Gramps leaned close to me.
“Better than a circus!” he yelled in my ear.
I grinned. I had wanted to hear that.
Later in the mornin’ the ladies came with the mornin’ lunch. The machine was idled down to give it some coolin’ time, too.
The men drank pails of cold water to cool them off, followed by hot coffee to heat them up again—never could make any sense out of that. They also wolfed down large amounts of sandwiches and cookies.
The break was used for other things, too. Mr. Wilkes poked around and around his machine again, Mr. T. took the opportunity to brag about the bays, Mr. P. Smith propped up his bad leg on a couple of bundles to give it a rest, and Mr. Peterson stretched right out on the ground. He passed up an extra cup of coffee for a couple of winks.
It was quite obvious how the younger fellas preferred spend–in’ the few extra minutes. They seemed to be playin’ a little game of seein’ who could git a bit of attention from Auntie Lou. I saw Grandpa and Uncle Charlie watchin’ them. Gramps watched, too, only I caught him smilin’ in a secret way as though he was maybe rememberin’ again.
Joey Smith drank cup after cup of coffee poured by Auntie Lou’s hands. I was told later that Joey didn’t even care for coffee.
Barkley Shaw was jest a little over-noisy and energetic. I think Grandpa decided about then that it was time for Barkley’s shift at the feeder as spike-pitcher.
Burt Thomas was more agreeable, but not too subtle, makin’ comments on how good the cookies were and “did you make them yerself,” and all that.
I got kinda fed up on the whole thing and went off to see if I could find a few mice to chase.
At dinnertime Gramps and I would be eatin’ with the womenfolk after the dozen men had been fed. It was all that Auntie Lou could do to squeeze twelve full-grown men around our kitchen table, even with the extension on. When the time came for the noon meal, I didn’t even go in with the menfolk. I sat on a choppin’ block out at the woodpile and watched and listened as they sloshed water at the outside basins and jostled one another good-naturedly.
When they had gone in I still sat there. I’d already had my fill of Mr. T.’s bays and the sheep-eyes made by love-struck dummies. In a few minutes Gramps joined me.
“Kind of fun isn’t it, Joshua?”
I caught the spirit again and we sat on our blocks and talked threshin’.
After the last of the men had left the house, we waited to let the women have enough time to clear the table of the dirty dishes and make it ready for us. While we waited we watched the men rehitchin’ the horses that had also had their water and feed durin’ the noon break. As the last team moved out, Auntie Lou called us to come in.
I was hungry in spite of all that I had eaten at morning lunch, and I enjoyed every mouthful of the huge spread. Gramps seemed to be enjoyin’ it, too. His appetite had picked up considerably since he had joined us.
Several times during our meal SueAnn giggled. I wasn’t used to hearin’ a girl giggle like that. Auntie Lou never did. Either she laughed softly or she gave a full-throated chuckle—never did she giggle. I finally took time out from my eatin’ to look at SueAnn. Her face was flushed and she appeared right excited about something. I guessed then that she had probably gotten a big kick out of servin’ the meal to the men—especially the younger ones. She giggled again and I found it to my dislikin’. I looked over at Auntie Lou.
Her face was a bit flushed, too, and her eyes danced like they had taken and given some merry teasin’. It shook me up a mite. I tried to ask myself, “Why not?” but all I could get was, “Why?” Still, Auntie Lou was young and pretty; she could get the full attention of the young men, and I guess it was kinda natural that she might sort of enjoy it some. Even so, I was glad that she wasn’t silly-actin’ and giggly about it. I couldn’t tolerate a gigglin’ girl. At least Auntie Lou carried herself with some dignity.
I forked the last of my lemon pie into my mouth in a hurry to get away from SueAnn. I could hardly manage “ ’Scuse me please,” through the mouthful, but before anyone could protest I slipped from the table. There were chores that needed doing and wood that needed chopping before I’d be free to go to the field for a while again. I wanted to make the most of each moment.
The wood chopping seemed to take forever. I finished jest in time to walk out to the field with the two girls who were taking out the lunch. Auntie Lou collared me to carry a couple pails of water, or I would have run on ahead.
The men had been watchin’ for the women to appear and didn’t take long in gatherin’ for the refreshments. The cool water was the most popular item at the outset, but when the men had quenched their thirst, they turned eagerly to the sandwiches, cake, and coffee.
