From the Relief Society Magazine, November 1962 –
The Little Blue Bag
By Helen C. Warr
“Hurry, Mama, they will go without me.” Margaret had been too excited about the Christmas shopping trip to touch her breakfast. Now she could not wait to put on her galoshes or fasten the scarf about her neck. Her mother held up one of the red, knitted mittens, and Margaret pushed her hand into it, then repeated the movement with the other hand.
“Oh! My money!” she exclaimed.
“Here it is, dear,” Mrs. Haskell smiled at her young daughter. “I have tied it in the corner of your handkerchief.”
“Thank you, Mama.” Margaret took the knotted corner and clasped it tightly in her mittened hand. She kissed her mother hurriedly and ran out the back door, as the sleigh drew up and stopped in the yard.
Today was the big day. She and Ross were doing their Christmas shopping alone this year. Always before Mama had gone with her and made suggestions as to what she should buy for Papa and for Ross. But today she and Ross were riding into town with Papa and would go into Mr. Kruger’s store and decide all by themselves. Mama had said maybe they should put their money together and buy just one gift for each person instead of two, but Ross always wanted to buy different things. She had thought and thought about it and could not decide what she should do.
Papa helped her up into the sleigh and tucked her in between himself and Ross. Ross was only four years older than she, but he always tried to act like Papa. Sometimes he called her a little girl. Papa did, too, but it was all right when he did it, for his voice sounded so much nicer when he said it.
“Well, so my little girl is going Christmas shopping?”
She knew Papa would be looking at her in that way he always looked when he called her his little girl. His eyes would twinkle, the corners of his mouth would turn up, and, if she looked at him, he would wink ever so slightly with his left eye.
She looked up at him now, and he winked with his left eye and said, “Have you decided what you will buy for Mama?”
“She will want to buy some silly thing like … like perfume … most likely, or …” Ross hesitated.
“Could we, Ross?” Margaret asked.
She had not thought of perfume, but Mama might like that. She had not known about perfume until just lately when she was helping Mama clean out the bureau drawers. She had seen the little bottle with the rubber bulb, in the top drawer, and had asked what it was. Mama had squeezed the bulb and said, “It’s perfume, dear.” Margaret had thought the fragrance was heavenly, and had said so. Now she remembered the smell of the perfume and it was just like Mama always smelled.
“See, what did I tell you!” said Ross.
“But couldn’t we, Ross?” Margaret asked again.
“Maybe you had better let me buy the perfume.” Papa laughed and patted her hand.
It was a nice day for going Christmas shopping, thought Margaret. Yesterday’s snow had settled and was packed down under the feet of the horses and runners of the sleighs that had passed over the road before them. Everything sparkled with the sun shining on the snow, and the frost was dropping form the trees and bushes along the roadway. The air was crisp and sharp. The bells on the harness jingled, and the horses sent out jets of steam from their nostrils as they trotted along. The crunch of snow under their feet made a pleasant sound.
She wished Mama could have come along for the ride, but she had said: “My goodness! I have so many things to do. We will make the cookies when you come back. We need raisins and coconut from Mr. Kruger’s store.”
Margaret thought all of the nice things were coming in one day. Mama always let her cut the cookies and choose the different shaped cutters. Sometimes she let her put on the raisins to make the eyes and buttons on the gingerbread men. Then she could select the nicest looking ones to hang on the Christmas tree. Christmas was going to be such fun.
When the sleigh drew up in front of Mr. Kruger’s store, Ross jumped out and tied the horses to the hitching post. Mr. Haskell helped Margaret from the sleigh, and they walked into the warm and pleasant smelling interior of the general store. The change from the frosty air outside and the warmth inside made Margaret’s face tingle. The glare of the sun on the early morning snow made the store seem dark by comparison.
“Morning, Haskell.” Mr. Kruger’s bellowing voice sounded from somewhere in the rear. He emerged from behind a pile of sacked sugar, wiping his hands on his apron.
“Good morning, Mr. Haskell. Hello, Ross and Margaret.”
Miss Callie Bronson spoke from behind the counter, where she was moving the piles of overalls to make room for the new Christmas merchandise.
“What can I do for you?” she asked.
Miss Callie was a little woman who seldom smiled, but Margaret thought she was quite pretty.
“Good morning, Miss Callie, Mr. Kruger,” Papa was saying. “Ross and Margaret are here to do their Christmas shopping. If you will fill this list for my wife, they can look around while I go over to the feed store and the post office.”
