“I don’t know,” I said. “Mary would know. She’s been to it.”
Duncan’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “Horace had her over to his house? For tea? Supper?”
“No,” I replied. “No one else was home. He was just showing it to her. Mary’s ambition is to live in one of these big houses.”
“Is it, then.” His voice sounded bleak.
“She says people can’t stay in the north end all their lives. It’s limiting, she says,” I prattled on. It occurred to me that Mary might not like her ambitions being discussed with Duncan, but now that my tongue was loosened, I couldn’t keep it still.
“The north end is my home—and hers,” Duncan said. “I’m not saying I wouldn’t want to see more of the world. I would. But I will always come back home. It’s where I’m most comfortable.”
“Me, too,” I told him.
Houses crowded closer together now and the yards were shrinking.
“Nearly home,” Duncan said.
My stomach knotted. Mam would be furious.
“Rose!” A shout came from the side of the street. Then Fred ran alongside the horse. Duncan slowed, and Frederick jumped up beside me on the seat.
“Where have you been? Where did you find her, Duncan?”
“In the south end,” Duncan replied. He started the horse again and turned down our street.
“In the south end! I’m the woolgatherer who’s supposed to get lost. Not you, Rose,” Fred said.
“I wasn’t lost,” I protested. And that was true. I hadn’t been lost. I knew where I was the whole time.
“Mam is fit to be tied,” Fred continued. “She’s got everyone out looking for you. Even Aunt Ida and Uncle James.”
“Is she terribly mad, Fred?” I asked.
“I think she’s ready to give you a good hiding.” He grinned, reached an arm around my shoulders and gave me a hug. I leaned in to him.
We pulled up in front of the house. Ernest was in the yard and immediately ran into the house when he saw us. Soon, Mam flew out, Bertie holding tight to her apron strings. Granny, Aunt Ida and Winnie hurried after her.
“Look what Duncan found.” Fred jumped off the seat and helped me down.
Mam pulled me into a tight embrace. “You had us worried half to death. I should give you such a hiding.”
I looked up in time to catch Fred’s wink.
“She’s done in, Mrs. Dunlea,” Duncan said. “She walked all the way to the south side.”
“Why on earth would you go there?” Mam began. “Never mind. Let’s get you warmed up and then you can tell us what happened.”
Mary ran up the street, out of breath. Even through my worry and tiredness, I couldn’t help but admire the colour in her cheeks. So did Duncan, I could see.
“Hello, Mary,” he said.
“Duncan brought me home,” I told her.
“From where?” Mary asked.
“I went to the south side. I probably passed Horace’s house,” I said.
Mary flushed a brighter red at the mention of Horace. Duncan’s eyebrows lowered again.
Mam steered me toward the house. “Fred, you and Ernest find Da and the others and tell them Rose is home safe.”
“Wait,” I told her.
I unwrapped Duncan’s coat from around me and gave it to Mary. She stared at it, then handed it up to Duncan. He dropped it beside him on the seat. With horror, I realized he’d been in his short sleeves all that time in the cold rain.
“Thank you for the coat and ride,” I called over my shoulder.
“Rose,” Duncan shouted back. “You’re not D‒U‒M‒B.”
Mam swept me into the kitchen before I could answer Duncan, but it didn’t matter. His words gave me the first warmth I had felt all day. Mary got out the tin bathtub, while Aunt Ida built up the fire and set kettles on the stove to heat.
“That girl will get the influenza or the rheumatic fever for sure now,” Granny announced solemnly. She plopped herself down at the kitchen table and put a hand to her chest. “Perhaps a cup of tea? All this worry is bad for the nerves. I’ll get the heart trouble.”
“You should be home, away from the excitement,” Aunt Ida said soothingly. “And won’t Helen be wondering what’s happened?”
“You’re right. Poor Helen. I should put her mind to rest.” Granny’s eyes brightened as she thought of all the news she had to tell. She bustled into her coat, stuck a pin through her hat and headed out the door.
“Thank you, Ida,” Mam said. She stripped my wet clothes from me and handed them to Mary, then wrapped me in a large towel and rubbed briskly. “And you just getting over your cold . . . The south side . . . A good hiding—that’s what you need.”
Winnie helped Aunt Ida fill the tub, and I climbed in, sighing with pleasure as the heat hit my cold skin.
