Abe Lincoln Gets His Chance - Frances Cavanah (mobile ebook reader .txt) 📗
- Author: Frances Cavanah
- Performer: -
Book online «Abe Lincoln Gets His Chance - Frances Cavanah (mobile ebook reader .txt) 📗». Author Frances Cavanah
Abe paused.
"Amen!" said Tom.
"Amen!" said the others.
"Don't forget," Abe went on, "all of this was the Lord's doing. Let us praise Him for His goodness."
He reached down, plucked a fistful of grass, and mopped his forehead. In much the same way had the preacher used his bandanna handkerchief. The Lincoln family rose, sang "Praise God from Whom All Blessings Flow," and church was over.
The young folks drifted away. Tom stretched out on the grass for his Sunday afternoon nap.
"Abe tells me that new Mr. Swaney was at church," Sarah said.
Tom opened his eyes. Before he had a chance to go back to sleep, she spoke again.
"He's fixing to keep a school next winter."
"So I hear," said Tom cautiously.
"He charges seventy-five cents for each scholar. Some schoolmasters charge a dollar."
"Sounds like a lot of money."
"Several of the neighbors are fixing to send their young ones," Sarah went on. "Mr. Swaney doesn't ask for cash money. He'll take skins or farm truck. We can manage that, I reckon."
Tom yawned. "Plumb foolishness, if you ask me. But Johnny and Mathilda are your young ones. If you want to send them—"
"I want Sally and Abe to go, too," Sarah interrupted. "Abe most of all. He is the one school will do the most good. He's the one who wants it most."
Tom sat up. "I can spare the younger ones, but I need Abe. With us poorer than Job's turkey, you ought to know that."
Sarah listened patiently. "I ain't talking about right now. Mr. Swaney won't start his school till winter. Farm work will be slack then."
"I can hire Abe out to split rails, even in cold weather," Tom reminded her. "Maybe I can get some odd jobs as a carpenter, and Abe can help me."
"Abe ain't no great hand at carpentry."
"He can learn. Why, he's fourteen, Sairy. The idea, a big, strapping boy like that going to school. I tell you, I won't have it."
"But I promised him."
It was the first time that Tom had ever heard a quaver in his wife's voice. He looked away uneasily. "If you made a promise you can't keep, that's your lookout. You might as well stop nagging me, Sairy. My mind is made up."
To make sure that there would be no more conversation on the subject, he got up and stalked across the grass. He lay down under another tree, out of hearing distance. Sarah sat on the log for a long time. Abe came back and sat down beside her. He could tell, by looking at her, that she had been talking to his father about letting him go to school. He knew, without asking any questions, that his father had said no.
Sarah laid her hand on his knee. "Your pa is a good man," she said loyally. "Maybe he will change his mind."
10"Hurry up and eat your breakfast, Abe," said Tom the next morning. "We're going to cut corn for that skinflint, John Carter."
Sarah passed her husband a plate of hot cornbread. "Why, Tom, it ain't fitting to talk that way about a neighbor. Before the children, too."
Tom poured a generous helping of sorghum molasses over his bread. "I'm an honest man. It's fitting that I call Carter what he is, and he's a skinflint. He is only paying Abe and me ten cents a day."
"Other folks pay you two-bits."
"I ain't got any other work right now. Carter knows I need all the money I can lay my hands on. The way he beat me down on the price for my south field."
"I wish you didn't have to sell."
"Wishing won't do any good. I need cash money mighty bad. Remember, this farm ain't paid for yet."
He got up and walked over to the chest. He picked up the sharp knife he used for cutting corn. "Get your knife, Abe, and come along."
Abe walked behind his father along the path through the woods. "That Mr. Swaney was right nice," he said.
Tom grunted.
"He is waiting to start his school until after harvest," Abe went on. "Nat Grigsby is going. Allen Gentry is going, and he is two years older than me."
"Allen's pa is a rich man," said Tom gruffly. "Maybe he's got money to burn, but poor folks like us have to earn our keep."
"But, Pa—"
"I declare, your tongue is loose at both ends today. Can't you stop plaguing me? First your ma, then you. You ought to see I'm worried."
Abe said nothing more. He pulled a book out of the front of his shirt and began to read as he strode along the path. Tom looked back over his shoulder.
"Don't let John Carter catch you with that book."
"I brought it along so I can read while I eat my dinner. I'll put it away before we get to the Carter place."
"Eddication!" said Tom in disgust "I never had any, and I get along better'n if I had. Take figuring. If a fellow owes me money, I take a burnt stick and make a mark on the wall. When he pays me, I take a dishrag and wipe the mark off. That's better than getting all hot and bothered trying to figure.
"And writing? I can write my name and that's all the writing I need. But the most tomfoolery of all is reading. You don't see me waste my time reading any books."
The path ended at the edge of the woods, and Tom opened the gate into the Carter cornfield. Row after row of tall corn stretched away in even, straight lines. Mr. Carter was waiting.
