by Beryl Young
Anna rides horses on her farm, but she doesn’t act so horsey.
“Mommy and Daddy gave me a new saddle for my birthday. I can’t show you because it’s at the stable,” Carolyn says.
Then we have to admire the orange-and-white striped canopy festooned over her bed.
If I had a big room like this, I’d have lots of bookshelves and a table by the window where I could leave my pencil crayons out and not have to tidy them up every time Mom sets the kitchen table. And I would never in a million years sleep under an orange-and-white circus tent!
We play a childish game where you pass around a present that’s been wrapped in layers of paper. When Carolyn’s mom says stop, you take off one layer of paper and then keep repeating the whole thing until the last person gets to open the present. It turns out to be a pair of ankle socks with horseshoes on them.
Then we have sandwiches and sing “Happy Birthday” around an angel food cake with pink icing. Carolyn’s mother wraps a piece in waxed paper for me to take home for Tommy. I plan to give it to Gram.
I RUSH UP the stairs and along the hall to the bedroom to tell Gram about the party. I’m stunned to see the bed empty. It’s completely bare. The sheets have been stripped off. It’s just the blue mattress and two pillows without covers.
“Where’s Gram?” I yell, tearing back down the hall to my father, who is sitting in his shirt sleeves at the kitchen table.
“Come here, Mags.” He lifts me onto his lap.
The whole place is quiet.
“Where’s Gram?” I ask again.
Dad wraps his long arms around me and pulls my head tight against him. His voice is close to my ear. “Gram’s gone to Heaven. She’s gone to be with Gramps.”
“What do you mean?”
“Gram had cancer. There was nothing the doctors could do.”
I knew it. I knew my grandmother was sick. My eyes start to hurt. “She was fine when I left for the birthday party.”
And then I know she wasn’t fine. She stayed in bed too much. But I never thought she’d die. Tears are gushing out of me like a newly struck well.
“I didn’t say goodbye,” I hear myself wailing. “I was going to tell her about the party.” I’m still holding the squished cake.
Dad takes the cake and puts it on the table. He holds me while I cry.
When the storm of tears finally lets up, I put my head on Dad’s chest and curl up inside his strong arms. Just like I did when I was little.
I raise my head and look at him. “She was your mother, Dad. You must be upset.”
“I loved her,” he says. “She was a wonderful person.”
Would I say that about my mother?
I sit up. “Where is Mom? Where’s Tommy?”
“Tommy’s with his friend up the street. Your mother’s talking to the minister. I wanted to be here when you came home.” Dad gives me his handkerchief to blow my nose.
“I was going to stay with Gram in the summer holidays.”
“I’m so sorry, little Mags.”
THAT NIGHT THERE are clean sheets on my bed. Mom says, “It’s okay for you to sleep here, Maggie.”
At first it makes me feel funny lying in the bed where my grandmother died, but I lay my cheek on the pillow where Gram’s white hair was spread out and remember how she looked like an angel. I pray with all my heart that Gram is happy in Heaven with Gramps. Her hair is swirled up with the silver pin, and Gramps is beside her, wearing his old straw hat.
I can’t fall asleep, so I get out of bed and stand by the window looking out at the empty black night. I try to take in the enormous fact that my grandmother has gone from this earth. A person so special to me is dead. I stand until my legs grow weak, then crawl back under the covers.
MOM WAKES ME on Monday, but it’s hard to get moving and I’m almost late for school. At recess, I stay in the room to talk to Miss Alexander. I stand behind her where she’s writing on the blackboard. The minute she turns to look at me I start to cry. I’m embarrassed to be bawling like a kindergarten kid.
The words sputter out. “I didn’t even say goodbye … or tell Gram how much I loved her. I got back from Carolyn’s party… and the bed was empty. How could she die so quickly?”
Miss Alexander leans over and puts her arms around me. I push my face into her soft blouse and cry. When I can’t cry any more, she walks me back to my desk and sits down across from me. She takes both my hands in hers.
“You’ve told me how much you loved your grandmother,” she says softly. “She knew that.”