Winnie leaned over the tub. “Did you see some big houses? Were you running away from home? Is it because of Sister Frances?” Her eyes shone with excitement.
“Winnie, you are in my way,” Mam scolded.
Aunt Ida pulled Winnie aside. “Leave Rose be just now. You can run up and get her nightgown. The warmest one she has.”
A short while later, I sat at the kitchen table with Mam and Aunt Ida, my hands wrapped around a warm mug of tea, heavily sugared—“for the shock,” Mam said. Winnie sat on the floor and played with Bertie, though I knew she was bursting to get me alone. Footsteps rang on the porch steps. Da was home. My heart pounded as Da, Fred, Ernest and Uncle James came in. Mam might threaten a hiding, but Da stirred up might give one. Da stopped and looked at me, then turned, took off his coat and hung it up. Mam got up and put the kettle back on the stove.
“Turning right miserable out there,” Uncle James said. “Ida, we should be getting home.”
Aunt Ida nodded and pulled on her coat. As she passed me, she bent down and kissed my cheek. “Be a brave girl,” she whispered. No two ways about it, Aunt Ida was definitely my favourite aunt.
Mam took Da and Fred’s dinner from the oven and set it on the table. Da nodded his thanks and Fred tucked right in. Neither said anything to me.
“Ernest, take Bertie upstairs and get him ready for bed,” Mam ordered. “Winnie, you go up, too.”
Winnie opened her mouth to protest, but one look at Da’s face closed it right fast.
The kitchen emptied. I could hardly breathe as I watched Da eat. He finished and pushed back his plate. Mam set his tea down, then sat at the table next to him.
Fred looked from Mam to Da. “Excuse me,” he said, and headed to the porch for a smoke.
“I’m glad to see you’re home safe,” Da said. He took a sip of tea, then banged his cup down on the table. I jumped.
He leaned toward me. “Do you know how worried we were about you? Your Mam nearly out of her mind? Everyone looking for you?”
“I’m so sorry, Da,” I said. I wouldn’t have believed it possible to squeeze out any more tears, but I was wrong. They flowed down my face.
Da looked twice as upset at making me cry. “Hush yourself, then. I only wanted you to understand how you worried the whole family. What were you doing in the south side?”
“Looking for a maid’s job like Aunt Helen said,” I sobbed.
Da looked at Mam, puzzled.
“She was here the other day and said Rose should get a job as a maid rather than go to school,” Mam explained to him.
“Helen,” Da stated flatly.
“Oh, you know Helen,” Mam said soothingly. “She says whatever she thinks. I didn’t know Rose overheard.” Mam raised her eyebrows at me. I’d hear later about the evils of eavesdropping.
I went to where my coat hung by the stove to dry, and rummaged in the pocket. I pulled out the letter from Sister Maria Cecilia and handed it to Da. He read it, then passed it to Mam, who quickly skimmed it and uttered a small moan of dismay.
“Da, I really tried to write the story. I really did,” I told him. “I spent all Sunday after Mass working on it a
nd my reading, but I couldn’t get the words to come out properly. Sister Frances says I’m lazy and simple—”
“She says that?” Da interrupted. His fingertips drummed on the table, a sure sign his temper was rising.
“Yes, but I’m not lazy, Da.” I had to convince him. “I really do work hard, but I can’t get words to make sense when I write them down. I get all the letters mixed up.”
I could see by their faces they didn’t understand. No one could.
“Da, please don’t send me back to school. I hate it there. I have no friends. Everyone thinks I’m slow. Sister Maria Cecilia says I have to be held back again.” I began to sob.
Da pulled me onto his lap. “Hush. Hush, my Wild Irish Rose.” After a moment, he said, “You’re never to do anything this foolish again, do you understand?”
I nodded.
“Get to bed. You’ve had enough adventure for one day.”
Halfway up the stairs, I stopped to listen. As I already had the sin of eavesdropping to confess, I couldn’t see how doing it twice would make it worse.
“Blasted nuns,” Da said.
“Michael!”
“Alice, they got her all defeated.”
There was silence, then Mam spoke. “Maybe it would be best if she stayed home. Next year she’ll be fourteen and she can hire out as a laundry maid. Or she might even find work in the textile factory. I imagine Ida could help her get a job—”
Da broke in impatiently. “I want better for her than doing other people’s laundry, Alice. Look how well Mary’s doing.”
