I marveled at his tiny hands and feet, kissed his fingers and toes, and made up silly rhymes to sing to him. When the day was warm and the sun shining, I bundled him up and went outside to show him the sauna, the barn, the outhouse, and the summer kitchen. Of course he was too little to understand what I said, but it made me happy. Mother said that was what was important.
A happy mother and father engender a happy baby, she often said, in Finnish of course.
And Werner was happy. He cooed and smiled Arvo’s crooked smile whenever I reached for him. Too soon he was too big for the cradle, and we ordered a crib from the Sears & Roebuck catalog, even though Mother had to chip in milk money so we could afford it. She and I sewed little sheets and blankets for him, and I used the quilt she had pieced together to cover him every night.
And Arvo was right there beside me every minute until the farm began to need his time, and then he left rather grudgingly. He had taken it upon himself to wash all the baby’s diapers, and we had a lineful most every day because we changed him as soon as he got wet.
In fact, by the time he was just a few months old, we could predict when he would do his “big jobs” and so we began to set him on a little chair that Arvo had made for him, rigging up a pan to put underneath. It became a simple matter to put him on the chair, to hold him there, talking to him and playing with him while he did his business, and then simply to bring the pan into the outdoor toilet to empty and sterilize and put it back awaiting another turn.
Aini told me, when I explained what we were doing, that we were crazy. But Mother disagreed, saying that any time we could save ourselves some work by not adding to the dirty diapers, we were doing the right thing.
Arvo made sure, too, that he had a special pot for the diapers, into which went every wet one, and every morning he trekked down to the sauna with the bucket, heated the sauna until he had enough hot water, and scrubbed the wet diapers, rinsing them carefully, and hanging them on the line. We had some trouble getting the soap business right, however, because when Arvo had at first used Mother’s lye soap, Werner had broken out in a rash. So Mother had decreed he was to use the good lavendar soap she made especially for us women. That turned the trick. No more rash!
And he grew—oh, how he grew! One minute he was a tiny baby and the next minute it seemed, it was crawling all over. I used the tricks I had used at the Lappalas to keep little Daniel busy—giving him pots and pans to bang around and put inside each other while I was busy doing the dishes or washing the parts of the separator. That kept Nonny happy for a long time. It was a game he never seemed to tire of. And he loved the animals Mother knit for him—especially the teddy bear to which she had added a nose and ears made out of wood and attached through holes using strips of leather.
Once he was teething, that teddy bear’s ears and nose were an enormous help as were the hard pieces of pulla Mother cut and baked in the oven until they were brown and hard. He chewed on them with what seemed like an enormous appetite, and of course they were good for him as well as being too hard for him to bite off large pieces.
He gave us so much joy! Every day it seemed was new and exciting for him, and he always awoke in the morning or from his naps all pink and warm, with a big smile and a giggle, especially for his dad, who tickled him as he picked him up.
In fact, during those first months, I think Arvo would have nursed the baby, too, had he been able, so intent was he on helping fulfill his every need. I was actually happy when the baby nursed because then I had him all to myself. Mother and Arvo and Ronny and Eino could all vie for his attention at any other time, but then, he was mine and I was his, and I adored him.
Once spring came, Arvo was busy with the horse pulling the plow, tilling the soil, ready to plant timothy and clover in one field and potatoes in another. We also planned a big garden, which Ronny and Arvo and Eino, too, worked on. They shoveled and broke up the soil, added manure from the manure pile, and broke that up and worked it in. Mother and I took turns staying inside with Werner and being outside planting green beans, carrots, tomatoes, peas, squash, zucchini, and herbs from the seeds she had saved from the year before. We actually had a small herb garden that smelled wonderful, in large part thanks to the lavender, with which she would scent our soap later in the summer.
