No Small Victory

by Connie Brummel Crook

  Bonnie wiped the tears out of her eyes with the back of her hand. “The…the swing…”

  “What swing? Where?”

  “In the schoolyard.”

  “How ever did you get all this on a swing?”

  “They pushed me so high I hit all the branches on the maple tree!”

  “Who pushed you?”

  “Slinky. Tom and Slinky.”

  “And that’s the whole story?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I’m going to do something about this, Bonnie. No one is going to treat my daughter that way.” Dad picked her up. “C’mon, now, let’s get in the house. And I’ll bring some cream for you to drink after I finish the chores. Eh? Would you like that? But maybe we won’t tell your mother about the cream.”

  Dad carried Bonnie all the way to the house, with Boots running ahead and behind them like a bodyguard.

  In the quiet kitchen, Mum was at the sewing machine, humming to herself as she worked at her favourite job. Then she looked up at her husband and daughter.

  “Bonnie! What’s happened to you?”

  “Some kids’ pranks gone wrong, Amy.” Dad carried Bonnie into the pantry and sat her on the countertop with her feet hanging over the side.

  Mum took Bonnie’s jacket, shoes and stockings off. Her parents stared at the long, dark gashes on their daughter’s arms and the bruises beginning on her legs.

  “Where was your teacher all this time?” Dad asked.

  “Pearl said he was coming, but I guess she just said that to stop the boys. I never saw him. I guess he was still cleaning the schoolhouse.”

  “But where were Angela and Archie? Don’t they always walk you partway home?”

  “Well, they had to hurry home and I was…kept…in…”

  “Kept in?” Mum asked, wrinkling her forehead. “For what?”

  “I was kind of talking in class,” Bonnie said. She wasn’t going to tell Mum about the candy.

  “Well, this should teach you. If you’d not been talking, you would have been with the Johnsons and this would not have happened.” Mum grimaced as she picked up the stockings Bonnie had been wearing. The wool threads were cut right through. “They’re ruined,” she said with a sigh.

  “That’s not her fault, Amy,” Dad said. “Those boys will answer for their behaviour!”

  “No, Dad!” cried Bonnie. “It won’t happen again. I won’t talk in class. Don’t say anything to Mr. McDougall. Those bullies will just get worse if we tell on them.”

  “Bonnie’s right, Thomas,” said Mum, to her daughter’s amazement. “Now, don’t you do anything foolish. We have enough trouble, and these scrapes are only skin deep. Nothing to worry about. Bonnie’ll be just fine after a good night’s sleep.”

  Her mother carefully bathed Bonnie’s arms, legs, and one cheek, applying iodine to the deeper cuts to stop any infection. Then she rubbed Bonnie’s ankle with Rawleigh’s Medicated Ointment and wound strips of an old flannel sheet around her legs and arms. With Mum’s support, Bonnie made it upstairs.

  Bonnie crawled in under her sheets. She wished she had a book to read, Anne of Green Gables or Heidi, but since she didn’t, she’d make up her own story. She’d call it The Schoolyard Revenge by Bonnie Brown. But she didn’t get past the first sentence before she closed her eyes. An hour later, her mother came up with a steaming bowl of thick tomato soup made from one of the few precious sealers of tomatoes she’d preserved at their old home. Beside it were two pieces of Grandma O’Carr’s fruitcake, stored up from before the big move. But by then, Bonnie was fast asleep.

  Bonnie was dreaming she was sitting in Grandma Brown’s armchair, right in the middle of the Belleville Library.

  “Bonnie! Bonnie!” That did not sound like the librarian. “Time to get up, Bonnie!” Mum shouted from the foot of the steep back stairs.

  As Bonnie sat up, she started remembering the day before. Then she looked down at her arms and legs. They were still terribly sore and ugly. She was not going to go to school today!

  Mum started coming up the stairs. “Bonnie, you’ll be late for school,” she said as she walked up to the foot of Bonnie’s bed.

  “But you said I could stay home!”

  “I said ‘maybe.’ We’ve decided it would be best for you to go to school. Your dad will take you in the wagon so you can rest your ankle. Then I’ll come and bring you home in the wagon.”

