In Grandma's Attic (8 page)

15

The Dishes

I discovered many things I had never seen before at Grandma’s old home. One of them was a big double wooden door that sloped from the back porch down to the ground. It had two metal hinges on it and large, rusty-looking rings. I asked Uncle Roy what a door was doing there.

“That’s the door to the old root cellar,” he said. “We don’t use it anymore, but when your grandma and I were young, it was used to store food that needed to be kept over the winter. We can look down there if you want to.”

Uncle Roy grasped one of the rings and pulled the big creaky door back. He started down the old wooden stairs and I cautiously followed.

“Where are the lights?” I asked.

“No lights down here,” said Uncle Roy with a laugh. “We carried a lantern when we needed light.”

The cellar was dark and earthy smelling, and it was several moments before I could see anything. I finally made out some shelves along one wall, and a hard dirt floor. It was pleasantly cool after the warm sun outside. “Ma kept her canned fruit and vegetables on those shelves,” said Uncle Roy. “She also had baskets of apples and potatoes and onions. This was a mighty handy place.”

Uncle Roy chuckled. “You might ask your grandma what else it was handy for,” he said.

I wasted no time in tracking down Grandma.

“Grandma, Uncle Roy said to ask you what the root cellar was handy for. What did he mean?”

“That Roy,” said Grandma. “He doesn’t forget much that I did wrong, does he? I guess he wants me to tell you about a day when I was very naughty. I don’t know as I ought to tell that one.”

“Oh, please, Grandma,” I begged. “You couldn’t have been very naughty. Tell me about it.” Grandma sat down on the bed with a box of things to sort and started the story.

It happened one day when I was about your age—old enough to know better. Right after breakfast, Ma was called to see a neighbor who was sick.

“Mabel,” she said, “I’m afraid you will have to do the dishes alone. I’ll have to hurry, because I want to be back before dinnertime. They won’t take long if you get right at them.”

“Oh, Ma,” I moaned, “Sarah Jane is coming this morning, and we wanted to take our dolls down to the creek to play. Do I have to?”

“I’m sorry,” said Ma, “but it can’t be helped. You’re a big girl, and you can help out a little. Finish your breakfast now and get started on the dishes.”

I slowly finished my bread and jam, thinking how unfair life was, while Ma went to get ready. I was still sitting at the table when she left in the buggy for the neighboring farm.

Reluctantly I got up and began to clear the table. I hadn’t moved very many dishes before Sarah Jane appeared at the door. She carried her doll and was ready.

“Come on, Mabel,” she said. “Let’s hurry. We have to make our playhouse.”

“I can’t, Sarah Jane,” I said. “I have to do the dishes first. Ma had to go away.”

“Do them when we come back,” Sarah Jane suggested. “They’ll wait until then. I can only stay till dinnertime.”

“Oh, I couldn’t do that,” I said. “Ma wouldn’t like it. She wanted her kitchen cleaned up first thing in the morning.”

Sarah Jane came in and stood by the table.

“These will take you all morning,” she said. “Couldn’t you pile them in a pan and put them out of sight until we come back?”

“Well,” I said doubtfully, “where would I put them? The oven is too hot, and I can’t put them in the cupboard with the clean dishes.”

We thought a moment; then Sarah Jane had an idea.

“How about the root cellar?” she said. “No one would see them there. And we could get back in time for you to do them before your ma gets home.”

That seemed like a reasonable idea. Quickly I stacked the dishes in a big pan, wiped off the table, and started for the root cellar. It took both of us to get the big door open, but finally, after much pulling, it swung back. I ran down the steps and put the pan on the shelf. We closed the door, and I hurried to get my doll, Emily.

Sarah Jane and I played all morning under a tree by the creek. The thought of those dishes never entered my mind again. Sarah Jane had to leave at noon, so we picked up our things and returned to the house. Ma was back and was busy getting dinner ready.

“Ring the dinner bell, Mabel,” she said to me. “Pa and the boys are way at the back lot today. They’ll need to get ready to eat.”

