Heaven to Betsy and Betsy in Spite of Herself

by Maud Hart Lovelace

  “I have to do a lot of work between now and the middle of May,” Betsy said, feeling important.

  After Tacy left she hunted up a notebook and some pencils. She went to the kitchen to sharpen the pencils and enjoy Anna’s admiration.

  “I think I’ll go down to the library and start studying now,” she announced.

  But when she had put on her grey coat and fur piece and the hat with the plaid ribbon, it seemed too bad not to go down to the Sibleys’ and share her exciting news with Carney and Bonnie.

  “I’ll start work at the library tomorrow,” she decided.

  She burst into the Broad Street house breathless, but before she had taken off her overshoes, she saw that Carney had news of her own.

  “What’s the matter?” she asked.

  “Matter enough,” said Carney darkly. “Come on in. Bonnie will tell you herself.”

  In the library Bonnie looked up from her friendship pillow, but she didn’t smile.

  “Has Carney told you?” she asked.

  “Told me what? Whose funeral is this, anyway?”

  Bonnie’s big blue eyes filled with tears.

  “It’s mine, I guess,” she said. “I’m going back to Paris.”

  “To Paris!” cried Betsy. “Aren’t you glad?”

  “Glad!” echoed Bonnie. “Why should I be glad? If you think Paris is half as nice as Deep Valley, Minnesota, you’re mistaken, that’s all.”

  She threw her arms around Carney, and they buried tearful faces in each other’s shoulders.

  Betsy felt ashamed. “I know just how you feel,” she said. “It was like that with Tacy and Tib and me when Tib went to Milwaukee. And of course Milwaukee isn’t half as far away as Paris. But we have lots of fun writing letters. We’ll write you dozens of letters, Bonnie.”

  “That will be g-r-r-and,” wept Bonnie. “But when I hear about all your parties it will only make me feel bad.”

  “They won’t be half so much fun without you,” Carney said, sniffing.

  “We’ll miss you terribly,” Betsy said. She began to feel a little weepy herself.

  Bonnie straightened up and wiped her eyes.

  “This is very silly of me,” she said. “But oh, I’ve enjoyed this winter! We’ve had such wonderful times!”

  “When are you going?” Betsy asked.

  “Right away. That’s what’s so awful about it. Papa’s been called back to that American church in Paris, and we’re sailing from New York the last of the month.”

  Sailing from New York! Bonnie said it as carelessly as though she were saying, “Going to the Majestic.”

  “I’m going to give a big party for her,” Carney said. “And Mrs. Humphreys is going to give one too, Larry says.”

  “And I’ll give one too,” said Betsy. “And I’m sure that Tacy will, and probably Alice and Winona. There will be party after party, Bonnie.”

  “That will be grand,” said Bonnie, cheering up.

  Not until she was out in the twilight did it occur to Betsy that this round of parties might interfere with her study for the Essay Contest.

  “But it doesn’t matter,” she thought. “I’ll have plenty of time to study after Bonnie goes. Anyway I can win that contest with one arm tied behind me. I’m almost sorry for Joe.”

  In her mind’s eye she had a sudden picture of him. Blond, bright-eyed, with that determined smile.

  “I wish I knew him better,” she thought unexpectedly. “But I don’t think he likes me. And then, he’s so busy, working every day after school. He won’t be able to go to the library much. So it’s really more fair if I don’t.”

  This reasoning led her back to parties and thence to Bonnie’s departure. Not until that moment, which caught her at the corner of High Street and Plum, did it occur to her that Bonnie’s going left Tony free again. She was glad to note that she felt no pleasure in this disloyal thought, although the quick memory of Tony and Bonnie made the winter twilight deepen, made her feel homesick on the very steps of home.

  26

  Of Church and Library

  AS CARNEY AND BONNIE had prophesied, Bonnie’s impending departure brought a most unlentenlike round of parties. Except for the fact that she was saving candy in a box instead of eating it, Betsy would have forgotten that it was Lent. Parents were indulgent because they too regretted Bonnie’s going. To The Crowd it was a real sorrow which must be drowned in endless high jinks.

