Mamah said.
“The circus will be here in a couple of weeks. There’s a summer program over at the school. And Clara Savory’s got story hour going on every day in the library. The kids can practically…”
Marie didn’t finish all her sentences. She reached over the stove burners and lifted an iron pan off a hook, humming a little.
“One thing you got to watch for in Boulder, though,” Marie said a minute later. “Tuberculars is everywhere. They come here for the cool air, but they bring the phthisis with ’em. People in Boulder like to pretend it ain’t a problem. Bad for business, you know. But I warn my guests.” She peeled thick strips of bacon into the pan. “You can catch it on your shoe just walking in their spit.”
John, the worrier, bent over to have a look at his soles.
“That’s why anybody stays here,” Marie said, “has got to leave their shoes on the porch.”
Mamah and the children had fallen into line on that policy. She felt relief to be away from Oak Park, even if she was surrounded by sick people. In the mornings they walked the flagstone sidewalks, exploring the town, watching their step. The bright summer light of Colorado really did feel healthful. She thought of the streets at home, where workmen would be pouring oil about now to keep the dust clouds down, as they did every summer. Boulder’s blue skies made Chicago seem a coal mine by comparison.
She gave herself until July to clear her head. There were plenty of other things to focus on. John came down with a bad sore throat and cold the third week of their visit. His upper lip was rubbed raw from swiping it with a handkerchief.
“I hope I don’t have nose fever,” he said. He was lying on his cot next to the bed she and Martha shared. “If you drink too much sarsaparilla when you have nose fever, you can die.”
Mamah choked back a laugh. “Where did you hear such a thing?”
“Mrs. Brigham.”
She felt his forehead. “You know, people don’t always say things quite right. Even grown-ups. There’s no such thing as nose fever, sweetheart.”
Mamah vowed to get them out and around other children. They needed more friends than Linden and Anne, Mattie’s kids. A few days later, she enrolled them in the day camp at Mapleton School for a couple of mornings a week. Then she walked across the street to the library and found Clara Savory in a harried state.
“Could you use a volunteer? Maybe I could work on the card catalog?” Mamah asked.
“I would be eternally grateful,” the woman said. “I haven’t a moment for Melvil Dewey.”
Mamah worked at the library two mornings a week after that, spending an hour or two organizing the library’s collection. Sometimes she took over story hour and read to the children to give Clara a break.
In the afternoons, with the children ambling behind her, she headed to Mattie’s. Her steps always slowed as she passed a bungalow on Mapleton. It had window boxes full of orange poppies, and she found herself picturing Martha and John lolling on its wide front steps.
“LOOK IN THE PAPER,” Mattie said to Mamah one afternoon shortly after they had arrived at her house. She was sitting in a heavy oak and leather chair in the living room. “There’s a whole circus schedule in there today.”
Martha and John ran off in search of Linden and Anne while Mamah collected the newspaper from the kitchen. She had offered to take all the children to the parade and big-top performance the next day. Everyone was wildly pleased by the plan except Mamah, who hadn’t mentioned to anyone that she despised the circus. Well, not the entire circus, just the clowns—all that manufactured merriment. She pitied the elephants, too.
“Mattie, have I mentioned how bad this newspaper is?”
“The
Daily Camera
?”
“Since I got here, they’ve given a front-page column of every issue to Billy Sunday. And they’ve got one of his followers actually writing the column.
“The circus will be here in a couple of weeks. There’s a summer program over at the school. And Clara Savory’s got story hour going on every day in the library. The kids can practically…”
Marie didn’t finish all her sentences. She reached over the stove burners and lifted an iron pan off a hook, humming a little.
“One thing you got to watch for in Boulder, though,” Marie said a minute later. “Tuberculars is everywhere. They come here for the cool air, but they bring the phthisis with ’em. People in Boulder like to pretend it ain’t a problem. Bad for business, you know. But I warn my guests.” She peeled thick strips of bacon into the pan. “You can catch it on your shoe just walking in their spit.”
John, the worrier, bent over to have a look at his soles.
“That’s why anybody stays here,” Marie said, “has got to leave their shoes on the porch.”
Mamah and the children had fallen into line on that policy. She felt relief to be away from Oak Park, even if she was surrounded by sick people. In the mornings they walked the flagstone sidewalks, exploring the town, watching their step. The bright summer light of Colorado really did feel healthful. She thought of the streets at home, where workmen would be pouring oil about now to keep the dust clouds down, as they did every summer. Boulder’s blue skies made Chicago seem a coal mine by comparison.
She gave herself until July to clear her head. There were plenty of other things to focus on. John came down with a bad sore throat and cold the third week of their visit. His upper lip was rubbed raw from swiping it with a handkerchief.
“I hope I don’t have nose fever,” he said. He was lying on his cot next to the bed she and Martha shared. “If you drink too much sarsaparilla when you have nose fever, you can die.”
Mamah choked back a laugh. “Where did you hear such a thing?”
“Mrs. Brigham.”
She felt his forehead. “You know, people don’t always say things quite right. Even grown-ups. There’s no such thing as nose fever, sweetheart.”
Mamah vowed to get them out and around other children. They needed more friends than Linden and Anne, Mattie’s kids. A few days later, she enrolled them in the day camp at Mapleton School for a couple of mornings a week. Then she walked across the street to the library and found Clara Savory in a harried state.
“Could you use a volunteer? Maybe I could work on the card catalog?” Mamah asked.
“I would be eternally grateful,” the woman said. “I haven’t a moment for Melvil Dewey.”
Mamah worked at the library two mornings a week after that, spending an hour or two organizing the library’s collection. Sometimes she took over story hour and read to the children to give Clara a break.
In the afternoons, with the children ambling behind her, she headed to Mattie’s. Her steps always slowed as she passed a bungalow on Mapleton. It had window boxes full of orange poppies, and she found herself picturing Martha and John lolling on its wide front steps.
“LOOK IN THE PAPER,” Mattie said to Mamah one afternoon shortly after they had arrived at her house. She was sitting in a heavy oak and leather chair in the living room. “There’s a whole circus schedule in there today.”
Martha and John ran off in search of Linden and Anne while Mamah collected the newspaper from the kitchen. She had offered to take all the children to the parade and big-top performance the next day. Everyone was wildly pleased by the plan except Mamah, who hadn’t mentioned to anyone that she despised the circus. Well, not the entire circus, just the clowns—all that manufactured merriment. She pitied the elephants, too.
“Mattie, have I mentioned how bad this newspaper is?”
“The
Daily Camera
?”
“Since I got here, they’ve given a front-page column of every issue to Billy Sunday. And they’ve got one of his followers actually writing the column.
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