A Time for Giving

by Jean Little

  A big parcel arrived for us in the mail from Tad. It was full of smaller packages, one for each of us. Harry’s convinced that his will be ice skates. I hope he won’t be disappointed! I wonder what’s inside mine.

  And tonight Mike brought us over a little fir tree! We spent all evening decorating it. Harry’s garlands were put to good use and we made several origami ornaments from old newspapers. Mama miraculously found a few strands of tinsel in one of our old trunks. The tree looks lovely and really cheered me up. I’m starting to feel like Christmas, in spite of everything.

  Thursday, December 23

  Dear Sachi,

  So much happened today, it’s a challenge to get it all down for you! I’m writing this wrapped in a blanket, sitting beside the kitchen stove. Although I’m completely dry now and wearing flannel pajamas, I’m still chilled from my unexpected dip in the lake. Corporal Sayers just left our house. Such excitement! Where shall I begin?

  This afternoon everyone in the family went down to a packed Bosun Hall for the pageant. Almost everyone in our community was there. Stephen was sitting with his parents when we arrived. He looked as sad as ever, but at least he wasn’t crying. Somehow all the classes kept to their allotted time, probably thanks to Emma’s organization. I watched Stephen trying to hide himself in the back row when his group got up to sing “Santa Claus Is Coming to Town.” It’s hard to believe that some of those cute kids could be so mean.

  I confess I lost track of Stephen once Harry’s class put on its play. Harry’s role as Mr. Winkle was the hit of the entire show! When all the children finished their various performances, everyone sang “God Save the King.” Then the mothers brought out their baking and there were masses of people milling around, chatting and eating. I saw the Takadas but Stephen wasn’t with them and I thought nothing of it. Maybe I should have, in retrospect!

  Harry ate too many cookies and began racing around. I worried he’d get a swelled head from all the compliments he received! Mama asked me to take him outside to burn off his energy. That’s when Mike said he had to drop off a load of old wood down by the Sanitorium, so he suggested I walk Harry there. He’d pick us up and drive us home later. “Capital idea!” said Harry, repeating one of his lines, and the two of us headed south.

  The beach in front of the hospital was deserted. Harry raced to the water, his feet clattering on the stones. Suddenly he stopped and said, “What’s that noise?” We heard splashing coming from a corner of the bay. “Over there!” he shouted.

  The two of us ran to the shore. I saw a dark shape in the water. Stephen was hanging on for dear life to a piece of wood, thrashing about to keep from tipping over!

  I shouted at Harry to run to the San for help. Then without thinking, I kicked off my shoes, threw off my coat and ran into the lake. The water isn’t that deep until you’re farther out, but it was soooooooo cold! I knew that Stephen wouldn’t be able to hang on much longer, so I took a deep breath, plunged in and swam towards him as fast as I could. He was just about to go under when I reached him.

  Sachi, it was so hard keeping his head above water! And I was so cold! I had to get back to the shore fast before one of us gave out. By this time, Harry had returned with Dr. Uchida and Mr. Mori. And Mike showed up too, thank heavens! Mike and Mr. Mori both ran right into the lake. Just as I was about to sink, Mike grabbed me and Mr. Mori grabbed Stephen. They carried us onto the beach, where Dr. Uchida was waiting with some blankets.

  I was cold in the water but even colder once I was out! My teeth wouldn’t stop chattering. Stephen’s lips were blue and he kept coughing up water. Before I knew what had happened, we were wrapped in those scratchy grey Commission blankets and brought into the San.

  Even though I was still cold, I was fine otherwise. Stephen had swallowed a lot of water and was in worse shape. The nurses put him in a spare bed and packed hot water bottles around him. Dr. Uchida phoned the RCMP and asked someone to fetch Stephen’s parents.

  Sachi, I’m so proud of Harry! He stayed at Stephen’s bedside until the Takadas arrived. They’d been running around the hall searching for their son ever since the pageant ended and were worried sick. Harry refused to leave the San until Stephen finally fell asleep, exhausted. Mike drove us home. Corporal Sayers stopped by to tell us Stephen will likely be fine after a good night’s sleep. That’s what I’m doing now — going to bed!

