The House Wren
Chapter I
(The Beginning)
1947
The August sun hanging in the clear blue Texas sky seemed not the least bit inclined to continue its afternoon trek westward. Those fortunate men and beasts who could afford the luxury had long since sought shelter and shade from the heat. This caused no grief however to the mighty sun who was content, as was his nature, to vent his fury on all who remained out of doors.
Allie Kemper thought that summer must surely be a curse visited only on Texas. It seemed to Allie that a blanket had been spread across the length and breadth of Comanche County, a hot sticky wool blanket that covered the land and threatened to stifle life itself. She wiped the perspiration from her forehead and peered out through the kitchen window of the little wood frame farmhouse that had been her home for the last eight years. Cloth curtains adorned with little yellow flowers framed the window. Gathered at the sides, to permit entry to any errant breeze that might present itself, they allowed the clinking sound of the dishes Allie was washing to drift out through the window and steal gently across the east pasture. It was the only sound that could be heard in the still hot air, save that of an old box turtle plopping into the shallow water over on Duncan Creek.
Moving one of the curtains slightly, allowed Allie to see her father-in-law Alton Kemper. He was sitting on a little wooden bench propped against the smokehouse. She studied him momentarily, hoping he would not catch her staring at him. He was tired she knew, bone tired, not just tired from the day’s work but tired down to his soul. Alton was tired of life she guessed. She watched the hard handsome face, now weathered and beaten by time and stress. The graying hair made him look older than his fifty-five years. Were it not for his excellent physical condition which had been tempered by a life of steady work, he could easily have been mistaken for a man with at least ten extra years. Still, Allie thought, her father-in-law was a better man than most men twenty years younger than he was. He was troubled though, so troubled. It hurt her to see him this way. She took a dish from the soapy water and rinsed it and laid it on the draining towel and then moved one of the curtains slightly so he would not see her through the window. Wiping a tear from her eye, she brushed her hair back off her forehead. He was so different from the man he once had been.
The curtains started to dance in a sudden breeze and the windmill cranked up again with that infernal rattling that drove her crazy. The breeze was welcome though truly a welcome relief and Allie leaned her head back and opened the front of her dress to enjoy the rushing air coming in through the window.
Alton reached for the butcher knife on the table next to him and cut a slice of watermelon and bit into it. It was still cool from the icebox. He took in seeds and all and separated them inside his mouth then spat each one out with a little thumping noise into the dry dust at his feet. He was watching a wren at work building a nest in the eave of the house just where the roof came down to meet the porch overhang. Alton had torn down the nest once but now the little bird was back and seemed intent on moving in. Soon, if the male wren could entice his ladylove to move in as well and lay her eggs, then the farm would be alive with the noisy little creatures. This time Alton had decided to leave the bird alone. His energy was gone and he had other struggles to deal with, too many other things to worry about. There was no time anymore to pick a fight with a little house wren that seemed more determined to take up residence in Alton’s home than he was to kick it out. If the bird could live with a hard-nosed old man then Alton figured he could tolerate him and his new family.
The sudden gust of wind that blew in the kitchen window, so softly caressing the lovely face of Allie Kemper and starting the windmill to rattling, was a mixed blessing to the old man. It cooled him momentarily but now the windmill was singing a song that grated on his ears. One of the vanes had worked loose over a week ago and Alton still had not climbed up there to fix it. The rattling noise of the loose vane was another reminder that he had fallen down on the job. His wife’s gentle chiding although well intentioned only made him feel worse. Nothing made him feel worse though than the hurt look that had become a permanent fixture on the face of his daughter-in-law. Nothing topped that.
The old days were gone now and he longed to have them back, those days so long ago when he had that special fire in his breast, that fire and that determination so prevalent in the young, so wasted on the young, that made him want to attack the world and make his mark on it. He’d wanted so badly to make something of this old place. He would have too if it hadn’t been for the war. That damned war that had taken his son and had left his daughter-in-law and grandson without husband and father. Now if he didn’t get off his backside and go to work the farm was going to fall into disrepair before too long.
The watermelon tasted good and he took another slice. Some clouds were forming off in the Northwest, promising rain. “Good,” he said out loud, casting an accusing glance at the still blue sky, “about damned time.” Then his face softened a little. “We could use some rain.” One day his strength would return, he knew it would, and more importantly his want to. Then he would get back on his feet. They say hope springs eternal or something like that. Anyway, soon he would get the dairy started up again. Then everything would be okay. Lord, he wasn’t that old yet. He wasn’t old enough to have just given up the way he had.
Shade from the big twin oak next to the smoke house provided some relief from the heat but it could do nothing to discourage the bothersome gnats that buzzed continually around his head. Slapping at them was futile. Cursing did not seem to help either although it sometimes made him feel better. A man could learn to live with the dust and the heat but no one ever got used to the damned gnats.
Reaching into his back pocket he pulled out a handkerchief and wiped the sweat from his face. The wind died down momentarily, robbing him of what little bit of cool breeze he’d had but mercifully stopping the rattling noise of the windmill. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed some movement behind the big oak. A small hand holding a toy pistol was protruding slightly from behind the tree. The hand was at the end of a little arm that was in turn attached to a young towhead about five years old. The boy’s head was peeking out warily, just far enough to permit one eye to watch the old man. It quickly withdrew from time to time when he thought he had been noticed. A closer examination revealed a pair of bright blue eyes under an abundant crop of white-blonde hair. They were piercing sky blue eyes that adorned the handsome little face in perfect order and arrangement. Mischievously they observed the man from a safe distance as the boy, wanting to move closer but not daring to, sought attention that was not being offered.
Sounds of imaginary gunfire began to emanate from the boy’s mouth and were aimed, along with the toy pistol, at the graying head of the man trying to eat his watermelon in peace.
“Don’t point that gun at me,” he said quietly.
His request went unnoticed and using all the patience he could muster he tolerated the assault a little longer. There was a time he recalled when it was accepted that you did not point a gun at a man, not even in fun. You only pointed a gun when you intended to use it. Kids were taught this rule early on and it was never questioned. It still made him uncomfortable to look at the wrong side of a gun, even a toy. He was a throwback perhaps. Maybe he was too old, he didn’t know, but he still didn’t like it. He never would.”
