The Shrouding Woman

by Loretta Ellsworth

  I shook my head.

  “My ways are different, but if it bothers you, I will not talk about it.” She stopped, then added, “And I will only make plain butter from now on.”

  My face reddened. She knew all along that it was me who knocked over the churn. I wondered why she didn’t tell on me. “You would make plain butter?” I asked instead.

  Aunt Flo nodded. “For you, yes.”

  “Can Mae and I help?” I asked timidly.

  “Of course,” she replied eagerly. Aunt Flo’s eyes swept across the garden.

  “Shall we make a cake for our supper?” she asked, pointing to the ripe carrots that were half the size of last year’s crop.

  “Mama loved carrot cake,” I responded, and I smiled for the first time in a long while.

  Carrot Cake

  Aunt Flo and I spent the rest of the afternoon making a carrot cake to go with dinner. I chopped the vegetables and simmered them on the stove until they were soft while Aunt Flo mashed the boiled potatoes for the corn hash. While we worked, Aunt Flo reminisced about Mama.

  “I met your mother when she and Hans were newlyweds. She was a very good cook even though she was young. You are a good cook, too, Evie. That is something your mother gave you.”

  “She did teach me to make this cake,” I admitted as I added a pinch of cinnamon just how Mama showed me. “And she taught me the best way to scrub clothes and how to care for bee stings.”

  “She also gave you a love of gardening,” Aunt Flo reminded me.

  “Yes,” I replied. “Mama always declared that the fruits of our labor are sweeter on our tongues.”

  “How true,” Aunt Flo said.

  “Except for this year.” I sighed as I chopped a pitiful-looking carrot. “I’d hoped the garden would be more plentiful.”

  “Don’t give up, Evie. The year isn’t over yet. There are many weeks of sunshine and warmth still left.”

  Aunt Flo added cold meat to the hash and made patties, which she dipped in flour and fried. I added some walnuts to the cake and set it in the oven. It would be done just in time for dessert.

  When Mae saw the cake, she jumped up and down. “It smells like Mama!” she exclaimed.

  “It’s Mama’s carrot cake,” I said with pride.

  After our meal I placed the cake in the center of the table, displaying it for Papa and Mae. They both ate several pieces, commenting on how good it tasted.

  “It is as good as your mother’s cake,” Papa said, “maybe better.”

  I felt myself flush with joy.

  “I liked her johnnycake best,” Mae said with a thoughtful look on her face. “But carrot cake is good, too.”

  “What did you like best about Mama?” I asked Papa.

  He looked down a moment as if thinking. When he looked up, his eyes were moist.

  “Everything,” he said.

  Bagpipes and Ribbons

  “Caledonia is celebrating its twenty-fifth anniversary next month,” I told Mae as I examined the garden. “There will be a parade and fireworks and prizes for the best vegetables.”

  “What are you going to enter?” Mae asked.

  “Nothing.” I shook my head in dismay. I’d worked harder than ever to save Mama’s garden from blight and the sun’s wilting rays. But with all my attention it still didn’t return to its original lush state.

  “Evie and Mae.” Aunt Flo called to us with cool mugs of lemonade. “The garden is coming back nicely,” she said as she handed us our drinks.

  I frowned. “It isn’t good enough. I was hoping to win a ribbon for Mama’s squash at the Caledonia fair.”

  Aunt Flo crossed her arms. “It would be a challenge for anyone to revive it after what it’s been through.”

  I met her eyes. “It would take a miracle, wouldn’t it?”

  Aunt Flo hesitated. “Not a miracle, but perhaps more work than a young girl can do on her own.”

  I looked down at my hands, which had turned as brown as the bark of the old walnut tree. I was almost ready to give up. School would resume in just two weeks, and I would have less time to tend to the garden. Our squash had always turned a deep forest green, but the five plants that had blossomed on each of the six small hills were small and sickly looking.

  “I’ve done everything I could do,” I admitted. “But the squash just isn’t growing like it should.”

  “I see,” she replied as she studied the plants.

