by Beryl Young
I know Mama liked Mrs. Covey and they had things in common, both of them living in the country with farmers for husbands. I decide to tell her what’s bothering me.
“Mrs. Covey, do you think the Welfare Department could come and take Bella away?
“Where did you get that idea?” she says.
“Two women from the church said it could happen.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it.”
“I’ve been worrying about it ever since they told me this morning.”
Mrs. Covey looks at me across the table. “Anna, you look worn out. How are you doing?”
I don’t expect these kind words, and the awful day has made me weepy. Tears of self-pity flood my eyes.
“It’s hard,” I say. “I’m tired. In fact, I’m exhausted. I’m beginning to think Bella’s crying in the night means she has colic. Papa’s been away for two days, and I’m not sure when he’ll get back. The boys don’t do one more thing around here than they have to.”
Now I’ve let it all out to Mrs. Covey. A big mistake. I take a gulp of my cold tea. Her grey eyes look concerned. Mrs. Covey’s older than my mother was, but I’ve always thought she’d once been pretty. She and her husband don’t have much money either, and her boy needs special shoes ordered from Toronto. She sits across from me with Bella in her arms, and I can see she’s deciding what she should say.
Finally she says, “My dear girl, it breaks my heart to see you like this. You’re just a child yourself.”
This starts me off in a real crying jag. Helen gets up from the blocks and comes over, leans into me, and pats my arm. Lucy takes the opportunity to knock down the block house Helen was building.
“Down!”
Another word. That makes us smile, and I wipe my eyes on my sleeve.
“It’s terrible your father can’t get someone to help you, Anna,” Mrs. Covey says. “I’d take the girls over to my place today, but two of my kids have mumps. I don’t want you to have to deal with that.”
“You have your hands full, Mrs. Covey. I know that.”
“What about your school work? Can you do that at night?”
“I want to, but by the time the girls are in bed I’m too tired. My teacher brought my books. But they just sit here. I won’t be able to pass grade seven.”
“It will be better when your father gets back, won’t it, Anna?”
“Not much. Papa’s either out with the cows or in town.” I don’t mention that he sometimes comes home a bit drunk, but everyone around here seems to know that anyway. I wonder again if Maggie knows.
“Anna, my dear,” says Mrs. Covey, putting Bella down in the cradle, “I wish I could help. But honestly, I think you have to carry on and do the best you can.”
“I’ll be all right. I’m sorry I told you all this.” I’ve let my guard down and told Mrs. Covey too much. I try to smile. “Things aren’t that bad most of the time.”
She gives me a doubtful smile as she goes to the door. “Your mother would be real proud of you, Anna.”
She waves at us as we stand in the doorway watching her walk along the road to her own house.
Joe and Berny pass Mrs. Covey as they come up the road from school. They follow us inside and pile their books on the kitchen table.
“Would you boys bring in more wood, please?” I ask.
“Let Berny do it,” Joe says. “I brought in a load yesterday.”
“You do it!” Berny yells. “Stop bossing me around.”
“I milk Dover morning and night,” Joe says, “and I’ve got a load of homework. It’s no joke being in grade ten, you know.”
“Oh, poor Joe. Poor old Joe,” Berny says.
“At least I do my school work. I never see you doing any. How’s your reading coming?”
Berny grimaces and says, “I’ll smash you for that.” He lashes out at Joe, hitting him in the arm. Joe makes a fist and hits back, getting Berny on the shoulder. Berny tries to hit Joe’s jaw but misses.
The girls stop playing with the blocks and stare at their brothers.
“Stop it, you two!” I shout. “You’re upsetting the girls.”
The boys wrestle back and forth, grunting and yelling, then crumpling to the floor. They sit, catching their breath and muttering at each other.
I’m shaking with anger. “Neither one of you is any help around here. I used the last of the wood at breakfast. It’s been freezing cold in the house all day. And the girls have colds. Didn’t you hear Helen coughing last night?”
They don’t often hear me so angry.
“Sorry,” Berny says.
“I’m sorry too, Sis,” Joe says.
