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

I need you to help me gather the things for the fireman’s raffle. This Saturday at the park, we are going to the community Founder’s Day Celebration, and we have volunteered to help with the raffle.”

Katy just blinked at her. We. Why was it that her grandmother always said we? Katy knew now there was no way she could get out of it. She knew she was stuck going to this farmer’s bazaar that Saturday, and the Gibsons were sure to be there.

“I’ll come, but I won’t like it,” Katy said.

Her grandmother sighed. “That is your choice. Whether you will be happy or not this month will be entirely up to you.”

The Friend

 

As soon as Katy heard her grandmother call for breakfast, she moaned. It was the nastiest case of déjà vu she ever had. And in the back of her groggy mind, she knew if she did not get up right then, she would miss breakfast.

Grandma Schmidt noticed Katy trudge out from the basement stairwell, pushing the handmade wooden door aside and rubbing her eyes. She gave her a smile and set out a plate across from her own.

“Good morning, Sunshine.”

Katy grunted in response.

“Have some waffles.” Grandma Schmidt sat down and pulled out her napkin, bowing her head to say grace.

Taking the seat across from her, Katy plopped down and let her head hang naturally.

“For what we are about to receive, may we be truly grateful. Amen.”

Katy blinked open one eye at her grandmother, watching her cheerfully pick up her knife and fork and start to cut her waffle up. On the table, there were more than just waffles. They had grapefruit halves, a fried egg for each of them—sunny side up—and a small bowl of strawberries, undoubtedly from the berry plants Grandma maintained outside on her front porch in a pot. Orange juice stood next to each of their plates accompanied by a taller glass of milk. Katy sniffed the milk and grimaced.

“This isn’t whole milk, is it?” she asked.

Grandma Schmidt looked up from her plate and dabbed her mouth. “Kathleen Nielsen, are you just going to just sit there and find fault with breakfast, or are you going to eat it?”

Taking that as a ‘shut up and stuff your face,’ Katy grumbled under her breath and picked up a fork. It probably was whole milk.

 

They cleaned up the breakfast dishes just as the sun shone in the kitchen window, casting beams of light into the room and onto the table. Katy paused, staring at the light as her grandmother stacked the plates into the dish cupboard. It reminded her of the mornings when Grandpa Schmidt puttered in the kitchen, cleaning out his various instruments only to put them away again in their cases. She could still hear him say that proper maintenance of musical instruments prevented the need to buy new ones. He had one particular woodwind pipe that he cleaned with great care, rubbing it and oiling it to make sure it did not form cracks. A small beaded chain dangled from its neck, looking more worn and used than the pipe itself. He took especial care with the reed, keeping it from splitting, though he replaced it occasionally, testing the pipe out to make sure it still played well. That one instrument had a smooth tone that virtually reached inside her and pulled at all her heartstrings. But Grandpa had an order to his cleaning, and that pipe ended back in its glass case on the shelf, as did all the other instruments.

“Get changed, and I’ll see you out in the garden,” Grandma Schmidt said.

Katy blinked and looked up. Of course, the garden. With a sigh, Katy let her shoulders hang. She might as well do it. It would be a month before she could leave the farm and such stupid chores. She had to amuse Gran for the duration.

Despite her resignation, Katy took her time getting dressed. By the time she entered the garden, where her grandmother was elbow deep in a patch of carrots, thinning them out, the sun was already getting hot.

“Oh, good. You can start weeding the onions over there. Be careful with that hoe. You don’t want to dig up the plants. There are some gloves next to the basket.” Grandma Schmidt barely looked up from her work, smiling to herself with a satisfaction that made Katy’s mouth taste mildly bitter—a sensation that she was being manipulated.

Almost kicking the ground, Katy did as she was told, picking up the hoe. The onions had only sparse young weeds. It looked like her grandmother had actually maintained the garden well without her. What did she need her for? Katy could hear Grandma Schmidt hum one of Grandpa’s melodies as she pulled up the baby carrots and set them in her basket. She had that same little smile on her face. Looking over the garden patch, Katy blinked again. It was not large. It was small, certainly small enough for one old woman to handle. She didn’t need the help at all. So why was she even there?

But listening to her grandmother hum that tune, Katy began to hoe out the row, going slowly. It was the same tune her grandfather played when he took out that wooden pipe, a tune that calmed the evening storms and kept the morning bright and fresh. It was a melody that chased away nightmares and held back angry feelings and words. From Grandma it was nothing more than an echo, but that echo told her that things would be ok if she just slowed down and listened.

So Katy did.

