Orphan at My Door

by Jean Little

The days crawled past. Lots of work and terrible waiting for market day. It is on Saturday. I will pray after I blow out the candle. I will even go down on my knees in case it works better. You have to try everything.

  Friday, July 16

  Today in the middle of the summer, there was a freak hailstorm in Guelph. It was not all over town, but mostly on Waterloo Avenue. But imagine, winter in summer!

  Snortle is terrified of thunderstorms. I think he would like me to hide in the wardrobe with him, but I just sit on the bed with him in my arms and stroke him and tell him to be brave.

  Only one more day until we find out about Jasper!

  Saturday night, July 17

  Today was a tragic disappointment. I can hardly bear to write it down.

  Sparrow was incredibly clever. She sent a note with some flowers for Mrs. Jordan. She wrote Dr. Alastair Cope and our address on the back of a piece of paper and talked Cousin Anna into writing a note in case Mr. Stone came without his sister. Jasper knows Marianna went to Dr. Cope’s house — he was there when Father introduced himself at the station. We hoped Jasper would remember that, and recognize her writing. We also hoped he would see the note, or that Mrs. J. would just hand it to him.

  But it was all for nothing.

  David brought Cousin Anna right back home. She was red-eyed from weeping. The brother came instead of Mrs. J. He said she had too much work to do to be spared. When Cousin Anna said surely a couple of hours would not make such a difference, he grew rough and told her not to write to her friend again.

  Marianna got me to ask David if Mr. Stone had brought his boy with him.

  “I didn’t really notice,” David said offhandedly. “There was a skinny little brat helping unload things from the man’s wagon. But I did not stop to chat.”

  The most surprising thing was David’s anger at Mr. Stone. He said the man was horrible to Cousin Anna. It made David so furious he told Mr. Stone to mind his manners, and the man hit him. David has a bruise on one cheekbone. It isn’t a little bruise either.

  Cousin Anna shrieked at David to come away. He got back into the buggy. Then the brute struck Bess and told them to get along home and stay where they belonged.

  “He’s dreadful,” Cousin Anna kept sobbing. “What poor Pansy must suffer! He’s even worse than he was as a boy, and we were all afraid of him then.”

  “Was there a red-headed boy hanging around there?” I asked her after David had marched off.

  “I don’t know. There were some children running about…. Oh, Lilias, think of poor Pansy!”

  “Did you find out where her brother actually lives?” Mother asked her.

  “No, Lilias, I did not. You must understand I was far too upset,” she wailed.

  David came back, holding a wet towel to his cheek as though it were a battle wound.

  “I did,” he muttered “It’s out past Ennotville.”

  He broke off suddenly, and when I looked at him his face was blank as a wiped slate. If he had started to look angry or interested or bored, he had rubbed any trace of it away before I could catch even one fleeting glimpse. I know, dear Diary. That sounds crazy. He is probably so irritated at going all that way for nothing that he wouldn’t even bother telling Cousin Anna that he could find her friend for her any time he chose.

  I pushed him out of my mind and Sparrow and I just stared at each other in horror. We went outside to talk and there, on the floor of the buggy, was the little basket tipped over with the wildflowers spilled on the drive. The note was gone though.

  I told Marianna that Jasper might have snatched it up. She just shook her head and I didn’t try to persuade her, because I don’t believe it either. The two of us just stood there, staring down at the mangled flowers. Then a breeze caught them and I pulled her away.

  When we came to bed Sparrow cried herself to sleep. I felt like crying too, but part of my sadness was for Cousin Anna. She was so happy and hopeful when they set out. She is still an awful person, but I’d never seen her so happy before. And what Mother had told me about her kept coming back to me.

  Father was furious too. I wonder if he’ll do something. But what can he do? We should tell him about Jasper. But he heard what was in the letter Cousin Anna read out and he just shook his head.

  I tried once more to talk Sparrow into telling, but she just got more upset.

  “They told us at the Home that the farmers would have the law on their side,” she said, “and we were to be hard workers and obedient to them and we would not have any trouble. Besides, what if we do tell and it gets back to that man?”

