by Kit Pearson
MAP
DEDICATION
For
Rosemary Pryce-Digby
and
Annalise and Sophia Wall
EPIGRAPH
And what is so rare as a day in June?
Then, if ever, come perfect days;
Then Heaven tries earth if it be in tune,
And over it softly her warm ear lays;
Whether we look, or whether we listen,
We hear life murmur, or see it glisten . . .
—James Russell Lowell
CONTENTS
Map
Dedication
Epigraph
27 June 1881
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Afterword
About the Author
Also by Kit Pearson
Credits
Copyright
About the Publisher
27 JUNE 1881
ONE
Emily is dreaming about birds. They are darting and soaring, their wings multicoloured against a sapphire sky. Emily is among them, zooming into the endless air. She swoops down with the flock as it settles in a tree. The birds begin singing “Alleluia!” in angelic voices. Emily’s rises with theirs.
She opened her eyes. The dream had dissolved, but the birdsong continued—not angelic at all, but a noisy racket outside the window.
Her sister, Alice, was beside her as usual, breathing softly, her auburn curls spread over the pillow and her hands neatly tucked under her cheek. For a few bewildered seconds Emily thought they were at home.
But they weren’t. They were still away . . . still in exile at the Cranes’. Another lonely day lay ahead, away from Mother and Father and Dede and Tallie and Lizzie and Dick.
Emily got out of bed and tiptoed to the window seat so she wouldn’t wake Alice. Sparrows and finches were gathered in an apple tree, exactly as in her dream. Their songs and the brightening light through the trees were inviting her to join them.
Why not? She could get outside before any of the Cranes arose.
Quickly, quickly! Emily peeled off her nightdress and snatched up the cotton frock she’d thrown on the floor last night. She tugged it over her head and tried to fasten it, but she could only reach the top back buttons.
She crept out onto the landing, down the wide stairs, and through the front hall with its dead animal heads glaring at her. Barley looked up from his cushion at the foot of the stairs. He thumped his tail then lowered his head again.
Gingerly Emily turned the door handle. It creaked a bit and she froze; then she turned it all the way, slipped out, and closed the door gently.
Voices! Emily hid behind a bush. The Cranes’ two houseboys had arrived for the day. She waited until they went around the house to the kitchen door.
Then she ran up the sloping lawn, relishing the dewy grass on her bare feet. She pushed open the gate to the road and stopped for a few seconds to catch her breath.
A spider’s web stretched from the gatepost to a lavender bush. The droplets on its fragile strands made a perfect pattern of shimmering beads. The day was brand new, like a piece of clean paper waiting for someone to draw on. Despite the bright sun the air was chilly, but Emily didn’t care. She had escaped!
She began stamping along the road, her feet raising clouds of dust. She wasn’t wearing shoes, a hat, or her petticoat . . . she wasn’t even wearing undergarments! Cool air tickled her back where her frock was open. What if Dede could see her? Her oldest sister sometimes accused Emily of being like a Gypsy child. Now she was!
I’m free! gloated Emily. Free of stern Mrs. Crane, free of failing miserably to behave.
On the ocean side of the road the light made sparkling medallions through the gaps in the trees. On the grassy side the horizon was rosy, blurring to a delicate blue. The sun burnt in the blueness, as if it were shouting, “Get up, everyone. I’m here!”
This neighbourhood was even quieter than her own on the other side of the city; almost like being in the country. Though the road along the inlet was called Pleasant Street, it was more like a broad dirt path. There were only two other houses besides the Cranes’: one back a little and one a few hundred feet ahead of her. On the other side of the road was a wide, fenced pasture that reached as far as she could see.
On her left she passed the white picket fence of the property that was down the road from the Cranes’. Then there were no more houses and no more pasture, just trees on each side. Emily decided to follow the road to the end. Yesterday, when she and Helen Crane had ridden Cricket there, Emily had spotted a path down to the beach.
Her shadow stretched in front of her, another Emily, who was long and thin. Emily waved one hand and the shadow girl waved back. They danced along the road together.
The bird chorus was everywhere, a jagged clamour dominated by a raspy voice. Emily looked up and saw a raven perched in a tree above her, its blue-black feathers gleaming. Gurrup, gurrup, gurrup! it mocked.
Grawk! retorted Emily. She grinned as it took flight. “Silly old bird!” she called. She ran after it, flapping her arms. If only she could really fly, as she did so often in dreams!
Her run slowed to a walk. Scuffing her feet, she made up a song:
Raven, raven, silly bird!
You think you are the king.
The other birds are scared of you,
But I will be your friend.
Emily picked up a branch and whacked it on the road in time to her song. Her voice got louder and shriller as she yelled more tuneless words about the majestic raven and the wondrous spiderweb and the trees and the sky. At home the only creature who liked her singing was the family cow. This morning Emily could screech as much as she pleased without Dede or Lizzie begging her to stop.
The raven swooped back and scolded her just as her sisters did. Emily laughed. “What’s the matter, Raven? Don’t you like my song?”