  “And I wanted our supply to take us through the winter this year,” I added with a sigh.

  “Have you tried thinning out the hills?” Aunt Flo asked.

  “No.” I hadn’t thought of that. “We usually leave five or six plants on each mound,” I replied.

  “Since the young plants are established, you should thin each hill to two or three plants and increase the distance between each to about eight feet. That will allow more room for growth. Then hoe and cultivate the hills.”

  “I guess I can try that,” I said as the cicadas buzzed in the distance, a sure sign that summer would be ending soon.

  School was canceled the day of the Caledonia fair. Papa woke up in a good mood.

  “It has become a prosperous year after all,” Papa said at breakfast that early September morn. “The extra acres I planted made up for the storm damage. And the vegetable garden flourished under Evie’s excellent care.”

  “Except for the beans,” I said. “They never did return. But the potatoes made up for it.” I turned to Aunt Flo. “Your idea worked. The squash has shown the most improvement.”

  “Enough to earn a ribbon today at the fair?” Aunt Flo asked.

  “Perhaps,” I replied as a glint of hope filled my chest.

  After we cleaned up the breakfast dishes we headed out. I carried several of Mama’s best-looking squash in a basket in the back of the wagon. Aunt Flo balanced a blueberry pie on her lap for the dessert table.

  “I want to see the Boys in Blue,” Mae said, worried that we would miss the parade because the streets were so full of wagons. We parked a half mile from town and walked with all the country folk, each of them carrying baskets of food and vegetables for judging.

  “Oh, dear,” Aunt Flo said when she saw the tables filled with more blueberry pies than we could count.

  “None of them tastes as good as yours,” Papa reassured her.

  I checked in the squash and received a number, which identified my vegetables. Then I joined Papa and Aunt Flo and Mae at the parade.

  We cheered at the procession of Caledonia’s war heroes and a brigade of Scottish bagpipe players dressed in tartan plaid. We listened to the mayor’s speech as he told of the town’s founding. Then we returned to the dessert table, where more than forty different kinds of cake awaited us, in addition to the pie and fresh watermelon.

  There were contests of all kinds, from corn shelling to wood splitting. Papa laughed more in one day than he had all year. Aunt Flo contributed to a celebration quilt in progress. I took Mae and left to wander back to the table where the vegetables were being judged.

  Would I even know my own squash? I wondered as I saw four long tables heaped with healthy green and gold vegetables. I followed the tables, searching for number fifty-nine.

  “It should be on the third table,” I told Mae. “Number fifty-nine.” We continued searching for my number.

  “Is it on that table, Evie?” Mae pointed at the last table, filled with vegetables decorated with colorful ribbons.

  I read the numbers on the squash. The third squash with a white ribbon looked familiar.

  “Fifty-nine,” I said aloud, and checked my ticket to make sure I had the correct number. “I took third place. I won a ribbon!” Mae and I jumped up and down, squealing with delight.

  We hurried back to tell Aunt Flo, who embraced me in a huge hug. “I had my suspicions all along that you’d win.”

  “Thanks, Aunt Flo,” I said, enjoying the moment and the hug more than I dared admit. Papa and Mae and Aunt Flo and I celebrated as w
e ate a Scottish dinner, which included my favorite dish, black pudding.

  Later the townspeople spread their blankets near the park, in anticipation of the fireworks. I met up with Edward, who had won a ribbon at the spelling bee.

  “How do you like your aunt?” Edward asked me as we walked to the park. Gertie and Rita, his older sisters, walked in front of us. I saw them look back and giggle, then whisper to each other.

  “I don’t know.” I shrugged, not wanting to admit how much I had gotten used to the sound of Aunt Flo’s humming each morning, how I enjoyed her jovial teasing with Papa. She had a way about her that seemed harsh but sort of kind at the same time. She would yell at Papa when he swore in German, then turn and smile at us as though she had just made a joke.

