by Jean Little
“Oh, poor Cousin Anna,” I whispered.
“Indeed. Then, when she was twelve, Uncle Hubert died. He left instructions in his will that Anna was to be raised as his daughter. So the two of them were trapped, with no way out.”
I asked why Cousin Anna didn’t leave when she grew up.
Mother said she couldn’t. Cousin Anna was supposed to be delicate, too, so she was educated at home.
“Who taught her?” I wanted to know.
Mother said Uncle Hubert taught her to read and do arithmetic. He thought any learning beyond that was wasted on a girl. Aunt Lib taught her what a housewife should know — how to make bread, how to darn a sock, how to play hymns on the parlour organ. “They assumed she would marry, of course. She didn’t. The only place she could have met a young man was at church, with her mother’s eagle eye watching her every move. She has no money of her own. She earns her keep by running errands, preparing meals, listening to Aunt Lib complain, doing things for the church.”
“I’d run away,” I said.
“Running away takes courage, Victoria. You need food and shelter…. Never mind. Time you went to bed.”
I got up and then just stood there. I was struggling to believe what Mother had said. Aunt Lib was NOT Cousin Anna’s mother, and, what’s more, Cousin Anna was not really related to me.
“Jumping Jehosaphat!” I whispered.
“Victoria Josephine Cope, please do not use such vulgar expressions,” Mother said sternly, but with a smile in her eyes.
She had trouble standing up after sitting so long. I helped pull her upright.
“Remember that the story I just told you is our secret,” she said as I started for the door. “I thought it might help you to survive the weeks ahead.”
So, dear Diary, what do you think of all that?
Nearly ten, In bed
Snortle just tried his usual trick — pouncing out from under the comforter to lick my nose. Pesky Snortle. I make enough ink blots myself, without his wiggling and pouncing. But once I close my eyes and he thinks I’m fast asleep he will usually settle down too.
I wish I could tell Mary Anna and Tom about Aunt Lib and Anna. I wish Mother had not made me promise.
Very late
I was almost asleep when Mary Anna began talking. She had gone to sleep long before. Most of it was just muttering, but she finally called out names. Things like, “I’m coming, Jasper,” or, “Where are you? Emily Rose is so heavy. I’m coming.”
She sounded so upset that I got out of bed and shook her shoulder. When she gasped and her eyes flew wide open, I could tell she did not recognize me. She looked terrified. I told her she had been dreaming. Then I asked again who Jasper was. I meant to be tactful but the question burst out.
Mary Anna turned to stone at my words. She did not answer either, just rolled over and faced the wall.
When I was sure she was asleep, I thought of you, Diary. Snortle snortled with disgust at being disturbed, but I ignored him. I needed to put my sadness down. Yet now I have written it out, I am still sad.
And VERY sleepy.
Wednesday, June 2, Bedtime
Tonight nothing seems worth writing.
We had liver and prunes for supper. And I bit my tongue. It is still very sore. Did Louisa May Alcott have days like this? Did they make her a better writer?
I thought Aunt Lib and Cousin A. might be nicer now I know about their past. They were not. Aunt Lib made me go back and wash my hands when they were perfectly clean. Anna gave a shiver when I laughed. As if I had hurt her delicate ears!
I am hoping for a pleasanter tomorrow.
Thursday, June 3
I really like Roberta Johns. She has been in my class all year, but I’m just getting to know her now. You will see what I mean, Diary, when I tell you how she helped Mary Anna out this morning.
Mr. Grigson sent the two of them to the board. I could see that Mary Anna was nervous. The teacher is frightening. Tom says it is because of his eyebrows, which are bushy and dark and glower at you. But the eyes glower too and he growls.
He likes giving boys the strap. He even strapped Tom once, and Tom is polite to him and a good scholar. He does not strap us girls, but I think it is because he despises us.
Only boys matter.
