Up a Road Slowly by Irene Hunt Read Free Book Online Page A

and back; she told me what an extra pillow could mean in a new mother’s chair and how a flower on a luncheon tray could make a plain bowl of soup something of a treat for a convalescent.
    When I went to my room that night the world was a better and brighter place, and I was controlled by a new discipline which I imposed sternly upon myself.
    â€œBill is in the Number One spot, and don’t forget it, Julie Trelling. And the baby is in the Number Two spot.” I hesitated at that point, and then drew the hair-cloth shirt a little tighter. Father was in the Number Three spot, one had just as well admit it. But when I thought of Chris preceding me as Number Four, I balked. Chris could share that place, I supposed, but that was all. There was a limit to my humility.
    When I burrowed down between my white sheets that night, I breathed deeply of happiness. I wished that I could tell the old conductor how wise I had grown; I thought of how much more than an almond chocolate bar he had given me.

4
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    M y twelfth year, we supposed, would be my last one with Aunt Cordelia, since I would be entering high school the next year and be going into town to live with Father; therefore Aunt Cordelia agreed that I might have a birthday party that spring and the talk among the girls at school centered for a period of several weeks upon the social event of the season. Word of it got to Aggie Kilpin, who still sat in the center of a wide circle of peasants during the noon hour; Aggie gleefully told me that yes, kid, she would be coming to my party too. I didn’t think she would.
    Alicia Allison sent me a box of tiny pink notes and matching envelopes on which I could write, “Miss Julie Trelling requests the pleasure,” and so on. I spent a happy and satisfying hour in preparing these notes and addressing each tiny envelope. Aunt Cordelia had said, “Boys and girls, or just girls?” when I had suggested the party, and I had decided in favor of just girls, including some of the girls from town. Since she hadn’t demurred at the exclusion of boys, I rather hoped that she would not notice one other omission. She did, of course. Ruffling through the little pile of envelopes, she said quietly, “Julia, you have forgotten to include Agnes.”
    â€œOh, Aunt Cordelia, I can’t. I simply can’t have Aggie. She would spoil the whole party. You know that.”
    â€œShe knows about your party, Julia, and it has been something she’s looked forward to for weeks. You can’t do this to another child; it would be too cruel.”
    â€œI can’t invite her. I simply can’t have the town girls thinking that she is my friend. I’m sorry for Aggie, awfully sorry, but let’s face it, Aunt Cordelia: Aggie smells.”
    Aunt Cordelia sighed. “Julia, that child has been in my classroom since she was five; that means she’s been there almost ten years, and she has stood at my desk, learning nothing, but giving off a more unbearable stench each year. I know Agnes very well; I know that she’s smelly as you say, but I also know that if you stab her, she feels pain. I can’t encourage cruelty on your part.”
    I shook my head. “I’d rather not have a party if I have to ask her,” I said shortly.
    â€œThat’s up to you, Julia; think it over,” Aunt Cordelia answered.
    I made my decision. The little pink envelopes went into the wastebasket, and I had to tell all the girls at school that there would be no party. There was general indignation directed toward Aunt Cordelia, indignation coming from my closest friends, from some of their mothers, even from Aggie, who muttered that Miss Cordelia was mean to Julie, never once suspecting that she herself was the cause of all our broken plans.
    Aunt Cordelia maintained her usual calm. No one of us was fool enough to believe that she would change her mind though the whole school should rise in mutiny.