Story Starting Over ... and Over and Over
- Thread starter Kathy in FL
- Start date
sssarawolf
Has No Life - Lives on TB
Thanks Kathy, yep everything happens or is planned for the same time. Just take a deep breath and take it minute by minute.
tired-medic
Contributing Member
Loving it!Thank you!
sssarawolf
Has No Life - Lives on TB
I just sent one of my newer daughter in laws to your blog. She is a flight attendant, loves to read and sometimes has long hours in between flights. She was grateful to be able to have more to read.
Dosadi
Brown Coat
lol, Sara, I loaded links on daughters tablet while I was using it yesterday.
She called me and jumped all over me for not telling her about mother hen along with PAC and a few others.
I'm sure she has her nose buried in reading everything she can find.
:-)
P. S. was worth getting fussed out to let another future fan know about it.
She called me and jumped all over me for not telling her about mother hen along with PAC and a few others.
I'm sure she has her nose buried in reading everything she can find.
:-)
P. S. was worth getting fussed out to let another future fan know about it.
Chapter 23
Gonna be running around like a chicken with my head cut off this week. LOL
But I promised story and here it is ... next chapter.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Chapter 23
What a grueling week this has been. Thank goodness I haven’t had to do it all in the Florida heat and humidity. Trying to look for blessings where I can find them; they’re there but I will admit to struggling to acknowledge them because of the way I was feeling and the echoes of inadequacies that still don’t want to dislodge from the hurtful places they once again took up residence. And yes, I know how much that makes me sound like a drama queen; I’m ashamed of it. But I know how I feel and that is how I feel. I will feel my feelings even if I don’t know why I feel them, but thank God I don’t emote them all over everyone else. Came close once but managed to come out of it relatively unscathed which is something I can’t always say.
Maybe it would be healthier if I could talk about things but I have no one that I can share that depth of personal information with. I’ve had an offer but … I’m trying to leave that stuff behind me; talking about it too much feels like I’m dredging it all back up and I don’t want that. Counseling was mostly over before the final decree was signed because I couldn’t afford it. I had no friends left that I felt safe discussing how I felt with. And now that I’ve moved away from everything and everyone I’m even less inclined to let anyone know just how messed up I still feel. I need this job, I can’t let anyone – certainly not anyone that would let it get back to Mr. Haines – just how unqualified I am for what I’m doing. It almost happened whether I wanted it to or not but it could have been worse and I still have my job. I just need to make sure I deserve to keep it.
Speaking of Mr. Haines, he has been in and out, mostly out, and when he is in he looks more than a little ruffled; he looks what Dad would have called road hard and hung up wet and never being given the chance to dry between rides. Tonight is the first night the power has been back on and quite frankly I feel almost drunk on the luxury of it. I know I should go to sleep but I just want to enjoy the coolness of being able to have the floor fan running to stir up the cooler night air. It isn’t air conditioning per se but given the alternative, it feels like it to me. I think he must feel the same way as he is sprawled, once again, in the recliner. And that is truly strange to think about. He made noise about going to sleep in the office but in the middle of discussing how this week has affected the schedule and routine he’d been trying to establish he fell asleep.
Monday morning after the big storm came obscenely early. Mr. Haines’ hand was still swollen and painful enough that I didn’t have to ask more than once for him to let me put a hand and wrist brace on it.
“Where did you get this?” he asked in a grimace as I adjusted the Velcro straps.
“My brother kept a couple around. After too many doubles in the garage in a row his hands would really start aching and a brace helped stabilize things and let him sleep better. I got rid of the used ones when I went through his … his belongings … after … anyway I guess I am as bad at being a pack rat as you say your grandmother was.”
A trademark snort preceded, “Not hardly you aren’t. Some of the stories my mom told about her … trust me, there is a difference in keeping a brand-new brace for your first aid kit and keeping things like the plastic that used to cover my grandfather’s suits when they would come back from the cleaners. She’d keep the paper that comes inside new shoes so they don’t lose their shape too … uncrinkle it, fold it up, and put it away in case it might be needed for something, only God knows what though. After she passed it took Mom months to find all of her stashes of stuff. More was found when Grandfather finally did some remodeling. It was a bit of a mania for her the last couple of years of her life and Grandfather wouldn’t hear of her being thwarted in any way. She got pretty upset if she thought someone was interfering with her “cost saving activities.” It was almost … well not a relief exactly but … but something that doesn’t sound right no matter what words you use but actually was when it happened. Sorry. Guess memories …”
When he glanced away looking haggard enough I started to worry I told him, “Now you’re doing it.”
“Beg your pardon?”
“Saying sorry too much. Remember … we both understand family history is important. Sharing it is important too. If you can handle mine, then I can handle yours.”
He was silent like he didn’t know how to respond then started sniffing the air before asking, “Is that …?”
“Breakfast? Yes it is … assuming you’re hungry.”
“Starving. I didn’t realize you were cooking. How since the stove lighter is electric and …” He kept following his nose through the thin morning light. He reminded me of Mr. Mole from one of my favorite childhood stories. I almost laughed.
“A grill lighter works when your starter won’t,” I told him. “And if you don’t mind can I serve breakfast on the patio? I haven’t opened but one or two shutters yet and …”
He interrupted with an “of course” and would have grabbed the tray but I managed to slide the pitcher of orange juice into his uninjured hand while I took the tray instead. Mr. Crocker was calling before either of us could finish and I wondered if the man had even slept or had been counting the minutes until he could get away with calling the Big House to give another report.
Mr. Haines sighed and said, “A good bit of Bryson City and the surrounding area is without power. That was a major line that was taken out and it sounds like a substation was also damaged in the slide in some way. I’ll need to go see what can be done but it likely isn’t going to be much but set up a chuckwagon dinner and see how difficult it is going to be to get some ice brought in and keep the water and fuel flowing for the rafting and other activities. It is going to be at least 48 to 72 hours without power. The kids are going to complain but I’ll likely have to transfer power from the dorms to the wells and fuel depot.”
I realized something at that moment. Mr. Haines does not relish having to be the bad guy or strong-arm people and that is the way he feels he is viewed when he can’t come up with an immediate solution to a problem.
I told him, “Well they’ll just have to get over it and suffer along like the rest of us. If they start to moan and groan too much tell them at least they don’t have to deal with 90+ degree heat, the equivalent humidity, and can spend a lot of their time in and out of the river.”
“There’s a silver lining,” he said with a tired grin. After a brief pause he asked, “Did I hear you right? You’ll start canning what is in the freezer and coolers if the power doesn’t come back on?”
“From the sound of things I might as well start immediately … unless there is something else you need me to do.”
“If you can keep things from spoiling and wasting all that money I just spent you take whatever time you need to do it.”
“Just one question … is the water from the cistern potable or do I need to boil it first?”
“It is sanitized with a UV light that runs on a battery and an automatic chemical drop but boiling it won’t hurt to be on the safe side.”
He left not long after that – with a couple of sandwiches I made from the relatively small amount of leftovers from the cook out – and I turned to start tackling the mess I knew I needed to try and keep from happening.
First came pumping enough water to fill one of the sinks with water and into that I set the first batch of beets for cleaning. I took what remained of the corn that didn’t get used at the cook out and decided it was just easier to can it up whole kernel style and save making creamed corn for another day. Then I just started pulling things out and got going.
There was a lot of zucchini to deal with and I made a good start with Sweet and Spicy Zucchini Relish, Zucchini Dill Pickles, round slices of both zucchini and summer squash, shredded zucchini that I canned to taste like crushed pineapple, Zucchini Salsa, Zucchini Strawberry Jelly, Zucchini Peach Jelly, and because I found a tin of it in the cabinets a batch of Old Bay Zucchini Pickle Spears. The yellow crookneck summer squash was just as numerous as the zukes had been. In addition to the rounds, I pickled some, made some Squash Jam, some bread and butter type squash pickles, and some summer squash soup.
I made a boat load of pickled beets and I also made some beet hummus because for me it is a treat. I made Savory Beet Spread, Pickled Beets and Onions, canned the beet greens, and Beet Chutney. I canned some spinach though it isn’t what I would ever say is my favorite, I do like to use it in fillings, dips, and that sort of thing. With the cabbage I canned some cole slaw, started some sauerkraut that I carried down to the cool of the basement to ferment; and, I canned and pickled asparagus. And I didn’t think I was going to survive the carrots … I canned them in sticks, pickled them with dill, canned them in a honey glaze, made a few small jars of carrot hummus, ginger pickled carrots, Mexican pickled carrots, canned carrot and ginger soup, and plain carrot slices since it just needed to be done, and then prepared several pounds to be used in other things … like soups because all of the meat leftovers had to be pressure canned as well.
I didn’t realize what time it was or how tired I was until someone grabbed my waist from behind and when I turned with a jerk I nearly went down seeing spots.
“Whoa. Okay, you’re done. Stacy pull that chair out for me.”
Finally able to recognize who’d grabbed me, “Mr. Haines?”
“Yeah. Stay put. What have you …” Then he trailed off as he finally got a look at all of the covered jars spread throughout the kitchen.
It was Stacy who said, “Wow.”
Mr. Haines looked at the jars and then looked at me and mumbled something to the effect “not a damn slave driver and who does she think she is the freaking energizer bunny.” Or something like that anyway. I was too busy drinking the semi cold bottle of sports drink Stacy had just opened for me. I nearly came out of the chair I’d been sat in when a cold, wet rag was draped across my neck.
It took me a minute but I finally told him, “Don’t pop your cork. It had to be done or everything would have spoiled. And wishing it wasn’t under these circumstances doesn’t do any good either.”
He opened his mouth then closed it with a sigh. He turned to Stacy and said, “Make sure she stays sat and finishes that drink. I’ll go see about filling some of those containers for your mother.”
Stacy watched him walk out and then turned to me and said, “You like to live dangerous. No one talks to him that way but Mom.”
“Mr. Haines is just a worry wort at heart and this was me telling him I wasn’t one of the too many things that he has to worry about. Just tell me what he meant about the containers.”
“Something happened to the converter/inverter thingie at the house. It is draining the storage batteries rather than letting the solar panels charge them up. You aren’t the only one trying to save what it is in the freezer. Lacey is over at the house giving Mom some super quick lessons in canning but they need more water.”
“What are they making?”
“Mostly it is soup and stuff this morning but now they are trying to do something with all the eggs that Dad brought home from the commissary. The families that were supposed to take delivery of them today have all said they can’t because they’ll spoil.”
“Are they pickling them?”
“Yeah, how did you know?”
“About the only way I know to save that many eggs. My grandmother used to talk about other things you could do but the eggs have to be fresh from under the hen. If Lacy runs out of recipes I’ve got some they might want to try.”
“There’s more than one way to do it?”
“I don’t know about there being more than one way but there’s certainly more than one recipe … beet pickled eggs, garlic pickled eggs, golden pickled eggs, spicy pickled eggs, jalapeno pickled eggs, Cajun pickled eggs, chipotle and adobo pickled eggs … and on and on and on and on …”
I was sliding down in the chair as I spoke and Stacy said, “You’re pretty zonked. Maybe you should go lay down or something.”
“I’m thinking about it,” I admitted.
Then a male voice said, “Do more than think about it. I don’t see anything on the stove top so you can’t use that as an excuse.”
“Aye, aye Captain,” I told Mr. Haines with a half-hearted salute.
“Stacy is right. You’re … er … zonked.”
Last thing I remember for a couple of hours was falling across the bed fulling clothed, even my shoes were still on.
But when I woke up they weren’t.
