An Imperfection in the Kitchen Floor Read online

  “It’s lovely, Julian. Truly lovely,” Mama breathed.

  Papa let out a sigh, as if he had been waiting for her confirmation.

  And it was lovely. So different from the city, where house after house lined the crowded, dirty streets. Willow Grove had an openness, a lightness, so much air to call our own. I had to admit, there was green here, even in the dreck winter. Three verdant evergreens towered over the back of the house, and the trunks of the two sycamores out front were a mottled sage. I let the cold fill my lungs, breathing it in, fresh and crisp. It burned clean my nostrils and I felt like this was the first true breath I had ever taken.

  We followed Papa up the five stairs to the porch. Mama lugged Oliver, thirty pounds of ornery, the two of them both tired from the journey.

  Papa brandished a shiny key from the pocket of his wool trousers and approached the wide front door. Leaded glass windows with a diamond and square pattern lined the doorframe, and the pattern on the big brass knob disappeared beneath Papa’s hand. The door swung open to reveal a receiving room and stairs leading up to the second floor. The dark wood floors were warm and rich like maple syrup, and the white plaster walls shone bright like whipped cream.

  We all stood in the foyer, looking around, waiting on Papa to lead us in further. Sweeping ceilings and tall windows allowed rays of light to pattern the floor. Tiny rainbows danced like enchantments from the leaded glass.

  “Look at the light in here, Laurel,” Papa said to Mama, spreading his arms out wide. “We’ll set up your easel right over here.”

  Tentatively, trying to hold on to my refusal to like the house, I looked around. Ivy followed me and we could hear Papa calling to us. “The third floor is your bedroom, girls!”

  We took a cursory glance at the second-floor bedrooms, and then Ivy and I walked the circular staircase to the third floor. The top revealed a large single room with three dormer windows.

  “Look, Ivy,” I said, enthusiasm creeping up on me. “You can see the whole countryside from here! And the park.”

  “Hmmm, yes. Wonderful,” Ivy said, wandering around the space, lost in her own thoughts and, as usual, likely not truly listening to me.

  I heard the clip-clop of the horse and cart arriving and went downstairs to collect my trunk and easel. Ivy and I lugged our trunks up the stairs, first hers, then mine, and set our room up to our liking. I unpacked my spare canvases and books, stacking them within easy reach of my bed—Kafka’s Metamorphosis, Frances Hodgson Burnett’s Secret Garden, and Harold Bell Wright’s The Eyes of the World. I had finished school in the city last June, and though I had done well and enjoyed it, Papa said there wasn’t any money for college until the delicatessen was established and earning. I suspected he thought I was educated enough, as a woman, preferring that I marry well and start a family.

  I tacked up some of my Currier and Ives prints with a certain defiance and determination, so that I could keep the Great Salt Lake and the Coast of California near.

  ●●●

  The rest of our belongings came in the next few weeks by way of orders Mama made from the Sears catalog. Dishes, candlesticks, rugs, even the stove arrived on trucks and furnished our new nest. Papa spent the days at the shop in downtown Willow Grove while we went about cleaning and organizing the house. We hung curtains and leveled our clock on the wall in the foyer. The pendulum ticked loudly in the mostly empty rooms, chiming the hour and once each half hour, soon becoming the sound of home.

  The new house felt grand and expansive. We had been so used to being packed in like oily canned fish in the row home. During the first few weeks, Mama would often arrive at the top of the stairs in our bedroom quite in a huff. “Girls, I have been calling for you to come help me in the kitchen with dinner.”

  “Mama, we can’t hear you all the way up here,” I would respond and promptly leave my reading or sketching to go help.

  With a house this much larger, there was also much more to be done to keep it clean. More floor space to sweep, more area to dust, more cobwebs to dismantle, so many more windows to keep sparkling. Mama, Ivy, and I spent the days cleaning and organizing the house, but finally we had a chance to relax and paint. Mama set up her easel and began a new still life. Onions and carrots, the only things we had in the larder, served as her subject.