I hope Gram knew my heart was filled with love for her.
We sit like that for a while, and Miss Alexander tells me she plans to visit Anna on the farm. “I’ll make a pie for the family.”
“When Dad took me to see Anna she let me feed the baby. They’re calling her Bella.”
“What a lovely name. Bella means ‘beautiful’ in Spanish.”
I wonder if Anna knows that. “The baby is beautiful.”
I’m still at my desk when the class comes back. I keep my head down so no one will know I’ve been crying. It’s all been too much. First Anna’s mother dies, then Anna can’t come to school, and now my own grandmother has died. Nothing will ever be right again.
No one talks to me all afternoon. Not even Jerry.
At home, Mom says, “You’d better get to the piano practice you missed this morning.”
“As if I care. I hate piano.” I put my books down on the table.
“Stop that talk. And get your books off the kitchen table.”
I pick up the books and march into my room where I can be by myself. Where I can remember my grandmother, who would never, ever be mean to me.
Anna
SUNDAY, APRIL 25
AS USUAL ON a weekend, the boys are out riding with Papa. I’ve loved horses from the first time Papa taught us all to ride, but I never have time to ride now.
Bella’s asleep at last up on my bed. She’s safe there because she’s still too little to roll off. When I’m in the kitchen, she sleeps in the cradle Dad made for all of us. I had to remind Joe again this morning to milk Dover. Dad never makes him help around the house. “Girls’ work,” Joe says. I have the feeling he can hardly wait to get out on his own.
The girls are standing around the kitchen table, trying to help me make bread. Lucy’s on her tiptoes to see over the edge of the table. Lucy and Helen each have a ball of dough. They copy me as I knead the dough, the heels of their little hands pushing through the soft dough. Every now and then they break off a piece and eat it.
I hear car tires crunching on the driveway and look out the window to see Miss Alexander’s car. It’s the blue Dodge I’ve seen her drive after school. I’m torn between embarrassment that she’ll see the shabby place we live in and the thrill of seeing her. Imagine coming all the way out here to see us on a Sunday. Imagine a single woman owning a car!
Quickly, I put the dough back in the mixing bowl and pull the pieces out of the girls’ sticky hands. I send them off to the wash basin and give my own hands a quick wash. I open the door as Miss Alexander walks up the path, balancing a school bag and a big tin in her arms.
“Hello, Miss Alexander,” I say, feeling shy as I walk to meet her.
“How are you, Anna?”
I look a mess. I’m wearing Mom’s old apron, and it’s covered in flour. “Not too bad.”
I invite her into the kitchen and introduce the girls. “Meet Helen and Lucy, my little sisters.” I wonder what she thinks of their faded dresses and their hair not brushed. “The baby’s asleep upstairs.”
Miss Alexander puts the tin on the table and kneels in front of the girls. She gives each of them a kiss on the cheek, and then stands and holds out her arms to hug me. Her hair smells of roses. I could bury myself in it, but I pull back and try to brush the flour off my apron.
“I’m sure you’re tired, Anna,” Miss Alexander says.
I don’t say anything.
“Of cour
se you are, you poor girl. What a responsibility you’ve got here.”
The boys come crashing into the kitchen, followed by Papa. Miss Alexander knows the boys from school. She sometimes gives Berny special help with his reading.
“I brought you something,” she says, taking a big pie out of the tin.
“Homemade pie!” Joe says.
“What kind?” asks Berny.
“Raisin,” Miss Alexander says.
Berny’s grinning. “My favourite.”
Papa goes over to shake her hand. “Very kind of you, Miss Alexander.”
“Can we eat it now?” Helen asks.
Miss Alexander looks at me. “Why not?”
Lucy edges closer. “Um-hum.”
“That’s what Lucy says,” Helen explains to Miss Alexander.
Papa gets a knife and cuts the pie. Dark, fat raisins topple onto the plates as he serves us each a piece. My family take big forkfuls of pie, as though they haven’t seen anything like it for months. Well, in fact, they haven’t. Mama certainly didn’t bake when she was so big with the baby and I never learned to make a pie. I ask Miss Alexander if she’d like to come upstairs and see Bella.
