From the Improvement Era, August 1933 –

Things

By Claire Stewart Boyer

When Ma Keller gave up her home and came to live with Celia, her son’s wife, she did so with one reservation — that she could bring her things with her. Now Ma Keller’s things consisted of an oak chest that had come across the plains, two trunks, three teakwood cases, a hat box, two stocking bags fat and bulky and a suitcase — a gift from her son. These with a reed rocker and some family portraits were heaped in Everett’s auto and dumped out on the porch of his bungalow. When Celia saw them she tried not to look astonished. She helped Ma Keller into the house and insisted that they all have tea before the bedroom was fitted up with its new belongings.

At the table Celia was attentive but Everett carried on the conversation.

“Don’t know whether the room’ll hold ’em all, but if not we can put the old trunks in the basement.”

Ma Keller stopped eating, and with direful finality announced: “My trunks and I live in the same room!”

Celia smiled at her husband and the conversation was shifted. The little homekeeper had no uneasiness about the coming of her mother-in-law into her life, and no resentment. Everett had suggested it and carried it out with her happy approval. However, as she moved about in her well ordered domain, Celia often felt the gray eyes fixed upon her and would turn. Always she saw the same thing — Ma Keller would smile, then she would dart into her room and there remain until by some pretext Celia could get her back. Four months later she became so attached to her room that she refused to leave it. At meal times Celia wonderingly brought the tray. Something was troubling the silver-haired lady and her daughter-in-law could not begin to fathom it. To her questions. Ma Keller would answer sweetly, “O, it’s just my things, my dear,” and then she would dive into her trunks, arrange and rearrange and sort again.

When Celia informed Everett of his mother’s self-imposed retirement, he said it was likely one of her whims. But inwardly he feared Ma Keller was not happy in her new home. Perhaps she was secretly planning to go East to Tasie. He must speak to her. He found her in her room, busy, but apparently happy. He began by apologizing for Celia, her habits, her methods of housekeeping. His mother looked at him steadily and then flashed forth as she had done on the day he stole his first and only watermelon. “Everett Keller, don’t you complain of Celia to me. I didn’t come here for that. You have a wonderful little wife and I thought until now that you appreciated her.” And she whirled and began sorting some of the treasures in the tray of her biggest trunk.

“As a matter of fact,” laughed Everett, “I do, but I didn’t think you did. You spend so much of your time in here and so little with her.”

“So that’s it?” The gray eyes, grayer because of the silver locks above them held a pitiful look, and Everett hurried to his mother and put a strong arm around her.

“We like you to show us you care if you do, you know,” he said lightly, raising her chin and kissing her withering lips.

“That’s what I was trying to do in here,” she answered slowly, and closed the lid of the trunk. Celia stood in the doorway.

“Dinner!”

“We’re coming,” he waved her away. “I’m glad that’s all it is. Now you just forget all this stuff and link your life to ours, can’t you do that?”

Everett’s mother regarded him curiously.

“At my age,” she said, “we don’t forget. I’m not here for long, Everett. I must link my life to yours with my things.”

“Oh, go on, you’re only seventy. That makes me think — we are planning to give you something fine for your seventy-first birthday, but we can’t decide on it. Celia didn’t want me to tell you, but I thought if there’s anything you’d rather have than furs, I’d like to know.”

For a moment she seemed to be juggling a secret, then she gripped both sleeves of his coat.

“I want—another trunk.”

Everett glanced around the room,

“For my things,” she said.

That night Everett took Celia aside.

“Better go over her trinkets and duds and show her she doesn’t need any more trunks.”

“Perhaps if we tell her our secret she’ll forget her things!”

“Clever girl,” laughed Everett, “I’ll leave it to you and we’ll get the furs.”

Ma Keller spent some time each day with Celia in the living-room. When asked for her opinion on the arrangement of the china in the cabinet she was flattered and felt she had indeed done Celia a service in giving it. It did not take long before the two became more companionable than either had dreamed possible. Celia talked to her mother-in-law on every subject — except the things in the trunks and boxes and bags in Ma Keller’s room. Ma Keller told her all about Tasie, her daughter who had “gone east” and how seldom she wrote in spite of the fact that she had no children.

Then came the opportunity to whisper the secret and Celia, all expectant, watched the effect of the news on the elder woman. Instead of a gentle pat on her wrist, a kiss and a tear as the little mother-to-be had expected, consternation seized Ma Keller and she burst from the room muttering something about her things and that “it changed everything!” And there she stayed. More restless than before, she sorted her things and left the room only when Everett compelled her to take a ride.

At last he took a hand. Planting himself on one of her trunks he took both her hands and looked straight into her eyes.

“What’s the idea, anyway, mother?” He glanced significantly around the room.

“My things?” she questioned sweetly. “It’s almost done. But it’s been a big job. You see I had them all arranged for you and Tasie. I was going to get you to send one trunk, one bag and my chest to her. You were to have the rest. But I have learned to love Celia as much as Tasie, so I had to divide my things in three, and that wasn’t easy. Then Celia told me about the other. I hadn’t thought of that. When Tasie had no children I took it for granted you wouldn’t have any. Well, after I knew — I had to make another lot. So it has been quite hard. But I have them almost straight — I have the family records and pictures and the clothes all divided. I didn’t want to be partial.”

“And you are going to give us all a share of the past?”

“I’m going to leave it to you — but I’ll need another trunk.”

