I never expected what came next.
When I opened my eyes Little Bea and Ian were kicking off their boots. Before I could stop them, they made a dash for the fountain.
“Will they not get into trouble?” I asked Ginny as they climbed in.
“Look around. Do you see anyone?” She shrugged. “Besides, it’s worth it to them. By the time anyone says anything, they’ll be cooled off anyway.”
When Ginny finished eating, she turned to me. “I’m going in too.”
I watched, astounded, as she removed her flapping boots. Finnigan leaped in after her, barking shrill and high. The other two Malones were splashing and shrieking. I couldn’t stand it any longer either. I took off my own shoes and climbed in.
The water sprayed down from the top two tiers and reached to midway up my shin. Bea kicked at it, aiming her spray at me and wetting me to my waist. I poked my head under one of the jets to let the water splash down over the rest of me. I watched as Ginny did the same and giggled along with her little sister. Sunshine, laughter, and a cold-water spring, could anything be finer?
I didn’t even notice the uniformed policemen strolling toward the fountain till one of them grabbed my shoulder.
“Here now. No trouble. Step out of that water.”
No chance of making a run for it, not with that iron grip, but I looked helplessly toward Ginny and hoped she and her brother and sister could. Instead, another policeman guided her out of the fountain too.
Finnigan, meanwhile, clamped his teeth on the back of that constable’s pants and refused to let go.
How would I explain all this to Father when I’d promised him to stay out of trouble?
“Call your dog off, miss,” the policeman commanded, Finn’s teeth still firmly attached to him.
The other policeman seemed amused. Laughing is not angry, I reminded myself hopefully.
“Let go of me then,” Ginny snarled back at the constable. She was very much like a churlish little dog herself.
She wasn’t going to help our situation any, so I reached forward and grabbed Finnigan. “Come on, I have a crust for you still,” I promised the animal. The dog released his hold on the pant leg, turned his head as if to bite my hand but then instead licked it. I scooped him up in my arms and the police constable released Ginny.
There the four of us stood, without boots, dripping wet, like a bunch of drowned rodents. No wonder the one copper was laughing. Was this exactly what the police expected of Irish brats, I wondered, and what was their punishment for the crime of jumping into the city fountain?
“We don’t have to take you to the station if you promise this is the end of it,” the laughing policeman said. “No more swimming in the water fountain.”
“Yes, sir,” I agreed for everyone. “No more swimming indeed.”
“So move along with you,” the bitten constable ordered, swinging his arms as if to shoo us away.
I found a crumb to keep Finnigan quiet. Ginny’s rebellious glare I could do nothing about. “Just do as the man says, Ginny. Please,” I told her, quietly. “We need to catch more flies at the market anyway.”
“Fine,” she grumbled. “You can put my dog down now. Ian, Bea, come along. We need to get back to the market.”
It was a slower walk to the livery this time. We were headed back to work again, after all, soaking wet and cooler. Tom took us to the second barn full of horses. He also loaned me another bucket to store the afternoon kill in.
Slap, slap, slap, no one hummed or sang. Still, I felt like I was part of a big family, all working together for one purpose. Over the next hour my arm became sore and my shoulder stiff so I switched sides. With the left half of my body, though, I was an even worse fly catcher. “All right, that’s enough. I cannot swat anymore. We must have enough to beat Fred Leckie.”
Bea and Ian cheered. Once again Tom gave me a piece of screen to close off the top of the pail. “Thank you. I’ll bring this all back to you tomorrow.” There should be an easier way of beating Fred Leckie, I thought as I stepped around a shovel. Suddenly, my heel slid over something smooth and soft. I felt myself falling backwards. No recovery was possible, but I flapped my arms desperately, trying to avoid what I knew was coming next.
Chapter 20
I was used to the smell of horse manure. It had hovered over the streets of London and even in Dublin when I was very little. In this hot, sticky weather, the air was ripe with it. But that didn’t mean I wanted to have it on my clothes.
“Are you all right?” Bea asked.
“I’m fine,” I answered, picking myself and my fly pails up. I wrinkled my nose at the sight of horse dung stuck to my boot and the back of my pant leg. “Is there a pump somewhere?”
