In the Great Green Room: The Brilliant and Bold Life of Margaret Wise Brown(5)
The little girls looked nothing like sisters. Margaret had long, golden waves of hair and Roberta a short mop of bright red strands. Margaret’s delicate face, full lips, and bright gray-blue eyes were accentuated by her little sister’s plain looks. It wasn’t unusual for their mother to be stopped on the street by strangers who remarked on the fair-haired girl’s remarkable beauty. They rarely noticed the little red-haired girl standing next to her dressed in identical clothes.
Roberta listened attentively as her sister read, although Margaret didn’t relay the story verbatim. She added an extra character, as she often did during their story time. In Margaret’s version, Hansel and Gretel had a little sister with red hair. The heroines in Margaret’s twisted tales usually had blond hair and blue eyes. Just as often, something terrible befell the red-haired little sister. This time, she was gobbled up by the cannibalistic witch. Courageous Gretel, though, saved herself and her brother by outwitting the witch and shoving her into an oven. They took the witch’s treasure and then returned home to live happily ever after with their father.
Gullible Roberta was eager to hear the story again, but Margaret snapped the book shut. She proclaimed it to be time to go to sleep and crawled into her bed. Her sister reluctantly followed. It was their ritual to say good night to their toys, rocking horse, chairs, books, and pictures on their walls. Margaret first, then Roberta. Before long, their door opened, and Anna whispered good night to the two little girls, then turned off their light.
*
A light snowfall swirled around nine-year-old Margaret and her father as they walked along the bustling port of the East River. Aromas of coffee, tar, and sea met them as they passed cargo being loaded into vast warehouses along the docks. They stepped into the largest building, the American Manufacturing Company, where the scent of hemp and jute permeated the air. Workers stood beside row after row of tables piled high with fibers they twisted into ropes and bags. Margaret followed her father past the tables and up the stairs into his office. It was common for the little girl to come here with her father when he wasn’t traveling to a far-flung land. She preferred to be by his side whenever he was home.
In the office, she took her usual perch on a stool next to the window and looked out on the river. Below, squat tugboats moved slowly because layers of ice had formed in the river. Frozen white chunks bobbed and tumbled in the dark green water of the river. She loved the way each season changed the port’s tempo, sights, and sounds. It seemed she had always known the language of the tugs’ captains, spoken in blasts from their horns as they pushed and pulled enormous ships past each other on the waterway.
The Great War had ended that year. The unrest that enveloped the world over the last six years only increased Bruce’s business, and the Brown family remained comfortably situated in their new home. Long Island suited Margaret far better than Brooklyn. She played in the woods and fields whenever possible, and their home was rural enough for the children to have dozens of pets, including rabbits, squirrels, dogs, and horses. When one of Margaret’s pet rabbits died, she skinned it and proudly displayed the pelt to her family. Her father, who taught her how to hunt, fish, and sail, was no doubt amused by this antic, unlike her mother, who tried to counter the girl’s roughness by enrolling her in ballet and refinement classes.
Margaret cared nothing for the typical society girl parlor niceties. She shared her father’s love of the outdoors and adventure. When her father was home, he and Margaret spent weekends sailing, golfing, and fishing. Bruce was raised in a family that expected as much, if not more, from the daughters as the sons. There were many accomplished men in his family, but their success was attributed to their matriarch, Elizabeth Preston, the brains of the dynasty. It was the boast of each consecutive generation that every male in the line had a sister with greater intellect and stronger character. At a time when high society dictated a path for little girls that favored polite conversations and needlework, Bruce encouraged Margaret’s athleticism and independence.
She stared out of her father’s office window, and tears filled her eyes. Her father would board a ship docked on the other side of Manhattan later that day. Those boats were so large they often needed three or four tugs to escort them safely out to sea, and once there, they kept going, carrying people to far-off lands. Margaret was always eager to hear stories of her father’s exotic travels, but she hated to see him leave. Every time he boarded a boat, she was convinced she would never see him again, so her tears soon turned to sobs. The father held his daughter in his arms and, as he dried her tears, told her she shouldn’t worry about him, he would always return.
*
Margaret grew used to her father being away. She also grew used to solitude. For much of the year, her brother, Gratz, and most of the neighborhood children were away at boarding schools. On walks to and from school, she often stopped to watch the comings and goings of bugs, birds, and butterflies. Roberta had no patience for her sister’s dawdling or cloud watching—another favorite pastime of Margaret’s. Roberta preferred to be inside reading with their mother.
When summer came, Margaret’s domineering personality, quick wit, and endless imagination made her an unquestionable leader of the neighborhood band of children. She led daylong expeditions through the forests or fields and relished being able to outwit her companions. She once convinced them that she alone owned the woods. Anyone who wanted to enter had to pay her an entrance fee, which, not surprisingly, they paid.