Flower (9 page)

I
’m suddenly wide-awake. I’ve been dreaming of the girl again. The rain on my window is as loud as hailstones, and peals of thunder follow a flash of lightning that brightens the whole room. I love looking out at a storm. The wind sings, sounding almost human.

It’s her–the girl in my dream. She’s watching the storm too. Her arms hug her skinny body. I slide out of bed and stand beside her.

Gran bursts in, holding a flashlight. “Good gracious, Katie, what are you doing out of bed?”
Honestly, what kind of question is that?
Gran shuts the window, and flings her arm around me. “Fierce, isn’t it? I just wanted to check that you’re alright. I’m concerned about the wiring up here. We’ve had it looked at, but….”

“You worry, right? I bet it’s working okay.” I switch on the light. “There, it’s fine.” I climb back into bed.

“Good night, Katie. Sleep well.”

“Night.”

Gran leaves, and I turn off the light. I shut my eyes, wanting to get back into my dream. The wind’s gone quiet and I can barely hear the rain.

Someone’s in the room; I feel it. I’m not dreaming, at least I don’t think I am. I wait a few minutes before I get up and sit on the edge of my bed.

She’s here; she never left. The girl is in the alcove, crouched on the floor by Aunt Millicent’s trunk. Her legs are tucked under her shapeless dress; her feet are bare.

“Hello,” I whisper, “I thought I heard you humming a little while ago.”

“The storm was so loud I didn’t think anyone would hear. I like to sing; it reminds me of Helen. I talk to her sometimes, when I’m by myself.”

“Who is Helen?”
We’re actually having a conversation. Will I remember it in the morning?

“She’s someone I knew long ago. We pretended we were sisters. Helen was a skivvy, but she was aiming for something better. She gave me a picture postcard and a flower. I’m going to keep them forever. We used to sing and dance like this: Ta-ra-ra Boom-de-ay.” The girl gets to her feet, and holds out her hands to me.

I take them, and we sort of polka around the room. She stops suddenly, drops my hands, shivers, and sits down on the end of my bed. I pull the quilt round her shoulders. “Helen died a long time ago. She was my mother.”

“I’m awfully sorry. My mother’s dead too. Please, what is a skivvy?”

“It’s what I am, bottom of the heap. First up in the morning and last to bed. I work all day long for my keep. When I’m fourteen, I’ll get paid wages.”

“Yes, but who are you?”

“I’m a Home girl. A pair of hands to do the chores, that’s all.”

“That’s amazing … I mean, are you okay? Do they treat you alright?”

“Yes and no. I’ve a roof over my head, and they don’t beat me. I get enough to eat, and that’s something to be thankful for. It’s the first time in my life I’ve had a room to myself and there’s space to stand up in it, though it’s no bigger than a broom closet. There are hooks on the wall for my things, and sheets on the bed. I’ve a window to look out of, and I talk to the rock doves when I’m lonely and bursting to speak to someone. But that’s not what I came for. It’s not what they promised.”

“What did they promise?” I reach out my hand to her. “Who promised?”

There is an electric feeling in the room, as though the air has been disturbed. She’s gone.

It’s almost light. This is the first time that I dreamt I spoke to the girl, such a sad girl. I want her to be real and I want to be her friend.

She talks to her mother too. I always thought I was the only one in the world who did that.

The quilt is back on my bed, as though I had never moved it.

I wake feeling as cranky as if I’d stayed up all night. It’s just after ten. I go downstairs, drink some juice, and crash out on the deck. I may as well try to get a tan.

“Katie, did you remember to put on sunscreen?” Gran’s voice jars me.

“Mmm?” I must have dozed off for a minute.

“Sunscreen, and grab a sweater please. We’re going for a drive.”

What is she talking about? I just want to be left alone.

“Come along, Katie. Have you forgotten we’re going to Peggy’s Cove? The day will be over if we don’t get started soon. And yes, you do need a sweater because you know how windy it gets up there.” Gran would tell me to bring a sweater even if we were going to the Caribbean.

Ten minutes later, we’re heading out of the city.

“Normally I wouldn’t make this trip at the height of the season,” Gran announces.
So how come we’re going then?
“We’ll try not to let the tourist buses spoil our day.
I hope we can find a place to park.” Gran is acting like this was my idea.

