Dancing Through the Snow

by Jean Little

  Enid Bangs had doted on the brothers. Their presence had served as a buffer between her and Min. Min had never been allowed to get close to the little boys, but she did feel the emptiness their going left behind.

  Right after they had gone, she had heard Enid trying to get an appointment to see Mrs. Willis. Clearly, the person who took the call had asked Enid what it was about, but she had said she would wait until Mrs. Willis, who was home with the flu, returned.

  Before the receiver was back in its cradle, Min had guessed the truth. Enid might say she wanted a temporary break from being a foster mother, but really, she wanted to be rid of Min. They had never gotten along. Min had been shifted before. The Bangses were her fourth set of foster parents. Only with Robin Randall, her first foster mother, had everything gone beautifully — until John Randall’s job took him out of the province and Min had been placed with the Edwardses. Then it had been the Snyders. But the break had never happened just before Christmas. It seemed wrong.

  Mrs. Willis had not made it back to work until today. During the ten days they had waited, Min had felt the tension building inside her as the time crawled past. She was grateful to have school to go to while it lasted, and she stayed there as long as possible, claiming to be working on research for a project due in January. When the holidays began, she sought refuge in the public library instead.

  This afternoon, when she had come in, she had found her bed stripped of its sheets and most of her belongings jammed into a battered suitcase and the large backpack that had come with her to this foster home. Even the two posters Mrs. Willis had given her had been taken down.

  Enid Bangs had stuck her head in at the door and swept a satisfied glance over the bare room. “We have an appointment with Sybil Willis at five,” she said. “You’d better take anything else that’s yours along in case she has a new place for you to move to tonight. Hurry or we’ll be late. I have to go to the bank on the way.”

  Min thought of asking if she was coming back after the holidays, but there was no point. She waited to see if Enid would tell her or make excuses. She didn’t. She didn’t even pretend she was sorry.

  Perched on the edge of the bare mattress, Min looked up into the stolid face and longed to punch her one. But she knew Enid Bangs would tattle to Mrs. Willis. It would not be worth it.

  Then Min realized she had a better weapon that would be safe to use.

  “I’ll bet Jerry and Jordan are loving their new home,” she said softly. “It’s great, isn’t it, that they have a real mum and dad to love them at last?”

  She saw the thrust strike home.

  “They were happy with me,” Enid Bangs had said, turning her back and charging into the bathroom. Min had heard her grab a fistful of tissues and blow her nose like a trumpet.

  Min grinned. Then she shrugged off the memory of that small triumph and thought of their upcoming visit to the Children’s Aid office. Mrs. Willis had once told her, “Not one of your moves has been your fault, Min. We’ll find you the perfect placement yet.” Would she understand that this time, too, Min had done her best even though she and Mrs. Bangs were always at odds?

  Enid Bangs hustled up to Min now, stuffing some bills into her handbag and starting to lead the way across the parking lot. “Come along, Minerva, or we’ll be late.”

  My name is not Minerva, Min thought for the millionth time as she rose again. “Coming,” she said flatly, and started to round the bench.

  Coming and going, she muttered inside her head. That’s the story of my life. Coming and going and going and coming. Not that I care.

  But she knew she lied.

  2

  Kidnapped

  “COME ON, CHILD. MOVE!” Enid Bangs snapped.

  Min pushed her heavy feet in an attempt to go faster. They still dragged. She dreaded arriving at the office and seeing pity in Mrs. Willis’s eyes. Or, even worse, impatience.

  “I’m back in the recycle bin,” she muttered, too low for any ears but her own to catch.

  Although Enid Bangs was not watching her, Min kept her face blank just in case Enid turned her head. No way did she want the woman to glimpse the rage and despair boiling up inside her and have a chance to nag.

  She was almost at the van when a voice called to her from the door to The Bookshelf.

  “Hi. Where are you two off to?” Dr. Jessica Hart inquired.

  Her smiling dark eyes met Min’s as Enid Bangs explained grudgingly that they were going up to the Children’s Aid office.

