I whirled about to find Martha Schultz behind me. She, too, had a wary look in her eyes. I wondered if she thought I was crazy, but her next words revealed her discomfort.
“I’m sorry I don’t talk to you at school anymore,” she said. She clipped her words short, her German accent more pronounced when she was nervous. She and her family had lived in Halifax for five years. Her father ran a bakery and she always smelled faintly of yeast and cinnamon. “It’s just, you’re held back and Catherine . . .” She stopped. “Please say you’re not mad, Rose. Can’t we be friends outside of school? Catherine isn’t half as nice as you.”
I looked at my feet, and then up at the sky. I couldn’t stop the hurt feeling, but I missed Martha. I needed her to be my friend, and if it had to be outside of school, I guess I could live with that. Besides, as Mam said, Martha did have a big heart and it wasn’t her fault she didn’t have any gumption. That was how God had made her.
“Do you want to walk up to the park?” I asked.
She smiled, relieved. “As long as you feel well enough. Winnie said you had a dreadful cold. In fact, I’m surprised to see you out today. She made it sound like you were seriously ill.”
I laughed. “Winnie would. She exaggerates everything. She likes being the centre of attention.” Whereas I didn’t want to be noticed—or did I? Maybe that was just something I’d told myself so many times I believed it.
“I brought you some pastries from the bakery,” Martha said. “They have jam in them.”
My appetite returned all of a sudden.
We walked up the hill toward the park, leaning into the wind. “Why do the girls at school do what Catherine wants?” I asked as I bit into a pastry. It melted in my mouth in a heavenly mixture of dough and jam.
Martha shrugged. “I don’t know. We just do.”
“But she’s not even from around here,” I protested. “At least I was born in Richmond. And she’s not Catholic and I am.”
“Well, I guess because you’ve been held back, Rose. We talk about stuff in our class and you wouldn’t know anything about that.”
“But some girls have been held back because they’ve been ill and Catherine still speaks to them,” I pointed out.
“But you haven’t been ill,” Martha said.
We could talk about this all afternoon but the fact was Catherine had her mind set against me and nothing I could do would change that. I popped the last bit of pastry into my mouth.
“Unfasten your coat,” I said. “Let it hang loose. The wind is so strong it nearly raises you off your feet. You feel like a kite.”
Martha undid her coat, and a moment later, we were laughing wildly.
Chapter 5
Da, Fred, Uncle Lyle and Grandpa huddled on the back porch, white smoke curling about their heads. Mam had thrown a surprised look when Fred had joined them and lighted a cigarette, but Da had merely said “He works a man’s job,” and Mam had turned away. Gusts of male laughter drifted into the kitchen, narrowing Aunt Helen’s and Granny’s lips into thin lines of disapproval. Winnie and I arranged sandwiches on plates while Mam set out a large pot of tea.
The back door blew open and Aunt Ida swept in, face rosy.
“Still got the honeymoon blooms in her cheeks,” Aunt Helen said to Mam.
Aunt Ida flushed a deeper red. “It’s the cold,” she protested.
I liked Aunt Ida. Tiny and pretty with curly black hair and sapphire blue eyes, she had what Mam called a sensible manner. She had run a spinning machine in the Dominion Textile factory until she married Uncle James and he had insisted his wife stay home and keep house. They lived two streets up the hill from us in rented rooms. Uncle James worked with Da on the docks, and they looked so much alike dressed in their work clothes and caps that sometimes I had to look twice to see who was who.
Aunt Ida held out a plate of shortbread. No one came to a party empty-handed. “I left James out there with the men. Smoking,” she added.
“Foul habit,” Granny muttered. She shuffled about the kitchen, scrawny, head bobbing. She looked for all the world like one of her own chickens. I stifled a giggle and stored that thought away to tell Winnie later.
“Let them enjoy themselves,” Mam said. “They all work so hard these days. Besides, we should be grateful we have men on the porch to smoke. Many women these days are all alone, widowed or their men at war.”
Aunt Ida’s honeymoon blooms paled.
“What’s the matter, dear?” Mam asked.
Aunt Ida looked around the room, then said softly, “It’s James. He talks about the war all the time. I’m terrified he’ll join up. I don’t want him to go over there. So many men don’t return.” Her knuckles whitened as she gripped the ladder-back of a chair.
