Thimble Summer is the story of Garnet Linden and her brother Jay who live on a remote farm in the American Midwest. After a long period of summer drought, Garnet's parents are worried that the farm will be ruined. Then one day Garnert finds a silver thimble in the river bank and their luck immediately begins to change.
GARNET thought this must be the hottest day that
had ever been in the world. Every day for weeks
she had thought the same thing, but this was really the
worst of all. This morning the thermometer outside the
village drug store had pointed a thin red finger to one
hundred and ten degrees Fahrenheit.
It was like being inside of a drum. The sky like a
bright skin was stretched tight above the valley, and the
earth too, was tight and hard with heat. Later, when it
was dark, there would be a noise of thunder, as though
a great hand beat upon the drum; there would be heavy
clouds above the hills, and flashes of heat lightning, but
no rain. It had been like that for a long time. After supper
each night her father came out of the house and looked
up at the sky, then down at his fields of com and oats.
"No," he would say, shaking his head, "No rain tonight."
The oats were turning yellow before their time, and
the com leaves were tom and brittle, rustling like newspaper when the dry wind blew upon them. If the rain
didn't come soon there would be no corn to harvest, and
they would have to cut the oats for hay.
Garnet looked up at the smooth sky angrily, and shook
her fist. "You!" she cried, "Why in time can’t you let
down a little rain!"
At each step her bare feet kicked up a small cloud of
dust. There was dust in her hair, and up her nose, making
it tickle.
Slowly Garnet walked to the yellow house under tall
maple trees and opened the kitchen door.
Her mother was cooking supper on the big black coal
stove, and her little brother Donald pat on the floor
making a noise like a train.
Her mother looked up. Her cheeks were red from the hot stove.
"Any mail, darling?" she asked. "Bills," replied Garnet.
"Oh," said her mother and turned back to her cooking.
Garnet set the table by the open window. Knife, fork, knife, fork, knife, fork, knife, fork but only a spoon for Donald, who managed even that so absent-mindedly that there was usually as much cereal on the outside of him as inside at the end of a meal. In the middle of the table she put a bottle of catsup, salt and pepper, a china sugar bowl With morningglories on it, and a tumbler-full of spoons. Then she went down to the cold room.
It was still and dim down there. A spigot dripped peacefully into the deep pod of water below, where the milk cans and stone butter crock were sunk. Garnet filled a pitcher with milk and put a square of butter on the plate she had brought. She knelt down and plunged both her arms into the Hater. It was cloudy with spilled milk but icy cold. She could feel coolness spreading through all her veins and a little shiver ran over her.
Going in the kitchen again was like walking into a red-hot oven.
Donald had stopped being a train and had become a fire engine. He charged round and round the room hooting and shrieking. How could he be so lively, Garnet wondered. He didn't even notice the awful heat although his hair clung to his head like wet feathers and his cheeks were red as radishes.
Her mother looked out of the window. "Father's coming in," she said. "Garnet, don't give him the mail now, I want him to eat a good supper. Put it behind the calendar and I’ll tend to it afterwards." Garnet hastily pushed the bills behind the calendar on the shelf over the sink.
The screen door opened with its own particular squeak and her father came in. He went to the sink and washed his hands. He looked tired and his neck was sunburned. "What a day!" he said. "one more like this -- " and he shook his head.
It was too hot to eat. Garnet hated her cereal. Donald whined and upset his milk. day was the only one who really ate in a business-like manner, as if he enjoyed it. He could probably eat the shingles off a house if there was nothing else handy, Garnet decided.
After she had helped with the dishes, Garnet and day put on their bathing suits and went down to the river. They had to go down a road, through a pasture, and across hall a dozen sand bars before they came to a place that was deep enough to swim in. This was a dark, quiet pool by a little island; trees hung over it and roots trailed in it. Three turtles slid from a log as the children approached, making three slowly widening circles on the still surface.
"It looks like tea," said Garnet, up to her neck in brownish lukewarm water.
"Feels like it too," said Jay. “I wish it was colder." Still it was water and there was enough of it to swim in. They floated and raced and dove from the old birch tree bent like a bow over the pool. day dove very well, hardly making a splash when he entered the water, but Garnet landed flat on her stomach every time. As usual day cut his toe on a sharp stone and bled a great deal. As usual Garnet got caught in a swift current and had to be rescued, squealing, by day. With great care and trouble they built a raft out of dead branches that sank as soon as they both got on it. But nothing spoiled their fun. When they were finally sufficiently waterlogged to be red-eyed and streaming, they went exploring on the sandy flats that had emerged from the river during the weeks of drought. There were all kinds of things to be found there; gaping clamshells colored inside like pearls; water-soaked branches with long beards of green moss; rusted tobacco tins, stranded fish, bottles, and a broken teapot. They wandered in different directions, bending over, examining and picking things up. The damp flats had a rich, muddy smell. After a while the sun set brilliantly behind trees, but the air seemed no cooler.
