All-of-a-Kind Family Uptown Page 9

  Backstage was bedlam. Ella and Henny rushed about pinning squirming youngsters into their costumes, putting make-up on their faces, giving last minute instructions, and, in between, hissing, “Shush! They’ll hear you outside!”

  At the very final moment, Ella yanked away from the curtain a small boy who was peeping out and waving to his mama and papa.

  The curtain went up. A spotlight revealed a little girl standing at one side of the stage. She began to read:

  “And it came to pass that there was a famine in the land of Judah. And a certain man of Bethlehem went to live in the fields of Moab, he and his wife, and his two sons. And the man was named Elimelich and his wife was named Naomi …

  Elimelich died. And the two sons took wives of the women of Moab—the name of the one was Orpah and the name of the other Ruth, and they dwelt there about ten years. And the sons died and the three women were left widowed. Naomi wished to return to the land of her fathers, and Ruth and Orpah went with her through the fields to the road that led to Bethlehem …”

  “Isn’t that from the Bible?” Mrs. Healy whispered to Papa.

  “Well, it’s not exactly like we read it in the synagogue. I suppose they made it simple so the children would understand.”

  The reader closed her book and disappeared. The stage lights brightened.

  “See, Charlie,” Mama said softly, “that’s Ruth, and that’s Orpah, and there is Naomi.”

  Charlie scoffed. “Nah! That’s not Naomi. That’s Sarah. She’s dressed up like an old lady.”

  Naomi stretched out her arms and began to speak in a broken voice. “Alas, soon it will be dark. Return you now to your homes.”

  And Orpah, weeping bitterly, embraced Naomi and departed.

  Then Naomi said to Ruth, “Dearest Ruth, go you too as Orpah has done. I am an old woman, but you are still young. Your husband is dead, but here in the land of Moab you have many relatives and friends. You will find happiness with them again.”

  But no matter how much Naomi urged, Ruth would not leave. Lifting her head, she began to sing. The audience grew still under the spell of the lovely voice, so full and strong, yet so tender.

  Papa and Mama exchanged bewildered glances. The voice—they knew it so well! But how could it be? There was the girl on stage singing the role of Ruth. Her mouth moved in song. Her whole body seemed alive with the music. They listened intently. “It is Ella singing!” Mama whispered.

  “No mistake about it,” Papa whispered back.

  They marveled how cleverly it was being done. Ruth’s lips moved perfectly in time with Ella’s backstage singing. Pure and clear were the beautiful words of devotion that have come down through the ages:

  Entreat me not to leave thee

  And to return from following after thee

  For whither thou goest, I will go

  And where thou lodgest, I will lodge

  Thy people shall be my people

  And thy God my God.

  Where thou diest, will I die

  And there will I be buried.

  The Lord do so to me

  And more also

  If aught but death part thee and me.

  The curtain was lowered, and the applause rang out. Murmurs of admiration swelled from all sides of the auditorium.

  “Such a wonderful voice!”

  Mama and Papa smiled at each other.

  Grace leaned over and touched Mama’s hand. “You know, I would have sworn that was Ella singing.”

  Mama’s eyes twinkled. “You think so?”

  Act Two began almost immediately. Once again the reader stood in a circle of light …

  “Now it happened that Ruth and Naomi came to Bethlehem at the time of the harvest. There was a man called Boaz, kinsman to Naomi, and he had many large fields. And Ruth joined the poor who followed after the gleaners in the fields of Boaz, for it was known that he was kind and generous …”

  Bright light flooded the stage, and sighs of delight rippled through the audience, so charming was the picture. The golden fields filled with cut sheaves seemed so real that one could almost smell the fallen gleanings. Slowly the gleaners moved across the stage gathering up the grain. Ruth was among them, and the others gazed at her and whispered about her great beauty.

  Boaz appeared. “Who is this maiden?” he asked of his gleaners.

  “She is the daughter-in-law of thy kinswoman, Naomi. They have just come from the land of Moab.”

  “Ah, yes, so I have heard. They have suffered much and are in great need. See that you let many stalks fall in the maiden’s path.”

