Forced Retirement

Jane’s heart lurched as she gazed around the kitchen; the room she loved most in this house, the place where all her happiest memories were made.   This would all be Nola’s now. Nola the spoiler. Nola, the woman twenty years younger and forty pounds lighter, chosen as her replacement. 

Decades of memories crowed together, vying for Jane’s attention.

She could recall, so easily, those early happy days.   She, young, trim, and cheerful, cooking and serving breakfasts of steaming platters of pancakes or home-made waffles with hand whipped butter and warm syrup. Watching, with satisfaction as her offerings, made with love and infinite care, were received and appreciated.  She, watching…listening…relishing the family chatter, the sharing of plans, the serious discussions. Life at its finest occurred here, in this room. 

Jane closed her eyes and remembered waiting here for Millicent and the twins, Joe and Jeff, to burst through the door at the end of the school day – backpacks crammed with homework and test papers and notices that needed to be read and signed. There was artwork to view, exclaimed over, and pin to the cork board on the wall near the fridge. Each painting, and drawing left on display until new works were produced and carried home, the old items removed, by Jane’s hand, and pressed carefully between pages of the scrapbooks she created and kept for posterity.  

The children knew to wash their hands and take a seat at the big solid table, where Jane would lay out afternoon snacks – ants on a log made Millicent smile, she loved the peanut butter and raisin creations though the celery ‘logs’ had to be carefully trimmed, so Millicent would eat them. The boys favored the baked goods Jane produced, warm chocolate chip cookies or child sized apple pies she pulled from the oven moments before the children stormed the kitchen, chattering, and hungry and filled with stories to share.

Homework followed snack time. The vision of Millicent, so small and delicate, sitting at the table, her thin legs swinging, her tongue tucked in the corner of her mouth as she gripped her yellow pencil and labored over sums or practiced cursive, warmed Jane’s heart.   The boys were so much bigger than their baby sister, and they were so patient and kind to her. 

The children were grown, and gone on to lives of their own creation, so Nola would have no such memories to treasure.  Nola, the interloper, would know nothing of the hours spent laboring within these walls, could not understand the enormity of the injury this rejection inflicted on Jane who would be here to plan and create no more holiday dinners, bake and decorate no more birthday cakes, present no more special dinners to the family members who depended on her for warmth, and nourishment for so many years.

Would Nola mix pitchers of lemonade to carry out to the yard on the red, white, and blue tray Jane used when the family gathered for their annual Independence Day celebration or would that tradition, too, be eliminated? Was Nola the type who would devote hours to mixing dies and dipping eggs to place in the big bowl in the entry hall? Jane dedicated hours to that bowl, filling it each month, with seasonal or holiday décor. Would Nola create sugar flowers in summer hues and place them in the bowl? Would she hunt for, and press, gold and crimson leaves and arrange them, with pinecones and small pots of yellow mums at the start of autumn?   Would she arrange winter scenes to brighten January’s bitter days or mix rose scented potpourri with Valentine hearts?  Jane thought not.

Jane recalled her first meeting with the slim, sleek woman whose smile faltered as her gaze swept over the homey space, assessing the aged, but functional appliances, the worn cabinetry and countertops, the furnishings that meant everything to Jane and nothing to Nola. Jane suppressed the urge to defend against the changes Nola was sure to encourage James to approve. Jane had no power here, no further say in what would and would not occur; there was no point in asking for what she could not have.

Nola the spoiler had been shameless; rushing forward when James introduced them, saying she hoped she and Jane could be friends, saying they both wanted what was best for James, saying she would listen to any advice Jane cared to share, and driving the knife in to the hilt when she gazed up at James and said caring for him was her highest priority. As if caring for the family had not been Jane’s single mission in life.

Remembering the way James smiled down at Nola, and patted her hand, and said he was lucky to have found her, made Jane’s head hurt.  Never in her life had she felt so dismissed, so unappreciated, so superficial or so vengeful.

Jane shrugged. Her own predecessor had been much less creative than Jane, who would not have credited the small, unremarkable woman with having the nerve to make a statement, of any kind, regarding her expulsion. But Jane knew, at first whiff, that she underestimated her competition. She quickly located, and disposed of the dead rat left for her beneath the kitchen sink, and said nothing to James or anyone else. The message had been meant for her and had been hers to manage.

Jane smiled, knowing her statement, over her unexpected and unceremonious dismissal, would be far more distinct. She glanced at the curtain rods she spent stuffed with the shrimp she purchased from Sam, the butcher, the day before. At the sink where the bacon grease she carefully poured down both drains was solidifying as she stood reminiscing. There was a dead rat, of course, not tucked beneath the sink where it would be easily found, but rather placed deep within the bowels of the over’s broiler.  Broiled steak, was one of James’ favorite meals…Nola would surely employ the broiler and, in doing so, would fill Jane’s beloved kitchen with the stench of burned hair and rat flesh.  

There was a faint odor, already, from the mixture of fish laced lard Jane used to paint the inside of the ceiling vents but the lemon scented cleaning products she employed daily overrode the unpleasant odor—temporarily.

The salt- shakers were filled with sugar, and the sugar bowl filled with salt. Every jar in the spice rack had been relabeled so the jar labeled paprika now held cinnamon, the jar labeled oregano was filled with ground cilantro, the garlic salt dispenser now held no-calorie sweetener, and so on. She enjoyed the game of bait and switch, smiling over her own creativity and imagining Nola the Great’s fall from grace.

The smile fell away when James Milhouse strolled into the kitchen. He started when he saw Jane Wilson standing there, still wearing her cook’s apron.

“Jane,” he said. “I thought you’d gone.”

“Yes sir. I was just preparing to leave.”

James signed. “You’ve been good and loyal employee, Jane,” he said.  “Your years of service did not go unappreciated. But with the children grown and gone, and Mrs. Milhouse passed on, you understand my needs have changed.  Nola is a certified nutritionist. My health demands a radical change in my eating habits.”  James manufactured a scowl. “No more of your cream sauces or baked goods for me,” he said.

Jane untied, removed, and folded the apron. She stroked the worn material and nodded. “Of course, sir.  I wish you and Miss Nola a long and satisfying relationship.”

Jane turned, pulled open the kitchen door and stepped into the warm sunlight. She expected to experience at least a twinge of guilt over her actions; instead, she felt only regret that she would not have the pleasure of watching Nola’s frantic efforts to locate and eradicate the odors that would soon permeate her workspace, or hear the sputtered explanations for the foul-tasting foods she would soon be presenting to James Milhouse in the guise of ‘healthy’ foods.

Jane smiled and stepped smartly down the walk. She had an excellent imagination, and the mental pictures she would create, of Nola’s failures, would provide many hours of satisfaction during her forced retirement.

James Millhouse watched his former cook and housekeeper move the walk to the curb. He was gratified to note the pep in her step and he smiled, pleased that his rouse worked. His Jane deserved a long and comfortable retirement after so many years of devotion, but she would not have elected to leave voluntarily. He intended to see that she got the rest and relaxation she deserved, which made it necessary for him to insist that she turn in her apron. The first annual check was written and ready to mail. He only needed Jane's new address, which she promised to provide as soon as she was settled. What a pleasure it would be for him to provide for her monetarily, for the remainder of her life, as a way of thanking her for all she had done.