Heaven to Betsy / Betsy in Spite of Herself

  Even Margaret made a trip down to Dodd and Storer’s to see the brass bowl, and Margaret brought up the matter of buying it. Mrs. Ray was in the kitchen with Anna, and Mr. Ray and the girls were in the parlor.

  “Aren’t we going to buy Mamma her brass bowl?” Margaret asked. “I saw it today, and I thought it was very nice. I’ll put in my fifty cents.”

  “We certainly won’t buy it,” Mr. Ray answered. “No sirree Bob, She’s so sure I’m going to buy it that it wouldn’t be any surprise. I’ve bought her something she’s wanted a long time, and it’s for herself, not the house.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “A mink fur piece.”

  “Then I’ll buy her some violet perfume,” said Margaret. “She always likes that.”

  “The fur piece will be wonderful, Papa,” Julia assured him. “She’s been wanting one for ages.”

  “She’ll be thrilled with it,” Betsy said.

  But Julia, Betsy and Margaret were secretly a little worried about the brass bowl as Christmas drew near. Mrs. Ray seemed so buoyantly satisfied that she was going to get it.

  “Here’s where I’m going to put the brass bowl I’m expecting for Christmas,” she remarked to Tony when he came in and found her studying the front parlor window.

  “What kind of a plant shall I put in my brass bowl?” she asked Tacy the very day before the day before Christmas. “A palm? Or one of those new poinsettias?”

  The Ray house by this time was almost bursting with Christmas. Holly wreaths were up in all the windows. Mr. Ray had brought home candy canes; Washington had a red and green bow on his collar. And everyone had been warned by everyone else not to look in this or that drawer, or this or that closet.

  “I don’t dare to speak,” Margaret said. “I’m so afraid I’ll give something away.”

  “Don’t worry, if you mention that I’m getting the brass bowl,” said Mrs. Ray. “To be sure, it’s still in Dodd and Storer’s window, but I think Papa asked Miss Dodd to keep it there just to fool me. Didn’t you, Bob?”

  “Once and for all,” said Mr. Ray, “you are not going to get that brass bowl.”

  But on the morning of the day before Christmas he weakened. Before he started off for the store he called the three girls into the kitchen.

  “I’ll be darned,” he said, “if I’m not going to buy Jule her brass bowl. I believe she really wants it so much that she’s going to be disappointed if she doesn’t get it, in spite of the mink fur piece.”

  Julia, Betsy and Margaret heaved a triple sigh of relief. Then Julia had an anxious thought.

  “But perhaps it’s sold by now. This is so near Christmas.”

  “No, it’s still in the window. I looked yesterday, and Miss Dodd wouldn’t keep it there if it were sold.”

  Julia gave her father an ecstatic hug, and she and Betsy and Margaret hugged each other and jumped softly up and down.

  “What is it? What’s up?” Anna asked in a stage whisper.

  “The brass bowl,” Betsy whispered. “Papa’s buying it for Mamma. Won’t it be fun when she sees it Christmas morning?”

  Mr. Ray beamed all over his face.

  When he came home that night, however, the beam was absent. He was smiling, but it was the fixed determined smile he wore when he was worried or unhappy about something. At the first opportunity he drew the girls aside.

  “The bowl’s gone,” he said.

  It was as though a door had opened, admitting a draft of wintry cold.

  “Who bought it?” Margaret asked, her lips trembling a little.

  “An out-of-town customer, Miss Dodd said. It’s gone from the window.”

  “It doesn’t matter at all, Papa,” Julia said. “Mamma is going to be so delighted with her fur piece.”

  “And she doesn’t expect the bowl really,” Betsy declared.

  “I’m going to tell her,” said Mr. Ray, “that I tried to get it and it was gone. I’ll tell her tonight.”

  Anna’s head with its knob of hair on top poked in at the door.

  “Did you get that brass bowl, Mr, Ray?” she whispered. “Do you want to hide it up in my room? Where is it?”

  “I couldn’t get it, Anna,” Mr. Ray answered. “It was sold.”

  “Oh, my poor lovey!” said Anna. “No brass bowl!” She slammed the door.

  “Mr. McCloskey,” Mr. Ray said ruefully, “would have bought it in time.”