"Ready to sign over that south field, Tom?" he asked. "A lawyer from Rockport is drawing up the papers. He is riding up with them this morning. I'll see you at dinner time."
After John Carter had gone back to his cabin, Tom and Abe set to work. Using their sharp knives, they began cutting the corn close to the ground. They stood the tall golden stalks on end, tying them together in neat shocks or bundles. By the time the sun stood directly overhead, several long rows had been cut and stacked, and John Carter was coming toward them across the field. It was noon.
Abe laid aside his knife, sat down on the rail fence, and pulled out his book. He took a piece of cornbread wrapped in a corn husk from his pocket. As he ate, he read, paying no attention to the conversation taking place a few feet away.
"Come and sit down, Tom," said Carter.
Tom sat on a tree stump. Carter was being more friendly than usual. He was carrying a gourd full of ink, which he placed on another stump. He set down a deerskin bag, which jingled pleasantly with coins. In one pocket he found a turkey-buzzard pen. From another he brought out an official-looking paper.
"Here is the deed for the south field," he explained. "Here's a pen. I'll hold the ink for you. You make your mark right here."
"I don't need to make my mark," said Tom proudly. "I know how to sign my name."
"Then hurry up and do it. Mrs. Carter has dinner ready, and I got to get back to the house."
Tom took the paper and looked at it uncertainly. "I don't sign any paper till I know what I'm signing. I want time to—to go over this careful like."
He could make out a few of the words, and that was all. But not for anything would he admit that he could not read it.
"You told me you wanted to sell," said Carter. "I said I would buy. I am keeping my part of the bargain. I even brought the money with me."
Tom's face grew red. He looked down at the paper in his hand. He glanced at Abe seated on the fence. A struggle was taking place between pride and common sense. Common sense won.
"Abe, come here," he called.
Abe went on reading.
Tom raised his voice. "Abe! When I tell you to come, I mean for you to come."
The boy looked up from his book with a start. "Yes, Pa. Did you want me?"
"Hustle over here and look at this paper. Carter is in a mighty big hurry for me to sign something I ain't had a chance to read."
"You have had plenty of time to read it," said Carter. "But if you don't want to sell, I can call the whole deal off."
Abe reached out a long arm and took the paper. He read it slowly. "Pa," he asked, "don't you aim to sell Mr. Carter just the south field?"
"You know I'm selling him just the south field," said Tom.
"Then don't sign this."
Carter picked up the money bag clanking with coins. He tossed it into the air and caught it neatly. Tom looked at it. He wanted that money! He looked at Abe.
"Why shouldn't I sign?" he asked.
"If you do, you'll be selling Mr. Carter most of your farm."
John Carter was furious. "Don't try to tell me a country jake like you can read! That paper says the south field, as plain as the nose on your face."
"It says that and a sight more, Mr. Carter," Abe drawled. "It says the north field, too. It says the east and the west fields. There wouldn't be much farm left for Pa, except the part our cabin is setting on."
A dispute between men in Pigeon Creek usually ended in a fight. Tom Lincoln doubled up his fists. "Put them up, Carter."
The two men rolled over and over in a confused tangle of arms and legs. Now Tom Lincoln was on top. Now it was John Carter. "Go it, Pa," Abe shouted from the fence. "Don't let that old skinflint get you down." After a few minutes. Carter lay on his back gasping for breath.
"Nuf!" he cried, and Tom let him scramble to his feet.
Carter began brushing himself off. "It ain't fitting to fight a neighbor," he whined, "just because of a mistake."
"Mistake nothing!" Tom snorted. "Somebody lied, and it wasn't Abe."
"I'll have a new paper made out, if you like," said Carter.
Tom looked at him with scorn. "You ain't got enough money to buy my south field. But I'll thank you for the ten cents you owe us. Abe and I each did a half day's work."
Tom's right eye was swelling, and by the time he reached home it was closed. The bump on the side of his head was the size of a hen's egg. There was a long scratch down his cheek.
Sarah was kneeling before the fireplace, raking ashes over the potatoes that she had put in to bake. She jumped up in alarm.
"What's the matter? What happened?" she asked.
"It was like Pa said," Abe told her. "Mr. Carter is a skinflint."
Sarah took Tom by the arm and made him sit down on a stool. She touched the swollen eye with gentle fingers.
"It don't hurt much," he said.
"I reckon Mr. Carter hurts more," Abe spoke up again. "He has two black eyes."
Tom slapped his thigh and roared with laughter. "He sure does. But if it hadn't been for Abe—"
He stopped, embarrassed. Sarah was soaking a cloth in a basin of cold water. She laid it on his eye.
"What started it all?"
"You tell them, Abe," said Tom.
"That Mr. Carter ain't as smart as he thinks he is," Abe explained. "He had a paper for Pa to sign and tried to make out it was for just the south field. And do you know what, Mamma? When Pa asked me to read it, why, it was for almost our whole farm."
"You don't mean to tell me!" said Sarah.
"Carter said he'd have a new paper made out. But I told him," Tom
Comments (0)