Things were movin’ along real well. Mr. T. was horse-braggin’, Mr. P. was restin’ his leg, and Mr. Wilkes was inspect–in’ his beloved machine, a sandwich in one hand and a coffee cup in the other. Auntie Lou was doin’ the pouring duties. SueAnn was passing out the sandwiches and cake.
Barkley Shaw and Joe Smith sauntered up to the girls— again. There was something about the way they approached those girls that gave me the feelin’ that something was abrewin’. I wasn’t wrong. All of a sudden Barkley thrust his coffee cup at Joey yellin’, “Hold this! hold this!” and he started jumpin’ around in a circle, clutchin’ and tearin’ at his pant leg, hootin’ and stompin’ and carryin’ on something awful.
“What’s wrong? What’s wrong?” yelled Joey, desperately tryin’ to keep both full cups from spillin’. The two girls stood there, their eyes wide with wonder, or horror, I wasn’t sure which.
“Got a mouse up my pant leg!” hollered Barkley and continued to dance around and slap at his denimed leg. At the word “mouse” SueAnn turned into a wild thing. She heaved the sandwiches that she had been holdin’ and with a shriek of pure terror looked frantically for some place to crawl onto. The only thing at hand was Mr. P.’s two bundles under his leg. SueAnn jumped, up the full ten inches onto the sheaves, barely missin’ Mr. P.’s poor achin’ leg.
She continued to squeal and screech, swishin’ her skirts and stompin’ ’til she had nearly threshed out those two sheaves herself.
Barkley Shaw stopped his dance and began hootin’ and laughin’ at SueAnn. Joey set down the coffee cups, and they leaned against one another, slappin’ their thighs and poundin’ each other’s back as they howled with laughter.
Auntie Lou smiled a tiny smile and went over to pour coffee for the older men; she completely ignored the two young bucks who were still cacklin’ away about their smart-aleck joke. Mr. Peterson reached out and reclaimed a sandwich from the stubble. He blew away a small piece of straw or two and began to eat as calmly as though he ate off the ground every day. Gramps retrieved the rest of the dropped sandwiches.
It took SueAnn several minutes to realize that it had all been a hoax; even then she was reluctant to come down from her spot on the bundles. Mr. P. mumbled and moved his leg elsewhere. Mr. Wilkes gave a nod that meant fun and games were over and it was time for everyone to get back to work. The expression on his face had not changed so much as a flicker through the entire episode.
Slowly everyone returned to his team, Joey and Barkley still holdin’ their sides and the other young fellas givin’ an occasional chuckle as well. They had enjoyed it tremendously.
The girls gathered the cups and pails together. SueAnn looked red and angry. She hadn’t found any part of it the least bit amusin’. She was still sputterin’ a little when she and Auntie Lou headed for the house.
The rest of the day seemed rather uneventful after that. The men came in dusty and hungry for the evening meal. They first watered and fed their tired horses and then came to wash.
The threshin’ machine had to be moved to our other field for the next day’s work, so Mr. Wilkes didn’t come for supper until he’d done jest that.
Everyone was tired, so there wasn’t much talk. Every now and then one of the young fellas would look at SueAnn and grin. She pretended to be terribly upset with Barkley, but I wondered if she wasn’t jest a little pleased over all of the attention. She’d lift her chin a little higher and give Barkley a poisonous glare each time that she looked at him. This would jest make the boys laugh even harder. Anyway, I figured that her dark looks and flippin’ skirts sure beat her gigglin’.
About the only older man that seemed rested enough to talk was Mr. T. Smith. He was busy takin’ a survey to see who had noticed how his bays had performed. Not many men had, but that jest gave Mr. T. an excuse to inform them. Most of the men looked unimpressed, but no one bothered to stop him.
They had made good progress on the first day. It looked like the weather would hold good for the next day as well. That would finish our crop. Grandpa and Uncle Charlie didn’t sow as much grain now as they used to. They sowed more greenfeed and hay and fed our cattle instead. Grandpa said that that’s where the money was, and even though Uncle Charlie never argued and went right along with it, I always got the feelin’ that he somehow didn’t quite agree.
The next day’s threshin’ started out pretty much the same. The teams arrived, Mr. Wilkes started his machine, and things swung into motion again.
Later in the mornin’ Cullum Lewis noticed me hangin’ around and asked if I’d like to go for a load with him. Cullum Lewis was a big fella for his age, and he drove a team of his own. This was already his fourth year on a threshin’ crew, so I guessed he probably knew all about it.
