3. More About Papa

Almost always, when my sister and I went to the Carpenters’ home for our milk and cream, it was Grandma Carpenter who served us. She was very friendly, and often asked us into the warm kitchen for a newly made doughnut or a cookie with red sugar on top. We liked her.

For several days now we had been waited on by an unmarried daughter of the family who told us that Grandma was not feeling well.

One morning, as we entered their gate, we saw something that looked like a black scarf tied to the knob of the front door. I asked Lou what it meant but she did not know. Miss Carpenter met us at the milkhouse and filled our larger tin bucket with milk and the smaller one with cream. Lou asked about Grandma, and Miss Carpenter said, “Would you like to see her?”

We put down our buckets on the kitchen table and followed Miss Carpenter through the living room where the young Mr. Carpenter and his father sat. They always spoke to us when we met them, but this time they took no notice of us. We followed Miss Carpenter into a small bedroom.

Grandma Carpenter was lying on her back. Her eyes were closed and her face was the color of wood ashes. Mrs. Rouse who lived across the road, was standing by the bed, holding a large white handkerchief. As we shyly moved toward the bed Mrs. Rouse wiped off a little wisp of foam that seeped slowly from Grandma’s lips.

It was my first experience with Death. True, I had a vague recollection of my baby sister’s little white coffin but I remembered nothing about her sickness and death, for I had been very ill when she died; and, besides, I was only a baby at that time myself.

I do not know what we were expected to do or say as we stood bewildered at Grandma Carpenter’s bedside. We did not tarry. Lou stumbled over my foot as we turned away. By the time we reached the kitchen my sister was crying. Miss Carpenter was crying too. She patted us on the shoulder and helped me button my coat. When we were out on the road again, Lou said, “Wasn’t it awful?” I agreed. It was indeed awful. I still think so.

Mama was quite upset when we told her, but Papa didn’t seem to be provoked.

“It won’t hurt them,” he said, softly. “Sooner or later they will have to learn about it.”

“I know,” said Mama, “but I do think Miss Carpenter should have told them.”

“Perhaps she thought they knew,” Papa said.