GRANDMA'S ATTIC SERIES (4 page)

Grandma laughed and put the soup and homemade bread on the table. "I guess you're right. Names aren't as important as some other things you can know about a person. In fact, I can remember that our whole family did something like that once."

"You did? Tell me about it."

"It was right here on this farm," Grandma began "although this kitchen looked a lot different then. There was no electricity or running water, you know, and Ma had jus the wood stove to cook on."

Early one fall, Ma and I went to the woods to gather nuts. It was a beautiful day, and we took our time getting back.

When we got in sight of the house, Ma stopped and pointer toward the porch. "Now who could that be?"

There was no buggy in the yard, nor was there a horse in sight.

' "Whoever it is must have walked," I said. "Unless someone brought him and went away again."

By this time we could see that a rather elderly man was seated in Pa's chair, with an old black satchel beside him.

His coat was folded over his knees, and he seemed quite comfortable.

"Who is he, Ma? I can't remember seeing him before." "Neither do I," Ma said. "He must have come to see your Pa about something. Dear me. I wonder how long he's bee sitting there."

We hurried across the yard. As we neared the porch, the man stood up and smiled.

"I'm sorry we weren't here when you came," Ma said. I lave you been waiting long?"

"Oh, no," he replied. "Just a few minutes. It's nice here in the sun. Been pretty frosty these nights, hasn't it?"

"Yes, it has," Ma agreed. "Really fine weather for gathering nuts. Won't you come in, Mr....?"

"Thank you, ma'am. Yes, I will." He picked up his satchel and held the screen door open for us. Ma put the baskets on the table, and the man sat down by the fireplace.

"If you'll be good enough to bring me your ma's iron and hammer, Missy," he said to me, "I'd be pleased to shell those nuts for you."

Ma looked startled. "Oh, you don't need to work. I'm sure Pa will be in very soon."

"I don't mind a bit," our visitor declared. "It would be a pleasure."

So I brought the old black iron that Ma had heated on the wood stove, and the man sat and cracked the nuts we had gathered. From time to time, Ma glanced at him with a puzzled look on her face. He had said nothing to indicate what his business was, but we presumed that Pa would kow.

As we worked around the kitchen getting ready for supper, the old man talked about the weather, the beauty of the woods behind the house, and the extraordinary quality of the nuts this year.

After a while, I followed Ma into the pantry. "Shall I a.sk him his name, Ma?" I whispered.

"I should say not!" Ma replied. "That wouldn't be polite. Pa will be in any minute now. He will tell us who that man soon enough."

As it happened, Ma was in the cellar when Pa and the boys finally came in from the barn. The old gentleman stood up and held out his hand.

"Howdy, sir," he said. "This sure has been a beautiful day to work in the fields, hasn't it?"

"Yes," Pa agreed. "It has been a good day."

Reuben and Roy stared at the man until Pa nudged they forward. "Shake hands, boys," he said, "then get washed for supper."

By the time Ma returned from the cellar, Pa and the visitor were discussing the crops and the possibility of hard winter.

"The Lord has been good to you to give you two fine sons to help you here," the old man said.

"Yes," Pa agreed, "He has blessed us. We have a good farm and a comfortable home. The Lord has promised that His children should lack for nothing, and we haven't. We thank Him for that."

"And Missy too. I daresay she's a big help to her ma. You go to school, do you?" the stranger asked me.

"Yes, sir. I can read almost as well as the boys can." "That's what you . . ." Roy started to say, but Reuben kicked his foot under the table, and he didn't finish.

"Can you now?" the man said. "I just happen to have a book in my satchel that you could read to us. How would you like that?"

That suited me just fine. I loved to read, and we didn't have many books come our way. As soon as the dishes were cleared away, we all sat around the fireplace. Pa led us in our evening prayers, and our visitor joined in, asking God's blessing on this fine family.

The boys were not anxious to hear me read, but curiosity kept them there as the visitor opened his bag and felt around inside.

"Ah! Here it is." He pulled out a slender, leather-bound volume and handed it to me. Ma took up her sewing, and Pa and the boys sat back to listen. I opened the book and began to read. "Poems by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow."

