Copyright © 2014 Marian Hailey Moss
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 9781310588808
First Electronic Edition
ISBN: 1499690959
First Print Edition
Mister Pepper’s Secret
BY
MARIAN HAILEY-MOSS
Edited by: CHRIS STOVER
Illustrations by: MARC CHALVIN
for
Alanna O’Connor
Can you keep a secret? I believe magic is in everything. People think that buildings, furniture, and statues can’t communicate. Since these things don’t breathe or move, they are often overlooked or taken for granted. But it is simply a matter of looking more closely.
Take one of my bricks, for example. Before the energy was molded into a brick, it may have been sand. Before that, it may have been part of a dinosaur tooth, and before that, it may have been… stardust. That’s only one brick, and I have thousands of them. Think of where they might have been before they finally became me. Can you imagine the wisdom I hold within these bricks?
They call me ASTOR COURT. I love what I do. I give a home to folks. Most of them appreciate my efforts and a few complain. Let’s just say, you can’t be all things to all people.
I’ve seen many changes and hold many secrets. As the years go by, I have more and more aches and pains. Some of my pipes have been replaced, and they even gave me a new water tank the other day. My roof is leaking and parts of ledges are missing, but my spirit is bright. I’m almost one hundred years old and I’m determined to stand strong.
My courtyard garden is one of a kind with lovely trees, flowering shrubs, and winding pathways. It’s a rare and beautiful jewel in the city. I take up an entire block with my U-shaped red brick structure. Ivy on my inner garden walls loves me. She can’t stop clinging. What stamina! She’s a real New Yorker!
There was one resident who really understood me, a Mrs. Goldenrod. She had an apartment on the ninth floor. How I miss her! Mrs. Goldenrod had the “gift.” Mia discovered Mrs. Goldenrod’s “gift” and it changed her life. Let me tell you the story and see what you think.
1
Mia lived only a block from her school. She felt lucky for the short walk back and forth on cold New York December days. Sometimes she would stop to wonder if snowflakes were feathers from angel wings. She was in the fifth grade and was considered by all who knew her to be very imaginative and grown-up for her age.
One snowy day, Mia happened to meet Mrs. Goldenrod right outside my building. Mrs. Goldenrod was on her way home from the grocery store. She was a nice old woman who was overweight and always wore a turban to hide her few wisps of hair. The sidewalk was slippery, and she walked slowly, trying not to fall.
Holding the two paper bags from the grocery store was a struggle. One bag began to rip, and Mia asked if she could help. “Oh, yes, would you Mia?” She gave the bag that was torn to the girl.
Mia walked with her to the ninth floor apartment door and was invited in for tea. She was excited to be asked. Having tea seemed grown-up. She took off her boots and followed the old woman inside.
Mrs. Goldenrod’s home smiled in sunny colors. There was yellow wallpaper on the walls with little blue stripes, blue flowers, and daisies. The windows had golden drapes with filmy white curtains underneath. There were chests of drawers with shiny gilded mirrors on top, side tables that held little vases and open books, a desk with pink stationery, and fluffy, puffy yellow and blue chairs.
Mrs. Goldenrod went to prepare the tea. She didn’t need help so Mia waited in the living room. There was a painting near the desk of a kindly–looking elderly man in a green suit. Mia walked over to look at it more closely.
“Here we are,” said Mrs. Goldenrod. She was carrying a silver tray with a teapot and two cups, two bowls of strawberries, and a plate of butter cookies. She set the tray on a small table and began to pour the steaming brew. She explained to Mia that the painting was of her late husband. Mia wondered if souls who were late in the heavenly spheres were sent to the principal’s office.
“Would you like some sugar, cream or lemon?”
“A little sugar and lemon, please,” said Mia. She carefully took the cup and spoon from Mrs. Goldenrod, but somehow the spoon clattered to the floor. Mrs. Goldenrod paid no mind, and Mia quickly picked it up from the shiny hardwood floor. She took a sip of the hot liquid. The tea tasted sweet and strong—and in an instant, all seemed well in the world.