I sat up and when I opened my eyes there was a can in front of my face … a sweaty, cold can of ginger ale to be precise. I followed the hand that was holding it to find it attached to an arm and the arm belonged to Mr. Haines.
“Oh!”
He gave me a look of concern and said, “Drink some of this please.”
“God yes.”
The sugar and fizz finally hit me and I was awake and ready to apologize only Mr. Haines appearance stopped me in my tracks. He was wearing shorts and a t-shirt. He’d thrown a sheet on the recliner and was sitting back down in it. He asked, “Feeling better?”
“Yes, thank you. I’m … uh …”
“Yeah, you were out of it. Mind if I crash here again tonight?”
“No. But … have you eaten?”
“Yeah. Look, let’s just get some sleep. I’ve got another day like today to face way too damn early in the morning. And I know how that sounds and I’m not throwing it at you, I’m just too wiped out to be nice about it.”
“Uh … okay.”
And surprisingly we both went to sleep quickly after that. The next morning Mr. Haines looked like he wanted to say something when I fixed him some breakfast but was too uncomfortable to let it out … or that is what I was imagining at the time. I wanted to ask how bad his day had been but it was obvious he was throwing up walls. I’d seen Kirk do the same thing and the “No Trespassing” signs were pretty emphatic. Once burnt, twice shy; there was no way I was going to even attempt to push through that barricade.
Tuesday was a repeat of Monday except I managed to use more commonsense and didn’t wind up nearly comatose from the hot kitchen that time. I also discovered that the cold drinks had come from a Styrofoam cooler that still had some melting ice left in it.
Mid-day I was about to congratulate myself on having survived saving what was in the coolers and freezer when a couple of understaff from the other side of the Estate show up in a step van and I’m informed that I’ve been enlisted to try and save what was in the freezer and coolers over there. I didn’t have a problem with the idea of it, simply that it wasn’t something that had Mr. Haines’ stamp of approval on it. Unsure exactly what to do I called Sylvia.
Cheerful but obviously tired she said, “I heard you nearly got too hot yesterday. Are you drinking plenty of water this time?”
I sighed. “I was drinking plenty of water yesterday. Problem was I forgot to eat leaving me with a severe case of the stupids. Look, I hate to bother you but …” I went on to explain the unexpected delivery.
She was silent for a moment before asking me to give her a moment to call Mr. Crocker and that she’d get back with me. About ten minutes later the man himself called. “Shanna? Sylvia told me. This wouldn’t have come from Mr. Haines as he is over in Bryson trying to see how wide-spread the power outage is and a likely timeline to get it back on. Frankly I’m not sure who instructed the boys to bring it to you. Sylvia wasn’t sure, how much was delivered and what?”
“There’s over a hundred pounds of ground beef, several roasts, a dozen pork loins, two dozen whole chickens, and crates of fresh vegetables. I can start on this with no problem now that I’ve got the cooler and freezer here at the Big House emptied but I don’t want to touch it without some explicit authorization. There’s no work order or anything and … and after … um …”
“I understand why you would be suspicious. I’m in the dark myself. But frankly … if you can do something to save even a portion of it, it will be more than helpful. There’s another chuckwagon dinner tonight to try and feed everyone, including the Estate guests, but that’s not going to get everything used before it starts going bad. Mrs. Jacobs … one of the Senior Ladies on the Board … is in charge of the food depot and I’d heard she had planned to do something like this. I didn’t know it included the Big House in the plan or I would have warned you.”
Feeling a little trapped I said, “I’ll do what I can Mr. Crocker. Some of the meat is still frozen solid but … but I’m one person.”
“I’d send someone over if there was someone to send over,” he said apologetically.
“No, keep staff where they will do the most good. I’m just a little flummoxed on what they want me to do with it all. Cook it for the potluck? I mean the chuckwagon?”
“No, that is already covered.” After a moment he said, “Frankly this is out of my repertoire. Just do what you can, a continuation of what you’ve already been doing will likely be best. We’ll figure it out after the crisis is over.”
So that’s what I did. However, I tracked how much meat and vegetables I started with, how much I used, and what the results were. For instance, and frankly I hope it is a while before I have to see any more ground beef, the ground beef was pretty lean but I still cooked it down three-quarter of the way. While that was happening I prepared gallons of beef broth from bullion cubes. It takes about six pounds of ground beef to make eight pints. If I had canned all one hundred and ten pounds of ground beef in pints that would have meant … drumroll please … roughly one hundred and forty-six pints. Ugh. No way. Not to mention I didn’t have time for that if I was going to save as much of all the meat as I could. There were two large, old pressure canners that I’d been using – and I also pulled out my newer, smaller one – that would hold nine pints double stacked or eighteen pints total. Using those two canners, plus my own, I was able to have 45 pints of plain ground beef processing at the same time. The rest of the beef I used in other ways … spaghetti sauce, chili, taco meat, sloppy joe mix, and in soups.
Feeling more than a little panicked as it was going to take over an hour – seventy-five minutes to be precise – to finish that first batch of stuff and there was a lot more than just ground beef to deal with, I quickly started the other meat mixes simmering so that they could go straight into the canners when the plain ground beef was finished. I also pulled out the really old canner that I found down in the basement that holds 32 pints or 19 quarts at one time. One problem I knew immediately that I was going to run into was the fact that while jars were no problem … the basement seemed to be providing an endless supply of all sizes … I was going to run out of lids if I didn’t plan carefully. That’s when I switched to using quart jars for the soups and stews. I also threw the whole chickens into the Hansel and Gretel ovens to get them cooking so they could cool and be cut and shredded off the bone … and so I could have the giblets, bones, and the rest of the leftovers to make chicken broth with.
I had a wave of anxiety come over me as it often did when I started to feel like I had too many balls in the air and no one around to distract me from the stress. My hands were shaking so bad I almost couldn’t pour myself a glass of water. I wiped the tears from my eyes and then simply had no choice but to soldier on though my stomach was rolling by the time I got the pork loins cubed and prepared for canning raw-pack.
Thank goodness the stove top was enormous with multiple burners, ovens, and warming trays. I’m sure that I used a good chunk of the fuel but when I tried to say something to explain things Mr. Haines looked at me like I had lost my marbles but more of that later.
Large soup pots soon covered the stove top where the canners didn’t, and in them were things like white chicken chili, chicken soup, vegetable soup, Mexican chicken soup, beef and Guinness stew, split pea and ham soup, beef stew, ham and bean soup, and French onion soup. But then what should I find hidden in the bottom of one of the crates, covered by the three whole hams and a pork shoulder? Six commercial sized bags of meatballs, two large packages of kosher hot dogs, two dozen pounds of bulk sausage, and three packages of kielbasa links. I nearly sat down and had hysterics. Instead I stepped outside onto the patio and stood in the brief, cold rain that fell.
The rain cleared my head and washed away some of the funk I was feeling. I went inside, changed into shorts and a dry work shirt – thank goodness I had shaved my legs Saturday or I would have started to look like bigfoot’s sister. My other head scarves were dirty so I just grabbed what was on top in the drawer and it was a faded, but still obnoxious tye-dye thing that I’d made back in my early college days.
I started more pots: meatballs in spaghetti sauce, meatballs in marinara sauce, meatballs in sweet and sour sauce, meatballs in BBQ sauce, Mexican meatball soup. I sliced the kielbasa and canned them in pints with sweet and sour and BBQ sauces. The hotdogs I fit down into the type of tall, wide mouth jars that you can asparagus in and processed them like it was no big deal and didn’t look really strange when they came out. Then came the bulk sausage. About half I browned and canned like the ground beef and made sure to label well so anyone would know the difference between the two. The other half I shaped into patties, fried, and then put in jars and covered with fresh, melted lard. Maybe it isn’t how the economics teacher would say do it but Grandy and Mom had canned sausage patties like that since well before I was born and no one got sick from it; and it beat having to start from scratch every flaming morning you just needed a couple to round out the breakfast table.
The hams and shoulders were not going to be saved without a battle. As soon as the chickens came out I threw the hams in and baked them before cutting them into chunks for seasoning. Then it struck me that the light was a lot dimmer than it should be. I turned to look out into the kitchen garden and my frustration ignited my mouth. I stomped my feet and then threatened the sun with the butcher knife I was still holding. “No. No. No. You get your big ol’ butt right back up in that sky. This is no time to be laying down on the job, there is work to do. You can set later on.”
Then I heard chuckling behind me and I spun and there stood Mr. Haines, the young man that had been with Stacy Crocker in Bryson City, and Reggie and Bernie. I wanted to throw my hands up and throw something at them at the same time. Instead I just shook my head and asked, “Next time could you please catch me when I’m actually doing something that doesn’t make me look three fries short of a happy meal?”
That’s when Mr. Haines really lost it. As for the other three I don’t know if they were laughing at me or laughing at Mr. Haines laughing at me. When the man could finally draw breath – I had done my best to ignore them all and deal with trying to find some way to get some light so that I could finish what I was working on – he said, “I didn’t even recognize you in that get up.”
“Excuse me and I’ll go change back into …”
“Uh uh. Don’t bother. Too much trouble. And stop before you break your neck. What are you trying to do anyway?”
He’d taken the lantern out of my hands when I had tried to stand on a kitchen chair with it. “I’m trying to get some light so I can finish this,” I answered as calmly as I could while pointing to the mess in all directions.
“And … er … ‘this’ is what?”
I counted to ten … slowly enough that even the Neanderthals stacking up in the kitchen sensed the danger that lay close at hand … and then explained what had arrived on his doorstep not long after the lunch hour.
The humor faded from his face and the others began to sense a weather change and started carrying in some coolers before beating feet to their trucks and leaving.
“Crocker tried to call me earlier but I was working with the emergency crews, trying to find them a level area they could park their equipment. The enviro-geeks are out in full force saying that its global warming causing the unusual weather and blah, blah, blah and generally getting under foot and causing more work. Are you telling me … damn Shanna, you should have tried to call me directly.”
“And said what? You are in the midst of trying to save the start of the season. And I heard you were actually not on the Estate but in Bryson City. I just wanted to make sure I had someone in authority to sign off and confirm what I was being asked to do in case I misunderstood.”
“That’s polite. What you really mean is you were wondering if they were screwing with you and you were worried about taking a fall for something.”
“You say tomayto, I say tomahto.”
He snorted, his anger slowly receding from scorch to simmer. “Look. About this …”
“Like I told Mr. Crocker … it isn’t the work, I just wanted to get a clear message of what was expected. And while I don’t mean to sound cranky, dinner is whatever you want to dip out of any of the pots you see bubbling away. I’ve got to get back to work.”
He made some noise about helping but that’s when the calls started coming in with the day’s reports … they are normally emailed over … and with work orders he needed to approve. I managed to pull the last pressure canner off the burner a little after midnight and I jumped when he said, “Okay, that’s it. If something spoils it spoils. You look like someone has punched you and I still haven’t seen you eat anything since I’ve been home.”
“Huh?”
He didn’t say anything but somehow or other, just like the preceding night I fell comatose across the bed. We both groaned when the phone went off. Hearing a male voice near was familiar but then I nearly jumped out of my skin when I realized that familiar it might have been in the past, my current reality didn’t include it.
“Easy. I’ll get it,” he grumbled and the noise of him getting up in the dark made me realize he’d been asleep in the recliner. I was still tired enough that my vision was blurry as I looked at the clock on the wall … thankfully battery operated so it worked. It read 4:30 in the morning.
I moaned and muttered, “Somebody better be warning us of the four horsemen of the apocalypse or they’re going to wish that is all they have to worry about.”
A tired chuckled had me sitting up straight. Mr. Haines said, “I like the way you think. Unfortunately, it is nearly as bad. I was just informed that the Hen Club is coming … in full force. That was my cousin Danielle giving me a heads up. They’ll be here by seven.”
“Feed, water, or poison?” I asked as I pulled myself off the bed and headed to the chifforobe to pull a clean uniform out so I could dress for the day.
He chuckled again but then said, “I’m not going to ask you to cook for them after what was pulled yesterday. But if you could put that coffee and tea set up like you had before?”
“No electric so I’ll have to pour the coffee into the urn and no refrigeration so the cream is going to have to be the canned variety. And if anyone takes lemon in their tea it is going to have to come from a squirt bottle. Dining room? The breakfast room won’t hold a big crowd.”
“Patio.”
“Weather says rain,” I said squinting at my phone before quickly turning it off again to save the battery.
“Damn, not what we need. Did it say how much or when?”
“Just during the morning hours, brief thunderstorms whatever that is worth.”
He sighed.
Three hours later I was still scrubbing and cleaning pots and trying to get the kitchen to look less like the aftermath of a bomb strike when an older woman walked into the kitchen. I stood away from the sink and asked, “Can I help you?”
After a moment she said, “I understand there was a delivery of meat here yesterday.”
“Yes.”
“What did you do with it?”
“I got in contact with Mr. Crocker and took his direction on the matter. If you have more questions, perhaps they’d be better directed to Mr. Haines.”
That’s when I heard an all too familiar snort. “Told you Aunt Daffy.”
Gonna be running around like a chicken with my head cut off this week. LOL
But I promised story and here it is ... next chapter.
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Chapter 23
What a grueling week this has been. Thank goodness I haven’t had to do it all in the Florida heat and humidity. Trying to look for blessings where I can find them; they’re there but I will admit to struggling to acknowledge them because of the way I was feeling and the echoes of inadequacies that still don’t want to dislodge from the hurtful places they once again took up residence. And yes, I know how much that makes me sound like a drama queen; I’m ashamed of it. But I know how I feel and that is how I feel. I will feel my feelings even if I don’t know why I feel them, but thank God I don’t emote them all over everyone else. Came close once but managed to come out of it relatively unscathed which is something I can’t always say.
Maybe it would be healthier if I could talk about things but I have no one that I can share that depth of personal information with. I’ve had an offer but … I’m trying to leave that stuff behind me; talking about it too much feels like I’m dredging it all back up and I don’t want that. Counseling was mostly over before the final decree was signed because I couldn’t afford it. I had no friends left that I felt safe discussing how I felt with. And now that I’ve moved away from everything and everyone I’m even less inclined to let anyone know just how messed up I still feel. I need this job, I can’t let anyone – certainly not anyone that would let it get back to Mr. Haines – just how unqualified I am for what I’m doing. It almost happened whether I wanted it to or not but it could have been worse and I still have my job. I just need to make sure I deserve to keep it.
Speaking of Mr. Haines, he has been in and out, mostly out, and when he is in he looks more than a little ruffled; he looks what Dad would have called road hard and hung up wet and never being given the chance to dry between rides. Tonight is the first night the power has been back on and quite frankly I feel almost drunk on the luxury of it. I know I should go to sleep but I just want to enjoy the coolness of being able to have the floor fan running to stir up the cooler night air. It isn’t air conditioning per se but given the alternative, it feels like it to me. I think he must feel the same way as he is sprawled, once again, in the recliner. And that is truly strange to think about. He made noise about going to sleep in the office but in the middle of discussing how this week has affected the schedule and routine he’d been trying to establish he fell asleep.
Monday morning after the big storm came obscenely early. Mr. Haines’ hand was still swollen and painful enough that I didn’t have to ask more than once for him to let me put a hand and wrist brace on it.
“Where did you get this?” he asked in a grimace as I adjusted the Velcro straps.
“My brother kept a couple around. After too many doubles in the garage in a row his hands would really start aching and a brace helped stabilize things and let him sleep better. I got rid of the used ones when I went through his … his belongings … after … anyway I guess I am as bad at being a pack rat as you say your grandmother was.”
A trademark snort preceded, “Not hardly you aren’t. Some of the stories my mom told about her … trust me, there is a difference in keeping a brand-new brace for your first aid kit and keeping things like the plastic that used to cover my grandfather’s suits when they would come back from the cleaners. She’d keep the paper that comes inside new shoes so they don’t lose their shape too … uncrinkle it, fold it up, and put it away in case it might be needed for something, only God knows what though. After she passed it took Mom months to find all of her stashes of stuff. More was found when Grandfather finally did some remodeling. It was a bit of a mania for her the last couple of years of her life and Grandfather wouldn’t hear of her being thwarted in any way. She got pretty upset if she thought someone was interfering with her “cost saving activities.” It was almost … well not a relief exactly but … but something that doesn’t sound right no matter what words you use but actually was when it happened. Sorry. Guess memories …”
When he glanced away looking haggard enough I started to worry I told him, “Now you’re doing it.”
“Beg your pardon?”
“Saying sorry too much. Remember … we both understand family history is important. Sharing it is important too. If you can handle mine, then I can handle yours.”
He was silent like he didn’t know how to respond then started sniffing the air before asking, “Is that …?”
“Breakfast? Yes it is … assuming you’re hungry.”
“Starving. I didn’t realize you were cooking. How since the stove lighter is electric and …” He kept following his nose through the thin morning light. He reminded me of Mr. Mole from one of my favorite childhood stories. I almost laughed.
“A grill lighter works when your starter won’t,” I told him. “And if you don’t mind can I serve breakfast on the patio? I haven’t opened but one or two shutters yet and …”
He interrupted with an “of course” and would have grabbed the tray but I managed to slide the pitcher of orange juice into his uninjured hand while I took the tray instead. Mr. Crocker was calling before either of us could finish and I wondered if the man had even slept or had been counting the minutes until he could get away with calling the Big House to give another report.
Mr. Haines sighed and said, “A good bit of Bryson City and the surrounding area is without power. That was a major line that was taken out and it sounds like a substation was also damaged in the slide in some way. I’ll need to go see what can be done but it likely isn’t going to be much but set up a chuckwagon dinner and see how difficult it is going to be to get some ice brought in and keep the water and fuel flowing for the rafting and other activities. It is going to be at least 48 to 72 hours without power. The kids are going to complain but I’ll likely have to transfer power from the dorms to the wells and fuel depot.”
I realized something at that moment. Mr. Haines does not relish having to be the bad guy or strong-arm people and that is the way he feels he is viewed when he can’t come up with an immediate solution to a problem.
I told him, “Well they’ll just have to get over it and suffer along like the rest of us. If they start to moan and groan too much tell them at least they don’t have to deal with 90+ degree heat, the equivalent humidity, and can spend a lot of their time in and out of the river.”
“There’s a silver lining,” he said with a tired grin. After a brief pause he asked, “Did I hear you right? You’ll start canning what is in the freezer and coolers if the power doesn’t come back on?”
“From the sound of things I might as well start immediately … unless there is something else you need me to do.”
“If you can keep things from spoiling and wasting all that money I just spent you take whatever time you need to do it.”
“Just one question … is the water from the cistern potable or do I need to boil it first?”
“It is sanitized with a UV light that runs on a battery and an automatic chemical drop but boiling it won’t hurt to be on the safe side.”
He left not long after that – with a couple of sandwiches I made from the relatively small amount of leftovers from the cook out – and I turned to start tackling the mess I knew I needed to try and keep from happening.
First came pumping enough water to fill one of the sinks with water and into that I set the first batch of beets for cleaning. I took what remained of the corn that didn’t get used at the cook out and decided it was just easier to can it up whole kernel style and save making creamed corn for another day. Then I just started pulling things out and got going.
There was a lot of zucchini to deal with and I made a good start with Sweet and Spicy Zucchini Relish, Zucchini Dill Pickles, round slices of both zucchini and summer squash, shredded zucchini that I canned to taste like crushed pineapple, Zucchini Salsa, Zucchini Strawberry Jelly, Zucchini Peach Jelly, and because I found a tin of it in the cabinets a batch of Old Bay Zucchini Pickle Spears. The yellow crookneck summer squash was just as numerous as the zukes had been. In addition to the rounds, I pickled some, made some Squash Jam, some bread and butter type squash pickles, and some summer squash soup.
I made a boat load of pickled beets and I also made some beet hummus because for me it is a treat. I made Savory Beet Spread, Pickled Beets and Onions, canned the beet greens, and Beet Chutney. I canned some spinach though it isn’t what I would ever say is my favorite, I do like to use it in fillings, dips, and that sort of thing. With the cabbage I canned some cole slaw, started some sauerkraut that I carried down to the cool of the basement to ferment; and, I canned and pickled asparagus. And I didn’t think I was going to survive the carrots … I canned them in sticks, pickled them with dill, canned them in a honey glaze, made a few small jars of carrot hummus, ginger pickled carrots, Mexican pickled carrots, canned carrot and ginger soup, and plain carrot slices since it just needed to be done, and then prepared several pounds to be used in other things … like soups because all of the meat leftovers had to be pressure canned as well.
I didn’t realize what time it was or how tired I was until someone grabbed my waist from behind and when I turned with a jerk I nearly went down seeing spots.
“Whoa. Okay, you’re done. Stacy pull that chair out for me.”
Finally able to recognize who’d grabbed me, “Mr. Haines?”
“Yeah. Stay put. What have you …” Then he trailed off as he finally got a look at all of the covered jars spread throughout the kitchen.
It was Stacy who said, “Wow.”
Mr. Haines looked at the jars and then looked at me and mumbled something to the effect “not a damn slave driver and who does she think she is the freaking energizer bunny.” Or something like that anyway. I was too busy drinking the semi cold bottle of sports drink Stacy had just opened for me. I nearly came out of the chair I’d been sat in when a cold, wet rag was draped across my neck.
It took me a minute but I finally told him, “Don’t pop your cork. It had to be done or everything would have spoiled. And wishing it wasn’t under these circumstances doesn’t do any good either.”
He opened his mouth then closed it with a sigh. He turned to Stacy and said, “Make sure she stays sat and finishes that drink. I’ll go see about filling some of those containers for your mother.”
Stacy watched him walk out and then turned to me and said, “You like to live dangerous. No one talks to him that way but Mom.”
“Mr. Haines is just a worry wort at heart and this was me telling him I wasn’t one of the too many things that he has to worry about. Just tell me what he meant about the containers.”
“Something happened to the converter/inverter thingie at the house. It is draining the storage batteries rather than letting the solar panels charge them up. You aren’t the only one trying to save what it is in the freezer. Lacey is over at the house giving Mom some super quick lessons in canning but they need more water.”
“What are they making?”
“Mostly it is soup and stuff this morning but now they are trying to do something with all the eggs that Dad brought home from the commissary. The families that were supposed to take delivery of them today have all said they can’t because they’ll spoil.”
“Are they pickling them?”
“Yeah, how did you know?”
“About the only way I know to save that many eggs. My grandmother used to talk about other things you could do but the eggs have to be fresh from under the hen. If Lacy runs out of recipes I’ve got some they might want to try.”
“There’s more than one way to do it?”
“I don’t know about there being more than one way but there’s certainly more than one recipe … beet pickled eggs, garlic pickled eggs, golden pickled eggs, spicy pickled eggs, jalapeno pickled eggs, Cajun pickled eggs, chipotle and adobo pickled eggs … and on and on and on and on …”
I was sliding down in the chair as I spoke and Stacy said, “You’re pretty zonked. Maybe you should go lay down or something.”