  “I can’t go!” Bonnie sniffled. “I can’t face all those horrible kids, I can’t…”

  “Oh, yes, you can, young lady. So just pull yourself together. You can’t let those bullies get the best of you. The more you act afraid, the worse they’ll be. Just show them you aren’t paying any attention to them. I know it’s hard for you, but think of it as a small victory in a great battle each time you ignore them and act brave. Soon they’ll find something else to do.”

  There was no winning an argument with Mum. Before long, Bonnie was on her way to school, sitting high on the wagon seat beside her father.

  “You don’t have to worry about those boys,” he said, flipping the reins lightly on the horses’ backs. “They’ll not bother you again.”

  “Are you sure?” Bonnie asked.

  “I’m sure,” Dad said, his blue eyes gazing over the greyish meadows.

  Just over the bridge going into Lang, Bonnie spotted Archie and Angela. “Stop, Dad! I can walk the rest of the way!” she cried.

  Dad stopped the horses and Bonnie got down, very slowly.

  Dad was right. Tom and Slinky did not even look at Bonnie when she walked into the schoolyard. And when Bonnie began talking about her ankle with Betty, Tom’s sister Pearl started talking about something else. But she offered Bonnie a piece of her horehound candy.

  After school, Bonnie looked out to see if her mother was waiting for her with the wagon. She was not there. Had she completely forgotten? Bonnie stood waiting on the stoop.

  “Better come with us,” said Angela, when she saw Bonnie.

  “Sometimes it’s better to stick with your friends,” said Archie. Bonnie smiled at him. In spite of his snakes, Archie was a friend.

  Archie and Bonnie set off along the road where Mum would be coming with the wagon. Angela and Marianne walked on ahead, bending their heads against the cold wind.

  “Have you heard any talk about my swing ride?” Bonnie asked, looking sideways at Archie.

  “Yes, but not till this afternoon. Tom and Slinky were talking out behind the woodshed. I was on the other side of the shed, so they couldn’t see me.”

  “What did they say?”

  “It seems they’re plenty scared.”

  “They’re scared! Of what?”

  “Of your father. They said he came down to Lang after dark last night and caught them both together. He threatened them within an inch of their lives if they ever laid a hand on you again.”

  Bonnie couldn’t believe it. No one was ever afraid of her dad. Archie saw her face.

  “It’s true! If you could have heard them, you’d know they won’t bother you ever again.”

  When they came to the Hubbs’ farm, Archie said, “Here, I’ll cut you a cane from that poplar sapling over there. Go fast, and you won’t be so scared.”

  He took a jackknife out of his pocket and cut off a sturdy branch. Then he trimmed the side branches off so it looked a bit like a real walking stick.

  “It’s perfect,” Bonnie said uncertainly. It was a bit crooked, and it didn’t look like much of a defence against bullies.

  Archie sighed, “Well, I guess I can walk you to the edge of your fields.”

  “Don’t be silly,” said Bonnie, pretending to be brave. She didn’t want Archie to think she was a complete coward. “I can walk by myself until Mum comes in the wagon.”

  So Archie jumped the Hubbs’ rail fence and ran toward home. Bonnie thought she heard him shout back to her, but the wind carried his words away. It didn’t matter. She wasn’t going to be afraid of those bullies anymore.


  Just then Bonnie saw a wagon coming around the corner ahead and start down the road toward her. Sure enough, it was Mum in a cloud of dust.

  “Sorry, I’m late,” she said. “I was out helping your Dad in the barn and could hardly believe the time when I came inside.” Dad’s watch had stopped recently and there was no money for repairs just now.

  Bonnie climbed up on the seat beside Mum. “Any more trouble with those boys?” she asked.

  “No,” said Bonnie glumly. “I just ignored them.”

  “Good for you, Bonnie! Better to face everyone bravely. I’d call that a victory!”

  Bonnie was pleased Mum thought she was brave, but Bonnie wasn’t so sure. She was just glad the day was over.

