Cottage on the Curve

Chapter Eight
The Fourth Was Full of Fun

Katy and Jane were sitting on the front steps, watching the boys. They’d put their hands over their ears and run whenever Billy would touch off a big one. James was barefooted and still wearing his pajama pants when Mom came out, and Davey wore his good trousers.

“Back in the house with you,” ordered Mom. “Get dressed and washed, and sit down to the table and eat breakfast. The company will start coming pretty soon, and I want everyone all cleaned up, and the porch cleared off before they get here.”

Breakfast was wonderful. Waffles with maple syrup and honey. Bacon curls, and melons with raspberries heaped in their scooped out centers. Grandma poured coffee out of a shining bubbling percolator, and the children had cold chocolate milk.

Butchie was having a fine time. He loved noise and excitement. He wasn’t the least bit afraid of the firecrackers, but he had seen the girls put their hands over their ears, and, mimic that he was, he imitated them.

By ten o’clock the first car load of company arrived.

“It’s Uncle George,” called Billy, “and he’s carrying a watermelon. The Davises are with him too. Here comes Grandma Davis and Dorothy and Louise. Margy and the baby came too.”

The Davises were Mom’s family. They didn’t share the Murray boys’ enthusiasm for collecting frogs, but they all played a good game of base ball, even Grandma Davis.

Janie reached joyfully for the baby, as the Davis girls emerged from the car. They had swimming suits and base ball bats and cameras and sun glasses.

Louise made a beeline for the bathhouse. “I’ve been waiting for this all week,” she announced. “I’m going to swim all day.”

Dorothy called to Billy and James. “One of the men at the office won a case of soda pop,” she said, “and he gave it to me. It’s in the trunk of the car. Would you like to help me carry it down?”

James’ eyes popped, and his voice rose to a shriek, the way it always did when he got excited:

“A case of soda pop! Great hopping catfish!... A whole case? The most I ever had at one time was the day we went to the wedding, and Uncle George gave me a whole bottle.”

Margie and Mom installed the baby in the tea cart. By removing the glass tray at the top, and lining the inner compartment with pillows, it became a fine emergency baby carriage.

“Why, I can remember when you used to sit in here,” said Mom to Katy. Margie turned to Jane. “I can remember when you used to ride in the tea cart, too. You were fat and bald and sassy.” Janie turned pink and laughed.

“Well,” she admitted. “I’m still sassy.”

The neighbors had company, too. There were three cars parked in Landry’s back lot. There must have been thirty people over at Williams. There was a badminton game and horseshoe pitching going on in their lower lot, and young folks in pretty bright clothes were sitting around on the lawn near the house. The crackling of the fireworks kept up. The sun shone bright and the breeze was cool. It was a lovely day.

Margie didn’t want to go swimming with the others, because she couldn’t leave the baby, but Janie had an idea.

“Grandma,” she said. “Why don’t you wear a big hat, and come out as far as the raft in the boat? We’d row you out, and you could hold the baby on your lap. Then Margy could swim with us, and both you and the baby would be close by and you wouldn’t miss any of the fun.”

“Why, I’d be glad to, if Margy would trust me with her baby,” exclaimed Grandma.

Margy laughed. “After all the babies you’ve held in your day? I should say I trust you.”

Everyone went swimming. They had races and they tried all sorts of stunts. The baby was very excited and happy. She squirmed and gurgled and clapped her hands. Uncle George swam over next to the boat and called up to her,

“Hi, sweetheart!”

She gave a quick lurch, and as fast as the wink of an eye, she was overboard and in the water. Grandma gasped, but Uncle George caught her firmly by the hem of her little white dress when her body was just at water level. Her arms and legs paddled as naturally as a tadpole. She splashed and squealed in her new found element.

“Anyone can see,” said Uncle George, “that she’s a cousin of the Murrays.”

Grandma Davis was afraid of getting her shoulders sunburned, and she was the first one out of the water. One by one, and two by two, the grownups followed her until only the children were left, and they were the last to leave the raft.

The baby was given a quick rubdown and some dry clothes. Then she was fed her own private lunch of mashed banana and spinach and milk, and she was put to bed for her nap.

The Hansens came, Bob and Dorothy, and their browneyed youngster. The men sat down at the lake front and talked in their deep rumbling voices. The ladies dashed about in a pleasant sort of flurry, getting the dinner ready. Grandma made coffee in the picnic coffee pot. It held two gallons of coffee. It smelled of picnics and hikes and wood fires. Janie never drank coffee, but she loved the memories of a sniff of the fat old coffee pot.

Dorothy and Louise cut cakes and shook fancy salads out of star-shaped molds. Aunt Claire sliced homemade bread and arranged some of her crisp, pungent dill pickles on a tray. Margy cut ham, and Mom opened the oven door now and then to look at a huge roasting pan full of brown baked beans. James stuck his nose against the screen door.

“Mom,” he said. “I’m hungry.”

“In just a minute, chum,” said Louise. “I’m about ready to call you in.” As soon as she called the children hurried in, picked up their heaped up plates, and took them to the terrace. Here they ate and gabbled to their hearts’ content while the grownups stayed on the porch.

After dinner James took a book and two bottles of pop and disappeared.

“I know where he is,” said Bill. “Whenever he gets it into his head that he wants to be alone, he climbs up the rain spout at the back of the cottage and lies on the roof. It’s shady there and no one can find him. Daddy always says that James is the family genius. I think he’s crazy.”

Janie laughed. “They both mean the same thing,” she said, flippantly.

