“Mrs. Owens was planting her garden yesterday when I went in to town,” Angela commented as she placed the empty stew pot on the cupboard and took her chair at the table.
“Mrs. Owens plants a couple times each spring,” replied Thomas, lowering himself to his chair. “She always gets caught by frost. ‘No patience,’ Papa used to say.”
Angela smiled. It was true.
Thomas led them in the table grace.
“I’ll be patient,” Angela said as she lifted her head.
Thomas passed her the stew and waited while she spooned some onto her plate. Angela knew that Thomas was ravenous after a morning in the field, but he would not serve himself before she was served any more than Papa would have cared for himself before looking after Mama.
“When Derek gets home from school have him check that south fence,” Thomas said. “I don’t want to take any chances on the cows visiting the neighbors. Grass is still in pretty short supply and grazing might look better to them on the other side of the wire.”
Angela nodded.
They talked of common things. Farm life. Neighbors. Needs. They sipped their second cup of coffee, enjoying the flavor and the chance for a rest. Then Thomas lifted his eyes to the wall clock and hoisted himself from his chair.
Angela knew he had given the horses their allotted time to feed and rest and he was ready to resume plowing. She stirred in her chair. She had dishes to do, the wash water to empty, and clothes to iron as soon as the spring breeze had dried the garments hanging on the line. Before she knew it another day would be gone and it would be time for the children to come home from school. They would arrive in a flurry of excitement over the day’s events and be looking for a glass of cold milk and a cookie or two and a listening ear as they recounted the day’s events.
She watched Thomas lift his cap from the corner peg and leave the kitchen with long strides. “Don’t forget about the fence,” he called back over his shoulder.
Angela cleared the table and stacked the dishes in the dishpan. She would take care of the wash water first. But when she went out into the yard she found that Thomas had already emptied the tubs. They were hanging in their proper places on the side of the back porch and the washstand was folded and put against the house.
He is very thoughtful
, Angela mused as she turned back toward the kitchen. The tubs were heavy, especially when they were full, and she was thankful the job had already been done.
As she walked toward the kitchen she felt the clothes on the line and removed a few pieces dry enough for ironing. She would get started on that task after doing the dishes.
“Guess what?” Louise called before she had even opened the kitchen door.
Angela lifted her head from her ironing, her eyes brightening. She always enjoyed this time of the day when the children came bustling into the kitchen, words tumbling over words as they shared the day’s adventures. She didn’t have a chance to reply before Louise hurried on.
“Marigold likes Derek.”
Angela turned her eyes to Derek. The boy said nothing, but a red tinge began to flush his cheeks. His eyes fell.
“Louise,” reprimanded Angela gently, “don’t tease.”
“Well, it’s true. Isn’t it, Sara? She tried to sit beside him and everything.”
Sara nodded, her pigtails bouncing and a mischievous grin lighting her face.
Poor Derek
, thought Angela.
So shy—and now this
.
“Lots of girls like Thomas, too,” she countered. “I’ve watched them at church and at picnics. They try to get his attention in all sorts of ways. There’s nothing wrong with having friends.”
“But,” argued Louise, trying to keep her announcement controversial, “Thomas is growed up.”
“Grown up,” corrected Angela. “Grown up.”
“Derek is still just a kid.”
“Kids need friends, too,” said Angela in Derek’s defense.
“Well—not that kind. Not the kind Marigold wants to be. She smiles silly smiles and rolls her eyes and says, ‘Oh-h-h,’ like that, and all sorts of silly things.”
“Derek is not responsible for the way Marigold acts,” Angela said firmly. “He is only responsible for himself. Mama always said that true breeding is shown in how we respond to the foolishness of others,” she finished, her voice softer.
Louise lowered her eyes, and Angela noticed the stiffness in her shoulders. She had seen such responses before and they concerned her. There was an attitude of resentment there, as though Angela had somehow managed to spoil a bit of Louise’s fun.
Angela’s eyes clouded as she placed her flatiron back on the stove and added a few sticks of wood to the fire. It was time to change the subject before doing more harm.
