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I had seen Papa use this fun many times. Sometimes he would just shoot it high up in the air, and then laugh. I think that was after he had spent al the money on that moonshine stuff. Other times, when he had a serious look in his face, he would aim the gun steadily on his shoulder and hit the target right in the middle. Then an hour or so later, he would come back with supper for Mama to prepare for us.
So I set up a target on a big old maple tree stump. Then I took 50 paces, aimed the old 22 rifle, pulled the trigger, and fired. I fell backwards and hit the ground. The butt of the gun had kicked back and hit me so hard my nose was bleeding. I jumped up, stomped the ground, and held that gun more steadily and firmly this time just as Papa had done.
I fired at that target time after time until I finally threw the bean can flying in the air. “I did it! I did it!” I yelled for everyone to hear. But there was no one around to hear me. That didn’t matter cause now I was ready to go hunting and put food on the table, even more meat than Papa brought home.
Maybe I would hit some rabbits, or a partridge, for supper tonight. I could almost taste it now, and I realized it had been yesterday since we had eaten.
I thought about Papa very little these days. Yes, I was mad that he left us to go on that trip and left poor Mama to look after the four of us children by herself. I wonder if he knew that Mama had gone to heaven. Maybe he had a new job and would be home with lots of money so we could buy new shoes cause school would be starting soon. I couldn’t waste my time thinking about Papa cause there was too much else to do, like go hunting.
I walked and walked, very quietly so as not to spook the animals. I climbed over fallen trees and through raspberry patches. My legs were scratched and my nose was hurting and swelling. It was getting harder to breathe. Then I remembered that Papa said the best time to hunt was first thing in the morning or just as the sun was going down cause that’s when the animals move. I couldn’t wait ‘til sundown cause I had to get home to the children, but I could come back tomorrow.
Lucille and Mary Lou jumped for joy when they saw me coming through the fields. They would de disappointed that we would be eating beans, peas and potatoes from the garden again tonight. Hodge podge, Mama had called it, and I quite liked it and the cream and the butter it was in, but not every night for seven nights straight.
As I got closer to the house, I could see someone sitting in Papa’s chair on the porch. Was it Papa? Was he home? I took off running, carrying the gun closely by my side. Too bad I wouldn’t have a chance to show him. He would have been proud.
“Miss Simpson!” I dropped the gun on the ground and hugged her so tight I’m sure she was gasping for breath. “I am so happy to see you!”
“Oh, Haley,” Miss Simpson said as she held my little face in her hands, “you are all covered in blood.”
I had completely forgotten about my bloody nose. “Oh, that’s nothing. Just a little accident, I’ll be OK. Now what brings you here for a visit?”
Miss Simpson said we should go inside and she would make some tea. I told her we had no tea, but of course she had brought a goodie basket for us and the girls were already nibbling on their candy sticks. I got the cherry flavored one. My favorite.
Miss Simpson made supper too. She boiled potatoes on the wood stove and fried a big piece of ham she had brought with her from the big city. We had a feast fit for royalty. Even boiled potatoes tasted better when someone else made them.
Lucille and Mary Lou gobbled down their food so quickly, I had to speak to them a couple of times about being rude. Then Miss Simpson showed us the blueberry pie that she had made herself, especially for us, she said. We each had two pieces. I felt bad for Moses cause he was too young to enjoy this feast, but he suckled contently on his bottle.
We chatted about our daily chores, about Papa’s work and how he was traveling so much these days, about how much Moses was growing and about Mr. MacPhee’s visit the day before. Then Miss Simpson cleared her throat and put her tea cup in the saucer, her hands trembling.
“My new husband has gone to war, he enlisted just after we were married and he left for England last week.”
I knew very little about the war. World War II they called it. I knew Mama’s brother was there somewhere fighting, but Mama never was allowed to talk about him to us.
I knew that they soldiers used big guns, bigger than Papa’s 22,and they sometimes got shot and died. Miss Simpson had told us that in school last year, but I didn’t understand war and how killing people could save the world. But Miss Simpson said there was an evil man named Mr. Hitler who was trying to take over the world and kill all the Jews and blacks.
“So will your husband carry a gun?” I asked Miss Simpson, not knowing what else to say.
“Well, my husband is a doctor, and he will be helping the wounded, so I’m not sure if he’ll carry a gun with him all the time.”
