I wanted to say, “Tom, it isn’t luck. God’s giving us these good things. He’s heard my prayers.” I knew any mention of God would ruin the moment and said, “Thank you,” in my heart.
Chapter 61
Edna’s Devastating News
Summer was a blur of planting, picking, canning, feeding critters, and mowing grass. Not a day went by that wasn’t filled from sunup to sundown. June 30, 1938, the folks came with Edna and Patty. They brought a cake to celebrate my twenty-eighth birthday. On the Fourth of July, Tom and I drove to the Snake River to watch fireworks set off over the river. July 27, we went to the folks for dinner to celebrate Edna’s twentieth birthday. Everyone was too busy in the summer to socialize much. Short bits of time were all that could be spared.
Two weeks after Edna’s birthday celebration, Papa’s old black pickup pulled into the driveway. Papa climbed out. I knew something was terribly wrong by his slumped shoulders and shuffling walk. I sat down my bucket of carrots and rushed over, wiping my dirty hands on my apron.
“I’ve got some bad news,” he began, looking at the ground.
“Mama?” I asked.
He shook his head. “No, your sister.” He looked up with tears in his eyes. “She got word by telephone this morning that Luther was killed in an accident at the dam.”
I was dumbstruck. Here was a man who loved my sister, wanted to adopt Patty, and make a real family for the rest of their lives. How could God allow this to happen to my Edna? She wanted nothing more than to have life turn out all right. Papa and I held each other and cried.
“I need to go to Edna. Let me go change my apron and shoes.” I hurried into the house then rode the five miles, wondering what I would say. Nothing I could offer would make any difference. It was what it was, and I could think of nothing to say. I could only help her cry.
Life did move on. Isn’t it strange how the rest of the world keeps going when your world’s brought to a screeching halt? Edna stumbled through, day after day, cooking and cleaning house for a family in downtown Lewiston. She was gone from Monday through Friday, coming home only on weekends. Tears were always near the surface, and she avoided people’s sympathetic condolences. It worked best for her. Her daughter was her motivation. She often brought home a little wooden box of cheese for Patty to make up for being gone all week. Patty’s general greeting at the door was, “Where’s the cheese?” My heart ached for them, but I knew God had to do the healing.
Life moved on at our house, too. The new root cellar was filled with jars of fruit and vegetables, and Elsie gave birth to a little bull. Now we’d have fresh meat and our own milk. We built a pigpen and with plans to buy a pregnant sow. The Peiskelicks, on the corner of Twenty-First and Grelle, asked me to help pick their strawberries and fresh produce come summer to sell at their farmer’s stand.
On Easter of ’39, Edna brought home another fellow. His name was Helmuth, but everyone called him Pete because his last name was Peterson. He was a tall, gangly guy with a pleasant smile and a little chuckle. “Where do you hail from?” Papa asked.
“Well, I was born in Copenhagen, Denmark. Father was a guard at the palace. We came to the United States when I was eighteen months old. Father became a brick layer—a mason. He makes bricks and lays them for buildings at the University of Idaho.” That was interesting. “He’s bought farmland up on the Palouse.”
It turned out Pete was the same age as me. I thought the five years between Tom and I was a big difference. Eight years? This didn’t seem good. It didn’t matter what I thought. Edna was desperate for security. Pete and Edna were married on July 15, 1939. They moved to a farm outside of Moscow where water came from a well, kerosene lamps gave light, food was cooked on a woodstove, and the fields were plowed by a team of horses. It was only a short step back in time.
What did matter were the differences between them. Edna loved people and socializing. Pete was happy to be a loner, except around family. Edna needed to be busy all the time. Pete was laid back and wanted to go fishing on the weekends. Outdoor allergies made life miserable for Edna. Pete was jealous and possessive. He had many strange ideas handed down from his folks’ old-world culture. It was not a good match. Edna’s free life was now caged.
