Emily's Dream (7 page)

Dick's face grew serious again.

“If you get caught you'll be in real trouble,” he said.

Emily couldn't help wincing at the thought of the riding whip nipping the back of her legs.

“It's not like I stole anything,” she said quickly. “I'll just let Piddington stew a bit, then I'll leave the thing somewhere he can find it. He'll just think he misplaced it.”

“What are you two whispering about?” Lizzie demanded. She had stopped and turned to glare back at them.

“Do catch up!” Alice pleaded. “We don't want to be late for church.”

Emily rolled her eyes. Her pious sisters always started out so early Sunday mornings there was little chance of them being late no matter how much she and Dick dawdled.

The church service was long and dull, as usual. The minister, Dr. Reid, droned on and on, his thick white beard rising and falling almost hypnotically. One of the smaller orphans who sat near the church stove snored softly. Emily nudged Dick and pointed at an orphan boy who sat in front of them. His brown hair stuck up in ragged tufts on top his head, and he was holding a hymn book up to the boy next to him, using his body to hide it from the view of
the matron who sat at the end of the row. Emily and Dick had a clear view of the book between the two boys. Scrawled in the margin was a childish drawing of Dr. Reid, his beard extra long with what looked like a bird poking its head out of the long flowing white mass. Sniffs of laughter escaped Dick and Emily, and Lizzie gave Emily a sharp poke.

Emily turned her attention back to the front of the church and tried to concentrate on Dr. Reid's words. With Emily's luck, Dede would probably quiz her on the sermon when they got home just like Father used to do. After a while Emily's attention wandered again, and she leaned forward to try to catch a glimpse of the Piddingtons who sat at the end of the Carrs' row. Mrs. Piddington faced straight ahead, her expression vacant. She was probably thinking that women's hats were much more stylish in England, Emily thought. Mr. Piddington looked bored, as usual. His heavy-lidded eyes seemed to be staring up at a corner of the ceiling behind Dr. Reid's head. Then, as Emily watched,
he absently patted the empty pocket of his coat where his cigarette case usually rested, and his bored look hardened into a scowl. Suddenly, he turned, and his eyes met Emily's. She looked away quickly and drew back in the row. Her heart thudded. Did he suspect her of taking the case?

Eventually, the service ended, and Emily and her family emerged from the church, blinking in the sunlight. Dick caught Emily's eye as they watched the Piddingtons climb into the phaeton.

As they walked home, Emily watched the side of the road for signs of the weeds her canary liked to eat. She picked a few sprigs of a plant with small yellow flowers that Father had once told her was related to the dandelion. The thought of her canary pecking his food and singing made Emily's heart feel lighter.

 13 
Missionaries

Since no work was done on Sundays in the Carr house, the noon meal was the usual cold meat and dishes prepared the day before. The Piddingtons sat at the table while Emily helped her sisters bring in the food. As she set down a basket of buns, Emily noticed Mr. Piddington pick up the teacup in front of him and look at it with distaste. It was covered with wobbly hand-painted roses that had faded to an ugly brown color and had been a gift to Dede from one of her Sunday-school students. It wasn't usually used for guests and must have been set out by mistake.

“Good God, this is ugly,” Mr. Piddington said, hardly making an effort to lower his voice. “It'll taint the taste of the drink.”

Emily glared at Mr. Piddington, and Mrs. Piddington waved her handkerchief at him.

“My dear Mr. Piddington,” his wife said. “I do think misplacing your cigarettes has put you out of sorts.”

Mr. Piddington grunted in agreement.

“And no shops in this God-forsaken place are open on Sunday,” he grumbled.

God-forsaken? Emily's temper rose. She had half a mind not to return his horrible cigarette case at all.

Just then, Mr. Piddington seemed to notice that Emily was in the room. Her face flamed as he looked at her. She turned away and hurried back out to the kitchen.

During the meal, Emily was careful to sit on the same side of the table as Mr. Piddington, so that he could not look at her directly. She did not like the way his eyes darted to her whenever the missing cigarettes were mentioned.