  “It wouldn’t —” I started to say.

  She turned on me and blazed out that I was too trusting, and that if I’d heard some of the stories she has, I would change my tune. Mr. Stone might get people believing Jasper was bad and needed discipline. Then they would walk away and leave him to suffer.

  “He’s my brother, not yours,” she ended up. “You have to do what I say.”

  She is right about that. I still think I should say something. But she might be right.

  We were halfway through the dishes when she put in, without saying what she was talking about, “What’s more, knowing that boy is my brother would make your mother sick at heart.”

  She’s right about that too. Mother hates cruelty. She looked ill when Cousin Anna read Mrs. Jordan’s words about the Home Boy.

  I wonder if Marianna’s brother thinks Mr. Stone’s place is what Canadians call a “home.” I hope we can find him and show him what a real home is.

  Sunday, July 18

  Today has been the worst day of my life. It started out all right. Church was as usual. It was sunny so I could watch the light shining down through the big rose window at the back. It changes the colours of women’s hats. I like to play I can catch a rainbow in my hands.

  After church, David went home with Grandpa and Grandma Cope, so that was one good thing.

  But just as we finished our Sunday dinner and Marianna and I were clearing away the dessert dishes, there was a thunderous rap on the front door. Everyone jumped, even Aunt Lib, who seems half asleep most of the time now. It was not a friendly knock. Snortle dashed into the hall, growling like a mastiff.

  Father started to go and then turned back.

  “Remove this savage animal, Thomas,” he said quietly. “And keep a tight grip on him whatever happens.”

  Tom snatched up my pugnacious pug and Father strode out to answer the door. We were all straining our ears and we heard him say, “Yes, sir? How can I help you?”

  “You’re Mr. Alastair Cope, aren’t you?” a rough voice demanded, not at all politely.

  “I am Dr. Cope,” Father said in his coolest tone.

  “Well, I’m Carl Stone and I want you to hand over young Jasper Wilson.”

  “I beg your pardon,” Father said.

  Marianna and I dropped the plates, without breaking one, on the hall table, and clutched each other. I think I went as pale as she did. We kept stiller than mice.

  “You heard me!” the man shouted.

  “I did indeed, but I have no idea what you mean. I know nobody named Jasper,” Father told Mr. Stone. “And I will thank you to speak to me civilly if you must speak to me at all.”

  “I don’t believe you. I got home last night and the boy had run off. My sister tells me that something your cousin let drop in her letter indicated that you have a Home Child named Wilson. She is the boy’s sister, I have no doubt whatsoever. I don’t know her given name, but she’s a Barnardo Girl. I suspect you are harbouring the pair of them here, but the boy is my property under the law. I’ll thank you to hand him over at once.”

  Marianna was shaking like an aspen. It was terrible. We both expected Father to call her, but he did not.

  I could not bear just standing there. Besides, I wanted to see this monster with my own eyes. I put my finger to my lips and pulled her into the drawing room.

  If we kept back, we could see into the hall from there, witho
ut them seeing us. Marianna came along with me like a big walking doll. But she had enough sense to make no sound. We hunched down behind the wing chair next to the front window and peeked out.

  “Your sister is in error,” Father was saying. “Since I know nothing of the whereabouts of the boy you seek and so am unable to assist you in any way, I will thank you to take yourself off my property.”

  The man stood his ground for a few seconds. I was so afraid he might strike my father. Father was taller, but Mr. Stone looked dangerous. His face was flushed a dark red and he was breathing hard. Then he whirled around and strode away.

  “You haven’t seen the last of me,” he shouted. “I’ll have the law on you.”

  Then the door slammed and Father stood very still, staring at it.

  I leaned out and peered through the sheer curtains. You can’t see through them from outside, but you can see out from within the house.

  Mr. Stone stamped back to his farm wagon. The thinnest horse I have ever seen was tied to our hitching post. The horrible man carried a horse whip in his hand and he kept whacking it against his boot. I am sure he meant to use it on Jasper.

