by Lori Lansens
Hamond looked up from his hands. Addy would wonder later about balance, the question of balance, the balance of life, for Mose’s mother did not die that night, but Nora Lemoine did.
The crow outside cawed just then, more a scream than a caw, and Addy knew that although the sound was coming from the bird’s throat, it had originated in her own. Nora could not be gone. Nora, whom was never sick. Nora, whom she’d seen just that morning. Nora? Addy’d hear some of the details of what happened from Hamond. Later, Simon would tearfully confess the truth.
Nora’d come home from a visit to a friend’s and decided to bake a few pumpkin pies for Hamond and the boys. She asked Simon, who’d been living with her for the past year, to heft the pumpkin from the counter to the table and clean it out but save the seeds for roasting. She’d been annoyed with Simon, the way he handled the carving knife, and felt sure he’d slice off a finger in his carelessness and haste. She’d taken the knife back, finished the job herself, and was separating the seeds from the thick sticky pulp when she stopped, feeling strange. She grasped the edge of the table. The pumpkin fell on its side, spilling juice, pulp, and seeds onto the floor. Truly cross now, she told Simon get out of her kitchen, which he did and was glad to. Nora got a soapy rag and eased herself down onto the floor.
While she was there on her hands and knees, Nora thought to give the rest of the floor a once-over too and scrubbed what looked like a black tar stain for a full four minutes before a kicked-in-the-chest pain took her breath. She called for her grandson then, and in a decision that would alter the rest of his life, Simon did not come.
Simon had gone to his room and shut the door. It would be easy enough, he thought, to say he hadn’t heard his Grandmother if she barged in and confronted him. Otherwise, he thought, she can do whatever it is she wants done herself. Nora called again and again and after a few moments she called once more, but Simon truly couldn’t hear the last time, for her voice was so weak it was barely a whisper.
At some point Simon had wondered absently why the kitchen was so quiet. Then he wondered why he couldn’t smell pumpkin seeds, for his Grandmother always put the seeds to roast before she started rolling the dough and fixing the filling. He admired himself in his dresser mirror for a time, then decided to go see if the seeds’d gone in the oven yet as he had a hankering for a salty snack and was worried the old woman forgot. He found her then, on her side, curled in a ball, one hand clutching her left breast, the other clutching the soapy rag. Simon bent and tried to lift the old woman but she was much too heavy for just one man. She couldn’t speak but she reached out with her soapy rag and clung to her grandson like he was life itself. Simon could think of nothing to do or say except, “Oh no.” Finally Nora’s strength left her altogether and she fell back quiet on the just-cleaned floor.
He’d taken off running then, first to the doctor, who he was grateful was only two blocks away, then to his father’s, then finally to his Aunt Addy’s. Here they all were now and not one of them could quite believe Nora was gone.
Since the death of Mary Alice, the Yuletide season had not been a happy one for Addy and the Ferguson family. This year they would all have liked to let it pass without the pretence of celebration. But Mose was to be home for three days and he insisted they have Christmas, as they always did, on Degge Street. He thought it would be the best thing, just to be together for the day, and he reminded Addy how lucky they were to have each other, for he thought of the Ferguson men as brothers.
Somehow the puddings got made and the gifts knitted or baked, the fowl slaughtered and dragged home, and the decorations hung. Snow came on Christmas morning, along with a bitter northeasterly wind. Mose and Addy arrived at the little house on Degge Street, their arms filled with food and brightly wrapped packages. Addy fired up the stove and Samuel, without being asked, came in to help with supper. After they’d eaten too much and all the men had a few glasses of rum, they sang a few hymns, though not a single one of them was a churchgoer, then Mose started on about the Brotherhood with Hamond.
It wasn’t that Hamond didn’t care, it’s just that he had troubles of his own. His back was so sore now at the end of the day he could hardly straighten up to lie down in his bed. His knuckles had grown gnarled and thick. He couldn’t grip the way he used to and was ashamed to see how the younger men shook their heads when he dropped things. He was hopeful the matter of Nora’s estate would be settled up sooner rather than later so he could sell her old house and quit the farm, maybe even buy himself a truck. He’d shrugged and explained, when Mose accused him of indifference, “Maybe you’re right. Guess I’m just getting old.”