  “We can’t stop,” Enid finished. “She’s already staying after hours on our account.”

  Min saw the doctor’s friendly smile change to a searching glance that measured the two of them up. Min loved those dark eyes. They were so caring after Enid Bangs’s hard blue stare. What’s wrong, child? they asked silently.

  Min’s eyes lifted to hers and cried out, equally silently, Help! Help me.

  Min’s shoulders were hunched and her thin face stayed locked and shuttered, allowing no smile to surface, no tears to brim over. Would Dr. Jess see? Min knew of no way she could help, but something inside her ached for a miracle. If anyone was a miracle worker, it would be this woman.

  Enid Bangs was still blathering on about how late they were.

  Blah, blah, blah! Min sneered. But it didn’t help.

  “I’m going that way myself. I have to drop something off at the hospital. So I’ll be right behind you,” Dr. Hart said. “Say hi to Sybil for me. Hang in there, Min.”

  Her voice was low and a bit husky. Min liked the sound of it. The woman had pulled off her mittens and her strong brown hand reached out to grasp Min’s shoulder. Enid Bangs scowled at the gesture, but the sure touch steadied Min. She knew somehow that the doctor had caught her silent appeal. She felt slightly less alone as she climbed into the back of Enid’s van and buckled her seat belt. It was as though she and Dr. Jess were true friends. She had felt it ever since that night she had been in the hospital with pneumonia. The intravenous needle in her arm and the ache in her chest had kept her awake. A nurse had bent over her, decided she was asleep and gone to check on another patient. Min, alone and afraid, had moaned softly. The next moment, she had heard someone speak gently next to her bed. “What’s the trouble, little one?” the voice had asked.

  Min had opened her eyes a crack and seen a tall woman smiling down at her. She had closed her eyes again and lain and waited. Then the woman, who she later learned was Dr. Jessica Hart, began to sing, her song driving away the terror that had gripped Min.

  The woman’s long black hair had been tied back with a leather thong at the nape of her neck. It had reminded Min of her own hair, which was growing long even then. She had drifted off to sleep listening and, next morning, had wondered if she had dreamed the whole thing.

  Now she let go of the memory and climbed into the van. She braced herself for the upcoming appointment. When they got there, she hefted her backpack and slung it over her shoulder. Enid Bangs noticed but made no comment except to give a small snort.

  “At last,” she muttered as they entered the Children’s Aid building on Delhi Street. As they headed for her caseworker’s office, Min suddenly saw that Enid Bangs was biting her lip and her forehead was damp with sweat. Maybe she, not Min, was the one who had failed, and she knew it. Could she be afraid Mrs. Willis would blame her for giving up on the kid she had agreed to foster?

  Min looked away, but she could not feel any real pity for a woman she knew had disliked her from the start. Instead, she felt sorry for herself, faced with one more painful discussion of all the ways she had failed.

  The receptionist in the outer office, who usually sat glued to her computer terminal until you spoke, was absent, and the computer was shut down. They went on into Mrs. Willis’s waiting room and seated themselves. It, too, was empty. Min and her foster mother waited in silence, not looking at each other or making conversation. All the other staff must have left for the day because the place, which was usually full of people la
ughing, arguing, talking in hushed voices or making new appointments, was eerily silent.

  Although she could not catch the words, Min could hear Mrs. Willis talking to someone on the phone. Finally she stopped and, a couple of minutes later, opened her office door and beckoned them in.

  “Wait here, Minerva,” Enid Bangs ordered, as Min got ready to rise. “I need to talk privately with Mrs. Willis.”

  “My name is not Minerva.” Min actually mumbled the words aloud this time.

  Nobody heard. She sat back down and watched Enid Bangs plod across the carpet into the office. Before she vanished, Min noted a blotchy flush spreading over the woman’s plump cheeks and knew that, in the next few moments, she would start bawling.

