Ella of All-of-a-Kind Family (3 page)

Ruthie sat stiffly while the scissors clipped away.

“Now, off with the bowl, Gertie. I’m all through.”

“Gosh, Charlotte!” Gertie sounded dismayed. “It’s so short!”

“The shorter the better,” Charlotte said, trying to sound convincing. “What do you want bangs to do? Hang down so far over her eyes, she’ll need a Seeing Eye dog? I think they’re exactly the right length, and it makes Ruthie look very pretty.”

But Ruthie was a bit doubtful. She rubbed a hand over her forehead. “It feels so short.”

“How can we tell what she looks like the way she’s messing her hair up?” Charlotte said. “Let’s comb it out. Then we’ll see.”

They brushed and combed but some long strands of hair were still visible among shorter ones.

“How’d you happen to miss those, Charlotte?”

“I don’t know. Maybe her hair wasn’t parted exactly in the middle. I should have straightened it out first before I began cutting. Oh well,” Charlotte made light of the whole business, “it doesn’t really matter. All I have to do is snip off those few extra hairs and it’ll be fine.” She picked up the scissors. A snip here, a snip there, a snip everywhere. “There! That does it!”

Gertie gulped. “Gosh, I never saw bangs zigzag all the way up to the ears before. It looks peculiar.”

“What’s pe-culiar?” Ruthie asked.

“Oh nothing!” snapped Charlotte. She turned on Gertie. “I like it this way. It gives her face a sort of”—she fished
about for the right words—“a clean, open look,” she ended triumphantly.

Anxious to have it over with, Gertie allowed herself to be persuaded. “Well, maybe, but you ought at least try to even it out. The right side is a good half inch longer than the left.”

“Can you fix it, Charlotte?” Ruthie quavered anxiously.

Charlotte sheared away.

Gertie clapped her hands to her head. “Just look at what you’re doing! Now the left side’s longer!”

The scissors slid over to the left. Snip—snip! By now the towel was overflowing with hair.

“You’re only making it worse all the time!” wailed Gertie.

“I am not!” Charlotte retorted, but not too confidently. She chewed on a fingernail. “Say!” she exclaimed, her eyes alight with renewed enthusiasm. “You know what would be really attractive? If I sort of graduate it around, starting very short in the front like this, and gradually leaving the hair longer as you work around toward the back.”

“Sounds crazy to me.”

“That’s because you have no imagination. Once you actually see it, you’ll feel different about it. It’ll give a lovely sweep to the hair.”

“Please, Charlotte,” Gertie begged, unconvinced, “don’t cut any more.”

But there was no staying Charlotte’s vision. Already clumps of hair were falling onto the towel as well as on the floor.

By now the barber game was getting too much for Ruthie. “No more,” she yelled shaking her cropped head. “I don’t want you to cut my hair no more!”

“Please, Ruthie,” Charlotte pleaded, “just a teeny bit more and I’ll be all finished.”

Charlotte kept cutting away as best she could in between Ruthie’s wriggling protests and Gertie’s alarums. At last she gave up. “Well, that’s it,” she said, removing the towel. “I can’t do any more.”

“I should say not,” Gertie whispered. “There’s more hair on the floor than on her head.” She groaned. “Aunt Fanny’ll have a fit. And I wouldn’t blame her one bit. Who ever saw a haircut like this?”

“Some people have no appreciation for originality,” Charlotte countered. “Why must everybody look exactly like everybody else? I think it’s so much more interesting this way—different somehow.”

“It’s different all right,” agreed Gertie. “All ziggity-zaggity!”

Ruthie, who had dashed into the bedroom meanwhile for a view of herself in the dresser mirror, came running back. She planted herself before Charlotte, her face all crumpled up. “What did you do? You mur-der-er you!” she screamed, bursting into tears.

Taken aback, Charlotte began biting her nails, not knowing what else to do. After a while, she knelt down and tried to gather the sobbing little girl to her. “Look Ruthie, I’m awfully sorry you don’t like it, but honest, it’s not bad at all.”

Ruthie pulled away and sought the comfort of Gertie’s shoulder. Tears streamed down her face. “You’re just saying that,” she cried. “You know yourself, it’s horrible—horrible. Even Gertie thinks so.”

Gertie didn’t respond. She could only look reproachfully at Charlotte as she patted the weeping Ruthie.

“A sweet little girl like you could never look horrible,” Charlotte said.

But Ruthie was inconsolable. She wept and wept.

“It’ll grow back. It’s not going to stay that way forever,” Charlotte went on. “So what’s the use making such a fuss about it?”

