The Winds of Autumn by Janette Oke Page B

He was a rather ordinary-looking man.
    His voice was well-modulated and even-pitched, neither high nor low. He taught with authority without being overbearing. He seemed to know the subject matter well. He was patient with the slow learners, but seemed to show real appreciation for a good mind. All in all, I had to admit he would probably be the finest teacher I had ever had in my limited years of schooling.
    Having carefully made my mental report for Aunt Lou or anyone else who might ask, I went back to letting my thoughts wander to other things—like whether Camellia liked to skate on frozen ponds or toboggan down steep, bumpy hills. I was imagining her with her hair flying in the wind and her cheeks flushed from all the excitement.
    I wonder if she’d like to go out to the farm with me? I thought. I was sure Gramps had never seen such a pretty girl and would never believe my description of her.
    I wondered if she liked dogs and how she would feel about my Pixie. Somehow I could picture her with Pixie in her arms, running her slim, long fingers through the soft, fluffy fur. I could hardly wait to get the two of them together, sure that it would be instant, mutual love.
    Will I stutter and make silly blunders before I even have a chance to show her that I am different than the other fellas? I worried. That I really do care about her as a person, not just a pretty face?
    And then I realized that “a pretty face” was all I really knew about Camellia. Well, I’d just have to set myself to finding out more about her.
    The week rushed by—all too quickly, I thought, filled as it was with daydreams and snatched glances and “chance” encounters. I wondered just how I would manage the whole weekend without even a glimpse of her or anything. Many of my classmates lived right in town and would have the opportunity to see Camellia as she went to the grocer’s for her ma, or out for a walk with her pa, or something. Me, I’d be out at the farm with the menfolk—all alone.
    I didn’t talk to any of my family about Camellia. Not that I wasn’t thinking about her some—I just didn’t know what to say or how to say it. I tried whispering a few little things to Pixie— and then felt my cheeks get hot with embarrassment.
    I got through Saturday, though my mind really wasn’t on my farm chores. I was looking forward to Sunday. I was just sure that Camellia and her folks would be at Uncle Nat’s church, his being the only church in town. I could hardly wait to have Gramps see her. He’d notice her for sure—I mean, she stood out in a crowd, and then he’d ask me who this new girl was and I’d be able to say, “That’s Camellia Foggelson, the daughter of the new teacher.” I wouldn’t have to say that she had the bluest eyes in the world, or the prettiest brown-red hair. Gramps would see all that for himself.
    But when I crawled out early for church on Sunday morning, we had ourselves a storm brewing like I’d never seen before. The wind was howling and the snow was drifting so bad you couldn’t even see the barn.
    “Whoo-ee,” remarked Uncle Charlie as he looked out the frosted window, “would you look at her howl!”
    “Guess this here winter is determined to make up for our fine fall,” stated Grandpa.
    “Gonna be tough gettin’ to church,” I mumbled, more to myself than to anyone else.
    “Won’t anyone be able to get to church this mornin’,” Grandpa stated as known fact. “Doubt even the town folk will make it.”
    You can bet I was some disappointed about that. Suddenly the long, quiet Lord’s Day stretched before me empty and desolate. How in the world would we ever fill it?
    The only excitement in the day was fighting our way against the wind to care for the team, the cows, hogs and chickens. They were all mighty glad to see us. Back in the house, bone-chilled and tingling, we were all glad for a good wood supply against the cold.
    After our dinner together, I helped Uncle Charlie with the