  Min herself despised people who blubbered. Crying let your guard down and made you easier to hurt. As the door banged shut behind the two women, Min set her jaw and sat, waiting for the pair to come out and reveal what they had decided to do with her next. Pressing her feet flat on the floor, she reached back automatically for the comfort of her braid. Her back was rigid, as though she had been carved out of stone like the family downtown. Or wood maybe. A totem-pole girl. But the thick rope of hair she clutched was warm and soft — and hers.

  Although she was alone in the room, her face kept its guarded expression. She wasn’t about to let what was going on inside her show on the outside.

  What are you thinking? her teachers and foster parents had constantly demanded.

  Nothing, she had answered over and over again, her voice flat, her secrets locked away in a box for which she held the only key.

  Why should she tell? She knew, from bitter experience, that confiding in anyone was dangerous. No adults could resist sharing your confidences with their trusted friends. Even if they promised to keep quiet, they clearly believed that breaking their word to a child did not count.

  To pass the time, she stared at the holly wreath hanging on Mrs. Willis’s door and the row of handmade tissue-paper snowflakes tacked up across one wall. Some were carelessly cut out and not at all pretty, but a few were delicate. She studied these few, convinced she could do better if she chose to. But why should she? Nobody had ever invited her to make such a pretty thing. All the dumb decorations told her was that Christmas was coming close.

  Min’s face grew even stonier. No matter where she was, Christmas would be awful — as usual.

  Behind the door, she could now hear Mrs. Bangs’s voice, shouting!

  Min bit her lip. If only Mrs. Willis would not try to get her to explain what had gone wrong this time. The true answer would be that Enid Bangs and she had rubbed each other the wrong way from the word go, but old Enid would never admit such a thing. When they were introduced and Min had not returned the woman’s smile, she had covered up her feelings at once with an even wider smile and a tight hug. Min had not pulled away. She had simply stood stiffly while the stranger squeezed her against her bulging front.

  Enid Bangs had been the one to back off. “Well, you’re a cool customer, I must say,” she had said with a loud laugh that was meant to hide her annoyance.

  Min was not fooled. “I don’t like being touched,” she had stated baldly. She knew it would sound rude, but she hoped to ward off future embraces.

  “My, my, we’ll see what we can do to change that,” the woman had said with another too-hearty laugh. “I’m a strong believer in hugging.”

  Min knew then and there that it was going to be bad. This woman had declared war. She would soften Min up or die trying. When their eyes met, it was like the first clash of swords in a duel. And now, after nearly a year of fencing, Min had won. After all, Enid had just marched into Mrs. Willis’s office to surrender, hadn’t she?

  But she would not admit she was beaten, not Enid Bangs. What lies was she telling? Min wished she had insisted on going in with her.

  Then something banged against the other side of the office door and accidentally sprung the latch. Min stared at the narrow line of light now showing. She held her breath. Would either of them notice? No. Min rose, without a sound, and sat down on the chair right next to the door. She had been told that eavesdropping was bad, but how else could she know what was being said about her? Nothing good, she was sure. She wanted to be ready to defend herself if necessary.

  Even though she knew they must be discussing her, Min’s head jerked up like that of a startled deer when the first thing she heard was her own name.

  “I understand that Min needs a place to stay while you go out west to visit your sick mother, but I don’t understand why you seem unwilling to take her back when you return. You yourself admit she does not lie or steal or talk back or run away or wet the bed or refuse to help with chores. She sounds almost too perfect,” Mrs. Willis said in a sharp voice. “Those are the usual reasons I am given when a child is returned here.”

  “She’s hard. You can never tell what she’s thinking,” Enid Bangs whined. “And she’s sly. Ralph feels it too. We can’t get close to her whatever we do. I don’t know how to explain, but I do know we have done our best, and we cannot go on fostering that child.”

  “Keep your voice down, Enid. She’s just outside. You know we do not shift children without cause. You must be a little more specific. I’ll have to fill out a report.”

  There was a moment of tense silence. Min could hear her foster mother starting to huff and puff like the Big Bad Wolf. When she began to snuffle, Min’s lip curled. Turning on the tears was one of the ways Enid Bangs ruled her household.

