hundred miles WHERE? I could not ask him without giving away the surprise so I ended up asking the only other person who might know.
Miss Norian, the school librarian, was the meanest woman in school after Miss Crabapple. She attended the same church as Alan’s mother and gave the minister an even harder time. She did not enjoy loaning out what few books the library had. Two days was all you were allowed and if you returned it late you were not permitted to take out another one all term.
So, I had to get up my nerve to approach her. She seemed to like me or maybe it was because she knew I was related to Mrs. Steen and wanted to curry favor.
“I have a question about the library,” I said. “If you want to order a new book, where do you order it from?”
This surprised her—it was many years since she ordered a new book. The wen on her nose quivered in suspicion.
“I sent to Brattleboro. To the Elm Street Book Store.” She squinted at me through her spectacles. “Number 41 Elm.”
“Would a book arrive in time for Christmas? If I telephoned and had it sent?”
“Christmas? Why that’s only three days, Beth. I would say there is no chance of that at all . . . How is dear Mrs. Steen? She does such fine, such charitable work. Please give her my sincerest regards, will you promise?”
I never considered not going. Having the idea I had to pursue it to the end. Alan was working with his father dismantling a farm house north of town. He had his new truck, no one else in town had one so big, and he was always calling me outside to see how much lumber he managed to pile on its bed. On Friday he would be away all day, which meant I could take the milk train into town just like I was going to school. When I got there I could wait for the express which ran straight down the river to Brattleboro. It was good service. If I walked directly to the book store from the station and did not dawdle I could easily be back in time to fix Alan his dinner.
I had just enough money saved from what Alan gave me for groceries. He always left in the morning before I woke up, but this time I rose with him.
“What time will you be home?” I asked when I helped him on with his shirt. The truck was running outside and he stood by the window proudly watching its steam.
“We might cut the day short, it’s up to Father. See those clouds? We’re due for a storm. You’ll stay close to the house where it’s warm? It’s good that school is on vacation.” He took a meaningful glance at the bare, unpapered walls. “Maybe you can have a go at things?”
“Do you remember me telling you about Ellen Lavoie, the girl who left school to work? She wrote and we’re meeting for lunch today as a Christmas treat. I may be back a little late.”
The steam coming from his truck went from clear to sooty and Alan seemed concerned over that. Pointing toward the sky with a be-careful gesture, he disappeared out the door.
I had never lied like that before, not even over small things. I felt guilty, but it was more complicated than that, and I sensed I had taken my first step out into the world even before my journey started. I did take Alan’s advice over one thing. He had a long woolen coat he wore when it was below zero and though it came down almost to my ankles I knew it would keep me warm no matter what the day brought.
The trainman, Zack Perkins, was surprised to see me since there was no school. He shouted out a warning, “No heat in the caboose, Beth!” but with Alan’s coat I managed fine. When we came to town, instead of walking to the high school as usual, I purchased my ticket, crossed the platform and waited for the southbound train. I could see it for a long time before it arrived, with its black plume of steam, and when it pulled into the station I jumped back to avoid its sparks.
There were few passengers. Four commercial travelers sat playing pinochle on a sample case, on their way home to Boston after a trip to Montreal, and
Miss Norian, the school librarian, was the meanest woman in school after Miss Crabapple. She attended the same church as Alan’s mother and gave the minister an even harder time. She did not enjoy loaning out what few books the library had. Two days was all you were allowed and if you returned it late you were not permitted to take out another one all term.
So, I had to get up my nerve to approach her. She seemed to like me or maybe it was because she knew I was related to Mrs. Steen and wanted to curry favor.
“I have a question about the library,” I said. “If you want to order a new book, where do you order it from?”
This surprised her—it was many years since she ordered a new book. The wen on her nose quivered in suspicion.
“I sent to Brattleboro. To the Elm Street Book Store.” She squinted at me through her spectacles. “Number 41 Elm.”
“Would a book arrive in time for Christmas? If I telephoned and had it sent?”
“Christmas? Why that’s only three days, Beth. I would say there is no chance of that at all . . . How is dear Mrs. Steen? She does such fine, such charitable work. Please give her my sincerest regards, will you promise?”
I never considered not going. Having the idea I had to pursue it to the end. Alan was working with his father dismantling a farm house north of town. He had his new truck, no one else in town had one so big, and he was always calling me outside to see how much lumber he managed to pile on its bed. On Friday he would be away all day, which meant I could take the milk train into town just like I was going to school. When I got there I could wait for the express which ran straight down the river to Brattleboro. It was good service. If I walked directly to the book store from the station and did not dawdle I could easily be back in time to fix Alan his dinner.
I had just enough money saved from what Alan gave me for groceries. He always left in the morning before I woke up, but this time I rose with him.
“What time will you be home?” I asked when I helped him on with his shirt. The truck was running outside and he stood by the window proudly watching its steam.
“We might cut the day short, it’s up to Father. See those clouds? We’re due for a storm. You’ll stay close to the house where it’s warm? It’s good that school is on vacation.” He took a meaningful glance at the bare, unpapered walls. “Maybe you can have a go at things?”
“Do you remember me telling you about Ellen Lavoie, the girl who left school to work? She wrote and we’re meeting for lunch today as a Christmas treat. I may be back a little late.”
The steam coming from his truck went from clear to sooty and Alan seemed concerned over that. Pointing toward the sky with a be-careful gesture, he disappeared out the door.
I had never lied like that before, not even over small things. I felt guilty, but it was more complicated than that, and I sensed I had taken my first step out into the world even before my journey started. I did take Alan’s advice over one thing. He had a long woolen coat he wore when it was below zero and though it came down almost to my ankles I knew it would keep me warm no matter what the day brought.
The trainman, Zack Perkins, was surprised to see me since there was no school. He shouted out a warning, “No heat in the caboose, Beth!” but with Alan’s coat I managed fine. When we came to town, instead of walking to the high school as usual, I purchased my ticket, crossed the platform and waited for the southbound train. I could see it for a long time before it arrived, with its black plume of steam, and when it pulled into the station I jumped back to avoid its sparks.
There were few passengers. Four commercial travelers sat playing pinochle on a sample case, on their way home to Boston after a trip to Montreal, and
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