From the Improvement Era, March 1943 –

Strange Awakening

By Genevieve Van Wagenen

Helen Morgan stood on the street corner waiting for the light to change when, from behind, she heard a familiar voice, “Wait a minute and we’ll walk home with you.” Turning around she saw her neighbors Marge Mangum and Nancy Kane coming toward her, each carrying a dress box under her arm.

“Well, hello, you old sports,” exclaimed Helen. “Looks like another of your shopping sprees.” Then, glancing admiringly from one to the other, “Mm — I like your new hats!”

“Glad you like them,” said Marge. “We thought we needed a lift after all this snow and cold.”

“There’s nothing that bolsters my hopes like a new hat,” chimed in Nancy as the three started across the street.

“What’s this I hear about your husband being made bishop?” said Marge. And in the same breath, “That’s fine. Congratulations.”

“When I read it in the paper this morning I was certainly proud of him,” said Nancy smiling sweetly. “But why you two would accept such responsibility when you’re so young is more than I can understand. You’re just the age we are, and if you’re going to have fun, you’ve got to have it now,” she added sympathetically, putting plenty of emphasis on now. “I w^ant to be free to have a cocktail occasionally. I just couldn’t be happy with all the restrictions or being tied down with a lot of church duties!”

“Aren’t you afraid this responsibility with all its problems and demands will make both of you serious?” queried Marge.

Helen smiled understandingly. “It is a great undertaking but it won’t spoil our lives or our fun; it will only enrich them — it’s going to mean service to others, growth and development. I believe it’s a real opportunity!”

“It’s strange, isn’t it,” pondered Nancy, “even though we’re neighbors, we live in different worlds, we do things differently. To me the week-end means a late party or some sort of celebration and sleeping in on Sunday till noon. But you’re always up with the sun, hustling around getting your family off to church.”

“That’s the way it was at home, when I was a kid,” said Marge. “I can see mother now, giving us a bath, curling our hair, and laying out our clothes so there wouldn’t be such a mad scramble on Sunday morning. Strange how one gets off the beaten path.”

“Don’t take me wrong,” Nancy added hastily. “I believe in religion. I used to work in the church a lot till I married Tom. He always said he could live as good a life without going to church as those who did. He always had something else to do, and I didn’t w^ant to go without him, so I sort of got out of the habit; now I’ve decided to have a good time, and when I get old and want something quiet and consoling I’ll — ”

Marge broke in, “I think our families should come before church, too. I promised myself that I wouldn’t do what my mother did — it was ridiculous! She worked in nearly every organization of the church — always doing something for the Relief Society or helping the Primary. She’s stayed up till two or three in the morning making costumes for the road-shows. If you’re a willing horse they work you to death! Right now, my mother would rather spend a day in the temple or at the genealogical library than spend a day with me. I intend to go back to church some day, but not now. I’m going to wait until I get Marilyn brought up and married off. I think I owe her that much.”

Helen was silent. Their indifference hurt her. Their grandparents had been pioneers, had sacrificed everything for the gospel; and now, their descendants wouldn’t go even a few blocks to church. She was afraid there were more like them — too many. If she could only shake them out of their indifference, awaken them to what they were missing.

They were half-way home when Helen said, “Girls, you know Mrs. Prouse, Hannah Prouse? Of course you do; her little girl Ann used to be in the same room with Marilyn and John at school. Ann has a rheumatic heart and has been confined to her bed for about six months. I bought her a paint book and crayons while I was downtown today. I thought maybe it would cheer her up and help pass the time. Come in with me while I leave it, won’t you? It will only take a minute.”

Inside the neat little home everything was clean and inviting, but the air w^as tense. Mrs. Prouse was visibly worried, her face marked with anxiety.

“We can’t stay long — just stopped in to inquire about Ann and leave this little remembrance,” said Helen cheerily as she placed the package on a small table near by.

“What’s the matter, Mrs. Prouse?” inquired Marge. “You look so worried — is Ann “worse?”

“No, it’s not Ann. It’s — my husband — haven’t you heard? Everybody else has!” She dropped her head in shame and swallowed hard to remove the lump in her throat. “He has been arrested!”

“Arrested?”

“Yes, you see, he is an ‘alien.’ He neglected to get his citizenship papers; oh, he intended to, but he kept putting it off. For a while he worked late at night and couldn’t go to school. He could have studied at home and prepared for the examination, but he didn’t. There was no excuse, he just kept delaying. Ever since he came to America, he considered himself a citizen — he often said he was a better citizen than some that were born here. And he is a good man, honest and true to this country.”

“Sometimes, we don’t look ahead,” said Helen softly. “We can’t see what the future will bring.”

“It costs $7.50 to register and get your papers,” said Mrs. Prouse, “and you know how we all are about money. We have a dozen places for it, if the matter isn’t urgent — and it didn’t seem urgent. But look what this waiting, and good intentions, have cost us! ” Here she broke into sobs.

Helen rose, crossed the room and put her arm tenderly around the woman’s shoulder to comfort her.

“Don’t cry. I won’t believe it’s as bad as you think. You’re weary from waiting on Ann, and naturally this is upsetting to you, but I’m sure they’ll let him go in a day or two. The government is just being cautious.”

“No, they’ll probably send him to the Dakotas; that’s where they are sending them all. It may be years before we see each other again!” She twisted her handkerchief nervously, which was now wet with tears that had left her eyes red and smarting.

“He’ll lose his job, and it’s the best one he ever had. No doubt we’ll lose our home — we’ve worked so hard and saved for it, and it means so much to us,” she pleaded. “The children will be shunned,” she said shaking her head sadly. “We’ll be put on relief — I never wanted charity! What a price neglect demands and fools must pay!” she sobbed, as she covered her face with her hands.

As they started for home. Marge and Nancy looked at each other questioningly. Did this sad plight of Mrs. Prouse have something to do with them? How colorless, compared with this, did their shopping excursion of the morning seem now. New hats — a lift? Here was a lift of the kind they really needed. Here was something maybe they could do. Already blood was tingling — and with a single thought.

As they parted at Helen’s home, Nancy said, “Helen, give me a ring when you’re ready to go to Relief Society Tuesday. I want to go with you.”

“And — how’d you like to call for me?” said Marge.