I look in the sky and frown, as the sky darkens with the threat of rain.  I have been up before dawn getting the laundry done and hung on the line before having to get breakfast.  I only hope the clothes dry before the heavens open up.
 As I pass the bathroom, I catch a glimpse in the mirror over the creamy white porcelain sink with its floral, ruffled skirt.   I look so tired.  My once dark brown hair, now sun bleached auburn from long hours in the garden. Reaching up I brush my hair back with the back of my hand.
 I long for the days of my carefree childhood. Where instead of being in this hot dark kitchen, I would be out playing jacks with my friends on the porch and eating warm juice filled peaches that were stolen from Mr. Marcus’s orchard.
 Mary Agnes and I would play with our rag dolls; Mary Agnes was my best friend in those days still would be if she had not gotten polio.  She was a small pale girl that always wore her long blond hair in braids.  She always seemed to wear clothes that were two sizes too big. Then again, we all wore hand-me-downs in those days.  Money was very tight during the depression, but us children didn’t seem to notice.  There was always something to keep us entertained.
 Sighing, I go back to work, kneading the bread dough that was ready to be punched down.  The afternoon seemed sticky, only a slight breeze filtered into the kitchen.  The dough seem to rise quickly with the heat, it is about ready for the oven, how I hate to bake on these hot days.
My mind starts to wander back through those days again.  I remember one hot summer day, when we all went to the creek after we finished our chores.  It was a day unlike many other days during that dry summer.   The water was cool, being fed from a deep spring.  Mary Agnes and I sat on the bank dangling our feet in the water.
Mary Agnes said while pulling petals off a cornflower, " My grandma said you can get polio from soaking your feet in the creek like this."
Looking up startled I stammered in disbelief, " really?"
"That’s what Grammy said."
We both pulled our feet out of the water, at the same time and looked at each other for a long moment then laughed.
"That’s an old wives tale," I said still laughing.
Mary Agnes said as straight faced as she could, " she is an old wife."
The door slammed, bringing me back to the present, looking up at the door I saw my daughter standing there.  Her long braids hanging down her back with half tied ribbons on the ends.  Even in the dim light of the room I could see the rosy glow of her chubby cheeks.   In her soft hand was a small bouquet of cornflowers, Mary Agnes’s favorite flowers.
Brightly she asks, " Mommy, can I go with the others down to the creek?"
Taking the flowers from my daughter I nod, " go on, just don’t be late for supper."
As my daughter whirls around to leave I add, " don’t dip your feet into the water."
Again the door slams as the little girl in the plaid dress runs out barefoot into the yard.