Sweet Home Alaska

by Carole Estby Dagg

  Gloria pursed her lips, thinking. “Did your family bring any picture books? You could read to the little kids and I could read aloud in installments to the older kids. We could both have story hours.” Gloria grinned expectantly.

  Terpsichore grinned back.

  Mendel apparently had no interest in the story hours. “We should get good stuff for the library, like a subscription to Entomological News.”

  “What’s that?” Gloria and Terpsichore chorused.

  “To put it simply to the uninitiated, bug research,” Mendel said.

  Terpsichore grimaced. “Who wants to read that?”

  “I do,” said Mendel. “Think of all the new bugs I might find in Alaska Territory. I might even get one named after me.”

  “If I had something named after me, I wouldn’t want it to be a bug,” Terpsichore said.

  Gloria rapped the table with her pencil. “Before we can buy anything . . . and by the way, I think a subscription to Modern Screen or Photoplay would be a lot more popular than the Journal of Bugs.”

  “Entomological News,” Mendel said.

  “Bugs,” continued Gloria. “We have to have money. Mendel, since you’re the treasurer, would you like to move that we should all try out ways of making money?”

  “I move we make some money so we can start buying stuff for the library,” Mendel said. “And if we can’t get Entomological News right away, I think we should at least get Scientific American.”

  Gloria tapped her pencil again. “I think I only heard the first part of that motion. Do we need a second and discussion or can we just say we’ll do it?”

  “Let’s do it!” Terpsichore said.

  Mendel stood. “And let’s report back here in two weeks.”

  CHAPTER 18

  Bottles for Books

  TERPSICHORE WAS SCANNING THE COMMUNITY BULLETIN board to see if anyone had answered her ad for babysitting when she was nearly knocked over by a boisterous dog. “Oof!” Terpsichore brushed the paw prints off her shirt.

  “Come, Togo!” Mendel commanded.

  “That’s Togo? What have you been feeding her?” She crossed her arms over her chest to defend herself.

  As if to prove how much she’d grown, Togo darted up to Terpsichore’s shoulder to lick her hand. Then, tail wagging, she danced her way back to Mendel.

  “She likes you!” Mendel said.

  “I’m not sure I like her back,” Terpsichore said, wiping her slobbered-on hand on her dungarees.

  “Togo’s going to help us earn money for the library, so I bet she’ll grow on you.”

  Mendel rattled the handle of a rusted Radio Flyer wagon and held his dog still between his legs while he picked up the loose ends of two ropes he’d threaded through holes drilled into the front of the wagon and tied them to Togo’s collar.

  “So how’s Togo going to help earn money for the library?” Terpsichore said. “Are you going to give little kids rides?”

  “Togo isn’t up to pulling a heavy load yet. She’s going to start out with light stuff, like all the bottles I’m going to collect. See?” Mendel had painted a sign on one side of the box in the wagon: Bottles for Books. “I’m going to collect soda bottles and haul them to the general store for the two-cent refund.”

  “Nice sign,” Terpsichore said, “but who’s going to give you their empties when they could take them in for a refund themselves?”

  “You haven’t seen my winning ways in action.” When Mendel smiled, the sun glinted so fiercely off his braces Terpsichore had to shade her eyes against the glare. Togo whined impatiently to get moving, but danced in place.

  “Good dog, Togo.” At the sound of her name, Togo wagged her tail so hard she almost tipped over the wagon. “A boy and his dog, earning money for the library—who could resist?”

  “Good luck,” Terpsichore said.

  “Hike!” Mendel called, and Togo followed Mendel toward the CCC camp, the wagon rattling behind.

  Terpsichore turned back to the bulletin board and pulled off her notice so she could read the tiny lettering of a reply. She grinned. A new mother, Mrs. Jarlsted, needed help with her first baby. She’d been secretly dreading the possibility that someone with seven obstreperous children would reply. One baby sounded like fun.

