From the Relief Society Magazine, July 1939 –

A Gift of Wings

By Alice Morrey Bailey

Sudden apprehension doused Mildred as she admitted Mrs. Spencer, after a somewhat peremptory knocking at the door.

“I’ll stand, thank you, and say what I’ve come to say right out,” she replied to Mildred’s offer of a chair.

Mrs. Spencer was trembling with rage, and red blotches of anger stained her jaws. It needed only Mildred’s faint “Why, certainly” to launch her into the tirade she had come to deliver.

“I want you to spank your little girl,” she said flatly.

Mildred felt anger prickling up the back of her neck and wondered, a little mirthfully, if her “scolding locks” might be rising.

“It’s like this. Iris snubbed Dorothy. All the others have been mean to her all along, but at least I thought she had Iris on her side. She gets left out of everything and children say such terrible things to her – things I don’t believe they think up themselves. It’s what they hear at home, I tell Henry, and for Iris to turn Dorothy down – and you a Relief Society teacher and the Primary president – I think she ought to be spanked.”

I certainly shan’t spank my child to please others, Mildred thought hotly, and it was on the tip of her tongue to say as much when she noticed that tears were trembling on the other woman’s lashes.

“I’ll talk to Iris as soon as she comes home and see what the trouble is,” she promised instead.

“It’s not that I don’t appreciate what you’ve done for me from time to time.” The tears were falling now, like rain. “Only she’s over there sobbing her little heart out, and I just – Well, I guess I’ve said enough. I’ll go now.”

After she had gone, Mildred sat weakly in a chair, overwhelmed by alternating emotions of unreasonable anger and pity for Mrs. Spencer.

“Spank Iris!” she thought indignantly again and again, only to be amused at her “battling instinct.”

When Iris came in she had to steel herself against the flushed sweetness of the child, against the breathless chatter.

“Mother, I wish you’d decide who is to be Goddess of Liberty soon. I feel like I can’t stand it. If you weren’t the president they might choose me. Wouldn’t that be heavenly! Only I like my part so well I’d hate to give that up – just think, the obligato! A goddess ought to be beautiful.”

“We’ll have to choose her soon, dear. The time is drawing near.”

“Oh, I know it. Only twenty-four more days, and she’ll have to practice, won’t she?”

“Not a great deal. She only has –”

“To sit on the throne with the maids of honor. The bugles, then the prayer by the chaplain, then the flag drill, and then comes America. The curtain draws back, and there she is! It makes me just shiver with happiness.”

“We must forget about it just now, Iris. I must speak to you. Did you snub Dorothy today?” asked Mildred, hoping for an explanation that would absolve Iris from blame.

“Well, Mother, I – ” faltered Iris.

“Did you, Iris?”

“Yes, Mother.” Iris hung her head.

“Oh, Iris. Why did you? I thought your heart was kinder than that.”

“It is, Mother. Only I don’t want to be kind-hearted any more. My friends won’t play with Dorothy because her hair is bushy, and she wears funny clothes.”

“Well, darling, she must wear what her parents give her. She is sweet and wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

“I know it. I feel sorry for Dorothy, but now Jo and Anna and Elaine won’t play with me because I play with her. I am losing all my friends.”

“Friends couldn’t be worth keeping if they would desert you for that.”

“I know – only Mother! I don’t blame them for not wanting to play with Dorothy. She – she – ” as if this were the last straw, “she doesn’t bathe often, and she smells!”

“Oh, dear!” said Mildred, nonplused. She thought a long minute but couldn’t find it in her heart to blame Iris.

It was really the fault of Dorothy’s mother. What the children said was true. There was no sense in a mother turning out a child in such ridiculous looking clothing, and unclean. Soap and water were certainly cheap enough. The Spencers weren’t the poorest people in town. Look at Mrs. Connor, sewing smart-looking clothes out of hand-me-downs. Mildred sighed.

“Mrs. Spencer came up to see me and was very hurt that you hadn’t treated Dorothy right. She said Dorothy was at home crying.”

“Oh, poor Dorothy,” said Iris, conscience stricken. “I ought to go tell her I’m sorry, only – ”

“That would be lovely, dear. It would make Dorothy happy again.”

Iris went, but her feet were reluctant on the path, and Mildred knew she was facing a bitter tomorrow, and the day after.

