please introduce them, Maria.’ I noticed how Mothers cheeks flushed red, how her voice shook, but I didn’t understand why. I stood up and as I stood behind Elzemarie first, and next behind Joanne, I introduced them properly, as I had been taught to. They both remained seated, fascinated by the man who called himself my father, their new preacher.
‘I cannot tolerate such a racket. Make sure they’re quiet, Anna! How do you expect me to receive God’s word when these children ,’ he spit the word out with vehemence, ‘make such devilish commotion!’
He gave each one of us a piercing glare and left the kitchen, but not without slamming the door closed with a loud bang. I found it hard to swallow as I tip-toed back to my seat and sat down. The cookies looked a lot less appetizing and the lemonade didn’t taste as sweet as it used to.
In silence we sat at the table. Then, way too quickly, Elzemarie had finished her cookie and lemonade. She rose from the table, walked to my mother and politely shook her hand.
‘I need to hurry home, Ma’am.’ She spoke the words softly, but clear enough for me to hear. Before Mother could reply, Joanne had also stood up and followed Elzemarie’s example.
Mother accompanied the girls to the door and waved them goodbye. I remained seated as I heard them leave. I didn’t say goodbye and I didn’t wave them off.
‘I think you should at least write to your father and mother. They will want to know how you’re doing.’
I could barely contain my annoyance when Auntie brought the subject up again. She meant well and she could hardly be expected to understand my reluctance.
‘We’ll add your letter to mine each month, all right?
I nodded, knowing full well that the letters would turn to ashes, without ever being read.
In silence we continued peeling apples until there was a big pile of apple pieces on the table. Auntie rose and took her largest pot from the shelf.
‘Shall I put them on, or would you like to do it?’
‘May I do it?’ I eagerly stood up. At home Mother had never allowed me near the stove. She’d say, ‘You’d just start a fire, Maria.’
‘Of course you may. Go ahead. If you inherited your mother’s skills it’s going to be a delicious applesauce.’
I raised my eyebrows and looked at Auntie. Was she serious? My mother’s skills? Mother, who worked in the kitchen only to prepare plain, sober meals?
‘What do you mean?’
Auntie smiled again and went back to her seat.
‘Just thinking of her applesauce makes my mouth water,’ she said. ‘And her stewed pears. Delicious! Does she still make it the same way?’
I shook my head. ‘I can’t recall ever eating applesauce or stewed pears at home.’
Auntie looked up, shocked, and started to speak, but I was quicker.
‘We only eat what our bodies need. God has given us the food and we ought to be grateful for it.’
I thought back to the bland meals we had every afternoon. Usually everything was mashed together into one, colorless, shapeless, unappetizing paste. For the rest we would only eat whole wheat or rye bread, and on Sundays there was a little bit of butter and a slice of cheese. Naturally, the Reverend had filled sandwiches everyday, since he was the head of the house.
‘We only have extra’s to eat when we have visitors, and that hardly ever happens because Mother can’t stand a mess.’
‘What has happened to her?’
Auntie sounded shocked, but I didn’t reply.
‘The applesauce…’ I said instead, ‘How do I start?’
We were not only busy with canning fruit. The regular daily chores also had to be looked after. Auntie’s days started very early and I was determined to adjust to her schedule. Ever since that first late morning, I got out of bed early enough to help her with the chores. There were six cows to be milked twice a day. I could recall how Grandpa used to let me taste the milk while it was still warm, and I still remembered how he would sit on the little
‘I cannot tolerate such a racket. Make sure they’re quiet, Anna! How do you expect me to receive God’s word when these children ,’ he spit the word out with vehemence, ‘make such devilish commotion!’
He gave each one of us a piercing glare and left the kitchen, but not without slamming the door closed with a loud bang. I found it hard to swallow as I tip-toed back to my seat and sat down. The cookies looked a lot less appetizing and the lemonade didn’t taste as sweet as it used to.
In silence we sat at the table. Then, way too quickly, Elzemarie had finished her cookie and lemonade. She rose from the table, walked to my mother and politely shook her hand.
‘I need to hurry home, Ma’am.’ She spoke the words softly, but clear enough for me to hear. Before Mother could reply, Joanne had also stood up and followed Elzemarie’s example.
Mother accompanied the girls to the door and waved them goodbye. I remained seated as I heard them leave. I didn’t say goodbye and I didn’t wave them off.
‘I think you should at least write to your father and mother. They will want to know how you’re doing.’
I could barely contain my annoyance when Auntie brought the subject up again. She meant well and she could hardly be expected to understand my reluctance.
‘We’ll add your letter to mine each month, all right?
I nodded, knowing full well that the letters would turn to ashes, without ever being read.
In silence we continued peeling apples until there was a big pile of apple pieces on the table. Auntie rose and took her largest pot from the shelf.
‘Shall I put them on, or would you like to do it?’
‘May I do it?’ I eagerly stood up. At home Mother had never allowed me near the stove. She’d say, ‘You’d just start a fire, Maria.’
‘Of course you may. Go ahead. If you inherited your mother’s skills it’s going to be a delicious applesauce.’
I raised my eyebrows and looked at Auntie. Was she serious? My mother’s skills? Mother, who worked in the kitchen only to prepare plain, sober meals?
‘What do you mean?’
Auntie smiled again and went back to her seat.
‘Just thinking of her applesauce makes my mouth water,’ she said. ‘And her stewed pears. Delicious! Does she still make it the same way?’
I shook my head. ‘I can’t recall ever eating applesauce or stewed pears at home.’
Auntie looked up, shocked, and started to speak, but I was quicker.
‘We only eat what our bodies need. God has given us the food and we ought to be grateful for it.’
I thought back to the bland meals we had every afternoon. Usually everything was mashed together into one, colorless, shapeless, unappetizing paste. For the rest we would only eat whole wheat or rye bread, and on Sundays there was a little bit of butter and a slice of cheese. Naturally, the Reverend had filled sandwiches everyday, since he was the head of the house.
‘We only have extra’s to eat when we have visitors, and that hardly ever happens because Mother can’t stand a mess.’
‘What has happened to her?’
Auntie sounded shocked, but I didn’t reply.
‘The applesauce…’ I said instead, ‘How do I start?’
We were not only busy with canning fruit. The regular daily chores also had to be looked after. Auntie’s days started very early and I was determined to adjust to her schedule. Ever since that first late morning, I got out of bed early enough to help her with the chores. There were six cows to be milked twice a day. I could recall how Grandpa used to let me taste the milk while it was still warm, and I still remembered how he would sit on the little
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