  Eager to paint as well, I took my opportunity to sit with her, sharing the burnt sienna and yellow ochre she had doled out on to her palette. Light streamed in the windows, casting highlights on the onions and shadows below the carrots. I looked at Mama, deep in concentration next to me. Lit up by the sun like a Rembrandt painting, she was beautiful, all fine features and grace. We sat in silence until I worked up the courage to talk to her about the only thing that really mattered to me.

  “Remember that painting we saw at the Academy of the Fine Arts, the one with the lake and the mountains that disappeared into the clouds?” I asked.

  “Mmm-hmmm,” she assented, her gaze switching between the canvas and the onions, brush hovering over the palette she now held in her hand.

  “The Dougherty, I think,” I said. “Wouldn’t it be wonderful to paint that in person? Really be there? I bet it is like nothing we’ve ever seen before.”

  “Mmm-hmmm,” Mama said.

  I continued musing this way as my brush recreated the onions on the canvas and the carrots began to take shape. Despite painting the same subject matter just in front of us, our paintings were quite different.

  She put down her brush and looked at me, the look she gave me letting me know she wasn’t as distracted as she seemed. “Tish,” she began, in her lecture tone, “I think it is wonderful that you have dreams and plans for the future, and I hope that one day you get to achieve them all. But don’t forget to be happy in the meantime. If you focus completely on being happy later, you’ll miss all the wonders that are in your life now. We only have so much time here on this earth. Don’t wish it away by looking ahead so much. Keep sight of your future, but be sure to find happiness in today.” The clock chimed five o’clock and Mama plunked her brush into the mineral spirits. “Well, time to begin real life again. What shall we have for dinner?”

  Papa arrived home from the shop, declaring that the countertops and the front sign had been installed. We sat at our new long dining room table, so used to bumping elbows that we laughed at how far we had to reach to pass the meal to one another. Papa was in a good mood, king of his castle, and Mama beamed as if she were his queen. The final gasps of the winter wind ripped past our windows, and I tried to be happy within our new walls.

  ●●●

  The winter soon thawed and the sunshine of April and May came to Willow Grove. Emerging from our cocoons like city butterflies, we reveled in the small patch of land we now called our own. During the week, we all went down to the delicatessen to help Papa in his preparations, but on the weekends, we spent time outside planting blackberries, apple and peach saplings, and digging beds for fall vegetables. Papa built a chicken coop. Bud bundles appeared on the forsythia that grew wild, and buttercups sprouted brightly in the grass along the roads. We flung the windows open to the scented springtime air and could listen to the sound of nearby church bells tolling noon. Their song floated in on the warm breeze, complimenting the chimes of the clock in the foyer.

  Oliver and I had been sent down to the shop with Papa that morning. We worked hard, wiping clean the new cold cases, mopping the floor, and working on price lists. Papa tested the scale, practiced punching in a few sales, and reviewed his order from the purveyors. Oliver and I began unloading the canned and jarred goods from wooden crates. I pried a crate open and lifted out glass jar after glass jar of gherkins. The last jar slipped from my grip and shattered all over the floor. Glass shards gleamed in a splash of brine and shiny green gherkins rolled away from me like logs on a river.

  “Tish!” Papa yelled as he came running.

  “Papa, I’m sorry…” I gingerly stepped over the mess to get the dustpan.

  Papa
got there first. Exasperation colored his face vermilion and with a tight mouth, he shooed us out of the shop with his broom. Oliver and I trudged up the hill toward home.

  I berated myself the entire way. “See, Oliver, that is why I shouldn’t be working in the shop.” He just skipped ahead, nonplussed.

  At home, Mama had the table set for her and Ivy. Forced to explain why we were home earlier than expected, she shook her head but patted my shoulder and set another two spots at the table. We ate cream of celery soup, sopping up the dregs with crusty slices of buttered bread. Ivy ate little, and when Mama prodded her, she protested. “I’m too nervous to eat, Mama. William will be here in the morning,” she said, her voice tinged with anticipation.

  They would spend Saturday together before he returned on the trolley to Philadelphia. Papa had given them permission to stroll about Willow Grove Park and even watch the electric fountain and fireworks after Sousa’s band played its final show that evening.

  Ivy had been putting off the visit until we had the house in order. William came from a wealthy family in the Chestnut Hill section of the city, and Ivy was certainly marrying up.

