by Beryl Young
Mom uses her best cups and saucers, which are almost never out of the china cabinet. A lace cloth is on the dining room table along with plates of sandwiches and cake. Lots of people come to the house, and I’m told to pass things around. Tommy stuffs himself on butter tarts, but I don’t feel like eating.
WHEN I’M IN bed, I think about the funeral for Anna’s mother just last week. I’m glad I slipped into the back row of the church and hurried out at the end. I don’t think Anna saw me, but I saw her. Her face was pale, as white as the blouse she was wearing. I’ll never tell her I know her dad stomped out of the service with poor Bella screaming so hard. Would people have gone to the Lozowski farm to drink tea afterward? Somehow I don’t think so.
Mom goes into Tommy’s bedroom and I hear him say, “Will we ever see Gram again?” Mom says something that I can’t hear.
She comes into my room and sits on the edge of the bed. “You’ll be lonely without your Gram, won’t you, Maggie?”
“I will, Mom.”
“We’ll all have to keep going.” I feel her lips on my cheek and then she goes out. It’s not until afterwards that I realize I could have said I was glad I still had her. I could have said it, but I didn’t.
I wake in the dark to the sound of crying, but it’s just the bare tree branches brushing against my window.
IT’S SUNDAY, AND the rain outside makes a dreary day that matches my mood. We all went to church, but since we’ve come back, Dad has gone down to the office, Tommy is playing in his room, and Mom is cleaning again.
I don’t know why, but I feel anger rising up in me in a flood. “Haven’t you heard of a day of rest, Mom?”
Mom turns off the vacuum. “What did you say?”
I hesitate but plunge in anyway. “Ever heard of a day of rest? You’re always cleaning.”
“I’m cleaning, dear girl, because the house is dirty after all those people were here yesterday. And you don’t help hanging around in my way. Tommy’s got enough sense to play in his room.”
Her scrawny arms hold the vacuum hose like a weapon.
“Take a break, Mom. You can clean tomorrow. That is, if you don’t have anything more interesting to do.”
“What on earth do you mean by that?” Mom is angry now. Her tight lips show it. It feels as though my nerves are wound up. I can’t stop.
“Other mothers are busy doing interesting things. Jerry’s mom teaches Sunday School and works with the youth group. Carolyn’s mother works part-time at the stables. Even Miss Alexander who teaches all day coaches slow readers after school. You don’t do anything but clean, clean, clean.”
Mom says nothing.
I’m scared I’ve gone too far. Then she starts the vacuum cleaner again. “Out of my way.”
The grinding noise gets inside my head and sets my nerves jangling. I’m stuck here with a person who doesn’t understand one single thing about me.
I stomp out, yelling, “You’re a very boring person. I’m glad you’re not my real mother.”
I’m out the door and down the stairs. I’m not sure if Mom heard me. I’d better stay out. I walk quickly along Birch Street toward town.
Couples stroll on the street and people sit on their verandas talking. Young kids pedal their tricycles along the sidewalks. I give Judy, a little neighbour girl, a push on her bike. She laughs as I help her zoom ahead and begs me to do it again.
Mrs. Davidson is across the street with her daughter. Shirley is nine and runs toward her mother. Mrs. Davidson picks her up and swings her around and around. They’re laughing and holding hands as they walk away.
A man is crossing the road, wheeling himself in a wheelchair. One of his pant legs is folded up, which means there’s absolutely nothing inside. I can’t help staring. The man’s not smiling, and I’m sure he’s a veteran. The terrible war is over, but even in our small town we have reminders. It would be horrible to have only one leg. You could never ride a bike.
The purple lilac blossoms on First Avenue are almost open and their sweet smell already fills the air. I stick my nose into the heavy heads. “It’s the smell of summer coming,” Gram said when I was little. When I remember something she said, something as wonderful as that, it helps my brain to calm down.
As I turn onto Front Street, the freight train going east comes up the track, speeding through town. The engine’s three headlights flare down the track, and the whistle shrills a message. Quick! Jump on! Come away. Away.
