The Afternoon

Emma Todd nodded in her flowered-cushioned rocking chair. The hall clock ticked away the minutes of the day. Emma’s head dropped lower and lower then suddenly jerked up. Her eyes fluttered open an instant, then closed. Her head drooped once more.

She often thought if Steven were alive her days wouldn’t be so lonely. He had been dead forty-two years now, come July. Her children had taken good care of her. She had taken good care of her children and her grandchildren. She wished for a place of her own, but she lived with her youngest daughter, Ellen. Ellen was fourteen when Steven died. Now Ellen was fifty-six, and Emma stayed on in her son-in-law’s house.

Her thin steel-gray hair was pulled straight back. It was wound in one pincurl about the size of an overcoat button at the nape of her neck. She never had had much hair. Few people remembered she had worn it differently. Her head rested heavily on her left hand. Now and then her hand slid up her cheek, pushing her glasses awry. Startled, she awakened, straightened her glasses, and rested her cheek again on her fist. Wrinkles creased her face. Brown age spots dotted her face and arms. Her pink and gray plaid housedress, clean and pressed, was held together at the neck by a round silver pin set with greenish stones. Her hose draped on her bone-thin legs, making her black walking shoes look large for the rest of her. Her family had seen this Emma for many years. None of them knew how many more years she would be with them.

For part of the morning and most of the afternoon Emma rocked in her chair. Several times she got up. Pushing her hands down on the arms of the chair, she rose unsteadily. She began to step off smartly, she might have said, when she would realize her legs didn’t hold up as they used to. Steadying herself on one arm of the chair, slowly she scuffed to the kitchen to see what time it was. It seemed like hours ago that she had a bite of lunch, but the clock said one-thirty. She turned in small shifting steps and headed back to her chair.

Between drowsings she thought about many things. What would she have for supper? How she could patch her dress so that it would make do for around the house. She had better water the flowers since nobody else could see to do it. She wished her daughter and grandchildren could see that she wasn’t a burden but a help. She thought about the past. She liked to remember good times, but all sorts of things, whether she wanted to think about them or not, pushed themselves through the chinks of her mind. Little things like the cat having kittens and Ellen’s tooth falling out as she bit into the apple and big things like Steven’s dying and little Julia’s feverish face flew in and out of her mind at will. There were things she thought of over and over until she almost felt they were happening again, but she couldn’t get them to change even if she wanted to.

After ninety years there were things she would have liked to change, but some were clear pleasant memories that kept her company in the afternoon.

                *****************************

Mother looked tired that night. Before the cold set in, Father and Jonathan had driven to town to get some supplies and a piece he had ordered for the plow. She had to work harder to get everything done. Her blue calico print dress still drew out the blue in her eyes, even though it had faded with many washing and was dusty now from carrying in wood in the dry October wind. Her dark brown hair, pulled back from her face and pinned, kept coming unfastened and wisps strayed over her face and neck. In her wooden rocker by the fire she worked on her quilt.

Supper was over. I had carried in water and dried the dishes. Now Sue Ellen and I had little to do while Mother sewed and sang hymns quietly to herself. “Abide with me. Fast falls the eventide....”

“Can Sue Ellen and I go out and play?”

“Not now. It gets dark early now. I don’t like you out after dark, particularly when your father’s gone.”

“But there’s nothing to do. We’ll stay right near.”

“No. You heard what I said. Why don’t you play with your dolls? It’s getting chilly already. I can feel it in the house.”

I, too, felt the evening become cooler, but would never admit it if I might get to rustle through the autumn leaves or jump in the mound of hay in the barn.

Trudging over to the wooden baby crib father had made for us, Sue Ellen and I began to play with our dolls. Mother had made them while sitting by the fire after supper instead of sewing on quilts and patching shirts and dresses as she did these days. They were made from odds and ends of fabric and yarn with old buttons for eyes and stuffed with rags. They were friendly, colorful patchwork dolls that couldn’t have been more loved.

Quickly the house darkened. Through the west window I saw dark clouds cover the sunset. That could mean rain. I loved to snuggle under the warm quilts in the loft with the rain drumming on the roof.

Pulling blanket from the dolls, I took my doll Annie and put her on the blanket.

“What should we play?” Whatever I suggested Sue Ellen wouldn’t like because she was stubborn. I guess all younger children are stubborn.

