that first night. He looked awfully tired the next morning.
We talked again about letting Sarah take the cot. The idea didn't seem like a good one-not that the cot wouldn't fit Sarah better than it had Grandpa, but simply because she would be kept awake so late. Sarah would never go to sleep as long as there was stirring in the kitchen, yet none of the rest of us were ready for bed at seven-thirty.
Mary finally worked it all out. "Move the cot into my room;' she suggested. "There's plenty of room; Sarah can go to bed at the proper time and the rest of us can keep our own beds:"
"That's awfully kind of you, Mary," Grandpa started to protest, "but you shouldn't have-"
"Nonsense," she said. "I love her company and you know it:'
So the cot was moved into Mary's room and Sarah was tucked in for the night. It was a much better arrangement. After Sarah had returned home the next day, I offered to move the cot out, but Mary wouldn't hear of it.
"Just leave it there;" she said. "It's not in my way, and it will be all ready for the next time she comes:"
The snow came softly at first, then heavier and heavier until there was a deep ground cover. I didn't like the idea of tiny Matilda heading off for school across the open field. It was already knee deep and there would be no path.
"Take Chester;" I urged her.
"I'll be fine;' she insisted. "A little snow won't hurt me. The walk does me good. Besides, there'll be worse storms before the winter is over. I might as well get used to it"
I stopped arguing, but I will admit I cast a glance out the window now and then until she passed out of sight, just to be sure that she would make it to the schoolhouse.
Storm followed storm, and we settled into another winter. Soon we all had adjusted to it, and I no longer fretted when Matilda left for school, her high boots clearing a way through the drifts and her arms full of textbooks.
Shortly before Christmas the tractor finally arrived. The station master sent word out to us with one of our neigbors. Mr. Smith seemed to be quite pleased to have been chosen to bear the news. There weren't too many tractors in our part.
I rushed off to town to pick it up and it looked like the whole town was there to watch me take delivery.
I had thought from reading the manuals that a tractor would be easy enough to handle. But we had a real time getting it fired up, and by the time the blacksmith came to give me a hand, my face was red and my fuse short.
Then I had to back the big monster up in order to get it turned around. That seemed to be harder than backing a horse and buggy. We had to start it twice more, because I kept killing the engine. I finally did get it heading the right direction, with all eyes of the townsfolk upon me. But then, not wanting to hog all the road, I got a little too close to the edge of the roadway. Those big steel wheels just seemed to pull me right on down into the ditch, and the tractor stalled again. When the helpful blacksmith and I did get it started, I wasn't sure how I was going to get myself out of there. But to my amazement, those same steel wheels that took me down so unexpectedly also took me back out, and I was off down the road heading home.
It was a cold ride. The thing moved along at a crawl, and it was made all of steel, so there was nothing warm about it-at least not back where I was sitting.
By the time I got it home, I sure was glad to pull it up beside the granary and climb on down. It wasn't nearly as easy to handle as a team, I can tell you that, and it took me most of the afternoon to get the chill out of my bones.
I did some thinking about that tractor that I hadn't done before. Getting the tractor was fine, but I hadn't thought much of where to go from there. I could tell just by looking that the farm machinery we had used behind the horses wouldn't work behind that tractor. We'd probably need to replace nearly all the equipment we owned.
I wrote Willie a long letter that night, the first one in a while. I'd had a few letters from him, and I knew he was just as busy there in South Africa as I was back home.
He was pretty excited about his new life. Oh, he still missed Camellia terribly-and his family and friends, too, I guess, but he sure was excited about getting into the work he had been trained to do. God had given him a deep love for the black Africans he was reaching out to. They were so friendly and open, he said, and he knew he was going to love being a missionary among them.
I had already told him about Grandpa's wild idea of moving two women into our house. I had even written later, admitting that it really wasn't as bad as I had expected. But I hadn't told him about the community social or our good harvest or the new tractor.
I told him, too, that Mrs. Foggelson was really doing well since she had reestablished her faith. Not that she was running around town preaching or singing on the street corner or anything like that, but she was growing in a quiet, maturing way.
I miss you, Willie, I wrote, and I'll be glad to see you again. Four years, after all, is a long, long time. God's blessing on your work; my warmest regards. Your best friend, josh.