  They all laughed because they felt like crying.

  At Christmas Eve supper, which was oyster stew, Mr. Ray told Mrs. Ray that she wasn’t getting the brass bowl. He told her it was sold to someone else. He made a joke of it, but something in his tone made it plain that he was telling the truth.

  “Darn it all, Jule,” he said, “I gave in and tried to get that silly bowl for you, but I was too late.”

  Mrs. Ray acted as though it didn’t matter at all.

  “I was only fooling about the whole thing,” she said. “There are other brass bowls in the world.”

  “Not as puny as that one, lovey,” said Anna lugubriously, clearing the soup plates to make way for chocolate cake.

  “Just exactly as puny,” Mrs. Ray insisted. “Maybe I’ll get one for my birthday.”

  There was the usual Christmas Eve ritual. They decorated the tree. Betsy put on the golden harp from this year’s shopping expedition with Tacy. She hung the red ball she had bought last year, the angel from the year before.

  The tree stood in the dining room, and its candlelight mingled with the soft light from the fire in the grate as Julia went out to the piano and they all sang, “O Little Town of Bethlehem,” “It Came Upon the Midnight Clear,” “Hark, the Herald Angels Sing,” and “Silent Night.”

  Then they gathered around the fire with Margaret in the circle of her father’s arm, and Betsy read from Dickens’ “Christmas Carol,” the story of the Cratchits’ Christmas Dinner. Margaret recited “’Twas the Night Before Christmas,” and Julia read the story of Jesus’ birth out of the Book of Luke. Later they turned out the lights to fill one another’s stockings which were hung around the fireplace. They all forgot about the brass bowl.

  But next morning they remembered it. It was still dark and cold when Margaret clamored to see her presents. Mr. Ray went down to open the drafts in the furnace and rebuild the fire in the grate. Mrs. Ray went down to light the candles on the tree, and Anna started coffee to boiling and sausages to frying.

  “I wish Mamma was getting her bowl,” Betsy whispered to Julia as they hurried into their clothes. Margaret didn’t dress. She only put her bathrobe on over her outing flannel gown.

  Mr. Ray came back upstairs to say that the dining room was warm now. Laughing and excited, they pelted down the stairs. Anna pushed through from the kitchen, intent upon her stocking. They all reached the fireplace at about the same time.

  And almost all together they gave unbelieving exclamations. For on the floor in front of the fireplace, catching on its polished surface every gleam of every dancing flame, stood the brass bowl!

  “Stars in the sky! Stars in the sky!” cried Anna.

  “Santa Claus must have brought it,” shouted Margaret, dancing about.

  “Papa! You fooled us!” Julia and Betsy fell upon him.

  Mr. Ray, however, looked completely mystified. He stared from the bowl around the circle, and his eyes came to rest at last upon his wife.

  Then he began to laugh. He laughed until his face grew crimson. He laughed until he shook. He laughed so hard that all the rest laughed with him even before they knew what the joke was.

  “You—you—” he said to Mrs. Ray, and went over to shake her. “She bought it herself,” he announced to the rest. “She’s the out-of-town customer!”

  “That’s right,” said Mrs. Ray. “That brass bowl and I were meant for one another,”

  “She bought it herself!” cried Anna, rocking with laughter, “Stars in the sky, wait ’til Charley hears this!” She looked at Mrs, Ray, now snug in her husband’s embrace. “It’s ju
st what Mrs. McCloskey would have done!” said Anna approvingly.

  18

  What the Ouija Board Said

  THE REST OF CHRISTMAS went like a glorified Sunday. It was Tuesday, actually. The family went to church in two different parties, and at the Episcopal Church Julia and Betsy in black vestments and four-cornered hats sang with all their hearts:

  “O come, all ye faithful, joyful and triumphant…”

  The church was rich with the fragrance of evergreen boughs brought into candlelit warmth from a snowy world.

  There was plenty of snow, but it was old snow. The weather was mild; not Christmassy, everyone said. Dinner was Christmassy enough to make amends. The Rays ate to repletion, and afterwards Mr. and Mrs. Ray took naps while Julia, Betsy and Margaret on the hearth beside the tree read Christmas books, played with Margaret’s toys and ran the Ouija Board which was one of Betsy’s presents.