“Get your milk from the icebox,” she instructed the children. “Louise, you can get the milk and Sara the glasses. Derek, the cookies are in the blue tin.”
All three moved to do as bidden. “Get the big glasses,” Louise called to Sara. “I’m really thirsty.”
“As soon as you have finished, change your school clothes and care for your chores,” Angela went on.
There was silence for a few minutes and then Louise lifted her head and stared at Angela.
“Why do you always say that?” she asked.
“Say what?” asked Angela.
“‘Change your school clothes and care for your chores,’” said Louise, mimicking Angela.
“Because it always needs to be done,” Angela responded simply.
“Don’t you think we know that? We’ve been doing it ever since—ever since we started off to school—and I’m in fifth grade now.”
Panic began to stir in Angela’s breast. Louise had never openly challenged her before, and she wasn’t sure how to handle it. Nor, for the first time in her life, was she sure how Mama would have handled it. Was there something in her past that would give her direction? She groped around in her memories for a few minutes and came up empty. She could not remember
ever
having challenged Mama, and none of the others were old enough to defy her Mama when—
“That’s naughty,” Sara was saying to Louise. “We’re s’pose to ’bey Angela.”
Louise said nothing, but her eyes challenged Angela further.
Derek shuffled uncomfortably. He hated discord.
“She’s not our mama,” Louise said in a defiant whisper.
“Well—she—she has to take care of us,” Derek managed in a weak voice. “And—and you know what Thomas would say if—if he heard you talking sass.”
Louise flipped her braids.
“And Thomas is not our papa,” she responded, repeating the challenge.
Derek’s face paled. Angela was afraid he might burst into tears or flee the room. She moved over to place a hand quickly on his narrow shoulder. She could feel him trembling under his coarse woolen shirt.
“We don’t got a mama and papa anymore,” cut in Sara insistently. “Angela and Thomas are all we got.”
The comment hung in the air for a moment. A sharp pain stabbed Angela’s heart when she realized that this fact did not seem to bother Sara to any great degree. She wondered if young Sara could even remember the father and mother she had lost.
“Louise,” said Angela as softly as she could, “go to your room, please. We need to have a talk. I will be in just as soon as Derek and Sara have had their milk and cookies.”
Dear God, what will I do if she refuses to obey me?
Angela wondered, but to her relief, Louise only gave her an angry look and moved toward the bedroom.
Angela tried to calm her trembling soul as she poured the milk. She had an ordeal ahead of her and she wasn’t sure how to handle it. None of the children had ever challenged her authority before. What was she to do—and how often in the future might she need to face the same crisis?
Oh, God
, she prayed.
Help me with this. What should I do? I’ve noticed—I’ve noticed little hints of tension—but this—this open defiance—I have no idea—
Her voice trembled as she spoke to Derek, “Thomas would like you to check the south fence. He doesn’t want the cows getting out. I’ll have Louise and Sara help with some of your other chores so you won’t be working after dark.”
“What do I have to do?” asked Sara.
“Well, you can feed the hens and gather the eggs as usual; then you can help Louise fill the wood box.”
“What if Louise doesn’t want to?” questioned Sara as she dipped her cookie into her milk.
Angela hesitated.
What if Louise didn’t want to?
“Louise is a part of this family,” she finally said. “We all must share in the work. I’m afraid she will have to do her share of chores—whether she wants to or not.”
Angela delayed her visit to the bedroom as long as she could and then went slowly toward the closed door. She had no idea what she might face when she opened it, and she prayed silently with every step she took. Would Louise still be tossing her blond braids and looking at her with angry eyes? Would she be prostrate on the bed, sobbing for the mother they had lost? Would she have left the room through the opened window and fled to who-knew-where?
But Louise was seated calmly on the chair by the bed reading from her favorite book. She had changed into her chore clothes and her school garments were neatly hung on the pegs on her wall. Her bed was not wrinkled from a bout of crying and her face was not flushed or tear-streaked. She looked quite composed.
“Louise,” spoke Angela as she closed the door softly behind her, “I think we need to talk a bit.”
Louise nodded.
