“It doesn’t matter whether you’re hungry or not. You need to eat.”
“Please, Mum, couldn’t we have something else besides suckerballs and turnips? Maybe an orange once in a while?”
The minute she said the word “orange,” Bonnie knew it was a mistake.
“Oranges are very expensive,” said Dad. “We simply cannot afford them.”
“And why can’t we afford them, Thomas? Because you expanded your farm too quickly down in Massassaga. You shouldn’t have bought the best prize Holstein cows. Dad’s Jerseys give just as much milk and more cream! We wouldn’t be stuck in this place if you’d been reasonable.”
“How was I to know the Depression would hit, Amelia? Lots of people are in worse shape than we are.”
So Dad was calling Mum by her proper name. He did that when he was angry. Bonnie knew she mustn’t say anything or both her parents would yell at her. She wished she didn’t have to hear all this again.
“And those old folks you borrowed money from? They don’t need to be paid back so quickly!”
“If you were elderly, you wouldn’t say that!”
“They’re not pushing you, Thomas. It’s your pride. Of course, you must repay them. But do it more slowly! Have they complained?”
That was a good question. Bonnie stared up at her father, but he looked right through her as though she didn’t exist.
“No. But it’s my duty to pay them back as soon as I can. They’re old and they’ll be worrying. And we’re not starving!”
“Well, not yet, Thomas, but wait till winter comes! What if some of that fish goes bad? Or the turnips get too mouldy?”
“We have lots of fish,” said Dad. “And you’re a clever cook, Amy.”
Good! thought Bonnie. He was calling her Amy again! Things were going to calm down now. That sick feeling in Bonnie’s stomach was starting to feel a little better.
“You can think of a million ways to make things tasty. This fry-up is just excellent, by the way.” Dad didn’t like fighting any more than Bonnie did.
Bonnie stared at her plate, lifted her fork, and started to eat. One mouthful at a time, she would get it down. And she would never mention an orange again. When they saw her eating, maybe they’d stop this fighting.
“Well, thank you,” said Mum, “but no one wants to eat the same fish a million different ways! When I was a girl, we worked hard, but we always had good meals. That was because Dad hunted. When we ran out of meat, he took his gun and shot a deer or a rabbit or—”
Dad’s face went pale. “Amy…Amy…please don’t talk about hunting. I cannot stand the sight of blood! You know that!”
“Yes, but I don’t understand it. You could get used to it, but instead you’d rather putter around on the farm all day.”
“Putter? I wouldn’t call ploughing up those tough old fields puttering. I wouldn’t call milking and mucking out horse and cow stables puttering! I’m working just as hard as any man can.”
“Well, so am I.” Her voice was louder now.
“I never said you didn’t,” mumbled Dad.
Mum was not consoled. “I get up at the same time as you every morning, and every night you’re snoring before I even get to bed. I work longer hours than you do!”
“I know, Amy.” Dad’s voice was much quieter now, and he looked sorry. Mum was going to win the argument again, thought Bonnie with a sigh. She usually did, whether she was right or wrong. Most of their arguments started with talk of the debt.
One thing was for sure, Bonnie decided. When she grew up, she would never buy anything she couldn’t pay for right then. She would never, ever be in debt!
SEVEN: TOM AND SLINKY
“Get down here, Bonnie!” Mum yelled from the bottom of the stairs.
“I’m dressing!”
“Well, hurry up about it!”
Mum had hung Bonnie’s white middy and navy skirt on the bedside washstand made out of an old orange crate that Mum had found in the trash behind a Belleville store. The clothes were all cleaned and ironed, just like a miracle.
Bonnie whipped them off the stand, put them on, and hurried down the stairs. The minute Mum saw her daughter, she rushed over with a big apron made out of a flour bag. That would protect Bonnie’s top from all the porridge she would soon be spilling. But this time Bonnie downed her porridge at lightning speed without a single mistake.
Two minutes later, her mother was whisking Bonnie out the door with her blue tin lunch pail, her scribbler, and a warm navy jacket. “Off you go, and pay attention to your teacher. You’re a smart girl, but he’s smarter. So listen to what he says.”