“I’m thinking about it,” I admitted.
Then a male voice said, “Do more than think about it. I don’t see anything on the stove top so you can’t use that as an excuse.”
“Aye, aye Captain,” I told Mr. Haines with a half-hearted salute.
“Stacy is right. You’re … er … zonked.”
Last thing I remember for a couple of hours was falling across the bed fulling clothed, even my shoes were still on.
But when I woke up they weren’t.
I sat up and when I opened my eyes there was a can in front of my face … a sweaty, cold can of ginger ale to be precise. I followed the hand that was holding it to find it attached to an arm and the arm belonged to Mr. Haines.
“Oh!”
He gave me a look of concern and said, “Drink some of this please.”
“God yes.”
The sugar and fizz finally hit me and I was awake and ready to apologize only Mr. Haines appearance stopped me in my tracks. He was wearing shorts and a t-shirt. He’d thrown a sheet on the recliner and was sitting back down in it. He asked, “Feeling better?”
“Yes, thank you. I’m … uh …”
“Yeah, you were out of it. Mind if I crash here again tonight?”
“No. But … have you eaten?”
“Yeah. Look, let’s just get some sleep. I’ve got another day like today to face way too damn early in the morning. And I know how that sounds and I’m not throwing it at you, I’m just too wiped out to be nice about it.”
“Uh … okay.”
And surprisingly we both went to sleep quickly after that. The next morning Mr. Haines looked like he wanted to say something when I fixed him some breakfast but was too uncomfortable to let it out … or that is what I was imagining at the time. I wanted to ask how bad his day had been but it was obvious he was throwing up walls. I’d seen Kirk do the same thing and the “No Trespassing” signs were pretty emphatic. Once burnt, twice shy; there was no way I was going to even attempt to push through that barricade.
Tuesday was a repeat of Monday except I managed to use more commonsense and didn’t wind up nearly comatose from the hot kitchen that time. I also discovered that the cold drinks had come from a Styrofoam cooler that still had some melting ice left in it.
Mid-day I was about to congratulate myself on having survived saving what was in the coolers and freezer when a couple of understaff from the other side of the Estate show up in a step van and I’m informed that I’ve been enlisted to try and save what was in the freezer and coolers over there. I didn’t have a problem with the idea of it, simply that it wasn’t something that had Mr. Haines’ stamp of approval on it. Unsure exactly what to do I called Sylvia.
Cheerful but obviously tired she said, “I heard you nearly got too hot yesterday. Are you drinking plenty of water this time?”
I sighed. “I was drinking plenty of water yesterday. Problem was I forgot to eat leaving me with a severe case of the stupids. Look, I hate to bother you but …” I went on to explain the unexpected delivery.
She was silent for a moment before asking me to give her a moment to call Mr. Crocker and that she’d get back with me. About ten minutes later the man himself called. “Shanna? Sylvia told me. This wouldn’t have come from Mr. Haines as he is over in Bryson trying to see how wide-spread the power outage is and a likely timeline to get it back on. Frankly I’m not sure who instructed the boys to bring it to you. Sylvia wasn’t sure, how much was delivered and what?”
“There’s over a hundred pounds of ground beef, several roasts, a dozen pork loins, two dozen whole chickens, and crates of fresh vegetables. I can start on this with no problem now that I’ve got the cooler and freezer here at the Big House emptied but I don’t want to touch it without some explicit authorization. There’s no work order or anything and … and after … um …”
“I understand why you would be suspicious. I’m in the dark myself. But frankly … if you can do something to save even a portion of it, it will be more than helpful. There’s another chuckwagon dinner tonight to try and feed everyone, including the Estate guests, but that’s not going to get everything used before it starts going bad. Mrs. Jacobs … one of the Senior Ladies on the Board … is in charge of the food depot and I’d heard she had planned to do something like this. I didn’t know it included the Big House in the plan or I would have warned you.”
Feeling a little trapped I said, “I’ll do what I can Mr. Crocker. Some of the meat is still frozen solid but … but I’m one person.”
“I’d send someone over if there was someone to send over,” he said apologetically.
“No, keep staff where they will do the most good. I’m just a little flummoxed on what they want me to do with it all. Cook it for the potluck? I mean the chuckwagon?”
“No, that is already covered.” After a moment he said, “Frankly this is out of my repertoire. Just do what you can, a continuation of what you’ve already been doing will likely be best. We’ll figure it out after the crisis is over.”
So that’s what I did. However, I tracked how much meat and vegetables I started with, how much I used, and what the results were. For instance, and frankly I hope it is a while before I have to see any more ground beef, the ground beef was pretty lean but I still cooked it down three-quarter of the way. While that was happening I prepared gallons of beef broth from bullion cubes. It takes about six pounds of ground beef to make eight pints. If I had canned all one hundred and ten pounds of ground beef in pints that would have meant … drumroll please … roughly one hundred and forty-six pints. Ugh. No way. Not to mention I didn’t have time for that if I was going to save as much of all the meat as I could. There were two large, old pressure canners that I’d been using – and I also pulled out my newer, smaller one – that would hold nine pints double stacked or eighteen pints total. Using those two canners, plus my own, I was able to have 45 pints of plain ground beef processing at the same time. The rest of the beef I used in other ways … spaghetti sauce, chili, taco meat, sloppy joe mix, and in soups.
Feeling more than a little panicked as it was going to take over an hour – seventy-five minutes to be precise – to finish that first batch of stuff and there was a lot more than just ground beef to deal with, I quickly started the other meat mixes simmering so that they could go straight into the canners when the plain ground beef was finished. I also pulled out the really old canner that I found down in the basement that holds 32 pints or 19 quarts at one time. One problem I knew immediately that I was going to run into was the fact that while jars were no problem … the basement seemed to be providing an endless supply of all sizes … I was going to run out of lids if I didn’t plan carefully. That’s when I switched to using quart jars for the soups and stews. I also threw the whole chickens into the Hansel and Gretel ovens to get them cooking so they could cool and be cut and shredded off the bone … and so I could have the giblets, bones, and the rest of the leftovers to make chicken broth with.
I had a wave of anxiety come over me as it often did when I started to feel like I had too many balls in the air and no one around to distract me from the stress. My hands were shaking so bad I almost couldn’t pour myself a glass of water. I wiped the tears from my eyes and then simply had no choice but to soldier on though my stomach was rolling by the time I got the pork loins cubed and prepared for canning raw-pack.
Thank goodness the stove top was enormous with multiple burners, ovens, and warming trays. I’m sure that I used a good chunk of the fuel but when I tried to say something to explain things Mr. Haines looked at me like I had lost my marbles but more of that later.
Large soup pots soon covered the stove top where the canners didn’t, and in them were things like white chicken chili, chicken soup, vegetable soup, Mexican chicken soup, beef and Guinness stew, split pea and ham soup, beef stew, ham and bean soup, and French onion soup. But then what should I find hidden in the bottom of one of the crates, covered by the three whole hams and a pork shoulder? Six commercial sized bags of meatballs, two large packages of kosher hot dogs, two dozen pounds of bulk sausage, and three packages of kielbasa links. I nearly sat down and had hysterics. Instead I stepped outside onto the patio and stood in the brief, cold rain that fell.
The rain cleared my head and washed away some of the funk I was feeling. I went inside, changed into shorts and a dry work shirt – thank goodness I had shaved my legs Saturday or I would have started to look like bigfoot’s sister. My other head scarves were dirty so I just grabbed what was on top in the drawer and it was a faded, but still obnoxious tye-dye thing that I’d made back in my early college days.
I started more pots: meatballs in spaghetti sauce, meatballs in marinara sauce, meatballs in sweet and sour sauce, meatballs in BBQ sauce, Mexican meatball soup. I sliced the kielbasa and canned them in pints with sweet and sour and BBQ sauces. The hotdogs I fit down into the type of tall, wide mouth jars that you can asparagus in and processed them like it was no big deal and didn’t look really strange when they came out. Then came the bulk sausage. About half I browned and canned like the ground beef and made sure to label well so anyone would know the difference between the two. The other half I shaped into patties, fried, and then put in jars and covered with fresh, melted lard. Maybe it isn’t how the economics teacher would say do it but Grandy and Mom had canned sausage patties like that since well before I was born and no one got sick from it; and it beat having to start from scratch every flaming morning you just needed a couple to round out the breakfast table.
The hams and shoulders were not going to be saved without a battle. As soon as the chickens came out I threw the hams in and baked them before cutting them into chunks for seasoning. Then it struck me that the light was a lot dimmer than it should be. I turned to look out into the kitchen garden and my frustration ignited my mouth. I stomped my feet and then threatened the sun with the butcher knife I was still holding. “No. No. No. You get your big ol’ butt right back up in that sky. This is no time to be laying down on the job, there is work to do. You can set later on.”
Then I heard chuckling behind me and I spun and there stood Mr. Haines, the young man that had been with Stacy Crocker in Bryson City, and Reggie and Bernie. I wanted to throw my hands up and throw something at them at the same time. Instead I just shook my head and asked, “Next time could you please catch me when I’m actually doing something that doesn’t make me look three fries short of a happy meal?”
That’s when Mr. Haines really lost it. As for the other three I don’t know if they were laughing at me or laughing at Mr. Haines laughing at me. When the man could finally draw breath – I had done my best to ignore them all and deal with trying to find some way to get some light so that I could finish what I was working on – he said, “I didn’t even recognize you in that get up.”
“Excuse me and I’ll go change back into …”
“Uh uh. Don’t bother. Too much trouble. And stop before you break your neck. What are you trying to do anyway?”
He’d taken the lantern out of my hands when I had tried to stand on a kitchen chair with it. “I’m trying to get some light so I can finish this,” I answered as calmly as I could while pointing to the mess in all directions.
“And … er … ‘this’ is what?”
I counted to ten … slowly enough that even the Neanderthals stacking up in the kitchen sensed the danger that lay close at hand … and then explained what had arrived on his doorstep not long after the lunch hour.
The humor faded from his face and the others began to sense a weather change and started carrying in some coolers before beating feet to their trucks and leaving.
“Crocker tried to call me earlier but I was working with the emergency crews, trying to find them a level area they could park their equipment. The enviro-geeks are out in full force saying that its global warming causing the unusual weather and blah, blah, blah and generally getting under foot and causing more work. Are you telling me … damn Shanna, you should have tried to call me directly.”
“And said what? You are in the midst of trying to save the start of the season. And I heard you were actually not on the Estate but in Bryson City. I just wanted to make sure I had someone in authority to sign off and confirm what I was being asked to do in case I misunderstood.”
“That’s polite. What you really mean is you were wondering if they were screwing with you and you were worried about taking a fall for something.”
“You say tomayto, I say tomahto.”
He snorted, his anger slowly receding from scorch to simmer. “Look. About this …”
“Like I told Mr. Crocker … it isn’t the work, I just wanted to get a clear message of what was expected. And while I don’t mean to sound cranky, dinner is whatever you want to dip out of any of the pots you see bubbling away. I’ve got to get back to work.”
He made some noise about helping but that’s when the calls started coming in with the day’s reports … they are normally emailed over … and with work orders he needed to approve. I managed to pull the last pressure canner off the burner a little after midnight and I jumped when he said, “Okay, that’s it. If something spoils it spoils. You look like someone has punched you and I still haven’t seen you eat anything since I’ve been home.”
