Strawberry Hill, Chapter 7

Recommended for ages 8 and up. Raleia Pendle always wished she was from an old fashioned family from a bygone era who would be involved in every aspect of her life, but instead she has modern (for 1976) hippie parents who keep their distance. Raleia gets a taste of the past by moving to Tidal, ME which was hit by a Tidal Wave in 1911 and is a living museum to the event. She also meets Ian Rutherford a recluse who hasn't left his house since the tidal wave hit and shows her a very different past

Transcript

Hello,

This is a lefay of Sylvanosity and I hope that you have enjoyed the previous chapters of Strawberry Hill.

And now we're about to read chapter 7.

Some moms bring their sick kids chicken little soup,

Cold washcloths,

Puzzles,

Or books from the library.

Not tiny Pendle.

No,

She had to bring the laundry in by the arm load,

Or in her case,

Belly load,

So she and Ralia could fold them together.

Tiny sent Tick up with peanut butter and honey sandwiches,

And if Ralia wanted a book,

She had to get it herself.

Tiny said the leg would stiffen up if she didn't use it a little bit.

Stiffen it did.

Her leg might as well have been a concrete post for all the flexibility it had.

Why couldn't Tiny be like Grandma Hollister?

One time when Ralia struck a tree while she was sledding at her grandparents house,

Grandma Hollister washed the cut on her knee with a warm soapy washcloth and hydrogen peroxide.

Tiny would have used alcohol.

When the knee was clean,

Ralia's grandma wrapped her in a blanket and set her in front of a fire.

She brought Ralia hot cocoa and marshmallows and a pile of pillows to lean on.

Grandma Hollister even read to her.

Ralia was so hot her hair was damp with sweat and she got a little stiff lying there,

But it was great to hear Grandma Hollister's smooth voice reading from Reader's Digest.

Tiny wouldn't do any of those things.

No way.

She wanted Ralia to fend for herself.

As she said,

Kid,

You didn't break your neck.

You scraped your leg.

Get a grip.

Tiny missed the point entirely.

Ralia just wanted to know Tiny cared enough to do mom kind of things.

At least Tiny ordered pizza with mushrooms and extra cheese for supper.

Ralia was starved,

But her leg was so stiff.

She needed Tick's help to get down the stairs.

You need a swim,

Tickton said as Ralia leaned on him to go down the stairs.

There was barely enough room for the both of them,

So they moved slowly,

Bumping elbows,

Stepping on each other's toes.

Cold ocean water wouldn't do much good,

Tick.

No shock,

Sherlock.

Tickton shook his head.

I was talking about the pond up in the Bluffs where Max is collecting frog eggs.

It's nice and warm and only half of it's all boggy and gross.

It's great if you're the Swamp Thing.

You've got no sense of adventure,

Tick said,

Leaving her at the bottom of the stairs.

Thanks,

Captain Courageous.

Don't mention it,

Tick waved as he grabbed a slice of pizza from the box on the coffee table before running out the front door.

Ralia hated to eat pizza without a plate and a fork.

Hobbling into the kitchen,

Ralia found a goggled Tiny sitting on the floor with a hammer in one hand and a cracked vase in the other.

What are you doing?

Ralia asked.

Stay there,

Tiny waved at Ralia with the vase.

Wrapping it in a towel,

She hammered the vase into shards,

Shouting,

Making sculptures!

Covered with broken vases.

Don't knock it,

Girly,

Tiny pointed to the table with the hammer.

It could be the next fad.

Warhol would be impressed.

An odd little dance troupe covered the table.

About twenty clay statues of women in various stages of dance.

Their limbs almost flowing out of their torsos.

Their skin collections of bits of mismatched glass.

When did you have the time to do this?

Giving the vase another whack,

Tiny said.

Been at it nonstop since your little spell.

Why'd you make so many of them?

Tiny leaned back against the cupboard.

Ralia,

Does there have to be a reason?

I mean,

Can't I just do it because I enjoy it?

Sure,

Ralia shrugged,

Pushing one of the statues so it teetered a little,

She added.

Whatever keeps you happy.

Reaching over her head to grab the counter for support,

Tiny pulled herself up to her feet.

What would really make me happy is some chocolate stars and a jar of peanut butter.

This was no wild pregnancy-induced urge.

Tiny loved the combo of chocolate and peanut butter.

Her pregnancy just made her taste for it into an obsession.

I'd take me.

.

.

It'd take me an hour just to get cleaned up.

Tiny held her arms out to show Ralia the clay dust,

Glass chips,

And glue that covered her clothes.

I'll go after I eat some pizza.

The exercise will do you good.

Tiny was about to pat Ralia on the back with her gloved hand,

Then she pulled it back.