  “Mama, will you please make sure that everything is perfect when William arrives? It is his first time here and I want him to be pleased with the house.” Ivy continued, “I’m certain his parents will ask him all about it, especially since we are hosting the wedding party. I want to show him all around, even out back. Oh, I am so excited to see him, Mama! I have never been away from him so long! I hope he missed me as much as I missed him. Everything must be just right when he arrives.”

  “Yes, Ivy,” Mama sighed, taking her final spoonful of soup and dabbing her mouth with the linen napkin from her lap. “We will do the sweeping today and begin the washing right away to ensure that everything is off the line by tomorrow morning. The weather looks fine for drying tonight, so perhaps we should get started. If you help me, we can accomplish nearly everything today and we will have more time for your hair in the morning.”

  “But, Mama, I need to iron my dress and…” Ivy trailed off, seeing the stern look that Mama was giving her.

  “I’ll help you, Mama,” I said. I gave the last hunk of my bread to Oliver, who took it greedily in one big chubby-cheeked bite.

  “Thank you, Tish. And Oliver, please, that is too much in your mouth at once.” Mama began clearing the dishes.

  The doorbell rang, the single chime still unfamiliar to us. Our first visitor gave Ivy the distraction she needed to sneak upstairs and begin her primping preparations. Mama continued clearing the table and headed to the kitchen, nodding at me to answer the door.

  “Come on, Ollie. Let’s see who it is,” I said, encouraging Oliver up out of his seat. His little hand in mine, together we walked through the foyer to greet our visitor.

  On our front step stood a girl about my age, brandishing a pie. I could see her through the large panel of glass on our front door. She was swaying slightly, perhaps impatiently, but she turned her head and smiled at our approach. Her blonde hair was softly pulled back into a twist at the nape of her neck and she wore a straw hat embellished with small red flowers. Her eyes were bright and friendly and I got the feeling that she would boisterously wave at me by way of initial greeting, had she not been holding the pastry.

  We opened the door and she immediately started talking, rapidly and excitedly. “Hello there! I’m Virginia Howerth. My mother sent over this Montgomery Pie to welcome you to the neighborhood. We live down on Cherry Street, and your new shop is right next to ours. The barber? Anyway, Mother wanted to come last week, but our shop is so busy. Even today, well, she wanted to come, but she had to stay and help Daddy, so she sent me up. I hope that I didn’t interrupt your luncheon…” She finally took a breath and held the pie out for me to take.

  “No, we are finished. Thank you for the pie. Please, would you like to come in?” I asked, taking the pie in my free hand and shuffling backward with Oliver, who clutched my hand tighter and sidled halfway behind me, peering around at Virginia. “Mama,” I called toward the kitchen, “A Miss Virginia Howerth is here, and she has brought a pie from her mother.”

  Mama emerged into the foyer, still carrying a dish towel and wiping dry her hands. “Oh, how very kind of your mother, Virginia. This looks wonderful. Thank you very much.”

  “You are welcome, Mrs. Hess,” Virginia smiled.

  “Seems you have met my daughter, Tish. She looks to be about your age, sixteen, correct?” Mama asked and Virginia nodded with a grin. “And this is our son, Oliver. My eldest, Ivy, is upstairs in preparations for a very important visitor tomorrow. Perhaps you’ll have to meet her later.” Mama took the pie from me and ushered Virginia into the dining room. Oliver and I closed the door and followed the sound of Virginia still chatting to our mother, answering her polite conversation starters.

  “We are happy to have a new business next to our shop. I see it will be a delicatessen?” she asked. “How wonderful! It’s a good location. Daddy’s barbershop gets all the business from the Mineral Springs Hotel. When a guest needs a shave or a haircut, Mr. Ehrenpfort—he’s the owner of the Mineral Springs Hotel—sends them right over. In fact, all the local businessmen come down for a cut from Daddy. Mr. Robinson, you know, the newspaper man, was just in last Saturday, and Mr. Malcolm, who owns the lumber yard, stops in for a trim every Wednesday on his way to work. Perhaps Mr. Hess needs a new local barber now, too?”

