Sooner than we expected, Aunt Maude returned. Papa, Eleanor, Carlie, and I were finishing dessert—raspberry ice cream made from wild raspberries Eleanor, Carlie, and I had picked that afternoon. Carlie was telling Papa how we saw polliwogs in the lake.
“They’ve all got their back legs,” she said.
A little shower of road dust flew in the open windows, and we heard the carriage come to a stop at the door. The next thing we knew, Aunt Maude was hurrying into the house, the driver following with her suitcases and boxes. Aunt Maude threw her arms around Carlie and me, smothering us with her familiar smell, part lavender talcum powder and part camphor salve. I suffered the hug, but Carlie wriggled out of it like a cat that won’t be held. It was then that Aunt Maude noticed there were four places set for supper.
Eleanor had sprung away from the table, so at first I believe Aunt Maude thought that somehow we knew she was coming and had prepared a place for her, but it was only a moment before she took in the remains of the melting ice cream and the half-empty coffee cup. She turned to Eleanor and, pointing to the dishes, said in a tight voice, “Take those away, and bring me some cold salad and bread and butter and a cup of tea.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Eleanor made a grab for the dishes like they were trying to get away and fled into the kitchen.
Papa frowned, but he made his voice pleasant. “Welcome home, Maude. I hope everything went well with the house and the new tenants.”
“I have decided not to rent again for the time being. The last tenants left the windows open in a rainstorm, and my curtains are ruined. You can’t trust strangers.”
As we all settled around the table, Aunt Maude said in a sharp voice, “I had a very nice letter from Mrs. Larter, who mentioned that she had stopped by to visit you.” With a glance toward the kitchen, Aunt Maude said, “Edward, I can’t believe you allowed a servant to sit at the table as though she were a member of the family.”
Carlie said, “Eleanor taught us how to make bread and how to whistle with a piece of grass. She caught polliwogs for me at Green Lake. They’re going to start their front legs. Eleanor put some in a jar for me, and I can watch them be frogs.”
“I can see I was foolish to leave you, but I had not thought that you would have allowed the children to be so much with someone who was not in her right mind.”
Papa took off his glasses and began to clean them with his handkerchief, just as he always did when he was angry. I think he did it to give himself time to calm down. Finally he said, “You are not a physician, Maude, and therefore in no position to pronounce whether a person’s mind is right or not. In this case you could not be more uninformed.”
Eleanor came in with a plate of salad just in time to see Aunt Maude burst into tears. “I don’t know why I even bothered to come back,” she said. “I see that I am not wanted here.”
Papa was on his feet at once, comforting Aunt Maude. “Nonsense, Maude, you know how grateful to you I am. I don’t know what we should have done without you. You are tired and hungry from the journey. Eat something, and you will feel much better.”
Eleanor quickly set the plate of salad down and hurried into the kitchen. Father had been so busy consoling Aunt Maude that he had not seen the tears in Eleanor’s eyes, but Carlie and I had, and now Carlie began to cry.
“You see how that woman upsets the children,” Aunt Maude said.
For an answer, Papa closed his mouth into a tight line, and I was sure he was holding in words he knew he ought not to say to Aunt Maude.
After that evening Aunt Maude had two purposes: to show that she could teach us things as well as Eleanor, and to prove that Eleanor was not in her right mind and ought to spend her days in the asylum rather than with us.
The next morning, before Carlie and I could get out the door, Aunt Maude ordered us into the parlor, where we were initiated into the mysteries of the ladylike art of crocheting. The crochet hook was awkward in my hand, and the little loop that it invaded was always too small for the hook or so large that the hook would have nothing to do with it. I gritted my teeth and kept trying, but Carlie grew impatient and began to cry. Aunt Maude quickly excused her, sending her out to play, but I was kept indoors until I had completed a bumpy spiderweb.
I remembered how Mama had taught me to knit doll clothes, laughing over my mistakes, telling me she had made many more when she learned how to knit. With Mama the knitting had been for the pleasure of being together. With Aunt Maude, teaching was to show who was in charge.
A few days later I was introduced to tatting, which was truly punishment. It was accomplished by the use of numerous small bobbins of thread that were like a dozen untamed puppies that rolled about and tangled their leashes. Carlie hid under her bed with her jar of polliwogs for company or escaped into the yard, but I had to sit still for an hour and watch summer slip away.
Aunt Maude saw that Papa had grown fond of Eleanor, so there was no meanness when he was about, but Papa was gone all day. Aunt Maude didn’t pull Eleanor’s hair or beat her, though that might have been kinder, for hair would grow back, and bruises heal. This meanness lurked under the cover of kindness like a serpent got up in ruffles and a bonnet.
