The Pantry Door - Julie Steimle (reading strategies book txt) 📗

other except for Grandma and Grandpa Schmidt. In-breeders, he called them. In fact, her father often puzzled over why Grandpa Schmidt moved to that small town when he was such an accomplished musician and composer. He even had asked Grandpa that once. Katy had seen his answer. Grandpa Schmidt just smiled, took up his favorite clarinet, and played a tune. When her dad persisted afterward, Grandpa merely said, “Marla’s town didn’t particularly like me. This one did.”

Grandpa Schmidt didn’t like cities, even the small ones. Grandma came from Katy’s hometown. In fact, Katy lived in Great Grandma Whittaker’s house. Her parents inherited it. People around town still gossiped about how Grandpa Schmidt came to town and got engaged to Grandma when she was only fourteen, and he was well into his twenties. Robbing the cradle, they said. It sounded funny to Katy’s ears considering how old they were to Katy. All Grandma ever said about it was Grandpa saved her life, and that was when she fell in love.

But gossip was worse in that farm town. Katy saw the old grocer gesturing over to her, and the farm boys stared. News apparently traveled fast.

Katy walked faster.

Katy decided the main roads were too exposed, so she turned the corner and went up hill. Heading back up the gravel roads, she walked along horse corrals, past haylofts, and beyond haystacks. The Gibson kids were jumping on the trampoline in their yard, and they stared as she trudged by. Katy did not stop. She didn’t like the Gibsons anyway. The kids kicked cats and were mean to strays. The older ones had teased Grandpa all the time, letting the chickens out of the coop. It always made Katy mad, though Grandpa just shrugged his shoulders and took out his old carved flute to play. The chickens never went far anyway. They knew food was indoors rather than outside in the yard, and they usually hopped right back in when Grandpa called to them. He had all the charm.

Katy kicked the nearest fence post. Even the Gibsons made her think of Grandpa.

It was not as long of a walk as Katy had wished. She was standing on the edge of her grandmother’s property once more, and her stomach growled still. The Fig Newtons were not enough.

No snitching? Katy cocked her head to think. Her grandmother was an old lady. Probably her eyesight and hearing were failing her by now. What did it hurt by trying?

She could miss dinner too.

Drawing in a breath, Katy stared at the house, not moving. Her stomach gurgled more. Closing her eyes, she took in another breath and resolved to do it. She had to go in. She had to eat something else.

Taking a dedicated march up the concrete walk to the back door, Katy stopped just short of the handle. Pulling back her fingers momentarily, she took hold of the aluminum screen door latch and pressed the plastic button on the handle, listening to the hook inside squeak. She drew the door open, hoping to make the spring stretch as quietly as possible. It did not creak loudly, but it made her nerves go raw with every sense as she listened also for foot falls. So far, nothing.

Sliding between the screen door and the real door, Katy turned the knob and stepped up into the room where they kept the washer and drier. Lifting her other foot and going forward with as much care as she could, Katy let the screen door slowly click into place behind her. She felt the plastic carpet cover under her feet squeak. Of course—Grandma’s house seemed to be booby trapped with squeaky, noisy things. The kitchen floor creaked. That was the only other obstacle Katy remembered. The others she had inconveniently forgotten.

But she was able to close the door and cross the floor without stirring up her grandmother. In fact, as Katy looked around the room, she heard the fan going in the bedroom to her left. Grandma Schmidt was napping. Releasing a great breath of relief, Katy crossed the room with less care and entered the kitchen to see if there was anything left to eat.

The refrigerator was one of those old giants with the combined freezer and fridge. One had to pull up on a large long stainless steel handle to open it. It also had a lock. Katy touched the lock and tugged on the handle. It was quite tight. Of course! Katy felt like kicking the ground in her anger, but she didn’t. She knew it would wake her grandmother. Looking up instead at the cupboards, she thought of other possibilities for food.

She went to the breadbox first. Opening it, all she could find were the stumps of three loaves that were already dry and perhaps were being saved for crumbs. Grandma topped her casseroles with these.

Opening the cupboards over the counter, Katy found the bowls, the cups, and the plates. Three sets, actually. One set was fine china, and the other was holiday dinnerware. Opening the cupboards below the counter, she found all the pots and pans. Everything was organized. There was the flour barrel to the right and the sugar barrel to the left, both behind the kitchen door. The cupboard above the stove only contained things like baking soda and salt. Then Katy looked over to the tall cupboard where Grandma kept her spices. The ironing board used to fall from it, but Grandma had removed it when she stopped having to iron Grandpa’s shirts. Crossing over to it, Katy pulled on the small knob and opened it wide.

This cupboard was dark inside. It was also deep. For some reason, this cupboard had always creeped Katy out when she was young. Looking in it now, there really was nothing to be scared of. The cupboard was lined in grapevine print contact paper, curling at the edges. The back of the cupboard did not have shelves, but the spices rested on the two-by-fours that made up the paneling in the back wall. In front of them were boxes of cream of wheat, grits, and all kind of pasta—all things that required cooking. Except….

