Treasures from Grandma's Attic

by Arleta Richardson

We walked over to greet her. “I’m Mabel,” I said. “What’s your name?”

  “Mary Etta Rose Amanda Morgan.”

  Sarah Jane’s mouth dropped open. “Four given names? Do you use all of them?”

  “Just Mary. My mother didn’t want to disappoint any of her sisters, so she named me after all of them! I hope we’re going to be friends,” she continued. “I don’t know anyone here.”

  Our teacher, Miss Gibson, came out just then to ring the bell, and we all filed into the schoolhouse. Mary was welcomed and settled into a seat behind Sarah Jane and me. During study time, I felt a poke in my back.

  “Who’s that good-looking boy by the second window?” Mary whispered.

  I looked to see who she meant. “That’s my brother Roy,” I whispered back.

  “Your brother?” Mary squeaked, and Miss Gibson looked disapprovingly in our direction. No more was said until recess time. Then Mary took hold of my arm and drew me to the side of the school.

  “I think we should be best friends, don’t you?” she said. “We can have secrets from all the others.”

  “I’ve never had a secret from Sarah Jane,” I blurted. “What would we want to keep from her?”

  “For goodness’ sake, Mabel!” Mary exclaimed. “Maybe it’s time you got away from her. I could tell right away that Sarah Jane isn’t as mature and interesting as you are. There are lots of things we could talk about that she wouldn’t even understand.”

  This was a new idea to me, and I stared at Mary in fascination. Was I really mature and interesting?

  “By the way,” Mary went on, “how old is your brother?”

  “He’s almost fifteen,” I replied. “Why?”

  “I just wondered,” she said with a shrug. “Does he have a girlfriend?”

  “A girlfriend! Roy? He thinks the only thing girls are good for is to tease.”

  “Don’t worry,” Mary said. “He’ll change his mind. Come on, let’s get a drink of water.”

  She sauntered toward the well, and I tagged along after her. If she wanted the boys to notice her, she wasn’t disappointed.

  “They couldn’t help but see her,” Sarah Jane said to me on the way home. “Her hair stands out like a fire in a wood box. You’d better watch out, Mabel, or you’ll get into trouble.”

  I stopped in my tracks and stared at her. “Me! What have I done to be in trouble?”

  “Nothing yet, I guess. But if you’re around Mary Etta Rose Amanda Morgan very much, she’ll see to it that you do something.”

  “That’s ridiculous!” I exclaimed. “All she said was that she wanted to be friends.”

  “And?” Sarah Jane prodded.

  “She asked how old Roy was and if he had a girlfriend,” I finished lamely.

  “Aha!” Sarah Jane cried. “See there? She’s trying to use you to get to your brother!”

  “Nobody uses me for anything!” I shouted at her. “I think you’re just jealous!”

  I stomped away from Sarah Jane with my nose in the air. Then I turned and went back. “Why are we fighting over someone we don’t even know?” I asked her. “Do you really think Mary would try to do that?”

  Sarah Jane nodded. “I’m sure of it, Mabel. Something tells me that she’s not up to any good. I just feel it in my bones.”

  In the days that followed, Mary continued to single me out for special favors. She brought candy and chocolate cake for lunchtime. She loaned me a book to take home. I was flattered, but I made sure we spent lunch and recess with all the other girls.

  One Friday, about a month after Mary had arrived, Sarah Jane was sick, and I walked to school alone. Mary walked out to meet me. “Come here, Mabel. I have something to show you.”

  I followed her to the corner of the school yard. “What is it?” I asked. “Is it a secret?”

  Mary nodded and pulled a small box out of her dress pocket. “Look,” she whispered. She opened the box, and there lay the most beautiful ring I had ever seen.

  “Ooh! Where did you get it?”

  “Someone gave it to me,” she replied. “Do you like it? Here, try it on.”

  I put the ring on my finger.

  “You can have it if you’ll do something for me,” Mary said.

  “Have it! You mean to keep?”

  She nodded. “Do you want it?”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  Mary looked around to be sure no one could hear. “I want you to get Roy to come over to my house.”

