The Bluebird and the Sparrow (2 page)

Berta felt confused. Then angry. If it was such hard work—if it rearranged all of life—if it kept her mother from her—then why bother with a new baby?

She slipped from her mother’s arm and slid down the side of the bed. “I want breakfast,” she said without looking at her mother or her father, and she started for the door.

“Don’t you want to see your new sister?” called her mother after her.

Berta shook her head and kept right on walking. “I want breakfast,” she repeated. “I’m hungry.”

Her father followed her from the room.

———

There were many visits to her mother’s room. And Berta was introduced to the new baby sister. At first she found it hard to believe her eyes. This new baby was scarcely big enough to be seen on Mama’s arm. She was all bundled in blankets, the only thing showing being a tiny little face with an open mouth. Her mama would laugh and say that she was hungry, but it seemed to Berta that she was always hungry.

Berta was prompted to hold the baby on her own lap, with support from Mrs. Pringle, who was staying to care for the family. Mama smiled her pleasure and Mrs. Pringle clucked, and Berta looked down at the little bundle of blankets.

The baby’s head was moving, her open mouth twisting this way and that. Berta feared for a moment that the small infant might turn and bite her. Then the small, squinty eyes opened. It was the first that Berta had seen the baby with open eyes. It seemed that the new baby sister looked right into her face.

“Oh, look,” cried her mother joyfully. “She is looking at you. She wants to see who her big sister is.”

Mrs. Pringle joined in the little celebration. “Look at that. Just look at that,” she exclaimed. “She’s checking ya out—an’ that’s fer sure.”

For a moment—for one brief moment—something stirred within the heart of the little girl. The baby was looking at her. Her baby.

And then the squirming little mite turned her head and began to search with open mouth again. The little red face screwed up in protest and the noise that Berta already had learned to hate came again. The spell was broken. Berta pulled back from the baby and began to push her off her lap. Mrs. Pringle’s hands took over.

“She’s hungry,” the woman said as though an explanation was needed. And she took the baby, clucking and cooing as she went, over to her mother.

Berta scooted down from the chair and headed for the door. She was leaving. If there was no one in the kitchen she’d get herself a cookie from the cookie jar.

———

Mother was finally up and about the house once again. Mrs. Pringle went back to her home. Berta was prepared to welcome life back to normal again.

Only things didn’t go back to the way they had been. There was the new baby—and it seemed that the new baby needed an unbelievable amount of her mother’s time. There were bath times and feeding times and changing times and fussy times—and Berta found herself continually on her own. She didn’t like it. She missed her mother.

Oh, there still were times when she could help her mother in the kitchen. Still story times while little Glenna slept. Still snuggling on her father’s lap or shared visits to the woods or meadows. Still prayers at bedtime and hugs throughout the day—but it wasn’t the same.

Berta wished they would just send the baby back.

———

“Mama, look. She’s got my finger.”

Mrs. Berdette looked up from the sock she was darning and smiled at her two daughters.

“I think she likes her big sister,” she said softly.

Berta’s eyes shone as she looked at her baby sister. Glenna had grown already. But it was hard for Berta to remember how little she had once been. She still seemed so small. So helpless.

“Remember I told you that she would be a playmate almost before you know it?” asked Mrs. Berdette.

Berta nodded.

“Well … she’s already wanting to play.”

“I’ll get my tea set,” offered Berta generously.

“Oh no,” her mother quickly explained. “She’s not big enough for that yet.”

“What can she do?” asked Berta, her spirits dampened.

“Well … so far she can just smile … and hold fingers. But soon she will be able to hold small things—toys … her toes. She’ll keep on growing—and changing. And one day—before you know it—she will be able to sit up and play.”

It seemed to Berta that it was taking an awfully long time to get the playmate she had been promised. She pulled her finger out of the baby’s grip and went to pick out one of her books.

“Will you read to me?” she asked her mother.

“I’ll read after Glenna is down for her nap. She’s going to want to nurse soon. We wouldn’t have time to finish the story.”

Her mother laid aside the sock and yarn and reached up to massage tired neck muscles. She still looked weary.

