April Raintree

by Beatrice Mosionier

  The man who was with Mrs. Grey had gone to our bedroom to get all our things. When he came back, I became more uneasy. I looked from the woman to the man, then over to one policeman who was writing in a notepad, then to the other one who was looking around. I finally looked back at my Mom for reassurance. She didn’t look at me but I said in a very definite manner, “No, we’d better stay here.”

  I was hoping Dad would walk in and he would make them all go away. He would make everything right.

  The man with our belongings leaned over and whispered to my mother. She forced herself to stop sobbing, slowly got up and came over to us. I could see that she was struggling to maintain control.

  “April, I want you and Cheryl to go with these people. It will only be for a little while. Right now, Daddy and me, well, we can’t take care of you. You’ll be all right. You be good girls for me. I’m sorry…”

  She couldn’t say anymore because she started crying again. She hugged us and that’s when I started crying too. I kind of knew that she was really saying goodbye to us. But I was determined that we were not going to be taken away. I clung to my Mom as tight as I could. They wouldn’t be able to pull me away from her and then they would leave. I expected Mom to do the same. But she didn’t. She pushed me away. Into their grasping hands. I couldn’t believe it.

  Frantically, I screamed, “Mommy, please don’t make us go. Please, Mommy? We want to stay with you. Please don’t make us go.”

  I tried hard to put everything into my voice, sure that they would all come to their senses and leave us be. There were a lot of grown-up things I didn’t understand that day. My mother should have fought with her life to keep us with her. Instead, she had simply handed us over. It didn’t make any sense to me.

  The car door slammed shut on us.

  “Please don’t make us go,” I said in a subdued, quiet voice, more to myself. I gripped Cheryl’s hand and we set off into the unknown. We were both crying and ignored the soothing voices from the strangers in front.

  How could Mom do this to us? What was going to happen to us? Well, at least, I still had Cheryl. I thought this to myself over and over again. Cheryl kept crying, although I’m not sure she really knew why. She loved car rides but if I was crying, I’m sure she felt she ought to be crying too.

  We were taken to an orphanage. When we got there, Cheryl and I were hungry and exhausted. Inside the large building, all the walls were painted a dismal green. The sounds we made echoed down the long, high-ceilinged corridors. Then this person came out of a room to greet us. She was dressed in black, from head to foot, except for some stiff white cardboard around her neck and face. She had chains dangling around her waist and she said her name was Mother Superior and she had been expecting us. My eyes widened in fear. It was even worse than I had imagined. We were being handed over to the boogeyman for sure!

  When Mrs. Grey and the man said goodbye and turned to leave, I wanted to go with them but I was too scared to ask. Mother Superior took us into another room at the far end of the corridor. Here, another woman in the same outfit, undressed us and bathed us. She looked through our hair for bugs, she told us. I thought that was pretty silly because I knew that bugs lived in trees and grass, not in people’s hair. Of course, I didn’t say anything, not even when she started cutting off my long hair.

  I was thinking that this was like the hen my mother had gotten once. She plucked it clean and later, we ate it. I sat there, wondering if that was now to be our fate, wondering how I could put a stop to this. Then the woman told me she was finished and I was relieved to find that I still had some hair left. I watched her cut Cheryl’s hair and reasoned that if she was taking the trouble to cut straight then we had nothing to fear. Between yawns, Cheryl complained that she was hungry so afterward, we were taken to a large kitchen and fed some dry tasteless food. When we finished eating, we were taken to the infirmary and put to bed.

  We were finally left alone to ourselves and it really did feel like we were completely abandoned in that pitch black space. Cheryl groped her way to my bed and crawled in with me. She spoke for the first time since we got here, “Apple, them was boogeywomen?”

  I smiled in the darkness for two reasons. I hadn’t thought to call them that and she had been thinking the same thing I had. “No, I don’t think so. They didn’t eat us,” I said to reassure her.

  For a minute, she was silent. “They didn’t like us?”

  “I don’t know.”

  After more silence, she asked, “Apple, we will go home in the morning time?”

