Spring's Gentle Promise Read Online Free PDF Page A

but her eyes were shining. “Oh, Josh,” she scolded, “you’re mean!”
    Grandpa chuckled, and Uncle Charlie just grinned.
    When the school year started again, it was rather a traumatic time for Aunt Lou. Sarah Jane started off to first grade. I hadn’t realized how tough it was on mothers to see their first baby go off into a whole new world. Lou wanted to be enthusiastic for Sarah’s sake, but I knew that if it had been in Lou’s power to turn back the clock a year or two, she could not have refrained from doing so.
    Mary went into the final stages of putting up summer fruits and vegetables. As I watched the stacks of canning jars fill and refill the kitchen counter top, I wondered how in the world the five of us could ever consume so much food. Part of the answer came when I saw Mary and Grandpa load a whole bunch into the buggy and send it off to town to Aunt Lou. Lou was too busy with her little family and being a pastor’s wife to do much canning of her own, Mary reasoned. Lou was deeply appreciative. After all, a pastor’s salary didn’t leave much room for extras, though I’d never heard Lou complain.
    I began to find little pamphlets and newspaper advertisements scattered about the kitchen telling about this motor car or that automobile and the merits of each. I didn’t have to guess who was leaving them about, but I did wonder how Matilda was collecting them.
    I read the descriptions—just like she knew I would. In fact, I sneaked them off to my own bedroom and lay in bed going over and over them. My, some of them were fancy! I hadn’t known that such features existed. Why, you could start the motor without cranking it in the front! Then I would look at the listed price. I hadn’t known that they cost so much, either, and doubts began to form in my mind. The same number of dollars could do so many things for the farm. I began to realize that Matilda’s little campaign might well come to nothing. It could be sheer foolishness for me to buy a car.
    I went into harvest with my mind debating back and forth. One day I would think for sure that I “deserved a car.” The whole family deserved a car after all the years of slow team travel. And think of how much valuable time we’d save, I’d reason. Then the next day I would think of the farm needs, of the church needs, of my promise to support Camellia in her missionary service, of the stock I could purchase or the things for Mary’s kitchen; and I would mentally strike the motor car from my list. Back and forth, this way and that way I argued with myself. Even all of the praying I did about it didn’t put my mind at rest.
    It did turn out to be a good crop. Even better than I’d dared hope. I watched the bins fill to overflowing with wonderfully healthy grain. I had to purchase an extra bin from the Sanders and pull it into our yard with the tractor. I filled it, too. The good quality grain brought good prices as well. God had truly blessed us.
    Now, how did He want me to spend what He had given? How could I be a responsible steward?
    I was still busy with the farm duties during the day, but in the evenings I spent hours and hours poring over the account books. I figured this way, then that way. With every load of grain I took to town, the numbers in my little book swelled. There would be a surplus. But would there be enough for the motor car? And if so, was a motor car necessary? Practical? The right thing for the Jones family?
    I knew everyone was waiting for my decision. Grandpa and Uncle Charlie did not question me. Mary never made mention of the vehicle, but I could sense that she was sharing my struggle over the decision. Matilda stopped cajoling me about it, but her eyes continually questioned, and I knew she was getting very impatient waiting for me to make up my mind.
    I went to my room one night and took out all the advertisements again. I laid aside the one showing the shiny gray Bentley. It was far too fancy and costly for me, though I