Orphan at My Door

by Jean Little

  I looked daggers at him and scorned to answer.

  Now Mother is calling me to come down and set the table for breakfast. I hope we get a new maid soon. When Billy Grant comes in for his morning cup of tea, he just sits and waits for someone to fetch it for him. Billy Grant is the old man who looks after everything outside, including cutting the grass, mending the shutters, cleaning out the eavestroughs and taking care of Father’s horse, Bess. He polishes up the buggy and the Family Conveyance too. That’s what we call the carriage. He lives alone in a little cottage on London Road and he hardly speaks. Now, when I am home, I have to fetch Billy’s tea for him. He is old, so I can see someone should wait on him. But I am sure he would have sat and waited the same way if he had been twenty.

  Bedtime

  When they sent me to bed, I had to leave my poor pup behind. He is in a big lidded basket in the back kitchen. Mother said it would be unhealthy to have a dog in my bed and that he’d sleep like a top in the basket. Father backed her up.

  “If he were sleeping in your bed, Victoria, you would be swimming by morning.”

  They don’t understand. Every time I open my bedroom door a crack, I can hear them laughing and playing with MY puppy. I plan to keep listening until I hear not a sound down there. When they are asleep, I will go down and make sure he is all right.

  And while I’m waiting to sneak downstairs I’ll describe myself, since when I read over my diary just now I realized that I forgot to tell about me yesterday.

  I have sandy brown braids which hang down my back, hazel eyes with greenish specks, skin that has faint freckles even in winter, and a wide thin mouth. My hands are beautiful. My Grandmother Sinclair said so before she died. She said they were “the hands of a musician.” They are long and slender. But nobody notices them now Grandma is gone.

  My Great-Aunt Lib told me my mouth is far too big for a girl, but she says mean things about everybody. She even says Mother spoils us and “can’t handle servants.” Aunt Lib is Mother’s aunt and my Grandma Sinclair’s big sister. It is strange how Grandma was so kind and her sister is the exact opposite.

  I also forgot to say I have dimples. People tease me about them but I like them, because Mother has them too, in exactly the same places.

  In the wee small hours

  I did it!

  Staying awake was hard, but I kept pinching myself. It was simple to creep down the back stairs without anyone hearing me. My darling was crying his heart out. I petted him but then could not leave him alone again, however nice the basket is. He is now in bed with me. I have put two thick towels under him. I wonder if Mother heard me. Father didn’t. He snored the whole time.

  I guess it isn’t really “the wee small hours” because the clock just struck midnight. The wee ones must be one and two and maybe three. But I like the sound of “wee small hours.”

  Wednesday, May 26

  I only had to take the puppy out once, just before sunrise. He did not wet my bed. He snuggled up to me all night. I thought I might call him Snuggle, but decided that sounds too soft for a boy dog.

  Mother has doubts about getting a Home Girl. It came up at breakfast.

  She told Father she’d heard that some of them were rough street children, waifs and strays. “What if the girl they send is a sly minx who has stolen from the cradle up?” she asked. “We have to protect our own children.”

  “Lilias, I am speaking of a girl. Some of the boys may be ruffians. Those I’ve met have been just lads out of luck. Surely girls are born ladies. Look at our Victoria — a lady to her fingertips.”

  I giggled. Tom grinned. David didn’t even smile. Now he’s in Fourth Form, he finds the rest of us embarrassing.

  “Why don’t we get a proper maid?” he said. “Nathan’s father says Home Children are diseased and feeble-minded and unfit to be with Canadian young people.” Then he told father he had a position to keep up. He sounded so snooty and pompous.

  Father looked at him and said coolly, “I know Nathan’s father. He has many opinions with which I heartily disagree. Please, David, do not swallow what he tells you without thinking for yourself. Also remember what our Lord Jesus commanded us to do: Feed the hungry, clothe the naked, visit the prisoner. He did not once mention keeping up your position.”

  Maybe I have not got every word right, but that is more or less what he said. I felt as though his words were burned into my brain. David went red and stared hard at the calendar hanging on the wall. Father had shamed him, but I don’t think he changed his mind about our getting a Home Girl.

  Mother and Father talked on a little longer but, of course, Mother gave in at last.

  “When the girl arrives, perhaps I should take Victoria with me to meet her,” Father said all at once. “She could make sure I brought home one who would suit you, and the girl might be nervous going off alone with a stranger.”

  Mother said that was a good notion.

  I do hope whoever we get is nicer than Peggy and does not poke fun at my freckles. I also got tired of listening to her sing “Annie Laurie.” Tom always said she sang like a cow in agony. Her voice wobbled too. She thought it was what great singers did.

  Moses will miss the tidbits Peggy always saved for her. Oh, I will miss her too. You get used to people being around in your life. I wonder if she will miss us.

  We had Aunt Janet’s gingerbread with whipped cream and fresh applesauce for dessert tonight. Mmmm! Tom had three pieces. He asked for another but Mother said she had to draw the line somewhere.

  “But, Mother, I’m a growing boy,” Tom pleaded.

  “That’s what worries me,” Mother said and put the gingerbread away. She always saves a couple of big pieces for Billy Grant. He says it tastes just like his mother’s used to. It is hard to imagine Billy Grant with a mother. His face always reminds me of a walnut.

  Bedtime, Thursday, May 27

  I almost forgot to write in this book tonight. I can’t write much because Mother called up to me to blow out my candle.

  I blew it out, but I went on reading by the light from the window. I am halfway through The Water Babies and I am in the middle of a very exciting part. Putting it down at that moment would have been torture. It is dusk now though. So I stopped while I could see well enough to write.

  My puppy just made a funny little grunting snort. Maybe Snortle would do for a name. Snortle keeps trying to eat the elbow of my nightgown where there is a ruffle with a ribbon threaded through it. A puppy is a lot of work.

  He knows his name! I said, “Hello, Snortle,” and he raised his head and looked right at me. Clever Snortle!

  Mother made me cart his basket up here but she also put a rubber sheet on the bed.

  “If you are going to feel compelled to creep through the house in the dead of night to check up on his welfare, I will never get a wink of sleep.” She sighed. “We had better give in first as last and let you take him upstairs.”

  She also said that if he makes a mess, I am responsible for cleaning it up.

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said meekly and bobbed her a curtsy.

  That made her smile.

  I hate the rubber sheet. It feels hard and it crackles whenever I move the least bit. Snortle does not seem to mind, but Moses jumped up once, and the second she heard the noise it makes and felt its stiffness, she leapt down and stalked out of the room, tail tall with disgust. When I am a mother, I will never put a rubber sheet on a child’s bed.

  I will also let my children read in bed until they fall asleep.

  Snortle makes concentrating on a book more difficult, but he is worth it.

  I am choosing a piece to say at the school closing exercises. I thought I might learn “Little Boy Blue” by Eugene Field. It’s all about a little boy dying, and his toys waiting for him to come back to them. But Father says no daughter of his will stand up in public and recite such sentimental drivel. I thought it was beautiful before he said that. It brought tears to my eyes. Now it sounds a bit silly. Maybe I’ll do “
The Charge of the Light Brigade” instead. You could do wonderful gestures.

  Bedtime, Friday, May 28

  Alas, alack and woe is me! Mother told us at supper that Great-Aunt Lib and Cousin Anna are coming to visit! They are AWFUL! Mother lived with Aunt Lib on weekdays while she went to high school in Guelph for three years. Her parents’ farm was too far out in the country for her to drive in every day. She feels she owes Aunt Lib gratitude.

  That is all very well. But when Aunt Lib visits our house, she is painful to have around, and not only Mother suffers but all of us. Father seems to go on more house calls and he makes more appointments in the evening, which keep him safely shut behind his office door. David and Tom go to their room to do their homework instead of doing it at the kitchen table the way they do when Aunt Lib is not here.

  “Tell her we can’t have her,” David said. “You don’t have to lie. Just say that … that we are moving to Winnipeg. I can’t bring anyone over while they are in the house.”