Chapter 62
Snug as a Bug
Johnny and Alice lived six blocks from the folks. We seldom saw Johnny and never Alice. She refused to let him see his family. She consented to moving back to Lewiston when her mother became a widow. It was her duty as the older daughter to take care of her mother. All holidays were spent with Alice’s family. Sometimes, Johnny would “slip off to run an errand” and stop by to visit a short time. For Mama, it seemed to be enough that Johnny lived in the same town.
The dynamics of my family changed. It was only the folks and us. We tried to visit them as often as time would let us. I knew they were lonely—especially without their granddaughter’s constant energy filling the house. I helped Mama with canning and preparing for winter. Mama was a different person at sixty-seven. Her harsh tongue that used to lash me bitterly was stilled, and she often said, “I appreciate all you do, Susie.” Hurts, sadness, and heartaches force us to look at others with new eyes.
Mama was peeling apples for applesauce while I was cutting them up in the big pot. “Susie, what will you do if you never have any kids?” I was taken back. Many people had asked about our lack of family, but never my mama. She had told me one time, “You’re so lucky you don’t have children. They only give you grief.”
After a moment I replied, “I don’t know. I decided not to think about it. There’s nothing I can do, so I just keep on doing what I can do. If I’m s’posed to have a child, God will say ‘yes,’ and if I’m not, God will say ‘no.’ I have to accept it and do the best I can with what He’s given me.”
“Hrmmph!” Mama threw a peeled apple in the pot. “God doesn’t care a fig about you wanting a child. Look at me. I wanted boys, and what did I get? A pussyfooted, lazy boy and two girls. If we’d had boys, we’d still be on the farm. He didn’t care what I wanted.”
I had to think about that. The pot was full; I added sugar and some water and put it on the stove to cook. “I think God doesn’t control everything in our lives. We make choices. He does the best He can with them. We have to choose to be happy where we are. Remember the stories you told about coming out West in the covered wagon? You were only eight but you always said, ‘Doesn’t do any use to complain. Things are the way they are.’ It was a good way to look at hard times.”
Mama was quiet. “Those days were impossible. How’d we survive?” She spread the apple peelings on the screen frames to dry. Good snacks in winter. “Yes, it didn’t do any good to complain. Maybe I shoved so many complaints inside that I grew old and bitter. I’m no good for anyone now.” I heard her sob as she hurried out the door to put the frames in the sun.
That show of Mama’s emotions made me see life with clearer eyes. Her denial of early hardship brought a critical, judging attitude of anyone who wasn’t stoic and strong. Life doesn’t bend the way we want. It shifts and changes with events and choices. However, Mama’s childhood philosophy was still a good one: “Doesn’t do any use to complain. Things are the way they are.” I would add, “Choose to be content wherever you find yourself.”
The winter of ’39–’40 was our first winter of contentment. Having been able to pay all our property debt and make huge improvements to our buildings, we were, as Tom would say, “snug as a bug in a rug.”
We decided to put off buying a sow until April. Piglets would come in June or July. After six weeks, they’d be taken to the sales yard. Fall was a good time to sell both pigs and calves. Timing was important to get the best price. People were looking for their winter supply of meat. Of course, we’d keep one of the pigs for ourselves to smoke into hams and bacon. The beef, we’d have to keep in the ice chest in the cellar. We’d have meat next winter.
&nbs
p; Neither Tom nor I were often sick. Why? I don’t know. Maybe our hard work repelled all the germs. Maybe we didn’t have time to admit we didn’t feel good. In February of ’40, Tom took a spell where he was throwing up a lot. It was so bad, he couldn’t go to work. It was the first time I remember him being sick, other than a sore throat, in the almost twelve years we’d been married. He missed two days of work and spent his two days off in bed. “Got to get back to work,” he huffed, as he fumbled with his work boots on the fifth day. “Can’t afford to be sick any longer.” Off he drove, white as a sheet, but managed to stay the whole day. As time went on, he got stronger.