“Yesterday you got to be Mother, and I had to be Aunt Emily. Today I get to be Mother and you be . . .you be . . .well, whoever you want.”

“Then I’ll be Dr. Carpenter and come to see the sick children.”

“No, I want to be Dr. Carpenter. You always get the best one. You always get to be boss.”

“You said you wanted to be Mother.” “Well, I changed my mind. You can be Mother and I’ll be Dr. Carpenter.”

“Mother, she won’t play right. She always has to have her own way.”

“Now, you girls play together nicely, or I’ll send you both to bed. The fire’s

beginning to die out anyway.” “I’m just going to play by myself then.” “Shhh, girls. Quiet! I hear something.”

We sat very still. We heard the horses stomping and whinnying in the corral. “Maybe it’s Indians,” Sue Ellen whispered. I saw the excitement in her face. The only Indian we knew was Sam who

carried stock at the store. Frantically Mother’s eyes darted around the dim room as she wondered what to do. She wished Father and Jonathan were here and hoped Sue Ellen wasn’t right.

“Hurry into the bedroom now!” Our movements faltered until Mother started toward us. Then we ran. Mother crept noiselessly to the door. As slowly and silently as possible slid the

big wooden bar through the iron bracket. Like our cat stalking mice, she crouched as she tiptoed back to the bedroom. She closed the door and groped for the bed. Sue

Ellen let out a muffled sound when Mother sat on her leg, but Mother quickly quieted her and we listened. Still clutching our dolls, Sue Ellen and I sat close together, not saying a word. We listened to our own breathing, the bed’s creaking and the wind’s whining through the cracks in the walls. The horses were still causing a ruckus, but we couldn’t hear anything else.

Then we heard a baby cry, and Mother sighed and said, “It’s all right.”

***********************************

Emma was amazed at the time that Mother had known that these travelers intended no harm if they had a baby, but now Emma understood. A smile crept across Emma’s face. Was her memory really as accurate as it seemed to her? Once this night had made her break out in a clammy sweat, but now it didn’t. Maybe it was because her grandchildren would listen to that story without exchanging looks of “Not another one!” All children must think they know it all. Emma had thought she understood how things happened in life when she was young, but she saw that each job she had to do in her life, each experience she had to cope with, gave her a new perspective on understanding what this life was about. So many things that had once bewildered her had become clear.

Emma looked around the small comfortable living room. Fancy lace doilies on the back and the arms hid the worn spots on the blue armchair; bought second-hand, the rose-swirled carpeting had bare spots in front of the sofa where feet were propped. At about the reach of a two year old, red crayon marks had been made years ago and decorated the rose-colored wallpaper. All so different from Illinois and the harmless traveling gypsies of her rumination. Then there were her own babies.

             *************************************

Julie must have been about three. That Julie, she was so bright. The dark auburn hair curled around her face in ringlets and her hazel eyes bobbed up and down just over the edge of the kitchen table, always laughing, playing games. Perched on the high wooden piano bench, she slapped away at the yellowed keys of the piano and sang a little story, quite unconcerned about the jarring, jangling sounds coming from the piano. Then she hopped down and ran to Steven.

“Did you hear my song?” How could he help but hear it, Emma chuckled to herself. “My, Julie,” he’d say, “that was so good, I couldn’t do better myself.” He’d put down his account book, lift her up on his knee and start to sing. Julie

knew some of the songs already and he’d often just let her finish up the tune, helping her by coming in when he saw her faltering. He wasn’t a good singer, kind of an airiness in his voice, and Julie was rarely on tune, but it gave Emma such happiness to see those two faces bright with the joy of singing for each other.

              *************************************

It hurts to remember those good evenings. Where does the laughter go? What dulls bright eyes and finally closes them? I can understand that bodies grow old and crack. They can slow with age. Your bury the bones, but what happens to the laughter, the spark in the eye, the goodness? This piece never fit into the puzzle, no matter how long she lived. Who made those measles to kill little children? Why is it necessary to have this kind of lesson? The pain is so much greater when those who give and receive joy in love the most are taken. Little Julie, so dear, so beautiful.