“It’s so thoughtless of you. You expect to come home and have a hot dinner ready and your laundry done. It’s not right that I have do everything around here. It’s especially not fair that I’m home all day while you two are at school.”
“Come on, Berny,” Joe says. “We’ll both get the wood.”
“We’ll get enough to last two days, Anna,” Berny says, grinning at me.
I don’t smile back. “Thank you.”
After supper, Joe and Berny clear the table and do the dishes. It’s cozy in the kitchen, and Joe does his homework at the kitchen table. Berny plays with the girls and then sits with a book on his lap.
At midnight, when Bella finishes her bottle, I’m exhausted. I wipe the milk off her cheek and stroke it with my finger. Bella smiles. Her first smile. She’s smiling at me! As though I’m her real mama! Well, I guess I’m the only mother she knows.
Maggie
FRIDAY, MAY 21, AND SATURDAY, MAY 22
IT’S ANNA’S BIRTHDAY next Thursday—her thirteenth birthday—and I want to get out to the farm to see her. The problem is, I need a ride. I’ll ask Dad as soon as soon as he gets home from Regina. He probably doesn’t want any more to do with Mr. Lozowski, though.
I want to give Anna something special. I don’t have money to buy anything, and I don’t want to try knitting another scarf. I lie in bed thinking about what to get until Mom calls me for a final piano practice. The exam is tomorrow morning.
I sigh and force myself to the piano bench.
Mom says, “Don’t you care how you do on the exam?”
“Actually, I don’t, Mom.”
The important thing to me right now is to see Anna for her birthday. I can’t think of anything else.
“Get practising and put your mind to it.”
I pound away at the pieces for a whole hour. Every time I strike a key I’m more certain than ever that she can’t be my real mother. My real mother would smile and tell me I already play these pieces perfectly.
Dad came back from Regina this afternoon. Before dinner, he tells Mom that the prisoner is healed enough to stand trial.
I grab his arm. “Will he be in jail?”
“Probably in the mental institution over in Weyburn.” Dad puts his arm around me. “He’s a sick man, Mags. No need for you to worry about him.”
“I do think about him, Dad. I can’t figure out what’s going on in his head.”
“The doctors in the institution will help him sort himself out.”
“I sure hope so.” I take a breath. “Dad, I’ve been waiting to ask you something important. Could you please drive me to see Anna?”
“Sorry, Mags, I’ve been away and I’ll be up to my ears in work for the next week.”
“It’s Anna’s birthday, Dad. She’s my best friend. Please, drive me.” I hear my whiny voice.
Mom interrupts before Dad can answer. “Maggie, stop pestering your father and set the table. Dinner’s almost ready.”
She’s chopping celery and apples for Dad’s favourite Waldorf salad. She turns to me and says, “Carolyn’s mother phoned to ask if you’d like to go to their horse farm tomorrow afternoon. I said you’d go.”
“I’m not going,” I say too quickly. “I’ve arranged a bike ride with Jerry after my music exam.”
Tommy sings out, “Maggie’s scared of ho
r-ses!”
It’s true. I am a bit afraid of horses. I like watching them, but they have such big teeth. I’m afraid they’ll bite. I glare at Tommy.
“Why don’t you want to go?” Mom says. “You’re not the best person at picking friends.”
“I can pick my own friends,” I mutter.
“What did you say?” She chops furiously.
“I said, I don’t want to go anywhere with Carolyn.”
“What do you mean, you don’t want to?”
“I mean, I can’t. I promised Jerry I’d go bike riding with him.”
“You can go bike riding next weekend, Maggie.” She scrapes the chopped apples into a bowl.
“I can’t go with Carolyn, Mom.” I take a huge breath. “Jerry and I are working on a geology report that’s due on Wednesday. We have to find geodes and different kinds of rocks.”
The lie slips out so easily. I hold my breath, waiting to see if she’ll believe me.
Mom sighs. “All right. I’ll phone and explain, but one day you might need Carolyn for a friend. She may never invite you again.”
