From the Improvement Era, December 1951 –

The China Vanity

By Keith M. Walker

Sitting at her dressing table Cheryl Ann patiently brushed her hair. Methodically she counted the strokes that would end in fifty on the right side and fifty on the left, taking longer than usual because she had become absorbed in her plans for Christmas. Her gifts for the family were neatly wrapped and hidden, but those for her friends were yet unpurchased. With each stroke of the brush, she labored over the details of choosing, sometimes stopping halfway through a stroke as she brightened with a new idea or frowned in disapproval.

Cheryl Ann’s friends were important to her. She felt that each gift should be selected with care. She paused as she studied the possibilities of a box of stationery for Vicki. Somehow it didn’t reflect Cheryl Ann’s feeling for her friend. She must find something that would remind Vicki, perhaps for years, of their friendship. And then she thought of a musical powder box and was delighted to think that each time Vicki opened the lid her first thought would be of Cheryl Ann.

She wanted an especially nice gift for Jeannie, too. But it was difficult to choose, because Jeannie had so many nice clothes and accessories. Cheryl Ann admired Jeannie’s ability to select clever additions for her wardrobe, and she admitted to herself that Jeannie’s taste for such things was superior to her own. In spite of her admiration she had been irritated on several occasions when Jeannie was complimented on her jewelry by their mutual friends. Cheryl Ann had tried unsuccessfully to win similar compliments. The tempo of her brushing quickened. She must have a piece of jewelry for Christmas that would be of material worth. It would have sentimental value too, of course. Her brushing stopped. She knew exactly the gift she wanted — a necklace. She had seen it in a shop window just a week ago. It was rhinestone, with a charming pendant suspended by an interesting pattern of stones which graduated toward the center. Maybe Jeannie wouldn’t get a necklace for Christmas. A little seed planted itself in her mind. Her conscience was wounded just a trifle, but she disregarded the thought as she concentrated on other more important Christmas plans. The seed cultivated itself slowly.

By the time Cheryl Ann had finished her hair, she had determined to give Jeannie a rhinestone necklace as a Christmas present. Jeannie wouldn’t know that Cheryl Ann had planned a necklace for herself. Her eyebrows arched with satisfaction as she contemplated the comparison of the two necklaces. It wasn’t particularly important that Jeannie might not be concerned with the apparent difference. As a matter of fact, Jeannie seemed to attach little importance to her costume jewelry and accepted her compliments with indifferent grace.

Cheryl Ann would be soothed if, just once, she could rate the compliments. She gave little attention to perfecting the details of her plan. The possibility that Jeannie might never wear the necklace, or fail to wear it when Cheryl Ann wore hers, was overlooked in her eagerness to salve her ego.

To embroil her father in the scheme was a simple matter. She arranged a shopping date, explaining that there was a particular gift she wanted to buy her mother and she would like her father’s opinion because he had good taste in such things. The window in which Cheryl Ann had seen the necklace was passed quite casually, but she groaned audibly enough to elicit an inquiry.

“Did you say something, Cheryl?” her father asked, quite unconscious that he was playing his part.

“Oh, it’s nothing . . . really.

Her father grinned. “Cherie, I’m positive I’ve heard that groan before . . . the last time I heard it the fee was ten dollars.”

Cheryl Ann demurely turned her head toward the window, laughed gaily, and then propelled her father to the exact spot where she had seen the necklace. It was gone. Her fingers tightened on her father’s sleeve as she frantically searched the rearranged window display.

As they rounded the corner of the window she saw the necklace, placed near the top. “Oh, there it is … I mean … look at that gorgeous necklace.”

“Young lady, I think this is a foul plot. Are you suggesting that I buy that necklace?”

“Oh, daddy, would you? For Christmas?” Cheryl Ann enlisted all the promptings of desire in her entreaty to secure the jewelry as Christmas present. Knowing her father, she never doubted that the necklace would be hers.

The Christmas spirit, as Cheryl Ann interpreted it, was abundant. Her shopping was finished, plans for spending the holiday week were made, and she believed Christmas morning would bring her all the happiness she required.

