Chapter 17
Spilt Milk
“Mama,” Rose whispered. “I want to sit next to Tor at the supper table tonight. Can I? Can I please?”
“You girls will be helping me in the kitchen and with the serving, just as always, Rose,” said Adeline Ringstadt.
“But, Mama!” Rose protested. “Just this once? Please?”
“Well, perhaps it would be good for you to get to know the boy. He has so few friends. But you’ll have to take over the kitchen chores after dinner. Don’t expect your sisters to do all the work.”
“Yes, Mama. I’ll take care of all the dishes after supper! Thank you Mama! Thank you!” Rose said, giving her mother a hug.
“That’s not fair!” whined Daisy. “Why should Rose get to sit next to him at dinner? What makes her the Queen of Persia? Mama, you’re not fair.”
“Daisy Lou! You watch your tongue, young lady! Rose can sit with the Loken boy at the supper table and that’s the end of it. Now hush!”
Daisy turned and stomped back into the kitchen with Violet, the youngest of the three girls, stomping out right behind her. When isolated from the others by the kitchen door, Daisy turned to Violet. “Rose always gets the gingerbread and we get the crumbs!” she whispered. “Well, we will see if ol’ Rosie-Posey gets the gingerbread tonight, Violet. We’ll see!”
“What you gonna do, Daisy? Mama said …”
“Just you never mind what Mama said!” snapped Daisy. “I should get to sit next to Tor just as much as anybody, including Rose! You just wait.”
Namakagon and Tor left the Ringstadt home, headed for the dry goods store. The big storefront windows were thick with frost. Inside were two narrow aisles. A clerk stood behind the counter near the door. Shelves crowded with boxes, tins and bagged goods extended from floor to ceiling all around the large room. Most of a twenty-pound wheel of cheese sat on the counter next to a large roll of brown wrapping paper and the cash register.
Tor ordered the two quarts of lemon extract and nutmeg for Sourdough. The clerk fetched the nutmeg from one of the tin boxes kept high on a shelf. He tore a sheet of paper from the roll, wrapped the nutmeg, then, reaching up, he pulled a length of string from a cone-shaped spool hanging overhead. He quickly gave the package two wraps of string, knotted it and broke the string with a snap of his wrist.
After checking the corks on the lemon extract bottles, he pulled a second and third sheet of brown paper from the roll and wrapped the bottles before pulling a third, larger sheet of paper from the roll. The clerk then laid the bottles and the nutmeg on the large paper, folded up the sides and the ends, then reached overhead and pulled down another length of the white cotton string from the spool. In one smooth motion the clerk put two wraps of string around the package, gave it a quarter-turn, and then put two more courses of string across the others. A quick overhand knot secured the small bundle.
“That will be ninety-seven cents,” said the clerk.
“Make it eight bits,” said Tor as he placed four quarters on the counter and grabbed six licorice twists. When the clerk pressed a key on the cash register, the drawer popped open, a bell rang, and a metal flag marked $1 popped up in the top of the register.
Chief Namakagon placed a tin of B and L Black pipe tobacco on the counter along with two nickels. The clerk took his coins and returned two pennies in change.
Their return to the boarding house took them past a sausage shop, a bathhouse, and the Rail Inn, a favorite tavern of the railroad men. Just as they passed by the tavern door, they heard a loud crash inside. The front window suddenly exploded into hundreds of glass shards as two men came flying through the large window frame, across the boardwalk and onto the snowy street. The two brawlers stood up, shook off some of the mud, snow and glass, then violently tackled each other again.
A crowd of men spilled through the doorway to watch. Some cheered, others just looked on. A man wearing a black wool shirt and red suspenders was taking bets on the fight. Several onlookers handed him dollar bills.
Namakagon and Tor moved up the boardwalk before turning to watch. The larger of the two brawlers pinned his opponent to the ground. The smaller man gave a mighty shove, throwing the big man off. Springing to their feet, they started in again, but it was too late for the big man. He had lost his balance and his confidence. The smaller man threw him to the street and stood above him with clenched fists, waiting for him to stand up again.
“Uncle,” said the beaten man. Cheers came from the growing crowd.
“Let’s have a beer. I’ll buy you one,” said the winner.
“No siree. You whipped me fair and square. It is my burden to buy.”
“Which one of you drunken bums is gonna pay the bill for my busted window?” shouted the tavern owner. “That’s the way it works here in Hayward, boys. Either pay the freight or you will be sittin’ in the jailhouse till you do.”
