In Grandma's Attic (7 page)

13

The Old Door

Grandma and I took a trip the summer I was nine years old. It was a particularly exciting trip because we were going north to visit Grandma’s old home. Of course it wouldn’t be the same log cabin she had lived in when the Indian came to visit. Even though it was the farmhouse and I remembered all the stories about it, everything might not look the same.

“Remember,” said Grandma, “it won’t be just as I’ve described it. Your Uncle Roy doesn’t have any animals now, only the orchard. But a lot of things will be the same.”

I was not disappointed. The trees along the lane were tall and made a green canopy for us to ride under. I could almost see Nellie clopping up the lane toward the barn. The old pump that Grandma had stuck her tongue on was still there, but it wasn’t used anymore. The house had running water now.

I began to explore the house as soon as I could. In the parlor were pictures of Grandma’s ma and pa. A slippery horsehair sofa was fun to sit on but not very safe if I forgot to hang on. I looked through the old photograph album for pictures of Grandma when she was young.

Later, when I wandered out to the kitchen, Grandma and Aunt Julia were sitting at the kitchen table having coffee. I sat down and munched a cookie while I listened to them talk.

“I see you have a new door,” said Grandma. “I guess the old one was in pretty bad shape.”

“Yes,” said Aunt Julia. “But Roy couldn’t bear to give it up. It stands out in the barn now with dust on it. I don’t know what he sees in it.”

Grandma laughed. “I don’t either,” she said. “One of the worst hidings Roy ever got was over that door!” I perked up to listen. Here was a story I had never heard. Apparently neither had Aunt Julia.

If you looked closely, you would notice the bottom piece of the door had been added later. It was added after the children were all bigger. But when we were small, Pa had put a panel on the door that was on hinges. It allowed the children, the cat, and the dog to come into the kitchen without bothering Ma to run and open the door. We called it the “cat hole.” It was really very convenient during the summer.

The big front door was seldom ever used. A special occasion, such as a wedding or a funeral, was about the only reason to go in or out the front door. People who came to visit followed the lane around to the back door and were entertained in the kitchen.

Roy’s trouble started one day when he was still quite young. The Carters had boys about the ages of Reuben and Roy, and Ma had told Mrs. Carter to send them over here to stay while she made a trip to town.

For a while the boys were content to play in the barn and on the rope swing in the yard. Then I guess they got bored and looked for something more exciting to do. Roy admitted that he was the one who suggested that they play a trick on Ma.

They decided to sneak up to the door, knock loudly, and hide when Ma came to see who was there. The trick worked just fine. Ma was so startled to hear someone at the front door that she dropped a dish. She grabbed her fresh apron from the hook and dashed through the house to see who it could be.

Of course there was no one there. Ma was puzzled. She was sure the knock had been on the front door. She stood looking a moment, then returned to the kitchen. As she was cleaning up the broken dish, the knock sounded again.

Maybe whoever it was thought I wasn’t coming and started around the house,
she thought.
I’d better go see.

So Ma ran through the house again to open the front door. No one was there. This time, though, she caught sight of a shirt she recognized.

“Those boys are trying to play a joke on me,” she said to herself. “Well, they won’t catch me again.” Ma went back to work. The boys decided they had worn that trick out and went to the creek to play. Shortly before dinnertime Ma heard another knock on the front door. “Those boys,” she muttered. “There they are again. I’ll just ignore them.” She continued with preparation for dinner, but the knock sounded again, louder this time. “Boys,” Ma called, “I know your tricks. You go on and play. If you want to come in, come to the back door.”

There was a pause, then the knocking began again. Ma was annoyed.
They’ve played around long enough,
she thought.

“Did you hear me?” she called loudly. “You go around to the back and come in the cat hole!” The knocking stopped. All was quiet for a few moments. Then Ma heard a gentle voice at the back door. “Sister O’Dell?” said the voice. “I’m the new minister. Apparently I called at the wrong door. I’m a little large to come through the cat hole. But I’ll try if you’d like.”

Ma dropped another dish and hurried to open the door.

“Oh my,” she said. “I’m so sorry! I thought it was the boys with their tricks. My oh my! What a terrible thing to do!”

“That’s all right,” said the minister, laughing. “I don’t mind at all. I know how boys are.”

And I know how one is going to be this afternoon,
Ma thought grimly.
He’ll wish he’d never seen that front door.

The minister stayed for dinner, and we all enjoyed his visit. But when he and the Carter boys had left, Roy got a tanning from Ma he didn’t forget for some time!

Grandma and Aunt Julia laughed heartily at the memory, and I ran off to find Uncle Roy. I wanted to see if he remembered that day. He did, of course, and laughed loudly.

“It’s funny now,” he said, rubbing the seat of his overalls, “but Ma had a lot of strength in that little arm of hers. I laughed out the other side of my mouth that day!”

