A Day of Signs and Wonders

by Kit Pearson

  “I don’t!” said Alice in a voice that confirmed for Emily that she did.

  “Ouch, that’s too hard!” Emily grabbed the brush and did her own hair. “Stop acting like Dede, Alice. You’re not my boss!”

  Alice picked up a ribbon and fastened Emily’s hair so tightly it pulled back her skin. They went down the stairs without speaking.

  Usually Emily and Alice were friends. All week Alice had comforted Emily each time she had been in trouble. They were united in their longing for home and their worry about Mother. They didn’t dare talk about her; that would make the danger too real. No one at the Cranes’ talked about Mother. But sometimes Alice would glance at Emily and Emily knew her sister was thinking the same thing she was: What if Mother died?

  Emily kicked a stone so hard that it bounced off the fence beside the road. Now many animals were grazing in the pasture. “That’s Papa’s horse and Jack’s pony and our cow,” pointed out Kitty. “My horse took Mama and Jack in the carriage.”

  Helen had told Emily that the pasture was shared by the three families on the road and yesterday Emily had beckoned some of the horses to the fence. But she didn’t tell Kitty this. She was angry with Kitty, as well. Somehow it seemed the older girl’s fault that Emily was back in her confining clothes.

  What bliss it had been to have on only a cotton frock, to feel the breeze on her skin and the dust between her toes! Why did girls need to wear so many clothes? Boys were lucky. On a warm day like this Dick would be comfortable and cool in his loose sailor suit.

  With each step Emily felt hotter and angrier. The elastic on her hat bit under her chin, her starched pinafore crackled, her feet screamed to be released . . . and she was so hungry she could eat a horse. The Cranes always had a bountiful breakfast. What if breakfast at Kitty’s house was meagre? And why had Emily agreed to come, anyway, when she hardly knew this girl?

  “Here we are,” said Kitty as they reached the white picket fence and passed through the gate.

  The O’Reillys’ house was low and elegant. It sat comfortably behind a circular driveway, its front draped with fremontia. Like the Cranes’ house, it backed onto the water.

  “We’ll go in by the kitchen door,” said Kitty. Her voice was strained.

  She doesn’t want me anymore, thought Emily. And why would she, when Emily was being so rude? But her anger was a raging demon inside her that couldn’t be tamed. Earlier the day had felt so special. Now it had turned sour.

  A Chinese houseboy hurried towards them. “Where you been, Missy?”

  “Sorry I was so long,” said Kitty. “Emily, this is Chin. Chin, this is Miss Emily Carr. She’s spending the whole day here.” She made it sound like a year, not a day.

  Emily shook Chin’s hand, but Chin looked surprised and Kitty frowned. Emily felt as awkward as when she had attended a fancy children’s party last year. Everyone else seemed to know how to behave, but Emily was always confused by what was proper and what was not.

  Chin was dressed like Bong, her own family’s houseboy, in loose blue pants and a collarless jacket. His long pigtail was neatly pinned up. Bong always looked sad, but Chin’s expression was lively and amused.

  “Come in quick—I make good breakfast for you,” he told them.

  He led them to the kitchen and started to pile a great deal of food on the table: scones and butter and jam, a jug of cream, a dish of strawberries, and some boiled eggs.

  The scones smelled heavenly. Emily pulled off her tight hat and rubbed the place where it pinched. She tried to undo the ribbon that was confining her hair. “Will you help me?” she asked Kitty. Kitty loosened the tight knot. Emily released her hair and let it tumble around her shoulders. Whew! Her mouth watering, she plopped down to eat.

  “You go ahead and start,” Kitty told Emily. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

  When she returned, Emily had already devoured two warm scones slathered with butter and plum jam. Now she was peeling an egg.

  Eating always chased her demon away. The sun bounced off some copper pots hanging on the wall, a sparrow trilled outside the window, and the day became special once more.

  “These scones are grand!” she said.

  “They are Mama’s recipe,” said Kitty.

  Emily had another then a huge bowl of strawberries submerged in thick, golden cream. Chin poured them tea and Emily added lots of milk and three heaped teaspoons of sugar. At home she was only allowed tea on special occasions.