  I thought of how she didn’t tell Papa on me for spilling the butter. She helped me with the squash and canned all the vegetables that I picked from my garden, yet never stepped inside it, as if she understood that it was still a private place for just Mama and me. Her big hands gently braided Mae’s hair every day, and even though I often twisted my hair in a bun, I found myself longing for her touch as well.

  “I like her,” Edward said quietly. “We’re thankful for everything she did when Grandpa died.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Laying him out so nice and all. My mother says it’s a talent.”

  I hadn’t thought of it as a talent before. I remembered how Aunt Flo kept referring to it as a calling.

  “Will she do all the shrouding for the county?” Edward asked.

  “I’m not sure,” I replied, realizing that Aunt Flo could be kept very busy, especially in some of the bigger towns. I’d thought she would just do shrouding for our neighbors and a few townsfolk when needed.

  As we watched the fireworks under the night sky, I thought about Aunt Flo. It seemed that the real clue to her shrouding was stored in the wooden box underneath her bed. There was only one way to find out what was in that box.

  Stealing the Box

  It was past midnight before I dared sneak out of the loft. The wooden steps replied with a soft groan as I crept down to the first floor.

  The door to Aunt Flo’s room was partly open. I slithered into her room, my belly rubbing against the cold wood, across the braided rug until I was right up against the edge of the bed. The moonlight filtering through a tree outside cast a shadow across the room, but I couldn’t see underneath her bed. I poked my hand around and swept it back and forth, hoping to come across the box. My hand hit an object, but as I started to bring it out into the light, I realized it was one of Aunt Flo’s shoes.

  You should quit, a voice inside tugged at me. Papa would be furious, and Aunt Flo would be angry, too. She had been kind, and it was getting harder to dislike her. But curiosity had the better of me, and my hand kept sweeping until it hit something else. I slowly brought out a square object, fingering the top, recognizing it as the lid of the box.

  Suddenly something fell over the side of the bed, slightly brushing my hair. It was Aunt Flo’s hand, which now hung carelessly above me, inches from the top of my head. I couldn’t back up, so instead I wiggled underneath.

  A faint light touched a corner on the other side of the bed, so I inched myself and the box toward it. I tried to hold the box up to the light, but it jingled softly.

  Gently I put one hand in the box and the other one over my mouth in case something inside caused me to scream. I heard a squeaking noise from above as Aunt Flo turned in her sleep. I held my breath as I listened to her breathe softly. I removed my hand from the box and silently placed the lid back on top. Then I slid backward, bringing the box with me, as I made my way to the loft. I knew it was wrong to take Aunt Flo’s box, but I couldn’t stop myself. I had to know what was inside. I tucked the box under our bed. I would wake before Mae and peek inside with the morning light.

  Before I fell asleep, I heard footsteps below and the sound of Mama’s rocker. Papa couldn’t sleep again even after Aunt Flo had stuffed his pillow with hops. I wondered if Papa found Mama in her rocker just as I found her in the garden. The idea was comforting and lulled me to sleep.

  The next morning I overslept, and Aunt Flo had to wake me for school. I pushed the box even farther under my bed before I left and stuffed my winter petticoat in front of it just in case. I hurried off to school, planning to take a good look at the contents of the box immediately after I got home.

  The day passed too slowly, with an arithmetic test making it seem even longer. I could barely contain myself as I thought of what awaited me in the loft. I planned how to get rid of Mae so I would have some time alone. I would take my rag dolls outside and let her play with them, even my favorite one that Mama had made.

  All my planning was in vain, though, for when I got home, Papa was sitting with Mae in the kitchen.

  “Where’s Aunt Flo?” I asked.

  “She was called to perform a shrouding,” Papa replied. “I was just waiting for you to come home so I could get back to the chores. You’ll have to finish the wash and prepare supper tonight.”

  “A shrouding?” My voice jumped an octave. “Where?” I asked in a deliberately normal voice, trying to keep calm.

  “The other side of the county. Some new settlers lost their father to an infection. I guess they’ll most likely head back east now.” Papa shook his head, his eyes full of pity.

