by Lori Lansens
Addy looked serious. “Don’t be thinking about hitching me up with that boy, Mary Alice.”
“Why? But why? He’s an angel. He’s an outright angel. He never lets his Mama lift a finger in the yard and you saw yourself he has the nicest manners. And he’s more than a boy, Addy. He may only be fifteen but his Granddaddy’s getting him a place at the jute factory come September. He’s got plans to buy a house out on the river road and he will, too. You just don’t know him.”
“Sounds like you know him well enough for both of us.”
Mary Alice looked away. “Well, I done a little inquiring.”
“You tell him to come by and say that about wanting to help you in the yard?”
“No I did not.” Mary Alice was indignant.
“He done that before? Come over to offer his help?”
“No.”
“Just happened he came by today?”
“Well.” Mary Alice swallowed and held her breath in a way Addy’d seen her do before when she got skitty. “I guess he must have seen you here and wanted to make your acquaintance.”
“Mmm-hmm.” Addy had no doubt Mary Alice was lying. “Well, I think you told him come by and I think you’re trying to hitch us up.”
“I won’t if you don’t want me to.”
Addy sighed and rose to leave. “I got to get on home and start supper for your Mama.”
Mary Alice shrugged and scratched at a mosquito bite under her sleeve. It was then Addy saw the four purple bruises on her soft upper arm. The bruises were distinct and made by a man’s strong hand. “Hamond do that?” Addy asked, already knowing the answer.
Mary Alice looked at the bruises like she’d never seen them before. “No,” was all she said before she changed the subject. “You could do worse than Gabriel, Addy. He’s got a strong back and good looks and a good heart too.”
Addy wondered how her friend seemed so sure about the boy’s good heart but didn’t ask. “He’s not for me, Mary Alice. No girl wants a boy prettier than she is. And that boy’ll just grow bigger and prettier and his shoulders wider and his jaw squarer. I won’t give him a second thought. And I bet he won’t give me one neither. Seemed interested in the cold drink was about all.”
The women were lying to each other and both knew it. Mary Alice had asked the boy to come by that day. And Addy would give Gabriel Green a second thought and a third and a fourth and over the next five years she would look for him on Degge Street and scan the crowds at the market and make it to all the Ferguson boys’ baseball games just because Gabriel Green helped coach. But Addy didn’t believe she deserved romance and simply dreaded the inevitable. For how could she love a man and be loved by a man who didn’t know her story? How could she be touched by a man who didn’t know she’d been touched before? And how could she bear a child and not say there was a baby brother who was loved, but never lived? Addy often imagined Gabriel in her bed, but never in her life.
In the afternoons Mary Alice and Addy went to the Farmer’s Market in the centre of town. Afterward, if the weather was fine and their food sacks not too heavy, they’d take a stroll by the Thames River to watch the children swim and the men fish and the boats sail off to points unknown.
It was early in June and the kind of perfect day Addy thought of as a God day. She’d long ago stopped thinking of Sunday as a day of the Lord and found just any day and any time the right time to give thanks and praise. Mary Alice brought a pint of strawberries to her face and let her nose do the tasting. She set the berries down and picked them up again, fretting. “Hamond’s fussy about his berries. Have to put these in a jam or a pie I suppose. They ain’t quite right to eat just simple yet.”
Addy nodded absently and moved away, for while the berries smelled sweet and delicious, she felt her stomach roil at the memory of the church supper and Zach Heron and in fact hadn’t tasted a strawberry since that day six years ago. She selected a bunch of rhubarb and a basket of sweet green peas, thinking how Mrs. Lemoine would complain if she forgot to buy butter again. She was hardly listening to Mary Alice say how hurt she was Olivia wouldn’t return to Chatham to celebrate her birthday again this year. Mary Alice’s question surprised Addy, as much as anything because she couldn’t remember the last time she’d been asked. “When’s your birthday, Addy?”
Mary Alice made parties for her sons and her husband, though she ignored her own birthday, and it had just suddenly occurred to her that she didn’t know the date of Adelaide’s birth. “When, Addy?”
Addy nibbled a stalk of tart rhubarb and shrugged. “Winter.”
