CHAPTER 15 Washington Calling!
DURING the next few days the Brownies were busier than ever before in the history of their troop.
With the aid of their fathers and mothers, they built a booth which was set up on the public square.
The girls then decorated it with colored crepe paper, and put up posters so that everyone would know about the Rosedale Troop quilt display.
“Invite all your friends too,” Miss Gordon urged. “We want everyone to come and learn what Brownies can do when they work together.”
From neighbors and acquaintances, the girls obtained the promise of many beautiful quilts for the show.
Everyone, it seemed, wanted to make Rosedale’s first cherry festival a great success.
With Mr. McLean in charge, plans already were moving forward very smoothly. Newspapers carried front page stories about the coming festival. The Brownies were given full credit for having started the idea. That, of course, made them feel very important.
The festival was to be on such a large scale that it fairly took away the Brownies’ breath.
Not one high school band, but six, were to furnish music.
A wooden platform was built in the center of the park. Here, a special program would be given.
Each high school was to put on a number, and there were several professional acts.
Then, the Mexican pickers had their place on the program. Mr. McLean told Miss Gordon that he was astonished to find such talent among them. The Mexicans were providing their own guitar music, while several talented young men and women would dance in colorful costumes.
“Oh, it’s going to be perfectly grand!” Veve told Connie. “I wonder who will be chosen queen?”
Now several very pretty young women had given their names to the committee. They said they would like to have the honor of taking the cherry pie to Washington.
As yet, no one knew who the lucky person would be. A ballot box had been set up on the public square. At the proper time, those who wished to, would be given a chance to vote for their favorite.
“How wonderful it would be to go to Washington,” sighed Veve enviously. “Just think of meeting the President of the United States!”
“And seeing the White House,” added Connie in awe.
“I would like to go when the Japanese cherry blossoms are in bloom,” chimed in Sunny. “It must be an even prettier sight than our own orchards.”
“I want to see the Washington Monument,” Rosemary declared. “It rises 555 feet straight into the sky.”
Jane said the point of interest which would draw her would be the Jefferson Memorial. She also wanted to view the Red and Green rooms of the White House and the Lincoln Memorial.
All the Brownies, in fact, had a different reason for desiring to see the great city. Of course they were only talking, for they never expected to make such a long trip.
Now it seemed to the Brownies that the day set for the cherry festival never would come. Actually, it was close at hand. However, every hour and minute of waiting seemed very long.
And then at last, the awaited red letter day arrived!
In their separate homes, the Brownies awoke with a wonderful feeling that many exciting events lay ahead. This day really was to be their lucky one, but of course, they could not know that.
At the McQuire home, Veve opened her eyes in a semi-dark bedroom. She knew it must be morning because she could hear saucy sparrows chirping on the window sill. The room, though, was shadowy.
“Oh, dear!” thought the little girl. “I hope it isn’t going to rain and ruin the cherry festival.”
For a moment she lay very still, wishing hard that the day would be a bright one.
Then she leaped out of bed and ran to the window. The Venetian blind had been pulled down and was flapping in the breeze.
Veve raised it and looked out. The sun was shining brightly!
“Oh, it will be a fine day!” she told herself in relief.
Veve was afraid she already had wasted valuable time. Quickly she put on her pinchecked Brownie uniform, a crisp fresh tie, and brushed her hair until it shone.
When she skipped down the stairs, her mother had breakfast waiting.
“How nice you look, Veve,” she said. “Oh, by the way, Miss Gordon telephoned before you were up.”
“What did she say, Mother?”
“The Brownies are to meet in the public square at ten o’clock.”
“What time is it now?” Veve asked anxiously.
“Only a few minutes after eight. You have plenty of time.”
“I want to be there early, Mother,” Veve said, eating her breakfast of scrambled eggs and toast as rapidly as she could. “Is my quilt ready?”
“Yes, dear, and I must say it looks very nice now that I’ve washed it. I’ve rolled it into a tight bundle. I think you can manage it.”
“Oh, a quilt is easy to carry,” laughed Veve.
As soon as she had finished breakfast and attended to several errands, the little girl was ready to leave.
As she skipped out of the house with her large bundle, she saw Connie Williams also coming out of her residence with a similar looking package.
“Hi!” shouted Connie. “Want to ride down town? My mother will take both of us in her car.”
Veve was glad to get a ride. A little farther on, Mrs. Williams picked up Eileen and Jane also.
