It was Ginger's turn to tell a tale. The themes so far had been about women finding their way in a man's world so while no one said it, they all wondered if she would stay the course or stray. Pouring herself another cider, Ginger poked the fire. At home her husband would be doing the same. They'd stood at the gate watching the clouds gather.

“You'll spend the night I ‘spose.”

“It is my custom. Dinner’s on the stove. Get the fire going in the morning and I'll make breakfast when I get home.”

“Ey, enjoy your night with the girls.”

Unlike the others Ginger was married and had been so for over 50 years. Her husband was known to be extremely conservative and liked to maintain a traditional family life but as the only midwife in the region, Ginger might be called away with little or no notice. Somehow, they had found a way to make it work. The other women, originally sceptical about allowing Ginger into their gathering because of her husband’s views had succumbed to the logic of her argument.

“You say, you stand for a woman’s right to follow her own course so why are you judging me to be less worthy because of my husband’s beliefs. Do you not see the hypocrisy. It was a valid argument and so they had admitted Ginger into their circle. Besides, she was an excellent baker.

“There was a time,” she said, passing round the plate of scones, “when the word hussy was nothing more than another word for housewife. It’s interesting how names for women and the work they do become derogatory over time.”

“Either that or men appropriate them for their own use,” interjected Margret, her needles sitting idle on her lap as she selected a scone and passed the plate to Beatrice.

Ginger continued.

“As you know I believe women’s work, paid or not, is valuable to the well-being of society but not every woman finds domesticity rewarding.” Here she stopped and nodded towards Beatrice. “And there’s no shame in that. But there’s no shame in being a hussy either. The only difference between a traditional wife and a woman with a trade is a single letter. That’s why I’m calling my story:

Trade Spelled Without An E

Pulling her best apron off its peg, Mama Bear swore. It wasn’t something she’d done before but she’d heard Papa Bear do it and decided that after everything she’d had to put up with today, she’d earned the right to let loose herself.

Damn! Damn! Damn!

As she swore, she stomped her feet and pummeled the wall of the pantry with her massive paws till the dishes rattled and threatened to fall. She filled her lungs with air and pushed it out through her massive larynx and hyoid bone letting her low resonance vocalisations thunder through her internal air sacs until finally her rage subsided.

“Honestly, what has this world come to,” she grumbled to no one in particular. She thought of her own Baby Bear, who was so well behaved and polite. Baby Bear, who would never dream of entering someone’s house when they weren’t home. It’s this modern world, with its breakdown in traditional roles that’s to blame. Too many options. Too little constraints. Everybody doing whatever they wanted. No wonder the world outside was crazy. Normally, it was Papa Bear who ranted about the world outside but today it was her turn because today the outside world had invaded her sanctuary. And to make matters worse, it was Papa Bear who’d opened the door.

Strangers with strange ideas. She filled the sink with hot soapy water as she snapped on her rubber gloves. What went on outside was none of her business just as this house, her den of domesticity, where she kept everything just do, was nobody’s business but hers. You would think by now that Papa Bear understood that.

With all the interruptions, this morning’s porridge was dried and stuck to the bowls. She sighed. Even soaking in warm water, it was going to be harder to get it off. Yesterday, Baby Bear said that she was stuck in her ways. Imagine. Such ideas in the child’s head. Routines were what kapt things tidy and neat. Just so. Without them, there was chaos. Worse. One year the thaw had come and they woke fr9m dreams of spring roots and warm honey but then a late frost had killed all the fresh green shoots. That’s what happened when things didn’t go just so.

And today, things had not gone just so. It started with Papa Bear suggesting they go for a walk.

“My porridge is too hot,” he'd said.

Mama Bear had wanted to argue because she knew that by the time they returned, hers would be too cold, but she didn’t want to argue with Papa Bear. And so breakfast that she’d set on the table, just so, was left there while they went for a walk. That was bad enough but the that girl, Goldi something or other broke in and wrecked the place. Some children had no respect. She started scrubbing Papa Bears huge bowl. The warm water had softened the porridge and it came away easier than she expected. From her position at the sink, she could see the road Baby Bear took every day to school. Baby Bear recognised the girl, saying she went to the same school. Imagine Baby Bear going to school with someone like that!

