“Maman says we have to trust in God’s wisdom.”
I heard him restrain a sob and felt him patting me on my hand. I knew then I should leave him alone. I returned to my room and said another prayer for Papa.
In January, Mrs. Semple told me that I would be moving. At first, I thought I was finally going home. I was both happy and excited to be going home at last and very sad that I was going there only because Maman Dion was so sick and maybe dying. But my happiness was short-lived because Mrs. Semple began telling me about the farm which would be my new foster home. I was permitted a last visit with Maman in the hospital. She smiled when I walked into her hospital room and after asking me about school and other things, she said, “April, I wanted to say good-bye to you. We’re all very sorry to see you go but the final decision was theirs. You understand that, don’t you?”
I nodded slowly, trying hard to smile courageously. I couldn’t talk because of the lump in my throat.
She continued, “I wanted to say some things to you before you go. Papa told me how you gave him comfort. We all love you very much, April. When life seems unbearable, remember there’s always a reason. April, you’re a very special person. Always remember that. Mrs. Semple says that the home you’re going to is a fine home. I’m sure you’ll be happy there.”
“I love you, Maman.” It was the first time I had ever said those words. To me, they were precious words to be used on very special people. When I saw how much she appreciated hearing those words, I was glad I had said them.
There were tears all around when I said goodbye to the rest of the Dion family. I had promised to write and always keep in touch with them. I left them with the hope of either coming back to live with them or returning to my own home.
CHAPTER 3
I was taken to a small farming community further south of Winnipeg on the outskirts of Aubigny, to the DeRosier farm. It was a Friday afternoon when we arrived. While Mrs. Semple talked with Mrs. DeRosier, I studied my new foster mother with great disappointment. She was a tall woman with lots of makeup and badly dyed hair. If she had been a beauty once, the only thing left of it now was the vanity. Her voice was harsh and grating. The more I watched her, the more positive I became that she was putting on an act for Mrs. Semple’s benefit. I wondered why Mrs. Semple couldn’t figure that out. If I had to stay here, I hoped Mrs. DeRosier gave me a good home.
After my social worker’s departure, Mrs. DeRosier turned to me. I looked up at her with curiosity. She went to the kitchen drawer, took out a strap and laid it on the table near me. She told me the routine I would have to follow but in such a way that it made me think she had made this speech many times before.
“The school bus comes at eight. You will get up at six, go to the hen house and bring back the eggs. While I prepare breakfast, you will wash the eggs. After breakfast, you will do the dishes. After school, you’ll have more chores to do, then you will help me prepare supper. After you do the supper dishes, you will go to your room and stay there. You’ll also keep yourself and your room clean. I know you half-breeds, you love to wallow in filth. You step out of line once, only once, that strap will do the rest of the talking. You don’t get any second chances. And if you don’t believe that I’ll use it, ask Raymond and Gilbert. And on that subject, you will only talk to them in front of us. I won’t stand for any hanky-panky going on behind our backs. Is that clear? Also, you are not to use the phone. If you want letters mailed, I’ll see to it. You do any complaining to your worker, watch out.” She put the strap away and continued, “Now, I’ll show you where your room is.”
I was left alone in a small room at the back of the house. It was cold, smelled mouldy and felt damp. There wasn’t even a closet, just nails sticking out all over the walls. The Dions had given me a new set of suitcases and I opened one up and started hanging a few things on the nails. I stopped and sat on the bed. The mattress was soft and warped. Maman Dion had told me that self-pity was not good for one’s spirits but right now, I felt justified in being sorry for myself. Mrs. DeRosier had said, “…you half-breeds”. I wasn’t a half-breed, just a foster child, that’s all. To me, half-breed was almost the same as Indian. No, this wasn’t going to be a home like the Dions’. Maybe if there were other children, they might be nice. Most people I’d met when I had stayed at the Dions had been nice enough. With this thought, I finished hanging up my clothes, looking forward to the arrival of Raymond and Gilbert, who I thought must be at school.
