Cottage on the Curve

Chapter Ten
Janie Earns a Dollar

“I suppose I could help weed Mrs. Williams’ garden like the boys do, but it does get so hot, and the mosquitoes are quite bad.”

Grandma said, “Um H’m,” and continued to knit. Janie leaned closer and confided, “You know, I made breakfasts for a while last summer, but I had to give that up. I had so much trouble waking up.”

“How about helping Aunt Claire cut green beans?”

“Oh, please! I just can’t bear to cut green beans,” wailed Jane. “I must find something more ... well ... more interesting.”

Grandma clicked her needles and said: “By the time you’re as old as I am, young lady, you’ll find that most ways of earning money are neither interesting nor easy. You’ll learn that you just grab hold of the job at hand and stick to it till it’s finished.”

Mom came in just then and Janie told her of her great poverty and her dire need. “Why I have just the thing for you, dear. I met Mrs. Peters at church last Sunday, and she said that she and her husband would like to go to the movies Saturday night if they only had someone to take care of Sammy.”

Janie’s eyes lit up. “Oh Mom, I know him. He likes me. I could take care of him easily.”

“Yes,” said her mother, carefully putting down the egg basket. “I think you could. Why don’t you run down the road and ask Mrs. Peters right now?”

“Here I go,” said Janie, with enthusiasm.

Sammy was playing in the garden when she got there. He was a dear little boy, about two and a half years old, with big brown eyes and short dark curly hair. He was delighted to see Jane and offered to give her a ride in his wheelbarrow. Jane laughed and said “Oh no, Sammy. I’m much too big for your wheelbarrow. I’d be like Goldilocks and the baby bear’s chair.”

Mrs. Peters came to the door and called “Hello” to Janie and asked her to come in. The cottage was one of the most attractive on Oak Lake, and as Janie looked around her she thought of what fun it would be to spend the evening here.

“Mrs. Peters,” she started, “Mom said that perhaps you might want me to take care of Sammy one of these Saturday evenings while you and Mr. Peters went to the movies.”

Mrs. Peters looked pleased. “Why Janie, that’s so kind of you, but aren’t you quite young for such a responsibility?”

“I’m thirteen,” said Janie proudly. “My mother gives me lots of responsibilities. I take care of my brothers almost as well as she does.”

Mrs. Peters smiled. “Yes, I’m sure you do, dear, and you’ll get along splendidly with Sammy, too. He likes you already. Come down Saturday evening about seven, and Mr. Peters and I will take you home again about eleven o’clock. We’ll give you a dollar.”

A DOLLAR! Whew! That was more money than she ever made in one day before. “Oh thank you, Mrs. Peters. I’ll be here at seven o’clock on Saturday. Good-by. Good-by Sammy!”

Janie’s legs flew back down the road. Billy and James were sitting on top of the stone posts waiting for the mailman. When Janie told them her news they looked pleased and impressed. “Golly, Jane. A dollar is real money. What are you going to do with it?”

“It will be the first dollar I ever earned and I’m going to do something special with it. I don’t know what it will be yet, though.”

“Oh, boy!” said James. “Guess I’ll get a job too.”

Mrs. Murray smiled as her daughter’s eager face appeared in the doorway. “So you’re going to take care of Sammy. Congratulations.”

“H’m,” said Grandma still clicking away at her knitting. “I’ll save my congratulations for a while, and in the meantime I’ll wish you good luck.”

Saturday evening came at last, and Janie started off down the road. Mom called after her: “Honey, why don’t you take one of the boys with you?”

Jane looked hurt. “Why, Mom! I don’t need any help.”

“All right then. I thought you might be lonely.”

The Peters were ready to leave and Mrs. Peters had prepared a list of instructions and left them on the telephone stand. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Peters,” said Jane confidently. “Everything is going to be just fine.”

Everything was just fine until the car started away, and then young Sammy threw back his head and began to cry. He ran to the garden gate and called after the disappearing car, “Mommy! Daddy! Come back! I want to go with you!” Jane put her arms around him and gave him her brightest smile.

“They’ll come back, Sam. Now, let’s play ball.” Sam’s face cleared just a little and the two of them tossed the ball around on the lawn. Janie wanted to quit after the first few minutes, but not Sammy. He was having a fine time and when Janie sank down on the grass, panting for breath, he urged her on. “No stop, Janie. More ball, more ball!”

“Enough ball” said the amateur nursemaid, drawing him down beside her. “Now, I’ll tell you a story. I’ll tell you a story about Pinocchio.” Sammy’s eyes sparkled. He clapped his hands and his short black curls danced as he settled down on Janie’s lap. “Three Bears,” he coaxed. “Three Bears, Little Red Riding Hood.” Janie’s mind leaped back nimbly to her not so far distant childhood.

