No Small Victory

by Connie Brummel Crook

  “Don’t worry, Amy. This Lysol kills germs. And we’ll be through here by noon. Now put lots of Lysol on the wall after you tear off that wallpaper. Don’t forget,” the woman continued, “I cleaned out the pantry, too, after I finished the front room for your furniture. So now you’ll have somewhere to put your dishes and food.”

  Food! Suddenly Bonnie realized how hungry she was. She slid around the boxes and old orange crates filled with their stuff, but the doorway was blocked with two mattresses. So she squeezed her head between them and shouted, “Mum!”

  “Get back! Get out of here! At once!”

  “Why?”

  Her mother rushed over toward Bonnie like a bat flying out of a cave. “Don’t contradict,” she whispered. “Just get out to the verandah where there aren’t any germs!”

  “Why would there be germs?”

  “The Elmh—” Mum hesitated, pushing her thick wavy hair out of her eyes. “The house has been empty for three years. That’s all.”

  Bonnie shrugged and went looking for the front door. It would take a while to find it with all this furniture in the way. She walked through the tunnels between the piles of boxes and chairs and came to a small winding pathway of polished pine floor that led to the front door. For a minute, she thought she saw Shadow coming around the corner of one of the boxes. Then she remembered with a cold jolt: Of course, it couldn’t be Shadow. Bonnie gulped back a sob and determined to explore some more. She mustn’t think of Shadow right now.

  Out on the verandah, the air was fresh and the sun shone just the way it used to in Massassaga. Bonnie raced down the steps and through the overgrown grass.

  She flung herself on the bushy lawn and gazed back at the big, red-brick house. It was much grander than their old grey clapboard home. One side was square but the other side was set back a bit, with a gable on the roof. A white picket fence and a verandah with gingerbread trim both wrapped around the house. It was strange that no one had wanted to rent it for three years. What was wrong with the place?

  The blue jays were still making a ruckus in a tree just behind her. Bonnie sat up and turned around to get a better look. Now she saw the big long trail across a wide field. She got up and stepped over to the white picket fence. She squinted but couldn’t see the road or any mailbox, though she supposed they had one. Then she looked to her left across the barnyard to the end of a hilly lane. She could only see as far as the top of the first hill. She was almost sure she saw something else—a boy walking along the rail fence up there. He was holding a long, willowy tree branch like a flagpole.

  “Bonnie! Bonnie!”

  She scrambled back to the house. There was no use hiding from her mother. She always found you—and she always had another job for you.

  Well, I might as well get it over with, Bonnie thought.

  So Bonnie clambered up the verandah steps and faced her mother.

  “I don’t have time to repeat myself, so listen carefully. I can’t cook porridge because the stove isn’t hooked up yet to the stovepipes. But your grandmother packed sandwiches, and they’re somewhere out here on the verandah in a cardboard box marked ‘Food.’ Eat first, then bring the rest inside for me and Mrs. Elmhirst.”

  “Who is Mrs. Elmhirst?”

  “A very important lady who’s helping us. Now, get going!”

  Bonnie tiptoed along the verandah, looking at every box. Nothing there. So she tiptoed back and glanced over her shoulder at the row of bushes growing directly in front of the verandah. Was it possible that a box may have fallen somewhere between a bush and the verandah?

  A spruce tree, just a little bigger than the others, stood right in front of her. She stopped to touch a bright green branch but quickly drew back her hand with a piercing shriek.

  A long, thin green snake was draped over its branches just like Christmas tinsel.

  “What’s the matter, Bonnie?” It was Dad. He smelled like horses and cows.

  “Snnnaa…Snnn aaaa…”

  “What?”

  “SNAKE! LOOK!”

  Bonnie pointed at the spruce tree, but the reptile had slithered away.

  “There’s no snake there now. Besides, we have more important things to worry about than a small, harmless garter—like dirty barns.” Dad grinned ruefully. As he clapped his hands against his overall legs, clouds of dust swirled around him.

  Bonnie sneezed. “Boy! Everything’s dirty around here,” she said, “especially you. You have cobwebs all over your hair.” She ran her hands through her own mop of short, curly blonde hair—a mess of tangles still not combed out this morning.