I rang the bell, then washed and helped Ma set the table. Pa and the boys came, and we sat down to eat. About halfway through the meal, Ma went to the cupboard for a dish. “Now where is that little platter?” she said. “It must have something on it in the pantry.”

I stopped with the fork halfway to my mouth. The dishes! I had forgotten the dishes in the root cellar! What was I to do? Now that Ma was back, how could I get them washed? I suddenly had no appetite.

“What’s the matter, Mabel?” said Ma. “Are you sick? You’ve hardly touched your dinner.”

“No, I’m not sick,” I said. “I’m not very hungry. That’s all.”

“You probably spent too much time in the sun this morning,” said Ma. “You’d better stay in the shade this afternoon.”

I intended to stay in the shade—the shade of the root cellar, as soon as I could get there without being seen. Perhaps I could do those dishes while Ma was in another part of the house.

I hadn’t counted on the fact, however, that I couldn’t open the cellar door by myself. Now what could I do? No use asking the boys or Pa to help. They would need to know why, and I would be in for it. All afternoon I moped around the porch, wishing the cellar door would open and swallow me up.

By suppertime Ma was alarmed by my actions. When I couldn’t eat, she was sure I was sick. Directly after family prayer—after Pa, as usual, prayed that the Lord would bless Mabel and help her to be a good child—Ma hurried me off to bed. She was sure I was coming down with something.

I tossed and turned in my bed. Why had I listened to Sarah Jane? What would happen when Ma found out? What made me such a wicked little girl?

After what seemed hours to me, I could stand it no longer. I crept down to the kitchen, threw myself into Ma’s lap, and sobbed loudly.

Ma was startled. Whatever was the matter? With much sniffling, I told her the story. Those dreadful dishes were still in the root cellar, and I couldn’t get them out.

Ma took me in her lap. She was sorry to hear that I had been disobedient. However, I seemed to have suffered enough over it, so she wouldn’t spank me. I did have to be punished, though. I would not play with Sarah Jane any more that week.

My heart was so much lighter, and the punishment didn’t seem too bad. I returned to bed with a clear conscience and a resolve to be a better girl in the future. You really do feel better when you obey your father and mother, like the commandment says.

“And were you better, Grandma? Didn’t you ever do anything naughty again?” I asked.

Grandma laughed. “I wish I could say I didn’t, but that wouldn’t be true. I didn’t hide any more dirty dishes, though!”

16

Ma’s Birthday Cake

Grandma was baking, and I had volunteered my services as onlooker and commentator.

“When can I bake something, Grandma?” I asked. “I’m old enough to bake by myself. I can read the recipe and measure things.”

“Yes,” said Grandma, “I believe you could. In fact, you would probably do a better job than I did the first time!”

Grandma laughed as she reached for the cookie pans.

Ma was going to have a birthday, and I thought it would be a good idea to have a surprise party for her. I talked it over with Pa, and he agreed that it would be nice. We could have the party in the front yard. There were lots of trees and soft grass, and it would be an excellent place for all the neighbors to gather. How this could be accomplished without Ma suspecting, we didn’t know, but we were determined to try.

Fortune was with us, for on the morning of the party, Ma discovered that she had to make a trip to town before she could finish the shirts she was sewing for the boys.

“Mabel,” she said, “how would you like to go into town with me this morning? We can leave right after breakfast and be back in time to get dinner ready for Pa and the boys.”

Usually I would not have been able to finish my breakfast for thinking of a trip to town, but this morning my thoughts were on the party. What luck! With Ma gone, I could make her a birthday cake!

“I guess I won’t go this morning, Ma,” I replied. “I think I’d rather stay here.”

Ma looked at me with concern.

“Are you sick?” she asked. “Do you have a fever?” She felt my head anxiously.

“Oh, no, Ma,” I said quickly. “I feel just fine. I’ll even do the dishes for you if you’d like to get started right away.” Ma looked puzzled, but she had no time to pursue the matter further.

