The day Margaret and Gratz came home with a stranger, Bruce changed his mind about moving. The children were playing in their neighborhood park when they saw the man lying on the grass, looking up at the sky. They asked him what he was doing. He said that the sky’s shade of deep blue reminded him of his beloved homeland, Ireland. They delightedly told him that they, too, were Irish, so he shared captivating tales of the land he had left behind. The children invited him home for lunch, certain that their parents, who were quite proud of their Irish heritage, would want to meet this fellow countryman. Maude was gracious to the obviously impoverished man who sheepishly joined them at the table. Margaret and Gratz were not chastised for bringing the stranger home, but it wasn’t long before the Browns bought a sprawling home in Beechhurst on Long Island.
On the day of their move, Margaret sat in the back of the family’s open-air car with her grandmother as her father drove out of Brooklyn toward their new home on Long Island. She was named after this grandmother, a jolly Welsh woman with a beautiful singing voice. Margaret adored her and her lovely, lilting accent that sounded like music. She was much kinder than Margaret’s nanny, Anna, who dunked the little girl’s head under cold water every time she held her breath until she turned blue or threw a temper tantrum. Anna’s treatment had no lasting effect on Margaret’s innate stubborn streak. She liked the feeling of cold water on her face.
As the Browns left Brooklyn, they drove past the skyscrapers of New York City. When the veil on her grandmother’s hat billowed like a streamer behind their car, Margaret felt like they were in a parade. Once they reached Long Island, they rolled slowly past opulent mansions lining the coast and then rode inland toward fields and hills topped by towering trees. Bruce turned the car into the long dirt driveway of their new home. On either side of the car, tall green grass stretched out as far as Margaret could see. It looked like they were in the middle of a bright green ocean. When the car stopped in front of the newly built house, Margaret leaped from the car and ran straight into the meadow. The grass was higher than her head, and it felt like she were running through a wild green forest. It was the freest, happiest moment of her life.
Two
1917–1923
Cecily Cerisian powders her nose
For a powder puff uses a rose
Her nose gets yellow and off she goes
Up to a mirror she stands on her toes
And dusts it off where she can see
What kind of lady will Cecily be?
Pretty Poll has a little doll
Dresses it up in folderol
Makes it dresses to go to a Ball
And dresses for winter and summer and fall
By her patterns you can see
The kind of a lady Miss Polly will be.
Mary Madorn climbs in trees
Scratches her arms
And scratches her knees
Isn’t afraid of dogs or bees
Swims in crashing cold green seas
It’s a little hard at this time to see
What kind of lady brave Mary will be?
WHAT WILL THEY BE?
Unpublished
Seven-year-old Margaret and her younger sister, Roberta, sat in their child-size rocking chairs, facing the lit fireplace. The hearth was decorated with tiles depicting characters from nursery rhymes. In dark blue lines against white tiles were Little Boy Blue, Mother Goose, from “Hey Diddle, Diddle” the Cow Jumping over the Moon, and other nursery rhyme characters in dark blue lines. Their spacious room was painted a soothing robin’s egg blue, and in the middle sat a large rocking horse, worn from years of loving attention. Margaret’s very first memory was of stuffing long cotton strands into the horse’s nostrils and around its neck to give it fluffy white reins. Currently, the horse’s mane and tail were adorned with colorful ribbons the girls braided into its hair. On the far wall, a built-in bookcase was lined with dozens of books. Ornate scrolls and letters were stamped in gold onto most of the spines, including a set of books, bound in burgundy leather, called The Book of Knowledge. These childhood encyclopedias contained a vast array of information and were Margaret’s favorite. She had a knack for memorization and was able to recite dozens of works from those pages. Every page was illustrated in color or with photographs and filled with fascinating facts, stories, poems, and songs. On Margaret’s lap was a book of fairy tales from that collection. She read the story of Hansel and Gretel aloud to Roberta, who hadn’t yet learned to read.
The little girls looked nothing like sisters. Margaret had long, golden waves of hair and Roberta a short mop of bright red strands. Margaret’s delicate face, full lips, and bright gray-blue eyes were accentuated by her little sister’s plain looks. It wasn’t unusual for their mother to be stopped on the street by strangers who remarked on the fair-haired girl’s remarkable beauty. They rarely noticed the little red-haired girl standing next to her dressed in identical clothes.
Roberta listened attentively as her sister read, although Margaret didn’t relay the story verbatim. She added an extra character, as she often did during their story time. In Margaret’s version, Hansel and Gretel had a little sister with red hair. The heroines in Margaret’s twisted tales usually had blond hair and blue eyes. Just as often, something terrible befell the red-haired little sister. This time, she was gobbled up by the cannibalistic witch. Courageous Gretel, though, saved herself and her brother by outwitting the witch and shoving her into an oven. They took the witch’s treasure and then returned home to live happily ever after with their father.
Gullible Roberta was eager to hear the story again, but Margaret snapped the book shut. She proclaimed it to be time to go to sleep and crawled into her bed. Her sister reluctantly followed. It was their ritual to say good night to their toys, rocking horse, chairs, books, and pictures on their walls. Margaret first, then Roberta. Before long, their door opened, and Anna whispered good night to the two little girls, then turned off their light.
*
A light snowfall swirled around nine-year-old Margaret and her father as they walked along the bustling port of the East River. Aromas of coffee, tar, and sea met them as they passed cargo being loaded into vast warehouses along the docks. They stepped into the largest building, the American Manufacturing Company, where the scent of hemp and jute permeated the air. Workers stood beside row after row of tables piled high with fibers they twisted into ropes and bags. Margaret followed her father past the tables and up the stairs into his office. It was common for the little girl to come here with her father when he wasn’t traveling to a far-flung land. She preferred to be by his side whenever he was home.