by Cathi Bond
“Where are your nylons?”
Pantyhose? No way.
“At least I wore the dress.”
Aunt Anne nodded and patted my thigh. “Thank you for that.”
She leaned over to say hello to Dad. The program said we were going to see a musical.
“Where’s Isabel?” Dad asked.
“Backstage.”
Isabel? The lights dimmed and a colourful boat, carrying a fat man in a stovetop hat, sailed across the stage and landed in Indian territory. Placing his hand over his heart, he was singing about the brave new world when a tall, handsome woman dressed like an Indian princess stepped out from behind a stand of oak trees. She had an enormous voice, and her presence swamped the stage, dwarfing the Indians, the Puritans and even the boat. Dad’s eyes lit up. I hadn’t seen him smile like that since Mom was alive.
“Is that your friend?” I whispered.
He nodded.
“That’s Miss McAllister. I’ve asked her to marry me.”
There were platters of sandwiches with the crusts cut off, pickled beets, purple punch and raspberry tarts. The United Church Women cleared away empty plates and cutlery. Aunt Anne was talking to some of her friends from choir while Dad and I stood beside the coffee urn. Dad took a sip.
“How can you marry somebody else?” I whispered, numb with shock and fury.
“Miss McAllister is a very fine woman.”
He took another sip and smiled at a man pouring a cup of coffee. We stopped talking until the man left.
“Have you forgotten Mom already?” I hissed.
“Of course not.”
I pulled him towards the wall, my voice rising slightly. “I don’t want a new mother.”
Aunt Anne glanced over. The Indian lady, Miss McAllister, came out from behind the stage, still in costume.
“Isabel!” Dad called.
She made her way towards us through a crowd of admirers.
Dad turned to me. “I want you to meet her.”
“But Dad –”
And she was there, extending her hand.
“You must be Maddy. I’m Isabel. Your father does nothing but talk about you kids.”
What was I supposed to say? I never heard about you, but there’s no way you’re marrying my Dad.
I shook her hand. It was steady and no nonsense.
“I’m sure this is a bit of a surprise,” she said.
Dad stood behind me. Miss McAllister still had me firmly by the hand and wasn’t letting go.
“I would have preferred we do it privately but your Dad thought…”
Dad squeezed my shoulders. “Maddy loves surprises, don’t you honey?”
Aunt Anne arrived. “Isabel, the show was terrific.”
“How do you two know each other?” I asked.
Miss McAllister laughed. Aunt Anne slipped her hand through Miss McAllister’s arm.
“We’ve been friends for years. We sing together in the choir.”
“If it wasn’t for your aunt, I never would have met your father.”
I looked at Aunt Anne. Traitor. Miss McAllister let go of my hand and kissed Dad lightly on the cheek.
“Did you and Maddy have time for supper before the show?”
Dad picked up a sandwich from the platter and took a bite. “I thought we’d eat here.”
“Honestly, Ted, you need to take better care of yourself. Are you hungry, Maddy?”
The man in the stovetop appeared, sweeping Miss McAllister away for cast photos, taking my father with her. I turned to face Aunt Anne.
“How could you?”
“Give her a chance.”
I didn’t say a word all the way home. The minute we got in I tore out to the dining room and picked up the phone.
“Who is this?” Mrs. Hall asked, sounding sleepy.
I looked at the wall clock. It was after midnight.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Hall. Can I speak to Ginnie, please? It’s really important.”
“I don’t care how important it is, Madeline. You’re not to call here at this hour ever again.”
She slammed the phone down as Dad came in, undoing his tie, a desperate look on his face.
“Did you like her, honey?”
I couldn’t believe he’d even ask. “She’s not very pretty.”
He ignored me.
“And she sure doesn’t have Mom’s figure.”
“She’s got a perfectly nice figure.”
“Have you kissed her?”
A look crossed his face as if he’d been caught cheating. “That’s not your business.”
“When are you going to tell the boys?”
“When the time’s right.” He dropped his tie on the table and walked up the stairs.