I was waiting at the kitchen table in order to meet them. Mrs. DeRosier was in the kitchen too but she only glared at me as if to warn me to stay quiet. I saw the school bus from the kitchen window and thought how nice it would be taking a bus from now on. Four kids got off, two older boys around thirteen or fourteen and a girl and a younger boy. I was hoping that they would like me. They all walked in but the two older boys walked by without looking at me and I heard them going up the stairs. The younger boy and the girl eyed me contemptuously.
The boy said to Mrs. DeRosier, “Is that the half-breed girl we’re getting? She doesn’t look like the last squaw we had.”
The girl giggled at his comment.
“April, you may as well start earning your keep right now. Here, I want you to peel these potatoes.” Mrs. DeRosier got out a large basket of potatoes and put them down in front of me. The resemblance between these two children and Mrs. DeRosier was more than physical. They made themselves sandwiches, making a mess in the process. When I finished peeling the potatoes, Mrs. DeRosier told me to clean up their mess. Mr. DeRosier came in at suppertime and it became apparent to me that Mrs. DeRosier towered over him not only in size but also in willfulness of personality. He and the two boys who had changed into work clothes, sat on one side, Mrs. DeRosier was at the head and Maggie and Ricky and I sat on the other side. The only talking at the table was done by the mother and her two children. I had finished my milk and reached for the pitcher to pour another glass.
“You’re not allowed snore than one glass.” Maggie protested. I froze, my hand still on the handle, waiting for Mrs. DeRosier to agree with Maggie or to allow me another glass. I wondered if I should give in to this girl, then realized I had no choice because Mrs. DeRosier simply remained silent. Slowly, I withdrew my hand from the pitcher and looked over at the mother and daughter. Maggie had a smug look on her face. I wanted to take that pitcher of milk and dump it all over her head. At other meals, she would make a show of having two or more glasses of milk herself.
When Ricky finished eating, he left the table without excusing himself. The other two boys had also finished eating but remained seated until Mr. DeRosier got up to leave. Then they followed him outside. Mrs. DeRosier put the leftovers away and indicated I was to start on the dishes. While I washed and wiped them, Maggie sat at the table and watched. I wondered why this family was so different from the Dions, especially those three. So much malice, so much tension. It seemed to me that it was a lot easier being nice. After all, the DeRosiers were Catholics, too. How I wished that my own parents would rescue me and right this minute would be a fine time. I finished wiping the last pot and put it away. I started for my bedroom, relieved to get away from Maggie’s watchful eyes.
“You’re not finished,” Maggie said in a bossy tone. “You didn’t even sweep the floor. I heard you half-breeds were dirty but now I can see that it’s true.”
“You didn’t do anything yet. Why don’t you sweep the floor?” I retorted.
“Because it’s not my job. My job is only to see that you do yours. So get the broom!” Maggie hissed at me.
I stood there for a minute, looking down at Maggie. She was still sitting, very composed, very sure of how far she could go. Helpless fury built up inside me but I was alone here, unsure of what my rights were, or if I even had any. So I went to get the broom. After sweeping the floor, I went to my room. I had nothing to do but think. Was it only this morning I had felt loved and cherished? Now, I had been told I would have to earn my keep. I knew that
Children’s Aid paid for my keep. And I didn’t like that word ‘half-breed’ one bit! It took me a while to get over these new things I didn’t like so I could get ready for bed and say my prayers.
Maman Dion had taught me that praying could bring comfort. I had memorized the Lord’s Prayer in French and English but I had never really thought about the meaning of each sentence. Now, I said it slowly.
“Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed by Thy Name. Thy Kingdom come, Thy will be done, on Earth as it is in Heaven. Give us this day, our daily Bread. And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil, Amen.”
I would have to forgive these people their trespasses and no doubt there would be many. “But, hold on there, God,” I thought, “I’m not going to have any trespasses for them to forgive. So how come I’m going to have to forgive theirs?” I looked for the answers in the talks and the Bible readings at the Dions. I remembered the saints and the martyrs. They had been tested. Maybe I was being tested. Maybe what I had to do while I was here was turn the other cheek. When I went to sleep, I was feeling very saintly.
