Outing of the Heart

by Lisa Ann Harper

  ‘What does your dad do?’

  ‘He works in the office at Union Carbide. In that environment he’s responsible for about fifteen staff; an accountant by profession.’

  ‘What does he like to do to relax – for fun?’

  ‘For fun?’ repeated Tenille, musingly. ‘You know, I don’t really connect those two concepts – my father and fun. He enjoys fishing when he can get away.’ Her face lit up. ‘I’ve been out with him, to the Kawartha’s and we’ve had great times, but mom never liked it, so his interest waned.’

  They were approaching Lindsay itself now, an old settlement of Maple-lined streets with large, clapboard houses set well back. The atmosphere was sleepy; undisturbed.

  ‘Tell me about where you grew up, Ten,’ wanting to know everything.

  Tenille laughed. ‘Not much to tell, really. There are some families who can trace their ancestors to pioneer days. The newer suburbs feature smaller residences of the fifties and sixties, the outskirts are home to trailer parks and development lots. Around the town, land is devoted mainly to dairy cattle and their needs, but with the advent of hard times, many of the farmers have turned to running feed lots and working elsewhere.’

  ‘Where do they go?’

  ‘General Motors at Oshawa is a big employer. Others take their chances as long distance transport drivers. Good money for them in both occupations, but its long hours; especially the driving. Lindsay itself is a clearing depot for farm produce. The farming co-operative is very powerful. Oh, turn left here, Sid,’ she instructed: ‘Number twenty-seven is that white and green one on the right, with the big veranda along the front.’

  Sidonie spotted it immediately. The house belonged to another era when construction was on the grand scale. She lifted a wry eyebrow.

  ‘Whew …’ she breathed, ‘ …you grew up there?’ Although impressed, a sudden clutch of foreboding gripped her. Perhaps this encounter wasn’t going to be quite such a free trot. When she thought of her own humble beginnings, first in a small apartment in Victoria Park and later in a Government co-operative complex, bursting at the seams with kids and harried mothers, this was light years away from her experience. Agitation spiralled upwards, making her dubious about becoming buddies with Mr. and Mrs. Fenech. She lifted her head, still clouded with concern … she could only try. The crescent driveway directed her to the imposing porch at the front of the house.

  ‘Don’t worry about our bags now, we can see to them later,’ Tenille suggested. She began to mount the broad steps that rose to the wide veranda. It was a laborious process. She had to balance on her crutches as she stepped up with her right foot, once stable, she brought her cast leg and crutches up to it. Just as she reached the top, Mrs. Fenech opened the door. It was solid, of carved timber, but the etched sidelights allowed observation of callers.

  ‘Tennie, my poor darling,’ her mother cried dramatically, as she rushed forward to embrace her daughter. She was unprepared for the cumbersomeness of someone holding onto crutches, with a foot stuck in the air. Tenille almost overbalanced with the impact of her mother’s weight and wobbled, perilously. ‘Come in Lovey. Come and rest,’ Doris fussed.

  ‘Mom.’ Tenille turned towards Sidonie: ‘I’d like to introduce my friend, Sidonie Henderson.’ She turned back to her mother. ‘She very kindly took time off work to bring me here.’ She wanted her mother to feel somewhat indebted to Sid. Perhaps suspend her critical judgements, before she hardened her opinion against her, which deep down she feared she could.

  Sidonie stepped forward promptly to shake hands, hoping to exude a feeling of respect and good will. ‘Hi Mrs. Fenech. Pleased to meet you,’ she said in affable salutation. Doris gave a slight jerk backwards, as if she’d stepped into a cobweb.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ she acknowledged. ‘How do you do.’ She dropped Sidonie’s hand quickly and turned back to her daughter.

  ‘Come along girls, you must be tired. I’ll make us all a nice cup of tea.’ She put her hand out to Tenille. ‘Can you manage, Tennie?’

  ‘Yes Mom, I’m fine. Watch me.’ She hopped forward briskly to the threshold. There she stopped and, because of her anxiety over this first meeting, became flustered and put her crutches up first and almost overbalanced backwards as she tried to jump.

  ‘Steady Ten.’ Sidonie rushed forward to save her from falling. ‘Step your right foot forward,’ she reminded her.

