The Marble Queen

by Stephanie J. Blake

  I decided to use my time wisely and pray about it. Isn’t church the best place to ask God for a favor? I bowed my head and closed my eyes. Please, God, I said in my head, let me enter the marble-shooting competition. Give Daddy the strength to ask Mama about it when we get home. And is it okay that I’ve made friends with Mrs. Zierk even though Mama doesn’t like her? Amen.

  Mama poked my arm. She must have thought I was sleeping.

  I leaned forward to peer down the row. Daddy was slumped in his seat. Mama was fanning herself and blinking like the sun was too bright. Higgie pressed up against my arm. He was playing with a penny. The seat was hard, and I couldn’t stop moving my legs around. One foot kept falling asleep, so I tapped the pew in front of me with my toe, just enough to keep my foot awake. Pretty soon Higgie was tapping his penny on the edge of the pew in time with my foot.

  I stifled a giggle.

  Thump! I got Mama’s thimble on the top of my head. I reached up to rub the spot, but Mama’s eyes got wide. I put my hand back down.

  Higgie kept poking me in the rib cage, so I finally reached over and pinched his leg. When he howled, everyone turned to stare at us. Pastor Davis didn’t miss a beat. Mama’s mouth was a thin red line. She reached around Higgie and yanked me closer to her. I was so close I could smell her cologne. I sneaked a look at Daddy, and he winked at me.

  All was quiet in our row. Pastor Davis seemed to be wrapping it up. Suddenly, my hymn book fell to the floor.

  I got the thimble again.

  I stared at the H on the Holy Bible in the rack in front of me. Hellfire came to mind. Along with Help. I sniffed a little.

  At last Pastor Davis was done talking.

  The ushers were in the aisles. Mama and Daddy took communion. After everybody had a corner of a cracker and a sip of grape juice, it was collection plate time. Usually Daddy gives me a nickel to put in the collection plate. I held out my hand, but Daddy coughed and wiped his mouth on his handkerchief. Mama shook her head.

  I got worried. The big silver plate was coming down our row, and I didn’t have my weekly contribution for the missionaries in Africa. I turned to Daddy.

  He whispered, “Not this week.” I understood. We didn’t have an extra nickel. I felt guilty about the ten-cent candy necklace in my purse.

  The collection plate was passing Daddy’s lap. I had to put something in it before it was too late.

  Higgie had that blasted penny, and I wanted it. Not for myself, oh no—I needed that penny for Jesus. I intended to pry it from Higgie’s hand. We struggled. Mama pasted a smile on her face and tried to pass the plate over my head to the lady next to us. I was holding Higgie’s hand and tugging on his fingers. He wouldn’t let go.

  What happened next I don’t rightly know. I had the penny in my hand. Then—with a crash and a cry—all of the quarters and pennies and dollar bills were on the floor at our feet. And the big silver plate was rolling down the aisle! Everyone was shaking their heads, looking at us.

  I threw the penny on the floor right before Mama dragged me outside. As the doors to the sanctuary slammed shut, I smiled in spite of my troubles.

  I was four cents short, but surely the Lord would understand.

  Chapter Ten

  School Daze

  SEPTEMBER 8, 1959

  On the first day of school, I wore a yellow-and-white gingham dress and white socks that were trimmed with a ruffle around each ankle. I had on my penny loafers. A shiny penny poked halfway out of each pocket. (Uncle Mort gave them to me for luck.) Mama had done up my long hair in a single ponytail with a white ribbon. I was feeling pretty grown up and ready for fifth grade. While walking to school, I had made myself a promise: I wouldn’t be caught running wild on the playground. I would play quiet games with the girls in my class.

  And I would ignore Daniel Coyle with all my heart.

  Truth is, I was nervous, and I probably wasn’t the only one. Seems we were all early, milling around, talking about our summer vacations. I didn’t see Nancy anywhere. Little by little, the girls huddled up like sheep. I was out of place and glad to have my marble pouch with me.

  The boys were setting up a game of Ringer in the corner of the school yard. There was a full fifteen minutes before the first bell, so I strolled over as if I didn’t have a care in the world.