CHAPTER 24
Winter ills
Another Christmas was approaching. We all went together to the school Christmas program. Matilda had labored long and hard over it. The youngsters performed well, and the crowd of neighbors insisted that Matilda sing again. She sang two lovely songs and then she asked Mary to join her for one. Mary did, without protest, and the people clap
ped even more enthusiastically after the duet.
The program at the church on Sunday night was mostly Aunt Lou's responsibility, though she had help from Matilda as well.
Little Sarah sang her first solo, "Away in a Manger" She was doing fine, too, carrying the tune just perfectly until Jon jumped down from the bench beside Mrs. Lewis, who was supposed to be looking after him, and ran to get in on his sister's act.
Aunt Lou didn't know what to do. To dash after Jon would interrupt the song, but leaving him alone proved to be even more disruptive.
At first he merely stood beside Sarah, looking up in her face and rocking gently back and forth to the music. Then he decided to sing, too, but Jon didn't know the words. His song was "Ah-ah-ah" at the top of his healthy lungs. Sarah frowned at him, but went on singing. It wasn't long until Jon's "Ah-ahs" were drowning out Sarah's voice. She finally stopped mid-phrase.
"Go to Mrs. Lewis!" she hissed loudly at her brother.
He shook his head and started to sing again.
"Then go to Mamma," Sarah insisted, giving him a push.
Jon still refused to budge. I could hear some snickers and caught a glimpse of Uncle Nat heading for the platform, but Sarah hadn't seen him. "Go!" she insisted and gave Jon another push, a bit more forcefully.
"No!" hollered Jon. "Sing!" As he whirled around to escape his sister, he entangled himself in the decorated tree. It came down with a crash and Jon, frightened by it all, began to bellow as loudly as he could. By the time Uncle Nat arrived, his two offspring were both crying and the platform was a mess.
"Preacher's young'uns!" Uncle Nat said to the amused congregation, rolling his eyes heavenward half in jest and half in exasperation, and scooped up his two errant family members while Aunt Lou tried to restore some order to the front of the church.
On Monday we took Matilda to the train; she was to spend her holidays at home. She was in a dither about seeing her family again, but that was normal-Matilda lived life in an air of excitement. She and Mary had become very close friends, and they hugged one another over and over. In fact, the only one who didn't get a hug was me. I would have been embarrassed about it if I had. Us being right out in the eyes of people and all. I knew that few would understand how it was at our house. The house seemed a bit quiet when we returned. Mary served us a tasty dinner, washed up the dishes and then went to her room. Soon she reappeared with her small carpetbag in her hand.
"Your Grandpa has given me Christmas week off. With Matilda gone he says you can get along just fine by yourselves"
I was a little doubtful. We hadn't been doing much cooking for ourselves lately, and it would be rather hard now to fit back into the old rut.
"I've done extra baking," went on Mary. "You'll find it in the pantry."
I nodded.
"If you should need me-"
"We'll be fine. Just fine;' I assured her with more confidence than I felt.
She pulled on her heavy coat, and I finally realized it was cold out, and it was over a mile to the Turleys'.
"I'll get Chester and give you a ride home;' I offered.
I didn't wait for her to answer, just grabbed my coat and cap and headed for the barn.
I hooked Chester to the one-horse sleigh, and we set off. The afternoon was crisp and bright and the snow crunched under the runners.
"I'll miss Matilda;' sighed Mary after a long silence.
I was on the verge of saying that I would too but checked myself just in time.
"She's so-so alive," went on Mary.
That was the truth. I was reining in Chester-as usual, he wanted to run.
"It won't be long till she's back:"
"Oh, I hope not!" Mary gave a deep sigh.
I didn't go in when we reached the Turleys, though Mary asked me to. "I've got to get home and start in on the chores;' I told her. Then I added, feeling suddenly shy, "We'll see you in a few days. Have a real good Christmas"
She turned to me. There were no rows of eyes watching.
"Thank you, Josh;' she whispered. Then she reached up, gave me a quick embrace, and she was gone.
It turned out that we did need Mary. Two days after Christmas Uncle Charlie became ill. We could have handled that, but the next day Grandpa, too, was down. I didn't know what to do. I still had all the chores, and the two men were sick enough that they needed someone to care for them. In desperation I finally saddled Chester and headed back for Mary.
Mary flushed a bit when she saw Chester, but she laughed, too. "Well;' she said, "does he ride double?"