“That reminds me, Mum,” Bonnie began, “Mr. McDougall only has my June report card. Didn’t Miss Anderson give us anything else? Anything about my Grade Five work?”
“What do you mean, Bonnie? I gave Mr. McDougall all we had—your June report card. We left suddenly. Don’t you remember? We did not have time to pick up anything else—not even your school books!”
Bonnie had suspected this but wanted to be sure, just in case some other sort of evidence could still be found. Now there was no hope whatsoever.
Out in the barnyard, Boots was racing around Duke and Rose. Dad was hitching them up to the plough. He shouted, “Have a good day, Bonnie. Work hard!”
“Oh, sure,” said Bonnie. How could she have a good day doing work she had already done last spring? What was the point in working hard? Bonnie slowed her pace, a feeling of gloom and dread creeping over her. Why hurry to that school?
Dad didn’t notice. He went merrily on his way as he whistled a cheery tune.
“Hey, Bonnie! Come over here and play on our team!” Archie yelled from the other side of the schoolhouse gate. The grassy area between the asters and the school was wet with dew, but no one seemed to mind. Two teams were already lining up to play.
Oh, no, thought Bonnie. Baseball!
She started thinking up excuses. Mum wouldn’t want her to get her shoes wet. She also wouldn’t want her to get dirt on her skirt and middy. Maybe…Bonnie stopped herself. If she used excuses like that, she knew the other students would make fun of her forever. So she just smiled and said, “Not this morning. I have reading to do!”
That was not really a lie, for she hadn’t forgotten Anne of Green Gables. There was a chance Mr. McDougall would let her read it before classes began.
“Why ask that darn snippet anyway?” one of the boys jeered as Bonnie walked up the steps to the school. “I’ll bet she can’t throw or catch—let alone hit a ball!”
Bonnie turned her head away and marched into the school.
Inside, the room was empty and quiet. Mr. McDougall was busy marking papers at his desk; so Bonnie tiptoed to her seat, not wanting to disturb him. She stashed her scribbler in the desk, then leaned over. She could almost reach the bookshelf. If she moved another inch toward the edge of her seat, she wouldn’t have to walk across the creaking floor boards to fetch the book.
Another half-inch…another…
Crash! Bonnie fell to the floor, and a few novels fell down around her shoulders.
“Bonnie Brown! What in heaven’s name are you doing?”
Bonnie stood up and dusted off her skirt. A book with a worn-out cover dropped from her lap. “I’m sorry, sir…Sir McDougall, I mean Mr. Sir, I was just trying to—”
“It’s ‘Mr. McDougall,’ Bonnie. Now, have you signed that book out or did you imagine that you could simply take whatever you pleased?”
“No, I didn’t know, Mr. McDougall…it’s just…I didn’t want to play baseball in the schoolyard…and…”
“And you think that gives you special permission to come in and take books?”
“No, sir, I mean Mr. McDougall, I didn’t want to interrupt your work to ask for a book—”
“Well, Bonnie, I know it’s difficult coming to a new school, but you have to make an effort to learn new rules. In the future, be sure to sign out each book before you take it. See that pencil and pap
er above the shelf? If you sign the book out first, you don’t have to ask permission. For now, though, just put those books back on the shelf and sit back at your desk. It’s nearly nine o’clock and everyone will be coming in soon.”
Bonnie spent the rest of the morning trying to make sure Mr. McDougall didn’t notice her. From time to time, she could not resist stealing a glance at the bookshelf. The words Anne of Green Gables were still glowing there in large gold letters, on the spine of the book.
When the wall clock at the back of the room showed twelve, Bonnie breathed a sigh of relief. Lunchtime! She’d have a whole hour away from Mr. McDougall’s eagle eyes, and Angela would be waiting for her outside the door. They’d have a nice walk through the nearby fields while everyone else played baseball.
Bonnie left her seat with the others and walked into the girls’ cloakroom. Her dark blue jacket was hanging on its hook and her lunch pail was on the shelf above it. She picked up her lunch pail and raced out to the schoolyard where a gentle breeze tossed a few leaves over the ground.