At the public square, the girls found Miss Gordon already there. Rosemary arrived only a few minutes later.
“Where’s Sunny?” asked Veve.
“Oh, she’ll be along,” Miss Gordon said. “It’s still quite early.”
The Brownies busied themselves arranging their booth.
Each quilt was spread out attractively and the name of the pattern pinned to it.
In addition to the Album quilt donated by Rosemary’s mother, there were many others—Eileen’s Pine Tree pattern—Jane’s Ship’s Wheel and the velvet and silk one brought by Sunny.
Many new patterns were shown too. All were very beautiful.
One quilt was called The Double Wedding Ring, and another, Morning Star.
Grandmother’s Flower Garden also attracted much attention with its array of delicate colors.
Of course, the Brownies liked best of all their own crazy quilt which occupied the central position in the fine display.
Veve’s favorite quilt was her own—the autograph. Now that the coverlet had been washed, the writing on each block stood out quite plainly.
The names, however, meant nothing to the little girl. She was certain the persons to whom they once had belonged, could not have lived in Rosedale for a long while.
Toward noon, the crowd began to gather for the festival. Becoming hungry, the Brownies wandered about to sample food sold at other booths, and to view the huge cherry pie on display.
“What a giant pie!” Veve observed, pausing with the other Brownies before it. “It must contain several hundred pounds of cherries!”
“And just think!” added Eileen. “Maybe we picked some of them!”
“I’m hungry now,” Connie declared. “I wish they would cut the pie right away.”
The girls obtained hot sandwiches at another booth. After that they listened to the bands and watched several acts of entertainment in the center of the square.
When the Mexican pickers came on in their festive costumes to play music and dance, the Brownies clapped hard. So did nearly everyone in the audience.
“The pickers had the very best number,” Veve declared proudly. “I guess Mr. McLean and the others are glad now that they invited them to be in the festival.”
After the number was over, Juan came through the crowd searching for the Brownies.
He handed Veve a little package.
“This is something I made for you, Senorita,” he said.
Veve opened the package. Inside was the figure the little boy had carved from wood. Very cleverly, he had fashioned a saint in long robes.
Veve was pleased with the gift and told Juan so. She was sorry she had nothing to offer him in return.
“You have given me much,” he assured her warmly. “After the fiesta, my people leave for the north.”
“You’re going with them, Juan?”
“Oh, yes, Senorita.”
Veve told her friend she would be sorry to see him leave Rosedale.
“I will return next year when the cherries are ripe,” he assured her. “Until then, adios.” The little boy bowed politely, and the next moment had melted into the crowd.
After a while, Veve, Connie and Eileen went back to the quilt booth to relieve the other Brownies who were working there.
A steady stream of visitors, largely women, came by to look at the quilts and examine them.
Veve was rather disappointed because so many persons appeared more interested in the bright colored ones than in her autograph quilt.
“Don’t you mind,” Connie said to cheer her. “It really is a fine quilt. The very oldest one in our collection.”
Presently, Mrs. Evans, a lady who lived only six doors from the Williams’ home, came to the booth.
She seemed interested in the quilts and spent a long time examining each one. However, she barely glanced at the autograph patch.
“Here is a nice one with names on it,” Veve pointed it out.
“Dear me, it has the appearance of a very old quilt,” remarked Mrs. Evans. “I wonder if the names of any of my friends are embroidered or written on it? I knew many of Rosedale’s old settlers, you know.”
The lady picked up a corner of the quilt to read some of the names.
“‘Flora Winequist,’” she repeated aloud. “Why, I remember her. She died two years ago, rest her soul.”
“Here’s another old sounding name!” Connie exclaimed. “‘Hannah Goodhue.’ Her name is written in ink, but it’s still legible.”
“‘Prudence Smith,’” Veve read aloud. “‘Georgia Doan. Ella—’”
“I don’t recall any of those names,” said Mrs. Evans.
Veve, however, had forgotten the lady’s presence.
Very much excited, she was staring at the quilt block as if unable to believe her own eyesight.
“Why, Veve, what is the matter?” Connie inquired. Her little friend had such a peculiar expression on her face, she was afraid she might be ill.
“See this quilt block!”
“‘Ella Cooper,’” Connie read aloud. She could not understand the reason for Veve’s strange behavior.
“No! No! It isn’t Ella Cooper,” the other insisted impatiently. “Look again!”
This time Connie peered more carefully at the handwriting on the white block.
