Treasures from Grandma's Attic

by Arleta Richardson

  She was right, of course. I had a habit of finishing things in a hurry and then finding mistakes. Ma was concerned about that too.

  “Let me check each step before you go on to the next, Mabel,” she said. “If you have to take something out, it will be easier before the whole dress is put together.”

  “No one has any confidence in me,” I grumbled. “Why do you all assume I’ll get things wrong?”

  “We have nothing but past experience to go on,” Ma replied. “But don’t be discouraged. We learn by our mistakes.”

  “If I’d learned from every mistake I’ve made, I’d be twice as intelligent as I am.”

  Ma laughed and went back to her work. Later, when the dress was cut out, I began by putting the skirt together. Straight seams were not difficult, and when I showed them to Ma, she nodded.

  “That’s fine. Now pin the bodice together and baste it. We’ll see if it needs tucks anywhere.”

  “Pin, baste, and sew,” I muttered. “You don’t do all that when you make a dress.”

  “Neither will you when you’ve put several hundred of them together,” Ma replied. “Believe me, you’ll save time in the long run.”

  The top of the dress was more complicated. After I had pinned the two sections of the back to the front, an extra long piece of material hung at the bottom.

  “These parts don’t match,” I called to Ma. “You must have cut them wrong.”

  She came to look. “They aren’t cut wrong. You didn’t put the darts in the front.”

  I unpinned the pieces and placed the darts where they belonged.

  “Aren’t you glad you didn’t just sew those together?” Ma asked me. “Pins are easier to remove than stitches.” Ma was right, but I was in no mood to agree. I was already tired of the dress.

  Finally I had the bodice basted together, and I put it on for Ma to check. But when I went to find her, she had gone out to work in the garden.

  “I can’t go out there in nothing but my underskirt and a dress top,” I complained to myself. “And who knows how long before she’ll be back.”

  I went back to Ma’s bedroom to look in the mirror. The dress certainly looked perfect to me. Why waste time when it was all ready to sew? Ma might be out there for another half hour. I’ll just go ahead and sew it up, I decided, and surprise her.

  Sarah Jane appeared at the door just as I finished the last seam.

  “I thought I’d come and see how you’re doing on your dress,” she said. “Is it all done?”

  “Don’t be silly,” I replied. “I’ve just started. But I do have the sides of the skirt sewed up, and I just finished putting the top together.” I whipped it off the sewing machine and held it up for Sarah Jane to see. “Doesn’t it look nice?”

  There was a silence as she took the piece and stared at it oddly. “Hmm. But, Mabel, aren’t you supposed to sew the seams on the wrong side of the material?”

  I gasped and snatched it back. “What do you mean? Oh, no! I didn’t turn it wrong side out before I basted it, and I sewed over the basting! What will I do now?”

  “You know how much I hate to say ‘I told you so,’” Sarah Jane snickered, “but my guess is that you’ll take it out.”

  I rushed to the window and looked toward the garden where Ma still worked. “I can’t get all those stitches picked out before Ma comes in,” I said. “She’ll say more than ‘I told you so’! I was supposed to let her look at it before I sewed.”

  “Don’t stand there moaning,” Sarah Jane said. “Start working on it. You’ll never get it taken apart by having hysterics.”

  Suddenly I spotted Ma’s scissors on the table. “I’ll cut them off,” I declared.

  “You’ll do what?”

  “I’ll cut the seams off. Then I can turn it wrong side out and start over. That way she’ll never need to know.”

  “In all the years I’ve known you, you’ve never been able to keep anything from your ma,” Sarah Jane told me. “You were just not meant to be deceitful. Or your ma wasn’t meant to be deceived.”

  I was already cutting away the seams. “This isn’t deceit,” I replied. “This is survival. I’m learning how to turn my mistakes into intelligence. Put these scraps in the stove, will you?”

  I turned the pieces wrong side out and was pinning them together when Ma came in.

  “My goodness,” she exclaimed. “Is this as far as you’ve gotten? Seems to me you were doing that when I went outside.”