That memory never lost its pain. The pain had dulled with the years. It used to penetrate Emma’s whole being so thoroughly that she tried to keep it out of her mind, but she never could. It crept in while she was washing dishes or dusting the furniture or lying in bed at night staring at the walls because it wouldn’t let her sleep. She counted sheep or repeated meaningless words to herself to stop the thoughts, but they broke through stabbing like a knife. It was always there. It was here with her now.

Emma stared blankly at her everyday black shoes, scuffed along the toes. They need polishing. Tomorrow morning after I water the flowers and finish the breakfast dishes, I’ll do that. I think there’s still polish in the basement way. This time she remembered. Slowly she raised herself from her chair, steadied herself on the arms, and hesitatingly started for the kitchen. She took a couple of steps into the kitchen and looked at the clock. It was 2:35. She scuffed back. Seated again, she thought, there was something I was going to do out in the kitchen. What was it? How my mind acts up anymore. Oh, the shoe polish. I guess it’ll be there tomorrow. I should wash that television glass good, too. So filthy, it’s a sight.

Emma gazed out the big front window. It was late August, her ninetieth birthday soon. Steven and she would have been married . . .let’s see . . . September 6, 1895 . . . yes, sixty-nine years come September. She figured it out from scratch every time.

                ***********************************

The bright Sunday sun flooded their bedroom. You’d have thought you’d hear birds singing, but no birds chirp in new December. I was still drowsing. Steven faced the wall, his thick, dark-red hair all awry from his heavy sleep. The wood floor would still be cold even though the sun beamed through the window. I could see the dust floating in the room. No wonder I can never keep the furniture bright. It’s all that dust.

I could hear the bed creak in Ellen’s room and hear her gasp as her bare feet touched the floor. I knew why Ellen was up so early. Today was the day the Holcombs made homemade ice cream and invited the neighborhood to an ice cream party. I could still see them from the last time, the girls in their starched white pinafores and Ken in his blue suit, parading half way around the block on the walk, not cutting through the backyard like usual. They held themselves straight, just like Emma liked to see.

Ellen padded down the hall on the way to the outhouse and shouted, “Everybody up. It’s ice cold in here. I’ll get the fire going.”

I knew this rare offer was for ice cream. Everything would go right today. I got up and shivered as the air hit my body and then again as my feet touched the floor. I hurriedly got into my flannel robe and slippers.

“Steven, Ellen’s already begun the big day. We’d better get started.”

Steven rolled over and smiled. “Well, I guess we can’t be slug-a-beds on ice cream day.”

He propped himself up on his elbow. “Oh, my head. It mustn't move so fast so early in the morning.”

“Are you all right?”

“Just I whopping headache. Let me rest a bit longer. It’ll go away.” “Alright. Buckwheats this morning if that will help you feel better.” “They usually help everything but my beltline.” My slippers shuffled along the floor out the door, and I closed it behind me.

Ellen was coming back from outside, shivering with her arms clutched across her chest attempting to get warm.

“Get Ken and Edith up. The reminder of Holcombs’ ice cream might get them started.”

“Is Father up?”

“He’ll be up in a bit. I think fixing that broken fence out in all the cold wore him out.”

“What about scripture reading?” “Well, maybe today Dad can save it till bedtime.” “Oh, good. I’ll get Ken and Edith up.” She hurried down the hall, and Emma

went downstairs to mix the batter for pancakes.

**************************************

This was always where Emma stopped. The next hours and days came to her only in flashes of pain. She had loved Steven. She always remembered those she loved when they were laughing. She could see him. He was tall, slender, with thick waves of auburn hair, laughing. He wore faded overalls and a blue work shirt with a rumpled collar, laughing. He had his head thrown back, eyes beaming and rich laughter rolled up from inside.

She did not want to see him dying, lying on the bed unconscious, waiting for that same blood that pumped through his veins to give him life, to burst through those veins and bring death. But sometimes she did see him dead, lying in his casket in the parlor. His eyes were shut and his mouth was drawn tight in an unnatural smile, stifled now. He looked so very dead.

The children did not understand. Emma did not understand. Emma knew this was not part of the plan, but then she saw maybe there was no plan, just random happenings.

She wished she’d bought him a marker. She had heard the cemetery was uncared for now. The grass had grown up around the markers that were there, and the other plots were indistinguishable. When she died, she promised herself, part of her little money was to buy a marker for Steven’s grave. Ellen would see to that.

