April Raintree

by Beatrice Mosionier

  “Yes. We all knew she was a prostitute. It wasn’t a secret,” Sylvia replied.

  “Did you know this girl’s name?”

  “Yes. Her name’s Cheryl Raintree.”

  Shock waves went through me. There was whispering by people, sitting behind us. I looked sideways at Cheryl. She didn’t move at all. It was as if she had been expecting it. I sat there shivering. My own sister? Champion of native causes. A whore?

  “Cheryl, say this isn’t so,” I said to her in a hoarse whisper, begging her to deny it. But she didn’t. She just sat there looking at the floor.

  What happened after that I’m not really sure. My mind was in a whirl. I know the jurists left the room but it didn’t have anything to do with this recent disclosure. A police officer testified as to how Oliver Donnelly’s statement had been obtained. I recalled Mr. Scott telling me about this voir-dire. When the judge was satisfied that the statement had been given voluntarily, he ruled that the evidence could be submitted and the jury was called back. Then Oliver Donnelly’s statement was read to the court.

  He said he had been first approached by Jason Steeps to help Stephen Gurnan put a scare into some hooker.

  Under his lawyer’s questioning, Oliver Donnelly politely and humbly told the story of the night, from his perspective. “Jason and I had been drinking heavily, most of the afternoon before that evening. We sat in Stephen Gurnan’s car which was parked where the hooker was supposed to be living. When she came along, Stephen Gurnan told us she was the one, so we grabbed her and got her into the car. We drove around for a while and the girl never said anything so I figured it would be all right to have sex with her. I honestly believed she was a prostitute. When she did object, I thought it was because I hadn’t paid her. I had never paid before and I wasn’t going to start then. The liquor made me lose control and I hit her a few times. If I hadn’t been drunk, I wouldn’t have hit her. I believed at the time when I had sex with her, it was with her consent.”

  There were no further witnesses. Court was adjourned until the next day, for the summations by the lawyers. Because it seemed Cheryl wasn’t going to budge from her chair, even though the courtroom was almost empty, I said, “We’d better go now.” My voice sounded cold, even harsh.

  Cheryl stood up then and looked right at me with a questioning look in her eyes. I saw her face in that split second, before I turned away from her. I just couldn’t look her straight in the eye, not at that moment, I didn’t even know how I felt towards her. She followed me to the car and all the way home, we were silent. I then understood that she really had been to blame. I blamed her. At the same time, I didn’t blame her. Or didn’t I want to hold her responsible? I waited for her excuses, her explanations, but she didn’t make any. When we had eaten supper, she went out.

  I again checked the newspaper and was relieved to find they hadn’t printed my name. I was simply referred to as the complainant. What a way to get into the papers, as a victim. A victim of my own sister’s folly. A victim of Sylvia’s revenge. Another victim of being native. No matter how hard I tried, I would always be forced into the silly petty things that concerned native life. All because Cheryl insisted in going out of her way to screw up her own life. And, thus, screwing up mine.

  For some reason, I didn’t feel the urgent need for the ritual bath that night. I turned on the television to get my mind off Cheryl. It didn’t help much. I kept thinking of the look she had given me that afternoon. The look I had so coldly turned away from As if I had judged her guilty. Still, she was my sister, my flesh and blood and when she returned I would tell her everything was okay. It really wouldn’t be okay but I decided I would try my best t o forgive and forget. The late show came on and Cheryl still hadn’t come home. I fell asleep and woke up about three-thirty. The movie was over and there was still no sign that Cheryl had returned. I went up to her room to make sure. Afterwards, I went to bed disappointed and worried.

