“Never mind that, tell me what he’s saying, will you!”
“Well, when he’s not laughing all he says is, ‘Just like my mother, just like my mother!’”
3
Always remember that if you’re lucky
you’ll live to be old one day.
It’s not always the good who die young,
as I’ve heard people say.
One day your eyes won’t be so bright,
your hearing won’t be so good;
and winter cold will make you feel
the thinning of your blood.
So be kind to the old ones;
try to help them when you can.
Insure against your own old age,
young lady or young man.
Now here’s a girl to read about,
who thinks she’s not to blame,
because she’s christened Alma
and she doesn’t like her name.
She plays a game with old ones,
Alma, Allie. Who is who?
Dear reader, are you puzzled?
Good! My tale will interest you.
Allie Alma
Alma Budleigh detested her name. She did not like her surname Budleigh, and her Christian name Alma she positively hated. It was flat-sounding, old-fashioned, horrible. Why inflict it on a girl, just because a great grandmother’s aunt had been christened after some silly battle in the Crimean War hundreds of years ago? Was that a reason for a person to go through life saddled with a name like Alma? She insisted that everyone call her Allie, the girls at school, her friends, and the members of the Neighborhood Volunteer Help Junior Branch. Of course, there was little she could do to stop grownups, parents, teachers and the rest of adult society calling her Alma. They did not realize Allie was a different girl; Allie was lively, helpful and willing. However, Allie had a secret that nobody knew: she was a thief!
Mid-morning sunlight penetrated the drawn curtains of her bedroom, turning it into a pink grotto. Allie sprawled on the bed, clad in jeans and her NVHJB sweater. She emptied her treasures out of a resealable salad box onto the flowered quilt and handled them lovingly. There was Mrs. Carmichael’s slim silver fobwatch, Miss Middleton’s cloisonne pillbox, Mrs. Salten’s eternity ring, Mrs. Bowden’s amethyst brooch, Nannie Davidson’s tortoiseshell barrette and Miss Blanchard’s enamelled compact.
Allie breathed mist on the compact, polishing it against her pillowcase; A.B., the initials, shone brightly. How clever of Miss Alice Blanchard; fancy going to all the trouble of taking a trip to Edinburgh in 1952, just to buy a compact with both their initials engraved upon it. Allie thought of the game she played with her old ladies; it never failed to work. She popped Mrs. Salten’s eternity ring on her little finger and admired it—the diamonds turned pink in the bedroom sunlight, the rubies an even deeper red. Surprisingly for such a valuable item, the game had been very easy.
“What are you looking for, Mrs. Salten? Can I help?”
“It’s my eternity ring, dear. I always keep it in the little toby jug on the mantelpiece. I’m sure that’s where I put it.”
“Your eternity ring, you mean the beautiful little one with rubies and diamonds? We were looking at it only yesterday, weren’t we?”
“Yes, dear, that’s what I told myself this morning. I’m certain that I put it back in the jug, about five minutes before you left to go back to the Community Center.”
“I don’t remember seeing you put it back. Perhaps it was after I left that you put it in the jug.”
“Hmm, maybe you’re right, Alma, but I’m sure I put it back in the toby jug. I distinctly remember doing that.”
“Which one, this jug or the one on the other side of the clock?”
“No, I only keep a few hairpins in that one. I’m positive it was the other one, that one you have your hand on.”
Allie tried to frown and look sympathetic at the same time. It was difficult, but Allie was good at that sort of thing.
“Don’t worry, Mrs. Salten, we’ll find it. Now, let’s look at this logically—you say you put it back in the jug just after I left.”
“Did I, dear, I don’t know what I’m saying today. It’s all very upsetting, you know. Poor dear Lucy. It was her ring; it’s the only thing I have to remember my sister by.”
Suddenly Allie clicked her fingers and smiled broadly. She watched the lights of hope dawn behind Mrs. Salten’s harlequin-framed glasses.
“Of course, I remember now—”
“Remember what, dear?”
“You still had the ring on your finger when I left! Yes, I can recall taking your cup and saucer from you to wash them. You were sitting in that very chair, leaning back. Now try to think, what did you do next?”
“Well, er, let me see, had my afternoon nap I suppose. But I’m almost sure I put the ring in that jug.”
Allie clasped Mrs. Salten’s thin veined hand warmly.
“No no, I can see it clear as ever now. I let myself out and as I closed the door I looked back to see you were all right. I could distinctly see the ring on your thumb, hanging loosely. You said that it was far too big to fit any of your fingers, remember?”
“Oh yes, I did say that, didn’t I?”
Allie stood with hands on hips, knowing that she looked the picture of a typically sensible and friendly young helper.
“Do you know what we’re going to do? You and I are going to search down the sides of that armchair, under the cushions, shake the covers out, look under the rug by the chair. Thoroughly. I’m not leaving this house while you’re still so unhappy about some silly old ring that doesn’t even fit you. Come on now, Mrs. Salten, up you get!”
Allie began playing the game she had played many times before.
“Was the ring in the jewelry box upstairs?
“Had it slipped off into the tea caddy or the milk
“What about the pockets of that cardigan you had on yesterday?
“Let’s empty the vacuum cleaner out. Maybe it’s in the bag?”
They did everything short of calling in a man to dismantle the armchair, which Mrs. Salten wouldn’t hear of because it was her late husband’s chair, and besides, workmen were so clumsy these days, the chair might get broken beyond repair. “They don’t make furniture like that anymore, and things are so expensive these days, especially for a pensioner like me… .”
And so the game that Allie played expertly continued.
It always ended up the same. The old lady cried bitterly and Allie wept with her at the loss of the eternity ring.
“Oh, Mrs. Salten, please don’t cry. I’ve got some money in my school savings bank. I’ll draw it out on Tuesday and we’ll look around the antique shops together. I’m sure we’ll come across one just like it. Oh dear, d’you suppose seven pounds fifty pence will get us a good one?”
Mrs. Salten dried Allie’s eyes and stroked her hair.
“Sssh, hush now, child, don’t fret yourself over an old lady’s keepsake. One day I’ll probably come across it in the most unlikely place—when you grow old your mind plays tricks on you. Stop crying now and run along to your Community Center. You’re a good girl, Alma. I won’t forget how you’ve helped me.”
Allie tugged a clump of lilac from an overhanging bush as she jogged up the avenue. It was a fact, Alma was a good girl. But Allie, well she was a different proposition.