  “I don’t think so, Cheryl.”

  “But I want to.”

  “So do I,” I said. By now, Cheryl had laid her head down and I could hear the breathing she used for sleeping. I lay there for a while, thinking, wondering.

  That was the last night we’d share the same bed or be really close, for a long time. The next day, Cheryl was placed with a group of four-year-olds and under. I found out from the other children that the women were called nuns and that they were strict, at least the ones who tended to my group. I’d seen the ones who looked after the younger children smile and laugh. The others, like Mother Superior, always seemed so unruffled, always dignified and emotionless. And the ones who took turns looking after us gave us constant orders that made my head spin. Eventually, I figured out what the different nuns wanted and avoided many scoldings. My parents had never strapped us and I never had to think about whether I was bad or good. I feared getting the strap. I feared even a harsh word. If I was quietly playing with some toy and somebody else wanted it, I simply handed it over because if we squabbled, we’d get heck. I longed to go over to Cheryl and talk and play with her but I never dared cross that invisible boundary.

  Most of my misery, however, was caused by the separation from my parents. I was positive that they would come for Cheryl and me. I constantly watched the doorways and looked out front room windows, always watching, always waiting, in expectation of their appearance. Sure enough, one day I saw Dad out there, looking up at the building. Excited, I waved to him and wondered why he didn’t come to the door, why he just stood there, looking sad. I turned from the window, saw that the attending nun was busy scolding a boy, so I left the room and went to look for Cheryl. I found her down the hall in another room. I looked in to see where the nun was and saw that her back was turned to Cheryl and the door. I tiptoed in, took hold of Cheryl’s hand, whispered for her to stay quiet. I led Cheryl down to the front doors but we couldn’t open them. They were locked. I didn’t know of any other doors except for the ones which led to the play-yard at the back but it was all fenced in. I left Cheryl there and raced back to the nearest empty room, facing the front. I tried to call to Dad but he couldn’t hear me through the thick windows. He couldn’t even see me. He was looking down at the ground and he was turning away.

  “Oh no, Daddy, don’t go away! Please don’t leave us here! Please!” I pounded the window with my fists, trying desperately to get his attention but he kept walking futher and further away. When I couldn’t see him anymore, I just sank to the floor in defeat, warm tears blurring my vision. I sat there and sobbed for we had been so close to going home again.

  “What are you doing in here?” the nun from my room yelled, making me jump. “Don’t you know what a fright you gave me, disappearing like that? You get back into the playroom. And quit that snivelling.”

  Then she asked why Cheryl was at the front and what did I intend on doing. I wouldn’t tell her anything so she gave me the strap and some warnings. That strap didn’t hurt nearly as much as watching helplessly as my Dad walked away.

  A few days later, I woke up feeling ill. My head hurt, my body ached, and I felt dizzy. When I sat at the breakfast table and saw the already unappetizing porridge, I knew that I wouldn’t be able to eat it. I tried to explain to the nun at our table but she merely looked down at me and said in a crisp voice, “You will eat your breakfast.”

  I made the attempt but every swallow I forced
down pushed its way back up. Tears came to my eyes and I finally begged, “Could I please be excused?”

  The nun responded in exasperation, “You will stay right there until you are finished. Do you understand?”

  To my horror, I threw up just then. Instead of getting heck, though, I was taken to the infirmary room. I was bathed and put to bed and by then I was feverish. When I slept, I dreamt I was somewhere near home but I couldn’t find our house. I was very hot and I walked and walked but our house was no longer where it should have been. I woke up and called for Mom and Dad.

  The next time I went to sleep, I dreamt my parents were on the other side of a large bottomless hole and I had to edge my way slowly and carefully around the hole to get over to them. But when I got there, they were back over where I started from. At last, I dreamt that I was finally running towards them and there was nothing around that could stop me. They even had Cheryl with them. I felt such relief, such happiness! Just as I was about to jump into their outstretched arms, I glanced up at their faces again. The faces had changed. They weren’t my parents. They were the two social workers who had taken us away in the first place. Meanwhile, my temperature was rising and the nurse decided I’d better be taken to the hospital.

