Thanksgiving Day 1868
I haven't written in my journal this month. Life has been so hectic. With the holidays approaching the wealthiest women in town have all requested a dress or two for themselves and their children. I admit that I HATE sewing Buster Brown suits for little boys. I know the little boys will despise wearing them, and will destroy the white collar, and shirt within a day.
I LOVE making beautiful dresses. I LOVE reading the two magazine subscriptions that Blake gave me last year for Christmas. One is from Paris and some of the styles are ridiculously gaudy. The other comes from New York. I look at these magazines, and make gowns that are lovely, yet not made with 20 yards of fabric, ruffles, and ribbons. I also design in such a way that I emphasize each woman's good features and de-emphasize their less than positive features. I love to make women's suits. I like blouses to be feminine, soft, crepe du chine, silk, or lined chiffon. (I can't make a chiffon blouse without a lining, scandalous...hee hee)
So, I have sat day after day, night after night sewing, designing, and selling. My little shop is quite prosperous right now. I am surprised. I know that the women gossip about me behind my back. Many of them are extremely rude to me. They treat me as though I am the social equivalent of a slave. I remember all too well what being a slave felt like.
I do my best to "Act not React," as my beloved Maman taught me all through childhood. As a very young girl another young girl attacked me. She hit me and took away my beloved shawl that Maman had made me. I punched and hit as well as I could. I was just seven and tiny for my age.
When I came home, bruised, battered, crying, and shawlless Maman greeted me at the door. She held me close and let me sob soggily my story. She did not say one word. First she cleaned me up at the sink, and smoothed down my messy hair.
Next she led me into the kitchen. It was filled with the odor of fresh bread. Slicing me a huge, warm piece, she slathered on homemade butter, and raspberry jam. Oh her jam was divine. That piece of bread went a long way to soothing my wounded spirit.
Bread finished I insisted stoutly that Maman go directly to Sophie's house and demand my shawl back. Maman was silent for a long moment.
When the silence stretched out so long that I was afraid she had gone to sleep I stood up. She stood up as well. Taking my hand in hers she told me to wait by the front door.
I didn't wait long. Maman came out of her bedroom with a tissue wrapped package. "Maman, what is your package?"
She smiled brightly at me. "You will see little one, you will see."
When we arrived at Sophie's I noticed that the house was leaning to one side. Paint had not come close to the crooked old boards in a very long time. There was a goat tethered in the front yard bleating to be milked. The only plants growing in the dust of the yard were weeds.
When Maman knocked nobody answered the door for a very long time. Finally the door was opened. The woman who opened the door had no teeth. Her hair was sparse on her head. She was bent almost in half. Her back was so twisted and knotted I could not understand how she could walk at all.
Sophie came to the door to help her Maman balance. When she saw Maman and me she looked frightened. Maman said, "Maria, my girl Celeste gave Sophie her shawl today. Celeste wanted to share with Sophie. Sophie is such a sweet girl and she and Celeste have become great friends.
Sophie had been busily digging a hole in the dirt floor with her bare foot. When Maman made that comment her head came up quickly.
I turned to look at Maman with astonishment. She was lying. I was never permitted to lie, how could Maman tell such a falsehood with such sincerity.
"Maria, the shawl that Celeste gave Sophie is worn and tattered. Could I please trade it for this?" Maman opened her package and inside was a newly knitted shawl. It was a lovely warm red. She put it gently around Sophie's thin shoulders.
Sophie looked up at Maman in shock. Her mouth was wide but no sound came out. Her Maman chided gently, "Sophie what do you tell Mademoiselle Benoit?" "Merci Beaucoup, Merci, Merci."
Sophie walked across the one room structure. She picked up my shawl and brought it to me.
We walked home again in silence. Finally I was too curious to be still any longer. Indignantly I said, "Maman, she stole my shawl. Why would you reward her for stealing? In addition, you lied. Sophie and I are not friends. She beat me up."
Maman smiled at me. "Celeste Sophie and her Maman lost her Papa last year. He was very young when he died. You have seen how bent Sophie's Maman is. She is in constant pain. She can't work. So they live as paupers, rarely do they have enough to eat. Their house is cold all the time. Sophie has to keep the house clean, her Maman can't. I have no doubt that Sophie wanted your shawl because she was very, very cold. I doubt that they have much wood to burn in their fire."
"What you had was a chance. The chance was either to let the fight, and stealing make you angry and bitter, then you would be REacting. Or you could reach a little higher in your nature and you could ACT. In other words, you would NOT let Sophie's actions determine how YOU would behave."
I miss you Maman. Thank you for being such a wonderful teacher, Maman, and friend.
No comments:
Post a Comment