“Is she?” Mam’s tone was dry. “I don’t know that Mary working at that bank is making her any happier than the other girls around here.”
Da’s mind was still on me. “Rose needs to stay in school until she’s sixteen.”
“She’s so unhappy, Michael.”
“She’ll do fine. She’s just taking a bit longer to learn. It’ll come to her all at once, and then you’ll see. She’ll outshine all the others.”
Mam sighed. “I’ll go to the school tomorrow morning and speak with Sister Frances and the principal. Maybe something can be worked out. I don’t want her held back again. I don’t think she could take it.”
“See what you can do, then,” Da said.
I heard their chairs scrape across the floor and I flew up the stairs and crawled into bed beside Winnie. I closed my eyes and said my prayers, and ended with a final, desperate one. Please, God, make it so I don’t have to go to school.
Chapter 9
I wiped porridge from Bertie’s face, holding him firmly by the chin as he squirmed to get away from the wet flannel. Mam had left me in charge while she went to the school to speak to the principal. I knew once she saw how awful Sister Frances was, she’d get me special permission to leave school. Normally, you had to be past grade seven or fourteen years old, but sometimes younger children got permission to stay home, if needed. I knew that was how God would answer my prayer—with special permission.
The kitchen door banged open and Ernest and Patrick dragged a sled into the room.
“Can I go sledding, too?” Bertie asked Ernest.
“Not today. There’s no snow. I’m just fixing it up.” He searched in Mam’s cleaning closet and surfaced with steel wool. “Grandpa said there would be a good fall by Saturday and he’s usually right.” Ernest upended his sled and began scraping the runners with the steel wool.
“You’re making a mess,” I shrieked.
“I’ll clean it up after,” Ernest said, not the least bit bothered by the rust flakes drifting to the floor.
“Put a cloth underneath it. If Mam sees that dirt she’ll be so mad . . .”
“She’ll give me a good hiding,” Ernest finished cheekily.
I got an old sheet Da had used to cover the sofa when he painted the parlour. “Lift it up,” I ordered.
Ernest picked up his sled and I placed the sheet beneath. Patrick wandered around the kitchen, his ever-present candy bag in one hand.
I poured a kettle of hot water into the dishpan and swished in slivers of soap to wash up the breakfast dishes. I wanted everything perfect for Mam’s return. Once she saw what a help I was, she’d want me to stay home. But there was still Da to get around. I shrugged. I had every confidence in God—and Mam.
“So why are you home, dummy? The Sisters finally decided you’re too stupid for school?” Patrick asked.
I washed a cup and ignored him, remembering how that had really bothered him at the park.
“She’s so stupid, they won’t even let her into the school.” Patrick spoke to Ernest but his eyes slid my way. I washed a bowl.
Silence certainly left Patrick at a loss. He rapped Bertie on the head—hard—and held out the paper bag. “Want a candy?”
Bertie winced and rubbed his head, but reached out eagerly. Patrick pulled his arm back. He put the bag to his lips and blew it up, then burst it with a bang. Bertie’s face collapsed into tears.
“That was just downright mean, Patrick.” I rapidly dried my hands. “You should be on your best behaviour. Christmas is just twenty days away and you know Santa Claus is watching to see if you’re good.”
“Who cares?” Patrick laughed.
“Well, then you should care that God is watching,” I told him.
He grinned, reached into his pocket and popped another candy in his mouth.
I got Mam’s cookie jar from the pantry and handed a cookie to Bertie. “Never mind, now. He keeps eating all that candy, he’s just going to be a fat pig.”
“He already is,” Ernest said.
“Take that back,” Patrick shouted.
“Fat pig,” Bertie repeated happily.
Ernest took a cloth and wiped a runner. “You’ll be so heavy your sled won’t carry you. You’ll be left at the top while all we boys fly down the hill.”
“Shut up. All of you, just shut up!” Patrick’s face turned purple with rage.
“That’s quite enough of that language.” Aunt Ida came into the kitchen, bringing with her a blast of damp, cold air. “Your Mam asked me to look in,” she said.
“A convoy’s forming up,” Patrick muttered to Ernest. “Do you want to go see?”