  Then Boaz addressed himself to Ruth. “I bid you welcome. Come to my fields as often as you like for the grain with which to make your bread. You shall eat with my workers when you are hungry, and if you are thirsty, they will draw water for you to drink.”

  “Why are you so kind to me?” Ruth asked.

  And Boaz replied, “It has been told to me all that you have done for Naomi. Who deserves kindness more than you who have been so loyal and generous to an old woman?”

  Soon the harvest gatherers laid aside their scythes and sat down to eat and drink and make merry. “Come, let us dance!” cried one, and in a moment a small group leaped to their feet. Among the dancers were Gertie and Charlotte.

  The piano gave forth a rollicking tune, and the gleaners burst into song, clapping their hands in rhythm. Skirts billowing gracefully, heads proudly raised, the little dancers circled about. “Did you ever see a prettier sight!” exclaimed Mrs. Healy.

  Caught up in the happy beat of the music, the audience began clapping their hands and stamping their feet. Backstage, Ella and Henny hugged each other. “They like it! They really like it!”

  Hopping and skipping for all she was worth, Gertie was leading the line of dancers when suddenly she heard—snap! The safety pin holding her skirt band flew open! She could feel the skirt beginning to slip down the back. Desperately she clung to it with one hand, trying to face front all the time. Already some people in the front row were tittering. Oh, dear, what should she do? She turned her head toward the wings, sending appealing glances for help.

  Frantically, Ella beckoned to her. Gertie started to dance sideways, forcing herself to smile. But before she could reach the wings, the droopy skirt was trailing on the floor. The titters grew into boisterous laughter. Gertie’s face puckered up. She ran sobbing off the stage.

  Ella caught her. “It’s all right, Gertie. They’re not laughing at you. They’re laughing with you!” Quickly she pinned the unruly skirt back into place. “Go on back!” and she gave her a little push.

  Sniffling a little, Gertie skipped back to her place among the dancers. The audience applauded loudly.

  “They’re clapping for you,” Charlotte murmured to Gertie as she danced by.

  “Honest?” Gertie asked, and her eyes glowed.

  Without further mishap, the play went into Act Three. Boaz, the rich landowner, grew to love Ruth; they were married and lived happily ever after. Thus the play ended. Everyone agreed that it had been a huge success.

  That night the family sat around the table eating the traditional blintzes, the pancakes filled with sweetened cheese that everyone loved. The talk was of nothing but the play. “Just think,” Ella said, “besides all the fun we had, we made one hundred and twenty-five dollars for the Red Cross!”

  “Ella, I thought you said the girl who played Ruth couldn’t sing a note,” Papa remarked, merry crinkles showing around his eyes.

  Laughter rolled around the table. “Wasn’t it amazing the way it was done?” Sarah said, enthusiastically. “The audience never even guessed.”

  “It was Henny’s idea,” Ella put in. “You were really smart, Henny.”

  “Nope. Not at all,” replied Henny. “Actually it was Papa who gave me the idea.”

  Papa looked puzzled. “Who? Me?”

  “Don’t you remember, Papa? You said, ‘ten years from now, who’ll remember who sang?’ That’s when it came
to me like a flash!”

  “Well, so I’m the smart one!” Papa exclaimed, looking pleased at everyone.

  The History Prize

  Sarah had studied hard. Her head felt crammed full of history—dates, names, and places. All year her work in class had won praise from Miss Brady. Even her classmates kept assuring her, “You’ll surely win the prize!”

  Sarah bore in mind, however, that it wasn’t enough to be tops in the daily classwork. She had to get the highest mark in all the tests as well. Or at least, as high as her rival, Dorothy Miller. Up till now, things had gone just fine.

  At last the morning came for the most important test of all—the final exam. Everything would depend upon this test. “I’m scared!” Sarah whispered to Dorothy as the class filed into Miss Brady’s room.

  “I’m not. I know my work!” boasted Dorothy.

  She looks as calm as a cucumber, Sarah thought enviously. She could feel her own heart beating with hammer blows. Tensely she kept twisting and untwisting her hands in her lap.

