The Winds of Autumn by Janette Oke Page A

iffen she—she’s a nice girl, then she might not like a bunch a fellas pickin’ her over like that—like she was just somethin’ to gawk at or somethin’.”
    Avery swallowed.
    “I mean,” I went on, “why don’t we just forget that girl and go play Fox and Goose or somethin’?”
    “You don’t like her much, do you? I mean, what’s she done—?”
    I looked Avery square in the eye. I wanted to tell him just how dumb he was—but he was my best friend. He flinched some at my look and scuffed his feet back and forth on the solid ground.
    “It’s got nothin’ to do with likin’ or not likin’,” I finally said. “I don’t even know her—yet. Neither do you. Nor do any of those other fellas. But standin’ around talkin’ about her doesn’t do anybody any good. We might as well be playin’ or somethin’.”
    “I’ll get the guys,” said Avery, but before he turned to go he said one more thing—quiet and almost condemning—“You’re gettin’ more like your preacher uncle every day, you know that? Ever’body in town knows he won’t tolerate nobody talkin’ ’bout nobody,” and Avery wheeled and was gone.
    I knew Uncle Nat didn’t care none for town gossip. He had been the butt of it far too much himself as a kid growing up in a difficult situation. But I hadn’t known he had a name about town for not allowing it in his presence.
    Well, maybe I had learned it from my uncle Nat. I didn’t like the feel of gossipy tongues either. And I wasn’t one bit ashamed of the fact.
    Avery gathered up the fellas and we set us out a ring for Fox and Goose. The game got pretty lively, but I noticed fellas continually casting glances over at the girls’ side where the new girl, Camellia, was playing tag.
    She fit in real nice and ran about as fast as Mary Turley, who was considered a real good athlete for a girl.
    The bell rang and we got to go back into the warm schoolroom. I couldn’t help but notice how pretty Camellia was with her cheeks flushed and her coppery hair tousled from running in the wind.
    At the close of the day all of us older fellas left the schoolyard together, and you can just guess what the topic of conversation was. But I didn’t want to listen to it. It just didn’t seem right somehow for them all to be talking about her and laughing and joking and all. I pulled away from the rest of them and said I had to hurry and get home ’cause Aunt Lou might be needing me.
    I guess I ran all the way—I don’t really remember.
    When I came into the warm, fresh-bread-smelling kitchen, Aunt Lou looked just fine.
    “So how was your first day back at school, Josh?” she asked me.
    I answered, “Fine.”
    “Was it good to be back?” she questioned.
    I said that it was.
    “And what is your new teacher really like?”
    I started to answer, then stumbled to an embarrassed halt. I suddenly realized that I had no idea. I couldn’t even remember what the man looked like.

C HAPTER 10

The Storm
    T HE NEXT DAY I made a point of taking a real good look at our new teacher. I didn’t want to be caught again in an embarrassing situation like I had with Aunt Lou the night before. If necessary, I would even figure out his shoe size!
    His name was Mr. Foggelson, that much I knew. So Camellia’s last name would be Foggelson, too. Camellia was an only child. Everyone said she most favored her ma, so I guessed her ma must be a fine-looking woman.
    But I was off track again. Back to Mr. Foggelson, our teacher—he was of medium size, neither big nor small. He didn’t have a long, black mustache and shifty eyes, and he certainly did not have horns and a tail. He was clean shaven and had blue eyes—well, not real blue like Camellia’s but sort of a gray-blue. His hair was medium brown in color, not dark, not light, and it didn’t have the rich reddish-brown tones of Camellia’s hair. His chin was neither jutting in a stubborn way nor small and lost in his neckline like a mousy man’s might be.