“Boy,” he said, his voice rising slightly, “how many times have I told you not to point guns at people?”
The boy seemed not to hear and the imaginary gunfight continued. The man cut a fresh piece of melon and motioned to the figure behind the tree.
“You want some?” He asked him.
Slowly the youngster eased out from behind his cover and moved toward the man. A quick jerk sent the piece of wet red fruit flying through the air and the nuisance, now exposed, caught it full in his astonished little face. Instantly regretting his action the man tried to reach for the boy who was now crying as loud as he could but the tyke turned and ran.
The sudden appearance of the man’s daughter-in-law told him that he had gone too far this time. She was angry, spitting mad. From her workplace at the kitchen window she had witnessed the entire scene. Her son’s screams brought her out of the house just in time to see him running across the pasture toward the south woods as fast as his five year old legs would carry him. She spun on her heels and turned on the man who, now sorry for what he had done, was sitting there limp, waiting for the dressing down he knew was coming.
“Why did you do that, Dad?” she yelled at him.
“I told him over and over” he started, but she wouldn’t let him talk.
“He’s just a little boy. He’s not a man that you can talk to like a man or treat like a man. He’s just a boy.”
“He has to learn,” he said defensively. “How is he ever going to learn if someone doesn’t teach him?”
He was wrong and he knew it but it was not his way to admit it. He could not defend his action to himself, much less the boy’s mother. This was an argument he was not going to win.
“I was just trying to teach him the right way to act. He said. It’ll save him a lot of grief when he grows up. I was just trying to teach him a lesson.”
“No you weren’t. You were just being mean. That’s the wrong way to go about it anyway. Why can’t you have some feelings for people? I swear Dad. You treated James the same way. He hated you for it.”
She was crying now and the sudden look of anguish on the old man’s face made her wish she had not said what she had.
“What do you mean?” He shot back. “James didn’t hate me. Why did you say that?”
The man’s hard exterior almost cracked and, for a brief moment, Allie thought he was going to cry too but he quickly corrected himself and stood there staring at her as if he was lost. He struggled for words but none would come.
She wiped the tears from her eyes, unable to meet his gaze. Words uttered in anger she thought, always hurt the most.” He turned to walk away and she followed along after him hoping to erase what had happened.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that but James is dead and we can’t change that. I wish it were not so too but it is. You don’t have to be strong forever. Can’t you just accept it and stop keeping it all inside you like you do? “Please,” she said, still crying. “Go find Jimmy before he gets hurt or lost.”
“I can’t accept it. They took my son away and got him killed and now everyone says I should just accept it and go on like nothing ever happened. I’ll never accept that.”
“They didn’t take him away, Dad,” she said. “He volunteered. He wanted to go. You know how he felt about it.”
“It’s okay for you, you have a life ahead of you without him... I don’t.”
“We’ve been through this before,” she said, turning to go back in the house. “You know that’s not fair.”
He shrugged his shoulders and started out across the pasture to retrieve his grandson. Knowing she was right did not ease his pain. He had wanted his son to wait as long as he could before he went into the Service. God knows he was needed on the farm. He would have been a lot more help to the country if he had stayed at home and helped him produce milk and food for the war effort. James would have none of that. Whatever it is that drives a man to join the Army and go off to war, to leave wife and child and his folks when he is so badly needed at home he would never know.
James had wanted to sign up right away after the Japs bombed Pearl Harbor but Allie talked him out of it because she was pregnant. They had rested easy for a while but then in late December of ‘42, barely six months after little Jimmy was born, James’ mind was set and he enlisted in the Army. He’d seemed almost afraid the war would end before he got there. James and Allie waited four years to have a baby and then off he went just that easily. After his boot camp leave they drove him to the bus station in Brownwood to go to Dallas for his shipping out orders. The last time Alton saw his son, James was hanging out of the bus window waving goodbye to them all. Allie held Jimmy up so James could see him, not knowing it would be the last time he would ever see any of them. He had been full of that self-confidence and strength of purpose often found in young men, especially young American men headed for war. He was smiling broadly and then he was gone, gone to do his sacred duty, gone to save the world for democracy. Now he’s buried somewhere in France right alongside thousands of other people’s sons who just like James, went off to do their duty.
The town held a memorial service after the news came about James’ death. James had made the ultimate sacrifice, the man said. He had paid the greatest price that anyone could pay. Because of James and many other boys just like him millions of people in Europe would now be free and America would be safe. Alton sat and listened while Allie, and his wife Mary, cried. They meant well. Alton knew that but speeches were cheap and easy to come by. Sons were not. He’d only had one and now that one son was gone and Europe still was not much better off.
Alton Kemper didn’t much care who was free or who wasn’t free in Europe. Those people fought all the time anyway. Nobody he knew could even tell the difference in a Kraut or a Frenchie or even a Polock for that matter without maybe getting real close and listening to them talk. Some could maybe if they heard them talk but he couldn’t. Now the war was over and everybody was all friendly again, acting like nothing had ever happened.
He’d heard on the radio that now America was stronger than ever. That was good he guessed. That was fine for America but the Kemper family sure as hell wasn’t as strong as it once was. The war had cost him a lot more than it had cost America. America had lots of sons. He’d only had one. Somewhere now out there on his farm a little boy was hiding, hiding from his grandfather. “What a sorry state of affairs,” he said out loud. He walked the length of the creek that ran through his property expecting to find Jimmy sitting on the bank. The water was not deep in the creek but the bottom was treacherous in places with many sinkholes, almost like quicksand, that could trap and hold small animals or a child. Once he’d pulled two pigs out of one of the sinkholes after James left the gate to the pen open and the pigs ran off. It was funny now twenty years later but he’d really tanned James’ hide for it. He wished now that he had not done it.
