Gifts of the Spirit

by Patricia Eilola

  Miss Tierney looked at us, dumbfounded. She had not anticipated any trouble and had taken it for granted that, since I had long hair and blue eyes and was smaller than Ronny, I would serve as a perfect Mary. Elsie Hauala, admittedly, was prettier than I was with her blonde hair and blue eyes and the dimples she loved to show off whenever she wanted to have her own way. But she was taller than Ronny, who—like the rest of our family—tended to be on the short side.

  “What does it matter how tall I am?” she asked. “All I’m doing is sitting down holding Kivimaki’s new baby. You,” and she pointed at me, “can be an angel.”

  I wasn’t going to argue even though she looked a lot more like an angel than I did.

  Miss Tierney shook her head in despair, but I decided swiftly. “That’s okay,” Miss Tierney,” I said, “I’d be happy to be an angel.”

  So Mother rigged up a bedsheet tied with a cord for my “angel” outfit, and Miss Tierney, obviously feeling bad, used a stick to hold up a circle she made out of yellow construction paper, too, for a halo.

  The other kids—the Hokkanens and the Leinonens—were dressed almost in their normal clothes, holding sheep we had carefully drawn and cut out of heavier oak tag paper bought, I was sure, by Miss Tierney herself. The crèche we fashioned out of a saw-horse, which Ronny had sawn down so that it fit perfectly in front of Elsie. We lined it with hay, and Mrs. Kivimaki promised to dress her baby up in white especially for the program.

  Little did we know as we were planning that the baby would, indeed, be dressed in white, out of which Mother would make its funeral clothes.

  The problem had begun the night before when Mr. Kivimaki had come to get Mother and Irma Lofgren, urging us to hurry, that the baby seemed to be struggling to breathe and was turning blue.

  By the time they got to the Kivimaki’s kitchen, however, the poor thing had already expired, held in its mother’s arms. Mr. and Mrs. Kivimaki were inconsolable. They’d had four children, all of them girls. This baby had been the boy they’d been waiting for ever since her first pregnancy. All of their hopes and dreams for him were dashed in that one night.

  Later, talking together, Mother and Irma agreed he had not been strong from the very beginning. Her labor had been extraordinarily long, they remembered, even after having four, and the baby had struggled for hours to be born. They also knew they’d had a difficult time getting him to cry—finally dipping him into a basin of cold water, which created a tiny wail. Nor had he been a strong “nurser,” Mrs. Kivimaki admitted. “He sometimes just takes a few pulls and then falls away to sleep. And sometimes I have trouble waking him to nurse at all. He was just so tiny… and so good,” she sobbed. “He never made any trouble for me at all—just slept—and finally slept away.”

  So much for our Christmas tableau. No one felt at all like celebrating. So our Christmas program wound up being very short. We sang “Tonttu laulu,” but couldn’t find the will to act out all of the verses as we would usually have done—with the Tonttus (the tiny household mischief-makers and keepers of the barn, sauna, and the house) waking up from under the bridge, dancing, eating, dancing some more, and finally returning to their spots “under the bridge” from which they entered our homes to keep us safe—provided we left them a bowl of puuroa (cereal) and some milk, which we did faithfully, especially around Christmas time.

  The death of Kivimaki’s baby had an even greater effect on all of us, perhaps because of the losses we had experienced during the influenza epidemic. Most of those lost had been older—teenagers or parent-age. Very few of us had any grandparents living in Korvan Kylla. All of them were in Finland across the wide ocean and far far away.

  Mr. Leinonen made the tiny coffin, which Mother lined with a piece of silk she had saved in her wedding chest. Mrs. Kivimaki wrapped his body in the special blanket she had knit for him, and, as I said, Mother made his final dress out of an especially lovely piece of flour sack she had tatted, ready to be put in one of our hope chests as a pillow.

  Of course, at that time of year there was no way of getting the coffin into the ground even had we a way to get all of us to the Alango cemetery, and so instead of having a Christmas party at the Hall, we had a funeral.