  For a time the small three-legged table refused to budge. It sat stubbornly motionless upon its polished board with Julia’s and Betsy’s fingers poised on top, not stirring even after the five minutes of reverent silence recommended by the printed directions. At last, however, it began to move, at first hesitantly, then more and more briskly until it was sliding about the board with perfect confidence. It not only went to “Yes” and “No” but spelled out answers to all sorts of questions. This was later, after company had come in.

  There was a great deal of company. Herbert and Larry came with their parents; Tom Slade…home for the Christmas holidays…came with his. Fred, Cab and Tony dropped in. Katie and Tacy made the long walk from Hill Street. Betsy and Tacy planned to exchange their gifts at The Crowds’ Christmas tree at Bonnie’s, the next night, but they had to see each other on Christmas Day, of course.

  All the visitors had a fling at the Ouija Board and the little table on its padded legs flew about tirelessly spelling out messages for everyone.

  “What lies ahead for me during the coming week?” Betsy asked in theatrical tones, her fingers on the table. She and Tacy were running it at the moment with Fred, Cab, Tony and Herbert looking on.

  Promptly the table moved. Betsy watched with delighted intensity. In a business-like fashion, as though it knew exactly what it was doing, it slid from letter to letter. The boys chanted the letters aloud:

  “T-R-O-U-B-L-E”

  “Trouble!” everyone shouted together.

  Betsy was aghast. If she had been running the table with anyone but Tacy she would have thought her partner had pushed it for a joke. But if Tacy had pushed, she would have made it spell Happiness, or a Lot of Parties, or Fun. And certainly Betsy herself would not have pushed it to spell Trouble. Trouble was the last thing she had in her mind at the beginning of this party-spangled holiday week.

  There was general laughter, but Tacy understood the look on Betsy’s face.

  “I don’t believe in a silly old Ouija Board,” she said.

  “But what made the table spell that out, I wonder?” Betsy asked.

  “Some thought in your mind,” explained Julia over Fred’s shoulder. “You pushed it unconsciously.”

  “But I wasn’t thinking of trouble.”

  “Oh, probably you were. You’re so dramatic, Bettina. Some impulse deep down inside you suggested that it would be dramatic to have the table spell out trouble.”

  Betsy pretended to be satisfied, but a tiny worry pricked her.

  About twilight it started snowing. Soon there were rims of white on the dark branches of the trees, deep swathings of white on the bare young shrubs around the house. Everyone had gone except the Humphreys and the Slades, who had stayed for turkey sandwiches. By the time they left, lawns, roads and walks were one billowing drift.

  “We should have had this last night,” everyone said as Mr. Ray went out to sweep the soft snow off the steps before his guests descended. Parting cries of “Merry Christmas!” were muffled by the snow, still coming silently, steadily downwards.

  It snowed during most of the following day, providing a shut-in time ideal for enjoying Christmas presents. But it cleared by evening. The stars were out, looking fresh and surprised, the moon was rising when Tony, Cab and Herbert stamped in to accompany Betsy to Bonnie’s Christmas Tree party.

  This was a real party, and although the weather was too cold for the blue silk mull, Betsy wore a festive dress of bright red velveteen. She had put a sprig of holly in her definitely curly hair, and she was well sprinkled with perfume…her own. Having announced far and wide her wish for perfume for Christmas, she had received several bottles. They were still under the tree and the boys doused her some more, for good measure. Julia was giving a party, and Herbert went to the kitchen to call on his friend Anna and sample the refreshments. At last Betsy tied on her party scarf, Tony held her coat, Herbert and Cab put on an overshoe apiece. She brought out the box in which she had packed her tissue-wrapped, ribbon-tied gifts for The Crowd. Tony took possession of it, and they started out gaily.

  “I hope all the walks have been shoveled,” said Mr. Ray following them to the porch.

  “They have, Mr. Ray,” Herbert assured him. “Of course there are plenty of nice big drifts in case Betsy needs her face washed.”

  “Don’t you dare!” cried Betsy, thinking of her fragile curls.

  “The Ouija Board said she was in for trouble, you remember,” Tony called.

  “Now see here! This is a party. And I’m wearing my new dress.”

