As we folded the quilt and packed up the frame, Sierra looked at me and said, “Thanks for talking to me and not making fun of my s-s-stutter.”
I gave her a big smile. “No, thanks for letting me sit by you. I’m glad I got to know you better—and good luck with that essay you were telling me about.”
She smiled back, and it was the first smile I’d ever seen on her face. The glow seemed to melt the unhappy, pinched look she usually wore, and I knew then that she definitely was a pretty girl just waiting to blossom.
Sister Allen caught my eye and winked appreciatively. I smiled back, but felt that the wink wasn’t necessary, because I’d enjoyed talking to Sierra. Admittedly, I’d initially sat by her out of pity, but just like with Keira, now that I’d gotten to know her, I really did want to become friends. It was amazing the things you learned about people when you just took the time to talk to them.
• • •
I lay in bed that night, staring at my new dress hanging on the closet door. It was dazzling, and Mom and I had found the perfect pair of black velvet heels to go with it. I daydreamed about twirling on the dance floor, my arms around the neck of my handsome date who was wearing a tuxedo. I imagined him holding me tight and sweeping me off to the garden to confess his love for me! I replayed the scene over and over again, but the problem was, every time I tried to imagine Jason, he somehow morphed into someone else—someone with dark hair and smoldering eyes. I couldn’t stand it anymore and forced myself out of my dreams and back to reality.
Sighing, I flipped open my cell phone, but there was still no message from Jill. I set the phone to silent mode and placed it in my nightstand alongside the precious seashell. Despite my fight with Jill, it had been a satisfying day overall. I felt like I’d learned a lot about individual worth, and I was excited to tell Grandma all about it.
Knowledge
“For the Lord is a God of knowledge, and by him actions are weighed.”
—1 Samuel 2:3
Chapter Thirteen
I felt like I was finally growing accustomed to Grandma’s sporadic mode of travel. We stood in the hallway of a dank and dingy building. I immediately recognized that this was the most modern time period of all the places we’d visited so far, but judging by the furnishings and décor, I knew that it wasn’t present day.
There were several rooms lining the hallway with various noises emitting from them, mostly of children—and unhappy children from the sounds of it. I could hear a great deal of coughing and crying. The overall atmosphere was extremely depressing.
“As you have probably already deduced, Eliza, tonight we will be focusing on the value of knowledge. This is the almshouse of Tewksbury, Massachusetts. The year is 1877, and we are here to observe the remarkable life of Anne Sullivan. Does that name mean anything to you?”
I looked at Grandma in surprise. “I don’t believe it! You actually revealed to me all the facts about when, where, and why we’re here. What happened to all of the guessing games?”
Grandma sniffed. “I gathered from our last experience that you weren’t enjoying my little games, so I decided to spare you this time. But I could always start them up again on our next outing if you’d like.” She looked at me with hopeful eyes, and I was tempted to relent, but then I realized that two could play at this game.
“Well, we’ll see. To answer your last question, no, I don’t know who Anne Sullivan was. And what’s an ‘almshouse’?”
“Another word for it would be a poorhouse, where the homeless or needy were cared for. Anne’s childhood was an extremely sad one. Her parents were poor Irish immigrants. Her father was an alcoholic, and shortly after her mother died from tuberculosis, he abandoned his children. Anne was only nine years old at the time. Anne’s sister Mary was sent to live with her aunt, and Anne never saw her again. Anne and her brother Jimmie were sent to this almshouse, but due to complications from a tubercular hip, Jimmie died shortly after their arrival.” I made a small, shocked sound, and Grandma nodded sadly. “And as if the weight of grief and loneliness was not enough, Anne was nearly blind due to an untreated bacterial eye infection.”
As if on cue, a little girl emerged from the room near where we stood. Her ragged dress was hardly sufficient for the cold temperature of the building. She held a cane in one hand, and with the other, she touched the wall as she guided herself down the vacant hallway. The scene was so pitiful that tears instantly welled in my eyes.
