The chattering of the audience subsided.
“They look like statues,” whispered Elsie.
“They’re waiting for the music,” said Scoop.
Someone in the row ahead giggled as the silence continued. Then suddenly the gramophone started again. First a hissing crackle. Then a familiar tune. “I know that song,” said Elsie.
“They’re not very good, are they?” said Scoop. He was right. One minute the woman was trying to keep up with the man. And in the next moment, his steps lagged behind hers. No bright glittering ball sent showers of light down onto them, as it had on the poster. And although Elsie caught a glimpse of a ring flashing on the man’s hand, these dancers looked almost as dowdy as the other couples.
At last their turn was over. They bowed to the audience, although not many people paid much attention. The woman stood with her hand tucked into the man’s arm as they watched more dancers shuffle through the curtain onto the dance floor.
“I don’t know what all the fuss is about,” said Scoop. “Those toffs were no better than the others. You wanna go now? They’re not here, you know. I’ve looked and looked. We must have imagined it. Anyway. I’m hungry.”
“Mother must be here. She must.”
“I don’t see her.”
“Just wait, will you!” Elsie felt like a lump of cold clay as she stared at the sad bunch of dancers who seemed to hardly know they were being watched. Or if they did, didn’t care. The thought that she had been mistaken, that Uncle Dannell and Mother were not here, that no one knew where they were, made her whole body so heavy she could hardly get up.
“What’s this, then?” said Scoop.
The fancy man stood in front of the dancers, looking up into the audience again. “We now have a special treat. This is the time when you, the audience, have the chance to see the very special talent of our competitors here,” he said. “Now’s your chance to send down pennies from heaven.” He looked up into the high rafters and laughed at his own little joke. “My friend here will randomly select one lucky couple who will perform their party piece. Just as Miss Driver and I did for your entertainment and amusement.”
“I wasn’t very entertained.” Scoop’s voice was so loud that two women turned around and frowned at him. A man farther along their bench laughed.
“Hush,” said Elsie. “I want to see what’s going to happen.”
The man was still speaking. “We ask that you shower our talented competitors with whatever few coins you can spare. Silver Rain, we call it. So, as you can imagine, to make the best show today, nickels and dimes are most welcome.”
“Have you got any more money?” asked Scoop.
Elsie ignored him.
“Let’s acknowledge the talent we have here before us,” said the man. “Our fortunate pair will be permitted to keep your contributions, so I’m sure you will be generous.” He turned to his partner. “Miss Driver. Who is to be today’s lucky couple?”
She stepped across the floor and circled the dancers. Then she stopped beside one pair and put her arms around them.
For a moment, the man staggered as if he might fall. But when his partner touched his arm, he stood a little straighter.
Elsie gasped. He was thinner than she remembered. But she recognized the man’s sandy hair and the thin mustache above his top lip. Uncle Dannell!
“Ouch. Leggo!” Scoop peeled her fingers from his knee, and Elsie clenched her hands in her lap. She held her breath. If that was Uncle Dannell, surely his partner must be…
The woman at Uncle Dannell’s side lifted her head as if it was too heavy for her neck. She set her shoulders back and took a deep breath that seemed to draw air right from the bottom of her feet. Elsie watched, hardly daring to breathe as Uncle Dannell stood closer to the woman as she began to sing, her voice so thin and wavery that if Elsie had not already known the song by heart, she might not have recognized it.
Her mother was singing a song she and Father often danced to. “Ten Cents a Dance,” it was called. Which was just what she and Scoop had each paid to come in!
“I knew it!” whispered Scoop. “There’s your mother.”
Elsie couldn’t answer. She couldn’t even move. All she could do was watch the singer take another deep breath to start another verse.
“Mother!”
Only when Scoop hissed, “And that’s your uncle too!” did Elsie realize she had spoken aloud.
She stood up and called, “Mother!” Her cry echoed into the rafters above her head, loud enough for the people around her to turn toward her. And for the singer below to stop, as if she had woken from a long sleep, to look around the bleachers that surrounded the dance floor. And then to gaze up. Up, up. To where Elsie stood.