The big man pulled some money out of his pocket, counted out two dollars and handed it to the tavern owner. He looked back at the window and gave him another dollar before picking up his hat, dusting himself off, and, stumbling back inside. The owner smiled, stuffing the money in his pocket.
“Seems to be a fool’s pastime,” said Namakagon.
“I’ll say. I don’t see what they see in it. Seems pointless and painful.”
“Most men around here, whether rails, miners, or lumberjacks, live for three things—liquor, women, and brawling. It is the way of the north.”
Tor and Namakagon continued up the street, returning to the Ringstadt home. In the parlor, Rose was playing the family’s upright piano. She was dressed in a blue and white calico dress buttoned up the back. The white lace collar was fitted tight to her neck and the lace cuffs fit tight to her wrists. A light blue ribbon kept Rose’s hair neatly behind her ears. Around her waist was a wider ribbon. She moved her fingers gracefully over the keyboard, playing Stephen Foster’s Camptown Races for the small audience.
Two of Adeline’s boarders sat at a small parlor table playing cards. Other guests watched Rose, tapping their feet to the beat of the lively song.
In the middle of the number, two of the borders popped up from their chairs and started dancing. The middle-aged couple rocked back and forth to the rhythm, laughing and kicking their feet as they locked elbows and turned around and around over the brightly colored, braided rug.
Both Tor and Chief Namakagon laughed as others in the room clapped in time to the energetic music. Tor joined in, clapping to the beat. When Rose played the chorus, the dancers sang, “Gwine to run all night! Gwine to run all day! Bet my money on de bob-tail nag. Somebody bet on de bay.”
Rose and her audience were all laughing when Adeline entered the room, half walking, half dancing. “Dinner’s on the table. Rose will play more songs for you right after she finishes her kitchen chores, if you please.”
“If we please?” exclaimed the dancing man. “Why, Mrs. Ringstadt, this is without a doubt the best concert in Sawyer County since the chautauqua came to town last August!”
“Here, here!” shouted the card players, laying their hands face down.
Tor wanted to add his own compliment but couldn’t find the right words. Rose finished the song with flair, then reached forward and turned the page on the sheet music and placed it in its cover folder. Tor watched as she stood and gracefully stepped around the piano bench. He was still speechless.
“Why, thank you for your nice compliments! I’m not very good at the piano but I try. I’d be happy to play some more after dinner, if you please.”
“Yes,” said the chief. “We insist.”
Rose and the party of guests followed Adeline Ringstadt into the dining room. The oak table was neatly set with white plates, cups, and saucers, all flanked by well-polished silverware. The center of the table held large bowls of steaming squash, mashed potatoes, a beef and rice hot dish, and a mixture of boiled carrots, onions, and peas. Mrs. Ringstadt sat her boarders around the table, saving the chair nearest
the kitchen for herself. She took care to place her daughter to her right, next to Tor. The chief, who sat to the left of his hostess, suspected Adeline was engaging in some matchmaking. He was right.
Pete Washburn, one of the two card players, reached for the potatoes.
“Now, now, Peter,” said Adeline, “grace comes first, you know.” The room became quiet. “Who will offer our words of thanks tonight?”
Namakagon spoke. “Oh Great Spirit, we thank you for the Earth, and the sky, the woodlands and waters—all you have placed in our care. We hope we will be able to protect these precious gifts so all who come after us will be able to enjoy their bounty as do we.”
An awkward silence followed.
“Well, that is a simply wonderful prayer, Chief Namakagon,” declared Adeline, “although I must say, a bit unusual for our table. Rose, why don’t you start the carrots around?”
“Yes, Mama,” replied Rose, spooning some carrots and onions onto her plate and passing the dish to Tor.
Tense and self-conscious in the presence of this attractive girl, Tor was apprehensive his lumber camp manners might show.
“Thank you, Rosie,” he said as he took the carrots, placed a heaping spoonful onto his plate and attempted to pass them across to the chief. Namakagon looked into Tor’s eyes without reaching up for the bowl. He then glanced at the card player sitting to Tor’s right, then back at Tor.
“Oh,” said Tor. “These go this way, don’t they?” He passed the carrots to the man on his right. “I’m out of practice. We don’t pass dishes in camp. Everybody just reaches for what they need and hopes to get a bellyful ’fore it’s all gone.” Everyone laughed, including Tor, who wondered if what he said was funny or if they were laughing at him for being crude and ill-mannered.
