Family Reminders Read online

  When Daddy reached the porch, I ran to the front door and swung it open, knowing that he would be waiting for my welcome with arms outstretched. Instead he stood there thin and weak, clinging to his crutches.

  “Daddy,” I said, expecting his ready smile and loud laugh to erase the stranger in front of me. He looked at me and looked down shyly, like a little boy caught doing something wrong.

  “Daddy?”

  “It’s been a long day, Mary. Your father is very tired right now.” Mama’s matter-of-fact voice cut into the awkwardness. “He insisted on walking home from the train station. Can you imagine, in this slippery snow? We’re lucky we saw Mr. Morgan’s delivery wagon and he took pity on us, or we’d still be at it.”

  Daddy winced at the mention of needing a ride. “Pity is right. I could see the way he looked at me. Felt sorry for me, that’s what.”

  “Of course he felt sorry for you, Daniel. You’ve been hurt. You’re in pain. What kind of friend would he be if he didn’t feel sorry for you?” Mama answered, sounding like she had already had this conversation before.

  “I don’t need other people’s pity, Liddie. I don’t want people treating me like I’m some kind of cripple.”

  “Mary, why don’t you get your father a cup of tea?” Mama said, changing the subject. Her tired eyes and lined face contradicted her cheerful voice. “Won’t that be nice, Daniel? Let’s go sit down in the kitchen and warm up.”

  ”I think I’ll just go to bed,” Daddy answered. He pushed past me without even looking up. The sound of his crutches scraping against the floor echoed through the house.

  That night Daddy didn’t come to dinner. My apple pie stayed uneaten on the table. Mama quietly folded up the tablecloth and put it away. To me, the house felt emptier than it had when Daddy was in the hospital.

  Five

  The wind whistled through the trees, bleak and sharp, as winter settled itself firmly onto the mountain. The autumn sounds changed to muffled winter sounds, and people stayed in their houses rather than tussle with the bitter cold and snow. The weeks passed. I kept expecting life to revert to normal. I expected Daddy’s old self to return, and I expected to see Mama’s face relax into an unforced smile. Instead, it seemed that nothing changed and each day felt sadder than the next.

  At first Daddy spent a lot of time resting. “He’s still weak from the operation,” Mama explained every day when I barged in after school only to be hushed quiet because Daddy was sleeping. Again.

  When he wasn’t in bed, he sat listlessly at the kitchen table.

  “Eat, Daniel,” Mama begged, pushing food toward him. “It will make you stronger.”

  “For what?” Daddy said angrily, stabbing the fork into his mashed potatoes.

  For us, I wanted to yell back at him. For me. I didn’t say a word, though. I just pushed my chair noisily back from the table and, with a shake of my head, marched out of the room.

  One day I walked in from school as Aunt Hattie and Mama were having a hushed conversation in the parlor while Daddy took his afternoon nap. Bent over their words, they were too busy to notice me, so I hung my coat up and stood quietly at the door. I heard Aunt Hattie offering Mama money.

  “Now, Hattie, you know that Daniel won’t take charity,” Mama said. “Even from his favorite sister,” she added, trying to muster up a smile.

  “This isn’t charity, Liddie. We’re family,” Hattie insisted, trying to press the money into Mama’s hand.

  ”Charity is charity, no matter where it comes from,” Mama said firmly. “This family has made it through rough times before. We’ll make it through this.” Mama reached over and patted Aunt Hattie’s hand. “Don’t worry about us. We’ll be all right, won’t we, Mary?” Mama’s look told me that she had seen me standing there all along.

  As I came to stand beside her, I nodded my agreement, but inside my heart pounded and my mind raced. When I had asked about money earlier, Mama had explained that Daddy got a check from the mine because of the accident. It had never occurred to me that it might not be enough.

  After Aunt Hattie left, Mama gave me a quick hug. “Don’t tell your father about this,” she said. “It would just make him angry.”

  I pulled away from her hug. “Do we need money, Mama?” I asked.

  “Don’t worry, we’ll be fine,” Mama answered, sounding just as she had with Aunt Hattie.