A search of the south woods, which really didn’t deserve to be called woods for it was just a stand of trees about two acres in area which Alton liked to identify thusly, did not turn up the boy. Crossing the peanut field he checked the water tank where his son used to sit for hours on end just daydreaming. It was quiet and still except for the buzzing of gnats and flies that were always in abundance. He was dumbfounded now, more annoyed than concerned, that the boy would run off like that. “Ruined my afternoon break,” he was thinking. There were few places on the farm with which Alton was not familiar so he really was not worried about finding Jimmy but now with the wind picking up again and rain threatening, he was starting to feel some sense of urgency.
When he got back to the house the women were starting to fret. His wife suggested he go for the sheriff but he said no. He would make another pass around the farm.
“I’ll find him,” he assured them. “He’s just a boy he couldn’t go far.”
His daughter-in-law’s eyes met his and he stared at her wanting to apologize but not knowing how.
“It’s okay Dad,” she said to him. “I know you didn’t mean it.”
“Thank you Allie.” he said. “Don’t worry about Jimmy, I’ll find him.”
He turned and shuffled off towards the barn expecting to find the young man there. He had hurt her and he knew it and she as always had forgiven him again. Allie was the one person he most of all didn’t want to hurt. She had stayed with them on the farm after James was killed at Normandy. She had stayed and let Jimmy spend his first few years with them. When most women would have been out husband hunting Allie had stayed. She had endured the last three years of his downfall with a stubborn inner strength he’d never realized she had in earlier days. Allie had practically supported them, practically hell she had supported them, when he almost lost the dairy and the farm as well. What a blessing his daughter-in-law had been to him and Mary. More a daughter than a daughter-in-law, she came into their lives unexpectedly and had remained with them when no one else would have, especially with her real family trying to tear her away as they had done. Guilt came over him as he paused at the door of the barn to catch his breath. He was having a little trouble breathing. “Just worried about Jimmy,” he said out loud. He pulled his handkerchief out of his overalls again and wiped his forehead. He was sweating much more than usual now.
The barn was empty except for the cows. “Where’s Jimmy, girls?” He asked them, smiling as a couple of them actually turned to look as if trying to help. “Nobody seen him?” He called the boy’s name several times but there was no answer. “He might be in the loft,” he said, talking to the cows again, but as he started up the ladder a sharp pain suddenly shot through his left arm and he decided against that. Jimmy wouldn’t be in the loft, he thought. His mother never let him play there for fear he might fall. Anyway, if he were there wouldn’t he answer when his grandfather called him?
When another search of the farm failed to uncover the boy’s whereabouts the man was no longer just annoyed. Now he was scared. A feeling like a cloud of doom came over him and he began to imagine all sorts of things that could have happened. Jimmy could have left the farm and just kept going and now could be lost, or worse. He could have stumbled upon a snake and gotten bit. He might be lying somewhere now dying. God, how could he go back to the house and tell them that? All this because he didn’t want the boy to point a toy gun at him. That’s just how his old man would have handled it, tough old bastard always had to be tough. He hadn’t turned out any better than his old man.
Alton Kemper had never been afraid of much in his life, neither man nor beast, and only mildly timid in the presence of God Almighty, being the strong willed man that he was; but the fear that gripped him now was foreign and confusing to him. Sweat broke out on his forehead again, cold sweat this time, and he again wiped it off as he began to grow nauseous. He yelled Jimmy’s name louder and louder with no response. “Where is he?” He cried aloud, his voice heard only by the wind and the rain that was now starting to fall. Suddenly, his left arm became numb and then began to tingle as if a thousand needlepoints were sticking into it. He felt a tightening in his chest, a dull constricting pain, like a belt being cinched around him that held him powerless and unable to move. He struggled, trying to cradle his left arm in the right one and shook uncontrollably, falling first to one knee and then the other. The pain doubled him over forcing his face into the dirt. Again he tried to move but his stricken body would not obey.
By now Alton was certain he was going to die. He had never prayed much. Prayer didn’t come easy to him, for women and kids, he always said. Anyway, Mary had always taken care of that business. She must have prayed an awful lot to have been able to tolerate him all these years they had been married. After word came about James she began to pray more than ever. She prayed and he just sat and let everything go to the dogs.
It seemed a mite hypocritical to start praying now. He could not ask God for his own sorry life, not now, not after so many years of neglecting Him. God would see through that right away; but for the boy ‘though, for the boy he would do anything. God he thought, his grandson was still out there somewhere maybe hurt maybe dead by now for all he knew. If something had happened to Jimmy, Alton hoped he would die. He couldn’t face life if something happened to Jimmy and it was his fault.
The pain was almost unbearable now and he cried out as loudly as he could with all the strength he could gather up but his voice was only a faint whisper drowned out by the wind and the slowly increasing rain that was now pelting the back of his head. “Oh God,” he said. “I’ve been a mean and selfish man all my life. I never gave you much thought. I never gave much thought to anyone but myself. I never took the time. If you let me die now I know I deserve it but please God let the boy be okay. Let Jimmy be okay. Give me enough time to find him safe and make up for the way I’ve been, for the way I treated his daddy. God he’s only five years old. They took his daddy. He needs me. Oh, Lord I need him. I need them all.
He wasn’t sure how long he’d been there on the ground, it seemed like forever but after a while the pain started to ease up and after a while longer he sensed the feeling returning to his arm. His body began to relax as the intensity of the constriction in his chest lessened somewhat and he found he could breath a little easier now. For a moment, just for a moment, he felt like he might not die after all. Precious minutes longer he lay there soaked now and starting to get a chill, a chill he thought…in August. The women must be terrified. Thinking again, his mind racing now, first Jimmy gone and now him much to do much to do, got to find the boy. Struggling, he managed to get to his knees and in doing so he thrust his face into the now driving rain and let the rain fall unabated into his eyes and mouth. “Thank You,” Lord he said stretching out his arms and turning his palms upward in an act of total contrition. “Thank you Lord, thank you for my life.”
He sat there in the rain until the pain was completely gone then got to his feet certain now that he was okay. He might go see Doc Ramsey next week about this if he could do it without anyone knowing. He didn’t want the family to know. They would make a fuss.