  My dreams continued in the hospital. I was always on the verge of reuniting with my parents but that was always thwarted by something beyond my control. I guess I was also delirious because I began seeing this huge, white, doughy thing, kind of like a dumpling, and it would come at me, closer and closer. It would stop just in front of me, go further away, and come in closer and closer again. I felt that if it ever touched me it would engulf me and that would be the end of me. Sometimes, its huge bulk would whizz around, back and forth in front of me. I was always scared it would bang into me but I couldn’t duck it or anything. It didn’t matter if my eyes were open or closed. I remained in the hospital for about a week before the fever broke and the dreams became less intense.

  CHAPTER 2

  I was glad to get back to the orphanage because I was looking forward to seeing Cheryl. I had a new social worker named Mrs. Semple. She told me she would find a home for Cheryl and me together. Maybe she said she would try but I didn’t understand that. When I found Cheryl was no longer at the orphanage, I thought she had already gone to our new home. I wondered how come I wasn’t sent there too. But the day soon arrived when Mrs. Semple came for me. I was really excited but I pretended nonchalance. I figured if they knew how much I wanted to move with Cheryl, they might take me to another place or else leave me at the orphanage. So Mrs. Semple was now taking me to the Dion family.

  When we arrived, I jumped out of the car, looking for Cheryl and wondering why she wasn’t outside waiting for me. The front door was opened to us by a pleasant-looking lady.

  I walked in, looked around and asked, “Where’s Cheryl?”

  Mrs. Semple realized then that I had misunderstood her and she tried her best to explain to me but I wouldn’t hear her. She assured me, “Don’t worry about Cheryl. She’ll be well taken care of in her new home.”

  “But I can take care of Cheryl,” I said indignantly. “I want my sister.”

  “April, you’ll be going to school now. So, don’t make a fuss.” Mrs. Semple had a hint of impatience in her voice.

  “Why don’t you come into the kitchen, April? I’ve got some milk and cookies waiting for you,” Mrs. Dion, my new foster mother, spoke up. For some reason she reminded me of my mother. Obediently, I followed her and sat at the table. The two women went back into the living room, leaving me alone. My eyes were stinging as I took a bite of an oatmeal cookie. The tears spilled over and rolled down my cheeks. This was all too confusing for me. How come all this was happening?

  The Dions lived on the outskirts of a small French Catholic town, not far from the Red River, south of Winnipeg. It was September 9, 1955, when I moved there and the three Dion children were into their fourth day at school. Usually, they came home for lunch but on this day, it had been raining quite heavily and they had been allowed to take their lunches to school. It was mid-morning when I arrived and I spent most of that day moping around the house, fretting over Cheryl.

  In the afternoon, Mrs. Dion turned the television set on for me. I’d never seen one before and I sat in front of it transfixed. I was still sitting there when the Dion children came home. The oldest was Guy who was twelve. Then there was Nicole, whose room I would be sharing. She was ten and the youngest was seven-year-old Pierre. They were all friendly and polite and only Pierre asked about my hair which was still ridiculously short. Of course, I was very shy and I couldn’t look them in the eye. They reminded me of the rich white kids in the park, so I was amazed at their friendliness.

  I had come on Friday. So the next day, I got up at eight with everybody else, had breakfast, then waited for Nicole to finish her Saturday chores. Meanwhile, Guy swept out the garage, washed the car, and collected all the garbage. When they were finished, we all went to the vegetable garden to do some weeding. Pierre and I carried the boxes of weeds over to a pile which was to be burned. We stopped for lunch which Mrs. Dion brought outside for us. When we finished, some other kids came over and we all played dodge ball. By the end of that day, I had forgotten how lonely I was.

  The next day, when we got up, Mrs. Dion gave me a pretty dress from Nicole’s closet and told me there were more clothes that were too small for Nicole. I was very happy. I thought now I was rich, too, just like those other white kids.

