The Blue Bottle Club
Copyright © 1999 Penelope J. Stokes.
All rights reserved. Mo portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any meansâelectronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherâexcept for brief quotation in printed review, without the prior permission of the publisher.
Published by WestBow Press, a Division of Thomas Nelson, Inc., P.O. Box 141000, Nashville, Tennessee 37214
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This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher.
ISBN 1-5955-4051-2 (repak)
ISBN 0-8499-1573-2 (HC)
ISBN 0-8499-3780-9 (TP)
Printed in the United States of America
05 Â 06 Â 07Â 08Â 09Â BTY Â 5Â 4Â 3 Â 2 Â 1
CONTENTS
With appreciation to all the people who made this work possible,
especially:
Sister Antonette and Sister Janet,
who endured my endless questions about
Mary Patton, who lives the music;
My parents, who freed me to follow the dream;
And my own Blue Bottle ClubâCindy, B. J., and Catherineâ
who enrich my life by believing in me.
Christmas Day 1929
I
n the watery dimness of a December afternoon, the attic looked dismal and a little spooky. High gabled windows on either end provided the only light, and very little heat filtered to these upper reaches. In an alcove near one of the windows, four girls gathered in a circle around a rickety table.
"It's cold up here." Adora Archer shivered.
"You should have thought of that," Eleanor James snapped, slanting a glance at her friends thin gauze blouse. "The rest of us had the good sense to wear sweaters."
"Here, take mine." Mary Love Buchanan stripped off her wool sweater and handed it to Adora. She pinched her own chubby forearm and grinned. "I've got plenty of natural insulation."
Adora muttered, "Thank you," turned up her nose just a little at the worn gray sweater, and slipped it on.
Letitia Cameron arranged a trunk and three packing crates around the scarred wooden table. She lit a candle in the center and motioned for them to sit. "Now," she said in a brisk, businesslike voice, "we all know what we're here for."
Mary Love leaned forward, gazing intently into the candle flame. "We're here," she intoned, "so our dreams won't die."
"That's right," Eleanor added. "Times are likely to get difficult for all of us. Mother is afraid thatâ"
"Your mother is afraid of
everything,"
Letitia interrupted. "Daddy says that it took a great deal of convincing to get her to invest with him after your father died, and look how well she's done." She settled back on her crate and smiled benignly. "Daddy says that all we have to do is bide our time; this stock market problem will straighten itself out if people just don't panic."
"I hope he's right." Eleanor's voice was faint. "But if he's notâ"
"If he's not, everything's going to change," Mary Love put in matter-of-factly. "My papa says that business has gone down like a rock in the river since October. Mama prays constantly night and dayâshe goes to Mass every morning, and she's used up enough candles to light the city for a month."
"Everybody seems pretty upset." Adora adjusted the sleeves of Mary Love's sweater and patted her hair. "People are beginning to flock into my father's churchânot members, but people right off the streets." She shrugged. "I suppose a little prayer couldn't hurt."
"Well, it's hurting me," Mary Love shot back. "If Mama would spend some of that time on her knees cleaning the kitchen floor, I wouldn't have to do all the work. As it is, I'm cooking most of the meals and taking care of the little ones after school."
"Girls!" Letitia interrupted. "We're here to make a pact, remember?"
Eleanor nodded. "A pact that we will always be friends, no matter what. That we'll support each other. That we'll see our dreams fulfilled."
Letitia drew a folded paper from her pocket and opened it with a flourish. "Then let's get on with it. I'll go first." She squinted in the candlelight and began to read:
"I, Letitia Randolph Cameron, on this twenty-fifth day of
December, 1929, here set forth my dream for my lifeâto marry Philip Clifton
Dorn and bear three children and give my life to make them happy and productive
members of society.'"
She creased the paper in half and sighed. "Philip and I have it all planned," she said. "When I turn eighteen, we'll be married, and he'll join Daddy in the firm. We'll live in a big house and start a family He's going to be very successful, you know, andâ"
Adora snorted. "Tish, sometimes I can't believe you and I have been best friends since we were ten years old." She shook her head. "That's it? Your
big dream?
To marry into the Dorn dynasty and raise a litter of society brats?"
Mary Love put a restraining hand on Adora's arm. "We
promised
to support each other," she reminded Adora. "If that's Tish's dream, we have no right to question her about it."
"Thank you, Mary Love," Letitia murmured. "I think being a wife and mother is a perfectly respectable ambition."
"Okay, okay, I a-po-lo-gize, all right?" Adora whined. Her tone of voice, however, indicated that she did not feel particularly repentant and that she still thought Tish was aiming pretty low. "So, Mary Love, what's your dream?"
Mary Love fished in her skirt pocket and came up with a sheaf of papers, folded lengthwise.
"Good heavens!" said Eleanor. "That's not a dreamâit's a whole book."
"I won't read it all," Mary Love conceded, her round cheeks flushing. "I guess I got a little carried away." She scanned the pages in front of her. "Firstâno offense to you, TishâI don't
ever
want to get married. I want to live
alone,
in a place that's all mine. I've had it up to here with a big family, all the responsibility, the noise, the distractions. No children. Andâ" She lowered her eyes. "I want to be an artist. That's my dream."
"Really?" Tish raised one eyebrow. "I knew you liked to draw, butâ"
"Not just drawing," Mary Love corrected. "Painting too, and maybe even sculpture."
"Do you think you can make a living at it?" Adora raised her eyebrows.
Ellie shut her up with a glare. "Of course she can. She's good at itâreally good."
"I put in a sketch of mine," Mary Love added shyly. "I hope you won't mind." Hesitantly she passed the small pen-and-ink sketch around the circle.
"Look, everybody, how realistic it is!" Ellie said. "A child opening a package under the Christmas tree. You can almost feel his excitement."
"It's very good," Tish agreed.
Adora gave a cursory glance at the picture and handed the sketch back to Mary Love without comment. "I want to be an actress," she declared. "On the stage, on Broadway. Or maybe out in Hollywood, in those new talkies."
"Your father will have a fit," Letitia stated flatly. "I know for a fact that no Presbyterian minister in his right mind would let his only daughter flit off to California to be in the movies. I've heard him preach about the reprobate lifestyles of those actresses in Hollywood. He'll never let you do it."
"It's not a matter of what my father will
let
me do," Adora sniffed. "It's my dream, and I'll do itâyou wait and see. And when I'm famous, you can all come visit me."
Eleanor cleared her throat nervously. "You'll probably all laugh at my dream," she whispered. "I want. . . to be a social worker, like Jane Addams. I want to help people who are less fortunate." She gave a weak smile. "Sounds pretty silly, I guess."
"It sounds," Letitia answered, "like something that would horrify your mother. Little Eleanor, namesake of the great Eleanor Fadiman James, doing welfare work?"
Eleanor shrugged. "I'm not like my mother."
"An understatement if ever I heard one." Mary Love squeezed her friend's hand. "But a noble dream, Ellie. Truly."
"All right," Letitia said, all business again. "We're agreed. We put our dreams together in this bottleâ" She held up a cobalt blue bottle, shaped like a log cabin, with little doors and windows pressed into the glass. "And leave them hidden for posterity." She removed the cork and set the bottle on the table next to the candle.
"Dreams in a bottle," Mary Love whispered. "It sounds so poeticâlike a song."
"It's like a time capsule," Eleanor corrected. "I read about itâ"
"Let's just do it," Letitia snapped, "before my mother catches us up here."
Each girl, in turn, handed over her papers, and Letitia rolled them up and slid them solemnly into the bottle. Together they repeated in a whisper, "Our dreams . . . for the future."
"Shouldn't we pray, or commit them to God, or something?" Adora asked suddenly. She didn't pray much, personallyâher father was the professional pray-er in the family. But some kind of closing ceremony seemed to be in order, and she couldn't think of anything else.
"Spoken like a true preacher's daughter." Mary Love shook her head in dismay "With a mother like mine, I've had enough religion to last me a lifetime. Butâ" She thought for a moment, and her round face brightened. "How about a moment of silence, so that each of us can commit our dreams toâto whoeverâin our own way?"
Apparently satisfied with the compromise, Adora nodded. She laid her hand on the bottle, and everyone else followed suit, touching the blue bottle and each other in the center of the circle.
It was a magical moment. In the dim stillness of the Camerons' dusty attic, with their dreams captured in a cobalt blue bottle, the four friends joined hands and reached out toward the unknown.