“‘Ella Hooper,’” she corrected. “Hooper—Veve, do you suppose—?”
“Ella Hooper was Pa Hooper’s sister!”
The girls were delighted by their discovery. Leaving Miss Gordon and Sunny Davidson in charge of the booth, they dashed off to see if they could find Mr. Hooper anywhere in the crowd.
Finally, they located him at one of the stands, eating a ham sandwich, and drinking coffee.
“Oh, Mr. Hooper, come with us!” Veve urged the orchard owner.
Mr. Hooper put down his cup of coffee. “What’s this?” he asked in surprise.
“We want you to see my autograph quilt!” Veve said, tugging at his hand.
“Now you know I’m no judge of quilts,” Mr. Hooper protested, holding back.
“Oh, we don’t want you to judge one,” Connie interposed. “We want you just to see a name on it.”
“A name?” The orchard owner was deeply puzzled. “Let me finish this cup of coffee first and then I’ll come.”
“The name on the quilt block is Ella Hooper,” supplied Veve.
“And it’s in her own handwriting,” finished Connie.
Mr. Hooper completely forgot his coffee then. He gave the two girls his undivided attention.
“Let’s get this straight,” he said. “You have a quilt with my sister’s signature on it?”
“We aren’t sure,” Connie admitted. “But the name is the same as hers—Ella Hooper.”
“We’ll look at that quilt right now,” Mr. Hooper declared. “It’s barely possible the name may be Ella’s, because she liked to make coverlets and fancy work.”
The Brownies escorted the orchard owner back to the booth.
During their absence, Miss Gordon and the other girls had been examining the autograph quilt carefully. The date upon which the coverlet had been completed was stitched in the lower right-hand corner.
“My sister was alive at that time,” Mr. Hooper said, noticing the date. “And it seems to me she was working on an autograph quilt to give to a friend.”
“Here is the signature,” Miss Gordon said, spreading the quilt over the counter.
Mr. Hooper glanced at it and said without an instant’s hesitation:
“There’s no question about it! This is my sister’s handwriting!”
Miss Gordon asked if it appeared to be the same as her signature upon the will.
“Why, it’s a dead-ringer for the way she signed her name on the document that left me the orchard,” Mr. Hooper replied. “But it doesn’t much resemble the handwriting on that later will which Carl Wingate claims is genuine.”
“Then doesn’t this prove the second one was false?” Connie asked.
Mr. Hooper smiled and kept staring at the quilt block. He was thinking very hard.
“I’ve always been certain Carl Wingate’s will was a forgery,” he said. “As far as I’m concerned, this provides positive proof. But the courts might decide differently.”
“Why?” asked Veve.
“Well, I’m uncertain a quilt would be admitted as evidence.”
“Then finding your sister’s name on the block won’t be any help in saving your orchard?” Connie asked. She was deeply disappointed.
“I don’t know,” Mr. Hooper admitted. “It might be—it all depends on how hard a fight Wingate is inclined to put up.”
At that moment, Veve saw the other orchard owner wandering through the crowd.
“There he is now,” she pointed him out.
Mr. Wingate was walking away from the Brownie quilt booth. However, he turned around when Pa Hooper called his name.
“Come over here a minute, Carl,” his cousin requested.
Rather reluctantly, Carl Wingate walked over to the booth. He could not understand why his cousin had called him.
“You wanted me?” he asked.
“Yes, we want you to see a quilt in this display,” said Mr. Hooper. “An autograph quilt. You will note that the blocks bear the names and signatures of their makers.”
Carl Wingate gazed at the faded coverlet without understanding what the older man meant.
“I never was much interested in quilts,” he began. “Now if my wife were here—”
Mr. Hooper pointed to the block which bore his sister’s name.
“Look at this one,” he suggested. “I think you’ll find it interesting.”
Mr. Wingate stared at the block a moment. Then he became somewhat flustered. But he would not admit that he was worried.
“Well, what about it?” he asked.
“You’ll observe that this is a sample of my sister’s writing,” Pa Hooper told him. “Also, that it does not look much like the signature on the will you claim was the last one she signed.”
Mr. Wingate’s face flushed with anger. He now seemed quite confused.
“What does this prove?” he blustered. “Not a thing! A person’s signature never appears exactly the same.”
“True,” agreed Mr. Hooper. “But in this case, the handwriting on the quilt only confirms what I long suspected—that the will you produced was a fraud.”