David and Billy volunteered to burn all the used paper dishes, and as soon as this was done tireless Davey demanded:

“When are we going swimming?”

“You just finished eating,” Mom answered. “Not for two hours, at least.”

“Then let’s play ball.”

“Whew! Why don’t we hitch you up to a power plant? You know, Davey,” she said, “these people have just had their dinner, and they couldn’t run from one base to another if they tried. Better wait a little while.”

Not at all cast down, Davey retired to the pier and shot off firecrackers. He would light them, and then toss them into the water. Sometimes the water would put them out, but almost always he would hear a dull plop, and see a small geyser rise up at the scene of the explosion.

The Landrys were down at the lake front, watching a sailboat race, and Davey called out to them.

“Where’s Buick, Mrs. Landry? I haven’t seen him all day.”

Mrs. Landry shook her head and smiled. “Poor Buick,” she said. “He’s having a bad time of it. He’s on the floor in the farthest corner of my clothes closet with an overcoat over his head.”

“What’s the matter with him?” asked David in alarm. “Is he sick?”

“No,” said Mrs. Landry. “He’s scared to death of firecrackers.”

The ladies were sitting on the terrace, playing with the baby and admiring her tricks, when suddenly there was a scraping noise, then a shriek, and James, all whirling arms and legs, descended amongst them. What had been a peaceful family gathering turned into the wildest confusion. Dad picked him up and carried him into the cottage. He was conscious, but he was pale and shaken. His lips were blue.

“My arm,” he said. “It hurts.”

Dad felt the arm swiftly, and scrutinized it carefully.

“I don’t think it’s broken,” he said. “But it should be, with the fall you had. Where did you come from, anyway? Were you up in the tree, or did you drop out of a passing airplane?”

“No,” said James. “I was up on the roof. It slants there at the corner, and I must have fallen asleep, and dropped off.”

“You dropped right into our laps,” said Mom. “Thank heaven you’re safe.”

Aunt Claire made a splint out of the top of a small cheese box, and they wrapped up the injured arm temporarily.

“It will be hard to find a doctor today,” Dad said. “They’re all away from their offices for the holiday. By the way, James, there seems to be some special connection between doctors and holidays for you. You were born on Easter. You had measles one Christmas, and whooping cough the next, and now you come flying off the roof on the Fourth of July.”

They tried to reach Dr. Russell, but he wasn’t in. They finally reached Dr. Cordes in Deerpath.

“From your description,” he said, “it isn’t broken. Put him to bed, and keep him quiet. I’ll drop over to see him in the morning.”

James smiled at the news, and made a small face.

Davey was relieved. “Now,” he demanded. “Now can we play ball?”

Everyone laughed, and the tension was broken. Grandma sat with James, and rocked and talked to him quietly. The others trooped out to the back yard for a ball game. Sides were chosen, and Uncle George bawled out, in the style of a big league umpire: “PLAY BALL!”

Grandma Davis made the first home run, and Mom sat on the side lines, fanning herself. “Count me out,” she said. “I’ve had a busy day.”

They batted and ran and stole bases, and cheered for their teammates. They grew warm and dirty, and consumed quarts of soda pop, but they had glorious fun. At six o’clock they all trooped down to the lake for a swim before supper.

James had milk toast. He still looked pale and interesting, with one arm stiff and fat in a sling.

“I know why you fell off the roof,” said Billy, peeking in the door. “I’ll bet you lost your balance because you were so full of soda pop!”

After supper Dad played the piano, and they all gathered around to sing. They sang cowboy songs: Red River Valley, and Oh Bury Me Not. They sang sentimental ballads and negro spirituals. Dad’s fingers ran easily from one familiar melody to the next. “How about the Star Spangled Banner,” he asked. They all joined in, even James from his bed, and the baby from the tea cart. Just as the sun sank behind the trees, he turned to Margy and played the opening bars of Now The Day is Over. Her sweet voice rose strong and clear. Everyone was quiet and listened to her. The birds twittered, and it was getting dark.

“That was beautiful,” said Janie. “That was the nicest song of all.”

The popping and crackling of firecrackers had been going on all day, and now that it was dark, splashes of beautifully colored light appeared in the sky on all sides.

“The skyrockets are starting,” cried Bill, and everyone ran down to the lake front to watch. James had fallen asleep, so Mom closed his door and tiptoed off.

It was a beautiful night. The sky was dark blue, and far over across the lake someone had started a bonfire. It was yellow and orange against the darkness. The children lit sparklers, and carried one in each hand as they danced like fireflies on the lawn.

One by one, Daddy would help them shoot off their skyrockets. He would fasten them to a tree, and touch the wick with a match. They held their breath as the rocket swept up, up, and up. Whee—eee—eee! Then the giant bubble would burst, and great colored stars would float upon the night.

Davey craned his neck, and held Grandma’s hand. With all his heart he wished that just one star would float down within his grasp, but they vanished like soap bubbles. Just as one fiery arc would disappear, another would take its place. There were pin wheels whirling their light from posts and trees, and now and then they could hear the swift whoosh and flare of a Roman candle. Katy and Jane lay far out on the pier and watched the display.

Gradually the night grew dark again, and the folks went back to the porch. Good nights and good-bys were said. The sleeping baby, the empty cake dishes, and the rattling pop bottles were tucked into the car, and the Davises went back to town.

Janie lay awake until it was very late. The young folks next door were dancing on their front porch. Someone played an accordion, and it was pleasant lying there in the darkness, half awake, listening. The music faded away. The dancers called out their good nights and went home. The lights went out, and the Fourth of July was almost over. Janie fell asleep.