  Friday, December 24

  Dear Sachi,

  News travels fast here! At school today, everyone had heard how I rescued Stephen. I was embarrassed by the attention, so thank goodness our Christmas party distracted everyone.

  And what a surprise that was. Nora and our classmates had transformed the dining room with homemade decorations. The sisters had prepared us a feast! There were candles on the long table and favours at each place. The centrepiece was a splendid cake that Sister Agnes said was a Christmas tradition from the nuns’ home in Québec, a bûche de Noël or yule log. Father Clement said a short prayer before we ate some of the most delicious food I’ve ever eaten. Afterwards, we sang Christmas carols.

  Sachi, I had such a feeling of happiness that I haven’t felt in a long time. I was hoping hard that same feeling would somehow reach Stephen too.

  And my wish came true! When I got home, Mama said that Harry went to see Stephen. He was much better today, so Dr. Uchida let his parents bring him home for Christmas. When Harry returned, he announced he was tired of being the youngest in this family. He’s offered to be a big brother to Stephen! Not only is Harry going to keep an eye on Stephen after school so those kids won’t pick on him, but he’s going to teach Stephen some Japanese words. That should be interesting! Isn’t it great that Stephen has someone to look out for him now? My conundrum is solved!

  December 25, Christmas Day

  Dear Sachi,

  I hope your Christmas was as good as mine! That happiness I felt yesterday continued today. This morning our family went to mass, and St. Anthony’s was full of our friends and neighbours. During Father Clement’s sermon, I thought of how Mary and Joseph had travelled so far and were looking for a safe place to rest that long-ago Christmas. No one wanted them. And yet everything worked out somehow. My New Year’s resolution is to be more positive!

  Then we walked home and opened Tad’s presents. Harry did get his ice skates! Mama got a big box of chocolates, a real treat during rationing. And Tad gave me my first fountain pen. I can’t wait to use it! I’ll mail you this scribbler next week, Sachi, so you can read about my adventures. I can’t wait for your next dispatch.

  Thanks for “listening” and have a very happy New Year!

  As always,

  Mary

  The country of Canada is more than one year old now. Christmas will see Rosie much busier than usual, if Cook has anything to do with it. And though Rosie is settled in her role as a servant, she thinks the scatterbrained nursemaid who is tending little Jonathan is making a mess of it. Then another situation comes to light which draws Rosie’s attention in a way she never would have expected, and she has no idea how she might help.

  A Candle for Christmas

  Monday, December 14th, 1868

  Ottawa, Dominion of Canada

  We are in our fine new stone house now and, although it is a sight warmer than the dreadful old wooden house that we lived in when we first came to Ottawa, it is in the usual Christmas turmoil. Not helped at all by that ninny of a new nursemaid, Beth. Sure, I cannot see why Missus Bradley ever hired her. Mind you, Beth is all sweetness and light when she is around, but Cook and I know the truth of it. Beth is the most scatterbrained mooncalf I have ever met. I have heard of people who don’t have the wit to boil water, but until I met Beth, I never believed it to be true. The trouble is, she is fond of baby Jonathan and he loves her, and that’s all Missus Bradley sees. She doesn’t see the carelessness.

  How can I tell her? She would just reprimand me and say it isn’t my place to criticize her choice of nursemaid, and of course she’s right. ’Tis a
worry, though.

  Tuesday, December 15th, 1868

  Spent the day running errands and going to the shops for Cook. She is deep into the preparations for Christmas. Mister and Missus Forrester will be coming as usual, so Bessie will be here to help out again. I’m looking forward to seeing her, as it’s been awhile since we have been able to get together. Not that we’ll have much time to visit and catch up with each other’s news, though.

  Cook is calling. She needs help in the kitchen. Not much time for anything but Christmas at the moment, actually.