“That’s not so,” Mr. Wingate denied. “You knew all my sister’s possessions were destroyed in the fire. So you thought you could claim to have discovered the new will, and no one could prove otherwise.”
The men began to argue about the matter. At first their voices were fairly quiet, but gradually they spoke in louder and louder tones. Miss Gordon and the Brownies were quite distressed. Other persons were glancing curiously at the two men.
Drawn by the argument, an elderly gentleman sauntered over to the booth. Connie recognized him as Judge Hutchins of Probate Court.
The judge stood for a while listening to the two men talk. Then he picked up the autograph quilt and studied the signature of Ella Hooper.
“Wingate,” he said, “if I were you, I’d withdraw that will which gives you title to the Hooper orchard.”
“And be cheated out of my rightful inheritance?” Wingate demanded furiously.
The judge shrugged. “It’s up to you to decide what you want to do,” he replied. “But if I were in your place, I’d forget the matter. This appears to be the authentic signature of Ella Hooper. Offhand, without comparing it with the name which is signed to the two wills, I would say it more closely resembles the signature on the document already filed in our court.”
“I’m being cheated,” Mr. Wingate muttered.
“Do as you please,” the judge said. “Take the matter into court if you like. However, if it should be proven that the signature on your will is a forgery, your cousin then could bring action against you.”
Mr. Wingate knew that he would have no chance in court.
“You have the best of me,” he said angrily. “Thanks to this quilt! Keep your stupid orchard! I have enough trouble looking after my own!”
“Then you’ll drop your claim to the property?” his cousin demanded.
“I’ll drop it, because I don’t want to have a long court fight,” Mr. Wingate snapped. “But I’m not admitting that the will isn’t a genuine one.”
Glaring at the judge and his cousin, the orchard owner strode off into the crowd.
Mr. Hooper then turned to the Brownies, thanking them for finding the quilt and saving his orchard.
“Oh, it was Veve who did it,” Connie said, giving full credit to her friend. “The autograph quilt is all hers.”
“But I might never have noticed the name on the block if it hadn’t been for the quilt show,” Veve replied. “I think all the Brownies deserve credit.”
Mr. Hooper seemed to think so too. At any rate, he thanked each girl in turn.
“You don’t know what this means to me,” he said. “I hated the thought of giving up that orchard as I’ve worked hard for many years to make it productive. Now I’ll be able to remain there.”
“Will you rebuild your house?” Rosemary asked him.
“Indeed, I will. When it is finished, we’ll have a house warming party. The Brownies are invited!”
“We’ll be there,” promised Veve.
Not only did Mr. Hooper thank the Brownies, but afterwards, he told his friends how the girls had saved his orchard.
In turn, they told other persons, until it seemed that almost everyone at the cherry festival heard about the affair.
The Brownies were asked so many questions they were glad when it came time to select the queen of the fiesta. Everyone gathered near the platform where the election was to be held.
“I wonder why folks keep looking at us and whispering?” Rosemary remarked uneasily. “I don’t like it!”
Mr. McLean now read off the names of several girls who hoped to be chosen queen. These candidates had entered their names with the committee.
“If you wish, you may write in additional candidates,” Mr. McLean instructed. “The queen—” he paused for emphasis—“or queens, we feel, should be truly representative of Rosedale. The festival committee wishes to send to Washington the person or persons who have done the most to make this affair a success.”
The Brownies were somewhat puzzled by the Chamber of Commerce president’s remarks.
“How could several persons be queen?” Connie speculated.
“I don’t see what he meant,” Veve added, equally mystified.
Persons who cast their votes seemed to know, for they smiled in a most peculiar way as one after another, they dropped their folded ballots into the box.
The Mexican pickers were allowed to vote too. In a group they marched to the box and dropped in their slips.
“You’ll be surprised when you learn who is queen of the fiesta,” Juan told Veve.
“Tell me!”
“You wait and see,” Juan laughed.
Veve wondered then if some of the people might be voting for Connie, even though her name had not been on the list. But Connie, she thought, would be too young to take a cherry pie to Washington by herself.
The Brownies became very curious indeed, and scarcely could wait until the votes were counted.
Finally, the task was completed. Again Mr. McLean mounted the platform. He was smiling broadly.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, clapping his hands for attention. “I shall now give you the results of the balloting.”
The Brownies moved closer so that they would not miss the important announcement.