Now how was that? She had figured it all out many times, but she’d forget just how it was. And sometimes she’d refigure it just to make sure it would work out.

She edged herself forward to the front of the seat and raised herself. She caught herself as she began to lose balance. She scuffed toward the stairs in the entry. Halfway across the living room, she pulled herself up as straight as she could. She liked people who walked straight and tall. She always told her grandchildren, “Stand up straight. Don’t slouch so.” But for Emma it had become an effort. Her curving spine made her efforts look awkward, but she kept making the effort.

She gripped the railing as she went up the stairs, and where the railing left off, she moved her hands along the walls. Bob had put in the railing above the landing last winter because she had become so wobbly. She reached the top and stopped for a moment to catch her breath.

The room that was hers was the small one at the top of the stairs. It had been John’s before he went into the Navy. There was no room for Emma in this house when all of Ellen’s children lived at home. She had lived across town with her other daughter, Edith, when John still lived at home. John joined the Navy about the time that Edith moved to California, so there was a room then for her at Ellen’s.

She started forward into the room, her heels scraping on the wood floor. She grasped the drawer pulls and began edging the drawer out, pulling first on one side and then the other. Bob had built the drawers and they never slid easily. She took out her purse and sat on the edge of her bed. She got out her bank book and the old brown paper sack she figured on. She sat there a a half an hour jotting down numbers with her knife-sharpened pencil, now blunt from figuring. She divided her balance by three and checked and rounded, licking the lead in the pencil every so often.

There was two thousand dollars for Ellen which was to be split among her children and two thousand for Edith to be passed to her children and two thousand dollars for Ken which would go to his two remaining children. That left six hundred and fifty-six dollars and forty-three cents, plus the eighty dollars in her purse and her social security checks. Three hundred would go for Steven’s stone. That should buy a nice marker. There was so little. Her social security check now was going mostly for medicine and doctors’ bills. What if she should become sick and have to go to the hospital? Then the money would be gone and she would have nothing to give her grandchildren and there would be no marker. Money was the cause of many arguments between Ellen and her. Maybe she was getting to be too much of a burden. What could she do?

She peered once more at the figures, moving her lips as she did, folded the sack and put it in her purse. Then she put in her bank book and her pencil. She placed the purse back in the drawer and juggled it until it was almost closed, but it was too much for her to get it flush with the others.

She went to the doorway and looked into Margie and Winnie’s room to check on things. She stepped just into the room and tugged on the corner of the bedspread to straighten out a wrinkle and then started downstairs.

She seated herself and rocked awhile. No, things hadn’t always been like that, she thought. She had taken care of all Ellen’s children while Ellen worked. She had ironed and cooked and scrubbed and kept house for years. Now the automatic washer was too newfangled for her. There were too many buttons. She never knew which one she needed to push, and she didn’t know what would happen if she pushed the wrong ones. They had bought a dishwasher, but Emma still did the dishes by hand when she was here alone. Then Ellen began to worry about Emma doing the cooking because she had gotten so forgetful and did things like put green beans in the bread pudding. Emma hadn’t always been like this.

            *************************************

The store was never much of a financial success, but those were good days. Bob, Ellen, Edith, and George bought the small corner grocery, knowing very little about how to run it. We all lived in the rooms above the store. By that time both Ellen and Bob and Edith and George had baby boys, and they were two years old already. Johnnie and Eddie were just beginning to talk, and they kept me going every minute of the day, unless I could coax them into a nap. Those boys, just as cute as buttons. Once in a while for a treat, Bob would bring up chocolate chip cookies in a small white sack, and their eyes would light up and little Johnny would scream, “Tooeys, tooeys!” We’d sit at the kitchen table and they would eat those cookies and drink milk The crumbs covered their faces and sprinkled the table, and smiles of milk reached nearly from ear to ear.

And that day when Johnny and Eddie and I came back from a walk, the huge white laundry sack had been delivered and left on the stairway. When Johnnie saw that, his eyes popped open wide, his mouth dropped, and he began running, yelling, “Oh, tooeys, tooeys, tooeys!”

I laughed until tears were rolling down my cheeks. I hated to disappoint him when I told him those were shirts and aprons and towels, but he felt better when I suggested we go into the store and see if we could find some real cookies.