Christmas Eve was a very special occasion for Cheryl Ann because the entire family congregated at her Grandmother Simmons’ home. Her grandmother was a beacon of inspiration. Life without her would lose much of its richness and meaning. Grandmother Simmons had been born and reared in the Salt Lake Valley, and Cheryl Ann enjoyed the quaint reminders of an earlier day that she found in each room of her grandmother’s house. She liked to slide her hand across the marble-topped sideboard. She would wait impatiently for the mantel clock to strike on the quarter-hour, would feel the surge of energy from the vibrations of the spiral chime. She liked to mimic the formal posture of a great lady as she sat uncomfortably in the prim little chairs.

Christmas Eve parties at Grandmother Simmons’ home were important to all the family. This year as usual they arrived early in the evening, and the games, laughter, pleasant sentiments, and good wishes were delightful. A buffet dinner was served, followed by contributions of songs, poems, and musical selections. Cheryl Ann watched her grandmother as the party progressed. She was pleased to see the gracious approval that radiated from her face. It occurred to Cheryl Ann that this kind of Christmas party appealed to her grandmother because it was more nearly like the parties she had enjoyed as a young girl. Cheryl Ann recalled other family Christmas parties when countless gifts were given to the children. On those occasions her grandmother had been overwhelmed at the extravagance and quantity of the presents. To all outward appearances she thoroughly enjoyed the surprises, but she would shortly retreat into a reverie of past Christmases. Cheryl Ann had wondered if her grandmother wished for a return of those happy days. As she watched her now, she saw more clearly the contrast between a Christmas devoted to the mechanical exchange of gifts and the Christmas given over to genuine expressions of happiness. She thought of her gift for Jeannie. It was only a fleeting thought, interrupted by a request for her part on the program.

Cheryl Ann walked to the makeshift rostrum. She turned, looked at her grandmother, and said, “Be cause grandmother is so wonderful and nice, and because we are so happy to have her with us this Christmas Eve, I’ve prepared a tribute to her in poetry.” Cheryl Ann received a reassuring smile from her grandmother. She dropped her eyes to her paper and read,

In every little family about the size of ours,
There’s a very special person we like to deck with flowers
Or, if flowers are out of season, a tribute we like to pay
To that very special person whose hair has turned to gray.
This super-special person is, of course, a friend to us;
To her our health and happiness are a very constant must.
We love her more than ever each day we see her smile;
We’re counting on her always as we walk each rugged mile.
To Grandmother Alicia Simmons our tribute is paid tonight,
A person of great potential; her ways seem always right.
Our grandmother is a chosen daughter of God way up above,
Our prayers are surely answered by her endless, wondrous love.

As Cheryl Ann read the verses, she momentarily forgot the family audience. She was thinking about the message of her poem. The words “very special person … a friend to us . . . her way seems always right” took on a little deeper meaning. Her grandmother was very special, but maybe Jeannie was just as special in a different sort of way. The idea was new. Cheryl Ann pondered the significance of her poem and contrasted it with the scheme she had planned. Her self-analysis was poorly timed. The sentiment of the verses, together with the knowledge that she had planned a gift for Jeannie that was designed to elevate her own position at her friend’s expense, was too much. Her chin trembled. She quickly threw her arms around her grandmother and held on tightly while trying to recover her composure.

Christmas time was never quite complete without an expression from Grandmother Simmons, and it was unanimously agreed that on this occasion she must tell of a Christmas day in the Salt Lake Valley years ago. She was pleased. Walking slowly to a shelf across the room, she picked up a small china vanity that had lain on the shelf. Returning to her chair, she plated the pretty china piece on a small occasional table and said, “This china vanity was given to me when I was seventeen years of age. I have loved it because it represents one of the most beautiful Christmas days of my life.” Grandmother Simmons’ voice betrayed her feeling.

“Christmas today,” Grandmother Simmons continued, “is quite different from the Christmas days we knew as children. Now we have such expensive and beautiful gifts that the true spirit of Christmas oftentimes evades us. In my childhood days presents carried great sentimental value, and when a small token of a friend’s affection was unwrapped, it was a treasure of devotion and love. Frequently the gifts had required hours of clever and painstaking handwork. Once I received a needle-point Bible marker that thrilled me and made my Christmas day especially nice.”

