Betsy McGee Forester Day--The Bicycle Ride

They rode past the Distlers’ house and the Walshes and the Leibowitzes and were almost to  . . .  Mother was slowing down because a woman was waving to her.  “Good morning, Mrs. Dougal. Your daffodils are looking particularly lovely,” she said.  (The word daffodil always tickled Betsy’s nose.  Kind of like ginger ale. Or did ginger ale taste like “daffodil?”)

“I see you have your little girl with you. Don’t you think that contraption is rather dangerous?” Mrs. Dougal sounded angry. Betsy blinked three times and . . . there! She had an inside face and it didn’t look angry, it looked . . . lonely. Without thinking she said, “Good morning, Mrs. Doodle.  Don’t be sad.”

“Little girl, why on earth do you think I’m sad?  Don’t you know it’s rude to speak to grownups like that? And my name is Mrs. Dougal, not Mrs. Doodle.” But, even though her Outside Face was even angrier, her Inside Face now looked truly sad.

Mother said, “I’m sorry Mrs. Dougal. You haven’t been introduced. This is Betsy McGee Forester Day. She likes to be called by all her names. She is very particular about names.  She must have heard me mention you to my husband and misunderstood the pronunciation. She’s only three and three-quarters.”

“Well, that’s a very big name for such a little bit of a girl.  But I guess she’ll grow into it.”

Mother asked, “Grow into it?”

Mrs. Dougal smiled a very little with both her inside and her outside faces. “My own name was Eugenia Matilda Howard Montgomery. After I married I was happy to become Genia Dougal. But sometimes I look in the mirror and I see Eugenia Matilda Howard Montgomery finally looking out at me. I’ve grown into them and Dougal as well.”

“Oh, please,” said Betsey. Would you say your ‘ficial name again.  It makes such interesting music.”

“Really?!”, said Mrs. Dougal.  “Very well. Repeat after me:  Eugenia . . .”

“Yougenya . . .”

“Matilda . . .”, and Mrs. Dougal and Betsy said all the names together three times until Betsy could do it by herself.  “Yougenya Matilda Howard Montgomery Dougal!” 

Mrs. Dougal was now had only one face and it was smiling with pleasure. “You are indeed a very smart girl for three and three-quarters years old.”

“I like your name a lot but I still think that Mrs. Doodle is prettier.”

Mrs. Dougal’s face did not change: “Then you have my permission to call me that whenever you like.” She turned to Betsy’s Mother.  “Margaret, I’m sorry I interrupted your ride. I know you’re a very strong rider but I was just worried for a moment. We didn’t have little ride-behind seats like that when I was a girl . . . or even when I was a mother.”

“That’s quite all right Mrs. Dougal . . .”

“Call me Genia.”

“Genia.  To tell the truth I was more than a little nervous about trying this but it was such a nice day. I only intend to ride once or twice up and down the street. It’s so nice living on a cul-de-sac but it doesn’t feel quite as safe as a bike path would. I intend to get a bike rack so we can go to Thurber Park to ride often.”

“Until you do I hope you’ll keep riding up and down the street. Next time perhaps you can stop for lemonade and cookies.  I make very nice oatmeal cookies if I do say so myself.  But I rarely make them just for myself.”

“With Sultanas?”, asked Betsy.

Mrs. Dougal blinked with surprise (only twice.)  “I’ve never tried Sultanas. That’s a very good idea, Betsy . . . McGee Forester Day.”

“Can we come by tomorrow?”

“Betsy . . . ,” Mother started to protest but Mrs. Dougal laughed. (It sounded just a little like a rusty gate but nice.) “You certainly may,” she said. “If it’s a sunny day we can sit out back in my garden. I will enjoy your company.”

“Well, we’d better be going, and thanks for the invitation,” Mother said.

“Bye-bye Mrs. Yougenya Matilda Howard Montgomery Doodle!”

“Well,” Mother said as she pedaled them away. “You seem to have made a new friend.

“Yes,” said Betsy. “Like Daddy says, we need all the friends we can get. And I think she needs a friend, too.”

Betsy could hear the surprise in her Mother’s voice. “I think you are right, Betsy McGee Forester Day. I think you are right.”