Through Alton’s rain-blurred vision the barn appeared in the distance. The loft door was open. It shouldn’t be open. He hadn’t checked the loft, too out of breath and Jimmy didn’t answer when Alton called him. Jimmy must be in the loft... no he would have answered, unless he was scared. But how could he be scared of his grandfather? How could he be so scared that he would hide from his own grandfather? It was impossible to think like a five year old.
Alton started for the barn half walking and half running, the urgency of the moment almost overwhelming him as his heart raced faster and faster with each step he took. He got to the barn and struggled up the ladder to the loft. In the loft he found the boy lying in the hay. He had apparently circled the entire farm, somehow managing to evade his older pursuer and then sought refuge in the barn. Climbing into the loft he had lain down between two bales of hay and fallen asleep. He still slept soundly the sleep of the innocent, not knowing that his grandfather was standing over him weeping unashamedly, free now of all the bitterness and anger that had plagued him the past three years since his son’s death. He was grateful to God, grateful for this second chance at life. His big shoulders shook as he continued sobbing, his tears mixing with the rain that was still running off his head. Alton didn’t want to wake the boy. He wanted to just stand and watch him for a while, and he would have done it except for the women. He knew the women would be frantic. He had to let them know that Jimmy was okay.
The loft door offered an unobstructed view over the smoke house to the back porch of the house. He could see his wife and daughter-in-law standing on the porch wringing their hands and looking in all directions, terrified he knew. Cradling Jimmy in his arms he lifted him up and held him in the doorway so they could see that he was safe.
Mother and grandmother spotted them at the same time and both jumped up and down and hugged each other happily the way that women do. He waved his hand and they acknowledged it then turned to go back in the house. He could see Allie wiping the tears from her face as she looked back over her shoulder at him. “They’ll be along when the rain lets up,” she said.
As Alton was laying him down again Jimmy awoke with a look of terror on his face. He tried to get away but his grandfather was quicker and held him tightly. It’s okay Jimmy.” he said. “It’s okay. It’s Gran’pa. You’ve been asleep. Why are you scared? There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
“I thought you were going to spank me” he said, whimpering. “I thought you were mad at me.”
“Spank you, I’ve never spanked you. Why would I do that?”
“For pointing the gun at you, I thought you were mad at me. You yelled at me.”
The man was overwhelmed with the love he felt for his young grandson. He brushed the hair out of the boy’s eyes and watched him for a moment. In his mind he had gone back in time thirty years and was sitting here with his son James. He was getting a second chance, a chance to make up for all the misery he had caused his family in the past three years and more importantly a chance to be a real part of another young man’s life. He could not remember ever having such deep feelings before in his life and it had been years since he had felt so wonderful. God had used this small boy to save an old man’s life.
“I’ll never spank you Jimmy, never, Come here.” He took the little boy in his arms and held him against his chest for a minute or two. “I love you Jimmy” he said. “I’ll always love you. I’m sorry for scaring you like I did.”
A smile beamed across his little face and he looked up at the man. “I love you too, Grandpa,” he said.
“Look here Jimmy I want to give you something. You know that someday this farm will be yours. I don’t care what you do with it, you can sell it if you want to, that doesn’t matter. I know you don’t know what I’m talking about, you will one day but I want to give you something now.” He reached into the bib of his overalls and pulled out his pocket watch, a shiny gold Bulova. He looked at it for a moment. He loved that watch. He fingers traced the little designs around the outer edge of each side. “You see this watch Jimmy?” He asked him.
“Uh huh,” the boy said nodding his head.
“This is one of the finest watches ever made. It’s a railroad watch and....”
“Did you work on the railroad?”
“No I just got this watch. I’m going to give it to your mom to keep for you. Okay?”
“You’re all wet Grandpa” he said, pointing at the man’s soaked clothing.
“What? Oh yeah I know, your mom says so too sometimes, I was looking for you in the rain.”
“I know, I saw you at the tank. I was watching the snake doctors and I hid from you and snuck back to the barn.”
“Okay that’s okay, but now do you understand what I’ve been saying? You’ll have to wait until I croak to get the farm but I want you to have my watch now. You can play with it in the house and when you’re old enough you can carry it with you. How does that sound?” There was no response from the boy and he seemed to be deep in thought. “You understand, Jimmy?” Alton said again.
“What’s “croak” mean Grandpa?”
“I mean when I die Jimmy, when I go on to Heaven.”
A wellspring seemed to open up inside the boy and his little blue eyes filled with tears.
“I don’t want you to die Grandpa I love you.” He jumped into the man’s arms and clung to his neck for all he was worth.
“I’m not going to die boy not now, not for a very long time. We’ve got too much to do now.”
They sat there for some time hugging and laughing and ruffling each other’s hair, each throwing mock punches at the other like imaginary boxers.
“Listen,” the man said pointing at the roof of the barn. “The rain has stopped.” I’ll bet Grandma has some hot biscuits and sugar syrup ready. What’a you bet?”
“Yeah,” Jimmy said. “I bet so too.”
“Okay, up you go on my back. Put your arms around my neck and hold on we’re going down the ladder.”
The clouds were drawing back and brilliant beams of sunlight filtered down in all directions as if bringing a very special blessing to the Kemper farm. Alton believed that the sky was as blue as he had ever seen it. The wind had died down and the windmill was again quiet. He would climb up there tomorrow for sure and fix it. A lot of things needed fixing around this place and he was going to see to that too. It was a beautiful day. Any day it rained in this country was a good day but today was especially so.
They stopped at the edge of the house to look in on the wren and they found him quite at home and quite content just sitting there waiting for the weather to clear up so he could return to his labors. Alton was glad now that the little bird had returned. He was happy now to share his home with him and he looked forward to having all the other wrens around that he knew would soon follow. He held Jimmy up so the boy could get a closer look.
“He’s our neighbor Jimmy,” Alton said, “and our friend. Wrens only live where there is lots of love and this one has picked us to live with. We have been blessed this day.” Then he carried his grandson into the house to get some of Grandma’s biscuits and sugar syrup, stealing a look back over his shoulder at the clearing blue sky. “It was a beautiful day,” he thought.
Yes sir, it had really turned out to be a beautiful day.