Under the maple tree, a couple of the big boys were tussling over a baseball bat. But Angela and Archie were nowhere in sight. Nor was Mr. McDougall. He had gone for his lunch hour to his boarding house, which was at the other end of the hamlet.
“What are you having for lunch?” Marianne bounded up beside Bonnie and slapped her across the shoulders.
“Oh…I was just looking for Angela and Archie and…” Bonnie said. “And here you are!”
“Weren’t you looking for me, too?”
“Oh, yes, yes! But where is everyone else?”
“They went home for lunch. They often do that when the weather’s good.”
“Oh…” Bonnie tried not to look disappointed.
“So don’t you want to have lunch with me?” Marianne’s wispy, blonde braids flew sideways as she turned away.
Bonnie grabbed Marianne’s shoulder and said, “Of course, I do!” Marianne was a bit bouncy, but she was friendly.
“Do most kids go home for lunch?” Bonnie asked as they squeezed between the other children on the steps of the school.
“Sure do! Till it snows.”
Bonnie’s desk mate, Betty, inched over toward the two girls. “I usually go home for lunch too,” she said, “but my parents went to Peterborough today.” She took a huge orange out of her paper lunch bag and started to peel it.
An orange! How could Betty’s parents afford to buy her an orange—for her school lunch? Bonnie couldn’t help watching as Betty popped a piece into her mouth—then another, and another.
“Would you like a piece?” Betty asked at last.
Bonnie smiled. She could hardly believe her luck. “Yes, please!” she exclaimed.
Betty handed a section to Bonnie and held out another piece for Marianne.
“No, thank you,” Marianne said in a cold tone. Betty looked hurt. She got up and walked inside the school.
“This orange is good,” said Bonnie. “Why didn’t you want any?”
“Because Betty always wants payment. She’ll expect you to give her answers for arithmetic this afternoon. If you don’t, she’ll never offer you another piece.”
“Are her parents rich?”
“No! They’re poor, but they’re on Relief. Most of the people in Lang are on Relief. In Peterborough, people can go to soup kitchens, but not here. So some people accept money from the government.”
“Oh,” said Bonnie. Relief didn’t sound too bad. She wondered why her own parents were so against it.
As if answering her question, Marianne said, “We farmers never take Relief. We’re a step above that.”
“What is Relief, exactly?”
“It’s like charity from the government, to keep poor people from starving. Most folks won’t accept it.”
“Well, the people in Lang don’t have farm food the way we do. They don’t have cows to milk. So I guess they really need Relief.”
“That’s true,” Marianne said and thought for a while. “Well, anyway, I hate it that they can eat oranges and bananas and other things, too, and we can’t!”
The two girls stared down at their toes as a dark cloud sent a big shadow across the schoolyard.
“Maybe we’ll be rich someday!” Marianne said brightly. “I’d like to be a nurse. I’m always taking care of sick animals.”
“So why don’t you be a vet?”
“I’d like that, but did you ever know of a girl vet?”
Bonnie thought. “No, but there are women doctors—so there must be some women vets, too.”
“I never knew a woman doctor.”
“Well, our doctor at Belleville was a woman—Dr. Connor. And she was the best doctor in the whole countryside. She travelled around in her horse and buggy, visiting patients. It was five miles across that cold Bay Bridge from Belleville just to our place!”
“I still think I might like to be a nurse,” said Marianne.
Then, as the shadow of another cloud crossed the yard, Bonnie sensed someone standing in front of them. It was Lawrence, whom all the kids called Slinky, and another big boy—probably Tom, Bonnie thought. Slinky was smiling with his mouth open wide, a huge, greasy grin that matched the greasy light brown hair that straggled over his ears. He was wearing a grey undershirt under his coveralls, and mud was smeared under his left eye. His small green eyes squinted at Bonnie.
“Lunch hour’s only half over, Tom,” said Marianne. “Are you looking for your sister Pearl?”
“Nope. She’s still at home. I ate fast and came back early.” Tom was a sturdy boy with broad shoulders. He brushed a shock of dark brown hair off his forehead and stared at Bonnie with large, cold, blue eyes. He was not smiling.