  Later

  That Beth is beyond useless. I had just finished helping Cook with some last-minute puddings — she always fears that there will never be enough food when, truth be told, there is already enough to feed half of Ottawa — when Briney turned up with the daily delivery of the water barrels. He had a day off from his job at the mill and was helping out because his da is not doing too well. There was a new fellow working with him, and that daft Beth seemed very taken with him. Flighty, she was, and making calves’ eyes at him. Meanwhile, poor little Jonathan was toddling around unsupervised and I caught him just before he stumbled into the hearth.

  I let out a screech and was pleased to see her jump a mile. What did she do then but grab the poor child out of my arms and glare at me as if I were the one at fault. I caught Briney’s eye over her shoulder and he raised his eyebrows at me. He has heard me complain about her often enough; now he has seen for himself how neglectful she is. Briney’s new helper, Jack, didn’t notice anything amiss, and just kept mooning at Beth as if he had taken leave of his senses. If he had any senses in the first place, that is.

  I saw a woman by the courthouse this morning when I was passing by. I don’t exactly know why, but she caught my attention. She was carrying a small bundle. She looked up at me for a moment as we crossed each other’s paths, and I was brought to a standstill by her eyes — the saddest eyes I have ever seen. I wonder who she is and where she was going.

  Friday, December 18th, 1868

  Thank goodness we got some snow last week and it has covered up the frozen mud. Not so slippery for walking about. It looks much nicer, too. White and pure instead of dirty brown. Briney and Jean-Louis took advantage of it to go into the woods across the river and cut down a Christmas tree for us. I do thank Queen Victoria and Prince Albert for introducing this German custom — I love it!

  We will not bring the tree in and decorate it until Christmas Eve, of course, but Cook and I are busy making decorations for it. Jean-Louis brought a barrel of cranberries again and Cook and I made her delicious cranberry sauce, but we saved enough berries to make garlands for the tree. I have been busy stringing them.

  Cook made the sweetest little cookies in the shape of stars. We will hang them, as well as popcorn balls, which I will make tomorrow, and we’ll string bright ribbons around the tree to make it look as festive as possible.

  Missus Bradley even has some pretty little ornaments that she will put on, with a star for the very top. Then Mister Bradley will fasten the candles onto the branches. They will only be lit on Christmas Eve for a short time, because of the danger of fire, but they will make the tree look lovely.

  I have also been secretly making gifts to put on the tree for the family. I made:

  —a pen wiper for Mister Bradley, as he is always staining his cuffs with ink

  —a needle case for Missus Bradley, with a rose embroidered on it (I hope she will recognize it as a rose, which is her favourite flower, as I am not all that handy with a needle)

  —a pincushion for Beth, in hopes that she will organize herself a bit

  —a rag doll for Jonathan, who does love soft toys

  I could not think of what to get Briney or Jean-Louis, so I made them each a special cake. I must admit I made Briney’s a bit more special.

  I did not make a gift for James. Even though he condescends to treat me more politely now that I am no longer suspected of stealing that bracelet, he still obviously dislikes me. I suppose a good Christian would overlook that and find some little treat for him, but I will not. I know that he would receive whatever I gave him with a sneer and would probably toss it in the trash heap. If that makes me a poor Christian, so be it. I will confess it next Sunday and not trouble myself over it. I do not see that much of him, anyway, as he is always off attending to Mister Bradley and driving him around.

  I sent off a package to my own family earlier on this month. I made a toy for Timothy as well, and sweets for Paddy and Bridget. I sent tobacco for Da and a scarf for Mam. Missus Bradley gave me some of her own fine, soft wool to make it. She is such a kind lady. Then I made mittens for Mary Margaret and a wee quilt for her little Rosie. Named after me!

  My family’s package of gifts for me arrived last week, but the best gift I have ever received was my big sister naming her babe after me.