  ‘Yes, of course, silly me. I know that’s the way to do it,’ a hasty reply, trying to cover her embarrassment. Doris felt helpless and displaced as she watched her daughter being guided by this person she found rather unusual. Not the type her Tennie normally chummed with. She viewed her as being a bit rough. Working class. Those shorts. Startlingly blue eyes though. “Well, at least she smells clean,“ she granted grudgingly. She didn’t enjoy being placed in a secondary role, especially where her daughter was concerned.

  Tenille led the way to the living room and settled herself into an over-stuffed chesterfield and patted the cushion beside her for Sidonie. Sitting down, her glances were busy taking in everything: an array of antiques, strategically placed about the room: an ornate display cabinet, holding a large collection of art glass of the Art Nouveau period: Art Deco figurines. She’d never owned any, but she’d always found those graceful naiads captivating. There was even strip lighting, showing off the colors to best advantage.

  “Hell’s teeth. No wonder she’s got that special air about her. She’s cultured.” thought Sidonie, as her gaze swung back to this woman she loved above all else. Mrs. Fenech’s voice intruded.

  ‘Would Earl Grey suit you, Sidonie?’ she was enquiring.

  ‘Er..r, would it be possible to have a coffee?’ Sidonie asked, hesitantly. ‘I don’t mind instant.’ As an after thought, she added, ‘I don’t want to make work for you,’ since Doris continued to regard her as if from a great distance.

  Tenille dove in. ‘Yes Mom, just regular coffees would be fine for us.’ ‘We didn’t stop on the way,’ she added lamely, in unnecessary justification. ‘Where’s Betsy? I thought she’d be at the door.’

  ‘I put her out, knowing you’d be on crutches Tennie, but I’ll let her in now that you’re settled. I didn’t want to risk her making you fall.’ Doris rose on these words and caught an exchange of looks between the two women. She now felt even more uncomfortable; a state of being with which she was not familiar, especially in her own home. Her world had been ordered and predictable for so long. Very little ever disturbed the even tenor of her days. However, in the space of fifteen minutes she had been made to feel decidedly at odds with herself.

  She plugged in the kettle before opening the swing door and looked toward the living room. She didn’t like this new friend; had an unsettled feeling no good would come of this association. Her baby was so tender hearted and susceptible; living in Toronto, she was not able to look out for her best interests. During this convalescence she’d get her to come back to Lindsay. Her Sunshine was too much the ingenue for city life.

  When Doris pushed open the door Betsy bounded in with great exuberance. Not just the tail, the whole body gyrated in excited greeting. She had just known her mistress was back. All her senses had told her so.

  ‘Betsy, Betsy.’

  Tenille put out both her arms to give her a big hug. Suddenly Betsy stopped as she realized a stranger was with them. She looked at her warily, but didn’t growl, approaching cautiously, sniffing the air and testing the scent. Slowly, Sidonie reached out her hand and called her name softly, voice low and unthreatening. ‘Hello Betsy … Hello Little One.’

  The bitch responded positively, giving the owner of the voice a steady gaze and a slow tail wag. ‘Come on,’ she encouraged. ‘You can come closer.’

  Betsy, gaining courage, approached diffidently. Tenille was amused to watch this exchange. Betsy could be difficult with strangers, but today she was being, for her, very co-operative. Finally, capitulating totally, her head nestling between Sidonie’s knees, she surrendered herself
to pats and scratches behind the ears.

  ‘She’s given into you,’ Tenille observed with pleasure.

  ‘She probably knows I love animals.’ Sidonie laughed into Betsy’s face: ‘Don’t you, Little One,’ and was rewarded by a quick lick.

  When Doris arrived with the tray she was surprised to see how won over Betsy had become. ‘I’ve made coffee for you and tea for us.’ She turned to her daughter as she put the tray on the low table, informing her her father would be home shortly.

  She had just finished passing round dainty cookies when they heard the car pull into the driveway. Mr. Fenech parked in the garage and entered the house through the side door calling out: ‘Tennie, where are you?’

  ‘We’re in the living room Dad,’ she called back. As soon as Mr. Fenech appeared Sidonie could see at once where Tenille’s dark good looks came from. Her height was obviously his too. Doris did have dark hair, but had adopted a tight, wavy perm. Everything about Mrs. Fenech, Sidonie reflected, was ‘tight’. Tenille’s eyes were similar to Mr. Fenech’s, but his were now deep set in a face beginning to sag, giving him a somewhat ‘hangdog’ appearance, the lines running from the side of his nose to the corners of his mouth. Coming forward with eager steps, he leaned over the back of the chesterfield to hug his daughter from behind.

