by Janette Oke
But Mrs. Angus was speaking again.
“Last time I was down to visit my daughter, she gave me a couple of boxes of clothes that had been her girls’. Said if I knew of anyone who could make use of them—” The woman stopped and smiled at Anna. “If it doesn’t bother you to wear hand-me-downs, we could go through the box and see what we might find.”
Anna nodded, her throat tight. It wouldn’t bother her at all to wear hand-me-downs. She guessed that she had never had a perfectly new dress in all of her life. Her mother had always sewn her things from garments passed on from one aunt or another.
She swallowed with difficulty and nodded her head.
“I’d like to go—if Pa and Mama say yes—and if you are sure that I won’t be a bother to you and the pastor . . . and if we can find something in the boxes to fit,” she admitted, but fear was still mixed with the excitement in her eyes.
Chapter Five
Preparations
Over the days that followed, Anna’s emotions ran the gamut. From excitement and joy, she was plunged to doubt and despair. Then she would be swung back into the arms of exhilaration again, only to be dropped back to utter desperation.
The boxes of hand-me-downs proved to supply many nice pieces of material. Anna was much smaller than the two granddaughters of Mrs. Angus. But Anna had been taught to be a skilled seamstress, and with the help of her mother and Mrs. Angus, a fitting, though simple, wardrobe was designed and sewn. Anna was thankful and elated about that part of her dilemma.
But when thoughts of meeting so many strangers—so many educated people—assailed Anna, she floundered. If only she knew the proper rules for such occasions. She felt so inadequate, so backwoods, and she was too shy to discuss her lack of social skills with the kind Mrs. Angus.
At times she broke into a cold sweat just thinking about the upcoming events, and then she would determine to find some reason that she couldn’t go.
Then her thoughts would swing back to the graduation service. It would be so exciting to be a part of it—even a small part—and she would be so proud of Pastor Austin Barker when he marched up for his diploma. Would it be something like her certificate? she wondered, and then blushed in embarrassment for even thinking such a thought. His would be much more grand and important.
No, she decided, she couldn’t miss it. She just couldn’t. She’d have to keep her eyes and ears open and notice what others were doing. Perhaps she wouldn’t make any dreadfully big blunders. She would hang back and try to be as invisible as possible. She did not wish to embarrass the Anguses or her friend Austin Barker. He had been so kind to lend her his books and tutor her by letter.
Anna could tell that her mother was ecstatic about the invitation. She seemed to treat it like a coming-out, a debut for her only daughter. When Mrs. Trent talked about Anna’s trip, her mother did not appear to be filled with Anna’s many doubts. She sounded confident that her daughter would make quite an impression on the learned city people she would meet. She considered Anna to be dainty, attractive, gentle and considerate. What more could anyone want in a young woman? Anna knew by her mother’s comments that Mrs. Trent’s only regret was that she wouldn’t be there to witness the entire three-day trip. So her mother made the most of the preparations. She bubbled and gushed with enthusiasm as she stitched dainty seams, adding lace where Anna felt no lace was needed, placing tucks where Anna felt they could do without them, pressing until beads of sweat stood on her brow when Anna felt that the garment was already smoothly pressed.
“You need new shoes!” Mrs. Trent exclaimed one day as she labored over the invisible mending of a lace handkerchief.
“But, Mama—”
“I saw a pair in town last trip I made. Just right to go with the dresses.”
“But, Mama—”
“I’ve got egg money in the jar. Count it out. See if it’s enough for new shoes.”
“But, Mama—”
Mrs. Trent lifted her eyes from her needle for the first time. “Go ahead,” she said, nodding firmly toward the corner cupboard. “No daughter of mine is going to shame the family by having worn-out shoes on her feet.”
Anna laid aside the hem she was stitching in a newly sewn skirt and rose to do as bidden.
I wonder what she was saving the egg money for? she thought to herself as she moved to the cupboard.
There wasn’t quite enough money in the jar.
