by Jean Little
Well, the usualness was gone the absolute instant we arrived inside our house. There in the drawing room were Gran and Granddad and Great-Aunt Laura Henry (she is Gran’s sister and she lives with them). Neighbours from down the road from their farm decided to hire a carriage to come to Toronto for their granddaughter’s wedding, and they thought Gran and Graddad might like to come along and surprise us with a visit. Well they did surprise us. We stared at them as though they had suddenly appeared from nowhere, as people do in fairy tales.
Then Gran jumped up from her chair. Granddad stood. Mama gave a little shriek. Then she made her face smile. (I expect because Miss St. C. was there. My mother is as good as a pantomime, she can make her face do whatever she wishes.)
I was so glad to see Gran and Granddad. We hugged and hugged and kissed and kissed and then we did it all over again. Jane, you would like Gran and Granddad exceedingly, I know you would. My granddad has a bushy black beard and he looks as fierce as a bear but he is not fierce, he is jolly and makes jokes all the time. He has a loud voice and an even louder laugh. Gran is forever saying, “Now Josiah, there are those among us who do not find farmyard animals as amusing as you do.” She is certainly right. Mama does not find his stories one bit amusing.
Papa and Charlie were greeting Gran and Granddad and Great-Aunt L. H. Mama was trying to introduce Miss St. C. to them. (I do not think she cared to do this as she thinks Gran and Granddad and Great-Aunt L. H. are not fine enough for her.) Peggy was trying to take our cloaks and bonnets. It was what Gran calls “a real stirabout.” Then there was a knock on the door.
You will never guess who it was. Never. It was Charlie’s friend, horrid Jesse Harvard. The measles have struck the Harvard family. Two of their maids are ill with them and so is Elizabeth (I told you that half the school has them). J. was sent with his small sister Charlotte to their Aunt Harvard. You know what an old tartar she is! (Remember when she marched into school in a rage at Elizabeth because E. had let her cat into the muddy garden?) So, when we were coming out of church, J. was complaining to Charlie and C. invited him for Christmas dinner.
As you can imagine, I did not find this one bit amusing. I think Mama would have had one of her fits right then and there but for Miss St. C. (Can you believe that I was actually happy that Miss St. C. was here?) Mama welcomed J. with a pretty smile, then she hissed into my ear that I was to go right down to the kitchen and tell Sophie that there would be four more places at the dinner table.
Peggy has come to say that dinner is served. I will have to finish this later.
Here I am, back from dinner. It was stewed beef with more potatoes and carrots than beef in it but there was lovely sugar pie for afterwards.
Back to my story. Off I went down to the kitchen. Sophie was already busy multiplying the loaves and fishes. She said, “Now Miss Belle, tell your ma not to fret. That roast of beef is big enough to go around twice over for a dozen people.” Then she told me that Gran had brought two hens and four minced pies and enough green tomato pickle to make Papa happy for a year.
I went back upstairs just in time to see three more people come through the front doorway, a man and a woman and a boy. Complete strangers — and they had baggage. I was aching to know who they were but I knew Mama would send me, so down to the kitchen I went. Sophie just said, “Don’t bother me again until you got the final count.” I decided right then that nothing in the world could ever happen that would upset Sophie.
It turned out that the people in the hall were called Rubidge. They are Horatio Rubidge, Maria Rubidge and their son Jasper Rubidge, who is seven years old. They are some sort of cousins to Mama and they have come from England and have been making their way from Montreal over this past month. They mean to homestead in the backwoods, miles and miles north of the farm country where Gran and Granddad live. They know no one else in Toronto so they came to us. Not that they know us but they had our direction (on a bit of smudged paper) from a cousin who has been writing letters to Mama.
What a mess (a Sophie word) of people we were. I wished to know all about these English cousins and, even more, I wished to visit with my gran and granddad but Mama told me that I was to help Peggy settle the cousins in the guest room and then entertain Jasper until dinner. Jane, do you not think this was truly unfair? Jasper is a boy. Mama should have asked Charlie and that wretched Jesse Harvard to entertain him but, of course, those boys had disappeared. I was stuck with Jasper.