  Her father was over six feet tall, and he towered above her, laughing. She hadn’t seen him smile all summer. “You’re completely right, Bonnie. It’s a dirty place. And I have cobwebs for hair. But the price is right—and this wonderful farm will help us climb out of debt.”

  “If we don’t starve first.”

  “Why on earth do you say that?”

  “Because I can’t find the lunch Grandma O’Carr made for us!”

  “You’re standing right in front of it.”

  Bonnie turned around and sure enough, there was the box marked “Food”—peeking out from behind the open front door.

  Bonnie smiled and pulled brown paper lunch bags out of the wooden box. “Mum told me to eat first and then take some in to her and Mrs. Elmhirst. Now you and I can eat together!” Bonnie loved eating with just her father.

  They sat down comfortably on the front steps. “So who is that lady who’s putting Lysol all over everything?” asked Bonnie before biting into a generous piece of fresh homemade bread folded around a thick slice of pork with Grandma’s own mustard. Her Grandma O’Carr’s pork roast was always the best!

  “Well,” said Dad, biting into his own sandwich, “she’s a very special lady who has had a hard life. Her husband and daughter both got sick and she took care of them in this house. They died, but she has two sons who are still alive. One is in a sanitarium for patients with consumption. The doctors call it tuberculosis now, and there are new treatments these days. Anyway, the other son is quite well.”

  So that was the reason her mother and Mrs. Elmhirst were scrubbing so hard—to clean out the consumption germs. Bonnie gulped down her mouthful and then said, “Where does Mrs. Elmhirst live now?”

  “She lives with her son, Roy, in Toronto—the one who’s well.”

  “Why doesn’t he run the farm?”

  “Well, he has a good secretarial job in Toronto.”

  “I wonder how he managed to get that sort of job!”

  “It wasn’t easy. His mother ran this farm all by herself while she was taking care of her sick family. She had enough money to send Roy to business college, and he went on from there. He’s a bachelor and his mother lives with him now. She is very proud of him.”

  “I would be proud of him, too!”

  “Yes, and we’re proud to be renting her farm. No talk about germs when you meet her, understand?” Bonnie turned to go but Dad grabbed the back of her collar and tipped her toward him. “Wait just a minute,” he said. “Do you understand?”

  Bonnie loved her father but every so often he could be very tough. And she did not like that. She squinted her eyes into slits. “Okay, Dad. But I don’t—”

  “No ‘buts’ about it. You button that lip and say nothing but ‘How do you do, Mrs. Elmhirst. Pleased to meet you.’”

  “But won’t we get consumption?”

  “No. It’s been some years since they left the house and our doctor says it’s ridiculous to think we can get it now after all that time.”

  “I see.”

  “The problem is that many folks are so afraid of the consumption that they have stupid fears. That’s the reason that no one’s rented this fine place till now. It’s been vacant for the last three years.”

  “Okay. I’ll be nice.”

  “That’s my girl,” said Dad, loosening his hold. “Now let’s take some grub in to the ladies. We’ll go i
n the back way.”

  Bonnie followed her father to one side of the verandah and along the short stone pathway to a shed made of wooden logs. “Next summer, we’ll use this for our kitchen,” said Dad, sizing up the place as they stepped through the doorway. “We’ll set up our stove out here. Look, Bonnie, it has its own ventilation.” Father pointed to the cracks where the chinking had fallen out between the logs.

  Bonnie put her face right up against one of the cracks and looked back up the lane where she’d seen the boy with the aspen branch. There he was again! But he was going the opposite way this time—probably going home. Bonnie was a little disappointed.

  “Who’s that boy walking along the rail fence at the top of our lane, Dad?”

  Her father came over and peered through the crack. “I don’t know, but I saw him out there earlier. He must live in the neighbourhood.”

  “I hope he comes to visit,” said Bonnie, following her father through the back door into the main house.