“Mother!” Elsie waved to her mother, who seemed so far away.
The sudden noise that followed was like the buzz of a thousand bees. It was, in fact, the sound of dozens of voices telling Elsie to sit down, to be quiet, so they could hear the rest of the song. And of others calling for quiet so the dancer could hear her daughter’s voice.
Elsie turned this way and that as the noise of the crowd rose toward the ceiling. Then, in a lull, she heard her mother’s frail voice calling up to her, “Elsie?”
“It’s me, Mother. It’s me…”
Through the titters and chatter, Scoop yelled, “Be quiet. Everyone. Hush. Let her finish her song!” His bony hand gripped Elsie’s, crunching the bones in her fingers together. “Let her finish. So people can throw down the Silver Rain. Pennies from heaven, just like the man said.” He yanked on Elsie’s arm, urging her to sit down.
She yanked back until he let go. She stared down through the shadows to the dance floor below, where her mother stood with Uncle Dannell beside her.
Scoop’s fingers found Elsie’s again and gave them another hard squeeze. “Let her finish,” he hissed.
Elsie looked around at everyone who had turned to stare at her. She looked back down toward the dance floor below. Now that she had found her mother and Uncle Dannell, she could wait a little longer. “All right. Sing, Mother,” said Elsie. She cleared her throat and called again more loudly, her voice ringing out like a bell to where her mother and uncle stood at the edge of the dance floor so far away. Her words sailed through the air, as clear as day. “Finish the song, Mother.”
Then Elsie took off her hat and sat down with it held tight in her lap. Scoop sat beside her, holding her hand as her mother’s lovely voice, getting stronger and stronger as the song went on, drifted toward her, as if she was singing for Elsie alone.
When she was done, Mother stood with Uncle Dannell’s arm around her, looking up at Elsie. Elsie and Scoop clapped and clapped, their applause drowned out by the cheers and applause of spectators standing in the bleachers all around them.
As the applause died, one coin fell through the air. It landed on the hard ground like a drop of rain on a roof. Then another coin and another fell in a shower, spinning and turning, glinting and shining. Until Elsie’s mother and uncle stood in the downpour of coins that flew through the air and fell at their feet, rolling across the floor until all around them the Silver Rain lay like bright puddles after a storm.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Elsie scurried over the rows of seats, pushing between chattering spectators to make her way down to the dance floor. She rushed to her mother and put her arms around her and held her tight, while her uncle rested his hand on her back, not saying a word. Scoop scuttled across the floor on his hands and knees, scrambling for every dime and nickel that had been thrown down.
The fancy man tried to persuade them to go back to their seats so the dance could go on. Letty Driver’s bright mouth gleamed as she bullied Mother and Uncle Dannell with all kinds of fancy words like “breach of contract” and “reneging on agreements.” Finally, a man in a shabby tweed coat barged out from behind the curtain and threatened to have Scoop and Elsie arrested for trespassing. “Get out of here, you brats!” he shouted. He gave Els
ie a hard shove in the back. “You’re interfering with the proceedings.”
“You should be ashamed of yourself!” Elsie screamed at him. She was not surprised by the words that flew out of her mouth. And Scoop didn’t even look up from the floor. But Mother and Uncle Dannell stared at Elsie in surprise.
“Can’t you see you almost killed them?” she shouted at the dance marathon man. “This isn’t dancing. It’s true what the Reverend said. This is just explode…it’s explo…”
Scoop stood up, his pockets jingling. “Exploitation,” he said. “That’s what it is. You’ve been taking advantage of everyone. This is a crooked deal. Anyone can see.”
A call from the bleachers of “Hear, hear!” was followed by a loud mixture of hoots, cheers and applause.
“Exploitation. That’s the word,” said Elsie. “It’s exploitation. Now I’m taking my mother and uncle home. And you can’t stop me.”