  Esau Mooney smiled when he saw me. Daniel was there, too. His hair was longer than long. He had it slicked back with pomade, but it still hung in his eyes as he bent over the ring. He didn’t have on a new outfit like the others.

  I asked if I could get in the game. As always, there was a big argument about letting me throw lag. Daniel was pretending to count his marbles. He spit in the dirt at my feet, barely missing my shiny shoes. He didn’t say a word.

  Anthony said, “Oh, let her play, for Pete’s sake.”

  Jacob swaggered around. His jeans were rolled up at the ankles, like James Dean’s. “Listen up, men. Let’s play Bombsies today.”

  “Bombsies?” I asked. “What’s Bombsies?” My breath caught a bit. Had they learned a new marble game without me?

  Anthony explained, “You don’t need a cross. And you don’t have to knuckle down to shoot. All you need is a pile of marbles. You hold your arm over the ring and let your taw fall on the pile. Whichever marbles you smash, you get to keep.”

  Jacob laughed. “Don’t forget to yell ‘Bombs away!’”

  “Well, I’m in,” I said. It sounded too easy. Suddenly, I was coveting marbles left and right.

  “Fine,” said Jacob.

  I won lag and found out I would be playing against Jacob. He had two pouches of marbles with him. I found out later he’d collected more marbles than God all because of Bombsies. It didn’t occur to me to call friendlies and test this new game. How on earth did I even know I had the skills for it?

  I didn’t, and that was my first mistake. Jacob and Esau had taken a trip to Nebraska, and Jacob had won a steely off his cousin. That’s a steel ball bearing. I’d heard of them, but I’d never seen one up close.

  “Can I take a look at your new taw?” I asked.

  “Sure.” Jacob dropped it in my hand. It was heavy in my palm. I examined the steely. I could see my reflection on the surface. I wanted it.

  “Give it back,” Jacob said, holding out a grimy hand. I handed it over.

  Then we voted on whether he’d get to use it or not.

  Jacob told me, “A girl’s vote doesn’t count.”

  I snuck a glance at the double doors. We didn’t want the playground monitor to catch us playing marbles on school grounds.

  All of the boys voted yes: Jacob could use the steely. They were really hoping that one of them would win it.

  Fat chance. I was going to have it for myself.

  Agreeing to play Jacob while he used his steely—that was my second mistake. That blasted steely broke two of my creamies and three of my commies, plus Jacob got my prized blue taw.

  I saw it spin the wrong way, and when it bounced out, I yelled, “Quitsies!” But Jacob said I was too late. He scooped it up. As he cradled my beautiful taw in his hand, I gritted my teeth so I wouldn’t cry. Things got sort of fuzzy around the edges for me after that. Anger started at my feet and worked its way up my body until I was shaking.

  I love that marble. Sometimes I lie back on the grass and put it up to my eye. If I squint and peer through it, I can see all the way to the sun.

  Jacob shined it up on his pants as if it had belonged to him all along. When he peered through the taw just like I do, I felt as if my head, or maybe my chest, were going to explode. I reached for the blue taw, but Jacob snatched it away.

  I lunged for it. “Give me that back, you cheat!”

  Jacob held me at arm’s length. “Freedom, I’m not gonna fight you. I won that taw fair and square. Get ahold of yourself.”

  Daniel said, “This is why you can’t play marbles with us anymore. Crybaby.”

  “Crybaby,” Wally Biscotti echoed.

  I attacked, pu
mmeling Jacob’s stomach with my fists. He blocked me with his arms and laughed. He held my taw above my head, taunting me, so I stomped on his foot. That got him good.

  “Darn it, Freedom!” he shouted. “Stop it!”

  Wally Biscotti screamed, “Fight, fight, fight!” and the boys surrounded us. A bunch of other kids came over and joined the circle. Templeview Elementary kids always love a good rumble. We were causing an awful scene, but I couldn’t help it.

  Someone pulled me back. It was Esau. “That’s enough. Leave her alone.”

  He was holding me gently, but I struggled until I was sweaty. “Can’t you get my taw back from your brother?”

  Esau shook his head. “It won’t work.”

  “Please?”

  Jacob put my taw in his pocket and said, “Nope.”

  “Give it back!” I shouted.

  Anthony ran toward the school.

  I got loose and ran straight into Daniel. I begged, “Get it back for me, please?”

