--- title: Improvement Era description: Monthly periodical of the Mormon church, 1897 onward. This library holds the issues of November 1897 to December 1930. authors: - C. R. Knowles collections: - periodicals tags: - magazine - improvement-era periodical: Improvement Era volume: 33 number: 12 published: 1930-10 publisher: Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Associations publisher_place: Salt Lake City language: en type: magazine reference: "C. R. Knowles, “Masterpiece,” *Improvement Era* 33, no. 12 (October 1930): 793–794." source: url: https://archive.org/details/improvementera3312unse transcription: Transcribed from the Internet Archive scan of each issue (the item for each issue is named in the issue's own source); unnumbered advertising leaves are omitted, printed page numbers are kept as page markers. identifier: improvementera3312unse start_page: 793 end_page: 794 rights: status: public-domain basis: US publication 1930 or earlier (published 1930-10) source: https://archive.org/details/improvementera3312unse publication_year: 1930 note: The Internet Archive item metadata carries a blanket "© Copyright by Intellectual Reserve, Inc." notice. The library owner judged it inapplicable because this issue was published in 1930, before 1931; a scan-level notice does not restore copyright. --- # Masterpiece Masterpiece By MRS. C. R. KNOWLES T HE last child had been put bed. The last face to washed, the last prayer said and the last goodnight kiss given, and Anna, the mother, the washer and the giver, sat with head bowed and eyes closed. She was tired! Every muscle in her body cried it as she allowed herself to relax. Thus she sat for a few moments until sleep, the mother of men, had almost taken her into its fold. Suddenly she awakened with a start and smiled much as a child smiles when he awakens on Christ- mas morning and remembers what the day holds for him. Anna arose from the old rock- ing chair and as she walked across the room it seemed as though all fatigue had left her. Her face shone with eagerness, hope, even beauty and determination. Anna was about to begin her nightly pilgrimage, to walk softly across the room over the worn car- pet, past the shabby furniture and into a little cream-colored room, a small little cream-colored room with a grand piano in the corner. This was Anna's heaven. Her music room! "The last child had been put to bed." It was also part of her nightly pilgrimage to enter that room with the air of a queen, to bow grace- fully to an imaginary audience and smile very sweetly. Then to sit at the piano and allow her fingers to run lightly, softly, over the keys. Her pilgrimage was then at an end! She was in the land of dreams. She was a princess in the arms of a lovely prince, she was a Joan of Arc, hearing voices. Grimy faces, hungry mouths, quarreling children, all were forgotten in the land * of make-believe that she created with her music. 'T'HIS particular night as she -*- commenced her pilgrimage she knew that something was wrong. Her feet had a way of dragging as if they were too tired to take her body where it wanted to go. Her shoulders seemed to want to droop, her eyes to close, her hands to drop limply to her sides. Her whole body told her that she should lie down and rest but her heart and soul bade her keep on. A cry escaped her lips. "I must do it — or I can't go on," and even as she spoke she was bowing to her imaginary audience and try- ing to smile. But the smile was mechanical. Then she was at her piano and her fingers were push- ing the keys. She tried to create her world of make-believe but it would not come. Tonight she saw herself as she really was — a weary, careworn woman of thirty with three hun- gry children to feed. Not a prin- cess nor a Joan of Arc! She was nothing but a tired and discour- aged mother. Anna's fingers ceased their me- chanical pushing of the keys and as her head dropped to her breast she gave way to tears of anger and despair. Oh! what a fool she was. What a fool she had always been. She should be a concert pianist now! Oh, she would have been! Ten years ago she was giving small concerts at symphony halls. She had had great promise for the fu- ture. As she sobbed she told her- self that she might have been on a concert stage now in a rose-col- ored evening dress bowing to a real audience. She should have a beautiful home, a car, servants. In- stead— oh the irony of it. Instead she was nothing at all. As the tears coursed down her cheeks she reviewed her life much as one looks over a written manu- script. She saw herself as she had been ten years ago. Anna Sim- mons! Concert pianist! She had been beautiful then, she had loved life and — she had loved a tall young man. He had loved her, too. That's when the trouble had started — when Anna married this young man. Oh, he had been handsome enough to turn any girl's head. But Anna had come to know that he had not been worth the sacrifice she had made. He had left her when he knew the last little one was coming! XJER poor babies! Tall Jack with his sensitive mouth, slen- der Elsie with her brown curls. Little chubby David with his win- ning ways. And she had dreamed of so much for them and now they would grow up in poverty because 794 The Improvement Era for October, 1930 her arms were growing tired. Growing tired because of the tasks they had to perform! She opened her eyes only to gaze at her rough, red