  “I will certainly tell him there is a very capable barber in town, thank you,” Mama answered, offering her a seat at the dining room table. “Tish, please refresh this pitcher of lemonade and bring in a glass for our guest.” Oliver settled on Mama’s lap and I went into the kitchen, listening to Virginia’s continued chatter.

  When I arrived back, Virginia was saying, “There sure are, Mrs. Hess. In fact, tonight there is a dance over at the park. My mother is chaperoning. Perhaps Tish might be able to join us.” Virginia raised a mischievous eyebrow at me, but lowered it as soon as Mama’s gaze fell on her. I handed Virginia a glass of lemonade and sat back down at the table.

  Though it seemed Mama wanted me to socialize, perhaps she had sewing circles in mind rather than dances. After a long draught of her own lemonade and some thought, Mama looked at me and said, “Well, I think it would be very nice for you to attend, Tish. A fine way to meet other people your age. And since it will be chaperoned, if you wish, you may go.”

  Not waiting for my answer, Virginia stood and rushed around the table to my side, clutching my arm as if we were already great friends. “Wonderful! It will be so much fun! Shall we walk over together? My mother and I will meet you downtown at the trolley entrance to the park at seven. Have you ever been to the park? It’s marvelous at night. You’ll love it. We’ll walk you home when it’s over.” She rushed to the door. “Thank you, Mrs. Hess, for the lemonade. And Tish, I’ll see you later this evening. I simply must get home. Goodbye!”

  Stunned, we remained at the table listening to the front door opening. “Please thank your mother for me, Virginia. I look forward to meeting her!” Mama called nearly too late; the door slammed and Virginia was gone. To me, Mama said, “She certainly has a lot of vigor. If you do not want to go to the dance, I can call ‘round the barbershop and decline for you.”

  “No, Mama, it’s fine. But thank you. I do want to go. It would be exciting to see the park, and perhaps I would meet some new people. It sounds like Virginia knows everyone in this town.”

  “Yes, I’ll say she likely does,” Mama said with a smile. “I’m glad you are going to attend. It will do you good to get out and meet some people who exist right here. We’ve been cooped up inside too long this winter. Let’s get started on today’s chores and we’ll see what we have for you to wear.”

  ●●●

  Papa walked in the door at five-thirty and loosened his tie. With a chaste kiss for Mama on the cheek, he settled himself in his wingback chair with the day’s newspaper. I greeted him and received in re
turn the briefest of smiles before he returned his attention to his reading. Perhaps he was still angry about the broken gherkin jar. Oliver jumped onto his lap, peppering him with questions and observations of the day. Papa did not tolerate his boisterous squirming long and once the paper began to crinkle and become unreadable, he sent Oliver off to the kitchen with the task of discovering dinner’s start time.

  Tonight, Mama and I had prepared a ham pie. Ivy attempted to help, but mostly she fretted and wandered, picking up a carrot, then placing it back down, distracted and anxious. Finally, Mama sent Ivy out to the dining room to set the table, and she and I finished in companionable silence.

  “Tish, thank you for helping. Here now, all ready. Please take this to the table, eat quickly, and then go up and put your dress on. Arrange your hair in a tidy braid, and then perhaps your Sunday hat?” Mama bustled and planned seamlessly, perhaps a little too excited.

  After dinner, I raced upstairs. With Ivy still at the table pushing her food around on her plate, I had the room to myself. From the front window of our bedroom, I could see the lights coming on at the park. The tall Ferris Wheel spun in a lazy circle, its cars stopping and swaying at intervals. The roller coaster’s peaks crested above the trees and the cars rattled as they raced on parallel wooden tracks, the cries of the riders like the distant crash of ocean waves. There was music, and if I strained, I could hear a few distant notes. A swell of excitement found its way from my stomach to my throat and caught there. I put on my white dress and tied the black sash around my waist. Brushing through my long, thick hair, I secured it in a fat braid trailing down my back. I found a ribbon among Ivy’s things, hoped she wouldn’t notice that I borrowed it, and tied it to the bottom of my hair.

  I descended the stairs and found Papa pacing in the foyer. Mama had asked him to walk me down to meet Mrs. Howerth and Virginia, and although he agreed, his face now showed consternation. I hesitated, my bouncing gait slowing, and cautiously asked, “Ready to go, Papa?”