“Nonny” was six months old at that time and into everything. But we were so delighted at his inquisitive nature and at his endless questions, “Wha’ dat?” that we couldn’t stop his explorations. I had made some small books for him to handle out of flour-sack cloth with yarn holding them together. On each page I drew a picture of a farm animal—or tried to. Arvo finally wound up helping me with those as did Eino, who was the most artistic of any of us. We drew a picture of a cow, horse, pig, cat, dog—we still had Koira, although he was old and tired—chickens, rooster, doe, fawn, and buck, as well as a moose and a bear, although none of us was quite sure what either one really looked like!
He adored that book, willingly sat down on my lap, and first pointed to an animal and asked, “Wha’ dat?” It wasn’t long before I could do the pointing, and he would give his version of the animal’s name. We didn’t correct him, but we did say the word correctly after him. No baby-talk for us, we vowed! And yet we all did it. I caught Ronny one day holding little Nonny up in the air and saying, “Upsie, daisy, upsie, daisy!” as he held him up and down. And Eino was the worst. He sat for hours by Nonny, conducting “conversations,” with him that made no sense to any of us but obviously were enjoyed immensely by both of them.
Fourth of July came, and we discussed at length whether or not to go to Lake Leander. We had heard about the polio epidemic from the Työmies and worried about swimming. But in the end, the chance to have a picnic and to share a day with other Unitarians won out.
Mother made potato salad, and we brought along a chunk of ham that Mother had baked. My contribution was a cake. I had finally mastered the art of the seven-minute-frosting from Grandmother Tikkanen, and it was fun to use that art, and the Fourth seemed to be a good reason.
Once we got there, we were enveloped with friendships, old and new. Violet Hauala had had another baby about when I had Werner, and we compared them—to each of our secret satisfaction. Each of us was sure our baby was the cuter, the smarter, and the more adorable.
Everyone it seemed was anxious to hold Werner and so I had a chance to relax. Arvo and I went for a long walk down the winding gravel road that led to the beach and talked about nothing in particular and everything in general. He told me again how much he loved being “part of a real family.”
I had worried he would regret our not having a place of our own, but he reassured me he loved living with Mother, Ronny, and Eino. “That Eino, he does come up with the darndest things,” he told me, smiling at the memory. “One day last week he asked me—seriously—if we were going to find a bull to mate with one of our cows so we could get a calf. Evidently he has in mind the chance to raise one all by himself.”
And Ronny and that Inez Mustala! I wish to God, she’d make up her mind. Ronny’s going nuts waiting for her to choose between him and Veiko Rahikainen. As if there were really a choice!” he scoffed. “Ronny’s twice the man Veiko will ever be. It’s funny she can’t see that.”
I answered, “There’s no accounting for taste. Look at me! I’m still not back to my former skinny self,” I said, sticking out my tummy. “I’m not a grasshopper any more.”
At that he reached down, grabbed me by the waist, and swung me around and around. “You have just given me more to love!” he teased, and then turned serious. “I mean it. When we got married, I didn’t think I could ever be happier than I was that night. With you.” He looked down at me slyly, waiting for me to bonk his arm, which I did. “But you have given me so much… a son… a Mother… and two brothers. I’d say I’m getting the better of the bargain. All you got was me.”
“And that was all I w
anted… all I want… forever and ever,” I said, reaching up to kiss him.
“I wonder if there’s a place where we could…” he teased.
“Nope. We’re just an old married couple now. No high-jinks anymore!”
“Oh, I don’t think so,” he laughed, looking around for a quiet out-of-the-way spot. He found one under some Norway pine trees where the needles had been dropped and the trees had grown so tall they had cut out most of the underbrush growth. We made good use of that time apart from everyone.
Ernie had proved to be a willing companion to our little boy, bringing a picture of a tractor to put into his cradle the first time Aini, Karl, and he came for a visit, and now offering to hold him carefully in the water—“just so he can splash!” We gave our permission, and he looked so proud as he held his little cousin.
All in all, life was just about perfect that year. It’s funny how life changes, how the circle goes round and round, and how “there is a time for every purpose, to every season, a time to live and a time to die, a time to sow and a time to reap, a time to be happy ad a time to be sad.”
