September
1941
“Helen, come on in off the yard. We have a lot still to do before Pop
comes in from the farm. Quit your dilly-dallying, and set the dinner table.”
Kenneth is my big brother. Eleven years my senior, he liked to think
he’s the boss, especially since mother has been sick in bed due to the stress
of our crops. The season had been far too dry, and we desperately needed rain. I know we've had tough years, but this seemed drier than ever. Pop, well, he is more optimistic about it all. He grew up on this farm,
so he has seen her through good and bad seasons, but he says we have to work hard
so we don’t lose everything, but I’m tired of all this work. If it were up to
me, I wouldn’t be a farmer. There’s too much risk and uncertainty. I dream of
the city, not like Corning, but a big city with lights, socials, and fancy
gowns. Every few months the mailman would bring out a new “Sears, Roebuck and
Co.” catalog, and I would sit out on the grass looking at the pictures, and
dream of my future.
“Helen! I see Pop comin’ in. Hurry!” Kenneth came out interrupting my
reverie. There’s never any time for dreaming here.
“Golly, Kenneth. You’d think a flood were comin’ along with all your hollering.
I’m coming.” Making my way into the kitchen, the heavenly smells of dinner waiting
increased my pace. Through the doorway I could see some mashed potatoes and
steamed carrots set out on the table already.
“After you set the table, why don’t you go in and check on Ma. She
said she thought she would be up to sitting with us this evening.” It has been
a few days since she has come out of her room.
I keep hoping rain would come so she would feel better, and Kenneth
wouldn’t feel like he needs to be in charge of the house. I’m capable of all
the housework, except I try to avoid dishes, and mopping…and cleaning in
general. I don’t mind ironing though, and mother appreciates that. She loves
everything about being a housewife—just not the ironing, whereas I love it,
especially in the winter. It gives me an excuse to stand by the fire, because
every few minutes I have to reheat the iron. It’s a mindless chore, so I can
sit and day dream while I work. And there’s something special about seeing a
fine-pressed shirt.
I set the table, arranging everything just so, as I’ve seen in
pictures. I really can’t help it; it may seem silly with us living in a
small-farm town and having no one of any significance to entertain, but I
wanted to be ready. Maybe I’d marry a politician and get to host dinner parties
with the president, or maybe I’d be a star on Broadway. They have reasons to
dress up and attend formal parties, I bet. One never knows what the future
holds. I finished up the table before Kenneth had a chance to scold me again,
and quickly made my way to check on mother.
As I opened the door to her room, I noticed everything was cast in a
gloomy shade. Walking to her bed, I found her lying there awake.
“Is that you, Helen, dear?”
“Yes, Mother. Kenneth told me to come let you know we’ll be sitting to
dinner soon. Would you like to join us?”
“I think I will, just give me a few moments to catch my bearings.
Would you be a dear and draw the curtains? It feels an age since I last saw the
sunset.”
I walked to the window, and drew back the curtains that mother and I
had made together. They were from the time I was first learning to sew. We had
a good old time. I was excited to finally use her sewing machine. I used to sit
by her in the evenings and watch her use the treadle. I would imagine little
people playing see-saw on it as she worked. Then one day she sat me in her
chair before the sewing table and said we were going to make some new curtains.
I had hoped she meant for me to help sew, but unsure and daunted, I awaited her
instructions. When she showed me, I was mesmerized by how it all worked. Watching
the needle bob up and down, I worked very slowly. Looking at it now, I can
still see my jagged stitches. I had been enjoying myself too much working the
treadle that I forgot to guide the fabric through the needle. We laughed about it, but satisfied with our
work, my mother promptly took the curtains up to hang in her room. They are
still there, even after all these years. A little faded, but none worse for the
wear.
Turning around, I saw mother sitting up with her feet on the
floor. With a look in her eyes and a
smile on her face, I could tell our thoughts had been companions on the same train.
Helping her up, we both made our way down to dinner.
The conversation as we approached the parlor was tired at best. Pop
had spent all day doing the work of three out on the farm while Kenneth took
care of the household. To my credit, I did help him, but he doesn’t appreciate
hearing his baby sister correct his efforts, so I stuck mostly to my usual
chores. Pop was seated in an antique rocking chair in a daze; Kenneth reclined
on the sofa facing the window. As we entered, both men looked up as love dawned
on their faces, glad to see mother up and about.
We took our seats around the table, and ate a quiet, humble meal.
After dinner, I set about washing the dishes while the others retired to the
parlor. They all gathered around the radio and tuned in to the latest
installment of “The Lone Ranger.” To me, there is something romantic about his
tales of bravery. Masking his identity, fighting for justice—the Lone Ranger is
a hero. As I heard the faint sounds coming from the other room, I imagined what
it would be like to ride free across the plains, saving people in distress and making
a difference in the world.
I entered the parlor only to see pop acting out the ending scene where
the Lone Ranger rides off on his trusty stallion, and we all laughingly chimed
in: “Hi-yo, Silver! Away!” He galloped about the room until he finally came to
a stop, and plopped down next to mother. The relaxed and joyous atmosphere was
amplified by the smile on mother’s face. None of us had any idea of the changes
that a few months’ time would bring to our happy little home.
