Main Street #4: Best Friends

by Ann M. Martin

  “Help us with Lacey’s costume,” replied Flora.

  “Lacey’s? Lacey Morris is going to be on the float?”

  “Yup,” said Olivia.

  “And who else?”

  “Min and Gigi,” said Flora.

  “Ruby and me,” added Olivia.

  “And Mrs. Morris,” said Flora.

  “That’s a lot of costumes,” said Nikki.

  “I know,” Flora replied. “It’s going to be a really good float. Annika will be so impressed. When we’re watching the parade, I can say to her, ‘I helped to make all those costumes.’”

  “You can also say,” said Olivia, “‘My best friends helped me, too.’”

  Nikki saw Flora glance at Olivia and frown. “Sure,” said Flora.

  “All right. So what are we doing here?” asked Nikki.

  The girls headed for the table at the back of the store. Nikki looked at the partially finished dresses and aprons and hats laid out there; at lengths of fabric, some with patterns pinned to them; at cards of snaps and rolls of elastic.

  “Did people have snaps and elastic and stuff back then?” she asked.

  Flora shrugged. “We want the costumes to be — what’s the word?”

  “Authentic?” suggested Olivia.

  “Yes, authentic,” said Flora. “But they’re only going to look authentic. We’re going to cheat a little.”

  “Take a few shortcuts,” said Olivia.

  “Speaking of which,” said Flora, “Nikki, let me show you something really cool about elastic.”

  Nikki and Olivia smiled at each other. Only Flora could think anything about elastic was cool.

  “Okay,” said Flora. “We need to gather the bottom of this cap. I don’t know how they did it in the olden days, but we could do it by making a casing using single-fold bias tape. See? You sew the casing down along the sides so that it forms a sort of tunnel. You leave it open at both ends and you thread a short piece of elastic through it — shorter than the rim of the cap. Then you anchor the elastic at each end, and just like that the cap is gathered!”

  “Wow,” said Nikki politely.

  “Okay. That’s cool enough, but watch this.” Flora held a very narrow piece of elastic aloft. “I’m going to sew this piece directly onto the edge of this sleeve. But, Flora, you’re wondering, how are you going to do that? The sleeve is so much longer than the piece of elastic.”

  Nikki concentrated fiercely on the sewing table, afraid that if she looked at Olivia now they would both start to laugh.

  “Well, it’s kind of like magic,” Flora continued. “Sewing magic. You just keep stretching the elastic out toward you as you go, and when you reach the end of the elastic and the other side of the sleeve, the sleeve is already gathered. Isn’t that great?”

  “It’s — it’s fantastic,” said Nikki, still staring at the sleeve. “But I think that if you want me to do something on the costumes it should be a little simpler.”

  “Hmm,” said Flora. “Do you know how to make a hem?”

  Nikki thought of the mending basket in their kitchen. Mending was the kind of sewing she did best, having been in charge of the Shermans’ mending for many years. Nikki was an expert at letting down the hems on Mae’s clothes so she could wear them until she was too big for them or until they fell apart, whichever came first.

  “That’s what I do best,” said Nikki.

  “Oh, good,” said Flora. “Because our machines can do hem stitches, but sometimes you have to turn hems up by hand. Oh, oh! Wait! This is even better. Nikki, do you know how to make a blind stitch?”

  “Cover up its eyes?” said Olivia from the other side of the table, and Nikki finally began to giggle.

  Flora looked hurt, though, and Olivia said, “I’m sorry. It’s just that you get so excited about sewing.”

  “Not any more excited than you get about fishers, or whatever those rodents are.”

  “They’re not rodents, they’re from the class Mammalia!” exclaimed Olivia.

  “Who even knows about stuff like that?” asked Flora.

  “Well, who knows about casing tunnels?”

  “They’re not casing tunnels, they’re just casings.”

  “Excuse me,” said Nikki, “but if you two are going to fight, I might as well go home.”

  “No, don’t go!” cried Olivia and Flora.

  “Okay, good, because I thought this was going to be fun. The three of us sitting here working on the costumes together. Please show me what a blind stitch is, Flora, so I can get to work. Okay?”

  “Okay,” said Flora.

  Olivia brushed her hand discreetly across her welling eyes before she looked down at Flora’s nimble fingers.

