Mother Lode

by Carol Anita Sheldon

  “I’ve met a girl. I’d like to take her out.”

  “At seventeen? Oh, Jorie.” She rubbed his chin. “Barely a whisker, you’re still a baby.”

  He jerked away from her. “I thought I was the man of the family, bread-winner and such, didn’t you say? But when it’s convenient for you, I’m a baby!”

  She bristled. “Well, we can’t afford for you to be courting yet. That’s the truth. Some day when you get a by-line at the paper—”

  “I’ve a right to keep some of my own paycheck.”

  She was quiet. “As you wish. Of course, it’s all yours, Darling.”

  Since he could find no way to feel good with whatever choice he made, he kept some of the money.

  Kaarina agreed to go with him to tea on Thursday. All week Jorie waited impatiently. He remembered her sweet mouth, the way it moved in the most pleasing manner when she spoke. He wondered what it would be like to kiss. He thought it odd that he knew so much about female bodies but had never actually kissed one. He hoped it wouldn’t be long before he had that opportunity.

  At about five o’clock he went to the book store and waited for her to get off work. He tried to read, but found himself forever glancing between the clock and her lovely face.

  At six o’clock they walked down the road to the Richmond Tea Room, a modest, but cozy English establishment. He had never been inside, but from the street he thought it looked just the place to take a young lady. To his delight they were seated on a brocade settee near the back of the room. A low table awaited refreshments.

  Although he’d noticed girls before, it was the first time he’d been so close to one. He thought it heavenly. He drank up her shy smiles, barely aware of the scone with clotted cream he was consuming.

  Suddenly Kaarina’s finger was grazing his chin. He jumped.

  “Just a bit of cream,” she smiled, wiping it off.

  The feel of her finger on his chin and the scent of her hand swept through his senses, transporting him to one of the happiest moments he could remember. Long after the scones were finished, they sat and talked. He confided to her his dream of returning to the University; she told him of saving money to go to Suomi, the new Finnish College.

  But under all the words, a strong feeling stirred in Jorie. Was he falling in love? Not having any experience with girls his age, he could only hope her smiles meant she felt the same.

  Finally, the mistress of the tea room informed them it was closing time. As they sauntered down the street, he reached to take her hand, and she allowed him.

  “Where do you live?”

  She told him, and he walked her home. Slowly, in the warm summer evening they ambled past children rolling hoops and playing kick-the-can. Grown-ups, too, were out enjoying the all too short warm season. They lingered along the way, taking in the evening song of the birds and the bouquet of flowering lilacs. He broke off a small blossom from a branch overhanging the walk, and placed it in her hair. It soon fell to the ground but she quickly retrieved it, and for the rest of their walk twirled it in her hand, taking in its fragrance from time to time.

  As they neared her home he couldn’t decide whether to try to kiss her or not. He was so afraid she wouldn’t let him that he decided to savor the sweet flavor of the success he’d had so far, and let the kiss wait for another time.

  “Minum kaveri,” she said.

  “What does that mean?”

  She smiled shyly. “It means ‘Goodnight, my friend.”

  He practically ran home, jumping off the ground a few times. “Minum kaveri,” he repeated over and over.

  It was nine o’clock. On the dining room table, he could see candles in their silver holders burning down to stubs. He’d forgotten all about the Thursday musicale.

  He stood there a moment while familiar feelings of guilt overcame him. It was so still he thought his mother must have gone up to bed, but suddenly she appeared from the parlor in her dressing gown. He braced himself for the confrontation.

  Instead she said softly, “Did you have a nice evening?”

  He wasn’t sure he could trust her tone. “Yes. I’m sorry about tonight. I forgot.”

  “Are you hungry? There’s chicken. I’ve saved you the bosom—your favorite.”

  “No, thank you.”

  “Let’s at least have some wine together. Will you join me?”

  She picked up the half empty decanter. After not showing up, how could he refuse? She held up the glasses for him to pour, and led the way to the parlor.

  He lit a lamp. “I’m very sorry I missed dinner. It smells wonderful.”

  “No doubt you were having a wonderful dinner with someone else.”

  “Just tea and scones.”

  “Tell me about her. Is she beautiful and talented? I allow she’s young, of course.”

  “She’s very pretty.”

  “She’d have to be, and you so handsome. What else?” She smiled up at him.

  “She’s very nice.”

  “Surely you can come up with a more descriptive term than ‘nice’,” she sneered. “You must have written a ‘woeful ballad to your mistress’s eyebrow’ by now.” She laughed lewdly, then furrowed her brow. “Was that Keats? No, it was Shakespeare.”

  He was at a loss for words. Some he’d save for his own reverie, but did not care to share with her. “She has brown hair. She’s rather tall.”

