Once Upon a Summer (20 page)
Finally we reached the door. Grandpa went first, shook the pastor’s hand firmly and said the usual. Uncle Charlie did likewise. Gramps was next. He, too, shook the reverend’s hand firmly but jest said, “God bless, young man. God bless.” I kinda thought that the pastor liked that better than all those flowery speeches that he’d heard.
Auntie Lou was jest ahead of me. She stepped forward and accepted the pastor’s hand—and then she proceeded to shock me half to death.
“Reverend Crawford,” she said softly and controlled. “You said that you’d favor our house with a return visit when the
hostess
asked you. Could you come for dinner next Sunday?”
The pastor’s face dropped.
“Mrs. Peterson has asked me for next Sunday. I’m—”
“Then the Sunday after?”
“Mrs. Corbin—”
“And then?”
“The Hallidays.”
Both of them looked a bit miserable.
“I see.” Auntie Lou looked about to move on, then she collected herself and smiled. “I
did
appreciate your sermon.”
“Thank you.” He looked directly at Auntie Lou, takin’ in her creamy dress, pretty hair-do and blue eyes. It was then that I realized that he still held her hand. I guess that they realized it about then, too, for Lou flushed and quickly withdrew it; the parson sort of cleared his throat, embarrassed-like.
Lou moved to walk on by but he quickly stopped her.
“Wait,” he said.
She turned.
“Does it
have
to be on a Sunday. I mean, people eat every day of the week, say Monday? Tuesday? Friday?”
Lou smiled. “Of course.” She sounded almost apologetic for bein’ so dumb as not to have thought of it herself.
The pastor smiled, too, seeming tremendously relieved about something.
“Friday at six?” offered Lou.
“Friday.”
He beamed at her and very briefly touched her hand again.
Auntie Lou returned his smile, then turned to go.
It was my turn now. I was sure that after all that, he wouldn’t even notice me, but he did.
“Josh. Good to see you. How’s Pixie?”
I muttered something that I hoped was at least sensible, even if not intelligent, and pulled away to follow my family.
Somethin’ was brewin’. I could feel it in my bones, but I couldn’t put my finger on it yet. Whatever it was, I didn’t think I liked it.
GRANDPA HAD TO MAKE a trip to town on Monday so he inquired if I’d like to go along. I asked if it would be okay to take Pixie, and Grandpa agreed with a smile. He said that he’d bring the dog and pick me up at school to save ourselves a little time.
As soon as class was dismissed I was off out the door, and sure enough, Grandpa was there waitin’. The kids gathered round for a look at Pixie and I showed her off a bit; then everyone who lived along the direction that we were goin’ crawled in the wagon and we set off, scatterin’ our passengers at the various farm sites along the way. It was a fun trip and I think that Grandpa enjoyed it almost as much as I.
There really wasn’t anything much that I needed to do in town, so I asked Grandpa if I could take a run over to the Sankeys to let Pixie see her mama. He said that it would be fine, but not to be too long, so I set off.
I never did get there though. I had to pass the parsonage where the preacher lived, and it just so happened that as I was headin’ by, the preacher pulled up on his horse. He seemed to think that I’d come around just to see him, and he grinned from ear to ear.
“Hi there, Josh—and you, too, Pixie,” he added. “Right glad that I didn’t miss you. Just let me put Big Jim away and we’ll rustle up some milk and cookies.”
I swallowed my reply that I was on my way to the Sankeys— it wasn’t like I had to go or something—and tagged along to the barn.
I felt that I should make some kind of comment, so I looked him over—he was wearin’ his preacher clothes. I said, “Been callin’?”
“Been over to see the Corbins—that’s where I got the cookies.”
“Pastor White jest used to call on Tuesdays and Thursdays— unless,” I added quickly, “it was an emergency.”
“We’ll call this an emergency then. Mrs. Corbin hasn’t been feeling too well. She wasn’t able to be in church yesterday. But I do want to call on all my parishioners just as soon as I can; I plan to visit as many homes as possible this week and next.”
He carefully looked after Big Jim, rubbin’ him down and givin’ him some hay.
“I’ll give him water and his chop in about an hour or so,”
he said. We headed for the house.
“Do you mind, Josh, if I just grab my wash off the line on my way by?”