  Miss Brady passed out sheets of paper. Presently she was writing the questions on the blackboard. Sarah’s eyes followed the squeaking movement of the chalk across the board. Stop worrying! It’s going to be all right! she encouraged herself.

  As her pen went scratching along the lines of the paper, she forgot her worry. She wrote speedily, hesitating only once when she came to a question about the French and Indian War. She wasn’t sure of the answer. She chewed her penholder thoughtfully. Finally she made up her mind. Once more her head bent over the paper before her. She finished answering the last question just as the bell rang. It was all over!

  “Wasn’t it just awful!” “The hardest test we ever had!” the girls exclaimed to one another. Then they fell to comparing answers. Sarah remained silent. She went home and looked up the French and Indian War, and still she wasn’t sure.

  Miss Brady never told what your final marks were. You had to wait for graduation day, when you got your report card. Sarah worried, but everyone in school was certain that she’d be the first-prize winner.

  At home Sarah talked of nothing else, till Mama finally said, with some concern, “Listen, Sarah, I’ve told you over and over, you’ve got to understand that winning is not the most important thing. What is important is that a person should do the very best he can, whether he wins a prize or not. You did that. So even if you don’t win, we’ll all be just as proud of you.”

  For the whole year, during sewing periods in school, Sarah and her classmates had worked on their graduation dresses. They were made entirely by hand, and every stitch had to be perfect. Sometimes Sarah felt she was doing as much ripping as sewing, but at long last her dress was completed. It was made of white nainsook, high waisted and full skirted, with little white rosebuds trimming the neck and tiny puffed sleeves. Washed, starched, and ironed by Mama, it really looked beautiful.

  The night before the graduation ceremony, Henny put up Sarah’s hair in rag curls, and in the morning Sarah again had her cherished curls tumbling down her back.

  Wonderful, wonderful graduation day! Sarah’s usually pale face was pink with excitement. She would be reciting a poem in assembly today! She’d stand right up in front, on the platform where the principal and all the important people would be sitting! She had rehearsed over and over with Miss Brady. “Say it naturally in your own lovely voice,” Miss Brady had told her, “and it’ll be fine.” And then there was the history prize!

  Assembly began quite differently today. In two long lines, the graduates, all dressed in white, marched proudly to their seats.

  The principal came forward and welcomed the parents and guests. Then Sarah recited her poem. It went well. She could tell from the way everyone smiled approvingly at her. Then there was music, singing, and speeches, and more speeches.

  Now! Now the prizes were to be given out! Sarah felt a tingle running up and down her spine. On the platform, the principal was announcing the names of the various winners. Arithmetic … geography … Sarah stretched forward, listening with all her might. Would they never get to history? History … The principal held up a book. “The Life of George Washington, won by—” Sarah half-rose in her seat—“Dorothy Miller!”

  There must be some mistake, Sarah thought confusedly. It can’t be! It can’t be! But there was Dorothy walking with head high down the center aisle toward the platform. The blood pounded at Sarah’s temples. The pain inside her was unbearable. She could feel the eyes of all her classmates upon her. No one must see how terrible she felt. She forced herself to smile.

  Afterwards she congratulated Dorothy and went about getting her autograph album signed.

  “Gee, that was a surprise!” “I was sure you’d be the winner, Sarah!” “I’m awfully sorry!” It was hard to have to listen to the girls saying these things. How she longed to get away from everyone! As soon as she could, she edged toward the door and out into the hallway.

  Close by the stairs she bumped into Miss Brady. “Good luck, Sarah.” Miss Brady took hold of Sarah’s hand. She said nothing more, but her eyes studied the girl’s face. Sarah struggled hard to keep from crying. “Good-by,” she mumbled, pulling her hand away and rushing down the stairs. Tears blinded her eyes. It wasn’t fair! She had worked so hard! She deserved the prize. Everyone said so! Everyone!

  At home no one mentioned the prize. Sarah could feel everyone trying to be extra kind, telling her how well she had recited and how nice she had looked. But for Sarah, the long-looked-forward-to day was now empty of magic. She counted the minutes till bedtime when she could be by herself.

