Chapter Nine

First thing when we woke up, we checked to see if it had snowed during the night. Fortunately, it hadn’t, so we decided to go down to Mr. Richards’s place early. Not too early, on account of it was Saturday and he likes his shut-eye. That’s what he calls it, not me.

“Well, ladies,” he said, “you look a little the worse for wear.”

“I slept over at Al’s,” I said. “We didn’t get to sleep until late.”

Mr. Richards winked. “When you girls get together there’s no stopping you. I hope you’re all set for our shop lesson this morning. I found a nail or two, a hammer, and I got me some boards out. So how about a piece of bread and butter before we start?”

He fixed us each a thick slice and poured a pile of sugar on top. We hadn’t had much breakfast at Al’s, on account of there was nothing in the refrigerator but yoghurt. Strawberry yoghurt.

“No, thank you,” I had said when Al offered me some. “I’m not up to it today.”

“It’s not bad,” she had said, putting it back. I noticed she didn’t eat any either.

Anyway, we had two or three more pieces of bread and then a couple of cups of tea. Al put three lumps in hers and I put four. Mr. Richards didn’t say boo. He put five in his.

He is a very satisfactory host. I would rather have breakfast at his house than anywhere else. Except maybe at home on Sunday. My father always makes waffles on Sunday and they are very good. He calls them superb, but I think that’s stretching it a little.

Finally, we got down to business. Mr. Richards had set up a piece of plywood as a table for us to work on. He showed us how to nail the shelves in place and hammer in the nails without banging our fingers.

“It’s a cinch,” Al said. “I think when I get it finished I will send it to my father.”

We worked along for a while and pretty soon my stomach was making noises you could hear practically a mile away. It was very embarrassing.

“Must be lunch time,” Mr. Richards said. “Time for a break. Got some soup on the stove. Care to stay and take potluck?”

Al and I had two bowlfuls each. Some time I will tell her about how he makes the soup.

“Do you like to cook?” Al asked him.

Mr. Richards shrugged his shoulders. “Now and then,” he said. “You ladies know how to make a white sauce?”

We said no.

“You got to know how to make a white sauce, you want to cook. Very handy thing to know. Would you believe that when I got married my wife didn’t know how to boil water even? I had to show her.”

“I didn’t know you were ever married,” I said. I wish I had known before Al did. I don’t know why but I do.

“I was just a shaver,” he said. “She wasn’t much older’n you two. Pretty as a picture too. But it wasn’t a good thing. No, it wasn’t a good thing. We was too young. She took our baby daughter and went back to her mama and papa. Too many diapers, too much work, not enough fun, not enough money. Like I say, she didn’t know how to cook. Didn’t want to learn. It’s a bad thing to get tied down too young. Remember that, ladies.”

“Mr. Richards, whatever happened to your baby daughter?” Al asked.

“Well,” he said, “she’s not a baby any more. She has two, three babies of her own. Must be one of ’em about your age. I sent ’em a box of candy last Christmas, I think it was. I don’t know if they got it, come to think. I never did hear if they got it.”

We all sat quiet for a minute.

“I’ll show you how to make a white sauce,” he said. “First, you melt your butter, then stir in your flour slow like, then add milk, stirring all the time. Don’t stop stirring or she’ll lump up on you. Very handy thing to know.”

“What do you do with it when you’re finished?” Al asked.

“Creamed potatoes,” he said. “Creamed tuna fish. Creamed eggs.”

We looked at him.

“Mr. Richards,” Al said, “what I would really like to know is how to skate like you do. Skate on the floor with rags. Would you teach me how to do that?”

“Well now,” he said, getting some rags out from under the sink, “that’s a puzzler. I been doing it for so long I can’t recollect when I started. I’ll tell you one thing, though. It’s not as easy as it looks.”

Al took first turn and she wasn’t too good.

“Glide, glide, that does it,” Mr. Richards hollered.

Al gave up after a couple of falls. I went next. I wasn’t much better.

“Show us again,” I said. “It looks so easy when you do it.”

“Young folks ain’t changed a bit,” Mr. Richards said, tying the rags around his sneakers. “Think they can do anything they try first time around. I told you it wasn’t as easy as it looks.” And he skated smoothly around the edges of his shining linoleum, smiling a big smile.