Cottage on the Curve

Chapter Two
Who Peppered the Cake

Butchie set up a delighted “chee—chee” at the sight of her, and she crossed to the porch door and let him in. The organ-grinder man had taught Butch to eat his meals sitting at a little table, and there he was perched with a bib around his neck while Jane warmed his porridge. He had some difficulty managing his spoon while he was eating, but Janie encouraged him,

“Never you mind, Butch. All two-year olds spill a little. You’re doing wonderfully well. Keep it up, Butchie, old boy.”

When the porridge dish was empty he had a mug of warmed milk. That was easy. He grasped the mug firmly in his paws and drank the milk in dainty little sips. As a special reward Janie gave him half a banana. He was delighted. He talked monkey language while he ate, and now and then he’d offer some to Janie, but she politely refused.

The rest of the family was awake by now, and she hurried to set the table on the back porch for a surprise for Mom. It was a beautiful morning. The garden was brilliant with iris, day-lilies, and oriental poppies, and the tall old lilac trees were sweet with bloom.

After breakfast the boys sat on the front steps waiting for the mailman. They were always sending out for approval sheets of stamps, and they’d shade their eyes waiting for the mailman like sea captains of old waiting for their ships to come in.

Janie was impatient. “Mom,” she said. “When can we go to the lake? Could we go out next week-end, or will we have to wait until the end of June when Aunt Claire’s school is out?”

Mom raised her eyebrows and smiled a smug little smile. “That’s part of the surprise,” she said. “We’re leaving today. I’ve been hoping we could go, and I’ve been getting things ready for the past week.”

The rest of the day was a whirlwind of busy arms and legs and suitcases and paper boxes.

“Now, let’s see,” said Mom with a list in her hand. “I mustn’t forget anything. I must go to the drug store, the bank, and the postoffice, and, oh yes, the library.”

Billy and James packed the trunk of the car. Sheets and towels were stacked neatly in paper cartons. There were boxes of slacks, shirts, and swimming trunks, pillows and quilts, and cotton bed spreads.

“I’ll bring my first-aid box,” said Bill, and that gave James an idea. He came downstairs with his entire stamp collection piled like the leaning Tower of Pisa in his arms.

Janie cocked her chin to one side and put her fists on her hips. “You know that Mom won’t let you bring all that junk along.”

“Junk!” exclaimed James indignantly. “These are my duplicates. I’m going to sort them out this summer.” He set the stack down carefully on the back porch, and the top-most box toppled over and spilled countless little bright-colored squares all over the floor. James scooped them all up in a hurry, and tucked the boxes, books, and albums into whatever space he could find in the rear of the car.

When Mom returned from her shopping they went down into the cool basement and carefully packed what was left of the home-preserved fruits and vegetables.

“Bring a lot of pickles,” said Davey. “Lots and lots of pickles.”

By the middle of the afternoon everything was ready. Mom went upstairs for a bath and fresh clothes, and Janie decided to surprise her.

They were going to have a picnic supper, and she felt that it should be something special to celebrate the occasion. She paged through the cook books and the recipe files and lost a little of her courage. I’d better limit myself to a dessert, she thought. The last time I tried a whole meal it didn’t turn out so well. A very handsome three-layer cake took her eye, and she assembled all her ingredients, and then gathered together all the bowls, pans, and spoons she would need.

Davey walked in carrying Butch. Janie dusted the flour off her hands, and raised her eyebrows in an expression of true big-sister superiority.

“I thought, Davey,” she said, “that Mom wanted you to keep Butch outside today.”

Davey looked plaintive. “I know,” he grumbled, “but we want to play hide-and-go-seek, and he always runs to where I’m hiding, and then I’m always ‘it’.”

Janie giggled. “Okay, Davey. Leave him here. I’ll take care of him.”