At first Uncle Dannell tried to argue. “We’re almost there, I can feel it,” he said. Just like he talked about all the other schemes that got him in trouble before.
Ignoring him, Elsie took Mother aside. “Nan has some news,” she said. “There’s a letter from Father.” Her mother’s tired face brightened as Elsie went on to whisper about the dollar bills tucked in Nan’s pocket.
“Let me tell your uncle,” said Mother when Elsie had finished. She put her thin hand on Uncle Dannell’s arm and talked quietly into his ear. So quietly that no one else could overhear. But it was not as if Mother was telling Elsie’s uncle a secret, thought Elsie. This was family business.
Uncle Dannell finally nodded and patted Mother’s arm. He hugged Elsie without saying a word and nodded once at Scoop, who had just pocketed the last dime from the floor. Then Uncle Dannell walked through the curtain and collected Mother’s and his belongings.
Elsie, Uncle Dannell, Mother and Scoop left the dance hall together while Mr. Hayden Lyle sputtered and swore, and, all around them, the crowd chattered like a flock of startled birds.
“Elsie looked for you everywhere,” Scoop told her mother and uncle when they were out of sight of Taylor’s Clothing factory. It took them a while, as Mother and Uncle Dannell walked so slowly.
Scoop was being the gentleman and was carrying their bags.
“I looked for Father too,” Elsie said. “I went to the shantytown. But he wasn’t there.” Elsie rubbed her thumb across Mother’s palm. “Then we found out about the marathon, and the Reverend took us to see it, and I thought I saw you. That’s why we came back. Then Nan got a letter. She wouldn’t tell me who it was from at first. She said it was grown-up business.” She was getting everything mixed-up. But there was so much to tell. “And I’m not like Dog Bob. I don’t have the instincts to keep everyone together. But I tried. The letter came ages ago, but Nan didn’t tell me about it until today. It was a secret,” she added.
They stood in a huddle on the sidewalk while Mother and Uncle Dannell took a breather. Scoop sat on Mother’s suitcase. Uncle Dannell picked up a cigarette butt from the pavement and flicked the dust off it, just like Elsie had seen hoboes do a million times. Mother’s fingers were tight on Elsie’s shoulders now. “You told me about the letter from Father. And about the money. But is he coming home?” She leaned over to stare into Elsie’s eyes. “If you know, you must tell me,” she said. “Even if she told you not to say, I will make it right with Nan.”
At her mother’s words, it felt as if all the weight she had been carrying around since Father left and Mother and Uncle Dannell disappeared and Dog Bob got stolen was suddenly lifted off Elsie’s shoulders. Like a huge sack she no longer had to carry. She felt so light she could fly away. “The man Father works for in Winnipeg has a brother in Kerrisdale. He’ll give Father a job. So he can come home. If you let him, he will come home.”
Elsie held her breath as her mother turned her wedding band on her finger and frowned into the distance.
Scoop was watching them now. So was Uncle Dannell.
“Can Father come home?” Elsie asked. She felt as shaky as she had standing in front of the hoboes in the shantytown. “Can he?”
Her mother turned slowly toward Elsie and touched her shoulder, her face still serious. Elsie didn’t dare move as she felt her mother’s fingers stroking her cheek.
At last Mother smiled—so widely it was if her whole face changed. Once again she looked like the person Elsie had known before the Depression came. Before the bank took away the jewelry business and the Tipsons bought their house. Before they moved into the garage and Father ran away.
“Of course he can,” said Mother quietly. “Isn’t it what we wanted all along?” She bent down to pick up her suitcase, but Scoop beat her to it. “Now, don’t you think we should hurry?” she said. “Your grandmother will be wondering where you are. We all have a lot to tell her.”
We’ll tell Nan everything, thought Elsie. Whether she likes it or not.
Finally the family fractions will work out. And there will be no more secrets.
“There’s a dog waiting for me, I hope.” Uncle Dannell waggled his eyebrows at Elsie. “I’m sure you’ve been taking care of him the way you promised.”