“Oh, Grandma, this is awful. I never realized there could be such suffering in the world—and for a little child! How could she live under these conditions? Please tell me the rest of her story is happier!” I pleaded.
Grandma nodded. “Twice Anne underwent eye operations while staying at the almshouse, both of which were unsuccessful—leaving her already wounded soul even more broken and depressed.” I groaned and covered my face with my hands, so she hurried on. “Then something happened that changed her life. After making a direct appeal to a state official who came to inspect the almshouse, Anne was given permission to attend the Perkins School for the Blind in Boston.”
The scene before us changed, and we were in a clean, brightly lit classroom. I recognized Anne, now a young woman, sitting in the front desk of the class. I smiled as I saw how content she looked sitting there, completely engrossed in her studies.
“While at Perkins, Anne learned to read and write. She also learned sign language. Little did she know how vital that skill was going to be in her life . . . but we’ll get to that later.” Grandma winked conspiratorially. “Happily, also during her time at Perkins, Anne underwent a series of operations that almost completely restored her sight. She graduated valedictorian of her class in 1886, and the knowledge she had obtained opened the door for a better life than she’d ever dreamed possible.”
I sighed in relief. “This is much better, thank you. What an incredible story! Imagine doing so well in school with hardly being able to see anything. It makes me realize how much I take for granted. I should be getting straight A’s!”
Grandma laughed. “I’m glad you’re learning from this so quickly, but there’s more to the story.”
Once again, the scene before us changed. We were standing in the garden near two people who were sitting on wrought iron lawn chairs. I immediately recognized Anne; she was wearing a lovely white dress, and her hair was pinned up in a flattering fashion. Beside her sat a young girl who was holding Anne’s hand, and Anne was speaking to her while tracing on her palm.
“Does the name Helen Keller ring a bell?” Grandma asked. The look on her face told me she’d be extremely disappointed if I didn’t know the answer, so I was grateful that I’d paid attention in history class.
“Yes, it does,” I replied confidently. “She was the woman who was deaf and blind, but she still accomplished a lot in her life. I think she even graduated from college, didn’t she?” I paused as I began to put everything together. “Wait, this all makes sense now!”
Grandma seemed pleased. “You’re absolutely right! Shortly after Anne graduated from Perkins, she received an offer to work for the Keller family as tutor for one of their daughters, Helen.
“As I said before, Anne’s previous training in sign language was an extremely useful tool in teaching Helen to communicate. The two women became lifelong friends and companions. Anne even accompanied Helen to Radcliffe College and attended every class with her, spelling into her hand each lecture and assignment. When Helen graduated with a Bachelor of Arts degree, it was a huge accomplishment for both women. Although Anne didn’t receive a degree, she had still received a college education, and much later in her life, both she and Helen were awarded honorary degrees from the Temple University of Philadelphia.”
Grandma smiled. “So you see, knowledge was the key that unlocked a lifetime of wonderful achievements for Anne. She could easily have chosen to give in to her difficult circumstances as a young girl—I daresay many people would have in her situation. She could have lived a life i
n the slums as her parents had before her—but she never gave up! Although she had no one but herself to turn to for encouragement, she took hold of every opportunity she had to learn. And then she used that knowledge to help herself and others.”
Anne’s story gave me the chills. The woman who sat before me had lived an incredible life and had overcome unbelievable trials! I’d always known that a good education was important, but until now, I’d never fully appreciated just how much it could impact a person’s life.
“I’m so glad her story had a happy ending. I can’t believe I’d never heard of her before! I mean, I’m sure her name was mentioned when we learned about Helen Keller, but I guess I wasn’t paying very close attention.” I blushed. “But I promise, Grandma, I’m going to take my education more seriously from now on! I get decent grades, but I know I could spend more time studying than I do. I want to go to college.”
Grandma beamed. “That’s wonderful, Eliza! In my opinion, one can never have enough education. Obtaining knowledge is a gift, and it’s a lifelong process. However, it’s not just secular knowledge I wanted to talk about tonight. I have a surprise for you.”