“Huh?”
He didn’t say anything but somehow or other, just like the preceding night I fell comatose across the bed. We both groaned when the phone went off. Hearing a male voice near was familiar but then I nearly jumped out of my skin when I realized that familiar it might have been in the past, my current reality didn’t include it.
“Easy. I’ll get it,” he grumbled and the noise of him getting up in the dark made me realize he’d been asleep in the recliner. I was still tired enough that my vision was blurry as I looked at the clock on the wall … thankfully battery operated so it worked. It read 4:30 in the morning.
I moaned and muttered, “Somebody better be warning us of the four horsemen of the apocalypse or they’re going to wish that is all they have to worry about.”
A tired chuckled had me sitting up straight. Mr. Haines said, “I like the way you think. Unfortunately, it is nearly as bad. I was just informed that the Hen Club is coming … in full force. That was my cousin Danielle giving me a heads up. They’ll be here by seven.”
“Feed, water, or poison?” I asked as I pulled myself off the bed and headed to the chifforobe to pull a clean uniform out so I could dress for the day.
He chuckled again but then said, “I’m not going to ask you to cook for them after what was pulled yesterday. But if you could put that coffee and tea set up like you had before?”
“No electric so I’ll have to pour the coffee into the urn and no refrigeration so the cream is going to have to be the canned variety. And if anyone takes lemon in their tea it is going to have to come from a squirt bottle. Dining room? The breakfast room won’t hold a big crowd.”
“Patio.”
“Weather says rain,” I said squinting at my phone before quickly turning it off again to save the battery.
“Damn, not what we need. Did it say how much or when?”
“Just during the morning hours, brief thunderstorms whatever that is worth.”
He sighed.
Three hours later I was still scrubbing and cleaning pots and trying to get the kitchen to look less like the aftermath of a bomb strike when an older woman walked into the kitchen. I stood away from the sink and asked, “Can I help you?”
After a moment she said, “I understand there was a delivery of meat here yesterday.”
“Yes.”
“What did you do with it?”
“I got in contact with Mr. Crocker and took his direction on the matter. If you have more questions, perhaps they’d be better directed to Mr. Haines.”
That’s when I heard an all too familiar snort. “Told you Aunt Daffy.”
sssarawolf
Has No Life - Lives on TB
Now I feel better, weird huh. lol Thank you. and take some deep breaths Kathy.
Jeff B.
Don’t let the Piss Ants get you down…
Another good chapter...
A question, how and where do you find the time to write? Do you start with notes and flesh out an idea or is it a "stream of consciousness" session of typing that results in your production?
As I've been reading, I've been wondering, as I just don't see how I could come up with anything remotely similar.
Regards,
Jeff B.
A question, how and where do you find the time to write? Do you start with notes and flesh out an idea or is it a "stream of consciousness" session of typing that results in your production?
As I've been reading, I've been wondering, as I just don't see how I could come up with anything remotely similar.
Regards,
Jeff B.
It's a bit of "stream of consciousness" type thing. I have a story idea ... sometimes they are scenario based and I have to create the characters and some times the idea is character based and I have to then find a scenario. News can trigger it. Hearing about someone's live or trials can trigger it. I start with a Prologue or opening chapter and then it progresses from there. I have a general idea where I want it to go but sometimes the characters or the scenario take me off in a completely unexpected direction.
For instance, in the story Gurl I had originally expected the heroine to wind up with a completely different male character but it just didn't work. Surprised the flipping heck out of me because with the change in partners the story direction radically changed from what I had planned.
I generally don't outline the story/plot to any great degree although a couple of stories I have, but I do keep a character list. One story I outlined was "Geek" and it was mostly because when the story took up residence in my imagination it was very specific and purposeful of how it would flow but very few stories are like that. I tend to have more of an outline for the bits that I've researched. For example, depending on the geographic location the story happens in I have harvest calendars with recipes that could fit various eras or cooking styles, or lists of weather challenges and when they are most likely to occur. Other stories might require a more in-depth knowledge of various hunting skills or weaponry though I don't really focus on that part too much. I have one story I'm working on where the protagonist has developed an in-depth skill in all things "tavern" and "distillery" which has been a hoot to try and work through for various reasons in the storyline.
As the story moves along I find that the character may need certain skills or I have to come up with solutions to address the setting and environment they exist in and then that makes it into the story. And because I try really hard not to wind up with any "super hero" or too many "super villain" type characters ... in other words the character traits of any given character I try to base in fact and realism as opposed to having them know-it-all or too powerful/strong/evil etc. And/or I gift the character with a physical trait or character flaw that creates a challenge for them that keeps them from being "perfect."
Bottom line I suppose is my primary reason for writing started out being stress relief and an overabundance of daydreams and mental musings running around in my head. When the writing becomes what creates stress I either have to change stories or stop writing. Unfortunately - or fortunately depending on how you look at it - that sometimes bleeds over into the story. It also really influences the "how" of how I write.
Sounds really pretentious when I try to explain it. LOL
Chapter 24
Chapter 24
I looked at Mr. Haines and he just kept grinning. Then the older woman “Aunt Daffy” asked me, “Wanna throw something at him Honey? Be my guest. It’s not like I haven’t considered it myself a time or three.”
Not sure I wanted to be pulled into that type of conversation I said, “I can make some more coffee.”
Mr. Haines started laughing even harder and then shook his head. “Nope. We’re good. Mind if we look at the jars?”
Feeling like a broken record I reminded him, “This is your house. Everything but the last few loads from last night is lined up in the dry goods pantry. Take a lantern in there with you since the shutter is still on the window. Watch where you put your feet because there are jars on the floor as well as some crates of potatoes and carrots that I haven’t gotten to yet.”
A few minutes later I heard, “What the hell?”
“Watch your head too. I had to string up a couple of bags of onions I didn’t use.”
I heard the older woman chuckle. A few minutes later they both came out and I saw a look of concern on Mr. Haines’ face. “Oh no, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing … except that is a hell of a lot of …Shanna … I … I wasn’t paying too much attention the last couple of days was I?”
“Excuse me?”
The older lady passed me and surprised me with a pat on the arm. “He’s just surprised Honey. That’s a good amount of work by anyone’s standard. Julie and the girls and I managed to save our share but it took all of us working together. You did this by yourself. Make sure that rascally boy gives you an extra day off sooner rather than later.” She turned her head. “Clint I’ll try and run the rest of them back home so you can get back to work. And for heavens sake boy, stop looking like you walked face first into a granite slab. It isn’t attractive at all.”
I watched her launch herself back towards whatever was creating the noise at the front of the house – I later found out it was all of them preparing to leave – and then turned to look at Mr. Haines. “I’m … er … sorry?”
He shook off whatever was on his mind and said, “Don’t be. Aunt Daffy is a bit of a whirlwind. But she is right, that’s … that’s a lot more work than what I was crediting it being.”
“I didn’t finish. Now that they’ve gone and the kitchen doesn’t look like Hiroshima I need to finish the veggies and …”
“Uh …”
A little warily I looked at him. “More?”
“It’s Wednesday. That woman … Lacey … is coming to get started on the garden. You mind supervising that?”
Trying to not show how inadequate I felt I smiled and said, “Of course not. I’m sure you have a ton of things you need to get to.”
He gave me a strange, searching look then said, “Right. And I’ll get to it as soon as … yeah, I … yeah. I won’t be back until late again.”
“Of course Mr. Haines.”
I held it together just long enough to hear the crunch of the gravel as he drove away in his truck. I dropped the pot I was washing and just made it to the bathroom before being sick. There wasn’t much that could come up but what there was came up with a vengeance. I hate when it hits me like that. I slid down the wall praying my heart would stop beating against my rib cage so hard it hurt. Eventually the feelings passed. The counselor called them anxiety attacks. Like knowing what they’re called somehow made them conquerable. It started after Kirk left, the day after I had accused him of … of being unfaithful, of leaving me for another woman. I hate thinking about this but it is what it is and I can’t seem to escape it. There had been a run of break ins at our complex. Kirk had fussed about paying for security that we obviously weren’t getting. That night someone broke into our apartment … and I was home at the time. I tried to call him but he wouldn’t pick up. I can’t blame him. But he picked up when the police called. Only he told them I was seeking attention. And they’d believed him … even with the marks on my neck to prove something had happened if not exactly what. Or they’d believed him until one of the patrolman caught the two men climbing over the concrete fence that surrounded the apartment complex. They matched my description exactly. One of them even still had my purse on him, and my wedding ring and necklace in his pocket. And still Kirk wouldn’t believe me, tried to say that I had to have paid the guys, that it was a set up. I think it was hearing that story that had made the mediator take a more serious look at Kirk’s accusations during the divorce proceedings. Before that he’d obviously believed Kirk and his lawyer. But with the help of the counselor we pin-pointed that it was two nights later that I’d had my first anxiety attack.
The attacks got so bad that the counselor had suggested I take medication; but, remembering what happened to my brother I never have been able to bring myself to do it. The counselor was sympathetic and started teaching me biofeedback techniques, made diet and exercise change recommendations, I even tried yoga for a couple of months but with only limited success. I’m conquering the attacks … or surviving them. What I call what I’m doing depends on how I feel. It had been a while since one made me puke though.
I managed to pull myself together and then set about gathering the seeds and seedlings that would need to be planted. I was prepared to do what needed doing but when Lacey got there she didn’t need my supervision at all. An hour into work I brought her out some water, apologizing that it wasn’t colder.
“That’s okay Ms. Field. It’s cold enough.”
After a moment in her company I looked at her and said, “You’re a restful person to be around Lacey. Thank you.”
“Huh?”
“My brain was in a tizzy. Somehow just sitting here with you I’ve been able to quiet it.”
“You know, Uncle Bernie says the same thing sometimes.”
“Well he’s right. And thank you.”
“You know Ms. Field, you’re all right. You ain’t stuck up or nuthin’.”
“Er … I hope not. Not to mention I don’t have any reason to be stuck up.”
“You come from money.”
“No I don’t.”
“You didn’t start out rich? You talk like it.”
I chuckled having been accused of the same thing before a few times. “No, I didn’t start out rich. At least not in the money department. I felt rich with my family … they were good people that raised me right and old-fashioned and … loved me.”
I was battling the sadness, probably because of the anxiety attack but she picked up on it. “They ain’t with you no more?”
I shook my head.
“That why you done moved all the way from where you come from?”
“That … and other things. I needed … a fresh start.”
“Heard someone say that once. They wanted to forget about everything that had come before. Reckon it hurt too bad.”
“Well, I … hmmm … maybe I don’t want to forget about everything that came before this. I don’t want to forget my family. But … but I just needed space from … from things. I needed a big change … a change in what I was doing and who I was becoming. It’s … a long story but basically … basically I am just looking to be a better and healthier person than I had become because of things that I had been living through for a while.”
“Did your man beat on you?”
“Good heavens … no. And I hope no one is going around saying that.”
“Some are wondering. Even Uncle Bernie and Reggie think something musta happened. They say you are way too young and pretty to want to hide out here on the Estate. They say you don’t even go have friends with the other staff that are your age. I’m hoping I didn’t make you mad.”
She looked so concerned I said, “The truth is the truth Lacey.”
“Sometimes the truth makes people angry.”
