Heaven to Betsy / Betsy in Spite of Herself

by Maud Hart Lovelace

  “Oh, I was wild to come,” Betsy answered. “I was wild to see you. And there was another reason. Tib,” she said earnestly, “I want to change myself. I want to get a different personality. And I thought that going away, especially to a romantic place like Milwaukee, would give me a good chance to do it.”

  Tib stared. “But you’re only here for two weeks.”

  “I know. But two weeks seems like a long time when you’re away from home. Do you think I’ve changed any?”

  “Not a bit.”

  “I was afraid not,” said Betsy. “I think I’ve changed inside though. You couldn’t see and do all the things I have, and not be a little different. And when I go back to Deep Valley, I’m going to be changed on the outside, too, so that people will notice it.”

  “How? What are you going to be like?”

  Betsy put her hands behind her head.

  “I can’t decide,” she said dreamily, “whether to be Dramatic and Mysterious, or Ethereal and Intellectual…sort of unhealthy in an attractive way, like Elizabeth Barrett Browning. Being tall like I am is good for the first thing, and being so thin is marvelous for the other. Which one do you like Best?”

  “The first one,” said Tib. “Dramatic and Mysterious.” She looked at Betsy keenly. “I know a wonderful way to do your hair.”

  “How?”

  “Come here and I’ll show you.”

  They went to the dressing table, and Tib asked for Betsy’s biggest rat. She pinned it on firmly, and erected a magnificent pompadour, topped off with a high, pointed knot.

  “Marvelous!” cried Betsy. “I ought to stick a jeweled dagger through it. Oh dear, I wish I had one!”

  “I haven’t got a dagger,” said Tib, “but I’ll give you this.” Rummaging through her jewel box, she brought out a rhinestone pin which they poked into the knot.

  “Stunning!” cried Betsy. She stalked about the room acting Dramatic and Mysterious. “A darned shame,” she remarked, stopping before a mirror, “that I’m too young to wear ear rings. But I’m going to drench myself with perfume. And I’m always going to use the same kind, so that whenever anybody smells that odor they will know it’s me…like Mama with violet perfume, only I want something more exotic.”

  “I have some Jockey Club,” said Tib. “Would that be exotic enough? Somebody gave it to Aunt Dolly, but she said it didn’t smell a bit like her, so she gave it to me. It doesn’t smell like me either, and I’ll give it to you if you want it.”

  “Jockey Club is perfect!” Betsy doused her flannel night gown rapturously. “And Tib, I’ve read that women of the kind I’m going to be always match their eyes in clothes and jewels. So I’m going to start wearing green.”

  “Your eyes are hazel,” Tib objected. “And blue is your best color, Betsy. Always has been.”

  “Blue!” scoffed Betsy. “It’s namby pamby. And there’s lots of green in my eyes. Green for jealousy,” she cried in a thrilling voice, resuming her stroll around the room.

  “Whom are you jealous of?”

  “Oh, nobody! I just like the sound of it. Pour me another cup of coffee; will you?”

  Tib poured. “But, Betsy,” she said, “you can’t throw all your clothes away and get new ones. Can you?”

  Betsy shrugged. “I suppose not. Fortunately, though, my new sailor suit is green. And I can start wearing green hair ribbons and neck bows. I’m going to, too. Gee, I wish I’d bought some green ribbon to wear home!”

  “Mamma has a whole bolt of green ribbon. She’ll give us some.”

  “My jewels, from now on, are going to be emeralds.”

  “Well, that’s one thing I don’t have,” said Tib. And the cuckoo clock sang two.

  Betsy sipped her coffee meditatively.

  “I’m going to try not to laugh so much,” she said. “I’m laughing all the time. And when I’m not laughing, I’m smiling, which is worse. Oh, why did my teeth have to be parted in the middle!”

  Tib looked at her critically. “You might paste white court plaster over them,” she said.

  Betsy, forgetting her recent resolve, burst out laughing. She laughed so hard that Tib said, “Hush! Be quiet, Dummkopf! you’ll wake Mamma.”

  But Betsy rocked with mirth. “Let’s try it. Do you have some court plaster?”