  “I can’t. Now stop throwing such a fit.” He tried to drag me away, but I kicked at his shin until he let go. “You’re nuts,” he said.

  Miss Spotswood came hurrying over. The boys started shuffling their feet, trying to cover up the ring and the leftover marbles. I’d been beat. “Miss McKenzie, what are you doing?” she demanded.

  Wasn’t it obvious? I realized I was crying and wiped the snot from my face with my arm. My dress was dirty down the front, one knee was bloody, and I’d lost a shoe in the scuffle.

  Esau tried to hand me my shoe, but I ignored him and pointed at Jacob. “Gimme my blue taw!”

  Jacob stared up at the gathering clouds. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His hands were behind his back, probably with his fingers crossed.

  The first bell rang. Esau gave my shoe to Miss Spotswood. Everyone was lining up. Daniel, Wally, and Esau abandoned us.

  Miss Spotswood looked at the school. She checked her watch. “We’d better settle this inside. Freedom, put on your shoe. And Jacob, please pick up those marbles.”

  Jacob picked up the rest of the marbles and didn’t give a single one back to me. As we walked toward the double doors, I thought about how I was going to explain to Mama that I’d had to clean desks after school. Or worse. I hoped I wouldn’t be taking a note home.

  “My first graders are waiting for me,” Miss Spotswood said. She told Jacob to hurry to his classroom and that she’d deal with him later.

  I clenched my fists as he smirked at me and joined a line of sixth graders. I just knew he’d be getting off scot-free. Miss Spotswood led me down the long hall to my new classroom. Nancy’s eyes got wide when she saw me. I must have been a sight. I waited while Miss Spotswood whispered to my new teacher, Mrs. Thompson, who was herding my classmates through the door. As they passed, everyone stared at me and my rumpled dress and snotty face.

  “Try to have a better day, Freedom,” Miss Spotswood said as she walked away.

  My pretty new teacher looked at me. She had soft brown eyes and smelled like peppermint. “Freedom, I’m sorry we have to meet under these circumstances. I assume you know that boys and girls should not be roughhousing. Fighting is against school rules.”

  “We weren’t roughhousing. He stole something from me.” My nose was still dripping, but I didn’t have a handkerchief.

  “It doesn’t matter. You should find a teacher if you have trouble in the school yard.”

  How could a teacher get my taw back when I wasn’t supposed to be playing marbles in the first place?

  My face grew hotter as I stood in front of her desk with my back to my new class. Mrs. Thompson wrote out a letter on crisp white paper. She even had pretty penmanship, but I couldn’t make out the swirly words.

  “I hope we aren’t starting off on the wrong foot, Freedom.” She folded the note up twice and took a long hatpin from her drawer and used it to pin the note to my dress. “Furthermore—and I’m sure you already know this—marbles are a boys’ game.”

  I sighed.

  “You may excuse yourself to use the girls’ room. Please wash your face. And find a handkerchief. It’s time to start our day.” I hung my head while twenty-six pairs of eyes followed me out of the room.

  I washed my tear-stained face and cleaned up my bloody knee in the bathroom, and I thought about all the ways I could get rid of the note before I got home. But I knew I’d chicken out. Last year, after I cut off the end of one of Judy Bernard’s pigtails, I’d buried a note in the kitchen trash. Mama found it, and that got me in more trouble than ever.

  I spent the entire first day of fifth grade with a blasted note pinned to my dress.

  When I got home, I hid it in my pocket. I waited until after supper to give the note to Mama. Higgie was already in bed, and Daddy was listening to the radio out on the back porch. She was sitting at the kitchen table reading The Common Sense Book of Baby and Child Care.

  As I held out the note, dread filled my very soul. “Mama, my new teacher sent this home with me today.”

  I paced around while she read the note and then tucked it in her bra. “Freedom Jane,” she said, “you are trying to fit in where you don’t belong. Girls your age do not play games with boys.”

  “But, Mama—” I stopped. There was no use explaining.

  “No buts. You are finished with marbles. Go and get them, please.”

  I went into my room and lingered there. When I came back to the kitchen, I was clutching the pouch for dear life. I had to think of something. After the church fiasco, Daddy hadn’t found the chance to ask Mama about the competition.