“When in winter?”
“January.”
“When in January?”
“Twenty-fifth.”
“Why didn’t I know that?”
Addy shrugged again and moved along to another stall. The old farmer behind the counter glanced up. Addy’s heart began to thud. She knew the farmer, a man from Rusholme, the father of one of the older boys who used to work the fields at Mr. Kenny’s. She could not take her eyes from his. In his face she saw Rusholme and in the reflection of his pupils she saw her father. For it was true she was the image of her father, and it was only when she wore her hat and hid her ears that she could convince herself otherwise. Addy was mildly shocked when the man didn’t look at her sideways. How strange, she thought, not to be recognized.
Mary Alice startled her, coming up from behind. “Addy. Don’t ignore me. Why didn’t you never tell me when was your birthday?”
“I don’t know, Mary Alice. I haven’t made a celebration out of it since, well, since a long time.”
“Since Rusholme?” Mary Alice inquired, louder than she meant to.
Addy steered away from the market stalls and started for home, begging herself not to look back at the Rusholme farmer but doing so anyway.
“Well,” Mary Alice began, “see, a woman’s only supposed to stop celebrating her birthday when she has a husband and children of her own. I think you’re still fine to have a celebration. It’s been all that long?”
Addy nodded and wished Mary Alice had never asked the question, for now her mind was flooded with pictures and even the happy ones made her sad. She remembered the year she was with Riley and Poppa in Detroit. She remembered waking on her birthday and feeling sorry for herself and ashamed of her sorrow. She remembered being heavy with her baby and walking down the hallway with a glass of water and a bowl of corn she’d cooked in milk. She remembered how Poppa had not opened his mouth to let the spoon pass and how she’d convinced herself he couldn’t, not wouldn’t. She’d used her fingers to pry his jaw open and dragged the spoon against his loose teeth, trying not to be angry when he pushed the yellow mush back out with his tongue. Addy’d said, “Please take it. Please swallow. It’s my sixteenth birthday today and that’s the best present my good Poppa could give me.” Poppa had found her eyes and been held by her gaze and he did open his mouth then and take in and swallow the creamed corn. Addy smiled at the memory of Poppa.
She walked beside Mary Alice, feeling the beat of their feet on the road and thinking of her mother and her childhood and her birthdays in Rusholme. January twenty-fifth meant berry preserves for breakfast, whether it was the last of the jars or not, and special suppers and walnut squares or apple snow, as much as she cared to eat, no matter what her father’s face said. There would be walks through the snowy woods or skating on the crick or if it was cold enough, down at the lake. Addy’s face would go numb and L’il Leam’s too and they would laugh with their eyes because their jaws were frozen shut. Later, by the fire, they’d sing songs with Laisa, breathing the steam from a scalding cup of tea, feeling the prickly sensation of life returning to their flesh. And at night, Laisa would come to her bedroom and tell her the same story, year after year. “You was covered in blood and wailing like you been done wrong, but I was so happy to see you, Addy. I never told another soul case the Lord overheard, and I certainly never told your Daddy ’cause he would’ve been angry with my wish. But I did wish my second child w
as a baby girl. And all the time I carried you I dreamed how you’d be and never even cared when you looked more like your Daddy than a girl should. I thought of all the things I’d teach you and all the talks we’d have. And I knew, and I was right, that you’d be a good and loyal sister.”
Addy would close her eyes in the darkness and listen to the sound of her mother’s voice and fall asleep feeling loved and cherished. As she walked beside Mary Alice, she thought about how she would never see Laisa again. And never tend the grave or even know when her mother died or where she was buried. When she heard a voice, she forgot where she was a moment and asked, “I beg your pardon, Mama?”
“Mama?” Mary Alice said. “You just called me Mama.”
Addy blinked. “I’m sorry, Mary Alice. I was thinking of my mother. Wondering about her health. She never was too fond of her sister. I suppose she doesn’t do much but work the house and make herself scarce. Least she don’t have to live a hard winter any more. She used to complain about the snow.”
“Everyone complains about the snow.”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“Addy?”
“Yes, Mary Alice?”
“I’m sorry I didn’t know your birthday.”