  On the way to the store to find her mother, Terpsichore passed Gloria, who had set up an outdoor beauty salon next to where her father, who had once been a barber as well as a farmer, had set up a barbering station. “What’s that goop?” Terpsichore asked, as she pointed toward a bowl of thick, clear liquid perched on top of an apple crate beside an oak chair. Mrs. LeClerc, Gloria’s mother, was the first customer. She said, loud enough for passersby to hear, “Gloria does a much better job setting my hair than I could ever do myself. It’s worth the ten cents to me to have perfectly styled hair for church tomorrow.”

  Gloria dipped a comb into the goop in the bowl and ran it through a strand of her mother’s hair. “It’s just water with a teaspoon of unflavored gelatin dissolved in it to make it thick.” She meticulously wound the strand into a perfect snail shape and secured it with two crisscrossed bobby pins. As she continued her row of curls she said, “With two rows like this Mom will have a perfect ruff, just like our teacher, Miss Burgess.”

  As more families walked by, Mrs. LeClerc pitched her daughter’s service. “I just love the way Gloria sets my hair. It looks as good as any professional job. And she’s donating all proceeds to the new Palmer Library!”

  Gloria leaned over to whisper directly into her mother’s ear. “Good job, Mom.”

  Another woman got in line. “I guess if my husband can spare ten cents to get his hair cut, I can find ten cents to have my hair done.”

  Terpsichore pointed to the sign next to Gloria’s styling station. “What does BYOBP mean?”

  “Bring Your Own Bobby Pins,” Gloria said. “But I can use my own bobby pins today if people promise to bring them back.”

  Gloria looked up from tying a folded bandanna around her mother’s head to cover the pins. “Do you have any babysitting jobs yet?”

  “Just one,” Terpsichore said. “I guess most families have an older child or a neighbor to babysit for free. Ten cents an hour for babysitting one baby! Doesn’t that sound like fun?”

  When Terpsichore found her mother, she said, “Somebody answered my ad for babysitting. Could I go meet them?”

  “Yes, but I’d feel more comfortable if I could meet them too. I’ll go with you.”

  As Terpsichore and her mother found their way to the Jarlsteds’ tent, she noticed several blank spots where tents used to be. “Will we be moving our tent to our lot soon?”

  “Very soon,” Mother said, “for better or worse. I hate the crowding in the main camp, but I’m not eager to leave what passes for a town to live in the woods.”

  When Terpsichore arrived with Mother at the tent in the second row, eleventh from the south end, Mr. Jarlsted was coming in from one of the tent city’s community gardens. “Is one of you Terpsichore?” He pronounced the name with three syllables, Terp-si-core, which made both Terpsichore and her mother wince.

  Terpsichore raised her hand. “I’m Terpsichore,” she said, “with four syllables.”

  “With such a big name I expected someone bigger and older,” he said.

  Mother boosted Matthew up farther on one hip and extended her hand. “I’m Terpsichore’s mother and I can vouch for her ability to take care of babies.” She bounced Matthew to make him giggle. “Do you agree, Matty-boy?”

  “Named him for the Matanuska Valley, did you?” Mr. Jarlsted asked.

  “No,” Mother said. “Matty is just a nickname for Matthew.”

  “Our little one is Edna.” Mr. Jarlsted untied the tent flap and shooed Terpsichore and her mother inside. “Betsy? I have someone to help take care of little Edna for us.”

>   “Thank goodness,” Mrs. Jarlsted said. “Edna has me up half the night and I’m desperate for a rest.”

  Terpsichore knelt to look at baby Edna, swaddled in a flannel receiving blanket, her pink mouth making tiny puckered sucking movements even in her sleep. Watching Edna would be the easiest ten cents an hour she ever made. “Sure,” Terpsichore said. “How many hours a day would you like me to come?”

  Mr. and Mrs. Jarlsted exchanged a look over Terpsichore’s head. “Two hours every couple of days ought to do it,” Mr. Jarlsted said. “Can you start now?”

  “Okeydokey. Mom?” Terpsichore said.

  Terpsichore’s mother rolled her eyes at the slang she had picked up in camp. “Yes, you may,” she said, and headed back with Matthew to the Johnson tent.