I began to clear the table and get the dishes ready to wash. Normally this was not one of my favorite jobs, but today was a special day. Ma was soon ready to leave. She stopped at the door and looked at me suspiciously.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come?” she said. “Are you planning some kind of mischief while I’m gone?”

“Of course not, Ma,” I said. “I’ll be as good as can be. You don’t have to worry about me.”

Ma’s look said that she would worry about me, but she got into the buggy, and I watched as she and Nellie disappeared down the lane. Quickly I finished the dishes and began to gather the things necessary for the cake. I knew exactly what was needed. I had watched Ma stir up a cake so many times that I hadn’t the least doubt about my ability to make one too.

The oven would present a little problem. I decided to ask Pa to fix the fire for me, and I found him in the barn. “Pa,” I said, “I’m making a birthday cake for Ma. Would you build up the fire for me?”

Pa looked surprised.

“Are you sure you can do that by yourself, Mabel? You’ve never baked a cake before, have you?”

“No,” I said, “but I’ve watched Ma a lot. I’m sure I can do it. Please let me try.”

Pa was reluctant, but he came into the kitchen and fixed the fire. After giving me careful instructions about the hot oven, he returned to the barn. I began happily mixing the cake in Ma’s biggest mixing bowl. I had left out nothing, I was sure. The batter looked just wonderful.

As I greased the cake tins, I went back over the things I had put in the cake. Suddenly I remembered. The flavoring! I hadn’t put any flavoring in it! Quickly I ran to the pantry and reached for the big Watkins bottle that held the vanilla. Carefully I measured and stirred in the flavoring and returned the bottle to the shelf.

The cake was ready to bake. I pulled my chair up near the oven to keep an eye on things. It was a warm spring day and I longed to be outside, but I dared not leave my cake for a moment. What if one of the boys came in, slammed the door, and made it fall? Nothing must happen to ruin this cake.

Nothing did. It was high and golden brown. It looked every bit as good as Ma’s cakes. Proudly I set the tins on the table to cool. I only had to make the frosting and hide the cake before Ma returned.

When the buggy turned in the lane shortly before dinnertime, I was swinging under the big tree. I ran to help Ma with her bundles as Roy led Nellie to the barn. I longed to tell her my secret, but of course I couldn’t. This was to be a surprise party!

If Ma suspected anything, she didn’t let on. She returned to her sewing, and I spent the afternoon hanging on the front gate, waiting for the first arrivals to the party. They were to come at suppertime, and the ladies would all bring something good to eat. I was sure that no one would come with as beautiful a cake as mine, though.

And I was right. Ma was surprised and pleased.

“You made this all by yourself, Mabel?” she asked. “Why, it is just lovely. I had no idea you could do that alone!”

Proudly I handed Ma the knife.

“You must have the first piece, because it’s your birthday,” I said.

Ma cut the cake and took a large slice on her plate. As she took a bite, an odd look came over her face.
Something is wrong,
I thought. But what could it be? I watched anxiously, but Ma kept on eating. Satisfied with my success, I ran to play with the other children.

That evening, when the last guest had left, we sat in the kitchen, talking over the surprise.

“And the biggest surprise was Mabel’s cake,” Ma said. “It was the most unusual cake I’ve ever eaten. What did you use to flavor it, Mabel?” she asked.

“Why, the vanilla, Ma,” I said. “Just like you always use.”

“Show me where you got it,” said Ma. “Where did you find the vanilla?”

Ma followed me to the pantry, and I pointed to the big bottle on the shelf. Ma took it down and looked at it, then began to laugh. On the front of the bottle the label read “Watkins Liniment.”

Ma wiped her eyes and hugged me close.

“That’s all right, Mabel,” she said. “It was a lovely cake. A little liniment never hurt anyone. I couldn’t have asked for a better birthday present.”

Grandma put the cookies in the oven and began clearing the table. She looked thoughtfully at the Watkins vanilla bottle.

“Those bottles do look a lot alike,” she said. “I’m surprised I haven’t done the same thing again. But no one except Ma would have been brave enough to eat it if I had!”

“I would, Grandma,” I assured her. “I’d eat anything you made.”

And I would, too.