Ginny snickered as she led me to the water supply. I pumped and ran the water over the bottoms of my boots as well as my leg. No trace of manure was left by the time I finished. Still the odor clung to me.
“Never mind. We should head for City Hall,” Ginny said, stifling another giggle. “We want all these flies counted in. You don’t want to leave them lying around all Sunday and Monday till the next count.”
I nodded, even though it was Ginny who had stolen my previous stockpiles when I’d left them “lying around.” Today’s catch should prove the winning number, I thought. Perhaps it would even win me the competition. How could I chance fate like that—I needed to rush those pails in to the health department.
Ginny and I led the younger ones across the street to City Hall. The three of them looked quite bedraggled from their splash in the fountain and fly fighting in the barn and I’m sure I didn’t paint any prettier a picture. Nevertheless, we all trekked happily to the health department. As usual, a line stretched out of the building. I joined it on the stairs.
“What’s that smell? Did something die around here?” a boy ahead of me asked.
“The dog farted.” Ginny dug her fists into her hips. “Would you like to discuss it?” Her eyes locked onto the boy’s but he quickly turned to face straight ahead.
I wanted to run home and ask Father to help me wash my clothes and perhaps hang them in the backyard to dry.
After half an hour of standing, I heard Fred Leckie talking behind me somewhere. I turned and saw him strolling toward the front of the line with a couple of his friends, sure as always that he could buy himself a spot at the head. They carried a large bushel basket. Fred slowed down when he spied me and stopped. He scrunched up his cheeks and nose. “Ginny Malone, why would you want to share a space on earth with this piece of horse dung. Uh, he even smells like it.” Fred covered the lower half of his face with his arm.
“Better to smell like it than to act like it,” she answered him back.
I smiled. I liked how she defended me more than I felt bothered about Fred’s words. But then I heard Rebecca’s voice. “William, William!”
I wanted to hide. She was wearing a rose-colored dress with matching ribbons. She looked like a flower and probably smelled like one too. I closed my eyes, willing her not to see me.
“He’s with us,” Ginny snapped at Rebecca.
I opened my eyes and saw Ginny with her arms folded across her chest. Rebecca stood facing her.
“Is he now?” Rebecca answered. Her nose wrinkled and she stepped back a bit. “I just want to hear the winning count.”
“Suit yourself,” Ginny answered. But she didn’t move over so Rebecca could stand with me. Likely a good thing since she wouldn’t know exactly where the smell was coming from.
Rebecca held her ground too.
I looked at the two of them, side by side. Although they were as different as the sky and the ocean, they were also as similar. Rebecca, in all her store-bought finery, put together so well and so beautifully, seemed soft and sweet. But she was strong just like Ginny.
And Ginny? For all that she looked like a stormy sea after her wash in Gore Fountain, and seemed as tough as a horseshoe, her loyalty made her gentle and kind, just in a different way than Rebe
cca.
I realized I didn’t want either one of them to leave. I sniffed at myself. I only wished I could have bathed and worn a new set of clothing.
Suddenly, a voice boomed out. “Listen to this, boys and girls. Fred Leckie has just turned in a record number of 19,600 flies!”
Ginny gasped.
Rebecca bowed her head.
I stared at the half-empty bucket and wished we had all continued to catch till it was full.
The line moved up. There were other high counts too: Alfred Feaver caught 10,200; George Rogers caught 15,000; Harry Roberts, 8,900.
Finally, I stood before the health officer with my buckets of flies.
“Would you remove the netting, please,” Dr. Roberts told me. His eyes looked kind but he couldn’t do anything to help me. He had to count what was there. I hoped I had at least 15,000 flies in the pails. That would be a respectable number. I took off the screens and gently placed the buckets on the table in front of the health officer.
“Thank you.” Dr. Roberts took a deep breath and slowly poured out the dead insects. Then he counted, and counted, and counted—grouping them in tens, shoving them in to another bucket as he marked a cross on the paper.
I mouthed out the numbers along with him.
