by Laura Best
Chapter Twenty
It is a long way to drive in the heat and a long time for Flora and Davey to sit still. Uncle Tom has already stopped the car once because Davey was car sick and he says it’s a good thing we don’t make this trip every week. Before we left we packed a picnic lunch of potato salad, fried chicken, and chocolate cake and set it in a basket. We even took plates and mugs and some forks and knives from home because we knew it would be an all-day trip. I didn’t put any frosting on the cake because Uncle Tom said it would melt in the heat and end up smeared all over everything. Davey moaned on account of there being no frosting and Jesse told him not to act as though it was the end of the world.
Jesse and I are sitting in the back seat. I can tell Jesse doesn’t want to miss a thing, the way he’s sitting with his head turned toward the window. Sometimes Uncle Tom calls out about something he sees along the way. Then Jesse and I grab fast to the back of the front seat and try to get as close to the windshield as possible.
Uncle Tom says it’s only right that we visit Mama at least once or twice a year. Today is our first visit since we left last summer and moved in with Uncle Tom in Nanny Gordon’s house.
The policemen took Jesse with them that day at the house. Jesse held his head high when he walked past the group of onlookers, unashamed of the way he had fought to protect us all. I was proud of the way both Reese and Uncle Tom stood up for Jesse, telling the police that we’d only just lost our mother a few months back and were still in shock over her death. Uncle Tom told them they should be glad that there had been a peaceful resolution and that no one was injured. When the policemen said we had unlawfully buried Mama, Jesse told them that we’d laid Mama to rest in the cemetery outback. Reese spoke to the fact that the old cemetery would be considered a proper burial ground and to prove it he told Jesse to take them out and show them where the other tombstones were.
“There wasn’t but the one shell in the entire house and Jesse only shot that as a warning,” I heard Reese tell them.
They turned the house upside down that day and even searched Jesse’s pockets, but of course they couldn’t find a single shell. They didn’t think to look in the damp dark cellar, and I’m not sure they would have found anything even if they had—it’s too dark down there to see something as small as a shotgun shell lying on the floor. Jesse doesn’t know that when I took the gun from the closet and slammed the door it caused a shell to fall off the shelf. Jesse thought there was only one shell, the one that was in the gun. But there was another one, which I slipped into my dress pocket before I handed Jesse the gun. I can’t explain why I hid the truth from Jesse, but something told me it was right. When the police tried to break down the door, I pulled the shell from my pocket and threw it over my shoulder.
I don’t know how they did it, but Reese and Uncle Tom finally talked the police out of pressing any charges, although now someone from the Children’s Aid drops by the house once a month to make sure we’re staying out of trouble. Uncle Tom always laughs when they leave and says, “They just want to see if I’m feeding you.”
It turns out that it was that busybody Mrs. McFarland who told Mr. Dixon about our situation. It seems that her husband saw Daddy in Bridgewater, buying himself a train ticket. Daddy was never one to keep things to himself, so it was no surprise to learn that Mr. McFarland had overheard Daddy telling someone that Mama had died recently.
We haven’t seen Daddy, not since the day he left. I think Mama was right, though; Daddy is a restless spirit, one who may never settle down. Knowing that doesn’t stop Flora from crying out for Daddy in her sleep, but time has a way of easing the hurt and it been months now since Flora woke in the night.
Our first stop is to visit with Reese Buchanan. When we pull up, Reese is working in his woodpile. Davey and Flora bolt from the car and run toward him. The moment Reese sees who it is, he throws down his axe and drops to one knee. Davey and Flora climb all over him, laughing and squealing with excitement. I see a flicker of sadness in Reese’s eyes even though I can tell he is putting on a brave face. I am sure he has missed us this past year as much as we’ve missed him.
“Look how you’ve all grown,” says Reese. He tousles Jesse’s hair and Jesse gives him a playful nudge. “Pru, you’re a young lady now. And Miss Flora, who stole your front teeth?” he asks. Flora gives a wide-angled smile and says they fell out on their own.
“If this keeps up you’ll have to get yourself a set of those false ones like the old folks wear,” says Reese, and it sends Flora into a fit of laughter.
Uncle Tom has brought his camera and we stand in front of the lilac bush to have our picture snapped with Reese. The sun is over Uncle Tom’s shoulder and it shines directly in our faces, but it is the only way to take a picture outdoors and have it turn out properly.
Uncle Tom surprised us one day with pictures of Mama, pictures that Nanny Gordon took when Mama and Uncle Tom were growing up. There’s one of Mama in pigtails, wearing a million dollar smile and a pretty cotton dress, sitting beside a lake with Uncle Tom. There’s even one of Mama and Gran Hannah.
“See the devil in Gran Hannah’s eye?” laughed Uncle Tom when he showed me. “You never knew what she was up to.”
My favourite picture of Mama was taken on her wed–ding day. She and Daddy are standing in front of Nanny Gordon’s house. Mama is holding a bouquet of wildflowers and there’s a rose tucked in her hair. They both look happy. I try and imagine myself in the past, looking on as Nanny Gordon would have when she took the picture, but it is impossible. I see the look of hope in Mama’s eyes, feel the promise so deep in her soul, and see her whole life spread before her. Knowing as I do the way it all would end I have to stop myself from crying.
