Once Upon a Summer Read Free

2

Changes
    A S WAS OFTEN his habit after our evening meal, Grandpa had me fetch his Bible so’s we could have what he called “family worship time.” I generally found it sort of borin’, listenin’ to all that stuff about “The Lord is my shepherd,” and other things that people wrote way back in ancient times.
    Grandpa’s mood seemed to be a little different that night while he read. I guess it was because of the letter from his pa. Anyway, it made me feel a bit strange, too, to see him feelin’ that way.
    The letter that Grandpa received was jest the first of the things to start causin’ me to feel a little uneasiness about life—the life of one Joshua Chadwick Jones in particular. The next upsetting thing happened that night after I had been sent to bed.
    Now I knew that my bedtime was s’posed to be at nine, but I never did go up when the clock said the time had arrived. I’d wait first to hear Grandpa say, “Bedtime, Boy,” then I’d wash myself in the basin by the door and slowly climb the stairs to my room.
    I always kinda figured that maybe some night Grandpa would become occupied with something and forget to watch the clock, but it never happened.
    Tonight Grandpa’s mind was busy elsewhere, I could tell that. He had read the letter to Auntie Lou and Uncle Charlie. Auntie Lou had put her arms around each of them and given them a warm hug as the tears formed in her eyes. Uncle Charlie hadn’t said much, but I was sure that he was busy sortin’ memories jest as Grandpa had done, and I felt a tug at my stomach again.
    As the hands of the clock crawled toward nine, I waited. If ever Grandpa was goin’ to miss his cue, tonight would be the night. But he didn’t. Promptly at nine he said, “Boy, it’s yer bedtime.” I let out a long sigh. I had been prepared to steal a little extra time like Bell had stolen the extra mouthfuls of summer grass—but it hadn’t worked.
    I went through my usual routine. As I headed for the stairs I heard Auntie Lou say, “I think I’ll go up now, too, Pa.” She leaned over and kissed Grandpa on the cheek. “Good-night, Uncle Charlie.” He nodded at her and Lou and I climbed the stairs together. As we climbed she let her hand rest on my shoulder.
    “Won’t be long,” she said, “until I’ll have to reach up to put my hand on yer shoulder. Yer really growin’, Josh. Look at those overalls—short again!”
    Auntie Lou made it sound like a real accomplishment to outgrow overalls, and I jest grinned.
    “ ’Night, Josh.”
    “ ’Night.”
    I settled into bed but I couldn’t get to sleep. I lay there twistin’ and turnin’, and inside I seemed to be twistin’ and turnin’, too. Finally I decided that a drink of water might help. Grandpa didn’t take too kindly to a boy using the drink excuse too often, but I reckoned that jest this once I oughta be able to get away with it.
    My room was the first one at the top of the stairs that came up from the kitchen. I knew that Grandpa and Uncle Charlie would be sitting at the kitchen table having a last cup of coffee before bed and talking over anything that needed talking over, or jest sitting there in companionable silence. I put on my most innocent little-boy expression and started down the stairs. A voice from below stopped me short.
    “ . . . it’s the only thing that can be done as fer as I can see.” It was Grandpa talkin’.
    I heard a sucking noise. I knew what it was. Folks ’round about said that Uncle Charlie could down a cup of coffee hotter and quicker than any other man they knew. Not too much distinction for a man, but at least it was something, and I often took to watchin’ Uncle Charlie empty his cup, mentally figurin’ if he might have broken his own record. Before Uncle Charlie would take a swallow of the scalding liquid, he would sorta suck in air with a funny whistlin’ sound. I s’pose the mouthful of air served to cool the coffee some on its way down, I don’t know.
    I heard that