Margaret did not hear what else her father was saying, for she had begun moving about the store. Now that her eyes had become accustomed to the light inside there were so many things to see. Ross had long since gone over to the far side in the tools and hardware. She could not see why he always went over there when there were so many other things to see in Mr. Kruger’s store.
She stood looking at the neckties hanging from the rack on the counter. She thought the yellow one, with the small brown emblem, would be nice for Papa. She hoped that Ross would not want to buy another hammer for him. She walked about looking at all of the new and unusual things.
There were toys, dolls, and bicycles, tree ornaments, and the Christmas cards, a cardboard Santa Claus with cotton whiskers, pointing down to a huge barrel of Christmas candies, more kinds of nuts than she had ever seen before, and the largest oranges. Mr. Kruger’s store never looked more inviting or more crowded with things.
Once again she wished Mama were here to help her decide what to buy, but she would have to do it herself. So she moved about to see what she could buy for Mama. The handkerchiefs were pretty, and she liked the gloves, especially the green ones. But they would likely cost too much money. On top of a show case was a flowered box, with small drawers like her mother’s bureau. She reached up to pull out one of the drawers to see what was inside, when Miss Callie spoke.
“You must not touch things, Margaret. If you want to see something I will show you.”
Margaret had forgotten all about Miss Callie, who was still busy back of the counter. She walked over, opening the three little drawers, showing the writing paper inside.
“Thank you,” said Margaret.
“The price is seventy-five cents. Do you like that?” asked Miss Callie.
“Oh! Yes!” Margaret spoke excitedly, “but I don’t know if Ross will like it.”
Miss Callie moved back to her work. Once again Margaret looked about at the things in the show cases. There were several necklaces and such pretty scarves.
Then she saw the little blue bag.
It was as blue as the ice on the pond where she and Ross went skating. About three inches high, with a blue cord for a drawstring, with real tassels. She stooped down to see it from the underneath side of the glass shelf in the showcase. The bottom was a small oval mirror, about the size of a dollar. She was trying to read the price on it, when Miss Callie spoke again.
“Margaret, please do not lean against the showcase. You will smudge the glass.”
Margaret stood up quickly. She had not been able to see the price. How she would love to have the little blue bag. She did not know just why, for she had no idea what she could do with it. It was hardly large enough to hold anything, she would have trouble even putting in her handkerchief. She wondered if she would have enough money to buy it for herself and still buy the other presents. Then she remembered the harmonica for Ross. He and Papa played together, and Ross had broken his harmonica and Margaret had planned to buy another one for him.
She knew where the harmonicas were, for Mr. Kruger always kept them in the same place. She walked over and picked up the one she wanted. Taking it to Miss Callie, she asked, “Would you please wrap this for me, so Ross won’t see it.”
Miss Callie dropped the harmonica into a paper bag, just as Ross came up.
“Hey, Marg, I’ve found the keenest thing for Mom. It’s a new kind of a can opener. And there’s a swell set of small wrenches for …”
“No! I won’t buy that for Mama!” Margaret’s voice trembled and the tears came. “I just won’t buy that for Mama.”
“Gee! Marg! Don’t cry!” Ross looked up, embarrassed, at Miss Callie.
She patted Margaret on the shoulder comfortingly.
“Margaret has picked out what she would like for your mother.” As Miss Callie spoke, she walked down the aisle, picking up the flowered box of stationery.
“That! Girls have the craziest notions!” Ross shrugged. “But if you’re going to cry about it, guess you can have your way. But we’ll have to buy the wrenches for Dad.”
Margaret, still clutching the money in the corner of her handkerchief, wiped her nose. They counted out their money, and Miss Callie began wrapping the gifts selected.
Once again Margaret walked back to the showcase and looked longingly at the little blue bag. Once again she squatted down to see the mirror in the bottom. She pressed her nose up against the glass. Then, remember what Miss Callie had said, she stood up quickly. Her nose made a smudge, so she tried to rub it off with her mittened hand. It did not matter now how much it cost, for she had spent her money on the Christmas gifts. She was still looking at the bag when her father came back into the store.
“Got the groceries about ready, Haskell,” Mr. Kruger called out.
“No hurry, Kruger,” came the cheery response. “Got to get a tree.” Rose had been looking at the Christmas trees. Now he moved them in turn, as his father surveyed each from a distance.
“What do you think of that one, Margaret?”
“That’s nice, Papa. It’s so big and smells so good.”
