Winter Is Not Forever Read online

  In the barn I was greeted by Chester, the beautiful bay that Grandpa and Uncle Charlie had surprised me with on my last birthday. I still couldn’t believe that such a horse was really mine. I patted his shining round rump and reached for the saddle. He nickered at me and rubbed his nose against my chest looking for a treat from my pocket.

  “Cut that out,” I scolded him. “You’ll mess my Sunday clothes!” But he didn’t care about that; he went right on sniffing and blowing. I moved so he couldn’t reach me and smoothed the blanket for the saddle.

  I walked Chester out of the barn, closed the door securely, and mounted. Chester was eager to be on the road, even if I had forgotten to bring him his sugar lump or bit of apple. I had to rein him in to keep him from leaving the farmyard on a dead run. Grandpa didn’t take too kindly to running animals, but it sure was tempting when I was up on Chester. He loved to run, and his strong legs and smooth body fairly trembled with excitement whenever he was turned toward the road.

  It was a warm spring night. The sun was still lighting my way, but I knew that by the time I returned home it would be dark. Chester could find his way back to his stall in total darkness if need be, but it would be nicer traveling by moonlight. Only a few carelessly drifting clouds crossed the sky; the moon should give some light later on.

  My thoughts turned back to the social, and I wondered if there would be any new young people there. Wouldn’t it be something if Camellia decided to come! Maybe if more of the girls her age … I thought. But there were several girls Camellia’s age who attended, and that had never influenced her before. Nothing, in fact, seemed to influence Camellia in favor of coming to church.

  As I began going over the list of who might be in attendance, my eagerness to get there increased. Chester must have sensed my feelings, for before I knew it we were racing down the dusty road at a reckless pace. I reined Chester in, and he snorted in disgust. He tossed his head and pranced along the roadway, fighting against the bit while I busied myself trying to brush the dust from my dress clothes.

  In spite of my intentions to be there early, young people were already milling about when I entered the churchyard. I tied Chester securely and called out hellos as I hurried to the parsonage to see if I could help Aunt Lou with any last-minute preparations.

  “Josh!” she called out excitedly. “Good to see you! How are things at the farm?”

  Aunt Lou always greeted me as though we hadn’t seen one another for months, when the fact was that I had left town to stay at the farm only the day before.

  “Fine,” I responded. “Just fine. How are you?”

  Aunt Lou looked down at her expanding front. She placed a hand tenderly on the growing baby and smiled at me.

  “We are both just fine, aren’t we, honey?” she said to her unborn child.

  I smiled. Aunt Lou talked to her baby all the time. I was used to it by now. And she did look fine—her eyes shone and her cheeks glowed.

  “Is there anything I can do to help?” I asked.

  “Everything is already done. Nat is over at the church and we carried all of the refreshments over earlier.”

  “I’m sorry I was so late—” I began, but Aunt Lou stopped me.

  “You’re not late. Everyone else is just early. Impatient to get started, I guess. My, how this group has grown! I hardly know how much food to fix anymore.”

  I could tell by the smile on Aunt Lou’s face that she was pleased to have such a problem.

  We walked the short distance across the churchyard together. Other young people were arriving, calling excitedly back and forth.

  I was lounging on the outside steps talking to some of the fellas when a rig rounded the corner and headed our way. At first I thought it must be someone new, and then I recognized Willie. Willie never drove; he always rode horseback, same as me. It was Willie, all right—and he wasn’t alone, either.

  For a moment none of us spoke. We just stood there gawking as Willie climbed down and tied the horse, and then reached a hand up to help a girl step down. She was wearing a full-skirted pink dress and she had her hair piled up on her head with little curls spilling down here and there. She looked familiar, yet I couldn’t place her. Willie had tied his horse some distance away from the steps where we waited. We all stood there, straining to figure out who Willie was with.

  “By jingo!” hissed Tom Newton, “it’s Mary Turley—an’ all dolled up, too.”

  It can’t be, I thought. Surely he wasn’t serious! But, sure enough, there was ol’ Willie leading Mary Turley up the walkway to the church.