Not a good idea.

At least she realized it before she walloped me,

Ralia thought.

After two slices of pizza,

Ralia went over to the sink.

The money jar was already in place.

No matter where they lived,

Max always set a mason jar next to the sink.

Each night he emptied his pockets into the jar.

The next morning he withdrew his daily allotment of $15 from the bank.

Every week,

Tiny put the surplus of the money jar into her own wallet so they could have enough for big purchases like paying the phone bill or buying shoes.

Sometimes Ralia had more money in her own piggy bank than her parents had in that stupid jar.

Even with her measly allowance of $2.

50 a week,

She saved up $25 for the summer.

She had to be ready for an antique emergency.

You never know when you'll wander into an antique store and find something you must have.

Max's idea of saving money was a strictly controlled withdrawal policy.

If Max spent the $15,

There was no going back to the bank.

It was like living inside one of those tourist books called Hawaii on $15 a day.

Max said it kept him from spending too much and made it possible for them to do things like travel to South America for a research trip.

Ralia figured it kept them eating at Happy Burger and shopping for clothes at Kmart.

Grabbing a handful of dollar bills,

Ralia went out the back door without saying goodbye.

The ambassador sat out front.

Max was getting nervous about the baby,

Ralia thought.

He wanted a car there in case something happened.

Ralia drew a line in the dust on the back windshield,

Then cut through the neighbor's lawn to take the cross-country route to the store.

Coming out onto Main Street,

She was directly across from the store.

All the shades were drawn over the windows,

Their drawstrings dangling down with their eye-shaped handles looking out onto the street.

Light and dark appeared to be reversed when she stepped inside.

Long fingers of sunlight crept up the aisles like shadows and the rest of the store was showered with an almost misty darkness.

Ralia half believed she'd traveled back to an era when she could have selected her favorite candy from a glass jar on the counter or skewered her own pickle from a barrel.

Remembering her purpose for being there,

Ralia wondered how they packaged peanut butter originally.

A glass jar?

Or a can?

Did it have individually pasted labels?

Was it smooth and rich or pasty and oily?

Chocolate certainly hadn't come in plastic bags.

The screen door shut with a loud crack.

It steadled Ralia into listening carefully.

A teenager with shoulder-length red hair dropped an empty milk crate onto the counter,

Asking,

Do I have to hike all the way up the Rutherfords?

That hill gives me leg cramps.

The man behind the counter laughed.

You're just spooked.

I am not.

Listen,

Gary,

I've had a good crop of delivery boys in here since I took this store over thirty years ago and there wasn't one of them who didn't get the shivers when I sent them up the Rutherfords.

Three decades?

Ralia was right about Rutherford.

He had been a recluse for a really long time.

What would make a man shut himself up like that?

He wasn't afraid of people.

Maybe he had agoraphobia.

Tiny's great Aunt Nelda had a wicked case of that.

The odd woman feared open spaces so much that she started shaking if someone so much as opened a window.

That didn't fit.

Rutherford was outside when she came the second time.

He didn't seem too worried about being burned by the open air like Aunt Nelda.

No,

There had to be another reason.

Gary and the store owner had started to bicker.

Gary said,

I don't get paid enough to haul stuff up that hill.

I should get extra.

The owner came back with a snappy,

I'll give you extra right in your lip.

He backed that up with a clenched fist and a sly smile.

Then Gary spurted,

I'd like to see you try it.

You take this up the hill or you can stay home tomorrow.

The owner barely missed a beat as he packed the crate with groceries.

I have half a mind to take you up on that offer,

Gary yelled.

His shouting interrupted a serious search for knowledge.

The only way Irelia could continue was to make Gary's decision for him.

She stepped up to the counter,

Jerking her thumb at Gary and said,

I'll take it for half of what he gets.

Gary glared at her,

But the owner laughed.

Now that's what I call initiative.

Hey,

Wait a minute,

Mr.

Peters,

She can't take my job.

Shut up,

Gary.

Mr.

Peters shook his head.

No one's taking anybody's job.

She just offered to take one delivery off your hands.

He pushed the crate toward Irelia.

You sure you can carry this now,

Girl?

They hated it when men gave her the weak little girl treatment.

Hoisting the crate off the counter,

She braced herself against the weight and said,

No problem.

What do I get for it?

How about 250 a week if you come in every Wednesday and haul the crate up to Rutherford?

Heck,

That would double her income.

To make that amount in allowance,

She had to mow the lawn,

Clean her room,

Wash the dishes three nights a week,

And scrub everything in the bathroom.

Sure.

Mr.

Peters told her,

He leaves the money on the doorstep.

You put the crate down and take the money.

No snooping around.

He waited to figure it out.

