Girtha Rising — Part 4 — Shifting Foundations

This story is a narrative reconstruction inspired by family history, place, and imagination.

Edgar had planned to get the foundation jacked up over the weekend.  It was mild January morning with no rain in sight.  The house on the back lot did not have a basement and the sills were sagging.  He spent the morning preparing his work site and walked down the block back home for lunch.

“Say, you timed that right!” Girtha pulled the chicken and dumplings off of the stovetop and ladled out their dinner plates.

Edgar walked over to the radio set.

“How’s about dialing in KGW for the noon time singer?” He hummed along and was singing with the chorus before the song was over. Edgar pulled Girtha away from the table, twirled her around a few times and caught her in a slow dip all the while singing silly words to the tune he had just learned from the radio.

She caught her breath and giggled “Oh you cutie, won’t you ever grow up?” 

Girtha stood, straightened her apron, paused and looked up intently at Edgar.

“Seriously, I’m worried about Frankie.  There is something off about that mother-in-law, I can’t put my finger on it, but it worries me.  If you ask me, Jack is tied a little close to those apron strings.”

“Aww, honey, you just got to let young folks work their problems out in their own time.  No doubt, Frankie’s got her handful with Jack and her girls. As long as she opens the door, he’s gonna lay his hat down however he see fit.”

“All I know is that something is troubling her hard about that Mrs. Craghead.  She don’t talk to me about it.  Just let’s out a long sigh, looks over my shoulder at nothing and changes the subject.  Say, you could talk to her, maybe tease something out?”

Edgar held out his arm.

“Let’s get some fresh air. Walk me down to the lot and we’ll talk about Frankie and Jack again if you want.  But I’ve had some ideas about the corner. After the house foundation is repaired on the corner lot, I’m thinking we should rent it out.”

“Sounds just fine to me. You’re always cooking something up.”

She took his arm and they walked down the block together.”

“You stir up the business and I’ll bake up the pies!”

The work site was bright and chilly. Edgar placed a hard hat on his head, put on his work gloves and shimmied on his back under the raised bungalow.

He hummed the tune they had listened to at dinner. She turned back toward home when the building shifted.  A loud creek and a sudden crashing thud quaked over the corner lot. Then silence.

“Edgar?  Edgar?”

Nothing.

Racing back, she froze as rose red blood seeped out from the foundation.

Her mind went blank for a long moment, then she looked frantically for anything she might use to move the house that was crushing her husband. How could she get to him?

“HELP!  PLEASE HELP!”

She ran across the street, hollering and banging on the door loud enough for the whole neighborhood to hear.

“Mr. James, I need help now. The house… Edgar..underneath…”

Her neighbor ran out the door and hurried across the street.

“Mrs. Blanchard, run home and call the police for help.  Hurry ma’am.”

Girtha flew up the block bounding up the steps to her telephone.

“Operator this is PR7, I need help, the  house fell and my husband is underneath. He might be crushed. Help me, please send someone to help me!”

“Hold on! Where are you?”

“Home. I’m home. Edgar is at 7220 SE 84th. Hurry!”

On her way back to the corner lot, Girtha heard sirens from firetrucks, cars and motorcycle getting louder as they got closer.  When she arrived back at the site, the neighbors were working together, trying without success to pry up the foundation.

Girtha stared at the scene in front of her. She couldn’t cry, she couldn’t think, she couldn’t feel a thing. Words echoed around her, but she couldn’t figure out what they were saying.

“Dear, you must be strong while we get Edgar out from under the house.

How could this be happening?  What had happened?

She walked in a daze to the crooked little house fallen all askew. Edgar was still crushed underneath there. Firemen sawed the beams to get to Edgar’s body.

“Get her out of here! She can’t see this.  Get her home, get her away from here, now!”

She did see the remnants and fragments of her beloved husband as the lumber covering his body was cleared away. His work clothes were unrecognizable.  What she saw being carried out looked more like garden compost than her laughing dancing sweetheart.

“Oh, Girtha honey, Where’s your coat?  It’s cold.  I’ll walk you back.”

“I want my Edgar!  He needs me… He..”

“Aw honey, let it out, cry all you need. Come on, now.”

Mrs. James led her back to the home she had shared with Edgar. The place that held all their laughter together and the songs they had shared.  The rooms where they shut the doors on the world and held each other close and dear.  The home that was the shelter Edgar had promised her so many years ago.  He was true and honest. He couldn’t be crushed to death.

Girtha was sure he was going to walk in the door and say “Okey dokie, lets 23 skidoo on out of here and go for a ride in the old Packard down 82nd Avenue. Just you and me, we’ll ride all the way to the river and stop for an ice cream on the way back home.”

Girtha paced and fretted as she waited for the dreadful news. Dark had settled over the city when she heard sharp rapping on the front door.

“Mrs. Blanchard? I’m so sorry it’s as bad as bad can be.”

“Will they be able to operate Captain?  Please tell me that he will be all right. Please tell me…”

“Aw, Mrs. Blanchard” he gently took her arm and led her to the parlor chair. “Edgar–he’s with the Lord now.”

←Part 3 — Welding Women
→Part 5 —  Remembering