Mother Lode (36 page)

“Common as pigs’ feet. Oh, Jorie, is that
the best you can do?”

He was accustomed to the prejudice. It
wasn’t just his mother, but a prevailing cancer in the whole
community.

“She’ll be out beating you with switches in
the snow, if you’re not careful, after a good warm-up in the
sauna!”

He wanted to get away from her, to go to his
room, and savor the young bud of love that was ripening in his
bosom. He turned to leave.

“Jorie, please.” She lurched against a
chair.

“I’ll help you up to bed now,” he said.

She stumbled, but he got her to her room,
leaving quickly before more requests were made of him.

Still, from down the hall, he could hear her
calling him.

He lay on his bed trying to return to the
sweetness of the early part of the evening, pushing his mother’s
needs out of the way. Finally, he drifted into a dream where he and
Kaarina were getting married. He was watching her dancing eyes as
he placed lilacs in her hair; she was wiping cream from his mouth,
and licking it off her fingers.

How sweet summer was: Everything tasted
better, smelled better. He saw Kaarina as often as he could, and
once a week took her on a picnic or to a restaurant. He was careful
to be home on Thursday evenings.

The first time he kissed her he thought no
one since time began could have felt such bliss. Her mouth
fulfilled all the promise he’d seen in it the first time he was
with her. Fearing that perhaps the unnatural feelings he had for
his mother might make it impossible to respond normally to another
woman, he was filled with elation and relief to find this was not
the case.

One morning at breakfast he asked his mother
if Kaarina could join them for their next musicale.

She set down the coffee
pot. “Jorie, Thursdays are
our
evenings. I don’t ask for much of your time, and
that’s all I have to look forward to all week.”

“But why couldn’t she come too? You might
like her.”

She turned from the hotcakes she was making.
“Do you invite me along when you take her out?”

“I thought you’d like to meet her.”

“No, I wouldn’t. You’re not seriously
courting her, are you?”

“I don’t know, Ma. But she’s grand.”

She went back to flipping the hotcakes. He
thought he saw her wince.

“You’re moving too fast, Jorie. If you get
that girl in trouble, you know what’s expected of you, don’t
you?”

Jorie turned crimson.

“You would have to marry her — the first
girl you’d ever known. And that would be the end of your education,
believe you me! The end of all my dreams for you.”

“And what might they be, eh? That I go to
the Mining School and spend the rest of my life keeping house with
you?”

For a moment he thought she might strike
him.

Instead she dumped the hotcakes on his
plate. “Please don’t ask me to share you on our only evening.”

He met Kaarina’s parents. Her father spoke
very little English, and her mother almost none. Both of them
struck him as rather cold and distant. Jorie thought they were as
suspicious of him as his mother was of Kaarina.

It was Thursday again, and Jorie headed home
with a kind of grim determination to make it a short evening: to
plead fatigue, and go up to his room.

He was in for a surprise.

“Darling, you’ll never guess what new and
wondrous piece of engineering we have acquired!”

“What are you on about now?”

“We’ll call it an early birthday present for
you. But first, let’s don our party clothes, for tonight is indeed
a very special evening. Don’t peek in the parlor — not yet.”

He couldn’t remember seeing her so
excited.

“Where’s Eliza?”

Catherine drew the curtains. “She’s been fed
and put to bed.”

“So early?”

“I’ve decided to allow her to skip her nap
on Thursdays, so she’s content to go to bed early.”

“I wish you’d let her join us.”

“To be frank, Jorie, I need some adult
company and entertainment. I think you do, too. We’ll take her on a
buggy ride Sunday, all right? Now, change your clothes, and then go
directly to the dining room — not the parlor.”

When he came down, she handed him a bottle
of wine.

“It’s the last of your father’s
thimbleberry. Let’s enjoy it!”

She lit the candles. The fragrance of lilac
coming across the table, reminded him of Kaarina.

“Now then, enjoy your wine; I’ll be back in
a moment.”

She hurried off to the parlor.

In a few minutes he heard music!

