The Betsy Book

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Morning light poured into Betsy’s new bedroom on Cross Street in Wheaton. The room was shaped like a backwards capital L, a twin bed in each arm of the L. The white curtains at the window moved gently in the warm summer breeze, and when it ruffled Betsy’s hair, her eyes opened slowly.

Suddenly, she sat straight up and looked around with alarm. Then her face relaxed and she plopped back down on her pillow.

“Whew. That scared me for a minute.”

She climbed out of bed and looked out the window into the yard below. It was strange to look out and see such a big yard. And it was only for her family. In Chicago, they shared the tiny backyard with their downstairs neighbors, and most of it was concrete. There she rode her tricycle around in circles.

Below her, she saw that Dad was already working in the yard. He loved flowers, and was digging a garden bed around the house for spring planting. It was too late to plant flowers now, so Dad was getting ready to plant bulbs for tulips and daffodills.

Betsy shivered despite the warmth of the day. It was the middle of August, and school would be starting soon. She dreaded going to a new school. Why, she hadn’t even met any children her own age yet! Perhaps everyone would ignore her, or hate her. With these gloomy thoughts in mind, Betsy put on a dress. She looked down and saw that the dress wasn’t long enough anymore to cover her knees, which were sporting new scabs. Mom was sure to comment.

Mom was standing at the stove when Betsy entered the kitchen. Without looking around, she said, “Go tell Dad that breakfast is ready. We’ll be eating in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.” Mom grew up on a farm.

“Mom. When I woke up I didn’t know where I was. I expected to see my room in our old house. I was scared for a minute.”

Mom turned and smiled. “That’s happened to me, too.” Then she frowned. “Betsy. More scabs? You must be more careful. She gave the eggs another stir. “Run along now, and get Dad.”

The bright sun made Betsy squint when she went out the door. She snuck up behind Dad and put her hands over his eyes. “Guess who?” she said in a deep voice.

“Well, now. I don’t recognize that voice. Could it be…THE BIG BAD WOLF?” Dad spun around and grabbed Betsy and tickled her side. Betsy giggled.

“Breakfast, Dad. Mom says we’ll eat in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”

“We’d better get in there, then. I’m sure she’ll have everything on the table.”
Dad washed his hands at the sink and joined Mom and Betsy at the table. They bowed their heads.

For all we eat,
For all we wear,
For all we have everywhere,
We thank thee, Father. Amen.

At every meal, these were the familiar words of the grace Betsy had learned as a very little girl. It sounded to her, when she was small, like they were saying:

Frawee eat,
Frawee wear,
Frawee have everywhere….

Betsy had wondered and wondered what “frawee” meant. No one ever used the word any other time. One Sunday when the minister and his wife were having dinner with her family, she decided to ask. Perhaps the minister would know what it meant since “frawee” seemed to be a prayer sort of word.

Right after saying grace, Betsy looked around the table. “Mom, what does “frawee” mean?”

“Why, Betsy!” Mom cried. “You know we are saying ‘for all we,’ don’t you? We are saying ‘For all we eat.’” She smiled uncomfortably at the minister, her face reddening. But the minister was smiling, too, and winked across the table at Betsy.

“I’m glad you asked,” he said. “It’s always good to ask when you don’t know something.” Betsy decided she liked him.

Now Dad took his cloth napkin, opened it, and tucked it into his collar. That way, he said, he could make a mistake and not create extra laundry for Mom. Mom laid her napkin in her lap, and smiled across the table at Dad. Betsy put her napkin where it belonged, and began to eat the scrambled eggs, bacon and toast on her plate.
“Pass the jam, please, Betsy,” said Dad. He loved sweets, and so did Betsy. They both put so much jam on toast Mom sometimes scolded them a little, but she was proud they liked her homemade jams. Today it was strawberry.

The mail clinked into the mailbox a moment later, and Dad got up to get it. He liked to look over the mail as he finished breakfast. While he was out of the room, Mom poured the last of the coffee into Dad’s cup. He came back, sat down, and took a large gulp of the coffee.

“P-H-H-H-H-H-H-T!” The coffee sprayed out of Dad’s mouth across the table.

“Why, Orv-ille!” Mom said in surprise. “Whatever is the matter?”

Dad was dabbing at his mouth. “That coffee is HOT.”

“Well, of course it is. That’s the way you like it.” By now Mom was wiping up the coffee with a sponge.

“But it wasn’t hot when I left the room, Rachel. I didn’t sip it, I gulped it, because I thought it was cold. I couldn’t keep it in my mouth without blistering myself!”

“I poured the last in the pot for you.”

“You could have warned me.”

He and Mom glared at each other. Betsy realized, to her horror, that she was going to laugh. It was funny to see Dad spray the coffee, and she was also anxious because her parents were upset. Betsy snorted.

Both Mom and Dad turned to look at her. Dad’s eyes began to twinkle, and then he chuckled. Soon they were both laughing. Mom’s hands were on her hips, but she couldn’t resist their merriment. She began to laugh as well. “I guess there’s no use crying over sprayed coffee.” Mom finished wiping up the table as Betsy and Dad wiped their eyes.

“There’s a letter here from Mary,” Dad said, offering Mom an envelope. Mary was Mom’s sister who lived in Bloomington, home town to both Mom and Dad. They each had family still living there. Mary and Mom exchanged letters regularly.

Mom got the letter opener and neatly slit the envelope across the top. Betsy wasn’t allowed to touch the letter opener since it had such a sharp point. She hoped someday she could open a letter as neatly as Mom. Mom had been a secretary for a number of years before she married Dad.

“Oh my. Well.” Betsy and Dad looked at Mom. She kept reading, then started nodding.

“What is it, Rachel? We’re on pins and needles here, waiting to find out,” Dad said.

Mom looked up. “There’s some news Betsy will be interested in,” she said. “Uncle Herman knows a farmer with a small dog he’d like to give away.” Uncle Herman was Mary’s husband.

“The dog’s name is Joe,” Mom read, “and he’s black with tan and white socks and eyebrows.”

“He…he has a name already?” Betsy asked in a small voice. She wanted to name her dog Patter.

“Yes. I suppose we’ll have to call him that. He’s used to it,” said Mom.

Dad looked at Betsy’s face. “Well, now.” he said. “We don’t even know if he’s the dog for us, Betsy. And if he is, we don’t have to change his name, we can just add to it. What did you want to name a dog?”

“Patter.”

“How about Patter-Joe, then? He’ll hear his old name and gradually get used to “Patter” as time goes by.” Dad knew a lot about dogs.

Betsy smiled. “OK, Dad.” He sipped his coffee carefully, and smiled back.

© Kathy Mortensen 2005

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