The Bluebird and the Sparrow

by Janette Oke

  This is even worse than I had imagined, mourned Berta as the day wore on. Already her back complained, her head ached, and her clothes were filthy. She looked down at her blackened hands. She wondered if they would ever come clean again.

  Thomas stopped by on his way home from the university.

  “How is it going?” he asked her, his tone sympathetic.

  “It’s really quite horrible,” she answered with a grimace. “What isn’t burned is water damaged.”

  “That’s often the worst part of a fire,” he observed.

  “Well, I’ve just gotten started—but I sure haven’t found many that we can use,” said Berta. “It’s most discouraging.”

  “I think you’ve worked long enough for one day,” said Thomas. “Why don’t you get your coat.”

  Berta looked down at her soiled hands. “I hate to touch anything with—these,” she answered.

  “Where’s your coat? I’ll get it.”

  Berta nodded toward the closet and went to attempt washing the worst of the soot from her hands. It had worked itself all the way up her arms. She must have been brushing against the box flaps without noticing.

  “I must remember to stay away from those boxes,” she muttered as she scrubbed. “And tomorrow I will wear the oldest garment I have.”

  Thomas held her coat. “Would you like to stop by the hotel for supper?” he offered.

  “I won’t be fit to eat until I’ve bathed,” she said and shrugged into her coat. “I feel absolutely filthy.”

  She did take a bath as soon as she arrived home. By then she was unusually hungry.

  I should have thought ahead and had something at least partly prepared, she told herself. I might have known I would be exhausted when I got home.

  Since she didn’t feel up to getting a whole meal, she made herself a sandwich. As she ate it, she wished Thomas’s offer of supper was still available.

  I don’t know how Miss Phillips managed to live on snacks, she said to herself. I would tire of it very quickly.

  As she thought of Miss Phillips, she remembered her recent visit to see the elderly woman. She was still in the local hospital, but Parker had started proceedings to send her to a sanatorium. Berta had objected.

  “We can’t keep her here,” Parker had told her. “We just don’t have the facilities.”

  “Give her a bit more time,” Berta had argued. “She should be fine again in a few days.”

  But Parker had shaken his head. “I’m afraid she will never be fine again, Berta. She’s had a dreadful shock—and she wasn’t in good condition. She was already so drained of all reserve that she just couldn’t cope with it. What do you know about her? She looks like she hasn’t eaten properly for months.”

  Berta then reported to Parker the little that she knew about the older woman. She felt guilty. Surely she should have paid more attention to her. Someone should have intervened, and Berta seemed like the logical person. She had worked with the woman every day.

  As she took a sip of her hot tea, Berta wondered if the arrangements for the woman’s future had already been made. She didn’t even seem to know me, she continued her thinking. Well—at least she won’t need to sort through all those—pitiful books.

  Berta was sure that seeing her book-treasures in such an awful state would only have worsened Miss Phillips’ condition.

  A light rap sounded on her door, then it promptly opened and Glenna stuck her head in. “It’s just me,” she called.

  “Come in,” invited Berta, too tired even to get up from her chair.

  Glenna came in and deposited a carefully bundled package on the table. “I brought you some pound cake,” she said. “Thought you might not feel like baking for the next few days. Thomas said you started in on the library books today.”

  Berta nodded.

  “Was it awful?” asked Glenna.

  “Get yourself a cup of tea,” Berta invited, and as Glenna went to the cupboard for a cup, she continued. “Yes—it was awful.”

  “Can you save many?”

  “Not many,” answered Berta with a shake of her head.

  “That’s too bad.” Glenna poured herself a cup of the tea and took a chair at the table with Berta.

  “Is that all you’re eating for supper?”

  “I didn’t feel like cooking.”

  “Parker says that Miss Phillips must not have cooked for herself for—just ages. He said she was skin and bones.”

  Berta nodded. “Has Parker decided when—?”

  For some reason Berta could not finish the question, but Glenna knew exactly what she was asking.

  “She has already been sent,” she answered, then followed with, “The poor old soul. I feel so sorry that no one knew what—state she was in.”

  They sat in silence.

  “I knew—sort of,” Berta finally admitted. “Oh, I didn’t know for sure—I just suspected. But I should have done something about it.”

  “What could you have done?”

  “I don’t know. But there must have been something. What an awful way to live.”

  Glenna nodded. “You heard about it?”

  Berta looked up from her teacup.

  “Her place? You heard how she lived?” went on Glenna.

  “No,” said Berta.

  “Parker was over there. She had just one little room. Hardly any heat. No way to cook. She had a box that held a few dishes and her food supplies tucked under her bed—but it was almost empty. Her bed didn’t have but one thin blanket and a worn blue pillow and—”

  “Stop,” said Berta raising her hand. “Please—I don’t think I can stand any more.”

  Glenna took another sip of her tea. “Should I cut some of the pound cake?” she asked brightly. Berta knew it was her effort at diverting attention to something cheerier.

  “Please,” replied Berta. “I could use some pound cake about now.”