  “I don’t think I should hurry; do you, Ma?” I said. “I want it to look real nice.”

  Sarah Jane choked and hurried over to the water dipper.

  “I guess I’d better go, Mabel. You’ve got a big job there, and I wouldn’t want to disturb you.” She rushed out the door, leaving Ma looking after her in surprise.

  “She didn’t stay very long, did she?”

  “She stayed long enough,” I told Ma. “And she’ll be back. You can count on that.”

  I sat down with a sigh and prepared to baste the pieces together again. This time I’d let Ma see it before I stitched it on the machine.

  “All right, Ma,” I said finally. “Is it ready to sew?”

  Ma looked critically at the front. “Something doesn’t look right,” she said with a frown. “Come here and let me see the back.”

  I went over to her and turned around.

  “Why, what in the world!” she exclaimed. “It doesn’t come together in the back! Did I cut it too small?” She took it off me and turned it wrong side out. “How wide did you make the seams?” She sat down and looked at it in bewilderment. “I can’t believe I could have done that. And here I was talking about your mistakes.”

  Ma was so dismayed that I couldn’t stand it. I threw my arms around her neck and cried.

  “You didn’t do it, Ma.” I sobbed. “I did.” And I told her what had happened. She put her head down on the table, and her shoulders shook with laughter.

  “I don’t see what’s funny.” I sniffed. “I can’t wear a dress that doesn’t meet in the back.”

  Ma wiped her eyes and picked up the bodice. “I suppose we could piece it,” she suggested.

  “Piece it!” I howled. “I won’t appear at the ice-cream social in a dress that’s pieced together like a quilt!”

  Ma began to laugh again. “That’s all the material I have like that, Mabel, or I’d cut out another bodice for you. Maybe I can salvage enough for an apron.” She rolled up the skirt and top and handed them to me. “Put these in my room, please, and set the table for dinner.”

  I could hear her chuckling as she washed and cut up the vegetables. Somehow I felt worse than if she’d scolded me.

  “I know what you mean,” Sarah Jane said when I told her the story the next day. “If you get scolded, you know you deserved it. But if you get laughed at, you just feel stupid.”

  We walked a little way in silence. Then Sarah Jane began to giggle. “Your ma’s not going to let you make the apron, is she?”

  I glared at her.

  “I was just going to suggest that if she did, the material would make nice carpet rags when you’ve finished with it.” Sarah Jane ducked and ran up the lane ahead of me.

  “You’d better run,” I hollered, “or I’ll make a carpet rag out of you!”

  7

  The Autograph

  “Mabel, a package came in the mail for you today,” Ma told me as I came in from school.

  “For me? What is it? Who sent it?”

  “How about opening it up to see?” Ma suggested.

  Eagerly I tore open the wrappings and discovered a small leather-bound volume. As I picked it up, a letter dropped out.

  Dear Mabel,

  I have come into possession of a copy of John Greenleaf Whittier�
�s poem “Snow-Bound.” In remembrance of a similar occasion we shared, I would like you to have it. It is an autographed copy, since Mr. Whittier is a friend of my Quaker cousin, Eben White.

  Yours truly,

  Cousin Agatha

  “Oh, Ma!” I cried. “Look at this! A book all my own! And signed by the author!”

  “What a nice thing for Cousin Agatha to do,” Ma said. “You must take good care of this.”

  “Oh, I will,” I promised. “I can’t wait to show it to Miss Gibson and the others. Maybe she’ll read it to the school.”

  “Are you sure you should take it to school?” Ma asked doubtfully. “It’s a pretty valuable gift.”

  “It will be safe,” I assured her. “I won’t let it out of my sight. I can’t wait to see Warren’s face when I show him. He thinks Whittier is the best author in our reader.”

  Sarah Jane was impressed when I showed the book to her.

  “That’s really nice,” she said. “Your cousin Agatha must think a lot of you to send something like that.”

  I nodded. “I think a lot of her, too. After we really got to know each other, she turned out to be a nice old lady.”