  ‘Tennie,’ he exclaimed, after he’d released her: ‘How good to have you home.’ He then went round the coffee table and kissed his wife on the cheek. ‘Hello dear. Tea I see.’

  ‘Dad, this is Sidonie.’

  He stepped forward again as Sidonie rose to take his outstretched hand. ‘Pleased to meet you,’ she said politely. Feeling more at ease this time, she volunteered: ‘Betsy and I have been getting acquainted,’ and she looked down at the bitch who, hearing her name, had sidled over to sit at her feet, ardent for more attention, her tongue lolling to one side with expectant pants.

  ‘I see you’re a hit with Betsy,’ Mr. Fenech said generously. His wife gave no supporting comment, instead sharply reminded him his tea was getting cold.

  As he took the stuffed chair on the other side of the table he turned his attention to his daughter. ‘Well Tennie, how’s the leg coming along? Are you allowed to walk on it?’

  ‘Oh no Dad.’ She pulled a face, just like when she was little he thought, when she’d been told it was time to go, or stop. ‘I’m stuck like this …’ she put out the member in question ‘ …for a few weeks yet. But the leg itself feels fine. It’s a bit itchy inside the cast sometimes, but for the most part I’ve no complaints.’

  She stroked Betsy’s soft coat and ran her fingers through it, looking wistful. Alexander, ever a keen observer where his daughter’s welfare was concerned enquired gently: ‘But something is bothering you?’

  She looked up and put a rather brittle smile on her face. ‘It’s nothing, really. Nothing serious, that is.’

  Sidonie regarded Mr. Fenech and explained for Tenille. ‘It sometimes gets her down that everything was going so well with her dancing; the future looked promising and now …’ her voice trailed away.

  ‘Her dancing?’ broke in Mrs. Fenech precipitately. ‘Surely you weren’t going to take that further than just a pastime, were you dear? There are lots of other things you can do.’ She sipped from her china cup looking critically over its rim at her daughter. ‘Certainly better than being a performer – on the stage or wherever you danced. From all reports, those back street restaurants can be rather unsavory places for well brought up gels.’ She took a deep breath and squared her round body as much as she could. ‘I for one, am glad you won’t be frequenting them any more.’ She finished this declaration with firm closure of her thin lipped mouth. Obviously, that was all there was to be said on the subject.

  ‘Give yourself time, Tennie,’ her father advised. ‘This may not be the end, only a temporary setback, you’ll see,’ trying to alleviate her distress.

  ‘Would you like a cookie, Sidonie?’ Doris picked up the plate.

  ‘No thank you, Mrs. Fenech.’

  ‘Perhaps we should bring our things in from the car,’ Tenille suggested. She wanted an excuse to leave her mother’s presence. Already she could feel herself getting uptight and resentful. She did love her, but sometimes she could be so unfeeling. She had her best interests at heart, she did know that.

  Sidonie took her cue and jumped up. ‘I’ll get the bags and you can show me where to take them.’ Striding purposefully to the front door she then ran lightly down the steps, jingling the car keys. On her return Tenille was standing at the foot of the stairs, looking dubious.

  ‘Rather a lot of them,’ Sidonie sized up. ‘Just tell me, I’ll find my way.’

  ‘No. I want to come with you,’ Tenille asserted. ‘I was just debating with myself if I’d use the crutches or hop.’

  ‘Try hopping, Ten. If you hold the banister, that should be enough for you. I’ll take your crutches up,’ she offered.

  ‘Okay, it’s a deal,’ she laughed, already her disposition improving. Sidonie had this effect on her. Standing on the landing, at the top of the stairs, Sidonie looked down and encouraged Tenille to give it a go.

  ‘You’ll do fine, Ten, it’s just that you’ve not done it before.’ She smiled sympathetically. ‘You’re suffering from fear of the unknown. Anyway, if the worst comes to the worst you can always come up on your butt,’ she reminded her. Watching the struggle to master this hurdle, she felt herself overcome by a flood tide of love. If she could, she would sprout wings and enfold her in uplifting arms, bearing her to her room and depositing her gently on the bed saying: “There, my darling, you are safe with me.” Instead, she surveyed her progress, one hop at a time, climbing laboriously to the top. She shouldn’t interfere, Tenille had to master these things. Her leg would get stronger but, right now after almost a week of complete bed rest, it tired easily. Then she couldn’t help herself, descending halfway to give her support.