  Terpsichore made herself comfortable by the cradle and rocked it gently. “Don’t worry, Mr. Jarlsted, I’ll watch Edna every minute.” She expected him to go back to the community garden but he did not.

  He shifted his hat from hand to hand, working up courage to say something. “Since Edna is asleep, and you’re earning money, I’d take it kindly if you could help take care of Edna in other ways besides just sitting there,” he said. “You know about diapers?”

  “I’ve changed lots of diapers,” Terpsichore said.

  “That’s not exactly what I was getting at,” Mr. Jarlsted said. “We had no idea a baby that little could go through so many diapers in one day. Mrs. Jarlsted and Edna have been home from the maternity tent for just a day and we’re already down to just one clean diaper left.”

  “My mother could probably loan you a couple until you get them washed,” Terpsichore said.

  “That’s just it,” he said. “How do you wash diapers without a washing machine?”

  Terpsichore didn’t like the way this conversation was going, but it wasn’t Edna’s fault her parents didn’t know how to wash diapers. “Mother has a system,” Terpsichore said as she stood. “Do you have a five-gallon bucket and a plunger you don’t mind getting holes in?”

  “I was wondering about that plunger the neighbors gave her at the baby shower,” he said. “From the way they tittered when Mrs. Jarlsted asked what it was for, I thought it was a joke. It’s got holes drilled in the top and sides of the rubber parts, so it’s about the most useless thing I can imagine. I tossed it out back.”

  “You’ll use it a lot with a new baby,” Terpsichore assured him.

  Terpsichore followed him out behind the tent where a canning kettle, hoes and rakes, and unpacked boxes were heaped up. “Will this do?” He held up a dented bucket.

  “It’ll do to start with, but you might want to round up something with a lid on it so you don’t get splashed with hot water.”

  Terpsichore didn’t have to ask where the dirty diapers were. She followed her nose to another bucket heaped with sodden diapers near the back of the tent.

  “My wife has a delicate nature. I don’t know if she’s up to handling . . . you know.”

  “She’s going to have to get used to it,” Terpsichore said. “Babies get diapers dirty and they have to get washed. Use a flat stick to scrape them into the chamber pot as you go, and then soak the diapers in a bucket like this, in water with baking soda until you’re ready to wash them.” She looked sternly at Mr. Jarlsted. “This has to be done every day.”

  “And this plunger, does this come into it?”

  “Yes,” Terpsichore said. “It’s perfect for the mother with a delicate nature, because once the diapers have been scraped off, she won’t have to touch the hot dirty water even once while she washes.

  “Now,” she said. “I’ll show you how the plunger comes in handy.” For two or three minutes, she jabbed and poked the plunger into the bucket, agitating the diapers in the pre-rinse water. “While I’m doing this, you can heat a teakettle of water to wash these in,” she said. “And bring your washing detergent.”

  Mr. Jarlsted obediently hauled a bucket of water into the tent to heat on the woodstove inside. By the time he came back out with a teakettle full of water, Terpsichore was draining off the pre-rinse water onto a row of flowers. She poured the boiling water over the diapers, scraped flakes from the bar of Fels-Naptha into the water, and began to attack the diapers again with a two-fisted grip on the plunger. “If Mrs. Jarlsted is too weak to do this by herself, you might want to learn to wash diapers too,” Terpsichore said.

  “Oh no,” Mr. Jarlsted said, backing away. “You’re doing such a good job of it I wouldn’t want to interfere. I’ll just watch so I can tell the missus how you did it.”

  Terpsichore brushed the hair out of her eyes with the back of her forearm and continued plunging.

  “I’ll just go check on Edna,” he said. “Keep up the good work!”

  If washing diapers wasn’t earning money for a new library, she would have thrown down the plunger and walked home. This wasn’t the job she expected, but she guessed it was worth it for some new books. If she got any better jobs, though, she wouldn’t be coming back to the Jarlsteds.

  CHAPTER 19

  The Library Action Committee Meets Again

  AFTER CALLING THE MEETING TO ORDER AT 11:04 A.M., Chairperson Gloria LeClerc asked for committee reports.