  The next morning I went to the trial alone. The Crown Attorney made his summation to the jury. He went over all the testimony of the witnesses, emphasizing that the element of corroboration and legal principle had been met by both my testimony and that of Stephen Gurnan. Then he pointed me out and said, “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, look at the poor victim, the victim of this deplorable crime. How she has suffered, not only from the physical and mental anguish, but also the emotional pain of the whole onslaught. Whether she was a prostitute or not, and I stress to you that she is not and never has been, is not the question at hand. The fact is, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, that she suffered at the hands of Oliver Donnelly. She will never forget the torment of that winter night Remember how she gave her account of what happened that night of January 11 1972. Frightened, but honest. Not once did she change any of her testimony. Not once did she waver between truth and fiction. Ladies and Gentlemen of the jury, there is one thing we can do on behalf of that girl, April Raintree. That is to find this man, the defendent, Oliver Donnelly, guilty of rape. We must give her justice.”

  I squirmed under their scrutiny. I objected to being pointed out like that, and being called that “poor girl”. It sounded overly dramatic. It sounded like he wanted them to say the defendent was guilty on the grounds that I was such a pitiful creature. I wanted him found guilty because of what he had done. I was glad when he concluded his summation. I took the opportunity to look behind me to see if Cheryl had come. All I saw were strange faces, staring at me.

  Next, Mr. Schneider, the Defense Counsel, tried to convince the jury that his client was innocent. He emphasized that Donnelly had been drinking heavily, that Donnelly honestly believed that the girl was a prostitute, but more importantly, had consented by her own silence to have sexual intercourse. The accused further believed that objections by the complainant were made only because she had not received compensation for her services. I sat there thinking of only one thing. That man, the accused, that scumbag, Donnelly, had raped me. He had done more than rape me. He deserved to be found guilty and nothing else. By the end of the Defense Counsel’s speech, I began to worry that the jurists would find him innocent. The judge called a lunch recess.

  I walked down the corridor, then the stairs, wondering why Cheryl hadn’t come and feeling lonely and remorseful. I also wondered if Donnelly was going to get off, scott-free. But then how could he get off when Gurnan had already pleaded guilty to one charge? Wouldn’t that be ironic?

  I was at the front doors, when I heard Roger’s voice.

  “April, what are you doing here?”

  I looked at him, dismayed. I thought of lying but I couldn’t think of any good lies. “I’m attending a trial.”

  “Oh? What trial? You didn’t tell me about it.”

  “It’s the Queen vs. Donnelly. It’s a rape trial. I’m a witness. Or is complainant the proper word?” I looked directly at him.

  Roger looked at me for a minute, a long minute. “You should have told me about it. I’m sorry. It must be rough on you. How is it going?”

  “it’s almost over, I think. I don’t know how it’s going to end. What are you doing here?”

  “Oh, I had a few things to do and I was going to do some searches at Land Titles for Alex. But it can wait. How about lunch right now? Is Cheryl here?” he asked, looking around.

  “No. She didn’t come today. She was here, yesterday,” I answered, not mentioning her involvement.

  We had lunch and afterwards, he said that he’d come back to the courtroom, later in the afternoon, when he had finished his work. I talked with Mr. Scott in the hall and he took time to explain what was to happen next, and assured me that things looked good.

  I felt slightly better, when I took my seat back in the courtroom. The Honorable Mr. Justice Saul gave his charge to the jury, summarizing once again the evidence given, explaining the law pertaining to the charges. It strained my patience to have to listen to him. I began thinking of what I should tell Roger. No doubt, if he hadn’t read last evening’s paper, he would re
ad about the trial now. People had different reactions to rape and I would like to have known what he was thinking, this very moment. It was almost three-thirty, when the jury filed out of the courtroom to consider its verdict.

  The courtroom emptied and I walked out into the corridor, hoping to find Roger. He soon appeared and we waited together, not saying anything about the trial. He asked me again about Cheryl.

  “I’d rather not talk about Cheryl right now, Roger, I just hope she’s fine but I’m worried because she didn’t come home last night. But I’ll tell you about it later. Right now, I’m just waiting to see what the jury decides.”