  “Faker,” she breathed.

  At that exact moment, the outer door to the waiting room opened quietly and Dr. Hart came in. Without taking time to think, Min put her finger to her lips. Dr. Hart stared at her, her forehead creasing in a puzzled frown. Min pointed and both of them heard the raised voices. Dr. Hart started toward the door. She reached for the knob and then stopped with her hand frozen in mid-air as the two voices came clearly through the crack. “Heartless, I tell you,” Enid said.

  “That’s not true,” Sybil Willis replied.

  Jess Hart shot another glance at Min’s face. After a moment, she picked up the other straight chair and set it down silently right next to Min’s. She perched on its edge, clearly ready to move, but waiting for a few moments to check out what was happening. Without exchanging a word, the two of them sat side by side and listened.

  “It’s as if there’s nobody living inside the girl. She gives me the creeps and I can’t make it clearer than that. Even the little Keating boys weren’t drawn to her. Ralph agrees. We can’t keep fostering her any longer, neither one of us.”

  Min sat absolutely still, hoping that the women discussing her so brutally would not guess they were being overheard. She ducked her head lower, trying not to be noticed. When Dr. Hart’s warm, strong hand reached out and silently closed over her clenched fist, Min’s spirits rose a little and her face relaxed. Dr. Jess would not betray her or change sides and turn against her.

  “I assume you are unwilling to take another child right away,” Mrs. Willis said, her voice hot with unmistakable anger. “When my husband ran into Ralph at the supermarket yesterday, he told him you were planning to visit your mother. My husband asked if she was ill and Ralph said she was not. You must bring him up to date.”

  At that, Enid burst out, “I’m exhausted, I tell you. It isn’t just me, Sybil. Everyone knows the child was abandoned at the Ex when she was two or three. No one in her right mind would throw away a normal child in that fashion. She must have done something to bring it on.”

  “That is enough, Enid!” Mrs. Willis snapped in a voice that came straight from the Arctic waste. They heard the scrape of her chair being pushed back abruptly. “When are you leaving?”

  “After lunch tomorrow. I couldn’t let you know sooner. I tried to get in to see you last week, but they told me you were home with flu.”

  “I was. Where’s Min’s stuff? I presume you brought her belongings with you if you are leaving so soon.”

&nb
sp; For five seconds there was no sound but Enid Bangs’s laboured breathing. Then she spat, her words thick with rage, “She brought her backpack in with her. I’ve got everything else that’s hers in the van outside. I’ll leave the suitcase at the front desk. In case you’ve forgotten, Ralph and I have fostered over a dozen children and nobody has ever spoken to me the way you did today. He will be very upset when I tell him how I’ve been treated. Now I am going.”

  “Go, by all means. I’ll find somewhere for Min to stay. You can use the other door. I’ll say goodbye to her for you. Usually we try to help children find closure, but it seems to me that you and Min have gone beyond any peaceful parting.”

  “It’s not just me, I tell you!” Enid shouted suddenly. “Natalie Snyder told me she couldn’t keep her — and they had her for three years. And there was someone before that. What do you suppose the child did to make someone abandon her?”

  “Stop it, Enid.”

  “I’m sorry, but I’m sure that girl did something to bring this on. It’s her own fault.”

  Her fault … Her fault …

  As the dark, heavy words struck Min, she froze. Her eyes stretched wide and her vision blurred. Her throat closed so she could not breathe or swallow. Unable to stir, she waited for the avalanche of hate looming above her to come thundering down.

  At the same moment Jess Hart sprang up and flung the office door wide. Enid Bangs, who was standing, glaring at the caseworker, stumbled back against her chair. She let out a shriek like a train whistle and went plum-coloured to the roots of her hair.

  “Not another word!” Jess Hart bellowed at her.

  Min dragged a gasping breath into her starved lungs. Then she stood up and took shelter behind the doctor, who seemed to have grown taller and be about to go into battle for her. Such a thing had never happened before.