No Small Victory

by Connie Brummel Crook

  “How’s Archie doing?”

  “He’s not as sick as Teenie. It must be hard for everyone there without the older girls to help. They hope Lizzie and Angela won’t catch it. Lizzie might just get set back enough to miss the entrance exams. They don’t want that to happen.”

  “Lizzie was near Archie today! She’ll get it anyway.”

  “Bonnie, stop this fretting. Grace was a very frail child. Those are the ones that go out in an epidemic. The Johnsons are all healthy children. Even the baby is robust. Archie is strong from helping his father outside all the time. They’ll be just fine. Now, let’s think about all the cute, little chicks that we’ll have in our front room.”

  “What if Mrs. Elmhirst decides to visit right when they’re hatching—in her parlour!” said Bonnie.

  Mum grinned and then Bonnie giggled. Yes, that would be funny!

  Then Mum looked sober as she said, “Not much chance—not in this weather—and in a scarlet fever epidemic. And we’ll have the chicks outside come spring. Your dad’s building a special house—just for them. We’ll take good care of our wee chicks. Just you wait to see how cute they’ll be.”

  After Bonnie proudly finished washing and drying the supper dishes without cracking a single one, she went into the dining room and stood next to the new quilt that Mum was busy stitching. It now spread over half of the dining room—between four narrow boards fastened together strongly in the corners with clamps. The top layer was a very pretty patchwork of spare pieces left over from Mum’s previous work for the Belleville Orphanage—all pieced together. The underside was made of sturdy, dyed flour bags. The middle was warm wool from Grandpa O’Carr’s sheep. The raw wool had been washed, dried, and carded into layered flat pieces that gave the quilt its thickness and warmth. Mum was very accomplished at any needlework.

  “Well, Bonnie, I’d really like to try again to teach you to quilt. But maybe tonight is not the time. Would you like to read aloud for us?”

  “Your quilt’s going to be very pretty, Mum,” Bonnie sighed, “but I’m glad you asked me to read instead. What’ll I read?”

  “Anything will do.”

  “Mr. McDougall started to read us The Adventures of Sammy Jay by Thornton Burgess. But I don’t have that book.”

  “You know, I think I do. Aunt Inez—your great aunt—used to give me a book every Christmas when I was young. Mum used to say they were a waste of time when I should be learning how to do things around the house, and an apron would’ve been more to the point. But Aunt Inez was a teacher, you know. So she liked books.”

  “I don’t remember her.”

  “No, you wouldn’t, since you never met her. She married—finally—and moved way out west. She was too busy reading books to catch herself a solid man for a husband. There aren’t many good ones left when one reaches thirty. Mother says Aunt Inez and her family are as poor as church mice, now.”

  “Aren’t we poor, too?”

  “Yes, but no one knows it. There are different kinds of poor. That’s one reason I’m glad we live in the country. No one knows how poor we are and there’s always something to eat. Now, let’s go see if I can find one of those Thornton Burgess books.”

  Together, Bonnie and her mother searched through the boxes stored in the big, cold room beside the egg-nesting parlour.

  Bonnie was excited. “Mum! I didn’t know you had all these books!”

  “Guess I forgot,” Mum replied. “Here’s one about Reddy Fox. Didn’t like it as well. He was always a threat to the other animals.”

  “I’ve found it!” Bonnie exclaimed with delight. She drew out the beige hard-cover book with the black print at the top and the red trim. SAMMY JAY stood out in capital letters. In the bottom right hand corner, blocked off with a black line, were the words: THE BEDTIME STORYBOOKS.

  When Dad came in, Bonnie rushed over to take the small pail of milk he brought in from the night’s milking. “You’re eager, tonight, Bonnie,” he said, smiling.

  “Guess what? Mum says I should read aloud!” Dad looked over at his wife, bent over her quilt. The click, click of needle against thimble was steady and fast.

  “By George, Bonnie,” Dad said, “that’s a grand idea. I’m all ears.”

  So Bonnie began at the beginning of the story, but she darted a glance at her mother from time to time. Bonnie read on without a break for almost an hour.

  “You know, Bonnie,” said Mum, interrupting her daughter just after Bonnie had hesitated at the end of Chapter Twelve. “You do need to learn how to quilt. Then we’d finish here much faster. I do declare—I just don’t know how you’ll ever manage some day as a housewife.”