“He’s doing war work down on the docks,” Mam said soothingly.
“I tell him that, but he wants to be over there. ‘In the thick of things,’ he says.” Aunt Ida looked ready to burst into tears.
“Well, it’s a woman’s lot to stay at home and wait for the men to return from war,” Aunt Helen said. “There’s nothing you can do or say if he has his mind set on it.”
“Well, if women did say something, maybe there wouldn’t be a war,” Aunt Ida retorted. Her cheeks reddened again, but this time with indignation.
“Have you been going to those political rallies?” Aunt Helen asked suspiciously. “The vote for women.” She sniffed.
“You can bet your buttons women would not vote for a war,” Aunt Ida argued.
“You better not bring any of those suffragette ideas into this house,” Aunt Helen told her.
“Whose house?” Mam inquired.
“Could Michael speak to him?” Aunt Ida turned to Mam.
“I’ll ask him, but I’m afraid I have to agree with Helen,” Mam said with a certain amount of reluctance. No one liked to admit they sided with Aunt Helen. “Once a man’s mind is made up, it’s hard to change.” She clapped her hands suddenly. “But why are we all standing around with long, gloomy faces? Maybe the war will be over soon and there will be nothing for James to go to.”
“You better pray for the war to end with your Fred getting older,” Granny said.
This time it was Mam’s cheeks that paled.
Neighbours began to arrive and the house filled up. I found a spot halfway up the staircase. From here, I had long ago discovered, I could see most of the kitchen and parlour, yet few people noticed me. I liked a party, the food, the music and singing, the laughter. Liked it, that is, if left to myself.
Patrick and Ernest came in, and I shrank into the shadows of the staircase so they wouldn’t see me. Winnie flitted from one knot of people to another, enjoying the pats on her head and pinches on her cheeks. She was also, I saw, accumulating a fair number of sweets. As usual, Aunt Helen’s voice rang out over everyone else’s.
“Poor Mrs. Harold Jones,” Aunt Helen announced. “The cancer growing in her, they say. She won’t live long.” Her tone might have been sombre, but her eyes shone bright with the news she brought.
“Once you get the cancer, you don’t live long.” Granny shook her head, but I knew she enjoyed the gossip as much as Aunt Helen.
I had a sudden vision of the two of them at Granny’s kitchen table, tongues wagging over the symptoms and dire consequences of all The Illnesses, washed down with endless cups of tea.
The back door banged and the men came in from the porch. A heady mixture of fresh air and smoke swept in with them. At some point Duncan must have arrived, for he followed Frederick into the room. He gave a quick glance around—looking for Mary, I realized—but she and Horace had gone for an early supper and had not returned.
Our seldom-used front door opened and Father McManus came in. Mam rushed up, took his flat black hat and ushered him in. Voices quieted as heads nodded greetings to the priest, then picked up again as he passed into the parlour. Mam and Aunt Helen exchanged a pleased glance. It was a point of honour among the women at St. Joseph’s for one of the pr
iests to put in an appearance at their parties. Da and the other men appeared less pleased. They’d have to guard their tongues with Father in the house.
I settled back on the step. If it was such an honour to have a priest at a party, I wondered as I watched Mam fuss and bring Father a cup of tea, what would the women say if God came? Imagine how surprised Mam would be if I turned up at the party with God, a white, shining presence, in tow. Aunt Helen would be speechless as she watched Him bite into a sandwich. I smiled at the thought of a silenced Aunt Helen. Perhaps He’d wrap an arm around Da’s shoulder, tell a joke from the old country, Heaven, and burst into song, though it would be a hymn, with Him being God and all. I swallowed a giggle and offered up a quick apology in case I had offended Him in any way.
Grandpa, I saw, had his false teeth out and was chasing Bertie and Winnie around the kitchen. I remembered the delicious fright of those clacking teeth. Mr. Neeson from down the street had brought his fiddle. He drew the bow across the strings, adding to the general bedlam. At that moment the front door opened again and Mary came in with Horace. She took one look at the chaos and froze. Suddenly, a huge smile appeared on her face, but even from my spot on the stairs I could see it didn’t reach her eyes. She took Horace’s coat to reveal a suit and collar. He was the only man in the room other than Father McManus to be dressed in clothes that weren’t work shirts, suspenders and coarse twill pants. Perhaps Horace had to wear his suit all the time because he was a banker, the way Father McManus always wore a collar and cassock because he was a priest.