But his friend Slinky laughed a big, ugly laugh. “Do you know who’s sitting next to you?” he drawled.
“Of course I do. Bonnie Brown, our new neighbour.”
“Aren’t you afraid to sit beside her?”
“Why should I be?”
“She comes from the consumption house. My parents say she shouldn’a bin allowed to come to school and infect us all. They went to the health-medic in Keene, but Dr. Wright says there ain’t nothin’ he kin do ’bout it.”
“Yeah, so we figger we will,” Tom sneered.
“Bonnie, go run to the girls’ toilet,” Marianne whispered. “They won’t dare follow you there!” Then Marianne stood up and looked—first Tom, then Slinky—right in the eye. “Mind your own business or I’ll tell the teacher.” Marianne pushed Slinky’s chest with the flat of her hand.
I will not run away, Bonnie told herself, standing her ground. I won’t let the bullies see I’m scared. Mum said to stand my ground! But she felt her heart thumping.
In the next second, Bonnie felt four rough hands grab her by the shoulders. Marianne pulled back on her middy collar, but the boys won out. Pupils all over the schoolyard were now staring as Tom and Slinky pulled Bonnie across the lawn.
Bonnie’s heart was pounding harder and harder. She started screaming, “Let me go! Let—me—go!”
But the boys kept dragging her across the grass.
Was no one going to help her?
Now the bullies were throwing Bonnie onto the cement platform of the school water pump. Tom was working the pump handle, and Slinky hung on to her arms so tightly she could not move.
Maybe they were just going to make her drink some cold water. She stopped struggling and watched.
Then, in a sudden movement, Slinky tipped her head under the spout and yelled, “Keep pumping, Tom! We’ll get rid of them darn germs!”
Now, Bonnie squirmed desperately to be free. Then she heard something else. It was…it was cheering. All the kids were egging the bullies on! But why? Did they hate her? Did they think she was a show-off because she answered a Grade Five question in class? Or a snob because she wouldn’t play baseball?
“Hold ’er head under! Don’t want water all over that purty dress. McDougall would tan us for sure. But let me at t
hat ugly mop of hair. Probably full of germs—and cooties!”
Bonnie gasped for air, but Tom kept on pumping. The water got colder and colder. There was water in Bonnie’s eyes, her nose, her mouth, and her ears.
She was sputtering and coughing, but the water kept coming.
“See, what did I tell ya? Consumption! Ain’t she fulla germs? Better wash ’er up some more!”
“Stop, you deadbeats!” cried Marianne. “Do you want to hang for murder? She could choke to death.”
“Watch your language, Miss Prissy, or I’ll tell your Dad,” said Tom.
“Mr. McDougall will be back soon!” yelled Marianne.
Finally, Tom stopped pumping and Slinky threw Bonnie on the grass. When she could open her eyes again, she saw a whole group of kids—maybe half the school—walking away with their backs turned.
Only one person stood beside Bonnie.
“Here,” said a voice. It was Marianne’s. She wiped Bonnie’s face with a white, lace-trimmed handkerchief. “I know a nice sunny stone behind the school. We can sit there till you dry out.”
Blinking back her tears, Bonnie let Marianne lead her around to the other side of the school. In the distance she heard more sounds of cheering. It was the same kids, but they were playing baseball now.
“You just wait, Bonnie, till I tell Mr. McDougall,” said Marianne. “I bet he’ll keep them in after school for a month. You’ll see!”
“Oh, no! Marianne,” exclaimed Bonnie. “You can’t tell on them! It would only make matters worse. Anyway, I don’t want to be a tattletale!”
“Well, you wouldn’t be if I tattle, and I won’t mind what they think.” Marianne was still very angry.
Bonnie grabbed her friend’s hand and pleaded. “You can’t. Please, for me—don’t do it! Mum says I have to stand up for myself. You have to let it go, Marianne.”
For a long minute, Marianne stared at Bonnie’s pleading eyes, and then she nodded.
On the way home from school, Bonnie followed Archie along the path in the woods.
No Small Victory Page 6