She knifed at her head and walked out the front door.

On the way out,

She heard Gary going at it again,

Saying,

How do you know she's not just stealing the groceries?

Mr.

Peters came back with,

I know where she lives.

Rhea lived half a continent away as far as she was concerned.

Her muscles were still a little wobbly after the accident,

So the crate was too heavy.

She couldn't take it back.

Hiding it in a bush,

Rhea went home.

Grabbing Tic's skateboard and several of Max's belts,

She drove the car to pick up the crate.

Rhea was tall enough to be mistaken for an adult,

So people didn't think twice when she passed them on the road.

At least no one gave her the wide-eyed stare she'd expected.

The car lurched as she went up the hill.

Even it couldn't make it up the steep slope without working overtime.

Rhea stopped at the gate.

It didn't feel right to drive through.

What was so special about that damn gate,

Rhea wondered.

Setting the crate onto the skateboard,

She fashioned it to the board with two belts,

Then put a belt through the crate's handle to use it as a pull cord.

It felt like she was pulling a full dog sled.

She had to stop to catch her breath several times.

The strain of climbing the hill stretched the skin on her hurt leg.

The scab was sure to crack,

But she wasn't going to let another stupid hill defeat her.

As she neared the top of the hill,

Rutherford came charging out of his door,

A dish towel in his hand,

Saying,

What on earth are you doing?

Picking up the crate,

Skateboard and all,

He pointed toward her leg.

You're bleeding.

Who let you drag that thing all the way up here?

Let me.

Rhea was about to give her she-woman speech when she remembered how men used to help women down from trains and throw their coats into muddle puddles so women could cross the street without soiling their skirts.

It wasn't difficult.

I drove.

Drove?

He blinked,

As if his eyes were sputtering.

Children can drive automobiles these days?

Rhea felt as if she were sinking into a pit of sand.

Not really.

It doesn't matter.

Rutherford shook his head.

You're coming inside so I can see to that leg.

He led the way to the house.

Even with the crate,

He was still able to open the door.

He disappeared down the hall before Rhea's eyes adjusted to the dim light of the entry hall.

He was a spry old guy.

Rutherford came back with a moist cheesecloth.

How on earth did you do this?

He asked,

Leaning down to wipe off the blood trickling down Rhea's leg.

A bike accident.

He looked up at her.

Bloomers and tights would have protected you a bit more than those short skirts of yours.

Rhea had to smile.

He was right.

All those clothes would have come in handy.

Then again a pair of jeans would have done the trick just as well.

Even better,

In fact.

He stood up,

Shaking his head.

A band-aid wouldn't do any good.

You sprouted several leaks in your little climb.

I'm sure the scabs will heal over in no time.

They had band-aids when.

.

.

Rhea stopped because she didn't know where to go from there.

When you were little?

Part of society?

Before you shut yourself up?

He laughed.

It was a deep rustling,

Like paper dropped on a well.

I'm not from ancient Egypt,

You know.

They invented band-aids in the 20s.

A delivery boy back then used to show up with one over his eye.

He was a boxer.

Did it to raise money for college?

Really?

Really?

He nodded stiffly.

They went back down the hall,

Saying,

So tell me why you made the grocery delivery,

Rhea.

He remembered her name.

People always forgot her name or only remembered part of it.

Leah or Rael.

Sometimes they called her Rhea.

She hated that.

What was worse was that she didn't have any idea what to say to him.

The real answer was way too harsh.

Oh,

I just wanted to know what made you leave society entirely and live on top of a secluded hill.

Well,

Come in.

He spoke from the other end of the hall,

But his voice carried well.

He didn't have to shout.

Rhea followed him into a kitchen.

The room was long but not narrow like hers.

There was a fancy leaf pattern in the white and green tiles,

A built-in china cabinet on one corner,

A highly polished table against the wall,

A stack of unwashed dishes sitting next to the sink,

And a real ice box with heavy doors,

Metal latches,

And a lower compartment for a drip pan.

He pointed at the window over the faucet.

Through the trees,

Raellea could see the driveway.

I was about to wash the dishes and I saw you coming.

The delivery boy didn't want to climb the hill.

Oh?

A lazy one,

Is he?

Raellea nodded.

Seeing the crate,

She bent down to unhook it from the skateboard.

I'll do that,

Rutherford crouched down.

Pushed her hands away,

He sure was bossy.

What is this thing?

Rutherford asked as he took the crate off the board.

A skateboard?

A what?

You've seen a kick scooter,

Right?

Raellea remembered seeing one and leave it to Beaver and hoping they were around in his day.

Certainly.

Well,

Someone had the idea of taking off the handle so you can balance on it like a surfboard.

Surfboard?

