November 05, 2006
Chapter Five
As they walked along the dirt road leading to the grounds for the festival she couldn’t help but laugh at her boys. The three middle door steps kept passing a fat pink little piglet between them instead of letting the little porker walk to the festival.
Caleb had insisted the pig could not walk because he would get dirty. A dirty pig would not win a blue ribbon. Each one carried the pig part of the way but the pig had other things in mind. It wiggled and squirmed, bristles and feet scratching at the boys wanting to be put down. It wasn’t long before Christopher produced a bit of twine and fashioned a quick harness and the boys did end up letting that piglet walk his way onto the festival grounds.
While the younger children had been tending their chores, Isaac had hitched the team and brought a loaded wagon to the booth they would be using. Etta had asked for three make shift tables to be set up and set about quickly arranging her display of items for sale. The grandmothers went off to make sure their quilt was properly displayed for the competition and the other children not chasing after a piglet helped to finish taking things out of the wagon. Her loaves of bread were wrapped in brown paper tied with strings, her pies were displayed under glass pie domes. There were a variety of pickles and jams from her summer harvest of fruits and garden vegetables. Grandma Beatrice had a few jars of her green tomato and peppers that were sure to set you off like fourth of July fireworks. Granny Jenkins had various bits of sewing of doilies and handkerchiefs among other females things she arranged on one of the far tables near the front.
Once the wagon was unloaded and everything in order Isaac took the team and wagon back home and set the animals out to pasture planning to walk back. It would be a long day and just before packing things in for the evening he and children would return for the wagon to transport whatever was leftover back home. Etta did not plan to have anything left over. She sliced a loaf of bread, opened a few jars of pickles and jam. Any man who happened by would welcome a taste, as would the children, and she knew that in itself would sell every jar, bread and pie she had.
The day was proving to be a beauty. The sun was shining and warm. A slight breeze whispered through every now and then. Everything was picture perfect. In fact better than perfect. It was barely midday and nearly everything she had was gone. Grandma Beatrice had one jar of peppers left and Granny Jenkins had taken orders for several pair of lace gloves, a few snoods and a dozen or so handkerchiefs. The needle work was indeed first class. It made Granny Jenkins and Etta very proud that some of the wealthier members of their society chose to purchase items from them instead of shopping for them in the bigger cities when they traveled. Granny Jenkins had also arranged to sew two ball gown to be delivered the week before Christmas for the Mayor’s wife and daughter.
Marjory Beecher had asked for several loaves of the pumpkin bread for her Thanksgiving table. She went on to explain that this year they would be entertaining several out of town relatives and friends as guest and anything she could do to make the work load easier on her household was a godsend. Etta knew exactly what she meant. Marjory planned to set out a continental breakfast for her houseguest during the three days they would be in her home.
“I don’t know how you find to time to do this kind of baking and tending your home with all these children to care for.” One gloved hand took the loaf of bread from Etta. “Land sakes alive, you must not sleep at night.”
“You don’t know how close to the truth that can be at times. But really, I make time for the important things and get to what I can in a day. The rest has to wait. “ Etta commented in response.
As the two women chatted Etta notice from the corner of her eye that her rambucious boys, Christopher, Caleb, Jacob, Jackson and little Shane were animatedly talking to two little flame haired boys. As they approached Etta could see they had the freckles to match their red hair.
The moving dust bowl of boys caught the attention of Marjory as well.
“I see your boys have made quick friends with the Miller twins.”
“It looks to be but I don’t know who they are. I was just going to ask you if you knew who those two boys belonged to.” Etta watched the boys veer off toward the pen where Isaac was waiting to watch the ‘greasy pig’ race that was soon to start.
“I thought you knew, Etta.” Her companion voice was amazed. “Those two boys belong to our new sheriff, Jasper Miller. Jabo is what, Henry calls him. They went to school together.”
At this point Granny Jenkins had joined them.
“I hear tell he is trying to raise more than those two boys,” Granny Jenkins was just playing coy with what she knew.
“Oh? What else might he be raising?”
“Hell, if you ask me,” Grandma Beatrice piped up.
At that Granny Jenkins began to laugh, “ And a ruckus, too.”
