“Our blue cozies,” said Ernest, referring to the blue flannel pyjamas their mother had made them last Christmas.
“We left this morning in a hurry,” explained Jacob.
“Goodness,” said Aline.
“It’s so embarrassing,” said Abigail.
“Don’t you worry ’bout your gear. I sure don’t mind. I’m Aline.”
“I’m Ernest, and this is Jacob and Abigail,” said Ernest.
There was another silence, disturbed only by the barely audible music. The four children listened for a moment.
“What kind of music is that?” asked Jacob.
“Isn’t it beautiful? It’s from a Victrola over at the Currie place, ’bout a mile from here,” said Aline.
“A Victrola?” said Ernest, who didn’t recognize the word.
“You wind it up and it plays music, but music somebody else played in the past. The music isn’t alive. I’m not very good at explaining.”
“The music is recorded,” said Jacob.
“That’s right. Some people call it a phonograph. It’s brand new. I heard it first last week when my brothers and I went over. Now they play it almost every day. I love it,” said Aline.
“Maybe you could ask your parents to buy you one,” suggested Ernest.
“No, we need our money for other things. Mother an’ Father have gone to see a man about some cattle feed,” said Aline.
“And they left you here alone?” asked Abigail, unable to hide her shock.
“They’ll only be gone a couple days. Golly, Mother’ll kill me if I freckle up. I’ve got to go inside,” announced Aline.
“Freckle up?” asked Jacob.
“You know, ruin my complexion. I’ll never find a husband then.”
Abigail remembered that her mother told her Mema (Aline) had married at sixteen. The couple had eloped to the next county and married secretly. Aline didn’t tell her parents about the wedding until a few days later.
“Oh, I’m sure you’ll find a husband,” said Abigail, feeling a little strange that a girl her own age would even be thinking about such things. But Aline was her great-grandmother, and it was a different time.
“I worry about it,” said Aline as she started towards the house.
Ernest slipped his hand into hers. Jacob would have taken her other hand, but the mess of applesauce and soapsuds on her apron looked really sickening.
“Y’all hungry?” asked Aline.
Jacob was definitely not, but Ernest answered, “We’re always hungry!”
“Well, I can look after y’all,” said Aline. “Not to insult you in the least, but y’all look as if you could do with a little lookin’ after.”
Abigail, Jacob and Ernest accepted the “lookin’ after” as entirely normal. After all, she was their great-grandmother, even if she was only ten years old.
The four children entered the house. It was small and sparsely furnished. The kitchen ran from front to back along one side. On the other side were three curtained doors, leading to what must be three tiny bedrooms. At the front end of the kitchen were a rocker and a couple of more or less comfortable chairs. Hanging from the ceiling was a large wooden frame with a half-finished patchwork quilt. At the back end of the kitchen were a table and five straight-backed chairs, a kerosene stove, a water pump and a rough-looking china cabinet full of dishes.
What caught the children’s attention most, however, were the dirty dishes and bits of old food cluttered beside the water pump and a broom and unemptied dustbin in the middle of the floor. The stove looked like a volcano had just erupted, with a saucepan burnt black and applesauce dripping down the sides of the stove like lava. A bowl with soapy water sat on the floor beside the stove.
“Goodness,” said Aline, “it is a mess.”
“This is what you were yelling about when your brothers were leaving,” said Abigail.
“They have their jobs and I have mine,” sighed Aline.
“We all should have gone with them,” said Ernest.
“Ernest!” said Abigail as she slapped her brother on the shoulder for being so insensitive.
“I don’t want to go with them,” said Aline. “I don’t care one bit about horses and cattle, except as how we make our living. I don’t want to be a boy, but I’m not very good at being a girl.”
“What do you mean ‘being a girl’?” asked Jacob.
“Cooking and cleaning and remembering your bonnet, I don’t do any of those things well,” explained Aline, picking up the broom and dustbin.
“Abigail is a girl, and she doesn’t do any of those things,” said Ernest.
“You don’t either,” said Abigail. “I mean, we’re children. Our parents would never leave us to look after ourselves.”
“Well, on our farm everybody has to help in the ways that they’re supposed to. I’m the only girl. I’ve got to do the girl work.” Aline sighed again.
“In our house we don’t have boy work or girl work,” said Jacob, collecting the dirty dishes. Both Ernest and Abigail joined in with the tidy-up.
“You’re lucky,” said Aline, slumping into one of the kitchen chairs. She seemed to drift off a little. Her three great-grandchildren busied themselves cleaning the kitchen.
As Ernest scraped plates and started washing dishes (he’d never washed a dish in his life), he imagined the cowboys and horses and cattle, and he started feeling let down. This adventure was deeply disappointing.
Abigail felt confused by the situation. It was stupid that girls had to do certain things just because they were girls, but then Aline wasn’t doing anything, and they were doing all her work. She wasn’t looking after them at all. Abigail did not like the direction this adventure was taking either.
As for Jacob, he couldn’t really think of anything but controlling his urge to throw up. He was scraping that gross mess of applesauce off the stove. He didn’t really know why he was doing it, but he was doing it, and in order to control his heaving stomach, he had to make his mind go blank.
Our children worked until the clean-up was nearly finished and Aline sat at the table with the longing expression Abigail had noticed outside, as if she were yearning for the distance. Then suddenly, she announced: “It’s called ‘Little Star’.”
Startled, Abigail, Jacob and Ernest turned from their tasks.
“My poem,” explained Aline, “the one I just came up with.” She began to recite.
A baby star was shining Along the Milky Way. She said I’m tired of twinkling. I wish it would be day.
Her Mama gently tucked her in. She knew it would be best. For little baby stars do need a lot of time to rest.
“Did you just make that up?” asked Jacob.
“Yes, I must have been thinking about y’all in your pyjamas,” explained Aline.
“It didn’t look like you were doing anything. We were doing all the work,” said Ernest.
“We were doing the work that you can see. There are other kinds of work,” Abigail realized all of a sudden.
“I’ve