  The girls went down to the Photographic Gallery and had their pictures taken with Bonnie. Boys and girls together went to the jewelry store and bought her a locket and chain. And on an afternoon toward the end of March she left on the four-forty-five which went to the Twin Cities where she would change for Chicago and New York.

  The Crowd saw her off, and she wept when they gave her the locket.

  Dr. and Mrs. Andrews, after saying their good-bys, retired to the parlor car but Bonnie stayed out on the observation platform until the train pulled away. She wore a green suit and hat and a big corsage of flowers…from Tony, who looked far too nonchalant. Her blue eyes kept brimming, and she dabbed at them with a very clean white handkerchief. Carney looked grimly determined not to cry, and Larry kept a protective hand on her arm.

  The train moved away, and Bonnie waved the white handkerchief. Everyone waved back as the little green figure grew smaller and smaller, and blurred, and disappeared.

  Tony took Betsy’s arm.

  “Come on,” he said. “Let’s go raise the roof.” But Betsy felt no triumph in this return. She knew that his heart was on the four-forty-five speeding toward St. Paul.

  Cards came from Chicago and New York, and at last a letter from Paris. Still Bonnie’s soft laugh was missed at The Crowd gatherings, and interest in Christian Endeavor…especially among the boys…dwindled regrettably.

  Yet the spring held important matters for them all despite Bonnie’s going. It was important to watch the giant snowdrifts melt, to hear joyful rivers rushing in the gutters and to see brown patches of last year’s grass. And early in April Betsy was baptized. It had been planned that this event would take place just before her confirmation, but Mr. Humphreys had to go to California on sudden mysterious business, so they hurried it up.

  It occurred during Evening prayer just after the Second Lesson. Betsy was impressed when she noticed that the Reverend Mr. Lewis used the rites prescribed for Baptism to Such as Are of Riper Years. “Riper Years” had a solemn sound. And it was a solemn occasion. Mr. Humphreys looked grave, and so did pretty, fluttery Mrs. Humphreys. But there was a mischievous gleam in the blue eyes of the irrepressible Herbert as Betsy passed him on her way to the font.

  She was wearing her vestments, for she came down from the choir for the ceremony. Candles were glowing, and to Betsy the simple church looked like a cathedral. A chill ran down her spine when the Reverend Mr. Lewis asked “Dost thou renounce the devil and all his works, the vain pomp and glory of the world…?” She renounced them according to the prayer book but the “vain pomp and glory of the world” rang accusingly in her ears. She was not entirely sure that she renounced them; she hadn’t even seen them yet.

  In a moment Mr. and Mrs. Humphreys had spoken her name, “Elizabeth Warrington Ray,” and she was being sprinkled.

  She was a little disappointed when it was over to find that she felt exactly as she had felt before. She wondered how she had looked during the ceremony. She had forgotten to look the way she planned to look, which was just the way Julia had looked when she was baptized. It served her right for thinking of the “vain pomp and glory of the world!”

  The Humphreys came for Sunday night lunch and gave her a gold cross on a chain. Betsy felt self-conscious. It didn’t seem right to exchange quips with Larry and Herbert when she had just been baptized.

  The following Sunday was even more momentous. With Julia and Herbert and Herbert’s new love, Irma, and many more boys and girls, she was confirmed.

  While she waited for her turn to kneel before the white-haired
Bishop, Betsy watched Julia kneel, her face exalted. She heard the Bishop say:

  “Defend, O Lord, this Thy child with Thy heavenly grace; that she may continue Thine forever; and daily increase in Thy Holy Spirit more and more until she comes unto Thy everlasting kingdom.”

  Presently the Bishop said the same thing to Betsy. His words sank into her heart as gently as the kind old hands touched her head.

  Out in the robing room Julia, still with an exalted face, took Betsy’s hand and pressed it.

  “We’re Episcopalians now.”

  Mrs. Ray and the three girls bought new Easter hats. And Betsy and Tacy helped Margaret dye eggs. They put on a patronizing manner but they enjoyed it as much as Margaret did. They told her how they used to color eggs, and save the dyes and later color sand and have sand stores. Margaret loved to hear about when Betsy and Tacy were little girls.

  “I can even remember when you were little girls,” she boasted.

  On Easter morning, Julia and Betsy went to early communion. No doubt about it, they were Episcopalians now! At eleven o’clock they started off again, and Mr. and Mrs. Ray and Margaret started off for the Baptist Church, and Anna, in a huge hat laden with flowers, stiff bows of ribbon and a bluebird, started off for the Lutheran Church.

  “It’s too bad there isn’t a Mormon in the family,” Mr. Ray said.

  That afternoon Betsy opened the candy box she had filled during Lent.

  “You’re going to pass it around, aren’t you?” asked Hugh. “It’s only Christian to do that.”

  “It looks awfully stale,” said Tony, “especially that peanut fudge.”

  “It tastes delicious,” said Betsy, but since it was, decidedly, stale she passed it generously.

  Tony had come to the Rays every day since Bonnie left. One day during Easter vacation he came seven times. Betsy had planned to devote vacation to study for the Essay Contest. But it was difficult with Tony dropping in and out.

  One day when she knew he was going to the Majestic, she went to the library but she told him what time she planned to leave. Oddly this coincided with the time he would be leaving the Majestic.

  “I may come around and pick you up,” he said.

  Betsy made sure that her hair was in curl. She put on a crisp hair ribbon and a white ruffled shirt waist, fresh from Anna’s iron. Then she hunted up the still empty notebook, her still unblunted pencils and went to the library.

  “I’ve been looking for you,” Miss Sparrow said. “Miss Clarke told me you had been chosen for the Essay Contest team. Congratulations, Betsy!”

  “I’m awfully pleased about it,” Betsy said, smiling.

  “You’ll have to work hard,” Miss Sparrow warned. “The others have a head start. They have been coming almost every day for a couple of weeks now.”

  “I can catch up,” Betsy said.

  “You can’t take any books on the Philippines out of the library,” Miss Sparrow explained. “They are all assembled on a special shelf and there is a table where the contestants may read and take notes. Come, I’ll show you.” She led Betsy through the stalls to a table at the back of the library where a senior girl and Joe Willard were reading. They looked up briefly and smiled as she approached. Miss Sparrow nodded toward the table, toward a shelf, and withdrew.

  Betsy loved the library; especially she loved the open stalls where she had often wandered happily. But there was to be no wandering now. The volumes dealing with the Philippines confronted her, looking ponderous and more than a little dull. Filled with zest for her new enterprise, she chose three of the heaviest and sat down at the table.

  “The Philippines: Their Present and Future Value,” she wrote in her notebook, and opened a book importantly. She started to read it and she liked the descriptions of the scenery, the natives. But she knew this could be no Adventure on Puget Sound. She must grapple with facts, with figures, with statistics. She began the long hard pull.

  After a while the senior girl got up, replaced her volume on the shelf, nodded and departed. Joe and Betsy read with absorbed concentration until they discovered themselves in the dusk. Elsewhere in the library, lights had come on and Joe snapped on the green-shaded light over their table.

  Betsy smiled at him.

  “I’m surprised,” she said, “that they allow Philomathians and Zetamathians to study at the same table.”

  Joe returned her smile.

  “The Zetamathians don’t come very often,” he said. “I’m worried about them. I don’t want to take an unfair advantage.”

  “They can look out for themselves. They’re good,” Betsy said. She said it with a blush that ran down to the collar of her fresh white shirt waist.

  “Yes, but look what they’re up against. Terrific competition,” Joe returned.

  He was, Betsy thought, as she had often thought before, very good looking. His yellow hair gleamed in the light of the overhanging lamp. He had thick eyebrows of a somewhat darker shade, with eyelashes to match. His eyes were as blue as Herbert’s but their expression was different.

  He almost always wore the same red tie and the same blue serge suit, carefully brushed and pressed, but in spite of this obvious shortage of clothing and the well-known fact that he worked after school and Saturdays, there was nothing humble about him. He held his head at a cocky angle, and there was a swing in his walk. He was touchy; Betsy knew that; but people liked him just the same although no one knew him very well. He had no time for the athletics which drew the boys together, and he ignored the girls…perhaps because of a lack of pocket money.

  “I have an idea,” he announced now. His eyes shone as though he were pleased with himself. The defiant lower lip was outthrust. “Want to hear it?”

  “Yes. Of course I do.”

  “The Philomathians have a head start on the Zetamathians,” he said, “and they don’t like it at all. They are men of honor, the Philomathians are. The Philomathians have been coming down here every Sunday and every day during vacation. They can’t come in the evening for they work in the evening, they toil for their daily bread. But they are unusually bright, and they’ve learned practically all there is to know about The Philippines: Their Present and Future Value. They are darned worried about the Zetamathians. Especially,” he added, “since the Zetamathians are just a poor weak girl.”

  Betsy blushed again.

  “Now, here’s the idea,” said Joe Willard. “The Philomathians might walk home with the Zetamathians, and on the way they could tell them the whole sad story of the Philippines. What do you say?”

  Betsy didn’t know what to say. She wished to Heaven that she had not thrown out that suggestion to Tony. Tony was wonderful, of course. And he had broken her heart. And she couldn’t hear the song, “Dreaming,” without wanting to cry. And it was all very romantic. But there was something about Joe Willard…any girl in high school would like to have him walk home with her.

  “It’s a grand plan,” said Betsy. “But…” She was groping for the casual significant words which would indicate that although she had an engagement tonight, she would not have one on another night. “I’m sorry…” she began, and faltered, for at just that moment Tony came swaggering through the stalls. He barely glanced at Joe Willard.

  “Ready?” he asked possessively.

  “Not quite,” Betsy said. “Won’t you wait for me outside? I’ll be with you in a minute.”

  “That’s a bum idea,” said Tony. “Where’s your coat?” He found it and held it up. “I’ll tell you all you want to know about the Philippines walking home,” he said.

  It was a most unfortunate remark. Betsy turned to Joe Willard but his blond head was bent over his book. His ears were red and when he said good night his manner was icy.

  Betsy was exasperated, all the more so when she reached the library steps. Tony wasn’t even alone; Herbert and Cab were waiting. This was no romantic saunter through the melting spring twilight, but just the usual impersonal bantering and pushing about.

  Joe Wi
llard didn’t ask Betsy again to let him walk home from the library with her. He didn’t pay any attention to her beyond civil hellos and good-bys. Once, most unethically, in an attempt to draw him into conversation again, she asked him where to find a certain piece of information. He told her, but bent over his books before she could manage more than “thank you.”

  And Betsy’s visits to the library were few and far apart. For April was bringing true spring. Buds were swelling, bold bright robins were back. The Crowd had no trouble beguiling Betsy out on expeditions behind Old Mag or Dandy. She went on picnics with Tacy, too, building fires, drinking smoky cocoa, searching in matted leaves for violets and Dutchmen’s breeches.

  In the ecstasy of the season she almost stopped suffering, she took no interest in school, and telling herself that May eleventh was a very long way off, she quite forgot about the Essay Contest.

  27

  The Essay Contest

  HER FATHER REMINDED HER of it on the morning after her birthday. She had become fifteen with all due ceremony of claps on the back, birthday cake and gifts, and at breakfast Mr. Ray remarked pointedly:

  “‘The Philippines: Their Present and Future Value’ is a mighty big subject. A mighty big subject.”

  “I know, Papa,” said Betsy penitently, and during the next few days she really did study for the Essay Contest. She went to the library and delved into the fat dull books. They depressed her by revealing the magnitude of her task.

  “Dear me!” she said to Tacy. “In May I must buckle right down.”

  But early in May a blow descended. The heavens, so to speak, fell.

  The trees along High Street wore pale green chiffon now. Plum trees were in heady bloom. Birds were flying about with bits of straw in their bills, or sitting on eggs, or at least singing madly. Human beings were almost as busy, uncovering flower beds and raking last autumn’s leaves.

  Carney passed Betsy a note. “Bonfire at our house tonight. Can you come? Herbert will call for you.”