The Silver Star(27)

We were getting ready for bed, brushing our teeth in the birdwing bathroom. To save money on toothpaste, Uncle Tinsley mixed together salt and baking soda. Once you got used to the taste, it did make your whole mouth feel well scrubbed.

“There’s getting settled in,” Liz said, “and then there’s getting a grip on things.”

“How long will that take?”

Liz rinsed and spit. “We might be here a while.”


The next morning, Liz told me she hadn’t slept all that well because she’d been thinking about our situation. It was entirely possible, she said, that for whatever reason, Mom wouldn’t be ready to send for us by the time summer was over. That would mean we’d go to school here in Byler. We didn’t want to be a burden to Uncle Tinsley, who was clearly set in his widower ways. Plus, although he lived in a grand house and his family used to run the town, the collars of his shirts were worn through and he had holes in his socks. It was obvious his tight budget didn’t include providing for the two nieces who’d shown up on his doorstep unannounced and uninvited.

“We need to get jobs,” Liz said.

I thought that was a great idea. We could both babysit. I might be able to make some money delivering Grit magazine, like I had in Lost Lake. We could mow lawns or pick up branches in people’s yards. Maybe we could even get store jobs working cash registers or bagging groceries.

At breakfast, we told Uncle Tinsley about our plan. We thought he’d love the idea, but as soon as Liz started explaining, he began to wave his hands as if to dismiss the whole thing. “You girls are Holladays,” he said. “You can’t go around begging for work like a couple of hired hands.” He dropped his voice. “Or coloreds,” he added. “Mother would roll over in her grave.”

Uncle Tinsley said he believed that girls from good families needed to develop discipline, a sense of responsibility for themselves and their community, and they got that by joining church committees or volunteering as candy stripers at the hospital. “Holladays don’t work for other people,” he said. “Other people work for Holladays.”

“But we might still be here when school starts,” Liz said.

“That’s a distinct possibility,” Uncle Tinsley said. “And I welcome it. We’re all Holladays.”

“We’ll need school clothes,” I added.

“Clothes?” he said. “You need clothes? We’ve got all the clothes you need. Follow me.”

Uncle Tinsley led us up the stairs to the little maids’ rooms on the third floor and started opening musty trunks and cedar-lined closets stuffed with mothball-smelling clothes: fur-collared overcoats, polka-dotted dresses, tweed jackets, ruffled silk blouses, knee-length pleated plaid skirts.

“These are all of the finest quality, hand-tailored, imported from England and France,” he said.

“But Uncle Tinsley,” I said, “they’re kind of old-timey. People don’t wear clothes like this anymore.”

“That’s the shame of it,” he said. “Because they don’t make clothes like this anymore. It’s all blue jeans and polyester. Never worn a pair of blue jeans in my life. Farmer clothes.”

“But that’s what everyone wears today,” I said. “They wear blue jeans.”

“And that’s why we need to get jobs,” Liz said. “To buy some.”

“We need spending money,” I said.

“People think they need all sorts of things they don’t really need,” Uncle Tinsley said. “If there’s something you really need, we can talk about it. But you don’t need clothes. We have clothes.”

“Are you saying we’re not allowed to get jobs?” Liz asked.

“If you don’t need clothes, you don’t need jobs.” Uncle Tinsley’s face softened. “You do need to get out of the house. And I need to concentrate on my research. Take the bikes, go into town, visit the library, make friends, make yourselves useful. But don’t forget, you’re Holladays.”


Liz and I walked up to the barn. We’d had a hot spell recently, but an early-morning shower had brought some relief, and the wilting butterfly bushes had sprung back to life.

“Uncle Tinsley’s wrong,” Liz said. “We do need to get jobs. And not just for clothes. We need our own money.”

“But Uncle Tinsley will get mad.”

“I think Uncle Tinsley doesn’t really mind us getting jobs,” Liz said. “He just doesn’t want to know about it. He wants to pretend we’re all still living back in the day.”