  She sat back, trying not to burp. “That’s better! I was starving!”

  “So was I,” said Kitty. This was hard to believe: Kitty was only on her first scone. How could she eat so slowly?

  “You have jam all over your pinafore,” pointed out Kitty. “If you take it off, Chin can wash it for you.”

  The older girl looked so disapproving. “Don’t bother,” Emily told her. “It will only get dirty again. I despise pinafores! They’re so stiff and they show every mark. How old were you when you were allowed to stop wearing them?”

  “About nine or ten, I think,” said Kitty.

  “That’s my age! From this moment I’m never going to wear a pinafore again. Will you unbutton me?”

  Emily flounced over to Kitty and turned her back. Kitty undid her back buttons and Emily tore off her pinafore, scrunched it up, and hurled it on the floor.

  Now Kitty looked shocked. “But what will your mother and sisters think?”

  “Let them think what they want,” said Emily calmly. “Why do girls have to wear so many layers? Drawers, vest, chemise, petticoat, frock, pinafore, stockings . . . it takes so long to put them all on and they’re too hot!”

  “Because that’s the proper way to dress. Just be glad we don’t have to wear stays yet. Mama says I can wait a few years, since I’m so thin.”

  “Tallie and Dede wear stays. They do each other up and Tallie gets cross because Dede pulls the cords too tight. I suppose I’ll also have to wear them one day. But not when I’m grown up and can dress how I want to. Then I’m only going to wear comfortable clothes.” Emily took a spoonful of cream directly from the jug, swirled its deliciousness around her mouth, and gazed at Kitty defiantly.

  To her relief, Kitty stopped acting like an older sister and smiled. “You must really like cream,” she said.

  “I adore it,” explained Emily. “Dick is so frail that Dr. Helmcken says he must have two tablespoons every morning. He’s so lucky!”

  “I once knew someone who loved cream, too,” said Kitty softly. “Have some more!” Her smile grew wider.

  She likes me again, thought Emily. After savouring another dollop of cream, she sipped her tea and glanced around the kitchen. The O’Reillys’ stove was much larger than the Carrs’. “What’s that?” asked Emily, pointing to a huge copper apparatus attached to the stove.

  “Our new boiler,” said Kitty proudly. “The stove heats up the water in it so our water is always hot.”

  Emily was in awe. Imagine having hot water whenever you wanted it!

  “Why did Mrs. Crane and Alice call you Millie?” asked Kitty.

  “That’s what my family calls me. But I’ve decided I’d rather be called Emily,” said Emily. She didn’t add that she had only decided this very morning. She giggled inside: no more Millie and no more pinafores!

  “Emily is a much prettier name,” said Kitty. “Where do you go to school?”

  Emily scowled. “Last year I started going to Girls’ Central. I hate it!”

  “Why?”

  “It’s too big, and I’m a terrible donkey at my work, especially at arithmetic. Sometimes I have to stay after school to do extra sums. I get into trouble because I draw in my books and on my fingernails. And it’s such a long walk every day—five miles there and back! In the winter I hardly ever get home before dark. I get so tired that I sometimes cry.”

  “But why doesn’t your father fetch you in his carriage?”

  “We don’t have a carriage. Father thinks they are a waste of money. If we
need to go a long way, he hires one, but usually we walk everywhere. And he’s too busy working to fetch me. My last school was closer and smaller and friendlier. I liked it much better there, except . . .”

  “What?”

  Even though Emily was ashamed to tell her, she blurted out the story. “Well, once I was angry at one of the girls and threw an apple core dipped in ink at her. What a fuss there was!”

  “Goodness!” said Kitty. “Dosing chickens, throwing apple cores . . . you’re very impetuous, aren’t you?”

  What a rude thing to say! “I can’t help it,” Emily replied coldly. “That’s just how I am. Where do you go to school?”

  “Well . . .” Kitty scratched her cheek then continued. “At first I had a governess. Then I went to Angela College, across from the cathedral. But this year I stayed home and had a governess again.”

  “Why?”

  Kitty was gnawing on her fingernail. “I—I just didn’t want to go to school, that’s all.”