At the end, Dr. Roberts stood up. “Another astounding catch!” he called, and my heart stopped beating for a second so that I could listen. “Nineteen thousand, two hundred.”
Four hundred short of Fred’s catch.
“Oh,” Ginny said from beside me.
“Don’t worry, we’ll catch more tomorrow,” Ian encouraged.
“But we worked at it all day, Ian,” Bea moaned.
Rebecca squeezed her mouth together so hard it looked as though it hurt. She hesitated, as if waiting might bring a different result.
“Without our help, I don’t see how Fred managed to catch so many,” Ginny said.
“I know how,” Rebecca answered.
“How then?” I asked.
“His father made all the staff in his factory catch for him.” Rebecca shook her head. “There is just no way he will ever let you win.”
“Let me win?” I said. “There is no let about it. I need to think about this. But I will find a way to beat him.”
Carrying my empty pails, I began to move toward the door.
“Will?” Ginny called. “Shall we try again? At the market on Monday?”
“Definitely. I’m not giving up yet. But I need to go home, Ginny. I need to see my father.”
Walking into the Moodie stable, I whacked four flies on my arm. “Father, Father!” I called.
“What is it, lad?” He came out from the far stall.
I picked up the one fly I’d managed to kill and dropped it in my bucket. “Is there any way I can have a bath right now? I smell so bad, I’m attracting flies.”
Father grinned. “Well, you think you’d be wanting to attract them so you could win that competition.” He stepped out and wrapped his arm around my shoulder. “You don’t smell like anything to me.”
I grinned back. “That’s because you’ve been working around Blue and Beauty. You can’t have any sense of smell left.” I also thought Father smelled a bit like horse manure himself.
“Come along. Let’s wash up best we can at the pump or Mrs. Swanson won’t let us into her kitchen.”
I stuck my head under the cold water, then my arms and hands. I let the water run over my shoes again. I scrubbed with soap and then rinsed all over again.
“I’ll take my shoes off,” I told Father, and unlaced them and left them outside the door. Even my socks felt stiff with dirt.
“Just in time for tea, gentlemen,” Mrs. Swanson told us as she set out plates of mashed potatoes and corned beef.
The wash at the pump must have worked; I only inhaled the aroma of her dinner.
My mouth watered. “It smells delicious. Thank you!” I slid onto the bench behind the table.
“You’re welcome, Will. You’re a good lad. Lots of people ’round here don’t appreciate what I do.” She looked from side to side at the other two maids sitting at their plates.
“Mrs. Swanson, young Will here was wondering if he could have a bath first after supper. He’s been catching flies all day and caught himself in rather a stinky situation.”
“Sorry, no. Jessica and Ellie are going out tonight and will have theirs immediately following tea. If you help draw the water, it will go much quicker though.”
I agreed, and after eating and hauling the water to the large tub in the middle of the room, I decided to take advantage of my own smelliness. I headed back to the stable and waited outside Blue’s stall, daring the flies to land on me.
Chapter 21
Four hundred flies short! I pondered the number Fred Leckie had beaten me by as I soaked in the tub much later. I’d sat outside in the stable most of the night, killing the winged creatures as they landed on me. First I had jeered at them, then I fell silent, waiting patiently, watching to see exactly when they began to rub their legs. Then, zap, I’d scooped them up, squeezing just tightly enough to stop the tickling movement. It had made me feel powerful.
Now an idea came to me.
Why should I chase the flies? Manure attracted them. I certainly didn’t want any more on my body, but why couldn’t I just take a few piles and spread them out some place where no one would disturb them? I could water the piles so they would stay nice and moist. If I took manure that already had maggots in it, I could screen the piles in to catch the flies as they were born.
As usual, when I was done bathing, Father used my tub water. But when Father finished washing himself, I dumped my manure-smelling pants into the water. After washing them out best I could, I hung them in the backyard over the fence near the stable and headed back downstairs for bed. The whole disgusting, smelly incident had happened for a reason, I thought. Now I knew I could win the competition. I could show Fred Leckie and I would help Father buy a home for us and Uncle Charlie. Feeling cheerful, I fell asleep easily.
Next day was Sunday and Father once again insisted I come to church.
