Re-Creations (18 page)

She stopped in an art shop on her way back and studied little menu cards and favors, purchasing a roll of pink crêpe paper, some green and yellow tissue paper, wire, and cardboard. As soon as she had finished the dessert for dinner she hurried to get out scissors, paste, pencils, and went eagerly to her dainty work. Before Louise and Harry came home from school she had fashioned eight dainty little candy baskets covered with ruffled pink paper, and on each slender threadlike pink handle there nodded a lovely curly pink rose with a leaf and a bud, all made of paper, with their little green wire stems twining around the pink basket. Eight little bluebirds, with their claws and tails so balanced that they would hover on the rim of a water glass and bearing in their bills a tiny place card, also lay on the table beside the baskets, the product of Cornelia’s skillful brush and colors. The children went into ecstasies over them, and even Harry began to warm to the affair.

“I guess
she’ll
see we’re fashionable all right,” he swaggered scornfully. “I guess she’ll see she’s got to go some to be good enough to speak to our Carey. Say, what did the Kendall girl say? Is she coming? Say, she’s a peach, isn’t she? I knew she’d be game all right. Did you tell her ‘bout the other one? You oughta. She might not like it.”

“I told her as much as was necessary. You needn’t worry about her; she’s pure gold.”

“You’re talking!” said the boy gruffly and went whistling upstairs to change his clothes. But Louise stood still, enraptured before the little paper baskets and birds. Suddenly she turned a radiant face to her sister, and in a voice that was almost expressive of awe she said softly:

“But it’s going to be real special, isn’t it, Nellie? I never knew we could be real special. I never knew you could do things like that. It’s like the pictures in the magazines, and it’s like Mrs. Van Kirk’s luncheon. Hazel and I went there on an errand to get some aprons for the Red Cross for our teacher at school, and we had to wait in the dining room for ten minutes while she hunted them up. The table was all set for a luncheon she was going to give that day, and afterward we saw about it in the paper, and she had baskets and things just like that.”

Cornelia stooped and kissed the eager young face tenderly and wondered how she would have borne to be separated all these years from her little sister and brother and not have known how satisfactorily they were growing up.

“What are you going to put into them?” asked the little girl.

“Well, I haven’t decided yet,” said Cornelia. “Probably salted almonds, don’t you think?”

“Oh, but they’re awful expensive!”

“Not if you make them, dear. You and I will make them. I’ve done tons of them at college for feasts. It’s easy; just blanch them and brown them in a pan with butter and salt or oil and salt.”

“Oh, can you?” More awe in the voice. “And what will we have to eat?”

“Well, I’m not sure yet. We’ll have to count the dishes and let that settle some questions. We must have enough to go around, you know, and all alike. I wonder if there are enough bouillon cups. It takes eight, you know—Father, Carey, you, and Harry, three guests and myself. Yes, that’s eight. Climb up to the top shelf there, dear, and see if there are enough of Mother’s rosebud bouillon cups.”

“There are nine and an extra saucer,” announced Louise.

“Well, then we’ll have some kind of soup, just a little. I think maybe spinach, cream of spinach soup. It’s such a pretty color for spring, you know, that pale-green, and matches the dining room. It’s easy to make and doesn’t cost much; and then we can have the spinach for a vegetable with the meat course. Now, let’s see, those little clear sherbet glasses, are there enough of those?”

“A whole dozen and seven,” announced Louise.

“Then we’ll use those at the beginning for a fruit cocktail—orange, grapefruit, banana, and I’ll color it pink with a little red raspberry juice. I found a can among the preserves Mother had left over from last winter. It makes a lovely pink, and that will match the baskets.”

“Oh, lovely!” exclaimed the little girl ecstatically. “But won’t that cost a lot?”

“No, dear, I think not. I’ll figure it down pretty close tonight and find out; but it doesn’t take much fruit to fill those tiny glasses, and it’s mostly show, you know—one grapefruit, a couple of oranges, and bananas, and the rest raspberry juice. Spinach is cheap now, you know; and we can make the body of the soup with a can of condensed milk. We can eat cornmeal mush and beans and things for a few days beforehand to make up.”

“I just love fried mush and bean soup.”

“You’re a ducky! And besides, I’m going to save on the dessert.”

