Our Only May Amelia

by Jennifer L. Holm

  Aunt Alice and Emma just shake their heads at me.

  They both agree that I am A Sorry Girl Indeed.

  Finally Friday comes, and not a moment too soon.

  I am so darn sick of pinning and poking and trying on petticoats and discussing how to put a ribbon in my hair that I don’t care if I go to the dance after all. They have got me stuffed into this dress so tight I can barely sneeze. I thought a dance would be heaps more fun than this.

  After Aunt Alice finishes fixing me in the dress, Wilbert and me go to Emma’s house to fetch her. Wilbert’s eyes just about fall out of his head when he sees her walking down the stairs in her fine yellow dress; she looks a picture to be sure.

  Me and Wilbert and Emma get to the hall, but nobody’s really dancing, just all the girls are setting on one side of the room looking like dressed-up dolls and all the boys are setting on the other side scratching at their stiff shirt collars.

  I get a handful of cookies and set down in a corner to watch the proceedings. There’s a lively fiddle player and soon enough folks get to dancing, but I can’t be bothered. I swear, it’s so boring being a Girl sometimes.

  Some boy with big ears comes up to me and says, Do You Wanna Dance?

  I am just plain shocked. I cannot imagine having to dance with this boy.

  Thanks but I don’t feel too well, I say, and run outside.

  There is no way I’m going back inside. I decide to go and visit Otto.

  I knock on the door to his house and his mamma answers. She smiles at me and calls back into the room. Otto comes running to the door.

  I thought you went to the dance, he says.

  It was boring.

  Otto nods. He’s not much interested in dances either.

  I have to do something. You want to come with me? he asks.

  Sure, I say.

  He leads me down to the bay. There is a full moon so it’s easy to see the clear water.

  What’s going on? I say.

  Look, Otto says, and he points his finger out at the water. A bateau is sailing toward where we are standing on the craggy rocks.

  It’s just a gillnetter, I say.

  No, Otto says. They’re smugglers.

  Real live smugglers right here in Astoria? Smuggling what? Maybe treasure, maybe gold ingots, maybe silk from the Orient?

  What’re they smuggling, I say. Gold?

  People, he says.

  What do you mean? Like shanghaied slaves or something?

  No, no. That gillnetter works for the Seaborg Cannery and they need more workers and so they send for Chinamen from the Orient, but they can’t bring them during the day ’cause it’s illegal on account of them not having proper papers, so they smuggle them here at night and I bring them over to the factory.

  Why don’t they have papers? I say.

  It takes too long to get them.

  But won’t they get caught?

  Otto rolls his eyes and says, Nobody can seem to tell any Chinamen apart—they think we all look alike, so how can you get caught?

  Otto surely does have a point.

  The smuggling bateau pulls up to the beach and Otto steps out with a lantern and about six Chinamen get out and walk over to us. Otto gestures to them and says something in Chinese and then we’re off, running through the tideland weeds, staying low, all the way to the China House. When we get to the China House, an old Chinese woman lets us in through a basement. There is a big table set with all sorts of food in bowls and it smells awful good.

  Me and Otto have a little midnight snack with the new Chinamen. I speak Finnish with Otto and Otto speaks Chinese with the Chinamen. It’s a very confusing night indeed, everyone’s laughing and chattering—why it’s like a real party. And Otto’s mamma is just like my own mamma, the way she is wearing a big apron and dishing out food to everybody and scolding Otto when he forgets his table manners; it’s just like a normal family even though they are all Chinamen. I don’t see what Otto meant about people looking the same. They all look different to me. Why, one of them’s got a real skinny face, and the fella sitting across from me has round cheeks that look like apples.

  The food is real tasty too, all sorts of soups with seaweed and salmon and these things that Otto says are called noodles, it’s not at all like what the Finns cook. It’s much nicer than fish-head stew. I wouldn’t mind living here one bit.

  This is heaps more fun than that stuffy old dance, I say.

  That’s for sure, says Otto. You’re not very good at being a girl.

  That’s what Emma says too. She says I am A Sorry Girl.

  She’s right but you sure are heaps more fun than a real girl, he says.