“Truly, it don’t hurt me one bit. I just as soon let it pass quiet.”
Mary Alice nodded but didn’t believe her. She thought of Addy as a friend and a daughter and felt guilty and sorry she hadn’t asked about her birthday sooner. It was then she had the idea. A gathering, she thought, a birthday party of sorts, or at least a party to make up for all the birthdays lost. A surprise, she thought, so Addy couldn’t say no. A mixer with a few young men, grandsons of her mother’s friends and Gabriel Green with the soft eyes and big hands. Gabriel’s Mama was pushing him to marry a second cousin who stood to gain some land out near the lake. But Mary Alice was determined, and felt sure she’d have what she wanted. And what she wanted, more than she had a right to want, was for Addy Shadd to marry Gabriel and stay in Chatham, right there on Degge Street, just three doors down.
June slid into July and the air turned swampy and sick. The sun fired the earth all the long day and left the ground to smoulder when it set. On such nights Addy couldn’t sleep. She’d rise and slip out into the darkness to go sit by the river, or just stroll the quiet, empty streets and wonder at the stars. The first night, years ago, when Mrs. Lemoine’d found Addy gone from her bed, the woman assumed she’d run off to Toronto, or that the boy from Detroit had come and claimed her back. She’d been surprised to find her in the kitchen the next morning and wasn’t sure she believed her when Addy explained she’d gone to the park near the river for some air and a few winks of sleep.
Addy woke in her bed, slimy with perspiration, her heart racing from a bad dream. She felt too tired to head for the river, so she took to the porch to try to catch a breeze. The air was lazy, but the mosquitoes were lively and enjoyed a feast of her blood that left her with welts on her arms and face. Mrs. Lemoine was normally unconcerned about the welts, for it was the same with Addy every year. She could never persuade the girl to come inside on those heat-wave summer nights. This morning, however, she was vexed. “Adelaide Shadd,” she said, “you look like you been stung by fifty bees!”
“Like to take a wire brush to myself,” Addy said, and brought her fingernails to her cheeks.
She was shocked when Mrs. Lemoine slapped her hands from her face and fairly screeched, “Don’t scratch!”
Addy shrugged. “They’ll go away in a few days, Mrs. Lemoine. They always do.”
Mrs. Lemoine kept a special homemade ointment she called a potion in her bedside drawer. She insisted it would ease inflammation and ward off infection. She used the same ointment for toothaches and pink eye and seemed not to notice it stunk of rotten cabbage. She brought the jar into the kitchen and though Addy protested loudly, smeared the greasy stuff over her face and neck and arms, announcing, “That’ll take it down by tonight, don’t you worry, Addy.”
Addy hadn’t been worried and, except for the itching, didn’t care much about the appearance of the welts. As it was, she was merely annoyed that with the awful odour up her nose she could no longer eat her breakfast.
“Don’t forget,” Mrs. Lemoine called out before Addy left with a batch of blueberry tarts for the Ferguson boys, “I’ll be over to Mrs. Alexander’s house this afternoon and evening.”
“I know.”
“So don’t come back here thinking you have to cook my dinner.”
“I won’t.”
“You could do anything you like today, Addy.”
“Mmm-hmm. I appreciate that, Mrs. Lemoine.” Addy grinned tightly and wondered if Mrs. Lemoine was losing her mind. She’d come to her Monday and said it was high time she take a day off and Friday’d be a good one seeing as how she’d be spending it with her sick friend, Mrs. Butler.
“Just no reason whatever to come back here. You could go do whatever you like and no reason to come back here until after suppertime.”
“All right, Mrs. Lemoine.”
“Won’t be able to get inside anyway, Adelaide. I’m locking this house up and I have the only key.”
“All right, Mrs. Lemoine.” Addy’d flown out the door wondering why on earth Mrs. Lemoine would lock her house when there was nothing to steal and stealing hardly a common thing in the neighbourhood anyway.
As was her habit, Addy entered the Ferguson home without a knock at the door or any other formality. She was not surprised to look down the hall and see Gabriel Green sitting at the kitchen table, for he often lent a hand, especially in the summer when Hamond was on the farm. But she was surprised by the strange look on his face and by the tone in Mary Alice’s voice when she called out, “That you, Addy? Just wait. Just wait there. I’ll be right out!”