  Tib obligingly found some. She measured Betsy’s two front teeth, cut the court plaster meticulously, and pasted it on. But by that time she was laughing, too, and they heard a door open down the hall. They grabbed for handkerchiefs, stuffed them into their mouths, and waited tensely. The door closed again, and they removed the stuffing, but alas, the court plaster was gone!

  “It’s getting cold in here,” said Tib. “I wish I dared heat up the coffee. But we’ll have to wait until Mamma goes back to sleep.”

  “Let’s move our chairs over to the radiator. There’s a little heat left, and we can wrap up in blankets. Let’s raise the shade, too. I’d like to see the dawn.”

  They tucked themselves in cozily on either side of the radiator.

  “Betsy,” said Tib, “I believe I’ll change myself, too. What shall I be like?”

  Betsy gazed at her through half closed lids.

  “You,” she declared, “are the silly type.”

  “What do you mean?” cried Tib. “I’m not a bit silly.”

  “That’s just the trouble. You ought to be. You disappoint boys, probably, all the time. You look so little and cute and foolish, and they don’t like to find out how sensible and practical you are.”

  “Don’t they? “asked Tib.

  “No, they don’t. You ought to laugh lots…just the opposite of me…a silly little tinkling laugh. You ought to act too helpless to pick up your own handkerchief. And don’t let on that you were ever inside of a kitchen.”

  “Oh, dear!” said Tib. “I thought boys would like it that I’m such a good cook.”

  “Tib,” said Betsy. “For a boy who was in love with you to see you making Hasenpfeffer with potato dumplings would be an absolutely disillusioning experience.”

  They started to laugh again and grabbed their handkerchiefs. The cuckoo clock sang three.

  “I’m simply frozen,” said Betsy then. “We have to warm up the coffee; that’s all there is to it.” So they took the rug away from the door and tiptoed down the hall again. To their great relief they could hear Mr. Muller snoring.

  The rooms of the house were silent, cold and empty, and beyond the windows they could see the ghostly snow. The flame on the gas stove was comforting somehow, and so was the warm pot. They carried it back to their bedroom.

  And now waiting for morning began to be hard. They were both very sleepy. They turned down the gas and stared out the window, but they saw only snow and a cold starry sky. There wasn’t a trace of dawn. The cuckoo sang four times.

  They turned the gas up again and talked some more about their new personalities, but even this fascinating subject could not keep them awake.

  “Let’s say the alphabet,” Betsy proposed. And they did.

  “Let’s say the multiplication tables,” Tib suggested.

  “Heavens!” said Betsy. “I don’t remember them.” But she tried, and it took time. The cuckoo clock sang five.

  “Perhaps we might get into bed,” Betsy conceded. “It’s so darned cold. We’ll leave the gas high though, so we won’t fall asleep.” They jumped into bed gratefully. Then Betsy bounced up. “If we don’t turn out the gas,” she said, “we can’t see the dawn, and I particularly want to see the dawn.”

  “I’ll turn it out,” said Tib hopping out of bed. Tib was always quick to do disagreeable things.

  They lay in bed staring at the gray square of window. And suddenly Tib spoke. Her voice didn’t sound sleepy any more. It was serious, grave.

  “Betsy,” she whispered. “Can you keep a secret?”

  “Yes. Very well.”

  “I’ll tell you one then. Mamma told me. Papa doesn’t even know I know it. He came back to Milwaukee because Gr
osspapa Muller likes his sons around him. But Papa and Mamma like better to be independent, and to raise their children in a more American way. That’s why we haven’t bought a home, or horses here in Milwaukee. We still own our house…the one you always loved so much…back in Deep Valley. Maybe, just maybe, we’re going back!”

  “Tib!” cried Betsy. She sat up in bed again in spite of the cold. “Why, that would be glorious! Divine! Wait ’til I tell Tacy! Oh, dear, I can’t tell her.”

  “Yes, you may,” said Tib. “You and I and Tacy have kept secrets before. But not anyone else.”

  “Oh, Tib, Tib! Won’t we have fun? The Crowd will be crazy about you. Who do you think you’d like to go around with, especially? Dennie is cute. And Tony, of course.”

  Tib grasped Betsy’s arm. “Look out the window! It’s beginning to get light.”

