by Lois Lenski
“I can start back to school then?” cried Lula Bell.
Miss Hattie looked at the teacher. “I’ll let her go. I’ll make out without her somehow.”
Miss Janie went away satisfied.
“Tomorra I can go?” cried Lula Bell, clapping her hands.
“Yes, tomorra,” promised Mama Hattie.
The promise was kept. Lula Bell did return to school on the day following, but not exactly as expected. Mama Hattie did not need her, after all.
That evening, when Mama Hattie wanted to go indoors, Lula Bell helped her as usual. The old woman leaned heavily on the young girl’s shoulder. Her feet seemed uncertain and she stumbled a little.
“Ketch me, girl,” said Mama Hattie. “Don’t let me fall.” She reached for a chair and slumped down.
“You all right, Mama Hattie?” asked Lula Bell, disturbed.
“My throat’s dryin’ up,” said the woman. “Git me an orange.” Lula Bell brought one from the kitchen. “Peel it and quarter it for me.”
Lula Bell put the orange sections in a saucer. She set it in front of her grandmother. Mama Hattie stared at it. She ate one section.
“Help me to bed. I’s tired,” she said.
Mama Hattie got up and began to move slowly from the front room, her hand on Lula Bell’s shoulder. As she entered the little hall, her loose bedroom slipper caught on the edge of the linoleum rug. She pitched forward and, before Lula Bell could catch her, fell heavily to the floor.
“Oh Lordy, oh Lordy!” cried Mama Hattie. “See what I done. I’s busted every bone in my body.” She began to moan and groan.
Lula Bell looked on in dismay. Her grandmother was wedged in the narrow passageway and seemed to be in great pain. The girl began to tug at her free arm, trying to lift her up.
“Oh Lordy, don’t pull my arm off!” cried Mama Hattie. “Lemme see if I can raise myself up on my other elbow.” She tried hard, but couldn’t. Her breath came in short gasps. “Go git somebody to help,” she whispered.
Lula Bell knocked timidly on the door of the Bradleys’ room. She was ready to ask Miss Vennie’s help now. Then she remembered that they had gone to the show. She had no idea where Uncle Jim or the boys were.
“Go git help,” said Mama Hattie again.
Lula Bell looked up and down Hibiscus Street. It was nearly dark and there was not a person in sight. The windows of the Chicken Shack were dark. The girl was afraid to leave the house, with Mama Hattie lying on the floor. Then she saw James Henry Thorpe riding along on his bicycle with his popgun in his hand.
“James Henry!” called Lula Bell. “James Henry, come quick!”
James Henry pulled up at the curb and aimed his popgun at the girl. Lula Bell snatched, but did not get it. “Mama Hattie’s fell—come quick!” she said.
They went in and saw her lying there. “I can’t git her up.”
“You hold my popgun,” said James Henry. “I’ll see what I can do.”
The boy tugged at the woman’s arm, but it did no good. The arm dropped back as if lifeless.
“She’ll die if we can’t git her up,” said Lula Bell sobbing. Then she heard footsteps on the porch.
“It was the best show I ever seen …” Miss Vennie and Myrtle were back. Lula Bell ran to Miss Vennie and told her. Miss Vennie stared at the woman on the floor.
“We better not try to move her,” she said.
Myrtle put her arm around Lula Bell and said, “Don’t cry, Mama’ll take care of your grandma.”
“James Henry, run over and call Brother Williams and Sister Eula,” said Miss Vennie, taking charge. “Myrtle, find Dr. Carter’s number and phone him to come quick. Lula Bell, run over and ask Miss Annie Sue and Miss Lena to come.”
Soon the room was filled with neighbors. Brother Williams would let no one touch Mama Hattie until the doctor came. While they waited, Brother Williams prayed. When Dr. Carter came, he phoned for an ambulance. “We’ll move her just once—to the hospital,” he said. “It may be a stroke. Her hip may be broken.”
Lula Bell stood weeping in a corner, with Myrtle’s arm around her, as they carried Mama Hattie out on a stretcher. The neighbors went away as soon as the ambulance left. Lula Bell stayed with the Bradleys. They were her friends now. It was good to have friends at a time like this. She forgot how she had disliked them before.