Her blue skirt brushes the steep stairs as she goes ahead of me into the bedroom. We stand beside the bed looking at Bella, who’s asleep flat on her back. She’s kicked off the covers and her little arms and legs are splayed out on both sides.
“She’s a beautiful baby,” Miss Alexander says in a quiet voice. “I hope she’s sleeping through a few hours in the night.”
I look at the way Miss Alexander’s hair curls over her shoulders. Everything about her is just right. I don’t want to tell her what last night was like.
“Not too bad.”
I catch a look at myself in the mirror. I didn’t have time to brush my own hair this morning. There’s dried bread dough stuck to one arm.
“Let’s leave Bella to sleep as long as she can,” Miss Alexander whispers. “Let me show you the school work I’ve brought for you.”
The boys have cleared out, leaving the kitchen table a mess. The two girls are still in their chairs, Lucy’s pudgy legs swinging in the air as she pushes the last of the pie into her mouth with her fingers.
Miss Alexander hands me the bag she’s brought. It’s heavy with books and papers, and I look at them in despair. “I’ll try, Miss Alexander, but I don’t have much time in the day.”
She’s brought the math textbook from my desk and some grammar sheets, which she knows I do well. I can’t imagine how I’ll find any time, day or night.
She hands me a book. “This is from my own collection,” she says. “It’s Anne of Avonlea. I’ve always loved the Anne books, and in this one Anne becomes a teacher.”
“I’ll love it, Miss Alexander.” I look at the picture of a grown-up Anne on the cover.
“I thought it would be just the book for you. She’s the Anne with the ‘e’ and you’re the Anna with the ‘a.’”
How perfect.
Bella start to whimper upstairs, and I leave Miss Alexander wiping the faces of the two girls. I take a minute to tidy my braids and take off the apron.
When I come downstairs carrying Bella, Lucy is on Miss Alexander’s lap. Helen stands leaning into Miss Alexander’s knees while she plays a singing finger game with them.
Here’s the church and here’s the steeple.
Look inside and here are the people!
They giggle and try it with their own fingers while I get milk from the ice box and put it on the stove to heat.
“Could I give Bella her bottle?” Miss Alexander asks. I pass Bella to her and the baby settles right down in Miss Alexander’s arms. She knows exactly how to give a baby a bottle. She talks to the girls as Bella sucks at her bottle. While they’re occupied, I take the dough from the bowl and give it a last kneading before shaping it into four loaves. That will have to last the week.
“Would you like to have a walk down by the creek?” I ask Miss Alexander.
“I’d love that,” she says. She shifts Bella onto her shoulder to burp her.
“First I have to put Lucy on the potty,” I say.
We both smile at Lucy, her little pink bottom wiggling in excitement.
“You finished?” I ask, and she nods and runs to get her sweater. Bella is wrapped in a blanket when I pass her to Miss Alexander. We head out toward the creek.
The air smells of damp earth and fresh spring beginnings. The little girls scamper around, then the boys come along and join us. They’re excited to have a visitor, especially a teacher.
Miss Alexander smiles at Joe. “You’ve grown taller this year.” Berny catches up to walk along beside her, and she asks, “How’s your reading coming along, Berny?”
“A little better,” he answers, grinning up at her.
The warm days have started little green shoots along the side of the path. “Don’t step on them,” I tell the girls. “They’ll be shooting stars soon.”
“I know shooting stars,” Miss Alexander says. “Such delicate spring flowers.”
“Mama loved them,” I tell her.
The creek is full after the winter rains and small patches of snow still shelter under the trees. When the girls run on ahead with the boys, Miss Alexander and I have a quiet moment to ourselves.
She pauses and looks at me. “I have something to tell you, Anna. It’s about Maggie. I’m sorry to tell you that her grandmother has died.”
“Oh, no,” I say.