On an afternoon, soon after Aunt Maude returned, Carlie and I set off for the dairy with the gallon jug on our usual errand to get milk. “Eleanor,” Aunt Maude said, “it’s such a pleasant afternoon; take your hour off and go along with the girls.”
Eleanor was as taken aback as I was, for she had given up her time off, afraid of Aunt Maude’s anger. At first she hesitated. “You said I was to make a peach pie for supper, ma’am.”
“You’ll have plenty of time to do that when you return.”
Happily Eleanor set off with us, pausing just outside the door to look about, as if the whole world had been created right then and there just for us. She had something to say about everything she set eyes on. She stopped to show us how each blossom of Queen Anne’s lace had a tiny purple flower in the middle of its bloom. A row of milkweed plants grew at the field’s edge. The fragrance from their blossoms smelled like the little sachets Mama had made up to put among her handkerchiefs. Eleanor was more practical. “Milkweed makes good eating,” she said. “You boil up the young seedpods or give them a fry. Delicious with a big lump of butter.” Orange butterflies were hanging on the milkweed blossoms. “Monarchs,” Eleanor explained. Carlie was going to catch one, but Eleanor held her back. “If you disturb the dust on their wings, they won’t be able to fly.”
Not far from us a goldfinch settled on the top of a mullein plant, its feathers gold in the sun. In the midst of the brightness I had a dark thought. Like Mama, Eleanor might soon leave us. Only that morning Eleanor had whispered to us that her doctor said she was well enough to return home at the end of summer.
“Will you be happy to leave the asylum?” I had asked.
“I’ll miss you and Carlie a lot, and I have many good friends—not only other patients but some of the attendants. I help the attendants and sometimes even the doctors to talk to the German patients. There are a lot of patients who have come over from the old country and know hardly a word of English. It’s a terrible thing when you can’t explain yourself. It makes you ängstlich; that’s German for ‘anxious.’” I made Eleanor repeat the word for the penny it would get me.
“If I leave the asylum, I’ll have to go home,” she said. She sighed. She didn’t mention her father, but I was sure she was thinking of him.
After filling the jug and stopping at the barn to admire a calf so new that it could barely stand, we headed home. On the way Eleanor pointed to a large gray bird with black wings and tail. The bird was sitting in a tree, watching some little chickadees that were nervously flitting from branch to branch. “A shrike,” she said. “Cruel birds. I saw one catch a little song sparrow and kill it by sticking it on a barbed-wire fence.”
Carlie asked, “Did you kill the shrike?”
“Oh, no,” Eleanor said. “It is only doing what such birds are supposed to do.”
We returned just as Aunt Maude was leaving to join a group of doctors’ wives who met each Thursday afternoon. “Don’t forget the pie,” she told Eleanor.
Eleanor made the peach pie and, as a special treat, sprinkled the crust trimmings with sugar and baked them for Carlie and me to eat. When they came out of the oven, Carlie took the first bite and spit it out. “It’s all salty.”
I didn’t believe her and bit into my own piece. It tasted terrible, as if a whole shaker full of salt had been sprinkled onto it. Eleanor nibbled a bit of the pie and made a face. She reached for the sugar canister and, licking a finger, stuck it into the white powder and tasted it. Her eyes were huge. “It’s salt!”
“Why is salt in the sugar canister?” Carlie asked.
Eleanor and I looked at each other. I was sure Aunt Maude had done it on purpose. Eleanor didn’t know what to think. She wanted to throw the pie away, but I made her save one piece. Hastily she baked a second pie, this time with the sugar that had been put into the salt canister. When Aunt Maude came home, she sent Eleanor and Carlie and me out to pick some tomatoes from our garden. I pretended to go, but I looked into the kitchen window in time to see Aunt Maude switch the salt and sugar back where they belonged. When I told Eleanor what I had seen, she looked as if I had struck her. “You must have made a mistake,” she insisted. “She wouldn’t do such a thing.” After that she said not another word but moved about silent and thoughtful, speaking only when she learned what I planned to do. “You’d be as bad as she is, Verna.” But I didn’t care, and Carlie couldn’t wait for me to do it.
When it was time for dessert, I handed around the plates, giving Aunt Maude the piece I had saved from the salty pie. Aunt Maude took a forkful and spit it out. “It tastes of salt. It’s inedible. Eleanor must have reached into the wrong canister. She is getting more and more absentminded.”
Papa took a bite of the second pie. “Why, it’s excellent. Whatever can you mean, Maude?”
Carlie and I each took big mouthfuls. “My favorite,” Carlie said.
