A Fine Grocer of Woodstock

From A Fine Grocer of Woodstock

 John and Ida Wienke lay spooned in bed in the early morning on New Year’s Day. The sky was still dark and would be until nearly half past seven. John had already grabbed his robe and slippers and made the trek to the basement to stoke the furnace and had added wood to the cook stove. And they had enjoyed the ‘leisure’ time together under the warm comforter waiting for the house to gain temperature. Satisfied with each other and the world, they snuggled like newlyweds. 

“We’ve accomplished a lot in five years, haven’t we?” John opined. 

“Like what?” asked Ida. She knew the answer to that question before she asked it, but she loved to hear him reminisce.

“Well, let’s see…we got married—”

“Eventually.”

John chuckled and agreed, “Eventually. And then we built a house and had Helen.”

“Yes, but not in that order.”

“You are right, as usual. Helen came while we were living with Ma and a month early.”

Ida snorted. “If that’s what you want to believe.”

John squeezed her tenderly. “And then we built a house and—”

“And you saved a boy from freezing to death,” she reminded him.

“I didn’t do that alone. Half the village was out looking for those boys.”

“I know. But you and Frank both found him. I was so proud of you.”

“I just wish we could have saved all three.” 

“Of course, you do,” Ida comforted. She patted his hand, and he squeezed her a bit.

“And then opportunity knocked at the door at five in the morning—”

“Yes, Herman and Bessie—”

“Your brother with a proposal for a store,” John said.

“That was quite a year, wasn’t it? The store, my pregnancy, Mamie coming all in a rush and she was so tiny—”

“Don’t forget living in the stable.”

“How could I? You sold our house right out from under us, and we found no room in the inn for our child to be born. So, we, like Mary and Joseph were forced to birth our child in a manger,” Ida tapped John playfully on the upper arm.

“I hadn’t thought about it like that,” said John.

“Oh, don’t lie. You thought of it too. I was so relieved that Mamie was okay.”

“I was so relieved that both of you were okay. And then we spent that cold winter bundled up in the stable while we watched the house go up. Four in a bed and you cooking on that potbellied stove.”

“Lena and Al were our salvation. Giving us a place to live, feeding us, caring for me in my time of imprisonment—"

“Yeah, but I provided the food from the store. They made out alright,” John reminded.

“What good friends.”

“Yes, what a good friend and brother.”

“And now they’re gone,” said Ida. Her voice was flat, resigned to the day-to-day loss Lena and Al’s move to Beloit would mean. John gave her another little squeeze.

“Don’t worry. We’ll see them often. They didn’t go to the desert to homestead. Just a couple hours away—”

“To homestead,” said Ida. They snickered. “They are still living with Lena’s parents. I’m not sure how they are all managing in that little house, four adults and three children.”

“Ah, togetherness is next to Godliness.”

“That’s not how it goes. Cleanliness is next to Godliness.”

John considered, “I like the first one better. I love being together with you like this.”

“But wait we didn’t finish our story. So, then my handsome husband built the perfect house for us on Lincoln Avenue, and we lived happily ever after.”

“Careful, don’t tempt the fates.” They both reached out from under the covers and touched the wooden headboard.

“And I disappointed you with another girl,” said Ida, her voice flat.

“Dorothea. I wasn’t disappointed. Doty came at such an awful time though, didn’t she?” admitted John.

“Yes, that was a frightening and sad time, and then Dorothea and Linette were born just two weeks apart, cousins to make us smile again.”

“But we lost Bob. He never met his only child.” The house ticked as the timbers warmed up.

“Yes, you lost a favorite brother.” said Ida, “And the Doerings lost Papa Stoffel.”

The house creaked. 

Ida forced a happier tone. “But think of the progress your store has made. From partnership to sole ownership in barely two years.”

“Woodstock has been kind to us. Herman’s Dry Goods store is doing well also.”

“And Clara has become quite a…a…what would you call it?”

“Your sister has quite the flare with a pen…she’s an investigator of mysteries.”

Ida chuckled. “Oh, she’ll love that.”

John kissed the back of Ida’s head. “Is that it? Five years, three children, three houses, and my own business.”

“I guess so. Doesn’t seem as lively when you put it in a list.”

“So, what do you want this new year to bring us?” asked John.

“Hmmm. I can’t think of a thing. Happiness, I suppose.”

 John held her tight, “Happy husband.”

Ida returned the embrace, “And happy wife. What about you? What are your hopes for this year?”

“To be successful, I suppose. To have enough to put meat on the table, bread in the cupboard, and pay the taxes.”

“Are they coming up soon?”

“Yes. For the new year, I wish prosperity on all of Woodstock so that my customers will all pay up their accounts. Then I’ll have no problem with the taxes.”

“And if they don’t?” Ida sounded worried.

He snuggled in her hair at the back of her neck. “Nothing to worry about, my sweetheart.”

She turned and kissed him, and he kissed back. A thump from upstairs and then running in the upper hallway. Helen called down the stairs, her words muffled by the closed door. Ida disengaged and threw back the comforters.

Ida looked back at John’s disappointed face as she pulled on her housecoat. “Doty must be awake. She’s just about big enough to start climbing out over the rail. I don’t want Helen trying to lift her out or catch her if she tries to jump for it, so I must go.”

John’s eyes took on an even more soulful look.

“Oh stop! Once is enough for a morning.”

“Just hoping for a boy.” He smiled.

Ida leaned down and kissed him, lingering just a bit. “Duty calls. Why don’t you go put the coffee on? Can you do that?”

“I don’t see why not. I’m a grocer after all. We sell the best coffee in the county, and I’ve got the ads to prove it.”