The House on Malcolm Street (7 page)

I turned off the burner beneath the eggs and excused myself to find the washroom. I wouldn’t give him a reaction. None at all. Let him call me a poor cook or anything else he liked. I’d not give him occasion to think me any more of an emotional weakling than he might already.

5
Leah

Josiah was finished eating when I rejoined them in the kitchen, and Marigold was taking the last of the biscuits out of the oven. I didn’t realize until that moment how hungry I was, but I said nothing and did not venture to the table. The eggs were still on the stove where I’d left them. Marigold separated a plate of biscuits and piled the rest in a heap in the middle of a large double cloth.

“This’ll keep ’em fairly warm. They’ll be nice and soft too,” she explained.

Josiah was lacing his work boots as she pulled two corners of the cloth over her biscuits to the center and tied them. Then she did the same with the remaining corners and, using the knot as a handle, lifted the bundle and swung it around a bit.

“Nothing’s gonna fall outta there.”

Eliza was fascinated. “Is that Mr. Josiah’s lunch? It’s the biggest lunch I ever seen. Must be four whole plates heaped full, maybe five.”

Marigold laughed. “He can snitch him a biscuit or two for his lunch, same as the brakeman always does. But the rest of ’em’s going to the Kurchers.”

“Where is that?” I asked, genuinely curious about this “biscuit day” idea.

“The Kurchers live close to Maple Falls, east by the train track. Lovely family. He passed on a couple of years ago, but she keeps things together the best she can. Most amazing thing you ever saw, with twenty-one children – ”

“Twenty-one?”

She smiled. “I suppose they’re down a few by now, with her oldest girls grown and married. They had fourteen of their own, then took in five when her younger brother and his wife both died in the influenza epidemic.” Her voice grew quieter. “Someone they didn’t even know left the other two. Just abandoned them on the front porch. A baby and a little thing smaller than your girl. Can you imagine? Hilda didn’t have to, but she kept them. A lot of love, that woman. I send her biscuits every Tuesday and Friday, just to help a little. Eggs too, when we can. What do you think, Josiah? Can you carry eggs today without any getting broken?”

He nodded. “Pad the layers with a towel.”

I stood and stared at them. My parents had never been givers. John and I had seldom had the means. Was it just routine for them here? Had I been mistaken earlier? Was Aunt Marigold well-to-do? Or saintly despite her own need? Either way, I surely did not belong here, and I felt terrible that I had broken an egg earlier that might have fed one of the Kurcher children. For a moment I forgot that we had not yet eaten, but Marigold quickly reminded me.

“We’ll sit down and breakfast leisurely as soon as Josiah’s gone,” she said. “Can you help me pack the eggs?”

Marigold only kept back two besides the ones I’d cooked. We layered the others carefully in a basket between folds of dishtowel, and Josiah was ready to leave as soon as we were done.

“Don’t forget you promised me a pie,” he told Aunt Marigold right before he left, his rugged features softened slightly by a youthful smile.

I didn’t know what to think of either of them, but Marigold gave me little time to wonder. As soon as he was gone, she set my pan of cooked eggs on the table beside the biscuits and jam that were already there and motioned to me to sit down.

“Sorry we didn’t have a chance to finish our psalm today. That happens sometimes, but we can finish up tomorrow. I’d have you read me the rest, but I think it’s good for Josiah to be a-listenin’.”

I wasn’t sure why she thought it might be important to me. I would have been more comfortable for her not to bring up the subject of Scriptures again at all. But as usual, Eliza was overflowing with boundless curiosity.

“Can’t you read it by yourself?” she wanted to know.

“Oh, I used to. Every single morning. But my eyes is dim for that sort of thing now. The print’s too small. Been a godsend for me to have Josiah here reading for me. I started him on it the very first day he came. Been good for both of us.”

Now
my
curiosity was piqued. “How long has he been here?”

“A little more than a year. But enough about him. Tell me more about yourself. What sorts of things you like to do, that sort of thing.”