Ruthie only sobbed the harder.

“If I’d had any idea you were going to carry on this way, I never would have bothered in the first place.” Charlotte tried to sound miffed. “Believe me, it was no cinch cutting your hair. With all that straggly stuff hanging down your face, you looked like a witch. I did you a big favor cutting it off.”

“S-some favor!” sobbed Ruthie.

“It certainly was! Why, snip-snip, and I changed that dreadful witch into a darling little elf!”

Ruthie stopped right in the middle of a great big sob. One eye peeked through her fingers. “A little elf?” she repeated.

“Of course!” Charlotte said as heartily as she could manage. She was beginning to have her own misgivings. “Oh yes,” she went on, “that’s what you are, Ruthie—a darling little elf. Of course, if later on, you’d rather not be an elf, why then in a few weeks your hair will grow in anyway, and you can change into something else—a fairy maybe. Come on, little elf, let’s get ready for bed and I’ll tell you a wonderful story about a little elf named Ruthie.”

Sniffing back her tears, Ruthie wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Soon the sobs subsided into small hiccups. “First—tell me—the story,” she demanded.

So Charlotte took her on her lap and began a tale of Ruthie, the elf. In a little while, it seemed as if the whole
hair-cutting episode was a thing of the past. Ruthie went off to bed without a murmur.

Gertie surveyed the kitchen barbershop. “This floor is one grand mess!”

“We’d better get busy and clean it up right away!” Charlotte exclaimed, dashing for the broom and dustpan.

Hardly had everything been put to rights and the last wisp of hair dumped into the garbage pail when they heard the key being turned in the hall-door lock.

Gertie wrung her hands. “Oh, Charlotte! Here they come. What’ll we do?”

“Oh what are you getting so nervous about?” Charlotte cried in a huff. “It’s not as bad as you make it out. I’m sure Aunt Fanny will appreciate what we’ve done. Ruthie’s hair will be so easy to manage. No tangles—no snarls—quick washing.”

Nonetheless, she lost no time bundling herself up in her hat and coat.

“Hurry up, Gertie! Get your things on. It’s pretty late, you know. We gotta get home. We don’t want to waste time standing around gabbing.”

Gertie needed no urging. They were both ready for instant flight when Aunt Fanny and Uncle Joe came into the kitchen.

“Well, was Ruthie a good girl?” Aunt Fanny greeted. “No trouble?”

“No trouble at all,” Charlotte replied. “Well, we’d better go. It’s kind of late. Good night, Aunt Fanny, Uncle Joe.” Charlotte pushed Gertie toward the door.

“Hey, just a minute!” Uncle Joe shouted after them.

The girls stopped dead in their tracks.

“What—is—it?” Gertie’s voice quavered.

Uncle Joe smiled. “Don’t you want to get paid?”

“Oh—that’s right … thank you,” Charlotte said, taking the dime.

“Want me to walk you home?” Uncle Joe asked.

“You don’t have to. It’s not that late,” Charlotte answered quickly. Pulling open the door, she yanked Gertie out after her.

“Good night!” they yelled back and bolted down the stairs.

At breakfast there was a phone call for Mama. Gertie and Charlotte stopped eating. They sat very still.

In a few minutes, Mama came striding back into the kitchen.

“That was Aunt Fanny on the phone. Was she upset! She was almost crying. Well, Charlotte. Well, Gertie?” Mama looked sternly from one to the other.

The rest of the family stared at the two lowered heads.

“What’s this all about?” Ella asked.

“Search me,” Henny replied. “Whatever it is, I had absolutely nothing to do with it.”

“I don’t know why Aunt Fanny’s so upset,” Charlotte declared defensively. “Ruthie looks very cute. In my opinion, it’s very attractive, and very original. Some people just have no idea what real beauty is.”

“Real beauty!” Mama snapped. “Aunt Fanny says Ruthie’s hair is so chopped up, she looks like a shorn sheep. She’s ashamed to show her before people. Whatever gave you the notion in the first place? Aunt Fanny wanted you over there to mind Ruthie, not to be barbers!”

“First of all, Mama, don’t blame Gertie,” Charlotte said. “She had nothing to do with it. It was me.…”

Mama paced up and down. “But why? Whatever possessed you?”

“Well, Ruthie’s hair was flopping into her eyes all the time. It was positively disgraceful! So I decided to do her a big favor and cut her bangs so she wouldn’t get crosseyed. And also, to enhance her beauty at the same time.”

Henny spiraled a finger alongside her head. “Charlotte with her fanciful ideas!”

