ACROSS THE FRUITED PLAIN
Beechams in Reo]
1: THE HOUSE OF BEECHAM
"Oh, Rose-Ellen!" Grandma called.
Rose-Ellen slowly put down her library book and skipped into thekitchen. Grandma peppered the fried potatoes, sliced somewrinkled tomatoes into nests of wilting lettuce, and wiped herdripping face with the hem of her clean gingham apron. Thekitchen was even hotter than the half-darkened sitting room wherecrippled Jimmie sprawled on the floor listlessly wheeling a toyautomobile, the pale little baby on a quilt beside him.
Grandma squinted through the door at the old Seth Thomas dock inthe sitting room. "Half after six! Rose-Ellen, you run down tothe shop and tell Grandpa supper's spoiling. Why he's got to hanground that shop till supper's spoilt when he could fix up all theshoes he's got in two-three hours, I don't understand. 'Twould bedifferent if he had anything to do. . . ."
Rose-Ellen said, "O.K., Gramma!" and ran through the hall. She'drather get away before Grandma talked any more about the shop.Day after day she had heard about it. Grandma talked to her,though she was only ten, because she and Grandma were the onlywomen in the family, since last winter when Mother died.
As Rose-Ellen let the front door slam behind her, she saw Daddycoming slowly up the street. The way his broad shoulders droopedand the way he took off his hat and pushed back his thick, darkhair told her as plainly as words that he hadn't found work thatday. Even though you were a child, you got so tired--so tired--ofthe grown folks' worrying about where the next quart of milkwould come from. So Rose-Ellen patted him on the arm as theypassed, saying, "Hi, Daddy, I'm after Grampa!" and hop-skipped ontoward the old cobbler shop. Before Rose-Ellen was born, whenDaddy was a boy, even, Grandpa had had his shop at that corner ofthe city street.
There he was, standing behind the counter in the shadowy shop,his shoulders drooping like Daddy's. He was a big, kind-lookingold man, his gray hair waving round a bald dome, his eyes brightblue. He was looking at a newspaper. It was a crumpled oldpaper that had been wrapped around someone's shoes; the Beechamsdidn't spend pennies for newspapers nowadays.
The long brushes were quiet from their whirling. On the rack offinished shoes two pairs awaited their owners; on the other rackwere a few that had evidently just come in. Yet Grandpa lookedas tired as if he had mended a hundred pairs.
He looked up when the bell tinkled. "Oh, Ellen-girl! Anythingwrong?"
"Only Gramma says please come to supper. Everything's gettingspoiled."
Grandpa glanced at his old clock. It said half-past five. "I keeptinkering with it, but it's seen its best days. Like me."
He took off his denim apron, rolled down his sleeves, put on hishat and coat, and locked the door behind them. But not before hehad looked wistfully around the little place, with its smell ofbeeswax, leather and dye, where he had worked so long. Its wallswere papered with his favorite calendars: country scenes thatreminded him of his farm boyhood; roly-poly babies in bathtubs; apretty girl who looked, he said, like Grandma--a funny idea toRose-Ellen. Patched linoleum, doorstep hollowed by thousands offeet--Grandpa looked at everything as if it were new and bright,and as if he loved it.
Starting home, he took Rose-Ellen's small damp hand in his bigdamp one. The sun blinded them as they walked westward, and theheat struck at them fiercely from pavement and wall, as if itwere fighting them. Rose-Ellen was strong and didn't mind. Sheheld her head straight to make her thick brown curls hit againsther backbone. She knew she was pretty, with her round face anddark-lashed hazel eyes; and that nobody would think her starchyshort pink dress was old, because Grandma had mended it sonicely. Grandma had darned the short socks that turned down toher stout slippers, too; and Grandpa had mended the slippers tillthe tops would hardly hold another pair of soles.
"Hi, Rosie!" called Julie Albi, who lived next door. "C'm'out andplay after supper?"
"Next door" was the right way to say it. This Philadelphia streetwas like two block-long houses, facing each other across a stripof pavement, each with many pairs of twin front doors, each pairwith two scrubbed stone steps down to the sidewalk, and two baywindows bulging out upstairs, so that they seemed nearly to touchthe ones across the narrow street. Rose-Ellen and Julie sharedtwin doors and steps; and inside only a thin wall separated them.
At the door Dick overtook Grandpa and Rose-Ellen. Dick wastwelve. Sometimes Rose-Ellen considered him nothing but anuisance, and sometimes she was proud of his tallness, his curlyfair hair and bright blue eyes. He dashed in ahead when Grandpaturned the key, but Grandpa lingered.