The sun is behind me, lower in the sky now. I’ve been walking a long time. Mom and Dad will be worried. I should go back. But I like being out here alone, seeing what I want to see, feeling what I want to feel.
The street lights come on. It must be later than I thought. By the time I turn up the hill to the barracks the sky is turning smoky grey. If Mom didn’t hear what I said before I left, I might not be in too much trouble. I’ll get it for being late, but not for being rude.
I walk down the hall into the living room, where Mom and Dad are reading the paper. They both look at me, and for a minute they don’t say anything. Maybe they’re not angry.
Then Dad says, “What are you doing staying out so late, Mags? You didn’t tell us where you were going.”
“I was fine, Dad. What’s wrong with taking a stroll around town?”
“Mags, we know you’re upset that your grandmother has died, and I’m sure you need time to think about it. But it’s thoughtless of you not to consider that we might wonder where you were. Please don’t go off like that without telling us again or you’ll be in trouble.”
“Sorry, Dad.”
Mom’s voice is sharp. “Your supper’s in the oven. Eat, and then get right into bed. And I want you to clean up your own room next week. I hope you know how to use a vacuum.”
“I’m sure I can figure it out.”
Mom shakes her head. “Why are you getting so difficult?”
I STAND BY the window in my pyjamas. If my parents think I’m a thoughtless and difficult person, then that’s what I am. Maggie Neilson: thoughtless and difficult and proud of it! Temper like a spark, too.
Low in the sky to the west, I see the last of this day. Streaks of crimson and orange layer the horizon for a few glorious moments. Then suddenly all the brightness is gone and the whole world is dark. As I watch, magically in twos and threes and then in hundreds, stars appear out of deep space, filling the entire sky. My heart bursts with wonder. I am weak and insignificant on this earth, but I’m also part of this vast universe.
Is Gram somewhere up there? I like to believe that inside that vastness there might be a place called Heaven. A place where everyone lives forever. Maybe there’s a big farm kitchen up there. Gramps will be sitting in his favourite chair. Gram will be kneading a batch of bread on the wooden table. Maybe my real mother will be there with them, sitting at the table making conversation. Maybe there are angels, and Gram can say to one of them, “Pour us a cup of tea, will you?”
The truth is, I don’t know where my real mother is and I don’t know where Gram and Gramps are. But I know they’re not here with me.
Anna
SUNDAY, MAY 9
IT’S MOTHER’S DAY, but nobody around me knows it. The girls are too little and the boys are too busy and Papa never figured out this special day. I long for Mama all day.
Maggie
SUNDAY, MAY 9
I HATE MOTHER’S Day. Hate it.
I made a stupid card for Mom. Tommy gave her a teapot stand he made in kindergarten. It’s made out of popsicle sticks glued together. Without a doubt, it’s the ugliest thing ever created on this earth.
I’m glad I decided not to give her the scarf.
Anna
MONDAY, MAY 10
THE SUN CATCHES the red tail of the hawk as it circles lower and lower over the yard.
“Papa, there’s a hawk by the barn!” I yell. He hears me and runs from the woodpile to see what the hawk’s after. It’s Boo!
Papa’s yelling frightens the hawk, wh
ich flaps its powerful wings and soars away high over the south field. Papa comes back into the house carrying Boo, who isn’t hurt but is trembling with fright.
“Boo got a bad scare,” Papa says to the girls.
“You’re okay, little puss. You’re safe now,” Helen says. She cradles her pet and kisses his black nose. Lucy wriggles to get down and stroke Boo, her small face wrinkled with concern.
Papa sits at the table, and I pass him a cup of coffee. He’s been outside chopping wood in the stand of poplars behind the barn. Usually when he works to get a pile of firewood, it means he’s going away.
“Come have a cup of coffee,” he says to me. He forgets I don’t like coffee.
“It’s okay, Papa. Bella’s going to wake up soon.”