“It was a great idea!” Gertie carried on for Charlotte. “Only for some reason, it just kept coming out lopsided. Charlotte only tried to even it out. So …” Gertie lifted her shoulders, at a loss for further words.

“But to cut it all off!” Mama exploded. “I never heard of such a thing in my entire life!”

“In
Little Women
, Jo cut her hair off to sell it for money,” Charlotte volunteered.

Henny tittered. “What are you going to do? Start selling hair for a living?”

Mama shook her head. “Oh, Charlotte, if I thought for one moment that you did this bad thing deliberately, you’d get from Papa the worst licking you ever got in your whole life! Now you go right in and telephone Aunt Fanny and apologize!”

Charlotte blanched. “Now?”

“Now!” commanded Mama.

Charlotte moved toward the telephone on dragging feet, with Gertie trailing after her. Slowly she gave the operator Aunt Fanny’s phone number. Soon her aunt’s voice, loud and irate, came buzzing over the wire. Charlotte listened meekly. When finally Aunt Fanny paused for breath, she began, “I’m sorry.…” But the angry buzzing had already resumed.

“I’m sorry, Aunt Fanny.…” Charlotte tried again, but the buzzing went right on.

Charlotte kept looking helplessly at Gertie. After what seemed an eternity, Gertie heard her say contritely, “All right, Aunt Fanny, no more hair-cutting, I promise!”

She raised her hand as if Aunt Fanny could see her. “And you know what, Aunt Fanny? I won’t take any more money for staying with Ruthie until her hair grows back, no matter how long it takes!”

Rose plunked down her lunch tray and slid in among the knot of girls seated around a school cafeteria table. “Election for term representative to the General Organization is just a week away. Who’s getting your vote?”

Lolly spooned up the last remaining beans on her plate. “I don’t know. Who’s running?”

“There are three candidates this time—Calvin Spencer …”

“Oh, the good-looking one with curly hair and beautiful eyes,” Hannah gushed.

“Yes,” agreed Henny, “but he’s awfully stuck on himself. Thinks he’s God’s gift to women.”

“Still you’ve got to admit he’s great fun in class,” Betty said. “He’s always coming up with some wisecrack.”

Henny dismissed Calvin with a flip of her hand. “Aw, he’s just a big show-off. Who are the other two?”

“Jack Berger, the bean pole with the long nose—and Dennis Reilly. You know, the one whose ears stick out.”

“Yeh,” Henny grinned, “one look at him and you can tell which way the wind blows.”

The girls burst into hysterics.

“Not much of a choice,” Jenny remarked. “Not that it matters which one gets elected. It would still be a boy.”

Rae nodded. “And with a boy representative to the
General Organization, most of the activities and programs are always planned for boys.”

“So why don’t we get a girl to run for a change?” Henny suggested.

“A girl!” the others chorused.

“Sure. Why not? Why does it always have to be a boy?” Henny looked around at the startled faces. “What’s the matter? Don’t you think a girl could handle the job?”

“I guess she could,” Bessie considered. “It’s just that we never thought of it before.”

“I’m with you, Henny,” Rose cried. “I think it’s a great idea! Let’s try. Even if we don’t win, at least they’ll realize girls have some rights after all.”

“Who says we can’t win? Don’t forget the boys will have to split their votes three ways, while we’ll have only one candidate.” Henny was getting increasingly enthusiastic. “And if we can get all the girls to pull together, we stand a very good chance of winning.”

“That’s right,” Mary broke in. “Who’ll we nominate?”

“Henny, of course,” Rose replied immediately.

“Wait a minute!” protested Henny. “Why me?”

“Because you’d be just perfect!” Rae burst out.

“Besides, it was your idea,” Mary went on. She turned to the others. “Henny’s a great debater. When it comes to an argument, nobody can equal her.”

“Sure!” Lolly seized on the suggestion. “She’s just like quicksilver. Try to catch her on one point and she’s off like a shot on another. She could hold her own against any one of those candidates!”

By now everyone was sold on the idea. “Henny, you’ve got to do it!” they coaxed. “We need you.”

“As term representative,” Jenny tempted, “you’ll get to
arrange the athletic events. You’ll have to go out with the teams every time they play against some other high school. Think of all the boys you’ll get to meet!”

“You’re marvelous in gym,” Lolly piped up. “Who knows? Maybe they’ll even let you play on their basketball team.”

The girls all ha-ha-ed at such a fanciful notion. When the merriment had subsided, Rose continued her urging. “Come on, Henny, what do you say?”