Mary steered Horace quickly past Aunt Helen, took one look at toothless Grandpa and pushed Horace into the kitchen. I slid my bottom down two steps and strained my neck around the wall to watch their progress.
Mam held her hand out to Horace. I felt proud of her, looking so beautiful with her cheeks flushed from heat. Wispy strands of hair escaped her knot to frame her face. I don’t believe any society lady could look better. Da, his sleeves rolled up to show his combinations at the wrists, briefly shook Horace’s hand. Suddenly Grandpa came up, slipped his teeth in and pumped Horace’s hand up and down. I quickly stood and pushed through the people, anxious to hear whatever Grandpa had to say.
“Horse, you say?” Grandpa put a hand behind his ear. I was surprised as I’d not known his hearing was going. “Horse? Funny sort of name for your folks to give you.”
Duncan and Fred snickered behind their hands, though I noticed Duncan’s eyes did not leave Mary’s face—hadn’t, in fact, since she’d entered the room.
“Grandfather.” Mary’s eyes shot daggers at all of them. “His name is Hor-ace! Horace!” She turned to Horace, and I swear I could hear her teeth grind. “Please don’t mind my grandfather, he has recently become hard of hearing.”
Very recently.
“Mother,” she said. “Do you need any help?”
Mother! Mam levelled a look at her. “I think we’re just fine, thank you, daughter.”
Mam’s voice was sweet, but I could tell she was vexed something terrible with Mary. Mary knew it, too. She looked around desperately.
“Oh, Horace, this is Father McManus from St. Joseph’s Church.” She led Horace into the parlour and over to the priest. Again I followed. Father McManus looked mildly surprised to find Mary and Horace suddenly materialize in front of him but shook hands willingly.
“So, you’re not from around these parts,” he said.
“No.” Horace swept the room with small, black eyes. His fingers fiddled with his cuffs. “No. I live on the south side.”
The room stilled as he spoke. Even Aunt Helen stopped her chatter to hear Mary’s beau.
“Horace’s father is the manager of the bank I work at,” Mary said. “And Horace works there, too. He’ll take over from his father someday,” she added proudly.
“Oh, well, that’s not definite.” Horace gave a dry laugh. It was obviously definite in his mind.
“So what church are you with?” Father McManus asked heartily.
You could have heard a pin drop, the room was so quiet.
“Anglican,” Horace answered. He darted a quick glance around the room, now aware of the silence, the faces turned toward him, bodies still as statues. “Anglican,” he repeated.
Could silence change its character? At first it had been expectant, now it had a definite shocked feeling. Aunt Helen and Granny exchanged meaningful glances. Imagine—an Anglican in the middle of a room full of Catholics.
Mam’s mouth stretched in a horrified O, and she stared at Horace as if he had committed a mortal sin.
“Lovely cathedral you have there,” Father McManus said, not the least bit concerned that he was talking to an Anglican.
Mary suddenly grabbed a plate of sandwiches and thrust them toward Horace. “Refreshment, Horace? Father? Horace drives a Roadster, Father,” she said, anxious to steer the talk away from religion.
“A Roadster. Well, imagine that.” Father seemed at a loss for anything further to say.
Mary held out the sandwich plate again and the two men each took one. Horace pulled a handkerchief from a pocket and dabbed at his hands after each bite. As there was nothing left to hear, conversation started up again.
“Anglican!” Aunt Helen exclaimed loudly to Aunt Ida. “Whatever is Mary thinking? This is what comes of people getting above their station in life. If Mary had stayed here and worked in the factory like the rest of our girls, well, she wouldn’t be so uppity.”
“I think it’s wonderful that Mary has a job typewriting,” Aunt Ida announced. “She’s done very well for herself.”
Aunt Ida was fast becoming my favourite aunt.
I went back to my seat on the stairs. Winnie joined me with a plate of sandwiches and cookies to share. I absently bit into a meat sandwich, my ears still tuned to the conversation between my two aunts.