Chapter I
(The Beginning)
1947
The August sun hanging in the clear blue Texas sky seemed not the least bit inclined to continue its afternoon trek westward. Those fortunate men and beasts who could afford the luxury had long since sought shelter and shade from the heat. This caused no grief however to the mighty sun who was content, as was his nature, to vent his fury on all who remained out of doors.
Allie Kemper thought that summer must surely be a curse visited only on Texas. It seemed to Allie that a blanket had been spread across the length and breadth of Comanche County, a hot sticky wool blanket that covered the land and threatened to stifle life itself. She wiped the perspiration from her forehead and peered out through the kitchen window of the little wood frame farmhouse that had been her home for the last eight years. Cloth curtains adorned with little yellow flowers framed the window. Gathered at the sides, to permit entry to any errant breeze that might present itself, they allowed the clinking sound of the dishes Allie was washing to drift out through the window and steal gently across the east pasture. It was the only sound that could be heard in the still hot air, save that of an old box turtle plopping into the shallow water over on Duncan Creek.
Moving one of the curtains slightly, allowed Allie to see her father-in-law Alton Kemper. He was sitting on a little wooden bench propped against the smokehouse. She studied him momentarily, hoping he would not catch her staring at him. He was tired she knew, bone tired, not just tired from the day’s work but tired down to his soul. Alton was tired of life she guessed. She watched the hard handsome face, now weathered and beaten by time and stress. The graying hair made him look older than his fifty-five years. Were it not for his excellent physical condition which had been tempered by a life of steady work, he could easily have been mistaken for a man with at least ten extra years. Still, Allie thought, her father-in-law was a better man than most men twenty years younger than he was. He was troubled though, so troubled. It hurt her to see him this way. She took a dish from the soapy water and rinsed it and laid it on the draining towel and then moved one of the curtains slightly so he would not see her through the window. Wiping a tear from her eye, she brushed her hair back off her forehead. He was so different from the man he once had been.
The curtains started to dance in a sudden breeze and the windmill cranked up again with that infernal rattling that drove her crazy. The breeze was welcome though truly a welcome relief and Allie leaned her head back and opened the front of her dress to enjoy the rushing air coming in through the window.
Alton reached for the butcher knife on the table next to him and cut a slice of watermelon and bit into it. It was still cool from the icebox. He took in seeds and all and separated them inside his mouth then spat each one out with a little thumping noise into the dry dust at his feet. He was watching a wren at work building a nest in the eave of the house just where the roof came down to meet the porch overhang. Alton had torn down the nest once but now the little bird was back and seemed intent on moving in. Soon, if the male wren could entice his ladylove to move in as well and lay her eggs, then the farm would be alive with the noisy little creatures. This time Alton had decided to leave the bird alone. His energy was gone and he had other struggles to deal with, too many other things to worry about. There was no time anymore to pick a fight with a little house wren that seemed more determined to take up residence in Alton’s home than he was to kick it out. If the bird could live with a hard-nosed old man then Alton figured he could tolerate him and his new family.
The sudden gust of wind that blew in the kitchen window, so softly caressing the lovely face of Allie Kemper and starting the windmill to rattling, was a mixed blessing to the old man. It cooled him momentarily but now the windmill was singing a song that grated on his ears. One of the vanes had worked loose over a week ago and Alton still had not climbed up there to fix it. The rattling noise of the loose vane was another reminder that he had fallen down on the job. His wife’s gentle chiding although well intentioned only made him feel worse. Nothing made him feel worse though than the hurt look that had become a permanent fixture on the face of his daughter-in-law. Nothing topped that.
The old days were gone now and he longed to have them back, those days so long ago when he had that special fire in his breast, that fire and that determination so prevalent in the young, so wasted on the young, that made him want to attack the world and make his mark on it. He’d wanted so badly to make something of this old place. He would have too if it hadn’t been for the war. That damned war that had taken his son and had left his daughter-in-law and grandson without husband and father. Now if he didn’t get off his backside and go to work the farm was going to fall into disrepair before too long.
The watermelon tasted good and he took another slice. Some clouds were forming off in the Northwest, promising rain. “Good,” he said out loud, casting an accusing glance at the still blue sky, “about damned time.” Then his face softened a little. “We could use some rain.” One day his strength would return, he knew it would, and more importantly his want to. Then he would get back on his feet. They say hope springs eternal or something like that. Anyway, soon he would get the dairy started up again. Then everything would be okay. Lord, he wasn’t that old yet. He wasn’t old enough to have just given up the way he had.
Shade from the big twin oak next to the smoke house provided some relief from the heat but it could do nothing to discourage the bothersome gnats that buzzed continually around his head. Slapping at them was futile. Cursing did not seem to help either although it sometimes made him feel better. A man could learn to live with the dust and the heat but no one ever got used to the damned gnats.
Reaching into his back pocket he pulled out a handkerchief and wiped the sweat from his face. The wind died down momentarily, robbing him of what little bit of cool breeze he’d had but mercifully stopping the rattling noise of the windmill. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed some movement behind the big oak. A small hand holding a toy pistol was protruding slightly from behind the tree. The hand was at the end of a little arm that was in turn attached to a young towhead about five years old. The boy’s head was peeking out warily, just far enough to permit one eye to watch the old man. It quickly withdrew from time to time when he thought he had been noticed. A closer examination revealed a pair of bright blue eyes under an abundant crop of white-blonde hair. They were piercing sky blue eyes that adorned the handsome little face in perfect order and arrangement. Mischievously they observed the man from a safe distance as the boy, wanting to move closer but not daring to, sought attention that was not being offered.
Sounds of imaginary gunfire began to emanate from the boy’s mouth and were aimed, along with the toy pistol, at the graying head of the man trying to eat his watermelon in peace.
“Don’t point that gun at me,” he said quietly.
His request went unnoticed and using all the patience he could muster he tolerated the assault a little longer. There was a time he recalled when it was accepted that you did not point a gun at a man, not even in fun. You only pointed a gun when you intended to use it. Kids were taught this rule early on and it was never questioned. It still made him uncomfortable to look at the wrong side of a gun, even a toy. He was a throwback perhaps. Maybe he was too old, he didn’t know, but he still didn’t like it. He never would.”