  TEN: BLOOD ON THE SNOW

  Bonnie woke to the same sound of howling wind and snow pelting against the window pane in her little hallway bedroom. Snow had started falling in early November, and in December the storms had increased. Now, it was Friday—Christmas Day—and it had been snowing since Tuesday afternoon. Would this relentless snow ever stop? She had missed Wednesday, the last school day before the holidays, and the afternoon concert. Dad had tried but just couldn’t get the team to wallow through the deep snowbanks. “If a horse goes down in this, I can’t help him,” he had said. “We have to turn back.”

  Bonnie had sighed because her chance to recite the poem she’d practised was gone forever. But she said, “Thanks, anyway, Dad. You tried your best.”

  Archie had phoned that evening to say that the Johnsons were snowbound, too, but that Marianne’s father had managed to take her for the concert. That was Wednesday evening, but since then, there was no news. The phone was dead. “Probably a line or pole down somewhere, and repair men couldn’t get through,” Dad had said. “Anyway, they’ll probably fix it after the holiday.”

  Still, Bonnie was in high spirits. Christmas had always been a wonderful, magical time with lots of presents and fun with the big family gathering at the Brown’s and all the happy aunts and uncles and cousins. Sometimes, weather permitting, they had made it north to the farm near Stirling where the O’Carrs lived. She knew there would be no relatives this year, but there would be presents. Mum always managed to make sure of that.

  So now, on that early Christmas morning, Bonnie stared only a few minutes more at the snow-covered windowpane and then turned toward her parents’ bedroom. The little coal-oil bracket lamp high on the wall, turned low, lighted Bonnie’s way as she crept cautiously along the upper hallway. One step at a time, she tiptoed over to her parents’ bedroom door to see if they were awake. Everything was quiet; so the way was clear to head downstairs and check for presents under the tree.

  As she stepped around the sharp turn near the foot of the stairs, one foot slipped. She went the rest of the way on her seat, hitting the last few steps with a thud, thud sound.

  “Bonnie, are you all right?” Mum called from the bedroom.

  “What is it? The alarm clock going off?” Dad mumbled.

  “No, Thomas…It’s only five o’clock.”

  Bonnie’s legs were stinging and her bottom was bruised. She knew she’d be in for it because she woke up Dad so early, even if on Christmas Day.

  “I just slipped,” Bonnie began when her mother peered down at her from the head of the stairs.

  “Yes, we could hear you,” Mum said dryly. “So now that we’re all awake, we might as well get up!”

  Her bruises forgotten, Bonnie flung open the door into the dining room. There was the sleek pine tree in the dark corner of the room over beside the phone. She stood staring while her eyes adjusted to the darkness.

  Then Mum and Dad walked into the room—Mum in her housecoat and Dad in his pyjamas still. Mum lit a match, tipped up the shade on the coal-oil lamp, and lighting the wick, turned it up. The tree was more visible now; the light cast a glow on the silver tinsel and red bows she and Mum had put all over it.

  But were there no presents? They must be hidden underneath!

  But the old brown stocking she’d draped on the couch last night had something in it! A great big McIntosh apple was plugging the top. She pulled it out and dumped the rest on the couch.

  “Be careful!” said Dad. “You don’t want to break anything.”

  Bonnie sorted through her stocking gifts quickly. Three apples—saved, no doubt, from their Massassaga crop—and a few hard horehound candies. Two of the apples were partly shrivelled. Next, Bonnie found two new pencils and a brand-new box of crayons. She opened the lid and sniffed in the fresh smell.

  “Look!” said Dad. “There’s a parcel sitting right between the branches!”

  Bonnie grabbed the small parcel. It had her name on it, but it was too soft to be a book. She pulled off the paper. It was a new scarf and a pair of mitts in striped shades of yellow, blue, and green.

  “I used up all my leftover pieces,” said Mum proudly. “You won’t get those mixed up with anyone else’s at school.”

  “That’s for sure,” said Bonnie. She smiled bravely, trying hard to look thrilled. No one would know that Mum hadn’t worked all these colours into them on purpose. The mitts matched exactly. “Great colours, Mum. I wish I could knit like you.”

  “You’ll learn—one of these days,” said Mum with a grin.

  Then Bonnie picked a weird looking package from between thick branches near the bottom of the tree. “To Amy from Thomas,” Bonnie read, and she passed the gift to Mum.

