Tea For Two Families

by Sydney Michelle

 

Part Six

 

Beth paused at the rec room door, one hand in the patch pocket of her yellow house dress, the other gripping the door frame. Sandy was asleep on the couch, the navy and white caftan pulled over his knees, a story book lying open on the floor. Freddie sat in front of the game console, playing her favorite maze game where magic wands turned witches and ogres into treasures, and sweets and helpful magic creatures.

Beth ambled softly to the couch, tucking the caftan under Sandy and picking up the story book to lay it on the table behind. "Brave Tin Soldier" was the tale, with lots of pictures, big type, and one set of pop-up figures on the back cover. Sandy had fallen in love with the story after watching "Babes in Toyland." He had already asked if he could have a drum majorette costume for Halloween, complete with a drum major's baton. Vicky had traced one down through theatrical costumes, so Sandy would go Trick or Treating wearing a long, pleated red skirt, his hair drawn into a curled pony tail under an oversized navy shako.

"How's the game coming?"

"Not too bad. I'm at Level Five with two lives left. When I get the Gingerbread Witch into the oven, I get her chest of jewels and another life."

"Can you pause that and give me a hand? I could use some help with supper."

"Just as soon as I get over the Troll Bridge."

"Thank you, Sweetheart." Beth bent down to kiss the top of Freddie's chestnut head, just in front of her top most pony puff.

"Mom!"

"Too old for your mother's sugar?"

"You almost got me eaten by a troll."

"Sorry." Mother's are forever, but trolls, even digital ones, take precedence, I guess.

Beth settled into a chair, watching Freddie manipulate Little Red Riding Hood down the path. Red was sweetly drawn, red hood, impossibly big blue eyes, and long yellow ringlets. But this Hood's basket was lethal, much like th old cartoon, with magic wands and morphing guns, and a big battle ax for chopping up Wolfie in the last level. Never was a sweet looking girl so downright vicious.

Well, maybe Betty Jo Collins in second grade who pummeled Tommy Baker into the dirt at recess when he called her a "whore." None of us really knew what a whore was, but it sounded nasty the way he said it, and Betty Jo took umbrage. Betty Jo was not a girl you wanted to cross. She was the biggest girl in second grade, as big as any boy, and with two older brothers, she knew all the wrestling holds. Mrs. Hayworth might probably would have given Tommy a stiff talking to for his tone, if not his language, but when Betty Jo got through pounding his head into the ground and making him eat dirt before she would let him cry "Uncle," there really wasn't much need. Mrs. Hayworth did tell Betty Jo that her behavior wasn't "ladylike." Like Betty Jo cared.

Beth blinked, and looked at Freddie. Freddie was no Betty Jo, not in her light pink tank and flowered hankie hem skirt. But she liked sports, running second on Miss Fairland's junior elementary 440 relay, and playing a fair left field on the Dixiecat softball team. Still, she was girl enough to enjoy being presentable at pageants, and performing in a Miss Vicky production each year. Freddie was not shy about being the center of attention, but at least she wasn't unhappy when others had the limelight.

"Sweetheart? Are you at a stopping spot?"

Freddie sat, hunched over and face screwed up in concentration. The game dinged, and dinged, and then sounded like a Vegas slot machine paying off. "Got you!"

Freddie fumbled with the buttons before glancing over at her mother. "There. What did you want, Mother?"

"Come help me get supper ready."

Freddie glanced at Sandy's recumbent lump. "I don't suppose he could help?"

"Let him sleep. Besides, we two haven't had a chance to talk alone in ages."

Beth pushed herself out of the arm chair, her back protesting that it would really rather be prone. Freddie levered herself upright, rising almost as if wires had lifted her up. The advantage of being young and supple.

 

§§§

 

The kitchen was big enough for a small crew to prepare for parties. Beth and Freddie had plenty of room to work without stumbling over one another. Beth began assembling food to prepare while Freddie gathered up items to set the table.

"Soup tonight, Freddie. Don't forget soup spoons. And add to the lemonade, so we'll need a bowl for ice. Don't forget a trivet so that won't make a circle."

"Got it." Freddie unfolded the step stool so she could reach into the upper cabinets.

