Ghost day, Lonny says.
A lot of the old-timer Finns claim that when they came over they brought their ghosts with them along with their luggage. Misty days bring them out. The boys say that the ghosts want to scare you and steal your soul.
Lonny, Wendell says, there’s no such thing as ghosts.
My brother Wendell wants to be a doctor, so he doesn’t hold to things he can’t squeeze between his fingers.
Look! Lonny says, pointing. There’s one right there!
I strain my eyes and see a boat with two white-haired figures appear out of the mist.
Those are mighty small ghosts, Wilbert says with a chuckle.
It ain’t ghosts at all. It’s the Bighill kids—Emil and Eli. Emil, who’s rowing, is five, and Eli is two.
Hi, May Amelia! Emil calls. His hair is so blond it’s white.
What’re you doing?
He holds up a tin pail. Daddy forgot his lunch. You going to the schoolhouse?
Yep.
Be careful. Friendly got out again, Emil says.
Friendly is the most Unfriendly bull in the entire valley. He is a big, mean, ornery Jersey and belongs to Old Man Bakkila and is always escaping out of his pen and coming over to the schoolhouse to try and kill us children. He gored little Albert Oja’s leg last year. Albert had to climb a tree to get away from him and it took three grown men to rope Friendly and drag him away.
Thanks, I say, and we start rowing again.
Mr. Bakkila should just put that animal down, Wilbert says.
A fierce wind comes up and the cap on Wendell’s head goes flying off into the water.
My cap! he cries.
I’ll get it, Wendell, I say leaning over the side of the boat.
Be Careful, May Amelia, Wilbert says.
The cap’s floated out of reach, so I kneel on the edge of the rowboat and lean over.
I Got It! I say triumphantly, but then the boat gives a lurch.
As I tumble into the cold Nasel I hear Lonny say, There She Goes.
* * *
You Fell In Again?! Miss McEwing says when I walk into the schoolhouse, dripping wet.
But Miss McEwing, I say. I was trying to get Wendell’s cap.
She just shakes her head and says, I swear you spend more time in the water than on the boat, child. Go on and get something dry from the Dunking Box before you catch a chill.
The Dunking Box is a box of old clothes that Miss McEwing keeps in a corner for times like these. They are all boys’ clothes, of course, since there are all boys in the schoolhouse except for me, but that doesn’t bother me on account of the fact that I wear overalls myself. My aunt Alice gave me a pretty new dress, but it’s hard to climb a tree in a dress.
The little potbelly stove is burning so the schoolhouse is toasty, although it smells like the inside of a barn. Most of the children must do the milking before school in the morning, including us. If you close your eyes, you can almost hear the cows lowing along to Miss McEwing’s lessons.
Good Morning, Children, Miss McEwing says loudly.
Good Morning, Miss McEwing, we say back.
Miss McEwing is the sweetest teacher we have ever had and she is also the prettiest one. Eligible bachelors from all over the valley are always showing up at the schoolhouse hoping for a chance with her. Wilbert says it will be a sad day when some man steals our teacher away, for married ladies are not permitted to teach.
The schoolhouse door opens and a little boy with blond hair in a bowl cut is shoved through. He tries to run back out but his mother shakes her head.
Sinä menet kouluun! she says in Finn which means, You Go To School!
The door shuts and the boy stands there with a belligerent look on his face. Poor Charles Hasalm hates going to the schoolhouse because he doesn’t know a lick of English and refuses to learn.
Good morning, Charles, Miss McEwing says. We are so pleased you could join us today.
He just stands there like a cow stuck in the mud.
Please sit down, Charles, she says, and finally the boy goes and sits next to my brother Wendell and puts his head down on the desk and closes his eyes.
Miss McEwing sighs and says, Let’s turn to our vocabulary lesson. Take out your slates, please.
Our schoolhouse is just bare wood floors and rough desks and benches. We children share double desks, but since I am the only girl, I have one all to myself. We are too poor to have pencils and tablets, so we use slates and chalk. Why we don’t even have any real books except for the ones Miss McEwing brought with her and the only map on the wall is the one some child drew of the world. Nasel is the center and Finland is on the other side.