She winked mischievously, and before I knew it, the garden disappeared and we were standing in a church. The wooden pews were closer together than they were in our chapel back home. It seemed that every possible square inch of space was filled—and all with women in bonnets.
“All right,” Grandma continued casually, as if we hadn’t just time-morphed. “Please humor me and tell me if you can guess why we’re here. I’ll give you a few hints. We’re in Utah, and these are all Latter-day Saint women.” She pointed to the front of the room. “The woman standing at the podium is the reason we’re here. And I’m her namesake.”
I looked around the stuffy, crowded chapel at the women gathered. They were dressed in what I would describe as pioneer clothes: long-sleeved dresses and bonnets. Many were using fans to combat the oppressive heat in the room, but all were paying close attention to the woman who was speaking at the front.
As with the other dreams I’d had with Grandma, I couldn’t hear what the woman was saying, so I studied her appearance. She was small and somewhat frail-looking, but I could see she took great care of her appearance. Her hair was arranged tidily under a crisp cap of white lace. From what I could see of her dress, it was nicely designed, and she wore a pretty gold chain around her neck. Her face was fairly stern-looking as she spoke, but I could see that she carried herself with a grace and dignity that the other women admired and respected.
“Well, you didn’t give me a whole lot to go on,” I said, looking at Grandma pointedly, “but I’m going to guess that this is a Relief Society meeting.” I waited for confirmation from Grandma, and after she nodded, I continued. “And since you’re her namesake . . . I’m going to guess that she is Eliza R. Snow.”
“Oh, I think I made it too easy for you!” Grandma said with a smile. “You are exactly right, my dear. Serving under Brigham Young, Eliza R. Snow was called to be the second Relief Society president of the Church, and believe you me, this was no easy task!
“Eliza had been the secretary in the first Relief Society presidency, but the Society dispersed after Joseph Smith’s martyrdom. Then, several years after the Saints gathered in Utah, the Relief Society was reorganized. It was Eliza’s responsibility to reignite the flame of sisterhood in the hearts of the women, and she took that duty seriously. She visited many wards, testifying of the Prophet Joseph and of the importance of the Relief Society program.
“Eliza possessed an incredible intellect concerning things both secular and spiritual. Without a strong foundation of gospel knowledge, she couldn’t have done what she did—but Eliza was prepared. She had an understanding of the scriptures and a love of the words of the prophets, so she was ready for this monumental calling when it came.
“Though she’d seen her fair share of trials, Eliza remained steadfast and continually applied her knowledge in the service of others. She had a gift for writing, and she made many great contributions to the Church, including writing the lyrics of some of our most cherished hymns. Something else you might be interested to know is that Eliza’s younger brother, Lorenzo Snow, was eventually called as the fifth president of the Church.”
This was all new information to me, and I must have looked sufficiently impressed, because Grandma smiled as she continued.
“I’ve always been proud to have been named after such an elect lady. I hope that after learning more about her, you will feel the same way too.”
I looked up at Sister Snow with renewed respect and did feel a sense of pride in sharing the same name. “That’s really cool, Grandma. I never knew you were named after Eliza Snow. And I am grateful I was named after both of you.”
Grandma and I smiled at each other, and then she held out her hand to me. In her palm was a key. It looked both fancy and ancient—the kind of key designed to open a box of treasure. Its surface was a tarnished green color, and I held my breath as Grandma placed it in my hand.
“Remember that knowledge, of things both secular and spiritual, is the key that will open powerful doors in your life. It is a gift, and something you must always treasure.”
I wanted to know where the key had come from and, more important, where it could be found.
“Grandma, this is awesome, and it would sure help me out if you’d tell me where to find it after I wake up. I’ve almost been late for school every morning looking for these objects—and being late will definitely affect my ability to obtain the amount of knowledge that I need.” I smiled coyly, feeling proud of myself for coming up with such a convincing argument.