“Aren’t we going to have ice cream?” Louise’s voice showed anxiety.

“Yes, but we’ll make it ourselves. I found the freezer out in the back shed under all those carpets yesterday. And we’ll have pale-green peppermint sherbet. It’s beautiful and costs hardly anything. You just make lemonade and put in a few drops of peppermint and a drop or two of confectioners’ green coloring; and it is the prettiest thing you ever laid eyes on. Looks like a dream and tastes—wonderful!”

“Oh!” said Louise, her eyes shining.

“We’ll have angel cake for the birthday cake, I think,” went on the sister, “with white icing and little pink candles. Eggs are not expensive now, and anyway I found a recipe that says measure the whites, and such big eggs as we get take only nine to a cup. How will that be, angel cake and green sherbet for dessert?”

Louise sat down and folded her hands, her big, expressive eyes growing wide and serious.

“It’s going to be a success!” she said solemnly with a grownup air. “I was afraid she wouldn’t be—well—impressed, but she will. It’s regular! You wanted her to be impressed, too, didn’t you, Nellie?”

Cornelia couldn’t help laughing at the solemn question, but she sobered instantly.

“Yes, dear, I guess I did. I wanted her to have respect for Carey’s family and to know that however foolish he may be, there is something, as you say, ‘regular’ behind him. Because there is, you know, Louise. Father and Mother are ‘regular.’”

“They are!” said the little girl.

“It sounds rather strange to try to impress people with fuss and show and food fixed up in fancy styles, but if I can judge anything about that girl, she hasn’t reached the stage yet where she can appreciate anything but fuss and fancy and fashion. So we’ve got to use the things that will appeal to her if we want to reach her at all. If it were just Grace Kendall coming, or even the young man Brand, I would have things very plain and simple. It would be in better taste and more to my liking. But I have a notion, kitten, that if we had everything very simple, that young lady with the fancy name would rather despise us and set out to ride right over us. They talk a great deal nowadays about people’s reaction to things, and if I know anything at all about the girl, I feel pretty sure that her reaction to simple, quiet things would be far from what we want. So for this once we’ll blossom out and have things as stylish and fancy and formal as possible. I’ve heard it said that there is nothing so good to take the pride out of an ignorant person as an impressive array of forks and spoons, so we’ll try it on Miss Clytie and see if we can bring her near enough to our class to get acquainted with her real self. Now get a pencil and write down the menu and see how it reads.”

“But what are you going to have in the middle, Nellie, after the soup? Any meat?”

“Why, surely, round steak, simmered all day with an onion and browned down with thick gravy the way you love it so well; only we’ll cut it into small servings like cutlets before we cook it, and nobody will ever dream what it is. Then we’ll have new potatoes creamed, with parsley sprinkled over them, and spinach minced, with a hard-boiled egg on top; and for salad we’ll make some gelatin molds in the custard cups with shredded cabbage and parsley in it, that on a lettuce leaf will look very pretty; and I’ll make the mayonnaise out of the yolks of the eggs from the angel cake. There’ll be enough left over to make a gold cake or some custard for the next day besides. Now write the menu. Raspberry fruit cocktail, cream of spinach soup, round-steak cutlets with brown gravy, creamed new potatoes with parsley, spinach, aspic-jelly salad, angel cake, mint sherbet, and coffee. Doesn’t that sound good?”

“I should say,” answered the little girl with a happy sigh.

“We’ll have everything all ready beforehand, so that the serving will be easy,” went on the elder sister. “The butter and water and fruit will be on the table. We can fill the soup cups and keep them in the warming oven, and you and Harry can get up quietly, remove the fruit glasses, and bring on the soup cups. You see I’ve been thinking it all out. I’ve planned to buy two more wire shelves to fit into the oven. You know there are grooves to move them higher or lower, and I find that if we use the lowest groove for the first, there will be room to set the eight plates in there; and we’ll just have everything all served on the plate ready: the little cutlet with gravy, the creamed potatoes, and the spinach. Then, if we light only one burner and turn it low, and perhaps leave the door open a little—I’ll have to experiment—I think they will keep hot without getting dry or crusty on the top, just for that little while. The only thing is, you’ll have to be tremendously careful not to drop one getting them out. They’ll be hot, you know, and you’ll have to use a cloth to take them out. Just think if you dropped one, there wouldn’t be enough to go around.”

