Nineteen

From Jennie's Book,
Jesus, Lover of My Soul

Graduation was scheduled for two in the afternoon. This gave Aunt Ella plenty of time to iron Jennie’s

dress, or so one would think.

“MOVE, everyone!” Aunt Ella was on a mission, and people were in her way.

The small wood-burning stove in Jennie’s room could also burn coal. But in Ella’s opinion, it was not hot enough. So, she wanted to heat the iron on the stove in the kitchen but there were four bodies in her path. She bullied her way past them like a cutter in icy waters. Or a hot knife through butter.

Once the iron was on the stove, she turned to Jennie.

“Now, Jennie, you must eat something. It will be a long day, so I suggest you have porridge for breakfast with fruit, and then about eleven, eat a light lunch. Maybe cheese and more fruit.”

Once the stove was heated, Ella turned to her ironing. First, the skirt. She sprinkled it from a small can with holes in the lid which they kept on hand for such purpose. There was another can with starch mixed in, and she lightly sprinkled from that one.

Then, attack! It was as though she was going to war rather than ironing a delicate garment for her favorite niece. Slam!

The noise of the iron hitting Jennie’s dress on the kitchen table—which had a folded sheet between the wood and the garment—could be heard everywhere in the small abode.

“We had best get out of her way.” Jay stated the obvious.

“I guess we can heat our porridge on one of the other stoves. It will just take longer.” Orval was trying to be helpful. But Ella overheard him. She marched into the front room.

“Now can you wait just a minute or two? I will be finished in the kitchen in two shakes of a lamb’s tail!” Ella stood, hands on hips, just inside the doorway.

“Uh, what is that smell?” John wrinkled his nose.

“Oh!” Ella ran back into the kitchen where she discovered she had left the iron on Jennie’s skirt. There was a brown mark the shape of the iron between the waistband and the first row of lace.

Jennie stood in the doorway in shock.

“It is all right, Jennie,” Orval murmured. “We will fix this somehow.” He placed his arm about his daughter’s waist, giving her a gentle squeeze.

Ella placed the iron on the side of the stove and plunked down in a kitchen chair, her mouth open but no words issuing forth. Jennie strode to her aunt and placed her arms around Ella’s neck. “It is all right, Auntie. This is not the first time a garment has been…scorched. But,” she added, “I have other white skirts. Two. I keep them for summer Sundays when there are special occasions. I will simply wear one of them. It is the blouse in which so much work went, correct?”

Ella nodded so slowly that Jennie was not certain she was nodding in the affirmative.

“I do not see it in here, so I assume it is somewhere in our room. Is it in the satchel?”

Ella snapped back to the present.

“No, dear. It is hanging in the wardrobe of course.”

Jennie went to retrieve the garment which was fortunate, because Ella’s legs could not yet support her.

“Ella, smile. Breathe deeply. This too shall pass.” Orval pulled out a chair and sat opposite his sister. He reached across the table—over the crime inflicted on the skirt—and touched Ella’s clenched fist.

Tears formed in Ella’s eyes. This was a time of such import and every minute detail raced through her mind. Everything had to be perfect! And now, she ruined one of the most important factors in Jennie’s special day.

“Here.” Jay held out his hand to Jennie who was holding the blouse. “I will iron it.”

“No, you will not!” Ella jutted out her chin.

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Orval patted his sister’s hand. “Ella, Jay has become something of an expert in ironing garments. He worked at Dorn-Cloney Laundry from time to time the last several years, and he has been ironing everything from tea towels to his shirt collars since he was knee-high to a grasshopper. I assure you, are his collars are the picture of perfection when he has a special occasion.”

“Aunt Ella, I shall take great care. I promise. You have so much

Jay Stark

else on your mind.” Jay placed the blouse on the table as soon as Orval moved his arms away. Ella sat silent, but wrinkles on her forehead relaxed enough that she no longer was scowling.

Soon, Jennie had both a skirt and her blouse and the yellow sash all assembled on her persons in such a way that all in the household stood back to admire. Even Aunt Ella.

“Perfection!” Orval exclaimed.

“Jennie, I’ll prepare the porridge. What if I put dates in it?” John inquired.

“Heaven’s no! You know what dates do to me, especially if I am a bundle of nerves. No, plain porridge would be perfect.”

Orval took a gander at the three grown children with a satisfied half-smile. Though some might say his children learned to be proficient in life-skills because his own were lacking, it was his plan to raise his children to be independent. Of course, there was a little bit of truth to the adage “necessity is the mother of invention.”

Jay tapped his father on the shoulder. “Now?”

Orval took out his pocket watch, a gift from his father when he turned eighteen. “It is a little early. They do not expect us to pick them up until noon.” Orval got up and tugged at Jay’s sleeve, motioning him to the front room and then out the door.

“Good grief, Father!” exclaimed Jay. “She could have heard you. Good thing she was distracted!”

“I know. Well, actually, you should go ahead. I’ll make some excuse for your absence. Hopefully, the

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1913 Yearbook

carriage I engaged is sufficient for them. We certainly do not want them to take that horrendous contraption they call a streetcar or whatever it is!”

Inside, Jennie was in her room, staring at herself in her armoire mirror. She fussed at her hair, which Ella had put up for her an hour earlier, inserting a pad underneath the bun to increase the height. It needed something. Not flowers, because she would have her graduate’s cap on, and they would intrude. Then, she remembered.

From the small box under the bed where she kept her most treasured belongings, she withdrew a comb. It was decorated with mother-of-pearl, and though the sterling teeth were badly in need of polishing, she knew they would not show.

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"June fifth, 1913, is certainly going to be the most memorable day of my life!" Jennie said to the mirror.

Jennie found the perfect spot to employ the ornament—just where it would not only be a lovely enhancement to what Jennie considered to be her greatest asset—but where it could also fasten back some of the stray hairs. Orval peeked in, sharply drawing his breath.

“Annie…” He bit his lip.

“Mama?” Jennie turned to face her father. “Do I look like Mama in some way?”

Orval nodded. “In all the best ways.”

The two awkwardly embraced, then drew apart.

“My goodness, Father. We are hugging more these past few days than we have in the entire rest of my life!”

Orval looked away, then back at his daughter.

“I am sorry, Jennie.”

“Well, I am just delighted for the two of you!” From the front room, Ella could observe father and daughter. “I hope you make this hugging business a practice.”

Jennie excused herself to the kitchen where she retrieved a bowl off the shelf and helped herself to the porridge. One bite. Then another. But that was all she could manage. “Here, John. Finish this.”

Jennie grasped an apple, biting off a small chunk before she handed it, too, to her brother.

“I cannot. I am without any appetite, and I fear the consequences of forcing myself.”

Jennie then grabbed two cubes of sugar from the sugar bowl nearby. “But I will save these for later in case I need them.”

Orval stuck his head in to coax Jennie into having tea. Or water. “You must have some liquids, Jennie, or you might faint. The day feels like it will be quite warm.”

Three Stark Sisters
One is likely Ella

Ella strode in, ate a few bites of porridge while standing, then set about washing the dishes. “We should pick up the pace. I believe we should leave shortly.”

Orval chimed in from the front room. “John, you need to finish eating. Jay is attending to an errand, and we will meet up with him later. Ella? Will you be ready once you finish your porridge and clean your teeth?”

“Now look who is being bossy, Orval,” harrumphed Ella.

“Well, I am older than you and thus entitled.”

“Only for this moment, brother.”

Jennie grabbed her commencement robe and cap from her bureau. Ella had pressed the garment the night before, and Jennie detected only a small wrinkle. But in no way was she going to say anything about ironing.

From Jennie's
1913 Yearbook