From the Relief Society Magazine, June 1957 –

Slight Hazards

By Deone R. Sutherland

Katherine stirred the wheat cereal into the boiling water and looked across Peterson’s back yard into Arnolds’ next door. Carrie Arnold sat in the early spring-frayed grape arbor painting a picture of what? “Of Mount Majestic.” Katherine’s eyes filled with tears. What was the matter with her? She had been like this almost ever since Bobby had been born just three weeks ago. She was so happy to have this fourth baby, she knew. Yet what was it that filled her with resentment every time she looked toward Carrie’s? Katherine blinked the tears from her eyes as the Arnolds’ back door slammed.

“Carrie! Carrie!” Tom Arnold’s strident, exasperated voice carried into the Petersons’ neat little kitchen. From habit Katherine Peterson shut her ears to it, but she couldn’t help noticing how slowly Carrie rose to answer the summons, how she stopped to dab once more at the painting before, with the utmost serenity, she turned and, with flapping house slippers, went dilatorily into the Arnold house.

Katherine opened the drawer for the napkins and crossed to the breakfast room. The knock at the back door did not take her by surprise. She finished tucking each napkin at the five place settings and then went quietly to the door. Little Nana Arnold stood there blinking up at her, her small face seemingly all blue eyes, an elf child, a nymph, this little Nana. Katherine felt the same stir as if she’d read a line of poetry when she looked into this child’s face.

“Mrs. Peterson, could we please borrow enough butter for our toast? Mama says she’ll be sure to pay it back.”

“Of course, come in.” Katherine had given up trying to keep the many borrowings of her neighbor straight. Besides, Carrie often brought over a whole sack of something or other or made some other extravagant gesture to make up for any inconvenience she had caused Katherine. At first Katherine had been annoyed. She would never dream of being so careless with what she might owe another person. But that was before she had become resigned to Carrie.

As Katherine took out the quarter of a pound of butter, again there was that ridiculous lump in her throat. She busied herself in the refrigerator for a moment.

“Hi, Nana, aren’t you ready for school yet?” It was her Margaret, the same age as Nana, but half a head taller.

“Not yet,” said Nana, dismissing school with a shrug. “Guess what, Margaret? I’m going to dance in the Civic Auditorium at the May festival. My mother was really happy. She says I’m going to be a great ballerina someday,” and Nana whirled and twirled around the Peterson kitchen, which suddenly seemed to Katherine so commonplace as to be almost unbearable.

“That’s fine,” Margaret said kindly, her brown eyes scarcely noticing Nana. Her interest was in her schoolbooks at the window seat. “Did you read about Leeuwenhock last night? We had family night, and Daddy let me read the whole story …” Margaret was putting her lunch on her pile of school books.

“No,” said Nana, on one toe, eager to be out the door.

Katherine handed her the butter.

“You can call for me, Margaret,” Nana offered.

“Okay,” said Margaret, “but we won’t wait if you’re not ready.”

Nana was whirling across the lawn.

“Would you like to take dancing?” Katherine handed Margaret the sugar.

“I guess so. Of course, I’m already taking piano and violin, so I’m pretty busy.” Her brown eyes looked directly at her mother with an almost adult kindliness. “Mother, Miss Lester says I’m the best reader in the whole class.”

There was that lump in Katherine’s throat again. She poured the milk so hurriedly she almost spilled it.

David came in with four-year-old Mark piggyback. John was putting his lunch beside his cap, and then they all sat down to breakfast. David helped Mark say the blessing, and unfolded his napkin. “Was that Nana leaping across our flower beds?”

“Yes.” Katherine cut into her grapefruit. “Butter for their toast,” she anticipated her husband’s question.

“If you could just pass me a few balls as soon as you get home, Daddy –” John was saying earnestly. That conversation must have started upstairs, Katherine thought. She listened absentmindedly while David agreed to hurry home. She rose as soon as David finished and then was tempted to sit down again. What would it be like to linger at the breakfast table and read the paper or even a magazine the way Carrie often did? But if she did that, there would be no family prayers. They always retired to the living room for family prayers before David went, and then the children cleared the table while Katherine prepared for washing the dishes. Katherine had learned early that the children worked much more happily and willingly, if she worked at a task along beside them.

Katherine knelt beside the sofa and leaned her cheek against her hands. She was so thankful for the children and her lovely home, for David who always came home so promptly and eagerly from work. She thought of Tom Arnold who often did not get home until very late in the evening after the children’s bedtime. She guiltily forced her thoughts back to John, who was taking his turn at saying the family prayer.

David patted her on the back and kissed her goodbye. “Take a good long rest today – morning and afternoon. We can do anything that needs doing when we come home. You look kind of pale.”

“She looks sad,” Mark said.

“No, I don’t,” Katherine laughed at him as his father swung him into the air for his goodbye kiss. Margaret and John joined in the leave-taking. They made such a fuss over him, Katherine thought to herself. He is the world’s best father. She’d banish all signs of disorderly thinking, she promised herself. Children were too discerning.