That sounds too good to be true. Then I remember letting Carolyn take the blame for throwing the eraser. I rush to my room to drive away the guilty feeling.
Oh, Gram, I hope you’re not sitting up there in Heaven hearing me lie. I can’t miss the bike ride.
AT DINNER, TOMMY is more stupid than ever.
“Knock-knock.”
Another one of his dumb jokes.
“Who’s there?” Mom says.
“Police.”
“Police who?”
“Pu-lease don’t put me in jail. I’ve been good.”
He’s giggling over a joke he’s told us about a hundred times before. It probably goes over well with the kindergarten kids, but it’s totally stale with me.
“Why aren’t you laughing?” Tommy pokes me in the arm.
“Ha. Very funny.”
“Laugh harder, Maggie Waggy!”
That drives me mad, and I poke him back.
“She hit me,” Tommy wails.
“Stop it, you two,” Dad says.
I leave the room and walk through the apartment, trying to think what I can get for Anna’s birthday. And even if I do think of the right thing, how can I take it out to her?
ON SATURDAY MORNING, Mom walks with me to the music examination room and waits outside when my name is called. Mrs. Dougherty sits at the back of the room with a sour look on her face.
I’m feeling nervous, but the examiner is an older man who starts off by saying, “Just relax and we’ll start with a G Major scale.”
When it’s over, the examiner thanks me. Outside the room, Mrs. Dougherty says to Mom, “Well, she probably passed.”
On the way home, Mom says, “See, all that practising paid off for you.”
Maybe if I’d failed, Mom would let me stop taking lessons. Wish I’d thought of that.
WHEN JERRY AND I meet in the afternoon, I’m so happy I challenge him to a race up the hill. We get to the top at the same time, arriving breathless at the fence, and grin at each other. As we’re cutting across the field, Jerry stops and points silently.
It’s a grey coyote. The coyote lopes through the field, his shoulders hunched low, tail down. But the movement of Jerry’s hand alarms the coyote, and he bolts off to the crest of the hill. Then, keeping his body pointed away, the coyote stops and turns his head back. He stands silhouetted on the hill, boldly watching us.
“Look, he’s daring us to come after him,” Jerry says.
“Sort of nervy.”
“They are nervy.”
Then we see another coyote come loping over the crest of the hill. “I was waiting for it,” Jerry tells me. “Probably his mate. Coyotes hunt in pairs. They’re hungry and looking for rabbits and gophers.”
We watch as the two coyotes stare proudly across at us, almost like they’re challenging us to acknowledge them. Then they turn and amble slowly over the rise.
“I like coyotes,” Jerry says. “They’re not like other animals, because they don’t run away. They just stand and stare you down. Coyotes are fearless and free.”
On our way back down the road, the sky is streaked with fast-moving clouds, the feathery wisps announcing a change in the weather. Jerry suggests we ride to the place where the river loops away from the town, which means we cross another field on a narrow track down to the river. The path is steep, and I’m scared that my brakes won’t hold, but I keep up with Jerry and skid to a shaky stop at the bank above the water.
We drop our bikes and find seats on a flat rock. I stretch my bare legs out along the warm rock. I cringe at the way my legs look. They’re almost as white as my ankle socks. I pass Jerry the oatmeal cookies I’ve brought with me.
All of a sudden he cups his hand under his armpit and pumps his arm. A sharp farting noise erupts in the air. I laugh, and so does Jerry. It’s the first time I’ve noticed how white his teeth are.
“Show me how to do that,” I say.
I practise until I can make farting sounds too. It’s especially funny to hear that sound out here with no one around to hear. We make the noise as loud and as often as we want.
Jerry starts looking for something near the bank. He takes out a jackknife and cuts the stem of a tall plant and cleans off the leaves.
“See how porous they are? They’ll make good cigarettes.”
“You think we can smoke them?”
“For sure. I’ve got matches.”
“How’d you get matches?”
“I just take them.”
Wow. Jerry’s got nerve.