  “How would I ever do that?” I exclaimed. “He’s never done anything I asked him to in his life.”

  Mary thought a moment. “Tell him my aunt Rose wants him to do some work for her.”

  “Does she?”

  “No, but that doesn’t make any difference. He won’t find that out until he gets there. By then it will be too late.”

  I opened my mouth to say it would be dishonest, but just then the bell rang. We hurried into the schoolroom, where I had a hard time concentrating on my lessons. Visions of the beautiful ring kept getting in the way.

  What if I were to tell Roy that Mary said her aunt wanted him to do some work for her? That wouldn’t be a lie, would it? No, but it would be deceitful. Was the ring worth it?

  At recess, Mary pulled me away from the others again. “Are you going to do it?” she asked.

  I shook my head. “No. I can’t tell Roy something that isn’t true.”

  “He wouldn’t know it wasn’t true,” she persisted.

  “Maybe not,” I replied, “but I would. I just couldn’t do it.”

  “I thought you were different from these other kids,” Mary said in disgust. “But you’re as dumb as they are. You’ll be sorry!” She turned and walked away, and I followed her slowly back to the schoolhouse.

  On the way home I stopped by to tell Sarah Jane about it. “So it looks as though I lost a friend and a ring,” I concluded.

  “I didn’t see the ring,” Sarah Jane declared, “but you haven’t lost much of a friend. I wonder why she said you’d be sorry.”

  “I don’t know,” I replied. “Maybe she’ll give it to someone else with a brother! The worst thing she can do is refuse to talk to me anymore. And I’m not sure that would be bad.”

  But that wasn’t the worst thing Mary could do. On Monday morning Ma called to me as I started out for school.

  “Will you take this recipe to Miss Gibson? She asked me about it at church yesterday. Here, I’ll put it in your sweater pocket.”

  As Ma tucked the paper in my pocket, she felt something hard in the corner. “What’s this?” she asked, and drew it out.

  I stared in astonishment. “That’s Mary’s ring. I don’t know how it got there,” I told Ma. “I didn’t take it.”

  “Of course you didn’t,” Ma said. “But it didn’t just jump into your pocket, either. You’d better get it back to Mary as soon as possible.”

  Sarah Jane and I talked it over on the way to school. “I think I’ll just put it on her desk and not say anything about it,” I decided.

  “I wouldn’t,” Sarah Jane declared. “I’d let everyone know she tried to make me look guilty. She shouldn’t get away with that.”

  “Maybe she didn’t put it there,” I suggested. “Maybe someone else took it and—”

  “Oh, Mabel! You know that isn’t the way it happened. She threatened to get even with you, didn’t she? So this is the way to do it.”

  We got to school just as the bell rang, and I had no chance to speak to Mary. As soon as school was opened, she raised her hand. “Miss Gibson, someone took my ring.”

  “Oh, I don’t think so, Mary,” Miss Gibson replied. “You must have just mislaid it. Have you looked through your desk?”

  Mary shook her head. “No, ma’am.
I didn’t mislay it. I know who took it, because I saw it on her finger. It was Mabel O’Dell.”

  In the silence that followed, I could feel my face getting red. If Mary had wanted to make me look guilty, she had succeeded. My mouth opened, but not a word came out.

  “Is this true, Mabel?” Miss Gibson asked me. “Do you have Mary’s ring?”

  “No, er, yes, ma’am. That is, I have the ring, but I didn’t take it.”

  “That’s a likely story,” Mary snorted. “How would you get it if you didn’t take it?”

  “Where is the ring now, Mabel? Would you bring it to me, please?” Miss Gibson held out her hand, and I walked to the front of the room and handed it to her.

  “Where did you get it?” she asked me.

  “I found it in my pocket,” I said. “I just discovered it this morning.”

  “And you didn’t put it there?”

  I shook my head. “No, ma’am.”

  “Someone had to put it in your pocket,” Mary accused. “If you didn’t, who did?” She looked triumphantly at Miss Gibson.