Pot on the stove, Beth twisted the opener around a soup can. "As soon as you're done in there, I need you to make the pudding."

"Do I have to? That's birl's work."

"Fredericka Glenda Brown! I will not have you talking like that. Do you think I am a birl?"

"That's different."

"And just how so?"

"Things were different back then. Before birls. Now we girls will have wives to take care of things like that."

"Fredericka Brown, I will not having you thinking like a sow. That sexist attitude wasn't pleasing when males voiced it, and it isn't any better with the shoe on the other foot. If you don't respect your wife's role and effort, you will have not have a long and happy marriage."

"Is that why you and Daddy got divorced?"

Beth stood silently, thinking as she poured water into the warming soup. "In a way, I suppose. That wasn't exactly it, but if he had respected me more, my balancing working in a travel agency, raising you two, and keeping our home together, maybe he wouldn't have cheated on me. On us."

"Could Daddy cook?"

"Barely. Times were I thought he proposed just to get decent meals regularly. I don't want you to be like that, needing support and taking for granted who provides it. So get in here, Fredericka, and learn something about getting around in a kitchen for more than raiding the refrigerator."

"If you insist, Mother."

"I do. You can make tonight's pudding. Instructions are on the box."

Freddie took up a position across the cook top island. "What do I do first?"

"You might try reading the instructions. But you'll need a large bowl, a measuring cup, a whisk, a tablespoon, and six of the egg cups. Gather those up first."

"I really need an assistant. Why don't I get Sandy? He needs to learn how too."

"You're spoiled. Let your brother sleep until supper is ready. Besides, I want us to have time to talk. Remember?" Beth brought up a wooden chopping board.

"Okay." Freddie began gathering up supplies, making only a minor show of helplessness, asking where everything was.

"Honestly, Freddie, you act as if you hadn't helped put things away a hundred times.

"I forget."

"Well, try to remember. Otherwise I'll think you're as empty headed as a simpering birl."

"Never!"

"So how are you and Sandy getting along? I thought you played together very nicely today with the Taylors over." Beth began chopping an apple for the tuna fish sandwiches.

"He's okay. But he's a bit of a tag along."

"You're older. He looks up to you. You have show him the kind of girl that he will want to marry someday. That's a big responsibility, your being older."

Freddie peered at the box directions. "It's just I'd like to be with my friends alone sometimes. Just us girls. No little brothers or birlfriends demanding attention."

"So how are you and Carol Sue getting along?"

"For a birl, he's alright. A little clingy and underfoot sometimes, but okay. He's nice to dance with at Miz Chatham's. When he's not asking if his hair is alright. Or complaining I'm upstaging him."

Beth laughed. "Carol Sue is a bit of a prima donna. He get's it from Vicky, or maybe from all the show people around them. But he is crushed if you don't notice him."

"'Three cups of milk.' Whole or low fat?"

"Whole is richer, but use low fat. It helps us mind our figures. Every little bit helps. Do you want to know how to handle Sandy?"

"Sure." Freddie opened the refrigerator for a jug of milk.

"I had a girlfriend who was 'high maintenance' as we called it. Lara ran through boyfriends like there was an endless supply of them. Which for her was almost true, what with her long golden hair, and a very nice figure. But all those bust ups kept her emotions bouncing like a ping pong ball. But then she found a boy who knew how to handle her. Know what he did?" Beth dumped the chopped apple in a glass bowl holding pickle relish.

"Ignore her?" Freddie paused, whisk in hand.

"No. Other boys had tried that and that's what would set her off. He realized she needed to be admired, reassured that she was nice enough. He made a point of complimenting her the first time he saw her every day. It didn't have to be much, a change in her hair, a different outfit, a piece of jewelry, some little something she was doing differently. He only had to do it once each day. When she knew he cared enough to notice, she relaxed and became less needy. She was completely hooked inside of a month and would do anything to please him. When he took her hand in his, she positively floated. She was his girl right through graduation." Beth dumped a small can of albacore in with the large can of light tuna.

"So what became of them?"

"Beat just a little harder. You want to blend in some air. And tilt the bowl just a little. An angle makes it easier to whisk. He married her. She got her PHT and they have four nicely spaced children."

