Thimble Summer (3 page)

II. The Coral Bracelet

IT WAS raining hard one afternoon several days later when Garnet went to get the mail. She wore a slicker that was too short for her, and a pair of Jay's rubber boots that were too big and made a slumph, slumph noise at every step.

The road streamed with little rivers the color of coffee and cream. Tiny toads hopped about and Garnet walked carefully so as not to step on them. Her slicker had a strong oily smell that was delicious, and she had found a forgotten piece of licorice in one of the pockets.

In the mailbox there was an important looking envelope for her father, two letters for her mother and an uninteresting postal card for Jay on which there was a picture of an office building and two parked cars. It was from Uncle Julius in Duluth. There weren't any letters for Garnet, but then there never were except at Christmas time and on her birthday.

She put the mail in her sticky slicker pocket and turned back towards Citronella's house. She slopped and splashed across the lawn and up the porch steps and looked through the screen door at the dark hall with the hat rack and rubber plant.

“Citro-nella!” she called and pressed her face against the screen. The Hauser house had its own smell like all houses. It smelled of brown soap and ironing and linoleum; rather stuffy.

“Citronella!” called Garnet again and this time Citronella answered and came thumping down the stairs, with her bangs flopping on her forehead.

“I was up in great-grandma's room,” she explained. “Come on up, Garnet. She's telling me about when she was little.”

Garnet stepped out of her muddy boots and went in. She hung her slicker up and barefooted climbed the stairs behind Citronella.

Citronella's great-grandmother was named Mrs. Eberhardt, and she was very, very old. She had a little room in the front of the house, full of photographs of her relatives. She had grown small with age and sat, light as a leaf, in a rocking chair with a red crocheted blanket over her knees. She liked bright colors, and especially red.

“Yes,” she told the two children, “I always liked red. When I was a little girl we used to make our own dye for clothes. In the fall we gathered the sumach berries and boiled them; then we'd dip in the cloth, but when it was finished it came out sort of a brownish color, not the red you'd expect. I was always disappointed.”

“What was it like then, in this valley?” asked Garnet.

“Oh, it was wild country,” replied Mrs. Eberhardt. “There was only one other family living there. Blaiseville was the nearest town, three miles away, and it was a little bit of a place then. We used to work very hard, we had to do everything for ourselves. There were eleven of us children; I was next to the youngest. The boys helped father plowing and tending the farm, and the girls helped mother with the churning, baking, spinning and soap-making. In summer, when we were tiny things, we used to lie in my father's wheat field, each with a pair of shingles to slap together when the crows came over. The deer sometimes came too, and we had to frighten them away. But often we used to go down to the river and hide in the bushes and watch them come to drink. Beautiful animals they were, but I haven't seen one in thirty years.

“Yes, it was wild country then, all woods and open fields and very few roads. My father used to ride into Blaiseville on a chestnut mare named Duchess. Sometimes when I was good he'd take me too, riding behind him and holding to his waist. My, my, he was a big man. It was like putting your arms around a big tree. Often we wouldn't start home till after dark, and it used to make me feel important and sort of adventurous to be riding through those thick, black woods with my father.

“There were Indians, too, in those days. I used to sleep in a little trundle bed with my sister Matty. In the daytime it was pushed under the big bed my father and mother slept in, but at night it was pulled out and set in its own corner. From where we lay we could see into the next room where the fire was burning. My, we had awful winters then. We used to be snowbound for weeks at a time. We kept the fires burning day and night and I remember wearing three pairs of woolen knit stockings and so many flannel petticoats I must have looked like a cabbage wrong-side up. Well, on those cold nights when Matty and I were supposed to be asleep we'd sometimes look into the other room where the shadows and firelight kept changing shape and flickering, and then suddenly we'd see the front door begin to open. ‘Look Matty,' I'd whisper and pinch her. ‘They're coming in again.' I felt sort of scared with goose flesh all over me, and Matty'd grab my hand. Sure enough, the door would open wide and in would come the Indians, quiet as cats, sometimes one or two, sometimes as many as ten. They wore fur hats and clothes made out of deerskin. We could hear them grunt and sigh as they lay down in front of the fire in our warm house. We never saw them leave, we were asleep, and they went out very early before it was light; but we'd always find a present left behind in exchange for our fireside. Sometimes it was a haunch of venison, or a couple of rabbits for stewing, or maybe a basket, or a sack of meal. Once I remember they left some moccasins and among them was a child's pair just my size. My, they were comfortable, and real pretty too, with bead work on the toes. I felt like crying when they wore out.”

“I wish I had some,” said Garnet, wriggling her bare toes. “They're the only kind of shoes I'd like to wear.”

Citronella was lying on the floor tickling the Maltese cat who sat smiling with his paws folded under him and purring roughly.

“Tell me about the time you were bad, great-grandma,” said Citronella. “You know, on your tenth birthday.”

Mrs. Eberhardt laughed. “Again?” she asked. “Well, Garnet hasn't heard it, has she? You know, Garnet, I was a very headstrong child, always wanting my own way and flying into tantrums when I was crossed. Well, in Blaiseville at that time there was only one store; a general store it was —”

“It was called Elly Gensler's Emporium,” interrupted Citronella, who knew the story by heart.

