Yesterday's Dead

by Pat Bourke

  “Thomas Aloysius O’Hagan, if you please,” he said. “What did Mam tell you?”

  “Only that there were three boys and two girls.”

  “Paddy and Mick are overseas. Mary’s thirteen—a year younger than me—and Bernie’s six. You must be the new girl.”

  “Meredith Hollings, from Port Stuart.” Meredith held out her hand.

  Tommy took her hand and pumped it up and down enthusiastically. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Hollings. I hope you will allow me to show you the sights of Toronto. When are you free?”

  Exploring the city with Tommy might be fun. “On Sunday.”

  “Sunday, then, but after Mass, or Mam will tan my hide. What would you like to do?”

  She realized Tommy still had hold of her hand, so she withdrew it quickly. “Could we ride the streetcar?” She’d loved Papa’s stories about the streetcars in Toronto, but then she realized Tommy must be used to riding streetcars. He might think that was childish.

  “What’s this about Sunday and streetcars?” The hinge on the back door screeched again as Forrest came in, bringing a gust of chilly air in with him. He wiped his feet on the mat, eying Meredith sternly. “Don’t you be taking after Alice, young Meredith. She liked gadding about with the soldiers home on leave. Mrs. Butters would have something to say about that, I can tell you.”

  Meredith hardly knew where to look. What would Tommy think? Eager to escape, she picked up the coal scuttle to start downstairs again, but the yawning dark below made her hesitate.

  Forrest’s eyebrows were fierce as he frowned at her. “And just what are you doing with that scuttle?”

  “Mrs. Butters sent me for coal.”

  “So you’re taking over my job, now? Next thing I know, you’ll be driving the car. Well, there’s no need for a slip of a girl to be hauling coal.” He lifted the empty scuttle out of Meredith’s hands and disappeared down the stairs.

  “Switch on the light, lassie,” he called. “It’s dark as the devil down here.”

  “It’s burnt out,” Meredith called back. She heard him curse by way of reply.

  “I didn’t mean to make him angry,” she whispered to Tommy. Would Forrest complain about her to Mrs. Butters? Or Parker?

  Tommy laughed. “He was just having fun.”

  “He was joking?” Meredith could have sworn he was cross.

  Forrest reappeared with the heaped scuttle.

  “Thank you,” Meredith said, reaching for it. “I’m not too fond of cellars, especially dark ones.”

  “I’m not fond of them myself,” Forrest said. “I’ll take this in, and then I’ll have a word with Mrs. Butters. Sending a skinny miss like you for coal!” He certainly sounded grumpy, but now Meredith could see the twinkle in his eye.

  They followed Forrest to the kitchen where soup simmering on the back of the range sent out a comforting aroma of beef and onions. He shoveled coal into the firebox of the range, and then settled into his chair at the far end of the table. He nodded at Mrs. Butters before opening the newspaper and disappearing behind it.

  Mrs. Butters was rolling out pastry at the other end of the table, her sleeves pushed up to her elbows, her forearms dusty with flour. “Shouldn’t you be at work, Tommy O’Hagan?”

  Mrs. Butters sounded stern, but she was smiling. It seemed everyone smiled at Tommy. “You can’t expect your poor mother to work to feed you all while you’re out gallivanting.”

  “Bernie’s sick,” Tommy said. “The school sent her home. Mary thinks Mam should come, too.”

  “Oh, that’s a shame. Bernadette seemed fine when she was here the other day,” Mrs. Butters said.

  Forrest looked up from the paper. “That redheaded imp who played tag with young Harry? The two of them were running around the yard, shrieking like wild things.”

  Bernadette had clung to her mother when she first caught sight of Meredith, but Harry had soon coaxed her to play with him, much to Meredith’s relief. It had given her time to finish cutting up the stewing beef for the consommé Mrs. Butters had planned for the party.

  “That’s the one. She’s caught a cold, like as not. October is terrible for colds.” Mrs. Butters folded a thin circle of pastry over the rolling pin and transferred it quickly to the waiting pie plate. “But I was counting on your mother to finish the silver for the party tomorrow.”

  “Mary says Bernie’s forehead is burning up, and Bernie says her head hurts,” Tommy said.