Mose’s speech was slurred from the rum. Addy wanted to go home, but her husband was just getting started. “Imagine, Hamond, imagine if our forefathers felt like you. Just shrugging their shoulders like that? Imagine where we’d be today. We’d still be in bondage, don’t you see? Your sons would never have learned to read. You wouldn’t own your own house. You can’t just shrug your shoulders, Ham. We got a long row to hoe yet.”
Hamond nodded, careful to keep his thoughts from his face. He loved Mose like family, but it was impossible to look at Mose and not see a white man. It was all he could do not to chuckle when Mose spoke of the black man’s struggle or shake his head when Mose said we like they lived the same life.
“You know where we are without organizations like the Brotherhood? Do you know, Hamond?”
“Where are we, Mose?”
“We’re in the cotton fields, Hamond. We’re in chains, Hamond. I tell you what it’s like for me and my brothers on the train?”
“Everybody calls you George.”
“Yes!”
“I been called worse than George, Mose.”
“But George is not my damn name.”
“I understand.”
Hamond left the room when Mose turned his attention on Samuel. Samuel was the younger and gentler of the two Ferguson boys. He found it impossible to argue with Mose so he just sat back, listening and nodding. Simon left, stinking of liquor, to call on his sweetheart and her family. Addy worried, watching him wobble out the door, what the girl’s folks would think of their daughter’s drunken beau. Merry Christmas, she thought silently. May the Lord bless us all.
January came and Addy’s birthday, and Addy’s moon. The days were short, the nights long and dark and lonely. Mose would miss her birthday, but the boys showed up at her door that bitter cold morning with a gift wrapped in butcher paper and an invitation to dinner. Addy knew an invitation to dinner on Degge Street meant she was cooking, but she didn’t care a bit.
As she’d been instructed, Addy waited until after Simon and Samuel left to unwrap the gift. Whatever it was, it was in a butter box and she could smell the sour of it before she tore off the brown butcher paper. She pried off the lid and stared bewildered at the contents. Inside were family photographs, of Nora and her husband, of Hamond and Mary Alice, of the boys when they were small. There were tiny baby teeth in a medicine vial and locks of baby hair folded in parchment. There was a child’s gold bracelet and Mary Alice’s wedding ring and a note she’d written to Hamond when she must have been very young. The ink was so faded Addy could only read the words at the bottom of the page: Always and truly your Mary Alice. On top of the other things was a folded piece of paper with Addy’s name in Hamond’s writing. She unfolded the paper and was surprised when three crisp dollar bills spilled out. She read:
Dear Adelaide,
This is to say Happy Birthday to you and thank you for all you done for me and my family. It was hard to lose Nora this year and I don’t know what we would have did without you. I found this box in the attic at her house and it’s all the things I guess Mary Alice never cared about saving but her mother knew they’d be important to somebody. I didn’t want to give it to the boys seeing they’re still too young to care about old photographs and baby teeth but I bet they like to have it one day and I know you’ll save it for them. The three dollars is for you to
buy a trinket for yourself because Mary Alice said I never was good at picking things out. I wish it was ten dollars but it’s three.
Hamond
Addy smiled and wiped her eyes and wondered about where to put the box for safekeeping. The attic, she thought, but knew she couldn’t move the huge oak dresser by herself to get at the door. She strummed her fingers and looked around the tidy room, wondering what to do next. She decided to bake a cake for Hamond and the boys. Mostly she just wanted to keep busy, to stop herself from giving in to the feeling that Hamond was sick and preparing to die. She couldn’t bear the thought of him leaving, for in her world he’d become a bridge to land. When the cake was cooled, Addy pulled on an old dress and didn’t bother to fix her hair. It was only Hamond and the boys after all. And she was doing the cooking.