“Well, we can spare a few of those hens,” Mrs Trent said. “I was thinking of selling a dozen or so anyway. Take too much feed to get them all through the winter.”
It’s spring, Anna wanted to say, but she held her tongue.
“Tell Pa we need to make a trip to town. And tell him that we need to put a crate on the wagon for some of those hens.”
But as Anna moved toward the door, her mother changed her mind. “Never mind,” she said, “I need a stretch. I’ll tell him myself. You go get yourself changed and ready to go.”
She started toward the kitchen door and then turned to speak again, “An’ while you’re at it, get a pair of those fancy stockin’s.”
Reluctantly Anna moved toward her little bedroom. She felt terribly guilty that so much time, attention, and family money were being spent on her. She was so undeserving. What would she do with all the fancy new clothes after the trip to the city? Folks in the area wouldn’t be expecting her to be so dressed up—not even for Sunday church. It did not occur to Anna that she would be dressed no differently than the neighborhood girls her age.
She changed her clothes, loosed her braids, and pinned the long tresses up in soft swirls. Mrs. Angus had shown her how to pin her hair, and her mama had her practicing. It made her look a mite older—more her real age—than the braids. But it also made her face look even smaller, and her blue eyes seemed to dominate her face. The only thing it didn’t do was to make her long, straight nose diminish in size. Anna wished with all her heart that it would have.
Before leaving her room she reached for a book. If she was making the long trip into town, she might as well take full advantage of the time. She could even read to her father. He liked to discuss her new-found Bible knowledge almost as much as she did.
It was late afternoon by the time they returned from town. Anna’s new shoes were tucked safely in her lap. She had not released them all the way home, even though she and her father had enjoyed a vigorous discussion about Armageddon.
Her mother was in the yard. Anna wondered if it was coincidence or if the older woman could not wait to see the purchase.
“Did you get them?” Anna was asked as soon as the wagon had stopped rolling.
Anna lifted up her little parcel and nodded her head in agreement, her eyes taking on a shine.
The shine in Mrs. Trent’s eyes matched Anna’s. “Bring ’em in,” she said with a nod of her head.
Brothers began to come from this direction and that, and they all seemed to have the same question. “Did you get ’em? Did you get ’em, Anna?”
Then the shout changed to, “Put ’em on! Put ’em on, Anna. Let’s see ’em!”
“Go ahead,” said Mrs. Trent, nodding her head toward Anna’s bedroom door. “Put them on—with the stockings—and try them with that gray-blue suit and the frilly blouse that you’ll be wearing to the graduation. Go ahead.”
Anna went to her room, excitement making her heart pound. She slipped out of her clothes and lifted the lovely white blouse with its generous lacy collar and cuffs from its peg. She had never expected to own such a garment. She could scarcely believe it was hers even now. She slipped into it and carefully did each button. Then she let the beautiful gray-blue skirt slide over her head and settle into place at her waist. Her fingers fumbled with the hooks in her nervousness. She eased into the jacket, adjusting the lapels as she studied her flushed face in the mirror.
Carefully she eased on the new stockings. She did not want to cause them damage.
The shoes came next. Anna looked forlornly at her discarded old on
es. They were badly worn. Then she placed a tiny foot into the shiny new leather. It seemed to gleam up at her and she held her breath. She added its mate to her other foot and stood to her full height. Taking a deep breath she moved toward the door that separated her room from the kitchen.
A joyous shout went up from the assembled little crowd when she made her appearance. They were all there. Her mama—with Karl pressed tightly up against her skirts. Her papa—with young Petey held in his arms. Adam. Horace. Will and Alfred. They were all there—eyes turned to her door, watching for the moment of her appearance. Exclaiming their approval. Clapping their hands to share her joy.
