Hello, all! Heidi is back with another Inklings link-up (here's the post), and I am back with another contribution! This month's prompt is a scene with a pearl necklace in book or film. This is more than a single scene, but I decided to share an incident from Anne of Ingleside by L. M. Montgomery, in which Anne comforts her son Jem after his dog dies. . . . Then a tender arm was slipped around him and he was held close in a warm embrace. Oh, there was love left yet in the world, even if Gyppy had gone. "Mother, will it always be like this?" "Not always." Anne did not tell him he would soon forget . . . that before long Gyppy would only be a dear memory. "Not always, little Jem. This will heal sometime . . . as your burned hand healed thought it hurt so much at first." "Dad said he would get me another dog. I don't have to have it, do I? I don't want another dog, Mother . . . not ever." "I know, darling." Mother knew everything. Nobody had a mother like his. He wanted to do something for her . . . and all at once it came to him what he would do. He would get her one of those pearl necklaces in Mr. Flagg's store. He had heard her say once that she really would like to have a pearl necklace and Dad had said, "When our ship comes in I'll get you one, Anne-girl." Ways and means must be considered. He had an allowance but it was all needed for necessary things and pearl necklaces were not among the items budgeted for. Besides, he wanted to earn the money for it himself. It would be really his gift then. Mother's birthday was in March . . . only six weeks away. And the necklace would cost fifty cents! And so Jem sets out with all the earnestness of a small child. Anne's birthday comes at last, and he thinks he succeeds grandly, only to learn--horror of horrors!--that the pearls were not real pearls! . . . Mother came home and slipped in to see that Walter and he were warm. "Jem, dear, are you awake at this hour? You're not sick?" "No, but I'm very unhappy here, Mother dearwums," said Jem, putting his hand on his stomach, fondly believing it to be his heart. "What is the matter, dear?" "I . . . I . . there is something I must tell you, Mother. You'll be awfully disappointed, Mother . . . but I didn't mean to deceive you, Mother . . . truly I didn't." "I'm sure you didn't, dear. What is it? Don't be afraid." "Oh, Mother dearwums, those pearls aren't real pearls . . . I thought they were . . . I did think they were . . . did . . ." Jem's eyes were full of tears. He couldn't go on. If Anne wanted to smile there was no sign of it on her face. . . . "Jem, I never thought you supposed they were real pearls. I knew they weren't . . . at least in one sense of real. In another, they are the most real things I've ever had given me. Because there was love and work and self-sacrifice in them . . . and that makes them more precious to me than all the gems that divers have fished up from the sea for queens to wear. . . .Do you feel better now?" Jem was so happy he was ashamed of it. He was afraid it was babyish to be so happy. "Oh, life is bearable again," he said cautiously. I love Anne and Jem's interactions.
Thank you for hosting, Heidi!
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Along the Brandywine is hosting an Inklings link-up this month! The prompt being a scene with a cake in book or film, I decided to share part of a story from one of my childhood favorites, In Grandma's Attic by Arleta Richardson. In it, Mabel bakes a cake for her Ma's surprise birthday party.
If Ma suspected anything, she didn't let on. She returned to her sewing, and I spent the afternoon hanging on the front gate, waiting for the first arrivals to the party. They were to come at suppertime, and the ladies would all bring something good to eat. I was sure that no one would come with as beautiful a cake as mine, though. And I was right. Ma was surprised and pleased. "You made this all by yourself, Mabel?" she asked. "Why, it is just lovely. I had no idea you could do that alone!" Proudly I handed Ma the knife. "You must have the first piece, because it's your birthday," I said. Ma cut the cake, and took a large slice on her plate. She took a bite, and an odd look came over her face. Something is wrong, I thought. But what could it be? I watched anxiously, but Ma kept on eating. Satisfied with my success, I ran to play with the other children. That evening, . . . Ma said, "It was the most unusual cake I've ever eaten. What did you use to flavor it, Mabel?" she asked. "Why, the vanilla, Ma," I said. "Just like you always use." "Show me where you got it," said Ma. "Where did you find the vanilla?" Ma followed me to the pantry, and I pointed to the big bottle on the shelf. Ma took it down and looked at it; then she began to laugh. On the front of the bottle the label read, WATKIN'S LINIMENT. Ma wiped her eyes and hugged me close. "That's all right, Mabel," she said. "It was a lovely cake. A little liniment never hurt anyone. I couldn't have asked for a better birthday present." It seems this is a popular mistake ;) Have you read the Grandma's Attic series? Did you ever put liniment in a cake? |
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