Sadness followed that perfect year—not deathly sadness, thank God, but sadness all the same.
22: Polio
The day started simply enough. I had been digging through my “hope chest” trying to sort out those things I wanted to keep from those I could throw away, when I found a rolled-up sheet of paper. Arvo, who had been watching me from his post on the bed, asked me to show him what I had found. Lying right next to my eighth-grade diploma was a certificate I had earned during my eighth-grade year. The sheet of paper was my cream-colored Palmer Method Business Writing award: “This certifies that (and my name was written in—Maria Jackson) has attained to a degree of excellence in the Palmer Method of Muscular Movement Business Writing and is entitled to this Student’s Certificate for Proficiency in Rapid Legible Business Writing. Given at Chicago, on June 22, 1918, with a seal and the ‘Board of Awards’ named—S.W. Palmer, C.J. Newcomb, A.A. Davis.”
It really was quite impressive.
“What does it mean?” Arvo asked.
I explained, “Right before our eighth-grade graduation, we were given a test during which we were asked to replicate certain letters and words and a line of writing. Based on the results, we either earned the certificate or were denied one. I guess I must have done well!”
“You bet you did!” It was his turn to exclaim. “I suppose I ought to put you to work as a clerk somewhere so you can use that ‘Palmer Method,’” he teased.
“Oh, certainly,” I went along with his joke. “I’m sure there’s an office right around here in Korvan Kylla needing a clerk right now.”
We both laughed. I think it was to be the very last laugh of that summer.
Later that day Eino began to complain his neck was stiff and that he was having trouble swallowing. Mother had been so afraid of polio—infantile paralysis—that she had almost refused to have us go to Lake Leander for the church picnic. But that day had come and gone weeks before, and none of us had gotten sick.
Eino had stayed in his nightshirt, which was wringing wet with sweat. His face was red, and it was obvious he had a high temperature.
“Oh, no!” Mother cried. “No, no, no!”
Arvo and I had rushed downstairs when we heard Eino’s voice, usually so high and happy, coming out with a choking sound that frightened us, too.
Mother said, “Arvo, hitch up the horse. We’ll need to bring him straight in to Virginia to see the doctor.” And she proceeded to take off his nightshirt, to lay him down on the bed he shared with Ronny, and to begin to sponge him off with cool water.
“Thank God for the kitchen pump,” I said, filling a basin with cold water.
When the cool water touched his skin, he began to shiver, and so we wrapped him in the sheet and blanket.
He threw them off. “I’m so hot!” he said.
Mother and I looked at each other, fear in both of our eyes. What should we do? He couldn’t bear the touch of the cold water, but he couldn’t bear to be wrapped up either. We were in a quandary.
Mother hurried to her “medicine chest,” took out her meager supply of medications, and said, “Let’s try this. Put some boiling water in to a cup and steep these leaves in it. I got it from an Indian woman whom I befriended years ago in Chisholm. She said it would help with fever.”
Eino tried manfully to keep the contents of the cup in his tummy, but no sooner had he swallowed the concoction than it came up, in a kind of projectile vomiting that shot past us and past the pail we had set by his bed.
“Send Ronny for Irma,” was the next step in Mother’s arsenal.
In the meantime, Arvo had the wagon ready. But Eino looked too sick to manage the jolting of the wagon box. Perhaps it would be better to send Arvo for the doctor, Mother suggested.
I agreed. We desperately needed help. Arvo unhitched the horse, got the saddle on in a hurry, and took off toward Buhl, where Dr. Raihala sometimes stopped during his rounds. If he weren’t there, Arvo would head for Virginia in hopes of finding him as soon as possible.
In the meantime, Irma arrived, took one look at Eino, and leaning over, listened to his chest. “It’s very congested,” she told us, as if we weren’t aware of that already. He had been coughing, deep racking coughs that sometimes brought up phlegm, but sometimes just served to hurt him. Mother tried the concoction again, trying to get a spoonful at a time into his mouth. That worked better. He was able to swallow a few teaspoons before he pushed her hand away in order to cough again.
