Chapter Two
Barbara Melancholy went to freshen up the teapot. Mrs. Tweedlebare fell into memory mode.
Althea Tweedlebare's writing career began in neglect. No one in her very busy family had had time to read her scribblings. Though she became successful at a tender age, she looked back at those early years with mixed feelings. Tiring of constant turndowns from family, Althea resorted to submitting stories to magazines, not with the intention of ever seeing them published, but simply out of a desire to have her anxiety quieted. She needed to know that one person had given them full consideration, someone who was not busy slopping hogs, milking cows or churning butter. She needed someone to take a minute to read her latest best-ever offering.
From one such submission, she eventually received a letter filled with gentle praise. The editor suggested minor changes. Althea promptly complied. A second letter requested one or two additional changes. Althea went along with her editor's suggestions. The day that a copy of the magazine addressed to Althea Johansen, for that was her name when she was a girl, arrived in the mailbox on the main road, her mother admonished her.
"Don't tell me you have been wasting good money subscribing to a magazine that you can read for free at the library," she said as they hiked up to the homestead.”
"They send it to me for nothing. They always do."
"What do you mean always? Why, in heaven’s name, would they send a child this magazine?"
"It’s custom," Althea explained patiently while flipping through the pages. "Ah, here it is," she said proudly. "Cowbuncle and the Tiger Lily by Althea Johansen."
"Oh my Goodness," her mother said. "Who ever wrote this has the same name as you and they even have a cow that has the same name as ours."
"And a pup named Tiger Lily," Althea said bursting with pride.
.
"And how would you know that?" her mother asked. "You can't read that fast, surely. How do you know that the tiger lily in the story is really our Tiger Lily?"
"When our pup chased that old red cow through your precious tiger lilies, you were fit to be tied. The way that the pup got named had story written all over its face. It went in the scribbler and the scribbler sent it off."
"I’ll be hornswaggled," her mother said as they climbed the creaky front steps of the old farmhouse. "A cheque? Put the kettle on."
Althea remembered her mother reading Tiger Lily over and over while her tea grew cold. Then came the best part. "I'll make your favourite dessert tonight."
At dinner Althea had enjoyed more than one golden moment. Her older sister inquired as to why they were having Saturday's deep-dish apple pie on Wednesday night.
"You can thank Althea for that, Janice," Mother said.
"Just a small piece for me then, thanks."
"Fine," her mother replied laughing. "That leaves more for the rest of us."
"It's not quite yours, Mom," Janice said a bit later, "but I wouldn't mind a second piece."
"I know it’s ever bit as good as Mother's," Althea said ironically as she passed Janice a second slice.
"You can help do the dishes," Mother said. "Althea has her writing, you know."
"Her scribblings, you mean," said Janice.
"Very profitable scribblings indeed," her father interjected. "Tell me, Janice, how much did you bring home from your job at the general store last week?"
"Eleven dollars and twenty three cents, " she said beaming.