November 01, 2006
Chapter One
Etta looked around the kitchen and back at the long work table. Six fat cushaw pumpkins lay on their sides with their necks curled into and onto one another. Three big orange globes sat near the end of the table ready and waiting for carving time. Between the two pumpkins lay a variety of squash, gourds, cheese pumpkins and sugar pumpkins. Other women might look at them as piles of work. Not Etta. She looked at them as beautiful offerings to be enjoyed now and later during the holidays.
The house was cooling down and the autumn chill was beginning to set in. The children where in bed, each one tucked in and kissed on the nose, prayers having been said together as they held hands in the hallway outside of their rooms. Grandma Beatrice and Granny Jenkins had retired to their upstairs parlor with a basket of mending preferring to prop their feet up in the quiet of their own room to think while doing several small sewing jobs to repair the children’s clothing. If the truth be known they retired to the little room of their own so as to be close if any of the children called out in the evening before they too retired for bed.
Etta could hear the small noises of the house settling down for the night. Each creak and groan and bump due to the change in the temperature of the house but her mind thought of it as the house settling down, stretching, yawning, relaxing as it too closed its eyes for sleep through the long night.
Opening the door to the big brick oven’s big firebox Etta fed in sticks of firewood until the flames began to lick and jump and grow bright. Closing the door she made sure it was latched tight, adjusted the flue and the vents for the perfect temperature for her needs. Too hot and the pumpkins would scorch and burn before cooking tender and if too cool the pumpkins would dry out and become tough as shoe leather. These pumpkins would cook and be juicy and tender. Perfect for pies, breads and soups, these pumpkins would make the best and most profitable baked goods at the fall festival. She would have breads and cakes and pies at her display stall. Each and every offering would be from her secret recipes that she rarely shared with anyone. If she gave the recipe away there would be no need for anyone to purchase her baked goods.
She has plans for the money to be earned on Saturday. It would be put away and held in safe keeping for the children’s Christmas. This year, like all other years, she and the Grandmothers would begin their sewing so as there would be a new dress for each of the girls and new trousers and shirts for the boys. Each child would get one long hoped for toy along with fruit and nuts in their stockings and maybe even some candy.
These next few months coming up to the holidays would be tiresomely busy but also exciting and thrilling. There would be whispers and secrets and much love and laughter mingled together. The children would come to her asking for ideas for gifts for the Grandmothers and their siblings and it was up to her to try and steer them all in different directions for their gifts. Often it was she who would supervise in the making of such gifts as well. Little hands and fingers would be working hard to bring a smile to the face of each sibling.
She never took for granted the blessing of her family. The children loved one another and while there were arguments and hurt feelings from time to time there was never any real animosity or ill will between them. She strived to teach the children compassion and kindness toward their fellow man and toward each of their siblings. So far her prayers had been. Her children were happy and healthy and giving and considerate others around them.
As she moved about the kitchen setting out her sharpest knives, a small canister of lard, roasting pans and pots she thought how lucky she was to have such a luxury as her kitchen. The house had been built into a hill so that from the front the huge monstrosity appeared to be a two story rambling old house with a mix of architectural details. From the back the house was seen to be three storied and not two storied at all. The kitchens were in the lower floor of the manor which looked out across the pleasing field toward the mountains of the Virginia Blue Ridge. The exterior kitchen walls were strung with large wide glass windows which when opened in the summer time helped to keep the kitchen cool. It was Etta's favorite place in the manor.
The kitchen had been built with two brick ovens for bread, a small area for pit cooking, a cast iron stove top had been fitted in the long brick work for cooking with pots and pans and a large iron lined oven for roasting all running along the length of the back wall. On either side of the kitchen a staircase wound itself from upstairs. One set of stairs led to the upstairs butler’s pantry providing access to the main dining room and The Judge’s study. The other was a set of back stairs leading to the family’s bedrooms. The rest of the walls were lined with cabinetry that provided lots of space for food preparation as well as sinks and storage. A small door way near the rear entrance led down into the cellar. Stone stairs disappeared down into the cool darkness an entire floor level and more below the front of the house. There was a small spring that fed through farthest cavern of the cellar. There is was damp and cool and could keep blocks of ice and pots of butter and pitchers of milk. In the summer she kept jars of sweet tea to drink in the summer heat. The spring fed store room helped to make live pleasant. Off the kitchen was another pantry which held dry goods and all the canning Etta could store. They had no great wealth of money but they did have plenty to eat and the means to keep it in store.
As the huge brick ovens began to heat themselves and shed warmth into the room Etta set to the work of washing and splitting the green and white striped pumpkins. The insides where scraped out and put into a huge bowl for later sorting out the seeds. Waste not want not as The Judge always said. She planned to save some seed for planting next fall and the others she would roast for the children and some for sale in her booth. Roasted pumpkin seed was something all the children looked forward to almost as much as a big bowl of popped corn. Well, almost. There was one little girl in her family who hated roasted pumpkins seeds and was not shy about letting it be known. She was just like The Judge. He, too, disliked the roasted seeds with a passion.
The Judge. Etta rubbed a dab of lard between her hands like fine Parisian ladies hand cream. She massaged them over each of the cut pieces of pumpkin absently.
The Judge has been gone now nearly three years. The big boisterous sounds of his voice left the house somewhat empty. He was a jolly man who provided well for his family in life. After his death, the family was not left destitute but they were not sitting as pretty as they should have been either. With careful management and hard work there would be money for the children’s education when the time came and none of them would go hungry or shoeless. Etta had always been careful with the allowance she had been given to run the household and often made a game of seeing how much she could save every month without compromising the standard of their living. The Judge often laughed loudly and long teasing her that she would beat out all of those financial advisers and rich bankers in Washington D.C. if given the chance. Knowing his teasing was good natured she never felt stung with his words when he called her a tight wad or a miser. She knew he was proud of her way with a dollar. Also knowing that she managed to save so much of the household money the judge never begrudged her the savings and continued to provide the same allowance for household knowing he was taken care of like royalty by her hand. Etta was good to The Judge and he was good to her. Together they had built and filled a happy home.
Etta began placing the pumpkin into the roasting pans. Her train of thought unbroken as her hands carried out their work.
Washington was another lifetime away. Once they had hobnobbed with the politicians and the lawyers but that was all gone now. There had been fancy dinners and balls. She had been apart of ladies societies and attended meetings until she was tired of meetings. She had eaten one too many congealed salad luncheons and had far too many cups of weak tea all the while making small talk and doing her duty as it fit the wife of a judge in the District. While she missed The Judge she in no way missed the fatigue of being a social butterfly. Her quiet country life was all she needed and wanted.
This house had been her idea although her idea had not been to build a home on this scale of size and luxury. When she had broached the subject of having a home in the country to spend summer with the children her husband had thought it was a grand idea. When asked what she liked and how she would like it The Judge made meticulous notes. It was an entire year in the planning before they were able to choose a plot of land and have the builder’s prints drawn up. The generosity of her husband and his plans for a comfortable home was one thing she was grateful for now. She had water that pumped right into the sink inside the house and a drain to carry away the waste water. Ingeniously the waste water from washing and cleaning the dishes was emptied out down in the side field where she had a plot for her kitchen garden. Waste not want not the words rang again.
Posted by Angie at November 1, 2006 04:46 AM