Joe Roberts
Aunt Kate peered at her sister. “Why, Nan, I do believe you’re crying.”
Granny sniffled. “Don’t be silly. It’s just the onions I’m peeling.”
Holly Jean tried not to grin. Her grandmother was working with string beans, not onions! But Holly Jean missed her father so much she felt like crying too. What if he were killed overseas in this awful war? Her mother was already dead, and—
No, she couldn’t think about that! Better open another letter instead. So she picked up the one from her father’s sister, Aunt Bea, a beautiful young defense worker back in Cincinnati, Ohio, Holly Jean’s hometown. She read:
Dear everyone!
Hope you can read this. I’m working so many hours overtime at the war plant these days I’m practically living here. I’m writing this as fast as I can on my lunch break. I know I told you in my last note that I was coming down next Saturday for Daisy’s big party and bringing Holly Jean’s school friends, Shirley and Roger, with me.
Sorry, but now my supervisor says I’m going to have to work that Saturday. But to make it up to me, I get three days off the following weekend. That’ll give us more time to travel and see everyone, anyway, and go to church with you too, okay? Roger and Shirley say they can’t wait to come. Oops—gotta get back to the assembly line. See you soon!
Love,
Me—Bea!
Holly Jean waved the letter in the air. “Oh, I can’t wait for Aunt Bea and my friends to get here! I know you’ll both love Shirley and Roger. And so will Miss Linda and Tad.”
But her great-aunt was frowning. “Bea just mentioned that Shirley person’s name again. Didn’t you say she was of a different—”
But before she could finish, Holly Jean jumped in. “Place? Yes. She was my very best friend in school back in Cincinnati, Aunt Kate. Smart as a whip, and a real sweet Christian too. You should hear her sing hymns!”
But inside, Holly Jean was furious. No, Aunt Kate! I’m not going to let you talk about my best friend being of a different race again! Come on, Granny Nanny, please help me out here!
And her grandmother did. “Land o’Goshen, child, they’re more than welcome. But we need to figger out where they can all sleep. Let’s see now: Bea can borrow your bed in the new add-on room, Holly Jean. Then you and this sweet Shirley friend can sleep on featherbeds up in the attic. But keep the attic door open for some cool air. We’ll put Bea’s new friend John and your Roger friend from school in the corn crib to use the mattresses out there. Oh, this is gonna be fun. Old Bear’s gonna be wild with joy, with all the pettin’ he’s gonna git!”
But her sister Kate wasn’t smiling. “So who’s the third letter from?” she grumped.
Holly Jean picked it up. Now it was her turn to be puzzled.
“Why, Aunt Kate,” she replied slowly, “it says, ‘To Miss Katherine Barkley.’ That’s you, of course. But it’s from someone named ‘Jacob Jonathan Morgan.’ Is that anyone you know?”
Turning red, then pale, then red again, her great-aunt grabbed the envelope and clutched it to her heart.
“Oh, child!” she cried, bursting into tears. “It’s from Pastor Jake! My dear, dear Jake! But now I’m scared. What in the world does this letter say? Is he gonna break my poor heart all over again?”
Chapter 2
Coming ’Round the Bend!
Wailing, Aunt Kate thrust the envelope back into her great-niece’s hands. “R-read it, child!” she begged. “Oh, read it quick!”
Holly Jean caught her breath. Suddenly, even on this blistering hot day, she shivered. Oh, dear God, please let this letter be good news, not bad news!
Clearing her throat, she opened the envelope carefully, then began reading:
Dear Miss Kate:
Would you please do me the honor of going to my brother’s party with me next Saturday? I’d be right obliged if you did. No one I’d rather go there with, you know. Can’t rightly thank the good Lord enough for helping us be friends again. Been praying for that for years. So if it okay with you, I’ll stop by for you at noon.
Your friend,
Jake Morgan
Slowly her great-aunt rose from her rocking chair. As if in a trance, she flung off her sunbonnet. “Oh, yes, Jake! Oh, yes, yes, YES!” she cried.
Then, sobbing, she suddenly collapsed in her chair again. “Oh, child, ain’t never been so happy in all my born days!” And she smiled right through her tears.
Holly Jean patted her great-aunt’s hand. “So, Aunt Kate, what are you going to wear?”
“Oh, my! You’re right, gal. I gotta really git all dolled up, don’t I? After all, this is my first real date in over 40 years!” She giggled and blushed. “Well, I do believe we have some unused flour sacks around. I’ll just sew me up something purty as a picture. What about you gals? Want something new and purty too, Nan?”
Granny Nanny laughed. “No thanks, Katie, dear.”
But Holly Jean was intrigued. “Really, Aunt Kate? You could really sew me a new dress to wear to the party? Like what?”
Aunt Kate almost bubbled. “Like whatever you want. See, we got your new green jumper and blouse to go by for size. So just draw me a sketch of something you’d like, then we’ll look at the sacks and see what we can use for fabric. Why, you can even draw a purty picture of what my new dress should look like too. Now whatcha think of that?”
By now Holly Jean was giggling herself. She found a two-ring binder in her old school supplies—one she had used back at Taft Junior High in Cincinnati—and added some fresh paper. But her pencil was dull. “Do you have a pencil sharpener, Granny Nanny?” she asked.
Grinning, her grandmother looked up from her tub of beans and held out her kitchen knife. “Got one right here, gal. Know how to use this?”
Nervously, Holly Jean sharpened her pencil with the knife. Please, God, don’t let the lead break! And don’t let me cut myself!
But a few minutes later she was happily drawing—just as she used to in her art class back at Taft. Now if only she had some coloring pencils, crayons, or water colors! But even without them, in a few minutes she had sketched two dress ideas—one for her and one for her great-aunt.
She held them up proudly. “Okay, Aunt Kate, whatcha think…gorgeous enough for a party? Oh, I just love parties!” But Aunt Kate was nowhere around.
Finally the older woman emerged from the cabin—her arms full of empty, brightly patterned sacks that had once held flour for baking.
“Look what I got!” she cried triumphantly. “Just about every color of the rainbow. Been saving these up for a new quilt. Now I’ll use them for a new me!” And she started hanging