Katy snatched the box out from the cupboard, raising it up in the air. It was a gold find. Ripping open the top, and reaching inside, she took out the opened package of graham crackers, breaking them up into pieces almost immediately. Cramming one after the other into her mouth, Katy chewed them all and swallowed with satisfaction. With each bite came a sigh of relief. Now if only she could get to the milk. Katy stared at the refrigerator longingly. Her eyes turned and fell on the box freezer under the windowsill. She had forgotten that one, but then everything in there was sure to be frozen meat and old cake as hard as ice. Grandma Schmidt made everything from scratch. She would never buy a microwave meal.

Setting the graham cracker box back inside the cupboard, Katy closed the door and crossed over to the freezer anyway. Lifting up the lid, which gratefully wasn’t locked down, she peered inside. Blinking, Katy stared at the sliver wrapped packages and the zip locked freezer bags. Inside five of them were cookies.

Blinking, she just stared. Grandma had been thinking about her. She made those ahead of time. Katy thought about taking some, but she closed the lid instead and turned around. Drawing in a sigh, a feeling of guilt crept inside her. She should have eaten that lunch. It wouldn’t have been so bad. She shouldn’t have said those mean things to her either. Why did she feel so angry all of the time?

Katy heard a creak.

Jerking upright, Katy looked to the kitchen door first, but her grandmother wasn’t there. That wasn’t where the noise came from anyway. Turning her head, she looked to the cupboard door. It was open.

Sure she had closed it, Katy crossed the kitchen floor with less care than before. She reached the cupboard door and checked to make sure the boxes were inside, fitted well so that the door could close entirely. Shutting it again, Katy turned to go towards the basement stairs. She would be sleeping down there, and she wanted to make sure her mom hadn’t left some sappy good bye note in her sleeping bag.

The cupboard door creaked open again. Katy turned her head, half expecting a hand or a scary head to stick out. Slowly walking back, ready to run if she had to, Katy peered around the cupboard door.

Nothing except the same old spices and boxes of hot cereal.

Blinking at the door edge, she felt the boxes to make sure they weren’t pushing the door open, and stuck her head in to see what was wrong. There was enough space for her to climb in if she wanted to. It was dark inside, and the grapevine printed contact paper ran up the walls of the cupboard as well as the back, covering the two-by-fours where the cinnamon and bay leaves rested. Katy peered up. The darkness continued like a chimney flue. In fact, the more Katy stared at it, the more it seemed to go on and on forever. For a moment, she thought she saw a light above, a crack of it. And she even could have sworn she felt a breeze blow down.

Her grandfather had made the house. He built it with his own two hands. Laid the foundation. Set the beams. Roofed it. Everything. He used to say a house held many mysteries. But here, Katy wondered now if he was sharing a secret. Did his house have a mystery? Or maybe it was just haunted with his ghost.

“Kathleen, what are you doing?”

Katy jerked her head out of the cupboard and jumped back. Her grandmother stared at her with a patient, but stern expression on her face.

“I, uh…” Katy frowned and then let out a loud sigh. “I was getting out some graham crackers.”

Grandma Schmidt frowned, but not entirely as her eyes seemed pleased that Katy was being honest. “You’ll spoil your dinner.”

She walked over the refrigerator and took out the brass key she always wore around her neck. The key was mostly decorative, and Katy had always thought it was just a charm her grandfather had given her grandma when they got engaged, but apparently it wasn’t. Her grandma used it to unlock the fridge.

“Are you always going to lock it?” Katy asked, her contempt returning to her voice without meaning to.

Glancing up at her, her grandma said, “It depends. Are you going to be a good girl?”

That phrase always made her feel like such a little kid. Katy hated it. However, she bit back the remark she wanted to make to avoid another mouth-scrubbing.

“I’ll eat what you make,” Katy said.

To that, her grandmother nodded. “Good. It’s a start.”

Katy did not know how to answer to that, so she said nothing.

Her grandmother started to make dinner, pulling out some thawed pieces of chicken, onions, and a few fresh vegetables. She even took out a fresh loaf of bread.

Of course, she would store the bread in a locked place, Katy thought to herself.

“Would you mind helping me?” her grandma asked.

Katy lifted her head, somewhat startled. “I…I’ve never cooked before.”

Her grandmother smiled, setting some spinach leaves onto the counter. “Well, you are nearly twelve. It is about time you learned to cook. I’ll teach you.”

Feeling a blush rise to her cheeks, Katy was again speechless. Almost twelve—in practically a year. But her grandmother saw her as nearly grown up, and she smiled.

“OK.”

Both turned toward the counter, and her grandmother started directing Katy at once. They took out several spices and set them on the counter next to the skillet. Grandma Schmidt showed Katy how to sauté the onions and chop the carrots.

Neither of them noticed that the cupboard door had shut itself.