It wasn’t fair. it was too much to ask of Iris. Iris was dainty about her person, particular about her apparel. She was very little trouble. Though she was only twelve she sewed on her own buttons, took almost complete care of her hair, and never had to be reminded of her bath. then to be forced to play with Dorothy – it wasn’t right. The more Mildred thought of it the more indignant she became.

“Primary president or not, I think I’ll just go and give her a piece of my mind.” Mrs. Spencer hadn’t avoided plain talk. If she was really concerned about the happiness of her child she ought to be grateful for helpful criticism.

Mildred took her sweater and started toward the Spencer home. Her thoughts kept time with her feet and hurdled all the time-worn warnings about temper. “I’ll certainly tell her – ”

But the conversation didn’t run right. Mrs. Spencer’s face lit up with welcome.

“Now, you didn’t need to come yourself and apologize. Iris was so sweet about it – and I wish you could have seen them – but it’s just like you. It’s me that should be going to you for forgiveness, tearing up there like I did. I declare, it’s having a Relief Society teacher like you that makes me feel like I ought to get out and do my duty. My mother used to go to Relief Society meeting all the time, but she got her feelings hurt and quit, and I never did start.”

She could well use some Relief Society education, thought Mildred, looking about the house, bare of everything except the ugliness of necessity. She cleared her throat.

“I – ” she began.

“Now you don’t need to say a thing,” assured Mrs. Spencer. “The whole thing is settled, so far as I’m concerned. Land, don’t look at my house. I’ve been behind with my work all day.” A confessions magazine of the “true” type lay face down on the sewing machine, giving mute testimony to her statement. “Some folks think there’s nothing in the world but keeping a clean house. And clothes!” She sniffed. “It’s just like I tell Dorothy. If your friends can’t see anything but your clothes, they’re not worth having.”

Settled! So far as Mrs. Spencer was concerned. As if anyone could see anything but those hideous clothes. No help for the situation, either, so long as she took that attitude. There had to be some other way.

“I meant to just tell her,” Mildred told Walter that night. “I could kick myself for being so spineless.”

“You’re nothing of the sort,” said Walter. “I love you for it. It wasn’t spinelessness, but your usual fine instincts overcoming your impulsiveness. You were speaking for three people – a Primary president, a Relief Society teacher, and Millie Wilson. You’d have driven her farther away, made an enemy of a neighbor, and not have done the little girl any good either. As for sacrificing Iris to her carelessness and poor management, I’m with you there. You’ll have to think of something else.”

But try as she might, Mildred couldn’t. For one thing, she hadn’t the time. There was the Fourth of July celebration coming up, with its endless rehearsals on the long June afternoons. This was the first time the program had been turned over to the Primary, and Mildred wanted everything right. She had assumed responsibility for choosing the Goddess of Liberty, the coveted honor among all the girls, hence a most important decision, one subject to much criticism, and one which she hadn’t been able to make.

In the flurry of plans for costumes and floats, flag drills and bands, orations and music, she might have forgotten the affair of Iris and Dorothy, except for small things. Once at rehearsal she caught a glimpse of the girls, lately of Iris’s crowd, switching their skirts spitefully past her, their plain little noses tilted exaggeratedly in the air. It might have been ludicrous if it weren’t so cruel, for Iris turned quickly to hide the sudden tears in her eyes and her trembling mouth.

At home Iris was increasingly silent. She didn’t complain, but the whole family missed her gaiety, and one night Mildred thought she heard sobbing in her room, but when she listened closely there was no sound. Dorothy followed her over-affectionately about, and Mildred found herself fighting against acute dislike for the child.

One evening Iris was washing her hair as Dorothy stood watching her.

“Would you like to do yours?” Mildred asked, and was surprised to see the eagerness that flushed Dorothy’s face.

“Oh, yes! Iris’s hair is so beautiful. We never have much hot water.” She went at it so clumsily that Mildred helped her a little, telling her the best method and the tests for cleanness.

“Mother, what does independence mean?” asked Iris through the looking glass, where she was waving her damp hair.

“It means,” said Mildred, wrinkling her brow, “not to be dependent. It means not allowing others to do for you what you can very well do yourself. I think we’d better get the dictionary for the exact meaning. Dorothy, I believe your hair would lie in a beautiful wave. Let me see.”

