Abe Lincoln Gets His Chance Part 9

"You menfolks wait outside," she added. "Soon as the gals and I get the dishes done, we'll be out to hear Abe preachify."

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The afternoon was warm. Sarah fanned herself with her ap.r.o.n as she sat down at one end of a fallen log near the door. The rest of the family lined up beside her. Abe stood before them, his arms folded, as he repeated the sermon he had heard that morning. Now and then he paused and shook his finger in the faces of his congregation. He pounded with one fist on the palm of his other hand.

"Brethern and sisters," said Abe, "there ain't no ch.o.r.e too big for the Lord, no ch.o.r.e too small. The Good Book says He knows when a sparrow falls. Yet He had time to turn this great big wilderness into this here land where we have our homes. Just think, folks, this Pigeon Creek had no one but Indians living here a few years back. And today we got cabins with smoke coming out of the chimneys. We got crops agrowing. We got a meeting house where we can come together and praise the Lord--"

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 gra.s.s, and mopped his forehead. In much the same way had the preacher used his bandanna handkerchief. The Lincoln family rose, sang "Praise G.o.d from Whom All Blessings Flow," and church was over.

The young folks drifted away. Tom stretched out on the gra.s.s 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 gra.s.s. 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

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"Hurry up and eat your breakfast, Abe," said Tom the next morning. "We're going to cut corn for that skinflint, John Carter."

Sarah pa.s.sed 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 mola.s.ses 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."

"Wis.h.i.+ng 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 s.h.i.+rt 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."