Log Cabin King Read online

  Ceiling timbers were laid all across and then three more rounds. There was to be a big upstairs "for the children."

  It was getting on toward evening when they started lifting the roof joists. The carpenters had finished the sub-flooring and pieced the trusses together on the ground. Time was pressing. We women helped with the nailing and the power saw was still chewing away. One man was measuring the plywood so it would be sure to fit when it was lifted up to the roof.

  At quitting time, most of the plywood was up, but they saw they could never get all the roofing on by dark. They reluctantly packed their tools, checked again for clouds and offered to come again Monday evening after work.

  Ira thanked them all, offered to pay and nearly had a fight.

  "Boy, we wouldn’t have come up here if we didn’t want to. Now you hush that talk about pay." They shoved him around and there was a lot of laughing.

  I was really glad for Ira’s car that night. He had washed up good, eaten a sandwich, gone back to admire the house, and then took me and the girls down to church.

  I could see the girls were embarrassed, so I sat on the back row with them. They giggled. I was afraid that the Lord might get angry at them. I prayed that they might be different, some day.

  Ira’s song was so pretty.

  "I was lost and undone, without God or His Son, when He reached down His arms to me."

  Ira wanted to sit up and talk that night, but I fell asleep in my rocker. When I woke later, I found his sleeping bag was gone from the porch.

  Chapter 9

  Monday evening, three of the four men really did show up. Clouds were forming up over North Mountain. (That’s what I always call it. That mountain top and the North Star had kept me on compass for years.)

  They had a good ladder up to the roof and then a homemade brace over the top to climb around on the roof.

  I guess they could have used a few more men. It was a real strain to get those last big pieces of plywood up, but satisfying to see them nailed in place so quickly.

  Ira took the first roll of roofing from Stanley and inched his way up the brace. Bob helped him line it up along the bottom edge of the roof and unroll. It was a relief to see that long strip of good quality roofing in place. There would need to be three strips across each side and then one across the top. They were on the fifth strip when it began to rain.

  "Come on, fellows. Let’s go ahead and try to finish. It would be a shame for that floor to get wet now," commented Bob.

  It was on the sixth strip that Ira’s old tennis shoe went out from under him on a slick place in the plywood. He was right at the top of the roof. I was standing inside when I saw the dark form hurtle past the window.

  "Oh, no. Please God!"

  I ran to the door and looked out. There he stood, on both feet, right in his one pile of sand.

  "Just like a cat," he quipped and began to laugh.

  I thought I was going to have a heart attack. I gasped for a while. But what did Ira do? He pulled off his tennis shoes and climbed back up in his wet socks!

  They got through before dark. I got my mop and dried up the few drips that had leaked in. They shook hands around and bragged on themselves.

  It was a good job.

  Now, Ira could work away on the rest of it by himself. He would need chinking inside walls, windows and doors. He would need to seal his logs with white creosote.

  I thought I wouldn’t see him again until Saturday, but Tuesday evening after work, here he came with his wagon loaded down. He had two boxes of groceries, his clothes, a dishpan, his guitar, and his dog. He had forgotten a plate, some soap and towels, and lots of other things, but it was a happy time.

  Saturday about noon, after I got my work done up, I went over to visit, taking an iron skillet that I would never need again. I was dumbfounded when I heard a girl’s voice in there. Now, please don’t tell me. I know I never should have listened to a word, but it was so cute and sweet. I’ll never forget:

  "Well, are you going to sit around here all day, keeping me from my work?"

  "Why are you in such a great big hurry, or are you teasing me, Ira?"

  "I’ve got to hurry up and finish this castle ‘cause there’s a queen who’s awful restless, waiting to move in."

  "A castle—of logs?"

  "Sure, she’s a tough queen and likes to rassle iron skillets and water buckets."

  "Ira...Who is it?"

  "Well, I ain’t naming no names, but, soon as I find her, she’s going to be Mrs. Me."

  "Your head is goofy."

  "I’m sick."

  "Oh, what’s wrong?"