I still wasn’t sure why Miss Simpson had traveled all this way from Windsor to tell us this when she could have written a letter. So I asked her.
Miss Simpson smiled, but I could see tears in her eyes. “I have no family, Haley. My parents died a few years ago, and I have no brothers or sisters like you. My family is my classroom, and you.” She opened her arms for me, Lucille and Mary Lou.
“I want to come back to school and teach here in Kennetcook until the war is over, until my husband comes back from the war, I want to be here with you.”
I couldn’t believe it! Miss Simpson was coming back to be our teacher. But I wouldn’t be going back to school in September.
Before the sunset, Miss Simpson was on her way home to her little house not far from us, not the house in the big city, which I’m sure was grand and fully of beautiful antiques.
Miss Simpson made sure we saved a plate of food and some pie for Papa, but we gobbled it down the minute she was out of sight in her 1940 Ford.
Our bellies were so full from eating all of that delicious grub, that we felt a bit sick to our stomachs. We probably shouldn’t have eaten Papa’s share, I told the girls. It was God’s way of punishing us for being so greedy. And Papa could very well be somewhere in this big world wishing he had something to eat.
I didn’t take the gun out the next day. There were too many chores to catch up on, as it had been two whole days since we had done any work. There were weeds to pull, potatoes to dig, vegetables to bring in to storage to the cold cell, dirty clothes to wash and on and on.
Lucille and Mary Lou rolled out of bed with mean looks on their faces this morning.
“Rise and shine girls,” I said as I clapped my hands for them to get moving. “I have your oatmeal porridge ready to eat and then it’s time to get to work.”
“But I don’t feel so good, Haley,” Mary Lou cried as she rubbed her belly. “Me either,” Lucille mimicked as she ran for the outhouse.
The girls spent the day taking turns at the outhouse. I took Moses with me and we spent the day in the garden.
By supper time, someone miraculously, the girls were feeling much better and almost demanded supper on the table.
“You are sounding just like Papa, and I don’t like it one bit,” I announced, my hands on my hips. “I had to do your chores today, and my own. So you will get your supper when I’m damn well ready to get it for you.”
It was clearly evident that I had hurt their feelings as tears streamed down their little freckled faces.
Sometimes it was too easy to forget that they were just little girls and should be spending their summer days playing and frolicking in the yard. But I was just a little girl too, after all.
So I didn’t rush with supper. I swept the floor and freshened Moses’ bottom. I picked up some dirty clothes that were laying on the bedroom floor as I hummed, “Just a Closer Walk with Thee.” The sun started to go down, so I knew it was getting late and that’s when I made suppe
r. Mary Lou and Lucille were fast asleep in their beds.
I knelt close and softly kissed their soft cheeks as I tucked them snuggly into bed.
Sometimes I could be so stubborn and selfish. If I was going to be the Mama, I would have to put the children first, always.
I needed to be alone for a while, so after breakfast I took the 22 and headed off for the woods. Papa said mornings were a good time to hunt, and Mama always said it was a good time to clear the mind, body and soul.
I climbed to what everyone called White’s Point. You could see everything from here, cause it was so much higher than all the other land. Oh what a beautiful land I thought. I could see our little house off in the distance, and I pretended that it was my castle and I was the Queen of al the countryside. I was out in a hunting expedition to feed my family since all my servants had gone off to fight in the war. It had been my command that they save the world from that man Hitler.
I took notice of dozens of crows swooping around a galley not far from the Point. That was strange, and it gave me an eerie feeling. I took Papa’s gun and made my way slowly down the hill to investigate.
I could feel my body trembling as I came closer to why the crows were so excited overhead. I couldn’t believe my eyes. There was a huge mound of dirt, and it looked like animals had been digging to try to get to what lay beneath. As I made my way closer, I saw something that dropped me to my knees. Papa’s boots.
I didn’t know whether to run for help or cry. I prayed to God for guidance and he told me to do what I do to do for my family, whatever that meant. So I crept on my hands and knees to the body that lay scarcely covered with earth and confirmed that it was my father that was in the poor excuse for a grave.
Emotions went through my head at a mile a minute. I sat there in awe as I studied his decomposing corpse. The smell was unbearable and I vomited twice.
