Read Online The Star Garden by Nancy E. Turner - Free Book Online
Authors: Nancy E. Turner
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more spiders than furniture. Well, Harland said he couldn’t possibly do up the place without a woman’s help, so he asked me to stay another day and help him buy some things. I told him if he wanted real style, he’d do better to ask April to come along, as she has lived in Philadelphia and her house is the grandest thing I’ve ever known.
That evening, I fixed us a simple supper and we all pitched in to clean and sweep the kitchen and make up spare fixings for tonight, with the promise of better things tomorrow. The children were none too happy with just a blanket to curl on, to be sure. But I circled them up and made up a story for them, about four children on a great adventure who could ride their bedrolls like a cloud in the sky, and wherever they wished to go, they could go. The kitchen was the only warm place in the house, so Harland and I let them eat their suppers sitting on their blankets around the cookstove. They made up a game and shouted out fantastic things we’d eat from their magic bedrolls, like popcorn-ball-picnics held deep under the ocean and animal crackers over the moon, flying fish in India and noodles in New York. Truth said he’d prefer camping in the kitchen to having a regular bed, anytime.
Harland gave me a stiff argument about the rent, insisting he’d pay $52 a month. I got him to settle on $38. It was fair enough, since he’d helped me build the house years ago. Then he paid me in cash, six months in advance. I’d never taken money from my family, except for when Granny paid for my well and windmill this fall. I took that money—$228 in folding money made a wad too big to put in my pocket—and as I held it in my hand, it poured an awful and strange torrent of feelings through my soul. I was glad to have it, sorry to take it, happy to know we’d eat through Christmas, and mortified to need it, all at the same time. He said he’d fix up a room so I’d always have a bed in town.
First thing we did next morning was to pay a call at April and Morris’s house. I let my brother talk to my daughter—and she went on and on about furniture and wallpapers and fancy new linoleum floors—while I went upstairs to find her children. Vallary was nine now, Patricia was six, and Lorelei was three. How I love to see those three grandchildren of mine run to my arms! As they smothered me in kisses, I thought of Professor Osterhaas’s foolish suggestion. Schoolgirl grandma—what a hoot! When we came down, April sent their maid for some tea and cookies. She looked pale. When I gave her a hug, she said, “Oh, Mama, please don’t. Oh, my—” and then hurried out of the room. Well, I followed her a ways and she only made it to the conservatory door before she let up her lunch into the potted fern there.
I went past her and found a clean towel in a stack of folded ones. I ran water over it and brought it to her to wipe her face. “Honey,” I said, “you’d better get out of that corset and lie down.”
She mopped at her brow and held the cloth to her face. “Oh, Mama. I’m expecting another baby.”
I smiled. “That’s just wonderful. When’s it coming?”
“May or June.”
I held her hands. “I’ll get to be with you for this one,” I said.
She groaned and said, “I’m faint. Would you undo my stays for me?”
“Let’s go upstairs.”
“Right here. I don’t think I can make it upstairs.”
I opened her buttons and loosened her stays. I couldn’t stop smiling. I saw the skin of her back had grown puffy, already ripening. She gasped for air when the bands came loose. By that time, the children found us, and I threw my shawl around her shoulders to hide her open dress. April told her son, Vallary, to go fetch their maid to throw out the poor fern.
It was settled that if she were able, April would accompany us the next day as soon as the stores opened, to help her uncle choose the right chairs and such. I’ve never known finery except the things Jack ordered mail
That evening, I fixed us a simple supper and we all pitched in to clean and sweep the kitchen and make up spare fixings for tonight, with the promise of better things tomorrow. The children were none too happy with just a blanket to curl on, to be sure. But I circled them up and made up a story for them, about four children on a great adventure who could ride their bedrolls like a cloud in the sky, and wherever they wished to go, they could go. The kitchen was the only warm place in the house, so Harland and I let them eat their suppers sitting on their blankets around the cookstove. They made up a game and shouted out fantastic things we’d eat from their magic bedrolls, like popcorn-ball-picnics held deep under the ocean and animal crackers over the moon, flying fish in India and noodles in New York. Truth said he’d prefer camping in the kitchen to having a regular bed, anytime.
Harland gave me a stiff argument about the rent, insisting he’d pay $52 a month. I got him to settle on $38. It was fair enough, since he’d helped me build the house years ago. Then he paid me in cash, six months in advance. I’d never taken money from my family, except for when Granny paid for my well and windmill this fall. I took that money—$228 in folding money made a wad too big to put in my pocket—and as I held it in my hand, it poured an awful and strange torrent of feelings through my soul. I was glad to have it, sorry to take it, happy to know we’d eat through Christmas, and mortified to need it, all at the same time. He said he’d fix up a room so I’d always have a bed in town.
First thing we did next morning was to pay a call at April and Morris’s house. I let my brother talk to my daughter—and she went on and on about furniture and wallpapers and fancy new linoleum floors—while I went upstairs to find her children. Vallary was nine now, Patricia was six, and Lorelei was three. How I love to see those three grandchildren of mine run to my arms! As they smothered me in kisses, I thought of Professor Osterhaas’s foolish suggestion. Schoolgirl grandma—what a hoot! When we came down, April sent their maid for some tea and cookies. She looked pale. When I gave her a hug, she said, “Oh, Mama, please don’t. Oh, my—” and then hurried out of the room. Well, I followed her a ways and she only made it to the conservatory door before she let up her lunch into the potted fern there.
I went past her and found a clean towel in a stack of folded ones. I ran water over it and brought it to her to wipe her face. “Honey,” I said, “you’d better get out of that corset and lie down.”
She mopped at her brow and held the cloth to her face. “Oh, Mama. I’m expecting another baby.”
I smiled. “That’s just wonderful. When’s it coming?”
“May or June.”
I held her hands. “I’ll get to be with you for this one,” I said.
She groaned and said, “I’m faint. Would you undo my stays for me?”
“Let’s go upstairs.”
“Right here. I don’t think I can make it upstairs.”
I opened her buttons and loosened her stays. I couldn’t stop smiling. I saw the skin of her back had grown puffy, already ripening. She gasped for air when the bands came loose. By that time, the children found us, and I threw my shawl around her shoulders to hide her open dress. April told her son, Vallary, to go fetch their maid to throw out the poor fern.
It was settled that if she were able, April would accompany us the next day as soon as the stores opened, to help her uncle choose the right chairs and such. I’ve never known finery except the things Jack ordered mail
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