I turned the page eagerly. "Under a spreading chestnut tree/The village smithy stands...."

Long before it seemed possible, the fire began to die down, and the lamp flickered.

"Why! Would you look at what time it is!" Ma exclaimed.

"You children must get to bed."

"Oh, can't we finish the book, Ma?" I begged. "It won't take too much longer, and I like these poems."

The boys agreed and pleaded to stay up longer.

"Not tonight," Pa said firmly. "We all need to be getting our sleep. Tomorrow is another day."

Reluctantly, the boys headed for the upstairs, and I went to my room.

"I sure do thank you for your hospitality," the man said to Pa. "It was mighty nice of you to have me. I hope it's no bother."

"No bother at all," Pa boomed. "You're welcome, I'm sure. Now you just take your satchel into the back room."

Pa escorted the old man to his room, then returned to the living room where Ma was banking the fire for the night.

"Really, Pa," she said. "I think you might have told us what his name was."

Pa stopped still in the middle of the room and looked at Ma in amazement. "You mean you don't know who that man is?"

"Why, no," Ma said. "I thought he came to see you."

"I never saw him until this afternoon," Pa declared. "I supposed he was someone the preacher had sent to spend the night."

Pa sat down at the table and stared at Ma. "Didn't he say anything at all about where he's from or how he happened to be here?"

Ma shook her head. "He acted as if he knew us, and we were expecting him. I don't think he ever did call us by name, though."

"Well, can you beat that," Pa said. "I never heard of such a thing. What do we do now?"

They agreed that it would not do to knock on his room door and say, "Who are you?" Neither could they ask where he came from and how long he was staying, since presumably they should already have known that. Finally it was agreed to wait until morning and see if there would be a hint to the stranger's identity.

"Perhaps he is the 'angel unaware' that the Bible speaks of," Pa said. "We certainly have had a pleasant evening."

The next morning, I came into the kitchen just as Reuben turned from the barn.

"What are you doing back so soon?" Ma asked him.

"Pa didn't need me," Reuben replied. "The visitor has the milking almost done. He told Pa he has to leave right after breakfast. Who is he, anyway, Ma?"

"I wish I knew," Ma sighed. "I don't even know how I can find out without being rude."

"I'd just ask him," I declared. "I'd just say, 'What's your name?'

"I'm sure you would," Ma said. "But that's hardly the polite thing to do. You'd better turn your talents to setting the table for breakfast."

During the meal, the stranger spoke of the fine evening we had spent together and thanked us for sharing our home with him. As he rose to leave, he reached into his pocket, took out the small book we had been reading, and handed it to me.

"Here, Missy," he said. "I want you to have this as remembrance. It was a pleasure to hear you read it."

We stood on the porch and watched the old man as he trudged down the lane. At the gate, he turned and waved to us.

"Well," Ma said, "we don't know anymore now than we ever did."

"Maybe he put his name in the book," Reuben suggested I looked, and found that the stranger had written, "From a friend. October, 1880."

That was all.'

"Didn't you ever find out who he was?" I asked. 'He wasn't a tramp, was he?"

"No." Grandma laughed. "He wasn't a tramp. Pa did find out about him later. He was an uncle of our neighbor Ed Hobbs, and was on his way to the southern part of the state.

Mr. Hobbs had told him that he was sure the O'Dells would welcome him for a night. Mrs. Hobbs was to let Ma know he was coming, but somehow everyone thought somebody else had taken care of it, and nobody had. That never could happen in the city, because we're more careful about strangers."

Grandma began to clear the table. "We miss a lot by not being able to trust everyone like we did back then."

I pressed my nose against the kitchen window to watch the snow fall in big flakes past the glass.

"Do you think we will be snowed in, Grandma?" I asked.

Grandma came over and looked out the window. "Probably not. If the wind comes up tonight the snow may drift around the house, but it isn't deep enough to keep us snowbound. It doesn't seem to snow as much as it did when I was a little girl. I can remember walking on frozen snow as high as the fence tops."

"Really? I never saw that much snow. That must have been lots of fun!"

"It was, as long as you didn't hit a soft spot and fall in. Then you could be in snow over your head, and you'd need help to climb out."

