Authors: Kit Pearson
The night before her life changed forever, Polly had wakened and heard someone downstairs. She’d crept down to find Daddy in the dim living room, the spark of his cigarette end glowing.
“What are you doing?” she asked sleepily, crawling into his lap.
Daddy was holding a framed photograph of Polly’s mother. He put it down and butted his cigarette. “Just thinking, Doodle. You should be asleep.”
“Thinking about what?” Polly asked, but she already knew what he was worried about. His boss had just told him there was no more work for him; tomorrow would be his last day.
“Things that are too complicated for little girls to know about,” he answered.
Polly shivered at how sad and shaky his voice sounded—as if he were trying not to cry. Daddy was
never
sad! He was always cheerful, no matter how many jobs he lost.
“Don’t worry about losing your job, Daddy,” she said. “We can go on the dole again, and you’ll find other work—you always do.”
“Yes, but it never amounts to anything, does it? Oh, Doodle, I’m so ashamed of how we live! You girls deserve the best, not terrible food, and handouts from the government. I’m going to have to use all of my last pay for the rent. And now Maud isn’t going back to school. What a waste for such a smart kid! I’m a bad father to you girls—that’s all there is to it.”
Polly couldn’t bear this. “You’re
not
a bad father!” she cried. “You’re the best father anyone could ever have! It’s not your fault you can’t get work. Lots of my friends’ fathers can’t either. It’s all the fault of the e—e
mon
omy, right?”
She had pronounced the word wrong on purpose. To her relief, Daddy chuckled as he said, “The economy, Doodle. Canada is having a depression, just like the rest of the world. You’re right that it’s not my fault, but it’s still bloody frustrating when a man who’s willing to do damn near anything for a buck can’t take care of his girls!”
Daddy
never
swore! He had to be really upset. Polly couldn’t think of any words to comfort him. She pressed against his warm chest, breathing in the leathery smell of the carbolic soap he scrubbed himself with every evening. Daddy hated getting dirty. Before the depression he had worked as a clerk in an insurance firm, but now he could only find manual labour jobs that left his skin embedded with grime.
They sat without moving, while the little house creaked around them. Finally Daddy sighed, kissed Polly’s forehead, and made her go back to bed. Polly couldn’t sleep until she heard him come upstairs.
The next morning, however, Daddy was his normal self, singing “Pack Up Your Troubles” as usual when he woke them up. As Polly got dressed, she could hear Daddy in the kitchen, making Maud laugh with his gangster imitation while he braided her hair. “Get a wiggle on, Doodle,” he called up the stairs. Polly banished the night’s sad conversation from her mind.
As usual on the days when Daddy had work, Maud walked Polly to her best friend Audrey’s house. Then she continued to the babysitting job she’d had all summer.
When Maud picked her up at the end of the day, Polly waved goodbye to Audrey, not knowing that this would be the last time she would ever see her.
“We sort of got into trouble,” said Polly on the way home.
Maud sighed. “Oh, Doodle … what did you do?”
Polly giggled. “It’s so hot that we took an egg out of the icebox and tried to fry it on the sidewalk! It didn’t work, though—it just
made a mess. And Mrs. Makowitz was really mad at us because we wasted an egg.”
“So she should have been! Poll, you have to be good when you go there or she won’t look after you! I’ll give you some money to pay for the egg.”
Polly wished she hadn’t told her. Maud used to be a lot more fun, but in the past year she had become as serious as a grown-up. “Race you down the block!” Polly shouted, but Maud lagged behind, wiping perspiration from her face.
They arrived at the shabby brown house they had lived in all their lives. It was only rented, but Polly always pretended it was really theirs. Grannie had died almost two years ago, but Polly still expected to see her thatch of white hair in the window, as she sat bent over her sewing.
Maud let them in with her key and began cooking oxtail soup for supper. Polly helped her peel potatoes and cut up cabbage and carrots, frowning at the vegetables they ate almost every day.
“Only two more weeks of summer left,” said Maud sadly. “Then I’ll have to start work. Oh, Polly, I wish I didn’t have to leave school!”
“Daddy doesn’t
want
you to leave!”
“I know he doesn’t, but I have to. Mrs. Colledge has offered me a good job as a maid—I’d be crazy to turn it down. It will be much steadier work than anything Daddy can get.”
