Nancy and Plum (2 page)

When they drew up to the imposing entrance of Mrs. Monday’s Boarding Home for Children, Uncle John was most impressed. “Nice, solid, respectable place,” he said, noting the very large, sturdily built brick house surrounded by the high spiked iron fence. “Well built,” he said to his chauffeur, who had jumped out to open the heavy iron gates for him.

“It certainly is,” the chauffeur said, wondering to himself why a boarding home for little children should have such a wicked-looking fence. Surely not just to keep the rolling lawns from oozing out into the road!

Just then Mrs. Monday, who had been watching and waiting behind the curtains in her sitting room, came rushing out the front door, hands outstretched, thin mouth pulled apart in what was supposed to be a smile.

“My dear, dear, dear Mr. Remson,” she gushed as Uncle John waddled up the walk. “Do come in. The dear little children and I have been waiting for you.”

Uncle John shook one of her hands briefly and said, “Nice place. Well built.”

Mrs. Monday said, “Well, I always say, dear Mr. Remson, nothing is too good for little children. Now,” she said, piloting him into her sitting room, the only comfortable room in the large cold house, and settling him in an easy chair in front of the fireplace in which burned a nice cheerful little fire, “you must see my little ones. My little family!” She rang for Katie to bring tea and to summon the children. Happy at the
prospect of a cup of hot tea and perhaps toast with raspberry jam, Uncle John waited.

The first to come, however, was not the tea tray but Mrs. Monday’s niece, Marybelle Whistle, a most unattractive, doughy child with pale close-set eyes, a mouth like a mail slot and hundreds of grayish-white curls that exploded from her head like sausages. For the occasion she had been carefully dressed in a ruffly pink silk dress, pink silk socks and shiny new black patent-leather slippers. Certain that she looked adorable, Marybelle flounced up to Uncle John and announced in a high squeaky voice, “How do you do, Mr. Remson? I am Marybelle.” Uncle John drew back with distaste and said, “Really!” Marybelle said, “Yes, and I am very smart and can recite ‘The Children’s Hour’ all the way through, want to hear me?”

“Heavens, no!” said Uncle John so loudly and forcefully that Marybelle, who had already opened her mouth to begin, jumped back and almost fell in the fireplace. This naturally caused much merriment among the other children, who though vigorously scrubbed, combed and braided (even if they had curly hair) had been instructed to stay outside the door so that Uncle John wouldn’t see their faded, patched clothing.

Uncle John, hearing their laughter and having no idea that he had been the cause of it, said, “Happy little things. Laughing children must be happy.” Marybelle, who wasn’t happy and wasn’t laughing, sulkily left the room, and Uncle John, who didn’t know that she was Mrs. Monday’s niece, turned to Mrs. Monday, who was glaring at the children, and said, “Horrible, forward little creature. Must have dreadful
parents. I can’t abide children who recite.” This, of course, made the other children laugh so hard that Mrs. Monday got up and tersely ordered them to be quiet and go to their rooms. She then firmly shut the sitting-room door. Then Katie brought the tea and there were not only toast and raspberry jam but fresh hot cupcakes. Uncle John forgot about Marybelle and concentrated on the food and after a while he looked at Mrs. Monday and thought, “Fine woman. Taking care of other people’s children. Fine woman!”

If he had had the sense of a rabbit, of course, or had known or cared anything about children, he would have noticed that this “fine woman” had large, cold, close-set eyes, a mouth that snapped shut like a purse, a smile that bared her large yellow teeth but did not light up her eyes, a voice that caused children to flinch and look frightened whenever she spoke to them and a general appearance about as warm and motherly as a pair of pliers. He would also have noticed that although Marybelle Whistle was well dressed, the other little boarders had sad hungry eyes, thin hungry bodies and ill-fitting, worn-out clothes.

But, as I have said, Uncle John didn’t care about children and he was very anxious to get rid of Nancy and Plum, so he saw what he wished to see and didn’t see what he didn’t wish to see, and three days later he delivered his two little nieces and all of their belongings to Mrs. Monday. Since that day, as far as Nancy and Plum knew, he had not written or been to see them. He didn’t know if they got his presents, which they didn’t. Or if they were happy, which they weren’t. He paid
Mrs. Monday handsomely for their board and room and clothing and Mrs. Monday wrote and told him how beautifully the children were growing and how happy they were. The two or three times Nancy and Plum had written to Uncle John, Mrs. Monday had found and burned the letters.

