Saga of the Sanpitch Volume 13, 1981 - Sanpete County

"Oh, they won't mind if we eat just one. I'm thirsty," said Andrew as he ran in the direction of his
delectable dream.
"Wait for me!" called Chris, and his eleven-year-old legs soon leaped far ahead. Sometimes it was no
advantage being only seven, Andrew thought.
At the top of the rise, there it was. Andrew had never seen as large or as many watermelon in all his
born days. Chris looked around and when he was sure no one was in sight told Andrew to choose the best
one. At last Andrew thumped one that sounded hollow. Chris found a large rock and the melon was dropped
onto it. It burst open and they sat down to enjoy their plunder.
They had just finished the last juicy mouthful and stretched out under a large oak tree when all at once
a voice seemed to come from nowhere. "Hey there! What are you doin'?"
Andrew felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise to the top of his head. There was Jim Whitlock on his
black mare staring down like a cocky rooster.
"Nothin'," said Chris, his face turning bright pink.
Jim laughed. He spied the rinds scattered about and sat upright on his horse. "You're in Bishop Olsen's
melon patch and I'm goin' to tell your Ma." With that he pulled up the reins, forcing the snorting horse's head
high in the air. He turned and fled.
Andrew looked at Chris. The grandeur of the moment had turned sour as a pickle. Ma would be tough
to reckon with, thought Andrew. She would not take this lightly.
"Let's go to the stream," suggested Andrew. Chris followed along in silence. The penny bugs were
skipping across the shimmering water, making ripples as their feet moved magically along. Their movement,
however, brought little wonder today. Andrew thought about facing the Bishop. Ma would surely have them
make up for their crime. She had often said, "When a wrong is committed, things must be settled before the
sun goes down." Andrew knew they were doomed.
After what seemed several hours, Andrew felt his stomach gnaw and growl. They continued in silence,
however, until they crossed the last field and caught sight of home. The smell of fried chicken met them.
"Ma's cookin' supper," Andrew said with a sideward glance at Chris whose head was bowed.
"Ah, I'm not hungry," he said, but Andrew wasn't fooled - chicken was Chris' favorite.
"Maybe Jim didn't tell Ma after all," Andrew said hopefully.
“He told her," said Chris. He kicked the dirt and nodded toward the doorway where Ma's silhouette
stood like a fearful sculpture,
Her hand whirled in a circular motion, "Turn right back 'round," she said. "You'll get no supper until
you've made it right with Bishop Olsen." She disappeared through the door as suddenly as she had appeared.
There was no arguing with Ma.
"Come on Andrew," said Chris sullenly.
Andrew felt his stomach hurt a little. He was sure it wasn't just hunger. "Let's play on the shale hills,"
he suggested, pretending light-heartedness. Chris seemed equally eager to forget the duty. The boys rolled
and skipped down the incline a few times, but Andrew didn't enjoy it as much as he thought he would. "I'm
hungry," he said at last.
"Me too," replied Chris. He made a design in the sand with his toe. "I guess we'd better go see the
Bishop before it gets dark."
They crossed the public square through the prolific sagebrush. Andrew felt as if his heart would burst
from his chest. Having Chris walk ahead helped a little. They soon came to the street and Andrew recognized
the Bishop's buggy in front of his second wife, Hannah's house.
Chris knocked lightly on the door. Then he turned as pale as a pan of milk. "What if he answers?" he
asked, his voice rising in pitch.
71