Spring's Gentle Promise Read Free

the topping, and I was sure this was how some of the jersey’s cream had been used.
    After enjoying a man-sized portion, I reluctantly pushed back from the table and got slowly to my feet. Uncle Charlie moved at the same time, and I knew he was getting set to give Mary a hand with the dishes.
    “I can help tonight, Uncle Charlie,” Matilda spoke up.
    Now there was nothing new about Matilda calling him Uncle Charlie. Both she and Mary called him such, just like they did when talking to my grandfather. It seemed to please everyone all around. Guess we felt more like family than employer and employee and boarder. What had caught my attention was Matilda’s offer. Not that Matilda didn’t often help Mary with her household chores, but lately Matilda had been too busy to do anything but correct papers and prepare lessons.
    “What happened to the classroom work?” I asked her.
    “All done. Finally! And believe me, I feel like celebrating.”
    Matilda swirled around, her long, full skirt flowing out around her. In one hand she held the sugar bowl and in the other the cream pitcher.
    Uncle Charlie looked at her with a twinkle in his eyes. “Seems like ya oughta find a better way to celebrate than with the cream and sugar,” he teased.
    “Well, Josh is always too busy to celebrate,” Matilda teased back, pretending to pout. And she looked deliberately at me and exaggeratedly fluttered her long, dark eyelashes.
    Laughter filled the kitchen. Matilda was always bringing laughter with her lighthearted teasing, but for some reason this time her teasing did not have me laughing. It gave me a funny feeling way down deep inside, and I moved for the peg where my farm jacket hung beside the door.
    “Where ya goin’?” asked Uncle Charlie, and when I turned to look at him I caught his wink directed at Matilda. “Gonna feed thet there tractor agin?”
    “I’ve got chores,” I answered as evenly as I could.
    “The chores be all done, Boy,” cut in Grandpa.
    I stood, my outreached hand dumbly dangling the jacket, my eyes moving from face to face in the kitchen. They all seemed to be in a jovial mood, and I wasn’t quite sure if they were serious or funnin’ me. It was to Mary that I looked for the final answer. She just nodded her head in agreement.
    “All of them?” I had to ask.
    “All of ’em,” said Grandpa.
    For a moment I wanted to protest. It was my farm. I could do my own chores. But then I quickly realized how foolish that was—and how tired I was—and my hand relinquished my coat to the peg again. I turned and smiled at the household of people.
    “Thanks,” I said simply and gave my shoulders a slight shrug. “Thanks to whoever did them.”
    “We all pitched in,” replied Grandpa. “Little here, a little there and had ’em done in no time.”
    “Thanks,” I said again.
    “So you see,” teased Matilda, fluttering her eyelashes again, “you will have time to help celebrate.”
    I was ready for the challenge now. “Okay,” I answered, “checkers—right after dishes.” And I reached for a tea towel and stepped up beside Mary. “I’ll dry—you put things away,” I dared order Matilda.
    “Checkers?” Matilda commented. “Not exactly a corn roast or a pie social—but I guess it’ll have to do,” and to the accompaniment of chuckles from the two older men, she moved quickly to put away the dishes as I dried them.
    When the last plate was on the shelf, Matilda and I turned to the checkerboard, and Mary picked up some handwork that always seemed to appear when she had what she called a “free moment.” Grandpa and Uncle Charlie spent a little more time poring over newspapers. I wasn’t sure if we had received a new one or if they were just rereading an old one, but I didn’t ask. Beside us on the bureau squawked the raspy radio. I enjoyed the soft music but paid little attention to the commentary that interrupted it at intervals.
    It wasn’t too hard for me to beat Matilda at checkers.