Independence, she thought. The Independence Day celebration, and I still haven’t a Goddess of Liberty. As she waved Dorothy’s hair she planned, offering and rejecting each name in its turn, as she had done over and over. Elaine, contrary to the implications of her name, was stubby and round as a churn. She’d make a much better Humpty-Dumpty. Jo was to play her bugle; Anne had been May Queen, and Iris, besides being her daughter, in itself an insurmountable obstacle, was in the chorus. So it ran, down the list. The thing had to be decided. It was the twentieth of June, two weeks until the Fourth.

“There,” she said, pinning the last curling tendril of Dorothy’s hair, which had miraculously turned out to be blond. Dorothy sat motionless, gazing at her reflection in the mirror, her blue eyes dark with excitement.

“Independence,” she breathed, and the word sounded like an enchanting secret, newly revealed. “Iris has it. She cares for her own hair, her own bath and stockings and teeth. I can do it, too, can’t I, Mrs. Wilson? Maybe I can learn to make myself prettier, and then the girls won’t laugh at me, or snub Iris because she plays with me.”

Her intelligent eyes met Mildred’s.

The poor darling, thought Mildred. to think she realizes all this. A wave of affection and pity for the child swept over Mildred. “Out of the mouths of babes –” she thought. Here, like a gift in her lap, lay the solution of all her difficulties.

“Why in the world didn’t I think of it before?” she chided herself. “You certainly can have independence. I’ll help you.”

“Why, Mother,” marveled Iris, “Dorothy is simply beautiful with her hair that way, isn’t she?” And indeed she was. The arrangement brought out lines of her forehead and chin that had been entirely unnoticed before, accented the fine eyebrows, and her sweet mouth. Her figure, despite the unsightly clothes, gave promise of being straight and tall, but nicely rounded, a fact that had also escaped Mildred attention until now.

*****

It was five minutes of ten, and Mildred had the wonderful knowledge that everything was in perfect readiness. The parade had gone off without a hitch and had been a beautiful and satisfying sight. Not for ten years had the populace been so completely in evidence for the celebration, and the reason was simple. Every child had a part to play. The first time it had ever been done – all by children. Mildred was as proud as if every child were her own, and her heart pounded as loudly in her ears as the cannon that had roared at intervals since before dawn.

“Who is Goddess of Liberty?” The repeated question ran over the audience, but no one knew the answer. The program began: Jo’s bugle, prayer by the chaplain, the flag drill, and then AMERICA, roared by the audience, as the curtain slowly pulled back to disclose her, her hair the color of corn silk beneath the gold crown, her eyes like violets with suppressed excitement, her mouth controlled. Her straight figure, her proud head were the very embodiment of Victory and Liberty, and only Mildred knew how much she was the symbol of Independence.

A flag gently unfurled behind Dorothy’s head. Mildred choked with emotion. her heart almost stopped when the song dragged almost to a whisper in the amazement of the audience. everything depended upon the reaction. Would it be jealousy – envy? Would they laugh or remain silent? Dorothy sensed the tension, the reason for it, and her frightened eyes sought Mildred. Mildred smiled encouragement, though tears pushed her lids. Dorothy caught the message and lifted her chin with confidence. As if by a signal the singing resumed its heartiness. The hurdle was past. What a satisfying child! Mildred caught Iris’s glance, and a smile of understanding passed between them. Mrs. Spencer sat entranced, as if she saw a vision, and was overwhelmed with pride.

“Who is it?” a woman near Mildred asked.

“Don’t you know? Dorothy Spencer, Mary Spencer’s girl. She’s a friend of Anne’s,” said Mrs. Beaumont, in the voice of one who hobnobs with nobility. “A very sweet child. Anne says she got fine marks in school.”

“Well, Mrs. Spencer, what do you think of your daughter?” Mildred asked, after the last chorus of the Star Spangled Banner and dismissal, when the air was filled with the noise of whistles and firecrackers.

“Why, she’s as good as anybody. I’m so thankful I got her the white slippers and silk underwear she’s been after me for. It made me clear sick to think how she might have looked up there if you hadn’t fixed her up so pretty. have you a pattern like that organdy dress of Iris’s? I think Dorothy’d look real good in a blue one. I’ve been making her dresses too long. I never realized before what a difference clothes make. Dorothy has got to be fixed up, and the house, so she can have company. When’s the next Relief Society meeting? I want to learn how to make those pillows.”

Over by the stage door Dorothy was surrounded by a bevy of admiring girls who touched reverently her crown, her white robes and the silken rings of her hair.