Addy stood in the front room, staring down the hall at Gabriel. She waited, thinking it most annoying to have been told to do so. She minded less when Gabriel rose and came down the hall to join her. His face took on an even stranger look and he asked with grave concern, “You sick, Addy?”
“Sick? No.” Addy shrugged, then remembered the welts and touched her face. “This? These? Just mosquito bites is all.”
“I get skeeter bites too, but they don’t…well, they don’t look like that.”
“I know.”
“Sure you’re not sick?”
“I’m not sick, Gabriel.” Addy smiled and leaned in to squeeze his big arm. “But I do appreciate your concern.”
The odour of the ointment hit Gabriel Green like a fist. “WHOA!” he cried, stepping back.
Addy cringed, for she’d grown accustomed to the stench. “It’s ointment. That’s all. A smelly one. Mrs. Lemoine put it on the bites.”
Gabriel used some restraint not to gag. He called out to Mary Alice in a voice that said he was holding his breath, “I’ll come by later if you need.”
“That’s all right, Gabriel,” Mary Alice trilled. “Thanks for your help and don’t let me keep you now.”
Addy silently cursed Mrs. Lemoine as she scratched the itchiest of the welts on the left side of her nose. “Mary Alice?” she called.
“Just wait one minute, Addy.” The way Mary Alice spoke was more like singing than talking and that meant she was hiding something. Addy strode down the hall and came upon her friend in the small kitchen, her back toward the door, her face buried in the icebox. Mary Alice shut the door quickly and turned around, damp and glistening. Addy looked at her. “What are you hiding?”
Mary Alice would be spared telling Addy that her icebox was filled with food for tonight’s party and that she’d just put the finishing touches on a tray of canapés, because at that moment she noticed the welts on Addy’s face and shrieked, “No!”
“It’s all right. It’s all right. It’s just the mosquitoes again.”
“You look terrible! You’re swollen and puffy and…” Mary Alice drew closer to have a better look. “You stink!”
“Your Mama’s ointment.�
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“Oh, Addy.” Mary Alice looked like she might cry. “You think they’ll go down by tonight?”
“They’ll go down when they go down. I don’t care, long as they stop itching me.” Addy settled into a kitchen chair and fanned herself. “Have a cold drink, Mary Alice?” She passed her the plate of blueberry tarts. “These want to go into the icebox too.”
Mary Alice hesitated, opened the icebox a crack, and drew out a pitcher of fresh lemonade. She set the plate of tarts on the counter, hoping Addy wouldn’t notice. She poured the lemonade and asked casually, “Don’t you have any nice summer dress to put on yourself?”
“Looking nice ain’t in my mind now, Mary Alice. I’m just so hot and scratchy. Wish it was winter and the river half frozen. Wouldn’t that be nice? To float down the river on a chunk of ice?”
Mary Alice wasn’t listening. She left the room and returned after a moment with a new dress, cotton, pink-hued, not too fancy, but pretty and cool. “Try this on. It was a present for Olivia, but if she doesn’t want to come home for her birthday, I guess she doesn’t get a present.”
Addy liked the look of the dress and didn’t care that it had been meant for Olivia. She slipped out of the old dress and slid into the new one. Caressed by the soft cotton, she felt better and cooler than she had in days. Mary Alice pronounced the fit perfect and said she looked pretty as a picture, “Except for the skeeter welts.”
Addy looked out into the backyard. “What’d he help you with?”
“Mmm?”
“Gabriel? What’d he help you with?”
“Oh, some things in the yard is all.” Mary Alice looked away like she always did when she was lying. “How long’s that smell gonna last, anyway?”
Addy shrugged and sniffed the back of her hand. “Your mother was in a strange humour.”
“She was?”
“Mmm-hmm. She told me do whatever I like today. I don’t even have to cook dinner tonight.”
“That’s good, isn’t it?”
“Suppose. I just hardly know what to do with myself though.” Addy sniffed her hand again. “Think it truly does ward off infection?”