Butch was very interested in the cake baking, but Janie discouraged him. She ordered him out on the back porch. She stamped her foot at him and shoved him, but he’d only come back again. He watched everything she did, and when she bent over to light the oven, he saw his golden opportunity. He jumped up on the table and added his contribution to the cake. He had watched Janie shake a little of this and a little of that into the cake, so he picked up a shaker marked PEPPER and looked at her out of his beady eyes. She was still fussing with the oven, so he quickly shook the can into the cake batter and hurried back to his post of exile at the kitchen door.

With this piece of mischief out of the way, he was content to sit and watch. After the shining flour sifter and the fascinating egg beater had been put away, he ran in to Mom’s chair in the library, and peered over her shoulder offering advice as she wrote letters. Mom bounced him in a hurry.

“Go away, you heathenish creature, or I’ll give you to the zoo.”

Jane shook her head and laughed. “You certainly are a problem, Butch. We’ve never had a two year old who caused so much commotion.”

“Or was so much fun,” added Mom.

Janie ran down the street to say good-by to Dor, and when she got back the back porch was half filled with suitcases, packing boxes, bundles of all descriptions, and even house plants.

“Goodness, Mom,” exclaimed Janie. “Where are we going to put all this stuff? Where will we sit?”

“Daddy’s going to hire a trailer for this trip, dear. Now don’t forget to remind me to turn off all the lights, and don’t let’s forget about this big basket. It’s our supper.”

Billy whistled. “Oh boy! Two picnics in one day.”

Butch was just as excited as the children. He hopped from Davey to James and from Billy to Jane. He had his own suitcase. It was an old doll suitcase that used to belong to Jane. Davey had packed it with Butchie’s few little toys and belongings. There was a whistle, a top, a bellboy’s hat, and a toothbrush. You, perhaps, never heard of a monkey with a toothbrush, but Butchie imitated the boys, and his toothbrush was his especial pride.

“Take it easy, old fella,” said Bill. “We won’t leave you behind.”

“Chee—chee,” said Butch, as if he meant: “With this scatterbrain family, I’m taking no chances.”

A little after five o’clock Daddy came down the drive with a bright yellow trailer attached to the car, and for the next half an hour everyone worked like a beaver. Daddy superintended the loading, and Mom checked and rechecked the house and garage, the lights, the faucets, the windows, and the doors. At last everything was ready, and they rolled down the driveway and into the street. They passed through the shopping center and over the river and up the hill to the county buildings.

The stop light turned green and they turned out on the road that led to Oak Lake. The distance was only about twenty-five miles, and they usually whisked out there in no time, but with their heavy load they traveled along at a leisurely rate, singing as they went.

The Murrays always sang as they drove. They sang as easily as the birds on the telephone wires, going from one old favorite to the other. They liked to sing rounds, like “Three Blind Mice” and “O The Bull Frog on the Bank.” Someone always started “The Quilting Party,” and Daddy could be counted on for “Swing Low Sweet Chariot.” While they warbled along the highway Butch carefully untied Jane’s hair ribbon, and placed it on Billy’s head.

Now they were coming to a hill that the Murray children always waited for, because far down at the left was a small lake rimmed with cattails and spruce trees.

Once, long ago, Janie had seen a heron, startled, fly off on his great brown wings, and sometimes in spring it was the resting place for northern bound flocks of loudly crying wild geese. Tonight it lay there, rose colored in the evening light, like a fallen maple leaf. “Our little lake,” said Janie, softly. “I wonder if it has a name.”

Every foot of the way was familiar. The fox farm, the barn they had seen collapse the night of the big wind, the farm that always had such fat little pigs, and then one more hill and the road turned off to the lake.

Daddy drove carefully off the main highway onto the graveled road. They passed the haunted house and turned at the canal, went around the curve and there sparkling in the sunset, lay beautiful Oak Lake.

The planks of the short bridge at the canal rattled under them, and from there they could see the cottage. There was an iron fence with large stone posts at the gate, and as the car stopped all the children seemed to escape at once.

Mom unlocked the door while Dad lowered the awnings, and then they worked quickly to unload the trailer. Billy stopped with a carton in his arms.