 

They made lunch at noon. Right before then, Katy helped her grandmother separate the carrot leaves on the drying board from the carrot roots. They scrubbed the roots, peeled them for salad, and set them aside to dry in the strainer on the counter top. Eventually, they would put the carrots in the crisper to preserve them for later. As for the leaves, they would be entirely dried out to make herbal tea. Grandma Schmidt said that carrot leaf tea was the best tasting herbal tea available, and it was cheap to get.

“Do you want potato soup for lunch or tomato soup?” Grandma Schmidt asked, looking through her cupboards at the canned soups she kept stocked. She knew her grandma would make them from scratch if she could, but Mrs. Tippets was coming by, and they needed to save time.

“I just want a sandwich,” Katy said. She wiped the last of the dampness off the counter top and hung the dishrag on the sink spout.

Grandma Schmidt took the cloth off the spout and turned the knob to rinse it out, shoving the rag back into Katy’s hand to do it herself. “It must be clean first. And, we can also have a sandwich with lunch if you wish.”

Rinsing the rag out in the hot water, Katy said, “Just a sandwich is fine. Gran, why do you eat so much at lunch? That’s what dinner’s for.”

Shaking her head, Grandma Schmidt appeared ready to moan. “No, Kathleen. Dinner is for tiding one self over until breakfast. Don’t you know the saying: ‘Eat like a king at breakfast, eat like a merchant at lunch, and eat like a pauper at dinner’?”

Katy shook her head.

Grandma Schmidt huffed, poking Katy in the stomach. “That is why your generation is getting so fat.”

Grabbing her rather thin and healthy stomach, Katy followed her grandmother with a hurt gaze. Grandma continued to dig through the cans, taking out the tomato soup. Then she went to the refrigerator, unlocking it with that fancy looking skeleton key she always wore, and took out a loaf of bread and some cheese.

“Really, Kathleen, I often wonder how kids today do get so obese. But then with all the sugar and the junk they eat, sitting on their backsides all day in front of those game players and televisions, it really should be no wonder. I think the only thing I wonder about now is how you got out of it, being as thin as you are. You’re not starving yourself on purpose, are you? You don’t have one of those disorders, do you?”

Her grandmother’s eyes had quickly gotten wide, turning towards Katy again to seize Katy’s arms, though she didn’t lay a hand on her.

Katy had to laugh, lifting up her hands again. She was glad to know her grandmother did not think she was fat. “No, no. Mom is pretty firm about making me eat. Too bossy, in fact.”

That reassured her grandmother right away. “Good. Good.”

She set the bread and cheese on the table and reached for the butter. Katy smiled. She knew what they were having for lunch now. Grilled cheese sandwiches with tomato soup. Katy had always considered it a rainy day food since her mother always made it on cold blustery days, but….

Katy grabbed her arms and shivered, surprised that she was thinking about that woman. Her mother had abandoned her, left her while taking Dad to Florida so they could be alone together. That was her real plan. Her mom didn’t like her anymore. Her mom was ashamed of her. It had only been one prank she did. But, even now, Katy could see her mother’s face in her mind, the same as when she was picked up from the police station. All the light in her eyes was gone. She couldn’t even look at her. And not even since then. Her mother hated her. She hated her friends. Katy was in exile.

Looking up with a jerk, Katy glared at her grandmother. This was her jailer. Why did she forget that? Were they trying to soften her up? Were they manipulating her? For a moment, Katy contemplated skipping lunch, but her stomach stabbed pains into her sides.

“Kathleen, can you open this can for me?” Grandma Schmidt passed over the can opener. “My arthritis has been acting up lately.”

Blinking at this old woman’s calm smile, Katy let out a sigh. No. If Gran was manipulating her, then she had to be a master at it. There was no real proof that she was asking anything more than usual. She was the same old woman as ever. Lonely for Grandpa, and that was all. Maybe…just maybe her mother was thinking the same thing about her. Maybe she was wrong.

A swirl of emotions spun inside of her as Katy took the can and the can opener. Clenching it tight, she grasped the handles and turned the knob with some effort. As it slowly cut into the aluminum, she felt loneliness, even guilt, cut into her. She hated to admit it, but all Katy really missed was her mom’s approving smile. That look in her mother’s eye at the police station had ended everything. All happiness, all faith, all hope. Katy knew what she had done was wrong. She knew she had fallen among bullies and thieves. She wasn’t ignorant that the prank was illegal. It was the pressure, it was the shame, and it was the fear that made her do it. It was her loneliness, missing Grandpa, missing the loyalty of her changeable friends, missing the innocence of being just a kid who loved music. Now, she missed her mother’s love. It