Mr. Haskell paid for the groceries, carried out one of the boxes, Mr. Kruger the other. In the sleigh were sacks of feed and a huge box from the mail-order house. Margaret remembered helping her mother select things from the catalogue, but she did not think it would take such a large box to hold them. Mr. Haskell put in the groceries and Margaret’s packages and covered everything with the tarpaulin. Ross anchored the Christmas tree on top.
Margaret was silent on the trip home. She was ashamed that she had wanted to spend some of her Christmas money on herself. She did not listen to what Papa and Ross were saying, for she was thinking about the gifts she had bought and about the little blue bag.
A spicy aroma assailed them as they opened the kitchen door at home. Mrs. Haskell lifted out a crisp doughnut from the black iron kettle and placed it on the cooling rack. Ross said, “Gee! Mom!” and helped himself to the sugared doughnuts in the half-filled earthen crock. The cookie dough was rolled out on the floured board waiting for the cookie cutters.
“How was the shopping trip?” asked Mrs. Haskell.
“Great.”Ross had his mouth full of doughnut. “But Marg has the nuttiest …”
“Just fine, Mama.” Margaret spoke at the same time, “But Ross never likes what I …”
They both laughed. The parents, understandingly, smiled at each other.
Later on, when the last cookie was in the oven, and the earthen crock was filled with doughnuts, Mrs. Haskell brought up the shopping trip again.
“Did you see anything in Mr. Kruger’ store that you would like for yourself?” she asked Margaret.
“There was a …” Margaret hesitated. She had almost mentioned the little blue bag. but she did not want Mama to know how selfish she had been in wanting to spend part of her money on herself. “… so many things for you, that I couldn’t decide. Lots of things cost too much money. I hope you will like this …” Margaret stopped just in time.
Mrs. Haskell, embracing her daughter, laughed. “I’m sure that I will.”
The next two days passed quickly. Margaret hurried through her homework so that she could string the popcorn and the cranberries to trim the Christmas tree. She made colored paper chains to add to the decorations. The metal candle holders held tiny colored candles, but they could only be lighted on Christmas Eve, and then only for a short period at a time under Papa’s supervision.
Margaret had wrapped the gifts in pretty paper her mother had given her, and had placed them under the tree while the candles were burning. Mrs. Haskell added a few gaily wrapped packages of her own. She always made a new dress for Margaret at Christmas time and shirts and knitted socks or gloves for her menfolk. Margaret thought how pretty everything looked in the flickering candlelight.
“That’s the finest looking tree we’ve ever had. My two girls have done themselves proud.”
Mr. Haskell put a shovelful of coal in the pot-bellied stove, then sat down in his easy chair. Margaret sat on a footstool at his feet, her back to the stove, staring dreamily at the Christmas tree. The preparation for Christmas had been as much fun as Christmas would be.
“Play something, Papa,” Margaret asked.
Mr. Haskell picked up his harmonica and tapped it in the palm of his hand. He played up and down the scale and into a chorus of “My Darling Nellie Gray.” Ross repeated the same routine with his own harmonica, but the broken reed prevented his playing. Margaret was so glad that she had remembered to buy a new harmonica for hm, and could hardly refrain from telling him so.
“Time for bed, sleepy head.”
Mrs. Haskell rose from her chair, stroked Margaret’s long brown hair and kissed her forehead. “Morning will come early tomorrow.”
Morning did come early. It was hardly daylight when Margaret awoke. She slipped her flannel robe over her nightgown, put on her slippers, and went down the stairs. Mr. Haskell had stirred up the embers in the stove and it was red hot.
“Merry Christmas, Papa.”
“Merry Christmas, Margaret. How is my little girl this fine morning?”
His eyes twinkled, the corners of his mouth turned up, and he winked at her ever so lightly with his left eye.
“Oh! Papa!” Margaret exclaimed, as she looked at the Christmas tree. “It’s just beautiful.”
She had picked up the doll as her mother came down the stairs. Margaret had thought she was almost too big for a doll, but she was glad to have this one, for she really enjoyed playing with dolls occasionally. This was her best and likely her last doll.
“Oh! Mama!” It’s beautiful,” Margaret repeated. “This is the best Christmas of all.”
“I’m so glad,” her mother smiled. “I think so, too.”
Ross came bounding down the stairs, two or three steps at a time, his “Merry Christmas” and “When do we eat?” almost in unison.
Margaret stood enthralled by the things under the tree. Then she saw the little blue bag.
It hung on the tip end of one of the branches, about half way up on the tree. This time she did not have to stoop down to see the mirror in the bottom. This time she did not need to look for the price tag. For the card on the bottom read, From Ross.