  "I’m lovesick, but I don’t dare tell anyone since I’m so shy."

  "You could tell me."

  "Drema, when I was over in Afghanistan, I became a man. I could understand that I was no good alone. Even if I lived to come home in one piece, I knew I could never be satisfied with ball games, hunting, and playing cards with the boys at the filling station. When I saw I was really coming home, I made up my mind to begin right. I asked God to show me how to go at it, and that’s when Dad offered me these back acres for my own."

  "Doesn’t he ever want them back?"

  "No, he’d have to be mighty hungry before he’d plant soybeans over on that slope again, but, of course, during the depression...."

  "It’s the prettiest part of his land, isn’t it?"

  "Sure, it is, but he saw me pacing around, wondering where to take ahold. Maybe he could read my mind. I wanted, so much, to find my woman—someone I could talk to about everything, and plan with, and hide out dark nights with."

  "Did...did...you find her?"

  "Well, my plan seems sensible. If a man gets a woman for his own, he needs a nice safe place to keep her. He can’t just drag her around. I’m making this place, hoping she’ll love creek music and woodpeckers to visit with, God’s pretty green carpet, and me."

  "Did you find her?"

  "I’ve been looking, but maybe, if I did find somebody that filled all my dreams, maybe that woman would hate me, call me a red-neck or hippie."

  "Oh, how could any woman think that?"

  "Well, now just supposing it was you. You wouldn’t want to live out here in the woods with something like me, would you?"

  "Course, I’m not a woman yet, but...."

  "No woman?"

  "Why, I’m only fifteen."

  "Oh."

  "But you remember that night you walked me home? You know, when I was visiting Debbie? I felt safe every step of the way. In fact, that’s the very reason I came to find you today."

  "It is?"

  "I need to talk to you."

  I saw Ira move real close to her, as if the frogs might hear her secret, and of course, that meant that nosy old ladies got left out too. But I did hear something about boys and meetings before I kicked myself on down the road where I belonged. I was in a terrible mood all afternoon.

  I saw them drive out about five, so I got myself ready for church and walked alone like I always used to do.

  He stopped in front of my house that night. "Can you come in?" I asked. "It’s not very late."

  "No, not tonight, Sister. I’ve got some extra praying I need to do."

  I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t pray. I paced around the house like a hungry cat. What was the matter with me? It had been years since I’d lost my peace. Had I sinned?

  "Let me think. When did I first start feeling this way? This afternoon...after listening to Ira and Drema. I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry, Lord."

  I took the Bible and read awhile, but still I churned inside. Finally, I lay on the sofa and tossed and turned until daybreak. With the gray dawn coming through the gaps in the curtains, an insight began to come into my brain. "I love that boy. He’s happy; in fact he’s so happy that he’s almost silly with that girl. Am I happy for him...and for her? No! Why? Seems lik
e I should be glad that they are glad."

  I got up, miserable and stiff all over. After I combed my hair and started the teakettle, I went out and fed the rabbits. The cool air helped to clear my mind. I looked over toward Ira’s house and the whole trouble suddenly poured out.

  "Why you wicked old woman. You are nothing but jealous. You want that boy’s attention all for yourself. Why, he doesn’t belong to you. Shame. Shame."

  I was ashamed. To think that I could be so deceived and selfish without even knowing it! I stood there and cried, just like at a funeral, giving up someone too dear to me.

  When I went back in the house, I was cleansed.

  Chapter 10

  Ira ate dinner with me that day after we got home from Sunday school. He seemed lots older and wiser. (And I felt lots humbler than usual.) He wanted to talk and I was willing to listen.

  "Sister Dicey, Drema came to see me yesterday."

  "Yes, I know."

  "We find that we love each other."

  "That’s sweet."

  "I took her home and asked her father if I could go with her. He didn’t take to that kindly at all."

  "What did he say?"

  "Said she was too young for boys."

  "But she’s with boys all the time at school and at church!"