“Boy,” he said, his voice rising slightly, “how many times have I told you not to point guns at people?”
The boy seemed not to hear and the imaginary gunfight continued. The man cut a fresh piece of melon and motioned to the figure behind the tree.
“You want some?” He asked him.
Slowly the youngster eased out from behind his cover and moved toward the man. A quick jerk sent the piece of wet red fruit flying through the air and the nuisance, now exposed, caught it full in his astonished little face. Instantly regretting his action the man tried to reach for the boy who was now crying as loud as he could but the tyke turned and ran.
The sudden appearance of the man’s daughter-in-law told him that he had gone too far this time. She was angry, spitting mad. From her workplace at the kitchen window she had witnessed the entire scene. Her son’s screams brought her out of the house just in time to see him running across the pasture toward the south woods as fast as his five year old legs would carry him. She spun on her heels and turned on the man who, now sorry for what he had done, was sitting there limp, waiting for the dressing down he knew was coming.
“Why did you do that, Dad?” she yelled at him.
“I told him over and over” he started, but she wouldn’t let him talk.
“He’s just a little boy. He’s not a man that you can talk to like a man or treat like a man. He’s just a boy.”
“He has to learn,” he said defensively. “How is he ever going to learn if someone doesn’t teach him?”
He was wrong and he knew it but it was not his way to admit it. He could not defend his action to himself, much less the boy’s mother. This was an argument he was not going to win.
“I was just trying to teach him the right way to act. He said. It’ll save him a lot of grief when he grows up. I was just trying to teach him a lesson.”
“No you weren’t. You were just being mean. That’s the wrong way to go about it anyway. Why can’t you have some feelings for people? I swear Dad. You treated James the same way. He hated you for it.”
She was crying now and the sudden look of anguish on the old man’s face made her wish she had not said what she had.
“What do you mean?” He shot back. “James didn’t hate me. Why did you say that?”
The man’s hard exterior almost cracked and, for a brief moment, Allie thought he was going to cry too but he quickly corrected himself and stood there staring at her as if he was lost. He struggled for words but none would come.
She wiped the tears from her eyes, unable to meet his gaze. Words uttered in anger she thought, always hurt the most.” He turned to walk away and she followed along after him hoping to erase what had happened.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that but James is dead and we can’t change that. I wish it were not so too but it is. You don’t have to be strong forever. Can’t you just accept it and stop keeping it all inside you like you do? “Please,” she said, still crying. “Go find Jimmy before he gets hurt or lost.”
“I can’t accept it. They took my son away and got him killed and now everyone says I should just accept it and go on like nothing ever happened. I’ll never accept that.”
“They didn’t take him away, Dad,” she said. “He volunteered. He wanted to go. You know how he felt about it.”
“It’s okay for you, you have a life ahead of you without him... I don’t.”
“We’ve been through this before,” she said, turning to go back in the house. “You know that’s not fair.”
He shrugged his shoulders and started out across the pasture to retrieve his grandson. Knowing she was right did not ease his pain. He had wanted his son to wait as long as he could before he went into the Service. God knows he was needed on the farm. He would have been a lot more help to the country if he had stayed at home and helped him produce milk and food for the war effort. James would have none of that. Whatever it is that drives a man to join the Army and go off to war, to leave wife and child and his folks when he is so badly needed at home he would never know.
James had wanted to sign up right away after the Japs bombed Pearl Harbor but Allie talked him out of it because she was pregnant. They had rested easy for a while but then in late December of ‘42, barely six months after little Jimmy was born, James’ mind was set and he enlisted in the Army. He’d seemed almost afraid the war would end before he got there. James and Allie waited four years to have a baby and then off he went just that easily. After his boot camp leave they drove him to the bus station in Brownwood to go to Dallas for his shipping out orders. The last time Alton saw his son, James was hanging out of the bus window waving goodbye to them all. Allie held Jimmy up so James could see him, not knowing it would be the last time he would ever see any of them. He had been full of that self-confidence and strength of purpose often found in young men, especially young American men headed for war. He was smiling broadly and then he was gone, gone to do his sacred duty, gone to save the world for democracy. Now he’s buried somewhere in France right alongside thousands of other people’s sons who just like James, went off to do their duty.
The town held a memorial service after the news came about James’ death. James had made the ultimate sacrifice, the man said. He had paid the greatest price that anyone could pay. Because of James and many other boys just like him millions of people in Europe would now be free and America would be safe. Alton sat and listened while Allie, and his wife Mary, cried. They meant well. Alton knew that but speeches were cheap and easy to come by. Sons were not. He’d only had one and now that one son was gone and Europe still was not much better off.
Alton Kemper didn’t much care who was free or who wasn’t free in Europe. Those people fought all the time anyway. Nobody he knew could even tell the difference in a Kraut or a Frenchie or even a Polock for that matter without maybe getting real close and listening to them talk. Some could maybe if they heard them talk but he couldn’t. Now the war was over and everybody was all friendly again, acting like nothing had ever happened.
He’d heard on the radio that now America was stronger than ever. That was good he guessed. That was fine for America but the Kemper family sure as hell wasn’t as strong as it once was. The war had cost him a lot more than it had cost America. America had lots of sons. He’d only had one. Somewhere now out there on his farm a little boy was hiding, hiding from his grandfather. “What a sorry state of affairs,” he said out loud. He walked the length of the creek that ran through his property expecting to find Jimmy sitting on the bank. The water was not deep in the creek but the bottom was treacherous in places with many sinkholes, almost like quicksand, that could trap and hold small animals or a child. Once he’d pulled two pigs out of one of the sinkholes after James left the gate to the pen open and the pigs ran off. It was funny now twenty years later but he’d really tanned James’ hide for it. He wished now that he had not done it.