Anna’s eyes filled with tears. She looked around the room at the mended overalls, the brown bare feet, the faded apron over an equally faded dress, and her heart constricted with emotion. She wanted to run to her bedroom and throw herself face down on her bed. It wasn’t fair. It just wasn’t fair that she should have so much—and they so little. But there they all were. Cheering her on. Rejoicing in her blessings. Beaming because of her new wardrobe. What a wonderful family she had! To weep now would be to let them all down.
Anna forced a smile and whirled her way around the circle, presenting one dainty foot and then the other.
“Wow!” hollered Adam.
“You look like a princess, Anna,” called young Karl.
Will and Horace clapped their hands and whistled, and Anna’s mama did not even scold them for doing the forbidden—whistling in the house.
Even young Petey began to squirm in his papa’s arms. “Want down. Want down,” he insisted, and when his father lowered him to the floor he ran to Anna, crouched down, and reached out a pudgy childish hand to feel the shiny new leather, then looked up at Anna and grinned.
Anna noticed the toes protruding from Petey’s worn shoes. He was the only one of her brothers who wasn’t barefoot. “His feet are still too tender,” her mama would say, and so Petey would wear shoes for at least the first part of the summer. But the shoes were Sunday hand-me-downs, and by the time they had reached Petey there wasn’t much wear left in them. Seeing them now made a lump come again in Anna’s throat, and she wondered how much longer she could hold back her emotions.
At last they let her go, each one returning to a task that had to be finished before the supper hour. Anna went back to her room and carefully removed all her finery. She felt like Cinderella after the ball—returning to her rags and her hearth of cinders. Her throat ached with the desire to cry. She cast a glance toward the fine things. The shoes were so stylish—so shiny. And the blouse and suit were—were almost like new. No one would ever know they had been sewn from someone’s hand-me-downs.
But Anna could not shake off her feelings of guilt. She wished deep in her heart that she didn’t have the fine things. They were a reminder of what the rest of her family did not have. If only everyone wasn’t so—so kind—so benevolent. It wasn’t so hard to slip into her rightful place in the world when she was dressed in her mended, faded cotton frocks. But when she was dressed in the fine clothes, the new shoes, the frilly blouse, she was confused. She felt that she was deceiving the world. That she was pretending to be something she was not. Anna could not help but wonder if the Lord, who knew who she really was, would disapprove of her sham.
For a brief moment she gave in once more to her feelings. I’ll not go, she said to herself. I’ll just not go.
But just as quickly, Anna could picture the hurt in her mama’s eyes.
Well, I’ll go, she amended. But I’ll just wear my own clothes.
What had Mama said? Something about not allowing her daughter to bring the family shame. But wasn’t it just as shameful to pretend to be something you were not? Didn’t God judge the heart rather than the outward appearance?
And then Anna’s eyes lit up. She could wear the clothes—for her mama’s sake, just as long as her heart was right.
But, oh, it would be so hard to keep her heart right when—when folks were seeing her as one of them. When they were thinking she thought she was an equal. When they judged her by her outward appearance. When she would need to come back to her work cottons.
In spite of her strong resolve, Anna had to brush away tears before she could return to the kitchen.
The three traveled by train. Anna had never had such a wonderful experience. She had looked forward to the hours of train ride, thinking she would have all that precious time to read and read. But her eyes kept straying from the pages of her book. There was so much to see. She feasted upon the sights, the sounds, the feel of new freedom.
The Anguses seemed to be content to just sit back on the blue plush seats and relax from all their busyness. That was fine with Anna. She needed full concentration to absorb all that was going on around her.
The trip ended far too soon for Anna. Before she knew it the Anguses were gathering up their carry-on items and preparing to depart the train.
“We are to be met by friends—the Willoughbys. We will stay with them tonight,” said Mrs. Angus.
Anna had already been informed of this, but she nodded politely. Mrs. Angus often repeated herself—but then she was getting forgetful.
“Mr. Barker was so sorry that our train was to arrive right when he was busy with graduation rehearsal,” Mrs. Angus went on. Anna had heard that too.