  The newest Row House resident arrived on a Tuesday, two weeks earlier than anyone had expected. When Barbara Fong felt the first of her labor pains, she was home alone, her husband having traveled to Boston for the day. This was not how Barbara and Marcus had planned for the baby to arrive. Marcus was supposed to be at home, ready to rush his wife to the hospital, where he would stay at her side until their daughter was born.

  But now here was the pain, and there was no point in wishing things were happening otherwise. Barbara gripped the edge of the kitchen table, then looked at her watch. It was just past three in the afternoon and she needed someone to drive her to the hospital. Who in the Row Houses would be home at this hour? Rudy Pennington and Bill Willet, probably, but if Barbara’s husband couldn’t accompany her on this extraordinary trip, then what she really wanted was the comfort of another woman, preferably one who had given birth herself. Paula Edwards would be at work now, and so would Min Read. Elise Morris might be at home, but she had young children, and there wasn’t time for her to find a sitter.

  Barbara picked up the phone and dialed the Walters’ house.

  “Hello?” said Olivia.

  “Olivia? This is Barbara Fong. Is your mother at the store?”

  “No, she’s right here. Hold on,” replied Olivia.

  Olivia held the phone toward her mother. “It’s Mrs. Fong,” she said, cupping her hand over the mouthpiece, “and she sounds kind of excited or breathless or something.”

  “Barbara?” said Olivia’s mother. “Is everything all right?”

  Olivia stood inches from her mother, wishing desperately that the Walters didn’t have a family rule about eavesdropping on telephone extensions.

  “Oh!” said Mrs. Walter a moment later. “All right. First of all, everything is going to be okay. Try to relax. I’ll be there as soon as I can, in just a few minutes. I’ll call Jackson and ask him to come home from the store. Olivia can hold down the fort until he gets here.… What? Your bag? All right, in that case, I’ll bring Olivia with me to help pack. The boys can go to the Morrises’ until Jackson gets home. Do you want me to call your doctor? … Okay. See you in a few minutes.”

  Olivia felt her heart begin to pound. “Is the baby here? Is she here?”

  “Well, almost,” her mother replied. “Mrs. Fong is having labor pains. She could be in false labor, I suppose, but we can’t take any chances.”

  “Where’s Mr. Fong?” asked Olivia.

  “In Boston for the day. Hang on a minute while I call your father.”

  Mrs. Walter reached her husband, then hung up and said to Olivia, “Okay, your father is going to leave right away. Now, I need you to do two big favors for me, honey. Run the boys over to the Morrises’ and ask Mrs. Morris to watch them just until your father gets here. Then meet me at the Fongs’ and help me get Barbara ready to go to the hospital.”

  “Are you supposed to call her doctor?” asked Olivia, already halfway up the stairs to the second floor.

  “No, she’ll do that.… Where’s my pocketbook? … Oh, here it is. All right. I’m going to drive our car around to the street and park in front of the Fongs’. I’ll see you in a minute.”

  Olivia ran the rest of the way upstairs, collected Henry and Jack, hurried them to the Morrises’ house, and
explained to Mrs. Morris what was going on. Then she dashed to the other end of the Row Houses and, finding the front door ajar, let herself inside, calling, “Hello?”

  “We’re in the living room, Olivia,” her mother replied.

  Olivia suddenly felt nervous. She had been only four years old when Jack was born, and she didn’t remember much about the event except that Gigi had moved in for several days and had let Olivia and Henry eat pizza every night.

  Olivia peeked around the corner. She saw Mrs. Fong sitting on the couch, breathing rapidly, legs splayed in front of her, hands resting on her enormous belly. Mouse and Rosie, the Fongs’ young dogs, sat close by, staring into Mrs. Fong’s face. Mouse rested one paw on her arm.

  “Honey, run upstairs to the bedroom,” said her mother.

  “There’s a suitcase behind the door,” Mrs. Fong added, gasping. “I’ll tell you what to put in it.”

  Olivia listened closely, ran up the stairs, packed the bag as fast as she could, and returned to the living room. Her mother had helped Mrs. Fong to her feet and was now leading her to the front door.

  “Follow us out to the car,” said Mrs. Walter.