The boys came in late, bringing a string of fish for Mama Hattie. Lula Bell looked at the clock. “It’s ten o’clock and we forgot all about supper. It’s good you brought fish. That’s all we got to eat.”
The boys sobered down when Miss Vennie told them the news. She fried the fish and they ate hastily. Late as it was, Miss Vennie sent Lonnie on his bicycle over cross-town to take the news to Aunty Irene. He brought back word that Irene was sick in bed.
“Shall I phone Aunty Ruth?” asked Lula Bell. “She told me to let her know if anything happened to Mama Hattie.”
“I think you should,” said Miss Vennie. “Get me the number and I’ll put the call through for you.”
It took a long time to get an answer, far away in New Jersey.
Aunty Ruth was out, so it was Imogene who answered. Lula Bell had to talk fast to tell everything: “The doctor and the preacher carried Mama Hattie to the hospital … the doctor thinks she broke her hip, and they think she’s had a stroke … I couldn’t help it she fell over, I was givin’ her an orange and … Aunty Irene’s sick in bed and Miss Lena’s cut us off … there’s no money for groceries ’cause Mama Hattie bought two new porch chairs … all we got is fish to eat …” Lula Bell began to cry. Suddenly the burden of all she had been through seemed too much for her. “Miss Janie says I got to go to school or they’ll git the law on me …”
“Daddy Joe and I’ll come down soon as we can,” said Imogene. “We was fixing to come soon anyhow. We’ll come soon to help you, honey.”
“When’ll you come—tomorra?” asked Lula Bell.
“Tomorra if we can, honey,” said Imogene. “We got to pack up first and it takes two days on the train.”
“The bus is cheaper …” Lula Bell began to cry again.
“Don’t cry, honey,” said Imogene. “We’ll be there by Sunday anyhow. Don’t worry now.”
The next morning Miss Vennie insisted that Lula Bell start back to school again. “Your grandma’s in good hands, and I’ll take care of things here at the house.”
Myrtle took Lula Bell’s hand and off they went. At the corner they were joined by Geneva, Josephine and Floradell, and the five girls walked along to school together. Lula Bell’s heart began to sing. It was good to be with her friends again.
When she and Myrtle came home that day, Miss Vennie was sitting in one of Mama Hattie’s new chairs. She held a letter in her hand.
Lula Bell looked at the chairs. “I’d like to ask your advice, Miss Vennie,” she said. “Do you think we should return these chairs to that truckman and git the money back? I need some change to buy groceries. I haven’t any change at all.”
“Miss Hattie only paid $2 down,” said Miss Vennie. “That wouldn’t go very far for groceries.” She opened the letter in her hand. “My check’s just come, so I can pay my back rent. Would you like me to have Miss Lena cash it, and keep out what you owe her? Maybe there will be enough over to buy food till your mother comes, and to keep up payments on the chairs.”
“Mama Hattie was so proud of ’em,” said Lula Bell. “I’d hate to let ’em go. I’d sure like to git ’em paid up, so she could keep ’em.”
Together Lula Bell and Miss Vennie went over to Miss Lena’s store and soon the back bill was paid. “Your credit’s good again, Lula Bell,” said Miss Lena.
Then Miss Vennie announced that she and Uncle Jim and Myrtle were leaving soon, to go to live with her brother in Michigan.
“And Mama Hattie will lose her boarders?” cried Lula Bell. “It ain’t my fault, is it?”
“No, girl,” said Miss Vennie. “My brother’s a widower. He wants a family around him and
a woman to cook for him.”
“You’re goin’ away,” cried Lula Bell, “jest when Myrtle and I have got to be good friends.” She thought of the weeks she had wasted hating little Myrtle and hurting only herself.
“I’m sorry, but we must,” said Miss Vennie. “We’ll be gone before your mother and daddy come. They can have our room. It works out nice for everybody.”
“Lula Bell,” said Miss Lena, “I wonder if you could spare time to come over and help me each evenin’ after school? At least while your grandma’s in the hospital? You could sweep out and wait on customers while I cook and eat my supper, couldn’t you?”
“Yes ma’m, I sure could,” said Lula Bell, beaming.
“I’d pay you 50¢ a week,” said Miss Lena.
“Just what Daddy Joe gave me for my weekly allowance up north,” said Lula Bell.