"I wish it would do that again," I said. "I can't think of anything more fun than being snowed in."

"Well, I can think of a few things more fun," Grandma replied, "but there probably isn't anything much more exciting. There are a lot of things to take care of on a farm if
you know you can't get out for a while. I remember one snowstorm when things almost got out of hand around here."
It was in the early spring, and the ground had been clear for several weeks. We thought that winter was over, and it would soon be warm. One morning when it was still dark Pa came in from the barn.

' "Boys," he said to Reuben and Roy, "I'll need your help after breakfast to get extra feed down for the animals. I smell a storm in the air."

"What does a storm smell like, Pa?" I asked him.

Pa looked puzzled. "I guess I can't tell you that. It's something you just know when you've lived in the country all your life."

"I've lived in the country all my life," I replied, "and I don't remember ever smelling a storm."

Roy looked at me in disgust. "What do you know about anything? You probably wouldn't know a storm if you got caught in it."

"I would so," I retorted. "I'm as smart as you are!"

"Enough," Pa said. "We've heard all this before. Let's eat and get to work."

After breakfast, Pa and the boys departed for the barn, and Ma and I started to clean up the kitchen. As it began to get light, I looked out the window. This day looked as nice as the ones before it.

"Pa must have smelled wrong," I said. "It's too nice to storm."

"He may have," Ma laughed, "but I wouldn't count on it. He's a pretty good weatherman."

As the morning wore on, it began to look as though Pa was going to be right. Clouds came in, and by dinnertime it was almost as dark as evening.

"We'll get extra wood after dinner," Pa announced. "And it might be well to bring the rope from the barn."

I knew what that was for. Pa had a long, heavy rope that he tied to the barn door and stretched along the path to the kitchen door. In a heavy blizzard it was sometimes hard to see the barn from the house, and the rope was a guide to go out and feed the animals.

Before dinner was over, it had begun to snow hard. When they finished eating, Pa and the boys went back out. Ma hurriedly cleared the table, then put on her heavy

sweater.

"I'm going to the cellar, Mabel," she said. "I think I'd better bring up some canned goods and vegetables before, the snow covers the doors. Would you mind starting the dishes? I'll help as soon as I get back."

Ma took a large basket with her and opened the back door. Immediately it was pulled out of her hands and banged against the house.

"Mercy! Come and close the door, please, Mabel. This is turning into a real blizzard."

And indeed it was. After Ma left, I stood at the window an watched her struggle to get the cellar door open. She finally managed to get one side up, and apparently deciding that was enough, she disappeared into the cellar. I watched the storm for a few minutes, then reluctantly started the dishes.

Sometime later Pa came around the corner of the house and seeing the cellar door open, muttered something about those careless boys, and closed the door. When he brought a load of wood into the kitchen, he stopped to warm his hands over the stove.

"Where's Ma?" he asked me.

"She went to get some vegetables. She said she'd be right back to help me with the dishes."

Pa nodded and went out again. He and the boys brought in load after load of wood; then they began to carry in water Pa stopped again by the stove.

"What's the matter here? The fire is dying down. Where's Ma?"

"I told you, Pa," I answered. "She went to get some vegetables. She sure has been gone a long time. I've had to wash all these dishes alone."

Suddenly Pa looked horrified. "Vegetables! You mean Ma went to the cellar for vegetables? Why didn't you say so?"

He dashed out the door and down the stairs to the cellar, leaving me saying "I thought you knew!" to an empty kitchen.

In a moment they were back, with Pa carrying the basket, and Ma rubbing her hands together and stamping the snow from her feet.

"That cellar is not the warmest place on the farm," she said. "I'd rather have been shut in the barn if you were going to leave me locked up all afternoon. I'll probably catch my death of foolishness."

And sure enough, by evening Ma was feverish and beginning to cough.

"I'm sorry, Maryanne," Pa said anxiously. "That was a terrible thing for me to do. I was in such a hurry I just didn't think."

"Don't worry about it," Ma said hoarsely. "It'll probably be just a slight cold. I'll get to bed early, and it will be all better by morning."