  Olivia did so, then ran ahead of them as they approached the sidewalk and opened the car door for Mrs. Fong, tossing the suitcase onto the backseat.

  “Olivia,” said Mrs. Fong, “could you feed the dogs before you leave?”

  “What do I feed them?”

  “There’s dry food” — Mrs. Fong stopped to draw in a sharp breath — “dry food in a bag in the cupboard by the sink. Just fill the bowls that are on the floor. I called Marcus on his cell phone and he’s already on his way back. He’ll meet us at the hospital in a few hours. The dogs should be all right until he gets home. Remember to lock the door behind you when you leave.”

  “Okay,” said Olivia. She stood on the sidewalk and watched as her mother helped Mrs. Fong into the car and drove briskly down Aiken Avenue. Olivia returned to the house, feeling very important. She found the dog food in the cupboard, poured a generous amount into the bowls, filled a third bowl with water, then returned to the living room, where Mouse and Rosie were waiting warily on the couch.

  “It’s okay,” Olivia said to them. “Really. I left food for you in the kitchen, and guess what, pretty soon you’ll have a new baby sister.”

  Olivia turned the lock in the Fongs’ front door, ran through the yards to her house, and immediately phoned Needle and Thread. “Gigi!” she exclaimed. “Mrs. Fong is having her baby! I have to tell Flora!” Olivia repeated the news to Flora, then phoned Nikki. “Nikki! Mrs. Fong is having her baby!”

  That evening, shortly after Olivia and her father and brothers had finished their dinner, Mrs. Walter returned. Olivia, Henry, and Jack crowded around her as she stood in the hallway.

  “Is she here yet?” asked Henry. “Is the baby here?”

  “What did they name her?” asked Olivia.

  “What does she look like?” asked Jack.

  “She looks like a baby, stupid!” exclaimed Henry.

  “I’m not stupid!”

  “Boys,” said their father.

  Their mother began to laugh. “Just a minute. Let me hang up my coat. Now, come into the living room with me.” She sat on the couch and Olivia and her brothers piled on after her.

  “Okay,” said Mrs. Walter. “No, she’s not here yet, but Mr. Fong is at the hospital now, and I think the baby will be born pretty soon. I expect we’ll get a phone call tomorrow morning before you go to school. Olivia, I’ll need you to walk Mouse and Rosie, since Mr. Fong decided to spend the night at the hospital. Now — homework time and bath time and then into bed.”

  Olivia felt as if she barely slept that night, and in the morning she was up before her alarm clock went off. She fed and walked Mouse and Rosie in record time and charged back to her house, arriving just as her father was putting breakfast on the table.

  “Did they call while I was gone? Did they call?”

  Olivia’s father smiled at her mother. “Yup.”

  “Well, what did they say? What did they name her? Don’t keep me in suspense.”

  “Mr. Fong said,” Mr. Walter replied in a maddeningly slow manner, “that Mrs. Fong and the baby are both fine, and that the baby’s name is … hmm. I seem to have forgotten. Now, what was it? Dear, do you remember?”

  Mrs. Walter frowned fiercely.

  “Stop kidding!” cried Olivia. “Just tell me!”

  “The baby’s name is Grace,” said Mr. Walter.

  “Grace,” repeated Olivia. “Oh, I like that. And when will she come home?”

  “Tomorrow morning, probably.”

  “Then I’ll get to see her after school. Oh, I can’t wait!”

  Grace Fong had been at home for exactly three and a half hours when she got her first visitors. Olivia, Nikki, Flora, and Ruby arrived at the Fongs’ front door on Thursday afternoon, carrying a giant card they had made at Needle and Thread after school the previous day.

  Mr. Fong ushered the girls inside, smiling, his finger to his lips, and Olivia and her best friends tiptoed into the living room, where the baby was asleep in a cradle. They stood in a semicircle around the cradle and peered down at the bundle of blankets inside. Grace was wearing a tiny white cap. A fringe of black hair showed beneath it.

  Olivia let out her breath. “Welcome, baby Grace,” she whispered.

  Mary Woolsey’s house had become one of Flora’s favorite places in Camden Falls. Flora had visited it in all sorts of weather. She had sat in the tiny parlor in autumn with red and gold leaves drifting past the windows, in winter with a fire going to keep out the chill as the wind whistled down the chimney and around the corners, on rainy days when Mary turned on all the lamps to dispel the gloom, and on sunny days when Mary opened the windows to let in the breeze and the scents from her gardens.