The first word is Bitter, our teacher says. Can anyone tell me what this word means?
My brother Wendell, who is the smartest child in the valley, raises his hand. He should just go to school for all of us.
It means Disagreeable, he says loudly.
Very good, Wendell, Miss McEwing says. Can anyone use Bitter in a sentence?
Berle sits in front of me and he is scratching his neck so hard that there is a red spot.
Wilbert raises his hand and Miss McEwing says, Go on.
Nasel is bitter country, Wilbert says.
Nuutti Nort waves his hand wildly and Miss McEwing nods at him.
Charles is bitter because he has to go to the schoolhouse! Nuutti says loudly.
I suppose I can’t argue with that, Miss McEwing agrees. Anyone else?
I got one, Miss McEwing, Berle says.
Yes?
May Amelia is bitter because she smells like a cow, Berle pronounces, and grins back at me.
The rest of the children laugh.
I shoot my hand up and say, I got one, too, Miss McEwing!
Yes, May Amelia? Miss McEwing says.
Berle is bitter because he’s got lice, I say.
I ain’t got lice, Berle says, glaring at me.
Oh yeah? Then why’re you scratching?
It’s just fleas, he says.
Miss McEwing sighs again.
The lazy sun peeps from behind the clouds, and we children take our lunch pails outside. There are big stumps from where the men cleared the trees to make a spot for the schoolhouse. The stumps are wide as a child and we leap from one to the next, chasing each other around. Some of the boys are fishing because everyone knows that Miss McEwing is always especially sweet to the boy who catches her a fish for her supper.
After a while, nature has its way with me and so I go into the outhouse. The outhouse is uphill from an apple tree, and I can tell you that you’ll never catch me eating any apples from that tree.
I’m sitting there doing my business when I feel the outhouse shudder. But before I can move, the outhouse tips over, with Me In It!
I scramble, tugging up my drawers, and push the door open. All the boys are standing around laughing.
Ha! Ha! Berle says, hooting with laughter. Now you really are a Bitter Girl!
That was a mean trick, Berle! I shout.
It was funny! he says, his droopy eye light with laughter.
What is going on out here! Miss McEwing exclaims. And What Happened To The Outhouse?
Must not have been steady, Berle says in an innocent voice. Why, it just plain tipped over!
Berle tipped me! I say.
Tip It Back Up, Berle, or I’ll be having a word with your father, Miss McEwing says sternly.
The boys get the outhouse righted and then Miss McEwing claps her hands and says, Recess Is Over.
Everyone files into the classroom and takes their seat and Miss McEwing looks around and says in an exasperated voice, And would somebody please fetch Charles?
I go back out and peek under the schoolhouse, where Charles is curled up on the ground, staring out.
You gotta come in now, I say.
He frowns and says, Darn. I thought she forgot about me.
Miss McEwing is at her desk helping the younger children with their letters and we old
er kids are peeking out the window at a tall man with bright blond hair standing nervously outside the schoolhouse. His hair is slicked back real neatly and he’s holding a bouquet of flowers that he must have picked along the way.
Who is it? I ask.
Looks like Ike Peldo, Waino Saargard says.
He’s shaved, Wilbert says, shaking his head.
And combed his hair! Albert Oja says.
And that shirt looks pretty clean to me, Wendell adds with a frown.
Who’s going? Nuutti asks, and they all look at me.
Fine, I say. I’ll do it.
I go up to Miss McEwing carrying the tin water bucket and dipper and say, There’s no drinking water.
Oh, dear, she says. I must have forgotten to fill it this morning. Would you be a dear girl and fetch some?
Yes, ma’am, I say.
I take the bucket and fill it from the barrel that catches rainwater next to the schoolhouse. When I’m done, I walk over to Ike Peldo. All the boys are watching me through the window.
You here for Miss McEwing? I ask him.
Uh, yes I am, the man says, his cheeks blushing red. I was hoping to speak with her after school is finished.
Are those flowers for her? I ask.
Picked them myself.
Oskari Talso gave Miss McEwing a real gold bracelet.