There were parts of me that thought he had this coming to him, that evil, mean man. And there were parts of me that thought who could do such a thing to bury Papa so far from nowhere for him to rot in such a shallow grave, with no cross as a marker. Did they say a prayer for him? Did he go to hell or was he in heaven with Mama? How did he die? All of these questions rushed through my bran, but I did not cry for his soul. God told me to get closer, but I didn’t know why. I held my breath and moved in to be nearer to Papa.
This was all such a bad dream. I saw blood stains on Papa’s white t-shirt that he had been wearing the day he left us for his trip. Papa had been shot. Shot in the chest.
Papa had always said to shoot an animal near the heart. I thought it was because it would ease the pain of death, but Papa had said it would mean less of the meat would be ruined by the gun shell. Well, Papa had been shot near the heart. Funny, almost.
I couldn’t bear to look anymore, but I didn’t know what to do with him. I couldn’t and wouldn’t take his body back home with me. No one could know he was dead, and I couldn’t leave him there like that, no matter what I thought of Papa, he was still my father after all and everyone deserved a decent burial.
I needed a shovel, but if I went back to our house, the girls would be too curious. And there was no way I could ever tell them that Papa was dead, especially after the episode with Mary Lou and Mr. MacPhee a few days ago. The girls must never know their father was shot. Murdered. If the news got out that the Clarke children were orphans, we would be sent to foster care before the sun went down. That could not and would not happen.
I started digging the ground with my hands, throwing the dirt on Papa’s remains. My fingers started to bleed and I was in real pain, all over. I looked up to the heavens and threw my tired arms high in the air. “Help me God!” I cried “Give me strength to give this man a burial.” Then I saw it. Mama’s garden shovel.
At first I thought Mama’s shovel? What is it doing here. Then all of the sudden it was making sense to me, like the worst nightmare I ever had. I wish this was all a bad dream.
Mama’s bruises that she had tired to conceal, Papa’s rages, and the hollering and yelling all flashed before my eyes. Mama’s shovel, Papa’s dead body, and I was holding the gun.
I piled shovelful upon shovelful of earth on Papa. Then I made a cross out of branches that I tied together with the hem that I tore from my dress. I said a prayer for Papa and one for Mama, and walked away. Back home. Home to the three Clarke children that were awaiting my return. They would never know about my findings this morning. I would take this secret to my own grave, come hell or high water. No one would ever know the truth about my Papa’s death.
Lucille and Mary Lou were putting Moses to sleep when I got back to the house.
“We did the dirty clothes, Haley, just you asked.” Lucille said proudly as she pointed to the clothesline full of freshly laundered clothes, blowing in the wind like nothing had just happened up on White’s Point.
“That’s great girls. Thanks” I said without emotion. “I need to take a bath now. Can you draw me some water please.”Lucille saw that my hands had been bleeding and I was covered in dirt. “Your dress is torn Haley, what’s wrong?”
“I fell Lucy. That’s all. No big deal. People fall everyday. It’s no big deal, so forget about it.”
In five minutes Lucille and Mary Lou had carried enough water from the well for me to have a bath, but I didn’t even bother to heat it. I scrubbed and scrubbed myself with the Lye soap until I was sure that all of Papa that was on me was gone. When it came to me that the Clarke parents were far from pure and holy I scrubbed some more, but I never cried. Never.
Every time I closed my eyes I saw Papa. I saw him sitting in his rocking chair on the porch watching us girls play in the yard. I saw him after a hard days work in our fields, his hands callused and his face scorned. I saw him after he and Mama had an argument as he slammed his fists on the table and closed the door so hard the windows shook. And I saw his lame and dead body laying there in that shallow grave, his soul hovering with the crows.
Regardless of what kind of man he had been during his life here on earth, he was my father after all and it made me sad that he was gone, but I wasn’t sad like I felt when I thought of Mama. Now I had no Papa and no Mama, and three children to raise myself.
I prayed to God for guidance and for strength. I asked God to forgive me for my sins as I would be telling a lie for the rest of my life and I asked for forgiveness for Mama’s sin and that God please let her into heaven where she belonged.
Miss Simpson came to visit again that week, I knew she would. It’s not that I didn’t want her to, just not for a few more days until I got over the shock of finding my father dead and knowing who had shot him.
This day Miss Simpson was dressed in a lovely pink calico dress that hung stylishly below her knees. I thought she looked so beautiful and innocent the way the sun glistened on her blonde curls she tried so hard to straighten. She brought her basket, full of goodies for us, I was sure. Mary Lou and Lucille rushed to greet her in anticipation of their surprises.
