No Small Victory

by Connie Brummel Crook

  “Oh, the bones won’t hurt you. After they’re boiled in that vinegar, they go all soft. You won’t know which is bones and which is sucker!”

  “Eeuggh!”

  “No, they’re good!” Archie insisted. “Mum opens the jars up one at a time, adds flour, and then rolls the fish into little patties and fries them up. They taste almost like salmon balls!”

  “Maybe that’s not quite so bad.”

  “Just wait till you try it! Now I’ve got to head home. See you!”

  “See you,” said Bonnie, as she squeezed through the fence and started running up the hill. She wanted to get as far as she could while Archie was still in sight. As soon as she reached the top of the hill, she hoped she’d be able to see the barn and the house on the other side.

  “What good are these awful fish?” Mum was shouting.

  Bonnie had just come running into their big all-purpose dining room. But she stopped short when she heard the angry voices coming from the backyard. She opened the back door and peeked out. Her parents were glaring at each other.

  “It’ll be food in our stomachs this winter. We don’t have any meat.”

  “But I’ve never preserved fish! I don’t even know if it’s safe. We’ll all die of poison.”

  “Oh, yes, it’s safe,” said Bonnie. Both parents looked at her, perplexed.

  “What do you know about cooking?” Dad chuckled. It was no secret that Bonnie hated to cook and that her mother complained about anything Bonnie tried to make.

  “I know all about preserving those suckers! Archie told me. His mother has a special recipe. They clean the fish and put them in sealers on the stove and boil them for hours—and the bones all soften and then they put them in the cold cellar all winter and they keep just fine.” Dad was laughing now, but Mum was listening.

  “Thomas, carry those sacks down to the cellar. Then we are going to visit our neighbours. I need that recipe right away.”

  Duke and Rose lumbered up the hilly lane, pulling the wagon toward the road that led to the Johnsons’ farm. Mum sat beside Dad on the high seat and Bonnie was perched behind him on a bag of grain. It was a bit windy in the open air, but Bonnie didn’t mind. She was overjoyed to be visiting her new friends.

  Dad let the horses fly up the hills, through the woods, and onto the road at the western edge of the farm. He turned north—not south toward Burnham’s Dam. Then at the top of a steep, short hill, they looked down the sloping lane to a valley where a red brick house and a grey barn were sheltered by a line of spruce and basswood trees.

  “Well, I do believe we’ve arrived,” said Dad dreamily, gazing at a stand of poplars and tamaracks at the north end of the Johnsons’ farm. “If it weren’t for those hills, we would have been here even sooner. Too bad we couldn’t have come in the car, but we’ve got to save that little bit of gasoline for an emergency.”

  “Well, Push-a-Button,” Mum said. “The car certainly is a convenience we all miss—but how about we get these horses moving in the meantime? I must get that fish recipe!”

  “Oh, yes, the suckers,” said Dad. He loosened the horses’ reins and the wagon started moving again. In minutes, they were in front of the Johnsons’ place.

  A short woman with light brown hair was standing on the big, rambling verandah, wiping her hands on a stiffly starched apron.

  “Come right in. Unhitch the horses and stay for dinner!” said Mrs. Johnson with a big, friendly smile. Angela and her mother moved to either side of the front door, motioning the Browns to come in.

  “We really can’t just drop in on you unannounced!” said Mum. “I had no idea it was so near dinnertime.” All farmers ate their big meal of the day at noon.

  “I won’t hear of you not staying, Amy. In you come! And Thomas—you and my husband will want to trade fish tales!”

  The Browns walked into a well-scrubbed kitchen with braided rugs. To Bonnie, it looked like heaven with its cosy inside and all the friendly faces.

  Mrs. Johnson tousled Bonnie’s hair. “Don’t you just look like Shirley Temple with those golden curls,” she said.

  “That’s what everyone used to say back home!” Bonnie smiled. “And I’ve seen her, too, at the movies in Poor Little Rich Girl and Heidi!”

  “When did you see those, Bonnie?” Mum asked. “We never go to movies.”

  Bonnie hesitated. “I went with Aunt Dollie.”

  “I thought she took you to the library,” said Dad.