  We went to Mass that morning. I didn’t like it. I was fidgety from having to stay still for so long. But after Mass, we had a big Sunday dinner. When the dishes were done, we all piled into the car to go on one of Mr. Dion’s excursions to find plants to bring back to his gardens. On these trips, Mr. Dion would tell us about the trees and the plants and the wildlife that lived in the forests. Of course, I didn’t learn much on that first trip. I was excited about the venture and explored things by myself.

  Monday was my first day of school. Mrs. Dion came with me that day while the others rode on their bikes. I was scared and excited at the same time. When I was introduced to the rest of the class, I was so shy, I couldn’t look at any of the other children. All I knew was that there must have been at least a hundred kids in that classroom. By the end of that first week, a few of the girls decided that I was to be their friend and nobody else’s. At recess times, I skipped rope with them, played hopscotch and other such games. Although I found my new friends bossy, even haughty, I was grateful to be one of them.

  I learned that I had been baptized a Roman Catholic when I was a baby. Therefore, I had to study catechism to prepare for my First Communion in the springtime. We had catechism classes every day at school. Every evening, I was obliged to learn my prayers in French, so when they were said at Church, I would be able to say them, too. I memorized all the Acts, and there were a lot of them; the Act of Love, the Act of Charity, the Act of Faith, the Act of Penance. I was allowed to learn the prayer for the confession in English because later I would be telling the priest my sins in English. I also learned the answers to all the questions in my manual and there were a lot of things in it which puzzled me. My parents had done a lot of mortal sins because we had never gone to Mass on Sundays. That meant they were going to hell. I didn’t think that I wanted to go to heaven so much, after all. Another thing was that the Church was infallible, never to be questioned. Yet, I couldn’t help it, nor could I ask anyone else about it or they would know that I, April Raintree, had sinned!

  By October, all the vegetables and crab apples had been canned and Mr. Dion had made his last trips to get transplants for the gardens. I had settled in at school very nicely. And I now felt this home could be as safe and secure as the tiny one on Jarvis Avenue. Sometimes, when it was windy, cold and grey outside, I even enjoyed the cozy feeling of being with this family, but at the same time longing to be with my own.

  Back then, there were a lot of good shows on television. They made one yearn for adven
ture. And also for pets just like the ones on T.V. First, there was Tornado, Zorro’s black stallion. Then there was Rin Tin Tin, a big German shepherd, and, of course, Lassie. I wanted them all. When I grew up, I would have German shepherds and collies, black stallions and white stallions and what the heck, palomino stallions too! I whittled down the long church hours into enjoyable daydreams of the future.

  By November, my hair had grown long enough that the other children in school who had teased me, stopped. Mrs. Dion told me I could grow it long if I wanted to. But even better than that, she told me that I would be going to visit Cheryl and my parents at the Children’s Aid office. I circled the date on the calendar, then waited with impatience and excitement. When the day finally came and Mrs. Semple came to pick me up, I suddenly remembered those horrible dreams. I was very quiet on the trip to Winnipeg. What if something happened? What if Mom and Dad got too sick and couldn’t come? What if Cheryl couldn’t come?

  “Why the glum face, April? Aren’t you glad you’ll be seeing your parents and sister again?” Mrs. Semple asked me.

  “Oh yes!” I almost shouted, fearful that Mrs. Semple would turn the car around and it would end up being me who didn’t make it.

  I was the first one there and I was taken to one of the small sitting rooms down the hall. Mrs. Semple showed me some books and toys with which I could occupy myself while I waited. Then she left, shutting the door behind her. I chose to sit on the edge of the chair and stared real hard at the closed door, wishing with all my might that the next time it opened, there would be Dad, Mom and Cheryl. I could see movements going back and forth through the thick-frosted windows. What if they all went to the wrong room? Maybe I should wait in the front waiting room. Better yet, maybe I should wait downstairs at the front entrance. I settled for opening the door a crack so I could see. When I saw figures approaching, I shut the door quickly and went back to the chair. The door opened and in walked Cheryl, followed by her worker, Miss Turner. When Cheryl saw me, her face lit up and she screamed, “Apple! Apple!”