Treasures from Grandma's Attic (4 page)

7

The Autograph

“Mabel, a package came in the mail for you today,” Ma told me as I came in from school.

“For me? What is it? Who sent it?”

“How about opening it up to see?” Ma suggested.

Eagerly I tore open the wrappings and discovered a small leather-bound volume. As I picked it up, a letter dropped out.

Dear Mabel,

I have come into possession of a copy of John Greenleaf Whittier’s poem “Snow-Bound.” In remembrance of a similar occasion we shared, I would like you to have it. It is an autographed copy, since Mr. Whittier is a friend of my Quaker cousin, Eben White.

Yours truly,

Cousin Agatha

“Oh, Ma!” I cried. “Look at this! A book all my own! And signed by the author!”

“What a nice thing for Cousin Agatha to do,” Ma said. “You must take good care of this.”

“Oh, I will,” I promised. “I can’t wait to show it to Miss Gibson and the others. Maybe she’ll read it to the school.”

“Are you sure you should take it to school?” Ma asked doubtfully. “It’s a pretty valuable gift.”

“It will be safe,” I assured her. “I won’t let it out of my sight. I can’t wait to see Warren’s face when I show him. He thinks Whittier is the best author in our reader.”

Sarah Jane was impressed when I showed the book to her.

“That’s really nice,” she said. “Your cousin Agatha must think a lot of you to send something like that.”

I nodded. “I think a lot of her, too. After we really got to know each other, she turned out to be a nice old lady.”

“But do you think it’s safe to take it to school?” she asked.

“You and Ma are just alike!” I exclaimed. “Why wouldn’t it be safe? Do you think I’ll lose it between here and there?”

“It wouldn’t be the first thing you’d lost between here and there.” Sarah Jane snickered. “I couldn’t begin to recall all the stuff that has disappeared while you were looking the other way.”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” I said. “This book is not going to disappear. Give me credit for some sense.”

“I was just teasing, Mabel. I’m sure you’ll take good care of it.”

As I expected, Miss Gibson was delighted with the book. “This is something you will always treasure, Mabel,” she said. “An autographed book is a special thing to have.”

I had guessed that Warren would be envious of my good fortune, but I wasn’t prepared for his reaction. He looked carefully through the book and studied the name written on the flyleaf.

“What will you take for this, Mabel?” he asked me.

“Take for it? What do you mean?”

“I want it,” he said. “I’ll give you whatever you ask.”

For a moment I was speechless, but Sarah Jane wasn’t. “You mean you’d pay Mabel for that book?” she asked.

Warren nodded. “As much as five dollars. That’s all I have saved.”

I gasped. “You would pay five dollars for this book?” That was more money than I had ever had in my life. “You can buy a copy in town for twenty-five cents!”

“Maybe so,” Warren said. “But I couldn’t buy the autograph. That’s what makes it valuable.”

I looked at my book with even greater appreciation and shook my head. “I can’t sell it, Warren,” I said. “It was a gift. I don’t have very many books that aren’t schoolbooks, either.”

“You could afford to buy quite a few with what I’d give you,” he replied. “But you think it over, and let me know if you change your mind.”

“I’m sure I won’t,” I said to Sarah Jane as we left school together. “I can’t imagine anything that I’d give up my book for.”

“I’ll say one thing for you, Mabel—you’re not greedy,” Sarah Jane observed. “Some people would sell their own brother to get five dollars.”

“Don’t think I haven’t considered it,” I said. “I just haven’t had a whole lot of offers for Roy.”

A few evenings later I found Pa sitting at the kitchen table, looking at a mail-order catalog.

“What are you looking for, Pa?” I asked. “Are you shopping for Christmas already?”

“Not exactly,” Pa answered. “But I am thinking about winter. Your ma needs a new coat badly, and I’m trying to figure how we can get one for her after the crops are in. If we have a good yield, I might be able to afford this one.” He pointed to a neat cloth coat that came in gray, navy blue, or black.

“Oh, but look, Pa. Here’s one with a fur collar. Wouldn’t that be warm and pretty?”

Pa looked at it wistfully. “Yes, it surely would. It would also cost about five dollars more than I can pay.”

Five dollars! If I sold the book to Warren, we could get that coat for Ma. Excitedly I told Pa of the offer, but he shook his head.

“I can’t let you do that, Mabel. Ma wouldn’t hear of it if she knew. It’s a very loving thought, though, and I thank you.”