The girls are still fussing over the cat.
“Come on, girls. Put Boo down and finish your porridge.” I go over and check the temperature of the water in the tub on the stove.
“Why do you heat water now?” Papa asks.
“To do the laundry, Papa! Lucy and Bella are both in diapers, don’t you remember? I’m trying very hard to toilet train Lucy.”
Papa has no idea what I do all day. Or what Mama did.
“I know there is much work, Anna.” Papa reaches to take my hand. His hand is rough. A farmer’s hands. There’s dirt under his nails and in the cracks along his fingers. I pull my hand back.
I want to remind him how unfair it is that the boys go to school and I can’t. But what’s the point? I’d make him feel more guilty and nothing would change. The truth is, I couldn’t go to school and still keep my promise to Mama. And I’m keeping my promise.
Papa rubs his grubby hands together. “Anna, I wish to get a woman to help you. You know there is no money to pay.”
“I know that.”
Papa pats my shoulder, then gets up and carries the tub of hot water to the washing shed behind the house. He comes back with the tub full of cold well water and puts it on the stove.
The girls dawdle over their porridge. “Eat up,” I tell them.
From upstairs, Bella gives her special cry. A cry I know so well, the cry that means she’s hungry. I go up to change her, then come back down to heat a bottle.
Papa’s still at the table, helping Lucy finish her porridge. “I feed Bella today,” he says.
That’s a first.
I pass Bella to him, and he watches as she gulps her milk. She’s such a tidy bundle in his big arms.
“Bella’s almost four weeks old now,” I say.
I notice when people hold Bella in their arms, even Papa, their eyes go soft and their face changes. It’s as though their whole body softens, holding a baby.
Papa turns to me. “She looks like our Mama, you think?”
I think it every time I look at Bella. Right now I don’t trust myself to say anything.
The girls stand close to Papa, watching him feed Bella, while I go out to the shed to do the laundry. Papa brings Bella outside, and the girls follow while I hang the diapers on the line. I’m ashamed to see these old diapers out in the open. They’re so worn, more grey than white.
We stand and look across the yard to the creek.
“Do you know,” Papa says pointing to the trees along the creek bank, “your mama and I plant those trees together when we came from Poland in 1932?”
“Mama told me they were box elder trees.”
“The farmer who sold to us said box elders, they stand strong in prairie winds. We do not know those winds then. The man promised they would grow quickly. Sixteen years. So tall now.”
A breeze catches the new elder leaves. In the noon sun they swing and spin in shades of milky white and green.
“Mama and I mark this a special place. A place for our family to grow.”
I’m surprised to hear Papa talking like this.
He has a faraway look in his eyes. “We were just married with big adventures to come. By ship across the Atlantic, then a long train ride to Deep Creek.” Papa blinks his eyes and smiles at me. “We came for a better life. Canada is good to us.”
Somehow, hearing Papa talk about these things, I don’t mind the way he speaks. I understand how important it is for him to live here in Canada. To live on this land. I understand how important his family is too. And now I must take Mama’s place to help him.
“Have to work now, girls,” Papa says. “I ride to the north field to round up cattle.”
We go back into the kitchen, and he puts Bella in her cradle. She’s content, her tummy full, grabbing at her feet with her hands.
I know what it means when Papa brings cattle into the pen near the barn. It means he’s taking yearlings for sale. Another big trip coming up. I watch as he saddles his horse outside the barn and heads off to the north field.
I hustle the girls inside and promise to take them this afternoon to see if the shooting stars have blossomed.
When lunch is finished, I put Lucy and Bella down for a nap and read a fairy tale to Helen. She needs to learn her alphabet. She’s starting to count too, but we need to keep practising.
It’s a long afternoon. If Mama were here, we’d have a cup of tea together. I’d never make tea just for myself.
When Lucy wakes up, I put in the girls in sweaters and carry Bella for a walk by the creek. The air is gentle, but the path is muddy.