  How strange she is! thought Emily. She noticed how all of Kitty’s nails were bitten down to the quick. Everything she said came out haltingly, as if she regretted her words even as she spoke them.

  Now Kitty looked mournful. “Next year Mama is taking Jack and me to England. She’ll live there for a while and Jack and I will go to English boarding schools, as my brother, Frank, does.”

  “England! Will you like that?”

  “No! I don’t want to go at all. Mama and Papa think I’ll get a better education there, but I hate the thought of leaving home. I love this house! I was born here and I’ve never lived anywhere else. And we have to stay in England for at least two years, maybe even longer!”

  Kitty’s voice quavered and Emily didn’t know how to respond. She eyed the cream jug, wondering if her very full stomach had room for just one more spoonful.

  They heard hoofbeats outside. “Here’s Song back with the carriage, said Kitty. “Would you like to meet my horse?”

  “Oh, yes!”

  They pushed back their chairs and ran out into the sunlight.

  Song was shyer than Chin and averted his eyes when Kitty introduced him. “We’ll rub her down,” Kitty told Song, after he had unhitched the horse. “Can you help Chin start the laundry?”

  “Yes, Missy,” said Song.

  Kitty allowed Emily to lead the mare to the stable. Her name was Blackie. Emily stroked her nose and breathed in her wonderful horsey smell. “Oh, she’s lovely!”

  “Papa gave her to me last year,” said Kitty. “Before that I rode Tip, but now he belongs to Jack.”

  “How I wish we had a horse!” said Emily. “Once I tried to ride our cow, but her back was too wide and I fell off. Can we take Blackie out?”

  Kitty shook her head. “She’s too tired from going to town and back. And I’m not allowed to ride without Papa or Robert.”

  “Who’s Robert?”

  “He’s the groom, but he only comes three days a week. The rest of the time Chin and Song take care of the horses.”

  “May I just sit on her, then?”

  “I suppose so. I’ll help you up and lead you around the yard.”

  Before Kitty could say more, Emily climbed on top of the stable door and flung herself over Blackie. The horse glanced back, surprised, then looked at Kitty as if asking her what to do next.

  “Oh, it’s grand to be on a real horse!” crowed Emily. “Mr. Crane won’t let us near his. We take out Cricket every day, but he’s just a pony. Blackie is so tall!”

  “You haven’t given me time to saddle her!” said Kitty.

  “That’s all right—I like bareback far better.”

  “But you shouldn’t be riding astride—it’s not proper.”

  “I don’t care,” chuckled Emily. “Her sides are so warm.” She leaned forward and patted Blackie’s neck.

  Kitty fetched a bridle and fastened it around the mare’s nose. Then she led the horse into the yard.

  “We have to be careful to stay off the grass,” she said. “Mama will be upset if she sees hoofprints.” She led Emily along a cinder path that encircled the garden, but she stopped at the side gate.

  “Can’t we go along the road just a little bit?” begged Emily. “Your mother would never know!”

  “No,” said Kitty firmly. “If you fell off, I’d feel responsible.”

  “I won’t fall off!” Emily stared longingly down the road. You are really a white horse called Silver, she thought, and you and I are in a circus. We jump through hoops and I stand on your back while you gallop.

  But Kitty’s look was determined. She took Emily around the path once more and back to the stable.

  Reluctantly she dismounted. While Kitty gave Blackie a drink, Emily rubbed her carefully with a soft cloth. After the horse was glossy and dry and munching her food, Emily cuddled a cat that had wandered by the stable. “I have a cat, too,” she told Kitty. “Her name is Tibby. Do you have a dog?”

  “We used to, but he died a few months ago,” said Kitty. “When Papa gets home, we’re getting a puppy.”

  “You are so lucky! I want a dog more than anything in the world, even more than a horse. Father has one. His name is Carlow, but he has to be chained up all the time. I’ve begged and begged for a dog of my own, but Father won’t have one that runs free, in case it spoils the garden.” Emily put down the cat. “Chickens next. Where are they?”

  Kitty chuckled. “You and your chickens!” She pointed to a corner of the yard and Emily ran over.

  “Good morning, everyone!” she called, as the hens rushed up to her. She picked up the nearest, despite the hen’s anxious clucking. How light chickens were! It was as if they had no bodies inside their feathers.