I said no more to Pa, but I thought about it a lot. Since the book was mine, I could sell it if I wanted to. And I did want Ma to have that lovely coat. Certainly after it was done and I had the money, Pa wouldn’t object. I went to bed that Friday evening with the determination that I would tell Warren of my decision on Monday morning.

Before I blew out the candle in my room, I looked through the book again and studied the delicate writing in the front. What a beautiful name—John Greenleaf Whittier. I sighed and put the book back. It was nice to have owned it for a little while, anyway.

On Saturday, as was our custom, Sarah Jane and I went to town. We spent the usual amount of time looking through the general store and surveying the new things that had come in during the week. I told Sarah of my plan.

“I guess you’re doing the right thing,” she agreed reluctantly. “Our folks give up a lot of things for us. Maybe we should try to pay them back more often.”

We had just about finished browsing through the shelves and counters when Sarah Jane spied something.

“Mabel, look!” she cried. “Here’s a copy of ‘Snow-Bound’ like yours. And it’s just like you said—only twenty-five cents!”

I turned the book over in my hand. “It’s just like Warren said too. It’s not autographed.”

“I don’t think the one in your book would be too hard to copy,” Sarah Jane said slowly. “I believe I could do it so you’d never know the difference.”

“Sarah Jane! Are you serious?”

“Of course I am,” she replied. “You’ll have your book and the five dollars, and Warren will have his autographed copy of ‘Snow-Bound.’”

“But that’s forgery!” I cried. “It’s against the law.”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” Sarah Jane replied. “I’m not going to cash it at the bank. It certainly won’t defraud Mr. Whittier. You can write whatever you want to in your own books. Are you going to buy it or not?”

I bought the book, and we hurried home with it. I had a nagging feeling that what we had planned was wrong, but I did want the money—and the book.

Sarah Jane practiced on a piece of paper until we both agreed that the signature looked just like the one Mr. Whittier had written. “Now I’m ready to put it on the flyleaf,” Sarah Jane decided. “Go sit on the bed or somewhere so you won’t jab my arm. As nervous as you are, you’d probably tip the ink bottle over.”

I sat across the room while she painstakingly copied
John Greenleaf Whittier
on the front page of the new book. When she had finished, she sat back and admired it.

“You’ll have to keep these separated,” she declared. “You’ll never be able to tell which is the original.”

I went to look, and I had to agree she was right. As far as I could tell, the signatures were identical.

“It’s beautiful,” I said, “but somehow I don’t feel right about it. Warren will think he’s paying for the real thing.”

“He’s paying for an autographed copy,” Sarah Jane said. “That’s what this is. If you have to be so fussy, show him both books and let him take his pick. If he chooses the wrong one, it wouldn’t be your fault. You’d at least have a fifty-fifty chance of keeping yours.”

I didn’t chatter as I usually did while I helped Ma get supper, and she looked at me anxiously. “You’re awfully quiet tonight, Mabel,” she said. “Is something the matter?”

I shook my head. “No, I guess not. Ma, would it be wrong to sign someone else’s name to something?”

“It depends on the reason for signing it,” Ma replied. “If it was intended to deceive, then that’s wrong. Under ordinary circumstances I’d say it’s probably not a good idea. Are you planning on signing something?”

“Oh, no,” I said. “I just wondered.”

I didn’t sleep well that night. I dreamed that I was caught in a snowstorm and Warren wouldn’t help me because I had cheated him. I woke up to find my comforter on the floor and my heart pounding. Since I couldn’t go back to sleep, I thought about going to church the next morning and trying to worship God. I knew I couldn’t do it—not with the guilty feeling I had.

I soon discovered that I wasn’t alone. Sarah Jane appeared right after breakfast.

“Mabel, you’re right. We can’t deceive Warren like that. I had terrible nightmares all night about what I did. I told the Lord I was sorry, and now I’m telling you. I feel bad about your money, but I don’t think it’s worth sinning for five dollars.”

“It’s not worth it for any amount,” I told her. “I’d already decided that I would give Warren the real one. I don’t want to remember any dirty tricks every time I look at Ma’s beautiful coat!”

“Right!” Sarah Jane laughed. “And you said yourself that you couldn’t tell the difference. I’ll add my name down in the corner, and you’ll have a real treasure to keep!”

8

The Farewell Party

“Mabel O’Dell! Are you absolutely positive?” Sarah Jane stopped in the middle of the road, shocked by my news.