S
O HERE IT WAS
C
HRISTMAS
E
VE
and Uncle John was sitting in his club in the city drinking from the wassail bowl and talking to his old cronies and if he thought of Nancy and Plum at all, which I doubt, it was only to wonder if they were too old for the dolls he had sent them.

In Heavenly Valley, Nancy and Plum, who hadn’t gotten the dolls, stood at the window of their cold, bare, little room straining their eyes through the snowflakes toward a far-off cluster of lights, like a handful of stars, that marked the schoolhouse where the Christmas Eve entertainment was being held.

Nancy said, “I wonder what time it is?”

Plum said, “About seven I guess. Mrs. Monday and the children took the six o’clock train.”

Nancy said, “If it’s seven, then they’ll just be starting the carols at school.”

Plum said, “And old Squeaky Swanson will be singing the solo you should be singing. When she gets to the ‘Oh, Night Deeeeviiiiiine!’ part she sounds like a screech owl, and anyway she doesn’t look like an angel. She looks like a mouse in a white nightgown.”

Nancy laughed and said, “Oh, Plum, poor old Muriel can’t help the way she looks. Besides, you probably think I sing better because I’m your sister.”

Plum said, “Squeaky can’t help the way her face looks but she doesn’t have to wear that long underwear and have those big knobby lumps on her knees and ankles. She knows very well that angels don’t wear long underwear and anyway her mother makes so many mistakes when she plays her accompaniment that it always sounds as though she and Squeaky were on different songs.”

Nancy said, “I wish we had a mother, even one like Mrs. Swanson.”

Plum said, “If we had a mother, do you suppose we’d have to wear long underwear and be lumpy?”

Nancy said, “I can remember our mother a little bit and she was beautiful. I don’t think she ever made us wear long underwear.”

Plum said, “One thing about mothers, they might make you wear long underwear but they force the teachers to give you the best parts in the Christmas play.”

Nancy said, “Our mother wouldn’t have to. Miss Waverly likes us and she wanted us both in the play until Mrs. Monday told her we couldn’t.”

Plum said, “Miss Waverly thinks you sing a million, billion times better than old Squeaky Swanson, she told me so and she said that you’d make a beautiful angel with your red hair combed out and hanging down your back all bright and shining.…”

“And probably one of Mrs. Monday’s gray flannel nightgowns flapping around my old worn-out shoes. Oh, Plum, wouldn’t it be wonderful if we were in the Christmas play and we had white satin angel dresses with filmy white wings?”

Plum said, “I guess we’ll have to wait until we get to heaven and are real angels. Didn’t the Christmas tree look beautiful? I think Miss Waverly feels sorry for us and that is why she let us decorate it.”

Nancy said, “As long as we are the only children who have no place to go for Christmas, I don’t see why Mrs. Monday wouldn’t let us go to the school entertainment. We could have walked and every child in the Valley is getting an orange, some candy and a gift.”

Plum said, “Speaking of candy, I’m hungry. Let’s go down to the kitchen and see if we can find anything to eat besides oatmeal.”

Nancy said, “Oh, don’t worry, she locked up everything but the prunes and the oatmeal. Oh, look down the road there, Plum. Two little lights and they’re moving. It must be a sleigh. Someone going to the Christmas entertainment.”

Plum said, “Quick, help me open the window so we can hear the bells.”

They pushed open the window and leaned out into the still, cold night air. Far off down the road, through the lazily drifting snowflakes, they could hear the merry sound of sleigh bells. Their gay little tinkling flying ahead of the sleigh and lighting up the night with sparks. “Oh, what a Christmasy sound!” Nancy said, her red braids bobbing excitedly.

Plum said, “Let’s run out to the gate and watch the sleigh pass.”

“Oh, yes,” Nancy said. “Here, I’ll shut the window. Come on, hurry!”