I explained about how difficult it was going to be to beat Fred, how I needed all the flies I could get in this last week of the competition. “Father, I can win this. And you can have all the money for a house—you know, so Uncle Charlie can rest and not worry.”
Father frowned, picked up his cup, and drained the last bit of his tea. “Charlie may need our prayers more than a new home.”
“What? But you said he was getting better.”
“It looked that way, but he has a cough now.”
“The consumption?” My heart fell hard into the pit of my stomach.
“We don’t know. But the fever’s back.” He set his cup back down and ruffled my hair. “So come on, be a good lad. Come with me and pray for your uncle.”
I couldn’t argue with Father. Even though I had prayed for my sister and mother and my prayers had gone unanswered, even though I felt tricked by and angry with God and maybe had earned God’s disfavor because of these feelings—for Father’s sake I had to go to church.
The building sat just next to Blink Bonnie; we didn’t even have to cross the street. As fast as we left the Blink Bonnie, we were on the front steps of St. Mark’s.
“Arthur Alton!” I heard a woman’s voice call just as we were about to go up the stairs.
Father stopped and looked around. I saw her first and pointed.
Father turned to see her too. “Be careful!” he shouted as she ran across the street toward us.
A motor car veered to the right to avoid her and bumped over the walkway. The driver waved his fist.
But Mrs. Gale didn’t seem to notice or care. She continued straight for Father. Her face seemed longer and thinner than when I had last seen her. Was it only two weeks ago? Certainly her cheekbones jutted out more so that her brown eyes looked sunken. Her arms and hands seemed at loss with her body. Long and moving…and empty. That’s when
it struck me. Where was Maureen? Mrs. Gale threw herself into Father’s arms, sobbing. “My baby’s gone. After we left the boat, she only lived one more day.”
So Baby Maureen had died in quarantine. Everything inside me turned cold.
“Ah, the poor lass.” Father patted her back.
I couldn’t think of what to do or say so I just stood there helplessly.
“Have you had anything to eat? Should we go somewhere?” Father asked her when they broke apart.
“Afterwards, Arthur. Can we go to mass right now? We need to pray for Maureen’s soul.”
I didn’t know how she could continue to ask for God’s help. God never listened. My eyes burned as I remembered Maureen’s pouty lips and curly brown hair. Then they blurred so I could hardly see.
We stepped into the church and sat in the pew at the very back. An organ played and the melody lulled. Father knelt immediately. I saw his lips move. Don’t let my brother die, I imagined his words. I was almost afraid to ask for God’s help for Uncle Charlie.
In my head I tried to picture my mother, Colleen, and Baby Maureen together. I didn’t think angels really had wings and halos, but I did see them sitting on clouds and they looked happy. I knelt then too. “God, let them be together. Mum can look after the babies. She would love that.”
After mass, I asked Father if I could look in on Blue and Beauty. He nodded. That left him and Mrs. Gale time to be sad together and it gave me time to put my new plan in place. Another life those flies had to pay for, after all. I found a shovel hanging against the stable wall and talked to Beauty as I opened her stall door and scooped some of her manure. No, this was too fresh, I realized. I had to scoop some from Father’s older pile. It needed to have maggots in it already if the flies were going to hatch in time.
I went round to the back of the stable. There I dug from the sides of the pile where white wormy maggots already wriggled.
Now where to put it so it would go undisturbed? I looked around. It should sit somewhere close, and yet somewhere no one looked. In front of the stable a well-attended, green lawn grew, with flowerbeds edging it closer to the manor; that meant the gardener would notice a pile of manure. I looked in back of the stable toward the small garbage shed. Between the manor and the shed the house help would likely travel at least once a day to empty the trash. Behind the shed. Yes, that was the only possibility. I carried the shovel around behind the shed and dumped the contents, banging the edge against the ground to shake it all loose. Back and forth I scooped, carried, and dumped the manure, thinking all the while about Baby Maureen and Colleen and Mum and now perhaps Uncle Charlie. When the manure lay across the length of the shed, I stopped, taking deep breaths to keep myself from crying.
Revenge on the Fly Page 12