A gold bracelet! Ike gasps.
I nod. And Aaprami Suomela gave her a velvet hat. You should see it.
He bites his lip.
I lower my voice. I don’t want to spoil the surprise, but Wild Cat Clark told me he’s planning on getting her a cougar-skin cape.
A cape, he echoes.
But those sure are pretty flowers, I say.
Poor Ike looks down at his flowers and then hands them to me.
You can have them, he says. Then he slinks off, his shoulders lowered, and the boys cheer behind me.
I feel a little bad for the poor man, but I’d feel a whole lot worse for us if we lost Miss McEwing.
After school, I stay behind at the schoolhouse to help Miss McEwing clean. We shake down the cobwebs, and empty the ashes from the stove, and sweep the floors clear of mud clopped in by the boys. I don’t mind cleaning here because Miss McEwing is interesting. She’s been to faraway places like Pennsylvania and New Jersey and they sound thrilling, not like Nasel.
Why’d you come way out here? I ask her.
For a little excitement, I suppose, she says.
You must be real disappointed, I say. ‘Cause there’s nothing exciting here.
Well, my parents aren’t very happy with me, she says.
Why? I ask. Did you wash out the yeast starter, too?
She gives me a funny look and says, Mother wanted me to marry and settle down.
Do you want to get married? I ask her.
She nods her head firmly. I very much do want to be married, May Amelia. I’m just waiting for the perfect man.
What’s a Perfect Man?
She looks out the window. Oh, he has to have a kind heart and nice manners. And he has to love books, of course.
I don’t know about that, I tell her. But if you want a fella who is smelly and spits and ain’t much of a talker, I know quite a few.
We are doing our sums when little Charles runs into the schoolhouse and slams the door shut. He stands in front of it, his hands holding it closed.
Why, Charles, Miss McEwing says with a smile. I believe this is the first time you’ve ever come into the schoolhouse under your own steam.
Charles shouts in Finn, Friendly’s After Me!
Albert topples right off his chair in a dead faint.
My goodness, Albert! Miss McEwing exclaims.
Did he get you? Berle asks.
Almost, Charles says.
What’s Charles saying? Miss McEwing demands. What’s going on?
Poor Miss McEwing is just as bad at speaking Finn as we are at speaking the English.
I say in English, Charles says Friendly’s After Him!
That bull’s out again? she says, and runs to the window. Every child leaps up from his desk and runs after her and peers out. Sure enough, Friendly’s stomping and snorting around our schoolhouse.
You got a gun, Miss McEwing? Wilbert asks.
Our sweet teacher goes pale and says, All you children stay inside, you hear me? Now get back to your desks. There will be no recess outside today.
Thanks to Friendly we are all Very Bitter Children.
I haven’t forgotten the mean trick Berle played on me. He thinks I’m just a dumb girl, but I know a thing or two because I’ve lived with a herd of boys my whole life.
The next day Friendly is nowhere in sight, so we children are allowed to play outside. Some of the boys have their fishing lines set in the Nasel, and Berle is one of them.
I creep up behind him and shout in Berle’s ear, Watch Out Here Comes Friendly!
He’s so startled he just falls right into the water!
When he comes up he’s soaking wet and the school bell’s ringing because recess is over.
Berle comes into the schoolhouse looking like a wet rat and glowering at me.
How’d you fall in? Miss McEwing asks.
May Amelia scared me! he says.
He tipped right over just like the outhouse! I say in my own defense.
Miss McEwing shakes her head and says, Berle, fetch yourself some dry clothes before you catch a chill.
Berle grabs the clothes out of the Dunking Box and stomps outside to the outhouse to change.
Miss McEwing begins reading from the McGuffey Reader to us. After a moment, she looks up and says, What is taking Berle so long?
I ain’t coming in! Berle shouts from outside the schoolhouse door.
Why? she asks.
I just ain’t!
Come in this instant! Miss McEwing says firmly.
The door bangs opens and Berle’s standing there wearing a dress. It’s tight on him and has got puffy sleeves and a lace collar.
Ha! Ha! The children laugh. Berle Looks Like A Girl! Berle Looks Like A Girl!