  “But do you think it’s safe to take it to school?” she asked.

  “You and Ma are just alike!” I exclaimed. “Why wouldn’t it be safe? Do you think I’ll lose it between here and there?”

  “It wouldn’t be the first thing you’d lost between here and there.” Sarah Jane snickered. “I couldn’t begin to recall all the stuff that has disappeared while you were looking the other way.”

  “Oh, for goodness’ sake,” I said. “This book is not going to disappear. Give me credit for some sense.”

  “I was just teasing, Mabel. I’m sure you’ll take good care of it.”

  As I expected, Miss Gibson was delighted with the book. “This is something you will always treasure, Mabel,” she said. “An autographed book is a special thing to have.”

  I had guessed that Warren would be envious of my good fortune, but I wasn’t prepared for his reaction. He looked carefully through the book and studied the name written on the flyleaf.

  “What will you take for this, Mabel?” he asked me.

  “Take for it? What do you mean?”

  “I want it,” he said. “I’ll give you whatever you ask.”

  For a moment I was speechless, but Sarah Jane wasn’t. “You mean you’d pay Mabel for that book?” she asked.

  Warren nodded. “As much as five dollars. That’s all I have saved.”

  I gasped. “You would pay five dollars for this book?” That was more money than I had ever had in my life. “You can buy a copy in town for twenty-five cents!”

  “Maybe so,” Warren said. “But I couldn’t buy the autograph. That’s what makes it valuable.”

  I looked at my book with even greater appreciation and shook my head. “I can’t sell it, Warren,” I said. “It was a gift. I don’t have very many books that aren’t schoolbooks, either.”

  “You could afford to buy quite a few with what I’d give you,” he replied. “But you think it over, and let me know if you change your mind.”

  “I’m sure I won’t,” I said to Sarah Jane as we left school together. “I can’t imagine anything that I’d give up my book for.”

  “I’ll say one thing for you, Mabel—you’re not greedy,” Sarah Jane observed. “Some people would sell their own brother to get five dollars.”

  “Don’t think I haven’t considered it,” I said. “I just haven’t had a whole lot of offers for Roy.”

  A few evenings later I found Pa sitting at the kitchen table, looking at a mail-order catalog.

  “What are you looking for, Pa?” I asked. “Are you shopping for Christmas already?”

  “Not exactly,” Pa answered. “But I am thinking about winter. Your ma needs a new coat badly, and I’m trying to figure how we can get one for her after the crops are in. If we have a good yield, I might be able to afford this one.” He pointed to a neat cloth coat that came in gray, navy blue, or black.

  “Oh, but look, Pa. Here’s one with a fur collar. Wouldn’t that be warm and pretty?”

  Pa looked at it wistfully. “Yes, it surely would. It would also cost about five dollars more than I can pay.”

  Five dollars! If I sold the book to Warren, we could get that coat for Ma. Excitedly I told Pa of the offer, but he shook his head.

  “I can’t let you do that, Mabel. Ma wouldn’t hear of it if she knew. It’s a very loving thought, though, and I thank you.”

  I said no more to Pa, but I thought about it a lot. Since the book was mine, I could sell it if I wanted to. And I did want Ma to have that lovely coat. Certainly after it was done and I had the money, Pa wouldn’t object. I went to bed that Friday evening with the determination that I would tell Warren of my decision on Monday morning.

  Before I blew out the candle in my room, I looked through the book again and studied the delicate writing in the front. What a beautiful name—John Greenleaf Whittier. I sighed and put the book back. It was nice to have owned it for a little while, anyway.

  On Saturday, as was our custom, Sarah Jane and I went to town. We spent the usual amount of time looking through the general store and surveying the new things that had come in during the week. I told Sarah of my plan.

  “I guess you’re doing the right thing,” she agreed reluctantly. “Our folks give up a lot of things for us. Maybe we should try to pay them back more often.”

  We had just about finished browsing through the shelves and counters when Sarah Jane spied something.