“I been noticin’ how responsible you’ve grown since that trip up north,” said Miss Lena. “I thought of all the girls on Hibiscus Street, and there’s no one I’d rather have than you.”
“You can put your dependence on me, Miss Lena,” said Lula Bell proudly, quoting her grandmother. “I want to be a storekeeper like you when I grow up.”
“I think they’ll come tomorra,” Lula Bell told everybody.
The second day brought an air mail letter from Imogene saying they would arrive on Sunday. Lula Bell and the boys went in Uncle Vern’s car to the Greyhound Bus Station. Aunty Irene, still sick, stayed at home with the children. The bus was very late, but when it came in, there were Imogene and Daddy Joe.
Lula Bell hugged and kissed them, and they talked and laughed a while. Then their suitcases were put in the trunk of the car, and they all rode to the hospital to visit Mama Hattie. She was better now, resting comfortably in bed, but she had a long siege before her. Her hip was broken, as the doctor feared at first. It had to be put into a heavy cast for six months. Also her heart and blood pressure condition were bad. It would be many months before she could walk again.
“It must be that seven years’ bad luck I was expectin’,” said Mama Hattie gloomily. “Instead of bein’ all spread out over seven years, I got it all at one blow. But I didn’t want to bring you-all back down here.”
“We got to look after you,” said Daddy Joe.
“I never shoulda left you,” said Imogene.
“But there ain’t no use weepin’ our eyes out over it,” said Mama Hattie. “Now’s my chance to git a good rest.”
“You sure need it,” said Uncle Vern.
“You-all git rich up north?” asked Mama Hattie, cheerful again. “You-all gonna pay my doctor bills?”
Imogene looked at Daddy Joe and they laughed.
“Never worked harder in our lives than we done up in Jersey,” said Daddy Joe. “We’ve saved a little …”
“You ain’t turned into a crook, Imogene, is you—doin’ that sec-e-tary work?” asked Mama Hattie. “Why didn’t you keep on bein’ a dressmaker after I learned you to sew so good?”
“All I could get in the dressmaking line was sewing labels on sweaters in a big factory,” said Imogene. “It was piece work, and I had to work fast to make any money. I near-about ruined my eyesight. I had to buy glasses.”
“Oh, Imogene, you sure do look funny wearin’ glasses,” said Lula Bell. Now she knew what made her mother look so strange at first. “You must of liked it up there, you stayed so long.”
“I don’t even begin to say I liked it,” said Imogene. “Joe got a job in a foundry, but until you can work yourself up, you can only meet expenses and not much over.”
“Did you buy yourself an apartment after you left Lucy’s?” asked Mama Hattie.
“We couldn’t find one,” said Imogene. “There were no vacancies, every place was over-crowded. We had to live in a rooming house. We were lucky to get a double room. It was all right, but not like being in your own place.”
“You must have went out evenings to fancy social doin’s,” said Mama Hattie.
“By the time I worked eight hours a day at my job, caught busses, cooked dinner and cleaned up a little,” said Imogene, “I was usually ready for bed. We spent our Sundays with Ruth and Lucy.”
“You like it better here then?” demanded Lula Bell. She looked from her mother to her daddy uncertainly. “You gonna stay?”
“It’s home here,” said Imogene simply, “and Mama shore needs us bad.”
Mama Hattie began to cry. “I didn’t want to bring you back down here. I don’t know how all them big doctor bills is gonna git paid … Oh, if only I hadn’t a fell …”
Imogene and Lula Bell put their arms around her. “Don’t you cry, Mama Hattie,” they said. “We’ll find a way, we’ll take care o’ you. Ruth and Lucy and Irene—they all want to help. You been takin’ care of us all these years, it’s our turn now.”
“We’ll get jobs here, and stay and look after you-all better,” said Daddy Joe.
“There’s a new factory goin’ up over at the edge of town,” said Uncle Vern. “They’re advertising for men. They pay good.”
“Maybe Mrs. Netherton will give me my old job back,” said Imogene.
“The Bradleys have moved out,” said Lula Bell. “They went back to Miss Vennie’s brother up in Michigan. We got your room all fixed up nice for you.”
“Lula Bell’s growed an inch since we saw her last,” said Daddy Joe. “Mama Hattie’s been feedin’ you good, girl.”