With an impish expression, Grandma returned my smile. “Oh, Eliza, if I just gave you the information you needed, where would be the fun in that? Besides, while searching for these tokens, you’re learning another valuable lesson—that good things are worth working for.”
Her eyes twinkled as my face quickly dipped into a pout. “But, but that’s not—” I was about to say “fair,” but everything around me was fading, and I knew that the dream was ending.
Chapter Fourteen
I awoke with a frown on my face. Would it have been so hard for her to have given me a little clue—one tiny tidbit to point me in the right direction? I sighed in frustration as I rolled over to look at my alarm clock. To my surprise, I still had twenty minutes until my alarm went off. Normally I would have smiled at my good fortune and rolled over to catch some precious extra sleep, but with a painful twinge, I realized that I’d probably awoken early for a reason. “Getting up earlier was not what I had in mind when I asked for help, Grandma,” I grumbled.
Resentfully, I slid out of my warm bed and tiptoed down the hall toward the attic. Where was I going to find the key? I’d searched through all of Grandma’s stuff several times already looking for the other tokens, and I’d never seen any keys.
I turned on the light and systematically began searching through the dresser drawers again. I took out all of the clothes and the music box and set them on the floor. No key. I went through some bags of old souvenirs Mom told me had belonged to Grandma, but with no luck. I stared at Grandma’s photograph hopelessly, wishing a small key would suddenly appear on the faded print.
“You and your silly games!” I scowled at her. My shoulders drooped as I realized I would have to risk Mom’s suspicion and ask if she knew anything about the key.
I began piling the clothes back into the drawers, but when I reached down to replace the music box, I noticed something—the music box had a keyhole! I’d been so preoccupied with what was in the box that I’d never taken much time to notice the outside. The lid wasn’t locked, but if there was a keyhole, then it was reasonable to believe that there was also a key!
I dropped to my knees and lifted the music box onto my lap so I could take a closer look. Something on the bottom of the box brushed against my index finger—something that felt like metal! I lifted the box above my head, and my e
yes widened. There it was, taped to the bottom of the box! The tarnished green key looked exactly as it had in my dream. I removed it and jumped up excitedly, waving the key in front of Grandma’s picture.
“Yes! Who’s the smart one now? Uh-huh, that’s right—it’s me!” I did a little victory dance, and then all at once I remembered something and stopped cold in my tracks. In thinking about the key and knowledge it suddenly hit me—my math test!
• • •
The pencil was slippery in my profusely sweating palm. The overwhelming sense of being in over my head weighed me down like an anvil. I couldn’t believe I’d forgotten about my math test! I’d been so completely unprepared for it that I must have blocked it from my mind as a mode of self-defense.
All around me people were frantically scribbling down answers. I envied them. At least they had some sense of direction for how to work out these impossible problems! The test consisted of eight equations, and the blank piece of paper in front of me combined with the ever-ticking clock on the wall were constant reminders of how desperately I needed help.
But how? The figures on the test page looked like meaningless, archaic symbols. My mind felt numb, and with a sad sort of irony, I felt the tiny metal key in my pocket.
So much for my goal to excel in knowledge, I thought bitterly. I was going to fail this test, and consequently, this class. It would be a horrible blow to my GPA and would definitely jeopardize the possibility of my making the honor roll this term.
But maybe there’s another way. The thought crept into my mind, and I allowed it to linger. I was so desperate that I was willing to resort to anything.
I looked over at Brad Collins. Brad was the brainiac of the class, and everyone knew that he willingly gave out his cell number to text answers to the tests we had. I’d often wondered why he did this, but had come to the conclusion that it was for popularity points. Many of the “cool kids” sucked up to him so he would help them out on test day. I had been ashamed when I’d entered his number in my cell, telling myself I’d never use it, but now I was glad I had it handy. I’d already noticed a few people were using his “help” by the way they sat in their chairs. Hiding a cell phone from a teacher was something we were all experts at. A small voice inside told me that what I was about to do was cheating and it was wrong, but I ignored it, rationalizing that everybody cheated once in a while.
Invaluable Page 15
