CT: Shadow

As Little C let you all know on Wednesday, we lost our grandmother earlier this week. If you haven't read her tribute to our Mimi, you should check it out here. One of the things that she talked about is that Mimi wrote a set of short stories about being a little girl in the Depression. I can't think of a better way to pay tribute to Mimi than to publish one of her stories here. My earliest writing memory is of sitting at her kitchen table, writing a fantasy story. She always encouraged us, always pushed us, always believed in us. So here is one of my favorites of her stories, in its entirety:

I could smell the gumbo before I opened the screen door to the kitchen. The peppers, onions, tomatoes, and okra from the garden were mixed with the rice in the big black iron skillet, bubbling away. 

Mama was standing at the little work table. Her hands were mixing dough in the blue crock. A jar of apples was open beside the bowl, so I knew there would be fried apple pies for supper. Just thinking about those rich, crusty pies, and the smell of the rice and vegetables made me swallow in pure pleasure. 

Mama's hands were always busy and I wanted to do all the things that she did. Because I spent so much time at her side or following her around, Mama started calling me "Shadow". Now the whole family called me that. Being almost six, I could do lots of things to help. I would start to first grade in the fall and I was anxious to learn to read and write. Leaning over Mama's arm when she read to us, I thought the words were magic and I wanted to own them. 

I grinned at Mama and opened the glass door to the pie safe. The loaf of homemade bread was on the top shelf, ready to put on the blue plate for the table. The plates, glasses, knives, and forks were stacked on the second shelf. The spoons were standing upright in an old cold cream jar that Don had found one day int he alley while walking home from school. The lid wasn't with it, but it was so pretty with its pink roses around the white glass, that Don had brought it home to Mama. She had thought it was pretty, too, and decided it would make a perfect spoon holder. It looked just right next to the zinnias in the middle of the table. 

Done, my brother, was Mama's "right hand man". He was tall and wiry, with spring brown hair. His freckled face with its big smile could brighten any place he happened to be. He was quick and energetic, excited about anything in his path. Since he was eight, and the oldest, he was the main helper around the house. He and I did lots of chores together. One of our main jobs was keeping track of Dolly. Sometimes that seemed like full time work. 

I set the table, listening to Mama sing to the pies,
"Meet me in St. Louis, Louie,
Meet me at the fair. 
Don't tell me the lights were shining
Anywhere but there
We'll tour the city nightly
We'll dance where lights shine brightly
Meet me in St. Louis, Louie,
Meet me at the fair"

This was a new song for us, and I could tell she was trying to remember all the words. Pausing she looked around and smiled. "Thank you, sugar. Now, would you find Dolly and help her get washed up? Daddy will be home soon and we'll be ready to eat." Her fingers flew as she rolled a pinch of dough into a circle and put a spoonful of apples on one side of it. Folding the other side of the circle over the apples, she crimped the edges together with her fingers. She started another pie as I went out the back door. 

Watching Dolly digging in one corner of the garden, I felt the worn, smooth boards of the porch under my bare feet. The wandering jew plants climbing up the sides of the of the porch made a thick, leafy curtain to give a cool, shadowy place to play or word. Two wide, shallow steps went down to the path that led to the garden. 

Dolly looked up and grinned when she heard me call. Her sweaty face and hair had streaks of dirt where she had scratched mosquito bites with grubby hands. She was kneeling in the dirt at the edge of the garden. Now she stood up, brushed some of the soil and grit off her knees, and began dancing up the path, talking as she came. "Guess what, Shadow. I'm makin' a toad house. After supper I'm gonna make a little bitty cave in that dirt for them to sleep in tonight. If I get up early enough, I might catch one. I made lots of dirt. You can have some, too, if you want. What's Mama cooking? Is Daddy Home yet? Shere's Don?" At three, blond and pump and pretty, Dolly had lots to say. 

"Whoa, Dolly, slow down a little. We need to get washed up. Don is helping Mama, Daddy's not home yet, and Mama's made fried apple pies. From the looks of you, Mama'll have to give you a sink bath later on, but for now, just wash your hands and face while I pump." The big wooden sink under the pump was just outside the kitchen door. It was big enough for us to sit in for a quick bath in the summer. Grandpa and Daddy had made it handy for Mama to do lots of cleaning chores there. Don came out with the pitcher to get some cold water for supper. he pushed Dolly's bangs out of her eyes and stroked his finger down her cheek. Dolly leaned over to wash in the gush of water. 

Don looked at me over dolly's head and said, "While we're cleaning the kitchen after supper, want me to help you with that new song? I bummed out the tenor while I was listening to Mama, and I can help you with the tune. You're loud enough to carry the soprano all by yourself and we can sing the parts," he teased. Actually, it was true. I was little, but I was loud and I could hold my own with the parts. 

A rich, brown smell of frying pies filled the doorway, drifting out over the porch as we dried our hands and faces on the towel hanging on the hook by the door. Dolly sniffed and said, "When Daddy smells those pies, he's gonna say he could eat a wolf. I b'lieve I could eat a wolf, too." Don and I laughed. 

In summer, the table was moved in front of the door to catch any breeze that might be stirring. The oilcloth covering the table was brightly colored in golds and purples and reds showing clusters of fruit. Dolly stopped by the table and smoothed the glossy peaches by her place. Dolly and I sat on a bench behind the table. Daddy had sanded a block of wood and Mama had padded it with a piece of old quilt to put at Dolly's place on the bench to raise her up to the table. Her old high chair had been given to a new cousin when she decided she was too big for baby stuff. Now, Don boosted her up to the corner place next to Mama and I slid in beside her. 

We could hear Daddy whistling as he came up the back walk. He stopped at the pump to wash and dry his hands and face. He came in, smoothing his hair back with his damp hands. his little bald spot shone on the top of his head. Smiling, he said, "Boy, that sure smells good, Modest. I lifted a Chevie transmission today at the shop so the work was heavy all day. I'm hungry as a bear."

I buttered a piece of bread for Dolly and slipped a pickle on her plate to keep her fingers out of the jelly dish. Mama put the bowl of gumbo and the platter of pies on the table and filled the water glasses. She checked to make sure the table was ready, took off her apron and sat down with a sigh.

I looked around and smiled. This was the best time of the day. Mama and Daddy were resting and we could talk about our day. Daddy would tell us the news of the town while we ate and visited. Later, we would sit on the front porch and sing and Mama would tell family stories or folk tales or the classics. I loved to sit on the steps and listen to her rich alto voice dramatize stories and sing songs from operettas and plays. Many times neighbors would come to sing and join the story telling. I tried not to get sleepy until I was sure it was over. 

Epilogue:
Years later, I heard the song, "Meet Me In St. Louis" and the words to the fifth and sixth lines here "We'll do the hoochie coochie, You'll be my tootsie wootsie". I called Mama and asked her about it and she said, "Well I liked the song and it was fun to sing, but you kids sang all the time and I coudn't have you singing trashy stuff like 'hoochie coochie' and 'tootsie wootsie' all over town." Left me to wonder how many other songs she "cleaned up".

Comments

Popular Posts