  I’ll never forget the look of that baby—the bluish color of its lips and cheeks, the downy dark hair that had just the slightest tendency to curl atop his head, his tiny hands and fingers—as small as a doll’s.

  That was the biggest funeral I ever remember having at the Hall. Even those from our area who insisted they weren’t “hall” people and were members of the Finnish Evangelical Lutheran Church attended. Afterward we had such a plethora of goodies to eat with coffee in the downstairs lunchroom that we were taken aback by the plenty—cakes, pies, coffee cakes, coffee breads, many many dfferent kinds of pullas, some in unusual shapes instead of the normal braids, cookies, bar cookies made in a cake pan, and plenty of coffee with real cream and sugar lumps and fresh milk for the kids.

  I’m afraid we almost ate ourselves sick that afternoon. I think every woman in the community, remembering her own trials, had responded to Mrs. Kivimaki’s in the way they knew best—by baking. Many recipes were exchanged that day although some of the women, like Mother, refused to give up their secrets no matter how polite—or pushy—the asker.

  Usually after eating so much, we would have danced, or there would have been a play. Instead when we went upstairs, someone started playing the piano and Walter Alt and his group played their accordions and fiddles, and we sang both hymns and Christmas songs—all in Finnish—ending with a resounding rendition of “Maamme,” the Finnish national anthem. Many of our parents had left Finland during the time when Russia had taken over what had previously been their “Grand Duchy,” with Czar Nicholas I rescinding his earlier promise that no Finnish men would be conscripted into the Russian army. “I will not fight for the Ruskis,” many of our fathers had said, very firmly, and sought passage to the New Land where they could find work and perhaps make enough money to go back to Finland to buy a farm. Instead of leaving, they had found a congenial home—with similar lakes and pine trees and hills and access to the Big Lake—Lake Superior, which to them was almost as good as the Baltic Sea.

  Anyway, we almost always ended our get-togethers with the singing of “Maamme,” which had become the Finnish national anthem back in 1848 and had been perhaps the first indication that Finland deserved an identity of its own.

  That had, in its own way, brought a satisfying conclusion to the Christmas season—although an end none of us had anticipated. Everyone there would rather have been somewhere else until we got downstairs to the coffee and finally upstairs to the music. Then feet started tapping and voices rising, and so Christmas ended on a relatively happy—well, at least a relatively peaceful and pleasant—way—except for the Kivimakis, who left right after the funeral to grieve by themselves at their own home.

  I have to confess that Ronny, Aini, Eino, and I had been delighted at the chance to eat and sing and to be happy for even a little while. Mother had tacitly agreed, allowing us to go downstairs to feast and then upstairs again to sing. Even she, I thought, had had enough of sadness for one season.

  We were fortunate indeed to have that sadness end with the gathering at the hall and to enjoy a return to normal life.

  The funeral was held the day after Christmas—on “boxing day” when everyone usually went visiting. Instead of visiting everyone’s house, we had joined together at the Hall, and that had served its purpose—not only to put Baby Kivimaki to rest but also to allow the rest of us to gather together with some sense of family, for most of our parents had left the rest of their families back in Finland, and we had to make do with each other.

  All in all, I thought as we walked home from the Hall through the fresh snow, Ronny leading the way holding a lantern, in spite of the death of the baby, Christmas had not been completely ruined. I had held
hands with Elsie Hauala and Lorraine Leinonen, Ronny had “brothered” up with the Rahi­kain­en boys, who were on their best behavior for once, Mother had found comfort in the “breaking of bread” and the sharing of food, and Aini had met a young man named Karl Luoma, who had kept her company all through the afternoon and evening. Even though she was far too young to be “dating,” he had added to her sense of belonging.