A search of the south woods, which really didn’t deserve to be called woods for it was just a stand of trees about two acres in area which Alton liked to identify thusly, did not turn up the boy. Crossing the peanut field he checked the water tank where his son used to sit for hours on end just daydreaming. It was quiet and still except for the buzzing of gnats and flies that were always in abundance. He was dumbfounded now, more annoyed than concerned, that the boy would run off like that. “Ruined my afternoon break,” he was thinking. There were few places on the farm with which Alton was not familiar so he really was not worried about finding Jimmy but now with the wind picking up again and rain threatening, he was starting to feel some sense of urgency.
When he got back to the house the women were starting to fret. His wife suggested he go for the sheriff but he said no. He would make another pass around the farm.
“I’ll find him,” he assured them. “He’s just a boy he couldn’t go far.”
His daughter-in-law’s eyes met his and he stared at her wanting to apologize but not knowing how.
“It’s okay Dad,” she said to him. “I know you didn’t mean it.”
“Thank you Allie.” he said. “Don’t worry about Jimmy, I’ll find him.”
He turned and shuffled off towards the barn expecting to find the young man there. He had hurt her and he knew it and she as always had forgiven him again. Allie was the one person he most of all didn’t want to hurt. She had stayed with them on the farm after James was killed at Normandy. She had stayed and let Jimmy spend his first few years with them. When most women would have been out husband hunting Allie had stayed. She had endured the last three years of his downfall with a stubborn inner strength he’d never realized she had in earlier days. Allie had practically supported them, practically hell she had supported them, when he almost lost the dairy and the farm as well. What a blessing his daughter-in-law had been to him and Mary. More a daughter than a daughter-in-law, she came into their lives unexpectedly and had remained with them when no one else would have, especially with her real family trying to tear her away as they had done. Guilt came over him as he paused at the door of the barn to catch his breath. He was having a little trouble breathing. “Just worried about Jimmy,” he said out loud. He pulled his handkerchief out of his overalls again and wiped his forehead. He was sweating much more than usual now.
The barn was empty except for the cows. “Where’s Jimmy, girls?” He asked them, smiling as a couple of them actually turned to look as if trying to help. “Nobody seen him?” He called the boy’s name several times but there was no answer. “He might be in the loft,” he said, talking to the cows again, but as he started up the ladder a sharp pain suddenly shot through his left arm and he decided against that. Jimmy wouldn’t be in the loft, he thought. His mother never let him play there for fear he might fall. Anyway, if he were there wouldn’t he answer when his grandfather called him?
When another search of the farm failed to uncover the boy’s whereabouts the man was no longer just annoyed. Now he was scared. A feeling like a cloud of doom came over him and he began to imagine all sorts of things that could have happened. Jimmy could have left the farm and just kept going and now could be lost, or worse. He could have stumbled upon a snake and gotten bit. He might be lying somewhere now dying. God, how could he go back to the house and tell them that? All this because he didn’t want the boy to point a toy gun at him. That’s just how his old man would have handled it, tough old bastard always had to be tough. He hadn’t turned out any better than his old man.
Alton Kemper had never been afraid of much in his life, neither man nor beast, and only mildly timid in the presence of God Almighty, being the strong willed man that he was; but the fear that gripped him now was foreign and confusing to him. Sweat broke out on his forehead again, cold sweat this time, and he again wiped it off as he began to grow nauseous. He yelled Jimmy’s name louder and louder with no response. “Where is he?” He cried aloud, his voice heard only by the wind and the rain that was now starting to fall. Suddenly, his left arm became numb and then began to tingle as if a thousand needlepoints were sticking into it. He felt a tightening in his chest, a dull constricting pain, like a belt being cinched around him that held him powerless and unable to move. He struggled, trying to cradle his left arm in the right one and shook uncontrollably, falling first to one knee and then the other. The pain doubled him over forcing his face into the dirt. Again he tried to move but his stricken body would not obey.
By now Alton was certain he was going to die. He had never prayed much. Prayer didn’t come easy to him, for women and kids, he always said. Anyway, Mary had always taken care of that business. She must have prayed an awful lot to have been able to tolerate him all these years they had been married. After word came about James she began to pray more than ever. She prayed and he just sat and let everything go to the dogs.
It seemed a mite hypocritical to start praying now. He could not ask God for his own sorry life, not now, not after so many years of neglecting Him. God would see through that right away; but for the boy ‘though, for the boy he would do anything. God he thought, his grandson was still out there somewhere maybe hurt maybe dead by now for all he knew. If something had happened to Jimmy, Alton hoped he would die. He couldn’t face life if something happened to Jimmy and it was his fault.
The pain was almost unbearable now and he cried out as loudly as he could with all the strength he could gather up but his voice was only a faint whisper drowned out by the wind and the slowly increasing rain that was now pelting the back of his head. “Oh God,” he said. “I’ve been a mean and selfish man all my life. I never gave you much thought. I never gave much thought to anyone but myself. I never took the time. If you let me die now I know I deserve it but please God let the boy be okay. Let Jimmy be okay. Give me enough time to find him safe and make up for the way I’ve been, for the way I treated his daddy. God he’s only five years old. They took his daddy. He needs me. Oh, Lord I need him. I need them all.
He wasn’t sure how long he’d been there on the ground, it seemed like forever but after a while the pain started to ease up and after a while longer he sensed the feeling returning to his arm. His body began to relax as the intensity of the constriction in his chest lessened somewhat and he found he could breath a little easier now. For a moment, just for a moment, he felt like he might not die after all. Precious minutes longer he lay there soaked now and starting to get a chill, a chill he thought…in August. The women must be terrified. Thinking again, his mind racing now, first Jimmy gone and now him much to do much to do, got to find the boy. Struggling, he managed to get to his knees and in doing so he thrust his face into the now driving rain and let the rain fall unabated into his eyes and mouth. “Thank You,” Lord he said stretching out his arms and turning his palms upward in an act of total contrition. “Thank you Lord, thank you for my life.”
He sat there in the rain until the pain was completely gone then got to his feet certain now that he was okay. He might go see Doc Ramsey next week about this if he could do it without anyone knowing. He didn’t want the family to know. They would make a fuss.