  "He said that that was safe. I told him I would take her to church. He said he had heard all about my church and only fools would get mixed up in that stuff. He said he respected my father, but he wanted me to leave and stay away from his daughter."

  "Well, son, you’ve got some deep thinking to do."

  "Sister Dicey, the older girls are all wicked. I’ve tried to find one my age. I’ve told you how they are."

  "God says the young girls are wicked too. We are all gone astray," I said, a little too cruelly.

  "Not Drema, Sister Dicey, I’ve known her for years. I want to protect her and marry her and keep her from the vultures."

  "Does the Master want you to marry?"

  "What?"

  "Well, Jesus called you to be His servant. Does He want you to serve Him married or not married?"

  "There’s not anything wrong with being married!"

  "No, of course not, but even breathing is wrong if you don’t bow to the Master."

  "What?"

  "I didn’t mean to make you mad. But the Master is the Master. You need to ask Him about marriage."

  "But, it’s the one reason I’ve been working on the house so hard. I didn’t want to just sleep around with any old slut. I want a real good home and a sweet virgin wife."

  "Listen, son, I hear what you ‘want.’ All I’m asking is: ‘what does the Master want?’ You read back in the Old Bible. God told his servant Hosea to marry a whore."

  "What? God couldn’t want that!"

  "He did that time, but He had His own reasons. Hosea was one of His servants. When God said ‘Jump,’ he jumped."

  Ira turned red, got out of his chair and was shuffling his feet...putting his hands in and out of his pockets. He started out the door, puffing mad.

  "Well, Sister Dicey, I know good and well that God doesn’t expect me to marry a whore."

  "Son, I didn’t say He did. I just said you’d better ask Him."

  Ira was nearly out of the yard when I threw my last blow.

  "Jesus didn’t marry at all. That was for your sake. You’d better find out what you are supposed to do for His sake."

  "Oh no! Oh, God, what have I done? I’ve probably driven one of your lambs right out of the barn. Oh, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry."

  I paced in and out of each room, crying and pleading.

  "Oh, Jesus, help me to know. Did I do wrong? Am I still just trying to keep him for myself? But, Jesus, what if he just married and got into a rat’s nest where he couldn’t do Your work at all? Please show me if I did wrong. I don’t mind if You pin my ears back, please just show me somehow if I did wrong."

  I got out the dear old Black Book, closed my eyes and jerked it open. When I laid my finger on the page, I peeked down at the words. I could hardly believe it. I don’t know if I had ever read it before: "But I would have you without carefulness. He that is unmarried careth for the things that belong to the Lord, how he may please the Lord: but he that is married careth for the things that are of the world, how he may please his wife." "But if they cannot contain, let them marry: for it is better to marry than to burn." "But if thou marry, thou has not sinned; and if a virgin marry, she hath not sinned. Nevertheless such shall have trouble in the flesh: but I spare you."

  It was all there, both sides of the question. I Corinthians, Chapter VII. I would try to never forget that chapter in case I had other young people to come and ask me about it. I was right, after all. Ira should ask the Lord. If he was supposed to be single so that he could serve the Lord better, he would get the strength to live without ever having sex. If he was supposed to marry because of his body’s need, he would need special strength to stay faithful and not get messed up by the daily troubles of family life.

  Oh, how I hoped that Ira would be finding that chapter in his Bible to read, there in his log cabin. Maybe he would be sincere enough to hunt for the message. Maybe he would have a mad spell for a while. I knew if he hunted long enough, though, he would find his answer.

  Chapter 11

  It’s been two weeks since Ira has come over or come to church. My heart is sad but at peace.

  However, other things have been happening. This morning, poor old Buford Ryan was at church, tears streaming down his face. He was sitting on the back row, but when Tommy called for sinners to come forward to pray, he was the first one to the front. Sober as a dead cat too.