“I’m glad we sent Lula Bell home,” said Imogene. “A rooming house is no place for a child. You been takin’ good care of her, Mama.”
“I ain’t been takin’ care o’ her,” said Mama Hattie. “She been takin’ care o’ me. She been a good little nurse. I couldn’ta made out without her. She been bossin’ me around worse’n you, Imogene!”
They all laughed. Lula Bell hung her head.
“Here’s a present for you, girl,” said Eddie. He handed out a package, and Lula Bell opened it quickly. “A nice new lookin’ glass. It set Lon and me back $1.98.”
“Then it was you who broke the other one, not Myrtle,” said Lula Bell.
“Lonnie and me was fightin’ with the broomstick,” said Eddie. “Him and me broke it.”
Lonnie laughed. “I paid $1.00 and Eddie paid only 98¢!”
“Now, girl, go buy yourself some lipstick!” teased Eddie.
Uncle Vern had slipped out. Soon he came back with ice cream cones for everybody. That made it seem like a party. Then the boys and Uncle Vern went down to the car, but Lula Bell and her parents stayed on until the nurse told them it was time to go. The visiting hour was over. They kissed Mama Hattie good-by.
Mama Hattie did not want them to go. She had something she wanted to tell them.
“You all will take care of Lula Bell now, won’t you?” begged Mama Hattie. “If anything should happen to me … I want you to promise …”
“Yes, Mama.” “Sure, Mama.” They promised. “You’re getting better, Mama.” “You’ll soon be well, Mama.”
“She used to be Mama Hattie’s girl, but she ain’t no more,” said the old woman. “She’s your girl now.”
Lula Bell put her arm around her mother and took her daddy’s hand. She looked back at her grandmother and smiled. “Now don’t you worry, Mama Hattie,” she said. “Us’ll take care of you too.”
“Good-by, Mama Hattie.”
The three walked out together.
A Biography of Lois Lenski
Lois Lenski was born in Springfield, Ohio, on October 14, 1893. The fourth of five children of a Lutheran minister and a schoolteacher, she was raised in the rural town of Anna, Ohio, west of Springfield, where her father was the pastor. Many of the children’s books she wrote and illustrated take place in small, closely knit communities all over the country that are similar to Lenski’s hometown.
After graduating from high school in 1911, Lenski moved with her family to Columbus, where her father joined the faculty at Capital University. Because Capital did not yet allow w
omen to enroll, she attended college at Ohio State University. Lenski took courses in education, planning to become a teacher like her mother, but also studied art, and was especially interested in drawing. In 1915, with a bachelor’s degree and a teaching certificate, she decided to pursue a career in art, and moved to New York City to take classes at the Art Students League of New York.
In an illustration class at the League, Lenski met a muralist named Arthur Covey. She assisted him in painting several murals, and also supported herself by taking on parttime jobs drawing fashion advertisements and lettering greeting cards. In October 1920, she left New York to continue her studies in Italy and London, where the publisher John Lane hired her to illustrate children’s books. When she returned to New York in 1921, she married Covey and became stepmother to his two children, Margaret and Laird.
Early in her career, Lenski dedicated herself to book illustration. When a publisher suggested that she try writing her own stories, she drew upon the happy memories of her childhood. Her first authored book, Skipping Village (1927), is set in a town that closely resembles Anna at the start of the twentieth century. A Little Girl of 1900 (1928) soon followed, also clearly based on Lenski’s early life in rural Ohio.
In 1929, Lenski’s son, Stephen, was born, and the family moved to a farmhouse called Greenacres in Harwinton, Connecticut, which they would call home for the next three decades. Lenski continued to illustrate other authors’ books, including the original version of The Little Engine That Could (1930) by Watty Piper, and the popular Betsy-Tacy series (1940–55) by Maud Hart Lovelace. Lenski also wrote the Mr. Small series (1934–62), ten books based on Stephen’s antics as a toddler.
The house at Greenacres had been built in 1790 and it became another source of inspiration, as Lenski liked to imagine the everyday lives of the people who had previously lived in her home. In Phebe Fairchild, Her Book (1936), for instance, a young girl is sent to live with her father’s family on their farm in northwestern Connecticut in 1830‚ when Greenacres would have been forty years old. For its rich and detailed depiction of family life in rural New England, the book was awarded the Newbery Honor.