  The next morning, Bonnie stepped cautiously across the dooryard, through the gate, and into the barnyard. She was returning from helping her father send the cows out to pasture, but she didn’t want her mother to notice her. After all, she still had lots of exploring to do. Bonnie looked toward the lane and there was the boy again, carrying another aspen branch. This time he was coming down the steep hill to the edge of their barnyard. And behind him, there were two other figures.

  Bonnie ran helter-skelter across the barnyard and pulled open the heavy gate at the foot of the lane. The boy must have spotted her, for he seemed to be coming on—and Bonnie could see two older girls behind the branch.

  “Hi,” said the boy, as they drew up close. “What’s your name?” He brushed back his white-gold hair and smiled at Bonnie.

  “I’m Bonnie Brown. We just moved in.”

  “I know,” said the boy.

  “That’s Archie, and I’m his sister, Angela. We’re the Johnsons,” said the taller, dark-haired girl. Her eyes were kind. “How old are you?”

  “Nine,” answered Bonnie, suddenly shy.

  “I’m eleven,” answered Angela, “like Marianne Hubbs, here.”

  The second girl bounced up and down as though she were jumping over an invisible skipping rope. Marianne looked like someone who could get into lots of mischief. But her big, friendly smile made Bonnie think she might make a good friend.

  “We live on the two farms on the other side of your place,” said Angela, sweeping her arm to the west.

  “Yup!” said Marianne. “So, why did your folks—”

  “Marianne!” said Angela. She shot her friend a warning look. Marianne snapped her mouth shut.

  There was an awkward silence.

  “I can guess what you’re talking about,” said Bonnie.

  “Yeah,” said Archie, wrinkling his nose and squishing up his freckled cheeks. Bonnie figured he must be at least a year younger than she was. “Aren’t you afraid to live in that house? Jeepers! Two people died in there!”

  “Well, my mother’s disinfecting the house with Lysol right this very minute. That’s supposed to take care of all the germs. Mind you, she always keeps her house spotless.” Bonnie rolled her eyes up to the cloudless sky in disgust. “My uncles always say you can eat off her floors, they’re so clean. I won’t be so spotless when I grow up.”

  “Me, neither.” Archie nodded sympathetically.

  “Do you want to come up to the house and see inside?” Bonnie invited.

  The three children looked at each other cautiously.

  Archie grinned. “Hey, that’s why we’re here!”

  “We’d have come sooner,” said Marianne. “But yesterday was my piano lesson. Mother teaches me. Golly! What I have to put up with! That practicing goes on forever.”

  “She’s the youngest in the family and so her older sisters do most of the chores,” said Archie. “But in my family, I’m the only boy. So I have to do lots of work for Dad.”

  “Well, I’m an only child,” said Bonnie. “So I do chores for both my parents.” That was partly true—but Mum kept her busy indoors, mostly.

  “Well, maybe we should visit another day,” said Angela. “Your mother might not want visitors this soon.”

  “Maybe you’re right,” Bonnie said casually.

  “I guess we’d best skedaddle, then,” said Archie.

  Bonnie was sad, but a little relieved, too. She would have loved to invite her new friends to come inside the house. But Mum was definitely too busy for visitors.

  THREE: THE LAW

  “What’s for breakfast today?” Bonnie asked. Of course, it would be the same porridge, but then there might be a spoonful of Grandma O’Carr’s strawberry preserves. She plunked herself down on a chair in the dining room. That was what Mum had named this room, but really, it was the only downstairs room that they would live in until next spring. The parlour, where they’d packed away the lovely green-and-brown furry chesterfield and chair that Grandpa O’Carr had bought Mum, was much too cold.

  The only heat in the house this winter would be coming from their old kitchen stove, which her parents had just hooked up this morning. Their old house hadn’t had a furnace in the cellar either, but both her grandparents’ houses had one. It was wonderful to have a furnace, for it heated all the rooms and made even the bedrooms warm.

  “Just porridge and turnips,” said Mum as she held the pan above Bonnie’s plate.

  Bonnie groaned. “Is there anything else?”

  “Bonnie! No more talk like that!” said Mum sharply. “You’d better get used to it because that’s all we’re likely to have all winter.” Mum gave a grunt of disgust as she set the pan in the warming oven above the stove.