  ‘Here Honey, lean on me. Hop when I count to three.’ Tenille pushed down on Sidonie’s arm and hauled herself up with her right hand on the rail. In this manner they reached the top, both of them a little out of breath. In these old houses the incline was steep.

  ‘Have a lie down. It’s been a lot for one day.’ They stood on the landing for a moment. ‘You’ll feel more refreshed for this evening, eh?’

  ‘Yes,’ she let out a long sigh. ‘I think that’s a good idea.’ She smiled faintly. ‘I am feeling bushed.’ Perspiration had formed a sheen on her brow; her cheeks were flushed. Crutches back in place, she turned right, hopping to the far end of the passage.

  ‘My room is this one. The guestroom is next to it at the very end. We have a connecting door because this used to be where the housekeeper lived and she had two rooms. Sidonie’s eyebrows rose.

  ‘Not in our time, silly. This is an Edwardian house. It was built for a man of modest means hence it only has two storeys.’ They entered Tenille’s room. ‘At the other end of the house are my parent’s rooms.’

  ‘They don’t sleep together?’ The question was out before she’d realized it.

  ‘No. Mother’s a light sleeper and Dad has a tendency to snore. It’s not real bad, but Mom makes a bit of a fuss over it.’

  ‘I see. Well, let’s get your shoe off and your leg up. It’s been down for too long. See your toes? They’re blue.’ She lifted the leg then fetched a pillow from the bed that would be hers for a few days. She was making Tenille comfortable and just about to lean over to give her a kiss when Mrs. Fenech came in to see how things were progressing. She rushed over when she saw her daughter lying down, supplanting Sidonie as she crooned: ‘You must be worn out my little lamb.’

  Turning to Sidonie she instructed her peremptorily to leave her to rest. ‘Anyone can see she’s exhausted,’ she said, as though Sidonie couldn’t. Back to Tenille: ‘I’ll put your things away, Pet. I know where everything goes.’ Thus occupied, Tenille shot Sidonie a sympathetic glance before closing her eyes. Her face was ashen by this stage and the dark
smudges under her eyes gave her a frail defencelessness.

  Sidonie retired to her room to see to her own unpacking. ‘Mrs. Fenech doesn’t like me. I know it. Why?” she wondered. She had not, as far as she could see, done anything. She had not even been in the house more than two hours. But she knew it was true. “I’ll not give up.” Once she got to know her, she would come round. Her belongings disposed of, she decided to take Betsy to investigate the back yard. She liked gardens and one day would love to have one of her own, with the house to go with it too, of course. Running speedily down the stairs with her light, easy tread, she encountered Mr. Fenech carrying a tray of things to the kitchen.

  ‘Would it be OK Mr. Fenech, if Betsy and I took a look at the garden, while there’s still light?’ she asked.

  ‘By all means, my dear. In fact I’ll come with you. I’ll just set this down on the counter. Betsy.’ he called back through the open door. ‘Come girl, were going outside.’ She came bounding up with great eagerness, fur in a flurry, as she anticipated the treat in store.

  The three of them spent a happy half hour before the gathering darkness and mosquitoes drove them in, strolling around what turned out to be an extensive area, the property stretching beyond the formal section. After the lawn a meandering path led between stately Maples, Trillium much in evidence although not in bloom this time of year. A lazy stream crossed the back of the land, its wooden bridge looking quite rickety. Mr. Fenech assured her appearances were deceptive. It had been repaired several times over the years, but all the wood was now a weathered grey.

  Sidonie was impressed by the amount Mr. Fenech had accomplished. He had taken over a garden that he obviously cherished, but it was this seemingly wild and wooded section which appealed to her the most. She loved the way the path wended haphazardly amongst the trees. There were still one or two majestic Elms standing, but of course, long since dead. Clumps of Cedar and White Pine were in evidence, but the most prevalent trees were the Beeches. As they walked, their feet scuffing through a carpet of dry, russet leaves, a satisfying crunch was felt under foot. Betsy ran happily to and fro, sniffing out the strange scents and at the same time keeping tabs on everyone’s whereabouts.