The dusty old door stood against the barn wall. It had seen a lot of coming and going. If only it could tell stories too!

14

Pa and the Dishwater

While Grandma and I were visiting her old home, I was having fun exploring the farm I had heard about in so many stories. Uncle Roy didn’t mind my tagging along with him as he went about his work, and I wanted to see everything there was to see.

As we sat at the dinner table, I listened quietly as Grandma and Uncle Roy reminded each other of the good and bad times they remembered about the old house and farm.

“Well, Mabel,” said Uncle Roy, “I hear you’ve been telling stories about me and that old door.”

“Yes,” said Grandma, “I thought that was too good to keep.”

Uncle Roy laughed. “It was,” he admitted. “And if I had time, I could tell about a time you had some trouble with Ma and Pa too. But I have to get back to my work. I can’t sit here gossiping with you ladies.”

Uncle Roy left, and I turned to Grandma eagerly.

“What did you do that got you in trouble, Grandma? Do you remember?”

“Yes, I think I remember what Roy was talking about,” Grandma answered. “I didn’t get spanked for it, but Pa was sure disgusted.”

“Tell us about it, Mabel,” said Aunt Julia. “I’ll just start clearing the table while you talk.”

It had to do with dishes. I was still quite young, as I recall. Ma didn’t often leave me to do dishes alone, but occasionally she had something to do, and I managed the supper dishes by myself.

This evening was in the winter, and it got dark early. We had no kitchen sink back then, so we did the dishes on the table. When the dishes were done, the dishpan was carried out behind the chicken house and the water thrown away. Ma usually took care of this, not only because the dishpan was heavy for me, but also because I was afraid of the dark. Nothing could induce me to go past the back porch by myself after dark. The boys teased me, and Ma and Pa both tried to reason with me, but I was not moved. They could say what they liked. I was convinced that most anything would be lurking beyond the porch, waiting for me to come out.

So this evening I dawdled with the dishes as long as I dared. I thought perhaps if I took long enough, Pa or the boys would come in from the barn and I could persuade one of them to take the dishwater out for me. Of course I didn’t have much faith in getting the boys’ help. They would just call me “baby” and tell Ma I was acting like a foolish girl. But Pa was usually kindhearted; I thought I could probably get around him.

Ma finally realized that the job was taking unusually long and called to me. “Mabel, aren’t you through with those dishes yet? What’s taking you so long?”

“Yes, Ma,” I answered. “I’m almost through. I have to empty the water and wash the dish towels.”

“Well, hurry,” said Ma. “I need to try this dress on you before I can do much more.”

I knew my time was up. There was no sign of Pa, so I would have to brave it by myself. I opened the door, and picking up the dishpan, I held it close and backed out, pushing open that old screen door.

Oh, it was dark out there. I shivered and thought how far it was to the chicken house and back. What if something jumped out at me? I’d probably die of fright; then they’d all be sorry.

I stood on the porch and peered into the darkness. The longer I looked, the more sure I was that I didn’t want to leave. Why couldn’t I just throw the dishwater over the edge of the porch and rush back in?

I knew why not, of course. Ma would never allow such a thing. But Ma wasn’t there, and since water sank into the ground, she need never know. The idea seemed better all the time. With one look over my shoulder, to be sure she had not come to check on me, I threw that dishwater as hard as I could.

Unfortunately for me, Pa chose that very moment to come around the side of the house. The flying dishwater hit him full in the face and ran down the front of his overalls! I was horrified. The dark didn’t bother me now—I had more trouble than that to think about!

Pa sputtered and tried to find a dry place on his sleeve to mop his face. “What in the world are you doing?” he roared. “Are you trying to drown me?”

He stomped into the kitchen, and I followed timidly behind. Of course Ma heard the racket and came to see what had happened. Pa was wiping his hair and face with a towel and muttering something about a “fool trick.” I was in tears, still clutching the dishpan and standing by the door.

Ma saw at once what I had done, and she got clean water for Pa to wash his hair and face. When things had settled down a bit, Ma turned her attention to me.

“Now wasn’t that a foolish thing to do?” she said. “Why didn’t you call me to help you or wait until Pa came in? You ought to be ashamed of yourself!”

I was. It wasn’t much use to tell Pa I was sorry. I knew I deserved punishment and expected to get it. However, by the time Pa was dried off, he began to see the funny side of it. I was sent to bed early, but I could hear him and Ma laughing in the kitchen. I went to sleep determined not to do that again. The next time Pa might not see the joke, and I would be in
real
trouble!

Grandma and Aunt Julia finished the dishes and went to sit on the porch. I wandered out to the orchard in search of Uncle Roy … and possibly some more stories about when he and Grandma were little.