Once Upon a Summer Read Free Page A

sound now and I could almost see the steaming cup leaning against Uncle Charlie’s lips. He’d be sittin’ there with his chair tilted back slightly, restin’ on only the back two legs. This was hard on chairs, I was told when I tried to copy Uncle Charlie, but nobody ever scolded Uncle Charlie for it.
    There came the sound of the cup being replaced on the table and then the gentle thump of the two front legs of the chair joinin’ the back two on the hardwood kitchen floor.
    “Do ya think he’ll agree to it?”
    “I don’t know. He’s so stubborn ’n’ independent. You remember that as well as I do. But now, maybe he’d welcome the change. He’s gonna be powerful lonely. Ya know what she was to him.”
    By now I had changed my mind about the drink of water and settled myself quietly on the step. I could feel a shiver go through my whole body. Things were changin’. I didn’t know why and I didn’t know how it was going to affect me, but I wasn’t welcomin’ it.
    “Well, we’ve at least gotta try. We can’t jest let him stay there alone. I’ll go to town tomorrow and call him on Kirk’s tellyphone. It’ll take him awhile to sort things out, but I really would like him to come and stay. Lots of room here. No reason at all that he can’t move right in.”
    “S’pose.”
    I knew that they must be talking about Great-grandpa. Why, he was an old man. I had watched the old men in town shufflin’ their way down the street, lookin’ weak-kneed and watery-eyed. Sometimes three or four of them gathered on the bench outside the livery stable and jest sat and talked and chewed tobacco that dribbled down their old quivery chins and stained their shirt fronts. I don’t suppose I could have put it into words, but I didn’t like the idea of an old man coming here—even if he was my great-grandpa. I didn’t want to hear anymore, but I couldn’t pull myself away.
    “Something seems to bother ya,” Grandpa said to Uncle Charlie. “Don’t ya agree that Pa should come?”
    Uncle Charlie stirred himself.
    “Well, he’s got to be looked after, that’s fer sure, and I’m— well, I’d be right happy to see him. It’s been a long time, but I was wonderin’—maybe—maybe I should go on back East and sorta care fer him there.”
    Grandpa seemed surprised at Uncle Charlie’s suggestion; I knew that I was. I jest couldn’t imagine life without Uncle Charlie.
    “You wantin’ to go back East?” Grandpa exclaimed.
    “Lan’ sakes no.” Uncle Charlie’s reply was rather loud, as though Grandpa was kinda dull to even think that such a thing could be possible.
    “Ya thinkin’ Pa couldn’t make the trip?”
    “By the way his letter reads he’s still sound enough.”
    “Then what—”
    “Lou.”
    “Lou?”
    “Yeah, Lou.”
    “Lou wouldn’t object.”
    “No, she wouldn’t. That’s jest the point—she should.”
    “I’m afraid I don’t follow.”
    “Daniel, how many other seventeen-year-old girls do ya know who care fer a big house, a garden, chickens, two old men, and a boy?”
    There was silence for a while and then Uncle Charlie spoke again.
    “And now we want to saddle her with another old man. Ain’t fair—jest ain’t fair. She should be out partyin’ and—”
    Grandpa cut in. “Lou ain’t much fer partyin’.”
    “ ’Course she ain’t. She’s never had a chance. We’ve kept her bakin’ bread and scrubbin’ floors ever since she laid her dolls aside.”
    Silence again. Grandpa broke it.
    “Ya think Lou’s unhappy?”
    “ ’Course she’s happy!” snorted Uncle Charlie. “She’s too unselfish not to be happy. She knows if she wasn’t happy we’d all be miser’ble. Lou wouldn’t do that to anyone.”
    Grandpa sighed deeply, like an old wound was suddenly painin’ him. He roused and I could hear him rattlin’ around with the coffeepot. Now I knew that he was agitated. Grandpa never, never drank more than one cup of coffee before bed, but I heard him pour them