Still, if Papa Bear had simply woken the girl and sent her one her way, and then gone off to work himself, Mama Bear could have put everything just so and her routine could have returned to normal.

Outside, the table cloth on the clothes line snapped in the wind, reminding her yet again of the way Papa Bear had waved his great paws when he realised someone had taken a bite of his porridge.

“It’s only a bite,” she’d said in an attempt to calm him down.

“A bear’s home is his castle!”

His voice, filled with rage, shook the walls of their tidy cottage so badly that Mama Bear had to catch the porridge bowls from toppling to the floor. She understood his distress. She really did. All their bowls had been touched but if anyone deserved to be upset, it was Baby Bear. Baby Bear’s bowl had been licked clean. And then there was the whole thing about the chairs.

“Someone’s been sitting in my chair.”

It was true. The cushions Mama Bear had placed just so were all askew. But at least their chairs were still intact. It was Baby Bear’s chair that lay in pieces. Moma Bear could reassemble it but it would never be just so. Like the ideas Baby Bear sometimes brought home from school. They questioned the old ways and no matter how Moma Bear tried to undo the damage, she worried that things might not always be just so.

At least the bowls had come clean and Moma Bear was able to dry them and put them back in the cupboard. Some things could be put right. Like the beds this morning. She’d tidied them just so before they left for their walk but when they returned, they’d all been mussed up. That upset Papa Bear as well.

“Someone’s been sleeping in my bed.”

Well, that was obvious. So.eo e had slept in hers as well but she was the one who’d tidied them in the first place and she was the one who would have to make them just so again. If anyone should have been upset, it should have been her but then Baby Bear let out a scream. There lay the culprit. It was only a little girl about the same age as Baby Bear. She had no right to be there but Papa Bear shouldn’t have reacted the way he did. It was only a child after all. Mama Bear thought they should scolding her and send her home but Papa Bear had already lost his temperature. He roard his most ferocious roar, scaring the child half to death.

The girl had caused all the fuss but Moma Bear couldn’t help thinking that Papa Bear had blown it out of proportion. It wasn’t enough that the peace and order of her home had been shattered and Baby Bear had been traumatized but then Papa Bear made things worse by calling the police. Then he went off to work leaving her to put the house just so and deal with the aftermath of his tirade. And what an aftermath it was.

She had just reassembled Baby Bear’s chair and straightened the cushions on the chairs so they were just so and remade the beds just so, when there was a knock at the door.

It was the police responding to Papa Bears report of a break in. Instead of sitting down with a calming cup of chamomile tea with a spoonful of honey, she found herself answering the detective’s questions. Why had they gone out for a walk? If they locked the door, why had they left the window open? Was the girl armed? Had they feared for their safety? And all the while, the other uniformed police were tracking dirt in on their shoes, and messing up the cushions on the chairs and moving the beds to check for printd. And, of course, she’d been compelled to offer the detective tea which meant even more washing up. And she still hadn’t had hers.

Which was why it was nearly lunch time before the house was once again just so and she was able to put the water on for tea. And it was while the water was boiling that she had time to think about the girl who’d caused all this commotion.

Probably comes from a broken home, she thought as she place poured hot water into the teapot. One of those homes with a single mother who has to go to work. That would explain why the girl lacked discipline. No father to lay down the rules. No stay at home mother to teach the girl traditional values. I’ll bet she’s one of those tired looking women who wandered through the shops in the afternoon with their dishevelled hair and sneakered feet. The sort who wore baggy track pants with a t-shirt that said they'd visited the Great Smoky Mountains but had probably never been anywhere other than the op-shop.

It was in the midst of these reveries that the doorbell rang.

If she'd known that it was the girl’s mother, she might never have opened the door, but peering through the curtains Mama Bear didn’t see a woman dressed in baggy track pants and t-shirt. Instead, what she saw was a rather plain looking woman neatly dressed in a conservative suit. Mama Bear, noting the lack of make-up and the hair hastily pulled back and held in place with a scrunchy, decided that the woman must be one of those modern women. The kind who left the house without putting on make-up or making sure their hair was just so. Mama Bear had heard that these sorts of women were doing all sorts of jobs normally reserved for men. Papa Bear referred to them as radical feminists.