Through Alton’s rain-blurred vision the barn appeared in the distance. The loft door was open. It shouldn’t be open. He hadn’t checked the loft, too out of breath and Jimmy didn’t answer when Alton called him. Jimmy must be in the loft... no he would have answered, unless he was scared. But how could he be scared of his grandfather? How could he be so scared that he would hide from his own grandfather? It was impossible to think like a five year old.
Alton started for the barn half walking and half running, the urgency of the moment almost overwhelming him as his heart raced faster and faster with each step he took. He got to the barn and struggled up the ladder to the loft. In the loft he found the boy lying in the hay. He had apparently circled the entire farm, somehow managing to evade his older pursuer and then sought refuge in the barn. Climbing into the loft he had lain down between two bales of hay and fallen asleep. He still slept soundly the sleep of the innocent, not knowing that his grandfather was standing over him weeping unashamedly, free now of all the bitterness and anger that had plagued him the past three years since his son’s death. He was grateful to God, grateful for this second chance at life. His big shoulders shook as he continued sobbing, his tears mixing with the rain that was still running off his head. Alton didn’t want to wake the boy. He wanted to just stand and watch him for a while, and he would have done it except for the women. He knew the women would be frantic. He had to let them know that Jimmy was okay.
The loft door offered an unobstructed view over the smoke house to the back porch of the house. He could see his wife and daughter-in-law standing on the porch wringing their hands and looking in all directions, terrified he knew. Cradling Jimmy in his arms he lifted him up and held him in the doorway so they could see that he was safe.
Mother and grandmother spotted them at the same time and both jumped up and down and hugged each other happily the way that women do. He waved his hand and they acknowledged it then turned to go back in the house. He could see Allie wiping the tears from her face as she looked back over her shoulder at him. “They’ll be along when the rain lets up,” she said.
As Alton was laying him down again Jimmy awoke with a look of terror on his face. He tried to get away but his grandfather was quicker and held him tightly. It’s okay Jimmy.” he said. “It’s okay. It’s Gran’pa. You’ve been asleep. Why are you scared? There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
“I thought you were going to spank me” he said, whimpering. “I thought you were mad at me.”
“Spank you, I’ve never spanked you. Why would I do that?”
“For pointing the gun at you, I thought you were mad at me. You yelled at me.”
The man was overwhelmed with the love he felt for his young grandson. He brushed the hair out of the boy’s eyes and watched him for a moment. In his mind he had gone back in time thirty years and was sitting here with his son James. He was getting a second chance, a chance to make up for all the misery he had caused his family in the past three years and more importantly a chance to be a real part of another young man’s life. He could not remember ever having such deep feelings before in his life and it had been years since he had felt so wonderful. God had used this small boy to save an old man’s life.
“I’ll never spank you Jimmy, never, Come here.” He took the little boy in his arms and held him against his chest for a minute or two. “I love you Jimmy” he said. “I’ll always love you. I’m sorry for scaring you like I did.”
A smile beamed across his little face and he looked up at the man. “I love you too, Grandpa,” he said.
“Look here Jimmy I want to give you something. You know that someday this farm will be yours. I don’t care what you do with it, you can sell it if you want to, that doesn’t matter. I know you don’t know what I’m talking about, you will one day but I want to give you something now.” He reached into the bib of his overalls and pulled out his pocket watch, a shiny gold Bulova. He looked at it for a moment. He loved that watch. He fingers traced the little designs around the outer edge of each side. “You see this watch Jimmy?” He asked him.
“Uh huh,” the boy said nodding his head.
“This is one of the finest watches ever made. It’s a railroad watch and....”
“Did you work on the railroad?”
“No I just got this watch. I’m going to give it to your mom to keep for you. Okay?”
“You’re all wet Grandpa” he said, pointing at the man’s soaked clothing.
“What? Oh yeah I know, your mom says so too sometimes, I was looking for you in the rain.”
“I know, I saw you at the tank. I was watching the snake doctors and I hid from you and snuck back to the barn.”
“Okay that’s okay, but now do you understand what I’ve been saying? You’ll have to wait until I croak to get the farm but I want you to have my watch now. You can play with it in the house and when you’re old enough you can carry it with you. How does that sound?” There was no response from the boy and he seemed to be deep in thought. “You understand, Jimmy?” Alton said again.
“What’s “croak” mean Grandpa?”
“I mean when I die Jimmy, when I go on to Heaven.”
A wellspring seemed to open up inside the boy and his little blue eyes filled with tears.
“I don’t want you to die Grandpa I love you.” He jumped into the man’s arms and clung to his neck for all he was worth.
“I’m not going to die boy not now, not for a very long time. We’ve got too much to do now.”
They sat there for some time hugging and laughing and ruffling each other’s hair, each throwing mock punches at the other like imaginary boxers.
“Listen,” the man said pointing at the roof of the barn. “The rain has stopped.” I’ll bet Grandma has some hot biscuits and sugar syrup ready. What’a you bet?”
“Yeah,” Jimmy said. “I bet so too.”
“Okay, up you go on my back. Put your arms around my neck and hold on we’re going down the ladder.”
The clouds were drawing back and brilliant beams of sunlight filtered down in all directions as if bringing a very special blessing to the Kemper farm. Alton believed that the sky was as blue as he had ever seen it. The wind had died down and the windmill was again quiet. He would climb up there tomorrow for sure and fix it. A lot of things needed fixing around this place and he was going to see to that too. It was a beautiful day. Any day it rained in this country was a good day but today was especially so.
They stopped at the edge of the house to look in on the wren and they found him quite at home and quite content just sitting there waiting for the weather to clear up so he could return to his labors. Alton was glad now that the little bird had returned. He was happy now to share his home with him and he looked forward to having all the other wrens around that he knew would soon follow. He held Jimmy up so the boy could get a closer look.
“He’s our neighbor Jimmy,” Alton said, “and our friend. Wrens only live where there is lots of love and this one has picked us to live with. We have been blessed this day.” Then he carried his grandson into the house to get some of Grandma’s biscuits and sugar syrup, stealing a look back over his shoulder at the clearing blue sky. “It was a beautiful day,” he thought.
Yes sir, it had really turned out to be a beautiful day.
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