Jerusha Spends the Night

By Hazel K. Todd

(previous chapter)

Chapter 3

Synopsis: The night Jerusha was to spend with the Wilsons when her car broke down near their home has stretched into a permanent situation. She has been introduced to this new religion of theirs and is finding it interesting. Her presence in the home has already manifested itself in many ways, some of which are obvious to everyone. Joe still resents her presence and Amy avoids contact with her. Both situations she is determined to change.

“He just didn’t seem to be interested,” Mrs. Johnson said, answering Jerusha’s question regarding the Wilsons’ hiring a housekeeper. “Always said he thought they were getting along all right if anyone mentioned it to him.”

Jerusha chuckled. “I surely barged in and changed his mind, didn’t I?”

“For which we’re all very grateful,” Ruth said, patting Jerusha’s hand. “Oh, we did what we could, helping the children with their clothes and taking food over once in a while, inviting them to dinner.” She paused a minute. “He’s quite independent. It’s difficult …”

“He needs a wife,” Jerusha said.

“He doesn’t seem to be interested in that either. Paul and Dorothy Wilson were very close.”

“But she’s gone.”

“That’s true,” Ruth said, “for this life she’s gone.”

Jerusha looked at her curiously. “Now that’s a peculiar remark.”

Ruth smiled. “I’ll explain it sometime,” she said.

“If he isn’t interested in a wife himself,” Jerusha continued, “maybe we could whet his interest a little.”

Ruth laughed. “You’re quite a person, Jerusha. Too bad you couldn’t be his wife.”

“Nonsense!” Jerusha snorted. “I’m happy to be his mother.”

At the Wilson farm she thanked her hostess warmly for the very pleasant day and started through the gate. But she caught a glimpse of Amy’s pink dress as it disappeared behind the house by the willow tree. She stopped, her hand on the gatepost. Summer would soon pass, and little Amy would be going to kindergarten. So much time would be lost to her each day to build a relationship. Somehow it seemed important that she not lose even a single day. Skeeter came and rubbed himself against her legs. She patted his head, and the dog wagged his tail in appreciation for her attention, and looked up at her with his mellow and pleading eyes, asking for a romp. She picked up a stick and threw it toward the willow tree. the dog dashed after the stick which bounced off the trunk of the tree. She heard a tinkly little laugh as Skeeter, in his overeager excitement, yelped loudly.

Amy ran to his rescue. “Poor Skeeter,” she said, patting his bruised head. “You didn’t look where you went.” She sat down and pulled the dog down beside her with her arms about his scrubby body. Skeeter eased onto his haunches in a friendly manner, his breath coming in fast hot pants while his tongue went up and down over his teeth.

Amy bent her head down at an angle and looked solicitously into the dog’s face. “What makes you do that, Skeeter?” she asked in an intimate tone.

Jerusha had covered the distance quietly and stood smiling down at the touching picture. “I think he’s saying it’s warm and his run made his breath come like that, so he hangs his tongue out to cool off,” she said.

Amy ducked her head quickly into the dog’s shaggy hair. Almost holding her breath in apprehension lest the child run, Jerusha slid down quietly onto the grass on the other side of the dog. “I think Skeeter likes you,” she said, “he forgot all about the stick when you came to help him.”

Amy turned her head just a little and peeked out over the dog’s shaggy hair.

“I like you, too, Amy,” Jerusha said carefully. “I would like to be your friend like Skeeter is.”

For a breathless minute there was silence, only the dog’s audible breathing. Then Amy asked, with her eyes still peeking over the hair, “Are you Skeeter’s friend?”

Jerusha’s heart swelled. “Yes,” she said, still a little warily. “Skeeter and I are the best friends in the world!”

Amy pulled her head slowly out of the dog’s hair. “I’m glad you’re my friend,” she said.

Jerusha’s heart beat a happy tattoo on her ribs. Carefully, oh, so carefully, she reached over and touched the child’s golden hair. Amy did not draw away. “I’ll tell you what,” Jerusha said, “let’s you and I go make some cookies. And we’ll make a big fat one with a funny face on it for Skeeter.”

Amy laughed, a tinkling little elfin laugh that was music to Jerusha’s ears. “Oh, goody!” she cried, clapping her hands. “Can I make the big fat cookie for Skeeter?”

“Indeed you may!” Jerusha sang, taking the small hand in hers and beaming with moist eyes.”And you may feed it to him, too!”

“If we had some paint,” Jerusha said to Paul one morning as he happened by the kitchen for a drink of water while she was sifting flour into the pan for breadmaking, “I would see if I could get Joe to paint the house and fence.”

Paul looked at her quickly with interest. “I’ve been thinking that they need a new look to match the rest of the things getting spruced up around here,” he said. “I just noticed something’s happened to the couch. I’ll get the paint.” He hesitated.”But, do you think I’d better ask Joe to do it?”

Jerusha set the sifter down. “Please don’t,” she said. “I would like him to do the painting because I asked him to.” She stood silent for a minute with her eyes fastened on the flour sifter, and then she added significantly, “Even if it takes the rest of the summer.”

A slow smile of understanding spread over Paul’s face. “Of course,” he said. “I will get the paint when I go into town this afternoon.” He looked at the glass in his hand thoughtfully.

“I’d like to ask for something else,”Jerusha said frankly.

He looked at her curiously. “Yes?”

“Suzey’s growing so fast, most of her clothes are lagging behind. If I had some material, I could get her ready for school.”

Paul set the glass on the cupboard. He turned to her humbly. “Jerusha,” he said, his eyes misty, his fine honest face touched with emotion, “I’m sure your car broke down on purpose before our gate. We needed you so much.”