“Not at all. I’d help you iffen I didn’t need to hang onto Pixie.”
He asked for an up-to-date report on Pixie’s training as he gathered the clothes, and I told him about all her tricks and the next one that I planned to work on. He was anxious for me to show him just how she was doin’, and I guess that I was a bit eager, too.
He opened the door and let me precede him into the house. It wasn’t blessed with very much furniture, but everything there was shiny clean. He laid his laundry carefully on the table and went about gettin’ the milk and cookies.
I received my glass and reached for a couple of cookies from the plate. He took a drink of milk and went right on workin’. He matched his socks and rolled them up together. I noticed that most of the pairs had been mended—some of them many times. He came to a pair with a small hole in one toe and laid them aside.
“Guess I’d better take care of that one before I wear it again.”
He laughed. “Holes in socks are sorta like sin, Josh. If you don’t tend to them right away when they’re small and controllable, they grow with amazing speed.”
“You mend your own socks?”
“Sure do—socks, shirts, pants, you name it.”
“Don’t ya hate it?”
He laughed again.
“Can’t say that I rightly enjoy it, but I learned long ago that nothing gets easier or any more fun by putting it off.”
“How long ago?”
“Have to think on that. I was twelve when my father died. Pa had been sick a fair while, and by the time he passed away, we had used up all of the living that he had set by. Mama wouldn’t have him fretting if she could help it, so she quietly sold anything that she could slip from the house without his noticing. After Pa died, my ma had to take in wash to make enough to get by on. I did the collecting and delivering and even some of the scrubbing, as well as any other small jobs that I could find.
“Mama was a very proud and independent woman. And, my pa’s cousin lived nearby—big man, big family, but not much energy. His place was unkempt and rundown, and a bit on the dirty side. Mama vowed that no matter how poor we were, our place would never look like that—not as long as she could still draw a breath. So, we both worked hard.
“It was my dream to be a preacher. I saw so many people who were hurting. God had laid His call on my heart when I was a very young boy—and I discussed it with both of my folks. Before my pa died he called both Mama and me in. ‘Son,’ he said, ‘I know it looks a little dark right now, but if God truly wants you in His work, don’t give up—there’ll come a way.’ I assured him that I wouldn’t, and slipped out so that he and Mama could have those last minutes alone. Besides, I wanted to get away where I could cry.
“Everytime Mama could lay aside a few extra dollars from her washing, she would order another book for me to read—‘to keep the vision fresh,’ she would say.
“She was a great little woman, my mama. I’m proud to be her son. She used to worry that I had to become a man at twelve years of age, but looking back now I believe that it was all in God’s plan. I had to grow up—to be able to make tough decisions quickly—to learn the importance of following through on one’s responsibilities.
“When I was sixteen Mama died and I sold our little house in town and went away to school. I managed to find work—most of the time, and I finally made it. It took me a little longer than some of my fellow students, but God saw me through—just like Pa had said He would.”
He was silent for a while; then he looked at me with a queer kind of smile.
“Did a funny thing when I finished, Josh. I took that diploma that I was given, stating me to be a preacher, and I used the last few dollars that I had, to have a weather-proof frame put on it—and then I went back to my old hometown and mounted it on a stake right there between the grave markers of my ma and pa.”
As he looked at me I saw a lone tear in his eye. For some reason I felt that I wanted to cry, too.
“Does that sound crazy, Josh?”
I just shook my head and swallowed hard. “I ain’t even ever thought of anything that I could do for my ma and pa.”
“Your ma and pa loved the Lord, Josh?”
I nodded.
“Then the greatest thing that you could ever do for them would be to love and serve the Lord, too.”
“S’pose,” I said rather hesitantly, for a funny, uncomfortable gnawin’ was busy workin’ on my insides. I felt I had to get out of there, but right at that time the parson finished foldin’ the last of the clothes and changed the subject so completely that I was soon at ease again.
“Now then, let’s see what Pixie can do.”
The next few minutes went very quickly, I put Pixie through her paces, and the parson rewarded her each time that she performed with a nibble of one of his cookies. He gave me a few pointers on how to work on her next trick—dancin’ on her hind legs. Then I suddenly noticed the clock. I said that I had to rush or Grandpa would be waitin’, scooped up Pixie and yelled back a thank-you. I left on the run.