“Sounds fine,” Ernest said. He and Patrick were ship mad. They drew ships and built models of ships and painted ships. Ernest had been kept in after school for having more pictures of vessels in his scribbler than spelling words.
He ran upstairs and grabbed the binoculars Mam and Da had given him for his last birthday. Back in the kitchen he pulled on his coat. “Let’s go.”
“Wait,” Aunt Ida called. “Put away your sled and the cloth.”
“I’ll do it when I get back.” Ernest smiled broadly, half out the door.
“Do it now,” she ordered.
I could have hugged her for not letting Ernest’s smile get him his own way. Grumbling, Ernest hauled his sled out to the backyard, while surprisingly, Patrick folded the sheet neatly and set it on a chair.
“You know, Rose,” Aunt Ida said. “I still have my coat and hat on. Maybe we should take Bertie for a little walk and join the boys and take a look at that convoy ourselves.”
If Aunt Ida had told me she had a notion to go for a little walk on the moon, I would have gone right then with her.
“Do you have to go with us?” Patrick groaned.
“It’ll be nice for us all to go together,” Aunt Ida replied.
We walked to a small, grassy rise that gave us a view of both Bedford Basin and the Narrows, the channel that connects Bedford Basin to Halifax Harbour. The convoys, sometimes as many as forty ships, would form up in Bedford Basin. White clouds scudded across a hard blue sky, casting dark shadow ships over the water. Wind pulled at the waves, tipping them with white froth.
Ernest peered through his binoculars. “That’s the H.M.S. Highflyer,” he announced excitedly. He pointed at a cruiser. “It’s British. It sunk a German ship.”
“Let me see now,” Patrick whined.
He made a grab for Ernest’s binoculars, but Ernest twisted away.
“Ernest, perhaps everyone could have a turn,” Aunt Ida said.
Reluctantly, Ernest handed his binoculars to Patrick.
“Merchant ships over there being loaded.” Patrick nodded toward the docks, not wanting to be left out. He lowered the binoculars. “You know,” he said to Aunt Ida, “there’s an anti-submarine net across the harbour. They close it every night so no one can get out or in, especially enemy submarines.”
“You don’t say . . .” Aunt Ida shook her head in wonder, as if she’d never heard of that net—though I imagine, like everyone else in Halifax, she knew all about it. “I’m sure Bertie would like to see the boats now.”
All plumped up with importance, Patrick immediately turned over the binoculars to Bertie. Aunt Ida smiled her thanks at him, and Patrick blushed bright red. For a wonder, he even helped Bertie hold the binoculars.
After a few minutes, Aunt Ida handed them to me. It took a moment to focus them, then I found a ship. “There’s a big one called the I–M–O.” I spelled it slowly. “There’s something painted on the side. B . . .”
“Here, let me see. You’ll take all day.” Patrick snatched the binoculars from my hands.
Spitting mad, I tried to grab them back, but he held them out of reach.
“I’ll have a turn now.” Aunt Ida held out her hand. With a grimace at me, Patrick passed over the binoculars.
Aunt Ida focussed them on the ships. “It says, BELGIAN RELIEF. It’s taking on coal, so she’ll be leaving soon,” she said. “It’s a first-aid ship. It’ll have blankets and medicine for those poor war refugees in Europe.” She handed the binoculars back to Ernest. “Thank you, dear,” she said. “Rose, we’ll take Bertie back now and get some lunch started so Ernest won’t be late for school. Watch a few more minutes, then come directly home, Ernest.”
As we walked back to the house, I plunged my hands into my pockets to warm their icy tips. Feeling a lump in one, I pulled it out and saw I still had Duncan’s handkerchief. I would wash and iron it before I gave it back. I pushed it down in my pocket again, and began to think.
Duncan had been around all my life. He was nearly family. I would like to have a piece of him in my Irish Chain quilt. I wondered if he would miss the handkerchief if I kept it and didn’t say anything. I debated whether or not that would be considered stealing. I could see myself pointing to his patch in my quilt and telling my children the story of how Duncan had rescued me from the south side of Halifax. I would keep Duncan’s handkerchief, I decided. Now, if I had found Sister Frances’s handkerchief, I would have given it right back to her. Same with Patrick. I’ve asked God why He made some people so vexing, but He hasn’t answered me yet.
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