“Now, how about some strawberries?”
“Oh, yes, please.” She daintily took a bite. “They’re yummy,” said Mia. “Thank you, Mrs. Goldenrod.”
“You have good manners, Mia,” said Mrs. Goldenrod. “Your mother taught you well. Being polite is one of the more important things in life. If people would be polite with their friends and enemies alike, the world would be a happier place.” Mrs. Goldenrod sighed and took a large sip of tea.
“How do you practice being polite, living by yourself?” Mia asked.
Mrs. Goldenrod waved her hand around the room. “These are my friends—the desk, the chest, and these tables. All my pieces of furniture have stories to tell. I politely listen to their tales and they listen to mine. Every day I dust and polish their little faces, fronts, and sides. People think wood is only wood and has no life once it is cut from the growing tree. But all is energy and keeps on becoming. If you believe—they will respond. Like most friends, they are willing to please.”
Mia had never heard of furniture being friends for someone. She wondered what she would say to a chest of drawers or a table. She gazed past the room to the doorway. There sat a statue of a large black dog.
“If you don’t mind, why is that statue by the door?”
“That’s my pet doggy, Mister Pepper.”
“But it’s a stone doggy.”
“Yes, so it is.” said Mrs. Goldenrod. “Would you like some cream on your berries?” Mia kept staring at Mister Pepper. Mrs. Goldenrod waited patiently for an answer. Mia assured her hostess that the strawberries tasted quite delicious on their own.
“A butter cookie then?”
Mia answered, as politely as she could, that she was on a different kind of diet. Mrs. Goldenrod was taken aback. She thought Mia was much too slender to be worried about weight. Mia explained it was a vegan diet.
“A what?” asked Mrs. Goldenrod.
“Vegan—I eat fruits, veggies, grains, and tofu.”
“Why do you do that?”
“Well, isn’t it a bit rude to make hot dogs, hamburgers and an ice cream smoothie, out of one’s friends?” Mia paused and took a bite of another strawberry.
Mrs. Goldenrod pictured her friend Lenore as a hot dog and gave a little shiver. Lenore had given Mrs. Goldenrod the statue of Mister Pepper when she sold her country home. Try as she might, Mrs. Goldenrod couldn’t see Lenore as a hamburger or an ice cream smoothie either. Lenore was who she was—a pretty middle-aged actress.
“What will the younger generation think of next?” Mrs. Goldenrod exclaimed with a twinkle in her eye.
The girl and the old woman chatted some more. Mrs. Goldenrod said that she was donating Mister Pepper to the courtyard garden. She and Mister Pepper were excited at the prospect, but they had to be patient. The garden committee wanted to find the right spot. “After all, being out in nature is where a dog feels at home,” she explained.
That reminded Mia that it was time to take her dog Bubbles for a walk. As she got up to leave, Mia thanked Mrs. Goldenrod for the tea and her spoon once again clattered to the floor. Mrs. Goldenrod didn’t seem to notice the runaway spoon and invited Mia to visit another time. She had so enjoyed her company.
On her way down the royal blue hallway a
nd stepping into the elevator, Mia’s thoughts were elsewhere. It was unusual, to say the least, to meet someone who talks with furniture and statues. Was it real or was it only Mrs. Goldenrod’s imagination? Whichever it was, it made Mrs. Goldenrod happy. Mia pressed the wrong button on the elevator and went to the lobby.
A neighbor entered the elevator with her little spaniel. “Hi,” said Mia a bit embarrassed. “I wanted to go up and went down instead.”
“Better than going sideways,” the neighbor laughed.
After that afternoon, Mia thought anything might be possible—even sideways.
2
Mia talked to Bubbles, as they walked by the Astor Court wall on Broadway. “After all, Bubbles, grandma Murphy talks to herself. It’s just a hop and a skip from oneself to the furniture. It may not be in fashion right now, but if people were to chat with their furniture, it might be a good thing. Depending on what was said, of course.”