  Next morning a parcel was delivered to Mama’s house, and they all gathered around to examine it. “It’s for you, Sarah,” Charlotte said. “It must be a graduation present. Quick, Sarah, open it up and let’s see!”

  “Who sent it?” asked Gertie.

  Ella turned the surprise package over. “It doesn’t say anywhere. Sarah, open it up!”

  Sarah began fumbling with the knot. “Oh, you slowpoke!” Henny cried. Snatching up a kitchen knife, she snipped the cord and hastily tore away the wrapping.

  There was lots and lots of straw and paper first, then underneath, carefully folded in tissue paper, lay a handsome black leather-bound book with gleaming gilt-edged pages. “Why, it’s a dictionary!” cried Sarah. “Did you ever see anything so beautiful?”

  It was indeed the biggest, the handsomest dictionary they had ever seen. There were pages and pages of bright colored pictures—costumes of ancient times, precious stones, flowers, flags of the world, strange animals, and many, many other fascinating things. Sarah perked up. “This will be a lot of help when I get to high school,” she said. “I wonder who sent it?”

  As her fingers caressed the soft leather binding, a little card fell out. Sarah opened it and immediately recognized the bold handwriting:

  To Sarah,

  For the joy and pleasure she gave to her teacher

  by her outstanding work in history.

  Lillian Brady

  P.S. See page 1176 for the correct answer on the

  French and Indian War.

  Sarah hugged the book to her. “Oh!” she gasped, and tears sprang to her eyes. Only this time they were tears of joy.

  Homecoming

  Sarah sat on the bed watching her sister coil her long, dark hair into a neat bun. “That looks nice, Ella,” she said. She gave herself a little hug. “Aren’t you glad it’s such a lovely day?”

  “Uh-huh. Perfect for a parade!” Ella replied happily, as she slipped her red woolen dress over her head. Her fingers trembled so much that she had trouble sliding the gold buttons into the buttonholes. It had been so long, so very, very long! Now at last it was over—all the worrying, the longing, the waiting!

  She glanced up at the bold, black letters on the newspaper headline pasted across her mirror. “Germany Surrenders!” She thought about that morning four months ago—November 11, 1918. She would never forget it!

  Up and dow
n the city streets the newsboys had raced. “Extra! Extra! Read all about it! Victory for the Allies! Armistice signed!” People had rushed out to get papers. Again she heard the wild shouting, the whistles blowing, and the ringing of the bells. Once more she could see the joyous dancing in the streets, strangers embracing one another. “We’ve won!” President Wilson had announced, “The war thus comes to an end!”

  “For heaven’s sake, Ella!” Henny’s impatient voice startled Ella out of her thoughts. “The parade’ll be over by the time we get there!”

  “Ella has to look her best,” Mama said, with an indulgent smile. “Today is more than extra special for her.”

  “Yes, but it’s the Victory Parade!” Henny insisted. “There’ll be a mob. If we don’t get there early, we’ll never find a place to stand.”

  Charlie was equally impatient. “When are we going to the parade?” He looked so adorable in his new sailor suit that Ella had to bend down and give him a hug. “I’ve got something for you,” she said. She took out a small flag from her closet and began to unfurl it.

  “No! No! Let me do it!” shouted Charlie, stretching out eager hands. “I wanna open it myself!”

  Flag on his shoulder, he stamped around the room, shouting, “Left, right, left, right!”

  As the family came downstairs, they found themselves whispering when they passed the Healy door. If only they could be welcoming Bill home today as well as Jules! Ella felt sad when she thought of unhappy Grace.

  “Why do we have to go so far downtown?” Charlotte asked, when they were on the train. “Isn’t the parade going all the way up on Fifth Avenue?”

  “If we go down to Twenty-third Street, we’ll see the soldiers go through the Victory Arch,” Papa said. “It’s not going to stand there forever, you know. It’ll be pulled down as soon as all the boys are home.”

  “Then why did they bother to put it up in the first place?” inquired Gertie.