  “How about potatoes? And all those peas and tomatoes from back home in Massassaga?”

  “The potato crop failed. Remember? And the peas and tomato crops were poor, too. We sold what we could and put the money toward our debts. We are very fortunate to have so many turnips, at least.”

  “But we had lots and lots of McIntosh apples! That was a good crop this year.”

  “Yes,” said Dad, carefully hooking wire around the now hot stovepipe to secure it where it ran along the ceiling, “but we had to sell most of them to pay for our move, and we have to keep some money back to cover vet bills if the cows get sick this winter.”

  Dad stepped off the stool and set the hammer and wire on the edge of the table. “You know, Bonnie, our ancestors went through a much rougher time—the hungry year! They’d have been thankful for turnips. In the spring, they even ate the buds off certain trees!”

  Bonnie knew she’d better not say anymore. Her Loyalist ancestors had nearly starved in 1787. She’d heard about the story before. But that didn’t stop her from thinking horrible thoughts. What would they be eating come spring?

  Brrr-iiing, Brrr-brrr!

  Bonnie leapt from her chair in fright.

  Brrr-iiing, Brrr-brrr!

  “What is that?” Bonnie asked. It sounded like an angry, oversized bullfrog.

  “It’s our telephone.” Dad beamed. “And it’s our ring—a long and two shorts!”

  “A telephone!” exclaimed Bonnie with delight. She had always wanted to talk on one. But who would phone them out here?

  Bonnie followed her father to the big telephone high up on the wall right beside the front window. It was a foot-high wooden box with two shiny bells at the top. There was a mouthpiece just below the bells and an earpiece in a holder on its left side.

  “Browns’ residence,” said Dad, as if they lived in a palace.

  Bonnie rolled her eyes. If only the caller could see all the packing boxes and the half-hooked-up stove! Then they wouldn’t think too much of the Browns’ “residence.” A cough tickled her throat and burst out, dry and hacking.

  “Sshhhh, Bonnie!” Mum hissed from behind her. “Do you want folks to think you’ve caught consumption already?”

  “By George!” Dad said. “That’ll be great. Count me
in.”

  A low mumble came through the earpiece but even close by, Bonnie could not make out the words.

  “Right, I’ll meet you before long at the…Well, at the…you know.”

  What was Dad plotting? Bonnie wondered.

  “Well, what was that all about, Thomas?” Mum said sternly from beside the stove.

  “Oh, I’ve just hatched a little plan with our next-door neighbour, Herb Johnson.”

  “What kind of a plan?” said Mum, reaching for the poker behind the stove.

  “We’re going fishing.”

  “Fishing?” Mum’s brown eyes opened wide in alarm. “That’s illegal. It’s not fishing season.”

  “I know that, Amy. But we have no meat to eat this winter—not even a chicken’s neck to wring.”

  Bonnie looked hopefully at her father. She wasn’t so sure she liked fish, but it would be better than turnips.

  “I hope the game warden wasn’t listening in. It’s a party line, you know.”

  “Yes, but we talked the details over before. So I just needed the go-ahead now.”

  “Well, I thought you said plenty. And if you’re thrown in jail, what will Bonnie and I do?”

  “Go home to your parents. They’ll not put you out,” said Dad. His clear blue eyes twinkled. He seemed to know what his wife’s reaction would be to this suggestion.

  “I’d sooner starve than go crawling home!”

  “Well, you could always go on Relief. That’d pay the basics.”

  “Stop! Stop!” Mum hissed—something like a snake, thought Bonnie. She shuddered as she remembered the long snake on the little spruce tree.

  “I’m not in this alone,” Dad said. “Johnson and Post and Hubbs cooked up this scheme.”

  “Sure—and you’ll go to jail together. Or more likely alone. You won’t be able to pay the fine. They probably can.”

  “Don’t worry so much, Amy. The game warden seldom works on Saturdays, and besides, they leave someone as a lookout. I’ll slip right out of there if there’s any sign of the law.”

  Mum finished poking the fire and then banged the poker onto its hook behind the stove. “Well, I’m not comfortable with this. So far we’ve always trusted God to provide.”