Where's Margaret?
When most people think of my husband, Michael, they often ascribe him characteristics one would bestow upon a choirboy. Occasionally, however, mischief lurks just below the surface.
Michael was born in 1950, a less complex and simpler, time. Childhood heroes were the Lone Ranger and the Cisco Kid. Toys were likely to be a stick or can, but for Michael, one of his favorite was a section of rope. This family couldn't afford Red Rider BB guns.
When he was 6, maybe 7 years old, he often played with his younger sister Margaret (as she was a gullible and trusting sort). One morning, Michael was practicing his knots when his younger sister, Margaret, agreed to be the bad guy that had to be tied to a chair waiting for the Sheriff to arrive.
He had her completely bound to the chair and had just applied an effective gag, when mother called both children to the table for lunch. To free Margaret would mean being late for lunch and would require a detailed explanation. He left her, reported to the kitchen table, and shrugged when asked, Where is Margaret?
Michael, where is Margaret? He finally responded innocently, I don't know. Mom was miffed now and thought that Margaret was dawdling. After a few more calls, Mom heard moaning and thumping in the bedroom probably, Margaret rocking the chair in a futile attempt to free herself.
"Margaret, where are you?!" Michael was now enjoying his lunch, oblivious and innocent of all wrong-doing. Aggravated that Margaret was not responding, Berniece stomped down the hall to find out what was taking so long.
She found Margaret expertly tied to her chair, gagged, with tears streaming down her face. Michael thought he was a goner, but Mom laughed uncontrollably admiring the skill which had so incapacitated her daughter. At last,Margaret was freed so she could at least have lunch after so much suffering.
Michael's excuse, at the time, was that Margaret talked too much and had to be temporarily silenced (at least until the Sheriff arrived).
Today, Margaret's grandchildren look to Michael with concern and ask, "Why were you so mean to Grandma?" It is one of those stories that won't go away, and Michael bears the guilt for many years and reunions to come.
(Above story told to me by Margaret & Berniece Vaillancourt)