Miss McEwing’s eyes widen and she says, Why are you wearing a dress, Berle?
Because it was the only thing in the box, he says with a scowl.
Oh My, our teacher says, and puts her hand over her mouth to hide her amusement.
Wilbert looks at me. That your new dress? The one Auntie Alice gave you?
It sure looks a lot better on Berle, I say, laughing. The lace collar suits him fine.
CHAPTER THREE
No Kind of a Cook
Our chickens lay eggs and our cows make milk, but none of our animals can print money, so Pappa must go to work at the logging camp so that we can buy sugar and shoes. I am wearing a pair of handed-down shoes that Pappa has put new soles on three times. When I take them off at night, my feet stink of mud and manure and all the boys who wore them before me.
Pappa working at the camp breaks Mamma’s heart, for it is the most dangerous place a body can work. The men call the trees that fall on them Widow Makers and if Pappa is even a few moments late for supper, Mamma is at the window measuring a box in her head. Four blasts from the whistle at the logging camp means the death of someone’s father or brother or son. Last year Mr. Korhonen was killed when a tree fell on him, and every mother in the valley was waiting at the bottom of the camp certain it was her man who had died.
I am helping Mamma with the chores. It is Monday, which is laundry day, and we are washing the sheets.
When we get to my room, there is Buttons curled up in the quilt on our bed surrounded by her kittens. Buttons loves sleeping with Wilbert and me. The kittens climb over each other, mewling away. They’re greedy little balls of fur, trying to get at their Mamma’s milk.
May Amelia, put that cat and those kittens in the barn, or she will be floating down the Nasel by suppertime, Mamma says.
But she doesn’t do any harm, I say.
But her fleas do, Mamma snaps.
I
t takes all morning to boil the laundry and hang it on the line. It is a thankless chore because I have never met a boy who cares if he sleeps in clean sheets. But there is one chore that is never finished and that is catching babies.
Aksel Nort comes tearing into our kitchen.
You got to come quick, Miz Jackson! the boy cries, panting. The baby’s coming fast!
No baby ever comes fast, Mamma says.
Mamma is a midwife and she walks miles to catch a baby. She gets paid in pork or spuds, although Pappa never stops saying she should ask for real money. My mother always says that the sweetest sound in the world is a baby’s borning cry.
She calmly picks up her birthing basket, where she keeps her sharpest needles and best silk thread.
Now May Amelia, she chides, Make Sure Supper Is Ready when your daddy gets home from the logging camp.
Oh No! Ivan groans, May Amelia’s cooking supper.
We’re gonna starve to death! Alvin moans.
The last time Mamma went to catch a baby and I had to cook supper, I roasted a chicken and made potatoes. But it took so long to catch the bird and chop its head off and pluck the feathers that it was in the oven for but a few minutes when Pappa came home and I had to put it on the table. When I cut into it, it was raw as a baby’s bottom and the potatoes weren’t done either, so we had no supper that night and Pappa said that I was No Kind of a Cook and that I would never get a husband and he would be stuck with me till the end of his days.
Yes, Mamma, I promise. And don’t forget to fire a shot!
I won’t, she assures me.
To announce what kind of babe has come into the world, Mamma will shoot a gun—two shots for a boy, and one for a girl. Truth is, she hardly ever fires one shot. Folks say that there’s something in the Nasel water that breeds boys. And I should know, because I was the only girl around here until my baby sister Amy was born. We only had her for a short time before she got called back to Heaven, where I hope and pray there is sunshine every day.
Maybe it will be a girl, I say.
Maybe, she answers with a sad smile.
Everyone knows that boys get cranky when they are hungry, and Pappa is the biggest boy of all. I start making dinner right away so it is sure to be ready when he returns home.
I decide to make laksloda, which is salmon baked with milk and potatoes. I put all the fixings for the laksloda together and soon it is bubbling away and the whole house is filled with a wondrous smell. I can almost imagine the smile on Pappa’s face when he walks in. He’ll say, May Amelia, that is A Tasty Meal you have prepared.
The Trouble with May Amelia Page 2
