Thimble Summer (10 page)

“Yes!” cried Garnet. “‘Rock of Ages,' please.” It was the only hymn she could remember.

Suddenly the woman began to sing. Garnet held onto the edge of the seat. “Rock of Ages,
cleft
for me,” sang the woman; and Garnet understood about the cookstove trembling. She had never heard a voice so powerful before. It filled the sedan till her head reeled and her ears rang. And it floated richly and enormously out into the summer day. Garnet saw three little towheaded children on a fence with their mouths and eyes wide open in surprise; she saw a farmer put down his pitchfork and stare after them; she saw some cows in a pasture raise their heads in worry and bewilderment. And she felt as though in another minute the tremendous voice would blow her out of the window.

The song ended, and the woman turned her head expectantly.

“Well, how was that?” enquired the husband.

“Oh it was wonderful,” said Garnet rather weakly. “I never heard anything so — so
huge
in all my life!”

“That's right,” agreed the man. “If we could just hitch up the power in her voice, we could make enough electricity to light up the whole of New Conniston, I bet.”

The first Hodgeville houses appeared. The woman settled her hat and looked at Garnet.

“You going to be all right now, dear?” she asked. “I'd take the bus from here if I was you. You never know what people you'll meet up with hitchhiking. Have you money enough?”

“Oh yes, I have quite a lot,” replied Garnet thinking of her fine round half dollar still unspent. Why you could do a hundred different things with so much money. Ride on buses, eat enough ice cream to be uncomfortable, buy things in dime stores, maybe go to a movie even! Perhaps there would be a Western picture at the Dreamland Theater in New Conniston; she hoped so; one with plenty of horses and bloodshed.

The man stopped the car in the main street by the bus station.

“You're just in time, little girl,” said he. “Bus going out of here in a couple of minutes.”

“Don't get lost now,” said the woman.

“You going to the fair to New Conniston when it comes?” asked her husband. “You look in the needlework section if you do; the quilts with the most prizes will be hers. Maybe we'll see you there. Zangl is the name.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Earl Zangl,” added his wife.

“I hope I will see you again,” said Garnet. “Thank you for the ride and for the song.”

They were nice people; for a minute she felt sorry to see them go. But in the next minute, she forgot about them and climbed into the bus.

VII. “As a Ragpicker's Pocket”

IT WAS an old bus but still jaunty looking, and the driver had a rose stuck in his cap, and a pencil behind one ear. He looked younger than the bus.

There were only two other people inside: a woman fanning herself with a newspaper, and a man asleep with his mouth open.

Garnet settled herself on a large slippery seat with a leatherette cover. The leatherettte had a rich, strong smell, and there were other smells besides, of gasoline and dust and people's clothes.

For a long time she watched flying farms and cornfields, woods and hills, the light was very bright. Dogs lay in the shade under trees, but cats slept on front doorsteps with the sun on their fur.

The bus stopped at Melody, the next town, and the man and woman got out, the man still yawning and rubbing his face, and the woman sighing and shaking her head about the heat. Nobody else got on. The driver turned and looked at Garnet.

“Like to go fast?” he asked. “The old bus has some speed in her still. I tell you what. You've got it all to yourself now; and you can pretend like you're a lady with a shofer. I'll show you some driving. How'll that be?”

“Oh I'd love it!” cried Garnet, and off they went.

They drove like fire, up hills and down; around curves on two wheels; and the telegraph poles rushed by like tall giraffes in a hurry. Birds flew from fences; hens rocketed out of the way, and the wind whistled.

Garnet bounced from side to side of the slippery seat and kept herself from squealing. This was better than the whip cars at the fair!

In no time at all they were in sight of the tall hill that was covered with the city of New Conniston. There it was, glittering for Garnet like Bagdad and Zanzibar and Constantinople. She shook her purse; there was still forty cents inside of it that jingled with promise.

They drove past the first shabby houses of the town, and then the larger ones, and then the stores, and then they stopped.

“Thank you for going so fast,” said Garnet to the bus driver.

“Okay, sister,” said he, helping her down. “I'm telling you it was a pleasure.”

What shall I do first, she thought to herself. First I will just walk up and down the street and listen to the noise.

There was a lot of noise. Trolley cars clanged and clattered on the tracks, automobiles hooted, hundreds of people talked and talked, and their footsteps clicked and shuffled on the pavement all day long. Garnet liked to listen to the noise of a city, the noise of things happening.

Each time she came to a store she stopped and looked in the windows. There were a thousand different things in them that you never saw in Blaiseville. One big window was full of kitchen articles: a pale green stove, and a green porcelain sink; and enamel pots and pans all pale green. Who ever heard of such a thing! And there was a window full of evening gowns; and one with nothing but fur coats. Imagine. Now, in August, fur coats!

In each window Garnet selected a present for her family. The green sink for her mother, and a brown fur coat, and an evening gown like icicles. In Merchant-Farmer's big display window there was a discing machine that her father would like; and in a toy shop she saw a little fire chief's car just the right size for Donald to ride in.

