Search Results for: Stone Soup author interview

Katrina’s life changes when she starts visiting Mr. McCumber, a lonely old man with no family of his own Chapter One  Lord I been hangin’ out of town in that low-down rain Watchin’ good-time Charlie, friend, is drivin’ me insane Down on shady Charlotte Street,  the green lights look red Wish I was back home on the farm, in my feather bed The soft music of the guitar floated through the still air. Smoke from a chimney could be seen above the rooftops of town. Peter McCumber was an odd man. He spoke to no one, but he sang and played his guitar as if he was all alone in his own world. Nobody could remember the last time Peter McCumber had gone to church, let alone to visit somebody. The townspeople all kept their distance, as if he were ill or crazy or something. My father was the only person that would speak to him. I was interested in the old man; there were not many elderly people in Emerald Hills, where we lived. The only other one was Mrs. Gaffney, the milliner. But, like everyone else, I kept my distance. Our town, Emerald Hills, consisted of two neighborhoods. I lived at the very edge of the smaller neighborhood, closer to the part of town where all the shops were. My house was a tiny one-story cottage with whitewashed boards and sky-blue trim around the windows. I lived with my father and our cook, Helen. My mother died when I was only four, and I hardly remembered her. Helen came shortly after Mother died, and she had raised me for most of my life. I opened the kitchen door, and a wave of delicious scents hit me. Helen hardly ever made anything hot in the summertime, but today was Friday, and Grandmother was coming. Helen had cooked a whole chicken and made mashed potatoes, which were a special treat. She had roasted carrots and for dessert there was a large chocolate cake hidden in the cupboard. “Smells delicious!” I exclaimed, dropping into a chair. “It’s nothing,” Helen said with a smile. “But I could use some help. Go change and then help me set the table.” “Sure.” I left the kitchen and went into my bedroom. I picked out the blue dress Father got me for my birthday. It was very lovely, but I hated dresses, and I wore overalls almost every day. But I knew that Father would appreciate it if I dressed nicely tonight because Grandmother was coming. My father’s parents had died before I was born, but my mother’s mother was still alive. She was a stately old lady, and very old-fashioned. She did not really approve of my father, because my mother had run away to marry him. But with time she had grown to tolerate him, and after Mother died, she helped us in some small ways. Anyway, Grandmother did not approve of girls wearing pants, so every time she came, I donned a dress and stuffed my overalls to the back of my closet, in case she happened to peek in. The dining room was set up nicely with a pale yellow tablecloth and flickering candles. Usually, we ate at the kitchen table, but as I’ve said, Grandmother was very stately and old-fashioned and did not approve of dining in the kitchen. I helped Helen bring the various dishes to the table. Just as we finished, the front door opened and my father entered. I could hear him taking off his hat and putting down his umbrella. He had been in the city, picking up Grandmother. I ran to him and wrapped my arms around him. “Hey, kiddo. How was your day?” he asked, squeezing me to him. “Good,” I told him. Then I heard a loud sniff. I stepped away from Father to see Grandmother standing beside him. She was very short, not much taller than me, but Father once said that was a good thing, because if she were any taller, she would be too intimidating to even talk to. “Hello, Grandmother,” I said quietly. She sniffed again. “It is not proper to come flying at someone like that. And Martin, you must not say ‘hey’— it’s so unrefined! When I was young, we stood in a line in front of my father when he came home from work, so as to greet him. We never flew at him like small animals!” she said. That is what I meant about Grandmother. Father smiled. “Katrina was just happy to see me. That’s all,” he said. “Yes, well.” She sniffed again. “Really, Martin. I do think you should have named her Julia Margaret! That’s proper, you know! The first daughter named for her mother! Especially because her mother is now dead. Did you ever think about changing her name after my daughter died? It would make people see how much you were mourning her!” The stars appeared one by one, as if someone were lighting hundreds of candles to cut through the darkness. Grandmother brought this up every time she visited. But Father always said with his quiet firmness that my mother had hated the name Julia Margaret and had not wanted to name her daughter that. “Supper’s going to get cold. Why don’t we all head into the dining room and have a bite to eat?” suggested Helen, poking her head through the door. “And really, Martin. Servants should know their place! They should not interrupt conversations! They should not talk at all!” Grandmother said. “Helen is a dear friend, not a servant,” Father replied. He still spoke in the same calm manner that he always did, but I could tell he was aggravated. Helen did not seem to mind Grandmother’s remarks. I saw her hiding a smile as she withdrew back into the dining room. Dinner was mostly uneventful. Grandmother criticized everything from peeling paint on the walls to how Father’s wristwatch was seven seconds faster than the grandfather clock