  Glenna crossed to the cupboard and got a knife from the drawer.

  “I was out to see Mama yesterday,” she said as she sliced off two thick pieces and placed them on a small plate.

  “How is she?”

  “About the same. But she keeps cheery enough. She is knitting mittens for the girls. Guess it helps the hours to pass by.”

  “I wish she’d move in with me,” murmured Berta.

  “I think she likes the farm,” said Glenna as she carried the cake to the table.

  “At least she feeds herself,” Berta said as she reached for a piece of the cake.

  They ate their cake in silence for a few minutes. Then Berta spoke, her thoughts unwillingly going back to Miss Phillips.

  “I still can’t understand it,” she said. “I mean, she got a salary every month. It should have paid for a decent room and purchased food. Why—”

  “She had it all stuffed in her mattress,” said Glenna. “They found several hundred dollars.”

  Berta’s mouth dropped open. She could only stare at her younger sister.

  ————

  Day after miserable day Berta sorted through the boxes of damaged books.

  I’m not sure if it’s worth the hours, she would tell herself. There is so little that is still usable. Still, she stayed at her sorting and filing. The winter weeks passed by one by one. She could hardly wait till it was finally over.

  The repair work on the building was in progress. Berta received a weekly report from the mayor. They hoped to have the building habitable by Easter.

  “Then we will move the books back in, and you’ll be able to get them back on the shelves,” he said with satisfaction.

  “I’m afraid that will not be a big job, sir,” Berta said with a sigh. “I am not finding many that are salvageable.”

  “I didn’t think the fire damage was that extensive,” the man said with a frown.

  “Not the fire damage, sir. The water damage. That’s our biggest problem.”

  The man looked very disappointed. He began to pace the room, his hands clasped behind
his back.

  At last he turned back to Berta.

  “Well,” he said. “We built up a library before—I guess we’ll just have to start over and build one again.”

  Berta nodded.

  “You can suit yourself as to how best to go about it,” the man continued.

  “Me?” asked Berta with surprise.

  “Fund-raisers. Campaigns. Bake sales. I don’t know how they do these things. I can’t remember what was done before. But you’ll figure it out.”

  “But, I—”

  “We will give you all the help we can from the town office,” the man went on, and he started up his pacing again.

  Berta nodded.

  “I’m sure the ladies’ groups in the city will give their full support. And the schools. The schools helped before.”

  Berta didn’t stir or comment.

  “Anyway,” the man said and turned to face her, “I’ll just leave it entirely up to you. You can go about it any way that you like.”

  Berta swallowed and nodded her head.

  “I’ll do what I can,” she promised and rose to go.

  The library building was ready by Easter. The few boxes of books that were still fit for the shelves were carried back into the building. She spent a few days getting them back in proper order on the new shelves and the file cards set up in the drawer on the check-out table.

  Then she straightened to her full height, lifted her chin, and said with determination, “Well, I guess there’s a job to do if we are to fill these shelves again.”

  She took a deep breath.

  “And I guess I’m the only one to do it.”

  ———

  The weeks that followed seemed to blur into each other. When spring came, Berta often longed to be out walking along the swollen waters of the little creek watching the new life return to its banks. But there wasn’t time for walking. There was scarcely time for sleeping. Day after day Berta continued her tireless crusade to fill the library shelves.

  She used every conceivable means to raise money. She called on every club and congregation in the little town to organize their resources and plan activities that might possibly generate income. Little by little, money came in. As soon as Berta was able to count out a small pile of bills, she sent out book orders. Slowly, ever so slowly, the library shelves were being filled up again with the brightly covered new books.

  Berta also accepted donations of secondhand books. As they were obtained, she sorted and cataloged them before placing them on the shelves.

  Summer was almost over before the library looked reasonably full once again. It had been a long, slow process involving more time and energy than Berta would have guessed she had.

  Though there were still some empty shelves, Berta spoke to Mayor Henderson, suggesting that the library could now be reopened for use.

  The man was ecstatic.

  “Wonderful,” he exclaimed, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. “We’ll have a Grand Opening.”

  He crossed to his desk and studied a sheet that Berta saw was some sort of calendar.

  “Let’s see—Friday the twenty-fourth looks clear. Yes—that would work just fine.”

  He looked up at Berta and beamed.

  “You go ahead and make whatever plans you think best,” he informed her. “Let’s make it a real event. Show the folks how much we appreciate our library. Their library. They’ve worked hard to rebuild. Now we want to show them we appreciate their hard work.”

  Berta swallowed. She was nearly done in from all the long weeks of hard work. And now this.

  Besides, she thought wearily as she rose from the chair and gathered her gloves, this is election year. A big celebration won’t hurt you much, either, will it, Mayor?

  So Berta planned and pushed and organized and labored, and the town library had a Grand Opening. Everyone called it a great success, and the town mayor was able to make a lengthy speech to the citizenry without calling it a re-election bid.

  Berta was near exhaustion.

  ———

  “I think I’d like some time off,” Berta said to Mayor Henderson just as the neighborhood reapers moved into the harvest fields.