  “And how do you feel about her?”

  It just slipped out. “Enraptured.”

  “Enraptured! By a plain tall girl with brown hair!” She lurched towards him, but quickly righted herself.

  He wished he’d told her nothing. Then he smelled it. She was deep into her cups.

  “I shouldn’t have said that. We are all equal in God’s eyes. What’s her name?”

  He’d been dreading this. “Kaarina Pakkala.”

  “A Finn!”

  “Yes.”

  “Common as pigs’ feet. Oh, Jorie, is that the best you can do?”

  He was accustomed to the prejudice. It wasn’t just his mother, but a prevailing cancer in the whole community.

  “She’ll be out beating you with switches in the snow, if you’re not careful, after a good warm-up in the sauna!”

  He wanted to get away from her, to go to his room, and savor the young bud of love that was ripening in his bosom. He turned to leave.

  “Jorie, please.” She lurched against a chair.

  “I’ll help you up to bed now,” he said.

  She stumbled, but he got her to her room, leaving quickly before more requests were made of him.

  Still, from down the hall, he could hear her calling him.

  He lay on his bed trying to return to the sweetness of the early part of the evening, pushing his mother’s needs out of the way. Finally, he drifted into a dream where he and Kaarina were getting married. He was watching her dancing eyes as he placed lilacs in her hair; she was wiping cream from his mouth, and licking it off her fingers.

  How sweet summer was: Everything tasted better, smelled better. He saw Kaarina as often as he could, and once a week took her on a picnic or to a restaurant. He was careful to be home on Thursday evenings.

  The first time he kissed her he thought no one since time began could have felt such bliss. Her mouth fulfilled all the promise he’d seen in it the first time he was with her. Fearing that perhaps the unnatural feelings he had for his mother might make it impossible to respond normally to another woman, he was filled with elation and relief to find this was not the case.

  One morning at breakfast he asked his mother if Kaarina could join them for their next musicale.

  She set down the coffee pot. “Jorie, Thursdays are our evenings. I don’t ask for much of your time, and that’s all I have to look forward to all week.”

  “But why couldn’t she come too? You might like her.”

  She turned from the hotcakes she was making. “Do you invite me along when you take her out?”

  “I thought you’d like t
o meet her.”

  “No, I wouldn’t. You’re not seriously courting her, are you?”

  “I don’t know, Ma. But she’s grand.”

  She went back to flipping the hotcakes. He thought he saw her wince.

  “You’re moving too fast, Jorie. If you get that girl in trouble, you know what’s expected of you, don’t you?”

  Jorie turned crimson.

  “You would have to marry her — the first girl you’d ever known. And that would be the end of your education, believe you me! The end of all my dreams for you.”

  “And what might they be, eh? That I go to the Mining School and spend the rest of my life keeping house with you?”

  For a moment he thought she might strike him.

  Instead she dumped the hotcakes on his plate. “Please don’t ask me to share you on our only evening.”

  He met Kaarina’s parents. Her father spoke very little English, and her mother almost none. Both of them struck him as rather cold and distant. Jorie thought they were as suspicious of him as his mother was of Kaarina.

  It was Thursday again, and Jorie headed home with a kind of grim determination to make it a short evening: to plead fatigue, and go up to his room.

  He was in for a surprise.

  “Darling, you’ll never guess what new and wondrous piece of engineering we have acquired!”

  “What are you on about now?”

  “We’ll call it an early birthday present for you. But first, let’s don our party clothes, for tonight is indeed a very special evening. Don’t peek in the parlor — not yet.”

  He couldn’t remember seeing her so excited.

  “Where’s Eliza?”

  Catherine drew the curtains. “She’s been fed and put to bed.”

  “So early?”

  “I’ve decided to allow her to skip her nap on Thursdays, so she’s content to go to bed early.”

  “I wish you’d let her join us.”

  “To be frank, Jorie, I need some adult company and entertainment. I think you do, too. We’ll take her on a buggy ride Sunday, all right? Now, change your clothes, and then go directly to the dining room — not the parlor.”

  When he came down, she handed him a bottle of wine.

  “It’s the last of your father’s thimbleberry. Let’s enjoy it!”

  She lit the candles. The fragrance of lilac coming across the table, reminded him of Kaarina.

  “Now then, enjoy your wine; I’ll be back in a moment.”

  She hurried off to the parlor.

  In a few minutes he heard music!

  She returned all excited. “Isn’t it wonderful, Jorie? Can you imagine?”

  “You didn’t, did you?” His heart froze. “You haven’t bought a player piano?” He rushed into the parlor. She hurried after him.

  He stared at the alien addition to the parlor. “My God, Ma, they cost two hundred fifty dollars, at least!”

