(October 24, 1908)
Will placed his head into the flank of the cow as the milk flowed into the pail.
He had learned that calmed her, and she had become so accustomed to it, that she would not let her milk down for him until he did. Besides, a cold front had moved in the day before, the glass read 32 degrees this morning, and her warmth felt pleasant on his forehead.
But Will did enjoy the cool weather. He was born in late autumn, and his grandpa said he had never gotten over it! His favorite time of year, he dearly loved the colors that the Ozarks donned during this time.
He had just finished the chores; and with the recent loss of Clara and Mr. Parmenter, he was walking with a heavy heart toward the house, when a buggy arrived in the driveway.
He paused, and watched, as his mother greeted the lady in the buggy. Then his mother pointed to Will standing in the barn yard, and the buggy proceeded around the circle drive towards him. As it came closer, he recognized that it was Mrs. Parmenter. She came right up beside him, pulled up the reins, and greeted Will with sadness in her countenance.
“Hello Will, how are you doing?”
He responded honestly, “Not so good ma’am.”
“I think I understand, it’s kind of hard on us right now isn’t it?”
Will nodded his head in response.
She then said something that took Will by complete surprise.
“Well, listen honey, I am certain you know it, but my Elmer thought dearly of you.”
A huge lump appeared in Will’s throat, and he found it hard to swallow.
She continued.
“Here, now! Let’s perk up! Anyways, Elmer asked me to give it a while after his passing, and so I have. I came to tell you that I have placed something for you on the steps of the church house. Yes, it was Elmer’s wish, and he said to give you this also. He said don’t read it until you have went to the church house.”
She then handed Will an envelope addressed “To Lil’ Will.”
Will looked puzzled, and he asked “What is on the steps?”
Mrs. Parmenter replied, “Well, I reckon you need to go and see.”
And with that she gave the horse a nudge and off she went.
Will gained permission from his parents, and then he set off in a slow walk to the church house, as one almost in bewilderment. It was only about 1 mile and a half, and he would walk a ways, and then stop, hold the envelope up and gaze at the inscription, “To Lil’ Will.”
He had never seen that handwriting before, was it from Mr. Parmenter himself? When Will finally headed down the little lane to the church house he could see ahead what was leaning up against one of the posts of the front porch. It was Mr. Parmenter’s hay scythe!
Will began to cry, and he took off in a hard run until he held the scythe in his hands! He looked the scythe over carefully as a man would inspect an antique fiddle, then sat down on the steps, took a deep breath, and with trembling hands, opened the letter.
“Well dear friend, if you are reading this, then what I expected was going to happen did. But there is no reason for you to be all downhearted. The Scripture says to be absent from the body is to be present with the Lord (2Cor. 5:8), and so I am. Take comfort in this Will, and stay the course that we may meet again, for you were the dearest friend an old man ever had.”
Will paused from reading as the tears made it too blurry, and he had to wipe his nose on the sleeve of his chore coat.
Just the day before, Mr. Mullaney had told Will that it was good for a man to cry every once in a while, and that is why a man had two sleeves!
He said, “Laddie Will, one sleeve is fer the eye, and the utter is fer the nose!”
Will chuckled a little in remembering his Irish neighbor’s wisdom, and then continued reading his letter.
“I am leaving you my hay scythe; it’s yours now. Keep it sharp! Whet the stone as I showed you, for this helps to bring the right edge.
“You are almost 11 years old, a young man. So, I am also leaving you with an important charge. It is up to you now to mow the church yard. I know that you can do it, for I was about your age when I mowed the fields alongside grown men.
“That scythe belonged to my grandpa, he gave it to me. I grew up watching him use that scythe, and he always whistled hymns while using it; I have done the same.
“You have been a grandson to me, so I am passing it on to you, asking that you continue on in that same tradition. Will you do it?
“Remember this saying, and hold it fast: Every choice in daily life is either for the cross, or the curse. (Luke 9:23). Heavenly song is for the people of the cross, worldly song, the people of the curse. But you are no longer under the curse! You have been redeemed! Rescued from the miry clay! So with gladness in your heart, sing the new song of salvation! (Psalm 40:1-3). I must go now. Until we meet again, my dear grandson in the faith.
Elmer Parmenter.”
It was a brisk autumn day. In the church yard, the yellow leaves were beginning to fall from the big hickory. There wasn’t much grass, yet, a young boy was standing out front bundled up in his chore coat and hat. He was cutting leftover sprigs with an old hay scythe; and yes, whistling a familiar tune he had heard in the tiny church house many times before.
How fitting that first verse.
“I will sing of my Redeemer, And His wondrous love for me; On the cruel cross He suffered, From the curse to set me free.”
Lord willing, until next time.
Michael Everett Jones is a Texas County native, old fashioned historian and purveyor of traditional Christian values. Email ozarksgrandpajones@gmail.com.