  He nodded in agreement.

  “You’ve done a great job,” he complimented her. “Folks are saying the new library is even better than the old.”

  Berta nodded but felt like dropping with weariness.

  “Will Miss Saunders be able to look out for things while you’re gone?” asked Mayor Henderson.

  “I think so,” replied Berta, pleased with the young girl’s quickness in learning the library procedures.

  “Then you just go ahead and catch yourself a breath,” the mayor said jovially. “Take off the whole week if you’ve a mind to.”

  Berta looked at the man. A whole week. Did he think he was being generous? Berta was sure she could use a month to get herself rested. She nodded her head. “I think I’ll do that, sir,” she replied evenly. “The whole week.”

  Berta walked back to the library to make her plans with Miss Saunders. The girl seemed excited at the idea of being in charge.

  Just as Berta left the building she turned back and glanced over the entire room. It did look nice. Though she was nearly worn out, she had a real sense of accomplishment.

  She turned back to the young woman behind the desk. “Don’t forget to lock the door,” she heard herself saying.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Illness

  For the first two days of her well-earned vacation Berta did nothing but rest and take walks along the creek paths. On the third day she decided she felt rested enough to visit her mother. Thomas was not free to take her in his car, but Berta did not regret that. She decided to walk over to the livery and have the mare hitched up for the trip out of town. It had been some time since she had taken the mare and buggy out.

  She was looking forward to a drive in the quiet countryside. It would be as good as a nap in restoring her.

  “She needs a run,” commented the stable hand as he hitched the horse. “It’s been a long time. We do see she gets exercise in the pasture, but that’s not the same as going for a drive.”

  Berta nodded and picked up the reins. She clucked to the mare and they were off.

  Berta breathed deeply of the clear fall air and noticed each clump of fall flowers and each bird on the wing.

  Autumn, she said to herself. My favorite time of year.

  Her mind went back to the spontaneous picnic that she and Thomas had shared the year before. It had been pleasant. They’d had little time to enjoy each other’s company the past months while Berta had been so busy with the library.

  Well—maybe things will settle to a more normal pace now, she thought to herself and hastened the mare on down the road. She was looking forward to the day with her mother.

  When she greeted her mother, the woman looked about the same as when Berta had last seen her. She was still busy with knitting and crocheting. But little half-finished projects were scattered from chair to chair or table to table. Berta thought that it seemed a bit strange. Her mother had always been one to finish up one project before starting another.

  I guess it has something to do with age, mused Berta, moving a partly knitted sock onto a nearby table so she might sit in the chair.

  “How’ve you been, Mama?” she asked.

  “Fine. Just fine,” the woman replied.

  “I notice you have several things in the works,” continued Berta.

  Mrs. Berdette chuckled softly. “I guess I must get bored staying with one thing too long,” she said.

  Berta nodded. “So what are you making here?” she asked, lifting the handwork she had just moved.

  Mrs. Berdette frowned. “Let me see it,” she asked and accepted the piece of unfinished knitting.

  “I don’t know what this is,” she puzzled, then went on, “It’s not mine. It must belong to someone else.”

  “But you’re the only one here,” Berta re
minded her.

  The woman looked more puzzled. “That’s right,” she said at last. “I live alone now.”

  Berta was troubled by the conversation, but she did not press her mother further.

  “How’s your young man?” her mother asked.

  “Who?” asked Berta in surprise.

  “Your young man? What’s his name again? That fellow with the car?”

  “You mean Thomas?”

  “Thomas. That’s right. His name slipped my mind for a minute there.”

  “Mama—he is not my young man,” said Berta firmly.

  Her mother looked up quickly from the potholder she was working on.

  “He’s not? What happened?”

  “Nothing happened. He is—he has never been my young man. He is just a friend.”

  “That’s too bad,” said her mother shaking her head. “He seemed like such a fine young man.”

  “And he’s not young,” Berta added. “We’re both past thirty.”

  Mrs. Berdette looked surprised. “You? Thirty? My—where has the time gone?” She sighed deeply.

  “I know,” said Berta dryly, “it seems only yesterday.”

  “What seems like yesterday, dear?” asked Mrs. Berdette.

  “Nothing,” replied Berta. “I just thought you were going to give your little speech.”

  Mrs. Berdette smiled. “You and your older sister—”

  “I’m the older sister,” Berta corrected her. “Remember. I’m Berta. Three years older than Glenna. Remember?”

  Mrs. Berdette stopped her needles. She seemed to be puzzling over something. At last she spoke. “You’re the oldest. That’s right. You’re Berta. The younger one is Glenna. That’s right.”

  Berta made no further comment, but her mother’s strange words and actions troubled her. She would speak to Parker about it as soon as possible.

  ———

  “Have you been to see Mama lately?” Berta asked Glenna that evening.

  “Not since the weekend,” said Glenna.

  “How did she seem to you?”

  “About the same. Why?”

  “I was out there today,” Berta answered, “and she acted—really confused. Forgetful. I want to speak to Parker about it.”