Seasons of the Heart: Omnibus

by Janette Oke

  There was a twinkle in Doc's eyes and I caught a quick wink. I flushed and nodded, then headed for the stairs.

  Mary was almost asleep when I crept quietly to her bedside.

  "Doc says I can say good night;' I whispered, "but I'm not to stay long."

  Mary gave me a dreamy smile-brought on more by the sleeping powder than by my presence, I was sure.

  "How are you feelin'?" I asked, taking her hand.

  "Sleepy," she murmured.

  I kissed her fingers.

  "You're not backin' out on me, are you?" I teased. "Haven't changed your mind, now that you've had a little time to think on it?"

  Mary tried a smile. It was weak and lopsided in her relaxed state. Fighting hard to keep her eyes open, she squeezed my hand. "You don't get off that easy, Josh;' she teased back. "I'm holdin' you to your word."

  I leaned over and kissed her. "I love you, Mary;' I told her again. "That's never going to change"

  She stirred and tried to smile again. Sleep had almost claimed her.

  I knelt down by her bed, my arm around her blanketed form, my other hand still holding hers.

  "Go to sleep," I whispered. "I'll stay with you until you do:"

  She moved her head so her cheek rested against mine and then she sighed contentedly. It was only moments until her even breathing told me she was sleeping soundly. I leaned to kiss her forehead before standing to my feet.

  She slept so peacefully, so beautifully. Even with bandages and bruises, she's the most-the most lovely girl in the world, my Mary, I thought. I could hardly wait for the time when she would be well and whole again-for the real courting to begin.

  "Good night, Mary," I whispered. And then after a quick look around to see if Doc was lurking in the doorway, I tried a new word I'd never used before, just to see how it sounded. "Good night, sweetheart:"

  It sounded just fine.

  Matilda's folks hired a motor car to come and take her home where her mother could nurse her back to health again. Since school was nearly out for the summer anyway, they just let the kids go a little earlier than usual.

  Mary went back home to her pa and sister Lilli. I missed her something awful at our house, but it did make things a bit easier for me in regards to courting. Like I said before, how does one go calling on someone who is right there in your own house? Mary said that her being home with her pa right now was working out good because it would help to keep tongues from wagging. I hadn't even thought on that, but if it made Mary feel more comfortable with the courting, then I was quite happy to put up with hatching it for the summer months.

  I was in for a great deal of good-natured teasing when family and friends learned that I was actually courting Mary. I didn't mind. In fact, I rather enjoyed it. I didn't see Mary objecting much to it either. It was rather nice to be known as a couple. Made us feel that we really belonged to each other in some way.

  I took a hammer and mallet to the frame of the Ford and to the fender dents. It wasn't a good job, but when I was done she could at least stand on four wheels and make it slowly down the road again. I even bought some paint and touched up the scars, but she never did shine and sparkle the same. I will admit that I sure didn't like the way she looked, but to my surprise it really didn't matter as much as I had thought it would. And, I reminded myself, the accident, dreadful as it was, had brought Mary an' me together.

  In the absence of Mary, Uncle Charlie took over the kitchen duties again. His cooking wasn't near as good as it used to be. I suppose there were times I might've even been tempted to complain a bit-but I wasn't noticing much what I was putting in my stomach anyway. I was far too busy thinking of Mary.

  Every day that I was able to finish up my work early enough, I chugged over in my beat-up Ford to call on her. I brought her field flowers that I knew she admired. I kept finding little things in town to bring a shine to her eyes. I picked the produce from her garden and toted it over so that she and Lilli could can it for fall. I tucked a member of the new litter of kittens in my shirt as soon as its mama had weaned it and took it over to Mary as a surprise. I brought news of Grandpa and Uncle Charlie and shared bits of information about the farm and clippings on garden care from the farm paper. And we spent hours just talking-about our plans, our dreams, our goals, and getting to know each other better.

  I was hoping for a fall wedding. Just as soon as the harvest was in and the fall work was done. But I hadn't yet mentioned that to Mary. I was waiting for just the right time. It seemed to me that the right time would be somewhere in the first part of August-after the haying was done and before I went full tilt into harvest. That would give me time to shop carefully for a ring-maybe even go into Crayton. It would also give Mary time to make her wedding plans after she had said yes.

