« Chapter One | Main | Chapter Three »
November 02, 2006
Chapter Two
As she worked she made sure to clean up behind each job, washing and putting away the utensils and pans and dishes. With the amount of baking she was doing the need for staying on top of the clean up made for a much lighter work load in the end.
A second batch of those green striped pumpkins waited their turn in the oven. Two of the sweet pumpkins were ready to go in as well which would be baked into her infamous pumpkin pie. The other pumpkins were for use in her breads.
Standing at the sink she separated the pulp from the seeds. The seeds went into another bowl for washing. The pulp went into the slop bucket for the chicks and pigs.
With the last of the seeds sorted from the stringy guts of the pumpkin she rinsed her hands then wiping them dry on her apron.
The kitchen was increasingly warm now and she slipped her feet from her shoes. She loved the warmth of the brick under feet and wiggled her toes happily. Filling the kettle with fresh cool water she set it on the stove to boil. Thinking the two old ladies upstairs would appreciate a warm drink before bed.
Etta dearly loved the two Grandmas. She was beyond thankful for both of them. They had come to her in her time of need and stuck by her side through the settling of The Judges affairs, tending the children, closing the Washington house and moving lock, stock and barrel to the country side. Grandma Beatrice was her mother’s mother. She had always been a part of her life and she couldn’t picture continuing on a day without her. Granny Jenkins was not really her Grandmother she was The Judge’s great aunt. The children had always called her Granny and soon she and The Judge followed suit. Sometimes it was hard to remember she was not really their grandmother at all.
Grandma Beatrice had been widowed so very long ago, when Etta was just a little girl herself. She had never remarried saying she had married the love of her life and there was no one that could fill that void in her life. Granny Jenkins, too, was widowed, not once but four times. She had out lived all of her husbands and probably would outlive them all. Both of the women wore ‘widow’s weeds’, how she hated that word, and seemed happy to dress every day in varying degrees of black dresses, blouses and skirts. She herself had spent a year properly attired in black garments when going out in to the public. Never had she been so happy to throw off those depressing clothes and once again wear light colors with patterns and prints.
Even now as she stood in the kitchen she wore her comfortable work clothes as she called them. She had on a soft cotton blouse with a loose short sleeve of white decorated with pink and red floral patterns and a dark red skirt that was shorter than it should have been. She had made this skirt and blouse specifically for facilitating the work she did in and around their home. The skirt was shorter than what was considered proper but she couldn’t be bothered with the tangle of skirts about her ankles when she had things to do. The full gathered skirt fell midway below her knees several inches above her ankles leaving her legs free to move not to mention how much cooler it was in the warm months. The outfit had much become her uniform and she intended to shorten a couple of her skirts that had seen better days to use for her house and garden work as well.
Etta moved about her kitchen spreading the seeds on brown paper to dry, washing the tables and the counters, checking the pumpkins in the oven. It was a lot of hard work taking care of her family but one she received so much joy from. She found something special in every season in the preserving and preparing of good meals of the present and those to come.
Anyone with a view into the back windows of the house would have seen the light in the windows, cheery smoke rising from the chimneys. Had they come closer they would have heard singing floating on the crisp night air. She removed cooked pumpkin from the oven and replaced it with the second batch she had waiting with the fluid movements of a lovely dancer, flitting from one task to another with ease.
The kettle began to boil. She washed her hands again wiping them on her apron. She set a small tray with a tea pot, two cups and saucers, a bit of sugar and a small plate of fruit bread. Peeking into the oven she checked the progress of the second batch of roasting pumpkin, adding a few sticks to the fire, before taking her leave to run the tray of tea up to the grandmothers.
Her stocking feet made no noise as she climbed the stairs. Up the stairs and down the corridor she made a left turn at the front hall. Near the middle of the hall was a nice alcove which looked over the grand entry foyer. It was the grandmother’s parlor. The area was a comfortable place in the house that the older women had taken over for their own comforts. There was a nice fireplace and comfortable chairs and foot rests as well as walls of shelving that held books of every subject matter. This little nook was a very active hub of their home. The two old women did sewing and mending. The children read to them and sprawled on the floor to do homework. The kitchen was the heart of the home and the children were always there underfoot and when they weren’t in the kitchen they were here.