  “Mabel, look!” she cried. “Here’s a copy of ‘Snow-Bound’ like yours. And it’s just like you said—only twenty-five cents!”

  I turned the book over in my hand. “It’s just like Warren said too. It’s not autographed.”

  “I don’t think the one in your book would be too hard to copy,” Sarah Jane said slowly. “I believe I could do it so you’d never know the difference.”

  “Sarah Jane! Are you serious?”

  “Of course I am,” she replied. “You’ll have your book and the five dollars, and Warren will have his autographed copy of ‘Snow-Bound.’”

  “But that’s forgery!” I cried. “It’s against the law.”

  “Oh, for goodness’ sake,” Sarah Jane replied. “I’m not going to cash it at the bank. It certainly won’t defraud Mr. Whittier. You can write whatever you want to in your own books. Are you going to buy it or not?”

  I bought the book, and we hurried home with it. I had a nagging feeling that what we had planned was wrong, but I did want the money—and the book.

  Sarah Jane practiced on a piece of paper until we both agreed that the signature looked just like the one Mr. Whittier had written. “Now I’m ready to put it on the flyleaf,” Sarah Jane decided. “Go sit on the bed or somewhere so you won’t jab my arm. As nervous as you are, you’d probably tip the ink bottle over.”

  I sat across the room while she painstakingly copied John Greenleaf Whittier on the front page of the new book. When she had finished, she sat back and admired it.

  “You’ll have to keep these separated,” she declared. “You’ll never be able to tell which is the original.”

  I went to look, and I had to agree she was right. As far as I could tell, the signatures were identical.

  “It’s beautiful,” I said, “but somehow I don’t feel right about it. Warren will think he’s paying for the real thing.”

  “He’s paying for an autographed copy,” Sarah Jane said. “That’s what this is. If you have to be so fussy, show him both books and let him take his pick. If he chooses the wrong one, it wouldn’t be your fault. You’d at least have a fifty-fifty chance of keeping yours.”

  I didn’t chatter as I usually did wh
ile I helped Ma get supper, and she looked at me anxiously. “You’re awfully quiet tonight, Mabel,” she said. “Is something the matter?”

  I shook my head. “No, I guess not. Ma, would it be wrong to sign someone else’s name to something?”

  “It depends on the reason for signing it,” Ma replied. “If it was intended to deceive, then that’s wrong. Under ordinary circumstances I’d say it’s probably not a good idea. Are you planning on signing something?”

  “Oh, no,” I said. “I just wondered.”

  I didn’t sleep well that night. I dreamed that I was caught in a snowstorm and Warren wouldn’t help me because I had cheated him. I woke up to find my comforter on the floor and my heart pounding. Since I couldn’t go back to sleep, I thought about going to church the next morning and trying to worship God. I knew I couldn’t do it—not with the guilty feeling I had.

  I soon discovered that I wasn’t alone. Sarah Jane appeared right after breakfast.

  “Mabel, you’re right. We can’t deceive Warren like that. I had terrible nightmares all night about what I did. I told the Lord I was sorry, and now I’m telling you. I feel bad about your money, but I don’t think it’s worth sinning for five dollars.”

  “It’s not worth it for any amount,” I told her. “I’d already decided that I would give Warren the real one. I don’t want to remember any dirty tricks every time I look at Ma’s beautiful coat!”

  “Right!” Sarah Jane laughed. “And you said yourself that you couldn’t tell the difference. I’ll add my name down in the corner, and you’ll have a real treasure to keep!”

  8

  The Farewell Party

  “Mabel O’Dell! Are you absolutely positive?” Sarah Jane stopped in the middle of the road, shocked by my news.

  “Yes.” I nodded. “Absolutely. Pa told us just this morning. Miss Gibson won’t be our teacher next year. It will be someone called Mrs. Porter. Pa’s on the school board, so he knows.”

  “But we have only two more years,” Sarah Jane wailed. “We’ve never had anyone but Miss Gibson. Couldn’t she stay just two more years?”