  A huge knot started to form in my stomach. Aunt Flo surely would have said something to Papa if she couldn’t find her box. But Papa acted like nothing was wrong, and he wasn’t one to hide his anger. I was bewildered and managed only to stammer, “O-oh,” in response.

  As soon as Papa left, I turned toward Mae with such intensity that she backed away.

  “What did I do?” she asked, cowering behind the table.

  “Go outside, Mae!” I yelled. I had to get that box back under Aunt Flo’s bed before she returned. My heart raced with fear, and I felt my face grow hot.

  Mae scrunched up her face, and I thought she would burst into tears. I forced myself to relax and fixed a smile upon my face. “Nothing is wrong, Mae. I just thought you’d like to go outside and play.”

  The urgency of my voice must have hit a chord. Mae immediately became contrary. “No, thank you.” She skipped around the kitchen to taunt me.

  “But Mae, I have work to do inside, cleaning to be done and food to prepare. You have to play outside.”

  “No, I don’t,” she answered stubbornly.

  I stomped my foot down as I felt the frustration build inside. If she didn’t go outside, she’d follow me up to the loft and wonder what I was doing searching under the bed. I couldn’t possibly confide in her. Mae’s secrets rarely lasted more than five minutes before they poured out of her, and after the butter churn incident I knew she would tell on me. I remembered my rag dolls.

  “I’ll let you play with my dolls if you go outside.”

  Even my rag dolls didn’t convince Mae. “No,” she replied in a defiant voice, as if she knew how much I wanted her to leave.

  “Fine,” I finally said. “If you stay inside, you have to work. Let’s see how good you are at snapping green beans.”

  Mae considered it for a moment. I knew she hated snapping beans, a job she was always given because it was easy. Finally she shook her head at me. “I won’t,” she insisted. “I’m going outside to find precious pebbles.”

  “Stay nearby,” I warned her, even though it was hard to contain my glee at finally getting rid of her.

  My stomach quivered as I neared the bedroom door. Already my mind was spinning through ideas on how I could keep out of trouble.

  If I put the box in a corner under her bed, maybe she’ll think she somehow missed it when she was looking. Surely a person could make a mistake like that.

  For the first time since I’d come home, my heart felt lighter, and I sensed a newfound hope. The hope turned immediately to horror when I entered my bedroom. On the end of my bed, folded very neatly, I saw my pet
ticoat.

  Sickness

  The next few hours were the longest of my life. The box was not under my bed. I searched beneath Aunt Flo’s bed, but it wasn’t there, either. Aunt Flo had the box with her, and she knew that I had stolen it.

  I was sorry, more sorry than I’d ever been in my life. I thought of telling Papa what I’d done, but I couldn’t seem to find the voice for it. Instead I swept out the kitchen, hung up the wash, and put cabbage on to boil. All the while, I felt like my heart was pulled up into my throat. Soon Aunt Flo would come back and I’d have to face her and Papa. I didn’t even get to see what was in the box. All that for nothing, and I’d be punished for it, too. I fixed supper and Papa came in to eat, commenting on how unusually quiet I was.

  “You feeling all right?” he asked.

  “Yes, Papa.”

  “Evie yelled at me,” Mae volunteered.

  “Perhaps something is bothering Evie,” Papa observed.

  I looked down and said nothing.

  The evening dragged on, and I couldn’t concentrate on anything for more than a few moments. I’d stop what I was doing and run to the door if I heard the slightest noise. I wanted a chance to apologize to Aunt Flo in private. But Papa yawned and said we all had better get to bed. I stalled, going as slowly as possible, until Papa finally blew out the lamp. I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep. I twisted and turned until Mae threatened to tell Papa that I was keeping her awake. Later I lay there quietly, wishing Aunt Flo would just come home and get it over with.

  The next thing I remembered, I felt someone shaking me. I looked up to see Aunt Flo standing above me, a dim light from outside shining in. It was almost dawn.

  “You’d better hurry,” she said. “You’ll be late for school.”

  I followed her into the kitchen and noticed that Papa’s boots were missing from the back door. He was already out doing chores.