The Golden Thimble

(continued)

By Susan Phillips

The night of the gala finally arrived, and I am sure that every household bustled as much as mine did. I had somehow found enough material to eke out a dress and shawl for myself, which I hurriedly donned. Then I spent my time running back and forth in the house, fetching hot water and cold water, perfumes and oils, combs and ribbons. I felt like a lady's maid that evening, with three ladies to help dress. But it was enjoyable to see the three girls, all so prettily dressed for once. I rummaged in my room and found brooches and necklaces and eardrops for all of them to wear. Surely no princess of any land could have held a candle to my girls when they had finished primping.

I felt as proud of my girls when we arrived as any doting mother can. I was content that evening to watch as Olga, Lucy and Ella whirled around the dance floor — now on this man's arm, now on another's. I felt satisfied, as if I had fulfilled promises made to both William and John.

After a time I noticed that Lucy had caught the eye of Maurice, the merchant prince himself. I had been so busy in all my preparations for the big night that I had almost forgotten the purpose of the dance — to find a wife for Maurice. As I watched the two of them dancing, talking, laughing, I finally allowed myself the daydream that every parent of a marriageable daughter had that evening. Yes, I thought, choose my darling Lucy and then live happily ever after. Once upon a time, I never imagined I would be planning my daughters' futures, but here I was, wishing and hoping for the best.

I was perhaps more lost in my daydreams than I had realized. With a start I noticed that both Olga and Lucy were standing near me — Olga with a smile on her face, Lucy with a frown. They, too, were looking at the dancers, watching as Maurice and Ella floated by. As she passed us, Ella gave a small wave. Olga and I waved back, but Lucy just stood there, looking close to tears.

I was about to ask what had happened when a young man came by and asked Olga to dance. Off they floated, but Lucy just stood by me, not moving for the rest of the evening. She never said anything, just stared as the other young people danced on and on.

By the time the dance ended and we were all home, it was close to midnight.

"All very well for those who can afford extra candles and large fires," I said as we entered our dark home. "But for us poorer folk, this much darkness means only one thing: sleep. Hurry off to bed, darlings. We'll talk about the ball tomorrow."

Ella skipped off happily. Lucy turned on her heel and went straight to her room. Olga looked as if she wanted to say something, but then she hurried off after her sister. I fell asleep that night listening to their whispers.

The next morning the girls packed their fine dresses away carefully — at least Olga and Lucy did. Ella was about to toss hers in a heap, but Olga took over and packed it away as carefully as she had her own. And then came all the baubles I had lent them — all those lovely pieces of gold and silver jewelry which John had given me. As I put them away in a box, I remembered each occasion and found I had a story to tell for each trinket. Our marriage had not lasted long, so I clung to each small memory.

When everything was set in order, I realized that one eardrop had lost its mate. I asked the girls to help me search for it, and we all spent the next hour going through the entire house, looking for it. We carefully shook out the dresses and shawls we had worn the night before, but no eardrop fell out.

It was a small thing — perhaps valuable to no one but me. But it had such a cunning shape. You might think it a bell, but I knew it was a tiny gold thimble — made to match that gold thimble that had been John's first love gift to me. I am ashamed to say that I sat down and cried when I realized it was truly lost. When I finally stopped my sobbing, I looked up and noticed that Olga, Lucy and Ella were looking, not at me, but at each other.

"Oh, well," I said, "as my old grandmother used to say, no use crying over spilt milk. Enjoy what's left in your cup, lassie. Perhaps I could get this singleton fastened into a brooch or a chain drop."

Ella looked about to say something when there was a loud rap at the door.

"Now who could be calling so early today?" I said. "Perhaps some poor woman who tore her gown last night. Well, I would welcome the work, I'll admit that."

The first caller was early, but all day long, women kept coming in and out of the house. It seemed as if everyone in town had ripped or torn a dress or shawl or bonnet. The work — and the women — just kept arriving. Instead of dropping off their clothes and rushing off to another errand, most of the women waited. I did not mind. They knew they would get their clothes back when I was finished, and no one was hurrying me. Instead, they stood around or sat on chairs and chatted among themselves. At first I did not pay much attention to the conversations. I enjoyed the hum of new voices around me. After a while I began to hear certain words and phrases repeated, so I started paying closer attention. Apparently, Maurice had danced with any number of girls the night before, but only one had really captured his fancy. In the excitement of the evening, he had somehow neglected to get her name, but she had left him with a small token of some kind. Some said it was a scarf or a flower. Others claimed that the girl had lost a shoe: a fur boot, according to some; a delicate slipper as thin and fragile as glass, said others. At that I had to laugh aloud.

"Now, now, good women," I said. "Can you imagine any of our daughters hopping home on one foot? Surely one of us mothers would have noticed that!"

My comments did nothing to stop the chatter and guesswork, so I grew used to it that day. Every now and then I glanced over at my girls. Olga and Lucy kept sewing and mending, helping me out as much as they could. Ella, too, stayed near us. She sat in a corner with a piece of cloth in her lap, poking a needle through it now and then. I hoped that she was not poking holes in anyone's dress, but there was no way to find out.

Finally, as the sun was going down, the last of the women left. Ella followed her to the door and bolted it. When she turned around, we all four started laughing at the same time. It had been such an unusual day! Then we cleaned up, and we all whisked around the kitchen to get a light supper ready. After all these years, I remember thinking, "Ella is finally one of us. We really are a family." But just as we sat down together, there was a loud rap at the door.

The girls sat where they were, not moving. Usually one or the other, eager for the diversion, ran to open the door. But they were all too tired, though still curious. I walked over, just as we heard another rap. I opened the door, expecting to greet one last neighbor woman. Instead, there stood Master Edwards and, slightly behind him, his son, Maurice. I was so surprised that I nearly forgot my manners.

"Good day, Mistress Weaver," Master Edwards said.

"And a good day to you, Master Edwards," I replied.

I hesitated a moment, waiting for him to go on. But the two men just stood there until I remembered my manners and invited them to enter.

"Ah," Master Edwards began, "I hope we have not interrupted you."

"No, no," I hastened to reply. "Please, come in and sit here, close to our fire." I was not sure what to do next. Offer them some food? But surely the two men would not relish the simple cold meal we were about to have. Did I have enough ale or wine? The silence dragged on. Finally I said, "Thank you so much for the lovely gala last night, Master Edwards. It was quite the highlight of our year." Oh, no, I immediately thought. Does that sound as if we attended dances as sumptuous as that every year? But to call it the highlight of my life would do a disservice to my memories of both William and John.

"Ah, yes," Master Edwards finally replied. "It was a pleasant evening, was it not? But you are probably wondering why we have come here this evening."

Once again I was not sure what to say. Were there womenfolk in his family who needed mending or perhaps new dresses? Surely, Master Edwards, the merchant king, employed his own seamstress. Again the silence dragged on. All the time, I noticed Maurice looking at my daughters. He glanced at Olga, looked more steadily at Lucy, then at Ella. Back and forth went his eyes between the two girls.