Chapter 12 The Move

Chapter 12 The Move

After the boys left, we sat on the porch swing. Mother rocked in her chair, hands busy with her knitting. Father leaned against the post while he tapped down the tobacco in the bowl of his pipe.

“Remember, Bess, when I surprised you with this house on our wedding day?” Father said.

“I do. I walked into this empty place, and now look at everything we have to move.” Her needles clacked as she knit a couple of rows.

“Last week, I boxed up my wedding dress to take to the new house. I hadn’t looked at it for fifteen years. I’ll never be able to button it up again,” Mother snorted. “But maybe someday, one of you will want to wear it.” She put her knitting down in her lap, and a thoughtful look came across her face. “Nine months later, you came along, Suzanna, and then you, Ruth, two years after that.”

Clasping her hands together, she looked deeply into Suzanna’s eyes. “Suzanna, I’m so sorry I forgot your birthday, but with the flood and everything we’ve been through, it’s a wonder I didn’t forget my own name.”

“It’s okay, Mother. Living through it was enough of a celebration.”

“I’ll have to make you a cake when we get settled at the new house.”

“It’s alright, Mother.”

“It never even dawned on me we had missed it until this morning. The day you were born, the goldenrod was in bloom outside our bedroom window. The blooms moved with the breeze in the hours before you came.” She spread the baby blanket she was knitting out on her lap. “It kept me distracted. Then you came.”

“It’s such a beautiful plant, Mother. Maybe a cutting will take, and you can take it out to the farm,” Suzanna said.

“I suckled both of you girls in this very rocker,” she laughed, “and now you’re almost grown.” She twisted her wedding band. “There are a lot of memories here. I’ll be sad to leave.”

Our last night in this house. The only house we knew. Father told stories about building the Cattle Horn and tales about the folks at the diner.

“Remember, Ruth, how we’d swipe the cookies off the tray at the town meetings?” Suzanna asked.

“You girls stole cookies off my trays?” Mother shook a playful finger at the both of us. “Shame on you,”

“You knew?”

“Of course, I knew. You two couldn’t pull one over on me.”

Father laughed, his foot set on the first step. “Don’t you know that your mother has eyes in the back of her head? You can’t fool her.”

“Father, what will you miss when we move?” I asked.

“I’ll miss going to Señor Abel’s print shop, finding out the news before it goes to press. Now, we’ll have to wait until we get a paper—maybe days later.”

“How about you, Mother?”

“I’ll miss taking my wash to Mrs. Brown’s.”

We laughed.

“Washing can’t be that bad,” I said.

“Wait and see,” Mother replied. “There’ll be so much more dirt out there at the farm.”

Suzanna sat against a pillow, with her leg resting on the swing. I snuggled next to her. We looked like our two little barn kittens stretched out for a yawn. The swing was just wide enough for both of us. We paged through The Wizard of Oz while Mother and Father kept reminiscing.

“Um, this is a book about a storm. No wonder Frank thought you’d like it,” I said. She looked up at me, and I could see the fireflies reflected in her eyes.

“You girls go on in, start getting ready for bed,” Mother said. “We’ll be busy in the morning.”

The mattress lay on the floor, with our quilts thrown on top. The bed frames were already packed and in the wagon. We crawled on top of the jumble, arranging and spreading the blankets until we wiggled in and pulled the covers close. I began reading aloud from the book in the dimness of the kerosene lamp, “Chapter One, The Cyclone,” I began:

“Dorothy lived in the midst of the great Kansas prairies with Uncle Henry, who was a farmer, and Aunt Em, who was a farmer’s wife.”

About halfway through the first chapter, Suzanna paused and read silently.

“Come on, Suzanna, what’s next?”

“From the far north, they heard a low wail of the wind, and Uncle Henry and Dorothy could see where the long grass bowed in waves before the coming storm. There now came a sharp whistling in the air from the south, and as they turned their eyes that way, they saw ripples in the grass coming from that direction also.”

It was as if the story wound around her. She rubbed her sore leg. Her voice quavered. I wasn’t sure if she could continue reading. Maybe I should offer to take over. When I reached out to take the book, she shook her head and pulled the book away from my hand.

“Ruth, Dorothy almost lost her dog, Toto.” She bit her lip. “There’s a picture that shows her catching the dog by the ear, saving him from death, sure as eggs is eggs. But I lost Sally,” she said. “Oh, Sally, what became of you?”

I reached out, this time gently lifting the book from her hands. “How about I read it to you?”

“In spite of the swaying of the house and the wailing of the wind, Dorothy soon closed her eyes and fell fast asleep.”

“How could she fall asleep? I can’t figure that out for the life of me,” Suzanna said.

“Maybe she got knocked on the head or something,” I said.

Mother opened the door. “Lights out, girls. Time to go to sleep.”

“Do we have to?” We both said at the same time.

“Yes, it’s not late, but we have an early morning.” She came in and kissed each of us. Taking the book from me, Mother embraced it. I’ll keep this safe. Good night, girls.” She also took the lantern, blew out the flame, and walked out.

“Goodnight, Mother,” I said.

“I wonder what comes next?” Suzanna whispered. “I do hope Dorthy won’t be hurt. Maybe we’ll have time to read tomorrow.”

“I doubt it,” I said.

“What did you think of the boys’ visit, Ruth?”

“I think it’s nice they want to call on us when we move. It was awfully good of them to bring gifts.”

“You said you didn’t like Jimmy, but I think you do—at least a little bit.”

“I guess I do. I know Mother doesn’t think much of him, but I love to hear him sing and play guitar. And it’s obvious Frank is sweet on you.”

“Mother says it’s puppy love,” Suzanna said.

“What’s that?”

“She told me we’re too young to know what love is. That it’s just a passing fancy they call puppy love, but I disagree. I have a feeling I’m going to marry Frank. Do you think I’m being silly?”

“The devil himself couldn’t make me marry anyone,” I said. “I don’t want to get married. But if I had to have a husband, I guess someone like Frank would be okay.”

“You better watch your mouth, if Mother hears you cursing, she’ll wash it out with soap.”

“She might could,” I said.

Seconds later, I heard my sister whimper. Since the flood, she had done that when she first fell asleep. It always made me feel guilty. I put the pillow over my head, closed my eyes and thought about Jimmy’s blue eyes. I guess they were nice.

Hopefully, the book wouldn’t stir up nightmares of the storm.