Bubbles was paying no mind to what Mia was saying. She was sniffing in search for exotic smells. Yucky tidbits were harder to find in snowy December weather. All Bubbles cared about, in her terrier way, was that Mia was good to her—that she went on daily walks, got three meals a day, and had a soft bed to sleep on. Bubbles was a happy dog and felt that words only clouded good smells, good food, and the good company of her beloved Mia. Whether you put a word or a woof to it, to her, life was very—good.
“Of course, I do talk to you, Bubbles,” said Mia. “I guess everyone has their specialty.”
Bubbles pulled Mia to go inside. It was cold and the sidewalk burned her paws with the salt that the doormen and merchants sprinkled outside their doorways to melt the ice and snow.
They made it to the ninetieth street entrance. Mia was stomping the snow from her boots, and Bubbles was giving herself a shake, when Jack, the doorman, said: “There’s a friend waiting for you in the garden, Mia.”
That was strange! Who would want to wait in the garden in this weather, she wondered.
She and Bubbles went to the garden door. Mia couldn’t see anybody. But Bubbles did and pulling the leash from Mia’s hand, she ran toward someone she knew. Thanks to Bubbles, Mia saw in the middle of the garden, standing by two red chairs, her friend Angelina in white: a white puffy coat, white hood, white gloves, with—could it be?—silvery white wings that sparkled. Angelina was the teenager who could work magic. She was a special person, a high school student in the neighborhood, who had brought mystery and understanding of animals into Mia’s life.
“Hi there, Bubbles!” Angelina said, as she patted her head, and tried to keep her from jumping on her clean white coat.
“Hi, Mia! I’m so glad you’re here.” Angelina turned away as she spoke, holding her thumb up, and stretching her arm full out as if she were measuring the space. Artists are known to do that when they want to get a new angle of a subject.
“Are you going to do a painting of the garden?”
“I’m looking for the best spot for Mister Pepper to be placed.”
“How did you know about Mister Pepper?” Mia asked while trying to keep Bubbles on the ground.
“Oh, Doris is my great aunt.”
“Doris?”
“Mrs. Goldenrod,” said Angelina. “And the head of the garden committee is my cousin, twice removed.”
Mia’s head was spinning. It had been an unusual afternoon. First, a nice old woman talking to her furniture and now with Angelina on the scene, there was bound to be another surprise or two.
Angelina thought the dog statue should be placed where it would have all the attention. Once more she swept the garden with her gaze and let out a little “Ah, ha.” She sighed and with a smile pointed to a stone near a lamppost. “Perfect! Don’t you think?” Not waiting for an answer, Angelina did a little stamp with her feet and clapped her hands in delight.
As she turned back towards Mia, one of her wings whisked across Mia’s face. “Oops, sorry, I forgot to take these off.” Angelina reached behind herself, snapped off the two wings from her coat, folded them, and put them in her pocket.
“I’ve started drama lessons. The first exercise is to improvise a scene as an animal. I thought I’d try being a swan. I wear the wings as practice to get the feel of it all.”
“Oh, yes,” said Mia “You are so beautiful, a swan would be perfect.”
“I’ll give it a try,” said Angelina. “And now I must… ‘fly.’ But before I do I wanted to give you this collar for Mister Pepper.” Angelina brought out a bright, shiny red collar from her coat pocket. It made Mia smile just to look at it.
“This red collar has a bit of magic. Keep it safe until the day of the annual barbeque. When everyone is busy chatting and Bubbles is nearby, quietly replace the statue’s blue collar with this one. That will let the magic begin. The statue will tell Bubbles its secret, and you will be able to listen in.”
“Oh Angelina, I can’t wait! Where did you learn all this?”
“It runs in the family,” said Angelina. “How many people have aunts who talk with their furniture?” Without waiting for an answer, she gave Bubbles a little hug; a kiss on the cheek to Mia, and—in a blink of an eye—was out the garden door.
3