“The best ever.” I licked my lips.
Aunt Maude insisted, “Edward, try a piece of my pie.”
Papa looked up. “Thank you just the same, Maude. I’ve had more than I should.”
Desperate, she turned to me. “Verna, taste this.”
I gritted my teeth and swallowed a small piece. “Delicious,” I said with a big grin. Hurriedly I ate a bite of my pie to get rid of the salty taste.
Aunt Maude, looking uncertain, took another small bite and made a face. She reached over and took a piece of my pie and then a piece of Carlie’s. Her face became very red, but there was nothing she could say.
After that Carlie and I had only to say “peach pie” when Aunt Maude was out of hearing, and we ended up in fits of giggles, but Eleanor could not see the humor in what had happened. She would not confront Aunt Maude but only asked over and over, “Why would she do such a thing?”
A few days after the peach pie we began making plans for the asylum picnic. Every summer Dr. and Mrs. Thurston held an outdoor gathering for the patients and for all those who worked in the asylum. Entertainment was provided by the patients and staff, and the Thurstons, who often commented on Papa and Eleanor’s fine solos in the choir, now asked them to sing a duet.
Mrs. Thurston offered to play the piano while they rehearsed their song, so each evening after the supper dishes were done, Eleanor combed her hair and changed into her one good dress, which she brought to work with her. Before the first visit to the Thurstons’ home, Eleanor confided to me that she was nervous. “Even a little frightened, Verna. It’s not like I am just going home to the asylum, but right into the home of the superintendent.” I noticed as she started off, she lagged a bit behind Papa, like Carlie on her first day of school. Papa strolled along, his hat tipped in a way that showed he was feeling cheerful. You could always tell the way Papa felt by how his hat sat on his head. The Thurstons must have made Eleanor welcome, for on the second night she marched along right beside Papa.
Carlie and I begged to go along, and the third night Papa said we might if we would sit quietly during their rehearsal. He asked Aunt Maude if she would like to go as well, but looking very haughty, Aunt Maude said it was too hot to leave the house.
After the peach pie Aunt Maude had become quiet and said only what was necessary to Eleanor. When Aunt Maude heard that Papa and Eleanor were to sing together at the picnic, you could tell she disapproved, for she wandered about the house surrounded by a sulky cloud of anger that settled over all she did. When Carlie and I left for the Thurstons’ with Papa and Eleanor, Aunt Maude’s resentment followed us all the way like a snarling dog nipping at our heels.
Though it was early evening, the August heat still hung on so that in the walk from our house to the asylum I felt trickles of perspiration between my shoulder blades and on my forehead. The leaves on the trees had grown dull and dusty; the daisies drooped; the butterflies seemed weary, hardly bothering to flutter their wings. The setting sun was red hot, and it tinted the large white asylum a rosy pink. Inside the building it was cool. Whatever heat managed to get through the thick brick walls stayed up in the high ceilings and left us alone.
After greeting us, Dr. Thurston said he had work to do in his office, and Carlie and I settled quietly on the davenport, nibbling on molasses cookies, while Macduff sat nearby hoping for crumbs. Mrs. Thurston seated herself at the piano and held her hands up in the air, waiting for Eleanor and Papa to stand beside her. I could see that Eleanor was uncomfortable in the Thurstons’ sitting room. She stood a little apart from Papa, staring at the floor and clutching her hands together as if they might fly apart, but once the singing began, Eleanor forgot her shyness. The song, “Oh, Promise Me,” was sad in a beautiful way. Even Carlie paused in her eating of the cookies to listen, though only for a moment.
After the rehearsal was over, Eleanor went on to her room in the asylum, and Papa and Carlie and I walked back in the soft darkness. Carlie, knowing that at home bed was waiting for her, kept asking Papa questions to make the walk longer. “Why are there shadows from Dr. Thurston’s trees when there isn’t any sun? ”
Papa pointed to the full moon, and that made Carlie ask questions about what kept the moon up in the sky. Her next question made Papa stop and look at her. “Why does Aunt Maude hate Eleanor?”
“Carlie, Aunt Maude doesn’t hate Eleanor. I believe she is jealous of Eleanor. Unhappily, Aunt Maude believes love is like a glass of water, just so many sips to go around, when really it’s like scooping water from a river. Take as much as you like. The river just fills right up again.”
In the distance we could see the lighted windows of our house. For several seconds Carlie thought about what Papa had said, and then, seeing that we were nearly home and bed was coming, she asked, “Why don’t moths come out in the daytime?” And no more was said about Eleanor and Aunt Maude.