  A bond was forged that day—one that had been building during the influenza epidemic and its difficulties, one that had been brought to fruition by the Kivimakis’ loss, which every woman felt as keenly as if he had been her own, and one that had led every man to look down at his wife and children with new eyes, for they were very precious to him, one that was to hold us together through the storms ahead even before we found our spiritual leader.

  All of that occurred to me much later, of course. At the time, I was simply aware of feeling good about the day, of feeling almost happy in spite of the sadness, and feeling very grateful for Mother and Aini and Ronny and Eino… and that Father had finally left us in peace.

  5: School

  Eighth grade graduation was then almost what college graduation has come to mean to many young people now. For most, it meant an end to their formal education, although I was set upon going to the beginning of high school in the newly built Alango School.

  That was certainly not true for Ronny. Making it to graduation night had been, for him, a major milestone, one that had been several years in coming as he had attended classes less regularly than I and had thence missed out on a lot of the material that was a part of the Minnesota State Eighth Grade Examination, prepared by the State Board of Education in Minneapolis. Passing that exam was necessary to achieving graduation, and Ronny had taken it several times, failing each time, especially on the history and geography sections, for he struggled with any memorization, unlike me, who thrived on it.

  Passing the “eighth grade common school exams” meant a lot to every family and every student.

  Miss Tierney had explained to us that the tests were taken over a period of two days. Students deemed by the Superintendent of Schools of the Unorganized Territory of the St. Louis County School District to have performed at lower than grade level are not permitted to graduate.

  The tests were considered by everyone to be “very big” because if you didn’t pass them, you couldn’t go on to high school, or—which was even worse for most of the students—you didn’t get a beautiful diploma during the graduation ceremony, an event that was attended by everyone in the community and for which we practiced and made plans starting right after Christmas.

  Our class motto was Sunrise, Not Sunset, and colors—blue and yellow (indicating the sun, which we would create carefully to fill the back of the dais on which the graduates stood). Our class song was “You Are My Sunshine.” Over the years those proved to be very common themes for eighth grade graduation ceremonies from the St. Louis County Unorganized Territory schools. I’m sure they reflected the teachers’ desire to have the students continue their education on to high school, although the number that did tended to be very small.

  I was chosen to write the class poem and the class prophecy, and Elsie Hauala was chosen to write the class history.

  I memorized so many poems during my school days that instead of writing a new one, I decided to choose one from One Hundred and One Famous Poems and, of course, my choice was “Abou Ben Adhem.” The class prophecy was just plain fun: I had Ronny become an undertaker, Elsie marry him, and they were to have sixteen children! Eino, Keino, and Veiko Rahikainen, I decided, would join the army and become master sergeants, ordering everyone else around. They loved that part! Wilfred Leinonen would, I predicted, become a county commissioner because he was always talking, and Helen Maki would make nursing her life’s work because she always had a clean rag handy for us to use when anyone got a bloody nose or scraped a finger or an arm or leg on a branch until it bled.

  That made eight of us—four to stand on either side of the sun behind us with its rays radiating out in every direction. In front of us, we decided to make a little picket fence. Ronny was a big help with that. He found a lot of small boards which we nailed together, and he even figured out a way to make the tops pointed. Out of crepe paper we knew we would make flowers—mostly yellow, of course, but with a few pink and blue with lots of green leaves.

  Oh, the plans we had! They almost took over our school days we were so excited about the graduation exercise. The superintendent of schools from the Unorganized Territory of St. Louis County District had promised to be there to give a brief address and hand us our diplomas. A member of the school board had arranged his schedule to do the actual handing out—Mr. Loren Rutter, also a representative to the Minnesota House of Representatives. We felt very important to have such prominent figures take part in our ceremony!

  But before that, Miss Tierney reminded us, we had to earn passing grades on the state board examination. She had given us sample questions:

  WRITING

  Give six rules to be observed at all times when writing.

  Write two stanzas of a poem you have memorized. Cite the title and the author.

  SPELLING

  Use the following words and expressions in sentences: some time, sometime, its, it’s.