After the kitchen was straightened, the two school children were ready to take their leave. John spelled his five new words for her proudly. He was always so careful with his work. There were no better children anywhere. But maybe she was spoiling them for all the fun in life by making them be consistent with their chores, be in by five on school nights because Daddy came half an hour later. Now there was little Peter Arnold in the top half of his pajamas, happily petting his cat on the back steps in the chilly morning air. Maybe in bundling up her children she had bundled up something of their spirits.

John and Margaret hadn’t waited for Nana. She bit her lip. Was it unnatural for her children to refuse to be late for school? What if they were late one morning? She couldn’t believe that she was thinking such things.

Mark had his cap on and was struggling with his jacket. “I can do it, I can do it!” he exclaimed proudly, when she offered to help. And, of course, he did do it. He was bundled against the chilly spring morning and out to play with a kiss from Katherine.

She went upstairs when she heard the baby cry. How was it possible, she thought to herself, that each child was more wonderful than anything they had dreamed of? When he was bathed and fed, and sleepy, she laid him back in his bassinet.

Mark and Peter were arguing in the kitchen. Katherine felt the calm that the nursery had brought her begin to disappear. Peter was dressed after a fashion, but his shoes were damp and sandy. She couldn’t lock her door against the children, but they never seemed to remember to wipe their feet. At least Peter didn’t.

“I’m hungry,” Peter said hopefully.

“Didn’t you eat breakfast at home, Peter?” At least her voice was perfectly calm.

“Oh, yes,” Peter said indifferently.

“Well, go and tell your own mother you’re hungry for a change.” Katherine leaned against the sink. What had possessed her to say such a terrible thing?

“She’s painting,” Peter said from habit.

“Well, then, tell her to stop painting and to give you some food.”

Katherine felt it couldn’t be she who was talking. Her voice must be perfectly normal, for Mark accepted the unusual conversation without the slightest indication of alarm. The two little boys trotted across the yard to the Arnold house. Katherine began dust mopping the upstairs bedrooms. She had finished down the stairs when she heard the Arnold screen door bang. She crossed to the window. The two little boys were happily eating slices of bread covered with jam. Carrie opened the back door and handed out two tall glasses of milk. She would have to dash over and tell Carrie she was sorry about being so rude to the boys. Then Carrie came out and sat on the back porch and ate a slice of bread herself. No, there was nothing to apologize to Carrie about. Carrie wouldn’t have hurt feelings. She accepted the world as she found it. Perhaps Carrie was the one who had time to know she was alive, and Katherine was the one who was being bypassed.

The front door chime interrupted her thoughts. It was her mother, and she opened the door eagerly. The small, white-haired woman, so neat and cheerful, fragrant with a suggestion of scent, bustled in like a sudden warm south wind. How soft and familiar was the cheek she kissed. How sure and purposeful were the hands that drew off the gloves.

“Oh, Mother, I’m so glad to see you. I’m having the blues this morning.” Katherine had to stop talking. Another moment and she’d burst into tears. And the crazy thing was that there was simply nothing in her life to cry about. What on earth could be the matter?

“You need to get out. It’s just that you’re feeling tied down. A new baby makes you feel like that sometimes. What you should do is call someone and go somewhere for lunch.”

“Oh, no, I wouldn’t like that, really. But, Mother, would you mind, maybe I will just go visiting next door for a bit. I haven’t been over to Carrie’s for ages, and I can check on Mark.”

Her mother was already slipping into one of her aprons. “Stay awhile, won’t you? I want to spend a little time with my newest grandson. He is such a darling. Papa says he’s the image of some of the Johnsons, but I guess the Petersons think he’s a lot like David. His chin now …”

Katherine pulled on her coat and fled through the back door. Carrie had gone in. She went up the back steps and knocked on the door. The boys were digging in the bare backyard. They were so busy they hardly noticed her. “Grandma’s over to our house, Mark,” she said.

“Oh, boy,” said Mark, but he went on digging. “I got to finish these caves.”

“Have to,” corrected Katherine as Carrie called to her to come in. Katherine stepped into the cluttered kitchen. The breakfast dishes still lay on the table and cupboard. A cereal box had tipped over and spilled from cupboard to floor.

“In here,” Carrie called. “I’m in the living room.”

The ironing board was open, but Carrie was working at a sewing machine. Curls of dust looked bleakly into the sun slanting down from the long, bare windows.

“I’m making me the cutest skirt,” Carrie smiled, sweeping up some pins with her hand. She dropped the skirt on a small table and crossed to the couch where she curled up with her bare legs beneath her. “No, no, it’s all right. I’ve been hunting for an excuse to stop working. Besides, you never get over to see me, you’re so busy, so this is a real occasion. All I have are some stale doughnuts. We can eat those.”