Garnet saw a small object, half-buried in the sand, and glittering. She knelt down and dug it out with her finger. It was a silver thimble! How in the world had that ever found its way into the river? She dropped the old shoe, bits of polished glass, and a half dozen clam- shells she had collected and ran breathlessly to show day. "It's solid silver!" she shouted triumphantly, "and I think it must be magic too!" "Magic!" said day. "Don’t be silly, there isn't any such thing.
Her mother looked up. Her cheeks were red from the hot stove.
"Any mail, darling?" she asked. "Bills," replied Garnet.
"Oh," said her mother and turned back to her cooking.
Garnet set the table by the open window. Knife, fork, knife, fork, knife, fork, knife, fork but only a spoon for Donald, who managed even that so absent-mindedly that there was usually as much cereal on the outside of him as inside at the end of a meal. In the middle of the table she put a bottle of catsup, salt and pepper, a china sugar bowl With morningglories on it, and a tumbler-full of spoons. Then she went down to the cold room.
It was still and dim down there. A spigot dripped peacefully into the deep pod of water below, where the milk cans and stone butter crock were sunk. Garnet filled a pitcher with milk and put a square of butter on the plate she had brought. She knelt down and plunged both her arms into the Hater. It was cloudy with spilled milk but icy cold. She could feel coolness spreading through all her veins and a little shiver ran over her.
Going in the kitchen again was like walking into a red-hot oven.
Donald had stopped being a train and had become a fire engine. He charged round and round the room hooting and shrieking. How could he be so lively, Garnet wondered. He didn't even notice the awful heat although his hair clung to his head like wet feathers and his cheeks were red as radishes.
Her mother looked out of the window. "Father's coming in," she said. "Garnet, don't give him the mail now, I want him to eat a good supper. Put it behind the calendar and I’ll tend to it afterwards." Garnet hastily pushed the bills behind the calendar on the shelf over the sink.
The screen door opened with its own particular squeak and her father came in. He went to the sink and washed his hands. He looked tired and his neck was sunburned. "What a day!" he said. "one more like this -- " and he shook his head.
It was too hot to eat. Garnet hated her cereal. Donald whined and upset his milk. day was the only one who really ate in a business-like manner, as if he enjoyed it. He could probably eat the shingles off a house if there was nothing else handy, Garnet decided.
After she had helped with the dishes, Garnet and day put on their bathing suits and went down to the river. They had to go down a road, through a pasture, and across hall a dozen sand bars before they came to a place that was deep enough to swim in. This was a dark, quiet pool by a little island; trees hung over it and roots trailed in it. Three turtles slid from a log as the children approached, making three slowly widening circles on the still surface.
"It looks like tea," said Garnet, up to her neck in brownish lukewarm water.
"Feels like it too," said Jay. “I wish it was colder." Still it was water and there was enough of it to swim in. They floated and raced and dove from the old birch tree bent like a bow over the pool. day dove very well, hardly making a splash when he entered the water, but Garnet landed flat on her stomach every time. As usual day cut his toe on a sharp stone and bled a great deal. As usual Garnet got caught in a swift current and had to be rescued, squealing, by day. With great care and trouble they built a raft out of dead branches that sank as soon as they both got on it. But nothing spoiled their fun. When they were finally sufficiently waterlogged to be red-eyed and streaming, they went exploring on the sandy flats that had emerged from the river during the weeks of drought. There were all kinds of things to be found there; gaping clamshells colored inside like pearls; water-soaked branches with long beards of green moss; rusted tobacco tins, stranded fish, bottles, and a broken teapot. They wandered in different directions, bending over, examining and picking things up. The damp flats had a rich, muddy smell. After a while the sun set brilliantly behind trees, but the air seemed no cooler.
Garnet saw a small object, half-buried in the sand, and glittering. She knelt down and dug it out with her finger. It was a silver thimble! How in the world had that ever found its way into the river? She dropped the old shoe, bits of polished glass, and a half dozen clam- shells she had collected and ran breathlessly to show day. "It's solid silver!" she shouted triumphantly, "and I think it must be magic too!" "Magic!" said day. "Don’t be silly, there isn't any such thing.