You cannot believe what a dreadful boy he is. The only boy I have ever really known is Charlie and you know how dreadful he can be! Well this boy is totally, completely, unbelievably more dreadful! He is small and thin and straw-haired and so quiet you scarcely notice he is about but he is quick and sly — and mean. He invents the most astonishing devilment. I had to lock my poor little Dolly in my bedroom for fear he meant to murder her (I put the key on a string about my neck). She got out the first time when I went to hide my china-headed dolls away but, after Jasper threw her down the dumbwaiter the second time, she was very happy to stay in my bedroom.
Jasper’s father and mother do absolutely nothing to stop the devilment. Actually I doubt they are able. They are the feeblest human beings you can possibly imagine. They look exactly alike. Exactly! They are both as skinny as Patty’s old orange cat and Mr. R. has thin hair that same faded orange colour. Mrs. R. has mouse-grey hair (that is the only difference). She speaks in such a soft voice one must strain to hear even half what she says and Mr. R. giggles after every second word. I cannot imagine how they will manage out in the bush. They are not real cousins. Mrs. R. is cousin to the cousin who corresponds with Mama. (I do not suppose you find that a bit interesting, but I do like to have things properly sorted out.)
Peggy took Mr. and Mrs. R. upstairs and I was left to entertain Jasper. I had not the least notion how I was to do so. (I was wishing you were here because you always have such good ideas.) I asked him if he liked books. He did not. I asked if he liked music. He did not. (I was glad about that. I might have had to play the Mozart song we have been learning. What a notion!)
I was trying my best to think of what to do when he darted into the dining room. He went straight to the table which was set for dinner and began to upend everything on it. He had just got nicely started (with me scurrying along behind) when Peggy came in to set the new places. Our maid is not patient with children (as you know). She lunged at him, grabbed him around his middle and pulled his hand from one of the tall silver candlesticks. He wriggled loose. He spied Miss St. C.’s Bons Bons on the sideboard. I told you he was quick. Peggy was quicker. She took him by the arm and marched him smartly out of the dining room (otherwise you would not have the sweetmeats I sent).
That was when he grabbed my poor cat by her tail and threw her down the dumbwaiter the first time. While I was below stairs, rescuing Dolly, Jasper was upstairs in the nursery overturning everything. I found him there after I had put Dolly in my bedroom. I wrested my dolls from his clutches and took them to keep Dolly company (which is when she ran out). While I was doing that, Jasper disappeared again. Jane, I confess that I did not follow him. I stole back into the drawing room and stood just inside the door where Mama could not see me. Granddad saw me and so did Papa. They both smiled and Granddad winked.
Mama was sitting in one of the chairs near the fire asking Mrs. Rubidge for news from England. Miss St. C. was sitting in the opposite chair, listening as though she knew Mama’s relatives as well as Mama does. Great-Aunt L. H., with her bonnet still on her head, was drooping on the loveseat. Great-Aunt L. H. droops like a wilted rose.
Papa and Granddad were standing by the drinks table laughing about something I could not hear and Gran was across the room, smiling happily at both of them — my gran is so — so — oh, I cannot think of just the word for Gran but she makes everything feel absolutely right in the whole, entire world.
Another interruption. This time it was Dolly jumping into my lap. I all but turned over the ink bottle. Now she has settled
down to purr. (She is a very quiet cat today.)
Back to Christmas Day. Papa began to pass around the wine and the cordial. That was when Jasper threw Dolly down the dumbwaiter the second time. She landed with a thunderous crash on the dishes Sophie had put there to send upstairs, and she let out a horrifical screech. Mama screamed. Mrs. R. moaned. We all raced out into the hall to see what had happened. Charlie and Jesse came thumping down the stairs from Charlie’s room. Dolly flew by up the stairs. I ran after her.
I found her scratching at my door. Her eyes were wild and her fur was standing straight up and she was covered with something really sticky. My poor Dolly! I picked her up and carried her into my bedroom. She jumped out of my arms and was under my bed in a flash. All I could see was her tail thrashing like fury. I had to leave her there to recover from her terrible ordeal. (This was when I locked my door.)
