One Man's Life
By Sarah Hankel
Dec. 9, 1936
There was no doubt that Mary Katherine was in a serious mood. The way she swiped the gold-flecked Formica countertop clean of orange seeds and toast crumbs made it obvious that she was not a woman to be reckoned with. Yet, chipper or not, the day had to go on.
Raising her chin just enough to spread her voice throughout the two-storey house, Mary Katherine called, "Boys? Boys, come on. It's time to go."
Rinsing her hands clean and drying them on the front of her apron, the response to her call resounded throughout the thin-frame house at 1712 Forrester Road. Careless, playful footsteps rumbled across the floor above her head, then thundered down the wooden stairs. Within seconds, her 3- and 4-year-old sons, Jack and Jerry, were standing at her feet.
"My Lord! You sound like a herd of elephants," she hushed disapprovingly.
Crouching to their eye level, Mary Katherine scrutinized her boys faces and hair, searching for smudges and unruly collicks. They passed the test and to prove it, as Mary Katherine stood and walked between them she dismissed the boys with a shove on the back of their heads. "Go on now. Get whatever toys you want totake over to Mrs. Whitfield's house."
Untying the bow of her apron, she slipped her head out of the noose and hung the garment on a wood hook inside the pantry closet. Smoothing the front of her dress, Mary Katherine retrieved her coat and gloves from the foyer which was nothing more than a floor mat under a hat tree placed by the front door.
She paused in front of the gilded-edged mirror marking the entry to the living room to look over her scrutinizing her own appearance in her coat, pillbox hat and gloves. Always dissatisfied by her reflection but not really caring much, Mary Katherine began shoving the necessities into her handbag - cigarettes, lighter and coin purse - as she scuttled to the back doorway where her sons were waiting, and whining.
"Aah, Nana, why do we hafta go to that old woman's house?" pouted Jerry.
"Johnathan Edward," Mary Katherine scolded, using her son's full, Christian name. "Mrs.Whitfield is the nicest lady on the block. Doesn't she always give you milk and cookies?"
"Yeah, but.." Jerry began.
"Well you better take what you can get while you�????�???�??�?�¢??re there, because there won't be any more milk around here until Friday when the milkman comes, and I certainly don't have any time to be baking," Mary Katherine shot back.
"But...she smells funny," Jerry continued to state his case as they made their way down the block.
"Jerry, that is enough!" Mary Katherine hissed. "Mrs. Whitfield does not smell funny."
"Yes she does Nana," Jack chimed in.
Mary Katherine ignored Jack's support for his older brother and hurriedly zipped up their coats, tied their hood strings securely under their chins and held out four little mittens, one at a time to shove onto their hands. But Jack just couldn't leave it alone.
"Really, Nana, she does she smells..."
"...like cabbage and cod liver oil," Jerry finished.
Mary Katherine stood to her full height - 5'10" with just a bit of heel - and with a defeated sigh assured her sons they would be there no longer than they needed to be. "Please, just be good boys, OK?" she pleaded.
"OK, Nana," Jack complied.
"Awright," Jerry groaned.
Ushering her sons out the back door, Mary Katherine picked up the pace. Extending a hand on either side, the boys grabbed hold and dashed across Forrester Road. Once across the street, the boys seemed to forget how smelly Mrs. Whitfield was and they led the way looking like two bear cubs pawing and playing with each other.
"Just like two teddy bears," Mary Katherine thought to herself. It was the first smile of her day. "Hmm, teddy bears. A couple of those would make great Christmas gifts," she thought.
The holiday season was just around the corner and Mary Katherine had been hoping to make it a memorable occasion since this year would be her and Charles' first real Christmas with their little family. Certainly the excitement of the holiday season touched them every December, but the past few years offered little in the way of celebration. They concentrated more on survival - paying the heating bill and buying food than buying gifts or decorations.
The Depression had been hard on everyone, but after five years of marriage and scrimping and saving every dime, it looked like Mary Katherine and Charles Klink were finally in the clear. Hospital bills from her two previous pregnancies were paid off; they didn't have to charge groceries anymore; and the utilities were all up to date. This was going to be "their" year �????�???�??�?�¢?? a traditional Christmas dinner complete with gads of gifts for the boys - or so it seemed until just a few week ago.
Mary Katherine stood outside Mrs. Whitfield's gate as she watched the boys knock on the door, Mrs. Whitfield's answer and their collective wave goodbye as the door was closed. Turning to head toward the bus stop for the crosstown transit, Mary Katherine smiled for the second time.
"Nana," she thought. At times it frustrated her that her only sons were unwilling to call her by a more matronly term. Jerry had started the nickname by no fault of his own. He never quite got the "m" sound, so instead of mama, she got nana. And before he could be corrected properly, Mary Katherine brought his brother into the world. Soon Jack was mimicking Jerry word for word, syllable for syllable and Nana became her moniker. Her strides quickened as she cynically thought to herself, "Well, maybe this one will get it right."
Mary Katherine hadn't found the nerve to tell Charles about the doctor appointment she'd made for herself nearly a week ago. She had been secretly hoping that maybe her two missed menstrual periods were just a fluke. After all she was a thin-framed woman and everyone knows frail women are less likely to bleed on a regular schedule, she reasoned.
But when the third month rolled around devoid of cramps and headache, she began to wonder. Then she tried to deny what her body was telling her - trying to make believe the early morning bouts of nausea was simply nerves, but sheknew better. Now it was just up to Doctor Moriarity to confirm it, which over the next hour he did.
"What a rotten time to get pregnant!" Mary Katherine cursed to herself as she sat waiting for her return ride across town. "No one in their right mind is having babies now. Why couldn't I have been born Protestant."
In part, Mary Katherine blamed her heritage as an Irish Catholic for getting her into the situation she was currently facing. Had she not been raised by the church, maybe she would have taken advantage of the various contraceptives Dr. Moriarty told her about. But, no, Mary Katherine Flaherty Klink, and her six brothers, were the direct descendants of one of the most tried-and-true Irish Catholic families in all of Ft. Dodge, Iowa - one that distinctly remembered the potato famine of 1840.
Cursing her heritage would result in nothing more than dreaming of what might have been. Instead, she tried to come up with some way to tell her husband that their family would be growing again. He was already working two jobs - at the plant from 7 a.m. to 3 p.m. and as a janitor in one of the downtown office buildings from 5 to 9 p.m. each night.
She had no idea how Charles would react. He might be thrilled, angry, disgusted,
ambivalent...she just had no idea.