  “We went there, too.”

  Bonnie smiled with relief as all the grownups burst out laughing. Then, as they were ushered to the table, she breathed in the smell of freshly baked bread and luscious apple pie. Beside the big, steaming bowls of potatoes and carrots, there were fresh chicken and dumplings and all kinds of pickles—sliced cucumbers made bread-and-butter style, beet pickles, and tiny whole cucumber pickles. Bonnie knew she shouldn’t stare, but she couldn’t help it.

  Archie and Angela had joined them at the table, and their older sister Lizzie was there too. Lizzie was thirteen, and her blonde hair was drawn back in a grown-up way. At the opposite end of the room, their baby sister Teenie was throwing things on the floor—her spoon, bits of potato, and even some chicken. Bonnie could not imagine what her own mother would say if a baby did that to her spotless kitchen floor! But Mrs. Johnson kept patiently putting the spoon back in the baby’s hand.

  “So, Bonnie, are you coming to our school on Monday?” Archie blurted out, his mouth full of dumplings.

  “Yes, and I can’t wait! I love school!”

  “You love school?” Archie stopped chewing and looked at Bonnie as if a spruce twig had just grown out of the top of her head.

  “Close your mouth, Archie Johnson. No one wants to see your half-chewed dinner!” Lizzie scolded.

  Bonnie swallowed quickly so she could answer Archie. “Yes, I do,” she said. “And my teacher back home said I could do two grades together this year.”

  “Jeepers! You’ll be stuck doing homework all the time. Too bad! I’m going to be on Tom and Slinky’s baseball team.”

  “Who are Tom and Slinky?”

  “Oh, they’re the best baseball players in the school.”

  Bonnie wasn’t really interested in baseball. Bonnie’s mother had won a trophy for being top athlete in her school on Fair Day, but Bonnie felt like a complete stumblebum when it came to hitting things with bats and rackets. Baseball, tennis, badminton—whenever she saw something coming at her through the air, she ducked or whacked at it without looking.

  “I love baseball season,” said Archie, loading a spoonful of bread-and-butter pickles onto his plate. “I usually get picked about second or third.”

  “Really?” said Bonnie, trying to sound polite. “That must be nice.”

  “Yeah…I sure feel sorry for those bunglers who always get picked last.”

  Like me, Bonnie thought, twirling her fork through the creamed potatoes on her plate. She was beginning to get a bad feeling about starting school on Monday.

  Mrs. Johnson stood up, her blue eyes twinkling. “Eat up, everyone—apple and pumpkin pie for dessert.”

  “Dessert!” Dad exclaimed, looking as if he had arrived in heaven. “We came for one recipe and you’ve given us a banquet.”

  “I love feeding people!” said Mrs. Johnson with a genuine smile.

  “It’s so nice to taste another woman’s cooking. I get so tired of my own,” said Mum. “Your dumplings are the lightest and tastiest I’ve ever had. I’ll be so glad when I get some chickens.”

  “We could help you,” said Mrs. Johnson, bringing two pumpkin pies and one apple pie over to the table.

  “Thank you, but we’ll be fine. My father is bringing us his incubator and enough eggs. I’ll hatch them this winter and we’ll have a henhouse full next year at this time!” Mum helped herself to a slice of pie. “But when we’ve finished dinner, I would like that recipe for preserving fish. And I really must get right back before they spoil.”

  “Of
course. I’d even come over to help you, but I have a boatload to do up myself and then there’s the cleaning up afterward…. That seems to take even longer!”

  “Well, I’m used to hard work,” said Mum. Bonnie rolled her eyes to the ceiling, which made Archie smile.

  “But you don’t know about preserving suckers, Amy,” said Mrs. Johnson. “Listen—why don’t I send Lizzie home with you to help?”

  After dinner, Mrs. Johnson refused to let Bonnie’s mother help with the dishes. “Angela and I will manage just fine and you need to get back to the suckers,” said Mrs. Johnson.

  “Thank you so much for a lovely visit and a delicious dinner,” said Mum. “And it’s so kind of you, Alice, to send Lizzie to help me.”

  Then Dad got the wagon ready, and Bonnie and Lizzie climbed onto the back while Mum and Dad clambered onto the seat up front.