Raellea was almost afraid to tell him about those.

She'd think it was an insane idea to try riding a wave on a wax board,

But she told him about them anyway.

He squinted his eyes as if he was trying to imagine it.

And I suppose you've used a surfboard?

He raised his eyebrows.

Nope,

I've just seen it on TV.

Raellea scolded herself for mentioning TV.

He'd probably want to know what that was,

Too,

But he just nodded then handed her the skateboard and the belt,

Saying,

Interesting little setup you have here.

Ingenious,

Really.

Thanks.

Tapping the crate with her foot,

Raellea asked,

Would you like me to help you put this away?

What I'd like,

He half smiled at her and bowed his head slightly forward as he was looking at her through his thick grey eyebrows,

Is to know why a young girl like yourself keeps coming back to my house uninvited.

I'm not trying to be rude or anything.

Raellea didn't want to go down that road again.

She had enough social blisters from last time.

I'm aware of that.

She trapped herself again.

What could she say?

I'm nosy.

You're fascinating.

I'm an antique collector.

You don't strike me as the type of young lady who would be tongue-tied.

I'm usually not.

Then again,

I don't suppose you frequently burst in on complete strangers.

Raellea shook her head.

She felt as if they were talking.

Across the deep hole,

She couldn't see.

You've got me all twisted up on this affair.

I can't quite decide how to proceed,

But I admire your persistence,

So I'll just throw caution out the window and suggest that the next time you come,

You be prepared for a game of cribbage.

Raellea had heard of cribbage,

But she'd never played.

I'm supposed to deliver your groceries next Wednesday.

Rutherford shook his head.

I just can't see a young lady sauntering around town delivering groceries.

She was beginning to think being a woman in his time would have been a little like being stuck in bed.

Men didn't seem to let them do anything.

What was so tough about delivering groceries?

If she wasn't hurt,

It would be a cinch.

I can do it just fine.

I see that.

He spoke to her,

But he was looking at her leg.

It'll heal.

Not if you keep running around like a boy.

I don't want to fight.

Raellea was beginning to feel as if she had a split personality.

She loved the beauty and the grace of the good old days,

But not the rules that kept kids from talking and women from lifting heavy objects if they wanted to.

Raellea was beginning to think it would be better to invent a whole new time period where she could pull things from then and now to make the perfect place.

He studied her for a moment.

I wasn't aware there was cause for one.

Raellea felt like she was tying her brain into pretzel knots.

It was impossible to talk to.

I'll just go now and come back next Wednesday.

As you wish.

He nodded.

The money is on the doorstep of my grocery list.

For next week is with it.

Thank you.

Thank you for the delivery,

Raellea.

He faltered to the door.

Holding it open for her,

He said,

Take care of yourself,

Young lady.

His comment had two edges.

One was kind and it gave Raellea a little bit of a warm feeling inside.

The other edge was jagged and rude,

A mocking act like a lady type of a comment.

Raellea just smiled.

Taking the money he left under a rock,

She walked back down the driveway.

It was a familiar trip.

Not just the gravel under her feet or the huge leaning trees,

But the spinning feeling of confusion in her head.

She was exhausted enough to sleep for a century when she got in the car.

Any more run-ins with Rutherford were probably a danger to her health,

But it was a risk she was ready to take.

You know,

Sometimes,

Particularly when you speak with people who are from a different culture and that culture could be because,

That cultural difference,

I mean,

Could be because the person is older than you.

It could be because they're from a different country,

A different ethnicity,

A different religion.

Who knows?

But oftentimes when you're speaking across cultural boundaries you're unfamiliar with,

You can step on their toes or they can step on your toes in ways neither of you intend.

And sometimes it just takes a little extra patience and some curiosity to cross the gap between you.

If you feel like you've made a mistake or a gaffe,

You could apologize and say,

I'm sorry.

I'm not really sure what happened there,

But maybe you could tell me a little bit more about how it made you feel so I could understand how to avoid such mistakes in the future.

With Mr.

Rutherford and Raelia,

Clearly they're clashing with each other because they have very different ideas about gender roles and the behavior of children.

And it's understandable considering the fact that Mr.

Rutherford hasn't been part of society for many decades and Raelia never lived in Mr.

Rutherford's time.

I do wonder how they'll get along in the future though.

What do you think?

Well there's something I know and that is that cross-cultural understanding takes patience,

Humility,

Forgiveness,

And kindness,

But it is so worth it.

And I encourage you to cross cultural barriers in any way you can because the more we do this,

The better we'll understand each other.

And if we understand each other better,

We can create a more just and equitable world.

Thank you for listening to this chapter from Strawberry Hill.

This is A.

Le Fay from Sylvanosity.

Have a good night.

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