  Father turned then, started back down the hall and caught sight of the two of us huddled by the window. He came over and faced us.

  “Mary,” he said, “you heard. Is your brother named Jasper?”

  Marianna nodded like a puppet. I don’t think she could have spoken. Her eyes seemed blind. I don’t know how else to tell about their blank look. Tears began running down her cheeks but she didn’t put her hand up to wipe them away.

  “Do you know where he is?”

  “No,” Marianna whispered, lifting her chin so he could look her in the face.

  “I thought not. If you hear from him …” He broke off, leaving the sentence unfinished. “That man had his whip ready to use on a child,” he said through his teeth. “He had better not come near this house again.”

  Mother was looking dreadful when we reached the dining room. She had heard it all. So had the others, of course.

  “I doubt the boy will get this far, Lilias,” Father said gently. “You mustn’t worry.”

  “Alastair, what if it were Tom?” was all she said.

  That was when I realized that Jasper was MISSING. It takes time for things to come real when you are so frightened. But he is lost and he is just eight.

  I can’t write any more. Everything went on being miserable all day long. Cousin Anna kept moaning about her poor friend Pansy. She didn’t care tuppence about Jasper. I care because of Marianna, of course, but also, he is not just a boy I’ve heard about, but a real boy I saw with my own eyes that day at the station. Maybe I wouldn’t care this much if I could not see his face so clearly in my memory.

  Sparrow went back to the kitchen and began struggling to do the dinner dishes. I was helping all I could. Then my wicked Snortle jumped up at Cousin Anna and made her drop the milk pitcher. Milk flooded the entire floor.

  “I’ll clean it up, Marianna,” I said.

  But I have never washed a floor. The mess got much worse when I went to work on it. Snortle tried to help me and was terribly in the way. Moses gave her tongue to the job. Then, to my relief, Sparrow burst out laughing and came to our rescue.

  “I’m thinking of trying to get a position as a scullery maid,” I said, hoping a joke would help.

  “You need to be a Barnardo Girl to do it right,” she offered.

  When it was spotless, she ran up to our room and I did not follow her. I knew she needed to be by herself.

  Now it is getting dark and a storm is rising. Snortle has started to shiver and whine with fear. If only somebody has given Jasper shelter. Sparrow says he is terrified of lightning.

  The strange thing is that Mr. Stone did not look like a total villain except for the fury in his eyes. He just looked ordinary — his hair was fair and so was his beard, big and bushy. Yet I know he is evil. I could tell by the way his hand kept gripping the whip handle and the way his jaw jutted out. His voice too. I can’t think of any words to describe it.

  Noon, Monday, July 19

  Last night, after I wrote that much in my diary, I went downstairs to talk to Father in the study. I told him that he had seen Jasper and even given him a penny for holding Bess’s bridle at the station.

  “You mean that little shaver with the blazing red hair was Mary’s brother?” he said, staring at me.

  I didn’t mean to, but all at once I burst into tears. Usually Father hates what he calls “blubbering,” but he just looked at me for a moment and then patted my shoulder.

  “This whole child immigration scheme is open to misuse,” he muttered. “Don’t fret, my honey. We’ll do what we can for the lad if he shows up.”

  I went back upstairs and told Sparrow what I had done. I was prepared for her to scream at me, but she did not. She just stared at me and then got into bed and pretended to go to sleep.

  I started to talk to her and then I was too tired. So I went to bed too. She must have really been asleep because, when I began to cry, she did not move.

  I found out at breakfast that my father and Tom went out in the buggy, early, and drove down the most direct road to Mr. Stone’s place. They saw nobody. He is going to take Cousin Anna out there during the day, when Mr. Stone will be away from the house. They plan to see if his sister is about and whether she has any notion where Jasper was bound.

  Marianna and I can only wait and pray. It is out of our hands now. But she hugged me before we came downstairs, so that is all right.

  Later

  Mrs. Jordan was not home when they tried again, and they found no trace of Jasper. If he ran away, he’s been on his own for two days and two nights. Will he figure out where to find us? Is he alive? Where, oh, where can he be?