“No, thanks,” Katherine laughed. “I’m just in need of – of someone to talk to, I guess. Someone not in the family – if you know what I mean.”

Carrie nodded and twisted her hair up into her pony tail. How comfortable Katherine felt. Carrie always made people feel so at ease. Even if there was always such a clutter in her house, you always felt welcome.

Katherine looked out the front window to the grass just beginning to show an interest in being green again. “You’re always so calm, Carrie, you never seem to have any problems.”

Carrie tossed her head back against the couch and began to laugh at the ceiling. “I admit I don’t spend much time worrying about problems, but my, I really have them. I guess you didn’t know about Miss Lester arranging appointments for me with a child psychologist over Nana.”

Katherine stared at Carrie. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to …”

“It’s all right,” Carrie smiled. “Nana’s always had little nervous tics, but then she began bursting into tears in school – in class for no reason. Anyway, to make a long story short, it seems I’m too permissive as a parent. We don’t have enough rules. The children aren’t secure because I let them do pretty much as they please.”

Katherine shut her eyes and then opened them. Darling little Nana not feeling secure. She remembered how Margaret and John complained when they had to report home at five on school nights to take care of chores and homework and to help get ready for dinner. She had been feeling guilty about that.

“And Tom,” Carrie’s voice went on, “well, Tom does most of his work in the office or the public library because he can’t stand the clutter at home, he says. You should hear him about …”

Katherine felt a moment’s embarrassment. Yes, she had heard Tom, and she’d always wondered what kind of person he was to raise his voice so. She closed her mind to further thoughts on that subject. She had no right to listen to these problems.

“But I’m going to try to change. I’m going to get over and visit you more, Katherine. I always used to feel happier after being over to your house. I’d determine to go home and be a better wife and mother. I’m going to work out a schedule and really stick to it.”

An hour later, when Katherine took a hungry little boy home to lunch with her, she felt in such good spirits that she wondered how she could have been so blue that morning. Her mother had finished folding the clothes out of the dryer and had fed Bobby.

“I did your vacuuming, too,” she greeted Katherine, “and your lunch is on the table. Come on, Mark, Grandma will help you get washed up for lunch. Then I’m going to slip home and fix Papa his lunch, but I won’t go unless you promise to take a good long nap to make up for this morning. But I can see the visit did you good. You know, Katherine, a visit in your friendly, happy home is always such a joy to Papa and me.”

Katherine lay down beside Mark and held his hand until he drifted off to sleep. Then she slipped into her own room and stretched out on the big double bed. In a moment she was asleep. Mark never napped for much more than an hour, so Katherine usually provided an hour of quiet play for him after his nap, before he went outside again. He painted or colored or cut with toy scissors or molded with clay. Today she buttoned him into one of the many paint smocks she had made from David’s old shirts and got out the tubes of finger paints. While he worked she lay on the floor and did her exercises.

After a moment she got up and went to the back door. There had been no knock, but she opened it anyway. Yes, there was Peter waiting patiently on the back step for Mark. “Come in, Peter,” she said gently, “come in and help Mark fingerpaint for a while. I have a smock just especially for you, too.”

Peter’s eyes sparkled. It would be more fun for Mark with a friend, too. She should have done this before.

John and Margaret dashed in after school to change clothes and then dashed out to play again. Promptly at five they came in and washed. John set the table while Margaret helped her mother with the dinner. Katherine looked out the window. Yes, it was five-thirty, and there was David. What a dash there was to the door to greet Daddy.

“Plenty of time to pass a few balls,” Daddy assured him. He put his briefcase away. “It’s worth coming home to get a reception like that,” David grinned at Katherine as he kissed her.

“Hurry, Daddy,” John coaxed.

Mark and Peter tagged along to watch.

After dinner and the dishes, John said his combinations in arithmetic for David, and Margaret told about an electric magnet they had made at school that day. Then Margaret practiced her music while Katherine put up the lunches for the next day. It was almost bedtime for the children. David would be carrying Mark up any minute. He’d already had his bath with John, and David had helped him into his pajamas. She could see his head curled against David’s shoulder as he read about Winnie the Pooh pretending he was a cloud and floating up with a balloon to the hive of bees.

Katherine looked around the neat kitchen, shining with anticipation for tomorrow’s breakfast. She hung out fresh, colorful dish towels she had embroidered before she and David were married.

“I’m going to help Carrie, and she can help me,” she said softly to herself.

One of Carrie’s lovely paintings would look beautiful in the hall. It was wonderful to have a talent like that. but homemaking was wonderful, too, and it did take ingenuity and quick thinking and planning to make a day end happily and make the home a place where the family wanted to be. She flipped out the kitchen light and watched the moonlight lap against the window sill. The house was quiet. Family prayer, the trip upstairs, the tucking in, all were over for the night. Katherine carried Bobbie downstairs and rocked him in the big rocker while David read at his desk.