On the day of the picnic Carlie and I were up with the first light, hanging out the window to be sure there were no rain clouds. Even Aunt Maude looked forward to going, although she couldn’t keep from asking Papa, “Why can’t the patients have their own picnic?”
To which Papa replied, “The whole purpose of the picnic, Maude, is to show how much the patients and the staff have in common, not to separate them.”
The picnic was held on the front lawn of the asylum. The flower beds had been tidied, the grass cropped to a smooth green carpet, and benches set about to make the grounds into a huge outdoor sitting room. Some of the patients seated on benches were accompanied by attendants. I guessed those were the patients from the back wards and wondered if Eleanor’s friend Lucy was there.
Men were pitching horseshoes, the clang against the iron stakes making a ringing noise. A croquet court had been set up, and I saw Louis, the gardener, frowning as someone tramped over a flower bed in search of a wooden ball. Aunt Maude joined Mrs. Larter, their large hats overlapping as they bent toward each other for chattering purposes. Carlie headed for a long table where the asylum cooks were setting out bowls of potato salad, several great hams, pickles, hills of rolls, angel cakes with thick frosting, cherry pies, and jugs of lemonade.
I had pried Carlie away from the food to watch a game of baseball when we heard Eleanor’s laugh. A sack race was getting started. It was men against women. Cries went up for the Thurstons, and to our surprise Dr. and Mrs. Thurston appeared to expect the invitation. Mrs. Thurston gathered her skirts and Dr. Thurston took off his jacket, and they both climbed into sacks. Papa followed suit, encouraging Eleanor and tossing sacks to Carlie and me. We waited for the race to start. There were a dozen of us falling and picking ourselves up and toppling over again.
Everyone gathered around to see the Thurstons cheerfully make fools of themselves. Some of the women who stood about had put up parasols against the sun. Aunt Maude was one of them. Carlie and I waved frantically to get her attention, but she was staring at Papa, who was helping Eleanor into her sack. Aunt Maude’s face was very red. A moment later the signal was given for the race to begin, and off we went, Carlie trying to keep up with my bigger bounces. I saw that the other racers were holding back so that the Thurstons could win, and they did, to shouts of congratulations. Eleanor came in second for the women. She stood there looking flustered and happy and laughing in a way I had never heard her laugh at our house. For the first time I saw that she was not just our Eleanor but Eleanor herself.
When it was time for lunch, Papa spread our blanket on the lawn and sent us after Aunt Maude, but Aunt Maude would not come. “It’s unhealthy to sit on the ground,” she said. “Verna, bring me a plate of ham and potato salad and a glass of lemonade.”
Because Aunt Maude had the company of Mrs. Larter, who stayed with her on the bench, I thought nothing of it, but Papa scowled. “I believe your aunt has forgotten how to enjoy herself.”
After lunch, as we all lay about the lawn, full and sleepy in the sun, the entertainment was announced. A maypole had been set up, and six women in white dresses and with wreaths of flowers in their hair advanced toward the pole and gathered up the ends of six ribbons that had been attached to its top. Around and around they danced as they sang a song about May that didn’t make any sense because it was August. I had to cover Carlie with the blanket to keep her from giggling. A patient played “Yankee Doodle Dandy” with a mouth organ, and one of the attendants recited “The Wreck of the Hesperus,” which frightened Carlie so much that she was back under the blanket. At last it was the turn of Eleanor and Papa. Eleanor didn’t move until her friends gave her a push. As she walked up to join Papa, she kept her eyes on the ground as if she were searching for something. When she reached him, there were cries of encouragement, and after a moment she looked up at Papa, who nodded that they should begin. There was no piano on the lawn to accompany them, but all the rehearsing had helped them to sing together in perfect harmony.
The moment the last note faded away, there was loud applause. Carlie and I stood up and applauded until our hands were sore. Eleanor and Papa bowed to the audience, and Eleanor hurried back to her friends, who threw their arms around her.
A man pulled scarves, and then a rabbit, from a hat. Carlie was sure the rabbit was meant to be hers and was furious at the man for making it disappear. When the picnic was over, we looked for Aunt Maude, but she wasn’t there. Papa said, “I saw her leave a little while ago. She must have been tired.” There was a worried frown on his face. Carlie and I, bored with sitting still and happy to be let loose, ran home ahead of Papa.
I expected Aunt Maude to be flustered and angry, but she was bustling around, her sleeves rolled up and an apron tied around her waist. She said, “I’m making a lemon sponge dessert for supper tonight. Eleanor never gets it right.” Because of the picnic, Eleanor had the day off.
Carlie was wandering around the house, looking on shelves and in cupboards. She complained, “I can’t find my polliwogs.”