“Hello my girls,” Miss Simpson smiled as she made her way to the porch. Lucille hanging off one arm and Mary Lou on the other.
“Let me hold this big man.” She took Moses in her arms, remarking how much he was growing. She made these awful gooing sounds at him, but Moses must have liked it because I’m positive I saw him smile.
I felt sorry for Moses. He really wasn’t getting much attention from us lately, and I wondered if he understood what was going on and if he would love me like Mama said he would. Or would Moses hate me for not letting Mr. MacPhee lace us with real families. There was never a doubt in my mind that the Clarke children would stay together. The odds of the four of us being placed with one family were nil, and we would never see each other again. If Moses hated me when he got older, then so be it, but I would pray that he would love me.
Miss Simpson rocked the baby back to sleep. “You know girls, school starts next week.
“She glanced at me from the corner of her eye. I looked away.
I wasn’t going back to school. Someone needed to be at home with Moses, let alone do the chores and hunting for food for the winter. I had my grade six, which is more that both Mama and Papa had and I would read and write just fine. Mary Lou and Lucille would continue their education and I would see to just that.
“I need to speak to your father Haley.” Miss Simpson spoke firmly. “Is he home?”
“No.” I replied quickly. “He’s gone to war too.” That lie happened so quickly I had no idea where it would take me next.
“He what?” Miss Simpson stammered. “He went to war and left four near orphans at home to fend for themselves. You’ve got to be kidding me.”
I went deeper and deeper. “Papa said it must have been a mistake that they called his name because we have no Mama anymore, but if he didn’t go, the army said they would put him in jail. So he went to war. No big deal. Your husband went to war, didn’t he?” I snapped at Miss Simpson, although I’m not sure why, since my Papa didn’t go to war at all.
“Well yes, he did.” Miss Simpson answered, “Haley, it could be years before this war is over. We have no idea how long our men will be overseas.”
Uh oh! She said years. Trouble. Big trouble. “Mr. MacPhee will have to be notified of his Haley. There is no way that you can stay here alone with winter just a few months away.”
I dropped to my knees “Oh Miss Simpson, you mustn’t tell him. I can look after us just fine. Honest I can. I’ve been the Mama for two whole months now and besides Moses getting hurt by the hail, we’ve done just fine. Please, Miss Simpson. In another couple years, I’ll be legal anyways.”
Lucille and Mary Lou began to cry. “Please, please don’t tell!” Mary Lou begged. “Mr. MacPhee will split us apart and I’ll never see my sisters and brothers again.”
Mary Lou was Miss Simpson’s favorite, I think. She was such a perfect little girl with her red ringlets and freckled face. Even though her dress was tattered and torn, she was a picture perfect child. Mary Lou would be sure to be the first one of us to be placed in a foster family. I hated that word. Foster family.
Miss Simpson sat silent for a few minutes. “I don’t see how you will be able to manage Haley. You are only 12. You’re still a little girl yourself. How do you expect to go to school and look after your brother and sisters.”
“I’m not going back to school. The army told Papa since I had my grade six that was enough.”
Miss Simpson would know that grade six was a sufficient grade of learning and anything over and above was not required by the government of Nova Scotia, and I played in to that fact.
“But that doesn’t mean you can raise three children, just because you have your grade six Haley. Be reasonable.” Miss Simpson argued.
“No, you be reasonable for a minute. My mother asked me to look after them. It was the last thing she asked me to do, and I said yes. And I will Miss Simpson. I can do it.” I pleaded like my own life was depending on her approval, and it was.
“Oh Haley.” Miss Simpson put her hand on my shoulder. “You are so hard headed, just like your Mama.” She ran her fingers through my straight red hair. “I’ll tell you what,” she continued “I will help you out as much as I can and I’ll check in on your every week. But if here are problems and you can’t handle it all, Haley, I will have to report it to Mr. MacPhee. In the meantime, I will contact him and tell him things are under control. Deal?”
This was the best news I had heard since Miss Simpson announced that Mama had a baby boy. We all hugged her with joy and relief. I would prove it to Miss Simpson and my family that I had it under control and I could raise my children as good as anyone else, even if it killed me doing so.