Louise giggled and squeezed her sister’s hand.

“Oh Nellie, isn’t it going to be just packs of fun? I won’t drop one, indeed I won’t, but if I should, I just know I’d laugh out loud; it would be so funny, all that grand dinner party in there acting stylish, and those potatoes and spinach and meat sitting there on the floor! But don’t you worry, if I did drop ‘em, I’d pick ‘em up again and take that plate for myself. Our kitchen floor’s clean, anyway. When do we bring in the salad?”

“Oh, we’ll just have that on the kitchen table by the door, ready. And then, while the people are finishing, you and Harry can slip out and get the sherbet dished out. Do you think you two can manage it?”

“Oh, sure! Harry does it at school every time we have an entertainment. The teacher always gets him to do it ’cause he gets it out so nice, and not messy, she says. Shall we cut the cake beforehand, or what?”

“Oh, no, the cake will be on the table with the candles lit when we come into the dining room. And when the time comes, Carey will have to blow out the candles and cut his own cake.”

And so they planned the pretty festival and almost forgot the unloved cause of it all: poor, silly little Clytie Amabel Dodd.

Cornelia’s hardest task was writing the letter of invitation to the guest she dreaded most of all. After tearing up several attempts and struggling with the sentences for half an hour, it was finally finished, and read:

My dear Miss Dodd,

We are having a little surprise for my brother Carey on his birthday next Thursday, the twenty-fifth, and would be very glad if you will come to dinner at six o’clock to meet a few friends. Kindly say nothing to Carey about it, and please let us know if we may expect you.

Looking forward to meeting you, I am,

Very sincerely,
Carey’s sister,
Cornelia Copley

After a solemn meeting it was decided to mail this note, and then the three conspirators waited anxiously for two whole days for a reply. When Harry and Louise arrived from school the third day and found no answer yet, anxiety was strong.

“Yes, Harry, you oughta have taken that note yourself, the way Nellie said,” declared Louise.

“Not me!” asserted Harry loftily. “Not if that chicken never comes! We don’t want her anyway. I guess we can have a party without her!”

But a few minutes later a clattering knock arose on the front door, and a small boy with an all-day sucker in his cheek appeared.

“My sister, she says sure she’ll come to your s’prise party,” he announced indifferently. “She didn’t have no time to write, so I come.”

He waited expectantly for a possible reward for his labors. Cornelia smiled, thanked him, said she was glad, and he departed disappointedly. He was always on the lookout for rewards.

“That’s Dick Dodd,” Louise explained. “He’s an awful bad little kid. He put gum in the teacher’s hat and hid a bee in her desk. And once she found three caterpillars in her lunch basket, and everybody knew who put them there. He never washes his hands nor has a handkerchief.”

The little girl’s voice was full of scorn. She was returning to her former dislike of their expected guest with all that pertained to her.

“Well, there’s that,” said Cornelia smiling. “She’s coming, and we know what to expect. Now I think I’ll call up the Barlock house and find out when they expect that Brand fellow to be at home. I think I can do that more informally over the phone.”

It just happened that Brand Barlock was passing through the house where he was supposed to reside—probably for a change of garments or something to eat or to get his wallet replenished—and he answered the phone himself. Cornelia was amused at the haughty condescension of his tone. One would think she had presumed to invite royalty to her humble abode by the loftiness in which he answered: “Why, yes—I might come, if nothing else turns up. Yes, I’m sure I can make it. Very nice, I’m sure. Anything you’d like to have me bring?”

“Oh, no, indeed!” said Cornelia emphatically, her cheeks very red indeed. “It’s just a simple home affair, and we thought Carey would enjoy having his friends. You won’t mention it to him, of course.”

“Aw’right! I’ll keep quiet. So long!” and the young lord hung up.

Cornelia emerged from the drugstore telephone booth much upset in spirit and wishing she hadn’t invited the young upstart. By the time she reached the outer door she wished she had never tried to have a party for Carey. But, when she got back to Louise and her shining interest, her common sense had returned, and she set herself to bear the unpleasantness and make those two strange, mismatched guests of hers enjoy themselves in spite of everything, or else make them feel so uncomfortable that they would take themselves forever out of Carey’s life.