  I suspect that I should Take Offense but by his grin I know he intends it to be a compliment.

  I am having a hard time using the sticks to pick up the food. Otto says that they’re called chopsticks and they’re very tricky indeed. More of the food is ending up on my dress than in my belly. Finally Otto says something to his mamma and she brings me over a big spoon.

  By the time I’m ready to go home I have a full stomach.

  Thank you kindly, I say, and start walking down the quiet street. When I look back, Otto and his kind mamma with the big smile are standing in the door, her hand on his shoulder.

  And for a moment I miss my very own mamma so much it hurts.

  Aunt Feenie is waiting on the porch for me. She eyes my dress which has got mud on it from mucking about and food all down the front. She smiles wryly and says, You look real pretty in that dress, did you have a nice time at the dance dear?

  I guess she’s just happy that I’m in a proper dress for a change. I say, I had a real fine time.

  She says, Where is your brother Wilbert?

  I say I don’t rightly know, but I suspect that he is with Emma.

  Wilbert gets home real late and he is one big smile, even his eyes are sparkling, so I say, Did you catch a kiss from Emma?

  And he says, May Amelia, gentlemen don’t talk of such things.

  I say, Wilbert, you’re surely no gentleman.

  But he wouldn’t say a word so I suspect that he did get a kiss after all.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  A Lucky Doll

  It is the first day of March when Pappa appears on the front porch of Aunt Feenie and Uncle Henry’s house.

  Aunt Feenie says, Your Grandmother Patience has died God rest her soul, and we must go to Nasel for the funeral. I expect your mother will want you and Wilbert back with her, so pack up your trunk and we’ll take it when we go.

  Me and Wilbert look at each other. Grandmother Patience is dead? I cannot believe my ears.

  How’d she die? Wilbert says.

  The scarlet fever’s come to the valley and many folks are real sick, Pappa says. Pappa doesn’t look too good himself. He’s thinner than I remember.

  Pappa shakes his head and says, Your brother Wendell has been sick nigh on three weeks and your poor mother is plumb worn out between nursing him and every other soul who comes to our door in the middle of the night for her medicines. It’s real bad May Amelia, and I’m of a mind not to bring you children home and risk you getting sick too but we’re drowning and your ma needs another hand to help her.

  Wilbert says, Has anybody else died?

  Well, so far your Grandmother Patience and Lonny’s ma, Mrs. Petersen, are the only ones. They have closed the schoolhouse, as they don’t want the sick children infecting the healthy ones. Now get on and pack your things, time’s a-wasting.

  I truly thought I would never want to see the Nasel or our homestead again. But as we row up the Nasel, the familiar sight of our house nestled in the valley with the great mountains rising around it makes my heart beat faster.

  All the boys are waiting to see me—Alvin, Ivan, Kaarlo, and even Isaiah, who has left the sheeps to come and welcome me and Wilbert back. I look around.

  Where’s Wendell? I say.

  Mamma looks worn out, but she is real glad to see me and Wilbert. He
’s sick in bed, she says.

  Bosie comes charging in, yipping and barking at me. He jumps all over me and nearabout knocks me down. I guess he missed me too.

  Get Down Bosie, I say.

  Me and Mamma, we sit in the kitchen at the table. Everything is the same, even the smells. Mamma tells me everything that has passed since we’ve been gone, how she worried after us and was sad as a mother could be about losing Amy but that God Works In Strange Ways and that she was a lucky woman to have only lost one of her children when so many folks lose all theirs and my what a shame it was that Grandmother Patience was called to God, but she’d had a full life, she was an old woman and there’s no reason to cry when an old person passes on, it’s the way it’s supposed to be.

  I say I’m not sad Mamma, Grandmother hated me.

  And Mamma, why, she just reaches over and pulls me tight against her faded gunnysack dress, all smelling of flour, and gives me a squeeze.

  She says, I’m not sad either May Amelia. Your Grandmother Patience hated nearabout every living thing.

  I stay home with Wendell while everyone else goes to Grandmother Patience’s funeral. Wendell is pretty weak and has a real sore throat and he spends a lot of time complaining and saying May Can You Bring Me Some Soup, and May Can You Bring Me Some Water, and May Can You Bring Me Some Bread.