  “Mama, I won’t bring them to school ever again. I promise.”

  She said, “When I was your age, I knew when to give up. You haven’t learned yet.”

  I should’ve hidden my marbles when I got home from school. I should’ve torn up the note for sure. Mostly, I wished I could’ve punched Jacob Mooney in the eye when I had the chance.

  Mama held out her hand. “Freedom, give the bag of marbles to me.”

  I stared my mother square in the eyes. She meant business. Of course, she always means business. I laid my pouch on the kitchen table and ran from the room.

  Mama called after me, “You’ll see. I’m doing this for your own good.”

  I cried and cried that night, but I knew Mama wouldn’t budge. Even Daddy couldn’t get her to change her mind. And my beautiful blue taw was gone forever.

  I wasn’t sure who I was madder at: my mama, Jacob Mooney, or myself.

  Chapter Eleven

  Breaking Pearls

  SEPTEMBER 16, 1959

  Today, after school, I trudged home with my books and my lunch pail. I had a headache behind my eyes. When I came through the back door, Mama said, “Why the long face?”

  She had the ironing board set up in the kitchen. A straw basket full of clothes sat on the floor by her feet. The dark curls on her neck were wet with perspiration.

  “Nothing,” I told her. I set my things on the counter and rummaged around in the Frigidaire for a snack.

  The steamy smell of starch and Borax hung in the air. As Mama spit on the hot iron, it hissed. She shook a shirt from the basket and laid it out on top of the ironing board. Higgie was at the table, pressing his Silly Putty onto the funny pages of the newspaper.

  “Look, Freedom, it’s Snoopy.” He showed me the Silly Putty. I ignored him.

  Did I dare tell Mama that fifth grade is hard, especially when your only friend sits all the way across the room? I poured a tall glass of milk and sat at the table.

  Mama said, “Out with it.”

  Once I started talking, it came out in a rush. “Nancy and I were whispering while Mrs. Thompson was writing on the board, so I got moved to the back-row corner, and Nancy got moved to the front-row corner. Now I’ll barely even see her all day. We don’t get to talk until recess, and recess is boring.”

  “You shouldn’t be talking while the teacher is teaching,” Mama scolded. “Are you doing well
in arithmetic?”

  I told Mama that arithmetic is my favorite subject. And it is. It’s the most fun when Mrs. Thompson writes a complicated division problem on the board. She’ll call out five names. We’ll all stand up. When she says “Go,” we race to the board and use long sticks of chalk to work out the problems. And whoever solves the problem first gets a lemon drop from the jar on her desk. I win every time.

  We used to play jacks or hopscotch at recess. Now all of the girls stand together by the double doors, flipping their hair, trying to get the attention of the older boys. Some of the girls wear lipstick. Nancy says it doesn’t matter. Come spring, the two of us are going to skate around the neighborhood in our new roller skates. We’ll put pink pompoms on the laces and pretend we’re Roller Derby girls.

  Daniel and the boys have started playing football at recess. No one ever has any marbles with them anymore. I don’t know if they still play Ringer at the park. It makes me wonder who I’d be playing against when the marble competition finally rolls around. Daniel acts as if he doesn’t walk two feet behind me all the way to school and back every single day.

  I told Mama, “I swear, Mrs. Thompson hasn’t quite forgiven me for fighting with Jacob over my taw on the first day of school.”

  She took another shirt from the basket. “Well, that’s your own fault.”

  I opened my mouth to argue. But instead I said, “Sally Jensen wore pants to school on the second day, and now the other girls sometimes wear pants, too. Nancy says it’s because Sally is the most popular girl in school.”

  Mama said, “Young ladies should wear dresses to school.”

  “I know, Mama. I’m not saying I want to wear pants or anything. I’m saying—”

  The washing machine began making a terrible racket on the spin cycle. That means Mama was washing rugs again.

  “It’s just...things are so different. I miss Daniel.”

  “I’m sure you do, dear. Can’t you and Nancy make other friends?”

  I looked at Mama and said, “I really miss shooting marbles.”

  She turned over the shirt to press the collar and moved the iron back and forth. “It’s only been a week. There’s more to life than marbles, Freedom.”