“Once upon a time,” she started, and Sammy relaxed. She rambled on and on. The Three Bears wandered through the legendary forest and Sammy shook his head at the empty porridge bowls. Little Red Riding Hood escaped from the wicked wolf and Sammy rejoiced. This was easy. This was much less strenuous than a ball game. She told of the adventures of Little Black Sambo and Snow White. Sammy was like a lamb.

“More story, Janie,” he begged. “More Three Bears, Little Red Riding Hood.”

Janie laughed and patted his hand. “Now I’m going to tell you about Pinocchio. ‘Once upon a time there was a stick of wood.’” Sammy listened. He marveled at the stick that could talk. He laughed at the ridiculous nose. He laughed when Pinocchio ran away. When poor Pinocchio returned from his wanderings and sat down at the fire to dry his feet, he looked expectant. When she told how the wooden feet burned off he rolled on the grass in glee.

Janie was indignant. “Why Sammy, you heartless little wretch. It hurts to have your feet burned off. You mustn’t laugh at anything so sad.” Obligingly, Sammy’s face fell. “Poor Pinocchio,” he said, and the tears started down his fat cheeks. Janie hastened to soften his grief. “Geppeto will make him some new feet.” But Sammy was determined to mourn if mourning was called for. In vain Janie tried to change the subject. Sammy wept. He cried until his face was wet with tears and looking up Jane saw her brother Bill at the gate.

“Oh, Billy,” she exclaimed. “I never was so glad to see you. I can’t cheer this child up.”

Billy wore his most impish expression, “I thought you didn’t need any help.”

Janie’s eyes flashed, “Bill Murray,” she exploded. “If you think this is funny, if you think this is any time for one of your jokes....”

Bill entered the yard and gathered the sobbing Sammy up in his arms. “Easy, old girl, easy,” he said. “Remember your temper.”

Janie bit her lip, then she rose up grimly, put one foot in back of her and gave a tremendous kick that sent her shoe flying up in the air. Coming down it lodged in the rain gutter and Billy roared with laughter. Sammy was reminded once more of the ball game.

Janie quickly diverted his attention. “Bed time for little boys,” she said. “Sammy is going to put his pajamas on, brush his teeth, say his prayers, and go to bed.” Billy helped get his shoe laces untied, but he wanted to wash his face and hands by himself, and he dawdled for ten minutes brushing his teeth. He made quite an issue of wearing a certain pajama suit with a rabbit embroidered on the pocket, instead of the one his mother had laid out, but at last everything was settled to his satisfaction, and he said his prayers and climbed into bed.

It was quiet for a while. Billy worked at a crossword puzzle and Janie read, but she could hear the creak, creak of the springs as Sammy walked around on his bed. She looked at the instruction sheet once more, as if to draw inspiration from the written words. Mrs. Peters had written: “Bed at 7:30,” and here it was half past eight and Sammy still awake.

“What will I do, Bill? He won’t go to sleep.”

Billy took the matter in hand.

“I’ll tell you what I’ll do, Sam,” he said. “If you’ll lie down on your bed and go to sleep, I’ll stand on my head.”

Sammy looked interested, and he lay down expectantly watching his entertainers. Janie sat down on a rocking chair, and Billy proceeded to stand on his head. The performance was a great success.

“More, more,” cried bright-eyed Sammy. “More stand on head!”

Billy rubbed his noggin and went back to work, but this time one hand slipped on the rug. As he struggled for his balance one heel caught in a pedestal holding a large Boston fern, and down came Billy, pedestal and fern with a great crash.

Sammy laughed and clapped his hands, but Janie rushed over to where he lay. “Billy! Oh Billy! Are you hurt?”

He shook his head groggily, and bits of jardiniere clattered to the floor. “No,” he said. “I’m all right, but I surely made a mess.” He started downstairs to get a broom and a dust pan, pulling Boston fern out of his hair as he went.

Sammy tried to climb out of bed, but Janie persuaded him to lie down again. “Go to sleep now,” she said gently, and she started to leave the room, but Sammy had another idea.

“Sammy want a drink.”

“I’ll get one for you right away,” promised Jane, and returned with a small glass of water.

“Sammy want a big drink.”

“Try this first, and if you’re still thirsty, I’ll bring some more.” Jane held the glass to his lips, but he bobbed as he stepped forward on the mattress, and part of the drink dribbled on the front of his pajamas.

“Oh!” she gasped. “Sit down for a moment while I get something dry for you to sleep in.”

By nine o’clock he was back in bed, and Janie was sitting in the room with him rocking and singing lullabies. It was warm and quiet, and Janie was very sleepy, but not Samuel. Whenever she faltered he urged her on. “More Humpty Dumpty, Janie. More Rockaby Baby.” Wearily Jane complied.

Billy had been reading downstairs and holding a wet towel to his head. Now, thinking that Sammy had dropped off to sleep, he tiptoed up the stairs. “Creak!” went a loose board. Sammy sat bolt upright.

