“TIME OF THE CHERRIES”
Unpublished In April of 1948, Margaret sat at her desk with a copy of a Publishers Weekly article in front of her. It had a lengthy feature on her old employer, William R. Scott Inc., celebrating the publishing company’s tenth anniversary. Bill was commended for the many advances Scott had made in children’s books, but it was clear he had made certain Margaret’s name appeared only as an author in the article. There was no mention of her instrumental role in the company and how many of her innovative story ideas and developments in book design had led to the success of the struggling little company. Instead, Bill took full credit for all her ideas.
She seethed at the slight and marked up the pages of the magazine, bearing down her pencil in anger. She underlined the parts where Bill had revised history, dotting it with question marks and exclamation points. Where he claimed that he was the one who got his staff to write books of their own, she scrawled, “Nuts!!” It was ridiculous for him to grab the credit for starting her off as a writer.
Perhaps Bill Scott was upset by her refusal to submit new manuscripts to him, but until this article, she had thought they were still friends. Bill had criticized Margaret for working with Golden. Other publishers also complained that Golden books were cheap and threatened not to work with authors or illustrators who published with Golden. Margaret huffily defended her decision to write for them. The art and writing was as good, if not better, than the sugary, overwritten books some publishers were racing to throw onto the bookshelves. The story and illustrations were what lifted a book’s standards; sentimentality was cheap, not binding and paper.
Margaret’s reputation for shouting down her editors was, by now, well known in the children’s publishing world. She usually caved the next day and sent an apologetic letter or telegram but often regretted backing down. Michael convinced her to hire Harriet Pilpel, a respected intellectual property attorney, to review her contracts. In addition, Margaret hired an agent to act as a go-between with her editors and to place her manuscripts. Her time was better spent writing than arguing with publishers and walking around town selling her manuscripts. It had the added benefit of letting her lawyer and agent fight on her behalf for better printing and quirky words she liked to insert in her stories. She knew she needed more time to write.
Before turning over a manuscript to any of her publishers, Margaret would calculate how much it would earn in their hands. Time and again, she earned the most money by publishing with Golden or Harper. Those two publishers encouraged Margaret to let her imagination run wild and wanted her to write books they could publish in wonderful new ways. After Harper’s success with Little Fur Family, Golden paid Margaret extra for first refusal on her novelty book ideas. Some of those ideas were so ahead of anything that had been produced, she needed to make sample books to explain her ideas to their editors.
Margaret made a handmade bunny book shaped like a rabbit, books with foils that shined or glowed in the dark with luminous inks. She cut holes in one book for a stuffed mouse on a ribbon to wind his way into the story. On another she cut an oval hole for an egg to tumble out. She wrote a story that helped a child learn how to tell time that was to come with a pocket watch. Almost anything was possible including books with vinyl records. Both book publishers and record companies were racing to produce recorded stories and songs for radio and television. Neither was producing anything of quality. She knew she could do better and decided to learn everything she could about the music business.
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From the moment they drove into the gate at the Connecticut house, Crispian began barking with joy. He recognized where they were and leaped from the car when Margaret let him out. He ran circles around the house and over the hill, yipping excitedly to be back at this farm. In the distance, Margaret heard the sound of cattle mooing on their way home to the barn, then the honking of geese warning Crispian not to get too close.
Margaret walked on the still-green grass in the warmth of an Indian summer evening. The leaves on the lilacs and trees had disappeared, but a few tomatoes clung to the vine along the fence. The once lush forest had dropped its leaves, and the pasture beyond the house was now visible. Margaret stared at the property she once shared with Michael. It was closed now, in preparation for the winter. The house appeared to be asleep, and it crossed Margaret’s mind that a story about a dreaming house had potential. If she had had time, she would have written it down, perhaps even continued on to a rough draft, but the sun was setting. She had come here to sear the moments she shared with Michael in her mind in case she didn’t return. In case Michael, too, never came back.
In September, Michael had once again collapsed after one of her performances, and the source of her exhaustion over the last two years was finally diagnosed as leukemia. Her doctor believed it was an aggressive form of the disease and estimated she had less than a year to live. He recommended she quit her tour and simply rest.
Instead of following his orders, Michael obstinately refused to cancel any of her performances. She also decided that, if her time was limited, she wanted to experience new places and make new friends. She no longer wanted to live with Margaret and told her to find another place to live.