Saturday morning, Mr. DeRosier rapped at my door, telling me I was supposed to go for the eggs. It had been windy all night and I had not slept well in my chilly room. I sleepily got dressed and went to the kitchen. No one was there but I saw a pail by the doorway so I took it. It was still dark outside and it took me a while to find the chicken house. There were deep drifts of snow which had been whipped up by the wind overnight. Another thing I decided was that I didn’t like winter anymore. Not as long as I had to live on this farm. I gathered the eggs, getting nasty pecks from the hens that were too stubborn or overly-protective. As I floundered back to the house, through the snowdrifts, my mouth watered at the thought of breakfast but when I entered the house, no one seemed to be up. I was still cold and very hungry but I didn’t dare touch anything. I washed the eggs and found that a few had broken and many were cracked. I worried while I waited for Mrs. DeRosier. A few hours later, she came down in her housecoat and she looked a whole lot worse without her make-up.
She started to put some coffee on to perk and noticed the eggs still drying in the trays.
“What on earth did you do with these eggs? They’re all cracked. I can’t sell them that way!” I jumped up when she screamed. She picked up a few of them and threw them down on the floor in front of where I was sitting. She went on ranting and raving, not wanting my explanations. Finally, she told me to clean up the mess and she started breakfast.
When everyone had eaten, she and her two children got ready to go to town. She left me instructions to wash the floors and clean the bathroom after I finished the breakfast dishes. I thought to myself that if Ricky had been a girl, I would have been just like Cinderella. When I finished my assigned chores, I washed out my own room, trying to rid it of the musty smell. I had a few hours to myself before they came back but when they did, Maggie, with her boots on, walked all over the kitchen floor and I had to wash it over again.
On Sunday morning, we all went to Mass. After the services, while Mr. DeRosier and the two older boys waited in the car, Mrs. DeRosier chatted with some neighbours. I was by her side and she explained my presence, adding that I was a lovely little child and we all got along very well. She wallowed in their compliments on what a generous, goodhearted woman she was to take poor unfortunate children, like myself, into her home. I just stood there meekly, too timid to say different.
I had looked forward to Monday because I would be going to school on a bus. It was already almost filled and being too shy to walk further I took the first empty seat near the front. I could hear the DeRosier kids tell their friends that I was a half-breed and that they had to clean me up when I came to their house. They said I even had lice in my hair and told the others that they should keep away from me. They whispered and giggled and once in a while, they would call me names. I sat all alone in that seat, all the way to school, staring straight ahead, my face burning with humiliation. Fortunately for me, no one on the school bus was in my classroom. By the end of the first day, I had made one friend, Jennifer. Unfortunately for me, I had to board that school bus again to go back to the farm. I had decided that I wasn’t going to let them see that their taunts really hurt me.
The months went by very slowly. The kids on the bus tired of picking on me, mostly, I guess, because I wouldn’t react. My tenth birthday passed without celebration. One evening in May, Mrs. DeRosier told me I wouldn’t be going to school the next day because of a family visit. That was my first happy moment since I had arrived. She drove me in to Winnipeg, complaining all the way that these visits would disrupt the routine she had set for me.
I was waiting, alone, in the reception area when Cheryl came in, bubbling with enthusiasm.
“Hi April, I got a present for you. Can we go to a visiting room now, Miss Turner?” she asked her worker.
After we were left alone in one of the small cubicle rooms, Cheryl turned to me and handed me a gift-wrapped package. “Happy Birthday, April. It’s a book.”
“You’re not supposed to tell me what it is, Cheryl. Half the fun is trying to guess what it is while I unwrap it,” I grinned at her and shook my head.
