All Fall Down

by Jean Little

  Now March is past, we will hope that the wind does not blow so ceaselessly and hard. It would help to keep the place from getting so grimy. The gales that roared through in March were almost like hurricanes.

  Good Friday

  April 10, 1903

  The hotel is spotless! There’s no school today. Bird does not come to school anymore. Davy is so much quieter since he was ill. He sleeps a lot and does not need someone keeping an eye on him every minute. I miss her. I miss him too.

  But I am getting to be friends with Mary Ruth and Polly. I love Polly and I like Mary Ruth more than I used to, even though she is sometimes a bit mean to Bird.

  Saturday, April 11, 1903

  Uncle Martin gave me my fifty-cent piece this morning. I did do well in the exams, but I thought he had forgotten.

  The wedding plans are galloping forward. Everyone is excited and takes part. Mrs. Mutton is planning to bake a tall cake with four or five layers and decorate it with roses — she learned how to make them when she lived in Calgary.

  Olivia positively shines. And Mother has stopped wondering if they should wait. She told me privately that any man who could waken up the goodness in Olivia, the way Jeremiah has done, deserves her. It is true. I wonder what made her so distant before. Maybe she was trying too hard to live up to Father’s praises.

  That made me remember something she said that I don’t understand: “You are my sister, whatever anyone says.”

  It was something like that. What could anyone have said? Of course I am her sister.

  April 12, 1903

  Easter Sunday. When I woke up this morning, there, lying on the chair in all its glory, was a new dress. Mother must have stayed up half the night to get it finished in time! It is so beautiful. She said Mrs. Mutton had helped, but Mrs. Mutton said she had done very little. I wore it to church and felt proud as a peacock. I kept opening up my coat as though I was too hot, but really to show off my glorious garment. I felt like one of the lilies of the field.

  When we sang all the Hallelujahs, I felt we were singing about my dress. I am not a bit like Elsie Dinsmore, that is for sure. She’s in a book I started to read but could not finish. She was such a goody-goody. She got a new dress but would not wear it to church in case it took her mind off the sermon.

  For a book to be good, the people in the story must be real. Elsie is NOT.

  Aunt Susan said I looked absolutely lovely in my new frock. I say dress, not frock. Mother smiled and smiled. I smiled and smiled back.

  Every time I twirl and make my skirt stand out, I feel spectacular. Until now, almost every dress I have owned has been sensible looking and usually came to me as a hand-me-down. It is such a change to wear a really beautiful dress nobody else has ever worn, a dress made especially for me!

  Easter Monday

  April 13, 1903

  Finally, the spring cleaning is over, the Easter holidays have begun and I have a new book to read. It is by Charles Dickens and it is wonderfully fat. It is not a children’s book, although it starts with the hero a little boy. I won’t clean and I won’t write in this notebook. I am going to READ all day long. I’ve already started and it has made me cry. Poor little David.

  Monday, April 20, 1903

  I finished David Copperfield. I skipped a bit but how I did love it.

  April is more than half over. Mary Ruth has invited me to come home with her for the night of her birthday. I don’t like leaving Davy, but Mother says she’ll sleep in my bed and he’ll be fine. Her birthday is on April 28, which is a Tuesday. I know it is silly, but I feel homesick just thinking of going. I know Mary Ruth and Jeremiah and Polly, but I don’t know the others.

  John is bunking in with Jeremiah at the stable sometimes now, so he is nearer the mine and can sleep a little later in the morning. I have made up my mind to talk to him once more about finding a job somewhere else.

  He will be angry if I bring it up again, but I keep hearing more about coal falling down on the ground and the men don’t have to dig it out but just shovel the loose stuff up. They laugh about this as though it is a great joke. John told us again that they claim the mountain is doing them a favour.

  But why is the coal falling that way? I know nothing about mining, of course, but it still worries me, probably partly because of what Bird’s grandfather says. She keeps telling me that he sometimes gets warnings — Miss Radcliffe would probably call them premonitions — and that sometimes they come true. What if he’s right? What if the whole roof came down at once while John was standing underneath?