“He a widower, you know,” Marjory turned her attention to the two older women now watching the boys with them.
It was like pulling teeth from hen to get them to tell her what she wanted know. She was running out of patience.
“How do know all of this? I have been right here with you all day and I haven’t heard the least bit about the man, his children, or whatever it is he is raising.” Etta spoke up and broke up their gaggle.
“I know he has six children,” Granny Jenkins expounded.
“And they are all red headed, “ Grandma Beatrice added.
“And that is what he is raising, “ Marjory laughed. “Six red headed children that are far too unruly to be children of a man of the law.”
As the three women gossiped about what they knew Etta couldn’t help but to listen to every word.
“He was once almost family,” Granny Jenkins was talking to Grandma Beatrice.
“What do you mean he was almost family?” Etta interrupted the conversation.
“ He and The Judge were best of friends as boys,” Granny Jenkins told her. “Don’t you recall The Judge telling the children stories about him and Jabo Miller? “
Then the name rang a bell. It had been so long ago that she had heard those stories the name had previously slipped by her attention.
“Ohhhh,” she exclaimed with recognition. “I do remember now. How sad The Judge isn’t here to enjoy his company.”
“We should invite him to supper or at least send something to his house for the children,” Grandma Beatrice offered.
“Yes, you are right, Bea. As family of The Judge we should welcome him to our community.” Granny Jenkins liked the idea.
“Those children of his might like some cake or pie.” Marjory threw in but didn’t offer to bake anything at the same time. “I understand he tried to hire a housekeeper but three of them quit in less than a week. The oldest girl is trying to make their meals but from the likes of it I understand they are living mostly on stick bologna and cheese.”
“Bologna and cheese?” Etta couldn’t believe anyone would be trying to bring along children with only bologna and cheese. The idea made her feel badly for the children. As soon as she got home she would make plans to have the family over for supper and send home plenty of left overs.
“And soda crackers,” Marjory added.
By the time the women had bade Marjory farewell Etta felt so sorry for those poor children she was nearly beside herself.
The roar of the crowd at the arena for the ‘greasy pig’ as Shane called it drew her attention. She left the grandmothers at the booth while she walked over to watch. There were a dozen or more children in the fenced area chasing after several squealing and very greasy looking pigs. It took a few moments for her eyes to scan the moving blurs of children to pick out her own little one. Shane was in hot pursuit of one brown and white little critter. Fast on his heels were the two red haired boys she had seen earlier.
All of her children had gathered together and were rooting for Shane, urging him on. Even the smallest girls were giggling and screaming for Shane to ‘get’em.”
Around and around the children ran and around and around the pigs slipped right out of their touch. One minute a red headed boy had his arms wrapped around a fat pig and the next he was face down in the dirt pigless. By the time Shane actually got his arms around a pig he was able to keep hold of it because obviously the grease was on all of the other boys. Etta laughed along with crowd when the pig managed to once again escape a pair of arms and ran squealing around the enclosure. The look on her sons face was priceless.
Turning from the site of her children Etta made to return to the booth so the aunts could attend the quilt judging that would be coming up soon. Just as she turned away she collided face first into a wall of a man standing directly behind her.
“Pardon me, ma’am,” Two big hands easily steadied her by their grip on each of her upper arms.
Confused for a moment Etta murmured an apology and quickly moved away. Just as she stepped back to looked up. She was surprised her eyes did not reach a face. She had to look up higher to see who it was she had bumped into. As she did she saw the shiney star pinned to his coat front.
“Sheriff Miller,” she said surprised.
Posted by Angie at 10:51 AM | Comments (0)
November 04, 2006
Chapter Four
Saturday morning came bright with a chill in the air that promised a wonderful if not somewhat warm day for the fall festival. The entire family was excited as they sat around the breakfast table filling themselves with bacon and pumpkin pancakes from Etta’s secret recipe. Cane syrup flowed easily and the children laughed and chattered about what would happen during the day as the platter of pancakes disappeared far quicker than Etta could replenish it.
“Momma, Shane plans on catching that greasy pig Mr. Jones is bringing to the festival,” Isaac spoke as he helped his younger brother with his pancakes.
