Evenings in the Parlor Part III

 

          Reuben and Oliver could hear the sound of everyone coming towards the house.  They had left the party early, having promised to build up the fire in the parlor stove so the rest could come to a relatively warm home.  The huge poplar trees had deposited copious amounts of leaves between the road and the house.  Even if someone had arrived without the excited chatter of the holiday, the crunching of dry leaves would be an excellent alarm system.  The sound was quickly replaced by the hollow sound of footsteps on the wooden porch. 

          Everything was perfect.  They had carefully adjusted the oil lamp to the precise level to keep hidden the pipe jetting from the wall, even when Grandma’s picture was extended out to full length.  Now all they had to do was let everyone warm up by the stove, and relax for a reasonable amount of time.

          The morning before, Oliver and Reuben conducted their routine competition of throwing jackknives from increasing distances into the barn wall.  By this, Oliver won the honor to enjoy the excitement from the parlor.  Reuben begrudgingly, but still with excitement, slipped out to take his place in the next room, going over in his head the Norwegian words that Oliver had taught him.  He wondered if he could achieve the same degree of chill that Oliver’s scream had evoked.

          The banter went on for twenty minutes in which Ancel and Morgan boasted of the mischief they intended to do later that night – pumpkins, outhouses and the typical lot.  Everyone knew their claims were nonsense.  They were far too weary to do any pranks, especially with the knowledge of the sugar beet fields that awaited them in the morning.  Finally, the evening grew quieter.  Oliver’s anxiety began to grow as he feared that Reuben would wait too long.  And then it began.

          The picture of Grandmother jumped out of the wall an inch or two and slammed back against the wall.  Oliver had a new worry that the screws which they had used in the back of the picture would pull out, but the fear was quickly replaced by the pleasure as the show unfolded.  Ancel jumped at least eight inches and let out a little girl whimper.  Morgan’s eyes and gaping mouth were absolutely round.

          “Here it comes,” thought Oliver.

          Reuben began his high-pitched Norwegian shriek.  It started out a little weak, but built beautifully as the picture began its mad spiral out from the wall.  Morgan fell backwards over a toppling chair, nearly knocking over the lamp.  But Reuben’s scream stopped abruptly .   .   .  and so did the picture.  It seemed to be suspended in midair.  Grandmother was upside down.

          A new, and quite different, wailing resounded from the kitchen.  Reuben came running into the parlor.  He skidded in like a baseball runner onto the Persian carpet, making it shift enough to cause everyone to fall into a heap. Reuben looked back in horror at the door he had come through.  Oliver was only confused.  Why was Reuben messing up this masterpiece?  And there she was.

          Grandma Inger stood in the doorway.  She was in that high neck, black dress that she had worn every Sunday to church for thirty years.  Its high stiff ruffles cradled the veiled face.  She almost glided into the room and stood in the shadows next to her portrait on the wall.  Oliver joined the others in their various stages of apoplexy.  He thought it was the most terrifying moment of his life.  Of course, he was wrong.

          The horror of the moment abruptly ended when Eleanor, no longer able to contain herself, burst out laughing.  All looked at her.  Had she gone hysterical?  But then her laughter was joined by Grandmother’s.  With each rush of mirth, the white veil that concealed Grandma’s face billowed out and sucked back in.  In growing shortness of breath, Ma pulled off the veil and loosened the top button of Grandmother’s dress, which on her was far too tight.  Ma and all the girls were laughing.  It only took the boys a moment to realize that it was the girls who were the true artists and architects of revenge.

          “How did you find out?” asked Oliver.

          “It was Ma,” said Eva.  “She overheard your practicing your screams.”

          Oliver and Reuben looked at their mother with a new sense of respect and admiration.  They hadn’t known that she had it in her.  Who would have guessed?  The amusement was short lived though.  At that moment, Grandmother’s picture began to move again.  How?  Everyone was accounted for.

          The picture slowly turned right side up.  Then in a heart-jolting moment, it wrenched itself free from the pipe, which shot backwards to vanish through the hole in the wall.  And then Grandmother’s three-dimensional form emerged halfway out from the frame.  She turned her head to the right and to the left, surveying the captive audience, and then her expression turned severe.  The eyes narrowed, and the pupils sharpened into red pin-points.  Her lips stretched back from angry teeth, and she screamed in an unearthly voice,” BESTEMOR ER IKKE MORET!.”

          Grandmother Inger’s face retracted back into the frame.  The picture slammed back onto the wall, and fastened itself onto its original hook.  Her face relaxed a little, but not to its original degree of tranquility.  She still looked irritated.

          They all looked in awe around at one another.  There was no doubt that this experience was the real thing.

          Oliver was the first to speak in a tremulous voice, “I wish I knew what she said.  It’s a pity Pa isn’t here to translate.”

“We don’t need him,” said Ma.  “I’ve picked up enough Norwegian to know what she said.”

          Everyone looked at Ma for the revelation.

          “Bestemor er ikke moret?” she said with irony.  “It means ‘Grandmother is not amused!’”

     The initial events in this story did in fact occur sometime around 1910.  The actual picture that Ruben manipulated with a long hat pin was likely the following: