by Janette Oke
“Berta,” her mother surprised her by calling. “Aren’t you going to have tea with us?”
Berta shook her head. Her bobbed straight hair bounced around her face, slapping her gently on each cheek. She liked the feel of her hair. She shook her head more vigorously.
“We’re having your favorite cookies,” encouraged her mother.
Berta was torn. She loved the sugar cookies with the almond slices scattered over the tops.
“Molly has brought your glass of milk,” coaxed her mother.
Still Berta hesitated.
Mrs. Berdette turned to her guests. “Berta is my big helper,” she informed the ladies. “I don’t know how I’d manage without her. She runs little errands for me all day long. And baby Glenna just loves her big sister. She smiles more—”
Suddenly Berta’s mind was made up. She had been about to stay, but when the attention turned once again to the baby, she decided against it.
She dropped her head so that her hair fell forward, gently brushing at her cheeks.
“Come,” invited her mother, patting the footstool by her chair.
Berta shook her head. Something within her rebelled. Without being able to put it into words, she knew instinctively that her leaving would make her mother feel sad, and that gave her a strange bit of power. That something within made her want to use that power to hurt her mother just a little bit. Not a big hurt. Just enough to make her mother sorry that she had fussed over Glenna with the visiting ladies.
Berta’s chin came up defiantly, her dark eyes darkening even further with resolve. “I don’t want cookies,” she said firmly. “I want to go swing.”
Her mother did look sad. Berta felt a moment of pleasure. Then her mother’s face brightened and she smiled. “Very well,” she said gently. “You may go swing if you wish.”
A little of the victory was gone from the moment when her mother gave approval. And her mother was smiling again. Berta wasn’t sure if she had won or lost. She tossed her new book on the chair by the door and fled the room to the back veranda.
———
It was hard to dislike Glenna. From her very first awareness, she seemed to adore her big sister. Even Berta could sense it. From the moment the baby glimpsed her in the morning until the time she was tucked in at night, she favored Berta with her squeals and giggles and full attention.
At those rare times when the two little ones were left in a room on their own, Berta could not resist her baby sister. But she didn’t want her mother to notice.
Without knowing the word, Berta understood that they were in competition, her baby sister and her. Competition for her mother’s time and attention. Berta tried every trick she knew in order to defeat her little opponent—but all Glenna had to do was screw up her pretty little face and cry, and Mama dropped whatever they were doing together and went for the infant. Berta had even tried the crying trick herself—but found it didn’t work nearly as well for her. Mama had soothed, comforted—but from a distance. Her arms were already filled with baby Glenna.
“Just a minute,” her mama would say. “As soon as Glenna is finished nursing I’ll rock you and we’ll read a story.”
But Berta didn’t want to wait for Glenna. It meant that Glenna had won again. She decided then and there that she would not use the crying trick again. Glenna would always be the winner in that game.
So Berta subconsciously looked for new methods to contend with this tiny interloper. She wasn’t sure what they should be. But she wouldn’t borrow Glenna’s ways. That much she knew. Berta gradually came to the conclusion that whatever Glenna was, she would not be. Whatever Glenna did, she would not do. Whatever Glenna liked, she would not like. She would be the opposite of her baby sister. They would see, with time, which one would be the victor.
———
“How many more sleeps?” asked the small Glenna.
Mrs. Berdette brushed back the silky curls and smiled at her three-year-old daughter. “This is the last sleep,” she informed her.
“Chris’as is next?”
“Next,” agreed her mother.
Glenna scampered down from her mother’s knee and rushed over to Berta. “Berty,” she exclaimed, eyes shining with delight, “Chris’as is next.”
“Not ‘next,’ ” Berta said with six-year-old superiority. “In the morning, Glenna. Christmas—” she pronounced the word with emphasized correctness, “Christmas is in the morning.”
Glenna nodded, her curls bouncing with each nod. “Uh huh—next day mornin’,” she agreed.
Berta lifted her head and sighed and cast a glance of exasperation toward her father.
“She never gets it right,” said Berta.
Her father chuckled. “Well, if you want to be up bright and early to see what your stockings will hold—I think it’s time to tuck in,” he said and rose from his chair.
Berta cast a glimpse at the fireplace, where two small stockings hung on the mantel.
“But I—” she began.
Glenna was already heading for the door, her small bare feet pattering on the polished oak floor.
“Berty—come,” she called, turning and extending her hand toward her big sister. “Let’s sleep. Papa said.”
“You hush up, Glenna,” Berta retorted sharply. “I heard Papa.”
“Berta,” said her father sternly. “Is that any way to talk to your little sister?”
Berta studied his face to measure his mood. “She—she always thinks she’s my boss,” she defended herself.
“She was just inviting you to join her for bedtime,” put in her mother.
“I’m six,” she insisted, “an’ she’s only three. I know when to go to bed.”
“Then why aren’t you on your way?” asked her father.
He didn’t sound angry. Not yet. Berta wasn’t sure if she dared to press further.
She dared.
“I will as soon as I finish this puzzle,” she said, tipping her head to one side, defiance tilting her chin. She was reversing his decision.
“The puzzle will wait for morning,” her father said and stood to his feet. His voice sounded firm—and commanding.
“But I’m almost—” she began.
Glenna still stood at the door, concern showing on her tiny face because of the tension in the room. Papa had said one thing. Berta was defying his order. Everyone soon would be unhappy. Glenna did not like discord. Glenna loved to have people smiling—happy.
“Berty—come,” she said again.
It was more than Berta could bear. She turned from her puzzle, her hand sweeping it onto the floor with one quick movement. “You just hush, Glenna,” she said, her chin quivering, her eyes blinking back tears that she refused to let fall. “I’ll go when—”
She had been going to say “when I want to,” but her father’s voice cut the sentence short.
“Berta!” His voice was sharp.
She hated to lift her eyes. She did not wish to see the looks on the faces in the room. Her father would look so stern—so big. Her mother would look sad—maybe even be fighting tears. And Glenna—Glenna would be looking like a little frightened puppy. Berta had seen the look before. She didn’t like it—that look on Glenna’s face. That pleading, teary-eyed look that told Berta that the little girl both adored and wished to defend her. Berta did not want Glenna to be on her team. Nor going to her defense. Glenna—Glenna always, always pleaded for everyone. Berta did not want or need Glenna’s championing.
“Pick up the puzzle,” said her father.
Berta still did not look up.
There was a pattering of feet somewhere behind her. “I’ll help,” came a small voice.
“No, Glenna,” spoke her father. “Berta scattered the puzzle pieces—Berta will pick them up.”
Berta did not look up. She knew that she’d look into the eyes of a sympathetic Glenna. She did not wish to look at her. Nor did she wish to look into the commanding eyes of her father—or the teary eyes of her mother.<
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She bent her head forward before she knelt to the rug. Slowly—ever so slowly, she began to pick up the pieces of scattered puzzle. One by one she laid them in the box before her. At long last she reached for the final piece before her. The family members in the room had been holding their collective breath.
“You missed one,” said her father. “Behind you.”
Berta turned, retrieved the last piece, and slowly laid it in the box with the others.
“Now—it is bedtime,” said her father.
Berta did not argue. Without lifting her head she stood to her feet and turned to walk toward the door. Glenna pattered up beside her and reached to take her hand.
But Berta pulled her hand away. She did not want to be escorted to her room by the small Glenna.
“We’ll be in to hear your prayers,” called her mother after her.
Berta did not look forward to the prayer time. She wished she could fall asleep before they had time to come. Maybe if she pretended …
The two small girls were in the long hall. Glenna reached for her hand again.
Berta jerked her hand away. “Don’t, Glenna,” she said as angrily as her whispered words could be hissed. “You—you bother me.”
Glenna’s eyes filled with tears. “Don’t be sad, Berty,” she pleaded. “It’s Chris’as—next day mornin’.”
The words only served to remind Berta how it had all started. She cast an angry glance at her little sister and marched stiffly down the hall to their room.
———
When Berta opened her eyes, darkness still pressed against her window. She had completely forgotten the unpleasantness of the night before. But she had not forgotten that this was Christmas morning. For one moment she lay still and listened for sounds in the house. Was it time to be up? Had anyone else in the household stirred? Would she be sent back to bed if she crawled out and made her way toward the living room with its warm fire and the stockings over the mantel?
Very faintly she heard hushed voices. Then soft laughter. Her mother and father were already up.
Berta threw back the covers and slid to the floor. She didn’t pause to put on her slippers.
“Glenna. Glenna,” she called across the room. “It’s time. It’s Christmas.”
The tiny girl stirred.
“It’s Christmas,” Berta said again. She was beside Glenna’s bed now, one hand extended to touch her little sister’s arm.
With a smile Glenna wakened. “Chris’as?” she repeated. “Now?”
“Now,” answered Berta.
Together they ran down the hall and toward the light in the living room. Already Berta could feel the warmth of the fire that spilled out into the chilly hallway. Already she could smell the scent of hot, spiced apple cider, her parents’ favorite Christmas morning drink. It was Christmas. Her favorite time of the year. She outran Glenna.
“Merry Christmas,” called her mother as Berta burst into the room.
“Merry Christmas,” echoed her father, who was busy tossing another log onto the open fire.
“Oh-h,” squealed Glenna from somewhere behind her. “A dolly.”
Berta lifted her eyes. Yes. Dollies. Beautiful dollies gazed out at them from two full stockings. Berta’s breath caught in her throat. She slid to a stop and her hands clasped together in front of her. One doll was dressed in soft pink. The other in delicate blue. Each wore a bonnet with lacy frills and loops of ribbon. Berta still held her breath.
“Can you get, Papa?” pleaded Glenna, her arms extended toward the stocking above her reach.
With a satisfied smile her father lifted down the stocking and placed it in Glenna’s arms.
“Mine too. Mine too!” cried Berta.
The second stocking was lifted down. Berta squatted on the rug before the warm fire and lifted the doll tenderly from its place. She didn’t even think to explore what else the stocking held. She gazed at the pretty doll before her, fingering the soft curls, trailing her hand over the lacy frills of the blue gown. She was beautiful.
“Look,” squealed Glenna. “She has bloomers!”
Berta turned to look. Glenna had the doll tipped upside down, its multi-skirts hoisted in a crumpled state while she studied the pantaloons.
“Don’t, Glenna,” said Berta sharply. “You are messing her.”
Glenna quickly turned her doll right side up and smoothed down the skirts. “She has,” she insisted, nodding her head to emphasize her point. “She has bloomers.”
Berta gently smoothed her doll’s soft cape. “Mine’s got a prettier dress,” she murmured.
“An’ she has shoes,” went on Glenna without answering her sister’s comment.
Berta looked at the tiny feet. Yes, there were real leather slippers. Slippers that had buttons.
Berta looked at Glenna’s doll. Glenna was struggling with the buttons. Already one tiny shoe lay on the floor beside her.
“Don’t, Glenna,” scolded Berta. “You mustn’t undress her. You’ll ruin her—”
“Berta,” her mother spoke softly. “It’s Glenna’s dolly. Let her play with it as she wishes.”
“Why don’t you see what else is in your stocking,” prompted her father, “and then we’ll have breakfast.”
Both girls eagerly retrieved their stockings and began to pull out the rest of the contents. Glenna squealed over each item. Berta surveyed each new possession in silence. Though she was pleased with each gift, nothing—nothing—matched the beautiful doll. She carefully carried it to the breakfast table with her and reluctantly laid it aside as she ate her breakfast.
Chapter Three
A Family Outing
“We need to get you dressed so we can go to Grandmother’s house,” announced Mrs. Berdette as soon as the girls had finished their breakfast and gathered their dolls back into their arms.
“‘Ray,” cheered Glenna on behalf of both of them. They loved to go to their grandmother’s.
“Will Ada be there?” asked Berta. She enjoyed playing with a cousin her own age.
“Yes—Ada and William and little Dorcas.”
“And Unca Cee?” chimed in Glenna.
“Aunt Cee,” corrected Berta. “It’s Aunt Cee.”
“Aunt Cee,” repeated Glenna.
“One of these days you’re going to have to learn how to say Cecily,” laughed their father.
“An’ Unca John?” asked Glenna, casting a glance at Berta to see if she would be corrected again.
“Uncle John,” agreed her mother.
“‘Ray,” cheered Glenna again.
“You may wear your new dresses,” her mother went on. This brought another cheer.
“An’ a big ribbon in my hair?” asked Glenna.
Her mother smiled. “A great big ribbon in your hair,” she answered the girl.
“I don’t want a ribbon in my hair,” said Berta firmly.
Glenna looked disappointed. “Ribbons look pretty,” she told her older sister.
“I don’t want to look pretty,” maintained Berta.
“Why?” asked Glenna innocently.
“Just ‘cause I don’t. That’s all.”
Glenna looked sad. “Granna likes us lookin’ pretty,” she dared to say.
“Berta doesn’t need to wear a ribbon if she doesn’t wish to,” Mrs. Berdette gently pointed out to stop the discussion.
Glenna still looked unhappy. “Granna—”
“I don’t need to wear a ribbon if I don’t want to, Glenna. Mama said so,” said Berta, her chin lifting.
Glenna looked about to cry. Then her face brightened, and she reached out and patted her big sister’s arm. “That’s all right, Berta,” she soothed with little-girl tenderness. “Granna will unnerstand.”
Berta pulled away. She didn’t need her little sister taking her side.
They dressed in the new dresses that Mama had sewed for them. It had taken her many hours at the new Singer Papa had bought for her birthday. The dresses were full and frilly and g
enerously bedecked with ribbons. Glenna twirled so that the skirt would bounce, making herself dizzy in the process. Berta wished to twirl too, but she refused to allow herself the pleasure. Still she could not deny a stolen glance into the mirror on the wall of Mama’s room. It nearly took her breath away. She looked—she looked like the princess in her new Christmas book. For one brief moment she was tempted to relent and have her mother place the loops of matching ribbon in her hair.
“Look at me,” chirped Glenna. “I look like a ferny.”
“Ferny? You mean fairy, Glenna. Fairy,” corrected Berta.
“Fairy,” repeated Glenna, spinning again. Then she stopped and turned to her mother. “Put in my bow, Mama. Put in my ribbons so I’ll look just like a fairy.”
Berta turned and walked away. She would not have a bow in her hair.
“I need my baby,” Glenna said from behind her.
“It’s not a baby, Glenna. It’s a dolly,” informed Berta, whirling around to look at her sister.
Glenna did not argue. “I need her,” she said again.
Berta had already put her new doll up on her cupboard shelf beside her stuffed bear and dog.
“We’re gonna go,” Berta told her sister. “Papa’s already getting the team.”
“I wanna take her,” said Glenna. “I wanna take her to Granna’s.”
“You can’t take her. She’ll get all mussed up,” said Berta with grown-up firmness.
“I wanna,” said Glenna and her eyes began to tear. “I wanna play with her.”
“You can take her if you wish,” Mrs. Berdette told her. “That’s what she’s for. To play with.”
She left the room, calling back over her shoulder, “Papa will soon be here with the team. I need to get the food together.”
Berta listened to her mother’s footsteps retreat down the hallway. She turned to Glenna.
“If you play with her she’ll get all mussed,” she argued.
Glenna picked up her doll and hugged her close.
“You’re already mussing her,” continued Berta.
Glenna looked alarmed. She thrust her doll back and studied her carefully. “She isn’t mussed, Berty,” she said finally. But she laid the doll back down and smoothed at her skirts.