He cuts the stem into two cigarette lengths, and we light up. The stem is so dry it flares out, almost setting fire to my bangs. I hold my cigarette like Mom, in the air between my first and second fingers and tip it up. Then I stick out my bottom lip and puff. The cigarettes mostly taste of grass, but they’re so dry, it’s impossible to keep them lit, no matter how hard I pull. It’s hard to feel sophisticated when you’re puffing on a dry stem.
Jerry and I talk about the end of school and the summer holidays coming up, then lie back and watch the clouds.
“It would be great to have real cigarettes,” I say.
He looks at me. “Dare you to get some.”
I think about it. There are always cigarettes in the tin on our kitchen shelf. “I accept your dare!”
I don’t know why I do this, but I turn to him and say, “I dare you to kiss me.” I read in a book about a girl saying this to a boy, but it’s a shock to hear the words come out of my own mouth.
“I accept,” Jerry says. He leans over and plants his lips on mine. It feels different from the way I imagined it would. Different in a good way. Warm.
I turn away and drop my eyes. Anna would never do something like that. I’d better change the subject. “It’s Anna’s birthday next week, and I badly want to see her. Dad can’t give me a ride.”
“Why not ride your bike out to the farm?”
“Mom would never let me ride that far. She’d have a fit.”
“Do you have to tell her?”
“I guess I don’t.”
It’s actually a good idea. Why can’t I go out to see Anna if it’s important to me? It means another lie to Mom, but I’ll do it. I like Jerry’s ideas. We’re both coyotes, fearless and free.
“I’ll ride with you on the road out,” he says, “but I won’t go into Anna’s house. I don’t know what to say to her about her mother dying. You can go in and I’ll turn back. Are you okay to ride back by yourself?”
“Sure. How about tomorrow afternoon?”
“Fine. That’s settled.”
Coming down the hill we go slowly. The wind is stronger now, and pink-tipped grasses flap wildly at the side of the road. Jerry is riding ahead of me, and suddenly he brakes sharply. As I get closer, he picks something up from the middle of the road. I’m horrified to see a small dead bird cupped in his hand.
“Poor thing. P
robably flew into a car,” Jerry says. “There’s not a mark on it.”
“It’s a baby meadowlark,” I say as I stroke its soft back.
We look closely at the bird’s pale yellow breast with the thin black necklace. The bird’s beak is closed, its dark eyes open, glistening in the sunlight but seeing nothing.
That’s what being dead looks like. I think of Gram lying cold and dead in the graveyard. I think of Anna’s mother too. How can any of us be happy when we know what death is? Something has gone from your life forever.
Jerry carries the bird to the side of the road. We lay a blanket of grasses over the small body and stand looking at it. This baby bird was alive one minute and dead the next. Something has left it. Is that what death means?
I wonder if some part of a living being goes on. Maybe part of Anna’s mother will be inside Anna forever. The part that makes her so loving with the little girls. And inside me are all the memories I have of Gram. Special things I can remember.
I’m lost in the thoughts going around in my head when I hear a loud farting noise come from Jerry.
“Come on. Stop looking so down in the dumps. You and I won’t be dead for a long time! Let’s go!” He starts down the hill.
He’s right. I wouldn’t want Gram to look down from Heaven and see me being sad. I can have adventures and laugh at things and still keep the memory of her alive inside me.
At the gate behind the barracks, Jerry says, “How about showing me the cell where the prisoner was.”
“Sure. Let’s go now.”
We stash our bikes by the garage, and I check that Otto’s nowhere around. The door to the cells is next to the bottom of our stairs.
I warn Jerry to be quiet as we go inside. The cells are empty, with the thick padlocks hanging loose on the doors. I swing open the heavy door to the nearest cell. Not much in it except a metal cot with a thin mattress on wooden slats, a stained pillow, a sink, and a toilet without a seat. There’s a sour smell coming from the toilet. Jerry goes inside and sits on the bed. Then he lies down with his head on the pillow.
“Let’s see what it feels like with the door shut,” Jerry says.
I want to show him that I’m no chicken. I grab the metal bars and swing the door closed with a loud clang, checking first to make sure the padlock doesn’t close.