“Yes,” said Mrs. Eberhardt, “so it was. Elly Gensler was a tall, thin man without a chin, but we all liked him because he was good to us, and used to give us candy whenever we came in. He had everything in his store that you could think of: harness, groceries, calico by the yard, candy, shoes, books, tools, hats, grain and feed, and jewelry and toys. It was a wonderful place. My father used to joke about it. ‘Elly,' he'd say, ‘when you going to start selling livestock and locomotives?'

“Well, in Elly's showcase there was a coral bracelet, imitation I suppose it was, but my, I thought it was the prettiest thing I'd ever seen. It was made of coral beads with a coral heart dangling from it. I wanted it more than anything in the world; the only jewelry I'd ever had was strings of mountain ash berries, and rosehips. I thought about that bracelet and I thought about it; everytime I went to Blaiseville I was half scared to go in Elly's store for fear it had been sold. Finally Elly said to me, ‘Well, that bracelet's worth a dollar; but since you want it so bad and it's been in stock so long I'll knock it down to you for fifty cents.'

“‘Oh, thank you, Elly,' said I. ‘When I have fifty cents I'll come and get it.'

“That was early in May, and it wasn't till the end of August that I had enough money. I'd had about fifteen cents already in a china savings bank (it was blue and white I remember, and shaped like a wooden shoe), and I worked hard and did extra chores to earn more. I used to weed and tend the whole watermelon patch myself and my father would give me a penny on every melon he sold. My birthday was on the twenty-seventh of August and my father promised me that when it came he would take me to Blaiseville on Duchess and I could get the bracelet.

“Well, the birthday came at last, one of those clear, hot days that come towards the end of summer. I can remember it as if it was last week. I was ten years old. After breakfast I did my chores around the house and then I went out of doors. My father was saddling Duchess in front of the barn. My, I felt happy. I had the fifty cents tied up in a handkerchief that clinked when I shook it.

“‘Shall I change my dress, father?' I called.

“My father looked at me. ‘Not today, Fanny,' he said. ‘I can't take you today after all. I have to go to Hodgeville on business.'

“Well, I didn't say anything. I turned around and went into the house. I helped my mother and sisters with the washing, got vegetables from the garden for dinner, helped prepare and cook them. But I couldn't eat. All the time my anger was growing inside of me till I felt as if I'd burst. After dinner my brother Thomas and I went up to the woods with a couple of pails to get blackberries. I was getting madder and madder; tears kept coming into my eyes and I didn't see what I was doing and tore my dress on the brambles. Finally I couldn't stand it any longer. I gave Thomas my pail.

“‘You fill it,' I said. ‘I'm going to Blaiseville to get my bracelet.'

“Thomas looked at me with his eyes popping. ‘How you going to get there?' he asked.

“‘Walk,' said I, ‘and if you tell anybody where I've gone I'll whip you good!'

“Poor Thomas, his mouth hung open; he was only six years old. I should have known better than to leave him there alone! But I was a naughty, heedless girl.

“Well, so I walked and walked. It was hot and the road was dusty and I got a blister on my heel. But with every step the money in my pocket thumped against my leg and I thought about the bracelet. Finally I got to Blaiseville and walked straight into Elly Gensler's store.

“‘I've come for the bracelet, Elly,' said I. ‘I've got fifty cents to buy it with.'

“Elly looked at me kind of queer. ‘Why, Fanny,' said he, ‘I thought you wasn't never coming. I sold that bracelet to Minetta Harvey more'n a week ago.'

“Well, that was just too much. I put my head down on the counter and cried fit to break my heart. Elly felt real bad about it.

“‘Now, Fanny,' he said, ‘don't cry. I'll sell you the little agate locket for the same price and it's a better buy. Or maybe you'd like to have the blue bead necklace?'

“But, no, nothing would do for me except that coral bracelet.

“At last I stopped crying and dried my eyes and told Elly I had to go as it was getting late. I don't suppose he had any idea I was going home alone at that hour, or he wouldn't have let me leave. He gave me an all-day sucker and patted my shoulder.

“‘Never mind about that little bracelet,' he said. ‘Next time I go to Hodgeville maybe I can find you another one just like it.'

“Well, the sun was setting and I commenced to hurry. The woods were dark and thick on either side of the road and they got darker by the minute. There wasn't any sound except the crickets. I sniffled some, and felt sorry for myself. My, but I was disappointed and tired too.

“I'd gone about three quarters of the way, I guess, when I noted that someone was walking towards me on the road. It was real dark by this time, the stars were out but it was hard to see. For a minute I thought of hiding by the roadside, but then I decided that since I knew every single person for miles around, there was nothing to be scared of. It wasn't till I got close to him that I saw this man was a stranger. He had a bundle under one arm and he was wearing a deerskin jacket like the Indians wore.

“‘Good evening,' said I politely as I came near to him. I kept right on going.

“‘Hello, little girl,' said the man and reached out and grabbed me by the arm. ‘Where are you going in such a hurry?'

“‘Home,' I answered, trying not to sound scared. ‘Please let me go, I'm late for supper.' Oh dear, oh dear, I thought, why didn't I stay with Thomas?

“‘Supper,' said the man. ‘How would you like it if you didn't have any supper to go to? How would you like it if you didn't know where your next meal was coming from?' He held my arm tighter. ‘Or have you perhaps got a few pennies in your pocket that will buy some food for a hungry man?'