  “Maybe I won’t be one,” said Bonnie, staring thoughtfully at her mother, as she kept her finger at the spot she’d left off reading.

  “Nonsense, child. All girls marry unless they’re really plain or ugly. And most of them do, too. Ever heard the song, ‘Can She Bake a Cherry Pie, Billy Boy?’”

  “You’re a bonnie lass,” said Dad. “You’ll marry young. How will you keep up to everything if you can’t sew and cook and clean?”

  “Or bake a cherry pie?” said Bonnie dully.

  “You won’t want to live in a dirty house, surely,” said Mum. “You know what the Good Book says: ‘Cleanliness is next to Godliness’!”

  Bonnie didn’t like the way the conversation was going. “May I continue reading?” she asked quietly.

  Mum sighed. Her needle went clacking up and down against her thimble.

  Dad said, “Keep reading, Bonnie.” So Bonnie read until Dad’s snores were so loud, she was forced to stop.

  Mum stood up then, took a deep breath, and straightened her back. “It’s past your bedtime, Bonnie.”

  “I won’t be going to school tomorrow. So—”

  “You can read for a little while more in bed, but at nine o’clock, I blow out that light. You’re not going to be idle during this time at home, you know. You’ll still have your chores to do and maybe yet, I’ll teach you how to sew. Where there’s a will, there’s a way, I always say. Tomorrow, you’ll be reading my pattern books.”

  Bonnie sighed as she walked up the steep stairs behind her mother. Mum set the lamp on the little stand by her bed and hurried back down.

  Bonnie got into her nightdress and knelt beside her bed.

  “Now, I lay me down to sleep, I pray…” She said the prayer she had been taught since she could talk. Then at the end, she added, “P.S. Please take care of all the kids sick with scarlet fever, and please look out especially for Teenie and Archie!”

  “Yes, Bonnie. You may phone Angela at her grandparents’. Here, I’ll ring for you.”

  Finally, Mum had agreed to this. For a while, the party line seemed to be busy with calls for Dr. Wright and Miss Reid, his nurse—for their advice in treating scarlet fever patients. Then there’d been short calls between young women phoning their mothers for help and comfort as they cared for their sick children. Mum listened occasionally but never let Bonnie near the phone. “It’s for emergencies only at a time like this,” she said. “Not for silly kids’ chattering.” Bonnie didn’t think she was silly, and she only wanted to ask about Archie and Teenie. But they already knew how they were, for Mum often listened on the line when the Johnsons’ phone number rang. Mum hadn’t phoned the Johnsons herself for fear the ringing would wake the poor baby and Archie, just when they might be dropping off to sleep. But now, Bonnie and Mum knew that the children’s fever had broken a few days before.

  “Hello, Mrs. Chapman. This is Bonnie Brown’s mother. How are you today?” Bonnie was reaching for the phone but Mum motioned her away.

  “Yes, that’s true. It must be a very difficult time for you. And how are Teenie and Archie?…Well, that’s good news. My Bonnie’s wanting to speak with Angela…if she’s free just now?”

  After another minute or two, Mum handed the receiver to Bonnie, who had to stand up on a chair to reach the mouthpiece.

  “Hi, Angela! How’
s Archie?”

  “He’s weak but fine. So is Teenie. In fact, Mum can hardly keep her from creeping all over. It seems that babies get better faster than older children.”

  “Well, I’m glad. Tell Archie I can hardly wait to get back to school.”

  “Marianne says that’s going to be soon. But Archie’s not so ready for school yet.”

  Mum spoke up. “Don’t hold up that line, Bonnie. Other folks may need to use it.”

  “Well, I’m glad it’ll be soon,” Bonnie continued. “I’ve got to say goodbye, now. It’s been great talking, but we’ve been keeping up with Archie’s progress anyway. Mum listens in every time your phone rings. Goodbye.”

  After Angela said goodbye, Bonnie hung up the phone to see her mother staring at her, a bit red-faced with embarrassment. “Bonnie, why on earth did you tell her I listen in on the phone?”

  “Angela says it’s okay. Everyone does it just to find out about Teenie and Archie. Her mother doesn’t mind.”

  “Well, it matters to me. In the future, don’t carry tales about home to school friends!”