She returned all excited. “Isn’t it
wonderful, Jorie? Can you imagine?”

“You didn’t, did you?” His heart froze. “You
haven’t bought a player piano?” He rushed into the parlor. She
hurried after him.

He stared at the alien addition to the
parlor. “My God, Ma, they cost two hundred fifty dollars, at
least!”

“I didn’t
buy
it, Dear. Did you
notice the dishes? They’re not the china you’re used to on our
special evenings. I traded the china for the pianola.”

“You traded it?”

“In a manner of speaking. I sold the china,
in order to buy the pianola. I thought we’d get more enjoyment out
of the music than the dishes. Don’t you agree?”

“I suppose so.”

“You didn’t even miss them, did you?”

“Didn’t the player piano cost a good deal
more than you got for your china?”

“Oh, no, Darling — quite the other way.
That’s how I was able to afford the dress. That china is from the
old country. There was a lot of it, and it is very dear to buy
here.”

He tried to absorb the news. “Well, if it
means so much to you.”

“Oh, it has all kinds of possibilities.
Different musicians to entertain us as we dine, won’t it be
splendid? And what’s more, we can dance to it!”

“Dance!”

“Don’t act like you never heard of it. Of
course, dance. I’ll teach you how, as my father taught me. I
acquired several music rolls with the instrument — some classical,
and some popular. Now we won’t have to take turns playing for each
other; we can both be entertained at once, by the invisible
musicians! Won’t that be fun?”

He couldn’t share her enthusiasm. Was it her
net closing in tighter, or the money that felt like
strangulation?

“Oh, Jorie, cheer up. Let’s enjoy ourselves.
Don’t make your mummy work so hard to bring a smile to your
face.”

He forced a smile.

“Now listen to the pianist. Do you know who
it is?”

“No.”

“It’s the famous Paderewski. Did you ever
think we’d hear him, almost as though he were right here in our
parlor?”

She led him back to the dining room. They
spoke little, listening to the melodious tones coming from the
other room. He had to admit it was quite remarkable.

After dinner she explained how it worked.
“The man who delivered it showed me, and now I’ll show you. We can
still play this piano manually, and will, Jorie. It’s so
versatile.”

He looked around. “Where’s the
rosewood?”

“We didn’t have room for two pianos, and
that was part of the trade.”

“You
gave away
the rosewood? The piano I
learned to play on?” His voice rose in crescendo. “That was a work
of art, Ma. This is a piece of — machinery!”

He saw the tears form in her eyes. “I
thought it would make you happy.” She turned to leave. “You are so
difficult to please.”

She went up the stairs, leaving the dishes
on the table. He was left with his own angry words echoing in his
mind and an intense feeling of shame in the way he’d treated her
surprise. He decided finally to go to her.

She didn’t answer his knock, but the door
was ajar. He could see her lying, fully dressed on her bed. He
stood in the doorway.

“I’m sorry. I know you were thrilled, and
I’ve spoiled it for you. It’s just . . . I loved that old rosewood.
I thought we’d always have it.”

Slowly, she turned toward him. “Then it’s I
who must apologize. I should have consulted you. You are the bread
winner. I just wanted to brighten our dreary life. Acknowledge you,
Darling, for your sacrifice.”

“The evening need not be ruined. Let’s go
down and listen to some more.”

“Truly? Oh, I’m glad you’re not still upset.
Yes, let’s hear another piece.” She rose from the bed. “What would
you like — a concerto or sonata by Beethoven?”

“You choose.”

She inserted a roll of
music which had popular dance tunes on it. The first piece
was
A Hot Time in the Old Town
Tonight.

“Now this is a change of mood, wouldn’t you
say?”

They listened to it while Catherine danced
to it by herself, spinning around the room, keeping time to the
music.

When it was finished she held out her arms.
“Come, I’ll teach you to dance.”

“Oh, Ma, I don’t — “

“You must, Dear.” She was laughing.

He thought of Kaarina, and how he’d like to
take her dancing. Perhaps he’d better learn.