Soon after they'd finished eating, Emily was relieved to see the Piddingtons leave in a hired carriage. Unfortunately, they were replaced by two new visitors, missionary women with plain stern faces and dark unadorned dresses. Emily and Dick were forced to sit stiffly in the drawing room along with their sisters and their guests.

Teacups clinked softly, and women's voices droned. Dick rose from his chair.

“Excuse me, Dede,” he said weakly. “Would you mind if I went to lie down for awhile?”

“Are you not feeling well?” Dede asked with concern.

Dick nodded, his eyes downcast.

“Yes, do go and lie down. I'm sure our guests will excuse you.”

Emily looked anxiously at Dick. He had seemed so well earlier. Was he getting sick again? As he turned to leave the room, Dick winked at Emily. Relieved, she had to hold back a laugh. What a good idea. She wished for a moment that she hadn't always been so strong and healthy. Dede would never believe her if she tried the same rouse.

Once Dick had left, Emily sat back in her chair and sighed, resigning herself to a boring afternoon.

But the afternoon did not turn out to be boring, after all.

“The totem poles are heathenish,” one of the missionaries was saying. “And the forests are so thick and wild you can't even walk in them.”

Emily's ears pricked up.

“You've visited the Indian villages?” Emily asked, leaning forward in her chair.

“Why yes, dear. We just spent a year in a village on the north coast of Vancouver Island.”

“How wonderful!” Emily exclaimed.

The missionary ladies looked pleased with Emily's interest, mistaking it for religious zeal. But Emily was remembering the exciting stories her father had told years ago after he and a group of local businessmen had hired a steamship to take them all the way around Vancouver Island. It had taken them ten days to get around the island. They'd passed mysterious Indian villages where
tall poles carved with animals and supernatural figures stood. They'd seen whales and dolphins leaping in the water and had glimpsed bears and other wild animals at the edge of the forests. Her father had marveled at the magnificent trees, their closeness to each other, the strangling undergrowth and the great silence of the forests.

Once, when the boat was tied up for three hours, Emily's father and another man had tried to cut their way into the thick forest with axes. By the time the ship's whistle blew for them to return, they were exhausted and dripping with sweat, but they'd barely made a mark on the forest. These stories about the wild West Coast were much more interesting to Emily than the stories people told when they'd come back from a trip to England and Europe, bragging about all the great and important buildings and museums they'd seen. She longed to see the forests and the totem poles.

“What was it like?” Emily asked the missionaries eagerly.

“It was always wet,” said the smaller of the two women. “And there was nothing but fish to eat.”

“It is difficult to live so isolated from Christian civilization,” the taller missionary added. “But one can endure many hardships when one knows one is doing God's work.”

Emily noticed that Lizzie was nodding her head vigorously as the guests spoke.

“But what about the forest and the people?” Emily asked.

“Oh, we never went into the forest,” said the smaller missionary, sounding shocked at the suggestion. “It was much too dangerous.”

“And we had no reason to,” added the other.

Emily could think of many reasons why she would want to go into the forest–just to see what it was like, for one.

“The people must have been very grateful to have you bring them the word of God,” Lizzie said.

“I don't know if grateful is the way I would describe their attitude,” the tall
missionary said. “But I believe we have made some headway in their acceptance of our Lord.”

Emily turned away to hide her disgust. The missionaries were just as snobby as the Piddingtons. It seemed like they hadn't bothered to learn anything about the people or the place they had visited.

 14 
Poor Mr. Piddington

It wasn't until the missionary ladies were on their way out that Emily had a chance to slip Mr. Piddington's cigarette case under one of the stuffed chairs. She pushed it back far enough that it couldn't easily be seen. She doubted that Mr. Piddington had gotten down on his hands and knees to look under the chair already.

After supper, the Piddingtons had still not returned. It was so pleasant to have the house to themselves again–to be able to relax and not worry about tripping over the Piddingtons or any other guests–that Emily forgot about the case waiting under the drawing room chair.