But that once when I almost got everyone. That was a good one. The children’s conversation was scattered with stories of the strange people who came into the store or their odd requests or sometimes just neighborhood gossip. There was old Bill who, as soon as he entered, shouted his order across the store, “Coca-cola, white bread, milk!” and Miss Finch , who pinned her order to the hem of her dress and kept lifting her dress to see what she needed. She feared someone might gather some awful secret about her from her grocery list, never thinking what she might reveal by lifting her dress. For fun, I wondered whether I could become a topic of conversation. For several days I thought about what I could do to get them going at the store. Finally I settled on a plan.

I called the store, and in a falsetto voice I asked, “Do you have garlic cloves today?”

Bob answered, “Why, yes, we do.” “Thank you very much. I’ll be in later to get some.” “Thank you for calling.” I went downstairs to the store. Ellen and Bob were ringing up a customer while

George was stocking shelves. Edith must have been in back. “We’re out of onions,” I said. “I thought I’d have meatloaf for dinner.” I walked to the last aisle where the produce was. I spotted the little basket of

garlic cloves above the onions. As I browsed the onions, I slid the basket of garlic off the shelf and hid it behind the potatoes on the floor.

As I turned to go back upstairs, Ellen said, “Are the boys asleep?”

“Yes, finally. It took four stories and a lullaby today.”

“Well, good. They won’t be so cranky.”

I hurried up the stairs to change clothes. I had gotten together a costume that I hoped would look like the crazy lady in town who wore everything she owned. I put on layers of lowered print skirts, blouses, dresses, socks, and I topped it with a couple of big sun hats tied on with netting. I stuck and dark glasses and picked up a shopping bag and headed out the door, tiptoeing down the outside stairs from the apartment. I circled the block and ambled down the sidewalk to the store.

As I entered, Bob and George looked up. They couldn’t hide their astonishment, and I struggled to control my giggling.

George said, “May I help you?” “Yes, I called a while ago about garlic cloves, and you said you have some.”

“Yes, in the last aisle.” “Thank you.

I followed his finger and began scanning the produce for the garlic. I poked my head around the corner and said, “I can’t seem to find the garlic.”

“It’s right there in a basket above the onions. Here, I’ll show you.”

George came around the corner and started to reach for the basket of garlic. “It’s always right here. Bob, did anyone move the garlic for any reason?”

“No, not that I know of.” Bob came to join in the search. “Isn’t that funny.”

“Well, I don’t think it’s so funny,” I said in my best falsetto, keeping my head down. “I came all the way here to get some cloves of garlic, which you said you had, and now you don’t have any.”

“Well, I don’t know what to say. We always have garlic, right here in a little basket. I’m sorry, I don’t know where it is.”

“I think people should know what they have and what they don’t have!” I said as sharply as I could and walked out the door.

I hurried around the block, tiptoed up the stairs, changed back into my housedress, and stuffed my costume into a box and slid it under my bed.

I checked the boys. Still sleeping peacefully. Good. I still had one more thing to do. I went down to the store. All of them were busy shelving the day’s deliveries.

“Just thought a couple of sliced tomatoes would be nice tonight,” I said as I headed for produce.

“Mother, you haven’t seen the basket of garlic cloves, have you?”

“Why, can’t you find it?”

“No, some crazy lady who wears her whole closet was in here and we couldn’t find it. She wasn’t happy, let me tell you.”

I looked over the tomatoes. When I saw no one was looking, I put the basket of garlic back, and quietly went upstairs to fix dinner.

In a while I heard them coming up stairs. Edith was saying, “Why if it had been a snake it would have bit you. It must be early senility.”

“We were both there. There was no basket,” returned George. “You haven’t started drinking you lunch, have you?” asked Ellen. Every time the topic popped up, I looked at the speaker with all the puzzlement

I could muster. Edith and Ellen put their boys to bed as I cleaned up the kitchen, and everyone went to bed, still bewildered.

The next afternoon I knew there would be lots of deliveries, and I was ready to repeat yesterday afternoon. I thought I’d never get the boys to sleep, but finally they drifted off.

“Hello. Is this the Corner Market?” “Yes, it is” “I wondered whether you had gotten in some garlic cloves?” “Yes, they’re here.” “Would you make sure? I don’t want to make a special trip for nothing again.”