“Thow am!,” the happy little boy replied with a full lisp as he tried to talk with two missing front teeth.
Isaac sat near the head of the table with Shane by his side. At sixteen he was quick to help with the younger children especially Shane. The genuine love her children had for one another made Etta’s chest pang with emotion as watched the older boy help his five year old younger brother pour syrup over yet another pancake.
“Yuck. He will come home stinking like that old pig.” Beth grimanced from her perch on the bench along side them both.
“Why are you yucking?” Sarah tucked a large syrup sogged pancake into her mouth.
“Because I am the one who has to helped bath the children and wash clothes until Heppie and Hank get back from their trip to Georgia, that’s why,” Beth’s words sounded like complaining but it really wasn’t. She took pride in her help in caring for the family.
“When are they coming back?” a little voice further down the table asked.
“Heppie said they would be back two weeks before Thanksgiving,” Granny Beatrice helped the child beside her to wipe her mouth.
“If today is Hallowe’en how long then before Heppie comes home?” Isaac asked the question to the three children on the other side of Sarah.
“Not another math problem, “ Caleb seemed to try and disappear in his spot at the table. He hated those questions from Issac.
Etta stood were she was at the stove, spatula in hand ready to flip the next round of pancakes when the little bubbles began to rise. Her eyes caressed the faces of her children. Elizabeth and Sarah each was approaching womanhood and meeting the challenge head on in their own way. Beth had just turned fifteen this spring and the young men were beginning to call. She was a beauty of a girl but with plenty of sense in her head. She guided Sarah, a year younger than she, attempting to keep her in line as a young lady should be -proper and neat. Sarah had other ideas. Most often those ideas included a cast off pair of dungarees from her brothers and a fishing pole fashioned out of an old cane. She loved the outdoors and did not give a wit about dresses and boys coming to call.
“Come on, it is an easy one,” Jacob took a long drink of his milk. Setting the glass on the table his used the back of his hand to remove his milk moustache. Immediately his eye went huge and round and he scrubbed at his face with his napkin.
“If it is so easy then you answer it,” Caleb looked at Jacob in a challenging way that little boys do as if to say I dare you.
Next to Sarah on the long kitchen bench sat Jacob, Caleb and Jackson, three little tow headed boys like doorsteps. Ages eleven, ten and nine the three could have passed for triplets. The boys had similar interests, worked and played well together. They also tended to be mischevious and kept her on her toes. Across the table sat fourteen year old Christopher sandwiched between Granny Jenkins and Grandma Beatrice who each had a small girl tucked under their wings making sure they too had their fair share of the pancakes. At three years old Abegail had learned to speak up so as not to get lost in the crowd. Four year old Mary however tended to be a quiet child and one always had to look behind to make sure she was holding someone’s hand and moving forward with the pack of children.
“Two weeks,” Jackson spoke up never taking his eyes off his pancakes. “Heppie is coming home in two weeks.”
The conversation carried on around the table amongst the children with buzz and drone spiked with laughter with some voices louder than others but with each heard above the rising din.
“Smarty pants,” Caleb mumbled to his brother.
Dark haired and blond haired, blue eyed and brown eyed, all the children held a remarkable resemblance to one another and unless asked specifically no one would have ever known they were not blood related. Love made them a family in ways that blood never could.
Etta flipped the pancakes onto the platter and sat it in the middle of the table. Smothering a yawn she reached for the coffee pot and refilled her cup for the third time that morning.
“How late did you work last night, Momma?” Beth noticed her mother trying to hide a yawn.
“Too late, “ she replied nursing her coffee. “It had to be after midnight when I slid our picnic supper into the oven.
“What are we having?” Christopher spoke up as he pulled his legs from underneath the table and practically crawled from the bend. “I am always hungry for supper.”
“Tell us something we don’t know,” Etta smiled at her son. “You are going to have to wait and find out about the supper menu because I haven’t figured it all out myself yet.”