  I keep thinking of the hymn about the lost lamb out on the hillside all alone, “sick, and helpless, and ready to die.” I always knew it was sad, but never knew how terrible until now.

  Mrs. Dougal was busy at the washing, of course. What a job! Every time I watch her stirring all those heavy, steaming clothes around with her stick while her face gets red and sweaty, I understand why Mother keeps at us not to dirty our clothes. Tom’s things always end up having to be scrubbed on the washboard. Boys don’t realize how much trouble they are.

  During the afternoon, Mother and Marianna and I were up in Aunt Lib’s room, giving Mrs. Thirsk a bit of a break, when Aunt Lib managed to croak, “Boy … in river.” Her words were garbled, but I knew what she meant to say — that Jasper had probably fallen into a river and drowned. Or that that was what he deserved.

  Now I know what a scathing look is. It is what my mother gave her poor, sick old auntie. I wanted to hug my mother then and there.

  “Bad blood … Spade a spade,” Aunt Lib got out.

  “That is enough, Aunt Lib. Hold your tongue on the subject of the boy,” Mother said in a voice that froze the air it passed through.

  Mrs. Thirsk came sweeping back in just in time.

  “Ma’am, I think you should lie down for a rest,” Sparrow said softly to Mother.

  Mother smiled at her. “I’ll do that, Mary dear,” she said. “Don’t worry too much. Most people are kind.” Then, “If you need me, Mrs. Thirsk, just call.”

  “I’ll see to things,” Mrs. Thirsk said, bustling about doing nothing. When we are not there, I know she pulls magazines and fashion books out of her bag and pores over them. It is a good thing that Aunt Lib mostly sleeps.

  Mother left, holding onto Sparrow’s arm. I snatched up Snortle and hugged him as we followed. I brought him in here with me and came to write in my diary. Now I will go set the table for our evening meal.

  Could I be turning into a saint?

  No, it’s just that acting noble helps me not to fret too terribly. I think I expect God to notice how good I am and to look after poor Jasper.

  After supper, July 19

  I was flummoxed when I went down to the kitchen. Cousin Anna was se
tting the table. Sparrow had started getting the meal ready. They weren’t saying much, but Marianna was looking almost cheerful. Cousin A. usually just sits pretending to knit while the rest of us work.

  The day is dragging by. Writing in you, dear Diary, helps fill the time. No word of Jasper. It is over ten miles so we can’t expect him to arrive at once. Sparrow thinks he would be afraid to take a ride in someone’s wagon.

  Bedtime

  Sparrow is not herself. I know this waiting is hard for her, but there is something strange about the way she is acting. She forgave me for speaking to Father, and yet now she has stopped looking me in the eye. She seems jumpy, but not so sad. She acts as though she knows a secret. I wonder if she has some news. Surely, if she did, she would confide in me. Who else has she? I’m her only friend. She is breathing deeply now, as though she is asleep already, but I don’t believe in that breathing. I’ll blow out the candle and see if I can stay awake. Something is up.

  Tuesday, July 20, Early morning

  I was right! She did know something. I was almost asleep when I heard my dear friend Marianna Wilson sneak out of her bed and tiptoe to the door of our room. I opened my eyes a crack to watch her. She eased it open and listened. Then she sighed, closed it and returned to her bed. I went on peeking out from under my lashes and saw she was fully dressed. I kept still as a mouse and waited for further developments.

  Every half hour or so, she would go and listen at the door again. At last, when the grandfather clock struck half-past eleven, she eased the door open and started creeping down the back stairs carrying her shoes.

  I was up and after her like a flash. Thank goodness Snortle was sound asleep. It takes a lot to wake up a tired pug puppy.

  I trailed her down through the house and out the back door into the garden. She had left a stick holding the door open a crack so she could get in again without anyone hearing her. I left it that way too. We went along the path to Bess’s stable. Then, just as Marianna’s hand was on the latch of the door, my foot hit against a stone, which rolled away. Marianna spun around and stood frozen, staring into the darkness.