From the Improvement Era, September 1948 –

Grandma – Good Samaritan

By Anne McCollum Boyles

Grandma Curtis sat by the window, rocking back and forth. “I’ve always dreaded living too long to be useful, but here I am, Pal, eighty-five, and still able to cook and eat my three hot meals a day, for which I am thankful.”

The little dog raised his head, then stretched himself out on the rug at her feet.

Grandma winced as a bit of lightning streaked across the afternoon sky; the peal of thunder which followed went unheeded. As she sighed, she noticed a young, girlish figure bending against the rising wind, standing still, as though bewildered. As the first drops of rain began to fall, the figure turned slightly; a hand waved. Grandma Curtis smiled.

“Thank goodness I still have my eyesight. It means everything to me,” she said to herself. “That must be Ruth Rollins, young wife of Dick Rollins. A newcomer to our midst. She’s a pretty girl, all right. I wonder how she is going to like us.”

The figure disappeared. Grandma Curtis continued to rock back and forth, back and forth. Suddenly she looked up, startled. Someone had come into the room. It was Ruth Rollins.

The rain had touched up her cheeks. A wisp of blond hair, loosened by the wind, almost hid the frown on her young forehead. Her lips parted as if she were about to speak. Her eyes betrayed her — she had been crying — they were red and swollen.

“No one answered my knock, so I took the liberty — ”

A cloud swept over the lovely face of the visitor as she spoke. Without waiting to be asked, she moved quickly to a chair and sat down.

Grandma Curtis stared and stopped rocking; her face showed concern.

“I simply must talk to someone!” Ruth Rollins blurted. “I — that is, we — have just moved in, you know. And I have no friends here — yet. And now I’m leaving Dick — he’s my husband. We just can’t make a go of it. I’m leaving.”

She hesitated a moment to glance at the downpour outside, then rushed on, “Sometimes I feel that I can’t stand it another day. For the past three months disagreements have been more frequent. We had another quarrel this morning. The worst yet! After he left for the office, I packed my bags. I will take the late afternoon train back home. I wanted so much to talk to someone — almost anyone. Finally, I couldn’t stand the four walls any longer. I felt I would go mad. I started for a walk. Then the rain — ”

She bit her lips to keep back the tears, and looked intently into the eyes of Grandma Curtis.

“My dear, you are terribly excited. Do sit back and relax.”

Grandma’s smile was a gentle caress. Ruth Rollins sat back at once into the comforting curves of the old chair, and her memory flashed back through the years. She remembered her own mother, soothingly stroking her girlish brow with strong, understanding fingers. Many times those fingers had smoothed away what had seemed crushing difficulties.

Outside, the rain was falling. She began to hear the loud tick tock, dry and measured, of the old clock on the mantel. It went right on ticking — strange it should — and when Grandma Curtis passed on, other people would move in, and it would just tick on the same as if no change had come. Then the clock struck in quick, sharp tones. Ruth closed her eyes. There was a clock with a strike just like this one, in her mother’s home. How well she remembered it.

She recalled the last time she had seen her mother. She had helped her into her dress and pinned the white collar with the mosaic pin. This brooch had a way, when she looked at it, of presenting to her, whole scenes out of her childhood. Sometimes she was in her mother’s lap in the bay window, watching the sparrows fighting in the alley next door or there was the smell of sweet peas in the shady sitting room or the sound of the school bell at noon. In the V at her mother’s throat, she saw the locket that always hung there on the heavy gold chain that had been part of her father’s watch chain. And these things had a deep-down part in her like dreams, like tears that came when she saw a certain shadow or heard a locomotive whistle. . . . She remembered the handkerchief case she had embroidered in violets for her mother when she was a little girl. She leaned forward again, slowly.

“It’s good to talk to someone like you.”

There was a pause. Grandma Curtis studied the girl who sat before her. “Yes, yes,” she said. “Now make yourself right at home. I think I have some gingerbread in the kitchen. It’ll take me only a minute.”

Ruth Rollins watched her go through the door and then stood up. A somewhat faded marriage license hung above the horsehair sofa. There was a picture of Grandma Curtis and her husband on their fiftieth wedding anniversary. Fifty years of married life! Well, of course, it could happen like that. The light of genuine happiness on their faces held her — until the tears threatened. She leaned over and patted the little dog as Grandma Curtis returned.

“You know,” Ruth Rollins said, “this is wonderful gingerbread. But I can’t figure out why you should go to all this trouble for me! You never knew me before today, and I know I shouldn’t have unburdened myself as I have. You probably have your own worries — ” She looked away from Grandma’s face to the driving rain and sighed. “Dick was wonderful at first. Now he’s different — everything is different. Of course he has been terribly busy. But I can’t make all the concessions — and now it’s all over.”

The story hurried from her lips, and for the moment all was quiet. Ruth’s mind ran in futile circles. The happenings of the day passed in kaleidoscopic view before her. A few hours ago she had sat before her mirror dressing to go out. It was then that she made her decision, and it wasn’t easy.

The little jewel case containing her diamond engagement ring and wrist watch had lain there on the dressing table. She remembered how she had swallowed hard and choked back a sob when she reached for the ring and slid it slowly into place above her wedding ring, and clasped the watch on her arm. These were Dick’s gifts. She would take them with her. They belonged to her. The two bags harboring her personal effects were packed waiting,

Ruth gazed abstractly at the two rings on her finger, and tried to cover her confusion by asking if there was a telephone near.

Grandma Curtis’ face was expressionless. She seemed to hesitate as she said, “I see. Yes. Yes, I see.” She turned to an old family album on the table by her chair.

“I was looking at these just before you came in,” she pointed to a photograph of a woman wearing bulging sleeves. “Would you ever guess that to be me? I was the belle of our little village, then. They said I was pretty.” She sighed, then laughed. “I took home a prize from the county fair for being the prettiest girl once. I could sing very well, too. They said I would have quite a career. I thought a long time before I gave up the idea for Jim — he was my husband.”

Ruth Rollins looked up. There was a twinkle in Grandma’s blue eyes. She said, “We were a couple of modern kids for those days. We didn’t get along at first. People said we both had minds of our own. I guess we were both pretty stubborn. But we were married more than fifty years. The longer we lived together, the more we seemed to care for each other. We had a lot of good times together.” Grandma paused, and then went on :

“Maybe I shouldn’t say it, but when Jim passed away, most of my life went, too.”

From the back of the album she brought forth scenes of places abroad, summer vacations at the beach with children, and happy events of later years. A single tear dropped on the open page. Ruth hoped it wasn’t noticed. For a long time the two sat by the open album, busy with their own thoughts. The clock on the mantel struck three.

“I must be going,” Ruth announced. A bright young smile she hadn’t seen before caught Grandma’s attention.

“This room — I’m going to call it the ‘Enchanted Room,'” she went on. “I slipped in here just to get out of the rain, and what a wonderful visit I’ve had.” She stood up. “Now I must run back — I want to unpack before Dick gets home.”

Grandma Curtis smiled. “Come again,” she pleaded. “I miss young folks. I’m really a young person still, you know.” Her laugh was merry. Her eyes twinkled. Ruth laughed with her. At the door she touched her fingers to her lips and blew Grandma a kiss. Grandma watched her go, hurrying toward home. Then she turned and spoke to the little dog again.

“Well, Pal — I do believe I’m good for something. I do believe I helped that poor young thing. She was terribly upset about something. I wanted to comfort her. I wonder what the trouble was. Deaf folk miss such a lot, Pal.”