We take our picnic lunch to Torment Lake and spread a blanket on the beach. Reese did not want to come, but Uncle Tom insisted. By the look on Reese’s face I think now that he is glad he came. He’s at the water’s edge, pant legs rolled to his knees. Jesse and Flora and Davey are all trying to coax him into the water. But he is not getting wet, he says.
A gentle breeze is blowing across the lake. It blows the hair from around my face as I stand high on a rock overlooking the water and watch some loons bobbing in the waves. They do not appear to notice anyone in the water with them and continue their journey toward the shoreline. They dive below the water and come up not far from where Jesse is swimming. The moment Jesse sees the loons he swims out to meet them, his arms beating madly on the water. Again they slip below the surface and dis–appear. Jesse stops to see where they will break surface.
We eat our lunch on the beach. Reese and Uncle Tom rave on about my cooking and I know my face is red. I tell them it’s only potato salad and chicken and that anyone who can read can follow a recipe. Uncle Tom laughs and says he’s gained ten pounds since we came to live with him.
After lunch, we drop Reese off at his house and go far–ther down the road to visit with Mama. I don’t tell anyone about the many times I’ve seen Mama in the dark. I take my turn standing by the white cross Reese made to mark Mama’s grave. We all lay down flowers and then we tell Uncle Tom about the celebration of the pink slippers and about the parade we dressed up for. We tell him about the “If only…” game we used to play and Jesse tells him we don’t have to play it anymore. We talk about the times Mama took us to the woods with her to look for plants and berries.
“Issy always liked the woods,” says Uncle Tom. “She spent hours there with Gran Hannah.”
I do not tell Uncle Tom that I already know these things, nor do I tell him that I have seen the glint in Gran Hannah’s eyes and her soft puckered smile. I do not tell him that I have felt her small warm hand slip inside mine as she stands on my right and Mama on my left. And he would surely not understand our many adventures deep in the woodlands of Nova Scotia.
At night I close my eyes and travel back to the Dalhousie Road. I wait for a few moments and before I know it I am stepping over the threshold of the house we once lived in,
the house Daddy promised he’d buy for Mama, only he ended up leaving us all behind. When Mama comes out to meet me she is pretty and plump just the way Nanny Gordon liked. There is not even the slightest sign of sick–ness on her face. She is wearing the pink slippers Flora and I bought at the rummage sale and she grabs my hand and we run off toward the woods in search of plants. Mama goes over them all with me, pointing out each plant and its uses. She shows me leaves and berries and I listen as closely as I can to pull her sweet voice across time. When Mama can’t remember the name of a plant or bush, Gran Hannah is never far away.
During the day when I am not at school I write it all down, all the things Mama and Gran Hannah show me. Last week Uncle Tom brought home a plant book from the library and I looked up deadly nightshade and copied the important parts from the book down in my pages:
Nightshade or Bittersweet: This plant is sometimes called “deadly nightshade” because its leaves and unripe fruit con–tain alkaloid solanine. Some of the symptoms of poisoning include vomiting, thirst, lethargy, and laboured breathing. The toxin is not normally fatal when used for medicinal purposes and the dosages are carefully measured. The berries change from shiny green to bright red. The purple flowers hang down in clusters and each flower has a yellow beak at its center. The Bittersweet plant was used as a charm many years ago in England to counter the effects of magic.
I have underlined the sentence that says the toxin is not normally fatal, even though I sometimes wonder if that would still hold true with Mama being as sick as she was. But I can’t let that thought consume me because, like Mama used to say, it’s hard enough to live with what is, let alone ignoring what could be.
One day I told Jesse about the tea Mama asked me to make. I knew it was time he heard. He listened while I spoke and did not interrupt.
“You were there when Mama needed you,” he said. “You did what she asked and it’s okay.” I don’t know why, but Jesse’s words released something inside me. Tears filled my eyes and I felt a great relief.
Dusk is settling in as we climb back into the car to begin the long trip back to Annapolis. Flora rests her head against Uncle Tom’s shoulder. I hear her yawn and I know that soon she will be fast asleep. We go through The Ridge and follow the narrow winding road shaded by hard–wood, travelling up past the Forty-Seven River and over the Camel Hills. It is all so familiar, every turn and dip in the road, for it is the way I travel at night when I’m on my way to visit Mama.
We drive with the windows partway down, a warm July breeze blowing in on us. Before we turn off the dirt road and onto the paved highway to Annapolis, Davey turns around in the front seat and waves goodbye. Jesse and I both turn and watch the dirt road disappear from our sight.
I do not feel as though we are leaving anything behind. It will all be there for us the next time we come through. In the meantime, I have Mama and Gran Hannah to talk to. I know what it is like to visit with the old people, the ones who came before. I have their love and their wisdom, which has been passed down with each generation. The words are all written down on paper now, and they are not just for me and Flora and Davey and Jesse, but for all of those who will come after. This will be our story.
Acknowledgements
My sincere thanks to Caitlin Drake and everyone at Nimbus, to my family and friends for their words of encouragement, and to the community of East Dalhousie, Nova Scotia. Your faithful support has meant a great deal.
And to Brian; your love and support has meant the most.
