onto her to see where it would need to be taken in. Maryellen was as skinny as a flagpole, so Mom was using lots of pins. Maryellen noticed that Mom also seemed to be sighing a lot. Even Maryellen’s energetic imagination had to strain to imagine how a dress would emerge from the tissue-paper pattern. Pinned together, the paper pieces looked about as shapely as Scooter, the Larkins’ pudgy dachshund. Maybe it had been a mistake to beg Mom to make her bridesmaid dress first. Mom was also going to make bridesmaid dresses for Carolyn, Maryellen’s next oldest sister, who was fourteen, and Beverly, who was seven. Maybe, thought Maryellen, I should have waited until Mom knew what she was doing, sewing-wise. Ah, well, too late now! At least she hadn’t told Mom yet that she was counting on having her dress finished by her birthday so that she could wear it to her movie-star birthday party. Adding the pressure of a deadline that was only a few weeks away would put Mom right over the top with nervousness, she could tell.
Mrs. Larkin sighed again, sounding harassed. Joan, the bride-to-be, looked up from the book that she was reading and said gently, “Mom? You don’t have to do this, you know. I’d be just as happy with ready-made bridesmaid dresses bought off the rack from O’Neal’s.”
“No, no, no,” said Mrs. Larkin. She sat back on her heels and dabbed her sweaty forehead with the back of her wrist. “No, I’m determined to make the dresses. Your dad and I were married during the Depression, and so I didn’t have any bridesmaids at my wedding, and I was married in a suit—a borrowed suit at that! I want to do for you everything that I missed out on, Joanie.”
“Jerry and I don’t need a big fuss,” said Joan. “Just a small wedding is fine with us.”
“Nonsense,” said Mrs. Larkin. “A girl’s wedding day is the most important day in her life! Your father and I want yours to be perfect in every detail: your cake, your flowers, your veil…”
Maryellen piped up, “Your hair, your shoes…”
“Jerry and I have talked about getting married outdoors, in a garden or a park,” said Joan. “So I’ll probably wear flats. We don’t want to be all stiff and uncomfortable.”
“But I was hoping Jerry would wear his dress whites Navy uniform!” said Mom.
“That’s so formal,” said Joan. “We want to be relaxed.”
“Joan!” said Mom. “Flats? A park? This is your wedding, not a wienie roast. Honestly, sometimes I think I’m more excited about your marriage than you are.” Mom took a pin and—jab!—used it to pin the paper pattern for the collar onto Maryellen’s shoulder.
Maryellen suspected that the collar was backward. But she stayed quiet while Joan said, “Oh, no, no. I’m excited about the marriage. I’m thrilled to be marrying Jerry. But to me, marriage is one thing and the wedding is another. The marriage is forever and the wedding is only one day. And don’t get me wrong; I’m grateful for all that you’re doing. Jerry and I want our wedding to be beautiful, just not stuffy and fussy and such a big deal.”
“It’s not stuffy or fussy to do things correctly,” said Mom. “I am determined that you and Jerry will have a proper wedding. For heaven’s sake, you’re such a bookworm that if I left it up to you, you’d probably get married on the steps of the public library.”
“And carry books for a bouquet,” joked Maryellen.
“Well, I do love books almost as much as I love Jerry,” Joan said, smiling. “But I promise I won’t get married at the library, Mom. I promise you can have my wedding your way.”
Mom smiled, too. “So you’re giving me permission to go full speed ahead?”
“Aye, aye, captain,” said Joan with a laugh.
Maryellen was glad to see Mom laugh as well—even though laughing distracted her so that she pinned the paper pattern for the sash on backward, too.
The next day at school, Maryellen’s fourth-grade teacher, Mrs. Humphrey, wrote on the blackboard:
Today is Tuesday, April 12, 1955.
“Wayne Philpott,” said Mrs. Humphrey without turning around, “if you shoot that rubber band at Maryellen, you and I will be having lunch together the rest of the week.”
Davy snatched the rubber band away from Wayne and put it in his desk, and Maryellen crossed her eyes and stuck out her tongue at Wayne over her shoulder. Sometimes she was glad that Mrs. Humphrey seemed to have eyes in the back of her head!
“Boys and girls,” said Mrs. Humphrey, facing the class. “Give me your attention, please. Today we’re going to go to a special assembly for the whole school in the auditorium.”
Everyone wiggled and whispered, and Wayne hooted, “Yahoo!”
“I know that my fourth-graders will act like ladies and gentlemen,” said Mrs. Humphrey.
Everyone looked at Wayne, who batted his eyelashes, folded his hands on his desk, and smiled innocently.
“Line up, please,” said Mrs. Humphrey.
All the students jumped up from their desks. Wayne tried to trip Maryellen on her way to the girls’ line. Luckily, she heard someone—maybe it was Davy—murmur “Watch it!” just in the nick of time, so she hopped over Wayne’s foot.
“Quiet in the hallway, please,” said Mrs. Humphrey.
As Maryellen and her classmates filed into the auditorium, she saw the principal, Mr. Carey, up front fiddling with the dials on the television set. Mr. Carey’s eyeglasses were pushed up on his forehead. He was squinting at the dials, and moving the rabbit-ears antenna to get a clear picture on the television screen. It seemed to be a news program. The screen was too little and too far away for Maryellen or any other student to see, really. Mr. Carey had the volume turned up very loud, which only added to the cacophony in the noisy auditorium as students chatted, squeaked their seats, shuffled their feet, and called and waved to their friends in other classes.
Mr. Carey flicked the lights on and off for quiet, and then held his pointer finger up to his lips. “Shhh!” he shushed. Finally, he just bellowed, “QUIET!”
As everyone hushed, Angela whispered to Maryellen, “Do you think we’re here to get good news or bad news?”
“Good news,” said Maryellen, who always liked to hope for the best.
“Ten years ago today, President Franklin Delano Roosevelt died,” said the TV newscaster. “Roosevelt could not walk, because he had had polio, a terrible disease that has killed many people, especially children. Three years ago, in 1952, a polio epidemic affected over fifty thousand people in the United States, and killed nearly three thousand. But today, Dr. Jonas Salk, at the University of Pittsburgh, announced that he has found a safe and effective vaccine to prevent polio. The whole world is grateful to Dr. Salk, and to the more than one hundred million Americans who contributed money to research for polio prevention. And now, the task before us is to raise public awareness and to raise money to produce and distribute the vaccine.”
The TV newscaster went on, but no one heard the rest of the announcement, because the auditorium exploded with cheers. The students jumped up and down and clapped and whistled while the teachers hugged