The next week, it was my turn. It was horrible. I couldn’t keep anything down. I began to wonder if some of our precious stored food might be spoiled. I ruled that out because we had eaten the same thing, but didn’t get sick at the same time. Four days, five days … any time I even thought about food, my stomach churned. On the seventh day, I was able to eat a half slice of bread. It got a little better each day. We must have picked up a stomach bug someplace.
Chapter 63
YES!
The garden was planted and the sow was in the pen, spring had sprung. It was a time of waiting for things to grow. It was also a time of waiting for me. My female schedule seemed to be all off kilter. Nothing was right from the month we got sick. It was June before it occurred to me that maybe … just possibly … it could be … I was pregnant. I kept this secret to myself. What if I were wrong? I didn’t want to get Tom’s hopes up and have him disappointed. I’d play it safe, make sure before I said a single word.
The sow gave birth to eight little piglets in the middle of one July night. She had lain on one and smothered it before we found them in the morning. It was her first litter. I guess she had to learn to be a more cautious mother. She seemed to have enough milk. The babies were adorable. All babies are, you know.
One was especially small. “I think we should keep the runt,” Tom said as he checked how many females there were. They’d bring more money because they could be bred. “If we always keep the runt for ourselves, we’ll make more money selling the others.” It sounded like a good plan to me. I stood amazed again at the wonder of birth. What a great plan, God! Was this happening to me? I held tight to my secret.
By the middle of August, I knew my secret was a reality. I was going to have Tom’s baby —our baby. I would tell him on his next day off. I wanted to cook a special dinner to make my announcement. First, I’d make a trip to town. A bus service began running along Grelle to downtown Lewiston twice a day two years ago. I sometimes took it to the folks during berry picking because it ran just a block from their house and returned in late afternoon. “I’m going to take the bus this morning.” I looked at Tom across the breakfast table. “I’d like to visit the folks.” It was not quite a lie, but close. At the cost of twenty cents on a round trip, I could do this a couple times a month. He never begrudged me going to visit them.
Except, today I wasn’t going to the folks. I was going to see Dr. Carsow, the railroad doctor. I’d never been to a doctor, unless you could count the yellow jaundice episode when the doctor came to our house.
The doctor’s office was on the second floor of a building at the corner of Ninth and Main. The woman behind the desk looked at me and smiled, “Good morning. What can we do for you today?”
“My husband works for Camas Prairie Railroad. I was told Dr. Carsow is the railroad doctor.” I was very nervous.
“That’s right. All railroad employees and their families get to see the doctor free of charge.” She smiled again.
“Good. I’d like to see him.” I turned to walk through the door that said Doctor Carsow.
“Wait,” the lady jumped up from behind the desk blocking me from the door. “Uh, first we need you to fill out some paperwork.” She sat back down. “Now, what’s your name?”
“Susan Chase.” I felt my resolve melting and my knees getting week.
“Husband’s name?”
“Thomas Albert Chase.”
“Your address?”
“My mailing or street address?”
“Both please.” She glanced up. I was sure she thought I was from the far reaches of civilization.
“Route 2 Box 366 is our mailbox. We live at 2023 Grelle in the Lewiston Orchards.”
She continued asking question after question. Then she got very personal. “And what’s the reason for your visit today?”
I didn’t think that was any of her business. That was the reason I wanted to see the doctor. “Why do you need to know?”
“It needs to be recorded so the railroad will know your reason for seeing the doctor. They’ll be the one paying for your visit.”
“I see. I’m having some female problems.” I couldn’t bring myself to tell a complete stranger the most wonderful news of my life, before I even told my husband.
“All right, Mrs. Chase. Have a seat and I’ll see if the doctor’s busy.” She disappeared in the door and I collapsed into a chair.
I hadn’t even warmed the seat before she opened the door and invited me in. It was a sparse room. A small brown desk piled high with papers stood in the far corner, and a long, brown, wooden table was in the middle of the floor. There was one chair by the wall and a high-backed chair on wheels behind the desk. “Please have a seat, Susan.”