“A wife working outside the home. The very thought is unbearable.”

With these thoughts in mind, Mama Bear decided that the woman on her porch, must be a police woman. After all, if the police were hiring women, then those women would have to be radical feminists. And this woman looked like Papa Bear’s description of a radical feminists. It was only logical.

Mama Bear squeezed the dish rag and wiped down the kitchen counter. Well, she’d been wrong about those first impressions. The woman was not a police officer and Goldilock’s mother was not a single mother dressed in baggy track pants and op-shop t-shirt. On the other hand, she might have been a radical feminist because Moma Bear was beginning to wonder if she really knew what that meant anymore.

“Sorry to disturb you Mrs Bear,” the woman had said when Moma Bear opened the door. At that point every thing was just so but then the woman continued. “I came to apologise for my daughter's lack of manners.”

Moma Bear was taken aback but decided to cover up her consternation with a very bear-like retort.

“Lack of manners. Is that what you call it?”

Bur the woman was undeterred.

“May I come in. I’ve brought some cakes as a peace offering.”

Mama Bear’s initial thought was to slam the door in the woman’s face but the smell of the cakes made her stomach grumble and she was overdue for her morning tea, well, she hesitated just so and the woman took that as an invitation and walked in.

The nerve, thought Moma Bear as she followed the woman into the kitchen. The kettle was whistling on the stove and the woman said, “I see my timing is excellent. Do you have black tea? I don’t take milk or sugar.”

Moma Bear looked at the cup on the bench. Hers was just right but which one should she give this uninvited guest. There was Papa Bears which was quite large but Baby Bear’s was too small. In the end she decided to put a tea bag in her cup and added hot water. Her chamomile tea would have to wait.

Meanwhile, the woman was talking as if they were old friends.

“I’m afraid Goldilocks can be a bit too adventurous,” she said adjusting the cushions as she settled into Papa Bear’s chair.

“Adventurous,” snorted Mama Bear. “Is that what they call climbing through an open window and stealing someone else’s porridge these days?”

“She’s only seven but I assure you she's had a firm talking to and of course, my husband and I are happy to compensate you. The police said something about a broken chair.”

Mama Bear slapped the cup on the table but otherwise didn’t respond. If you can’t say something nice, her mother had taught her, then say nothing at all. Not that the woman noticed. She was still squirming in Papa Bear’s chair.

“This chair is quite firm,” she said as she grabbed the cushion off Baby Bear’s chair.

“That’s Papa Bear’s chair,” said Moma Bear. “He likes it firm because as head of the family, he must be commanding and firm. It’s the same reason, that I like mine soft. My role is to make the home warm and comforting.”

Moma Bear thought she’d made her point but the woman seemed oblivious.

“Oh, well, that’s interesting,” replied the woman. “In our house, all the chairs are the same.”

“Even for your little girl?”

“Well, the chair is a bit big for Goldilocks but in time, she’ll grow into it.”

Moma Bear stole a glance at Baby Bear’s chair. She’d been so happy to have reassembled it just so but now she had the uncomfortable feeling that it looked rather childish. Still, it was a mother’s role to guide all child gently but firmly into their proper role and sometimes that meant sitting in a chair that no longer fit.

The woman must have noticed how Mama Bear stared nostalgically at Baby Bear’s chair because she quickly said, “It’s so tempting to keep them young and innocent isn’t it? We hope nothing bad will ever happen to them but, as we know, the world can be a dangerous place and children must be taught to deal with that.”

Before Mama Bear could respond, Goldilock’s mother opened the box containing the cakes. The smell had been inviting but the look of them was even more enticing. They were dripping in honey and sprinkled with pistachios. As Moma Bear set plates and forks on tbe table, Goldilock’s mother apologised for buying cakes.

“Between work and home, I’m afraid I don’t have time to bake but you must do a lot of baking. When I came in, the first thing I noticed was that your house smells of cinnamon and porridge.” She placed a cake on each of the plates. “No wonder Goldilock’s was tempted to come in.”