  Perhaps because of the new dress, the boys were very circumspect. They pushed one another freely into the drifts which rose fresh and soft on either side of the walk, but Betsy was spared. They took great scoops of snow in their hands and threatened to put it down her neck, but they didn’t, and when they threw snowballs they managed to miss her.

  Taking off her party scarf in Bonnie’s bedroom, Betsy was delighted to find her hair still wavy. She ran happily down the stairs.

  Entering the stately front parlor where a Christmas tree was shining, she received a surprise. It came in the form of two smacks, one on each cheek, one from Cab and one from Herbert who had bounced out from either side of the doorway.

  “Why…why…” sputtered Betsy.

  “There’s mistletoe over the door,” Herbert yelled.

  Betsy looked up, forgetting to move away, and Tony dashed over and kissed her.

  “Well, for Heaven’s sake!” cried Betsy, blushing and rushing away through an uproar of laughter.

  “Tacy’s coming in next. Gosh, she’ll be mad!” said Cab in a stage whisper as he and Herbert stationed themselves beside the door again.

  Dr. and Mrs. Andrews enjoyed the fun as much as anyone, especially Mrs. Andrews. Betsy wondered sometimes whether it was the Paris influence that made them so different from other ministers and other ministers’ wives.

  When everyone had arrived except Larry, who would be late, Herbert said, and all the presents had been placed around the tree, Mrs. Andrews stood up, smiling. Earrings glittered in her ears beneath her crisp dark hair.

  “We shan’t wait for dear Larry,” she said in her clipped speech. “He’ll have to forgive us for going ahead. St. Nick’s here.” She clapped her hands, and a burly, red-jacketed, white-whiskered Santa came in from the hall. He crossed to the tree and it was three minutes, or anyway two, before anyone except Carney knew that he was Larry.

  “I knew the second you came into the room. I knew from the way you walked with one shoulder higher than the other,” Carney insisted later.

  He began to distribute the presents, and through the noise and laughter Betsy kept thinking that Tony had kissed her.

  She wished that he had kissed her before Cab and Herbert. Then his kiss would have been the first she had ever received from a boy, and that would have been fitting. She tried to forget that Cab and Herbert had kissed her first.

  “My first kiss!” she thought romantically, referring of course to Tony’s kiss and ignoring the others. She wished she could remember exactly what it was like, but un
fortunately she couldn’t. It had come so quickly and unexpectedly; it was as nondescript as the other smacks.

  She glanced once or twice in Tony’s direction. He was wearing his best dark suit, and a most becoming red tie. His black eyes shone with laughter but his lips wore the indulgent smile that was his usual reaction to Crowd parties. He always seemed a little aloof, more worldly than the rest.

  Without intending to, she looked at him so hard and long that she drew his eyes to her. He winked.

  It was a merry party. After the gift giving, they played charades. They were called to the dining room for a Christmas punch, and cakes, and little individual mince pies that Mrs. Andrews had made in November and had kept in crocks in the cellar ever since. English mince pies, she said.

  When they left the house the weather was turning cold.

  “I’ll let Cab and Tony escort you home alone and unaided,” Herbert said; and to Larry, he added, “I’ll wait for you here. It won’t take you long to say good night tonight.”

  “It never does. But that isn’t my fault,” Larry muttered, and Carney flashed her dimple.

  So only Cab and Tony walked with Betsy up the Plum Street hill, and Cab dropped off at his own house as they passed it.

  It happened that just as Cab left them Tony took Betsy’s arm protectively. She felt her heart gyrate a little. Tony often accompanied her to and from parties but always with two or three other boys. They weren’t often alone. And he was different, alone; he was more serious; he was never serious with the other boys around.

  There were millions and millions of stars; big ones and little ones; and high above them glowed a great full moon. They walked slowly, the snow crunching under their feet, looking up at the moon. They tried to find the man in it, the lady in it. Betsy couldn’t find the lady in it, and they stopped, Tony holding her arm while he pointed it out. They walked slowly on.

  “This is beautiful,” Betsy thought to herself. “I’ll remember it always. Oh, I wish it was a mile to our house!”

  But it was only half a block, and the music from Julia’s party came out to meet them along with lights streaming from every window.