She reached the end of the road and started down the path to the beach. “Alone, alone, I’m all by myse-e-lf,” she trilled more softly.
Then she halted. She wasn’t alone! Sitting on the rocks at the end of the point, facing the water, was a girl. She was older than Emily, wearing a brown dress. Her back was as narrow and straight as a young tree.
Emily scurried back to the road, hoping the girl hadn’t heard her. How dare she be in the place Emily wanted to be!
Where could she go now? It was still very early; no one would be missing her yet.
The road ended in a thick grove of evergreens and maples. Emily peered into its dim interior. Helen had said they were never to go into the woods: “There could be cougars in there!”
Emily shuddered; she was more afraid of the dark than she was of wild animals. Whompf, whompf . . . the raven’s wings thrummed over her. He glided into the forest and disappeared.
Surely if the raven could go in there, so could she! He would take care of her.
Emily drew a deep breath then walked into the grove. Immediately she felt safe in the embrace of the trees. She stroked the stringy bark of a cedar then looked all the way up its trunk to where its soaring tip pierced the sky.
Victoria itself had recently been covered by trees. Now they pressed on the outskirts of the city, a reminder that they used to rule. Father had told her of much denser forests that he saw when he took Lizzie and Alice on a boat
trip all around Vancouver Island two years ago. Emily was only seven then, and Father had said she was too young to go.
The mossy ground under her bare feet was as soft as a cushion and the air smelled piney. It was so quiet that even the bird songs were muffled.
Emily reached a sunlit clearing and paused to get warm. She watched a pine siskin hang upside down on a branch. Then the quiet was replaced with loud caws and peeps. An angry crow above her was being attacked by a pair of sparrows. The peeping came from the ground near her feet.
A baby sparrow—she had almost stepped on it! Emily looked around frantically. Sure enough, there was a nest high in a maple tree, with similar desperate cheeps coming from it. The baby bird must have fallen out and now that horrid crow was trying to get it.
“Go away!” Emily shouted. “Scat!” The crow ignored her and the parent sparrows kept attacking it. Emily stooped and cradled the baby bird in her palms. How soft it was, and how it quivered! “Don’t worry, little one,” she murmured. “I’ll help you.” The bird became very still, as if it knew it was now safe.
Emily cupped its tiny body in one hand, careful not to squeeze. She tried to shimmy up the tree trunk, but it was too difficult. She slid down, ripping her frock. Finally she reached up as far as she could and placed the bird on a branch below the nest. “Hold on tight!” she told it.
To her relief, it clung to the branch, teetering a little. The crow continued to hover. Finally it gave up and flapped away, jeering as it left. The sparrows landed on the branch, one on each side of the baby.
“Fly,” whispered Emily. “Fly back to your safe nest.”
And it did. She could hardly believe it. The little sparrow moved its wings then rose up and into its nest.
“Good for you!” Emily let out her breath. She had rescued the baby bird!
Puk puk. The raven was watching her from a nearby branch.
“Don’t you bother those sparrows,” she warned him. She was sure he wouldn’t. Ravens were noble, far superior to ordinary crows.
The raven flew farther into the forest and Emily followed him. Shafts of sunlight pierced the gloom, flickering on the tree trunks and picking out vibrant green ferns and the new buds on the firs. There was something vital in here, something Emily wanted to possess. It was as if the trees were part of an enticing secret.
But she couldn’t go farther in today. There wasn’t enough time and she might get lost. One day I will, she resolved. And one day I’ll go to the wild North and see the forests there.
She walked back to the road hoping the raven would follow her, but he stayed in the forest. Already she missed him. The raven had been a sign, she decided. A sign that this day would be special. It already was—she had saved a bird’s life!
Now the sun was above the trees and the air was much warmer. Emily crept down the path to the beach then paused. Perhaps the girl had gone. But no, there she was, still gazing at the water, sitting as rigidly as before.
Emily watched her for a few seconds. The air smelled delicious: briny sea mixed with the scent of wild roses. She longed to dip her feet in the cool water. She didn’t want to share this glorious morning with a stranger, but she decided to go down to the beach anyway. It wasn’t just hers! Perhaps she would leave when she saw Emily.
The girl was muttering intently, as if talking to someone—but no one else was there. Emily reached the rocky point and stared up at her. Now the girl was wiping away tears.
“What’s the matter?” asked Emily.
TWO
Kitty had wakened even earlier than Emily. She lay in bed and listened to Mama and Jack getting ready to leave. Mama warned Jack to be quiet, but he still thumped and whistled.
Footsteps approached Kitty’s room and Kitty turned to face the wall. Mama stood by her bed a few seconds then tiptoed out. She didn’t kiss Kitty; she was probably still angry with her. Soon the carriage crunched on the gravel driveway as Song drove her mother and brother away.
Kitty dressed quickly and found her hat. Chin was sitting in the kitchen, drinking his tea and reading a Chinese newspaper. “I’m going for a walk,” Kitty told him. “I’ll be back in about an hour.”
As usual, he looked amused. “All right, Missy. I make good breakfast for you.”