Berta sat down on the floor rug with her book spread out in her lap. She’d picture-read the book to herself.

Chapter Two

Growth

“She’s lovely! Look at those curls. Those blue eyes. She’s just beautiful!”

Berta was used to the words. Whenever ladies came to the house or met her mother on the streets there were the same remarks. Everyone was always exclaiming over Glenna.

Berta shut out the voices and turned another page in her new picture book. Two small children played with a puppy dog on a wide green lawn. Berta wished she had a puppy. If she asked her mother, would a dog be allowed? She already had asked her father. He had made some little speech about it being bad timing. A puppy and a baby didn’t mix well, he had said with a smile. Berta cast a quick glance in the direction of small Glenna and the cooing women. Maybe one of the ladies could be persuaded to take Glenna home with her.

Then Berta let her gaze go to her mother. No. Mama would never allow it. She seemed totally taken with the new one. Her face glowed, her eyes shone. She was nodding in total agreement to all that the visitor was saying. Glenna was beautiful.

Berta returned to her book. She flipped another page, angry that the two book-children could have a puppy when all she had was a sister.

Molly, her mama’s part-time help, brought in a tea tray and cookies. Berta laid her book aside and joined the ladies still fussing over the baby. Glenna was smiling and cooing and blowing small baby bubbles as two visitors and her mama coaxed and chortled and oohed and aahed. Berta decided that she didn’t want cookies after all. She picked up her picture book and headed for the door.

“Berta,” her mother surprised her by calling. “Aren’t you going to have tea with us?”

Berta shook her head. Her bobbed straight hair bounced around her face, slapping her gently on each cheek. She liked the feel of her hair. She shook her head more vigorously.

“We’re having your favorite cookies,” encouraged her mother.

Berta was torn. She loved the sugar cookies with the almond slices scattered over the tops.

“Molly has brought your glass of milk,” coaxed her mother.

Still Berta hesitated.

Mrs. Berdette turned to her guests. “Berta is my big helper,” she informed the ladies. “I don’t know how I’d manage without her. She runs little errands for me all day long. And baby Glenna just loves her big sister. She smiles more—”

Suddenly Berta’s mind was made up. She had been about to stay, but when the attention turned once again to the baby, she decided against it.

She dropped her head so that her hair fell forward, gently brushing at her cheeks.

“Come,” invited her mother, patting the footstool by her chair.

Berta shook her head. Something within her rebelled. Without being able to put it into words, she knew instinctively that her leaving would make her mother feel sad, and that gave her a strange bit of power. That something within made her want to use that power to hurt her mother just a little bit. Not a big hurt. Just enough to make her mother sorry that she had fussed over Glenna with the visiting ladies.

Berta’s chin came up defiantly, her dark eyes darkening even further with resolve. “I don’t want cookies,” she said firmly. “I want to go swing.”

Her mother did look sad. Berta felt a moment of pleasure. Then her mother’s face brightened and she smiled. “Very well,” she said gently. “You may go swing if you wish.”

A little of the victory was gone from the moment when her mother gave approval. And her mother was smiling again. Berta wasn’t sure if she had won or lost. She tossed her new book on the chair by the door and fled the room to the back veranda.

———

It was hard to dislike Glenna. From her very first awareness, she seemed to adore her big sister. Even Berta could sense it. From the moment the baby glimpsed her in the morning until the time she was tucked in at night, she favored Berta with her squeals and giggles and full attention.

At those rare times when the two little ones were left in a room on their own, Berta could not resist her baby sister. But she didn’t want her mother to notice.

Without knowing the word, Berta understood that they were in competition, her baby sister and her. Competition for her mother’s time and attention. Berta tried every trick she knew in order to defeat her little opponent—but all Glenna had to do was screw up her pretty little face and cry, and Mama dropped whatever they were doing together and went for the infant. Berta had even tried the crying trick herself—but found it didn’t work nearly as well for her. Mama had soothed, comforted—but from a distance. Her arms were already filled with baby Glenna.

“Just a minute,” her mama would say. “As soon as Glenna is finished nursing I’ll rock you and we’ll read a story.”