  “I hope it’s not that Spanish Flu they’re talking about.” Mrs. Butters reached for a bowl piled high with sliced and sugared apples. She poured the apples into the waiting pie plate and covered it with another circle of pastry. “Meredith, you go tell Mrs. O’Hagan she’s wanted at home, and then you finish up the silver. Cabbagetown’s not far, she’ll be home soon enough.”

  Ragged ribbons of pastry curled onto the table as Mrs. Butters ran a knife around the edge of the pan. “I’ll get some bran for a poultice, and onions. Hot bran and onion tea are the best things for a cold.” She wiped her hands on her apron before heading to the pantry.

  Meredith turned to Tommy. “I hope your sister feels better soon.”

  “Me, too. But it won’t spoil our plans for Sunday—if you still want to go.” He looked at her, eyebrows raised.

  “Oh, yes! I’m looking forward to it.”

  Meredith realized Forrest was watching them over the top of the newspaper. She crossed the kitchen quickly and pushed the swinging door so hard it whacked against the wall. She could hear Forrest laughing as she sped along the passageway to the dining room. She hoped Tommy hadn’t seen her blushing.

  A neat army of gleaming silver stood at one end of the dining room table, a shabby detachment of tarnished pieces at the other. Mrs. O’Hagan sat in the middle, newspaper and rags on the table in front of her, polishing a large platter.

  “Tommy’s here, Mrs. O’Hagan,” Meredith said. “Bernadette’s sick. She was sent home from school. Mrs. Butters says you’re to go home.”

  Mrs. O’Hagan looked up. “Bernie was fine this morning. And I haven’t finished the silver yet.” She inspected the gleaming platter and added it to the shiny battalion.

  “I’m to finish it,” Meredith said.

  “Thank you, dearie.” Mrs. O’Hagan rolled down the sleeves of her faded, blue dress and reached behind to untie her large apron. She smoothed her hair—a frizz of orange, not Tommy’s startling red—and sighed. “I hate to saddle you with it, but if Bernie’s sick, well, there’s nothing to be done, is there?” She patted Meredith’s arm and headed for the kitchen.

  Meredith settled into the vacant chair. It felt warm all up and down her back like a hug from Mama. She chose a small, blackened bowl and dipped a rag into the jar of polishing cream. She wondered what Mama was doing right this minute, and whether Ellen missed her. She scrubbed at the bowl as if she could rub homesickness off along with the tarnish.

  She should count her blessings instead of getting all weepy.

  One: Mrs. Butters was a dear. She always thanked Meredith for helping.

  Two: Harry was getting easier to manage now that she knew his favorite hiding places.

  Three: She had plenty to eat, more than she’d had in a long time, because the Watertons didn’t need to scrimp.

  Meredith set the now-gleaming bowl down, and picked up a serving spoon. The curlicues on its handle would take some work. She whistled as she rubbed in the cream.

  Papa had taught her to whistle—“sweet as a nightingale,” he’d said—but Mama had disapproved. “A whistling girl and a crowing hen,” Mama would caution, “always come to no good end.”

  So whistling became Meredith’s secret, and Papa’s. They held whistling contests when Mama and Ellen weren’t around.

  “Four: I can whistle all I want to in Toronto,” she told her
upside-down reflection in the bowl of the spoon. But that blessing was bittersweet: she’d rather have Mama nearby and run the risk of a scolding.

  She wondered if Tommy liked whistling, too. Only two days until Sunday!

  Chapter 9

  Meredith selected a potato from the pile on the counter and stuck her tongue out at it. She had to be the best potato peeler in Toronto by now. She’d certainly had lots of practice. It was Saturday at last and there was so much to do before the party that evening that she hadn’t sat down since her hasty breakfast.

  “When you’ve finished those potatoes, Parker will want you in the dining room to help with the table.” Mrs. Butters’ cheeks were bright red as she whisked egg whites in a big copper bowl.

  “Not just yet, Mrs. Butters,” Parker said from the door to the hallway. His voice was thin, his face pale. “I’m going upstairs to lie down for a bit.”

  Mrs. Butters stopped whisking and looked up at him. “Not one of your sick headaches?”