  Syllabify and mark the accented syllables and the vowels as to show their sounds: majesty, whereby, shamefully, angrily, disagreeable.

  HISTORY

  Answer the following question in regard to the Articles of Confederation:

  From whom did he authority come to write them?

  What state was the last to ratify the Articles? When?

  In what way were the Articles weak as a governing instrument?

  GRAMMAR

  Diagram or analyze: As he approached the village, he met a number of people, but none whom he knew.

  Name and define the eight parts of speech. Give an example of each.

  AGRICULTURE (for the boys)

  Name the five worst weeds in your locality and give the best methods of eradicating them.

  MINNESOTA HISTORY

  Name the state offices and officers.

  Give events connected with the history of Minnesota for a series of dates.

  CIVIL GOVERNENT

  Give the salary and qualifications of the President.

  How are the expenses of government met?

  ARITHMETIC

  How many cubic yards of earth are thrown out in digging a cellar 24 ft. by 15 ft. by 8 ft?

  WHEW! I felt very comfortable with the writing, spelling, and grammar. (In fact, I absolutely adored diagramming sentences, and Miss Tierney and I had a game between us: Every morning she would write a compound/complex sentence on the front board, and I had to have it diagrammed by the time the first graders had finished their reading lesson. Usually I had it finished as soon as I saw it, for the words almost put themselves into place, and I could see the whole before I ever started!)

  But the arithmetic part had me worried. I’d learned long division and square roots and how to measure cubic feet, but sometimes I got the rules mixed up, especially when I was under pressure while taking the test.

  I knew I had to brush up on my history, especially the Revolutionary War and the Confederate side of the Civil War, but otherwise I felt fairly confident with that area.

  It was Ronny I worried about. I had tried to drill him, using flash cards for vocabulary study and had managed to get him to learn the basics of diagramming, which was relatively simple because he tended to understand things visually. So I used the big map Miss Tierney had in the front of the room to help him with history (and myself, too, in the process).

  We were determined that this would be his year as well as mine and that we would both stand up in front of all of our
friends and Mother and Aini and Eino to get our diplomas.

  In between my studying and my regular work at home, Mother had devised a special treat she and Aini and I enjoyed at least once every month: we were granted a visit to see Mrs. Johnson. We called her “Mrs.” out of courtesy although there never was any sign of a “Mr.,” nor did she ever remark about a husband. She simply lived alone about a mile from our house in the neatest little cottage. It had one large room, which she had divided with ingenious methods into a kitchen, a living room, and a bedroom. Her bed was screened off from the rest of the room so we never did see it, but how we loved her living room! In the center on a round table with a crocheted doily beneath it lay a Bible covered in velvet. In one corner of the room stood a china cabinet with curved glass sides and a glass door through she took four cups and saucers, a creamer and a sugar bowl, and a teapot. It felt as if she had been just sitting there waiting for us to come, for she greeted us with great joy and enthusiasm and told us to “Sit right down! I have the teapot on the stove with the water hot, and I have some special treats (and she looked right at Aini and me) for us girls.”

  As we waited to be served tea, Aini and I sat quietly together on a horse-hair couch, looking at her stereopticons, which seemed to us the most marvelous invention ever. We inserted a slide into a holder at the end of a kind of lantern through which we could view the slides, which came alive as we looked at them. They somehow became three dimensional so we could see the Eiffel Tower and Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris, the Coliseum in Rome, Westminster Abbey and St. Paul’s Cathedral in London. They were marvelous!

  Mrs. Johnson served us tea from the china pot with its matching creamer and sugar bowel. We looked at Mother when we took a china cup from the tray Mrs. Johnson held. She had tempting treats on that tray—bread and butter sliced so thin it was almost transparent and tiny cakes she had frosted with pink and yellow frosting. We knew we had to hold our cups carefully and take no more than two sugar lumps from the sugar bowl, using the tongs that lay next to it, and we were never to take more than one treat.