  Today the air was soft and gentle, carrying the fragrance of early lilacs. The curtains waved languidly in the breeze, and no lamps were needed because the sun burned brightly.

  “We ought to sit outside,” said Mary, who was ready to be interviewed by Flora.

  Flora looked longingly at Mary’s gardens. “I need to plug in the tape recorder, though,” she replied. “Anyway, if we stay inside, I can pat Daphne and Delilah.”

  “Sleepy creatures,” said Mary fondly, stroking the two old cats. “All right. We’ll sit inside. I’ll make us some tea before we start.”

  When the tea was ready, Mary brought it into the parlor on a large tray. “Have some cookies first, Flora, and tell me what’s going on. Do you have any news?”

  Flora reached for a gingersnap, which she knew Mary had made herself. “Well,” she said, “Aunt Allie bought a house.”

  “Did she, now?”

  Flora nodded.

  “And where is it?”

  “Here in Camden Falls. Aunt Allie drove Min and Ruby and me by it the other day. It’s really nice. It’s old, I think. Like maybe colonial? And it’s pretty. I don’t remember the name of the road it’s on, but it’s about ten minutes from the Row Houses.”

  “When will she be moving in?” asked Mary.

  “In June. At least, that’s what she’s hoping for. She said these things never go as planned. But anyway, she’s going to New York City again soon so she can pack up the rest of her stuff.” Flora paused and reached for a second cookie. “You know, I’m still not sure why she decided to move back here. It seemed so sudden.”

  “It’s possible that something happened,” said Mary. “Something she doesn’t want to talk about. But it could also be that she just wanted to come home. Sometimes our roots have a pretty strong pull.”

  “Do you think,” said Flora, “that you can have roots in a place that isn’t the place where you were born?”

  Mary considered this. “I do. Roots are about family, but they can also be about location. Each person has to find the place that calls to him.”

  “I came to Camden Falls because of the accident,” said Flora
, “but I think maybe this is also the place that calls to me.”

  “Well, I’m very glad of that.” Mary smiled at Flora, then said briskly, “Now, let me clear away the tea things, and we’ll get started.”

  Flora sat beside Daphne and Delilah and stroked their silky heads. She thought again about Mrs. Fitzpatrick’s words and about what she knew she must say to Mary this afternoon. She decided to save that for after the interview, however. And she would turn off the tape recorder then, since this was Mary’s private business.

  Mary returned to the parlor and sat in the armchair, and Flora switched on the recorder. “This is actually a little silly,” she began. “I mean, interviewing you is silly, since I know your story already. But I want to be able to use your words when I write my — my … Did I tell you that Mr. Pennington thinks I should write a book? An actual book? Well, not a book like Aunt Allie writes, one that she sends to her publisher and then lots of copies of it are printed up and sold in stores. But Mr. Pennington told me that if I type my project on the computer, I can take the pages to this place on Boiceville Road and they’ll bind them in a real cover — a hardcover with the title and BY FLORA MARIE NORTHROP printed on it and everything.”

  “Oh, Flora, what a wonderful idea!” exclaimed Mary.

  “I know. And then the historical society can put the book on display. Imagine. A book with my name on it.”

  “Maybe you’ll be a writer like your aunt one day,” said Mary.

  “Maybe. Okay,” said Flora. “Even though I know it, could you please tell me your story, starting when your father had the job in town and your mother was working at Min’s house?”

  Mary folded her hands in her lap and drew in a breath. “All right. I’ll start in the fall of nineteen twenty-nine. As you said, my father had a job then, and it was a good one. He worked in an office, and later my mother used to tell me proudly that there had been the opportunity for him to advance. Between his pay and the wages my mother earned as a maid for your great-grandfather, my parents were doing fairly well for a young couple. They already owned this house, and the plan was for my mother to work until just before I was born, then to stay at home with me. By that time, they thought, my father might have been given a raise. Plus, there was their nest egg — their savings, which my father had turned over to your great-grandfather to invest. They would dip into that, if necessary, to tide us over until my father earned a larger salary.