“I – I’m afraid I don’t have many real preferences. And I wouldn’t want you to cater to them if I had. I’d like to help you while we’re here. Starting today. If there’s any housework – ”

She smiled. “Actually, it’s supposed to be a beautiful day. I’d much rather spend some time getting a few things done outof-doors if it’s all right with you.” She looked at the food on the table and then at Eliza, who was breaking open a biscuit. “Has anyone asked the blessing?”

“Mr. Josiah did,” Eliza answered cheerfully, and I hoped Marigold wouldn’t think her cheeky.

Apparently she didn’t. “Well enough, then.” She passed me the eggs. “Do help yourself. It’s delightful to have your company. I’m so used to being left alone anymore.”

I took a spoon or two of scrambled eggs and gave Eliza a scoop of them because she wouldn’t eat them if I didn’t set them on her plate. The girl loved biscuits more than anything else, and I’m sure the fun of helping roll them herself just made the appeal that much greater.

Soon I could discern the sound of a train in the distance, and my stomach knotted. I’d heard it in the city sometimes, not quite so close at hand. It helped to know that the tracks were four blocks away at the closest point. The whistle wasn’t terribly jarring, at least not in the house with the windows shut. I was sure it was something I could manage to get used to. I decided to try to make conversation to take my mind off it.

“Aunt Marigold – I appreciate so much you welcoming us here.”

“You told me that last night. And believe me, it’s a pleasure to have you. But I do want you to tell me more about yourself. Do you sew or crochet? Do you like to bake? Or embroider, perhaps?”

“I’m acquainted with all of those. But not terribly good at any of them, I’m afraid.”

“You mentioned that you might seek work in town. Did you learn marketable skills before you married?”

Gracious, she was straight to the point! Maybe she did need a rent payment from me as soon as possible. “I’m afraid the only thing I did before marriage was help with the chores and orchard work.”

“Orchard? Really? Did you grow up on one?”

“Yes, you could say that, but a very small orchard. Father only had two acres of trees not far from town.”

“A person could put a lot of trees on two acres if he was of a mind to. At least I could. Apples?”

“Mostly. A few pear and peach.”

“Wonderful. You are exactly who I need today.”

She took a bite of egg and buttered a biscuit, leaving me wondering what she was talking about. But when she was ready to resume the conversation, she changed the subject entirely. “I realize it might seem a little strange to have Josiah about. But he’s a good fellow. He may be standoffish part of the time, but I know he understands me asking you here. So don’t think nothing of it if he’s not always as friendly as last night.”

I wasn’t sure “friendly” was the term I would use. And there were so many things I wanted to ask, about both of them, but this was probably not the time. “I appreciate you telling me.”

“Now, about this little one.” Marigold abruptly switched subjects again. “Your darling Eliza Rose. Did she already start school in St. Louis?”

“No.” I almost felt as though I needed to apologize. “She’s ready for first grade, but I – I didn’t want to begin the year there just to uproot her. I thought it would be better to wait until I knew we were settled somewhere.”

“There’s a good school here,” Marigold said between bites of a biscuit. “And only three blocks, when you feel you’re ready.”

I didn’t. I was far from certain we were “settled” in the long term. And though I expected Eliza to be excited with the idea of school, she seemed wary and glad I didn’t push the issue immediately. “Maybe when things aren’t so completely new,” I said. “We’re barely off the train.”

“I realize that,” Marigold admonished. “But the sooner a routine is established, the better.”

“I’ll visit the school,” I decided. “And talk to them. Soon. Just – just not today.”

“Good enough. A child this bright ought to have an outlet for all that brilliance.”

Eliza didn’t smile or say a word. I don’t think she knew how to respond, so she just sat watching me and buttered another biscuit.

“Um – Aunt Marigold. About my orchard work – you said – ”

“Oh, I didn’t mean I was going to farm you out or anything like that,” she chuckled. “I only meant I need your help if you will. Looks like we’re gonna have fruit to beat the band, and it’s more than I can handle by myself.”

“What kind?”

“Apple and pear. One tree of each. And if I don’t get some picked, the squirrels are going to wreak havoc. Already they’re knocking down aplenty, in addition to what’s been dropping off the tree on its own. But I’d just as soon have some fruit not so bruised and pecked upon. I hate to ask Josiah, as late as he’s been getting in. And I just can’t do it myself.”