"What's a PHT?"

Beth laughed. "Putting Hubby Through. But she has her own degree as well. In marketing. A course or two at a time, baby on her hip, a text on the counter instead of a TV soap while she fixed meals or did the wash. She says that the courses kept her brain from reverting completely while playing patty cake with the children." Beth dumped in lemon juice and reached for the bottle of dill.

"She's just a housewife?"

"Don't say it like it was a punishment. She loves caring for her children just as much as I did caring for you and Sandy. She does paid work part time now. You need to spoon the mix into the cups and put them in the 'fridge. Just because you girls here in Heraton have gotten used to the idea of birls as wives doesn't mean that all girls are repulsed by the thought of being wives and mothers. Even here."

"No way." Spoon in mid-air, Freddie looked astonished.

"Yes, way. Nowadays most of them go off to college, or to work in the city and don't come back except to visit, but upbringing isn't everything. The hormones kick in, they see traditional roles in magazines and on TV, and they have traditional grandparents. Just because a woman wants to be a wife doesn't mean she's a stupid throwback, as much as some of the more vocal damas maintain."

Freddie shut the refrigerator door. "All the males at Miss Fairland's are birls. Even the dormies. All the older girls like 'em powdered and perfumed, sweet but a little saucy."

"Miss Fairland's and Heraton are very special places, almost unique. Carol Sue will be in Miss Fairland's this fall, along with Sandy. Will you like that?"

"I guess. So long as Sandy doesn't blab how he gets me to play house with Tabitha."

"Compliment him and then tell him not to make a big deal of it. Just consider it practice for when you're a dama and you and he have your own home." Beth began to fold mayonnaise into the mixture. "Why don't you empty the dishwasher so you can stack in your dirties?"

"Okay. I don't have to marry Carol Sue. do I? I mean if he stays clingy and underfoot?"

"No, Sweetheart, you don't have to marry him. Of course Vicky and I think you two might be a match, and there's no birl quite like the birl next door, so to speak. But we'll live if you two find each someone else. Fetch me the bread and lettuce when you're done."

"I don't know if I'll get married. Birls can be nice, sometimes, but they can get in the way. And there would be all that responsibility. I might just stay here with you."

"Sweetheart, as much as I love you, part of that means at some time you have to leave and be on your own. When that happens, you'll want someone else to want you, to love you. It's normal to want to be part of a pair. If you take a wife, you must love and cherish him, appreciate what he does for you as he appreciates what you do for him."

Freddie set a loaf of whole wheat on the island top. "No crusts on mine, please."

"You want to make yours? After you get the plates and bowls out?"

"Okay." Freddie started to turn way. "Mom?"

"Yes, Sweetheart?"

"Will you ever get married again?"

"Maybe someday. Right now I've got you two, and the business. There's not a lot of time to find someone special, someone who fits me and would be fine with you two."

"Would you take a wife? Or a husband?"

"That would depend on who I found. But I've been a wife, and a wife for me might be more comfortable with Sandy. So I suppose I would look first for a wife."

Freddie set the plates on the island and began to make her sandwich. "I think I'd like that best if you do marry again."

"Are you giving me your permission to look? Are you wanting me to marry again?"

"Not really. But you said it was normal to want to be a pair. And Daddy's been gone four years now. I guess if you found someone, someone who really liked you. And us. I just want you to be happy."

"Thank you, Sweetheart. I'll let you know if I start to get interested." Beth ladled soup into bowls. "Why don't you go get Sandy while I take the food in?"

"Okay."

"Wake him gently now."

Chestnut pony puffs bobbed in acknowledgment as Freddie headed for the hall door.

 

§§§

 

Beth occupied her place at the head of the table, looking out into the garden, the hydrangeas now deep in the house shadow of the last glimmers of light. The warm glow from the brass ball light fixture would soon blot out her view.

Sandy was the first in, still rubbing sleep from his eyes. His blonde hair was a bit flat on one side from the couch pillow, but his curls were still stiff and round. Freddie trailed behind, herding her little brother along to his place.

"Now then, which one of you will say grace. Sandy?"

All three heads bent forward. "God bless this food to our bodies. And God bless Mommie for making it. Amen."

