CRUSTY THIEVES
The lure of fresh-baked bread was too hard to resist!
It was a weekend in May of 1950, the time to catch up on the multitude of housekeeping chores that lay ahead. My sister, Lena, was a school teacher and her husband, Neil, worked on the oil rigs. They had two pre-teen kids, which completed their little family. Lena had been up since dawn baking up a storm, which included three loaves of delectable white bread. The loaves, hot out of the oven, were set to cool on the counter covered with a light tea towel.
The rest of the household had just begun to stir when she slipped away to the general store and the post office, before stopping at the only café in town for a cuppa with two of her friends. They all enjoyed some adult conversation without any kids vying for their attention
Lena’s family back home were lured by the mouth-watering aroma of her freshly baked bread, their noses led them to the kitchen. They knew right away what was under the tea towel on the counter. Lena’s husband’s parenting skills involved “show by example.” He showed them the proper knife to use when cutting the crusts (the best part) off both ends of a loaf. To further his lesson, he demonstrated the technique by doing that to all three loaves, making six crusts, two for each of them. Since fresh bread is so soft and pliable, the poor loaves bore no resemblance to their former selves, a rather pathetic sight to behold! The tea towel was quickly replaced until the eventual discovery by his sweet wife. Once again, he, by example demonstrated the fine technique of slathering butter on a crust, then topping it with gobs of wild strawberry jam. The kids were fast learners, quickly all six crusts were prepared. Their father chose a crust and took a bite, a look of exquisite pleasure crossed his face The kids took this as a good sign and began devouring the bread, until between them they had polished off every single crumb. It was the best breakfast they had ever had!
CAUGHT!
Lena arrived home feeling rejuvenated by her little outing. She put the paper bag of groceries on the small counter space between the pantry and the icebox to be put away later, but first she had to wrap her
three loaves of bread and store them in the bread box. She removed the tea towel and stared, shocked! Her lovely loaves had been subjected to an attack that left them smooshed and mutilated, barely recognizable as loaves any more. She knew at once, without a shadow of a doubt, who had masterminded this atrocity; certainly not one of the kids, they would not have even thought of doing anything like this on their own! She was livid! She grabbed one of the mangled loaves and went looking for the culprits, catching them at the back door just as they were getting ready to bolt outside. There they stood, the three of them, strawberry jam from ear to ear on their guilty faces. Lena took a steady aim and hurled the ruined loaf at the mastermind, her dear, darling husband, missing him by mere inches. Her impulsive act felt so good that it took all the steam out of her anger. She couldn’t help herself, she burst into peals of laughter at the comic looks on their faces and gathered those poor misguided souls close to her bosom, even giving her husband a hearty smooch-a-roo, (she’d deal with him later!), all of which left smears of jam plastered on her best “going to town” dress, sending them all into unrestrained spasms of laughter.
All was forgiven, peace was restored for the time being in their cozy cottage in Dawson City, Yukon—the land of the Midnight Sun. n