All Fall Down

by Jean Little

  Mother folded up the letter and then told us she had checked the amount we had in the bank. There’s enough to cover our expenses until we go, if we are careful. She took a deep breath and said a few of Father’s friends paid back what they owed, so some of his debts are paid now. She has arranged to auction off most of our belongings to cover the rest. She thinks the dining room furniture and the piano will bring a good price.

  Olivia screamed, “You cannot sell the piano. Father bought it for me. It’s mine!”

  I admit that the idea of selling the piano shocked me too, but Mother said Olivia must just hope there would be a piano she could play where we are going. She added that we would have to sell John’s telescope too, and he was not making a fuss about that.

  Olivia did not care tuppence about that telescope. To tell the truth, I don’t think John treasures it himself. Father got it for him when he was twelve or so but it has never worked that well. John was excited about it when he got it, but he hasn’t set it up for ages.

  Olivia kept raging until John told her to be still. She glared at him but she did hush up. When he orders us around, he sounds like Father.

  When she was quiet, he turned and asked Mother if she had found out what we could get for the ring.

  I did not know what he meant, but Mother did.

  “You know that ring is Abby’s, John,” she said, staring at his angry face. “What it’s worth is not your concern.”

  I knew nothing of any ring which belonged to me. Mother looked tired enough to drop. She patted my hand.

  “I will explain this to you one of these days, Abby. Now is not the time,” she said.

  “If it is something that we could sell,” I broke in, “something you could get some money for —”

  “No,” Mother snapped, before John or Olivia could say a word. “Leave it be.”

  Then she marched out to the kitchen and started packing dishes we never use. I felt I might try raging too, but I knew it wouldn’t help. I ran upstairs and slammed my bedroom door. Then Davy started to wail and I had to run back down.

  I am not used to growing angry at Mother. It was horrible.

  Monday, June 30, 1902

  Davy is fed and now he’s asleep again. But that is not what I want to write about.

  After supper, when I was sorting through some old books, John came down the hall past Olivia and me and went into the parlour where Mother was writing letters. I watched and listened, hoping I would find out more about that ring or Uncle Martin’s family.

  Mother looked up and waited for him to join her. Then she said quietly, “You do wish to come west with us, John, or am I wrong?”

  Instead of answering her, he said in a cold voice, “You told them about Davy. Do they also know about Abby?”

  Mother did not answer. She just got up and closed the door with a bang. As it swung shut, I heard her say, “For pity’s sake, boy, give this up.”

  What did John mean? Was this more about the mysterious ring? I wanted to demand an explanation, but I couldn’t, not after the way she closed the door.

  I slipped outside and stood by the open window, hoping to hear something more. I only caught one phrase before Olivia came after me. She grabbed my arm and pulled me back into the house without saying a word. I was furious, but I knew Mother would have hated me eavesdropping. All I caught was the phrase “no blood relation.”

  “You leave me be,” I hissed at Olivia.

  “Then don’t snoop,” she shot back.

  I stared at her. I wanted to ask if she knew what they were talking about. But she wouldn’t tell me if she did. And she doesn’t. I could tell by the look in her eyes. She was as bewildered as I. I turned my back on her and went to fetch Davy. When I came back, I put him down on the carpet.

  Olivia looked at him as though he were dirt under her shoe. “Do take him away, Abby,” she said. “Mrs. Chambers said she might drop by after Prayer Meeting for a cup of tea with Mother. He shouldn’t be here. Just look at him!”

  I looked. He was drooling a little, but he cannot help that. His eyes slant a bit and they are small. I had brushed his hair earlier, but it had grown a bit tousled. I wiped his mouth off with his bib and smoothed his hair. His face is a bit flat, I guess, but what is wrong with that? He looks fine to me. But not to my sister. When she looks at him, she sees a different boy.

  So I lugged him out to the kitchen and plunked him down in the tin tub for his bath. He shrieked with joy. Holding onto him is not easy, but it is fun to watch him getting so excited.

  Olivia is honest, at least. She does not pretend to love him. Maybe it is because of her being with Mother when she had such a hard time bringing him into the world. But I was there too and, next to Mother, I love him better than anyone.

  July 1902

  Tuesday, July 1, 1902

  Ever since yesterday, I have been remembering the day Davy was born. His birthing took over ten hours, and he was blue and not breathing when he came out, feet first. It frightened both of us and I believe even Mrs. Nasenby, the midwife, was afraid in those first moments. She slapped the poor mite and, the minute he gulped in his first breath, she held his naked body out and told Olivia to wash him off and wrap him in a blanket while she tended to our mother.

  He did not look fine then. He was slippery and a reddish blue and streaked with blood. But alive!

  Olivia shrank back, shouted, “No!” and ran out of the room. So Mrs. N. pushed him into my arms instead.

  He was so pitiful. His body was stiff and hard to hold. I could tell that he had to fight for every breath he drew. He was one of the homeliest babies I had ever laid eyes on, but I loved him from that first moment.

  I washed him off with warm water and wrapped him in a bath towel and held him against my shoulder.

  “Is he dying?” I asked her. It was hard to get the words out around the great lump in my throat but she heard me.

  She shot me a look and muttered, “Let’s hope so.”

  I clutched my new brother tighter, needing to keep him safe from all the world.

  Then Olivia burst in with a pot of tea. She did not even glance at the baby. I asked if she wanted to hold him. She stared at me.

  “No,” she said. “He makes my skin crawl. Look at him. He’s hardly human.”

  I could not believe she meant it. But I think she still sees him that way. And John feels much the same. They are ashamed of him, as though he can’t be ours.

  Mother nearly died in those first days. Mrs. Nasenby said she thought it was from losing too much blood. Olivia did everything she could to help Mother recover, everything but reach out to the baby.

  I must stop. My hand is aching and so is my heart as I remember that day.

  Later

  From that first day, it felt, to me, as though Davy was mine. I was the person chosen to hold him and keep him safe from harm. I was supposed to be starting school, but nobody spoke of it and I stayed home.

  Mother was slow to recover. Caring for him was left to me. It was not easy. I felt all thumbs. His mouth was smaller than a regular baby’s and he had trouble keeping hold of a nipple and then swallowing. I had to use an eye dropper often. He cried a lot and choked in a frightening way. But even though he was so weak, Mother encouraged me, and between us we managed.

  I think maybe the school sent someone to ask where I was and Mother arranged for Miss Radcliffe to teach me at home.

  Did I mind not going? I have never said so, but I did. I did miss going. But I loved having lessons with Miss Radcliffe.

  I must stop writing and get to sleep. Morning comes fast in the summer and there is still so much to do.

  Wednesday, July 2, 1902

  It is twenty days since Father was killed. Nightmare days. I lay awake most of the night thinking of the things John had let slip.

  His feelings about Davy came straight from Father, who said, often, that Davy “would be better off with his own kind.” He also said, “Looking after him is too much for your mother,”
and, “If only she would face it.”

  Thank goodness we won’t hear this ever again once we leave. John might think it, but Mother won’t let him speak the words.

  I believe John and Olivia both worry that their friends will think Davy is the way he is because of something in his heredity. Mother says they are wrong.

  But what did John think Mother should have told Uncle Martin about me? I wish I could ask. I also wish I knew what she meant the day Father died when she said, “I knew I could not do without you, Abby.” I still don’t understand it.

  I was putting down my book when Davy called. He has no proper words to use, but sometimes, he almost says my name.

  “Aa … ee,” he would call. Mostly I just answer him by reaching out and stroking his cheek, but not this morning. I sat up with a jerk, gathered him into my arms and held him tight.

  “Oh, Davy,” I whispered into his ear. “Oh, dearest Davy! You and I are going to the far west.”

  My whisper tickled. He ducked his head and then he did his best to wrap his stubby arms around my neck. He was not worried by anything. He was happy. And, all at once, so was I. I knew, deep inside, that the two of us belonged together and nothing would part us.

  Saturday, July 12, 1902

  I have you again, dear book. You got packed in one of the boxes and I could not find you. Then Mother needed something from that box and she reached in and pulled you out. You must have been dropped in by accident. Thank fortune she discovered you.

  We are leaving on Monday morning, which is unbelievable.

  There’s been scant time for writing in here anyway, in the last few days. We have been too busy packing and cleaning and saying goodbye and feeling lost.

  Now our house is practically empty. The wagon is coming to take us and our trunks to the station. We got through watching the furniture be sold at auction. Mother was right about the piano bringing a good price. Luckily she sold it while Olivia was out with her friends.

  John embarrassed me by trying to get the auctioneer to make people bid more. Finally the man told him they’d get along better without him and John went off in a huff.

  Monday, July 14, 1902, on our way

  The whole family are now on the train. This morning when we boarded, we reminded me of a pioneer family, except that we are in a train, not a covered wagon. We were all carrying things we wanted to have with us on the trip.

  Mother had packed an enormous picnic basket and had to shove it down the aisle ahead of her with her knee. Now it is on the rack above us and I keep thinking of the devilled eggs I saw her put in. I had plenty of breakfast, but I am already longing for one of those eggs.

  I thought we would never get settled in our seats. I had Davy to hold onto, of course. I got braced for him to shriek and fling himself around when we pulled out and he first saw the world outside the window moving.

  It seemed to take forever. People left behind stood on the platform and waved goodbye to us. Olivia’s music teacher was there and Miss Radcliffe and some of John’s and Olivia’s friends. When Davy began to look nervous, I hugged him tight.

  “Davy boy, we’re on our way west,” I said into his ear, doing my best to sound full of rapture.

  Davy pushed my head away and began to laugh uproariously. Maybe my whisper tickled. Anyway, it was a great relief to hear such a happy sound. You never know with Davy.

  The conductor called out “All aboard!” just as they do in books. A shiver of excitement went through me. In four days, we’ll reach Medicine Hat. I wonder what a Medicine Hat is. A whistle blew a long lonesome wail as the engine huffed and the whole train began to stir and rumble as though it were taking big breaths. It was coming alive.

  “Frank, here we come,” I announced.

  An hour and a half later

  I quit writing because my hand was jiggling. At last Mother is gazing up at the picnic basket with a hungry look in her eye, yet she still has not made a move to fetch it down. It is hot and stuffy in here. And it smells of soot. The windows are streaked with dirt. The seats are covered with a scratchy material and they are not very comfortable, but it is all part of the Western Adventure.

  I can hear Olivia complaining. John is ordering her to hush up. I am glad that she is not sitting next to me or she’d be reading over my shoulder and I would have to stop writing what is in my heart.

  I am getting lots recorded now because Davy is staring spellbound through the window and paying no attention to me. He keeps patting the glass as though to catch hold of some of the things he sees flashing by. When they vanish, he makes small sounds of astonishment. “Ooo! Ooo!”

  “Yes, Davy. I do see the dog and the boy and all the other wonders,” Mother just told him. “And you are being such a good boy.”

  He beamed at her. She and I take turns holding onto him. John and Olivia are across the aisle from us. Except for talking to Davy, we are mostly silent. I do feel like a world traveller though. Or someone in a book.

  Afternoon

  Mother finally gave in and we fetched down the picnic basket at last. Why does food you eat from a picnic hamper taste so much better than the dinner you eat sitting at a dining table? The shapes of things are different. The little packages are enticing. Oh, I cannot explain. But we gobbled every last bite. Even dull things like sticks of celery tasted special.

  I wish I had not finished What Katy Did. I saw Mother pack some books but she has not produced one. When I asked her, she smiled and said, “Patience is a virtue. Get it if you can. Seldom found in woman, but never found in man.”

  Then she went to sleep. I realized that she must have been awake most of last night going over everything she had to do before we left, so I kept as quiet as possible.

  I like gazing out the window. We pass so many houses with people coming and going. Every so often, children wave at the train and I always wave back. Davy hoots with laughter each time I do it. I can hear Olivia’s breath hiss in disapproval. John just stares out their window as though we are strangers he has never met. I think we must embarrass him somehow.

  “Can’t you keep him quiet?” Olivia said once. She knows I can’t. Anyway, why should I? He’s not disturbing anybody.

  Mother and I both pretended we had not heard. But Mother did get out a book and now she is reading it aloud to us. The two across the aisle are both listening although John is pretending not to.

  It is by Louisa May Alcott and it is called Little Men. Olivia got Little Women last Christmas and Mother read it to us over the holidays while we sewed. John pretended he was bored by it too, but he was never far away when she started to read.

  I like this one better but Olivia won’t. She wanted Jo to marry Laurie. I remember how upset she got when Jo wouldn’t.

  I agreed, at first, but I liked the Professor when we got to know him. It is more interesting than most romance stories. The characters seem like real people.

  Olivia reminds me of Meg at times and at other times she is like Amy. I want to be like Jo. Neither of us is a bit like Beth, even though Olivia did love her piano. I do hope they have one where we are going. Everything in life goes more smoothly when my sister has a piano to keep her happy.

  Later again

  I had a nap while Mother held onto our “good boy.” The train is crowded with other people heading west. I still haven’t talked to any of them. Mother has nodded to some. Olivia has found a couple of girls her age to sit with sometimes. She has also found a boy who stares at her but says nothing. She pretends not to notice, just looks at the other girls and they all giggle. They sound mean, but maybe he likes it.

  Evening

  Mother pulled out a deck of cards when we were finished eating, and the others came over for a game of Hearts. Davy, bless him, had gone solidly to sleep, so we could play in peace. We are going to bed as soon as the berths are made up. I am looking forward to sleeping on the train, although sharing with Davy won’t be peaceful.

  Tuesday, early morning, July 15, 1902

  S
lept in berths last night. Olivia and Mother shared an upper one. Davy and I were underneath them. And John was across the aisle in a bed to himself. It is like having a shelf to sleep on, with a little hammock hanging down to hold things and a window with a blind to pull down and shut out the outside world. I like to watch that world go by, though.

  Davy thrashed about at first. He whacked me across the nose until I hid under the pillow. He did not do it on purpose, and when I yelped, he laughed. I will have bruises. Finally he fell asleep and I lay looking out at the darkening world sliding by.

  It was magical sometimes. Mysterious. At first I saw houses with lights on upstairs, and then, one by one, some of them blinked off while I watched.

  Then, long after our train car was filled with sleeping passengers, I saw one house all lit up with people hurrying past bright windows. Was a baby being born? Or was a doctor rushing in to a sickbed? Or what? Maybe they were having a party. But somehow it didn’t look like it. The house vanished from sight, leaving me full of curiosity. I do hope those people were celebrating.

  Noon

  We are crossing Ontario. We have been crossing it forever. It is enormous. And wild. Miles of dark evergreen trees and huge rocks. It is full of wilderness, lakes and forest. Today, when Mother had gone to the toilet and Olivia was in the next car chatting with her new friends, the train stopped moving. I don’t know why. I looked out and saw a stag on top of a rocky hill. He was standing tall and looking so proud.

  I blinked, expecting him to vanish. But he didn’t. He had a huge spread of antlers and he held his head up high, as though he were wanting us to admire them.

  I had to share it so I called softly to John and pointed. I expected him to ignore me, but instead he looked and he was as filled with wonder as I. He came over to kneel on the seat next to me.

  “Oh, Abby,” he murmured, “what a grand fellow!”

  “Kingly,” I said.

  “Majestic,” he answered as the train started to move again. We grinned at each other. It felt strange to be so at one with him.