Just past the church I became aware of a smell, reminding me of the coins Mom had
slipped into my pocket. I ran across the street into Kaim’s bakery. “Good morning, little
lady! What will it be today?” Why did she ask me the moment I walked in the door,
knowing it always took me a couple of minutes to choose from the tempting rolls,
crescents, cakes, and fruit-filled pastries! “A slice of cheese cake, please, and a butter
crescent. No, you don’t need to wrap the crescent; I’ll be eating it on my way to school.”
Halfway out the door, I overheard her address the next customer: “Good morning, little
lady! What will it be today?”
I went on, my mouth full of flaky crescent, crumbs falling off my shirt, and after the sharp
left curve, where the street started winding uphill, I decided to eat the cheese cake, too. I
passed Staehler’s fabric store with its array of pastels, polka dots, stripes, and buttons of
every size, shape and color imaginable. From there on the street was skirted with
framework houses, over 300 years old, their remodeled plaster walls accented with
dark-brown beams.
The Catholic School for Girls lay around the corner to the left, three stories tall, the thick
stone walls dark with age. Blank windows, each divided into six squares, the two upper
ones rounded on top. No curtains.
I observed Sister Donata a few steps ahead of me. She strode toward the oak front door
with the lion-head doorknob, clutching her black briefcase. A breeze caught her habit,
swirled it to emphasize the haggard figure. Would she be my teacher again next fall?
Allowing her ample time to get through the door and up the creaky stairs, I slowed down,
swallowing my last bite of cheese cake.--And I turned the cold lion-head for the last time
that summer.