  It was a little over an hour later, when we were summoned back to the courtroom. I was impatient because it took everyone such a long time to get back in their places, especially the judge. I sat there, scarcely breathing, waiting for that one word: Guilty. The jury filed back into the courtroom and there was more of the legal footwork, as I waited for the word. I looked ahead, not daring to look at the faces of the members of the jury. I heard the Foreman of the jury respond affirmatively to the question of whether they had reached a verdict. Finally, I heard what I had wanted to hear: “We find the Defendent guilty, as charged.”

  I sighed with relief. Justice to a certain point had been done.

  CHAPTER 15

  Before Roger and I returned to my place, we went out for supper. When we did get home, I looked for signs of Cheryl but it appeared she hadn’t bothered eating or anything, if she had been home. Cheryl usually piled her coffee cups and dishes in the sink and there were none, I made coffee, knowing Roger was waiting for me to talk.

  When we were both at the table, I began. “Well, you found out what my big secret was. Do you understand why I felt the way I did?”

  “Of course. But you should have told me, though.”

  “Rape isn’t something you talk about, Roger. I never even discussed it with Cheryl. She blamed herself, you know. She blamed herself because she was in the hospital and I came to Winnipeg to be with her. It was when I was going to her place that I was raped. And then in court, we both found out that those men were after her. It wasn’t just my bad luck. She caused them to be there at that time. She apparently had angered some woman and that woman wanted her to pay for it. And instead, I paid for it.”

  “How do you feel about Cheryl?”

  “I don’t know. They said she was a prostitute. I can’t resolve how I feel about her. I just don’t know. One minute, I want to hug her and tell her it doesn’t matter. And the next, I just want to give her hell. I feel like her baby-sitter. As soon as I leave her alone, she goes out and does all these incredibly stupid things. And I always thought she had it all together, more so than me. What is the matter with her?”

  “Well, what you went through is traumatic. There’s no denying that. It will take time.”

  “You’re right. It’s not as If she made me lose all my money. That doesn’t even seem so important anymore. Once, all I wanted was money, lots of it. And now, what I did lose was more precious than money. I’ll never be the same as I once was. You know, when I was married, I didn’t want children because I thought they might turn out looking native. Lately, now that I can’t have children, I would really like to be able to. Settle down and raise a dozen kids.”

  “Why can’t you have any children?” he asked, with concern.

  I looked at him. Couldn’t he figure that out? “Because, I was raped. I’d be scared to ever let a man get close to me.”

  “And how long are you going to feel that way, April?”

  “I don’t know. I suppose I’ll always feel that way.”

  “Do you like feeling sorry for yourself?”

  “I don’t feel sorry for myself,” I said indignantly. “I just know how I feel inside. I feel dirty and rotten and used. I’ll never be what I was before. I’ll never be the same. Can’t you understand that?”

  “From what I understand, you’re keeping what you feel inside of you, alive. You’re not even trying to let go. Now that the trial is over, April, let it go. Let time do its healing. The big tragedy now, is not that you’ve been raped. It’s that you might refuse to let yourself heal.”

  “You men! You haven’t a clue as to what a rape does to a woman. You use it like that one night, when you said you weren’t going to rape me, as if all rape is, is a word! Well, it kills something inside. That’s what it does.”

  I was angry with Roger. Perhaps what he was saying had some truth in it but I felt he was being very insensitive to my feelings on that day. In my anger, perhaps because of the emotional rollercoaster I’d been on, I ordered him to get out of my house. I wanted someone to comfort me, not make me feel that I was wrong in my reaction.

  “I’m sorry, April. Maybe I shouldn’t have said what I did, but I really believe you’re going to have to let go of your hatred and resentment sooner or later. I’ll call you tomorrow.” he said, in a kind, understanding tone.

  “Don’t bother!” I said, obstinately.

  My anger continued to burn after he left. Who was he to tell me, my reactions were wrong? What did he know about rape? I stormed into the bathroom and began to run the water for my ritual bath. Then I realized Roger would think I was just wallowing in my self-pity so I turned the water off and stormed back into the kitchen and poured myself another cup of coffee. It was cold and I slammed the cup back down on the table and sat there, staring at nothing in particular. What could any man ever understand about rape? They just had no comprehension!