  Now I know that Mamma is a strong woman if she can put up with nonsense like this all the time.

  Wendell says that he is happy that I’m back, that Bosie has not barked once since we left and that the kittens were crying for me all the time.

  I brought back Susannah, I say.

  Wendell coughs and gives me a weak smile.

  I’m glad, he says, I missed Susannah too.

  All the folks who attend the funeral come back around to our house afterward and bring all sorts of nice food. There’s cobbler, roast duck, venison stew, squeaky cheese, and my very favorite, fresh pulla, which is Finnish bread flavored with cardamom topped with sugar icing. Uncle Aarno has even brought his last bit of smoked salmon.

  They said a service for Grandmother in the Rukoushuone. Wilbert tells me that Grandmother Patience needs all the prayers she can get and he doubts she’s in heaven, on account of her meanness.

  Just about everybody in the valley has come to our house and it seems more like a party than a funeral, what with the men drinking and singing old Finnish sailing tunes and the women all gossiping in the kitchen about this and that. I am kept very busy indeed, making sure that there is plenty of food on the table and that Wendell is comfortable in his sickbed. Pappa has banished Bosie and Buttons to the barn, but there are quite a few children here, and Wilbert is talking with Lonny.

  Lonny I’m real sorry to hear about your mamma dying like she did, I say, but Lonny just shakes his head.

  Wilbert says, Let’s steal a pie and go to the barn and play with Bosie, just us three.

  I take a mince pie made of venison and apples and raisins and we sneak out the back and run into the barn. It’s all snug and warm and cozy, and we climb up the ladder to the hayloft and Wilbert spreads a horse blanket down on the hay and we sit there and eat the mince. Buttons sidles up and mews for a scrap.

  Lonny’s a big boy, and he goes at the mince pie like he hasn’t eaten in years. Between mouthfuls Lonny explains how quickly his ma died, how he still expects to hear her hollering for him to fetch some wood, or build up the fire, but that she’s well and truly dead, and that our brother Isaiah went over and built the box for her ’cause his pa was too drowned in the bottle to so much as lift a hammer.

  He seems so calm about it all that I cannot help myself.

  I say, Do you miss her Lonny? Do you miss your ma?

  And he has just taken a bite of mince and then his face sort of screws up and he spits out the mince onto the hay and starts crying, bawling great big tears, and Wilbert and I put our arms around him and hug him tight, let him cry into my apron until it is soaked clear through.

  Why isn’t she coming back? he wails. Why can’t I go to heaven and visit her? I miss my ma!

  Shhh, I say, it’s gonna be all right. And my eyes meet Wilbert’s.

  You’ve got Wilbert and me, I say. You still got us.

  I get no sleep at all, between thinking about Lonny’s ma and nursing Wendell. It is the first time I have been back in me and Wilbert’s bedroom since Baby Amy died. Somebody has taken away the cradle; it is nowhere in sight. And for no reason at all that I can figure, I keep thinking of Amy, waiting to hear her wake up and cry, across the room.

  Wendell is up all night, feverish. I stay up with him, as Mamma is just too tired after nursing Grandmother into the grave. Poor Wendell mutters a lot about Wild Cat Clark and Susannah and I cannot understand what all. He is burning up but keeps saying that he’s freezing, which makes no sense. I cool him off with water from the Nasel that Wilbert fetches for me. All the boys lend a hand. Ivan and Alvin set by the stove and keep an eye on the broth that’s simmering there and Isaiah helps build up the fire. I can tell that even Kaarlo is worried by the way he keeps sticking his head in the door and asking if Wendell’s any better.

  Wilbert comes in and sits with me for a time.

  I say, Do you think Wendell’s gonna die like Lonny’s ma?

  Wilbert looks at me real shocked like, surprised that I would suggest such a thing, and says, There Is No Way Wendell Is Going To Die Do You Understand Me, May Amelia?

  I say, Yes I understand you, Wilbert, I am not an idiot; I am not slow like Lonny.

  Well then May, why did you ask such a foolish question? Do you want to put the hex on him with your talk?

  For the first time ever I think that Wilbert does not understand me, so I try to explain.