It was mashed, sugared turnip all over Dolly — and all over me and my new green velvet dress. I discovered what it was when I went down to the kitchen to look for Jasper. He was not there. Charlie and Jesse were and Sophie was. Sophie was scraping mashed, sugared turnip and bits of Mama’s best china serving bowl from the dumbwaiter. Jane, I was wrong to think that nothing could truly upset Sophie. Her face was as red as a tomato and she sent us all from the kitchen with just one word, “GO.”
Up on the first floor, everyone was on the way back into the drawing room. I could not see either Mr. or Mrs. R.’s face but, from the back, they both looked as though they were trying to shrink.
Mama was very angry. She only said to me that I was to find THE BOY “at once,” but her jaw was tight shut and there was fire in her eyes.
I looked in the dining room — and under the table. He was not there. I looked in the pantry. He was not there. I knew he was not in the drawing room so I looked in Papa’s study. He was not there. I looked in the hidey place but he had not discovered that. I went upstairs and looked in Charlie’s room. C. and J. were there but not THE BOY and you can be sure that they were not concealing him. He was not in Papa’s room nor in Mama’s. (Not even THE BOY could be bold enough to invade Mama’s sanctuary.) I was on my way down the stairs, trying to think where to look next, when I heard Sophie say, very slowly, “Get – yourself – out – of – there. This minute.”
She was not precisely shouting but I am sure that one could hear her everywhere in the house and possibly outside — and, possibly, all the way to Yonge Street. I was through the dining room and into the pantry (just ahead of the crowd) in time to see THE BOY crawl out of the dumbwaiter and into the pantry. When he saw us all coming towards him, he dropped down and tried to crawl past us but you know how big Sophie is. She put one hand around his skinny arm and held fast. Mrs. R. began to cry. No one said a word until, finally, Granddad said, “Well, youngster, how about sitting with me for a while?”
THE BOY said nothing. Granddad laughed. He put his arm so tightly around him that THE BOY had to go into the drawing room and sit beside Granddad in his chair.
All this time Mr. R. did nothing and said nothing. Nothing at all. Mrs. R. went on weeping into her handkerchief. I went to my room to wash my hands and arms and my face and change into my old red wool dress. Alas and alack, I do not believe the green velvet will outlive the turnip. I was not (I am not) in charity with THE BOY!
Do you think this is the end of my Christmas tale? Well, it is not.
Mama was trying very hard to get Miss St. C. and Mr. and Mrs. R. to talk about England. In his big voice, Granddad was telling THE BOY about his cows. THE BOY sat absolutely still, looking as though he had never in his life thought about getting up to mischief. He looked as you might imagine an angel — except that his blue tunic was streaked with dirt (perhaps it was mashed, sugared turnip) and his white collar was quite black. I sat down beside Gran but I did not feel as I usually do with her because everything was so discombobricated. (Mama hates it when I use slang but I love that word.)
Finally Peggy announced dinner. Papa grandly offered his arm to Miss St. C., to lead her into dinner. Granddad offered his arm to Mama, Mr. R. offered his to Great-Aunt L. H. Charlie (after Mama nudged him) did the same for Gran, and Jesse started after me with his arm but Mama shoved him at Mrs. R. I had to follow after with THE BOY (not that I wanted to take J. H.’s arm).
Oh, Jane, I had to leave you again. Charlie came charging into my room because he was sure I would know where his muffler is. I do not — THE BOY likely took a fancy to it.
Back to my story. The table had our best linen cloth on it and Mama’s best china. The ring of cedar around the tall silver candlesticks in the centre looked very pretty and the candles shone brightly on the small crystal dishes with the green and red and yellow pickles and relishes. Except that I had to sit next to THE BOY, I quite liked having so many people at dinner.
In came Peggy with the soup — it was almond soup, Mama’s favourite (not mine). Then, of course, she brought in the roast beef, then the roasted chickens, the bread sauce, the beaten potatoes, the boiled carrots, the creamed onion, and the parsnip pudding (but no mashed, sugared turnip).