The water’s running high now after the spring rains, and the grass on the bank is slippery. “Be careful. Stay on the path,” I tell the girls.
A short way down the path Helen calls, “Look, Anna!” She points to a cluster of pale purple flowers under a tree. “I found them! Mama’s shooting stars.”
Helen and Lucy are on their knees close to the small blossoms hanging upside-down from their slender stems.
“Me see,” Lucy says.
Helen tugs my arm. “She’s talking!”
“Clever girl, Lucy.” I ruffle her hair as she bends to the flowers.
I dip Bella down to see too. I’m happy to be here, showing the girls things that were important to Mama.
“Why are they upside-down?” Helen asks.
“Mama always said they’re like stars shooting down from the sky. Let’s see how many you can count, Helen.”
Helen touches the tops of each one as she counts. “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten … What’s next, Anna?”
Lucy bursts in, “On, too … uh-hum!”
Helen grins at me. She’s so good to her little sister, but it must be frustrating at times. She’s only four years old and has two sisters younger than she is. Then she looks serious. “Is Mama in Heaven now, Anna?”
I don’t know how to answer her. I don’t even know if there is a place called Heaven, though the Church taught me there was.
I squat down beside the girls. I want my answer to give them comfort. “Mama’s in a safe place. She’s warm and she’s happy. Maybe she’s watching us now when we’re counting shooting stars.”
“I miss Mama. I don’t know why she died,” Helen says.
“Mama,” Lucy says, “Mama.” Tears roll over her round cheeks.
Why did our mother die? Was she wrong to get pregnant again? Is it Papa’s fault? Should I have known she was slipping away when I sat with her that night? What could I have done?
I can’t answer the girls. Tears are pushing at my own eyes. Then the girls are up and running ahead down the path. Lucy, who’s still not that steady on her feet, stops to peer over the bank of the creek.
As I’m watching, she slips over the bank and topples into the water. Still holding Bella, I run down to the bank to reach her. With my free hand, I grab the back of her sweater and pull her out of the water.
Lucy is wet and heavy, but I manage to pull her partway up the bank. With more effort, I lift her onto the path where she sits, too frightened to cry. Helen is screaming. Bella has felt the scare and is crying too.
Lucy might have been swept away in the water. How could I have rescued her while I was holdin
g Bella?
Lucy stares at me, wide-eyed, her face white with shock. Her clothes are slick from the cold mud, and both her shoes and mine are black with it.
The scare has made me shaky, but I speak as calmly as I can to the girls. “We’re all safe now. Everyone is safe. Stay here on the path with me. We’ll hold hands on the way home.”
Lucy takes my free hand and Helen holds her other hand as we start back along the path to the house.
But are these girls safe? Can I keep them safe until they’re grown up? It frightens me to think of what could have happened. Lucy could have drowned.
As we reach the house, Papa comes from the barn to meet us. We must be a sight, covered in mud, the scare still on our faces, holding tightly to each other’s hands.
Papa’s about to say something when the boys come up the road from school behind us. Joe’s ahead of Berny, who kicks the dirt with every step.
“What is the matter, Berny?” Papa says.
“Damn teacher thinks I should be able to read a whole book in one day,” Berny says.
“No swearing, Berny.” Papa puts his arm around Berny and walks beside him up the road.
I hear Berny say, “You swear, Papa.”
Joe picks Lucy up. “What happened to you?” He starts to laugh. “Who’s been playing in the mud?”
“Not playing, Joey,” Helen says. “Falling.”
“Lucy slipped into the creek,” I tell him. “Both the girls are cold and wet.”
Joe surprises me. “We’ll help you clean up, Anna.”
THE GIRLS ARE in their nightgowns and quiet at the supper table. Papa turns to us and says, “I must take cows to stockyard in Stoddart to sell this week.”
“How long will you be away?” Joe asks.
“Three days. No longer.”
I tell him he needs to buy flour or we won’t have any bread.
“I will shop when I come back. There will be money.”
