Dirt Poor. That was what Oliver was. Before Father had died, Oliver and his little sister, Gertie did not have to “pinch their pennies.” Father was rich, respected by his fellow colleagues and owned a beautiful shiny harmonica that many envied. Oliver and Gertie had a hot meal everyday and a bed to sleep in at night. However Mother had died just after Gertie had been born and when their father remarried, it happened that Grace, their stepmother loathed them with a passion. Grace owned a dog named Milis*, who had bitten Oliver. She kicked them out of the house without much of a goodbye. They had tried to live at a foster home but no one wanted a dirty twelve year old and child that complained too much. They had also been stripped of their belongings. All they had were the clothes on their backs, two pieces of bread that were long gone and the golden, now dusty harmonica that Oliver kept in his threadbare brown hat.
Oliver sighed and blew into his harmonica. Street life was rough. The public soup kitchen helped of course, but Oliver and Gertie never seemed to have enough to fill their stomachs. He began to play a bright Irish tune in hope to attract anyone on the street. Gertie, who had complained minutes before of “starving half to death” and the very pain of her “aching feet”, got up and started singing. There was a small crowd around them all stomping their feet and clapping to the beat.As Oliver continued to blow into his harmonica, people began tossing coins into the brown hat that Oliver had set aside for money. A lady with a red jacket tossed two pennies into the hat. She looked familiar.
“Grace! It’s Grace!” Gertie said.”I’ll go and see if I can catch up to her!” Oliver started to reply but it was no use. Gertie sped off, running as fast as her eight year old little legs could carry her. The lady had accelerated, and Gertie had slowed down. Just before Gertie was about to give up, a lemon colored poodle raced to the lady. “It’s Milis! That means you are Grace!” Gertie said tugging on Grace’s arm. “Go away, you child! Police! Police! Get this child away!” Grace thundered and shrieked. Gertie darted back trying to get to Oliver as fast as possible.
“Oliver! Grace is calling the police!” Gertie grabbed his arm, and the hat and tugged him into LeBlanc’s, a small, dusty bakery. They sat in the dark shop and ordered everything they could with forty one cents. Gertie glanced at the window and saw no Grace. Thank the déithe **. Gertie thought. They spent the afternoon in Leblanc’s shoving their faces with bread and looking out for Grace. At nightfall, when Grace was no longer a worry in their mind, Oliver asked, “Why do you think Grace gave us money?” Gertie thoughtfully chewed her bread and sighed. “Maybe because we’re rich. At least I’m richer than her because I’ve got a great brother like you.”
*This means sweet in Irish.
**This means the gods in Irish.
Grover Middle School's Jagazine 