“I can see that happening … I’ve let myself get that way but these days I need the truth so that I don’t get mad. Or make mistakes. So let me explain the truth … or at least as best as I can explain the truth as I see it. I don’t feel young anymore. And in some respects, I was never like other people my age because … well because I was just raised a little different and because my mouth … sometimes I don’t have real control of what spills out of it. I had a grandmother that used to tell me even if I couldn’t always control what fell out of my mouth I could at least control how it came out. And I always hung around older people … my grandparents, people my parents’ age, my brother and his friends who were older than me. I never had much time for people my own age until I got to college and it affected in some ways how I act and talk.”
“How come you didn’t have friends your age?”
“I went to a different type of school … called a magnate school … that was focused on the performing arts. I used to take a lot of dance and music lessons where the other students were older than me.”
“You’re joshing me. What kind of dance and music?”
“A bunch of different kinds but until my junior year in high school my primary classes were in American Ballet. For music my two primary instruments were piano and the Irish flute.”
“Irish flute? You mean the tin whistle?” she asked excitedly. “YOU can play the tin whistle? My granny played the tin whistle! I ain’t heard it since she passed. Can you still play? Could you play right now?”
Lacey is an easy person to be around and makes me smile, which is what I started doing then. “It’s … it’s been a long time since I’ve played but if you don’t mind some mistakes I’ll go get my flute and see what comes out … it might not be anything but squeaks though.”
“Cain’t be no worse than when Daddy gets a toot on and then tries to play his mouth harp.”
“Uh … okay.”
When I took my flute out of the cedar chest where I had put it when Kirk started complaining that it made me sad, and I had enough things to be sad about, I was ashamed at the condition it was in. I used to religiously keep it cleaned and polished even when I wasn’t playing it anymore. I wiped it down, checked it over, and then took it outside to Lacey who was waiting patiently.
Time got away from me and I really don’t have any idea how long I played but it was more than an hour as I slowly found the rhythm and breath needed to make the smoothest sounds. I’d always had a good head for music, playing most from memory after only having heard something once or twice. My parents encouraged me but they also cautioned that it was unlikely to ever be a real career in the day and age I lived. Plus, I liked teaching just as well as my mother did though she liked the little ones and for me teaching came easier dealing with older students. At one time I’d even considered teaching music and dance but those types of positions are nearly impossible to find in the school system and are always the first ones cut so I stuck with one of my other loves and that was history.
I started on a more complicated piece than I had up to that point and it wasn’t until I noticed how silent things had gotten that I stopped and looked around. Lacey was there but so was Bernie and to my shame Mr. Haines. I jumped up, “Oh Lord … Sorry. Sorry I … I …”
Quietly Mr. Haines said, “Don’t do that.”
Putting the flute back in the case as quickly as I could I said, “I know. I won’t …”
He put his hand over mine and said, “Not that woman. I mean don’t apologize. You’ve no reason to.”
Bernie said, “Sure don’t. Haven’t heard anything that purty in a long time … a long, long time.”
Lacey jumped in and said with a huge smile, “She was playing for ME Uncle Bernie.”
I told her, “Yes I was and I’m glad I made you smile but I suppose I need to stop playing and get back to work. Thank you for listening.”
“I’ll listen some more another time. Maybe when I come back on Friday?” she asked hopefully. “Maybe you’ll bang on the piano a bit instead. There’s a great big one in that room over there,” she said pointing to the verandah drawing room.
“If … if I can get my work done and it isn’t interfering with … other things.”
That was enough to satisfy her and she and Bernie left. As soon as Lacey left my chest started to tighten up. Then Mr. Haines started talking. “You never said anything.”
Trying to buy time to avoid a lecture I started cleaning up the few things that Lacey hadn’t already put away. “About?”
“About playing.”
“Oh. Um …”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I don’t know. It … it wasn’t on the application? I’m not sure. It isn’t really important.”
“From the sound of your playing it is pretty damn important.”
A little defensively I said, “I apologized for wasting work hours.”
He drew back then shook his head. “Why do I have a feeling I should want to kick the jackass even more than I already do?” At my obviously confused look he said, “Your idiot ex-husband.”
Shocked I didn’t know what to say.
“Let me guess, somehow some way you just slowly stopped playing because somehow some way he didn’t support it. Yeah, that’s it, I can see by the fact all the color has gone out of your face and you get that panicked look in the back of your eyes when he comes up. Well, you’ve got a new job.”
“What?! I …”
“You’re gonna play for me when there’s time.”
It was like that time I ran face first into a glass wall in a house of mirrors at the State Fair and nearly knocked myself out. “Excuse me?”
“I walked back here to ask for one of them cups of teas because my head felt like it was about to fall off … and I would have been grateful if it had. I’m standing there for nearly ten minutes too shocked to say jack … er, jackcrap … only I notice my head ache is gone like it was never there in the first place. And Lacey says you play piano too? Is that what you taught?”
So I had to explain that I play flute and piano but that I can also play a few other things … including harp and guitar and simple violin pieces. “The ends of my fingers used to be nothing but calluses and my nails were non-existent.”
“Do you still dance?”
“Ballet? Lord no. Ballet is not a very forgiving type of dance. You can’t drop it and then pick it back up. I had to give it up my senior year of high school.”
“Why?” he asked as we finally moved back into the house by way of the kitchen entrance.
“Summer after my junior year I caught mono, caught it bad enough that I was out of commission for two solid months. I wasn’t allowed to do any kind of exercising because my spleen was badly enlarged, not to mention I slept more than was awake most days. By the time I was healthy enough to start back to school my … my body type had changed and I could never seem to rebuild my stamina fast enough to keep up with where I had been before. I transferred my time into things like tap, jazz, and interpretive dance and joined the cheer squad … you know the girls that dance with the flags and such … because I knew some of those girls from my dance classes and they needed a new squad member when one of the other girls got pregnant and … sorry for the tangent. TMI.”
“No. Not at all,” he said sitting at the table and allowing me to get him some water. “By the way, we’re going to the chuckwagon tonight.”
“What time will you be home? Should I leave a lantern on?”
“Ha! Good one. I saw WE are going to the chuckwagon tonight. Aunt Daffy has decreed it.”
The look on my face must have been something else because it was obvious Mr. Haines was trying not to laugh. “I did warn you that the Hen Club could be demanding holy terrors. And apparently now that Aunt Daffy has met you the rest of them want to meet you too.”
“They met me at the Memorial Day cook out!” I squeaked.
“Ah, but now you’re interesting.”
“No I’m not!”
“Look just do me a favor and come with me tonight. Aunt Daff kept asking what recipes you used to save all the meat and I asked her how the hell I was supposed to know. That’s when some of the others chimed in wanting to know what she was talking about. Just come. They’ll eventually lose interest once their curiosity is satisfied. Plus, it will give you a night off cooking and you can meet some of the other staff as well.”
So instead of a more relaxing evening tabulating what had been canned and figuring out what to do to keep putting meals together since the power was still off … as well as reading up on what would need to be planted next in the garden, something I had forgotten to speak to Lacy about … I changed into a less formal version of my Housekeeper uniform and rode with Mr. Haines to a part of the Estate I hadn’t seen yet.
It was every bit the nightmare I was anticipating. It took all of my concentration to answer the questions that were lobbed at me like grenades while we ate dinner. And I had another run in with Maddie after the tables had been cleared … which precipitated something I hadn’t anticipated.
“So … it seems the Housekeeper has hidden talents.”
I turned to find Maddie there with several other staff. “Beg your pardon?”
“Bernie says you have musical talents and are quite good.”
“Uh … just … just leftover stuff from when I was younger. I better go see if I can help …”
“You know there is a tradition here on the Estate,” she said with a little bit of a sadistic gleam coming into her eyes.
Immediately put on guard all I could do was respond. “A … tradition.”
“Oh yeah,” she said, not quite able to hide that she was relishing what was coming. “You see, it’s talent night.”
I looked around and realized that is exactly what it was. I tried to back pedal but ran up against something … two somethings … two somethings named Hirsh and Gary with both of them looking both worse for wear physically and because it was pretty obvious they’d had more beers than food in the last couple of hours.
Stepping away from them as quickly as possible even if it made me look like an idiot I faced Maddie and just said, “Okay. Spit it out. Just how big of an embarrassment do I have to make of myself.”
Everyone got a little quiet at my tone as they realized there was a little more to the drama than what was apparent on the surface.
Grinning Maddie said, “Oh, as big as it takes to entertain the guests.”
“Fine. What?”
“Sing. Dance. Whatever. The audience gets to peg cream pies … or whatever … at who is playing if they aren’t entertained enough. In fact, sometimes that is the real entertainment.”
“In other words, an archaic hazing tactic by staff that like to throw their weight around against the newbs.”
I turned and left her standing there with her mouth open on a comeback I wasn’t interested in hearing. I walked over to Sylvia Crocker who was there and asked her point blank if the so-called tradition was really that.
“Um … actually … I’m afraid so. I can’t believe Clint would leave you to the wolves.”
I felt like mimicking my employer’s trademark snort but instead just shrugged. “In hindsight he likely got called off just so something like this could be done. Maddie and the dumbtastic duo appear to have a rather wide streak of persistence. Does it matter what I do?”
“Er … not … not particularly. Shanna, you look a little …”
I’d spotted a piano pushed against the wall, went over, lifted the cover and played a couple of scales. It wasn’t bad but my mouth isn’t the only thing that sometimes goes into overdrive and I’d about had it with Maddie and “the boys.” If I was going down I was going to go down in HD and surround sound. I turned and gave a loud two-finger whistle then pointed to Hirsh and Gary and said, “You two knuckleheads want me to play then you better drag it over here and move this thing to center stage. If I’ve been volunteered to go down, I’m going to do it in flames.”
Between dance and music I’d been taught how to work a crowd and I did just that. I was loud, a little silly, and got a few pokes in as I questioned “the boy’s” manly strength since they seemed to struggle to get the piano up the slight incline they had to push it.
“Okay folks. I have something to admit. It’s been over a year since I put my fingers on a piano to do more than dust it. I’m going to make mistakes. So if you’re going to throw something, please make it of the soft and squishy variety.”
I got a few chuckles as I hammed it up. Then I turned to the piano, made a bit of production of sitting and doing a few quick finger exercises. Barring the last year I’ve been playing almost daily since I was three years old. A keyboard is a keyboard is a keyboard … sort of. But they are all similar enough that I knew I could do it so long as my fingers were limber enough. I knew the pieces I had lined up like I knew the lines on my own hands, I used to have to play them often enough when the performance school was fund raising. So away I went …
It got very quiet and then I looked at Mr. Haines apologetically before banging out a string of boogie woogie tunes … Boogie Stomp, River City Boogie Woogie, Dancin’ the Boogie, Boogie Woogie Boy, and then I finished up with a few Jerry Lee Lewis piano heavy songs. By the time I was finished there were more than a few couples of all ages swing dancing and a bunch of little kids doing their thing on the side lines. Also by that time I was done and done in and it was a good thing that there was a local band that had come to play. As I stopped I stood up on the piano bench and nearly yelled, “And now what you’ve really been waiting for … the one … the only … the Appalachian Trail Gang!!”
Lucky for me the family that made up the “Gang” had caught on to what I was doing and immediately started their set with another couple of rousing songs before doing some examples of more traditional Appalachian music. All I could do was escape and hide outside of the lamps and lanterns that had been set up so that people didn’t trip over their own feet getting around. Then the shakes set in and I was squatting beside the tree and holding on rather than leaning on it.
“Oh my gosh. Shanna?! Are you all right?!”
I looked up and it was Stacy Crocker. “Please don’t say anything. Please …”
“Hey … um … here … take a whiff of this.”