Somehow, I expected a more professional approach. He did have on a white shirt and brown slacks, but no tie. All the windows were open and yet the room was stifling, almost as much as our poorly ventilated house. His light brown hair was long on top but short on the sides. He wore small, gold, wire-rimmed glasses. The only clue that he was a doctor was the thing he wore around his neck. He pulled out a glass stick from his desk and said, “Open up. Put this under your tongue. Yes, close.” Then he started asking questions. I could only answer by nodding or shaking my head. At last, he asked, “Are you pregnant, Susan?” I nodded.
He took thermometer out of my mouth and directed me to lie down on the table. He poked around my stomach for a bit, smiled and said, “Yes, you are. It will probably come about the end of October or first of November.” He went to his desk and wrote his phone number on a small piece of paper and handed it to me. “Give me a call when you go into labor and I’ll come deliver it.” He walked over, opened the door, and showed me out.
Is that all? I wanted to yell. You’re not giving me any directions, advice, or warnings? As usual, I kept my yelling tucked safely in my mind where it wouldn’t cause a problem. I left quietly. By the time I reached the street, I was too excited to care. I hurried to the five-and-dime store in the next block and bought a small bib. We were going to have a baby!
Chapter 64
The Announcement
I had only one day to plan my surprise. I carefully wrote “Baby Chase” with a pencil on the white bib. I dug through the embroidery floss trying to decide what color to use. Blue, since that was always what he hoped for, boys. I don’t know where that color thing for boys and girls came from. It wouldn’t matter. Blue was Tom’s favorite color.
I kept my conversation short during breakfast the next morning. I was about to explode with the news and couldn’t trust my mouth not to blurt it out and spoil everything. I would embroider the bib and write a poem to read before giving it to him at supper.
We got up about the same time. Even on Tom’s days off, animals had to be fed and watered, and there were always weeds to hoe and watering to do before it got too hot. I joined Tom in the garden, picking corn for dinner and digging carrots, an onion, and some early potatoes to throw in with the roast. The peaches were ripening. We’d have fresh peaches with cream from the top of the morning milk.
I built a good-sized fire, put biscuits to raise, and a beef roast in the oven while Tom was out moving the sprinklers on the newly planted patch of alfalfa. “I’m gonna walk down and talk to Pa Daniels. See about borrow
ing his tractor to cut the grass,” he called through the screen door.
“Okay.” I called back. Good. That would give me time to get things done. Maybe even get me off my feet a little. I found I needed to rest more. Visits with Pa Daniels were always good for at least two hours.
Two and a half hours later, I heard Tom wash up in the bucket on the back porch and comb his hair in the old mirror hanging above it, like he always did before supper. Must have been something his mother expected of her kids. When he came in the kitchen, he whistled, “Smells good in here. What’s the occasion? It’s not our anniversary yet, is it?”
I laughed, “No, just celebrating your day off.”
When we were seated, I looked at my impressively strong man and knew I couldn’t wait until after supper. “Don’t,” I said, as he reached to stab some meat with his fork. “I’ve got something to read first.” He slowly put down the fork and I read:
We’ve worked hard to get this far.
The railroad lets you fix boxcars.
Our land’s producing all we need,
Vegetables, fruit and our cow’s feed.
We’ve got chicks, a calf and pigs.
We need to throw a big shindig
’Cause don’t you think that just—just maybe
It’s time we have our own little baby?
I handed him the little bib rolled and tied with a ribbon. He stared at it and me, slowly unrolling it. “Baby Chase!” he yelled. “We’re gonna have a baby?” I’m sure Ma and Pa Daniels could hear him a half block away.
I nodded. He jumped around the table and grabbed me in a tight squeeze. “Uh, Tom.” I was gasping for air.
He let go with a start, “I’m sorry, did I hurt you? Did I hurt the baby? Is this really happening?” He ran out the backdoor yelling, “Hey, Elsie! We’re gonna have a baby! Hens, we’re gonna have a baby! You old sow, we’re gonna have a baby too!”
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