Grandmother Simmons’ eyes sparkled with remembrance of her childhood. She could see the snow blanket in which the adobe and rough-milled lumber houses of the valley snuggled close together. She felt again the warmth of the little settlement, generated by the bonds of friendship that had grown strong from work and sacrifice in this new world of the West. Her retrospection brought to mind a tiny rocking chair, her rag doll, and the priceless hours she spent before an open-hearth fire when bedtime stories were told.

Grandmother Simmons unconsciously pulled her shoulder scarf closer — a reflex caused by years of fireplace heat that warmed her only on one side at a time. She looked at the children with affection and said, “Children, how would you like to be surprised at Christmas time with sticks of striped candy, honey popcorn balls, a sugared fried-cake twisted and shaped like a little boy or girl, a homemade rag doll, and maybe one or two other little gifts?”

The younger children chattered excitedly, and decided that such a Christmas would be lots of fun because they liked popcorn balls so much. The older children captured the picture of unpretentiousness and felt the serenity and contentment that such a Christmas day would give. They assured their grandmother they would like to have that kind of Christmas.

“There were other types of gifts, of course,” Grandmother Simmons reflected, “like knitted mitts, button shoes, black lace caps, and side combs, but we felt very happy if we received even two or three presents. We made molasses candy, sang songs with pump organ accompaniment, danced, and told stories. And, best of all, we had the time to sit down and talk with each other.”

Turning, Grandmother Simmons picked up the china vanity and said, “This was a present from the finest friend a person could have. She valued it herself because it had been given to her by someone she loved. My friend’s parents had passed away, and she was living with an aunt. As Christmas time approached, I was concerned about my friend because I felt her day would have little joy and happiness. I determined to do whatever I could to make it more enjoyable, and on Christmas morning I hurried to her home. She opened the door, her eyes bright with anticipation. After wishing each other a warm Merry Christmas, a wish that was real and heartfelt, I gave her my gifts. She opened each one slowly, overcome with emotion as she expressed her thanks. Feeling that I had accomplished something good, I put on my coat and prepared to leave. My friend pressed a dainty package into my hand as I left. At home I unwrapped my gift. It was this little china vanity. Her gift was the most cherished possession she owned. She had given it to me because she valued our friendship.”

The spirit of Christmas had been portrayed with such feeling of sincerity and love that each member of the family received an unmistakable picture. Details of the party might be forgotten, but Grandmother Simmons’ contribution would live forever in their hearts. As the family departed for their homes, Cheryl Ann embraced her grandmother and whispered, “Thanks, Grandma, I’ve learned something very important tonight.”

Later, as Cheryl Ann pulled the bedcovers up under her chin, she blinked energetically at the tears that were beginning to mark her cheeks. She had come to sense, in a few hours, the purpose of Christmas. She recalled the last verse of a poem she had written a year ago, a message she had overlooked in making her plans for a perfect Christmas this year. The words were formed silently by her lips as she contemplated their meaning.

We give, do we not, with a great deal of thought
Our gifts as a token of love;
Our Savior it was, gave his life to this cause
Let’s remember our Lord up above.

The second great commandment was forcefully brought to her mind, and she knew then that her friendship with Jeannie was too important to abuse. With a plan to straighten things out in the morning, Cheryl Ann closed her eyes.

A younger brother and sister made sleeping difficult on a normal morning, but on Christmas morning sleep was impossible. They pounced on Cheryl Ann at an unreasonable hour, she thought, but after the first shock of being waked she caught the spirit of their enthusiasm and hurried toward the living room.