  Saturday, December 19th, 1868

  I saw that same woman today near the courthouse. Everyone on the street was in a bustle and greeting everyone else with cries of “Merry Christmas!” and “Good Cheer to you!” but she just made her way along the street with her head down, still clutching a bundle, and not taking any notice of anyone. Her whole being looked so dejected and hopeless. I could not help it — I followed her. She went through a little door into the jail at the side of the courthouse. What could she have been doing there?

  Monday, December 21st, 1868

  I have found out who the woman is, and it is such a sad story. I was running errands for Cook, as usual, and passed by the courthouse again. There was the same woman, trudging along with her bundle, bent over against the wind. Without thinking, I went over and offered to carry her bundle for her. She looked startled, then clutched it closer and shook her head.

  “No!” she said. It was almost a cry. “No! I must do this myself!” Then she scurried into the building.

  A man — a guard, I think — was standing at the door. When he saw me there, looking confused, he told me what the story is. It seems the poor woman is the wife of Patrick James Whelan, the man who was convicted of the shooting of Thomas D’Arcy McGee last April. The newspaper was full of it at the time, and the talk around Ottawa was of nothing else. It seems Mister Whelan is said to be a Fenian, one of the Irish who hate England and all the British, and considered Mister McGee to be a traitor to Ireland for helping our prime minister achieve Confederation. The belief is that that’s why Mister Whelan shot him, but the guard told me that Mister Whelan steadfastly maintained his innocence at the trial and maintains it still. Nevertheless, he is to be hanged. The woman who visits him is his wife, Bridget, who brings him his luncheon every day.

  The hanging will be some time in February. It is to be done in public at the Carleton County Jail right here in Ottawa. Briney says he is going to watch. I will not. To see a fellow human being die, whether he is guilty or not — I could not bear it.

  It is so sad. I cannot imagine what Missus Whelan must feel like. And Mister Whelan — what a terrible fate he faces! I know myself what it feels like to be falsely accused of something, even just stealing a bracelet, which was bad enough. But what would it be like to be accused of murder if you didn’t do it? And to be hanged! How can they bear the waiting, knowing what is going to happen and knowing there is nothing they can do about it?

  Wednesday, December 23rd, 1868

  Beth has done it now. I am still trembling with fear. This is what happened.

  I was sent out for some last-minute shopping and Beth asked Missus Bradley, as the weather was not too cold and it was not snowing, if she could take Jonathan along on his little sled for some fresh air. It seemed odd to me, as Beth is not one for walking if she can avoid it and she is always complaining about the cold. She usually prefers to sit in the nursery and let Jonathan amuse himself with his toys at her feet.

  We had just gotten to Sparks Street when Jack, that new fellow who works with Briney’s da, appeared. He made such an elaborate pretense of being surprised by the meeting that I
knew at once he had been waiting for us. No wonder Beth had been anxious to get out.

  He took over pulling the sled with Jonathan on it and soon he and Beth were well ahead of me. I tried to keep up, but I had to stop into Bate’s grocery store for tea. When I came out, they were a piece ahead of me on the other side of the street. Just as I caught sight of them, Jonathan spied me and called out to me. I had promised him that he could look in the shop windows that were all decorated for Christmas, and I could see that Beth was hurrying him past them and paying no attention to him whatsoever. I started to cross over when, to my horror, I saw Jonathan slide out of the sled and start to toddle toward me. Beth never even noticed.

  I cried out, but at that exact moment a cart came careening by, pulled by two horses that looked to be almost out of control. I have never moved so fast in my life. I dashed across the street, almost under the hooves of the horses, and reached Jonathan just as he was about to step in front of them. I threw myself at him and we both landed in the snow beside the street. A lady walking by screamed and several other people cried out. The man driving the cart let out an oath and finally managed to get the horses under control.

  Jonathan shrieked and I pulled myself off him. I was so afraid that I had hurt him, but he was all right, just terrified. I looked up to see Beth staring down at me.

  Can you believe what she said? “Please, Rosie. Don’t tell Missus Bradley! Don’t tell on me!”