“Yes.” I nodded. “Absolutely. Pa told us just this morning. Miss Gibson won’t be our teacher next year. It will be someone called Mrs. Porter. Pa’s on the school board, so he knows.”

“But we have only two more years,” Sarah Jane wailed. “We’ve never had anyone but Miss Gibson. Couldn’t she stay just two more years?”

“Pa says it’s all arranged. I don’t suppose we could talk her out of it, either.”

“I think we’d better try,” Sarah Jane declared. “How do we know we’ll be able to stand this Mrs. Porter? She’s probably old and crotchety.”

“And doesn’t like children,” I added. “It will just ruin our ninth and tenth grades. What are we going to do about it?”

“We’ll have to think of something,” Sarah Jane said. “We may have to be such wonderful students she won’t be able to leave us.”

“Let’s stay within reason,” I retorted. “You’re talking about eighteen human beings who haven’t had much experience in being wonderful.”

When we arrived at school, it was obvious that the news had already spread. Some of the younger children were crying, and I had to admit that I felt like it too. This was one occasion when all the children in school were agreed. We could not let Miss Gibson leave.

After the opening prayer, we joined halfheartedly in singing a hymn. Miss Gibson was perplexed. “What’s the matter with everyone this morning?” she inquired. “You all look as though you’d lost your last friend.”

To her amazement, the little ones began to cry again. “Why, whatever has happened?” Miss Gibson asked. “Is there something I don’t know about?”

Warren Carter raised his hand. “No, ma’am, you know about it all right. But we just found out, and we don’t like it.”

“I don’t understand,” Miss Gibson said. “Just what do I know that you don’t like?”

“Miss Gibson, is it true that someone called Mrs. Porter is going to be our teacher next year?” asked Walter Gibbs.

Miss Gibson looked astonished, and then became serious. “Yes, Walter. It’s true.”

“That’s what we don’t like! We don’t want you to leave!”

“Why, I’m—I’m glad you feel that way,” Miss Gibson said. “It’s nice to be appreciated. And you know how much I love all of you.”

“Then you won’t let Mrs. Porter take over, will you?” Sarah Jane asked.

“I’m afraid that’s all taken care of,” Miss Gibson answered. “She has already been hired. But come,” she added cheerfully, “we still have several weeks of school left to enjoy each other. Let’s be happy and have a good time, shall we?”

Everyone settled down to work, but no one was happy—unless you counted Miss Gibson. Every once in a while we saw a smile on her face that disappeared when she caught us watching her.

“You’re doing a lot of woolgathering,” Ma said to me as I sat at the table that evening. “You haven’t turned a page of that book in the last half hour.”

“I know.” I sighed. “I can’t concentrate on medieval history when my mind is full of Miss Gibson leaving. I don’t understand why she has to go!”

“You don’t expect a young lady like Miss Gibson to spend the rest of her life teaching in the same school, do you? Maybe she has other plans that are important to her. After all, she’s been here for eight years.”

“I just don’t like things to change, Ma. I want them to stay the way they are.”

“Everything changes, Mabel,” Ma told me. “We’d be in pretty sad shape if it didn’t.”

“I don’t see why.”

“If the good didn’t change, the bad wouldn’t either. I think God knew what He was doing to allow some of both in our lives.”

“Maybe so,” I muttered, “but I’m not very happy with the timing. Two more years is all I ask for. Is that too much?”

My question fell on an empty kitchen; Ma had left to get her mending.

“Are you still going to be teaching next year?” I asked Miss Gibson at recess the following day.

“Yes, I plan to be.”

“Can you tell us where you’ll be?” Sarah Jane asked.

“Not right now. But I’ll let you know before school is out.”

We didn’t know much more than we had before. “I suppose we should plan a farewell for her,” Sarah Jane said. “My heart’s not in it, but we can’t let her go without a party.”

“Just remember to ask her to come,” I said. “Remember when we forgot to invite her to her own birthday party?”

“We were just kids then,” Sarah Jane said, dismissing the thought. “We wouldn’t do anything stupid like that again. And, besides, you can’t let past mistakes run your life. Let’s go to my house and work on plans.”

“All right,” I said reluctantly. “But, Sarah Jane, isn’t there anything we can do to make her change her mind?”

“This may be one of the inevitables of life,” Sarah Jane said. “Miss Gibson has always told us that there are natural results of causes that you might as well not try to change.”