Mr. McLean read off the names of five leading candidates. “Miss Marana Jones, 43 votes. Miss Eva Parkhurst, 51 votes. Miss Esther Illman, 64 votes. Miss Geraldine Gainsworth, 75 votes. Miss Martha Fellows, 79 votes—”
A few persons in the audience began to clap, for Miss Fellows was the leading candidate. Only the five girls had given their names to the committee. Even the Brownies thought that she had been elected as the festival queen.
Mr. McLean, however, held up his hand in a signal for silence.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he boomed. “We also have write-in candidates. I now give you The Winner with 1,398 votes—”
The crowd became very quiet. Everyone listened.
“The Brownies!” announced the Chamber of Commerce president.
Everyone began to whistle and clap and shout. The Brownies were so taken by surprise, they scarcely knew what to think.
It did not seem possible that they had been elected to the honor!
“But we can’t all be queen,” Jane whispered uneasily. “There must be some mistake.”
“Mr. McLean announced that several persons could be chosen,” Connie recalled. “Only we didn’t even enter our names!”
The girls crowded about Miss Gordon, who, oddly enough, seemed very little surprised that the organization had been selected instead of a single queen.
“You knew it all the time!” Veve accused the teacher. “Didn’t you?”
“Mr. McLean talked to me about it earlier today,” the Brownie leader confessed. “He convinced me that inasmuch as the idea for a cherry festival originated with the organization, it would be suitable for the troop to take the cherry pie to Washington.”
“You didn’t tell us anything about it,” Connie said.
“At first it seemed very uncertain that the Brownies could be elected on a write-in basis,” the teacher explained. “But I underestimated Mr. McLean. I think he must have told everyone to vote for the Brownies.”
“And so did Mr. Hooper,” added a bystander. “Also, the Mexican pickers voted solidly for the troop.”
“Just think of going to Washington!” Connie exclaimed, her eyes star-bright at the thought. “Is it really true, Miss Gordon?”
“Yes, I’ve given my consent,” the Brownie leader nodded. “And so have your parents.”
“Will you go with us?” Rosemary asked anxiously.
“Yes, that is the plan. All expenses will be paid and we’re to stay nearly a week.”
“Will we really see the President?” Eileen asked in awe.
“Indeed, yes,” smiled Miss Gordon. “And the White House as well.”
“I want to visit the Red Room!” shouted Sunny. “And see the swimming pool!”
“I want to visit the mint where the money is made!” laughed Eileen.
All of the girls thought of dozens of things they intended to see and do.
The crowd began to clap and to call for the Brownies to appear on the stage.
Miss Gordon lined up the girls and had them march single file onto the platform. In their pinchecked uniforms, each with a jaunty little brown beanie, they looked very nice indeed.
Mr. McLean then made a speech, telling the girls how grateful Rosedale was for their efforts in making the cherry festival a success.
The Brownies wanted to tell him that it had not been work at all—only good fun. However, with so many persons looking at them, they were a trifle embarrassed.
“Accept this plaque as a token of the city’s appreciation,” the Chamber of Commerce president resumed. He held up a large bronze badge in the shape of a cherry blossom. “The name of the Rosedale Brownie Troop will be engraved upon it.”
Mr. McLean waited for one of the girls to step forward. No one wanted to do it. Eileen nudged Jane and Jane nudged Veve who gave Connie a little push. So she had to take the plaque.
“Thank you so much, Mr. McLean,” she said, speaking as well as if she had planned her speech. “In behalf of the Brownie organization, may I say that we deeply appreciate the honor? We’ll do our best to bring credit to Rosedale!”
“You’ll do it too!” approved Mr. McLean. “We couldn’t have chosen a better set of queens if we had scoured three counties! On to Washington!”
You may be certain that the Chamber of Commerce president’s words made the Brownies very happy and proud.
At a signal from Miss Gordon, they all raised their hands in the Brownie salute and stood for a moment at attention.
“Hurrah for the Brownies!” shouted the crowd.
“Give my regards to the President!” joked some one in the vast audience.
The President! Even the thought of meeting such a great person made the chills run up and down the spines of the Brownies.
Their organization had won the highest honor any troop ever could achieve. Not only would they see and talk to the President, but they would have a full week at the nation’s Capital.
“On to Washington!” laughed Mr. McLean.
“On to Washington!” shouted the Brownies.
With a vision of wonderful times ahead, they were ready, you see, to start at any moment.
Transcriber’s note:
Punctuation has been standardised. Other changes to the original publication have been made as follows:
