Oh, you little rascal, Maisie! What have you done this time?
Mrs. Edith Blackwood peered into the sitting room and saw her beloved granddaughter standing in the middle of the carpet, hands hidden behind her back, eyes wide and shining in that particular way which always meant peace would be nothing more than a fleeting illusion today. Was there ever a time without such commotion? Having Maisie in the house was a guarantee for a lively day and whirlpool of emotions. The older Maisie grew, the more eventful things became. Edith planted her hands firmly on her hips, frowned, and braced herself for the inevitable.
Nothing at all!
And what exactly does nothing mean? Edith eyed her granddaughter so suspiciously that Maisie unconsciously mimicked the posearms akimbo, brows arched like little roofsa perfect copy! Where did she learn that?
I told you. Nothing. At. All!
Edith scanned the room and sighed. Old Thomas, the tabby, was stretched out with his patchy tail flicking atop the settee, pretending none of this was any concern of his. One green eye slitted open, sent a glint Ediths way, and promptly closed again. Squabble all you want, it seemed to say, as long as youre not pestering me, all is well.
Since the cat always ranked first on Maisies list of potential conspirators, Ediths concern only grew. If Thomas wasn’t trapped in Maisies baby pram (which she had only just outgrown), wasn’t darting madly about with another Royal Cloak Maisie crafted from the silk throw off Edith’s bed, or wasnt yowling in protest at some third attempt to feed him spoonfuls of porridge, then something must be afoot. Something so grand it might well send even Ediths seasoned heart fluttering.
Come now, love, wont you tell Granny what nonsense youve been up to? I promise I wont scold you!
Sure! You always promise, then its, Oh dear! Hold me back! Maisie mimicked Ediths signature phrase so well that Edith almost laughed.
Honest, I wont! Edith realised she ought to take a seat. She quietly backed into her armchair. It felt safer, just in case.
Maisie pondered whether to reveal her big surprise now or wait until after lunch. She knew Edith was baking éclairs, and the risk of being denied her favourite treat was significant. But the urge to see her grannys reaction to her mornings work was too muchlet Edith get cross, shed forgive quickly, and éclair could wait until Mum came home. Mum always caved before Maisies blue lake-deep eyes, especially if Maisie stirred in a little pleading. Oddly, this trick never worked on Grandma. When Mum was gone, Granny enforced order. Shed evenoh horrorput Maisie in the corner once or twice. Though Maisie never lasted there long, the insult lingered. Six years old soon, surely she was grown!
Maisie sulked over to the window and yanked the curtain aside. The sight that met Ediths eyes made her clutch at her chest.
Heavens above Edith gasped, and Maisie beamed.
Isnt it marvellous? I did it all on my own! Grandpa said youd be cross and scarpered, didnt fancy the adventure.
And wheres he now? He was meant to be watching you!
He ran off! Hes scared of you, Granny! See, you frighten us all! Isnt that shameful?
Me? Edith raised her brows, mouth open in delight and disbelief.
Granny? Maisie retreated, wrapping herself in the curtain. Im not going in the corner! Im starving!
Edith hobbled over, stooped, and ran her hand along Maisies marvel. Buttonsall firmly sewn, just as Edith had once taught her, with thick black threadpinched and puckered the white net curtain, transforming it into a fantastic, lacy web. An old tin box, inherited from Ediths own grandmother and brimming with buttons, lay behind the curtain. Maisie, struggling out of the curtains loops, tripped over the lid, which clattered mournfully onto the parquet.
Dont wriggle! Youll spill them everywhere! Edith pushed the tin aside and picked up the lid. The hand-painted winter girl twirled in a snowy forest, and Edith, for a moment, was overwhelmed, her breath catching. She sniffled once, then again, and Maisie, alarmed, burst out:
Granny! Whats wrong? I promise Ill never do it again! You always say girls must learn everythingwell, Im practising! I cant cook soup yetMum says knives are off-limits. Id try, but she says if I do, Ill never go to the seaside. Maybe shes fibbing, but best not to risk it.
Maisie! Edith brushed her tears away, stifling a laugh. Whos fibbing? Your mum? Oh, the corner is calling your name!
Youre the one crying! But why? Maisie sidled closer and, all at once, hugged her around the neck with such a squeeze that Edith choked.
Youll strangle me! Maisie, love, let Granny breathe! Goodness me Edith settled the little girl on her knee. I know you love me. And I wasnt crying, just got a bit sentimental.
Sen senti whats that? Maisie wrinkled her brow.
Its what happens when you see something lovely, or remember something nice. You feel happy and a bit sad all at once. Sometimes people cry a little then.
What did you remember?
Well Edith brushed the cool, oddly velvety lid with her fingertips. Strange, how metal could feel so soft. But her hands remembered it just so: to stroke, to turn, to gaze at the painted girl, dreaming of the same blue coat and long plait. And inside, to bury her fingers in the buttons, of which there were so many, collected over the years
Every woman in our familys kept this box. And you will too.
How come? Maisie wiggled, snuggled into Ediths knee, watching her closely. The storm had passed; no punishment was coming now. Shed done just as Granny taught: strong thread, proper knots, although those wretched knots took forever. Why cut the thread each time? A long needleful did fine! She would have covered the whole curtain if Edith hadnt turned up so soon. At least the bottom corner was pretty now. And shed picked only the very best buttons! She hoped Granny wouldn’t notice the hole she accidentally made with the scissors, though shed tried to hide it behind the biggest button.
Edith let the buttons trickle through her fingers, still for a second, then clenching her fist and letting them fall one by one.
How did we collect them? Slowly, Maisie, over years. See how many are here?
Loads!
Absolutely. And lookeach one is different. Each has its own story.
Tell me! Maisies eyes shone.
All of them?
Yes!
I couldnt, love. Not all. Some stories were never told, and somewell, Ive forgotten.
Tell the ones you know! Maisie no longer asked, but demanded.
Edith let the buttons slide through her hands again.
Very well! But lets move over to the sofa, else Grannyll need help up. And my soups on. If it boils over, what will we eat for lunch?
Gingerbread men! Maisie clambered onto the sofa, patting Thomass flank.
Grandpa wont be pleased. He needs something warm with meat. Thomas too, I imagine. Edith groaned, using the armrest to lever herself up. Moving was getting tricky. Age catches up, doesn’t it? At least she could think of it without regretchildren grown, grandchildren lively, husband alive and mostly hale. What more did a woman need? Shed even startled everyone by having a second child at fortyfar later than expected. Oh, the embarrassment! Her son, already a university student, didnt know where to look. She bundled up in oversized cardigans, but he insisted she buy prettier thingsyoure still young, Mum. Eventually Ediths husband spilled the beans to him, and she still remembered the boys lost, then bursting-with-joy gaze when his baby sister was born.
Her son and daughter-in-law soon moved to another town for work; it was a good decisionthey had their own house now, which theyd saved for. Too far for frequent visits, but clever with technology, theyd taught Edith how to Skype. Thank goodness for whoever invented thatshe could not only hear but see her loved ones growing and changing. Still, since Maisie arrived, with Natashanow a childrens doctorworking and Maisie often unwell, Edith saw more of her granddaughter than the nursery did. Shed even suggested her daughter pull Maisie out altogetherwhat use, when every two days in nursery ended with a two-week sniffle?
But Natasha had only laughed, wrestling the love-dazed Thomas from Maisies determined clutches:
No, Mum! Let her give you your weekendsyou need them! That endless energy needs channeling, or one day shell bring the house down.
And Ediths heart warmed. Here was her late happiness, sent from God for who knows what. Natasha, clever and quick, now a paediatricianchildren ran to her, even those who usually hid behind mothers legs. With Maisie, though, Natasha often struggledfirst child woes perhaps. Edith spoilt her own son a little too, but hed turned out well, for shed learnt to balance indulgence with gentle discipline. Now he watched over his sister and taught her similar lessonsA woman must be happy, not just a tireless little pony galloping forever. You need looking after! But you must work too, Natasha countered, and theyd bicker in that fond way, Natasha hiding behind Mum and poking her tongue at her new sister-in-law. Natashas dream was always to treat children, not scalpels and wards, and Edith had to remind her that learning never finishedgood doctors studied for life and treated all children as their own.
Maisie, growing bored with adults musings, swept Thomas off the sofa and shoved the first button under his nose:
Look! Pretty, isnt it?
The cat tried to wriggle free but surrendered, sighing like an old man, settling by Maisies feet.
Granny! Maisie blew softly in Ediths ear. Are you listening?
Oh? Edith came back to herself, rescued Thomas, who tottered off across the carpet before promptly giving up and sprawling near the hearth, watching his women warily.
Stop it, Maisie! Youll wear him out!
Will not! Maisie scowled, poking her tongue out at the cat. Its good for him! Mum said when I stayed in bed all Saturday, lying about is bad. Gotta keep moving. Movement!
She started hopping on the sofa and the buttons burst from the box, spraying like a shower of gobstoppers across the boards and sending Thomas scuttling.
Movement is life! Edith caught her and, laughing, pressed a kiss on Maisies head. You certainly prove that! Now, hush for a minute!
Okay! Maisie agreed a touch too quickly, making Edith eye her suspiciously. Dont look at me, tell a story instead! About this one!
A tiny, plain white button landed in Ediths palm.
This one? Thats from your mums first doctors coat. I made it for herhad just the right number of buttons. But she kept losing them. Id have to keep the needle handy for repairs.
Why couldnt she sew them back herself? You told me girls should know everything!
Oh, she can! But she had no time, studying and working so muchand I felt sorry for her. Remember, Maisie, nothing is ever too much to do for those you love.
Maisie nodded gravely; Edith pressed her nose to Maisies hair in a tight hug.
Good girl! Which one next?
This one!
A golden, faded button was presented. Maisie turned it over and looked up expectantly.
How do you sew it on?
You cant, darling. See? The shanks broken off, lost somehow.
How?
Edith glanced toward the door. No one listening
Thats Grandpas button. When he was in the army, the hospital was attacked while he was operating. He didnt run or hide. He was hurt, but when they took him to another hospital, this button was clutched in his fist. No one knows how it got therenot even him. Hes always said as long as its not lost, everything will be alright.
Why do people fight wars, Gran? Maisie clutched the button so hard its edges pressed marks into her palm and she winced as she loosened her grip.
Who knows, sweetheart? Ask anyone; theyll say it shouldnt happen. Still, somehow people turn against each other for what? No real answer. Do you see?
Yes, Gran. But Grandpa saved people, didnt he?
Edith caught footsteps in the hall and snatched a large painted button nearby.
Look at this! she said, quickly steering Maisie away from heavy things. Do you know what its from?
Nope!
My favourite coat! When I wore it, everyone was impressed.
Who?
All my friends! Mum made that coat for me. It was bright red. Imagine!
Thats nice, isnt it? Was it pretty?
Oh, very! Especially since things were meant to be practical, but there I was, bold and bright, with painted buttons like these.
Maisie traced her finger around the little flower on the button.
Is it painted?
It is! Edith spied something and laughedMaisie had sewn another matching button onto the curtain. There it is! Good thing you didnt lose it. They were all different, Maisie. We lived in whats called a shared housea bedsit. Several families, each with their own room.
How did that work? Maisie frowned.
Just as it sounds. Each family in a separate room, common kitchen and bathroom. Our bedsit only had three families. Ours, Grandpas family, and a man called Mr. Bernard. He was an artistlovely man. He taught us to draw. Never married, never had childrenour corridor was filled with his paintings.
Is that one of his? Maisie gestured at a little portrait on the wall.
Yes.
Who is it?
Cant you tell? Edith chuckled. Thats me! I was just seventeen when Mum gave me the red coat for my birthday, and Mr. Bernard painted that just after.
Pretty! Maisie fingered the button and leapt down, running to the window to compare it with the one sewn onto the curtain. Granny, theyre different!
Yes, each one was unique. Every button had its own flowerand its own meaning. Bernard explained each one. I wrote them down so I wouldn’t forget. Only these two are left now.
What flower is on mine?
That’s a peony, darling. It means happiness and long life.
Bernard got it exactly right! Youre happy and ever so old, Granny!
Edith laughed so hard Thomas shot beneath the sofa in alarm and Maisie shrieked with glee, flying into her grandmothers arms.
Please can we decorate the whole curtain? Please, Granny!
After lunch! Edith shot a glance at the kitchen. The soup! Quick, pack the buttons, love!
Her husband, sipping his tea in the kitchen, looked up in amusement as Edith rushed to his side, pecked his cheek for saving the soup, and inquired:
Is she wrapping you around her little finger again?
Naturally! Edith sliced some bread, habitually collecting crumbs onto her palm. Why didnt you help her sew those buttons?
I value my life and your curtains! Youd forgive her and praise her for sewing firmly, but Id get an earful until next Christmas for ruining your precious drapes.
Im your wife! Where have you ever met an objective woman?
I have, you know! he grinned, and she glared.
Where?
The more questions you ask, the older youll get!
She brandished a tea towel, but at that moment Maisie bounced in, and Edith just wagged her fingerno use arguing now.
That evening, when Natasha arrived, weary from work, she froze. Her mothers favourite curtains now gleamed with a patchwork embroidery of buttonsso startling she was at a loss for words.
Mum! Maisie dropped her needle and flew into her mother’s arms.
Natasha picked her up, smothered her in kisses, then whispered:
Have you been up to mischief?
Yup! Maisie nuzzled close and proudly pointed out the curtains. Beautiful, right?
Unbelievably so Natasha murmured, but then her eyes caught something Mum, is that a button off my wedding dress? I returned the dress to the shop! Howd it end up here?
Edith flushed deeply, busying herself as she stood:
Where it came from, it’s gone now Hungry, are you?
Famished! Natasha wandered along the line of shining buttons, picking out familiar shapes and colours.
Maisie, anxious, swept up the remaining scattered buttons, dropped them into the tin, and tugged her mum towards the kitchen.
Come on! Been waiting for you! Not even eaten an éclair. Well not all of them. Hurry!
Natasha nodded, and Maisie, grabbing Thomas, lugged the cat along without resistance. Thomas, for once, didnt protestknowing dinner always meant a treat from Maisie, regardless of Grannys protests that cutlets were meant for people, not cats. As long as the lady of the house didnt spot it, all was well.
And in the sitting room, Natasha helped Edith up, gathered the last of the buttons, and, closing the tin with a gentle stroke over its velvet-like lid, realised it was warmbut not from the radiator. She remembered, as Maisie did now, spending hours as a little girl sorting and cherishing those buttons, absorbing the stories of every last one. She imagined her mother before her, her grandmother before that. Someday, God willing, Maisie would listen, and maybe her child after. So each story must be remembered, every memory packed away safelyso when the time came, she could tell them all again, adding only new buttons, with new tales, to this tin box full of life.
