Gertie pushed her black-rimmed glasses up the bridge of her nose as she peered at the cookies in the oven of the brand-new Garland gas range. Daddy always claimed having the latest household gadgets at home made him a better salesman at the mercantile, but Gert thought there was more to it than that. Gathering the hem of her apron to pull the cookie sheet from the oven, Gertie used a spatula to set her baking on the table to cool. She took a moment to look around her recently renovated kitchen.
Black-and-white checkered Armstrong linoleum covered the floor. Her Hoosier cabinet provided the latest in kitchen efficiency. She painted the walls a bright white enamel. The paint still smelled despite the fact it was summer and Gertie left the kitchen windows open all night. At least it was a clean smell. Gert sewed the new black gingham curtains with lace trim. Her electric Kelvinator refrigerator was the envy of the neighborhood. The kitchen was completely up-to-date. It made her chores a joy.
Daddy dragged home every modern appliance he could get his hands on, be it a waffle iron or vacuum cleaner or electric toaster. His fascination went beyond devotion to work. He was enthralled by the mechanical aspects of modern manufacturing and never tired of watching his eldest daughter put his acquisitions to use.
Gertie cringed at the sour notes coming from the upright piano in the parlor. Tuesday and Thursday afternoons meant lessons for her two youngest sisters. The melody started out vaguely resembling Old Kentucky Home but degenerated into freakishly incomprehensible noise. She was relieved to hear Sheridan close the keyboard cover.
“I smell cookies.” A clean-shaven Mr. Williams poked his closely cropped, curly brown head through the kitchen door. “Chocolate?” he asked, bright blue eyes sparkling.
“Come on ahead. Sheridan was supposed to serve you cookies and tea at the end of her lesson. I assume she bounded out the door at her first opportunity.”
“That she did. To be fair, she probably assumed I was in good hands, left to your hospitality. Can I have lemonade instead of tea?” Mr. Williams appeared more an eager little boy than a reserved piano teacher as he filched a hot cookie from the table. He considered his hostess as he popped the cookie in his mouth. Her light brown hair was tucked into a bun at the back of her head. She wore a plain black skirt and simple blouse under her practical apron.
“Sit down there and let me get you a plate before you get crumbs all over my kitchen,” Gertie ordered.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“My sisters, especially Sheridan, do not seem to be improving under your tutelage, Mr. Williams.”
“None of your sisters have ever shown the slightest degree of musical ability. Your father is wasting his money. Can he not hear their practice or have they given that up entirely?”
“No. They still practice. I believe Daddy thinks he is providing some level of sophistication with the lessons. He wanted to support your mother’s business when she was widowed and continued when you started teaching. How is your mother these days?” asked Gertie.
“About the same. She stays in her wheelchair. She could teach at our house, but she seems content to leave business matters to me.”
“You were lucky to have a profession thrown in your lap.”
“Now, Gertie, you know I always wanted to see the world. Are you making my birthday cake on Sunday?”
“Clay Williams, what makes you think I would bake you a cake? It’s my birthday too. I’ve suffered enough through the years, sharing my birthday with you.” Gertie took a seat at the kitchen table, stirring her cup of tea.
“What are the odds next-door neighbors would have babies born on the same day? I’ve always enjoyed sharing our birthdays. Who’s baking our cake, then?”
“I’m not certain. Cynthia is probably the best baker, but she’ll still be on her honeymoon.”
“The wedding last Saturday was beautiful, Gert. You did a fine job. I thought you looked nice in your yellow dress. I’ve never seen the hat with flowers before.”
“How unusually observant of you. I bought new clothes for this wedding. I was tired of wearing my pink dress.”
“Four sisters down, two to go. What will you do when Sheridan and Jane marry?”
“Oh, Daddy will always need a housekeeper.”
“And when he doesn’t?”
“I suppose I’ll end up the spinster aunt, visiting my sisters’ homes to spend a month here and there. I do enjoy my nieces and nephews.”
“You took over when your mother passed away. What’s it been, ten years? What if I said you were lucky to have a profession thrown in your lap?”
Gertie lowered her chin and peered over the rim of her glasses. “It’s been 14 years, almost half my life. What if I poured that glass of lemonade over your head?”
Clay chuckled. “Exactly how I feel when you say that. You’re as stuck with your life as I am with mine. But I have my dream of world travel. Haven’t you a dream? What about marriage, your own family or a job?”
“As you well know, we will be 30 on Sunday. I am well past a marriageable age.”
“Me, too.”
“No, you’re not. Men are never too old to marry. I thought for a time, you would marry one of the lovely Oakhurst sisters.”
“I still might.”
“You certainly will not! You wasted that opportunity. Jane and Sheridan are too young for you. The trouble is, you never took life seriously. You could have married and had children or made more of your mother’s business. Did you do any of that? No.”
“So, you’ve been looking for some serious, boring man to boss you around?”
“I never even considered such a thing. Turning 30 is bothering me, I must admit. Doesn’t it bother you?”
“Can’t say it does. June 30, 1918, is just another day–with cake. Why should it matter?”
“Because life is flying by so fast. I had the oddest thought during the wedding. We mark our birthday on that day each year. But we also have a deathday, we just don’t know which day it is. Each year we live through that day until the year comes when we don’t.”
“You’re being morbid, Gertie. Have a cookie.”
Doubting a cookie would make much of a difference, she grabbed one anyway and took a thoughtful bite. “I found a gray hair on the morning of Cynthia’s wedding.”
“Where?”
“I pulled it out. All the while you were admiring my new hat, it only served to cover my symbol of old age.”
Clay stood and bent over Gertie’s aging head, using his thumbs to search for silver threads among the brown. “I don’t see any, Gert. I think you got it all. Your youth is still intact. I promise not to tell a soul.”
“What are you doing? You’ll muss my hair.” Gertie slapped his hands away, primly patting her bun in place.
“You need to get out of this kitchen. Go buy another new dress and hat. Maybe some man will take an interest before your hair goes all white. Some widower with a houseful of children you could raise would work. Then, there’s the fact you are a fine cook. A lot of gray hair could be overlooked on account of that.” Clay shoved a cookie in his mouth and two in his pocket before heading for the back door.
“You are an insufferable man, Clay Williams!” shouted Gertie as she took a last bite of cookie.
* * *
Briefly the center of attention at the picnic table, Gertie smiled indulgently after she and Clay blew their candles out. Grabbing the elbow of his jacket, she stood on tip-toes and hissed in his ear, “I need to have a word.”
“But Gert, can’t I have a piece of cake, first?”
She expertly butchered a slice of cake, slapped it on a plate and shoved it at Clay. “There, happy?”
“I don’t know yet. Who made our cake?”
“I did.”
“You made our cake? What’s wrong with those worthless sisters of yours? Not one could be bothered?” With a mouthful of cake, Clay continued, “Oh, this is good, Gertie. Very, very good. You remembered my favorite, chocolate cake with chocolate icing.”
“There wasn’t time, so I made it myself. Never mind. Come sit under the big tree.”
“This isn’t about death again, is it? A man shouldn’t have to talk about death on his birthday.”
“No. I want to know what you meant the other day, when you mentioned I could get a job.”
Clay considered his neighbor as he took an ample bite of cake. Although she had a reputation as a loving daughter and sister, Gert was always prickly with him. She was up to something. He needed to watch his step so as not to become embroiled in an argument, which was all too easy where Gertie was concerned. “You have another new dress, I see.”
Gertie looked down at her short-sleeved, crepe party dress. It seemed an eternity since she put it on. “That’s part of what I need to talk about.”
“It’s lovely. Green brings out the color of your eyes.”
Gert reached under her chair and grabbed a newspaper, then whacked Clay in the arm. “Will you be quiet and listen to me?”
“Don’t make me drop my cake! You didn’t find another gray hair, did you?”
“No, no. It all started when Daddy asked what I wanted for my birthday. So, I thought about what you said and decided I should have more new clothes. He readily agreed. Since he doesn’t have to pay for my wedding, he told me money for clothes was no object. He appreciates how I run the household and manage the girls and so, arranged a sizeable credit for me at the mercantile.”
“What a harsh comment. How does he know he won’t have to pay for your wedding?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course, I’m not getting married. But then, Jane came in my bedroom this morning to wish me happy birthday and to tell me her news.” Gertie appeared devastated as she stared into Clay’s blue eyes. “Jane has a beau. I know, I know, she’s too young to have a beau. I told her, none of the other girls married at 18, but she seems terribly determined. She wants me to intervene on her behalf with Daddy. How can I when I feel opposed to her plans?”
“Surely, they wouldn’t marry soon?”
“Yes, they would. This boy is concerned about being drafted. They wish to marry before he might have to leave. She says he works as a mechanic at his father’s garage. Jane went on and on about what a genius he is at repairing automobiles. There’s an apartment above the garage where they could live. He calls her his ‘sweet patootie.’ What does that mean? What is the world coming to when young people don’t speak English? They’ve been kissing!”
“Don’t look so shocked, Gert. That’s what couples do.”
“She talked at length about her amorous adventures—holding hands, kissing and hugging. I had no idea what to say to her. The other girls went right to Daddy. Their beaus properly asked for my sisters’ hands in marriage. I have no experience.”
“You have no experience kissing?”
Gertie pressed her lips tightly together and blushed a furious red. Daddy forbade any relationship with a man until his daughters turned 18. Gertie was 16 when Mother died. She took on the mantle of housekeeper and mother. There had never been a man in her life. She would never admit this to Clay Williams. “I didn’t say that.”
Clay hid his smile. “All you can do is relay Jane’s wishes. After that, what happens between them is out of your control. Besides, did it ever occur to you, your father might be happy to have his daughters married off?”
“Certainly not. He’s always devastated at the weddings.”
“Are you sure it’s not you who’s devastated? I always thought your father seemed relieved and quite jovial at Oakhurst weddings. He’s not the one hiding in back of the church, crying.”
Ignoring that comment, Gertie returned to her topic. “Well, this is what got me started thinking about a job. What am I going to do? Sheridan will be the only one left. I can barely figure out how to cook for four, how am I going to cook for a mere three people?”
“Sheridan isn’t leaving anytime soon. I never met such a tomboy in my life. She’s more apt to slug a boy than kiss him.”
“She’s only 16 and certainly will not be kissing any boys for a long time to come. But what am I going to do? When you talked about me living here with only Daddy, it made me think. Do you suppose I can find a job? What would I do?”
“Your father would give you a job at the mercantile.”
“No, I want to do this on my own.” Gertie opened the newspaper. “Look at this article. Women are carrying the mail in Seattle, freeing men to join the war effort.”
“But we don’t live in Seattle.”
“Maybe they’ll start hiring women at the post office in Los Angeles. They are hiring thousands of women as clerks in Washington.”
“But we don’t live in Washington.”
There are a lot of jobs for women in the ads. I could become a stenographer.”
“You don’t know how.”
“I’m not stupid. I could learn. But there are things I know how to do. I could mangle—that pays $10.”
“For how many hours a week?”
“It doesn’t say. Or I could do housekeeping.”
“But, that’s what you do for your father.”
“You’re not being helpful. I could become a saleswoman. They say you’re guaranteed a job if you have a car.”
“But you don’t know how to drive. And it’s hard to make money selling door-to-door. Often, you have to invest in the product in order to sell it.”
“There’s one here to sell irons and toasters. I know all about those. That wouldn’t be much of an investment.”
“You’d be competing with your father’s mercantile. You need to think more on this, Gertie. I read in the paper where there’s an extreme shortage of sugar in California. Hoarders are subject to a $5,000 fine or two years in prison. I think you should be more concerned about that, given your confectionery habits.”
“I’m not hoarding sugar.”
“You wouldn’t know it by me. The Oakhurst kitchen is always full of sweets. You made two huge cakes and cookies in the last week alone.”
“But the cakes were for special occasions. I saved up for those.”
“What do you think a hoarder does?”
Gertie waved the paper under Clay’s nose. “This was all your idea. Why are you so useless?”
Balancing his empty plate on his knee, Clay grabbed Gertie’s hand. “Tackle one problem at a time. First, talk to your father about Jane and her beau. See what happens. There’s no reason to assume everyone is jumping ship. Turning 30 is obviously distressing you. You need to calm down before changing your whole life.”
“I’ll never be as good at calming down as you are. Any calmer, and no one would know you were alive!”
“I need another piece of cake. Why don’t you get one for yourself? It is your birthday, after all. And we might as well enjoy the fruit of your labor before they cart you off to prison.”
Gertie gave an exasperated snort and headed off to see if any cake was left.
* * *
July 4th was an important holiday in the Oakhurst family. Even if the country was at war, Gertie was determined the day would proceed as always.
Tradition dictated they attend the local 4th of July parade, then picnic at the park, where there would be music and stirring, patriotic speeches. Daddy was something of a pyromaniac, truly in his element setting off fireworks after dark.
The Oakhursts made their own procession as they exited the front gate to make their way to the parade route. Each year, the family grew a bit larger. Now there were husbands and baby buggies bedecked in patriotic bunting. Even Jane’s beau was invited. Gertie intended to keep an eye on that boy. She didn’t trust him. Daddy’s comment, “Jane always had a good head on her shoulders,” seemed completely misguided. Perhaps Clay was right and Daddy was anxious to marry off his girls.
Everyone carried their own small flag. The oldest grandchild—7-year-old Benjamin—was given the honor of leading the Oakhurst family parade, carrying his grandpa’s commemorative 1876 flag.
No sooner did they turn the corner than a breathless Cynthia and her groom ran up behind Gertie to surprise her.
“You’re back early!”
“We couldn’t miss the first 4th of July of our married life!” Cynthia stated with conviction. “What kind of wife would I be if I didn’t introduce Derrick to our family celebration?”
Gert watched the rest of the family greet the newlyweds. Aside from Jane’s young man, today was turning out exactly as it should. She lingered behind as her family continued on their way, lighter of heart than she’d been since the wedding.
She wore another new frock—a navy blue plaid dress with square white collar. A straw hat bedecked in red flowers was perched on Gertie’s meticulously arranged tresses. New white shoes, white lace gloves and frilly undergarments completed her ensemble. She felt quite the cosmopolitan woman. There was a definite lilt to her step when her three-year-old niece, Marla, grabbed her hand.
They arrived at their traditional viewing location as the parade started. Festively adorned automobiles carried parade dignitaries. The local high school band played Over There. A perfectly matched team of black horses pulled a fire wagon down the street. The warmest applause was for a troop of recruits, marching in their new uniforms.
Gertie applauded as well, but her focus shifted to a soldier who broke ranks and walked determinedly toward the Oakhurst clan. It was as if Gertie’s field of vision narrowed. All the sights and sounds of the parade drifted away and she saw only his face. Clay stood before her. His blue eyes gazed into hers. Grasping her shoulders, Clay planted a kiss, then pushed her away to study her reaction.
To say she was surprised was an understatement. Gert stared at him, lips slightly parted, a dazed look in her eyes. He took her face between his hands.
“Gertrude Oakhurst, I’m going to see the world and when I get back, I’m going to marry you. Wait for me, Gertie. Say you will.”
Too astonished to reply, Gert vigorously nodded. Suddenly, strong arms embraced her, pulling her tight against Clay’s chest. He applied a thoroughly inappropriate kiss. Then the arms were gone. Clay ran to join his troop, turning to wave one last time before he disappeared among the marching soldiers. She stepped off the curb and waved back, then he was gone.
Gert focused on the soldiers as they marched out of sight. She pressed her hands to her heart as her life took a new form. Somehow, Clay always belonged to her and she to him.
Turning back toward her family, she was met with stunned silence. The last thing any of them expected was for Gertie to marry. Her sisters gave a collective squeal and an avalanche of comments erupted.
“What will Daddy do without you?”
“Why, he’ll have to hire a housekeeper!”
“Oh, Gertie, you’ll still stay with us when the new baby comes, won’t you?”
“Isn’t this the most deliciously romantic thing you ever saw!”
“What was wrong with my proposal?”
“Who’d a thought Mr. Williams would be a good kisser?”
“Gertie, did you know he signed up?”
“Maybe he got drafted.”
“He proposed right in front of everybody!”
“He could get arrested for kissing in public.”
“Surely, no one would blame a soldier for kissing his sweetheart goodbye.”
“Stop!” Gertie raised her hands to quiet the din. “All I have to say is this. That man better come home to me in one piece!”
And he did.