  “Wait! You can’t go yet!” shouted Archie as he pelted toward the barn. “I have something for you, Bonnie. You can’t leave without it.”

  Archie soon rushed out of the barn and raced back. In his arms, he held a furry golden pup. When he sat it on the ground, it started running around him in circles. It was a collie, just like the one Grandpa Brown had back in Massassaga.

  “We’ve been training him to be a cow dog!” said Mr. Johnson. Archie picked up the pup and sat him beside Bonnie. The little fellow promptly jumped up, putting his two white paws on Bonnie’s chest.

  Startled, Bonnie fell back. “My goodness!” she exclaimed.

  The pup jumped off the wagon and whimpered. Archie’s face drooped into a look of utter disappointment. Then Bonnie looked down at the little puppy.

  “You have all-white feet!” Bonnie smiled. “Just like boots!”

  “Hey! You guessed his name!” Archie smiled, hopeful. “I call him Boots.”

  “We thought you might like a friend in your new place,” said Angela. “He’ll be good company.”

  “C’mon, Boots,” said Bonnie. At the sound of her friendly tone, the little dog jumped toward the wagon. Archie lifted him up again. This time, Bonnie stroked the puppy’s head. He had a white star just above his nose. “Well, I’ll always miss my cat, but you’re not bad—for a dog. Thank you, Archie.”

  “We can sure make good use of a dog. Collies always make fine cow dogs.” Dad smiled as he and Mum turned around to look back at the little pup.

  “But you’ll have to take care of him, Bonnie,” said Mum. “He’ll need feeding, you know.”

  “Oh, sure,” said Bonnie.

  “I’ll make a warm spot for him in the barn,” said Dad. Everyone knew that farm dogs lived outside and slept in the barn like all the other farm animals. Then Dad handed Mum the horses’ reins while he came around back and tied a piece of binder twine around the dog’s homemade leather collar and attached the other end of the twine to the front seat of the wagon. Boots whined a bit as they drove away and shuffled around to look for Archie. Bonnie stared at the lonely little fellow and at the sad look on Archie’s face.

  Suddenly, Bonnie knew just how the dog felt. She pulled him over to her side and stroked his back. Then he set his head on her lap and stretched his long nose across her knees. He lay very still and quiet as the wagon pulled out onto the road leading back to the farm.

  Bonnie scratched and patted the white star on his forehead.

  The golden pup made a happy grunting sound. When she let her hand fall down beside him, he looked up at her with his big eyes and nudged her hand. Taking the hint, she stroked his head again. While Bonnie vowed never to forget Shadow, she could already tell that Boots was going to be a good friend.

  FIVE: A ROUGH START

  Out of the corner of her eye, Bonnie could see Dad scything down the tall yard-grass as she and Mum hurried out the front door. The sky was bright blue. It was the first Monday in October and a cool, gentle wind moved the branches of the maple trees west of the house. Boots ran in and out of the shade of the trees, happily chasing his tail. Bonnie was on her way to school.

  Mum tugged at her hand. “Hurry up, child, I don’t have all day.”

  “I could go to school with Archie and Angela. Why don’t you drop me off there?”

  “Because I have to speak with your new teacher.”

  Bonnie started trotting to keep up with her mother, who was already heading up the steep, twisting laneway leading to the bush. She started swinging her blue tin lunch pail for fun, but her clothes were making her more clumsy than usual. Her wool stockings were itchy, and the garters holding them up bit into her legs.

  She had to admit that the rest of her clothes weren’t too bad. Even though she didn’t have much money, Mum always made sure Bonnie looked stylish. Today, she was wearing a navy blue pleated skirt that her mother had turned upside down and re-hemmed, so the thin parts could be at the very bottom. A clean, starched white middy blouse with a navy blue collar hid the worn bits at the top of her skirt.

  “It’s too bad this path goes right through the middle of the woods. Do be careful. I’m trying to get you to school on time and with no rips and tears in your clothes—at least for the first day.”

  “Golly, Mum. It’s hard to walk in these new shiny shoes!” said Bonnie.

  “Bite your tongue, child. I had to give up buying a new pair for myself to get those.”