  “That’s a question, all right,” Miss Gibson said. “We’ll have to find out who it was.”

  “Her,” said a little voice from the front row. “I saw her do it.” Belinda was pointing at Mary.

  Miss Gibson looked confused, and Mary was angry. “Are you going to believe that little infant?” she sputtered.

  “Belinda, are you sure?” Miss Gibson asked her. “When did you see this happen?”

  “On Friday,” Belinda said. “Right after school. She put the ring in Mabel’s pocket and then she ran outside. I saw her.”

  Miss Gibson looked at me and then back at Mary. “I’ll keep the ring, and we’ll talk about this at recess. Open your books, please, and begin to study at once.”

  I returned to my seat and opened my book, but I didn’t see much that was in it. What if Miss Gibson didn’t believe Belinda? How could I prove that I hadn’t taken the ring? It was a long wait until recess.

  As soon as the others had left, Miss Gibson turned to Mary. “Why did you want us to think Mabel had stolen your ring?” she asked her. “Do you realize what a serious accusation this is?”

  “But she did …,” Mary began. Then, as Miss Gibson looked at her steadily, Mary began to cry. “I thought Mabel would be my friend, but she wouldn’t do what I wanted her to.”

  “Is someone a friend only when she does as you say?” Miss Gibson asked gently. “I think you have the wrong idea about friendship. Perhaps you can ask Mabel to forgive you and start over again.”

  Mary glanced at me sullenly. “Sorry,” she muttered.

  “That was the sorriest sorry I ever heard,” I told Sarah Jane later. “But I don’t think she’ll try something like that again. And your bones were right—you felt trouble, and it came.”

  “They’re very seldom wrong,” Sarah Jane replied smugly. “The sooner you learn to trust them, the happier you’ll be!”

  We laughed and headed for home together.

  3

  Christmas Spirit

  I shook the snow off the holly berries and sniffed the cold air appreciatively. “Aren’t you glad you don’t live where it’s always cold or always hot?” I asked Ma.

  “I suppose you could get used to anything,” Ma replied. “But, yes, I’m always happy with a change of seasons. It wouldn’t seem like Christmas to me without snow.”

  “I believe Christmas is here when the schoolhouse is decorated and the program ready,” I said. “It’s going to be so pretty this year. We’re going out today to cut greens and find a tree. This holly would look nice too. Wouldn’t it?”

  Ma agreed that it would. “Mabel, take the milk to the house, and I’ll cut some holly for you,” she offered.

  I had taken the milk pail and started up the lane, when something occurred to me. “I don’t ever remember you handing me the milk pail without warning me not to spill it,” I said. “Does that mean you think I’m a more dependable age now?”

  “It means you’re at an age where you can clean up after yourself.” Ma laughed. “You learn to be careful in a hurry when you have to mop the floor and wash your own clothes.”

  The morning at school dragged. Steam rose from the wet mittens arranged around the hot stove, and everyone who passed a frosted window had to put a wet finger on it to trace the pattern of the ice.

  “Isn’t it almost noon?” Wesley asked. “I have too much Christmas spirit to pay attention to schoolwork.”

  “Oh!” said Miss Gibson. “Just what is ‘Christmas spirit,’ anyway?”

  “Peace-on-earth-goodwill-to-men,” Sarah Jane answered glibly. “With maybe a little fun thrown in just for … the fun of it!”

  “I understand your impatience,” Miss Gibson admitted. “This is a special time of year, and it is fun. But I hope we can learn something about the true meaning of Christmas too. Let’s stop and eat now, and then we’ll go look for a tree.”

  Everyone was in favor of that, and we ran to collect and open our lunch pails.

  “Oh, dear,” cried Belinda. “My sandwich is frozen!”

  “We can fix that,” Miss Gibson told her. “Unwrap your sandwich and lay it on the lid of your dinner pail, then we’ll put that on the coal shovel and stick it in the stove. It will soon be toasty and warm.”

  That worked so well that the rest of us wanted to try it. “Mmm. Hot corn bread,” Warren said. “This is almost as good as being home.”