The house was spotless clean. Addy knew that was Samuel’s doing. Samuel took care of the house. Simon took care of himself. The boys would be finished at the high school by spring. After that, Simon thought he might like to go up to Toronto and live with Olivia and take Darryl up on his offer to help set him up in a job. Samuel wanted to work the farm with his father, but Hamond wanted something better for his boy. Hamond thought he should go North with his brother and try his luck in Toronto too, but Samuel’d never leave Chatham.
The supper dishes had been washed, dried, and put away before Addy got back to the kitchen with her empty cake plate. She thanked Samuel and said she didn’t mind he was heading off to go skating with his friend. Samuel’s friend was a sweet and gentle boy and neither Addy nor Hamond could understand Simon’s disdain. Simon wouldn’t pass a word with the fellow, or even stay in the same room. The only reason Hamond and Addy could come up with was that Simon was tortured by his Grandmother’s recent death. They noticed he’d become harder and more arrogant and guessed that was his way of coping.
With Simon gone off for the evening too, the house was quiet and empty except for the ghosts. Leam and Chester and Nora and Mary Alice had all showed up for Addy’s birthday. Addy and Hamond sat side by side on the sofa, drinking tea, not feeling obliged to talk about the cold, the snow, the spring forecast from the Farmer’s Almanac, or the spectres among them. There were no recipes to share, no household tips, no teasing, and no bickering. Hamond and Addy just sat, sipping in silence.
When an hour had passed, Addy stood and reached for her coat. As he always did, Hamond reached for his coat too so he could walk her the few blocks home. They said nothing as they moved down the street, heads bowed against the wind, and when they reached the door to the house on William Street, Hamond turned without a word and started off back home. Addy remembered then, there’d been something she’d been meaning to ask him.
“Hamond,” she called, then again for he hadn’t heard, “Hamond, will you move that big dresser for me so I can put that box of photographs in the attic?” As they climbed the stairs she reminded him, “That front leg’s broke so be careful.”
WHEN ADDY WOKE SHE was surprised to look across the room and see that the dresser had not been moved back in front of the little attic door. She was further surprised, and confused, to see that the dresser was nowhere at all in the room. She blinked, for it was still dark, and tried to focus her eyes. Nothing in the room was familiar to her. Where the old wine-coloured sofa’d been, there now stood a long box made of glass. Addy cursed her eyes for telling her there was a mummy case against the sofa wall of her and Mose’s apartment.
She heard his voice and recognized it before he came into her field of vision. There was just enough time for Addy to clear her thoughts and understand that she was sitting in a chair on the third floor of the Chatham Museum. Mr. Toohey was walking toward her, asking, “Are you all right, Mizz Shadd?”
“Oh yes. Fine. Mmm-hmm,” she answered, smiling.
“I didn’t know if I should call someone.”
Addy looked around the room and saw they were alone except for the mummy in his sarcophagus. “Where they all gone?”
“They’re downstairs having maple sugar fudge with Miss Beth.”
Addy nodded and rose, feeling her hip buckle. Mr. Toohey took her arm. She looked at him. “Is this William Street? Number Seventy-one William Street?”
He nodded.
“This house,” she said, “I used to live here. This was my apartment.”
Mr. Toohey cleared his throat. “Yes.”
“A long time ago.”
The young man nodded and watched her eyes swallow the room.
“I lived here with—” Addy stopped, having reached for his name and found nothing. It wasn’t Chester. It wasn’t Simon. How is it possible she could not recall his name? “My husband.”
“Hamond?” Mr. Toohey ventured.
Addy turned sharply. There was fear on her face. Mr. Toohey answered her look, realizing she was still feeling confused. “You were talking a little. Talking in your sleep a little. Sharla said it’s happened before.”
Addy could hardly speak. “I was talking about Hamond? What’d I say about Hamond?”
“Nothing really. Nothing Miss Beth and I could understand. Just called his name a couple of times. Something about moving a heavy dresser.” Mr. Toohey cleared his throat again. “Sharla said it was best not to wake you up. I hope we did the right thing?”