Rose-Ellen said, "Hurry, Grampa, everything's getting cold." Butshe understood. He was thinking that their dear old house was nolonger theirs. Something strange had happened to it, called "soldfor taxes," and they were allowed to live in it only this summer.
Grandma blamed the shop. It had brought in the money to buy thehouse in the first place and had kept it up until a few yearsago. It had put Daddy through a year in college. Now it wasfailing. Once, it seemed, people bought good shoes and had themmended many times. Then came days when many people were poor.They had to buy shoes too cheap to be mended; so when the soleswore out, the people threw the shoes away and bought more cheapones. No longer were Grandpa's shoe racks crowded. No longer wasthere money even for taxes. All Grandpa took in was barely enoughfor food and shop rent. But what else besides mending shoes andfarming did he know how to do? And who would hire an old man whenjobs were so few?
Even young Daddy had lost his job as a photograph finisher, andhad brought his wife and three children home to live with Grandpaand Grandma. There Baby Sally was born; and there, before thebaby was a month old, Mother had died. Soon after, the old househad been sold for taxes.
Grandma went about her work with the strong lines of her squareface fixed in sadness. She was forever begging Grandpa to give upthe shop, but Grandpa smashed his fist down on the table and saidit was like giving up his life. . . . And day after day Daddy huntedwork and was cross because he could find none.
For Dick and Rose-Ellen the summer had not been very differentfrom usual. Dick blacked boots on Saturdays to earn a few dimes;Rose-Ellen helped Grandma with the "chores." They had long hoursof play besides.
But the hot summer had been hard for nine-year-old Jimmie and thebaby. They drooped like flowers in baked ground. Since Jimmie'sinfantile paralysis, three years before, he had been able to walkvery little, and school had seemed out of the question. Unable toread or to run and play, he had a dull time.
Grandpa and Rose-Ellen went through the clean, shabby hall to thekitchen, where Grandma was rocking in the old rocker, Sallywhimpering on her lap.
"Well, for the land's sakes," said Grandma, "did you make up yourmind to come home at last? Mind Baby, Rose-Ellen, while I dishup."
After supper, Daddy sat hopelessly studying the "Help Wanted"column in last Sunday's paper, borrowed from the Albis. Jimmielooked at the funnies, and Grandma and Rose-Ellen did the dishes.Julie Albi, who had come to play, sat waiting with heels hookedover a chair-rung.
The shabby kitchen was pleasant, with rag rugs on the paintedfloor and crisp, worn curtains. The table and chairs werecream-color, and the table wore an embroidered flour-sack cover.Grandpa pottered with a loose door-latch until Grandma wrungthe suds from her hands and cried fiercely, "What's the usedoing such things, Grampa? You know good and well we can'tstay on here. Everything's being taken away from us, even ourchildren. . . ."
Grandpa pottering]
"Miss Piper come to see you, too?" Grandpa groaned.
"Taken away? Us?" gasped Rose-Ellen.
"What's all this?" Daddy demanded. He stood in the doorwaystaring at Grandpa and Grandma, and his bright dark eyes lookedalmost as unbelieving as they had when Mother slipped away fromhim. "You can't mean they want to take away our children?"
Dick came to the door with half of Jimmie's funnies, his mouthopen; and Jimmie hobbled in, bent almost double, thin hand oncripp
led knee. Julie slipped politely away.
Then the news came out. The woman from the "Family Society" hadcalled that day and had advised Grandma to put the children intoa Home. When Grandma would not listen, the woman went on to theshop and talked with Grandpa.
"Her telling us they wasn't getting enough milk and vegetables!"Grandma scolded, wiping her eyes with one hand and smoothing backRose-Ellen's curls with the other. "Saying Jimmie'd ought to bewhere he'd get sunshine without roasting. Good as telling me wedon't know how to raise children, and her without a young-one toher name."
Grandpa blew his nose. "Well, it takes money to give the kids thevittles they ought to have."
"I won't go away from my own house!" howled Jimmie.
Rose-Ellen and Dick blinked at each other. It was one thing toscrap a little and quite another to be entirely apart. And thebaby. . . .
"Would Miss Piper take . . . Sally?" Rose-Ellen quavered.
Grandma nodded, lips tight.
"They shan't!" Rose-Ellen whispered.
"Nonsense!" Daddy said hoarsely, his hands tightening on Jimmie'sshoulder and Rose-Ellen's. "It's better for families to sticktogether, even if they don't get everything they need. Ma, youthink it's better, don't you?"
He looked anxiously at his parents and they looked pityingly athim, as if he were a boy again, and before they knew it the wholefamily were crying together, Grandpa and Daddy pretending theyhad colds.