"How stupid of me!" I blushed. "I should have brought the sleigh. He can carry two, but-"
"It's fine, Josh," she assured me. "If Chester doesn't mind, I don't"
She rode behind me, her arms around my waist as though it was the most natural thing in the world.
In the next few days, Uncle Charlie worsened, and though Mary nursed him with all of her skill and prepared him broths and chicken soup, he still couldn't keep anything on his stomach. I saddled Chester up again and went after Doc.
After a few days on the medicine that Doc left, Uncle Charlie seemed to be able to make some headway. But by the time Grandpa and Uncle Charlie were beginning to show a bit of improvement, Matilda was back, and Christmas was over.
Things seemed to be fine for about two days, and then Matilda came down with chills and fever. School was cancelled until further notice, and Mary started her nursing again.
When it finally hit me, I couldn't believe that anyone could feel that bad. My whole body ached, and I broke out in sweats and then shivered until the bed shook. The mere thought of food was unbearable, and I was so weak that I could hardly turn my head on the pillow.
I don't know how Mary made it through those days. She did send for Mitch to do the choring, but even so, I don't think she got much rest day or night. Whenever I stirred restlessly, cool cloths were pressed against my fevered forehead and sips of water held to my chapped lips.
I drifted in and out of reality. Sometimes I had strange dreams where I was in heaven and the angels were flitting about me, brushing back my hair and cooling my face. Sometimes I was quite rational and Mary or Matilda would be there sponging off my face or back and chest. I think that Doc was there once or twice. I don't remember seeing him; I just remember his voice giving somebody instructions.
I had no idea how many days were passing by. I only knew that when I was finally aware enough to ask, I couldn't believe that so much of the month of January was already spent. From then on I had almost constant company. Mary came with broths and soups and Pixie lay at the foot of the bed. Uncle Charlie just sat there quietly and cleared his throat now and then. Matilda came with books and read to me for what seemed hour after hour in a voice filled with energy and excitement.
By the time I was able to sit up for short periods in the kitchen, Grandpa and Uncle Charlie were almost as good as new, and Matilda had been back to her classes for a couple of weeks.
I had never been that sick before in my whole life. And after those days in bed, helpless and sick and flat on my back, I was ready to admit one thing-I was glad there were women in the house.
It turned out that Mitch had to do our chores for the whole month of January and half of February. I maintained that I was well enough to get back to work, but Doc wouldn't hear of it. My recuperation time did give me a good chance to get back into some books. I had been so busy using my muscles that I had almost forgotten how to use my brain.
I discovered, too, that the daily papers that arrived for Matilda to the post office weekly weren't all that bad. To relieve the boredom, I began to sort through them and found some terrific articles under "Farm News and Markets."
There was so much more to farming than mere sowing and reaping. I could see the possibility of the farm turning a tidy profit in the future, and the thought filled me with energy and excitement. Folks like Willie needed support in order to stay on the mission field. I didn't say anything to the family yet, but I did do som
e talking to God. I was beginning to get a vision of the farm being used in God's work by helping meet the financial needs of missionaries-especially Willie. I intended to do all I could to make the farm produce so that he would never need to worry about support while he served on the field.
CHAPTER 25
Chester
I was sitting at the table talking to Matilda about some strange ideas, to my way of thinking, I'd found in one of her books. I heard a commotion and went to the kitchen window to look out toward the barn.
I smiled. There was nothing to be concerned about. The horses were just frisking about. I looked at the sky, thinking that another storm must be moving in.
"Why are they running?" Matilda asked at my elbow.
"Just feeling frisky," I answered. "Or could be a storm coming in. Horses often run and play before a storm:" We stood there to watch them for a minute.
Chester was really worked up. He loved to run, and any excuse for him was a good enough one.
Mary crowded in on the other side of me, her face lightened by a smile. "I love to watch them"
The three of us stood there watching the horses rear and kick and race around the barnyard.
"He is so beautiful!" exclaimed Matilda. She held Pixie in her arms, gently scratching under one of the dog's silky ears. But I knew that it wasn't Pixie that she referred to. It was Chester, showing off out in the barnyard. "Look at him, his head thrown back, his tail outstretched-" The word ended in a gasp.
Chester, who had been doing a tight circle around the end of the barn at almost full speed, had suddenly gone down, apparently hitting a patch of ice under the snow where the eaves dripped in milder weather.
I didn't even wait to comment; just turned and ran from the house. I guess I knew I should have stopped for my coat, especially since I had just been sick, but I didn't.