“I think she was referring to natural laws, like gravity and death,” I replied. “I don’t think Miss Gibson is ready to fall or die.”

We had reached the Clarks’ porch, and as we opened the door, Sarah Jane’s mother jumped and pushed something under her apron.

“Goodness!” she said. “What are you doing here?”

“I live here, Ma,” Sarah Jane answered. “Have you forgotten about me since morning?”

“Of course not, silly.” Mrs. Clark laughed. “I just wasn’t expecting you so early. Are you going to your room to do homework?”

“We have work to do all right,” I answered. “We’ll see you later.”

Sarah Jane closed the bedroom door and sat down on the bed. “Did it look to you as though she hid something when we came in?”

“I thought so,” I said.

“What could it be? It’s not close to Christmas, and it’s not near my birthday. What would she want to hide from her own daughter?”

“I’m sure you’ll know when she wants you to,” I told her. “Right now we have more important things to think about. When shall we have the party?”

“The last day of school,” Sarah Jane suggested. “We can have all our folks bring food for a big picnic at noon.”

“That’s good. We should have one of the older boys make a speech—but there is only one boy in the ninth and one in the tenth grade. Which will it be?”

“It’s a sorry choice.” Sarah Jane giggled. “Lester Blackburn is too shy to raise his voice, and Ted Simmons talks so fast you can’t understand him. Why don’t we ask your pa to do it? He’s president of the school board.”

“He might, I suppose,” I said. “I’ll talk to him about it. Shouldn’t we give Miss Gibson a going-away gift?”

Sarah Jane nodded. “We don’t have time to make anything, though. Do you suppose we could get enough money from all of us to buy something?”

“If everyone has as much as I have,” I said with a sigh, “we could afford a couple of licorice sticks. Ma has a few crystal plates that she uses for wedding gifts; maybe she’ll think this is just as important. I’ll ask her.”

I got home in time to set the table for supper, and I mentioned the plate to Ma.

“I think that would be nice,” she said. “They’re wrapped in a comforter in the chest at the foot of our bed. Lift them out carefully.”

I located a plate and laid it on the bed while I put things back in order. As I turned to leave, I spied a scrap of lavender material on the floor.

“This is pretty, Ma,” I said. “What is it for?”

Ma looked a little flustered. “It’s about the right size for a quilt block,” she replied. “I suppose that’s what I’ll use it for.”

I had so many other things on my mind that I didn’t ask where she had gotten it. I spent the evening planning a program for our party and making lists of all we had to do.

On the last day of school, I was both sad and excited. “You will come for the picnic, won’t you, Pa?” I asked at breakfast.

“I wouldn’t miss it. And I’ll try to say something suitable for a farewell.” His eyes twinkled, which should have warned me that there was a surprise in store.

At noon everyone gathered on the grass behind the schoolhouse. It was a large group, and for a time no one noticed the strange young man who stood near Miss Gibson. But we didn’t have long to wonder who he was.

“Boys and girls, and parents,” Miss Gibson said, “I want you to meet Mr. James Porter. He and I are going to be married on Sunday.”

“Porter! Mrs. Porter! Why—you’re not leaving at all; you’re just changing your name!” Sarah Jane exclaimed.

Miss Gibson wasn’t finished. “We want all of you to be present. And we’re asking my four oldest students to stand up with us: Lester Blackburn, Ted Simmons, Sarah Jane Clark, and Mabel O’Dell.”

There were a lot of congratulations and best wishes from everyone. The “farewell” party was a complete success.

“I won’t sleep a wink between now and Sunday,” Sarah Jane exclaimed. “I’ve never been so excited.”

“What will I wear?” I asked Ma. “I don’t have anything good enough for a wedding.”

“How about that lavender quilt block?” Ma said. “Don’t you think that would be nice?”

“You knew all the time!” I accused her. “And you let us worry about Miss Gibson leaving!”

“It didn’t hurt you to worry a little,” Mrs. Clark said. “But I was sure you two had seen Sarah Jane’s dress the other day.”

“So that’s what you were hiding under your apron,” Sarah Jane said. “I didn’t think anyone could keep anything from us. I guess I was wrong.”

“Don’t worry,” I told her. “You probably never will be again. But at least now you know how the rest of us mortals feel.”

Sarah Jane made a face at me, and we ran off to congratulate our teacher.