Ain't Life Grand in Woodstock

From Ain't Life Grand in Woodstock

 The gray sky began spitting flurries which fell wind-driven in a sparkling disorganized dance onto the bare ground. Low clouds moved fast from the northwest to the southeast. The smell of dampness was telltale even though it wasn’t terribly cold. A big storm was brewing. Ida Wienke didn’t need the weather forecast in The Sentinel to know. She had dressed eight-year-old Helen and seven-year-old Mamie warmly for their walk to school. Now she stood at the front window watching their figures recede into the swirling flurries.

“Whatcha doin,’ Mama?” Dodi’s voice was maturing. She was five years old now. She would be one of the oldest in first grade in the fall while Helen had been one of the youngest. Ida was going to miss Dodi’s company at home.

“I’m just watching the clouds. It’s beginning to snow.”

“Oh, goody. Can we go play in the snow?” Dodi headed to the entry and began looking for her boots.

“I’m sorry, honey. I can’t play outdoors just now.”

Dodi stopped her search and returned to the parlor. She lifted her hands palms up in an incredulous gesture, and her face contorted in confusion. “Why not?”

“Because ladies who are going to have babies aren’t allowed to go outside, especially in bad weather.”

“But you go outside all the time. You just went outside when we took the train to Oma’s, remember?”

“Yes, but now a few weeks have passed, and my belly is getting too big to be out and about. It’s…it’s…unseemly.”

“Why are you getting bigger?” Dodi’s brow suddenly furrowed with worry. “Are you going to ‘splode?”

“No-no.” Ida stifled a laugh. “At least I hope not. You see the baby in my tummy is growing and because of that, so am I. When a lady who is with child gets to those last few months, no one needs to see them. They are supposed to stay at home and take it easy, so they don’t upset the apple cart.”

Dodi considered this. “Aren’t the apple carts here in the summer? It’s winter now.”

This time Ida laughed. “You’re right. Let me put it another way.” What other way? “Um…we don’t want the baby coming too early or too late. So, we need to keep an even keel until he decides to show himself.”

Dodi’s brow scrunched up in concentration. “What’s that?”

“What?”

“An even keel?”

“Um, well, it’s…I’m not sure what it is, but it means to keep everything calm and happy.”

“Oh.” Dodi looked at the floor still looking confused. “How does he show himself?”

“Okay, that’s enough questions for now. I have a taste for bread, butter, and dill pickles. Would you, milady, like to join me in a pickle sandwich?”

“Yes! I love pickle sandwiches.”

“Me too!”

They went to the kitchen and pulled out bread from the cabinet and butter and pickles from the icebox. Ida thought about how she was going to stand spending the next two months in seclusion. She had hand projects she was crocheting, and there was always the cooking and baking. Her beloved husband John had agreed to let the Chinese laundry off the square do the laundry for the next few months. All she had to do was gather it in bags. They even ironed John’s shirts for her. She had refused his offer of a live-in helper even for a little while. Cooking and cleaning were easy and wouldn’t hurt her or the baby.

She sat down at the table and started to make the sandwiches.

“I want sugar on mine,” said Dodi.

“Sugar? On a pickle sandwich?”

“Maybe I don’t want the pickles – just a sugar and butter sandwich.”

“With cinnamon?”

“Yeah. That’s good.”

Ida rose to get the sugar and cinnamon. “Do you want it on toasted bread?”

“Yes, that’s my favorite. Then the butter melts into the toast and the sugar and cinnamon taste so good together.”

Ida smiled. One thing Dodi was particularly good at was describing food.

While she waited for the toast to brown on the cook stove rack, she said, “Dodi, what do you want to be when you grow up?”

Dodi laid her head on her arm on the table and waggled her hand, “I don’t know. What can I be?”

“Well, let’s see. You could be a wife and mother.”

Dodi raised her head and shook it.

“How about a nurse?”

Dodi again shook her head.

“Um, a shopkeeper?”

“Like papa was? No, I don’t think so.”

“How about if the shop was a bakery?”

Dodi sat up straighter and her face brightened.

“That’s what papa wants to have.”

“Yes, it is. Would you like to work with him in his bakery? You already know how to bake bread and rolls.”

“M-a-y-b-e.” Dodi drew the word out. “But maybe I want to be a newspaperer like An’ Clara. I could travel on the train and see things and write stories about them to THE Woodstock Sentinel.”

“Hm. That’s an interesting thought.” Ida had plucked the toast off the wires and now was buttering it and sprinkling the cinnamon and sugar liberally on its surface.

Dodi’s blue eyes sparkled as she watched the process.

Ida put the plate in front of Dodi, took her own chair and finished preparing her pickle sandwich, although the smell of cinnamon made her covet her daughter’s choice. She took a bite. It needed cheese. She rose and took down the cheesecloth with the cheddar cheese. She sliced off a thin slice and put it on her sandwich. Perfect!

Dodi was working her way through the first piece of toast.

Before she took a bite, Ida asked, “Where would you travel by train?”

Dodi wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Effrywhere. London, New York, St. Louis, and Denison.”

Ida laughed, “And Denison?”

“To see An’ Clara and Unca Pearley. Remember their house is in Denison, Ohhiawa.”

“Well, that is quite a list.”

They chewed in silence for a bit, enjoying each their own idea of the perfect sandwich. Then Dodi said, “And Indian.”

“India? Where did you hear about India?”

Dodi reached for her second toast. “Remember that book?”

“What book?”

“Helen said it was in Indian.”

“What book?” Ida was still confused. John and she had gotten the girls ten books for Christmas. Of these, they had read three before bed to everyone, and the other seven Helen and Mamie consumed on their own.

“You know Lil Back Samblo. He’s from Indian.”

“Oh, you are right! I forgot about that book.”

“It’s so funny.” Dodi balanced the toast on one hand.

“Yes, it is.” Ida’s thoughts wandered to the night, now almost a decade ago when she had seen John in blackface cavorting on the Opera House stage as Prime Ursus, the strongman of the County Fair. It was hilarious. “Yes, it is.”

“When da tigers make butter for the pancakes. I like that part.” She took a bite of the toast making sugary lips.

“So, you think you’d like to go to India?”

“On da train. For da butter. I like butter on pancakes.”

“Oh, I see.” Ida reached over and squeezed Dodi’s shoulder. Her baby was growing up. But now she’d have a new baby to cuddle. She touched the wooden tabletop to prevent a jinx.