  The classroom chatter stopped suddenly as Mr. McDougall motioned the pupils to stand for the opening exercises. Almost everyone was glad to be back at school. The few who were missing were still recovering. Bonnie smiled over at Archie, who was looking well now—just a little thin. And Teenie was coming along fine, too, she’d heard. No one else had died, although Tom’s sister Pearl and one of the boys were reported to have some hearing loss. Dr. Wright said they still could recover completely.

  “Welcome back,” said Mr. McDougall. Bonnie was pleased to see that the teacher seemed to really mean it.

  Four weeks of quarantine were finally over. After the first couple of weeks, Mum had been satisfied that Bonnie would not take sick. Bonnie had been allowed to go outside once a day, making the long trek across the field to fetch the mail. She had thought this boring time at home would never end. She hadn’t learned to quilt well as yet, but she’d tried.

  So Bonnie was even more pleased at the teacher’s next remark. “Now, before you hand in your assignments, I would like to hear a few of your stories. Who wants to read first?”

  A few girls’ hands flew into the air. So Bonnie decided to wait and not volunteer—at least not too soon. She didn’t want to appear too eager.

  She soon changed her mind about reading her story. Pearl had taken care of her sick mother. Betty had prepared all the meals while her mother cared for her sick father. Angela and Lizzie had helped their grandparents and prayed a lot for Archie and their sick baby sister. A short silence followed the last story. No other hands waved.

  “Now, if there are no more volunteers, I’ll just call out a few names,” said Mr. McDougall. Bonnie stuffed her scribbler underneath her desk and stared all around the room. She hoped the teacher would not notice her.

  “Lawrence,” said the teacher. A low groan was heard from the back of the room. But it was not Slinky. It was one of the two boys who sat next to him.

  Mr. McDougall smiled. “So you didn’t do your assignment, Lawrence.”

  Slinky scratched his head vigorously but was not abashed. “No, Mr. McDougall,” he said in a solemn voice. “I was too busy taking care of the sick. My ma and pa were both sick and I had to get meals for all of us.” Slinky’s sister grew red and almost choked. The class all knew who had prepared all the meals, and it wasn’t Slinky!

  The teacher only smiled and turned to the younger pupils. “Bonnie, I’m surprised you aren’t waving your hand. You may read yours, now.”

  Bonnie slowly pulled out her scribbler from under her desk. “Shall I read the story or the poems?”

  “The story will do just fine…only one story.”

  “There wasn’t much to write about,” said Bonnie. “So I have only one story.”

  “Well, let’s have it!”

  “The Surprise Supper,” said Bonnie impressively. Angela and Lizzie both looked perplexed, but Marianne appeared eager to hear her friend’s story.

  Bonnie felt a slight twinge of guilt. Though the story was true, it hadn’t happened during the quarantine. She’d already told Archie all about the Christmas day accident, but she was sure he wouldn’t tell on her.

  Bonnie leafed through her book to find the story and said, “This is a true story.”

  Mr. McDougall sighed and mumbled, “Aren’t they all.” His words only reached a few at the front of the classroom. Then he yawned and leaned back in his chair.

  From the blood on the snow to the smell of the anaesthesia, Bonnie filled in every detail. Then she read the conclusion.

  “Dr. Wright told Mum she would have made a good nurse. She said she’d always wanted to be a nurse, but her parents wouldn’t let her. They had a horrible, old-fashioned idea that nurses were not respectable.

  “I told Mum that was wrong. I told her that when we were studying British history, our teacher had taught us that ever since the days of Florence Nightingale, nursing has been a most respected career for women.”

  Mr. McDougall sat upright. A pleased look spread across his face.

  Bonnie continued, “‘Can I do something to help now?’ I asked.

  “‘Yes, Bonnie,’ said my mother. ‘I need you to care for your dad while I feed the cows and horses. I know I can count on you. You are always such a great help.’”

  Suddenly, Archie laughed right out loud. The other pupils looked shocked. Mr. McDougall gave Archie such a cold stare that it wiped the smile off his face.

  “So that’s how I took care of my dad after his horrendous accident. And that night the surprise supper was no supper at all. The End.”