I shouldn’t have skipped breakfast, I’m famished. Naturally there’s a twenty-minute lineup for lunch at the Sou’Wester. They seat us eventually and we order seafood chowder and corn bread.

“I think it’s time you and I had a talk, Katie,” Gran says, as she butters her bread.
We talk all day–what now?

“I don’t want to pry, but are you worried about anything? Won’t you tell me about it? Perhaps I can help. Grandfather and I want you to have a happy time with us.”
Is that why we drove two hours out here? We could have had this conversation at the house.

“Excuse me, but I have to find the washroom.”
What is wrong with her? What right do adults have to be so intrusive? It’s like they ask us about school all the time, so who’s going to admit that things aren’t perfect?

I wash my face with cold water, comb my hair, and go back to the table.

The chowder’s cold. I put my spoon down and say, “The thing is, Gran, I’ve got a lot of stuff happening in my life right now and I need to work it out, okay?” I was going to leave it at that, but the words sort of spill out. “If you must know, I am not thrilled about having to share the house, or my father, with Step. Where do I fit into this cozy threesome? I’m supposed to be happy about a baby? Some people might think it isn’t a big deal
to feel like an outsider in your own home, but it is to me–it’s a very big deal.”

I’m not trying to be rude, but Gran asked me, and it’s the truth. I
wish that for just one day I could have my mom back.

We sit in this huge silence and I’m finding it hard to swallow. After what seems like hours, Gran says, “Thank you for telling me, Katie.”

“I’ll work it out, okay, Gran?” Amazingly she doesn’t say any more. We don’t have dessert, though there’s gingerbread and ice cream on the menu, which Gran says is her favorite.

We get through the afternoon somehow. I send off postcards of the lighthouse to Mel and Angie. We don’t say much on the way home.

While Gran waters the garden, I decide to make her some gingerbread. I line up the ingredients on the counter, saying the name of each one out loud, the way I did the first time Mom taught me the recipe–the way I still do it every single time I bake.

Grandfather eats three cookies the minute they come out of the oven, and Gran says, “Perfect.” She suggests I bring a few for Miss Macready when I visit her tomorrow.

I go upstairs early and read over my audition speech for
The Secret Garden.
I want to play Mary Lennox so badly. Not just because it’s a terrific and challenging role,
but because she finds her own way to become a part of her new family.

The scene I’ve chosen is where she has a huge fight with Colin, and shows him there’s nothing wrong with his back.

The sound of crying wakes me. It’s so loud I’m surprised Gran hasn’t woken up too.
Is it me, crying in my sleep?
I was on the edge of tears all afternoon.

I get through the days, and they’re okay, but at night I feel as if I’m taking part in a story, and I can hardly wait to find out what’s going to happen next.

There is someone else in the room. The “sad girl” huddles in her usual place, crouched beside the trunk. She’s trying hard not to cry, but now and again I hear a great gulping sob. It makes me want to cry too, to comfort her even before I know what’s wrong. I slide out of bed and sit down cross-legged on the floor, facing her.

“Please tell me why you’re upset. I won’t tell anyone; you can trust me,” I whisper, afraid she’ll disappear.

“It’s not fair, it’s not fair,” she sobs.

“What isn’t fair?” I ask, willing her to stay, not taking my eyes off her.

“Miss Alice searched my room, turned it all upside down. Mrs. Dunn must have put her up to it. They had no right….”

“Of course, they didn’t. It’s against the law to treat you like that.”

“What law? I’ve heard of no law for orphans. They can accuse Home children of stealing without proof, if they’ve a mind to, and there’s no one to speak up for us.” She wipes her eyes.

I don’t know how to help, except to listen and tell her I’m on her side. “Why did they accuse you?”

“It’s all that Mr. Norman’s fault. He’s been eyeing me for weeks. Sometimes when I’m handing round the plates at table, he brushes my arm, or he comes out of his room when he hears me on the landing. It’s narrow even for one person up there. It gives him an excuse to stand close to me, pretending he just happened to be there at the same time.

“I’ve grown out of both my work dresses. They’re too tight, and too short. I’ve moved the buttons and let down the hems as much as they’ll go. That’s the best I can do. I’ve been here more than a year–I’ve grown. I’ll be thirteen in two months, and I’m supposed to be provided with my board and keep. By rights Mrs. Dunn should get me another dress, but I don’t like to ask her.