“You know, Dad,” he said. “I saw a newsreel once of some coolies unloading a ship. They formed a long line and passed the stuff from one to the other. Why don’t we do that? We could be finished sooner.”

Dad knew that they never minded work if it seemed like a game, so a relay it was. Daddy stood at the trailer and Mom was at the end of the line.

When everything was in, Mom called, “Who wants a swim before supper?”

“I do.”

“I do.”

“I’m so hungry I could eat a raw fish.”

“Please don’t.”

“I’m so hungry I could eat grass.”

While the boys talked, Janie raced into her swimming suit. She was the first one ready, and called over the top of the bath house partition: “Last one in is a rotten egg!”

“Splash!”

“Splash!”

“Splash!”

“Splash!”

Then a big splash for Mom and a bigger splash for Dad, and the Murrays were in for the first swim of the season.

The water was cooler than they expected. Mom called it cold, and Dad called it bracing. Far over on the western shore the sun went down behind the purple woods, and the swallows dipped close to the water and then up again.

“Look at the swallows,” called James. “They’re dive bombing.”

“They’re dive bombing, all right,” said Daddy, “but their targets are only mosquitoes.”

“Last one out is a bum,” called Mom, and her wet brood followed her out like ducklings follow the mother duck.

The contents of the picnic baskets were spread on the long table, and Janie’s cake was the center of attention. It was covered with pale pink frosting, and she had garnished the edge of the plate with pansies and maiden hair fern. They waited expectantly while Janie cut slices for Mom and Dad and the boys and a good sized slice for herself. Mom took the first bite.

“M’m’m, most interesting flavor. What seasoning did you use?”

Daddy looked puzzled and took a second bite. “There’s something different about this cake, Janie. I can’t quite place it.”

Janie tasted it. “It’s pepper,” she cried. “It tastes like pepper.” She glanced immediately at Butch, and squinted her eyes in suspicion. “If I hadn’t watched you every minute of the time, I would suspect....”

She didn’t finish her sentence. Butchie, a picture of innocence, was fast asleep.

The boys carried their paper plates down to the lake front and built a fire with them.

“I’m a heap big Indian chief,” chanted Davey. He danced around and around the blaze.

“Indians used to dance here a hundred years ago,” said Jane. “I know, because we found arrowheads. Do you remember, Billy, when the farmer uncovered all those wonderful Indian relics while he was plowing? The level of the lake was higher then. They must have had happy celebrations just like we do now, and they must have loved this part of the country very much. Just think how filled the lake must have been with fish, and the woods over there on the western shore were filled with deer and rabbits and pheasants, and....”

“Bears,” interrupted James. “Big brown bears. Here comes Dad. Let’s ask him to tell us a story about the Indians who used to live here.”

Dad sat down cross-legged before the dying fire and told them a long story about an Indian who caught a pickerel who could talk. The story went on and on until it was quite dark and the stars came out. Mom came down and chased them off to bed.

“There’s going to be a big day tomorrow,” she said. “We have to get the weeds out of the garden.”

Jane came back to the porch after she was ready for bed, and found Mom reading. “Would you like a sandwich,” she asked. “The failure of my cake left me hungry.”

“M’m,” said Mom, without looking up.

“Make one for me too, Petunia,” said Dad.

The kitchen seemed warm, and as Janie opened the window, a robin flew away. “Our friend is back,” called Jane. “That same robin has been making her nest here on the window sill for a long time now. We’ll have to be careful about opening the window. She doesn’t like to be disturbed.”

She finished her sandwiches and carried them back to the porch. “Could I have Katy visit me this year, Mom?”

“Yes, Janie. I’ll ask Katy’s mother the next time I see her. Perhaps she can come out to spend the Fourth of July with us. Does that settle all your problems?”

“Yes, Mom, and I’m so sleepy I can hardly stay awake another minute. Good night Daddy. Goodnight Mom. Oh, but it’s nice to be at the lake again.”