  Parker nodded, wincing as his head moved.

  Mrs. Butters frowned. “Nothing to be done, I suppose?”

  Parker shook his head. He winced again.

  Mrs. Butters sighed. “I suppose if you get some rest now, you might feel better for the party this evening. Heaven knows we’ll need you then.”

  Parker nodded. Meredith thought he looked shrunken in on himself as he started up the back stairs.

  “Mind you put a cool cloth on your forehead,” Mrs. Butters called after him. “I’ll send Meredith up later with some tea if I can spare her.”

  Meredith rinsed her freshly peeled potato and added it to the others in the large pot on the counter in front of her. She was sorry Parker’s head hurt him—sorry in a Sunday school way, like being sorry for starving people in foreign places—but she wasn’t sorry that Parker would be out of their way for a few hours. Although, she supposed glumly, he’d probably pick at her more than ever when he reappeared.

  “One of his sick headaches, and today of all days!” Mrs. Butters attacked the egg whites again, the whisk hammering against the bowl this time. “I was going to ask him to go to Galligan’s for vanilla. And Forrest won’t be back until this afternoon.”

  “Could I go?” Meredith asked eagerly. She’d done nothing but wash and peel and chop all morning. It would be heaven to fill her lungs with fresh air.

  “I suppose you’ll have to.” Mrs. Butters sighed. “I just don’t know how we are going to get everything ready. Although Mrs. O’Hagan can help with the table when she comes. She should be along any minute.”

  She set the whisk down and wiped her hands on her apron. “I’ll just see if we need anything else,” she muttered as she crossed the kitchen to the pantry.

  There was a knock at the back door. Meredith wiped her hands and hurried to open it. Her heart did a little skip of pleasure when she discovered Tommy. His face lit up when he saw her.

  “Is your sister still sick?” Meredith asked. A gust of crisp air swept into the back hall through the open door.

  “Really sick.” Tommy wiped his feet on the mat and followed her into the kitchen. “And now Mam’s poorly, too. She sent me to say she can’t come today.”

  “Who can’t come today?” Mrs. Butters bustled in, her hands on her hips. “Oh, Tommy, no! I was counting on your mother. And now with Parker…what in heaven’s name are we going to do?”

  “Do you still want me to go to the store?” Meredith asked, fingers crossed.

  “Bless you, child, I don’t see how I can spare you now. Mr. Harry will be clattering through here any minute.”

  All the shine went out of the morning for Meredith. It had been her one chance to get out.

  “But I can’t finish the cake without it,” Mrs. Butters went on, throwing her hands in the air, “so someone’s got to go. Tommy, could you maybe run to Galligan’s for me?”

  “I wish I could,” Tommy said, “but I can’t make it there and back and still get to work on time. Crawley said I’d lose my place if I’m late again.”

  “Let me do it, Mrs. Butters,” Meredith said eagerly. “Please? I’ll run the whole way there and back, I promise, and I’ll work twice as fast after.”

  Mrs. Butters sighed. “What choice do I have? Tommy can show you the way, at least. Mind you pay attention so you can find your way back.” She took a small, blue tin from the top drawer of the kitchen dresser and counted out some coins. “This should be enough. Mind you ask for the small bottle.”

  “I will.” Meredith slid the coins into the pocket of her skirt. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

  “And here’s a penny for you, and one for Tommy for his trouble.” Mrs. Butters smiled as she held out two coins. “Buy yourselves a treat. You’re good workers, both of you.”

  “Thank you!” A whole penny was riches. At home, Meredith’s mouth always watered when she measured out sweets for those with a penny to spend on candy, but she’d rarely been allowed to have any. Every penny had been precious after Papa left.

  Mrs. Butters patted Meredith’s shoulder. “Take your sweater. Tommy, tell your mother it’s all right. She’s not to come back until she’s feeling better.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Tommy put his cap on and headed for the back door. Meredith grabbed her sweater from the hook by the door and followed him onto the porch and down the path.

  It was better than wonderful to be outside. The sun warmed Meredith’s back, and she felt so filled with fizzy air that she was in danger of lifting off the pavement any minute. As they trotted along the street together, scuffing through the brightly colored leaves, she admired the large homes they passed.