Aunt Helen shook her head. “God gives each and every person a rightful place. You try to go against His wishes and this is what happens. You get Anglicans. Aren’t I right, Father?”
Father McManus turned, a second sandwich halfway to his mouth. “Yes, indeed,” he said. I knew he had no idea what he was agreeing to, but most people did anything to not carry on a conversation with Aunt Helen.
Aunt Helen was enormously satisfied. She puffed up her chest and preened like one of Granny’s hens about to lay. “See, even Father agrees with me.”
Winnie and I giggled.
“Grown-ups are so funny,” Winnie said.
I nodded.
“Did you know Horse wasn’t Catholic?” she asked.
Poor Horace. He’d be known as Horse in our family forever now.
I shook my head, my mouth full of chopped ham and bread.
Aunt Helen was still revelling in Father McManus’s agreement. “Well, at least Michael and Alice won’t have the same problem with Rose. That girl hasn’t the brains to go above her station.”
I set down my sandwich, appetite gone.
“And grown-ups can be horrid,” Winnie whispered. “And Aunt Helen is the horridest.”
“You shouldn’t say things like that about your elders,” I scolded half-heartedly.
“Why not? They say things like that about us,” Winnie pointed out. I couldn’t argue with that.
Patrick loomed in front of me. “This is how Rose reads . . .” Cookie crumbs flew from his overstuffed mouth as he spoke. “I . . . I . . . can . . . can . . . can’t . . . re . . . re . . .”
From over Patrick’s shoulder, I saw Mam’s face flush red with anger. She pushed through the party-goers toward us with Patrick is going to get a talking to written all over her face. Da noticed, too, and tried to follow, but he wasn’t going to reach Mam in time to stop her. He knew life wouldn’t be worth living if there was a breach between Aunt Helen and Mam. Suddenly, Aunt Ida was there.
“That’s very mean, Patrick,” Aunt Ida said.
“Yes,” Aunt Helen blustered. She wasn’t happy that Aunt Ida had chided Patrick instead of her, especi
ally in front of their friends. “That was very mean,” she went on loudly. “You should be kind to the unfortunates.” She nodded her head, pleased to have done her job as a mother.
Unfortunates! She made me sound like one of the people in the lunatic asylum. I wanted to crawl away. Mam had reached us now, looking as if she was going to burst she was so mad.
“Rose is a lovely girl,” Aunt Ida went on. She put a hand on Mam’s shoulder to calm her. “And an excellent storyteller. In fact, why don’t you tell one of your stories now, Rose. I enjoy them so very much.”
I was struck dumb. Tell a story? In front of all these people? I looked at Mam in silent appeal, but she shrugged helplessly. Aunt Ida took my hand and led me to the middle of the parlour. Please, God, open the floor and let it swallow me. Please, God. Nothing happened. He must be busy elsewhere—but what could be more important than this!? I was about to disgrace myself in front of the entire neighbourhood. Everyone sat expectant, smiles plastered on their faces. I knew what they thought: poor, unfortunate Rose. Aunt Ida nodded encouragingly, so I took a deep breath and thought of the coarse blue patch in the Irish Chain quilt.
“This is . . . this is the story of—from my . . . my great-grandmother Rose’s life,” I croaked.
“A little louder, dear. Let everyone hear you,” Aunt Ida said.
“From . . . from Mam’s Irish Chain quilt. I mean, it’s a story from a patch—It’s made of patches. Rose and Albert lived . . . they lived . . .” My brain fizzled and died. I couldn’t remember where they lived. I looked at the faces turned toward me. Two stood out: Patrick’s, gloating, and Duncan’s, sympathetic. I cringed. I’d take Patrick’s over Duncan’s any day. I was an unfortunate.
“Rose has been ill with a cold,” Mam said. She came up and put a hand on my forehead. “In fact, you’re quite warm again. I think you should go up to bed.”
Mam, not God, gave me a way to leave the room. Where were You when I needed You? I thought angrily, then immediately apologized. After all, perhaps God had told Mam to say that. I mustn’t vex Him. Tears blurred my eyes as I stumbled up the stairs.
Irish Chain Page 5
