a kick at Charlie when he thought Charlie was crowding him too much. Uncle Peter told them both to stop it.
I was wearing nicer pants, a dress shirt without a collar and some really uncomfortable button-up shoes. Aunt Mary had suggested that maybe my vaudeville “costume” wasn’t appropriate for church. Everyone else was wearing Sunday clothes, too.
We were on the road a long time and I wouldn’t have recognized Culver City when we finally got there if Uncle Peter hadn’t said, “Here we are.” The streets were dirt and the houses all looked old-fashioned but recently built.
“How many people live here?” I asked.
“Almost three thousand now,” Uncle Peter answered. That was less than a tenth of what it would be in my time.
The wooden church looked pretty much the same: small, with a steeple in the front that had a big bell in it. It was painted white. A lot of wagons and buggies and horses were . . . parked . . . around it. People were visiting with one another until the bell rang and then we all headed inside.
I’ve been going to Sunday Mass for as long as I can remember but I had never seen one like this before. The priest had on strange vestments and he didn’t even face the people as he mumbled away in another language. The sermon was in English but that was about it.
At Communion I stood up to go forward and receive the host like I always do and Aunt Mary gave me a funny look. “You’re only twelve and you’ve received your First Holy Communion?” she whispered.
I nodded. In the second grade, I thought.
“But you ate breakfast,” she said. “And drank some water.” I nodded. So? “You broke your fast,” she said. “No food or drink from midnight on.”
Midnight! Fasting meant nothing to eat and nothing to drink except water for an hour before Mass not all night. But I just nodded and knelt down again.
After Mass we went back outside and there was more visiting. I was introduced to a lot of people but I didn’t remember any of their names except for Mr. and Mrs. Meyer. The banker and his wife had four sons: two were old—Matthew and Mark—and two were young—Luke and John. The older ones looked mean.
Before we left we stopped at the cemetery beside the church. It was much smaller than it would be later on. A picket fence surrounded about three dozen headstones and maybe five young trees. All the headstones looked pretty new.
Aunt Mary led the way to one that said “William Farrell.” The grass in front of it still wasn’t as green as the grass in front of most of the others. William’s was next to “Joseph Farrell.” The dates on the stones told me they had died three years apart.
We all knelt down on the ground and said some prayers out loud and Aunt Mary cried just a little bit. She had her arm around Sissie.
When we left there we rode to a farmhouse just outside town. It was where Aunt Mary’s sister Margaret and Margaret’s husband and their four children lived. We had dinner there. Ham and scalloped potatoes and a bunch of other stuff. There were pies for dessert and we made ice cream in a bucket with a crank. It took forever and when I started eating mine too fast I got a headache right in the middle of my forehead.
Aunt Mary told me to take a sip of water and it went away. Then I finished my ice cream. It was the best I had ever tasted even if it was just plain old vanilla.
After dinner the adults sat in chairs on the porch and the kids wandered around, trying to play without getting their good clothes dirty. Pat and his cousin Leon got into a game of horseshoes. Pat was very good at it.
We didn’t get home until late afternoon. I was really, really tired but everyone had to get changed into old clothes and then do more chores. Or do the same chores again.
That’s why Charlie and I were back in the barn when Brigid started yelling, “FIRE!”
Chapter
I was wearing nicer pants, a dress shirt without a collar and some really uncomfortable button-up shoes. Aunt Mary had suggested that maybe my vaudeville “costume” wasn’t appropriate for church. Everyone else was wearing Sunday clothes, too.
We were on the road a long time and I wouldn’t have recognized Culver City when we finally got there if Uncle Peter hadn’t said, “Here we are.” The streets were dirt and the houses all looked old-fashioned but recently built.
“How many people live here?” I asked.
“Almost three thousand now,” Uncle Peter answered. That was less than a tenth of what it would be in my time.
The wooden church looked pretty much the same: small, with a steeple in the front that had a big bell in it. It was painted white. A lot of wagons and buggies and horses were . . . parked . . . around it. People were visiting with one another until the bell rang and then we all headed inside.
I’ve been going to Sunday Mass for as long as I can remember but I had never seen one like this before. The priest had on strange vestments and he didn’t even face the people as he mumbled away in another language. The sermon was in English but that was about it.
At Communion I stood up to go forward and receive the host like I always do and Aunt Mary gave me a funny look. “You’re only twelve and you’ve received your First Holy Communion?” she whispered.
I nodded. In the second grade, I thought.
“But you ate breakfast,” she said. “And drank some water.” I nodded. So? “You broke your fast,” she said. “No food or drink from midnight on.”
Midnight! Fasting meant nothing to eat and nothing to drink except water for an hour before Mass not all night. But I just nodded and knelt down again.
After Mass we went back outside and there was more visiting. I was introduced to a lot of people but I didn’t remember any of their names except for Mr. and Mrs. Meyer. The banker and his wife had four sons: two were old—Matthew and Mark—and two were young—Luke and John. The older ones looked mean.
Before we left we stopped at the cemetery beside the church. It was much smaller than it would be later on. A picket fence surrounded about three dozen headstones and maybe five young trees. All the headstones looked pretty new.
Aunt Mary led the way to one that said “William Farrell.” The grass in front of it still wasn’t as green as the grass in front of most of the others. William’s was next to “Joseph Farrell.” The dates on the stones told me they had died three years apart.
We all knelt down on the ground and said some prayers out loud and Aunt Mary cried just a little bit. She had her arm around Sissie.
When we left there we rode to a farmhouse just outside town. It was where Aunt Mary’s sister Margaret and Margaret’s husband and their four children lived. We had dinner there. Ham and scalloped potatoes and a bunch of other stuff. There were pies for dessert and we made ice cream in a bucket with a crank. It took forever and when I started eating mine too fast I got a headache right in the middle of my forehead.
Aunt Mary told me to take a sip of water and it went away. Then I finished my ice cream. It was the best I had ever tasted even if it was just plain old vanilla.
After dinner the adults sat in chairs on the porch and the kids wandered around, trying to play without getting their good clothes dirty. Pat and his cousin Leon got into a game of horseshoes. Pat was very good at it.
We didn’t get home until late afternoon. I was really, really tired but everyone had to get changed into old clothes and then do more chores. Or do the same chores again.
That’s why Charlie and I were back in the barn when Brigid started yelling, “FIRE!”
Chapter
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