“Perhaps I do—do tell you over and over again—what I expect you to do. I—I still need to tell Sara. She hasn’t—well, hasn’t heard it as often as you—and I guess—well, I guess when I am telling one—it is just easier to include all of you.”
Louise nodded, no defiance in her eyes now.
“I’m sorry,” Angela said softly. “I—I’ll try to—to remember that unless—unless it is a new chore—that you are responsible enough to know—to look after your usual duties.”
Louise nodded again.
Angela waited for a moment. She didn’t want to spoil the calm, but she knew Louise had to be given further instructions.
“Tonight there are some more things to do,” she ventured. “Thomas needs Derek to—to check the fence, so Derek won’t have time for his usual chores. That means you and Sara must carry the wood and maybe even feed the pigs.”
Angela waited. There was no angry stiffening of Louise’s back. She simply nodded.
Angela sighed with relief, tears threatening to spill over. She sat down on the bed near her younger sister and took her hand.
“Louise,” she said as gently as she could, “you know that when Mama died she—she asked me to care for all of you. I—I told her I would. Now Mama—Mama felt strongly that caring was—was more than putting food on the table—and seeing that your clothes were washed and mended. Mama wants you—each of us—to grow to be strong, good, dependable. Part of that—that growing process comes by sharing chores—and learning obedience. Now I know it won’t always be easy to—to have an older sister be your—your authority but—”
Louise stirred on her cushioned seat.
“But that’s the way it is,” continued Angela. “Not by our choosing, but that’s the way it is.”
Louise lowered her head, the tears forming in her eyes trickling down her soft cheeks. She sniffed, lifted her eyes, and nodded. That was all. Just a slight nod of her head. But Angela knew that for now it was enough. She gave her sister a hug and stood up.
“Your milk and cookies are on the table,” she began, then quickly bit her lip before she followed the statement with what chores needed to be done afterward.
Louise got to her feet and dried her eyes.
She is still such a child
, Angela thought as she watched her. Her heart ached for the young girl.
In typical youthful fashion, Louise gave her big sister a smile, seeming to have already forgotten the battle of a few moments before, and bounded off to the kitchen for her snack.
And don’t run
, Angela almost called after her.
A lady does not—
But Louise was not a lady. She was still a little girl of eleven. Playful and careless. And with so very much to learn. “Oh, God,” breathed Angela as she sank down onto the bed again and lifted a trembling hand to her face. “How am I ever going to be able to teach them all they need to know? All that Mama would want them to know? Will I ever be able to make a lady out of Louise? Of Sara? Will I be able to teach them about you? Will Thomas be able to fill in for the father Derek needs? Oh, God, we need an awful lot of help.”
“Something bothering you?”
Angela turned her head to look at Thomas through the soft darkness settling in about them as they sat on the veranda. She had hoped her worries had not shown, but she should have known that Thomas would realize she was anxious about something.
“It’s Louise,” sighed Angela. “I think she is missing Mama. It’s almost as if she misses her more now than—”
Thomas nodded in understanding, then swatted a mosquito that had landed on his bare forearm.
“In what way?” he asked.
“Tonight when I spoke to her about her chores, she—she said I wasn’t her mama.” Angela couldn’t keep the tremor from her voice.
“Did she do her chores?” asked Thomas.
Angela wondered if he was about to waken the young girl out of a sound sleep to make sure she had done her work properly.
“Oh yes. Her fuss didn’t last long—then she was sweet as can be. But—well—it just troubles me. What are we going to do if she decides she doesn’t want to do our bidding? I mean—if Papa was here—he required obedience with one stern look. But what if—?”
“She hasn’t done this before, has she?”
“No. But I’m just scared that it might be the first of many. She is growing up, you know—and she has always—well—had a mind of her own.”
“You want me to talk to her?”
“Oh no.”
“Do you want me to punish her? Give her an extra chore or—”
“Oh my, no,” cut in Angela quickly. “She doesn’t need more punishment. She’s already lost her mama.”
After a moment of silence, Thomas answered through the spreading darkness, “We have all lost our mama.”