Curtis, part twenty-six

Leta wished she had a better recipe. Although she had many homemaking skills, baking bread was not one of them. Up until that Wednesday morning, she had been able to feed biscuits to her new husband Curtis and his brood of 12 children, but each batch was small, and they needed more. They needed bread. As a city girl, she had always had bread purchased from the bakery. On occasion, an aunt or her mother would make bread, but this was a rare occurrence. In her adult life, Leta tried to make bread or rolls only a few times, and each incident was unsuccessful. She did not have the endurance to let the bread rise properly, or she failed to adjust the room temperature enough to warm the yeast enough for it to be active.

Her daughter Vivian was far more successful at this kind of baking, and Leta had often enjoyed the loaves her daughter made. She wished her daughter was with her, or she could at least telephone. But Curtis had no telephone, and Leta’s task was to make bread.

The morning was still new. The cows milked. The children that could go were off to school. The breakfast dishes were all put away. The eggs gathered. The chickens fed. The rain had graciously stopped at some point during the night. The sun was shining. The oven was warm. Curtis and his older boys were hammering on the roof to hopefully patch the leaks.

Leta was standing at the table. She had assembled all the necessary ingredients: flour, milk, lard, butter, sugar, salt and the yeast. The water was hot, but too hot she feared. The measuring cups and spoons were laid out. She had ten loaf pans, three large bowls and several towels. Her apron was pulled tightly to her. She rubbed her hands against her apron, as if to wipe off any food parts she had collected from her labors.

“Are you all right, ma’am?” Curtis’s oldest girl asked. She was standing near the backdoor, having returned from the cellar where she had transported the jars of applesauce they made the previous afternoon.

“There you are,” Leta responded with a half-smile. “I’ve been waiting for you. Please bring me the hot water from the stove, so we can get our yeast working.”

“Water?” the girl questioned.

“It’s right there in the pot,” Leta answered.

“Yes, ma’am,” the girl said and crossed the room.

“Wash your hands first,” Leta instructed.

“Did you already scald the milk, ma’am?”

“The milk?” Leta questioned and then caught herself. “Oh dear, I completely forgot. Why don’t I do that while you prepare the yeast? I figure we’ll make 12 loaves today.”

Leta was relieved. Scalding milk was something she could do. Getting the water temperature perfect to activate the yeast made her anxious.

After washing her hands, the girl took the pot of water from the stove.

“It’s still a little too hot, ma’am,” the girl noted. “But that’ll give us time to scald the milk.”

“Of course,” Leta said. “You seem to know quite a bit about bread making.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ve been making bread with my mama for as long as I can remember. Ever since I was little.”

Then the girl became quiet.

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” she apologized anxiously. “I hope I didn’t upset you by talking about my mama. Papa says we’re not—“

“—Nonsense!” Leta exclaimed. “You may talk about your mother as much as you like.”

For the first time in the few days that they had known each other, Leta saw her stepdaughter relax.

As they continued to make the bread, Leta was impressed with how comfortable the girl was at this chore, so much so that Leta encouraged her to take the lead. The girl was already feeling confident, and Leta’s compliments made her want to do a good job. This enabled Leta to become a supervisor with gentle advice and compliments, and learn at the same time.

To be continued.