  But before all that could take place, I had to ask her pa for Mary's hand in marriage. I wasn't worried about the prospect. I was confident that Mr. Turley would not hesitate in giving us his blessing. He had already indicated as much on more than one occasion. Still, I planned to fit in with all of the social obligations and do my courting in the proper fashion.

  I fervently hoped and prayed that all the farm work would move along properly so that as much of my time as possible could be spent with Mary and so that none of the fall work would delay our plans. Things did go along quite well until we hit mid-July. I had been sweating over the haying, hurrying it up so that I might pass on to the next stage of the work. Just getting from one task to the next seemed to somehow hurry the days along until I could be with Mary.

  But rain stopped the scheduled progress. Gazing at the foreboding sky, I sensed it was going to be more than just a shower. I felt awfully agitated as I steered the tractor through the gate and headed for its shed. I cast another look at the sky. From one horizon to the other, dark, ominous clouds hung above me with no break in sight.

  I thumped a fist against the steering wheel. The dumb weather is going to go and throw everything off schedule! I fumed.

  I did the chores in a sullen mood and went in for supper. Uncle Charlie was serving up his tasteless stew-again. I couldn't help but think of Mary's cooking. The roasts, the biscuits, the gravy. Then my eyes noticed big pieces of peach pie sitting on the counter.

  "Where'd the pie come from?" I asked, knowing without asking that it wasn't Uncle Charlie's doing.

  "Mary brought it over. She came to pick the beets"

  Mary had been here-and hadn't even waited to see me.

  "She was goin' to take ya some lunch in the field, but thet dark cloud came up an' she knew she had to beat it home;' explained Grandpa.

  I nodded then, simmering down some.

  I ate the stew, all the time thinking ahead to that pie. It was just as good as I knew it would be. My longing for Mary increased with each mouthful, not because of the pie itself. It was just a reminder of how much I missed her.

  After supper I sorta kicked around. I helped with the dishes, noticing how careless we were about keeping the big, black stove shined up. I made a hopeless botch of sewing a patch on my faded overalls. I tried reading the farm magazine, but the words wouldn't sink into my thick skull. Finally I gave up. Scooping up Pixie, I headed upstairs for bed. But I couldn't sleep. I just kept thinking about Mary. Pixie seemed to know that something was bothering me. She licked at my hand and whimpered softly.

  "Sorry, Old Timer;" I said, swallowing my frustration. "I just miss her. So much. I know that courtin' is s'posed to be a special time-yet I keep thinkin' that if it wasn't for courtin; she could be here now where she belongs-with us. I don't know how much longer I can stand this-this waiting:'

  It wasn't that Pixie was unsympathetic-but she was getting old. I guess she figured that she deserved a good sleep even if I couldn't manage one. She took one lick at my cheek and then excused herself, settling in at her customary spot at the foot of the bed.

  I lay there in the darkness, hurt and lonely, angry with the rain that still relentlessly pounded the roof above my head. It's sl
owin' down everything, I reasoned unrationally. I'll have to wait even longer for Mary.

  The next day it continued to rain. I wanted to go to see Mary, but I decided my mood was so sour that I'd better keep to myself.

  In the evening I moped around again. I don't know how Grandpa and Uncle Charlie put up with me. Finally I motioned to Pixie and headed for bed.

  She didn't spend much time sympathizing that night. She must have figured it was my problem. After one lick on the cheek she found her way slowly to the foot of the bed and settled herself in with a deep sigh.

  I lay there listening to the wind and the rain and hating both of them along with my own feelings. I couldn't sleep. I tossed and turned and sweated and shivered by turn. Grandpa and Uncle Charlie finally went to bed. I saw the light pass by my door, and then I was in total darkness. At last I could stand it no longer. I crawled from bed and pulled my pants back on. I shrugged into my shirt and grabbed my socks and shoes. I knew I would be quieter going down the stairs barefoot.

  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 youthat'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 meanI 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"