  But Wilbert, Baby Amy died and now Wendell could too. You know he could! We’ve got the bad Jackson luck again.

  The bad luck’s not back! he shouts.

  I think Wilbert is scared of Wendell dying.

  And he doesn’t understand that I’m scared too.

  The next morning Wendell is still very bad. He is burning up, his skin is hot to touch, and nothing will bring down the fever, not even Mamma’s willowbark tea. He’s throwing up, he can’t keep anything in his stomach, not even water. And he’s covered with red bumps everywhere. A scarlet rash.

  When Mamma sees the red bumps, she starts crying. It is a bad sign.

  I can’t bear to lose another child Jalmer, she says, weeping into my father’s chest.

  When I hear that, I am so angry I cannot say a word. I just grab Wilbert and run out of the house.

  We hafta do something! I shout. We can’t just let Wendell die!

  Wilbert shakes his head. He is stuck. We have never known our mamma to give up like this. I think hard. Bosie has followed us out into the yard and nips at my leg. He wags his tail and gives a yelp.

  What about Chinook medicine? I say.

  Yeah! says Wilbert.

  After all, Jane mended Bosie.

  Let’s go! I tell Wilbert, and we run down the front path.

  Wait, I say, and run back inside for Susannah.

  We need all the help we can get.

  Old Man Weilin and Wild Cat Clark are setting on the porch smoking pipes when we come running up.

  What do you rapscallions want? Old Man Weilin says, blowing smoke out in rings.

  Wendell’s sick! He’s got the fever, I say. We need to get some medicine.

  Bad luck, Wild Cat says.

  The Old Man nods his head. Go on around back, he says. That wife of mine should have some tonic.

  We knock on the door to the cedar house and Jane opens it.

  Wendell’s sick and Mamma thinks he’s gonna die! I say. He’s got the fever and we have to save him!

  Jane nods her head and disappears into a back room. She returns carrying a small jar.

  It’s Yiu-yu sweat, she says, Very good for fever.

  Thanks, Wilbert says, taking the jar from Jane and tucking it into his shirt.

&nbs
p; I see you brought Susannah, Jane says. There’s something I’ve been meaning to give you.

  Jane has made Susannah a Chinook dress just like hers. It is made of young cedar bark that has been beaten soft and then woven into a long tunic with a fringe. Susannah looks like a real Indian princess.

  She looks fine, I say.

  We gotta go, says Wilbert.

  We are almost out the door of the lodge when Jane says, Wait.

  Jane sticks a long black feather inside Susannah’s dress.

  From Ta-mah’na-wis, the Guardian Spirit. For good luck, she says, and smiles.

  Wendell is still tossing and turning when we get home; his skin is hot to the touch. Mamma gives him Jane’s tonic and says Cross Your Fingers Children.

  I put Susannah on the table next to Wendell’s bed and sit in the rocking chair, the same chair I rocked Baby Amy in. I mop his head with a wet cloth. His skin is still red and bumpy like fleas have been at him. But I know the bumps aren’t from fleas, but from the fever.

  Please don’t die, Wendell, I can’t lose you too.

  When I wake up, Bosie is licking my hand and my neck has a crick in it on account of me falling asleep in the rocking chair.

  Stop It Bosie, I say grumpily.

  I hear a sigh and look over at the bed. Wendell is squinting at me in the early-morning light. His glasses are on the table next to the bed. He reaches a hand out and slides them on.

  That’s a fine dress Susannah has on her May, Wendell says weakly.

  I put my hand on his head and it’s cool as can be.

  Yes, I say. Jane made it for her, for luck.

  Wendell smiles.

  Susannah is a lucky doll indeed.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Happy to Be Here

  It is finally spring, but I am feeling sad even though the yellow daffodils are pushing their heads out of the ground and the crocuses too. Now that Wendell is better and I have time to think, it seems that every little thing reminds me of Baby Amy and not even Buttons the cat or Bosie and his tricks can cheer me up.

  I’m feeling low, I say.

  Wilbert says, I bet Lonny’s feeling a whole lot worse than you May, alone in that house like he is with no mamma. Let’s go and visit him.