“I’m sorry about that, but the basket of garlic showed up late yesterday. I just

don’t know what happened. “Alright, I’ll be in in a while.” I went down to the store. Everyone was busy unpacking boxes. I had little

trouble hiding the garlic again. I picked up a candy bar for my sweet tooth on my way out in case any suspicions were aroused. No one paid any attention.

Upstairs, I changed into those gaudy layers with my hats and glasses and tiptoed down the stairs and walked around the block. The bell rang above the door as I entered, and George came out of the back room.

“Good afternoon. Let me get that garlic for you.”

We both headed for the last aisle, and as George rounded the corner he stopped dead in his tracks.

“What the . . .? Edith, come out here a minute.” Edith came out of the backroom. I turned my head, looking down at the apples, hoping the netting hid my face.

“See,” said George.

“Well, I’ll be!” I could see Edith looking high and low for the basket. “That certainly is funny. It was here this morning. Ellen and Bob, come here.”

Everyone gathered by the onions and no one could see the basket of garlic cloves. I stared at the melons and grew a little nervous. “Well, if you have no garlic, you can simply say so. I’ll not be back again.” I turned and walked down the aisle and out the door.

As I went down the steps, I heard Edith burst into laughter. “Mother, what are you doing all dressed up like that?”

               **********************************

I almost got away with that one, Emma thought. That was a good one. If it hadn’t been for that rip in the back of my shoe, I would have gotten away with it, but Edith spotted my old shoes as I left the store.

Emma’s gray eyes were bright, but they really didn’t see anything in the room. She was still back at the store. She laughed at the memory, the crackly laugh of an old lady whose voice has gone dry, as she covered her grayish false teeth with her hand.

Those were good days. She had something to do. She could help, she could join in, she was useful. Now she didn’t hear so well. She asked to have things repeated. People hated saying things over. But she want to know what was going on. The children grew impatient. Then the grandchildren. Still her great-grandchildren came to her with beaming faces to tell their stories. She didn’t understand half of what they said, but their faces shined with so much love and excitement. Such cute little tykes. Emma smiled, then focused her gaze outside at the sunlit trees and watched the squirrels scurry around gathering their acorns.

Emma got up haltingly, hobbled to the front window, and looked out on the front porch to see whether the paper had come. Must be too early, she thought. She saw Mrs. Paulson coming in with groceries. Maybe they’re having company. Maybe their daughter from Ohio. Maybe not. She returned to her chair.

She read the paper every night but couldn’t remember most of it, but her mind rarely forgot words in the crossword puzzle. The few letters she couldn’t get, she filled in the next night from the answers.

In the back of her mind today was last night. Maybe that was why today especially she thought of Steven and of the good times. Life surely would have been different if Steven were still here. Emma could not see last night with any wholeness like other incidents. It was too fresh. It was too painful. It came in flashes. It came in looks, in feelings, in words.

             *********************************

“We’re the one who have kept you all these years. Ken and Edith didn’t.”

“I’ve worked hard in this house.” “We could have gotten along very well without you.” “Who’d have done the cooking and ironing and housecleaning?”

“I have to do everything over again anyway. It’s twice as much work.”

“Only because you make it that way. You didn’t have to wash the ice box again. It was clean. I had just wiped it.”

“Mother, there were streaks all over it.” "Land a mercy! You make a mountain out of a molehill." “This is my house, Mother, and I can run my house by myself. I don’t need any

help from you.” “Well, you just see if you don’t.” “I will. You just stay up in your room and mind your own business.”

“You’ll see.”

               *********************************

What was her own business? Emma could not think of anything except taking care of this house and her family. This conversation was new lately, and Emma knew that Ellen would apologize, but Emma saw changes and there was little she could do about it. It was hard for Emma. It was hard for Ellen and her children to adjust their focus to an Emma who was unfamiliar.

Emma took her handkerchief that she kept tucked in her belt and wiped her nose. She tucked the handkerchief back in her belt and sniffed once quickly.

“Well, I’d better see if it’s time to get supper,” she muttered.

She carefully started through the dining room to the kitchen. She squinted at the clock.

“4:15. Not quite time yet.” She scuffed back through the dining room and sat in her chair and rocked.