  “I didn’t buy it, Dear. Did you notice the dishes? They’re not the china you’re used to on our special evenings. I traded the china for the pianola.”

  “You traded it?”

  “In a manner of speaking. I sold the china, in order to buy the pianola. I thought we’d get more enjoyment out of the music than the dishes. Don’t you agree?”

  “I suppose so.”

  “You didn’t even miss them, did you?”

  “Didn’t the player piano cost a good deal more than you got for your china?”

  “Oh, no, Darling — quite the other way. That’s how I was able to afford the dress. That china is from the old country. There was a lot of it, and it is very dear to buy here.”

  He tried to absorb the news. “Well, if it means so much to you.”

  “Oh, it has all kinds of possibilities. Different musicians to entertain us as we dine, won’t it be splendid? And what’s more, we can dance to it!”

  “Dance!”

  “Don’t act like you never heard of it. Of course, dance. I’ll teach you how, as my father taught me. I acquired several music rolls with the instrument — some classical, and some popular. Now we won’t have to take turns playing for each other; we can both be entertained at once, by the invisible musicians! Won’t that be fun?”

  He couldn’t share her enthusiasm. Was it her net closing in tighter, or the money that felt like strangulation?

  “Oh, Jorie, cheer up. Let’s enjoy ourselves. Don’t make your mummy work so hard to bring a smile to your face.”

  He forced a smile.

  “Now listen to the pianist. Do you know who it is?”

  “No.”

  “It’s the famous Paderewski. Did you ever think we’d hear him, almost as though he were right here in our parlor?”

  She led him back to the dining room. They spoke little, listening to the melodious tones coming from the other room. He had to admit it was quite remarkable.

  After dinner she explained how it worked. “The man who delivered it showed me, and now I’ll show you. We can still play this piano manually, and will, Jorie. It’s so versatile.”

  He looked around. “Where’s the rosewood?”

  “We didn’t have room for two pianos, and that was part of the trade.”

  “You gave away the rosewood? The piano I learned to play on?” His voice rose in crescendo. “That was a work of art, Ma. This is a piece of — machinery!”

  He saw the tears form in her eyes. “I thought it would make you happy.” She turned to leave. “You are so difficult to please.”

  She went up the stairs, leaving the dishes on the table. He was left with his own angry words echoing in his mind and an intense feeling of shame in the way he’d treated her surprise. He decided finally to go to her.

  She didn’t answer his knock, but the door was ajar. He could see her lying, fully dressed on her bed. He stood in the doorway.

  “I’m sorry. I know you were thrilled, and I’ve spoiled it for you. It’s just . . . I loved that old rosewood. I thought we’d always have it.”

  Slowly, she turned toward him. “Then it’s I who must apologize. I should have consulted you. You are the bread winner. I just wanted to brighten our dreary life. Acknowledge you, Darling, for your sacrifice.”

  “The evening need not be ruined. Let’s go down and listen to some more.”

  “Truly? Oh, I’m glad you’re not still upset. Yes, let’s hear another piece.” She rose from the bed. “What would you like — a concerto or sonata by Beethoven?”

  “You choose.”

  She inserted a roll of music which had popular dance tunes on it. The first piece was A Hot Time in the Old Town Tonight.

  “Now this is a change of mood, wouldn’t you say?”

  They listened to it while Catherine danced to it by herself, spinning around the room, keeping time to the music.

  When it was finished she held out her arms. “Come, I’ll teach you to dance.”

  “Oh, Ma, I don’t — “

  “You must, Dear.” She was laughing.

  He thought of Kaarina, and how he’d like to take her dancing. Perhaps he’d better learn.

  He was seated and she went to him, pulling him up with both hands. “Now. You put one hand, here, around my waist — that’s it, and I put my hand on your shoulder. Oh my, you’re so tall, Jorie. No, put your left hand out here and I’ll hold it with my right. It is you who must lead.

  “This is a waltz, The Sidewalks of New York. Before we start the music up again, let me teach you the footwork.”

  She worked with him awhile, going over the steps.

  The lessons continued, and not just on Thursday nights, but on other nights as well. Occasionally Eliza was allowed to join them, but never on Thursdays.

  “Teach me to dance, Jawie.”

  Sometimes he’d hold her high and swing her around the room. Other times she made her own little dance steps. Eliza’s favorite tune was Pop Goes the Weasel. His was Jeanie with the Light Brown Hair. Every time he heard it he thought of Kaarina.

  �
��Don’t look at your feet, Darling, look at your partner!”

  He deliberately didn’t hold her close to him.

  “Jorie, you really do give yourself away as a beginner, holding me a yard away. It not only looks better, but allows the woman to follow you, if you hold her firmly.” She glanced at his stricken face. “Now don’t look so frightened. I’m not going to bite you.”