secure the barn door before I was off to the house on the run. It was a fair distance between the house and the barn—a fact I had never particularly noted before. I was puffing by the time I hit the back porch. The back door, as usual, was not locked. I wasn’t sure my Grandpa could lock it even if he wanted to. I pushed it open and it squeaked just a bit.
I wanted to holler out my news, but my good sense held me in check. If I came in shouting I’d scare Grandpa and Uncle Charlie half to death.
I climbed the steps quickly, trying not to make too much noise. I never even thought about the squeaky one until I heard it protest beneath my foot.
“Who is it?” Grandpa called out.
“Me,” I answered in a whispery voice.
I heard Uncle Charlie stirring, but the noise didn’t come from his bed. He was sitting near his window in the old chair. I knew then that he had watched me ride into the yard, take Chester to the barn and run for the house.
For a moment I forgot about Grandpa, about Aunt Lou, even about the new baby.
“What are you doing up?” I quizzed Uncle Charlie.
“Nothin’ much,” he answered evasively. “Just can’t git along with my bed sometimes.”
Grandpa called out again, “Be right there.” I could hear the bed springs groaning as he lifted himself from the bed and began to pull on his pants.
“I take it you have some news,” Grandpa said as he came out of the bedroom, a lighted lamp in his hand.
“Sure do,” I beamed, my thoughts jumping immediately back to Sarah Jane.
“Well?” prompted Uncle Charlie.
“Another girl,” I fairly cheered. “And she is just fine.”
“And Lou?” asked Grandpa. In his heart he knew that I wouldn’t be grinning from ear to ear unless Aunt Lou was just fine, too. But Lou was his little girl, and Grandpa wouldn’t be at ease until he heard it said.
“Fine!” I said. “Just fine—an’ happy.”
“Thank you, Father!” Grandpa said softly and I understood his little prayer of gratitude. Then he began to grin. I could see his face by the light of the lamp he held in his hand. He was beaming.
Uncle Charlie had moved to join us in the hallway. He was grinning too—a wide, infectious smile. He looked about the happiest I had ever seen him. But I was surprised at how slowly he moved. Grandpa turned to him with concern in his eyes and voice.
“Another bad night?” he asked, and Uncle Charlie nodded. I didn’t understand the question—or the answer. Why was Uncle Charlie having bad nights? Why was he moving toward the stairs like an old man? Why did he reach out a hand to assist himself as he descended? I hadn’t known about any of this. Why hadn’t someone informed me?
“Was Doc there?” Uncle Charlie asked. He knew that sometimes Doc was out on one call when he was needed elsewhere.
“Got him myself,” I explained. “He was right at home when I went for him.”
“Was Nat there?” asked Grandpa, and I knew that Grandpa was thinking of the last time.
“All the time,” I answered.
“Good!” said Grandpa, and he beamed some more as he set the lamp on the kitchen table.
Uncle Charlie shuffled to the stove, shook it up, and put in a few more sticks of wood. The stove had been banked for the night; before long the wood caught and I could hear the blaze grow. Uncle Charlie pushed forward the coffeepot.
“Tell us about her,” Grandpa was saying, excitement filling his voice.
Uncle Charlie eased a chair toward the table and lowered himself slowly onto it. He leaned forward eagerly, not wanting to miss a word.
“She’s not very big,” I started, indicating with my hands, much as I often did when I told a fish story.
“ ’Course not,” cut in Grandpa.
“An’ she—she—” How could I say that she was red and wrinkled and sort of puffy? Would they understand?
“Has she any hair?”
“Lots of it—dark.”
“Just like Lou,” cut in Grandpa.
“What color are her eyes?” Uncle Charlie
I wanted to holler out my news, but my good sense held me in check. If I came in shouting I’d scare Grandpa and Uncle Charlie half to death.
I climbed the steps quickly, trying not to make too much noise. I never even thought about the squeaky one until I heard it protest beneath my foot.
“Who is it?” Grandpa called out.
“Me,” I answered in a whispery voice.
I heard Uncle Charlie stirring, but the noise didn’t come from his bed. He was sitting near his window in the old chair. I knew then that he had watched me ride into the yard, take Chester to the barn and run for the house.
For a moment I forgot about Grandpa, about Aunt Lou, even about the new baby.
“What are you doing up?” I quizzed Uncle Charlie.
“Nothin’ much,” he answered evasively. “Just can’t git along with my bed sometimes.”
Grandpa called out again, “Be right there.” I could hear the bed springs groaning as he lifted himself from the bed and began to pull on his pants.
“I take it you have some news,” Grandpa said as he came out of the bedroom, a lighted lamp in his hand.
“Sure do,” I beamed, my thoughts jumping immediately back to Sarah Jane.
“Well?” prompted Uncle Charlie.
“Another girl,” I fairly cheered. “And she is just fine.”
“And Lou?” asked Grandpa. In his heart he knew that I wouldn’t be grinning from ear to ear unless Aunt Lou was just fine, too. But Lou was his little girl, and Grandpa wouldn’t be at ease until he heard it said.
“Fine!” I said. “Just fine—an’ happy.”
“Thank you, Father!” Grandpa said softly and I understood his little prayer of gratitude. Then he began to grin. I could see his face by the light of the lamp he held in his hand. He was beaming.
Uncle Charlie had moved to join us in the hallway. He was grinning too—a wide, infectious smile. He looked about the happiest I had ever seen him. But I was surprised at how slowly he moved. Grandpa turned to him with concern in his eyes and voice.
“Another bad night?” he asked, and Uncle Charlie nodded. I didn’t understand the question—or the answer. Why was Uncle Charlie having bad nights? Why was he moving toward the stairs like an old man? Why did he reach out a hand to assist himself as he descended? I hadn’t known about any of this. Why hadn’t someone informed me?
“Was Doc there?” Uncle Charlie asked. He knew that sometimes Doc was out on one call when he was needed elsewhere.
“Got him myself,” I explained. “He was right at home when I went for him.”
“Was Nat there?” asked Grandpa, and I knew that Grandpa was thinking of the last time.
“All the time,” I answered.
“Good!” said Grandpa, and he beamed some more as he set the lamp on the kitchen table.
Uncle Charlie shuffled to the stove, shook it up, and put in a few more sticks of wood. The stove had been banked for the night; before long the wood caught and I could hear the blaze grow. Uncle Charlie pushed forward the coffeepot.
“Tell us about her,” Grandpa was saying, excitement filling his voice.
Uncle Charlie eased a chair toward the table and lowered himself slowly onto it. He leaned forward eagerly, not wanting to miss a word.
“She’s not very big,” I started, indicating with my hands, much as I often did when I told a fish story.
“ ’Course not,” cut in Grandpa.
“An’ she—she—” How could I say that she was red and wrinkled and sort of puffy? Would they understand?
“Has she any hair?”
“Lots of it—dark.”
“Just like Lou,” cut in Grandpa.
“What color are her eyes?” Uncle Charlie
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