“Many years ago,” said the chief, “they tried passing dishes in one of the lumber camps. This worked fine for the men near the kitchen, but the fellows at the end of the table got nothing but drippings and crumbs. The resulting brawl got the cook, the men, the whole camp very deep in hot water. And, as everyone knows, the one thing a lumberjack loathes most is a good soaking in hot water!”
Everyone broke out in laughter again. More dishes went around the table, and the diners began eating. Tor nervously mustered the courage to speak to Rose.
“Rosie, you’re quite the piano player.”.
Rose smiled. “Thank you, Tor. I’m taking lessons from Reverend Spooner’s wife. They might let me play the organ in church someday.”
“I’d like to hear that,” said Tor.
“Yes, so would I,” said Willard Rogers.
“Tor, will you be coming to Hayward again soon?” asked Adeline.
“I can’t say, ma’am. I’d sure like to.” He smiled at Rose. “We usually go into Cable for supplies. We come down here to Hayward if we need to do some banking or company business. Tomorrow we’ll stop at the bank …”
Chief Namakagon interrupted, “Mrs. Ringstadt, this is delicious.”
“Why, it’s my grandmother’s recipe. It’s the cinnamon that makes it special. I’m so glad you like it.”
“Tor, I’d like to visit your lumber camp one day,” said Rose, looking at her mother for approval.
“Well, now, I don’t know,” said Adeline. “That is quite a trip to make. And what about all those ruffians?”
“Perhaps after the spring drive,” volunteered Namakagon. “Most of the men will be gone by then.”
Tor hid his displeasure with the suggestion. He’d prefer to have Rose visit the camp much, much sooner.
Rose hid nothing, saying, “Spring? Why, winter is when the camps are busy. I’d like to see the camp in the winter. I know that Reverend Spooner visits the camps now and then. He’s always looking to convert another Christian. He could take me along, Mama! I’ll ask him tomorrow.”
“All in good time, Rose, all in good time,” said Adeline, patting her daughter on the back of the hand.
Rose turned to Tor and smiled, now confident that she could convince her mother to arrange for a visit. Tor returned the smile.
“More coffee?” said one of the card players as he lifted the coffee pot from the table.
“Oh my,” said Adeline. “Tor, Rose, you have no milk. Oh, Daisy, Daisy,” she called. “Daisy Lou!”
“Yes Mama,” answered the middle girl, peeking around the doorway.
“Daisy, bring a pitcher of milk and two glasses.”
“Yes, Mama,” replied Daisy, backing out of the doorway. In the kitchen, Daisy spoke to Violet, the youngest, who was pouring a kettle of hot water into a white, enamel dishpan.
“I’ll get even with Rosie now,” said Daisy, lifting a milk-filled pitcher from the sill of the frosted window. She carried the pitcher to the cupboard where she picked up two glass tumblers before entering the dining room. Daisy placed the glasses between Tor and Rose, filling Tor’s glass first. She smiled at him, then at her older sister. Rose’s glass was filled next, but, when the milk neared the top, Daisy poured faster. As the milk flowed over the rim, she shrieked, fumbled, and dropped the pitcher into her sister’s lap.
Rose jumped up with a shout of surprise and horror, bumping the table and upsetting two coffee cups and the half-filled gravy boat.
Tor, Namakagon, Pete, and Willard quickly slid their chairs away from the table. Tor held his milk glass in the air. Adeline reached for the empty gravy boat and bumped a nearby bowl, sending carrots and onions flying across the table and onto the floor.
“Egad!” shrieked Adeline. “Daisy Lou, look what you’ve done! Violet, bring some dishtowels. Quickly. Quickly!”
Daisy ran crying from the room, not to the kitchen, but across the parlor and up the stairs. When she was out of sight, she turned and peeked around the corner at the top of the stairway to inspect the results of her work.
The table was a mess. Milk covered the floor where Rose had been sitting. Adeline Ringstadt was using a dishtowel to sop up coffee, gravy, and carrot juice from the table. Tor was picking up carrots and onions from the floor. Rose ran into the kitchen so Tor and the adults would not see her in tears. Peter picked up his plate and fork and walked toward the parlor to finish his meal. Everyone’s shock soon turned to laughter as all pitched in to help straighten up.
Namakagon slid his chair farther back from the table. At the top of the stairway he saw Daisy peeking down, now wearing an enormous, impish grin. “This,” he said, “will be a dinner long remembered!”