  “I have my own rooster,” she told Kitty. “His name is Lorum and he’s my special chum. He’s very handsome—black, with a double red comb. He’s so tame that he sits in my lap!”

  Emily was stabbed by a yearning to be in her own cow yard with Lorum and Tibby and the chickens and the cow. Home . . . the tall, stately house that Father had built for his family on the other side of the city, backed by many acres to roam in and the park and the cliffs as a playground. Not home as it was this week, but when it was normal . . . when no one was ill.

  Tears prickled Emily’s eyes. She lowered her head and looked for eggs. After she had found three, she and Kitty took them to the kitchen.

  “Now take me to the water,” demanded Emily. They walked down the slope from the back of the house and Emily went straight to the beach, stripped off her footwear, and waded. The chilly water was so refreshing on her hot feet that she couldn’t bear the thought of imprisoning them again. She hid her boots and stockings under a bush.

  Several boats were overturned on the wharf. “Can we go out in the rowboat?” asked Emily.

  “I’m not allowed to use it alone,” said Kitty.

  Emily sighed. The water looked so sparkling and inviting, and she longed to see how far the narrow inlet extended. What was the use of having a horse and a boat if you couldn’t go somewhere on them?

  “I’ll show you our garden now,” said Kitty.

  She led Emily past beds of cosmos and fuschia and hollyhocks. Honeysuckle sprawled over the veranda and small white daisies caught the light. At Emily’s house the flowers stood at attention in formal rows. Here, as at the Cranes’, the garden was much more carefree.

  Emily stopped to admire some pink and white roses in a heart-shaped bed that had been cut out of the lawn. Most of them had finished blooming, but the remaining blossoms gave out a heady fragrance. “These are the same as the rose you’re wearing,” she said to Kitty. She stroked the smooth petals; how soft and silky they were!

  “Don’t do that—you’ll bruise them,” said Kitty. She hurried Emily away.

  Emily wanted to ask what was so special about the heart-shaped bed, but Kitty had a haunted expression, as if her thoughts were engulfing her. What was she hiding?

  It happened again while they were admiring the rhub
arb in the kitchen garden. Emily noticed a green mossy space enclosed by a circle of trees and started towards it.

  “Don’t go in there!” cried Kitty.

  “Why not?”

  “Just because.”

  Emily started to protest—the space looked as soft and inviting as a fairy dell. But Kitty took her arm and pulled her back to the lawn.

  Sometimes Dede yanked her like this. “Let go of me!” snapped Emily.

  “Sorry,” whispered Kitty.

  They stood there awkwardly. Some crows were quarrelling overhead, chasing each other from tree to tree with angry cries. Emily wondered if one of them was the nasty crow from the forest. A loud, liquidy gurruk! scared the crows away.

  “It’s my raven!” cried Emily. She was sure it was the same bird. He had landed at the top of a pear tree and peered down at them, ruffling his feathers in the sun.

  “He’s always here,” said Kitty. “Papa calls him George.”

  George was a silly name. I’ll just call you Raven, decided Emily. She was so glad to see him that her irritation melted away.

  As they continued to wander around, Kitty picked off dead blossoms and tossed them into the bushes. “Mama and I spend a lot of time in the garden,” she told Emily. “She’s taught me how to prune roses.”

  “Father does most of the work in ours,” said Emily, “but I hand him his tools and help him dig holes for bulbs. He once grew a strawberry that was six and a half inches wide! He took it to the editor of the newspaper and it was displayed in the paper’s window. The first thing Father does when he comes home from work is inspect his favourite grapevine—he calls it Isabel!”

  Kitty smiled. “Your father sounds like an amusing man.”

  Emily shook her head. “Father is not at all amusing. He’s very strict and everyone is afraid of him. Not me, though—I’m his favourite. I used to walk him partway to work every day, but I can’t do that anymore since I’ve started at the public school.”

  “And what is your mother like?”

  Emily froze. “M-Mother is gentle,” she whispered. She brushed away a threatening tear.

  “I’m sorry,” said Kitty. “I should have remembered that your mother is ill. We don’t have to talk about her.”