“Maybe
Daddy
will get a good job one day and you can go back to school again,” said Polly.
“Maybe. But I’d be so far behind.”
The soup was done. It simmered on the stove while they waited for Daddy, making the small room much too hot. Maud started mending Polly’s torn blouse. Polly got out her crayons and drew pictures of puppies.
“If I ever have a dog, his name will be Bingo,” she said.
“You’ll never have a dog, so there’s no point in wishing for one, Poll,” said Maud. “We barely have enough to eat for the three of us.”
“Maybe
I will,” said Polly stubbornly. “When I’m grown up. I’ll have lots! A lab and a spaniel and a poodle and a terrier …”
Maud ignored her. She put down her sewing. “Where’s Daddy? He’s so late!”
Polly looked out the window, but she couldn’t spot him. Usually Daddy opened the door with his special whistle, two long high notes and a short one. Then he would call, “Where’s the Boss? Where’s my Polly-Wolly-Doodle?”
“Here we are!” Polly would cry, running to him. She’d crawl up his legs and he’d flip her backwards. Then he’d hold on to her hands and whirl her in a dizzying circle. He’d hug Maud and then they’d have supper, each girl competing to tell Daddy about her day.
An hour later Daddy still hadn’t come home. Maud had let the stove go out, but now she lit it again, reheated the soup, and handed a bowlful to Polly with a piece of bread.
Polly couldn’t eat. “Where
is
he? Oh, Maud, what if he’s been hit by a car, like our mother was?”
Maud drew in her breath sharply. Then she said firmly, “Don’t say things like that, Doodle! Nothing’s happened to Daddy—he’s just late. Maybe he met some friends or went looking for work.” She tried to smile, and Polly tried to smile back. Then there was a knock at the door.
Two people stood there: a policeman and an anxious-looking woman in a shapeless brown coat and hat. They made the girls sit down on the sofa beside them.
“We have tragic news for you,” the woman said, putting her arm
around Polly. “You’re going to have to be very brave. I’m sorry to have to tell you that your father has drowned.”
Polly felt drowned herself as the impossible words drenched her. But Maud stood up and became her most “Maudish”—dignified, fierce, and cold.
“How do you know?” she asked them.
“Keep calm, little lady,” said the policeman.
“Sit down, dear,” said the woman, but Maud remained standing.
“Your father left a note on a branch by the river,” said the policeman, speaking gently. “It said he was so discouraged about losing another job and not being able to support you that he decided—well, he decided to drown himself. I’m sorry, girls. I know this is hard to take in, but it’s a fact.”
“Show me the note,” demanded Maud.
“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” said the policeman.
Polly was vaguely aware that the woman’s arm was still across her shoulders, but she couldn’t feel it. She couldn’t move or speak or she would disappear. She waited for Maud to save her.
“This doesn’t make sense,” said Maud slowly. “If my father drowned himself—and I don’t believe for one minute that he did—how would you have found out? What were you doing by the river?”
The policeman looked uncomfortable. But adults were often unsettled by Maud. “Well, little lady, that’s a good question,” he said slowly. “I can see you’re a smart one, but I’ll try to explain. Your dad’s boss, Mr. Rayburn, phoned us about five. He said that even though he’d told him yesterday that he’d be let go, your father didn’t take it well at all. He yelled that he had two daughters, and how could Mr. Rayburn do this to him? Then he stormed out of the room. Mr. Rayburn is a good fellow. He was real concerned that your dad might do harm to himself. Believe me, we see plenty of sad souls like him these
days. Something breaks in them and they just can’t take it any more. So Mr. Rayburn phoned us and we came over with one of our dogs to see if we could track your daddy—just in case, you see. The dog followed his trail to the river, and that’s where we found the note.”
“You’re lying,” said Maud. “My father would
never
drown himself.”
Her strong words revived Polly. She shrugged off the woman’s arm. Maud was right, of course. Daddy would never leave them alone in the world.
“Now, girls, I know it’s impossible to believe, but I’m afraid it’s true,” said the policeman. “This is Miss Reilly. She’s a social worker and she’s going to stay in the house with you tonight. Tomorrow you’ll go to a foster home until we can get hold of your grandmother.”
“Our
grandmother?”
asked Maud. “She’s dead!”
“I’m talking about your mother’s mother—Mrs. Whitfield, isn’t it? Your father said in his note that he wanted you to live with her.”