Miss Alexander puts her arm around me. “You and I both know how much Maggie loved her grandmother.”
I lean into Miss Alexander. “I feel terrible for her.”
It’s seems strange that Maggie’s grandmother and my mother should die so close to the same time.
I hate to see Miss Alexander leave. I stand with the girls, still feeling the warmth of her goodbye hug. We wave as we watch the blue car get smaller and then disappear as it turns onto the main road.
I wonder when I’ll be able to see Maggie to tell her how sorry I am.
Maggie
SATURDAY, MAY 1, AND SUNDAY, MAY 2
IT’S HOT OUTSIDE, but our church is cool and smells of stale air. Mrs. Olafson is playing a gloomy piece on the organ and most people are already seated. They talk in hushed voices the way people do in church. Coloured light falls from the tall arched windows onto my grandmother’s coffin, which is draped in a purple cloth.
We take our seats in the front row. I sit beside Dad and hold his hand. Tommy climbs on Mom’s lap. We’re close enough to smell the sickly-sweet white carnations in the vase beside the coffin.
I turn around and see lots of people, including Jerry and his mother, and Miss Alexander. Toward the back, Otto sits beside May from the office.
All week I’ve been remembering the afternoon Gram died. What kind of a girl would be passing around a stupid pair of horseshoe socks and eating cake when her grandmother is dying? Why didn’t anyone tell me she was dying? Why didn’t I figure it out myself?
The minister announces a hymn and everyone stands to sing. For the first time, the words of a hymn mean something to me.
My own dear land, where’er my footsteps wander,
… No dearer land to me in all the earth.
And the memory comes of walking across a field with Gram to take lunch to Gramps. I’m holding Gram’s hand and swinging the tin lunch pail. Gram stops to smell the wild roses and shows me how the leaves on rose bushes have the same delicate smell as the flowers. That’s exactly the kind of thing she’d notice.
But she’s gone. I’ll never melt against her when she hugs me. Never hear her laugh when I say something funny. I want to go back to those days.
The minister stands at the front of the church. He’s tall and thin but his voice is deep. “Mrs. Neilson was a hardworking farmer’s wife. A woman who had a deep love for her family.”
Gram loved me. And I can never forgive myself for not being there to tell her I loved her back.
&
nbsp; The minister says, “I’d like to offer comfort to the family by reminding them that suffering the loss of a beloved family member can bring with it a new and unexpected blessing of an equally deep capacity for joy.”
I listen carefully.
“Look to your lives. I encourage you to open your hearts. You will be deepened and widened by this experience. And through your loss and grief, you will find your life richer.”
I don’t understand what he’s saying because of the hurt space inside my chest that gets squeezed with every breath I take. I try to say the words of the psalm we’re singing, “I will lift up my eyes unto the hills,” but I get no further than the first line because I have the sudden sharp memory of Gramps pointing to the line of rolling blue hills west of the farm.
Now both my grandparents are dead. My knees are wobbly when the minister tells us to stand and sing.
Blest be the tie that binds …
When for a while we part,
This thought will soothe our pain
That we shall still be joined in heart
And one day meet again.
To be joined in heart forever to Gram. If I believe it, then maybe I’ll be able to say goodbye.
When the service is over, I stand beside my parents as people come and speak to us. Miss Alexander kisses my cheek. Jerry gives me an embarrassed look and smiles shyly. His mother takes my hands in both of hers and says, “I know how much you’ll miss your grandmother, Maggie.”
I can’t think of what I should say. A funny sound comes out of my throat and Dad squeezes my arm. Mom looks steadily ahead. She doesn’t usually show how she feels. If she was my real mother, she’d be more like me and show every feeling she has.
Behind the church, four men lower my grandmother’s coffin into a hole in the ground. The minister says a prayer, but I don’t hear it. Inside my head I’m saying, Goodbye, Gram. Goodbye. My legs feel so heavy, I don’t think I can keep standing.
Then it’s over. Our family walks the five blocks home. Mom hurries on ahead to get tea ready to serve the people who’ll be coming over.
