Grandpa’s Secret

School Is Out

“Emily, Jacob, breakfast.”

My eyelids pop open at the sound of Papa’s booming voice. I jump from bed, straighten the covers, slip into my dress, and head for the stairs.

The huge black cook stove stands against the wall near the sink. It crackles and pops, making heat for Mama to cook breakfast. Now she stands in front of the old-fashioned thing, dishing up food as I come down the stairs. Her small, thin body looks like a wisp of thread against the massive thing.

The warmth of the kitchen feels good to me on this cool late-spring morning. Hastily, I wash my hands and the sleepers from my eyes and set the bowls on the table for Mama.

Oh no! I see it is oatmeal again. The slick, slimy stuff reminds me of the slug I stepped on that left its sticky stripes on my foot last week.

“Oh, Mama,” I complain. “My foot sticks to the floor. How do I get the stripes off? Soap doesn’t work.” Mama found that salt, which adds flavor to oatmeal, would also take the slug’s stripes from my foot.

Brother Jacob is slow getting started this morning, as he is sometimes.

Papa, whose voice sounds much like Grandpa-pa’s, has bowed his head and is saying grace when the still kitchen comes to life.

Jacob, in his haste to get to the table, runs from his room and dashes down the stairs. Hitting the rug at the bottom, he plants his foot on it and skids across the floor to his chair at the table. He stretches his short legs to get in the seat and turns the chair over. Bang! What a noise! And he doesn’t even wash his hands.

Papa opens his eyes and gives him a scolding glare. But Papa cannot stay angry at him, and the glare turns quickly into an affectionate smile.

I help Jacob pick up the chair, give him an understanding wink, and hold the chair while he climbs to the seat. I too often turned the chair over when I was his size.

Papa goes on with grace, “And now, Lord, about this rambunctious lad, help us to get a handle on him and settle him down. Amen.”

Jacob, with downcast eyes, looks sheepishly at his bowl as Papa finishes.

“Is Grandpa-pa coming, Papa?”

“Yes Jacob, we’re going to hoe corn. Now, wash up before you eat.”

I hold his chair as he climbs off and then back on.

“Emily, it’s time to go. The clock says six to seven.”

“That’s seven thirty, Jacob. No, remember what happened Friday?”

“Yuck,” Jacob spouts, and he rubs his cheek as if he could wipe off the kiss. The kiss of a brown-haired, brown-eyed snappy second-grade girl who has a shine for him. And all because he won the first-grade sack race on the last day of school games.

My mind wanders as we slowly eat our oatmeal and listen for Grandpa-pa and Grandma. There is no need to hurry this morning.

School is out for the summer. Even though this is our first day of vacation, I miss my schoolmates already.

I look at the clock on the mantel. Jacob is right. We would be meeting Manley, Charles, Avis, Ennis, and Kathryn down the lane about now. Together we’d walk across the valley to the school against yonder hill. Sometimes we’d take a shortcut through the fields, but most of the time, we’d stick to the main path along the road. That’s because something usually happened every time we’d take a shortcut.

Just last Friday, we cut through the Hagey’s pasture. We did not know they had a bull. We were laughing, and we were guessing who would win the last day of school races and spelling bee when we heard, Thumpity-thump, thumpity-thump, thumpity-thump.

The loud noise alarms us. Our cheerful chatter stops. We turn to look. With head bent low, the snorting animal is running toward Jacob. My heart pounds wildly in my throat. Will the bull knock Jacob down and trample him? I am afraid. Manley grabs his jacket and waves it up and down, up and down.

“Run to the fence,” he yells.

I grab Jacob, Charles grabs Kathryn, and Ennis grabs Avis. We run for the fence, climb it, and jump to the other side.