From the Relief Society Magazine, July 1949 –

The Jumpher Family: Mama and Papa

By Deone R. Sutherland

It all started to happen when my sister Randy, whom my brother Richard calls “Rancid,” heard about Papa’s new job first, and the intended move. We were out in the back yard throwing the trash that wouldn’t go into our cans over into the cans in Anderson’s back yard, since they weren’t home. It’s because we have so many children that we are always overflowing, Mama says.

“Gee, Rancid,” said Richard, handling a big clinker like a handy club, should he need one, “Gee. Rancid,” repeated Richard, waving his clinker, “what did Mama say?”

“She said, ‘Under no condition, under no condition, could we all move!’ ” Randy lifted her hand. “Mama said, ‘It’s in the middle of winter, too. And the children, Hugh. What about the children?’ ”

“Just tell it your way, not like Mama,” instructed Martha Jane.

“Doesn’t she put on?” asked Richard. “Rancid Barnharp!”

“Bernhardt,” I corrected.

“Anyway, she smells,” said Richard.

Randy went into the house. We went on dumping stuff and thinking about what was going to happen to all of us.

“I don’t want to move,” said Martha Jane, and her glasses slid off the end of her nose. I picked them up, wiped off the snow, and straightened them. Richard handed me a piece of string, and we tied them around her ears. We didn’t say anything. When it got too cold to stand still any longer, we walked around the house, making a trail in the snow, stood under the cherry tree in the back yard, kicked at the stunted pine, and then picked up Martin and went in.

Mama called Grandma on the phone and told her, but we weren’t supposed to know yet. Then Grandma came to see Mama.

“You can’t possibly give up your lovely home,” declared Grandma. “What are you thinking of to make a move with all these children? Besides, what would I do without my only baby in the same city?” Grandma blew her nose on one of the long white lace handkerchiefs she always carries. “You were never very strong, Kate. Now, you take a stand. Hugh’s always had his way. Be firm. Stay here without him, if necessary. Oh, he’s important enough to make other arrangements if he wants to. Oh, my poor, beautiful child,” and she blew her nose again.

Randy told us all about what Grandma said and, when Grandma went, she patted Mama on the shoulder, chucked Martin under the chin, but she never ever took him to hold, and drove away in her own car.

“Mama’s Mama is very different from Mama, most of the time,” said Richard.

We didn’t hear any more about Papa’s transfer until the next night. “You had better mention it to them, Kate,” said Papa, following Mama into the kitchen.

“I can’t; you’ll have to be the one to tell them,” said Mama. “You’re the one that’s breaking up our home. You’re the one that’s going away.”

“It’s not as bad as that,” said Papa. “I want you all to come with me. I need the experience in my work. We’ll be back in— oh, no more than a year or two.”

“All of us move? Leave our home after I’ve worked so hard on it. Leave my mother— my parents? I’ve lived in this town all my life,” wailed Mama.

“But you’re married to me,” said Papa. “We make the home together—” Mama and Papa looked at each other. They had come back into the dining room. They both looked tired and sad. Mama had red spots high on her thin-boned cheeks,
and her eyes looked stubborn.

“Well,” Papa sighed, “you’d better tell them then.”

We tried to pretend it was something we hadn’t heard about before.

“Does Papa want to sell the house?” asked Randy.

“Ask him,” said Mama.

“No, we could rent it for a year or so, and then without a doubt we’d be back. Just as soon as I’ve had the practical experience.”

“We’re not going,” Mama decided. “The children and I are staying here. Can you imagine a family our size moving? Mother was stunned when I suggested it. You can go alone, since you insist. We’ll wait for you here.” Papa looked so lonely we children would have said we would go, but then that wouldn’t have been loyal to Mama, who looked very lonely also. We didn’t say anything. We tried not to think that Papa wouldn’t even be here for his birthday. We always had a birthday party for each of us, and Papa’s was the most fun.

Mama packed Papa’s things. Randy said she wouldn’t let her help even. She packed them in the daytime while Papa was at work. “She should cry over them,” confided Randy. “She should touch them to her lips, and try to hold back the sobs and then not be able to. They do that in all the books.”

“What does Mama do?” I asked.

“She just packs with her lips set the way she looks when she washes the outside of the windows and we wash the inside, and our side isn’t clean enough. I expect she and Papa are too old to be romantic.”

Papa left in the afternoon. We all went down to the station to see him off.

“I should have said goodbye to the children at home,” said Papa holding Martin away from him.

We stood looking at him and Mama. “Well, Kate,” he said. The train made a noise and the porters hurried the people.

“Well, Kate,” repeated Papa.

“Don’t go,” begged Martha Jane.

“Wipe your nose,” Papa said to Martha Jane absent-mindedly. He looked worried and lonely. “Good-bye, Kate.”