The sparkle of gaily-wrapped packages as they lay beneath the Christmas tree drew a gasp of surprise from the children, and with bubbling merriment they dashed to the tree and laughingly read the labels to determine which packages were whose. Cheryl Ann paused at the archway leading to the room, her heart pounding. The Christmas tree lights vibrated with the laughter and excitement. Her eyes traversed the smaller packages. The corner of a cellophane-wrapped box poked out. Intuitively she knew this was her father’s gift. The family sat around the tree, and the children busily engaged themselves in opening their gifts. Cheryl Ann insisted that her parents open the gifts she had for them. Her interest in her own gifts had subsided since the Christmas Eve party, and now she was much more concerned with making Christmas a happy day for others. She hugged her baby sister tightly and laughed enthusiastically at the surprises her brother brought out of the boxes.

“Cherie,” her mother asked with concern, “why don’t you open your presents?”

Cheryl Ann hadn’t realized that she had been conspicuous in not opening her gifts. She knew, however, that in those few minutes she had derived genuine pleasure from the happiness of others. It occurred to her that giving presents was a symbol of love and devotion to celebrate the birth of Jesus, which makes the gift itself of little value if those virtues are lacking. With appreciation for the meaning of Christmas, she opened her beautifully-wrapped packages and read into them the love and sincerity her parents intended. The cellophane-wrapped gift she left for the last. Holding it close, she looked at her father. Her eyes expressed her thanks. He detected something strangely different about his daughter and recognized with pride that some maturity was showing.

“Cherie, are you as happy as you look?” her father asked affectionately.

Cheryl Ann tried to answer, but feeling so happy inside, she somehow could find no expression. She nodded her head and, holding the package in both hands, walked over to her father and sat down at his feet.

“Daddy, have you ever wanted to do something so badly that you were willing to take advantage of someone you loved?”

Her father was momentarily nonplused. “Well … I guess maybe everyone has wanted to have his way and felt so strongly about it that he’d take advantage of others. Why do you ask, Cherie, it doesn’t sound just like you?”

“Daddy, I would like to take advantage of … of you!”

Her father smiled, kissed her on the nose, and said, “I think then it would be perfectly all right. Privilege granted.”

Cheryl Ann hesitated, looked at the pretty package in her hands, and then blurted out, “I have a very special reason for wanting to give this present to my best friend, Jeannie.” Seeing that her father was puzzled over the idea, she explained, “You see, Daddy, your gift means so much more to me than I can hope to tell you, and after thinking over my thoughts of last week it’s important, very important, that I give it to my friend.”

Sensing that his daughter had been motivated to do something good, her father supplied the encouragement she hoped he would give her.

Although it was early, Cheryl Ann couldn’t resist the urge to take her gift to Jeannie. The frosty morning air chiseled at her nose and chin as she kicked the newly-fallen snow from her path.

Cheryl Ann presented her gift to Jeannie and hurried on home. When she arrived there, her Grandmother Simmons greeted her at the door. It was quite unusual for Cheryl Ann’s grandmother to venture out on winter days, and the occasion had to be important for her to do so. Cheryl Ann squeezed her hand and said, “Grandma, you shouldn’t have come out in this cold air, you’ll catch something.”

“Cheryl, I just couldn’t sit at home for another minute. I have something for you.” Grandmother Simmons placed a small package in her granddaughter’s hand and kissed her affectionately on the cheek.

Cheryl Ann had learned a great deal about Christmas gifts. Now that she knew their true meaning there was more joy in anticipating them. She removed her coat and sat down to open her present. The shape of the box interested her; it reminded her of something old. Carefully laying the first wrapping aside, she untied the pretty gold ribbon encompassing the inner wrapping, opened the box, and looked inside. She shut the lid quickly, and stood up. “Grandma … this … is it for me?”

“It’s for you, child, with all my love.” Her grandmother beamed. “You see, after I told my story last night I suddenly remembered that, like my friend who gave me her china vanity, I, too, had something I cherished very much. I want you to have it.”

The box was opened again, and Cheryl Ann gazed with admiration at the exquisitely styled gold necklace laid in the china vanity. The tiny opal stones in the necklace meticulously inlaid along the sides were hardly perceptible unless the iridescent hues were caught by the light. The pendant, strangely, reminded Cheryl Ann of the centerpiece in the necklace she gave to Jeannie. The gold necklace, like the china vanity, was a gift of love.