Aunt Maude said, “They were beginning to smell, Carlie, and I was short of canning jars for the peaches. I threw them out.”
Carlie shouted, “No, you didn’t!”
“Don’t contradict me, Carlie. They were dirty, ugly things. I can’t think why you would want them.”
“They were getting their front legs,” Carlie sobbed. She ran outside and began searching around the house. I heard her wailing, and when I went outside, I found her bending over her dead polliwogs, lying like ink stains on the grass. She ran into the house and began kicking Aunt Maude on the shins.
At that moment Papa walked into the house and snatched up Carlie. “Carlie! Stop that! What’s gotten into you?”
As Papa carried her up to her room, Carlie was screaming, “She killed my polliwogs.”
Papa came downstairs, taking each step carefully, as if the stairs were steep and dangerous. “Maude,” he said, “I wonder if I could have a word with you. Verna, I noticed the rose bed hasn’t been weeded. That’s your job. Go outside and do it right now.”
I went out, but the minute the door closed on me, I scrunched down, hardly breathing, under the open kitchen window. Papa was saying, “Maude, I believe you are upset at how close the girls and Eleanor have become. Because Eleanor had given Carlie those polliwogs, you thought to punish her, the Lord knows why, and all you did was upset Carlie. What you did was thoughtless and cruel.”
Aunt Maude sounded like she was crying. “I have tried to do my best and be a mother to those girls, but I can see I’m not wanted here.”
Papa’s voice softened. “Maude, that’s not true. Of course you are wanted. I am only pointing out that deeds have consequences, and if you had given a little thought to it, I am sure you would have realized how upset Carlie would be. As for Eleanor, she is a very competent young woman and is trying her best.”
“You are letting that woman take my dear dead sister’s place.”
Papa snapped, “That is unworthy of you, Maude. No one could take Isabel’s place, but you must admit that Eleanor has been very good with the children.”
“Edward, you may as well know that if that woman comes back into this house, I will leave.”
“You can’t mean that, Maude.”
“I do mean it. I can take care of this house and the girls without any help from her.”
There was a long silence. I could not believe Papa would give in, but he must have felt sorry for Aunt Maude. With a terrible feeling of doom I heard him say, “Well, all things considered, it might be best. I learned today that they think at the asylum that Eleanor is well enough to go home for a long visit. This might be a good time for her to do it. We certainly can’t have another scene like the one this afternoon. It’s very bad for the girls.” I heard Papa’s footsteps coming to the door and dashed to the rose bed.
Papa called, “Verna, would you go upstairs and see to your sister?”
Carlie was sitting cross-legged on her bed, her face very red and angry, her eyes flashing. “I hate Aunt Maude. I hope she explodes into a thousand pieces.”
I tried to cheer Carlie up by letting her play with my best doll, which I didn’t usually do because she always made a mess of the hair when she combed it.
When Papa called us for supper, Carlie refused to come downstairs. “I won’t eat her food. She touched it.”
“Carlie, don’t be stupid. Of course she touched it. How else could she cook it? ”
“She touched it with the same hand she used to kill my polliwogs.” Carlie was half upset and half enjoying the scene she was making.
Nothing would make her come downstairs, so Papa had to go up and carry a sullen, silent Carlie down and place her at the table. She sat there with her mouth tightly shut, staring straight ahead, refusing to eat. Aunt Maude coaxed her. Papa ordered her. Still she refused. Finally, Papa shrugged and said, “Well, one meal more or less won’t make any difference.”
After supper Carlie followed me out of the house. “Let’s go to Green Lake and get some polliwogs,” Carlie said.
“We’re not allowed to go there unless someone is with us,” I said.
“Well, Eleanor can take us tomorrow.”
I should never have told Carlie when she was already unhappy, but it was all I could think about. I was feeling almost like Mama had died all over again. So it just came out. “Eleanor won’t be back tomorrow,” I said.
“What do you mean?”
“I overheard Papa and Aunt Maude talking. Aunt Maude said she wouldn’t stay if Eleanor kept on working here. Papa said Aunt Maude should stay.”
“Eleanor’s never coming back?”
I shook my head. “She’s going home to the farm.”
“I’m going to starve myself to death, because I’ll never eat anything unless Eleanor cooks it.”
I was sure Carlie liked food too much to give it up—even for Eleanor—but I had an idea. “Listen,” I said, “if you really refuse to eat, I’ll promise to sneak food to you. If Papa thinks you’re starving, he’s sure to get Eleanor back.”
“You promise you’ll get me stuff to eat?”
“I promise.” I was thinking only about bringing Eleanor back. I wasn’t thinking about what my plan might do to Eleanor.