“The Sunday school picnic was on Saturday. St. John’s Anglican Church is where Mrs. Dunn and Miss Alice worship, and where I attend Sunday school. I was allowed to go, as long as my chores were done. I polished the silver, washed the scullery floor and the new gray
linoleum in the kitchen, and blackleaded the stove. Then I changed into my Sunday dress. It’s dark blue flannel and still fits me because they made it to fit big back in London.

“I was told to return from the outing in plenty of time to help Miss Alice with Saturday night supper. Finally I was free to leave. I did feel happy, being out in the fresh air amongst the trees and flowers, with a whole afternoon ahead to enjoy myself with other girls my age.

“I’d never been on a picnic before. Miss Farrell, our Sunday school teacher, took us to Jackson Park, and we settled under the shade of some sycamore trees. We spread out a big white linen cloth, and laid out the food. I added Miss Alice’s famous corn bread to the feast as my contribution. There were layer cakes, tea biscuits, jam tarts, and a lemon sponge. We had hard-boiled eggs and ham sandwiches and two cold roast chickens. More food than I’d ever seen at one meal.

“I have enough to eat, but I don’t get everything the same as the boarders. Not that I’m complaining; it’s a lot better than I ever had back home. Miss Farrell brought lemonade for everyone and candied fruits as a special treat.

“After we’d cleared away and scattered crumbs for the birds, we played games like I spy and hide-and-go-seek and jump rope. Then Miss Farrell gathered us in a circle and talked about children less fortunate than ourselves. The class agreed to give all the leftover food to the
Children’s Aid shelter at the north end of Water Street. The teacher said I might deliver it on my way home, as I live on Water Street too. She said that I was never to forget that once I was one of those unfortunate children, and wasn’t I lucky to have found a good home? They like to remind you where you come from … make sure that you’re properly grateful.

“It got hotter and hotter, and Miss Farrell said we could walk quietly in the park for an hour before it was time to leave. She sat down on a blanket to rest, and the others went off in small groups.

“I don’t have a special friend because of being a Home girl and working as a skivvy, but Sadie Johnston and Millie Hughes asked if I wanted to go to the creek, below Bonaccord Street, with them. Millie’s big brother had seen two blue herons there that week. A heron was still there, standing on one leg, motionless as a stone, almost as though he had been carved out of air. He never moved, not even when we took off our shoes and stockings to go into the water to cool off.

“We waded in, lifting our skirts up to our knees. Suddenly Millie screamed, pointing towards the bushes. The heron, startled, rose up and flew away.

“‘A man, there’s a man looking at us!’ she yelled. We grabbed hold of each other’s hands and scrambled back to the bank, picking up our things and running till we were breathless. We dried our feet as best as we could
with our petticoats, hoping Miss Farrell wouldn’t notice. But Millie was in hysterics, crying about a man with glaring eyes. Miss Farrell tried to comfort her, then looking directly at me, she said coldly, ‘I will not enquire whose idea it was to go to the creek, but I hope you have all learned a lesson, and will behave in a more seemly manner in future.’

“We walked back to the church, where the mothers were waiting to pick up their daughters. I carried the remains of the picnic to the children’s shelter, and was back in time to help Miss Alice. I thanked her again for the corn bread and she set me to scraping carrots and new potatoes.

“After supper that night, when Miss Alice had put the leftover roast in the pantry, she reminded me to scour the sink in the scullery and then went upstairs to the parlor. I was sweeping the floor when Mr. Norman came in. He was holding a small box in his hand. ‘I thought you might like a chocolate,’ he said, and offered me a gold-wrapped sweet. ‘It must have been most refreshing, paddling in the creek this afternoon, the water cool on your bare feet and legs.’ He stared at me and I remembered how we’d waded into that lovely water, our skirts held too high. And then I knew he was the man who’d seen us–the man in the bushes! He looked so pleased with himself, I wanted to sweep him out of the room.

“‘Yes, sir, it was… very refreshing, and no, sir, I don’t want a chocolate. I had sufficient to eat at the picnic. If you’ll excuse me, I have to finish my work now.’

“‘Some other time, perhaps,’ he said, and stood, watching me, like a cat waiting to pounce.

“At that moment, Mrs. Dunn came into kitchen. ‘Do you require anything, Mr. Norman?’ she asked. Then, harshly to me, ‘You are late with my tea, girl. Bring the tray upstairs as soon as it’s ready’