Out of habit, practicality and necessity as the children finished with their plates each one scraped their scraps into the bucket for the pigs neatly stacking their plates in the sink and placed their silverware into the dishpan there. Glasses were lined up on the nearby countertop. Eleven children and three adults, five if you include Heppie and Hank, left a great many dishes to wash several times in a day. Every little bit each person did helped to keep the work load lighter for her and the two older women.
She too would be happy when their domestic helpers and friends returned from their long visit to Georgia. Heppie had received word a few weeks before that her aging and elderly parents had come down with a fever and the outcome did not look good. It had been many years since she had seen her parents. This likely being if she could get there in time the last time she might ever seen them on this earth. With no other thought, Etta had instructed the couple to pack and ready their things, she would see to it they got there safely and timely.
Taking to her writing desk she set about written instructions for her banker. She had sent Isaac to deliver the letter to withdraw funds from her accounts and to purchase train tickets to and from their destination in Georgia. By the afternoon of the next day they waved goodbye to their dearest friends on earth, wishing them godspeed and safe journey for their return. They did not yet know if Heppie had made it home in time to see her parents. She could only hope that she had.
Having stack their plates and dishes the children hurried through their morning chores. Granny Jenkins took the older girls upstairs and supervised the making of beds. Beth and Sarah worked together and could make beds neat and fast. Making eleven beds every day was indeed a chore but they made quick work of it. Each child was responsible for pulling up their bed covers and tidying their rooms but the boys didn’t do a great job of it at best and the younger children were just learning. On days like today the children hopping out of bed like a flash for something special the beds had been in worse shape than normal. This she knew without having to look. Less than a half hour later the girls were back from tending the bedrooms. The boys had taken out the scrap bucket and rinsed it out. The barn yard animals having to be tended and turned out to the pasture while stalls had to be cleaned would take a might bit longer. The girls took over her place at the sink rinsing dishes. In a matter of no time all the chores where finished, the children dressed with faces washed and hair combed, the Grandmothers at her side they set out on foot to the festival in their village.
Posted by Angie at 10:41 AM | Comments (0)
November 03, 2006
Chapter Three
Back in her kitchen she pulled the last pans of roasted pumpkin from the ovens. Leaving them to cool she tidied the tea service. Instead of putting it away she readied it for the morning. It would be a very late night to bed and few little preparations would make the morning much easier. Just add hot water and the grandmothers would have their morning tea with the least amount of fuss.
Etta knew she would be working until after midnight to prepare all of the pumpkin she had baked. The loss of sleep was a small price to pay for providing one of a kind baked goods at the fall market the following day. The money earned would provide the extras for Christmas for the children. The late evening hours also made her work more efficient. When the children where awake and in the kitchen there was so much going on it hard to accomplish much at one time.
Flour, sugar, eggs, spices, dried fruits and nuts, a splash of orange flavored liquor all went into carefully measured batches of the pumpkin puree. She poured out the mix into prepared loaf pans, small tins, and round cake pans.
Bits of wood were added to the firebox to maintain the perfect temperature in the ovens for baking.
It wasn’t long after placing the baking pans of batter into the oven that the kitchen began to smell of cinnamon and cloves. It was a warming scent and made her smile while she worked. The kitchen was beginning to overheat, one of the reasons she preferred to work in the cool of the night. She raised a window and welcomed the cooling night air as it brushed her skin.
The large pumpkins at the far end of the work table was for the children to carve into jack o ’lanterns for their Hallowe’en display for the booth. Saturday’s festivities were one they were all looking forward too. There would be crafts and food and games set up for entertainment. There would even be a special cake competition she planned to enter.
The grandmothers had finished just last week their work on a quilt that was sure to draw a blue ribbon as well. The children had been fattening up a little piglet for the livestock showing. Everyone in the village was expected to turn out.
Exchanging cooked bread from the oven for pans of batter she left the first loaves near the window to cool while she popped down to the cellar for butter from the spring room. When she returned she expected the night air would have cooled the pans enough she could turn out the sticky loaves of sweet pumpkin bread and prepare the pans for yet another batch of batter.