“Mommy!” he cried. “Mommy’s home.”

Billy’s round face appeared at the top of the stairs and Sammy screamed in disappointment.

“Oh!” he cried. “I want my Mommy,” and he turned on his guardians with infantile rage. “Go home Janie. Billy, go home!”

Janie tried to quiet him, but he was over tired and over stimulated, and he threw his pillow on the floor and sobbed.

“I’ll go home,” said Bill. “I guess I wasn’t much help. Good-by, Sammy, old fella. Good-by, Jane.”

Jane gathered Sammy up in her arms and smoothed his bed. All the fight was out of him. He snuggled up against her with a tired sigh, and was asleep almost as soon as she put him back on the pillow.

Mom looked up curiously as Billy walked in. He had a bump on his head, and bits of fern and plant dirt still stuck to his hair.

“What in the world happened to you?”

“I’ve been down at the Peters helping Jane take care of Sammy, but I was thrown out.”

“Did Jane send you home?”

“No, Sammy did.”

Mom was on her feet in an instant, all concern. “Why that poor child,” she said. “Down there all alone taking care of him.” She reached for a sweater and started out the door. Billy trotted along at her side.

“I helped her, Mom. I did everything I could think of.”

Arriving at the Peters’ cottage, Mom pushed the gate open and hurried up the walk. She knocked and Janie appeared, completely unruffled.

“Janie,” cried Mom. “What happened? What’s wrong with little Sam. Is he feverish?”

“No, Mom,” Jane answered calmly. “It was just a tantrum. I put him back to bed and he’s fast asleep.”

Standing there, one step below her daughter on the steps Mom suddenly felt completely inadequate.

“You run along home, Mom,” said Jane, much as she would have spoken to one of the children. “I’ll be all right.”

Billy and Mom started back home, and Janie sank down on one of the big chairs. She looked at the inviting stacks of magazines that she had planned to read during the evening. It was cold and she was very sleepy. Mrs. Peters had said that she should find a lunch in the refrigerator, but she was too tired to be hungry. A hoot owl shrieked in the trees outside, and shivering, she wished that she hadn’t been so lofty in refusing Mom’s offer of company and assistance.

It was ten-thirty. How the time dragged. She went upstairs and peeked in at Sammy. He was sound asleep. Back down stairs again, she tuned in the radio, but there was nothing but the blare of dance bands, strident and unfamiliar. Her jaws ached with yawning. Would they never come home? She curled up at one end of the davenport, and pulled the afghan around her. It was so quiet she could almost hear the lapping of the waves on the shore. One by one, a few late cars whizzed by, but still the Peters didn’t come. Her head dropped lower and lower, and then with a jerk, she was awake again.

“Mustn’t go to sleep, Janie,” she said aloud. “Remember, you’re responsible here.”

She walked up and down for a while, but it made echoing sounds.

“Oh, dear. I wish I had let Mom stay.”

At last a car slowed down for the curve, and coasted into the Peters’ entrance. Janie flew to the door.

“Hello!” she called eagerly. “Hello!”

“Hi,” called the Peters pleasantly. “How is everything?”

“Fine, just fine,” said Janie in her relief to see them again.

“Get your sweater, dear,” said Mrs. Peters, “and I’ll take you home. How did you get along? Is Sammy asleep?”

“Oh yes, he went to sleep. I sang to him and told him stories,” and then she remembered the Boston fern.

“Oh, Mrs. Peters,” she choked, and all the strain of the evening hit her at once and she was crying.

“Billy stood on his head, and broke your fern!”

Mrs. Peters looked puzzled, amused, and sympathetic all at once. She patted Janie on the shoulders as they started out the door. “Accidents will happen,” she said, “and boys will be boys, but I’m glad that you didn’t have any trouble with Sammy. He’s such a dear, good boy. I looked in at him sleeping just now. He looked just like an angel.”

Janie heard it all in a daze of weariness. “Oh yes,” she agreed drowsily. “A little angel.”

As they reached the Murrays’ gate, Mrs. Peters thanked her again, and pressed a dollar bill into her hand. Janie said “Goodnight” and walked wearily down the stone steps through the rock garden, and then up the brick steps to the porch.

Mom was waiting up for her. “Come in, baby,” she said. “I have your bed open and your pajamas laid out. You can sleep late tomorrow morning.”

Janie thanked her, and then sank down on her bed, almost too tired to take off her shoes, but in her right hand she grasped a crisp one-dollar bill.

She reached for her piggybank, and patted his sleek flower-decorated sides. “Piggy,” she said, “if you knew how hard it was for me to earn this money, you’d be really grateful.” She stuffed the dollar in the slot. “Here you are,” she whispered. “I promised I’d feed you, and don’t say that Janie doesn’t keep her promises.”