  It was. The stars had faded. The sky was the color of smoke, just a little darker than the gray city snow. And behind the rooftops to the east a fire seemed to be burning.

  “We’ve done it!” Betsy cried softly. “We’ve stayed awake all night. Happy New Year!”

  “Prosit Neujahr!” answered Tib sleepily. “And now, for goodness’ sake, let’s get some sleep!”

  Betsy snuggled down. “When I get my new personality,” she said, “I’m going to throw in foreign phrases all the time. Things like ‘nicht wahr’ and ‘wie geht’s’ and ‘Prosit Neujahr!’”

  “Prosit Neujahr!” murmured Tib, plainly too far gone in sleep to understand.

  After a few minutes Betsy said, “And I’m going to add an ‘e’ to my name. B-e-t-s-y-e. Would you like that?”

  “Um! What did you say? I was asleep. Good night, dear.” Tib turned over.

  Betsy laughed. “When you come to Deep Valley,” she said, “we’ll make a wonderful team. Me, so tall, dark and mysterious, and you so blond and silly.” But this time Tib did not answer at all. So Betsy, too, closed her eyes.

  The cuckoo clock sang six.

  16

  Betsy into Betsye

  ON NEW YEAR’S AFTERNOON they called on Grosspapa and Grossmama Muller and the dwarfs, and on Grosspapa and Grossmama Hornik above the tailor shop. Uncle Rudy said that it was Leap Year now, and wasn’t Betsy going to ask him for a kiss? Aunt Dolly invited her back to Milwaukee for her wedding.

  “I hope I’m coming back sometime,” Betsy said, and meant it heartily. The following morning she started home.

  She and Tib went to the depot alone on the trolley. In spite of the consoling secret they shared, they felt sober about parting. Tib wheedled the conductor into letting her go through the gate and aboard the parlor car.

  “See what I can do when I act silly like you told me?” she asked with an airy trill of laughter.

  “That reminds me! Dramatic and Mysterious,” said Betsy, drawing herself up.

  They laughed as they embraced, but both of them had wet eyes.

  “See you in Deep Valley,” said Tib and went quickly down the aisle. Outside the window she smiled and blew kisses, a gay little figure in her purple coat.

  The trip to Deep Valley was different from the trip to Milwaukee. The flavor was different. Anticipation was there, of course, but now it was for home. For the first time Betsy dared think wholeheartedly of home.

  Her company in the parlor car was different too. There was no sociable Mrs. Gulbertson today. There were five bridal couples, and bridal couples, Betsy discovered are not sociable at all. She looked out the window. It had rained the night before and then turned colder. Every twig on every bush and tree was sheathed in ice. They looked like clouds of silver in the sunshine as Wisconsin hurried past.

  Betsy took out a tablet and pencil, but instead of writing a story or a poem as she usually did to amuse herself, she made a list.

  “List,” she wrote, “of Things I Must Do to be Different.”

  She smiled as she began for the list reminded her of the glorious time she and Tib had had staying awake all night. But she grew serious before she had finished.

  Start signing your name Betsye.

  Don’t laugh so much.

  Seldom smile.

  Keep your voice low.

  Wear green.

  Wear emeralds…when you can get them. (Jade would do.)

  Use only Jockey Club perfume…be lavish with it.

  Use foreign phrases…be lavish with them, too.

  See that your waists don’t pull out at the waist-band.

  Keep your clothes in press, your shoes polished, and your fingernails manicured.

  Take at least one bath a day; two would be better. Lavish with bath salts also.

  She memorized this list grimly; then she tore it up.

  She had dinner in the diner, passing through Madison. Supper came at Winona, back in her own state. Expectancy now became joyful suspense. She sat with her hands tightly clasped.

  It was dark outside, and the shades had been drawn. She wondered whether the family would meet her. “Just Papa, probably. But the rest will be waiting up, even Margaret.” And that proved to be the case. When the porter had finally brushed her as before, and the train, its bell ringing, had slowed down for Deep Valley, she found her father waiting. The sight of him, so tall, ruddy and dependable-looking, with a happy smile on his face, brought a lump to her throat.

  “Well, well! Home again!” he said, as Betsy hugged and kissed him.

  She tried to talk about her trip, but he kept stopping her. “No! I promised the family I wouldn’t let you tell a thing. They’re half crazy, waiting.”