  I wanted to laugh, to howl at Willie. My first impulse was to slap him on the back and tease him some, but I didn’t. I stood there quietly and watched.

  Mary had certainly changed! And so had Willie—he was so spiffed up and shining I scarcely knew him. And he seemed so gentlemanly and grown-up too. All of us were put to silence by it all, and I bet other fellas besides me were wondering why we hadn’t thought of inviting Mary ourselves.

  Mary smiled shyly at us as she brushed by, and Willie gave me just the slightest wink. I was sure no one else had seen it, but I caught it, just as I caught that twinkle in his eye.

  Avery gave me a hard jab in the ribs that made me gasp for air, and then we all shuffled and moved on the steps and made an about-face as we followed Willie and Mary into the church.

  We found some places to sit. As usual, the girls sorta lined up in the seats on the south side of the building and the fellas took the seats on the north. All except Willie, that is. He seated Mary alongside Martha Ingrim, but instead of coming over to the boys, he sat down right beside her!

  Uncle Nat took charge of the meeting, calling it to order by welcoming everyone and having first-timers introduced. There was another new girl from town too, but she had come with Thelma and Virginia Brown, so none of us paid much attention.

  Then Willie introduced Mary. He spoke clearly and without embarrassment. I couldn’t help but marvel at the way he handled it.

  “This is Mary Turley,” he said. “Mary lives out our way. We—Josh and I, and several others here—went to school with Mary for a number of years.”

  As we played some games, there was some mixing up of the seating, and Willie and Mary got separated. But Mary seemed to be having a good time. I was glad to see that she felt at home among us.

  I had always thought of Mary as a plain girl, and maybe she really was, but tonight she was pretty in her own way. She had a smile that drew smiles in return, and her eyes were deep and intense. Her manner kept my eyes wandering back to her. She seemed so grown-up and self-assured compared to most of the girls I knew.

  And then I remembered why I hadn’t seen much of Mary for the last several years. Her ma had been sick, and Mary had needed to take over the running of the household and the cooking of the meals. She hadn’t been able to go on to school in town like she had wanted to. I hadn’t given it much thought when I heard about it. But now, looking at Mary, I realized she had likely done more growing up than the rest of us who hadn’t borne similar responsibilities.

  Not at all somber or morose, she laughed and enjoyed the games as much as anyone at the social, but she did carry the air of one who had learned a good measure of self-assurance.

  After the games were over, Uncle Nat brought out his guitar and we gathered in a circle and sang every hymn we knew by heart. Mary didn’t seem to know many of the words, but she listened in appreciation and once or twice I noticed her small foot tapping in time with the music. Though I wasn’t sitting close enough to her to be sure, I had the feeling that she was humming right along.

  When Aunt Lou served refreshments, Mary volunteered her help. I was busy pouring the punch, so we exchanged a few pleasantries. I asked about her ma, feeling apologetic that I hadn’t taken more of an interest sooner. Mary smiled when she told me that her ma was much better—even able to be back in her own kitchen again.

  I thought of Mrs. Turley and that big kitchen. I well remembered the day
that Willie, Avery, and I stopped by on the way back from our hike along the creek. We were half-starved, and Mrs. Turley’s well-stocked kitchen had about saved our lives. I remembered Mary too, a rather gangly, freckle-faced girl at the time. I never would have dreamed that she would become the well-poised young lady that I saw before me now.

  “I’m glad about your ma,” I assured her.

  “Me, too,” said Mary. “It was hard to see her so sick.”

  There was no mention about the hard years that she had put in being housekeeper and nursemaid. She just seemed to have a sincere appreciation that her ma was feeling better.

  “Maybe you can come to our next social,” I dared venture.