hands. Hands that took in washing to support her babies, hands that sewed house aprons until they were weary! Hands that should be soft and white, rippling over ivory keys! Anna brought those hands down on the keys with a terrific bang and jumped to her feet. Anna, the washer woman, the seamstress, Anna who at one time had prayed that she might create a masterpiece that would thrill the hearts of humanity. She gave a bitter laugh. So this was what happened to one's career! A croupy cough came from the large room that served as dining room and sleeping room. A chok- ing, frightening cough that struck terror to Anna's heart! It was David! Her baby! Anna brushed the tears from her eyes and ran to the room. "David boy! David baby! Moth- er's coming." CHE forgot that she was a wash ^ woman, a seamstress — she on- ly knew that her baby was ill. Twenty minutes later the chok- ing cough had ceased, the fear had gone from Anna's eyes and she was holding David in her arms rocking him back and forth. "Mummy," the little voice was sleepy and drowsy, "Mummy." "Yes, dear baby." "I'se tired." 'Yes, dear, go to sleep." "Mummy, sing." "Yes, dear," and her voice crooned a soothing lullaby. The baby in her arms opened his eyes dreamily, sleepily. "My pretty mamma, my pretty mam- ma," and sleep captured him. Anna stopped rocking and looked at the sleeping child. "Pret- ty mamma." Her voice was slow and wondering. "Pretty mamma." She laid the sleeping child in his bed. She turned and almost ran to the glass. She peered at the face reflected therein. Pretty? Why, she wasn't bad looking. Her hand went to her dark hair and pushed it forward, framing her face. Her hair was still black and shiny. She gazed at her face and felt of her skin. Yes, there were a few wrinkles, but — they were actually becoming! And then Anna gazed into her own eyes. They were filled with tears. Tears of anger, of despair? No, tears of happiness. For Anna knew she was loved. She walked slowly over to where her three children lay sleeping. Through tear-filled eyes she could see Jack with his sensitive mouth. She gazed at the thin hands on the coverlet. Those were the hands of an artist! A new eager- ness came into her eyes. Her chil- dren should be what she had want- ed to be! Jack should play the piano, Elsie should play the violin and David should sing in a deep, sweet voice. They would be great. She would teach them! ANNA gazed again at the sleep- "**■ ing children and then sank to her knees. Her eyes closed and she lifted her head. "Dear God," she prayed. "For- give me for being so ungrateful. I am the most blessed of all wo- men. My prayers have been an- swered. I asked for the gift of music. Thou hast given me music from heaven — the laughter and song of my little ones. I asked that I might create a masterpiece. Thou hast given me three master- pieces upon which to work! — The souls of my children. Help me, oh help me to make them perfect!" and the dark head bowed. •KKfaSs^sfc C/I Guest at the White House Talks (Continued from page 792) der its present direction. Simpli- city, order, graciousness prevail. While there we frequently had breakfast on the large front porch with the President and Mrs. Hoov- er and Mrs. Stark McMullan of Palo Alto, California, who was also a White House guest. After the first morning, when it was found that the Senator and I did not use tea or coffee, milk was added to the menu. And further- more I did not see a single woman smoke while I was in the White House. f-^NE of the interesting things V that usually followed dinner was the serving of new varieties of fresh fruit from the Burbank Experimental Farm of California. One evening I took what I thought was a plum and found that it con- tained the stone of a peach and had the flavor of a pear. Our trip to the President's Camp on the Rapidan River, a motor ride of one hundred miles from the White House, was of tre- mendous interest to me. The rea- son Senator Smoot and I were guests was that the London Naval Treaty was to come up at the spe- cial session of congress. That treaty had its inception when President Hoover and Prime Min- ister McDonald of Great Britain spent some days at the Rapidan Camp. With the treaty a prac- tically accomplished fact, Rapidan Camp must always be of historical importance, not only as a summer residence of the President of the United States, but because of the treaty involving the principal great governments of the world. Among those present at the Pres- ident's Camp while we were there were President and Mrs. Hoover, Secretary of Navy Patrick Hurley, Senators Allen of Kansas, Thomas of Idaho, Vandenburg of Mich- igan, and Hebart of Rhode Island; Commander Boon, the President's physician; Congresswoman Mrs. Rogers of Massachusetts, Mrs. Stark McMullan, and Mr. Wil- liam Wilde, noted press corres- pondent. Most of these guests had Visited Utah and Were familiar with the wonders of the scenery here. They were interested in asking questions and in talking about their experiences in this state. In concluding this article, I can say that in all my life I never met a more charming and gracious hostess than Mrs. Hoover. She is never idle; is fully alive to every- thing that is going on; can pick up a bit of fa^ncy work and carry out her own designs. One inter- esting design that I saw for a plaque, was from her own sketch of the Washington Monument in cherry-blossom time.