Like little ghosts, they ran from their room, down the long, cold, dark corridor, down the long, dark winding stairway, across the drafty hall, out the front door and down the walk to the great iron gates.

Breathless and laughing, they grabbed the bars of the gates and turned their faces in the direction of the sleigh bells. Snowflakes lit on their eyelashes and made them blink. Snowflakes lit on their hair and turned them into white-haired old ladies. Snowflakes lit on their tongues when they stuck them out; and they swallowed the drop of icy water they left.

Nancy said, “Snowflakes are like tiny pieces of clouds. Maybe a cloud exploded and caused this snowstorm.”

Plum said, “Everything is so soft tonight. The darkness, the air, the snow, everything. I’d like to throw myself down and make an angel.” Above their heads the snow hit the
lanterns on the gateposts and dissolved with a gentle hissing sound. The gate groaned sadly as they leaned against it.

Then, from down the road, came the shrill trilling of the sleigh bells, the thud of hooves, the
shshsh
of runners on snow, peals of laughter. Then suddenly as though they had leapt through a black curtain, the horses burst out of the snowy darkness, manes and forelocks crested with snow, heads high, eyes glowing like hot coals. For a moment they were so close the children could see their white breath and could smell their warm, horsy smell.

“Merry Christmas!” Plum called out excitedly.

“Merry Christmas!” Nancy echoed her, and voices in the sleigh answered, “Merry Christmas!” Then they were gone into the blackness again and nothing was left but the tinkling of the bells and the hiss of the snowflakes as they hit the lanterns.

“Oh, Plum,” Nancy said, “imagine going to the Christmas Eve entertainment in a sleigh!”

Plum said, “Someday we’ll go in a sleigh and I’ll drive.”

Nancy said, shivering, “Not tonight though, and I’m cold. Let’s go back in the house.”

So they ran up to the front door but when they turned the handle they found it locked. Locked tight.

“The night latch must have been on,” Plum said, “and the rest of the house is locked up like a safe.”

“What will we do?” Nancy asked through chattering teeth.

Plum said, “We’ll sleep in the barn.”

Nancy said, “But what about Old Tom?”

Plum said, “He’s gone to the MacGregors’ for supper. He
told me he was going yesterday when I was helping him feed the chickens. He’s not coming back till milking time tomorrow morning. Come on, let’s run. I’ve got snow down my neck and my feet are like ice.”

They ran around the house, unlatched the lattice gate that shut off the kitchen gardens and stables from the front lawns, ran across the barnyard to the big red-brick barn, rolled back the door and slipped inside. The barn was very dark but not as cold as the house. They closed the door quickly and began to grope around for matches and a lantern. As they carefully felt along the shelves, they could hear Buttercup and Clover, the milk cows, chewing their cuds, the plow horses shifting their weight on their big feet, the pigs grunting in the box stall and mice scuttling around in the granary stealing the grain. They were friendly, comforting sounds, and Nancy said, “Even in the dark, the barn isn’t nearly as lonely as the house.”

Plum said, “I should say it isn’t. I think I just grabbed hold of a mouse. Oh, here we are. Here’s an old candle stub and some matches.”

She struck a match and lit the candle. As the candle flame reached up and cast a circle of light, a black mother cat and three black kittens filed out of Buttercup’s stall and came over to the little girls. “Mrooow,” said the mother cat and the kittens squeaked, “Mrrow.” Plum knelt down and stroked the mother, who rubbed against her legs and purred. Nancy went over and scratched Buttercup behind her horns and she licked Nancy’s hand with her sandpaper tongue. Clover leaned out
of her stall to see what was going on and as Nancy scratched her head, she stuck her tongue out about a foot and searched with the tip of it in the corners of her feed box for stray oats. Then Plum called out, “I found the lantern and it’s full of coal oil. Here, hold the candle while I light it.”

Both girls knelt down and worked with the lantern until they finally got the wick adjusted and the smoky chimney wiped off. The lantern gave quite a lot of light and they hung it on a nail while they patted the horses, poked the pigs and played with the kittens. Then Plum had an idea. She said, “Let’s go in the harness room. There’s a stove in there and we can build a fire and roast potatoes.”