Macie and the Goose

Macie and the Goose

Macie was five years old and, of course, very smart for her age. Just ask her mother. On Saturdays Macie was scheduled, her mother always scheduled her time, to visit Nana’s house where for a brief spell Macie was gloriously allowed to be messy, bake cookies or such, or do puzzles on the kitchen table. She even had her own apron, a pinafore style made of natural linen with a row of hand embroidered goslings circling the lower edge. Macie could remember when she was learning to count that the number of baby geese seemed to change from time to time. She’d wanted to ask Nana about that but didn’t want to risk being a silly goose herself so kept it mum.

Nana lived in an old house in an old neighborhood, the kind of house that had lots of rooms but all of them small. Macie’s mother liked a large open floorplan; however, the little girl found the small rooms at Nana’s were ideal for exploring and pretending you were someone else and somewhere else. One of the smaller rooms two doors down from the kitchen had lots of shelving along the walls and served as Nana’s walk-in pantry. Macie knew its organized tidiness well as she was often sent to fetch whatever it was they needed to create their culinary masterpieces. On this particular day Macie was dispatched to retrieve a large can of pumpkin and a small cellophane bag of dark chocolate chips. They were going to make scrumptious pumpkin muffins.

Just inside the door, Macie stretched to reach the wall switch and turned on the pantry light. Immediately she was greeted by a distinctly feminine voice. “Well, hello there, Macie. What ya baking today?” Right on the shelf, third from the bottom, next the canned goods, was a large goose. The goose was preening wing feathers and appeared to be quite at home in Nana’s pantry.

Macie was not unduly astonished by the presence of the goose. She was five years old and not yet immune to things or beings that were not supposed to be. She looked the goose squarely in the face and stated. “You’re a goose. You shouldn’t be here.”

“Right o’,” replied the goose, “yet here I am.”

“Does my Nana know you’re here?” asked Macie.

“Of course, your Nana and I have long been acquainted,” answered the goose.

The preening continued and Macie looked the goose over warily. “What are those stains on your feathers you’re working at?”

“Oh, that’s just a little residual blood, nothing to fret about.”

“Whose blood is it?” Macie was nothing if not bold.

“Why it’s the blood of inquisitive children who ask too many questions, of course.”

“I don’t believe you,” said Macie. She fearlessly, at least outwardly, took her pumpkin and chocolate chips, turned out the light and left, closing the door tightly behind her.

Back in the kitchen with Nana, Macie helped gather the bowls, utensils, and muffin tins. She had a step stool that allowed her the height needed to stir the ingredients and other such maneuvers. Before beginning though, she informed Nana she had to use the ‘little girl’s room’. Once inside she removed the apron, spread it out flat on the floor and counted the embroidered baby geese. There were seven of them. Yet just a few weeks ago, there had been only six. She was sure of it.  

Twenty minutes later, the batter was well mixed and Macie was scooping the contents of her mixing bowl into the paper liners of the muffin tins. She had made up her mind to steer their idle chatter toward questions she thought she was now old enough to ask. “Nana,” she began: “Seems like this apron has always been here, just hanging on the peg. Did you make it a long time ago, maybe when I was real little, too little to remember?

“Mercy no, child,” she replied. Truth is, I made it for your mother. Sad to say, she never had an interest in baking and wouldn’t wear it, but I knew early on you would do it proud. Why, I even embroidered those baby geese on the hem. They’re a colorful touch, don’t you think?”

Macie had it on the tip of her tongue to ask if the number of embroideries had always been seven, but once more restrained herself. Instead, she changed the course of the conversation. “Nana?” she said as a question. “What happens to all the extra treats we bake?” Macie’s mother did not allow extra goodies to come home with her. Mother said it was entirely too much sugar for any child to be tempted by.

Nana was quick to respond as though she might have anticipated this question at some point. “Why, goodness, young lady, I give them away to children in the neighborhood who don’t have a Nana of their own. Don’t you think that’s a fine thing to do?” Macie wondered why Nana had never mentioned this before.

“How do you know which children don’t have a Nana?” Macie thought it was a sensible question, but her Nana looked just a little ‘put out’ with it.

“Well,” said Nana. You know there is a nice little park a couple of streets over. There’s even a duck pond with a stone fountain in the middle to keep the water moving and a few benches for sitting. There are always several neighborhood boys and girls that come to play and watch the ducks. I share our leftover baking treats with them, and they’re quite used to me now. They often play a game called 'Duck-Duck-Goose. Do you know it?"

“Are there any geese at the pond?” interrupted Macie.

“There are a few geese depending on the season” answered Nana. “Geese migrate, do you know what that means?”

Macie did know. Her mother was insistent she watch appropriate nature shows on the telly. Macie also knew about the park. She had heard her mother and other grown-ups several times talking about how some poor child disappeared from that park at least once a year or so. Macie was not allowed in any way, shape, or form, to visit or play at that park.

While the muffins were baking, Macie and Nana washed the dishes and tidied up. Afterwards, she sat in Nana’s rocker chair and looked at cooking magazines while they waited for the oven timer to go ‘ding’. In between admiring the colorful pictures of perfectly prepared and presented meals she let her eyes roam at random around the room. Had there always been so many little statues and ceramics of geese scattered among Nana’s knick-knacks? Why couldn’t she remember? Looking at them made her shiver.

The oven dinged, the muffins baked to perfection, were placed on the cooling rack where a few minutes later Macie and Nana sat at the table with glasses of cold milk and slightly warm muffins. The sort of setting that would make the perfect magazine cover.

Nana didn’t seem to notice that Macie had become less chatty and bubbly than earlier in the day. It was nearing time for Macie’s mother to arrive and pick up her daughter, plant a quick on Nana’s cheek and whisk them home proper. It was the first time Macie could remember hoping it was sooner than later. “Your mother will be here soon, child. Take your apron off and, Oh, there’s still chips in the bag. Here, take them back to the pantry.

“I don’t want to.” Said Macie stubbornly. “I don’t want to go in the pantry. There is a goose in your pantry.”

“Why, what nonsense it this? Come with me, I will show you there is no goose in my pantry. Where did you get this silly notion. Come now.”

Macie removed her apron, then Nana took her hand and personally escorted her to the pantry. Macy looked around quickly as she placed the leftover bag of chocolate chips on the proper shelf. So quickly, she was able to spot her Nana pick something up and put it in her pocket. It looked suspiciously like a large white feather to Macie.

Macie never did go back to her Nana’s house for Saturday baking. She announced to one and all, she was too old now for such things and no longer cared about cooking and baking. She did think it odd, her mother never pushed the issue.

Macie’s mother was right. Macie was very smart for her age.

End