She stuck something in my face and it was like I had landed in a rose garden. I have always loved the smell of roses and Mom always grew really sweet smelling, old fashioned roses. It was like being hit with a soft pillow of rose petals. I can’t explain it but it didn’t take but a couple of minutes and the shakes weren’t just under control but they were gone and instead of feeling washed out like I normally did after an attack, instead I simply felt calm.
“That … I mean I’m sorry. This is really embarrassing but what is that?”
“My go to when I feel a panic attack coming on. It is a bottle of essential rose oil … an aromatherapy thing.”
“Uh …”
“I started having them in middle school. They suck and didn’t start getting better until the parental units pulled me out of public school and started home schooling me. You feel like you are suffocating … or at least mine make me feel that way. I won’t say anything but … you know … it isn’t healthy to be ashamed of them. It only reinforces … the bad stuff. Mom will understand because of me and … you can talk to me if you want to.”
Seeing that she was sympathizing and trying to understand since she understood rather than pitying me I said, “They’re a lot better than they used to be.”
“Was … I mean you can tell me to shut up … but was it your husband?”
“No. It …” Feeling ashamed regardless of what she’d said I explained about the break in and how they got to a peak around the time the divorce was finalized and then how I’ve slowly been having them less and less often. “And it isn’t the new job. I … it just happens sometimes and usually because I do it to myself. In case it wasn’t obvious tonight it isn’t just my mouth that can get away from me … I don’t always act as I should and I hate when I lose control. I just hope I haven’t screwed up so bad that Mr. Haines is rethinking having hired me. I really like my job and want to keep it.”
Quietly she said, “I don’t think that is going to be a problem.”
“I hope not,” I said and then was momentarily confused when she patted my arm and left in a hurry. I turned when I felt a hand on my arm and there stood the one person I least wanted to witness me in my current state.
Chapter 24
I looked at Mr. Haines and he just kept grinning. Then the older woman “Aunt Daffy” asked me, “Wanna throw something at him Honey? Be my guest. It’s not like I haven’t considered it myself a time or three.”
Not sure I wanted to be pulled into that type of conversation I said, “I can make some more coffee.”
Mr. Haines started laughing even harder and then shook his head. “Nope. We’re good. Mind if we look at the jars?”
Feeling like a broken record I reminded him, “This is your house. Everything but the last few loads from last night is lined up in the dry goods pantry. Take a lantern in there with you since the shutter is still on the window. Watch where you put your feet because there are jars on the floor as well as some crates of potatoes and carrots that I haven’t gotten to yet.”
A few minutes later I heard, “What the hell?”
“Watch your head too. I had to string up a couple of bags of onions I didn’t use.”
I heard the older woman chuckle. A few minutes later they both came out and I saw a look of concern on Mr. Haines’ face. “Oh no, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing … except that is a hell of a lot of …Shanna … I … I wasn’t paying too much attention the last couple of days was I?”
“Excuse me?”
The older lady passed me and surprised me with a pat on the arm. “He’s just surprised Honey. That’s a good amount of work by anyone’s standard. Julie and the girls and I managed to save our share but it took all of us working together. You did this by yourself. Make sure that rascally boy gives you an extra day off sooner rather than later.” She turned her head. “Clint I’ll try and run the rest of them back home so you can get back to work. And for heavens sake boy, stop looking like you walked face first into a granite slab. It isn’t attractive at all.”
I watched her launch herself back towards whatever was creating the noise at the front of the house – I later found out it was all of them preparing to leave – and then turned to look at Mr. Haines. “I’m … er … sorry?”
He shook off whatever was on his mind and said, “Don’t be. Aunt Daffy is a bit of a whirlwind. But she is right, that’s … that’s a lot more work than what I was crediting it being.”
“I didn’t finish. Now that they’ve gone and the kitchen doesn’t look like Hiroshima I need to finish the veggies and …”
“Uh …”
A little warily I looked at him. “More?”
“It’s Wednesday. That woman … Lacey … is coming to get started on the garden. You mind supervising that?”
Trying to not show how inadequate I felt I smiled and said, “Of course not. I’m sure you have a ton of things you need to get to.”
He gave me a strange, searching look then said, “Right. And I’ll get to it as soon as … yeah, I … yeah. I won’t be back until late again.”
“Of course Mr. Haines.”
I held it together just long enough to hear the crunch of the gravel as he drove away in his truck. I dropped the pot I was washing and just made it to the bathroom before being sick. There wasn’t much that could come up but what there was came up with a vengeance. I hate when it hits me like that. I slid down the wall praying my heart would stop beating against my rib cage so hard it hurt. Eventually the feelings passed. The counselor called them anxiety attacks. Like knowing what they’re called somehow made them conquerable. It started after Kirk left, the day after I had accused him of … of being unfaithful, of leaving me for another woman. I hate thinking about this but it is what it is and I can’t seem to escape it. There had been a run of break ins at our complex. Kirk had fussed about paying for security that we obviously weren’t getting. That night someone broke into our apartment … and I was home at the time. I tried to call him but he wouldn’t pick up. I can’t blame him. But he picked up when the police called. Only he told them I was seeking attention. And they’d believed him … even with the marks on my neck to prove something had happened if not exactly what. Or they’d believed him until one of the patrolman caught the two men climbing over the concrete fence that surrounded the apartment complex. They matched my description exactly. One of them even still had my purse on him, and my wedding ring and necklace in his pocket. And still Kirk wouldn’t believe me, tried to say that I had to have paid the guys, that it was a set up. I think it was hearing that story that had made the mediator take a more serious look at Kirk’s accusations during the divorce proceedings. Before that he’d obviously believed Kirk and his lawyer. But with the help of the counselor we pin-pointed that it was two nights later that I’d had my first anxiety attack.
The attacks got so bad that the counselor had suggested I take medication; but, remembering what happened to my brother I never have been able to bring myself to do it. The counselor was sympathetic and started teaching me biofeedback techniques, made diet and exercise change recommendations, I even tried yoga for a couple of months but with only limited success. I’m conquering the attacks … or surviving them. What I call what I’m doing depends on how I feel. It had been a while since one made me puke though.
I managed to pull myself together and then set about gathering the seeds and seedlings that would need to be planted. I was prepared to do what needed doing but when Lacey got there she didn’t need my supervision at all. An hour into work I brought her out some water, apologizing that it wasn’t colder.
“That’s okay Ms. Field. It’s cold enough.”
After a moment in her company I looked at her and said, “You’re a restful person to be around Lacey. Thank you.”
“Huh?”
“My brain was in a tizzy. Somehow just sitting here with you I’ve been able to quiet it.”
“You know, Uncle Bernie says the same thing sometimes.”
“Well he’s right. And thank you.”
“You know Ms. Field, you’re all right. You ain’t stuck up or nuthin’.”
“Er … I hope not. Not to mention I don’t have any reason to be stuck up.”
“You come from money.”
“No I don’t.”
“You didn’t start out rich? You talk like it.”
I chuckled having been accused of the same thing before a few times. “No, I didn’t start out rich. At least not in the money department. I felt rich with my family … they were good people that raised me right and old-fashioned and … loved me.”
I was battling the sadness, probably because of the anxiety attack but she picked up on it. “They ain’t with you no more?”
I shook my head.
“That why you done moved all the way from where you come from?”
“That … and other things. I needed … a fresh start.”
“Heard someone say that once. They wanted to forget about everything that had come before. Reckon it hurt too bad.”
“Well, I … hmmm … maybe I don’t want to forget about everything that came before this. I don’t want to forget my family. But … but I just needed space from … from things. I needed a big change … a change in what I was doing and who I was becoming. It’s … a long story but basically … basically I am just looking to be a better and healthier person than I had become because of things that I had been living through for a while.”
“Did your man beat on you?”
“Good heavens … no. And I hope no one is going around saying that.”
“Some are wondering. Even Uncle Bernie and Reggie think something musta happened. They say you are way too young and pretty to want to hide out here on the Estate. They say you don’t even go have friends with the other staff that are your age. I’m hoping I didn’t make you mad.”
She looked so concerned I said, “The truth is the truth Lacey.”
“Sometimes the truth makes people angry.”
“I can see that happening … I’ve let myself get that way but these days I need the truth so that I don’t get mad. Or make mistakes. So let me explain the truth … or at least as best as I can explain the truth as I see it. I don’t feel young anymore. And in some respects, I was never like other people my age because … well because I was just raised a little different and because my mouth … sometimes I don’t have real control of what spills out of it. I had a grandmother that used to tell me even if I couldn’t always control what fell out of my mouth I could at least control how it came out. And I always hung around older people … my grandparents, people my parents’ age, my brother and his friends who were older than me. I never had much time for people my own age until I got to college and it affected in some ways how I act and talk.”
“How come you didn’t have friends your age?”
“I went to a different type of school … called a magnate school … that was focused on the performing arts. I used to take a lot of dance and music lessons where the other students were older than me.”
“You’re joshing me. What kind of dance and music?”
“A bunch of different kinds but until my junior year in high school my primary classes were in American Ballet. For music my two primary instruments were piano and the Irish flute.”
“Irish flute? You mean the tin whistle?” she asked excitedly. “YOU can play the tin whistle? My granny played the tin whistle! I ain’t heard it since she passed. Can you still play? Could you play right now?”
Lacey is an easy person to be around and makes me smile, which is what I started doing then. “It’s … it’s been a long time since I’ve played but if you don’t mind some mistakes I’ll go get my flute and see what comes out … it might not be anything but squeaks though.”
“Cain’t be no worse than when Daddy gets a toot on and then tries to play his mouth harp.”
“Uh … okay.”
When I took my flute out of the cedar chest where I had put it when Kirk started complaining that it made me sad, and I had enough things to be sad about, I was ashamed at the condition it was in. I used to religiously keep it cleaned and polished even when I wasn’t playing it anymore. I wiped it down, checked it over, and then took it outside to Lacey who was waiting patiently.
Time got away from me and I really don’t have any idea how long I played but it was more than an hour as I slowly found the rhythm and breath needed to make the smoothest sounds. I’d always had a good head for music, playing most from memory after only having heard something once or twice. My parents encouraged me but they also cautioned that it was unlikely to ever be a real career in the day and age I lived. Plus, I liked teaching just as well as my mother did though she liked the little ones and for me teaching came easier dealing with older students. At one time I’d even considered teaching music and dance but those types of positions are nearly impossible to find in the school system and are always the first ones cut so I stuck with one of my other loves and that was history.
I started on a more complicated piece than I had up to that point and it wasn’t until I noticed how silent things had gotten that I stopped and looked around. Lacey was there but so was Bernie and to my shame Mr. Haines. I jumped up, “Oh Lord … Sorry. Sorry I … I …”
Quietly Mr. Haines said, “Don’t do that.”
Putting the flute back in the case as quickly as I could I said, “I know. I won’t …”
He put his hand over mine and said, “Not that woman. I mean don’t apologize. You’ve no reason to.”
Bernie said, “Sure don’t. Haven’t heard anything that purty in a long time … a long, long time.”
Lacey jumped in and said with a huge smile, “She was playing for ME Uncle Bernie.”
I told her, “Yes I was and I’m glad I made you smile but I suppose I need to stop playing and get back to work. Thank you for listening.”
“I’ll listen some more another time. Maybe when I come back on Friday?” she asked hopefully. “Maybe you’ll bang on the piano a bit instead. There’s a great big one in that room over there,” she said pointing to the verandah drawing room.
“If … if I can get my work done and it isn’t interfering with … other things.”
That was enough to satisfy her and she and Bernie left. As soon as Lacey left my chest started to tighten up. Then Mr. Haines started talking. “You never said anything.”
Trying to buy time to avoid a lecture I started cleaning up the few things that Lacey hadn’t already put away. “About?”
“About playing.”
“Oh. Um …”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I don’t know. It … it wasn’t on the application? I’m not sure. It isn’t really important.”
“From the sound of your playing it is pretty damn important.”
A little defensively I said, “I apologized for wasting work hours.”
He drew back then shook his head. “Why do I have a feeling I should want to kick the jackass even more than I already do?” At my obviously confused look he said, “Your idiot ex-husband.”
Shocked I didn’t know what to say.
“Let me guess, somehow some way you just slowly stopped playing because somehow some way he didn’t support it. Yeah, that’s it, I can see by the fact all the color has gone out of your face and you get that panicked look in the back of your eyes when he comes up. Well, you’ve got a new job.”
“What?! I …”
“You’re gonna play for me when there’s time.”
It was like that time I ran face first into a glass wall in a house of mirrors at the State Fair and nearly knocked myself out. “Excuse me?”
“I walked back here to ask for one of them cups of teas because my head felt like it was about to fall off … and I would have been grateful if it had. I’m standing there for nearly ten minutes too shocked to say jack … er, jackcrap … only I notice my head ache is gone like it was never there in the first place. And Lacey says you play piano too? Is that what you taught?”
So I had to explain that I play flute and piano but that I can also play a few other things … including harp and guitar and simple violin pieces. “The ends of my fingers used to be nothing but calluses and my nails were non-existent.”
“Do you still dance?”
“Ballet? Lord no. Ballet is not a very forgiving type of dance. You can’t drop it and then pick it back up. I had to give it up my senior year of high school.”
“Why?” he asked as we finally moved back into the house by way of the kitchen entrance.
“Summer after my junior year I caught mono, caught it bad enough that I was out of commission for two solid months. I wasn’t allowed to do any kind of exercising because my spleen was badly enlarged, not to mention I slept more than was awake most days. By the time I was healthy enough to start back to school my … my body type had changed and I could never seem to rebuild my stamina fast enough to keep up with where I had been before. I transferred my time into things like tap, jazz, and interpretive dance and joined the cheer squad … you know the girls that dance with the flags and such … because I knew some of those girls from my dance classes and they needed a new squad member when one of the other girls got pregnant and … sorry for the tangent. TMI.”
“No. Not at all,” he said sitting at the table and allowing me to get him some water. “By the way, we’re going to the chuckwagon tonight.”
“What time will you be home? Should I leave a lantern on?”
“Ha! Good one. I saw WE are going to the chuckwagon tonight. Aunt Daffy has decreed it.”
The look on my face must have been something else because it was obvious Mr. Haines was trying not to laugh. “I did warn you that the Hen Club could be demanding holy terrors. And apparently now that Aunt Daffy has met you the rest of them want to meet you too.”
“They met me at the Memorial Day cook out!” I squeaked.
“Ah, but now you’re interesting.”
“No I’m not!”
“Look just do me a favor and come with me tonight. Aunt Daff kept asking what recipes you used to save all the meat and I asked her how the hell I was supposed to know. That’s when some of the others chimed in wanting to know what she was talking about. Just come. They’ll eventually lose interest once their curiosity is satisfied. Plus, it will give you a night off cooking and you can meet some of the other staff as well.”
So instead of a more relaxing evening tabulating what had been canned and figuring out what to do to keep putting meals together since the power was still off … as well as reading up on what would need to be planted next in the garden, something I had forgotten to speak to Lacy about … I changed into a less formal version of my Housekeeper uniform and rode with Mr. Haines to a part of the Estate I hadn’t seen yet.
It was every bit the nightmare I was anticipating. It took all of my concentration to answer the questions that were lobbed at me like grenades while we ate dinner. And I had another run in with Maddie after the tables had been cleared … which precipitated something I hadn’t anticipated.
“So … it seems the Housekeeper has hidden talents.”
I turned to find Maddie there with several other staff. “Beg your pardon?”
“Bernie says you have musical talents and are quite good.”
“Uh … just … just leftover stuff from when I was younger. I better go see if I can help …”
“You know there is a tradition here on the Estate,” she said with a little bit of a sadistic gleam coming into her eyes.
Immediately put on guard all I could do was respond. “A … tradition.”
“Oh yeah,” she said, not quite able to hide that she was relishing what was coming. “You see, it’s talent night.”
I looked around and realized that is exactly what it was. I tried to back pedal but ran up against something … two somethings … two somethings named Hirsh and Gary with both of them looking both worse for wear physically and because it was pretty obvious they’d had more beers than food in the last couple of hours.
Stepping away from them as quickly as possible even if it made me look like an idiot I faced Maddie and just said, “Okay. Spit it out. Just how big of an embarrassment do I have to make of myself.”
Everyone got a little quiet at my tone as they realized there was a little more to the drama than what was apparent on the surface.
Grinning Maddie said, “Oh, as big as it takes to entertain the guests.”
“Fine. What?”
“Sing. Dance. Whatever. The audience gets to peg cream pies … or whatever … at who is playing if they aren’t entertained enough. In fact, sometimes that is the real entertainment.”
“In other words, an archaic hazing tactic by staff that like to throw their weight around against the newbs.”
I turned and left her standing there with her mouth open on a comeback I wasn’t interested in hearing. I walked over to Sylvia Crocker who was there and asked her point blank if the so-called tradition was really that.
“Um … actually … I’m afraid so. I can’t believe Clint would leave you to the wolves.”
I felt like mimicking my employer’s trademark snort but instead just shrugged. “In hindsight he likely got called off just so something like this could be done. Maddie and the dumbtastic duo appear to have a rather wide streak of persistence. Does it matter what I do?”
“Er … not … not particularly. Shanna, you look a little …”
I’d spotted a piano pushed against the wall, went over, lifted the cover and played a couple of scales. It wasn’t bad but my mouth isn’t the only thing that sometimes goes into overdrive and I’d about had it with Maddie and “the boys.” If I was going down I was going to go down in HD and surround sound. I turned and gave a loud two-finger whistle then pointed to Hirsh and Gary and said, “You two knuckleheads want me to play then you better drag it over here and move this thing to center stage. If I’ve been volunteered to go down, I’m going to do it in flames.”
Between dance and music I’d been taught how to work a crowd and I did just that. I was loud, a little silly, and got a few pokes in as I questioned “the boy’s” manly strength since they seemed to struggle to get the piano up the slight incline they had to push it.
“Okay folks. I have something to admit. It’s been over a year since I put my fingers on a piano to do more than dust it. I’m going to make mistakes. So if you’re going to throw something, please make it of the soft and squishy variety.”
I got a few chuckles as I hammed it up. Then I turned to the piano, made a bit of production of sitting and doing a few quick finger exercises. Barring the last year I’ve been playing almost daily since I was three years old. A keyboard is a keyboard is a keyboard … sort of. But they are all similar enough that I knew I could do it so long as my fingers were limber enough. I knew the pieces I had lined up like I knew the lines on my own hands, I used to have to play them often enough when the performance school was fund raising. So away I went …
It got very quiet and then I looked at Mr. Haines apologetically before banging out a string of boogie woogie tunes … Boogie Stomp, River City Boogie Woogie, Dancin’ the Boogie, Boogie Woogie Boy, and then I finished up with a few Jerry Lee Lewis piano heavy songs. By the time I was finished there were more than a few couples of all ages swing dancing and a bunch of little kids doing their thing on the side lines. Also by that time I was done and done in and it was a good thing that there was a local band that had come to play. As I stopped I stood up on the piano bench and nearly yelled, “And now what you’ve really been waiting for … the one … the only … the Appalachian Trail Gang!!”
Lucky for me the family that made up the “Gang” had caught on to what I was doing and immediately started their set with another couple of rousing songs before doing some examples of more traditional Appalachian music. All I could do was escape and hide outside of the lamps and lanterns that had been set up so that people didn’t trip over their own feet getting around. Then the shakes set in and I was squatting beside the tree and holding on rather than leaning on it.
“Oh my gosh. Shanna?! Are you all right?!”
I looked up and it was Stacy Crocker. “Please don’t say anything. Please …”
“Hey … um … here … take a whiff of this.”
She stuck something in my face and it was like I had landed in a rose garden. I have always loved the smell of roses and Mom always grew really sweet smelling, old fashioned roses. It was like being hit with a soft pillow of rose petals. I can’t explain it but it didn’t take but a couple of minutes and the shakes weren’t just under control but they were gone and instead of feeling washed out like I normally did after an attack, instead I simply felt calm.
“That … I mean I’m sorry. This is really embarrassing but what is that?”
“My go to when I feel a panic attack coming on. It is a bottle of essential rose oil … an aromatherapy thing.”
“Uh …”
“I started having them in middle school. They suck and didn’t start getting better until the parental units pulled me out of public school and started home schooling me. You feel like you are suffocating … or at least mine make me feel that way. I won’t say anything but … you know … it isn’t healthy to be ashamed of them. It only reinforces … the bad stuff. Mom will understand because of me and … you can talk to me if you want to.”
Seeing that she was sympathizing and trying to understand since she understood rather than pitying me I said, “They’re a lot better than they used to be.”
“Was … I mean you can tell me to shut up … but was it your husband?”
“No. It …” Feeling ashamed regardless of what she’d said I explained about the break in and how they got to a peak around the time the divorce was finalized and then how I’ve slowly been having them less and less often. “And it isn’t the new job. I … it just happens sometimes and usually because I do it to myself. In case it wasn’t obvious tonight it isn’t just my mouth that can get away from me … I don’t always act as I should and I hate when I lose control. I just hope I haven’t screwed up so bad that Mr. Haines is rethinking having hired me. I really like my job and want to keep it.”
Quietly she said, “I don’t think that is going to be a problem.”
“I hope not,” I said and then was momentarily confused when she patted my arm and left in a hurry. I turned when I felt a hand on my arm and there stood the one person I least wanted to witness me in my current state.
Dosadi
Brown Coat
thank you Kathy
I have a daughter and son that have what I might term panic attacks, but they get kinda mad if I bring it up. is rose oil the best or only thing that might help them. I'll gather up something like that if it can help them. Open to suggestions.
This story is becoming real great. Worst thing is I read it way to fast then just want to keep tapping F5 or chanting moar moar moar.
Thank you very much
Dosadi
I have a daughter and son that have what I might term panic attacks, but they get kinda mad if I bring it up. is rose oil the best or only thing that might help them. I'll gather up something like that if it can help them. Open to suggestions.
This story is becoming real great. Worst thing is I read it way to fast then just want to keep tapping F5 or chanting moar moar moar.
Thank you very much
Dosadi
CGTech
Has No Life - Lives on TB
Don't you know that cliffhangers are an author's favorite weapon?
Knighttemplar
Veteran Member
Great story as usual
Maybe the hounds of MOAR can chase Cliff away.
Maybe the hounds of MOAR can chase Cliff away.
sssarawolf
Has No Life - Lives on TB
Big thanks from me as well. Our daughter Terra has panic attacks as well. So hard when she's at work. Hubby went to the valley to help one of our sons put a new heat pump in, he was hoping it wouldn't be to hard to do, been a bit over 4 hours now. We know how so called quick easy jobs go don't we!
Siskiyoumom
Veteran Member
It is such a joy to come and read your newest chapters. It helps me escape the woes of my daily grind. I wish for you dear friend a peace filled weekend in all hectic happenings of this coming weekend. That your extended family step up and really help out as you come together for the celebrations!