“It couldn’t be pneumonia,” Irma said. “He hasn’t had a cold, has he?”
“No,” Mother answered. “No cold. He just woke up this morning telling me that his neck hurt and he was having difficulty swallowing.”
“Oh, dear, I’m afraid,” Irma began.
Mother finished her sentence. “. . . that he has somehow contracted… !” It was as if she didn’t want to say the word, as if saying it would make it true.
And yet the word hung in the air, full of dread and despair.
“I hope Arvo is able to find Dr. Raihala,” Mother said. Irma nodded.
Between the two of them, they had, for years, been able to deal with most of the ills that befell our little community. In that, they had been aided by Sally Rahikainen’s advice and her use of the kuppari.
“Should we take blood?” Mother asked.
Irma said, “No… let’s wait. I’m not sure whether it’ll help or not.”
“This is beyond everything I have at my disposal. How about you?” she asked Mother.
“I tried getting him to drink the leaves I got from the Indian woman, but he couldn’t keep much down. And his vomit… was… projectile. It flew all the way across the room. Maria had to clean it up.”
I nodded, but just then I heard little Nonny stirring and hurried upstairs to get him from his cradle. Mother usually was the first to change him. She handled him with such expertise that I deferred to her a lot. The only thing I knew to do was to nurse him, and that I did with great joy. He seemed hungry that morning and so I quickly changed him, and lying down on the bed with him next to me, leaned over so he could get my nipple into his mouth. Once that had been accomplished, I was sure of a good five to ten minutes of freedom as he drank his fill from one breast and, when I turned over, from the other.
Full and drowsy, he put his head on my shoulder, expelled a big burp, and fell back asleep for his morning nap. I was sure of at least an hour of peace, and so I ran downstairs to see if I could help at all.
Mother and Irma had barricaded the living room, from which Eino had emerged earlier. He often chose to sleep downstairs in order to keep away from the heat that rose during the day and that Ronny’s body naturally emitted.
“Don’t come in anymore,” they told me. �
�We shouldn’t have let you in the first place. If it’s contagious, we don’t want you to get it and pass it to the baby.”
Suddenly I felt terrified. I had been in that room. I had cleaned up the vomit from the wall. I had been… exposed.
“What can I do?” I asked.
“Just make us some coffee and have some yourself and some breakfast, too. We don’t want you to lose your milk.”
“Oh, no,” I hadn’t even thought of that potential. “I have had such a good supply. I won’t let anything interrupt that!” And I sat down at the table with a cup of coffee, well dosed with both sugar and cream, and a big piece of pulla, covered in butter and jam. That was enough breakfast for me that day. I wouldn’t fry bacon or bits of ham. The smell alone might hurt.
We waited… and waited… and waited.
Time went by very very slowly. Eino continued to cough, wrenching deep coughs, and to tell Mother he had a really bad headache and his throat felt as if it were closing up.
I tried to keep up with the morning chores—going upstairs to make the beds quietly so as not to wake little Nonny. It was Wednesday, which meant the washing and ironing had been done, and it was time to do some baking. I started a bread dough, made a pie crust, and had begun to mix the ingredients for a pulla when I heard the “chug, chug, chug” of a motor car and knew that Dr. Raihala had arrived.
“Thank God,” I thought, and thanked Arvo, who had ridden behind the car, and had jumped out of the saddle almost as soon as Dr. Raihala got out of the car. I fell into Arvo’s arms and told Dr. Raihala Mother and Irma were afraid…
He caught the word I didn’t say, grabbed his black bag from the back seat of the auto, and hurried into the house.
I stayed outside, safe in the comfort of Arvo’s arms, trying to tell him what had happened since he’d left but failing to get it all straight.
Gifts of the Spirit Page 26