  I thought it was a good idea. Not the part about Winnipeg, but just saying we can’t have them visit right now. But Mother stared at him helplessly.

  Father said in a dry voice, “They are already on their way, aren’t they, dear Lilias? That’s what they did last time, remember?”

  “Yes, but still, David should not speak of them that way. None of their problems are their fault.”

  Then she told me I would have to keep “Prince Rudolph” out from under their feet or we’ll end up with Aunt Lib tripping over him and breaking her leg.

  “Prince Rudolph is not my puppy’s name. It does not fit him. I’ve named him Snortle,” I said. “He makes a sort of snuffling snort —”

  “That’s a perfect name for him,” Mother said.

  “That’s a perfect name for Aunt Lib,” Tom laughed. “She’s always snorting at things.”

  I’d have been scolded, but they laughed at Tom. I don’t understand why boys get away with things girls don’t.

  Suddenly I saw Mother looking tired out. I don’t remember her ever looking like that before. Lately she has dark circles under her eyes and she sighs a lot. She is taking a tonic though. Burdock Blood Bitters. Her friend, Mrs. Spence, said it really perked her up. Maybe it will help Mother too.

  Father said it was hogwash. Then he himself gave her some iron extract and cod liver oil. She makes terrible faces when she gulps them down.

  Father suggested that we put a Smallpox sign on the door since Cousin Anna is a dyed-in-the-wool hypochondriac. I asked him what that meant and how to spell it and he made me look it up in the dictionary. Mother shook her head at him but his eyes glinted with laughter. (Glinted is a good word too. Louisa May Alcott used words like that.)

  “Poor things,” Mother said. “Nobody wants them and I doubt they have money to spare.”

  “I’m not so sure they are as hard up as you think,” Father said. Then he changed the subject fast, asking if she had found someone to take Peggy’s place.

  She had! Mrs. Cameron from next door knew a woman who had been left a widow with a crippled son to raise. Her name is Mrs. Dougal and she is coming over to meet Mother tomorrow.

  “Did you tell her about the upcoming Event …?” Father asked, lowering his voice. I think he thought I would not hear him.

  “Yes. I told her everything,” Mother said.

  I was about to ask what they meant, but I could not pay attention because of dreading Aunt Lib’s visit. I am plunged in gloom. Last time, she and Cousin Anna stayed six weeks. Mother says Aunt Lib has “a good heart.” Father says that when Mother tells us someone has a good heart, watch out. It means there is nothing else good about her. I think he hit the nail on the head.

  We had lemon snow pudding with custard sauce for dessert. I like the pudding all right. It is wonderfully fluffy. But I LOVE Mother’s custard sauce. It is so rich and smooth. I could drink the whole pitcher full.

  Billy Grant likes lemon snow pudding too. But he won’t come into the kitchen for a cup of tea if Aunt Lib is in the house. One of us has to take it out to him.

  “The old besom has the evil eye,” he mutters. Then he spits. Father had told him not to spit, so he only does it when Father is not present.

  Later

  I was just putting my diary away and snuggling down with Snortle when Mother came up to tuck me in. I wanted to keep her, so I asked her something I had wondered about.

  “Why is Cousin Anna so different from Aunt Lib? They are not one bit alike. Great-Aunt Lib is bossy and mean. Cousin Anna complains in a whine. She never finishes her sentences. Just lets them peter out.”

  Mother sank down on the edge of my bed but she did not answer my question.

  “Mother?” I prompted.

  “I’ll tell you more about them one day,” she said then. “Right now I need to go to bed myself. Sweet dreams, Victoria Josephine Cope.”

  She had trouble standing up after sitting on my low bed. She has gained weight, I think. She blew me a quick kiss and went across the hall and through the door leading into the front of the house. I could hear her starting down the stairs. She used to run down, before she started being so tired.

  I wonder what she DIDN’T tell me.

  In a minute I will say my prayers. I don’t kneel down when Mother is not watching. God hears me just as well. I save kneeling for desperate pleas.