  “And doesn’t it smell just like a kitchen?” I put in. “There are a lot of things that cook on the stove all day. Why couldn’t we have a hot dinner right here?”

  “Soup is good,” Sarah Jane chimed in. “It could simmer away while we work.”

  “That sounds delightful,” Miss Gibson agreed. “But how much work would we get done between sniffs?”

  “Not much,” we admitted, laughing. “It’s hard enough now to wait for noontime.”

  Everyone finished eating in record time, and we were soon bundled up and ready to go. The woods behind the school always produced the most beautiful branches and a tree that was just the right size. Each class made decorations and tried to keep them a secret until the day came to hang them on the tree. Sarah Jane and I were the only eighth graders, and since Wesley was alone in the seventh grade, Miss Gibson suggested that he join us.

  “I can see his contribution right now,” Sarah Jane confided. “An apple with a bite out of it. Or a gingerbread man with a leg missing.”

  “You’re probably right,” I agreed. “He does love to eat. Maybe we can get him to carve a wooden cookie and paint it.”

  The woods were sheltered and didn’t seem quite as cold. When we had gathered all the branches we could carry, we trudged back to the schoolhouse.

  “We’ll leave the tree and greens outside,” Miss Gibson decided. “They’d dry out pretty fast in the warm room. Let’s start working on the ornaments, shall we?”

  Just before dismissal time, we drew names for presents. Each year Miss Gibson would put all our names in a box, and we would each bring a Christmas gift for the person whose name we drew. We weren’t allowed to put a name back unless we picked our own.

  “I hope I don’t get your name,” I said to Sarah Jane. “And I’d rather not have Warren Carter’s, either.”

  “It’s nice to be included in such intelligent company,” she replied, “but I’m not exactly flattered.”

  “Oh, you know what I mean. I give you a present anyway. I don’t want you to get mine, either.”

  “I know.” Sarah Jane nodded. “I was kidding.”

  On the way home Sarah Jane said, “Well, my present isn’t going to be hard to fix. A big box of candy will do nicely.”

  “Wesley?” I guessed.

  “Right. I’ll
make some chocolate fudge and some divinity. Whose name did you get?”

  “Hannah’s. I’d like to think of something to give her that would make her smile.”

  “You’ll never do it,” Sarah Jane said emphatically. “She has absolutely no Christmas spirit. Just hope she didn’t get your name. I heard her say she wouldn’t bring a gift if she didn’t get a name she wanted.”

  “Want to trade with me?”

  “No, thank you. At least Wesley can be depended upon to like what he gets, provided it stands still long enough for him to eat it.”

  “Do you think we ought to tell Miss Gibson about Hannah?” I asked. “We don’t want the party to be ruined.”

  “I don’t think Hannah would really do what she said,” Sarah Jane replied. “She likes to complain, but she’s not mean.”

  “I suppose you’re right. Anyway, this is too nice a day to worry about it.”

  “There’s a whole week of school until Christmas vacation,” I said to Ma as we got supper. “I wonder if I can wait that long.”

  “I think it’s possible,” Ma replied. “Do you want to know how to make the time seem to go faster?”

  “Oh, yes! How can I do that?”

  “Plan to get more things done than you have time to finish,” Ma said. “I know that works, because I’ve been doing it for years.”

  “I have plenty to work on,” I said. “I have to finish Sarah Jane’s gift and make something for Hannah, not to mention make Christmas presents for the family and get ready for the Christmas program.”

  “You won’t have a problem waiting.” Ma laughed. “That’s already enough activity for two weeks.”

  Miss Gibson allowed us time to work on Christmas projects and overlooked the extra noise and restlessness. The decorations for the tree were better than they had ever been. Even the first graders’ strings of cranberries and popcorn were longer and prettier.

  “Wesley,” Sarah Jane inquired one afternoon, “where are the rest of the candy canes for the tree?”

  “I guess I ate a few,” he confessed.

  “A few! There are only two here, and we started out with ten! Now what do we do?”

  “I’ll get Ma to make some cookies to hang up,” Wesley promised. “I’ll bring them in the morning.”