The rooster crowed, announcing the beginning of a new day.
Cinda pulled the covers over her head. No, it couldn’t be morning already. Hadn’t she only just dropped into bed? Why were the noisy, chaotic days so long and the peaceful nights so short? She wanted to ignore the wake-up call. To sleep in just once would be so delightful, but she knew she couldn’t do that. Lucas was already up milking the cow and would expect to greet her as he always did when he came in the kitchen with the pail of milk and a kiss. Then everyone else would slowly get up and the day would be underway, not stopping until after dark when it was time to fall back into bed.
Today she wanted to finish the church dresses for Daniella and Daphne, shirts for Lucas and Travis needed mending, and Trevor had a pair of pants that required a patch. Keeping the house clean was a constant battle. The kitchen floor definitely needed a good scrubbing. Then there were the daily chores of cooking and keeping up with a pair of active five year olds.
Cinda readied herself and went down to the dreary kitchen. Although she had cleaned it several times, it still looked dull. She had made some yellow gingham curtains to cheer up the window, but the rest of the kitchen was still drab. The broken and uneven shelves still wobbled. She had attempted to fix them but only ended up with a battered thumb and frazzled nerves. As soon as Lucas was not so busy, she would ask him to fix them. He’d already had so many burdens placed on him from such a young age, but never once did she hear him complain nor would she.
She wanted to do a little decorating to make the house seem more homey, but there was never time. Today would be no different.
Martha was the first one down. “What’s for breakfast, Cinderella?”
Cinda took a deep breath. “I’ll make a deal with you. You call me by my name, Cinda and I will call you Marty instead of Martha.”
Marty looked at her for a moment, then shrugged her shoulders on her way out of the kitchen.
After a noisy breakfast, Cinda sat down and completed the mending and sewing while Daniella and Daphne played quietly at her feet. It was a nice change from their usual squabbling. Lunch was noisy as well but uneventful. Afterward, Cinda worked on the kitchen floor. With Daniella and Daphne outside with their aunt and uncles, she finished the task in no time.
Suddenly, Cinda found herself with what looked like an hour to herself before she should start supper. She spent about ten minutes walking around the house making a list of the things needed to spruce up the place—curtains, doilies, maybe a rug for the sitting room. Then she settled herself in the rocking chair in the sitting room. She sighed. It was good to get off her feet and rest. She picked up a book she had been wanting to read, one she had started several weeks ago when she had a spare minute but hadn’t been able to get back to until now. This was her chance to escape to another world for a little while. Even Dewight’s annoying ramblings wouldn’t spoil her solitude.
She reread the beginning to refresh her memory. Just as she became engrossed in the story, however, chaos sounded in the kitchen. Cinda ran in and found a muddy piglet and two muddy five year olds scrambling across her clean floor.
Daphne and Daniella squealed as much as the pig. Their muddrenched clothes sprayed everything as the girls spun around, chasing the pig.
Cinda’s first thought was to stop the flying mud. The only way to do that was to stop that grubby swine. As the squealing hunk of ham came toward her in the doorway, threatening to muddy the rest of the house, she reached for it. She fell half on it, capturing it in her grasp. “Somebody take this thing,” she said, stunned by what she had done.
Marty waltzed in and took the piglet from Cinda. “Sorry, Cinderella. It just got loose,” she said with a shrug.
Cinda clenched her fists. She was not Cinderella and obviously the chat she had with Martha this morning fell on deaf ears or a cold heart. Then there was her floor. Her beautifully clean floor now was smeared with mud. The cupboards were splattered as well. She gritted her teeth. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, she rattled off as fast as she could under her breath.
Lucas blocked Martha’s escape. He surveyed the muddy scene and took the piglet and pointed to the twins. “See to it that those two get cleaned up.”
“But Travis was the one who let them play with Chuckie.”
“Now! Take them down to the creek and get as much mud off as you can.” Lucas left no room for argument.
Martha huffed and held out both her hands. Daniella and Daphne each claimed one.
Lucas left with the pig, leaving Cinda sitting on the dirty floor in a muddy dress. If she got started right away, she would be done in time to fix supper.
She got a scrub brush and filled a pail with water. Her arms and shoulders were still sore from cleaning it the first time. Well at least she would be off her feet. Tears stung her eyes.
Just when she thought she had a moment to herself, it had been viciously ripped away. Cinda clenched her fists and growled. “I can’t take it any longer. There’s always one more thing to do, no one to talk to, no one to confide in, no one to lean on.” She rubbed her hand on the muddy floor. Frustration boiled under the surface. “Does the dirt never end?” She slapped the floor and blinked as a mist of mud sprayed her face.
Cinda angrily scanned her dismal surroundings. She marched over to the shelves. Afraid to put anything on them for fear they would fall down completely, she lifted the edge of one rotting board and let it drop on its support. The support pulled out of the side board. Cinda jumped slightly as the shelf crashed to the bottom. “Kindling, that’s all they’re good for.”
Still fuming, she surveyed the entire kitchen. “A kitchen without a pantry is like a house without a roof. This is pathetic. There isn’t a mixing bowl left that isn’t chipped and cracked.” She looked at the dented and bent metal plates; pushing them aside, she shook her head. They had obviously been pounded out a time or two. She held up two wooden spoons, the only cooking utensils. One had a piece missing and the other’s handle was broken. “What use are these?” How was she supposed to cook decent meals under these conditions? She glanced at the room as a whole. “This whole kitchen is a joke. One big joke,” she yelled, half laughing and half crying.
The anger built inside her as she scanned the room, looking for something, anything about the kitchen that was good. Even the pump creaked and was difficult to use. She turned and heaved the pair of broken spoons at the wall. She should count to ten, but this felt so much better.
Then she caught her breath. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a stunned Lucas standing in the doorway. She faced him and stared in horror. How long had he been there? She hoped it wasn’t long, but from the pained expression on his face, he had heard enough. He went back outside without a word, looking dejected and downtrodden.
How could she have said all those things? She had criticized his mother’s kitchen. She hadn’t meant to hurt him. Could she take it all back? No. Once spoken, words can never be retrieved. The damage was done.
“But the tongue can no man tame; it is an unruly evil, full of deadly poison,” the Bible said. Her tongue had certainly spewed poison, and Lucas was its victim. She fell to her knees next to the pail of water, defeated, and started scrubbing.