“Well, that’s a right pleasant thought, Paul Wilson,” she said. “Now, how about some cloth for your daughters? I might just as well make Amy some dresses, too. You realize, of course, she goes to kindergarten this year?”

“I’ll tell you,” he said, a sudden burst of buoyancy about him she had not noticed before. “Why don’t the three of you come with me and get whatever you need?”

Jerusha looked at the pan of flour. “Splendid idea! I’ll just save this breadmaking for tomorrow.”

It was a wonderful afternoon. Little Amy clung to her hand like a leech. Since Amy had finally accepted her, Jerusha found the little girl by her side constantly. All the hidden hunger for the mother she had been denied, seemed to bloom out in acceptance of her newly found friend. And Jerusha, an emptiness in her own life she had never known existed for this relationship, welcomed the child with open arms. They made cookies together, sewed clothes for her doll, and took walks down the lane or through the fields. At night Jerusha held the little girl on her lap and told her fantastic fairy stories with charming interpretation so that she giggled with delight.

“Tell me about the Clippety, Clackety Clop Man,” Amy would say. And Jerusha would stroke her golden head and begin. And it never came out just the same way twice.

She would say, “Once upon a hippety-hop time,” or “once upon a bumpety-lumpety time,” or “once upon a bread-and-butter time, there was a clippety little man with a round fat tummy and two clippety short legs with cloppety feet, so that they called him the Clippety, Clackety Clop Man, and …”

So the story would go on until Amy grew drowsy or fell asleep in her arms. Then Jerusha would tuck her into bed and kiss her golden hair and whisper, “Just a slippery fairy-elf child, but I caught you!”

So the afternoon came and went, and they had a perfectly magnificent time, the three of them, Suzey and Amy and Jerusha, while Paul attended to his business and bought the paint. Suzey was so happy. Never, since her mother died, had she had material for clothes. Her father had given her money for things, and women in the ward had brought her various articles, but, never a buying spree like this. All except one piece, Suzey was allowed to choose for herself. But one piece of gold and brown velvet, Jerusha chose a little extravagantly herself. “To match your hair and eyes,” she smiled at Suzey, wide-eyed with pleasure.

Amy beamed happily at the lovely cloth, whispered expressions of joy to Jerusha and clung to her hand possessively.

They came home, and Paul set the paint in the garage on a shelf. “For you and Joe and the house,” he said to Jerusha in his quiet unassuming way.

Dennis and Skeeter had been catching grasshoppers again. He came into the house, his overalls green with grass stains and smeared with grasshopper juice.

Jerusha looked at him fondly. “I know just what you’ve been doing,” she said unreprovingly. “I can tell by the looks of you.”

“How?” he said innocently, going over himself in a bewildered way.

“Who enjoyed the feast this time, the ducks or the birdhouse tenants?”

“I divided them up.”

Jerusha chuckled and looked at him appraisingly. “You know, feller, you and I need to have a day together in town this summer before school starts. You can’t go to school in pants covered with grasshopper juice.”

Every day Jerusha looked at the paint in the garage hopefully. But every day Joe avoided her. There was something else about Joe that worried her. He was irritable with Suzey and Dennis. He seemed jumpy, and he disappeared often with friends who didn’t come into the house. Sometimes she caught him staring at her sullenly, even almost belligerently when he didn’t know she saw. “He thinks I’m some old coot,” she said to herself, “come to push the family around.” She paused and thought it over. “Maybe I am,” she said half aloud, “but I’ll not give up yet!”

Then, one day while she was working with the roses, she looked up to see Joe standing against the willow tree watching her. The straggly overgrown rose bed had become a thing of beauty now. All the remainder of June it had put on its bloom in appreciation of the care given it. And even now in the hot July sun, there were still a few showy blossoms. When she looked up and met his gaze, he turned and left, walking toward the barn. She worked on quietly for a while, thinking. Then she clipped off a beautiful peace rose and carried it with her toward the barn, concocting some errand that might take her there.

She came around the corner of the building and stopped short. Joe was leaning against the barn smoking a cigarette. He jerked it from his mouth and turned on her angrily.

“Snoopin’!” he cried, his dark eyes flashing. “Now I guess you’ll go tattlin’!”

Jerusha gathered her wits quickly. She had been to church enough to know smoking was not looked upon with good will, and she was sure it would be very disconcerting to his father. “Oh,” she said calmly, ignoring the discourteous accusation and also the cigarette, “I have nothing to tell. That would be your business. I was just coming for a fresh egg to put in the cake.” She paused and looked at the rose in her hand, trying desperately to ease the strained atmosphere. “Have you noticed how lovely the roses are?” she asked casually.

His belligerence seemed a little confused. “I guess you think you can wrap me around your finger like the rest of them!” he said irritably.

“No,” she conceded, “I don’t believe I could wrap you around my finger at all. You have too much pride for that.” She hesitated. “I – I just had an idea you might want to use some of that spunky pride to paint the fence and house with.”

He turned on her then, and she saw the fire she had imagined the first day. “There you go trying to bribe me! What’d you come here for anyway? We were doing all right. Why don’t you leave?”

Jerusha thought that one over a minute. “Well,” she said thoughtfully, “if I did, I would be leaving unfinished something I started.” There was just the hint of a smile. “You know, Joe, you could have fun in this new adventure, if you’d just let yourself. And it won’t last forever. Things never do, because there are new ones that come along to take their places.”

Angrily he turned to leave. “Don’t try to preach to me!” And he strode away arrogantly around the barn.

Jerusha heaved a sigh. “Well,” she said aloud to the barn, “I guess there’ll be no painting today.”