“We’re gonna pick apples?” Eliza brightened. “And pears? Can we really? Can I climb right up in the tree?”

“I couldn’t say about that,” Marigold warned. “It’ll have to be your mother’s decision whether she wants you clamberin’ through limbs and branches up off the ground. But I can find a job for you one way or another.”

Eliza was so excited she could scarcely finish her biscuit. And I thought of my father, how I’d loved climbing in his trees, and how he’d scolded me for it time and again. Not because he was afraid I’d fall; he was more bothered that I might knock down his fruit, even when I was carefully picking.

“So did he sell the fruit commercially?” Marigold asked me.

I looked up, only half sure of what she’d said. “What?”

“Did your father sell the fruit himself?”

“Oh. He sold some to the local market and a peddler he knew. But he also traded a good bit of it for other goods.” I didn’t tell her what goods. I didn’t want her asking more questions, requiring me to talk about him.

“Was that near St. Louis?”

“About forty miles south.”

“Are your parents still living?”

My breath caught in my throat. If I told her the truth, would she question why I’d come here instead of to my father’s farm? Yet how could I be deliberately untruthful? It wouldn’t be right, even for my comfort’s sake. “Mother died a couple of years ago,” I said with a sigh. “But Father is still living.”

“Is he well?”

“Yes, the last I knew.”

She looked at me rather oddly and I knew she had more questions, but she didn’t ask them then. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”

“Yes, ma’am. But I can get it.” I jumped to my feet so she wouldn’t have to. “Would you like me to pour you one as well?”

“Yes, please. And you may as well pour a glass of milk for your little Rose.”

There it was again, her using Eliza’s middle instead of her first name. I wasn’t quite sure what to think. Maybe she thought the flower name should have come first. But I didn’t say anything. Just poured her coffee and then proceeded to get Eliza’s drink and my own.

Marigold and Eliza were both nearly done eating. I didn’t have much appetite, but I hurried to finish the rest of what was on my plate, not wishing any of it to be wasted.

“Does your father still have his orchard?” Marigold persisted.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Well, then, I suppose it must be nearly harvest time there.”

“I suppose so.”

Of course it might occur to her that for me to go there and help with the harvest would seem like an ideal arrangement for my father and me both. But she said no more about it, perhaps realizing that I wasn’t going to open up very much on the subject. When she started to clean up a bit, I hurried to help and soon had breakfast dishes washed and the whole kitchen looking neat and tidy. Eliza was itching to get outside, and Marigold seemed to be too, though I wondered how she’d manage it. She seemed to be having trouble with her legs again this morning.

“Would you like me to carry a chair out for you?” I asked when she was ready.

She frowned. “How am I going to pick apples from a chair?”

“You can just sit and tell us what to do and we’ll do it. Or, if you like, we can carry the drops to you and you can sort or even start cutting some while we pick.”

“I certainly need to be cutting a few if I’m going to get pies made. Josiah knows it’s high time we had an apple pie, and I’m sure Mr. Abraham’s had his eye on them too.”

With my help, she gathered baskets, buckets, and boxes to hold the fruit we picked. Eliza thought we had an impossible number of containers, but I knew from experience that if Marigold had healthy trees, it might not be enough.

While carrying everything out to the backyard, it was impossible not to think of Father and his trees again. Marigold might think it shameful that I knew so little about his health or his harvest this year. She might think I should have gone to him after John died. She might even get around to suggesting it if things did not work out well here. But I couldn’t. There was no way. The last time I’d tried to talk to him, the only time I’d been to the farm since Mother’s death, he was so hateful, so horribly painful, that I’d left, never wanting to go back.

“Can we make applesauce and pie? An’ even cimmanum apple tarts?” Eliza asked, evidently remembering the fun we’d had when our good friend Anna had given us a bushel basket full of cooking apples last year.

“Cinnamon apple tarts, hmm?” Marigold asked. “That’s something I’ve never done. You’ll have to show me how.”

We set down the baskets and buckets beneath an old tree, rather small and misshapen but loaded with apples nonetheless. There would be plenty for tarts or anything else that Marigold wanted to make. The pear tree across the generous backyard, though taller, was not nearly so laden. But there would be plenty of those too.