“Well, we’ll see what we can do, Mother. I know they mean a lot to you, but just suppose you keep ’em like they are for the present and then we’ll see. If you’ve got some little pieces Celia may be able to make into white things, she’ll be glad of them I’m sure.”

“But they are to be left, Everett, not given. After I’m — ”

“Oh, forget that, Ma,” — and he was gone.

As the time approached for the arrival of her first grandchild Ma Keller became strangely reminiscent. Once she started to bring Everett’s baby clothes out to show Celia. But after a moment’s consideration she put them back. They were a part of her secret.

Baby Keller was a boy and for three solid weeks he cooed under the light of the blue eyes and the gray. Then Celia’s mother died, and Ma Keller sat back with the child in her arms and saw her own funeral. The only thing, she seemed happy about her things.

She talked of them to baby Keller. They were all ready. Only the trunk was needed for Celia’s share. But the birthday was near at hand. Then she would be ready.

The Fall had come. The leaves were rustling to the ground and the trees were groaning with rheumatism. It was her time. She would sit and think how happy Celia would be to open her trunk. Celia was to have the new one. In it would be Ma Keller’s black beaded dress, her paisley shawl, a crazy quilt, some picture that hung in the home where Everett was born, the family Bible and a green album containing old tintypes and locks of hair. How many pleasant hours she and Everett could spend together with the pictures and records. And what a surprise it would all be to Celia.

The day before she was seventy-one she sat in her little room contentedly dreaming. It was a bit cold but she didn’t want to disturb her things to get out the paisley shawl. Perhaps later on Celia would make a fire and let her rock Baby Keller in the living-room. Just then Celia came to her door.

“I’m going over to the house this afternoon to get my share of Mother’s things. I thought perhaps you’d like to go too and take care of baby while I look them over.”

At first Ma Keller was jealous — jealous that there was somebody else to leave things to Celia. Then she was seized with a desire to see them. Somebody else’s things! They could never compare with her own, but they had been saved in the same way, had been left just as she was going to leave her own.

“I’ll be glad to go,” she answered. “It’s a bit cold in the house anyway.” So they went.

In the basement of Celia’s mother’s home were trunks, boxes and bags. Ma Keller succeeded in getting baby Keller to sleep and then stole down to see the relics of the past. She sat quite still and unobtrusive as Celia lifted one thing after another and examined it. Celia’s sister was there too, and they talked a great deal about what they would do with this and that. They talked rather low but Ma Keller heard.

“Imagine keeping a wedding dress for thirty-five years!” Celia lifted it — a brocaded satin, yellow with age.

“It’s no earthly good — better put it here in this pile.”

“And as for these albums and stuff, is there any use wasting time looking them over?”

“No. They’re just mother’s folks. And these pictures — just look at this motto thing. Hideous!”

Celia’s sister lifted a jet silk dress and Ma Keller’s eyes shone. Her fingers itched to hold it. If Celia had picked it up instead, she would have gone over just to feel its silkiness between her fingers and perhaps rub it against her cheek.

“We might give these old things to Crazy Loo for a quilt, Celia, but I suppose they’d drop to pieces in the making.”

“I can’t understand why people keep things so.”

“I’m afraid I hear baby crying,” Ma Keller said jerkily, and left.

She went slowly upstairs, picked up the sleeping bundle from the bed and went out into the street. She did not take the short cut home but went toward the main street of town. She would be seventy-one tomorrow but she walked steadily with her charge. When she came to a store marked Keller Wholesale Grocers, she hesitated. Then gathering all her courage she opened the door.

“Oh, come to bring the boy to call on his Dad? Here, son.” Everett greeted her.

“Proud as they make ’em, eh?” laughed his partner.

“Meet my mother, Joe. We were just going out to lunch, come along!”

“No, Everett — I just came to tell you — I don’t want the trunk.”

“Good! Wise little mother. Well, here’s your grandson, we’ll run along then.”

Ma Keller hurried faster. She hardly knew when she came to Everett’s bungalow. She turned in mechanically, went around to the back door which was unlocked and stumbled in. She deposited Baby Keller in his own little bed and then went straight to her room. Once more she began sorting her things.

In about an hour Celia came in. “Decided to come home, Mother?” she called.

Ma Keller let the lid of her oak chest fall.

“Yes, I’m here.”

“Got lonesome for Baby and had to come myself, besides — my its nice and warm in here. It feels like Winter outside.”

“I built a fire in the furnace,” said the older woman.

“And one in the grate too, how lovely; aren’t you coming out to sit by it?”

“In a moment — but Celia, I want you to come here first. I noticed Everett’s army clothes in the basement store-room today. They are getting quite dirty. And your school books are dusty too. Better have Everett put them in one of these trunks tonight. You might as well.”

“But I thought all the time they were filled with your things.”

“No,” she said steadily. “They are quite empty. And I wondered if you would like my oak chest for Baby Keller’s clothes. You could fix it up quite handy.”

“How perfectly lovely! Why you dear old dear, how did you come to think of it? He’s grown out of his first pair of shoes already. I’ll keep them for him so he’ll have them when he’s a man. Won’t he be tickled? Oh, the day isn’t half bad. I got so tired going over those old things — but to come home to start something for my boy — it gives me new life again. And tomorrow we’ll have a real celebration. You’ll be seventy-one years old and you can’t guess what you’re going to have. If you could have anything in the world you wanted, what would you like most?”

“Well,” said Ma Keller, smiling, “It’s getting so cold I believe I’d like some furs.”