Etta could hear the murmur of their voices as she approached the open archway. A small fire crackled in the hearth. Two grey haired women sat in matching wing backed chairs with their slippered feet propped up on little stools covered with handmade needlework. The jingle of the china on the tray alerted them to her arrival and their conversation changed quickly. Their voices roses so as to be heard and was what seemed to be a dissection of Preacher Croft’s Sunday morning service.
That is until she realized what she heard.
“I saw that Tucker scoundrel take two of those communion cups,” Granny Jenkins said.
“It is a wonder he could hold onto even one of them. Shaking like he was recovering from a ten day drunk,” Grandma Beatrice countered.
“Hmmmpphhff! He has never seen ten days sober in his life!” Granny Jenkins voice was filled with laughter.
"Are you two gossiping over that poor old man again?" Etta's voice may have had a teasing note to it but her words were serious. "As much as you two call that man's name his ears should be burned clean off his head." She set the tea tray on the little table between the two women.
"You hush such talk." Granny Jenkins was quick to chide her.
"Have you no respect for your elders?" Grandma Beatrice spoke at the same time.
"Oh, I have plenty of respect for my elders. I also know that both of my elders can rip a body to shreds with their tongues," She informed them both knowingly.
The two old women pretended not to hear her as they put down their mending and took to pouring the tea.
“Didn’t you bring a cup for yourself, dear?” Grandma Beatrice passed a filled cup of steaming tea to Granny Jenkins.
“I am not in the mood for tea. I have those pumpkins in the oven and a batch cooling down in the kitchen now. I want to finish up and get things back in order before the morning sun begins to rise.” Etta put another log on the fire.
“You work much too hard, darling,” this from Granny Jenkins.
“It is hard work taking care of this brood and household but it is not a wearisome chore. I love everything I do for us all.” Etta always had a positive outlook even when the tired lines where showing on her face.
“We love everything you do for us, dear,” Grandma Beatrice sipped her tea.
“Right now I am busy doing for my fall booth at the festival on Saturday. I have plans for a few dozen loaves of my spiced pumpkin nut bread, several pumpkin pies and cookies.” Etta poked at the fire. “And when I finish with that I plan to make pumpkin soup for our supper.”
“You do make some of the very best soup, dear. It will be an enjoyable supper. We should have some apples and pork chops to go along with it.”
“And corn bread -made with buttermilk. Those fancy brick ovens of yours sure get a real work out this time of year. Breads and cakes and pies.”
“We will all be fat by spring time, “ Grandma Beatrice remarked.
“You have never been fat a day in your life, Bea. You have a lovely figure.” Granny Jenkins set down her needle. “I, on the other hand, have spent my life having to watch every single thing I put in my mouth. Well I am an old lady now and I am not going to watch. I am going to enjoy!” She proclaimed.
“What we need is a man around the house, “ Granny Jenkins tossed in from behind her tea cup. Etta did not see the look those two old women exchanged. “Men enjoy good meals and warm kitchens.”
“The last thing we need is another mouth to feed.“ Etta poked at the fire.
“Who said anything about feeding another mouth? Perhaps another mouth might come along and decide to feed us,” Grandma Beatrice added.
“Oh, yes, why in my day a woman wanted a man to step in and complete her household,” Granny Jenkins sipped her tea, “although I am not saying our household is not complete, it is, but you know what I mean. A house just doesn’t seem as full when there isn’t a man about to keep the order.”
Etta watched the two try not to exchange too many glances at one another. She knew they were fishing again. For the past six months since coming from the city to the country they had been trying to find her a husband. It wasn’t an endeavor that she was against but it wasn’t one she was chomping at the bit for it to happen either. She married the first time for reasons she vowed she would never tell another living soul. The next time she married, if there ever was a next time, would be for one reason only. She would marry for love.
Lost in her own thoughts she wasn’t aware of much of the conversation that was exchanged between the pair of pint sized powerhouses but she made the right noises and head movements to make them think she was listening to every word. As they sipped the tea and finished with the service Etta bade them both good night and cleared the service and her self back to the kitchen leaving them to finish the mending. Knowing those two they would sit up as long as she was working in the kitchen, perhaps even napping a bit in their chairs by the fire.
“She always scurries off like a scullery maid,“ She heard Grandma Beatrice’s voice followed by Granny Jenkins, “ You do know the quickest way to a man’s heart, don’t you?” At that she had to laugh –and laughing she went all the back to the kitchen like the scullery maid she most certainly was not.
Posted by Angie at November 2, 2006 10:38 AM