He was seated and she went to him, pulling
him up with both hands. “Now. You put one hand, here, around my
waist — that’s it, and I put my hand on your shoulder. Oh my,
you’re so tall, Jorie. No, put your left hand out here and I’ll
hold it with my right. It is you who must lead.

“This is a waltz,
The Sidewalks of New York
. Before we start the music up again, let me teach you the
footwork.”

She worked with him awhile, going over the
steps.

The lessons continued, and not just on
Thursday nights, but on other nights as well. Occasionally Eliza
was allowed to join them, but never on Thursdays.

“Teach me to dance, Jawie.”

Sometimes he’d hold her
high and swing her around the room. Other times she made her own
little dance steps. Eliza’s favorite tune was
Pop Goes the Weasel.
His was
Jeanie with the Light Brown
Hair
. Every time he heard it he thought of
Kaarina.

“Don’t look at your feet, Darling, look at
your partner!”

He deliberately didn’t hold her close to
him.

“Jorie, you really do give yourself away as
a beginner, holding me a yard away. It not only looks better, but
allows the woman to follow you, if you hold her firmly.” She
glanced at his stricken face. “Now don’t look so frightened. I’m
not going to bite you.”

He held her closer. She looked up at him.
Occasionally, he looked down into her upturned face, smiling
self-consciously. Finally she rested her head on his chest. At
least he didn’t have to look at her then, but he knew she must be
able to feel his heart beating wildly in his chest. Why did he find
her so soft and beautiful? She was his mother, for God’s sake!

“Do you know how old I am, Jorie?”

“I hadn’t thought about it.”

“Take a guess.”

He didn’t dare. What if he guessed too
old?

“Well, I’ll tell you this. I was only
eighteen when you were born.”

“Then you’re just twice my age.”

He could tell that wasn’t what she wanted to
hear. “Still only in your thirties,” he added. “That’s very young.”
He could see she wanted more. He tried to keep it light. “You look
grand, Ma. Now let me concentrate on the steps.”

“A pity we can’t go to the dance with the
band, but we’ll just make do with our private soiree, and our very
own pianist,” she laughed.

Well, he didn’t intend to make do. He
decided he was confident enough now to suggest to Kaarina that they
go dancing.

“Oh, Jorie, I don’t know how!”

“Then I shall have to teach you.”

One evening, in the middle of her bedtime
story, Eliza said, “Jawie, what are those things waving up there?”
She pointed up to the corner. “They’re moving.”

“Cob webs.”

“I don’t like them.”

A soft summer breeze coming through the open
window caused them to billow and flatten. Jorie took a good look
around her room. The walls and ceiling were dingy and dirty. He was
sure it was the original wall paper, never redecorated as many of
the rooms had been.

“Would you like me to get them down for
you?”

“Yes.”

He fetched a broom and came back to clear
them away.

Eliza’s fourth birthday was coming up and
Jorie decided he’d like to re-paper her room for her.

Catherine said, “We can’t afford it. Not
with you spending half your earnings gallivanting around town with
that tart.”

“Stop it! I’ll not have you speak that way
of her.”

“I’ll speak of her any way I wish. Whatever
charms she has, they’re dangerous, Jorie.”

“Ma, you don’t know her at all. You’ve no
right to speak of her that way!”

“At least you could have found one of your
own kind. Even birds know to find their own feather.”

“Are you going to start in on that
again?”

He waited for her to simmer down. “I want to
do something for Eliza’s room. It needs redecorating.”

“Then paint it.”

He asked Eliza what color she’d like.
“Lellow. With ‘nanas and peaches on it.”

He spent several evenings preparing the room
— getting the old paper off, and plastering holes.

When it was finished, Eliza said, “Jawie,
it’s so pwitty!”

Her exuberance was all the thanks he
needed.

Catherine said, “What in the world is that
border of fruit doing up there?”

“That’s what she wanted.”

There was something else he wanted to do,
and this required a trip to the cellar. Just descending into these
depths brought back that dreadful memory. The late western sun
streaked through the one small window, catching in its rays a
galaxy of dust particles.