  “I’d love to,” responded Mary and I could tell by her shining eyes that she really meant it. I wanted Mary to be a part of our Youth Group. I wanted her to feel welcome.Yet she really wasn’t a believer, and I couldn’t help but question Willie’s actions. Here he was courting a girl who was not a Christian, and I—I had to give up my relationship with Camellia for that very reason. It didn’t seem fair somehow, and yet I had no doubts about Willie and his commitment to his faith. Still—was Willie taking chances going out with a non-Christian girl? My line of reasoning directed my thoughts to Camellia and they lingered there, remembering her sparkling eyes, her long, burnished tresses. She was the prettiest girl I had ever seen. If only—but my thoughts were interrupted by Aunt Lou’s call for me to refill the punch glasses.

  CHAPTER 3

  Great News

  ALL THE NEXT WEEK we had glorious spring weather, and folks began talking about spring fever. I don’t know exactly what kind of fever hit me, but I had an awful time concentrating on my studies.

  Final exams were just a few weeks away, and our grades on those finals could have a great deal to do with our being accepted into college. Maybe that was why I was having such a difficult time. Most of the others already had a college picked and a vocation to pursue as well. Daily, it seemed, someone asked me, “What are your plans, Josh?” and I would mumble, red-faced, that I still hadn’t decided for sure.

  For sure? That made it sound like I had several considerations. The truth was, I was about as far from knowing what the future held for me as I had been on the first day I climbed the steps of the schoolhouse.

  I avoided folks as much as I could. I didn’t want to answer any questions when I still didn’t really have an answer.

  As a result, I hung around home a lot. I pretended to be studying, and Aunt Lou and Uncle Nat certainly approved of that. I was trying, but my mind just didn’t seem to want to stay with the books.

  On one particularly lovely spring evening, when the fragrant smell of early spring blossoms wafted in my open window, making it even more difficult to concentrate, I sat at my small desk trying hard to think through the math computations before me, but my mind refused to deal with the equations.

  My thoughts insisted on flitting about. Graduation was getting nearer with each passing day. I thought of my future still unplanned, as far as I could see. I thought of Camellia and her intention to leave for distant New York and her training in Interior Design. How would she ever manage in such a big, indifferent city? How could her father sanction such a venture?

  The soft spring breeze brought a fresh whisper of fragrance to my nose and reminded me of the roses along the creek bank every springtime. I could picture the young blades of greenery poking their slim heads through the soil. I could almost smell the freshness of the gently flowing water and hear the splash of a fish breaking the surface to snatch at a fly, then slip back into the coolness of the stream again.

  The call of the creek turned my thoughts to Gramps. I still hadn’t gotten used to his being gone. Each time that I went home to the farm I found myself searching for signs of him. The empty chair at the table looked too forlorn, the place where his worn farm sweater had hung looked bare and dejected, the padded chair by the well-lit kitchen window where he sat to read his Bible and work his crossword puzzles looked far too lonely.

  I wouldn’t have wished him back; I knew that. He had gone to a far better place than his dwelling here had been. But even that thought did not erase the ache I carried around with me.

  Even though I stayed here in town during the week with Aunt Lou and Uncle Nat, I loved the farm. I loved the soil. I treasured the spot that held my roots buried so deeply. I loved the springtime and the planting of the seeds. I loved the summer as we watched the green begin to appear and then mature as the weeks passed by. I loved the autumn, when it was so evident that God was good and was again supplying the needs of His people.

  Even the winter months were enjoyable. I loved the frosty mornings when the steam rose from the pail of warm milk I carried from the barn to the house. I loved the smell of the warm straw I spread out to bed down Bossie or one of her stallmates. I loved the soft mewing of the barn cats as they coaxed for their morning breakfast of warm, fresh milk.

  The farm was a good place to be. I guess I loved most everything about it.

  And then I thought again of Grandpa and Uncle Charlie, and suddenly a new thought occurred to me. What would happen to the farm when they were no longer able to care for it? I had never thought about it before; I just assumed that they would always be there, farming, just like they had been doing ever since I could recollect. But of course they wouldn’t. Couldn’t. The quickly passing years were taking their toll on Grandpa and Uncle Charlie. They didn’t walk as erectly or as quickly as they used to. Even I could see that. And Uncle Charlie seemed to be faring a bit worse than Grandpa. I had noticed it the last time we had chored together. He was getting much slower in movement than he used to be, even a bit clumsy with his hands. I’d had to undo the knot that tied the gunny sack of grain. He had tried but couldn’t manage it.