  Bonnie noticed the holes in the sides of her mother’s brown Oxfords. “I’m sorry. But could I take off my shoes and walk in my bare feet for a while? It’ll save wear on them.”

  Mum huffed, “Keep them on! I will not let you go to school in bare feet.”

  Shadows fell across the path in the woods. Bonnie didn’t mind trees, but there seemed to be too many right here.

  “Do I have to go through these woods when I go to school by myself?” she asked.

  “Yes, but you can see the trail easily. When you see more light come through the maple and oak trees, you’ll know you’re near the end of the woods.”

  They’d come to the edge of the woods and could see the rolling hills beside the Johnsons’ farm.

  They were on the road now, and Mum picked up the pace. “Now, Bonnie, before we get to school, I feel I should prepare you a little.”

  “Prepare me?”

  “Yes. Sometimes, schoolchildren pick on the new kid.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, when my sister and I started a new school, the children would put our coats and toques on the floor. Viola would get to the cloakroom before me and pick them up. But eventually it got to her, and when she told me what had been going on, she started crying. Well, even though I’m two years younger than Viola, I wasted no time on tears, I can tell you!

  “The next day I went around the whole room and dropped all the other coats and toques on the floor and hung mine and Viola’s back up on their nails. Then I waited as the pupils came in one and two at a time to get their coats. I’d have fought them if they’d tried to take our coats down again.”

  “You…what…?”

  “Yes. The ones that complained got a good yelling-at by me. You have to stand up for yourself in a new school. It’s the only way or they’ll take advantage.”

  Bonnie looked up at her strong, brave mother and felt fear rising in her throat. She wasn’t a scrapper like her mother. For a while they walked on in silence. Bonnie hardly saw the dusty road beneath her feet, or the rail fence and thick bush on either side of the road. Her mind was now on unknown dangers ahead of her. They crossed a bridge over the gleaming blue waters of Indian River, and Bonnie looked around fearfully for the school building. The dozen or so houses they passed were mostly frame and clapboard—smaller than most farm homes—but there were two brick ones off the road to the right and behind trees. There was only one side street. It branched off to the south.

  “Now, here’s my advice to you,” said Mum as they headed past the last house in the village. “Stand up for yourself but don’t go tattling to the teacher! No one likes a tattletale.”

  “But the
teacher should know what—”

  “He’s too busy to know everything.”

  “He!” Bonnie gasped. “Mum…did you say he? Is it a man? I’ve never had a man teacher before!”

  “Bonnie! Pull yourself together! I’m just trying to prepare you. Now, here’s the school. Don’t worry too much about being the new kid here. You’ll do well, just like you always do with your lessons.”

  Mum opened a heavy wooden gate just underneath a flaming red maple tree and pointed across a field of goldenrod and asters. There stood the little, grey clapboard schoolhouse. But Bonnie was staring at the strange swing hanging from the tree. A long, heavy rope was tied to a thick branch high up in the tree. Near the bottom it divided, one part going into an inverted V with a seat across the widest part, the other hanging limply to the ground.

  Bonnie followed her mother to the schoolhouse. As they came closer, she saw it had sagging, wooden steps up to the small stoop. An old shed stood at the side where wood was stacked and where pupils had once left horses and wagons. At the moment, however, there was no one in sight.

  “Where is everyone, Mum?”

  “They’re all inside, working on their lessons.”

  “We’re late!”

  “No, I timed it this way. Now that the pupils are busy, the teacher will have time to meet us.”

  As they walked up the wooden steps, Bonnie looked right through the cracks and holes to the dusty ground below. But she did not see anything. She was thinking about her new teacher—a man.

  They walked quietly through the small vestibule to the next door, where Mum knocked briskly.

  In a minute, the door opened.

  “Good morning, Mrs.…” Bonnie jumped as the teacher stood there in front of them. He was slim, with grey-green eyes and reddish-brown hair. He looked younger than some of the boys at the back.

  “I’m Mrs. Brown,” said Mum. “We’re new in the neighbourhood, Mr. McDougall. So I’ve come to enrol my daughter Bonnie in class today.”

  “And this is Bonnie?” the teacher asked.