"I helped too."

"Yes, you did, Freddie. And you were very helpful. Sandy, you will help me with the dishes when we're done."

"Okay, Mommie."

"Did you have a nice nap?"

"Uh-huh." Sandy's reply was barely heard from a mouth full of cracker.

"Don't talk with your mouth full, Sandy. If you are asked a question while you are chewing, take a sip and swallow before your reply."

"Yes, Mommie."

"Did you have a dream?"

"Yes, Mommie."

"What was it about."

"I was in a house, in a big room, and I was dancing."

"With someone?"

"By myself. I was waiting for someone, I think. Then I was in the kitchen."

"And then?"

"I don't remember."

Beth patted Sandy's hand. "That's alright. Lots of dreams fade away after we wake up."

"I dream too."

"That's nice, Freddie. What do you dream about?"

"Lot's of things. Flower gardens. And scoring in softball. And soccer. But I don't like soccer."

"Do you dream that one often?"

"No. Just the other night."

"Was it scary?"

"No. I don't know why I thought of it. It was odd, since I don't like soccer and don't play that position."

"I imagine it doesn't mean anything. Or maybe you're facing something new, something you're not sure about."

"Can't think of anything like that."

"Oh well, it probably doesn't matter." Beth spooned soup, catching up with the children. She looked up to see the supper tableau faintly reflected in the window glass, the outside light gone.

"Do you dream, Mommie?"

"Sometimes, Sandy. More than I remember, I'm sure."

"What about?" Sandy started on his sandwich.

"Lots of things. Work, sometimes. Us, a lot. About your futures, sometimes. And sometimes I just dream."

"You dream about dreaming, Mom?"

"No, Freddie. Sometimes your dreams aren't about anything here. Just pleasant dreams. Beaches. Mountains. Streams. Flying."

"Like Peter Pan and Wendy?"

"Sometimes, Sandy. Or sometimes just floating. Sometimes up, sometimes down, softly like gently falling snow."

"That sounds wonderful."

"It can be. Like Judy in the "Wizard of Oz." You know, 'Somewhere — Over the rainbow.'"

"Bluebirds fly." The children's chorus chimed in.

Beth smiled. "And there you can become whatever you want to become."

"But there's no place like home. Is there, Mommie"

"No, Sandy, there isn't. And someday you will leave my nest to make a pleasant home for your family. Would you like that?"

Sandy nodded as he chewed his sandwich. He reached for his lemonade before answering. "Sam would make a wonderful dama."

"Wait 'til I tell Sam you want to play house for real."

"You'll do no such thing, Freddie. Sandy and Sam will work that out themselves without any teasing from you. Besides, it's years before that could happen, and lots could happen." A double wedding? Vicky and me? Each escorting her birl down the same aisle?

"Why don't you bring in the puddings while you think about that, Freddie."

"Pudding? What flavor?"

"Banana."

"Oh, goody."

The rest of the meal passed quickly, the only sounds the scraping of spoons and the slurping of lemonade.

"May I be excused?"

"Yes, Freddie. I hope you stuff the witch."

"Me too?"

"No, Sandy, not you. You stay and help me clear. Remember?"

"Oh. Okay."

"It won't take long. You bring in the rest of the dishes while I load the dishwasher with the things I used to prepare. Once we've loaded up, and bagged the trash, you can go read for awhile before you go to bed. How does an early tuck-in sound?"

"I did have a nap."

"Still it's been a long day, getting our hair done, and having in guests. If you feel sleepy, I'll read you a fable."

"If I feel sleepy?"

"If you feel sleepy."

"Okay."

Clean up went in a flash, Sandy trotting back and forth with the dirty dishes. Beth never had to worry that Sandy, unlike Freddie, would try to carry too much in one trip. Sandy got another lesson in using the dishwasher, filling the soap tray and being shown which cycle to choose with pots as well as dishes.

Soon enough, Beth sent Sandy to the recreation room to read for awhile, while she turned out the lights and hauled the trash bag to the roller bin by the back door. No time like the present, she rolled the bin down the drive for the morning pickup before heading back to the recreation room to watch her children, look at a booking report, and think about what she might do for more help at work.

  

  

  

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