If the cakes hadn’t distracted Mama Bear might have said that the aroma of cinnamon and porridge was hardly an invitation to break-in to someone’s house but instead she took the cake in her massive paw and shoved it into her mouth. The woman ate hers in smaller bites but in the end the result was the same. Mama Bear liked her paw while Goldilick’s mother licked her fork.

“If you’re too busy to bake,” asked Mama Bear, “what does Goldilocks eat for breakfast?”

“Usually a bowl of cereal or toast with jam,” said the woman and Mama Bear silently congratulated herself for being the kind of mother who made sure her offspring started the day with a hot and nutritious breakfast.

The woman must have been thinking the same thing because she said, “My husband does breakfast because I often work nights.th'm a surgical nurse at the hospital.”

“If you work nights, who cooks dinner?”

“Oh, Harry, that’s my husband. He works from home and likes to cook. He says it’s his special time with Goldilocks. Unfortunately, neither of them likes to clean up after themselves. That they leave to me.”

Mama Bear grunted her approval. Cleaning up after others seemed to be something females had in common. On the other had, Mama Bear couldn’t imagine Papa Bear standing in front of the stove.

“In fact, I was right in the middle of cleaning up when the police arrived.”

Mama Bear nodded as she picked up the plates.

“My husband said he had to finish something for work and asked if I could come over instead of him.”

Then, she asked a most peculiar thing.

“Do you work, Mrs Bear?’

“Work? Outside the home? Oh, no. Taking care of my family and the house is a full-time job.”

“No wonder your house is so tidy.” There was a wistfullness in wistfullnes voice. “In some ways I envy you.”

Mama Bear who’d just placed the dishes in tbe sunk sat back down.i"i"Dot get me wrong,” said the woman. “I like my job. I think I would go crazy if I stayed in the house all day by myself but it’s tiring working a full-time job and then having to come home to housework. Sometimes, I think Harry gets to choose the jobs he likes to do while I do the rest.”

Mama Bear felt compelled to say something.

"We bears are very traditional and I do like things just so but sometimes the house does feel small. That’s why I enjoy going to the shops. It gets me out of the house.” She hesitated. “There used to be more bears in this area. My mother would get together with the other mothers and they would forage for berries or honey. Now I buy those things from the shop. It’s not quite the same.”

“I know what yiu mean. My mother stayed at home while my father worked but I didn’t want to be like her.”

“Why not?” asked Mama Bear.

“I think because I felt my mother wasnft happy being a housewife.”

A terrible thought was forming in Mama Bear’s head.

“That’s a lovely apron, by the way. I didn’t know anyone wore them anymore.”

Mama Bear ran a paw over her apron.

“It’s my pride and joy,” she said. “You could say it symbolizes my role as a wife and mother.”

“Yes,” the word slipped out uncertain, “I suppose you could look at it that way.: But don’t you find being a housewife a bit, I don’t know, restrictive?”

“Of course not. It’s the same as any job.”

“Except that you don’t get paid.”

“Why do I need to get paid? Papa Bear pays the bills.”

“But what about your own money?”

“I have an allowance for food and household expenses. That’s all I need.”

“But what if something happens to Papa Bear. I mean, he goes into the forest to hunt. Isn’t that dangerous?”

“That’s not something bears dwell upon.”

“But it’s a fact isn’t it that female bears live longer than male ones. If you don’t know how to look after yourself and Baby Bear—"

“Truly, it’s not something bears worry about. What’s important is that we keep to our traditions.”

“Tradition is one thing but housework is so repetitive, don’t you find it boring?”

“And your job. Isn’t it repetitive?”

“Well, I have to show up at a certain time and I’m expected to perform my job but surely when you stay at home all day, you have more freedom.”

“I may be home all day but I still have a schedule. For example, every morning I wake at 4:30 so I can roll and soak the oats. Then I lay out Baby Bear’s school things and iron Papa Bear’s shirt. That leaves me just enough time to groom my fur, get dressed and make his coffee before his alarm goes off. It’s the smell of fresh crushed beans that takes all the morning grumpiness out of him. There’s no point letting him get out of bed until he’s had his coffee.”

“He gets coffee in bed every morning?”

The woman seemed shocked.

“My Harry has never brought me coffee in bed.”