I reached the wagon, pantin’, and was pleased to see that Grandpa wasn’t sittin’ up top, twistin’ the reins and frownin’. I crawled up and flopped down on the bit of hay that lay on the wagon bottom, hopin’ to be over my puffin’ by the time Grandpa showed up.
I didn’t have long to wait. I heard Grandpa’s voice comin’ toward the wagon. He was talkin’ to someone.
It turned out to be Mr. Brown, the deacon from our church.
They were talkin’ weather and then jest as they neared the wagon, the tone changed.
“I was thinkin’ on droppin’ over this evenin’, Daniel.”
“Got something on yer mind?” This was Grandpa.
“Don’t rightly know what to think. My wife’s brother from Edsell County dropped by t’other day. Seems he knows the Crawford family fairly well.”
“Ya mean the parson’s?”
“Well—yeah. He don’t recall a Nathaniel, but he says there’s so many kids that he never could git ’em straight.”
“So?” Grandpa waited.
“Seems they’s not too highly thought of. Shiftless, lazy, dirty—even rowdy—not much account. He couldn’t believe that one of ’em ever decided to be a preacher.”
“How long has he knowed ’em?”
“Five years—ever since he moved in.”
“Maybe he has the wrong family.”
“Only one there. Had been another but he and his wife are both buried there.”
“So what ya thinkin’?”
“Seems strange to me. I don’t know what to think. Henry suggested that maybe this Nathaniel was a smart rascal that figured as how the ministry was an easy way to make a livin’ without workin’.”
“Don’t know much about the ministry then!”
Mr. Brown chuckled, then sobered and responded, “The ministry is what you make it, Daniel. Iffen you’re there to help people, you’re more than busy, but iffen ya want to coast, I reckon ya could do jest that.”
Grandpa was silent a minute, then responded slowly. “Well, Lukus, I shore do hate to pass judgment on a man without givin’ him a chance. There could be some mix-up here.”
From my place in the hay I was hard put not to jump up and let him know the truth: that the parson was not from the same shiftless family; that he had worked hard and shouldered responsibility to get where he was. But I knew that to do so would be admittin’ eavesdroppin’ on an adult conversation right there in front of Deacon Brown, and I wasn’t sure how Grandpa would respond to that. I figured there would be plenty of opportunity later to casually mention to Grandpa my unplanned visit with the parson. I could then relate the things that we had talked about. I pulled Pixie close and sorta held my breath as well as my tongue.
Mr. Brown went on. “Must admit it has upset me some.”
“Now, now, Lukus. Even if he is one and the same, not all apples in the same barrel need be rotten you know. An’ we ain’t leavin’ any room fer the work of the Lord at all. He’s restored a lot of rotten apples. We both know that.”
“ ’Course,” said Mr. Brown, “ ’course. Jest thought that we should be aware and sorta keep our eyes and ears open fer signs, that’s all.”
Mrs. Brown yoohooed from down the street and Mr. Brown excused himself. As he turned to go, Grandpa said softly, “And Lukus, I see no need for this to pass on any further than jest to us two—at least fer the present.” I could hear Grandpa gatherin’ the reins and preparin’ to climb up onto the wagon seat.
I got a sudden inspiration and decided to act asleep. I heard Grandpa exclaim and then chuckle when he spotted Pixie and me. He spread a couple of gunny sacks over us and then clucked to the team and we were on our way.
I peeked a look once or twice. I could see that what Mr. Brown had said truly bothered Grandpa. Sure he was willin’ to give a man a fair chance, but even so, he was human, too, and some seeds of doubt had been sown.
I supposed that I was the only one around, beside the preacher himself, who knew the real truth, but it didn’t seem too wise an idea for me to share my knowledge at the moment. I felt all mixed up—wantin’ to defend the preacher and yet not knowin’ quite how, all at the same time. I’d have to sort it out later.
I snuggled down under my gunny sack blanket and then I really did go to sleep, and slept soundly until we reached home.
I
HAD THOUGHT THAT
Auntie Lou was strange the week before, but she was doubly so that week. One minute she laughed, the next she fell into moody silence, fussin’ and fret-tin’ over any little thing. She polished and cleaned, and polished some more. Seemed that all of a sudden the whole place was awful dirty-like.