Lighting a lamp she slipped on an old pair of leather slippers and opened the door that led down to the cellar. The stairs were made of stone and could be slippery if not swept down and taken proper care of almost daily. She picked her way gingerly down the steps walking past the alcove that held bottles of wine, the bins filled with apples and cabbages and potatoes to only name a few vegetables there, passed the area hanging with dried, salted and smoked cured meats to the very back most portion where the trickle of water echoed as the little spring bubbled past her crocks and pots and pitchers. She took an earthen tub of butter to make pastry for her pumpkin pies and returned to her kitchen. The heat of the stoves was a welcome greeting. She had chilled considerable with just that quick of a trip to the cellar larders.
With the butter on hand she expertly rolled out pie crusts and lined her pans with little lost time. She had become proficient over the years with the cooking and baking. The Judge had often urged her to hire a cook for their kitchens and she had steadfastly refused. At times she had hired on a girl or two to help with the preparations and clean up but the actual cooking had always been her job and one she enjoyed to the extreme.
Bread baked away in the brick ovens and the cast iron stoves where ready for the pies. The process of baking the pies would take much longer as she could only bake a few at a time as space allowed.
It would be nearly an hour before the pies were finished and she contemplated taking the waiting pies to the coolness of cellar but decided instead to cover them with a cloth and set the outside of the kitchen door on the bench in cool night air.
Moving to the far side of the work space she turned out the loaves of pumpkin bread onto clean wire racks. Reaching for the sixth loaf pan she stopped short. What she saw at first perplexed her then slightly frightened her. The loaf pan was empty. As if nothing happened she made her way across the kitchen, humming a bit to herself and went into the pantry. There she took down the old shotgun that hung on the upper pegs. The Judge had made her keep a gun in the house, knowing her penchant for staying up late puttering around down there alone.
Her slippered feet made no sound as moved toward the door leading outside. She eased open the big swinging door and then thought better of it. She looked around as best she could in the shadows of the light that spilled from her windows. She could see no one. Quickly she brought in the trays with the pies and bolted the door. Walking the lenth of the kitchen she made sure the windows were secure as well. She closed the opened window and hugged her arms about herself. She felt frightened and a bit vulnerable knowing someone had been outside of her home and she had not known it.
There had never been any problems with prowlers before. Had they lived in the city she could expect during hard times for a pie or bread left to cool might come up missing but here in the country there was little need to worry about such things. Most folks knew that is they approached any of the homes they would be given a meal or at the least bread and butter with something to drink to wash it down with. It was almost an unwritten rule. She couldn’t begin to count the times she had fed men who were simple down on their luck and passing through. She hoped that should any such thing befall any of her own kin that a kindly woman would do the same for them and they wouldn’t know shame for asking for the handout.
The missing loaf began to explain a lot of things that had taken legs over the past week. It also explained why one of the nanny goats who often gave more milk than any of the others had begun to give less than usual. There was someone out there in the night living off what they could steal from her gardens, hens and goats. It wasn’t something that angered her, so much as the fact that had the someone asked she would have freely given what had essentially been stolen from the mouths of her own children. She wouldn’t alarm the children but she needed to alert the grandmothers to what happened. She would also have a talk with that new sheriff that came around periodically. Perhaps he could tell her if others were also missing things or if there were any vagrants or runaways reported in the area. For now all she could do was shake the feeling that made her stomach knot up and finish with the task at hand. She planned to finish and crawl into her own bed as soon after midnight as was humanly possible.
Eventually she did finish. With everything clean and in its place she banked the fires in the brick ovens knowing that when she rose in a few hours the kitchen would still be warm. The work table was laid out with baked goods cooling. When morning came she would wrap them in muslin and paper and tie them with string. The children would be more than happy to help with that chore while she and the grandmothers got breakfast for the family.
There was a bit of pumpkin left over and she covered it in a dish and left it to sit on the table. There would be pumpkin pancakes for breakfast with butter and syrup. She would fry up bacon and make cocoa before everyone got ready for the festival. She also needed to prepare and pack a picnic lunch for them all for later that day. The last thing she did before leaving the kitchen was to slide a venison shank into the roasting oven to begin a very slow cook during the few hours she would sleep until morning.
Posted by Angie at 10:55 AM | Comments (0)
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 10:38 AM | Comments (0)
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 04:46 AM | Comments (0)