What if something jumped out at me? I’d probably die of fright; then they’d all be sorry.
I stood on the porch and peered into the darkness. The longer I looked, the more sure I was that I didn’t want to leave. Why couldn’t I just throw the dishwater over the edge of the porch and rush back in?
I knew why not, of course. Ma would never allow such a thing. But Ma wasn’t there, and since water sank into the ground, she need never know. The idea seemed better all the time. With one look over my shoulder, to be sure she had not come to check on me, I threw that dishwater as hard as I could.
Unfortunately for me, Pa chose that very moment to come around the side of the house. The flying dishwater hit him full in the face and ran down the front of his overalls! I was horrified. The dark didn’t bother me now—I had more trouble than that to think about!
Pa sputtered and tried to find a dry place on his sleeve to mop his face. “What in the world are you doing?” he roared. “Are you trying to drown me?”
He stomped into the kitchen, and I followed timidly behind. Of course Ma heard the racket and came to see what had happened. Pa was wiping his hair and face with a towel and muttering something about a “fool trick.” I was in tears, still clutching the dishpan and standing by the door.
Ma saw at once what I had done, and she got clean water for Pa to wash his hair and face. When things had settled down a bit, Ma turned her attention to me.
“Now wasn’t that a foolish thing to do?” she said. “Why didn’t you call me to help you or wait until Pa came in? You ought to be ashamed of yourself!”
I was. It wasn’t much use to tell Pa I was sorry. I knew I deserved punishment and expected to get it. However, by the time Pa was dried off, he began to see the funny side of it. I was sent to bed early, but I could hear him and Ma laughing in the kitchen. I went to sleep determined not to do that again. The next time Pa might not see the joke, and I would be in real trouble!
Grandma and Aunt Julia finished the dishes and went to sit on the porch. I wandered out to the orchard in search of Uncle Roy … and possibly some more stories about when he and Grandma were little.
15
The Dishes
I discovered many things I had never seen before at Grandma’s old home. One of them was a big double wooden door that sloped from the back porch down to the ground. It had two metal hinges on it and large, rusty-looking rings. I asked Uncle Roy what a door was doing there.
“That’s the door to the old root cellar,” he said. “We don’t use it anymore, but when your grandma and I were young, it was used to store food that needed to be kept over the winter. We can look down there if you want to.”
Uncle Roy grasped one of the rings and pulled the big creaky door back. He started down the old wooden stairs and I cautiously followed.
“Where are the lights?” I asked.
“No lights down here,” said Uncle Roy with a laugh. “We carried a lantern when we needed light.”
The cellar was dark and earthy smelling, and it was several moments before I could see anything. I finally made out some shelves along one wall, and a hard dirt floor. It was pleasantly cool after the warm sun outside. “Ma kept her canned fruit and vegetables on those shelves,” said Uncle Roy. “She also had baskets of apples and potatoes and onions. This was a mighty handy place.”
Uncle Roy chuckled. “You might ask your grandma what else it was handy for,” he said.
I wasted no time in tracking down Grandma.
“Grandma, Uncle Roy said to ask you what the root cellar was handy for. What did he mean?”
“That Roy,” said Grandma. “He doesn’t forget much that I did wrong, does he? I guess he wants me to tell you about a day when I was very naughty. I don’t know as I ought to tell that one.”
“Oh, please, Grandma,” I begged. “You couldn’t have been very naughty. Tell me about it.” Grandma sat down on the bed
I stood on the porch and peered into the darkness. The longer I looked, the more sure I was that I didn’t want to leave. Why couldn’t I just throw the dishwater over the edge of the porch and rush back in?
I knew why not, of course. Ma would never allow such a thing. But Ma wasn’t there, and since water sank into the ground, she need never know. The idea seemed better all the time. With one look over my shoulder, to be sure she had not come to check on me, I threw that dishwater as hard as I could.
Unfortunately for me, Pa chose that very moment to come around the side of the house. The flying dishwater hit him full in the face and ran down the front of his overalls! I was horrified. The dark didn’t bother me now—I had more trouble than that to think about!
Pa sputtered and tried to find a dry place on his sleeve to mop his face. “What in the world are you doing?” he roared. “Are you trying to drown me?”
He stomped into the kitchen, and I followed timidly behind. Of course Ma heard the racket and came to see what had happened. Pa was wiping his hair and face with a towel and muttering something about a “fool trick.” I was in tears, still clutching the dishpan and standing by the door.
Ma saw at once what I had done, and she got clean water for Pa to wash his hair and face. When things had settled down a bit, Ma turned her attention to me.
“Now wasn’t that a foolish thing to do?” she said. “Why didn’t you call me to help you or wait until Pa came in? You ought to be ashamed of yourself!”
I was. It wasn’t much use to tell Pa I was sorry. I knew I deserved punishment and expected to get it. However, by the time Pa was dried off, he began to see the funny side of it. I was sent to bed early, but I could hear him and Ma laughing in the kitchen. I went to sleep determined not to do that again. The next time Pa might not see the joke, and I would be in real trouble!
Grandma and Aunt Julia finished the dishes and went to sit on the porch. I wandered out to the orchard in search of Uncle Roy … and possibly some more stories about when he and Grandma were little.
15
The Dishes
I discovered many things I had never seen before at Grandma’s old home. One of them was a big double wooden door that sloped from the back porch down to the ground. It had two metal hinges on it and large, rusty-looking rings. I asked Uncle Roy what a door was doing there.
“That’s the door to the old root cellar,” he said. “We don’t use it anymore, but when your grandma and I were young, it was used to store food that needed to be kept over the winter. We can look down there if you want to.”
Uncle Roy grasped one of the rings and pulled the big creaky door back. He started down the old wooden stairs and I cautiously followed.
“Where are the lights?” I asked.
“No lights down here,” said Uncle Roy with a laugh. “We carried a lantern when we needed light.”
The cellar was dark and earthy smelling, and it was several moments before I could see anything. I finally made out some shelves along one wall, and a hard dirt floor. It was pleasantly cool after the warm sun outside. “Ma kept her canned fruit and vegetables on those shelves,” said Uncle Roy. “She also had baskets of apples and potatoes and onions. This was a mighty handy place.”
Uncle Roy chuckled. “You might ask your grandma what else it was handy for,” he said.
I wasted no time in tracking down Grandma.
“Grandma, Uncle Roy said to ask you what the root cellar was handy for. What did he mean?”
“That Roy,” said Grandma. “He doesn’t forget much that I did wrong, does he? I guess he wants me to tell you about a day when I was very naughty. I don’t know as I ought to tell that one.”
“Oh, please, Grandma,” I begged. “You couldn’t have been very naughty. Tell me about it.” Grandma sat down on the bed
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