When I heard Dad’s bedroom door close I opened the drawer and fished out the Dilaudid. Little pink pills rolled into the palm of my hand. I looked up the side effects. Nausea. I didn’t want to spend the night puking. The Compendium recommended Dramamine so I took two Gravols. Next, the dosage needed to be determined –one two-mg capsule for extreme pain. I decided on four. The Compendium noted that Dilaudid could also cause “twilight sleep.” That sounded nice. While I waited for it to hit, I thought about Mom and that day in the garden. Her hair, the red and golden strands, how they turned white gold in the summer sun. Miss McAllister’s hair was mousey. Dull. Plain. And then I started to dissolve.
My fingers and toes disappeared, followed quickly by my arms and legs. I felt my jaw and face slacken, and then the brain relaxed as if it was surrounded by thick cotton batting. For the first time in a long time I forgot to be on guard, waiting to see what horrible surprise would tumble out of the sky. After a while, I stood, wondering if I might fall down, but I didn’t. Drifting through the dispensary like a ghost, I trailed my fingers across the paper labels on brown bottles, stroking the stainless steel counters, pushing through the swinging door and up onto the cool vinyl examining table. I felt nothing. No pain or joy. My worried, always clucking, Henny Penny brain suddenly muzzled, now as still as a boat on a calm lake. I sat up after three in the morning and knew I’d found an escape hatch.
Every day different pills went in and the pain went out. I didn’t tell my brothers about Miss McAllister, but all my friends felt sorry for me. Mrs. Hall didn’t. We were peeling potatoes for supper.
“It will do you some good to have more supervision.”
“But she’s not my mother,” I replied. “I’ve only met her once.”
“Your father could have handled the whole thing a lot better, but what’s done is done. And you three need a mother,” she said, as a long twist of potato peel dropped into the bowl.
“I told you, she’s not my mother.”
It was that loud voice again. The voice that sometimes just escaped. Mrs. Hall set the knife on the counter. I was mad and I didn’t care.
“And she’s not going to tell me what to do!”
Ginnie’s face went white. Mrs. Hall was big and bossy. Just like Miss McAllister. She quickly removed her apron, hanging it on a hook.
“Time to take you home.”
I looked at Ginnie. It wasn’t time yet, but Ginnie didn’t say a word. Head down, she kept peeling. I didn’t want to leave. It was horrible at home.
“I’m sorry. Please don’t send me home.”
“Ginnie, get Maddy’s coat,” Mrs. Hall said, cutting me off.
Ginnie dropped the knife and ran. My pea coat was on the dining room table. Her mother sat me down and took my hands, holding them fast. I started to cry.
“I won’t let you drag Ginnie into anything. She’s a good girl and I don’t want you influencing her.”
“Please,” I said. “Please don’t make me go.”
Mrs. Hall removed her car keys from the hook. Ginnie handed me my coat and opened the door.
A couple of months later Dad cleared his throat and nobody paid attention. We were waiting for dessert. Tedder was dressed in a goalie mask and red and white leg pads. He’d recently taken u
p goaltending and Frank took shots on him out in the garage. Every night we heard thwack, thump, whump or a scream, depending on where the puck hit Tedder. Dad cleared his throat again, tapping the water glass with his spoon.
“I’ve decided to remarry. You children need a mother.”
“Mother?” Tedder asked, as some potatoes fell out of his mouth.
I kicked the table so hard I thought I’d broken my foot. Dad hadn’t mentioned Miss McAllister since that night, and I’d hoped, no, I’d prayed that she’d gone away.
“I thought your sister might have told you.”
Frank looked at me across the table.
“The lady’s name is Miss McAllister and she’s coming here with Aunt Anne.” He glanced at his watch. “They should be here soon.”
Dad shoved his chair back and got up and left the room.
“Who is she?” Frank asked.
“I don’t know.”
Frank could see I knew something and looked away disgusted and confused. Feeling guilty, I went up to my bedroom and flipped up the mattress. Bottles of pain medication, tranquilizers and barbiturates were scattered across the top of the box spring. I washed down a handful of codeine tablets and lay down on my bed, waiting for the pain and fear to disappear. The leaves on the willow began to rustle and twist. They were so lovely, like the green fields of tall wheat blowing in Granddad’s fields. The doorbell rang. Dad’s heavy feet echoed through the still house as he strode down the hall. A series of voices followed. Aunt Anne rapped on my door. Slowly I sat up on the side of the bed and got dressed.