“You’re not a bear so you might not understand but bears have a very strong hierarchy. Males are at the top and a female bear is at the bottom. You may have heard it said that if a female bear was walking in the woods, she’d rather run into a hunter than a male bear.”

“We have a similar saying about males. So why do you stay with him, if he’s dangerous?”

Mama Bear did her best impression of what humans referred to as a smile.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“But Harry’s not abusive.”

“And neither is Papa Bear unless someone upsets him.”

“I don’t think I’d like to upset any bear, male or female,” murmured the woman, then catching herself added, “I hope that didn’t sound offensive.”

Mama Bear considered the woman. She did seem genuinely interested in bear life and it was strange but she was beginning to understand this woman whose lufe was socdifferent from her own but sitting around talking wasn’t getting anything else done.

“Another cup?” she asked while surreptitiously glancing at the clock. Mentally she calculated. Two hours to finish the cleaning and the laundry, an hour to shop then pick up Baby Bear from school and prepare a snack before settling the little one in front of the TV while she got dinner on the stove. Given the interruptions to her day, Baby Bear would have to bathe unsupervised tonight if Mama Bear was going to groom her fur, change into her evening clothes and freshen her make-up before Papa Bear got home from work.

Fortunately, the woman declined saying that she had to get going but that before she left there was one more thing she wanted to mention. It’s about this business with Goldilocks and the porridge.”

“Don’t tell me. You’d like the recipe for my porridge. Everyone is always asking but I’m afraid-“

“Sorry, it’s not about your recipe although I’m sure it’s wonderful. No, I’ve come to talk about how Goldilocks was treated this morning.”

This statement rather pleased Mama Bear because she took great pride in the way she and Papa Bear had raised Baby Bear. Putting on her most condescending face, she reached her great paw across the table and placed it on the woman’s hand.

"I understand. You want my advice on the appropriate punishment.”

“Well, not exactly,” said the girl’s mother. “it seems your husband growled at Goldilocks in quite a threatening way.”

“Threatening?” The paw withdrew. “My husband threatening? Need I remind you that it was your child who broke into our house?”

“But that’s the thing. Goldilocks is only a child.” The woman was on her feet. “Even bears must understand that scaring a child like that is not acceptable behaviour. Now, I understand that you don’t mingle much with humans but if you could have a word with your husband—”

“I will not have a word with my husband,” roared Mama Bear. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have a lot of work to do so thank you for the cakes but now I must ask you to leave.”

The woman had wasted no time in leaving but left alone in her kitchen, Mama Bear was angry with herself for having lost her temper. It had been so pleasant sharing her company with that of another female. That’s why she had to let loose with her string of profanities. For a moment the bridge between them hadn’t seemed so far but now it wasn’t only damaged, it was obliterated.

She yanked the tablecloth off the table and took it outside so the wind could shake it free of crumbs. In their house all the chairs were the same. What a ridiculous idea. She might as well have said that males and females were the same. And her husband helped with the housework. Surely that was not the natural order of things but on the other hand, if Papa Bear knew what was involved in keeping a house just so, would he take more care. And the idea of earning money? Goldilock’s mother had hit on something Mama Bear didn’t like to think about. Her aunt Grumblebear’s husband had died in a hunting accident, leaving the she-bear to raise 3 baby bears on her own. But surely Papa Bear had made provisions for them if he was injured or worse, killed. Suddenly, the security she relied on, felt not quite ‘just so’.

At the sound of the door, Mama Bear set the timer and placed the roast in the oven. Baby Bear’s feet padded down the hallway and Mama Bear felt a warm glow spread through her furry chest.

“How was school today?”

“We’re having class elections tomorrow so I have to make a campaign poster.”

“And who are you campaigning for?”

“For myself and Goldilocks.”

“What!”, exclaimed Mama Bear. “The girl who ate your pirridge, broke your chair and fell asleep in your bed?”

“She apoligised Mama and asked if I would be her running mate. She says we can win because we’re in the majority. There’s 15 females in our class and only 12 males.”

Mama Bear sat down in chair. What was this world coming to? Bears and girls being friends. Females running for President. How was she going to explain this to Papa Bear?