Play & Book Excerpts
A Wolff in the Family
(She Writes Press)
© Francine Falk-Allen
“Carl! Carl? Can you come hold Clarence for me and feed him while I finish frying this chicken?” Naomi called out from the kitchen.
“Jack asked me to come play ball with him for a while before dinner . . . Can’t you get Hermann to do it?” Carl pleaded. “He likes doing girl things.”
“Hermann? Can you get in here?”
“What?” Hermann called out from the boys’ bedroom.
“Come in here and help me!”
Hermann dragged himself away from the Sears and Roebuck catalog to help his mother.
“Goodness sakes!” Naomi exclaimed. “Whaddo I have to do to get some help around here? I swear, with Frances and Sis gone this place is a madhouse.”
Anita had also decided to quit school after her freshman year and get a job like Frances had. She’d moved out in June, to Naomi’s dismay.
Frank Sr. appeared in the kitchen doorway, smoking his pipe. “What’s the commotion?”
“I am just trying to get some help with this baby—with our baby—so I can finish fixing dinner. You don’t know how hard it is for me now with nine kids and no older girls here anymore to help!”
Frank cleared his throat. “Well, Sis comes by to help you when she can . . . and you could probably get Frances in here from time to time. All’s you’d have to do is ask.”
Naomi stopped what she was doing, turning the heat to low under the chicken, and faced Frank with one hand on her hip and the other holding the long-handled fork. She pointed it at him, fire in her eyes.
“Oh, all right. Yes. Just take Clarence, Dorothy, and Willie with me, two in the baby buggy while I push it with one hand, and holding Willie’s hand with the other, walk the mile down to the boardinghouse, and ask Mrs. Birch to please let me talk to my daughter while she’s working, and then ask Frances could she come over here and watch the little ones while I do whatever it is I have to do? Is that what you think I should do?”
Frank recoiled a little. “You don’t have to get all haughty about it.”
Naomi was close to seething. She turned back to the stove, then turned around again. “Frank, I’ve been a good wife to you. I have been a good mother to these kids. But you are almost never here. You’re here for a week to enjoy your paper and go to church with us or do whatever you want to do.” Her eyes widened at this last bit, implying that she was what he wanted to “do,” and reminding him she had always complied with that. “You don’t change diapers or do laundry or grocery shop or cook or even work in the garden much. I’m not saying you’re supposed to, but it’s a lot for one woman to do, and keep an eye on nine kids. I don’t know what I’d do if Hermann didn’t like to do ‘girl things,’ as Carl calls it. Don’t you see all that?”
“Well, I see that Hermann needs to do more boy’s activities, that’s for sure,” Frank said sharply. “I caught him dressing up with Marie in girls’ clothes last Saturday afternoon. Marie said they were playing house and pretending they were grown-up ladies and she needed him to be her neighbor friend. How could you let the boy do that?”
Naomi darted a look at Hermann. Frank was acting as if he were not right there in the room. Luckily, Hermann didn’t seem to be paying much attention.
“My job’s to bring home the bacon, and I do that,” Frank said. “I’ve done that since day one. I put a roof over your head, and for all these kids too. Your job is to take care of the children and also to do things for me when I need you to. Nothing’s changed, Naomi, and I don’t appreciate your attitude. It seems like every time I come home you’re in a rotten mood.” He turned on his heel and went out to the front porch to smoke his pipe.
“Oh, that’s just grand,” Naomi muttered under her breath. “Maybe I won’t be as friendly the next time you feel amorous . . . coming in from the rails like I’m your floozy and should be at your beck and call. Well I’ll tell you what . . .”
“What, Mama?” Hermann asked from his spot at the kitchen table, feeding Clarence his bottle.
“Oh, nothing, honey. Mama’s just tired.” She called out, “Marie! Come set the table! And tell your brothers to come on in for dinner.”
“Jack asked me to come play ball with him for a while before dinner . . . Can’t you get Hermann to do it?” Carl pleaded. “He likes doing girl things.”
“Hermann? Can you get in here?”
“What?” Hermann called out from the boys’ bedroom.
