But I was curious, and stepped closer. I made sure there were no leprechauns inside, and nobody else around and closed my eyes. “I wish-” I began softly. “I wish that I could have just one, delicious, bite of bread pudding.” I opened my eyes. I was crazy-asking for bread pudding when I hadn’t even seen potatoes for almost five years…but as I finally left for home, I caught myself dying for that dessert.
That night, as I was snuggled deep under my rag blanket, I knew something was wrong-my stomach seemed to be gurgling…and not silently. I suddenly realized that I had gone without dinner! Our whole family hadn’t eaten a bite for dinner. And if I thought about it, my grandma was very frail-and she could die without food, couldn’t she?! I was scared, and jumped up, knowing I had to do something. I tip-toed downstairs, and slipped into Grandma Catherine’s little bedroom. “My Child, what is the matter?” she asked. I got into her feather bed and frowned at her.
“We didn’t have dinner, and I’m so hungry. And you’re-well-no offense- kind of old, and you’re sick, and you need food!” Grandma Catherine laughed, and said, “Dear Nora, you are as sweet as a rose! I’ll be fine- it’s YOU I’m worried about! Here, have some bread.” I stared with amazement at her hand. “Bread?!” I stuttered.
“B-b-but we don’t have enough money for that!” She grinned at me, beckoning me to eat up. Hungrily, I eat the slightly stale bread. “But how did you do it?” I asked. “Well, truth is, I’m a trash digger!” she said with another laugh. I had to smile, as I carefully eat the bread. “Um, Grandma, that’s a little gross.” I said playfully. “Then why are you devouring the bread like a hungry hog?” Good point. “‘Cause it’s good!” I admitted through big bites of food. Trash food. The next morning, I walked to town, where I had errands to run.
And after going to purchase some buttons for sewing, ribbons, and brown beans, I trudged home, weighed down by the packages. “Mum, I’m home!” I yelled, as I entered through the big door. “Mum’s in the kitchen,” Grandma Catherine said, without looking up from her needle and yarn. I stepped into the kitchen and saw a bright-colored package. “Who’s this for?” I asked, pointing at the gift. “For you,” my mum answered calmly, as if colorful gifts arrived each day. “What?!” I squealed. “For me?!”
A pleasant smile spread across Mum’s face. I ripped through the wrapping, and looked with a delight at a slightly damaged bread pudding.”Why, I wished for this, and-well, here it is!” I was more than happy. “What is it?” Grandma Catherine asked. “Bread pudding!” I answered, showing her with pride. She adjusted her spectacles, and stared at the dessert. “Hmmm…” was all she said. “Why, what’s wrong? Do you want some?” I questioned her. “Oh, no, no. It’s your gift. See here? The label says, “to Nora.” She tapped on the box. “See?” I smiled, and than said: “Grandma, I know that the Wishing Well isn’t real…so who did this?” Grandma Catherine stared at her knitting. “Well…..me.” “But how did you get such an expensive thing like this?”
I paused. “Wait, I know how.” Than we both said together: “Trash digging!” and laughed.
Grandma Catherine hugged me close. “You know, I heard you wish in the woods yesterday and I was encouraged to see you wishing and believing, and it made me happy. So I bought you your wish.” I smiled, and sat next to her. “When’s the next story?” I asked. “How about right now?” she said, with a smile.