  Snortle just pounced out from under the comforter and licked my nose. Before he will settle down, I will have to shut my eyes and pretend I am fast asleep. Then he will sigh, give up plotting to play, and go to sleep himself. He is adorable.

  Saturday morning, May 29

  Today the Home Girl comes. Father had a letter.

  When I went down to breakfast, there he was reading last night’s paper. All at once he gave a shout of laughter.

  “What on earth!” Mother said, putting her hand to her heart.

  “Listen to this,” he said. “Your old auntie doesn’t miss a trick.”

  Then he read out:

  Mrs. Hubert Fair and her daughter Anna will be spending the next few weeks at the home of her niece, Mrs. Alastair Cope. Dr. Cope is a well-known physician in Guelph. Rev. Hubert Fair served the Knox Presbyterian Church in Hamilton for fifteen years before his death.

  Mother laughed till she got a stitch in her side. She hardly ever laughs like that.

  I wasn’t laughing. They plan to stay a few WEEKS!

  What will the Home Girl be like?

  Still Saturday, Bedtime

  So much happened today that I can never get it all written down at one go. My hand would drop off. But I’ll start.

  We went and got our Home Girl. She is very small and shy. Her name is Mary Anna Wilson and she is twelve years old. She is smaller than I am and very thin. She looks as though she’s ten. She won’t make fun of my looks.

  But let me tell it like a story even if it does have to be true. If I read it in a book, I would be fascinated.

  First of all, we were late setting out. A patient arrived needing a bottle of medicine. She would stand and talk and talk. Then we no sooner got going than Bess cast a shoe and we had to stop at the smithy. I couldn’t go in and watch because I was in my good dress. Peggy used to go in when we were on walks and she always came out laughing and red in the face. Her sweetheart, Joseph — well, her husband now, I suppose — is the smith’s apprentice.

  When we got to the station at last, there were just four children on the platform. Only one of them was a girl. She was no bigger than me. A lady was sitting on a bench next to her. All four wore labels with their names written on them, and each of them had a trunk with his or her name on it. They were big, wooden ones with brass corners. They had nothing else, just one trunk and the clothes they wore on their backs.

  The lady was the only one without luggage so I was not sure she was really with them. Father must have had the same thought.

  “I am Dr. Alastair Cope,” he said, still sitting in the gig. “I was told to meet this train. Are you
escorting these children, madam?”

  The lady stood up and gave my father an annoyed glance. “We arrived almost an hour ago,” she said frostily. “The train was early, admittedly, but let that pass. The two other girls I was escorting have already gone.”

  She reached into her large handbag and drew out some papers.

  “Yes … Dr. Cope. I have your letter here. You reside at 264 Woolwich Street and you requested a girl to assist your wife with the housework.” I could not understand why she was telling Father what he himself had written, but she went right on without giving him a chance to reply. “I have a Barnardo girl for you. The boys just happened to be on the same train. Boys are usually not escorted to their destinations. However, I have been keeping an eye on them as well as the girls.”

  “I am sorry to have been unavoidably delayed,” Father said, his voice cool but polite. “Hold the reins, Victoria.”

  He got down from the Family Conveyance and reached out his hand to the lady. I gripped the reins, glad Bess was a calm horse. I could tell Father was displeased about something. He seemed to be studying the one girl waiting there. She had not looked at us or spoken a word.

  “We need someone strong to help my wife,” he told the woman. “That girl is nothing but a child. A sickly youngster wouldn’t be worth her keep.”

  He did not lower his voice. The girl could not help but hear every word he spoke. I told myself she was only a Home Girl and they must be used to such things, but it was embarrassing for me. Father did not sound like himself. I knew, if I were her, each word would feel like the cut of a switch. She did not flinch, though, but stood still as stone.

  “I can assure you, sir, that she is perfectly stout. We don’t place girls who are not well. You are fit as a fiddle, aren’t you, Mary Anna? Dr. Barnardo insists they be sound in mind and body.”