Leta was taking stock of her situation. She had a new husband
of three days. She moved into his dilapidated farmhouse on a small farm where
he raised 200 laying hens, two milk cows, and a dozen barn cats. He grew his
own corn (to feed the chickens and cows), had a few fruit trees and an unkempt
garden. He also had twelve children, ranging in age from three to seventeen.
Seven were in school, three worked on the farm and two were too young to
attend.
Since rising before dawn on this blustery spring day, she had
milked the cows twice, made breakfast for her husband and the two older boys,
gathered the eggs and fed the chickens, washed another shelf of dirty dishes
(that had been sitting for longer than she wanted to guess), churned butter, washed
her bed sheets and all of her husband’s clothes that she could find, made a
lunch of corn soup for two adults, three teenagers and two small children, cleaned
up after that and baked seven batches of biscuits. Four of the biscuits were
for supper, a meal she prepared for fourteen that also included three roasted
chickens, mashed potatoes and gravy, carrots, peas, and berries and cream.
The previous day, when she encouraged Curtis to inform the
local milk collector that she would have a canister every other day for pick up, he told her not to be premature. Now she knew why. In
one meal, the twelve children had devoured two days worth of milk. With only two
cows supplying the beverage, she would have to ration it.
Twenty minutes after inhaling the meal that took her nearly
two hours to make, the children and her husband scattered, leaving a plethora
of dirty dishes, spills and crumbs in their wake. She had been so busy since her
arrival to the house that she hadn’t really explored the house or she would
have noticed that there were two other rooms. The first was off a door in near
the stove, one that blended into the wall. She watched one of the boys press a
small lever and it popped open, welcoming all of the boys. The girls ran up the
narrow stairs, and she heard another door open and close. Her husband walked
out the back door.
She was alone in the kitchen. She could hear the murmuring,
barking and squealing of young voices through the thin walls. She wanted a
stiff drink, but all she had was a cup of cold coffee with a little sugar. She
tossed it back like a shot, and the bitterness of it shocked her system for a
few moments. Preparing so much food was so overwhelming that she neglected to
put the dishwater on the stove to boil. So she restocked the stove with wood
and put two pots of water on.
While she was waiting, she made a list of items she would need
from the market. Curtis would have to take her the following morning. He could
not expect her to feed that many with what few supplies they had on hand. They
definitely needed bread; she could not continue to make that many batches of
biscuits on a daily basis. She also needed him to visit a butcher for pork and
beef; the family could not live on chicken and eggs alone. For breakfast, she
could use a large bag of oats to make oatmeal for breakfast.
When Curtis returned, she was drying the first set of dishes.
Another stack was beside the sink, waiting to be washed. The dark had just
descended, and she lit a lamp.
“Mrs. Curtis,” he said, “I’m glad you’re still up.” He was
holding and stroking one of the barn cats. It was purring loudly, but when she
turned to her husband, it hissed at her.
“Of course,” she answered. It was only eight, and even though
she was tired, she still had several things she wanted to do before going to
bed.
“I found a healthy batch of mushrooms in the woods this
evening,” he continued. “I thought I’d have the boys fetch them tomorrow, if
the rain holds off.”
“That would be good,” she agreed. “If you pick up a piece of
beef, then I can make beef stew for supper.”
“I’ve been thinking along the same lines,” he said. “Only I’ll
order a hog. The farmer will slaughter it for us, and then you can smoke and can
the meat. He won’t have it tomorrow, but plan on it for Wednesday.”
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