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Show in my father's house/ 34 'Love one another Thus said the Savior Children obey the Father's blessed command.' When we finished the song and Aunt Helga's eyes sparkled approval, my father nodded. His eyes were closed in thought, but his cheeks had some color, now. "Thank you, Mother Helga. A lesson we must all remember." Then he motioned us younger children to gather closer. I found my usual place on his knee and he recited "The Cremation of Sam McGee," his voice wailing and whining and drawling and then ghosting through each phrase of the rhyme. Then he launched into his own winter story of the wolves in Canada, of how he heard the quiet thunder of their paws and the pant and drool of their snouts, and of how, while running across a clearing toward the brightly-lit dugout, he fell and lost his load of wood, cutting his cheek on a stump. And then he told the happy ending, that the wolves did not get him and his father did not scold him for coming back empty-handed and his mother kept a plate of supper warm for him. As he talked, Aunt Rachel prepared refreshments, her short, plump frame jiggling as she served applesauce cake made with raisins, whole wheat flour and raw sugar - the way my father said we must eat to stay healthy. But when Aunt Rachel baked for herself, she made rich, white bread of angelfood texture from white sugar and flour, with plenty of butter and eggs -- her only extravagance. My mother said that might be why her |