  It was the funniest thing I’ve seen lately. Last Tuesday, I was standing at the window of the front room and here came old Buford charging up the road, yelling like a maniac. There seemed to be a black cloud over him. Poor soul, once when he was in the county jail for nonsupport, he tattooed "BORN TO LOSE" on his right biceps, and he has been under a black cloud ever since. But, as I was telling, here he came, running up our road, flailing his arms and pulling at his hair, and as he passed, I could make out that a whole hive of bees was after him. I laughed my head off—and shouldn’t have—while I watched him jump in the hole of the creek that Ira uses for his bathtub. Splash!

  In a few minutes, here came Brother Price in a car.

  I ran out with some towels and baking soda, and heard the whole story.

  Buford was in his usual state of "high spirits" and the false self-confidence that goes along with the bottle. Yes Sir, he certainly would help Mr. Price rob his hives. Oh no, bees never did offer to sting him. Why, he had always helped his granddad with his bees—and he had twenty hives. He knew all about it.

  Bill Price already had his special suit on and veil and gloves and was standing up there in the hives, and nothing would do but here came Buford, crawling then falling up the hill.

  "No, Buford, no!" Brother Price yelled. "Bees can’t stand the smell of whisky. I’m telling you the truth. Stop!"

  "Whiskey? Who’s got any whiskey? Me, I’ve only had one little beer."

  About the time he said beer, a bee on its return trip flew by him and must have brought the news to the rest of the colony. After that...it was too late.

  Those bees rolled up in one big bunch and took out on a mission they knew nothing about. They chased that poor sodden soul ‘til he jumped right in the creek. He must have had a hundred stings. Brother Price had to take him to the big hospital way off in Wise. Buford vomited all the way there and lay for several days in misery.

  After he got home, he tried "just one beer," and don’t you know, three bees came out of nowhere and attacked him right on his front porch?

  Now people are different, but Buford thought, this business was the work of the Almighty, no question about it. So, when the church bell rang at 9:45 this morning, there was one man w
ho was dressed and waiting for it for the first time in his life. As he walked toward the doors of that little frame building, his soul was already knocking on the gates of Heaven. Finally, he had eyes to see and ears to hear. Seems like he wasn’t actually in charge of his own life or the universe, as he had assumed for so many years. Somebody Else was in charge, and he had better get down there to the church and get acquainted with that Somebody and start doing things His Way. After so many years of cloudiness—dark cloudiness—it suddenly all seemed so simple.

  Sister Sara had that look on her face of one whose heart’s desire has just been granted.

  Chapter 12

  Ira came over this afternoon. I was trying to fix my front steps and was wrestling with that saw. (Some man with more shoulder power than I will ever have must have invented the wretched thing!)

  "Do you need a little help with that?" he asked in a real low voice right behind me. I nearly dropped my board. How long had he been standing there?

  "Oh, Ira, honey, bless your heart!" I grabbed him around the waist and gave him a big hug. (Oh dear, was I supposed to do that?) "I’m so glad to see you. I could have pulled my tongue out if I hurt your feelings, but...."

  "Could you sit down a minute?" he asked shyly. "I really do need to talk about something."

  "Why, sure, Ira. Is something wrong? Are your folks all right?"

  "Granny," his voice was real low. (He never had called me that before, but it suited.) There was no cockiness. Was it anguish?

  "Granny, you were right."

  "Bout what?"

  "She is a sinner."

  "Oh."

  "Granny, do you know what I saw, with my very own eyes? She was up there in the church—l went to visit the young people’s meeting, and, it wasn’t just them, it was her. I couldn’t get out of there fast enough. I saw it with my own eyes. Now I see why God says it’s best not to marry—there are no women you can trust! I feel like setting fire to the house. Oh, Granny, why does it have to be such a wicked world? Why does it have to be my girl? Oh, how I would love to wring that boy out limb from limb. What right did he have to use my girl? She was helpless and innocent...No, she was not helpless and innocent. But he was bigger than she was. He should never have got the idea. Her Daddy thinks he’s got her so safe and protected! Granny, I’m going to beat my head against a tree ‘til I stop hurting so much inside. Why didn’t her Dad let me claim her? I would have kept her safe!"