  Terpsichore read her report on library operations. “The Library Action Committee placed announcements for the new story times on the community bulletin board. By the second Saturday, Miss Terpsichore Johnson had fourteen in attendance for her picture book story time, which included Angus and the Ducks, Raggedy Ann Stories, and Millions of Cats. Miss Gloria LeClerc also reported eleven listeners for the second chapter of Smoky the Cowhorse, loaned to the committee by Cally and Polly Johnson.”

  Mendel stood to read his treasurer’s report. “After just two weeks Mr. Mendel Theodore Peterson has collected one hundred thirty-seven soda bottles with his Bottles for Books drive, mostly from the CCC workers. The bottles were turned in to the commissary for two cents apiece, for a total of $2.74. Miss Gloria LeClerc’s beauty service has earned $2.90, and Miss Terpsichore Johnson has earned $2.40 with her diaper laundry business. She said there probably would be a big demand for diaper washing and asked if Mr. Peterson or Miss LeClerc wanted to earn money for the library by washing diapers too. Mr. Peterson and Miss LeClerc both declined.”

  Mendel sat back down. “With our $8.04 we could get a subscription to Scientific American and still have money left over for something fun, like Amazing Stories.”

  Gloria LeClerc opened the floor to general discussion, and called first on herself. “But how many people want to read Scientific American? If we want a magazine more people would read, I still think we should have Modern Screen or Photoplay.”

  Terpsichore said, “If somebody wants a ten-cent movie magazine she could get it herself. I think we should save up for something nobody could get on their own, like a set of World Book encyclopedias. And we need basic supplies, like date-due cards and a date stamp and ink pad. I wrote to Miss Thompson, the librarian in Little Bear Lake, and she sent me her old Demco library supply catalog and a World Book brochure.”

  Terpsichore took out a folded brochure from between pages of the Demco catalog and opened it up on the table. “See? The nineteen thirty-three edition of the World Book Encyclopedia has nineteen volumes. It has science stuff and it has articles about movie stars.”

  “But not as many pictures as Photoplay,” Gloria said.

  “True, but there’s something for everybody in it,” Terpsichore said.

  Mendel leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “How much is it?”

  Terpsichore cleared her throat. “Well, we have a choice of three bindings. The cheapest is the green cloth, which is sixtynine dollars, but I think we should get the set with the blue buckram stamped with a leather grain. That’s seventy-nine dollars.” Terpsichore caressed the picture of the set bound in red. “The red bindi
ng is the prettiest, but that’s eighty-nine dollars. I know that one’s too much.”

  “They’re all too much!” Mendel said. “This is an action committee, and I think we should have some action before we’re all snowbound for the winter. There’s too much competition for bottle collecting, and once it gets colder, who’s going to want to walk around all day with wet hair in bobby pins?” He paused a moment to emphasize his last point. “And how long are you going to put up with poopy diapers?” Mendel asked.

  Terpsichore wasn’t sure either.

  “Maybe we should think of the best ways to use the money we have,” Gloria said.

  “What’s a library without a set of encyclopedias?” Terpsichore said.

  “Forget the encyclopedias,” Mendel said. “It’s impossible.”

  “It’s not impossible, just difficult,” Terpsichore said. “President Roosevelt said we have to have faith that we can control our destinies.” She leaned over the table toward Mendel. “And I think we should have faith that we can somehow earn enough money for the encyclopedias.”

  Mendel leaned forward too. Their noses were almost touching.

  “How about buying a World Almanac instead?” Gloria asked. “An almanac has lots of facts.”

  Terpsichore tucked her encyclopedia brochure back into the Demco supply catalog. Opening the catalog to one of the pages she had dog-eared, she said, “Could we at least order some supplies, like this date-due stamp and ink pad, library paste and india ink, cellophane mending tape, and these book pockets and date-due cards?”

  Mendel slid the catalog around to where he could read it. “Paying fifty-nine cents for date-due cards is ridiculous. Three-by-five index cards would work just as well and they’re a lot cheaper. And a pocket might cover up part of a magazine somebody wanted to read. Can’t you just paper clip an index card to the front?”