“A book about Louis Riel?” I said and crinkled my nose in distaste. I knew all about Riel. He was a rebel who had been hung for treason. Worse, he had been a crazy half-breed. I had learned about his folly in history. Also, I had read about the Indians and the various methods of tortures they had put the missionaires through. No wonder they were known as savages. So, anything to do with Indians, I despised. And I was supposed to be part-Indian? No way. I remember how relieved I was that no one in my class knew of my heritage when we were going through that period in Canadian history.
“He’s a Metis, like us,” Cheryl said proudly. “Mrs. MacAdams says we should be proud of our heritage. You know what that means? It means we’re part-Indian and part-white. I wish we were whole Indians.”
I just about fell off my chair when I heard that. There were a few Indians or part-Indian kids in my class who couldn’t hide what they were, like I could. But here was my very own sister, with brilliant grades, saying such idiotic things. Well, I didn’t want to argue with her so I didn’t voice my opinion.
She continued talking which was usual for her. “Mrs. MacAdams is a Metis you know, but Mr. MacAdams isn’t. He teaches somewhere. Not at my school. They got a lot of books on Indian tribes and how they used to live a long time ago.”
Cheryl paused for a breather, then continued in a sombre tone, “Mrs. MacAdams gave them to me to read because no one at school would talk to me or play with me. They call me names and things or else they make like I’m not there at all. This one girl and her friends would follow me home and make fun of me so I slapped her. And her Mom called Mrs. MacAdams. And Mrs. MacAdams says that all the bad stuff was cause I’m different from them. She told me I would have to earn their respect. How come they don’t have to go around earning respect? Anyways, I don’t even know what respect is exactly. I just wanted to be friends with them.”
I knew what Cheryl was talking about from my own experience on the school bus. Yet, I couldn’t share that with her. I guess I was too vain. She had admitted to me that some poeple didn’t like her because she was different but I couldn’t return that kind of honesty. So, I told her about the DeRosiers, and how much I missed the Dions. Telling her how the DeRosiers were mean to me was easy because they probably didn’t like anyone and it wasn’t only me.
“Why don’t you give those kids a whack?” Cheryl asked.
“Are you kidding? Mrs. DeRosier would kill me.” I replied, as I leafed through the pages of my new book. “Besides, you can’t go around whacking people you don’t like.”
“Well, that’s what I do,” Cheryl retorted off-handedly.
“And what if the kids are bigger and stronger than you?”
“Then I’d simply pretend not t
o hear them,” Cheryl answered with a mischievious smile. We both laughed over that and then we talked about the other kids at school who were nice.
I got to wondering what kind of present my Morn and Dad would be bringing. Our precious hours together slipped away and Cheryl’s good mood faded, too.
“Maybe they’re not going to come,” she said as she paced back and forth. She was puzzled and hurt and she was fighting back tears.
Miss Turner came in to tell me that Mrs. DeRosier was there to pick me up. Cheryl begged for just a little more time. I sat back down and Cheryl came to me and knelt before me. She looked up at me with her large, questioning eyes, now glistening.
“They’re not coming?” she asked softly.
“Maybe they got mixed up on the days or something.” I knelt down to face her on the same level. “Cheryl, no matter what, we’ll always have each other.” I hugged her close, knowing that what I said was of small comfort to her. She started to cry and naturally, that made me want to cry. Miss Turner came and poked her head in, saying I really had to go. Cheryl and I started putting on our jackets. She looked so pitiful when I left her alone in the visiting room.
Mrs. DeRosier had been told that my parents had not come for the visit. That evening, at suppertime, she told her own children they were fortunate in having a parent like her as my parents were too busy boozing it up to even come to visit me. I sat silently, not believing a word of what she said and pretended the insults to my parents didn’t even bother me. She was forever putting my parents down so I was getting used to her remarks. But inside, I despised her more than I would despise my own parents, even if all the things she said about them were true. And I just knew they were not.
Later that night, I lay in bed, unable to go to sleep and unable to say my prayers. I couldn’t forget that look on Cheryl’s face when I had to leave her. I felt anger towards my mother and father because they were responsible. They were responsible for me being in this foster home. While I was at it, I turned my anger on Our Holy Father in Heaven.
April Raintree Page 4
