A NICKEL AT A TIME By Indra Sharma

In 1945 in Bay Roberts, Nfld., a 12-year-old boy saw something in a
shopwindow that set his heart racing. But the price-five dollars-was
far beyond Reuben Earle's means. Five dollars would buy almost a week’s
groceries for his family.
Reuben couldn't ask his father for the money. Everything Mark Earle
made fishing, Reuben's mother, Dora, stretched like elastic to feed and
clothe their five children.
Nevertheless, he opened the shop's weathered door and went inside.
Standing proud and straight in his flour-sack shirt and washed-out
trousers, he told the shopkeeper what he wanted, adding, "but I don't
have the money now. Can you please hold it for me? "
"I'll try," the shopkeeper smiled. "Folks around here don't usually
have that kind of money to spend on things. It should keep for a
while."
Reuben respectfully touched his worn cap and walked out into the May
sunlight. The bay rippled in a freshening wind that ruffled his short
hair. There was purpose in his loping stride. He would raise the five
dollars and not tell anybody.
Hearing the sound of hammering from a side street, Reuben had an idea.
He ran towards the sound and stopped at a construction site. People
built their own homes in Bay Roberts, using nails purchased in burlap
sacks from a local factory. Sometimes the sacks were discarded in the
flurry of building, and Reuben knew he could sell them back to the
factory for five cents apiece.
That day he found two sacks, which he took to the rambling wooden
factory and sold to the man in charge of packing nails. The boy's hand
tightly clutched the small five-cent pieces as he ran the two kilometers
home.
Near his house stood the ancient barn that housed the family's goats
and chickens. Reuben found a rusty baking soda tin and dropped his
coins inside. Then he climbed into the loft of the barn and hid the can
beneath a pile of sweet-smelling hay.
It was suppertime when Reuben got home. His father sat at the big
kitchen table, working on a fishing net. Dora was at the black kitchen
range, ready to serve dinner as Reuben took his place at the table.
He looked at his mother and smiled. Sunlight from the window gilded
her shoulder-length blond hair. Five foot three, slim and beautiful,
she was the centre of the home, the glue that held it together.
Her chores were never-ending. Sewing clothes for her family on the old
Singer treadle machine, cooking meals and baking bread, planting a
vegetable garden, milking the goats and scrubbing soiled clothes on a
washboard. But she was happy. Her family and their well-being were her
highest priority.

Every day after chores and school, Reuben scoured the town, collecting
the burlap nail bags. On the day the two-room schoolhouse closed for
the summer, no student was more delighted than Reuben. Now he would
have more time to devote to his mission.
All summer long, despite extra chores at home-weeding and watering the
garden, cutting wood and fetching water-Reuben kept to his secret task.
Then all too soon the garden was harvested, the vegetables canned and
stored, and the school reopened. Soon the leaves fell and the winds
blew cold and gusty from the bay. Reuben wandered the streets,
diligently searching for his burlap treasures.
Often he was cold, tired and hungry, but the thought of the object in
the store window sustained him. Sometimes his mother would ask:
"Reuben, where were you? We were waiting supper for you."
"Playing, Mom. Sorry."
Dora would look at his face and shake her head. Boys.
Finally spring burst into glorious green and Reuben's spirits erupted.
The time had come I He ran into the barn, climbed to the hayloft and
uncovered the tin can. With shaking hands, he poured the coins out and
began to count.
Then he counted again. He needed 20 cents more. Could there be any
sacks left anywhere in town? He had to find four and sell them before
the day ended.
Reuben hid the tin and ran down Water Street, searching.

The shadows were lengthening when Reuben arrived at the factory. The
sack buyer was about to lock up.
“Mister! Please don’t close up yet.” The man turned and saw Reuben,
dirty and sweat stained.
“Come back tomorrow, boy.”
“Please, Mister. I have to sell the sacks now – please.” The man heard a
tremor in Reuben’s voice and could tell he was close to tears.
“Why do you need this money so badly?”
"It's a secret."
The man took the sacks, reached into his pocket and put four nickels
into Reuben's hand. Reuben murmured a quiet thank-you and ran home.
Then, clutching the tin can, he headed for the store. "I have the
money," he solemnly told the owner, pouring his coins onto the counter.
The man went to the window and retrieved Reuben's treasure. He wiped
the dust off and gently wrapped it in brown paper. Then he placed the
parcel in Reuben's hands.
Racing home, Reuben burst through the front door. His mother was
scrubbing the kitchen range. "Here, Mom! Here!" Reuben exclaimed as he
ran to her side. He placed a small box in her work roughened hand.
She unwrapped it carefully, to save the paper. A blue-velvet jewel box
appeared. Dora lifted the lid, tears beginning to blur her vision.
In gold lettering on a small, almond-shaped brooch was the word Mother.

It was Mother's Day, 1946.
Dora had never received such a gift; she had no finery except her
wedding ring. Speechless, she smiled radiantly and gathered her son
into her arms.

In 1947 Mark Earle moved to Toronto. Dora and the children stayed in Bay
Roberts until Mark could afford to send for them. Two years later the
Earle family was joyously reunited.
Dora Earle died in 1983 in Toronto, at 75. In her will, she left her
most valued possession to her son Reuben. Now in his late 60s, with two
sons and five grandchildren, Reuben lives in Bradford, Ont, hating
retired from his career as a real-estate agent two years ago. His wife
of 47 years, Lillian, says, "Reuben has never changed from the loving
boy who gave his mother that brooch.'
Reuben's eyes mist at the memory of his mother. "She was the most
beautiful person in the world.'


It was a lot of money, but the boy was tireless