  I searched her eyes for the truth.

  Mama stood her ground. “Scoot,” she said, pushing me toward my bedroom. “Seems to me you’ll do anything to avoid your homework, young lady.” Later though, when I walked into the kitchen to get a glass of milk, I found Mama sitting at the kitchen table with her head in her hands.

  “Can’t I help?” I asked, sitting down beside her. “You can have my birthday money. Or I could get a job.”

  Mama hugged me tight. “Thank you, Mary. But I meant it when I said not to worry. Daddy and I will figure out a way to get through this. It’s not your problem.”

  Why isn’t it my problem? Aren’t I part of this family, too? I wanted to yell at Mama, but she looked so sad and tired that I couldn’t. Instead I choked back my words and returned her hug.

  That night, as I was getting ready for bed, I picked up one of the Reminders from my dresser. Baby Reminder. That’s what Daddy had named this one. It was a likeness of my family on the day I was christened. Mama was holding me in her lap. Daddy stood behind, his arms a protective circle around us both.

  I traced the smooth fold of Mama’s long dress and admired the way her gown cascaded down to the floor. I noticed Daddy’s smiling face and the way both of his feet were planted so firmly on the ground. Mostly I noticed the way their arms formed a double circle around me: Mama’s first, and Daddy’s over hers.

  As I looked at the Baby Reminder, I wished with my whole heart that our family could be that way again.

  The next day I went down the street and talked to Mrs. Egan, Mrs. Martin, and Mrs. Swanson. “Of course I’ll be happy to call you the next time I need a babysitter,” they all said, one after the other.

  By the end of that week, I had my first job.

  Mama pretended I was earning fun money, and I pretended I wasn’t worried. Whatever I made I stuck into the money jar on top of the refrigerator. Mama never mentioned it, but she never told me to stop, either.

  Six

  Months passed. The piano sat silently in the parlor, and Daddy sat silently in the kitchen. Spring slowly pushed its way into the valley, while winter still clung tightly to the mountain, refusing to release its snowy grasp.

  Bit by bit Daddy recovered his strength. He moved restlessly around the house, limping from the kitchen to the bedroom to the parlor and back to the kitchen again.

  One evening, after he had passed my bedroom for the third time, I followed him back into the kitchen. “Why don’t you carve something?” I asked. I pulled his tools out from the top drawer of the hutch and plunked a piece of winter-hardened pine from the wood box beside the stove.

  Daddy fiddled with the knife for a minute and then set it down. “I can’t,” he said.

  “Daniel,” Mama said, looking up from her ironing, “a new bookshelf in the parlor would be nice. Why don’t I have Mr. Miller send over some wood?”

  Daddy shook his head. “I can’t, Liddie. Let’s just leave it at that.”

  Mama didn’t answer, but her mouth was set in a tight, straight line as she left the room.

  But I didn’t leave the room. Not this time. This time I had to say something. I knew that Daddy was hurt and unhappy. Didn’t he know that I was hurt and unhappy, too?

  ”Why can’t you?” I pushed a little harder. “Your hand isn’t hurt. Your leg is getting better. You haven’t even tried. How do you know you can’t?” I asked, trying unsuccessfully to hold back the tears.

  Daddy didn’t answer. He just shrugged and looked away, defeated.

  That night I went to bed without saying a word. I guess I felt defeated, too.

  Wh
en Mama came in to say good night, I just turned toward the wall. Why didn’t she speak up to Daddy? Why didn’t she make him try?

  When I came home from school the next day, Daddy was sitting at the kitchen table, a pile of curly, yellow wood shavings at his feet and in his lap. His dark head hunched over the wood as he coaxed a carving into life.

  Mama shrugged when I looked at her questioningly. “He must have gotten bored with his orneriness,” she said. Although Daddy didn’t respond, I saw the corners of his mouth turn up. Just a tiny bit. And a new feeling, a spring feeling, lifted my spirits just a tiny bit, too.

  After that Daddy’s hands were always busy. He made the bookshelf for the parlor. He worked on a new bench for the front porch, and he also began carving new Reminders. Mama didn’t mind the mess. “I just work around it,” she whispered to me one afternoon as we were fixing dinner.

  I didn’t mind the mess, either. I loved to sit beside Daddy at the kitchen table while he worked. It was like magic to watch him uncover the secret hidden in the wood. His hands were strong and sure as he held the carving knife.

  Mostly Daddy’s Reminders were images from the past, from before the accident. Daddy carved a figure of our prospector friend Mr. Shay, his pack mule loaded to overflowing with supplies, mining pan, and ax. He carved Uncle William fishing. He carved a tiny stagecoach like the one that used to come to town before the railroad, and he carved a Reminder of the bear that had chased him out of the woods three summers before. In that Reminder the bear was on its hind legs and Daddy was running, every muscle straining to get away.

  As the spring won its battle for the mountain and the snow began to melt, the shelf that Daddy made for the parlor became crowded with his Reminders.

  Seven

  The blooming branches danced in the wind and tickled the windowpane as I lay in bed and listened to Mama and Daddy’s angry voices. My room was dark and cold, but it sounded colder in the kitchen. I stayed where I was, my fingers tracing the flowers Daddy had carved into my wooden headboard, remembering Sundays before the accident.

  “Where are my girls?” Daddy’s voice boomed through the house. Up and ready early, he tried good-naturedly to rush us through the morning and out the door. He shifted impatiently from one foot to the other, trying to hurry us both along. “You two are slower than molasses in January,” he complained. But he always smiled at me when I joined him in the kitchen, and he always greeted Mama with a kiss and a compliment.

  Finally hunger pushed me out of bed. When I walked into the kitchen, the angry voices stopped. Daddy was sitting at the table, working on a carving, while Mama stood at the stove.

  “Morning, Daddy,” I said, giving him my tightest hug. I breathed in the scent of soap and sawdust. Since the accident Daddy’s smell had changed. No longer did the smell of raw earth mingle with the soap.

  “Morning, Mary,” he said, hugging me back.

  “Morning, Mama.”

  ”I was wondering when you were going to get yourself out of bed,” she said, leaning over to give me a kiss. “Sit down. Breakfast is ready. Show Mary what you’re carving, Daniel.”

  “Now, Liddie, don’t go trying to change the subject,” Daddy said, sounding exasperated. “I mean it when I say that I don’t want you taking in laundry. You have enough work to do around here now that you’re doing my share of the chores as well as your own. You don’t need to be doing Mr. Stewart’s work as well.”

  “Oh, fiddle, Daniel. I’m doing laundry anyway. Besides, poor Mr. Stewart is an old man and needs the help,” Mama said, pouring Daddy more coffee.

  “Well, I don’t like it, and I don’t want you to do it.”

  “Daniel, you listen to me,” Mama said as she sat down beside him. Her voice was quiet. “I’m tired of sitting around here worrying. Worrying about money and waiting for things to change; that’s all I seem to do lately. I mean to do what I can until you’re back on your feet again.”

  Daddy brooded for a minute. I saw his jaw clench and unclench. Then he stood, reaching unsteadily for his crutches. “Don’t you mean foot, Liddie?” he said. The low hush of his anger trailed behind him as he hobbled out of the kitchen.

  “That man is as stubborn as a mule,” Mama said to me as she dished up the oatmeal into my bowl.

  “Can I help you with the laundry, Mama?” I asked.

  “You have school, Mary.”

  “But, Mama, I can help before school. Or after. I can help with the ironing. Or getting the wood.”

  Mama didn’t look convinced. “I don’t know, Mary,” she said uncertainly.

  “Mama, I’m tired of worrying and waiting, too. Please let me help.”

  Mama laughed. “You’re worse than your daddy for stubbornness, that’s for sure.”

  “I heard that,” Daddy said from his bedroom.

  And then we all laughed. It felt good.

  Eight

  Even before the accident, Wednesday was always wash day.

  Before the sun was up, I awoke to the sound of Daddy singing as he hauled in the big steel washtub.