Anyway, Roberta saw Mary Anna had made two mistakes and, when Mr. Grigson’s back was turned, Roberta showed Mary Anna what she had done wrong. She did it so fast that I doubt anybody but me saw. When the teacher looked at what she’d written, he said, “Well, Miss, I see you are a cut above most of your kind. Most of the waifs and strays shipped over by those British Do-Gooders are subnormal at best. But this is passable work.”
I longed to shout something, but what? He gets livid at what he calls “insubordination.” I did open my mouth but no words came out.
Tom spoke up though. “Mary Anna is not a waif or a stray,” he said in a most polite voice. “She has a good brain and better manners than many of the
people in this class.”
“Silence, young man. One more such remark and I’ll need to get out my strap,” Mr. Grigson thundered.
Tom did not say anything more. He did not need to. I was proud he was my brother. Mary Anna’s face grew pink, but her eyes shone when she looked at Tom.
When we came out for afternoon recess, I looked for Roberta and asked if she’d like to skip. Mary Anna would not join in, but I saw her lips moving as we chanted the rhymes. When we stopped turning the rope, I pulled Mary Anna over to where Roberta was standing and asked Roberta if she’d like to walk home with us. Tom goes with the older boys on the way home.
“I would,” Roberta said, “but I can’t stay out and play. My little sister Hannah is just three and she’s been sick. Mother has so much work to do that I try to mind Hannah for her. Even though she is not strong, she’s an imp. Yesterday she somehow tipped Mother’s container of starch into the laundry tub and all of Dad’s handkerchiefs came out stiff as boards. He’ll never be able to blow his nose on them. You can see why she needs watching.”
“She sounds like a —” I started and then stopped.
“I know she does,” Roberta laughed, “but we thought we were going to lose her last winter when she got pneumonia. It was dreadful. It was as though the sun had stopped shining.”
“I have a little sister too,” Mary Anna said all of a sudden, scaring me out of my wits. “I know how you felt.”
I tried not to let my excitement show.
Roberta asked what the sister’s name was. Just as though Mary was not a Home Girl.
“Victoria knows,” she answered, her voice hard. “Her name is Emily Rose Wilson. Jasper Jacob is my brother. Victoria saw him at the station.”
I wanted to ask one hundred more questions, but I managed to hold my tongue. It was not easy. Even my beloved Grandma Sinclair once told me my tongue was attached in the middle and wagged at both ends.
I hoped Roberta would ask more and she did, but Mother is coming up the back stairs. I’m supposed to be asleep. I’ll be back as soon as I can, Diary.
Friday, June 4, Early morning
I made myself wake early so I could write more. Mary Anna is not even awake. Even Snortle is still snoring. I’ll have to write fast. But it is so interesting.
Yesterday Roberta asked the questions I dared not utter.
“Is your little sister in England, Mary?” she asked softly.
Mary Anna did not speak for at least a minute. Then she burst out, “No, she is not in England.”
We stared at her. She sounded so fierce. Then more words poured out. “They separated the girls from the boys on the train, but I still had Emily Rose and I watched over her the best I could. When we got to Hazelbrae in Peterborough, they took her from me and put her with other babies. We had only been there two days when they gave her to a man and woman who had no children.”
“Oh, Mary Anna!” Roberta cried. Her voice was filled with sorrow.
Oh, I so want to keep writing, but Mary Ann
a has thrown off her covers, Snortle is up and prancing, and Mother is calling.
After school
Mary Anna told us that when her mother took them to Dr. Barnardo’s, she told them she did not want her children to be adopted by strangers. She was sure she could get work and come back for them. A friend of her father’s had been helping them a bit.
“But the Hazelbrae people told me Mother wasn’t coming back,” Mary Anna said, her face stony. “They said she would want Emily Rose adopted by a couple who could give her a good home. One lady told me to forget my mother.”
“As if you could!” Roberta cried.
They would not tell Mary Anna the name or address of the people who took her sister.
Just as she told us this, the bell rang for us to go back in. My head was fairly buzzing and I could not keep my mind on Grammar or Geography.
At home, Mother had lots of things saved up for Mary Anna to do. Most days, Mrs. Dougal leaves our house at five. We eat our supper in the dining room. Lucky Mary Anna, eating in the kitchen with only Snortle and Moses for company.
Oh, no! Mother is calling me already.
Ten minutes later
It was not suppertime. Mother just wanted to know if I had seen the potato masher. Why would I?
Anyway, when I came in from school, I tried my best to slide through the kitchen without getting caught, because I was longing to write in you, dear Diary. But Mother gave me a look which said I had to sit and visit with Aunt Lib and Cousin Anna. Aunt Lib never stops criticizing and Cousin Anna puts in little mean digs at me. She is hard to bear in other ways too. She waits until I’m halfway up the stairs and calls me back to shut the door.
I keep reminding myself of little orphan Anna long ago, but it does not seem real.
And now, before I write anything important, she’s calling me back down to set the table for supper. Ugh!
Bedtime
We had no sooner finished supper than Roberta was knocking at our back door. She looked so excited. She dragged me outside to tell me that her uncle has taken a Home Boy. She does not know his name, so he might be Jasper!
The Johns only heard about him today. Roberta’s uncle will be coming in to market tomorrow morning and he’ll have the boy with him.
“I’ll come over right after breakfast,” she said. “Your place is on the way.”
“Maybe I can talk Mother into letting Mary Anna come too,” I told her. I felt like dancing. It will be so perfect if her uncle has Jasper. Roberta is as excited as I am.
I could hardly wait to tell Mary Anna the news. I ran inside, but I got caught by Cousin Anna wanting her yarn held. I tried to escape but Mother gave me her withering look again, and I couldn’t.
Cousin Anna is so slow. When I hold the yarn for Mother, she talks to me, telling me stories or reciting poems she learned as a girl. Cousin Anna just sits like a lump or lectures me on being a better daughter. I feel as though moss is growing on me while I sit and sit.
Finally I was free. I raced upstairs. Mary Anna, who has a cold in the head for sure, was getting into her nightgown. Usually I would turn my back until she was dressed, but I couldn’t wait. When she heard, she was as thrilled as I.
“I don’t think I’ll be able to get away,” she said. Her eyes were huge and they shone like carriage lamps, but she did not jump up and down or shriek the way I had. She said she would have chores to do since Saturday Mrs. Dougal does not come. I told Mary Anna that my mother would give in right away when I told her the whole story.
Mary Anna put her hand out as though she was covering my mouth. “You mustn’t tell her,” she begged me. “They told us at the Home not to dwell upon our families and act homesick. They said we would only make trouble for ourselves if we complained.”
“That Dr. Barnardo sounds terrible —” I began to say.
“No, he is NOT,” Mary Anna flashed back. “He’s a true gentleman. He remembers all our names and he cares about each one. It’s the people who work for him …”
It doesn’t make sense to me, but they certainly convinced Mary Anna. I think she is being silly but, in the end, I promised not to tell.
It will be hard to get to sleep tonight, knowing I might be seeing Jasper tomorrow. I’ll have to get Roberta’s uncle to bring him over to our house to see his sister. I won’t tell her that. It’ll be a better surprise and, if it doesn’t come true, her heart won’t be broken.
Later
Mary Anna is asleep at last. I put my diary away and tried to sleep, but I couldn’t. Nobody has the right to take away a child’s family. I don’t see how Mary Anna’s mother could have sent them all so far away. She must have been trying to help them somehow, but it is cruel to Mary Anna. I must find out more and do all I can to help her make her feel at home here.
She looks terribly tired over there on her truckle bed. I wonder how I would feel if I went to England as a Canadian Home Girl. I cannot imagine it, try as I will.
Saturday, June 5, Early morning
I’m writing in here while I wait for Roberta to come. Mother says Mary Anna cannot come to market with me. If she had not caught a bad cold, Mother might have weakened. But she says Mary Anna needs to spend the day quietly at home.
Roberta will be here any minute. I must run.
Afternoon
The boy was not Jasper. He was one of the others at the station though. He remembered Father and me coming. He and Jasper had been together at the Barnardo home in Toronto. He thought a lady took Jasper, even though she said he was too small.
But that was all he could tell us. He didn’t know her name or where she came from. Roberta’s uncle took him away before the lady and Jasper left.
Roberta’s uncle called the boy away then. The market is so crowded and everyone is so busy. They really had no time to spare. There was one woman there with a box filled with free kittens. Mother would not take one, but it was hard to walk on by.
I was surprised to find that, worried as I was, my mouth began to water when I passed a table filled with fresh-baked bread. I felt as though I could have eaten a whole loaf. Then Roberta, who was feeling the same way, begged her uncle for some pennies and we bought two fat cinnamon buns stuck full of raisins. They tasted like the food they eat in Heaven, whatever it is.
The first strawberries were there and they smelled delicious too. We always get lots from Grandma Cope’s farm.
Diary, don’t tell anyone. I stole two berries. The box was heaped high. Not even Roberta noticed. They tasted like all of summer rolled up into a mouth-watering ball. God did not mind.
But I felt anxious on the way over to Roberta’s house. I couldn’t help it. Her little sister Hannah came racing out to meet us, though, and cheered me up. She’s funny and sweet, but so thin, and her skin is so white it is almost pale blue. Something is wrong with her heart. They can’t operate on a heart, of course. Roberta does not say, but I think they are always afraid Hannah may die. She seems so frail and she grows breathless whenever she runs the least bit. I had not seen much of her because she often stays home from church. Mr. Johns and Roberta and her brother Lou come, but Hannah gets sick so easily that her mother often keeps her home.
When Hannah was not listening, Roberta whispered to me that her mother is worried about Hannah because she has names for all their chairs. The big cushioned one is Auntie May, for instance, and the little child’s rocker is Baby Lizzie. I think that is wonderful, but Mrs. Johns worries that Hannah is touched in the head.
I think Hannah just has a good imagination. Aunt Lib would probably call her a liar. Maybe she will be a writer too.
I had to leave to get home for dinner at noon. I told Roberta how I dreaded telling Mary Anna about Jasper maybe going off with a lady who thought he was too small. Roberta said I should just tell her the whole thing was a mistake and there wasn’t any boy…. I nodded, but I knew in my heart that I could not lie to Mary Anna. So much has gone wrong for her. If she found out I had lied, she might never forgive me.
At dinner, I was so upset that I called Tom a jackass. Mother scolded me, of course. Then Aunt Lib said she felt Mother would rue the day she let me hobnob with a London slum child. But it is not Mary Anna who calls stupid people jackasses; it’s Father. I almost said so when I saw Mother’s eyes smiling.
Then Aunt Lib said, “They’re subnormal. That eye colour tells its own tale.”
She said it just as Mary Anna was bringing in the bowl of beef stew. Mother hushed her but Mary Anna heard, of course. Cousin Anna wrinkled up her face as though she smelled something disgusting. I keep reminding myself she has had a hard life, but it is not easy to be sorry for somebody so like a witch.
“Mary’s eyes are the very same lovely green as Cousin Margaret’s,” Mother said smoothly. “I’ve always liked it.”
“Rubbish,” Aunt Lib barked. But Mary Anna went out grinning.
After ten!
I just heard the clock chime. I hope Mother does not come up to check on me. She used to tuck me in, but not now that I am sharing a room. I’ve been waiting for Mary Anna to go to sleep and now she has. She never looks to see what I am writing, but I feel rude writing private things about her when she is awake. And I have a lot to write, dear Diary.
When we got away by ourselves tonight, I told her everything that had happened and I said how sorry I was. She gave me a strange look, her green eyes extra big. Then she said the most amazing thing.
“Victoria, my name isn’t really Mary Anna.”
“What?” I said. I’d heard her, with my own ears, say her name was Mary Anna Wilson.
“It’s not two words. It’s all one — Marianna. My mother named me after a girl in a poem.”
