in the fall breeze and the rugs drying in the sun when she heard the dog announce a team approaching. Looking out of the window she recognized Mrs. Graham, and her heart gave a glad beat as she went out to welcome her. They exchanged greetings and Ma put her team in the shade and gave them some hay to
53
make them more content to wait. Then she followed Marty to the house.
The dog lay to one side of the path now, chewing hard on a small bonelike object. Marty saw with horror that it was one of her biscuits. The dad-blame dog had dug it up. With a flush to her cheeks she hurried Mrs. Graham by, hoping that the older woman would fail to recognize the lump for what it really was.
As they entered the kitchen, Marty was overcome with shyness to a degree that she had never faced before. She had never welcomed another woman into her kitchen. She knew not what to do nor what to say, and she certainly had nothing at all to offer this visitor.
Ma Graham kept her eyes discreetly from the crumbled chinking and remarked instead about the well-scrubbed floor.
Marty bustled about self-consciously, stuffing wood in the stove and putting on the coffee. Ma talked easily of weather, and Missie and the good harvest. Still Marty felt ill at ease. She was thankful when the coffee had boiled and she was able to pour them each a cup. She placed Missie in her chair with a glass of milk and put on the cream and sweetening for Ma in case she used it. With a heavy heart she realized that she didn't have a thing to serve with the coffee-- not so much as a crust of bread. Well, the coffee was all that she had, so the coffee would have to do.
"I see ya been busy as a bee, fall cleanin'." Ma observed. "Yeah," responded Marty. She wanted it done before winter shut her in.
"Nice to have things all cleaned up fer the long days an' nights ahead when a body can't be out much. Them's quiltin' an' knittin' days."
Yeah, that's how she felt.
"Do ya have plenty of rugs fer comfort?"
She was sure that they did.
"What 'bout quilts? Ya be needin' any of those?" No, she didn't think so.
They slowly sipped their coffee. Then Ma's warm brown eyes turned upon her.
54
"How air things goin', Marty?"
It wasn't the words, it was the look that did it. The look in Ma's eyes said that she truly cared how things were going, and Marty's firm resolve to hold up bravely went crumbling just like the chinking. Words tumbled over words as she poured out to Ma all about the pancakes, Missie's stubborn outburst, the bread crock being empty, the horrid biscuits, Missie's disappearance, the chinking, the terrible supper that she had served the night before, and, finally her deep longing for the man whom she had lost so recently. Ma sat silently, her eyes filling with tears. Then suddenly she rose and Marty was fearful that she had offended the older woman by her outburst, but Ma felt no such thing. She was a woman of action and truly she could see that action was needed here.
"Come, my dear," she said gently. "You air a gonna have ya a lesson in bread makin'. Then I'll sit me down an' write ya out every recipe thet I can think of. It's a shame what ya've been a goin' through the past few days, being' as young as ya are an' still sorrowin' an' all, an' if I don't miss my guess"-- her kind eyes going over Marty-- "ya be in the family way too, ain't ya, child?"
Marty nodded silently, swallowing her tears, and Ma took over, working and talking and finally managing to make Marty feel more worthwhile than she had felt since she had lost her Clem.
After a busy day Ma departed. She left behind her a reef of recipes with full instructions, fresh baked bread that filled the kitchen with its aroma, a basket full of her own goodies and a much more self-confident Marty with supper well under control.
Marty breathed a short prayer that if there truly was a God up there somewhere, He'd see fit to send a special blessing upon this wonderful woman whom she had so quickly learned to
53
make them more content to wait. Then she followed Marty to the house.
The dog lay to one side of the path now, chewing hard on a small bonelike object. Marty saw with horror that it was one of her biscuits. The dad-blame dog had dug it up. With a flush to her cheeks she hurried Mrs. Graham by, hoping that the older woman would fail to recognize the lump for what it really was.
As they entered the kitchen, Marty was overcome with shyness to a degree that she had never faced before. She had never welcomed another woman into her kitchen. She knew not what to do nor what to say, and she certainly had nothing at all to offer this visitor.
Ma Graham kept her eyes discreetly from the crumbled chinking and remarked instead about the well-scrubbed floor.
Marty bustled about self-consciously, stuffing wood in the stove and putting on the coffee. Ma talked easily of weather, and Missie and the good harvest. Still Marty felt ill at ease. She was thankful when the coffee had boiled and she was able to pour them each a cup. She placed Missie in her chair with a glass of milk and put on the cream and sweetening for Ma in case she used it. With a heavy heart she realized that she didn't have a thing to serve with the coffee-- not so much as a crust of bread. Well, the coffee was all that she had, so the coffee would have to do.
"I see ya been busy as a bee, fall cleanin'." Ma observed. "Yeah," responded Marty. She wanted it done before winter shut her in.
"Nice to have things all cleaned up fer the long days an' nights ahead when a body can't be out much. Them's quiltin' an' knittin' days."
Yeah, that's how she felt.
"Do ya have plenty of rugs fer comfort?"
She was sure that they did.
"What 'bout quilts? Ya be needin' any of those?" No, she didn't think so.
They slowly sipped their coffee. Then Ma's warm brown eyes turned upon her.
54
"How air things goin', Marty?"
It wasn't the words, it was the look that did it. The look in Ma's eyes said that she truly cared how things were going, and Marty's firm resolve to hold up bravely went crumbling just like the chinking. Words tumbled over words as she poured out to Ma all about the pancakes, Missie's stubborn outburst, the bread crock being empty, the horrid biscuits, Missie's disappearance, the chinking, the terrible supper that she had served the night before, and, finally her deep longing for the man whom she had lost so recently. Ma sat silently, her eyes filling with tears. Then suddenly she rose and Marty was fearful that she had offended the older woman by her outburst, but Ma felt no such thing. She was a woman of action and truly she could see that action was needed here.
"Come, my dear," she said gently. "You air a gonna have ya a lesson in bread makin'. Then I'll sit me down an' write ya out every recipe thet I can think of. It's a shame what ya've been a goin' through the past few days, being' as young as ya are an' still sorrowin' an' all, an' if I don't miss my guess"-- her kind eyes going over Marty-- "ya be in the family way too, ain't ya, child?"
Marty nodded silently, swallowing her tears, and Ma took over, working and talking and finally managing to make Marty feel more worthwhile than she had felt since she had lost her Clem.
After a busy day Ma departed. She left behind her a reef of recipes with full instructions, fresh baked bread that filled the kitchen with its aroma, a basket full of her own goodies and a much more self-confident Marty with supper well under control.
Marty breathed a short prayer that if there truly was a God up there somewhere, He'd see fit to send a special blessing upon this wonderful woman whom she had so quickly learned to
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