  “Women’s work is harder than mining,” he joked as he brought in the last load of wood. He liked helping Mama around the house. “Makes me feel useful,” he told me as we sat down to our breakfast and watched Mama bustle around the kitchen.

  “For once,” Mama teased him, dishing him up a second bowl of oatmeal.

  Now Daddy stood helplessly by and watched Mama and me lug the tub in. He directed us as to where it should go in the center of the kitchen until Mama shooed him out of the way. “Daniel, I’ve been doing laundry all these years without your help. I’m capable of carrying on without interference!”

  Daddy snatched up his carving knife and a piece of wood. “What am I supposed to do when you’re working?” he asked as he hobbled angrily out of the room.

  “Well, since you asked, a little music might help things along,” Mama answered. She began heating up water on the stove. I trudged back and forth to the woodpile in the still, gray morning.

  “Just one more load should do it,” Mama said as I placed yet another armful into the wood box.

  Mr. Stewart had already stopped by with his dirty clothes. Just before I left for school, Mama put a pair of his red, sagging long johns into the tub to soak.

  Giggling at the sight, I said, “Looks like he really does need your help.”

  Mama laughed, too. “Off with you now. Mr. Stewart’s underclothes are no concern of yours,” she said as she stirred the clothes into the soapy water with her long-handled paddle.

  I hated to leave the steamy warmth of the kitchen. Mama looked happy as she bent over the washboard, her sleeves pushed up, her arms up to her elbows in soapsuds. She was humming to herself as I let myself out the door.

  The folded clothes were ready in a wicker basket by the front door when Mr. Stewart came by on his way home from work. He was accompanied by another miner, Mr. O’Brien, who had a basket of dirty clothes and a question in his eyes. Mama laughed and said yes, she could have the clothes done by tomorrow, and would this be a regular job. They shook hands when he said yes.

  I peeked around the kitchen door as Mr. O’Brien left and Mr. Stewart stepped up to claim his long johns. Mr. Stewart had come to America to find his fortune. After crisscrossing the mountains, following one gold strike after another, he ended up in Cripple Creek. “Mighty obliged to you, ma’am,” he said shyly. “Between working all day, cooking dinner, and trying to keep the house livable, this old bachelor just plain don’t have time for anything else.” As he talked he pressed a crinkled dollar into Mama’s hand. Then he bowed slightly and backed out the door.

  Mama called me into the parlor. “Look at this,” she squealed. “One dollar! My goodness!” Mama let out a long whistle and picked up the hem of her skirt, dancing a jig.

  Daddy clumped in from the kitchen and stood there, leaning on his crutches and watching Mama dance. “What’s going on here?” he finally asked.

  “Well, for starters,
Daniel,” Mama said pointedly, “I’m dancing in the parlor without any music.”

  Daddy just shrugged.

  Mama looked at him for a moment, a challenge flashing in her eyes. “For another, I’m happy because Mr. Stewart paid me one whole dollar for doing his laundry. And I already have another job for tomorrow. See, I can help out until you get back on … until you get better.”

  “Don’t you understand, Liddie? I’m not going to get better. I’m always going to be missing a leg. Let’s face it, nobody’s going to hire a one-legged miner.”

  Mama’s smile faded against the rough truth of Daddy’s words. Then in carefully woven words, as soft as flannel, she said, “Daniel, you’re right, no one is going to hire a one-legged miner … to mine. But don’t you understand that you are more than a miner, one-legged or two? Or at least I always thought so.”

  She reached up to hug him, but Daddy, stiff and unbendable, held on tightly to his crutches, eyes straight ahead. Mama shook him gently by the shoulders and kissed him on the cheek. Then, putting her money in her apron pocket and her chin in the air, she flounced out of the room.

  Daddy came over to me where I sat on the sofa. Smiling weakly, he dropped a Reminder in my lap. It was a carving of a woman bent over a washboard, her sleeves rolled up and her hair falling down around her face.

  “It looks just like Mama,” I said as I inspected it, turning it round and round.

  Daddy nodded and limped slowly out of the room.

  Before I followed him into the kitchen I put the carving carefully on the shelf with all the other Reminders.

  Nine