  Betsy felt half crazy herself as they neared High Street. Welcome lights streamed out across the snow. Margaret’s small erect figure with the hair bow and the English bob was outlined in the big front window. The door opened and everyone rushed out, Abie barking and leaping.

  Inside everything looked beautiful.

  “Mamma has even scoured the coal scuttle,” Mr. Ray said. He always made that joke when one of them came home after being away. There was a fire in the dining room grate, and a lunch on the table beneath the hanging lamp.

  “Did you get anything fit to eat in Milwaukee, lovey?” Anna asked.

  “Nothing half so good as this,” Betsy replied. But she hardly knew what she was eating. There was so much to tell and to be told.

  Margaret brought out the new doll in its red silk dress. Julia told about all the parties.

  “That Phyllis Brandish was visiting here.”

  “Is she nice?”

  “She took quite a liking to Harry,” Julia said. “But I kept him safely by my side.”

  “Harry,” said Mr. Ray, “spends altogether too much time by your side.” He seemed a little disgruntled.

  Betsy asked for her grip and, smiling broadly, brought out her presents.

  “I want you to know, Margaret,” she said presenting the book, “that I’ve seen those seven dwarfs with my own eyes, and I’ve met The Brave Little Tailor.”

  Julia seized her Merry Widow score and dashed to the piano. Anna exclaimed that the sewing basket was tony. Mrs. Ray loved her vanity bag and Mr. Ray, with a chuckle, put his stein on the plate-rail. Slowly, last of all, Betsy brought out the rabbit’s foot. She held it behind her back while she told of Aunt Dolly getting ready for the Christmas ball.

  “And if she can use rouge, you can,” she ended, extending the package to her mother.

  “Here! Here! Give that to me!” Mr. Ray made a grab. Betsy ran, her father following. Margaret screamed joyfully, Abie barked, and Washington yowled. Eluding her father by a breath, Betsy put the gift into her mother’s hands.

  “This begins a new life for me,” said Mrs. Ray. “From now on I’m going to be different.” That brought sharply to Betsy’s mind the changes she had intended to make in herself. She had been laughing not less, but more than usual. Her waist had pulled out, and the high peaked knot Tib had made on top of her head had fallen down. But her mother noticed the Jockey Club.

  “What is that new perfume, dear? Isn�
�t it a little heavy?”

  The new personality had hard going that night, and the next day, too. Tony appeared right after breakfast. Cab and Dennie followed. Tacy came to dinner, was given her hat pins and told the joyful secret of Tib’s possible return. The Crowd had gathered by evening for a Welcome Home celebration which did not lend itself at all to Dramatic and Mysterious poses.

  Betsy told them all about Milwaukee, especially all about Tib. Tib would never have recognized herself in Betsy’s extravagant descriptions.

  “Gosh, isn’t she coming to visit you sometime?” Tony demanded.

  “I must say she’s changed since we were in school together,” Winona remarked skeptically. “She was just a little white-haired kid.”

  “I should say she has changed,” Betsy replied. And reminded of her own plans, added hastily, “Aber ja! Unglaublich!” But nobody seemed impressed.

  As the days ran on, she made discouragingly little progress. She had no luck with the hair-do, and her mother objected to too much Jockey Club. Now and then she had a trifling triumph. She heard her father say to her mother, “Don’t you think Betsy seems a little serious since she got home?” He complained, too, that he could never get into the bathroom. That, of course, was on account of the two baths a day.

  “Do you think I seem any different?” Betsy asked Julia. And Julia’s reply was satisfactory but surprising. “Of course. Travel is so broadening. But do I seem any different?”

  “Why…why…” said Betsy. She realized that she had been so wrapped up in herself that she hadn’t paid much attention to Julia. “I don’t know,” she added.

  “Maybe it doesn’t show on the outside,” said Julia. “But I’ve been going through a good deal. Harry is…quite serious. I think he’s in love with me.”

  “There’s nothing new about that.”

  “Yes there is. Harry isn’t just a kid. He’s a grown man; and Bettina…I like him, too.”

  “Julia!” exclaimed Betsy.

  Julia looked solemn. “I almost think I’m in love with him. And Bettina…what do you suppose?”