Beezus and Ramona - Beverly Cleary [28]
“Is it really?” asked Beezus, delighted that her pretty young aunt liked blue eyes. She was about to tell her about being Sacajawea for the P.T.A. when Father came home from work, and before long dinner was on the table. Mother lit the candles and turned off the dining-room light. How pretty everything looks, thought Beezus. I wish we had candles on the table every night.
After Father had served the chicken and mashed potatoes and peas and Mother had passed the hot rolls, Beezus decided the time had come to tell Aunt Beatrice about being Sacajawea. “Do you know what I did last week?” she began.
“I want some jelly,” said Ramona.
“You mean, ‘Please pass the jelly,’” corrected Mother, while Beezus waited patiently.
“No, what did you do last week?” asked Aunt Beatrice.
“Well, last week I—” Beezus began again.
“I like purple jelly better than red jelly,” said Ramona.
“Ramona, stop interrupting your sister,” said Father.
“Well, I do like purple jelly better than red jelly,” insisted Ramona.
“Never mind,” said Mother. “Go on, Beezus.”
“Last week—” said Beezus, looking at her aunt, who smiled as if she understood.
“Excuse me, Beezus,” Mother cut in.
“Ramona, we do not put jelly on our mashed potatoes.”
“I like jelly on my mashed potatoes.” Ramona stirred potato and jelly around with her fork.
“Ramona, you heard what your mother said.” Father looked stern.
“If I can put butter on my mashed potatoes, why can’t I put jelly? I put butter and jelly on toast,” said Ramona.
Father couldn’t help laughing. “That’s a hard question to answer.”
“But Mother—” Beezus began.
“I like jelly on my mashed potatoes,” interrupted Ramona, looking sulky.
“You can’t have jelly on your mashed potatoes, because you aren’t supposed to,” said Beezus crossly, forgetting Sacajawea for the moment.
“That’s as good an answer as any,” agreed Father. “There are some things we don’t do, because we aren’t supposed to.”
Ramona looked even more sulky.
“Where is my Merry Sunshine?” Mother asked.
Ramona scowled. “I am too a Merry Sunshine!” she shouted angrily.
“Ramona,” said Mother quietly, “you may go to your room until you can behave yourself.”
And serves you right, too, thought Beezus.
“I am too a Merry Sunshine,” insisted Ramona, but she got down from the table and ran out of the room.
Everyone was silent for a moment. “Beezus, what was it you were trying to tell me?” Aunt Beatrice asked.
And finally Beezus got to tell about leading Lewis and Clark to Oregon, with a doll tied to Mother’s breadboard for a papoose, and how her teacher told her what a clever girl she was to think of using a breadboard for a papoose board. Somehow she did not feel the same about telling the story after all Ramona’s interruptions. Being Sacajawea for the P.T.A. did not seem very important now. No matter what she did, Ramona always managed to spoil it. Unhappily, Beezus went on eating her chicken and peas. It was another one of those terrible times when she did not love her little sister.
“You mustn’t let Ramona get you down,” whispered Mother.
Beezus did not answer. What a terrible girl she was not to love her little sister! How shocked and surprised Mother would be if she knew.
“Beezus, you look as if something is bothering you,” remarked Aunt Beatrice.
Beezus looked down at her plate. How could she ever tell such an awful thing?
“Why don’t you tell us what is wrong?” Aunt Beatrice suggested. “Perhaps we could help.”
She sounded so interested and so understanding that Beezus discovered she really wanted to tell what was on her mind. “Sometimes I just don’t love Ramona!” she blurted out, to get it over with. There! She had said it right out loud. And on her birthday, too. Now everyone would know what a terrible girl she was.
“My goodness, is that all that bothers you?” Mother sounded surprised.
Beezus nodded miserably.
“Why, there’s no reason why you should love Ramona all the time,” Mother went on. “After all, there are probably lots of times when she doesn’t love you.”
Now it was Beezus’s turn to be surprised