Then came a knock at the door, and Grandma mopped her eyes withher apron and answered. Julie's mother stood there, a comfortablebrown woman with shining black hair and gold earrings, theyoungest Albi enthroned on her arm. Mrs. Albi's eyebrows hadrisen to the middle of her forehead, and she patted Grandma'sshoulder plumply.
Mrs. Albi]
"Now, now, now, now!" she comforted in a big voice. "All will bewell, praise God. Julie, she tell me. All will be well."
"How on earth can all be well?" Grandma protested. "I don't seeno prospects."
"This summer as you know," said Mrs. Albi, "we went into Jersey.For two months we all pick the berries. Enough we earn to put-itfood into our mouth. And the keeds! They go white and skinny, andthey come home, like you see it, brown and fat." Her voice roseand she waved the baby dramatically. "Not so good the houses, Iwould not lie to you. But we make like we have the peekaneeka. Bynight the cool fresh air blow on us and by day the warm freshair. And vegetables and fruit so cheap, so cheap."
"But what good will that do us, Mis' Albi?" Grandma asked flatly."It's close onto September and berries is out."
"The cranberry bog!" Mrs. Albi shouted triumphantly. "Only todaythe _padrone_, he come to my people asking who will pick thecranberry. And that Jersey air, it will bring the fat and the redto these Jimmie's cheeks and to the _bambina_'s!" Mrs. Albi wheezedas she ran out of breath.
The Beechams stared at her. Many Italians and Americans went tothe farms to pick berries and beans. The Beechams had neverthought of doing so, since Grandpa had his cobbling and Daddy hisphotograph finishing.
"Well, why shouldn't we?" Daddy fired the question into thestillness.
"But school?" asked Rose-Ellen, who liked school.
Mrs. Albi waved a work-worn palm. "You smart, Rosie. You ketch upall right."
"That's okeydoke with me!" Dick exclaimed, yanking his sister'scurls. "You can have your old school."
Sally woke with a cry like a kitten's mew and Rose-Ellen luggedher out, balanced on her hip. Mrs. Albi's Michael was the sameage, but he would have made two of Sally. Above Sally's smallwhite face her pale hair stood up thinly; her big gray eyes andlittle pale mouth were solemn.
"Why," Grandma said doubtfully, "we . . . why, if Grandpa would giveup his shop--just for the cranberry season. We got no place elseto go."
Grandpa sighed. "Looks like the shop's give me up already. Wecould think about it."
"All together!" whooped Dick. "And not any school!"
"Now, hold your horses," Grandma cautioned. "Beechams don't runoff nobody knows where, without anyway sleeping over it."
But though they "slept over" the problem and talked it over ashard as they could, going to the cranberry bogs was the bestanswer they could find for the difficulty. It seemed the only wayfor them to stay together.
"Something will surely turn up in a month or two," Daddy said."And without my kids"--he spread his big hands--"I haven't athing to show for my thirty-two years."
"The thing is," Grandpa summed it up, "when we get out of thishouse we've got to pay rent, and I'm not making enough for rentand food, too. No place to live, or else nothing to eat."
Finally it was decided that they should go.
Now there was much to do. They set aside a few of their mostprecious belongings to be stored, like Grandma's grandma'spainted dower chest, full of treasures, and Grandpa's tall deskand Rose-Ellen's dearest doll. Next they chose the things theymust use during their stay in Jersey. Finally they called in thesecond-hand man around the corner to buy the things that wereleft.
Poor Grandma! She clenched her hands under her patched apron whenthe man shoved her beloved furniture around and glancedcontemptuously at the clean old sewing machine that had made themso many nice clothes. "One dollar for the machine, lady."
Rose-Ellen tucked her hand into Grandma's as they looked at thefew boxes and pieces of furniture they were leaving behind,standing on stilts in Mrs. Albi's basement to keep dry.
"It's so funny," Rose-Ellen stammered; "almost as if that was allthat was left of our home."
"Funny as a tombstone," said Grandma. Then she went and grabbedthe old Seth Thomas clock and hugged it to her. "This seems thelivingest thing. It goes where I go."
At last, everything was disposed of, and the padrone's agent'sbig truck pulled up to their curb. Two feather beds, a trunk,pots, pans, dishes and the Beechams were piled into the spaceleft by some twenty-five other people. The truck roared away,with the neighbors shouting good-by from steps and windows.
Grandma kept her eyes straight ahead so as not to see her houseagain. Grandpa shifted Jimmie around to make his lame leg morecomfortable, just as they passed the cobbler's shop with "TO LET"in the window. Grandpa did not lift his eyes.
"I hope Mrs. Albi will sprinkle them Bronze Beauty chrysanthemumsso they won't all die off," Grandma said in a choked voice.