  The scent of a late-blooming rose drifted by her nose. There were roses in Rosedale, just as she’d thought. She bet Mrs. Stinson didn’t know that.

  “This isn’t what I meant when I said I’d show you the sights,” Tommy said, as he panted beside her, “but we can see a lot more of them this way.”

  “You could start a business,” Meredith said. “Tommy’s Trotting Tours of Toronto.”

  “I’d like that,” Tommy said. “But you’d have to come and work for me. A pretty tour leader would bring lots of customers.”

  A pretty tour leader. Meredith hugged that thought close. “Is it much farther?” she asked, between breaths. “I don’t want you to be late.”

  “That’s Yonge Street up ahead. Galligan’s is just around the corner.”

  Yonge Street was crowded with black cars tootling past, and delivery wagons lumbering behind work-a-day horses like Uncle Dan’s. The barber’s red-and-white striped pole across the street looked just like the one on Port Stuart’s main street; a handful of men were waiting inside just like back home. Meredith’s eyes were drawn to the milliner’s next door where richly colored hats perched like exotic birds in the big window. Black, gray, and lavender hats for mourning huddled discreetly in one corner.

  Meredith wished she had time to poke about the shops, but Mrs. Butters would fret if she didn’t get back quickly. She’d come and explore one Wednesday afternoon instead.

  A cheerful bell above the grocer’s door announced their arrival. Inside, a jumble of baskets overflowed with fruit and vegetables, and the shelves behind the counter were stacked to the ceiling with boxes, jars and cans. The scent of oiled wood from the floor made Meredith think of Mama, a kerchief over her hair, sweeping the floor from one side of the store to the other at the end of each day.

  Meredith’s nose tingled from the tang of the pickle barrel and the sharp smell of cheese. Ellen loved to shave slivers off the big wheels of cheese—for the mice, she always said, but Meredith knew which little mouse gobbled it down when Mama wasn’t looking.

  Mr. Galligan was as pink and plump as the ham that hung from a hook behind his head. As he fetched a small bottle of vanilla, Meredith fingered the p
enny Mrs. Butters had given her.

  “A penny’s worth of lemon drops, please,” she said when Mr. Galligan handed her the vanilla. “What will you get, Tommy?”

  “Licorice whips,” he said promptly. “They’re Bernie’s favorite.”

  Meredith offered the bag of lemon drops to Tommy, then popped one into her own mouth. The sour-sweet taste made their mouths pucker at the same time and they laughed at the faces they made. Meredith decided to save some and surprise him tomorrow.

  Back outside, Tommy pointed her in the direction of Glenwaring. “Can you find your way back all right?”

  “Perfectly,” Meredith said.

  “What about tomorrow? Say after lunch?”

  “That will be perfect, too,” Meredith said. She liked how his brown eyes crinkled up when he smiled.

  She trotted away from the bustle of Yonge Street, but couldn’t resist looking back over her shoulder. Tommy hadn’t moved. He waved to her, and she waved back.

  Sunday tomorrow, Sunday tomorrow, she sang to herself, the song keeping time with her feet as she ran along the pavement. A party tonight, a day off tomorrow, and a bag full of sweets to share.

  Yonge Street was much like the main street in Port Stuart, she thought. Maybe Toronto was nothing more than a collection of small towns all joined together. It didn’t seem so big when she thought of it like that. Maybe she’d like living here so much she wouldn’t want to go back to Port Stuart. After all, there were bound to be jobs for teachers in Toronto. And maybe Mama and Ellen could join her here.

  The thought made her feel warm right down to her toes.

  Chapter 10

  “Stand still, Meredith, or you’ll get jabbed.”

  Meredith stood stiffly on a chair in the middle of the kitchen. She held her arms away from her sides while Mrs. Butters pinned tucks in the shiny, black fabric at her waist. Alice had been small and plump, so the maid’s uniform was far too short and much too wide for Meredith. At lunchtime, Mrs. Butters had shown Meredith how to pick out the hem to let the skirt down. Now that it was nearly time for the party, Mrs. Butters was trying to gather the bodice so Meredith would look respectable.