Kitty paused on the veranda. The garden sparkled with dew and the sea was a calm sheet of silver. She tried not to cry as she listened to the birds compete with each other.
Yesterday in church they had sung “ ‘O all ye Green Things upon the Earth, bless ye the Lord.’ ” Lately, however, Kitty wondered if God even existed. She felt as separate from the magnificent day as if she were observing it through a glass wall. How could she be so heavy-hearted when the birds were shouting with such joy? But she couldn’t help it.
At least Mama and Jack would have good weather for their outing. Kitty crossed the grass to a small, heart-shaped garden and broke off a white rose. Tucking it into the front of her frock, she left the house and started to walk slowly along the dusty road. I’ll go to our favourite beach, Kitty decided.
She reached the end of the road and turned down the path to the water. Picking her way carefully over the rocks, she climbed onto the point, holding up her frock so she wouldn’t tear it. Then she sat and stared at the wooded shore across the inlet.
The tops of the dark firs were burnished by the increasing light. The sea below her was so calm that it merged into the sky. It would make a pretty picture, thought Kitty . . . but it had been a long time since she’d felt like painting.
A few fishing dinghies were already out. An Indian family paddled by in a canoe on their way up the inlet. Kitty waved at a solemn little boy who stared back at her. He looked about six. She waved again with both hands and was rewarded with a smile.
The tide was high and lapped on the rocks. Near her an otter was gleefully rolling on his back in the sun. Then he slipped into the water, swimming so gracefully that only his tail moved. He dived after a fish without a splash.
I would like to be an otter, thought Kitty. All I would do is play and swim. I would have no worries except for finding my next meal.
The boats disappeared. The bird choir became dominated by a raven’s croak and a distant bird whose song sounded almost human. But there were no people around except Kitty, as if she were alone in the world.
A breeze broke up the water into dazzling spots. Kitty lowered the brim of her hat to shield her eyes. Then a sound made her turn around.
She wasn’t alone! Someone was scurrying away up the path behind her—a little girl. She must have seen Kitty.
Kitty drew in her breath as the child reached the road and paused. She was plump, with bare feet, a wrinkled dress, no hat, and wild brown hair that fanned out from her flushed face.
Who could this girl be? She looked familiar. Then Kitty realized. She was one of the two Carr sisters who were staying with the Cranes because their mother was ill. Kitty had seen them in church. This was the younger one. But what was she doing out alone so early and why was she only half dressed?
The girl disappeared into the woods. Kitty forgot about her as she pulled up her knees and settled into her usual reverie. For a very long time nothing was real except the dark labyrinth of her mind. She muttered, clutching the white rose and drawing in its honeyed scent. Tears slid down her cheeks and she wiped them up with her handkerchief.
Then a shrill voice startled her so much that she almost slipped off the rock. Kitty jerked around as the voice demanded, “I said, ‘What’s the matter?’”
THREE
Emily’s question must have offended the older girl. She put away her handkerchief and lifted her chin. “Nothing’s the matter,” she replied.
“But you were crying! And why were you talking to the air?”
“I wasn’t talking and I certainly wasn’t crying. I just had something in my eye.”
Emily decided not to pursue the subject. She climbed over the rocks to the point and plunked herself down next to the girl, who move
d away with surprise.
“I’m Emily Carr,” said Emily. “What’s your name?”
“Kathleen O’Reilly,” said the girl tightly.
“How old are you?”
“Thirteen.”
“That’s old!”
“How old are you?” asked the girl coldly.
“Nine and a half,” said Emily. She examined the stranger. She was very thin, with neatly tied back brown hair and gentle grey eyes. Her eyes had dark-blue smudges under them. Her face was pretty, except for an ugly pink rash on her cheeks. A white rose was tucked into her frock.
“Do you live near here?” Emily asked.
The girl seemed reluctant to answer, but then she mumbled, “Just down the road. Where do you live?”
“I live beside Beacon Hill Park,” said Emily. She frowned. “But I’m staying with Mr. and Mrs. Crane. We missed the whole last week of school to come here.”
“The Cranes are our next-door neighbours,” said the girl. “They’ve told us they have taken in you and your sister. I saw you in church yesterday.”
Why did this girl look so miserable and why was her voice so stilted? Emily tried to think of something to make her smile. That was her role at home: to entertain everyone. “Our family goes to two churches,” she told Kitty. “The Presbyterian church in the morning with Father, and the Reformed Episcopal in the evening with Mother. I like your church better, because we were allowed to leave early with the other children while Mr. and Mrs. Crane and Grace stayed for the sacrament. Alice and Mary sat on the steps, but Helen and I started tossing our hats to each other. A boy caught mine and threw it into a tree! We had to shake and shake it to get the hat down. We rescued it just before you all came out.”
Her story worked a little. Kitty’s expression softened. “Before I was confirmed, I used to enjoy going out early once a month, too. My . . . um . . . I mean, my friends and I would make daisy chains.” Her voice was friendlier now. “You and your sister are staying with the Cranes because your mother is ill—is that right? That must be a great worry.”