  But as I sat there, I began to think about what he had said. It was true that I had come to look forward to those ritual baths. I enjoyed killing them over and over again in my mind. But who was I hurting by it? I had wanted Roger to comfort me, but maybe what I really wanted was his sympathy, maybe even pity. It was something he hadn’t given me and I resented it. How was I supposed to just ‘let go’, as he said? It simply wasn’t possible.

  When I finally tired of waiting for Cheryl, I went to bed, my mind still in a muddle about my feelings. I was still full of hatred but I was also beginning to admit that perhaps, Roger was right and I should try and let go. The thoughts were with me when I awoke the next morning. I spent the day wandering aimlessly around the house trying to read a book or watch television. I was making supper, when Cheryl walked in.

  “Cheryl, where have you been?”

  “None of your business.”

  I was taken aback by the bluntness of her answer. “Sorry. I was just worried. There’s no need to snap at me.”

  “Oh? You think things should return to normal, do you? Well, good luck! I’ve got to go up and change.” With that she quickly went upstairs, not giving me a chance to say more.

  I walked back to the kitchen. Then I went back to the foot of the stairs and called up, “Hey, Cheryl, supper’s almost ready. Are you going to come down soon?”

  “I’m not hungry,” she called back.

  While I was washing the dishes, I heard Cheryl coming down the stairs. I was glad. Maybe we could talk. But she called, “I’m going out. See you later.”

  “Cheryl, wait…”

  But the front door slammed. I could just see myself, scurrying down the street, pleading for her to come back so we could talk.

  Roger called a little later and asked if I wanted to go out to a movie or something.

  “A movie would be fine.” I said, thinking it would take my mind off Cheryl. “Roger, I also wanted to apologize for the way I acted. I was wrong.”

  “No, I was the one who was wrong. I should have been more understanding, I’m sorry.”

  “Okay. Your apology is accepted,” I said, allowing him to take full blame. Without saying it, we both knew we were equally at fault. Well, maybe I was more at fault.

  I didn’t go to court the day Donnelly was sentenced but I learned on the news, that he had been sentenced to five years at Stony Mountain. I wondered if those five years—he’d probably be out on parole after three—would leave as deep a mark on
his life, as he had left on mine?

  In the following weeks, Cheryl absolutely refused to talk to me, unless it was in little biting sentences. At first, I was patient but then I became impatient and unsympathetic toward her. Sometimes I’d come home from a date with Roger and she’d go upstairs, leaving me in mid-sentence. Sometimes she’d come home, drunk. That really upset me. Then she’d say all kinds of nasty things about me that weren’t true or were only half true. Those things would hurt me the most and once she saw the hurt in my eyes, she’d seem satisfied and would leave me alone.

  One Saturday afternoon, she came in the front door. She looked in pretty rough shape, her hair was dishevelled and her eyes were reddish and dopey-looking. She immediately went upstairs, as I expected. But a few minutes later, she came down, carrying one of her whiskey bottles.

  “Thought I’d keep you company today. I haven’t seen my big sister in such a long time. I’ll watch you clean up the place. It’s like an Indian having a white maid. Well, go ahead, don’t let me stop you. I’ll just go and get me a glass. I can drink this stuff straight, you know. Want to see?” She took a swig from the bottle, then smacked her lips.

  “Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, Cheryl, but I’ve already done the cleaning. And while you’re getting a glass, get me one, too, will you? There’s Coke in the fridge. I’m not up to drinking it straight.”

  Cheryl looked at me suspiciously, “Oh, I get it, if you can’t beat ’em, join ’em, eh? And what is poor, sweet Roger going to think?”

  “Doesn’t matter. Once I told you that, we were going to make it. Well, if you’re not going to try, then why should I?”

  “Oh, no. Don’t lay that crap on me, big sister. You turned your back on me a long time ago. You think I don’t know why you married Bob? It was to get away from me, that’s why. I’ll bet you wished you were an only child. I bet you wished I was dead.”