Now Maud couldn’t speak either. The policeman left, after telling them again how sorry he was.
Miss Reilly put Polly to bed. Polly let her undress her and wash her. Miss Reilly kissed her good-night and Polly lay on her back staring into the darkness. She clutched her doll and turned over to go to sleep.
It was all a huge mistake. She would wake up in the morning and Daddy would be there as usual, poking his head in the door and singing “Pack Up Your Troubles.”
Then Maud was in bed beside her. She pulled Polly close and whispered, “He can’t be dead, Doodle. I just can’t believe he’d take his own life. We’ll just wait. Daddy will get in touch with us—I’m sure.” Her words sounded more confident than her shaking voice.
“But where
is
he?” mumbled Polly.
“I don’t know, but I’m sure we’ll find out soon. Go to sleep now.”
Polly slept late. She ran downstairs and found Maud standing by the window, so deep in thought that she didn’t even respond when Polly took her hand.
Miss Reilly was cooking bacon and eggs—she must have brought them with her. Polly was relieved to see a blanket and pillow on the sofa. At least Miss Reilly hadn’t slept in Daddy’s room.
Maud gobbled up her breakfast, but Polly could only manage to eat a bit of egg. Miss Reilly tried to talk to them, but Maud answered in curt sentences and Polly just stared.
After breakfast Miss Reilly helped them pack all their clothes and books and toys. Then she drove them to a house on the other side of the city to stay with a couple called Mr. and Mrs. Marchant. Luckily they hardly spoke to them.
Polly and Maud stayed in their room as much as possible. Sometimes they read, but mostly they dozed on their beds without speaking. Whenever Polly tried to bring up Daddy, Maud would shush her. “All we can do is wait,” she said firmly. “Maybe Daddy will write to us.”
“But how will we get the letter?”
“I’ll figure that out, Doodle. Stop worrying about it.”
Polly moved through the day as if the air were molasses and her brain were mush. Whenever she tried to think, she could only remember how sad Daddy had sounded that night. Had he been sad enough to drown himself?
No!
The next morning at breakfast Maud told the Marchants she was going to visit a friend and would be back for lunch. A few hours later
she came into the room and closed the door. “Poll, Daddy is
alive!
He sent a letter!”
Polly gasped. “Let me see it! Where did you get it?”
“I went to our house on the streetcar and climbed in that back window that doesn’t lock. Daddy’s letter was on the hall carpet! I can’t show it to you because I burned it in the stove. He asked me to do that the moment I’d read it. But listen carefully, and I’ll tell you everything he said.”
Maud took a deep breath. “Daddy’s gone away, Doodle.” Polly gasped again, but Maud shushed her and continued. “He’s gone to Ontario to try to get a job. He wants us to live with Grandmother on Kingfisher Island. She can afford to look after us. Daddy said he’s wanted to send us there for a long time, but he promised our mother he never would. So he’s
pretended
he’s drowned! That way he won’t be breaking his promise, because now we have nowhere else to go. He left a note and got into a rickety boat on the riverbank. After he’d drifted for a while, he rowed to the other shore and went to a town and then he wrote me.”
“Gone?
Daddy’s gone? But why didn’t he say goodbye? Why couldn’t we go with him? I don’t understand!”
Maud pulled the counterpane up over both of them and held Polly tight. “I don’t either. But it’s what Daddy wants. He says we’ll see him one day, after we’re grown up and educated.”
Polly began to cry. Daddy loved them! He would never just leave them and not want to see them until they were grown up!
Then she remembered how Daddy had been staring at their mother’s photograph when she came downstairs. He must have already made his plan that night. That meant that he
knew,
when he kissed Polly good-night, and when he kissed her goodbye the next morning, that he was leaving them. He knew he was leaving, yet he
didn’t say anything! Polly tried desperately to remember his last hug. She hadn’t been paying attention—she’d been trying to tie her broken shoelace.
Polly’s insides felt raw. She clutched Maud and sobbed until her eyes burned. Maud held her, but she didn’t cry; she looked as if she were thinking hard.
That night, after they were supposed to be asleep, Maud made Polly solemnly promise never to tell anyone that Daddy was still alive. They sealed their pact with blood from their fingers, which Maud pricked with a needle. Polly didn’t even feel it. The pain in her finger was nothing compared with the pain in her heart.