Two

 A rooster would not have had a head start on Aunt Ella. Nor her mother, Grandma Stark, at least not in the winter. The two women usually arose around four in the morning, every day of the year, and went about preparing for the day. The kitchen was their “conference room.”

“Ma, you know those photographs of you and Father, and the one of Father only? They made me wonder if you would like to frame and hang the one you keep of your mother to maybe balance things out. It shouldn’t just be all about the Starks, but Bittingers, too. And the Weitzels.” Ella was cutting corn kernels clean of the cobs, while her mother scrubbed the kitchen table. They would be dressing a turkey in about half an hour.

David Emery Stark and Temperance West Stark

Ella’s brother David’s wife planned to bring a second turkey, already baked, shortly before noon. David and Tempie lived close by, and it made sense to cook a second bird in their stove before coming, freeing up the oven at Grandma’s for a turkey of their own.

Grandma Sevilla Stark straightened up and wiped her hands with a clean towel.

“No, Ella. She will be just fine in the album. Know what? I have not really thought about her in a long time, at least not until the other day. I got to wonderin’ if life would have been much different if my pa had lived longer.” Ella thought about the photo, the one of her grandmother with a white gathered cap, holding

Hester Bittinger 

a bonnet with a large bill. She looked tough, her grandmother. Probably didn’t put up with much guff.

Ella's mother was Sevilla Bittinger before she married, daughter of George Bittinger and Hester Pearl Weitzel, the one who was in the photograph with the bonnet. Grandma’s father died when she was seven, with five siblings and another on the way. Ella remembered hearing he died from a “hunting accident,” but she didn’t know the particulars. Now that the subject presented itself, it was time to ask.

“Ma, that accident—was it from a gun or a knife? Or perhaps the raccoon he was tracking?”

Grandma Stark pulled out a carved oak chair with a caned seat. She made a mental note to mention to her son that it needed re-caning. There was a time she would have done so herself, but her hands had grown too weak. She’d have to have Dave look after it.

“Neither, Ella. Tho’ he was trackin’ a coon. You got that part right. No, it was from one-a his friends cuttin’ down a tree the coon was in. When that tree fell, it knocked a branch off another tree which came down and kilt my pa.”

“Ma, I’m so sorry…”

“Well, I don’t really remember him much. But he must have been a hard worker. We had a large farm, though my parents was young. My stepfather was quick to step right in and marry my ma to increase his lands. He was a bachelor neighbor. We was soon rich. Land rich anyways. He had over 800 acres by the time I married. I think your father is always trying to outdo that.”

“Well, we don’t quite have 800 acres…”

“Ella, what we have here is a farm where just about every inch is good land. So, comparin’ good acre to good acre, your Pa has done well. I got no complaints.”

Ella retrieved the coffee pot off the wood-burning stovetop. The pot had a metal part inside which filtered the coffee grounds. She once heard a tale that Civil War soldiers filtered coffee through their socks. She tried to imagine what the coffee tasted like, and how they washed and dried the socks afterward if it was winter. No, that tale must be a tall one.

Once they poured two cups, the women sat a while longer at the table. Somehow, both knew this was a moment between mother and daughter they might not have again. No, they would get busy. Or fall sick. Or worse. But they needn’t consider that now.

“Ma, tell me a little about Pa. He never talks about his kinfolks, and I never hear him missing Maryland or Pennsylvania. Did he get along with his parents? Or even his siblings? I asked him once and he changed the subject with a look telling me I was to not inquire again.”

Grandma Stark stirred a little bit of cream into her coffee. Normally, she liked it black, but it was a special day, and this might be a challenging discussion.

“Well, now, you know we knowed each other since we was young. Neighbors sometimes, but the Starks, they moved a lot. We lived next to one of your Pa’s cousins, and he would visit them. I always was sweet on your Pa, you know. But he didn’t notice me until I had some inheritance money.”

“Ma!”

“It’s okay, honey. We have built a very nice life, and he has always treated me well. Sometimes, I think he treats me like he wished his father would have treated his mother…”

Grandma Stark stirred her coffee, looking at the creamy swirls. Sometimes, the winter sky looked like that. Dark, moody, but with white wisps winding around. The week before, they had thunder along with snow with a sky similar to her coffee.

“Ma, thank you for telling me more. I hope you will continue sometime.”

Ella knew there was a lot of work to do to get ready for the day, and she did not want her mother to lift another finger. No, this would be her day. And Pa’s.

Ella reached across the table to place her hand atop her mother’s.

“Ma, you and Pa have set such a wonderful example of a partnership born of respect. And love, of course.” She gave her mother’s hand a squeeze.

Maybe that is why I never found the right person to marry. None live up to the kind of person either of my parents are.