November 10, 2015
1274 West 820 North
Provo Utah 84601
My Dear Ohen;
I’m here at the Provo Library, after having lunch at the Senior Center, just messing around. I just got a call from the Provo Housing Authority, and they have an apartment ready for me – they say I can move in at the beginning of January! I wasn’t expecting to get one so soon, so I’ll have to start saving my money for it. That means probably I won’t be able to get you a Christmas present this year – I hope that is okay with you. I’ll try to get you something twice as nice for your birthday next year!
Anyway. I wanted to send you a story I thought of today. It’s called:
THE MAGIC THRIFT STORE.
There once was a poor mother with two little children -- a boy and a girl. The father had died and left the family with very little, except a brass belt buckle and a feather boa. (He was a little bit odd . . . )
One day the poor mother, whose name was Helen, took her two children with her into a Thrift Store to look for winter jackets for them. They had nothing but thin raggedy sweaters to wear outside when the cold winter winds blew, and they had to wrap their hands in newspapers to keep them from turning blue with cold.
The boy’s name was Henry, and the girl’s name was Susan. They were good, obedient children, who wanted so much to make their mother happier than she was.
Helen, the mother, looked at the boy’s coats and the girl’s coats, and finally found two that looked like they would be very inexpensive. She took the two coats up to the lady at the counter.
Now, I call her a ‘lady’, but really she was nothing but an ugly old crone who had no heart and liked nothing better than to bring more mischief and grief into the world. She had a rather large black wart on the side of her nose, with one long black hair growing out of it. Maybe this is what made her so malicious.
When she saw Helen coming up to the counter with the coats she thought to herself: “Aha! This mother is very poor, I can see; I shall have to cozen her into giving up something very valuable for those two coats . . . “
“Is that all you want, dearie?” she cackled at Helen. “We have some other very nice items – almost magical items, you might say . . . “
“I’m afraid this is all I can afford today” the mother said apologetically.
The crone at the counter took the coats from Helen, looked them over, and then said flatly “Each coat costs fifty dollars.”
“Oh” said Helen bitterly, “I simply can’t afford that kind of money at all! Don’t you have something a little more reasonable?”
“Heh, heh, heh – well, my dear” said the old bag of bones, “I just MIGHT have something here that will interest you, and help you get your coats. It’s a special purse. And when you say ‘Ish Kabibble’, the purse will grant you as much money as you need for the day – no more and no less. Here it is . . . “
So saying the old woman held up a lumpy old black leather purse.
“It’s only a dollar, my petite sweet. You buy it now and see if it works – if it doesn’t, I’ll gladly give you your dollar back!”
Helen did not believe a word of what the old woman said, but she was so desperate to get some warm clothing for her children that she decided to test out the old crone’s promise. She gave her a dollar, took the purse, muttered ‘Ish Kabibble’, opened it up, and there was a crisp new one-hundred dollar bill – just enough to pay for the coats!
“Oh, how can I ever thank you!” cried Helen in joy. “This will be a wonderful help to us!”
But the old woman held up a warning hand.
“Not so fast, me little lady. I said the purse costs a dollar, which you paid me – but I forgot to mention that you also must let your little boy and your little girl come work in my store every afternoon after school for one hour. That is the full and honest price if you want to keep that purse!”
“I’ll be glad to do it, mother” said little Henry, although he was not at all comfortable with the way the old crone was leering at him, and licking her lips. Susan also said she would be happy to come help at the Thrift Store, even though she shied away when the old woman tried to pat her on the head.
At first the mother refused, for she, too, had seen the evil glint in the old woman’s eyes when she asked for Henry and Susan to come work for her. But with such a purse she could find them a better place to live and keep them warmly clothed all winter long. And maybe even afford to buy a car so they could travel in comfort and convenience instead of having to walk everywhere in the inclement weather or ride the overcrowded bus. So she gave in and agreed to let her two children come every day after school to work in the Thrift Store for just one hour.
“Very well” said the old woman, chuckling to herself. “Just sign your name here on the dotted line and your problems are over.”
She held up a brown piece of parchment that seemed to move back and forth all by itself, as if a breeze were blowing it (but there was no breeze inside the Thrift Store). Then she rummaged in her cash register until she found a bone-white pen that had a black spider instead of an eraser on it, and handed it to the mother.
“I don’t think I should really be doing this . . . “ began Helen.
“Fine!” snapped the old woman, snatching the purse back from Helen. “You and your little brats can starve and freeze for all I care!”
Henry grabbed the parchment and placed it before his mother, saying “We’ll be all right, mother. I won’t let anything happen to Susan, I promise!’
Hesitantly, their mother signed the document.
TO BE CONTINUED
No comments:
Post a Comment