“You’re stubborn,” said Mama, biting her lip.

“Oh, Kate,” said Papa, and the train started up and Papa jumped on the step.

‘We’ll mail you your birthday presents,” called Martha Jane, who is very practical.

That only made Papa look more lonely, hanging on the step, and then the train was gone, and Mama was crying into Martin’s bib we’d forgotten to take off him, while Martin picked up the hairpins very carefully out of Mama’s hair.

When we got home the house seemed very empty. Martha Jane dropped her glasses out of one of our second story windows, and Randy came down with the hives. We still had two weeks before Papa’s birthday, but now we didn’t want to buy anything, we didn’t want to have to mail our presents to him.

‘*Of course we’ll mail him his presents and have a special dinner,” said Mother. “We’ll celebrate your father’s birthday even if he is away on business.” Richard went with Mama to help her pick out our presents, and Randy and I and Martha Jane stayed home and waited.

Randy got out Papa’s letters and read them. They sounded cheerful in a way. ‘That’s just to cover up,” said Randy. She lay on Mama’s bed eating the chocolate chips that Mama was going to make chocolate chip cookies with.

“Are they good for your hives?” I asked. “I miss him, too.”

“If he were here,” said Randy, “I would even let him see me in the music festival at school, if I got over my hives in time. I’m a dancer, you know.”

“Yes,” I agreed. (“She isn’t really,” Richard had told me. “She just waves her arms and sort of wiggles, like this. She looks a mess.”)

“Weren’t you going to let Papa go?”

“Oh, no,” said Randy. “It’s terrible to let your parents go just to be proud of you. Lesley and I think it’s common. But I would even let him go if he were here.” Randy lay on her stomach. “I don’t even want to read any more.”

I wiped Mama’s cold cream off Martin’s face and picked up her powder box. It had been a long time since we had heard Martha Jane. I went to find her.

Kate wrapped Papa’s presents on Friday night. Martin tried to eat the blue and silver wrapping string, but Mama stopped him. Then he crumpled the tissue paper in his hands and looked very surprised. We gave him a ruined piece to play with.

“If Papa were here,” said Richard, “we could have a good party.”

“Who’ll get to choose the menu for his birthday dinner now he isn’t here?” asked Randy.

“I will,” said Mama. She pasted the package for Papa and picked up Martin, who was fussing. He dropped the silver string across her dark hair. “There,” she said. “Now won’t Daddy like a package this size!”

“I guess so,” said Richard.

“How far away is Papa?” asked Martha Jane.

“Not very far, dear.”

“He says he has a nice apartment,” Randy reminded us, “that is, if we wanted to come on for awhile.”

“You couldn’t go anyway, with your hives,” said Richard.

‘They’re not catching,” said Randy. “It would be awful not to be really where he is for his birthday, wouldn’t it?”

“Are we going to Papa?” asked Martha Jane.

“Are we?” asked Richard.

“Are we?” I asked.

“We are/’ said Mama. “Oh, yes, we are,” and she began to cry a little and Martin dropped another piece of silver string across her hair.

“We’ll go by train,” said Mama. “We’ll get there by his birthday.”

“Well surprise him,” said Richard.

“Well, not exactly,” said Mama. “We’ll wire. We want some place to stay.”

“What about this house?” I asked.

“I’ll have your grandfather help me rent it. Oh, my!” Mama smiled at us. “You’ll be good on the train, won’t you? All of you will help?”

“Oh, yes,” we said.

Grandma and Grandpa came down to the train to see us off.

“Well, Kate, you’ve done some foolish things, but I guess this is the most foolish,” said Grandma.

“Never mind,” said Grandpa.

“All those children,” said Grandma. “I told you not to marry Hugh. I told you to have a small family. I told you not to let Hugh tear you away. Remember, I warned you against chasing after him. No pride –”

“Never mind,” said Grandpa, lifting Martha Jane up the step.

“I warned you, Kate,” said Grandma. Mama jumped up the step and took Martin from Grandpa. She kissed Grandma.

“I’m sorry to be leaving you,” she said. “I’m sorry to be going away for awhile,” but her face looked all smiley. And we waved. Only a day and a night and a morning and we would be with Papa. The train began to move.

We went in and sat in our seats. Randy had Mama’s old Japanese fan which she held open across her face with just her eyes peering out. She was sensitive about having the hives. Martha Jane carried her dolls. Richard and I put Martin between us. We were really going somewhere. We were travelers. We felt very cosmopolitan. Randy said something behind her fan. We leaned forward, but her voice came muffled and she was being dignified. It didn’t matter. We’d soon be with Papa and our family would all be together again. And for Papa’s birthday!