Mr. Toohey began to guide Addy toward the stairs and she was sorry, for it was a revelation to be in this room again, and to feel her old life here like it was real and happening. As she made her way down the stairs she wondered how she hadn’t seen it earlier, the curve of the staircase, the original doors and knobs on what was once the Baldwins’ apartment and was now the Aboriginal room on the second floor. The fancy moulding at the foot of the stairs. The way Mrs. Yardley’s door never quite hung right. How had she not seen? Even the entranceway was little changed. The wallpaper had been taken down and replaced by sickly yellow paint but the only other difference was that Miss Beth’s big desk stood beside the sofa where she’d spent her time waiting and waiting. “My husband’s name was Mose,” she whispered to herself. “Mose.”
Candy Canes
THE ROAST TURKEY WAS much too big for just the two of them but Addy wanted to give Sharla a homey old-fashioned Christmas. It was a utility bird, missing all four limbs and a good chunk of breast, and still it was too much. She’d have to move some things out of the freezer to make room for leftovers, and worse, there’d be that farty turkey odour every time she opened her fridge.
On Christmas morning, Addy was awake long before Sharla. In fact she hadn’t slept a wink that whole long night. Krazy Kyle’s had delivered the television the day before and she’d asked the man to put the huge thing in her bedroom closet. She wondered all night how she and Sharla’d get it back out and down to the living room. In the end she thought she’d bundle Sharla up and send her over to fetch Warren Souchuck.
Since that night Mum Addy’d suggested there was a special present coming from Santa, Sharla’d been sweet but certain in her insistence that she already knew what it was. Sharla’d been wrong, but Addy never guessed what she was thinking.
“Mr. Toohey says you musta had quite a life,” Sharla had said that previous morning over breakfast.
“Don’t talk with cereal in your mouth, Sharla. Look, Honey. You’re getting your flakes all over the table.”
Sharla chewed and swallowed. “He said you seen some things in your day.”
“Did he?”
“Mmm-hmm. He said you had a life and seen some things and you must have a story to tell.”
“What kind of story?”
Sharla shrugged. “We learned O Canada in French. Want me to sing it?”
“Not now, Honey. What else Mr. Toohey say? He say anything more about the museum?”
“You mean when you were talking at the museum?”
“Yes. That’s what I mean.”
“Were you talking to Leam?”
“Did you tell him I was talking to Leam?”
Sharla shook her head. T
here was a knock at the door then and Addy could see a big grey van parked out in front of the trailer. It was the fellow from Krazy Kyle’s, she knew, and she didn’t want to spoil Sharla’s surprise. She hurried Sharla into the bathroom, explaining in a whisper that Santa Claus was dropping something special off a little early, and made her promise to stay inside till Addy said come out. Sharla went willingly, for her friend Lee-Ann had told her it was wrong to peek at Santa and he might not leave your presents if you caught a glimpse.
Finally, the television safely hidden in her closet and Krazy Kyle’s big grey van gone off down the mud lane, Addy opened the door and let Sharla come out. There was a strange look on the child’s face as she glanced around the room. “What’s wrong, Sharla?”
“Nothing,” Sharla whispered, peering down the hallway.
“Well, what are you doing?”
“Is he here?”
Addy didn’t understand. “He’s gone, Honey. I told you he was just dropping something off.”
“He’s coming back though?”
“He’s coming again tonight.”
“Where’s he gonna sleep?”
“He won’t sleep here, Sharla.”
“I don’t want him to come.”
“Well you must be the only child in the world who doesn’t want a visit from Santa.”
“It wasn’t Santa.”
“Sure it was Santa!”
Sharla’s voice was tiny. “I saw the van.”
“Sharla Cody! Did you climb on the bathtub and look out that window?!”
Sharla nodded as fat tears began to roll down her cheeks.
Addy bent down. “What is it, Honey? You upset because you didn’t see the reindeers?”
Sharla shook her head.
“You afraid? You afraid of Santa?” Addy asked with some surprise.