As he forked bundles, he let me chase mice to my heart’s content. When he had the rack piled high, we crawled up and settled in on the load for the return trip to the machine. Cul-lum even let me hold the reins. We didn’t talk much. He asked me one or two questions about Auntie Lou, like, did she have a regular beau and did I think she might like one? I answered “no” to both questions and Cullum dropped the matter. He was rather a likable guy in a way, and I couldn’t help but think that if ever Auntie Lou should change her mind—and I s’posed that she might—then Cullum might not be such a bad choice. He’d sure be a heap better than either Jedd Rawleigh or Hiram Woxley.
During the dinner hour Mr. Wilkes had to move the machine again. He wouldn’t even stop to eat. The men took their time about dinner, knowin’ that Mr. Wilkes wouldn’t be ready to go for a while.
At the table Joey Smith asked Barkley Shaw if he’d had any more trouble with mice—SueAnn refused to serve them tea. That didn’t bother the boys any. I got the feelin’ that they preferred Auntie Lou servin’ them anyway. Mrs. Corbin didn’t pay any attention to the goings on. She was a simple, no-nonsense person, and I don’t suppose that she ever saw humor in anything. Gramps was takin’ it all in though. I could see his mustache twitch every now and then, and I knew that he was hidin’ a smile.
As the men left the house, Mr. T. was busy braggin’ about the bays again.
“Most dependable horses I ever had,” he was saying, “an’ I’ve had me some good ones. Nothin’ would spook thet pair— not the devil hisself.”
I saw Barkley exchange a quick look with Burt Thomas.
The final field was the furthest from the house. When it came time for the afternoon coffee break, the girls rode out to the field with Uncle Charlie in the empty grain wagon. They would catch a ride home with Grandpa in a full one.
The menfolk were feelin’ extra good because they knew that they were near the end. They would finish the field and thus our threshin’, jest in time for supper.
The older men settled themselves here and there on the ground, enjoyin’ the coffee and sandwiches. They discussed the year’s crops—not jest on our land, but the neighbor’s as well. Everyone knew that the grain was a good quality but the yield was down. We hadn’t had as much rain as we should have had, and the wheat jest didn’t produce like it usually did. Still, it was a fair crop and it was nearly all in the bin, so no one at our house was complainin’.
The young fellas teased and pushed as usual. Cullum Lewis was the quietest one of the lot. I watched him as his eyes followed Auntie Lou. Mentally, I fought for him and against him at the same time. Auntie Lou didn’t seem to notice him at all—but then maybe she did. I don’t know.
I noticed Barkley and Burt wander apart from the rest, and the next time I looked for them they were gone. I paid no mind to it and went back to my ginger cake.
Mr. T.’s team had been restin’ in the shade of the trees at the edge of the field, heads down, quietly and patiently standin’, even though they had no rein to tie them. The rack carried a full load—Mr. T. would be the next man up to the machine.
At the signal from Mr. Wilkes the men pulled themselves up from the ground and brushed the loose stubble from their pants. Mr. P. picked up his two bundles and tossed them up on his rack so that they wouldn’t be missed. He wouldn’t be needin’ them anymore.
Mr. T. stepped up on the tongue of his wagon and grabbed hold of the rack without even reachin’ for the reins, which he would pick up on his way into the machine if he felt that he needed them. He hollered “giddup” to the bays and began to climb leisurely up into the wagon. The team took about two steps and then things really busted loose. The right bay suddenly threw up his head and neighed loudly. Then he plunged forward, smacked into the yoke, and fell back against his startled mate. By this time Mr. T. was scramblin’ up the wagon rack, grabbin’ for reins and wonderin’ wildly if he’d gotten the wrong team.
The bay wasn’t finished yet. He began to kick and to buck, strikin’ out one way and then the other. By this time he had the other horse convinced that something was seriously wrong and they both decided that they’d best make a run for it. Mr. T. was still scramblin’ for his reins when the horses took off on a gallop.
Uncontrolled, they nearly smashed into the wagon of Mr. Corbin but veered at the last minute, comin’ very near upset-tin’ Mr. T.’s whole wagon. Mr. T. was flailin’ his way through bundles tryin’ to get hold of the elusive reins. What a ride he had! I think that the team managed to hit every chuck hole and rock in the entire field. Bundles were flyin’ out from the wagon on every swerve and bounce. Every man in the field watched the crazy runaway, many of them rushin’ to take the reins of their own teams so that they wouldn’t get the same notion.