As told by Virginia Vauthier

It was a warm summer day, Monday, June 1, 1942, wash day in the country, a day of work. Jenny, seven months along with her first baby, went to build the fire under the three legged black pot she used to heat the water to wash the dirty clothes in. Hers was only a 15 gallon pot set on 3 flat rocks in the back yard. She carried buckets of water from the faucet on the back porch to fill the pot, then, when the water boiled, she dipped some out into a big tub on the wash bench where she soaped the clothes with lye soap and rubbed them on a rub board. Then she put the clothes in the black pot to boil and punched them with a jobbing stick made from a broom handle. She used the stick to move the clothes into a tub of rinse water, then wrung them out by hand, rinsed them a second time, and finally hung them to dry on a wire stretched between two trees.

She always washed the white things first and hung them in the sun; she washed the colored things last and hung them in the shade. Her husband’s khaki pants had to be starched before they could be hung. It was now ten o’clock and the colored clothes were in the pot, the whites rinsing in the tub. Jenny wrung some white sheets out and put them in a dish pan thinking how hot it was and wondering if her husband Charles would come for a drink of water from the corn field where he was plowing the young corn for the last time. It was growing so tall they would have to hoe the next time.

The baby gave her a big kick and she sat down on the porch step thinking how big she was now with the baby due at the end of July. Oh, well! She would be thin again soon. And there was Charles whistling as he came for a drink of cool water. He kissed her on his way inside to get the aluminum water pitcher they always took to the windmill. She was pleased that he still got his kiss even though she was so big. She got up to rub the last of the dirty socks on the rub board, and turned her head to see Charles’ broad shoulders as he went into the kitchen.

When he came outside again she said, “It is really hot today with the fire and the sun.”

Charles grinned at her and whistled his way to the windmill, came back with the pitcher full and dripping as he walked to the step to sit and drink. He drank from the shining pitcher, wiped his mouth on his sleeve, and stood up as if to go in the house. Then he paused and asked, “Are you really too warm?”

Jenny looked up at him from her labor. “Yes, I am,” she said. She saw a gleam in his eye and a big smile that showed his gold tooth. ‘My how I love him,’ she thought, just before he jumped from the step, poured the cold windmill water on top of her head – the whole pitcher full – set the pitcher on the porch, ran and jumped the fence, and went whistling back to the field leaving her sputtering, wet, and angry.

The tears started to come. She could feel them stinging her eyes. She shook her head and remembered she had promised herself no more tears. They had done precious little for her in the two years of their marriage. Her glance moved to the starch she had made to starch Charles’ khaki pants. A feeling of peace stole over her. She knew what she was going to do. She walked to the clothes line, unpinned a clean, sweet-smelling, white towel, dried her face and arms, and wrapped the towel turban-style around her long blond hair. Then she began to pick and choose from the white clothes on the line – shorts here, an undershirt there, and the nice white socks she had given Charles for his last birthday. They were still damp but, no matter, back to the wash bench she went. She dumped all the white things she’d chosen into the starch.

“That should make them nice and stiff,” she said to herself. She squeezed the clothes out and returned them to the clothes line, and finished the rest of the wash. Then she put Charles’ lunch on to heat and sat on the back step. She was feeling good, drying her hair long golden hair when Charles came in with the mules. He put them in the lot and put the harness in the barn, which meant he had finished the plowing. He rolled a cigarette, struck a match on the fence, and looked toward the porch. Jenny waved and smiled her sweetest.

He sauntered toward the house. She knew he liked to see her there on the step drying her hair. He looked surprised to see her smiling. She usually cried when he’d been mean. As he drew near her, he looked closely at her calm, smiling face, clearly wondering what was different this time.

“Please dump the wash pot and tubs for me, and be sure the fire is all out,” she asked him, adding, “Your dinner is ready.”

She stood up slowly and went to set the table. He did as she asked, shaking in his head at her unexpected cheerfulness. After lunch they stacked the dishes and went for a short walk down the lane, returned, and took a nap together after some sweet kisses. Jenny waked and stretched, feeling a swift kick from the baby. She got up and went to bring the clothes in from the line, then sprinkled them with water for ironing the next morning.

When morning came, she didn’t waver, but ironed the stiff underwear and socks, as well as shirts and pants and dresses. Charles still seemed to wonder at her good mood and sunny smile, but they enjoyed a happy couple of days together, planning a visit to the nearest neighbors later in the week.

When Thursday arrived, Jenny rose early to get ready for the trip. Charles bathed and headed to their room to dress with a towel wrapped around his middle. Jenny walked past, giving him a kiss and smiling her new smile as she went to the front porch swing to wait to see what happened when he found the stiff under things. She imagined him pulling on the shorts and realizing that they felt different, snapping the tops and feeling the stiff scratchy starch in his drawers, then feeling the stiffness in his socks too.

When he finished dressing, he joined her on the porch without saying a word about the starched clothes and they went on their visit as if nothing had happened. He must have decided he’d show me, Jenny thought when she noticed him fidgeting.

The fidgets lasted until the next wash day when the underwear were washed again and all the starch thrown out with the wash water. Charles never mentioned the starched under things and he never poured water on her again. But she did see him searching her face as if watching for her new smile to warn him of things to come.