But Berta didn’t want to wait for Glenna. It meant that Glenna had won again. She decided then and there that she would not use the crying trick again. Glenna would always be the winner in that game.

So Berta subconsciously looked for new methods to contend with this tiny interloper. She wasn’t sure what they should be. But she wouldn’t borrow Glenna’s ways. That much she knew. Berta gradually came to the conclusion that whatever Glenna was, she would not be. Whatever Glenna did, she would not do. Whatever Glenna liked, she would not like. She would be the opposite of her baby sister. They would see, with time, which one would be the victor.

———

“How many more sleeps?” asked the small Glenna.

Mrs. Berdette brushed back the silky curls and smiled at her three-year-old daughter. “This is the last sleep,” she informed her.

“Chris’as is next?”

“Next,” agreed her mother.

Glenna scampered down from her mother’s knee and rushed over to Berta. “Berty,” she exclaimed, eyes shining with delight, “Chris’as is next.”

“Not ‘next,’ ” Berta said with six-year-old superiority. “In the morning, Glenna. Christmas—” she pronounced the word with emphasized correctness, “Christmas is in the morning.”

Glenna nodded, her curls bouncing with each nod. “Uh huh—next day mornin’,” she agreed.

Berta lifted her head and sighed and cast a glance of exasperation toward her father.

“She never gets it right,” said Berta.

Her father chuckled. “Well, if you want to be up bright and early to see what your stockings will hold—I think it’s time to tuck in,” he said and rose from his chair.

Berta cast a glimpse at the fireplace, where two small stockings hung on the mantel.

“But I—” she began.

Glenna was already heading for the door, her small bare feet pattering on the polished oak floor.

“Berty—come,” she called, turning and extending her hand toward her big sister. “Let’s sleep. Papa said.”

“You hush up, Glenna,” Berta retorted sharply. “I heard Papa.”

“Berta,” said her father sternly. “Is that any way to talk to your little sister?”

Berta studied his face to measure his mood. “She—she always thinks she’s my boss,” she defended herself.

“She was just inviting you to join her for bedtime,” put in her mother.

“I’m six,” she insisted, “an’ she’s only three. I know when to go to bed.”

“Then why aren’t you on your way?” asked her father.

He didn’t sound angry. Not yet. Berta wasn’t sure if she dared to press further.

She dared.

“I will as soon as I finish this puzzle,” she said, tipping her head to one side, defiance tilting her chin. She was reversing his decision.

“The puzzle will wait for morning,” her father said and stood to his feet. His voice sounded firm—and commanding.

“But I’m almost—” she began.

Glenna still stood at the door, concern showing on her tiny face because of the tension in the room. Papa had said one thing. Berta was defying his order. Everyone soon would be unhappy. Glenna did not like discord. Glenna loved to have people smiling—happy.

“Berty—come,” she said again.

It was more than Berta could bear. She turned from her puzzle, her hand sweeping it onto the floor with one quick movement. “You just hush, Glenna,” she said, her chin quivering, her eyes blinking back tears that she refused to let fall. “I’ll go when—”

She had been going to say “when I want to,” but her father’s voice cut the sentence short.

“Berta!” His voice was sharp.

She hated to lift her eyes. She did not wish to see the looks on the faces in the room. Her father would look so stern—so big. Her mother would look sad—maybe even be fighting tears. And Glenna—Glenna would be looking like a little frightened puppy. Berta had seen the look before. She didn’t like it—that look on Glenna’s face. That pleading, teary-eyed look that told Berta that the little girl both adored and wished to defend her. Berta did not want Glenna to be on her team. Nor going to her defense. Glenna—Glenna always,
always
pleaded for everyone. Berta did not want or need Glenna’s championing.

“Pick up the puzzle,” said her father.

Berta still did not look up.

There was a pattering of feet somewhere behind her. “I’ll help,” came a small voice.

“No, Glenna,” spoke her father. “Berta scattered the puzzle pieces—Berta will pick them up.”

Berta did not look up. She knew that she’d look into the eyes of a sympathetic Glenna. She did not wish to look at her. Nor did she wish to look into the commanding eyes of her father—or the teary eyes of her mother.