I made sure Mary Lou and Lucille looked grand on their first day back to school. I took two of Mama’s dresses and altered them to fit the girls. With he left over material, I made ties for their hair and school bags for each of them. I stayed up all night to make sure they were just perfect. Since I was the oldest, I always got the new shoes. So I stuffed some cloth in the toes and gave them to Lucille. I didn’t need shoes, my old ones just needed some mending and I would do that today. I made the girls some bread and butter and egg sandwiches, two apples from the tree in our pasture, and off they went to school. I was so proud of them as they seemed to skip down the yard. I was a proud Mama.
“There they go Moses,” I whispered to the baby. “There goes our little girls.” Moses just kicked and cooed, but I knew he understood.
I was very tired. Staying up all night was probably not the smarted thing to do, but I wanted the girls to look good on their first day of school it was only proper. When Moses went down for his nap, I slept with him.
My dream was wild and frantic. Mama was in the kitchen, packing lunches for us to take to school. Papa opened the door and fell to the floor. He had been shot in the chest and lay there bleeding, Mama laughed and laughed. Then Mary Lou and Lucille started laughing and I joined in the joyous occasion.
I awoke from my dream screaming “It’s not funny! Not funny!” and Moses began to cry.
“I’m so sorry Moses, I’ll never scare you again, I promise. I am so sorry” I prepared the baby his bottle and he settled down, thank goodness. He seemed to forgive me for scaring him.
Soon the girls came home from school. They were full of tales of summer fun as told by their classmates. I’m sure the girls had their own tales to tell too. I as eager to hear the comments Miss Simpson had on their dresses.
“She didn’t say,” Lucille replied. “I guess she liked them. She didn’t say.” My heart sank. I had stayed up all night so my little sisters would go to school looking fine, and so that everyone would think things were normal in the Clarke house. But Miss Simpson didn’t even notice their dresses, or did she notice and thought I did a horrible job? Yes, that must have been it. Tomorrow that girls would weir their old dresses cause I would not be staying up all night tonight to sew.
It was time to start storing food for the winter. Papa had made a cold cellar behind the house, and every year about this time he would stash all the vegetables from the harvest in the cellar.
Papa would gather all the apples he could find in the tress that didn’t have worm holes or bad bruises. He said on e back apple would ruin the barrel.
And it was time to get some meat for our bellies. I hadn’t had a very good day the last time I had gone out with Papa’s fun, and I was a bit timid about going again. But it was a Saturday, and I could leave Moses with the girls, so off I went before the sun was up.
I made my way to the end of the pasture where the trees grew. I could see White’s Point and I knew that was the best place to hunt, but I wouldn’t be going there today. I wasn’t ready for that place yet, or maybe every. So I made my way around the Point to a clearing that was absolutely spectacular.
It was like God was waking up and he was in a great mood this morning. The brilliant orange sun was making her first appearance over the horizon and it was a sunrise like I had never seen before. With her bold….it seemed she woke every living animal and bird on the earth. I watched in awe as a doe and her yearling fawn came out from the forest and grazed their morning meal. A flock of Canadian geese flew overhead, telling everyone they were soon to fly south for the winter. I heard the familiar cry of pheasants as they fluttered and squawked, eventually making their way from the underbrush to land in the clearing, not far from the doe and her fawn. I sat there for what seemed like hours watching God’s creatures begin their day just as I was doing. Then I realized what I had come here for and a streak of fear ran through me.
I picked up the 22 and rested it on my shoulder. I fixed that site on my doe but I quickly took it away. I couldn’t shoot her and leave her baby an orphan. That would be cruel. So I moved the site to a big fat partridge and waited until he made his way closer and
closer to me.
I held my breath and my hands were shaking. “Forgive me God for killing one of your creatures, but I must provide for my own.” And I pulled the trigger.
The doe and her fawn ran for cover in the brush. There were partridge fling everywhere and I was sure I had missed my target. Still trembling, I walked quietly and stealthily to the clearing where I was the remains I had shot. Supper.
Mary Lou and Lucille each claimed a feather for their own. They were very proud of their oldest sister for bringing home supper. They were tired of potatoes and corn and so was I.
As we sat down to eat the scrumptious meal of boiled partridge, I struggled with the whole idea. I knew deep down inside that God would forgive me for killing that bird cause I did it to feed my family. But somehow, even wit God’s OK it just didn’t seem right o me. As I took my first succulent bit, it melted in my mouth. It had been a long time since we had eaten meat.
Saturday had been a good day after all.
Hayley's Journal Page 6