But for Jay? For Jay — was she really thinking of a present for him? Why she hated him, didn't she? Hadn't she come all this long journey just because she hated him? Oh no! After all, no matter how she tried, Garnet couldn't even remember, now, how it felt to be angry with Jay. And just then she passed a music store and saw an accordion in the window, shiny and red and silver. Of all things in the world Jay wanted an accordion most. Garnet stood a long time looking at it. She felt pleased and proud, as though she had really given it to him.

“Jay and his old strawstack!” she jeered to herself, and bent her head downward because she couldn't help laughing. “My was he cross! Was he ever cross!”

She had a sudden picture of the strawstack capsizing and burying herself; and for some reason it seemed funnier than anything in the world. She walked along with her chin tucked into her collar, trying not to laugh. But she couldn't help it. The laughter swelled and grew stronger, till she shook with it and her breath came in gasps. People looked at her and smiled; and a policeman said: “Sure wish I knew the joke, girly.” But after a while the laughing was all used up, and she was able to look about her again and take a deep breath.

Now that she had selected all the things her family most desired she went into the first dime store she saw to buy the presents she could afford.

Garnet loved dime stores and this seemed to be an especially gay and lively one. It was full of people shuffling and pausing and eating candy out of paper sacks. The air was very hot and thick and smelled of perfume and fried onions and chocolate and fly spray. Balloons on stalks blossomed above the toy counter, and there were red and pink crêpe paper decorations wound around the pillars and pinned from wall to wall. Babies cried, mothers called, cash registers jingled briskly, and above the racket, live canaries in cages poured out their song as if this were a gaudy but familiar forest of their own.

At counter twenty-seven a lady was putting cold cream on her face, and talking loud in a voice like an old gramophone record. There was a little crowd of people in front of her, women mostly, holding their bundles loosely and staring.

“This cream,” quacked the lady, “is made from the oil of young turtles. Apply it at night just before retiring, and pat in vigorously.” Here the lady slapped her face heartily in demonstration. “If used constantly it is guaranteed to remove lines, wrinkles, double chins and freckles, and is beneficial to the tenderest skin.” Her eye fell on Garnet. “Why even a little girl like the one standing there could benefit by the use of this cream. She won't enjoy those freckles when she grows up!” All the women turned their heads together and looked at Garnet, smiling grown-up smiles.

Garnet felt embarrassed. She moved slowly away from the cold cream people, whistling softly between her teeth. Freckles, for goodness' sake! Who cared about freckles?

It took a long time to get presents for her family because she had to look and select and compare. But finally she had most of them. First there was a Wild West book for Jay; and then a little aeroplane for Donald. There was a bandanna handkerchief for her father; and for her mother she found a ring with a red glass jewel in it, bigger and more beautiful than any ruby you ever saw. Only Eric was left. What in the world could she give him?

As she wandered down the aisle with her lumpy looking package of presents, she noticed a sad feeling in her stomach.

“Empty, that's what I am,” thought Garnet in surprise. “Empty as a ragpicker's pocket.” She remembered Mr. Zangl.

After all it was the middle of the afternoon and she had had no lunch. She paused before a sort of glass cage in which a dozen fat sausages lay toasting on a rack. They smelled good. Better than good.

“One of those please,” said Garnet giving a nickel to the sausage lady, who had golden hair and strawberry-colored fingernails.

It came tucked into a roll, with mustard on it. And it was better than good. Nothing is so good as a hot dog at the dime store, thought Garnet. As soon as I finish this I'll have another. And then I'll have some kind of ice cream. And then I'll see.

But just as she had opened her mouth to ask for a second hot dog, a new and dreadful thought occurred to her.

She shook her purse. It sounded quiet; there was no jingle in it. She swallowed and unsnapped the clasp. There was the perfume, yes; and there was the new handkerchief, and the precious thimble. She took them all out and stared into the dark little cave of the pocketbook. Then she held it upside down, but nothing happened. It was empty.

“As a ragpicker's pocket,” said Garnet for the second time in ten minutes.

“What's the matter, honey?” asked the sausage lady kindly. “Cleaned out?”

“Cleaned out,” echoed Garnet, “and I'm eighteen miles away from home.”

The sausage lady had funny thin eyebrows that looked even funnier when she was surprised. She leaned forward to speak; but just then a big woman surrounded by children swept up the counter, puffing.

“Seven,” she demanded, “seven hot dogs, please. Two with mustard and five with kraut, and we're in a hurry.”

Garnet saw the sausage lady forget all about her, and she went on out of the store.

Well, my goodness, people don't just get lost and starve to death in cities like this, Garnet said to herself. I can hitchhike anyway. It's kind of exciting. I wish Jay was here.

It was queer though. She went on up the street. Her shoes hurt her; and with her aching feet, and her bundle and empty pocketbook she felt like an old, old woman coming home from seeing her grandchildren who didn't love her.

The gates of the little park were open, and Garnet went in. It was nice there, the trees cast a dusty shadow, and the fountain sounded like lemonade. Dozens of people were sitting on the benches and the only space she could find was a very small one between a big man with a newspaper, and a little man with a dog. The newspaper was written in a foreign language, and the dog lifted his lip and sneered when Garnet tried to pat him: so as soon as her feet stopped hurting she went away.

“My, it's noisy,” said Garnet to herself. “I'm tired of it. Those trolley cars! They aren't so much.”