  “Thomas, you shouldn’t have,” Mum protested. “You know I have no money to buy you anything.”

  “I know,” said Dad. “Don’t worry about it. I don’t need anything.”

  Mum laughed a little as she looked at Dad’s wrapping paper. It was old, yellowed newspaper tied together with binder twine. But Bonnie could tell she was pleased. Finally, the store box appeared and Mum opened it and drew out a pair of shiny brown leather shoes. She pulled them out and put her hand down inside one of them.

  Mum sighed. “They’re beautiful, Thomas.” Then she took off her knitted slippers and, sure enough, the shoes fit perfectly.

  “You’ve needed those for a long time,” said Dad. “You shouldn’t have had to put up with those shoes with holes in them. I used a bit of the cream money to get them. I just wish I could have gotten you a pair of stockings to go with them—those sheer ones with the seams down the back.”

  Bonnie wished now that she’d kept back some of that quarter to buy Christmas presents, but she’d spent five cents on one more trip to the store at noon hour. The rest she’d spent on two four-cent stamps, as well as two scribblers and one new pencil. The idea of writing her own book had really taken hold of her imagination, and she’d needed the supplies to get started.

  “Well, I do have one surprise for you,” said Mum. “I’ve been saving sugar. I’m going to make some cocoa fudge!”

  “Maybe I could learn how to make fudge,” said Bonnie. “Do you have a recipe?”

  “Somewhere. But mostly, I just make it by guess and by golly! No, I’ll make it, Bonnie. We don’t have any sugar to waste.”

  Well, that would sweeten up the day a little! Mum’s fudge was the best.

  It was rare to see both her parents look happy. Bonnie was determined not to spoil it by complaining because she hadn’t received even one book. But the house was so quiet—compared to all the other Christmases at the Browns’. She knew they’d all be laughing and joking and waiting for the turkey that would be roasting in the big oven.

  She could almost smell it.

  Late that afternoon, Bonnie said, “Guess I’ll take Boots to play in the field.”

  “Keep near the barn buildings in the sheltered areas,” said her mother. “That snow is not done blowing yet. You don’t want to get lost.”

  “I can’t get lost in sight of house,” said Bonnie. “Just leave a light in the window.”

  “Don’t be crazy, child. You aren’t staying out till dark.”

  Bonnie laughed as she and Boots ploughed into the deep snow
and tracked out tunnel-like pathways in the big field in front of their house. Then a gust of wind would come up and nearly close them in. Still it was fun.

  Finally, though, she sat down in a sheltered tunnel and hugged Boots around his golden collar.

  “You’re a great friend, Boots,” Bonnie said aloud, “but now we must go back before Mum gets worrying.”

  Bonnie led the way through the sheltered barnyard but Boots whimpered uneasily and ran ahead as they came near the white picket fence around the house. When Bonnie reached the gate, she stopped in her tracks.

  There were drops of blood on the snow! She looked back and saw a whole trail of blood leading from the barn toward the house.

  Then Bonnie looked ahead. The blood-spattered trail went along through the open gate. That was strange. No one ever left that gate open. Dad was very strict about that. He didn’t want farm animals getting into the dooryard.

  As she pulled the gate shut, she saw more blood spots, leading right up to the front door. Dad must have caught something at last! And he’d killed it for supper. Maybe it was a wild turkey! They’d have a turkey, after all, for Christmas. Wasn’t Dad the smartest! And he’d kept it all a secret.

  She ran to the house. Instead of going in through the back shed, she followed the trail of blood right to the front door. If the butchered hen or rabbit could go in this way, so would she. Now, what would she find cooking? What would the surprise supper be?

  Smiling, she flung back the door and stepped into the dining room—then stopped and stared.

  Her father was lying on the floor, groaning. Blood oozed out of his overalls near the top of his left leg. The horrible smell of barn manure and human blood filled the room.

  Mum was in the corner, turning the bell ringer round and round in an effort to make the phone work.

  But just yesterday the phone had been dead.

  Her father moaned again and Bonnie stared down. Like her father, she could not stand the sight of blood. She drew in her breath and looked over at her mother.