When Scoop opened his mouth to speak, Elsie quickly grabbed her mother’s suitcase from him. “I’ll carry this.” The story of how she saved Dog Bob from the hoboes could wait for another time.
Mother looped one arm through Uncle Dannell’s arm. “Come on. We’re dead on our feet.”
“Hey, Scoop. Where’s all the money you picked up?” asked Elsie, as she hauled the suitcase along.
Scoop put down Uncle Dannell’s duffel bag and shoved his hands in his pants pockets. They jingled as he shook them. “It’s all here. Every penny and nickel and dime of the Silver Rain.”
“Let’s hope there’s enough to pay your nan that nine dollars I owe her,” said Uncle Dannell.
For a moment Elsie couldn’t think what her uncle meant. Then she remembered the argy-bargy with the pay-packet raffle. “Nan will have to let you come home too, won’t she?”
They were at their own driveway now. This time Elsie did not even glance at her old house as they passed it. She couldn’t care less if Jimmy Tipson was staring down at her from the bedroom that used to be hers. She didn’t need to check the mailbox.
She set Mother’s suitcase on the ground and pulled her hat down tightly on her head. Then, picking up the luggage and looking straight ahead, Elsie led her family home.
DANCE MARATHON
CLOSED DOWN
LOCAL CHILDREN EXPOSE
RACKET THAT INFLICTS
INDIGNITY AND DEGRADATION
BY JAMES FORREST WITH FILES FROM
“ SCOOP ” STYLES AND ELSIE MILLER
SPECIAL TO THE COLUMBIAN
VANCOUVER , MARCH 16, 1932 . With great daring and enterprise, two local children, Elsie Miller and Ernest (Scoop) Styles, both 11, recently gained access to the dance mar athon taking place in the old Taylor’s Clothing building on Terminal Avenue. There, they learned more than any child should know about what desperate people are willing to do to make money to feed themselves and their families.
“Dancing should be for celebrating. Not as a means of exploitation,” says social activist Reverend Hampton of St. Mary’s church, Oak Street. “In these places, people dance beyond endurance for the chance to win what is advertised to be a significant prize.”
But as the children found out, that money is rarely available to the dance ‘winners.’ Huge sums are deducted for the dancers’ food, nursing care, even the cost of renting a cot for ten-minute breaks every marathons hour during the marathon dance. Many last as long as 30 days.
“I might not approve of how they went about it,” says Nan Davies, 69. “But my granddaughter and her friend showed great tenacity when they set out to find out where my daughter had gone, when she signed on for the marathon as a way out of our present position.”
Thanks to the in tervention of these two young people, Mrs. Davies
’s daughter, Peg Miller, is now happily returned to home and hearth, enjoying a heart warming reunion with her family. And the house hold situation is likely to improve with the return of Mr. Miller, who in the pas t months found employment in Winnipeg in his chosen profession. He returns home, and to an offer of employment in Vancouver, on Thursday.
Fraud charges are pending against the marathon organizer, Mr. Hay den Lyle of London, Ontario.
NORTH POLE
BARBER SHOP
1638 Terminal Avenue
We shave two heads for
the price of one
EVERY TUESDAY
DROP BY AND GET
LATHERED UP
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Barry Broadfoot’s Ten Lost Years 1929-1939: Memories of Canadians Who Survived the Depression provided me with insights into what life was like for so many people in the Depression, told in their own voices.
As always, I must thank Douglas Brunt for his patience and encouragement, and my editor, Sarah Harvey, who helps bring out the best in my writing and the stories I want to tell.
LOIS PETERSON wrote short stories and articles for adults for twenty years before writing Meeting Miss 405, her first novel for children. Her next children’s book was The Ballad of Knuckles McGraw. She was born in England and has lived in Iraq, France and the United States. She now lives in Surrey, British Columbia, where she works as a fundraiser and in a public library, writes, reads and teaches creative writing to adults, teens and children.
Silver Rain Page 11