  The thought of Uncle Charlie and Grandpa no longer able to carry on the farming made me restless and uneasy. I couldn’t imagine life without the farm. It didn’t matter if God called me to be a preacher in some far-off city or even a missionary, like Willie, to some distant land, I still wanted to think of the farm as home. I still wanted to be able to visit it when I had opportunity, to bring my family, if I ever had one, to feel the kinship with the soil and to watch things grow. I felt that my roots would always be there in that land that Grandpa had tilled ever since I could remember. To sever those roots would in some way be losing a part of me.

  My reverie was interrupted by a soft whine under my feet. “Pixie!” I said. “I didn’t know you were here. I haven’t been paying much attention to you, have I, girl?” The little dog wagged her tail happily and jumped into my lap. I snapped shut my math book and pushed it aside. I couldn’t study now. I needed a break. Pixie jumped down as I stood and stretched. “Maybe I’ll go to the kitchen for some of Aunt Lou’s cookies and a glass of milk.” I was about to leave the room when I sensed more than I actually heard a strange commotion in the kitchen.

  It wasn’t loud and it wasn’t hasty. It was just different somehow. I listened more carefully; for a time I heard nothing. Pixie ran to the door and barked softly; then I heard the quick, quiet step of Uncle Nat approaching my door. I stood motionless, my hand going up to push back the hair that flopped over my forehead.

  Uncle Nat didn’t even knock. He opened the door gently and poked in his head. He was wearing his hat, something that Uncle Nat didn’t usually do in the house.

  “Lou says it’s time, Josh,” he said in almost a whisper. “I’m going for Doc.”

  My mouth went dry and my breath seemed to catch in my chest. It was time. The very thought sent a shiver of fear running all through me. I had known all along that we would face this eventually, yet I still wasn’t prepared.

  For some reason the little unknown somebody that Aunt Lou had been carrying had seemed so safe and protected as long as her body enclosed it. But now it was time for this baby to enter the world—a world where sickness and dangers abounded. Would the little one make it? To face the loss of another baby w
ould be too much for any of us to bear.

  I wanted to run to Aunt Lou to assure myself that she was all right, but my feet refused to move. I tried swallowing, but my mouth was too dry. I felt like urging Uncle Nat to hurry, but I realized we had things rather backward.

  “I’ll run for Doc,” I managed to say. “You stay with Aunt Lou.”

  Uncle Nat didn’t argue. He stepped wordlessly aside so I could leave the room.

  I was almost to the kitchen door before he called softly after me, “No need to run, Josh. Lou says there is lots of time.”

  I heard him, but I was already running by the time I had reached the back door. By the time I left the parsonage yard I was in full stride.

  All the way to Doc’s house I prayed urgently for Aunt Lou. I prayed for the new baby. I prayed that Doc wouldn’t be out in the country somewhere on a house call.

  By the time I reached Doc’s front door I was breathing hard. I rapped loudly and stepped back to wait. I could hear movement inside, and that was encouraging. Doc answered the door himself and didn’t even make a comment when he saw me standing there, my sides heaving from running. He just reached to the hat tree by the door to retrieve his hat and picked up his black bag from the small table, all in one motion, and called out to his wife that he would be at the parsonage, and we were gone.

  We didn’t run. Doc’s slower pace frustrated me, and I found it hard to match his methodical stride, but I did try. We walked in silence until Doc seemed to feel I had enough breath to talk.

  “When did the contractions start?” he asked me.

  “I dunno,” I admitted dumbly. “Uncle Nat just came to my room and said it’s time.”

  “Did Lou have supper with you?” Doc asked further. “She—she—” I thought back. “She was at table with us, but she didn’t eat much. Just sorta pushed her food around on her plate.”