  Every eye was wide open when Bonnie finished her story. Mr. McDougall said, “Fine, Bonnie. You actually woke up that back row of boys. That is an accomplishment. Now everyone, pass your scribblers along the aisle, and the end person can bring them to the front. Your arithmetic assignments are on the board. Get busy. We’ve a lot of catching up to do.”

  SIXTEEN: BUG TOWN KIDS

  Winter had finally broken the last week of March. The great drifts of snow had gone fast in April as blustering winds swept through, and streams of water had trickled across the knolls and hills. This was one of those warm spring days in early May when it seemed more like June.

  Inside the front room of the Browns’ brick house, the eggs and the incubator were gone. At first, they had been replaced with many light-yellow balls of fuzz, scurrying and peeping on sheets of old newspaper spread over the hardwood floor in the front room. A little coal-oil stove had kept them warm. But by May, they had grown real feathers, and Mum and Bonnie had moved them to the little outside coop. Bonnie had to admit the chicks were really very cute in the fuzz stage. And even afterward, it was interesting to watch their wings grow in.

  Bonnie smiled as she walked along the path to school. Things were looking up. Most of the pupils at the Lang school had accepted her now. Even Tom and Slinky were being nice sometimes, though they couldn’t resist teasing her for being so bookish. Bonnie swung her blue tin lunch pail back and forth at her side and hurried ahead. Inside the school, Bonnie hung her coat on its nail in the girls’ cloakroom and rushed to her desk before Mr. McDougall handed back assignments.

  Opening exercises over, the pupils were finding it hard to settle into the routine. Slinky had already made one unnecessary trip to the pencil sharpener to gaze out the window across the fields. Then Tom had gone up twice. Finally, Archie made his way over there. The maples along the far fence were fuzzy with blossoms. Tiny leaves on the lilacs between the fence and road were starting to make a green curtain all along the edge of the schoolyard.

  Even Angela was restless. Marianne was absent but her friend was whispering behind her speller to the girl in front of her. Only Lizzie and the two other girls in Grade Eight were working diligently. In a couple of months, they would have to try the entrance examinations. If they failed those exams, they would not get into high school.

  Unlike the oth
ers, Bonnie was not gazing out the window, but her mind was many miles away—on Prince Edward Island. She’d finished her work but it was still spread out on her desk, and her pencil was still in her hand. She was dreaming about another “Anne” book that she’d hidden in her desk. Anne of Avonlea was the second in the series, and in it, Anne Shirley had grown up and become a teacher. She’d be a teacher—like Anne, not Mr. McDougall. It was easy to borrow these books now, for Mrs. Elmhirst had donated them to the little library at Keene United Church.

  Bang! Bang! Bang! Someone was pounding on the door. Bonnie was suddenly alert.

  Bang! Bang! Bang!

  Everyone sat up and stared at the teacher. Even Mr. McDougall looked startled, and he got to his feet swiftly. But the door opened before he was even halfway down the aisle.

  In burst Mr. Hubbs, Marianne’s father. Everyone knew that he was the chairman of the school board. Even the restless pupils sat up straight at their desks and faced the front. Mr. Hubbs was a small, bald-headed man with a wide friendly face, but he did not look happy now. His face was aflame.

  “Mr. Hubbs,” the teacher said, his grey-green eyes clouding over with worry, “perhaps we can talk in the vestibule.” The teacher tried to steer Mr. Hubbs away from the classroom.

  The chairman of the school board shook off his arm. “I’m here for one reason only, Mr. McDougall, and the class might just as well hear it.”

  Mr. McDougall stood perfectly still and waited for the bad news.

  “My daughter,” Mr. Hubbs announced, clearing his throat, “has caught…HEAD LICE!”

  How could Marianne have got head lice? Mrs. Hubbs was a stickler for cleanliness; everyone knew that, too. Bonnie had been to visit Marianne and had thought Mrs. Hubbs even cleaner than her own mother.

  “We know where she got the lice,” Mr. Hubbs answered their unspoken question. “She got them from this bunch—and it’s a disgrace!”

  A deadly silence settled over the classroom as everyone stared at the red-faced Mr. Hubbs. No one even moved a pencil or a scrap of paper on the desks. Then, in unison, it seemed, the pupils started to scratch their heads. Bonnie suddenly realized that her head was furiously itchy. Even Mr. McDougall raised his hand to his red-brown hair, but he lowered it before he actually scratched.