I was watching him very carefully and THE BOY did not make a single bit of trouble all through dinner. He was too busy eating. (A prodigious amount — I could scarcely believe it when he took a fifth piece of chicken from the platter Peggy passed him — and he did not complain about the soup.) C. and J. were every bit as busy at their dinners. The adults all talked — about what Christmas was like in England in the manor house where Mama lived when she was a girl, what it was like for Gran and Granddad when their families were pioneers here in Upper Canada when it was entirely wilderness. It was really nice.
Then Peggy cleared the table and it was Christmas pudding time. Peggy was passing it around on Mama’s best blue serving plate. I was watching her as she came towards our end of the table (I love Christmas pudding and I feared there would be only a scant portion left by the time it reached me) so I was almost facing THE BOY. I wish I had been watching him more closely because, when I chanced to look at his face for one instant, his face looked exactly like the picture of Rumpelstiltskin in your fairy-tale book. I looked down and saw his hand go under his tunic. Then the tail of a rat dropped below the hem. I told you THE BOY was quick. He had the rat out from under his tunic and onto the pudding plate before I could make one sound.
For a second no one else did, either. Then Peggy screamed and threw the plate of pudding and rat onto the table. The rat rolled off onto the tablecloth. (Did I tell you it was a dead rat?) Mama went white. Miss St. C. screamed and leapt to her feet. Great-Aunt L. H. said, “Oh, my,” and fainted. Mrs. R. began to cry again. Granddad reached over and put the rat back on the pudding plate. Papa stood up and picked up the plate and carried it into the pantry (Peggy had run off). C. and J. started laughing so hard I thought they would fall off their chairs. Mr. R. went right on eating his pudding. I just sat and stared. I could not believe what had happened.
Do you think this is the end of my Christmas tale? It is not. There is one more bit.
While all this excitement was happening, THE BOY said nothing. He did nothing, either. I was thinking that, if I were to look at him and he was looking pleased with himself, I might strike him. I did look at him but he was not looking pleased with himself. His pale face had gone as white as skimmed milk. One second later he leaned forward and threw up all over the table.
That was the end of our Christmas day but not the absolute end of the story. Mrs. R. took THE BOY upstairs. Everyone else had tea in the drawing room and then the Toronto visitors went home.
The Rubidge family will be here for at least a fortnight but I will not. Charlie and I are to go home with Gran and Granddad and Great-Aunt L. H.
THE BOY has the measles.
I hope you are feeling entirely well very soon.
Affectionately,
your friend Arabella
Run out of Albany for being loyal to the British crown, Mary and her family endured a long, difficult t
rek north to Québec. Even here, with the conflicts of the Revolutionary War behind them, they are faced with the struggle of clearing the land given to each Loyalist, and building their homes in the rough wilderness of a new land.
The Word for Home
December 25th, 1784
Johnstown, Quebec
I haven’t had much time for journaling, with Grannie handing me a broom or a pail every time she spots me with nothing in my hands. There’s no escaping her determination that every corner and nook of this small cabin will be swept as clean as a whistle before the new year comes in. And just a week to go before Hogmanay.
Today’s Christmas Day — a day of rest for some of our neighbours, and a day for us Scots to pray and give thanks. And we have so much to give thanks for. If we’re careful, we’ll have food enough for the winter, and we are snug in our own little cabin, hewed out of the woods with our own hands. (Father taught me that word. I love it. Isn’t it fortunate that Father is a schoolmaster?) We all hewed. Mother, Father, Angus and me. Though he is too young to wield an axe, Jamie did his share by piling up the branches. Oh, and Duncan hewed, too, of course. He’s almost family now and he helped as much as anybody else. Perhaps even more. Father says he’s a good worker and I certainly agree.
I am so glad Angus brought Duncan back from the war with him. And the other day when he took his muddy boots off I saw he was wearing the socks I knitted for him! In fact, he gave me a small, private grin and made certain that I noticed. He seems much happier lately. Ever since he told me that he had broken with his family to fight with the British against the American Rebels, I have felt so sorry for him. But it makes for a very warm feeling inside me to know that he thought me special enough to tell. None of the rest of our family, aside from Angus, knows his secret.