  I know John would make fun of me for asking him to get a different job, but I can’t help worrying.

  Friday, April 24, 1903

  I had a great shock today. It came when I tried to talk John out of going to work at the mine. He told me it was none of my affair, and no matter what I said, he wouldn’t listen. “I am your sister —” I began.

  “You are not,” he burst out. “You are no relation to me at all.”

  I stared at him and he half-shouted out a story, one that he must have been wanting to tell me for years. I could not believe it. I still don’t, even though I can tell he is certain it is true. I wanted to go straight to Mother, but I couldn’t. If it is true, she surely would have told me long ago.

  He blurted out that Grandpa found me abandoned on a dock in Montreal. Nobody seemed to know who I was. When Grandpa could not track down anybody who I belonged to, he carried me home to Mother. What John said was unbelievable, and yet it fitted with the words I had heard Uncle Martin say to Aunt Susan — that his father had brought a child home to Mother.

  “But … Mother would have said something,” I told John.

  He had lowered his voice but he kept talking a mile a minute. “Your family probably died of cholera on one of the ships that came from Ireland or maybe England.”

  When I said it was not true, he glared at me. “I am not lying,” he insisted.

  The words kept pouring out of him as though they had been shut up behind a dam and I had finally let them out.

  “I remember you coming. Father was away but Mother told us you were to be our sister. When Father came home, he was angry about her taking you in. I don’t know why exactly. But Grandpa took Mother’s side and you stayed. Father wouldn’t talk about it after a while and he made Olivia and me keep quiet about Grandpa finding you.”

  “Why?” I demanded.

  John was getting hot and bothered and he admitted he didn’t know.

  “Anyway, you are not my real sister and that is that,” John snapped at me. “Now let me out of here.”

  I stood stock still, too shocked to move or speak again. John had turned away so he need not face me. He was breathing hard. I could see drops of sweat on his forehead. I knew he wanted to escape, but I was between him and the door and I would not let him pass.

  “Why didn’t you tell me before?” I whispered at last.

  “Father made me promise not to. He said I must let Mother tell you,” he mumbled.

  I wanted to ask why he had gone against Father’s wishes now, but I knew the answer. He had held back then because he was afraid of Father. But now Father was gone and he was so mad at me that the whole story just burst out.

  I knew, suddenly, that John had tried to make Mother tell, but she must have refused.

  Why?

  He started to shove me aside and then, all at once, he said, “Don’t tell her, Abby. Please, don’t …”

  But he knew he could not make me keep silent about this when he had been the one to break that silence in the first place. When I didn’t answer, he stormed out of the room without another word.

  I have not told her though, not yet. I must get it clear in my head.

  I still would not believe him, except that I have a memory of my own that John knows nothing about. It is a memory I have never understood. When I have had time to think, it might fit in somehow and make sense.

  If it does, I’ll write it in this book.

 
Saturday, April 25, 1903

  I need to think about all John told me, but I keep being interrupted. Mother caught me standing staring into space and asked me if I was feeling well. I said I felt fine. But it wasn’t true.

  I longed to burst out at her, “Who am I? Is Abby my real name? Is my birthday really in September?”

  But whenever I made up my mind to talk, my tongue seemed to stick to the roof of my mouth.

  When I do ask her, what will she do? She wouldn’t send me away. I can’t believe she would do such a cruel thing. I can still hear her saying, the morning Father died, “I knew I couldn’t do without you, Abby.”

  Yet just thinking about it makes me feel cold right to the marrow of my bones. Oh, why did John have to break his word and spill it all out?

  Bedtime

  I have gone to bed early. Davy is asleep. I have thought over that long-ago memory. Over the years since, I had come to believe what had taken place was a fairy story, not a memory at all. I have always liked dreaming up stories about myself as a gypsy or a queen or even a horse. But this was no such make-believe story. I believe it is a true memory of what happened, long ago, to the little girl I was, a lost and frightened little girl, needing Mother. I lay in bed and relived that day.

  I had been wrapped in a thick, dark blanket that came up so high I could not see over it. I was carried up steps into a house by someone. If John and Uncle Martin are right, it must have been Grandpa. I think he said something like, “My girl needs you.”

  Then a child’s voice demanded, “Who is that?”

  The man pulled the edge of the blanket down and I saw a sharp-eyed boy staring up at me.

  “I’ve brought you a little sister,” the man told him. “Run and get your mother.”

  “But I don’t want another sister,” the boy said.

  Then he ran away.

  That’s all I remember. But was that Grandpa bringing me to Mother? And was the boy John? I wonder if he remembers saying he did not want another sister.

  But Mother wanted me. I can still feel her arms wrapping around me, holding me close. I remember that hug and nothing more.

  I must try to sleep.

  But how can I?

  Sunday, April 26, 1903

  Today everything goes on as usual. I feel like a stranger to myself, but nobody notices. John is keeping out of my way. Olivia is so caught up with planning her wedding. I don’t want to trouble her.

  But I have lost myself and don’t know what to do next. I wish Bird was here to help.

  Monday, April 27, 1903

  I long to run away from my thoughts. I need to ask Mother about what really happened, but I am afraid to start. I have never been afraid to ask her anything before.

  Mrs. Mutton asked me what was wrong. When I muttered “Nothing,” she shook her head and went back to her work. She’s the only one to notice.

  Tuesday, April 28, 1903

  Davy gave me a tight hug this morning. He’s like Dulcey. He knows when I need cheering up.

  This is the night I am supposed to go to Mary Ruth’s birthday celebration. It was so warm the last few days but it has suddenly turned very cold. I know that the weather has nothing to do with my wanting to stay home tonight. I just do not think I can bear to leave at the moment. That might not make sense to anyone but myself, yet I feel as though I must stay near Mother right now. What if she should vanish before I have made myself talk with her about what happened to us long ago? Yet I can’t seem to begin. I don’t understand myself. According to John, I was lost and then rescued. What if I went away and got lost again before I could get back?

  Bird should be here any minute. I think I will tell her what John told me. I need to spill it all out to somebody who will help me get it straight. If it is true, it feels like a load too heavy for me to lift.

  Later

  I have told Bird everything. She is a wonderful listener. She became very serious and thoughtful. She was quiet until I got to the end, not once butting in or looking disbelieving. Then she said it was a strange story but she believed it, and she was certain I must ask my mother to explain it all.

  “I loved Grandpa a lot,” I said slowly, remembering those long-ago times. “He died when I was five. I think. My grandma died before I was old enough to know her. He always took me on his knees and told me over and over that I was his granddaughter and I must never forget it. I promised I wouldn’t, but I did not really know what he was talking about.”

  When I told Bird this, she smiled. “You mustn’t forget,” she said. “And you must not go to Mary Ruth’s tonight. Just before I left home, I told Grandfather you were going over there and he got very upset. He told me to tell the people here that he fears the mountain is ready to fall. He would not say anything more, but he was shaking. He made me promise not to let you go. I said I would do my best, but he said that was not good enough.”

  “Did you promise?” I asked her. I did not see how she could have promised.

  She stared at me and her eyes looked bigger than usual.

  “Yes. I had to,” she said. “Or he would not have let me come.”

  “But what will I tell Mary Ruth?” I asked her.

  We were trying to decide this when Mary Ruth herself arrived. She made a rude face when she saw Bird.

  “Happy birthday,” I started, but she interrupted.

  “Come on, Abby,” she said, as though Bird was not standing there. “My father says to be quick because he must get back.”

  “I’m not coming,” I told her. I could feel myself blushing because I could not think how to explain. She would not give a hoot about what Bird’s grandfather said. I don’t understand it, but she seems to dislike anyone who is not white.