“Come in here and help me!”
Hermann dragged himself away from the Sears and Roebuck catalog to help his mother.
“Goodness sakes!” Naomi exclaimed. “Whaddo I have to do to get some help around here? I swear, with Frances and Sis gone this place is a madhouse.”
Anita had also decided to quit school after her freshman year and get a job like Frances had. She’d moved out in June, to Naomi’s dismay.
Frank Sr. appeared in the kitchen doorway, smoking his pipe. “What’s the commotion?”
“I am just trying to get some help with this baby—with our baby—so I can finish fixing dinner. You don’t know how hard it is for me now with nine kids and no older girls here anymore to help!”
Frank cleared his throat. “Well, Sis comes by to help you when she can . . . and you could probably get Frances in here from time to time. All’s you’d have to do is ask.”
Naomi stopped what she was doing, turning the heat to low under the chicken, and faced Frank with one hand on her hip and the other holding the long-handled fork. She pointed it at him, fire in her eyes.
“Oh, all right. Yes. Just take Clarence, Dorothy, and Willie with me, two in the baby buggy while I push it with one hand, and holding Willie’s hand with the other, walk the mile down to the boardinghouse, and ask Mrs. Birch to please let me talk to my daughter while she’s working, and then ask Frances could she come over here and watch the little ones while I do whatever it is I have to do? Is that what you think I should do?”
Frank recoiled a little. “You don’t have to get all haughty about it.”
Naomi was close to seething. She turned back to the stove, then turned around again. “Frank, I’ve been a good wife to you. I have been a good mother to these kids. But you are almost never here. You’re here for a week to enjoy your paper and go to church with us or do whatever you want to do.” Her eyes widened at this last bit, implying that she was what he wanted to “do,” and reminding him she had always complied with that. “You don’t change diapers or do laundry or grocery shop or cook or even work in the garden much. I’m not saying you’re supposed to, but it’s a lot for one woman to do, and keep an eye on nine kids. I don’t know what I’d do if Hermann didn’t like to do ‘girl things,’ as Carl calls it. Don’t you see all that?”
“Well, I see that Hermann needs to do more boy’s activities, that’s for sure,” Frank said sharply. “I caught him dressing up with Marie in girls’ clothes last Saturday afternoon. Marie said they were playing house and pretending they were grown-up ladies and she needed him to be her neighbor friend. How could you let the boy do that?”
Naomi darted a look at Hermann. Frank was acting as if he were not right there in the room. Luckily, Hermann didn’t seem to be paying much attention.
“My job’s to bring home the bacon, and I do that,” Frank said. “I’ve done that since day one. I put a roof over your head, and for all these kids too. Your job is to take care of the children and also to do things for me when I need you to. Nothing’s changed, Naomi, and I don’t appreciate your attitude. It seems like every time I come home you’re in a rotten mood.” He turned on his heel and went out to the front porch to smoke his pipe.
“Oh, that’s just grand,” Naomi muttered under her breath. “Maybe I won’t be as friendly the next time you feel amorous . . . coming in from the rails like I’m your floozy and should be at your beck and call. Well I’ll tell you what . . .”
“What, Mama?” Hermann asked from his spot at the kitchen table, feeding Clarence his bottle.
“Oh, nothing, honey. Mama’s just tired.” She called out, “Marie! Come set the table! And tell your brothers to come on in for dinner.”
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Award-winning author Francine Falk-Allen has made a name for herself in the nonfiction space with two acclaimed memoirs about living and aging well with a disability post-polio. Her books have won various awards, received a Kirkus star, and were featured in BuzzFeed and PopSugar.
A fan of genealogy research, Francine has enjoyed uncovering her family’s history and traced both her maternal and paternal ancestors back to the 1600s. But she never imagined that one day she’d discover a jaw-dropping family secret. Based on a shocking family secret Francine’s mother took to her grave, her new historical fiction novel, A Wolff in the Family, is an engrossing Depression-era saga of prejudice, passion, and revenge. |
Francine Falk-Allen
Photo Courtesy: Francine Falk-Allen |