Anna let her mind turn to the rehearsal. What did they rehearse? What needed practicing? Wasn’t there just one way you could graduate?
“Ah—there are the Willoughbys waiting on the platform.” With the words from Mrs. Angus, Anna’s heart began to pound. Now it would all begin. The strangeness, the confusion, the introduction into a world that she did not know nor hope to ever understand.
Anna got through the first evening in fitting form. No one knew of her inner agony. No one sensed that she felt overwhelmed by her new surroundings.
She had promised herself to keep her eyes and ears attuned to the manners and words of those around her and to follow their lead. What she did in actuality was to naturally keep her mind and heart open to the needs of others. Anna was never conscious of doing so. It had come from years of unselfish living, of practice within the home in which she had been raised, of an inner commitment to her God and His created people. It was as natural to her as her breathing. And so without thinking, she sought small ways to help, to reach out a hand of assistance, to give a tiny word of encouragement. To gently ease someone’s burden. To naturally be polite and courteous.
And so the Willoughbys saw exactly what the Anguses had seen for many years. A slight yet not fragile person—well mannered and well groomed, looking out at the world with a pair of wide, honest blue eyes that accented a small oval face. A polite, gentle young woman with a kind, sensitive spirit, devoted to her God and considerate of others.
Chapter Six
Graduation
“The graduation service will be at ten,” said Mrs. Angus. “That will be followed by a reception for the special guests of the graduates. Reverend Angus and I will be attending because of his part in the reception. You will be the guest of Pastor Barker.”
Anna knew all that, but she smiled and nodded her head. Then an awful thought struck her.
“Does that mean I won’t be sitting with you?” she queried.
“Oh, we can sit together for the service. At the reception we may need to sit at a separate table. I don’t know the seating arrangements, but by then you will be with the Barker family, so you won’t be deserted.”
Near panic seized Anna. The Barker family. She had only thought of Mr. Austin Barker. She was sure she could feel reasonably comfortable with him. But his family? How many Barkers were there? Would she be among a whole group of strangers?
“Only his father and mother were able to come,” went on Mrs. Angus. “He has three married sisters and a married brother. Austin is the youngest family member. Two of the girls are missionaries and the brother is a seminary professor.”
If the words had been meant to encourage Anna, th
ey had quite the opposite effect. How would she ever manage with such saintly people? Surely his father and mother must be—be extraordinary to have raised such an educated and devout family. Anna would not fit in at all. For one moment she considered taking to her room. But her mama would be so disappointed. She would expect a full description of the event when Anna returned home. No, Anna couldn’t back out now. She steeled herself for what lay ahead and followed Mrs. Angus into the crowded sanctuary.
It was a long and glorious service. Anna loved every minute of it. She intently drank in every movement, her ears cocked to every sound. She must be able to give a full account when she returned home. But even with her intensity, Anna knew that she would never be able to do justice to what she was witnessing.
At last they began to award the degrees, names in alphabetical order. There were only three young men who preceded Austin.
“Austin Tyler Barker, by the authority that is invested in me . . .” the robed man was saying, and Anna felt her heart swell with pride as she watched the young man reach out to accept the hard-earned degree. And then the gentleman in the robe added a few more words that puzzled Anna, “Magna cum laude,” he said.
Anna repeated the words over and over to herself. She wanted to be sure to remember them so that she could ask Mr. Barker. She did hope they weren’t any kind of embarrassment to the recipient. Perhaps she shouldn’t ask—maybe simply find some way to look them up for herself. The man on the platform hadn’t used the words when speaking to the other three young men who had received their diplomas.
Anna heard similar words—at least part of them—again as they continued through the graduation ceremonies. On two other occasions the gentleman in his robes said “Cum laude” as he handed a degree to another young man.
Anna could hardly stand the suspense. She longed to lean over to Mrs. Angus and ask her about the strange words. But Anna had been taught not to whisper in church, so she held herself determinedly in check.