  “Why ever not?” she demanded. She practically shouted the words and her eyes flashed. “You said you would.”

  “I know,” I admitted. “I can’t explain why. I am sorry. Why don’t you stay here tonight instead?”

  She did not answer, she just slammed out of the room and ran back to where her father waited. It wasn’t so very far to her place. Mother says nothing is far in Frank.

  Even though we did not come to blows, I knew Mary Ruth was furious. She would blame Bird for keeping me from going with her. That was not true, but I could see how it looked.

  “Let’s try persuading her,” Bird said, starting to run after the pair of them.

  We caught up with Mary Ruth, and Bird talked fast, saying she really wished Mary Ruth would stay at the hotel tonight. She began to tell Mary Ruth about her what her grandfather had said.

  Mary Ruth glared at her. “What your people say about the mountain is pure rubbish,” she yelled. Then she stomped away through the mist.

  While we stood watching them go, Bird’s mother came to tell us that she was staying at the hotel to help out, because word had come that extra guests were expected. Bird was to stay too.

  I don’t think she could have made Bird leave me then, but neither of us said so. Having her there was a comfort. For one thing, it meant I could wait another day at least before I would have to ask Mother about Grandpa’s finding me. I wanted to think out what to say.

  Now I have gone into Davy’s and my room to try to settle down. He’s not here. Mother said she would bring him later. I think she saw how upset I am.

  Bird is going to sleep in here with me, but she is doing something with her mother first. I am glad I had a chance to write down what happened with Mary Ruth before Bird came. I hope I didn’t hurt Mary Ruth’s feelings.

  I wish she would not be so nasty to Bird. Jeremiah and Polly aren’t at all like that. I wonder what makes people from the same family think so differently. Well, I suppose I know some of it. I just have to remember the way Father was toward Davy.

  After midnight

  Bird has gone to sleep at last. We talked and talked and then we got up and sneaked into the kitchen and made ourselves what boarding school stories call a “midnight snack.” Davy slept through it all but then, just
as Bird fell sound asleep, and I was about to do the same, he woke and started to cry. It was not his usual crying. He sounded scared. And he wouldn’t stop. I was afraid he would wake Bird, but she was dead to the world.

  I could not find anything wrong with him, so I just rocked him and sang. It was not easy at first, since I kept drifting off. But once he knocked the last scrap of sleep out of me, he hushed, smiled and began to snore again. I wanted to smack him because I am now wide awake. I am writing this while I wait to grow drowsy again.

  Thursday night, April 30, 1903

  Turtle Mountain has fallen! It happened before dawn on Wednesday morning, the night Bird stayed over.

  I can’t write more now. We don’t know where John is. Mark is missing too. Mother and Aunt Susan are frantic and I can’t stop crying.

  Later

  It has been almost two days since the Slide. I think I can put down some of it now, although I will never be able to tell the whole horror of what happened.

  A strange sound woke me. The grandfather clock in the hallway chimed four o’clock. I almost fell back asleep and then came a sound like a thunder clap — only much louder. Just the one boom and then an eerie silence. Then there was a splintering, ripping sort of noise as though something enormous had run past the hotel, crushing everything as it went.

  Bird gasped and sat bolt upright. Davy buried his face in my front. I patted his back, but I could not concentrate. We heard bedroom doors opening as people ran to look outside. But by then everything had grown still again.

  “It must have been nothing,” a man’s voice said. “I’m going back to bed.”

  “No,” Bird said in a thin, high voice. “It was Turtle Mountain walking. Grandfather said it would happen.”

  Her voice frightened me. I wrapped Davy in his quilt and reached to take her hand, but she pushed me away and stared through me as though I were invisible. The silence that came after the cannon blast was louder than the noise had been. I know that doesn’t make sense but it is true. It echoed in our ears, the sound of silence. Then noise came flooding back.