The people on the train seemed very nice. One lady leaned forward and tickled Martin. “Ooooo is sooo cute,” she said. After awhile she lifted him up over the back of the seat. “Oooo sit with me,” she said. Martin reached up and pulled her hat down across her face.

“Get the baby,” said Mama to Richard. But just then Martin lost all the popcorn Richard and I had fed him in the station to keep him good. He lost it on the lady.

“Oh!” said the lady.

“Oh, dear,” said Mama, and she went and got Martin. The lady went down the aisle to the rest room. When she came back, she kept looking very carefully out of the window.

We went in to lunch. Randy sat across from me. Everybody watched her eat while holding the fan. It got to be quite fascinating. Not once did she lower it.

“What shall we have for dessert?” asked Mama.

“Ischree— ” said Randy.

“What?”

“She said ice cream,”’ said Richard, staring at Randy. He had grown quite respectful toward Randy and her fan. She did look different with it.

“Oh, look,”’ cried Martha Jane. “It’s snowing!” Everybody in the car looked out of the windows. It had begun to snow. We could no longer see the fields we were passing, and the little towns blurred in the snowstorm as we went through them.

“It won’t be long/’ said Mama. “Now, we’ll go back, and I’ll tell you lots of stories. And then it will be night, and tomorrow we’ll see your father.”

“But first we get to sleep in a box,” said Martha Jane, sliding down off her chair. We went back to our car. Martha Jane hopped on one foot all the way. Richard bet me that she’d never make it. Randy held her fan and walked behind us. I knew she was pretending she didn’t know us. She did that lots of times when we were downtown.

“Walk up with us,” Papa or Mama would say, but Randy would lag and look away and pretend she didn’t belong to all of us. “It’s her age,” Mama would whisper to Papa. Randy would frown and try to pull her features so that she didn’t resemble us. That would make people stare at her also. Like now with the fan on the train.

We went back to our seats. “Now maybe Martin will quit chewing the upholstery,” Richard said. “Now that he has eaten.”

Mama held him on her lap, and he poked at her eyes and then tried to chew her buttons. She held him and let him see the snow through the window.

“Snow,” said Mama.

“Snooooo!” said Martin.

“He can talk,” said Mama. “Did you hear, he can talk?”

“Snoooo!” repeated Martin; then he laughed.

“We’ll tell Papa,” said Randy.

“Won’t Papa be pleased?” said Richard.

“Snoooo!” said Martin. And he kept saying it all afternoon and that evening. And when he woke up the next morning he said it.

“I like sleeping in a box,” said Martha Jane. “I want to always—”

“It’s too exciting now to read,” said Randy. “We’ll soon be there.”

“Say snow, Martin,” said Mama.

“Snoooo!” said Martin.

Kate got ready to get off the train. This was a big city we were coming to. The buildings stretched tall and white and dark. Martha Jane stood up and put her hand on Mama’s knee. I would have, too, but I was almost too old.

Then we had to get ready awfully fast, for there we were and there was Papa coming, running down the platform under the long, low roofs to meet us. He grabbed Mama and then us, and we stood on the platform and it was very cold, but that didn’t matter.

“Say snow, Martin,” said Mama.

“Lalalalala,” said Martin.

Mama laughed and then she cried, and then we were in the taxi going home.

“It isn’t much of a place, but we’re lucky to have an apartment of any kind,” said Papa. “What did your mother say about coming? Oh, never mind. Don’t tell me today.”

“How did you bend your glasses like that, Martha Jane?” Papa asked. “One eye isn’t even looking through the lens. Fix them. Randy.”

And then we were at the apartment. It was small, but Papa said we’d find a house real soon, or a bigger apartment. We walked through the rooms, and Martin found the garbage and started to stir it with one of the spoons from the dining car on the train.

It began to snow again and got dark very early.

“It’s nearly time for bed,” said Papa, and he told us all the stories we asked for and turned the lights dim. “If you hadn’t come, I would have come to you,” said Papa, looking at Mama.

Martin played with his silver string and Mama’s hair, looked at the snow and said, “Lalalalala,” and then went to sleep. And then we were all going to bed. Randy and I and Richard said goodnight. Papa kissed us and then took Mama and lifted up her chin. Mama began to blush, and a piece of silver string fell forward across the place where Mama’s hair was the curliest and darkest against her temple.

“Hugh,” Mama said.

“My word,” said Randy. “Don’t Mama and Papa look different!”

“You do, too,” said Papa. “Is it the hives again?”

Randy sighed. “I thought you were going to be romantic. Hives! I didn’t even get to dance. I wrote you all about it.”

Mama moved to go with us to comfort Randy, but Papa kept hold of her. “Good night,” said Papa, pull- ing her back into the living room. “See you kids in the morning. I haven’t even had a chance to talk to your mother yet.” He turned again to Mama. “Hello, Mama,” we heard him say. “Hello, Kate.”