A filmy, skintight, black rayon dress barely covered my bum, and the thick streaks of jet-black eyeliner were crooked, but that was on purpose. They went well with the messy smudges of dark blue eyeshadow. My eyes were glossy from the codeine and I slid into some black slingbacks. Swerving down the hallway, I went over on my ankle twice before reaching the landing. Frank was down below talking to Aunt Anne and Miss McAllister. Aunt Anne beamed at Frank as if he was one of Granddad’s prized steers. Tedder, still in his mask, stood back in the shadow of his bedroom door, silently taking in the whole proceedings. Miss McAllister made a visual sweep of the house.
“Hello, Maddy,” she called, her voice echoing up the stairwell. It wasn’t a friendly voice like Mom’s.
“Hi,” I replied, making my way down as she ascended. The scent of her perfume arrived before she did. It wasn’t Joy. She checked me out, looking at my hair, which was hanging in my eyes, my makeup and especially my dress. Her eyes said she didn’t like it. Good. After eyeballing me she passed by and went over to Tedder. He instinctively pulled back even further into the gloom.
“Is this Theodore?”
“His name’s Tedder,” I blurted out, but she ignored me, thrusting out her hand and keeping it there until Tedder took it.
“Do you like oatmeal cookies?”
Tedder nodded.
“Good. I made a batch today,” she said, pulling him out of his bedroom and into the hall. “Let’s have one while we all sit down and talk.” Her other hand reached for his mask. “And I think we’ll take this off.”
We were all in the living room. I tried to balance a teacup on my knee while Miss McAllister passed around a plate of cookies. Tedder, his dark hair standing up on end, looked naked without the mask.
“Your father and I feel that it will be best for you children if we move to Toronto.”
“No!” I said, louder than I should have.
“Maddy,” Aunt Anne replied in a warning voice. “Hear this out.”
“Why do we have to move?” Frank asked.
“Because I’ve never lived in the country and your father and I have decided that it would be best for everyone if we started with a clean slate.”
“There are just too many memories in this house,” Aunt Anne said. “It wouldn’t be fair to Isabel.”
Fair to her. What about us? While Miss McAllister talked about schools, Aunt Anne told Frank and Tedder about the ball diamonds and hockey arenas in Toronto.
“What about the chickens?” Tedder asked.
Miss McAllister laughed, passing him another cookie.
“Your aunt and I will make certain you get up to your Granddad’s to see the animals.”
“But I’m used to seeing them all the time,” Tedder replied.
After they left, Dad said it was time for a family powwow. He leaned forward on a chair. The three of us were lined up on the sofa with Tedder in the middle, the metal goalie mask back on and clapped tightly over his face. I think Frank was holding his breath. I wanted to disappear into the dispensary and take every pill in the place.
“Why do we have to move?” Frank asked.
“Because we need her,” Dad replied.
“No we don’t,” I said. “We’re doing just fine on our own.”
Why did Aunt Anne bring Miss McAllister here? I’d never forgive her.
“You’ve got to be very, very good, or else Miss McAllister will go away,” Dad said, his fingers clamping onto his knees to stop his hands from shaking. Severe shaking often came before a nervous collapse. I remembered that from a book. Frank bit his bottom lip. A Frank way of saying, “Be quiet.”
“Where would she go?” Tedder asked.
Dad didn’t answer. Instead he just slumped over, staring at the back of his hands. For the first time I noticed his wedding ring was gone.
“So do we understand one another?” Dad asked, glancing up.
“Yes,” Frank said.
Dad tapped Frank and me gently on the thigh and pinched Tedder’s toe. “I’ve got some paperwork to finish up,” he said, rising to his feet.
The minute Dad was gone, Frank whirled around on the sofa.
“This is your fault. If you weren’t always getting into trouble, then Dad wouldn’t have to go out and find us a new mother,” Frank yelled, shooting across Tedder to give me a hard shove. I was about to push him back when Tedder screamed.
“I don’t want a new Mommy!”
Frank and I stopped. Tedder never raised his voice. Then he started to cry.
“It’s okay, Tedder,” I said.
“Don’t worry,” Frank added, trying to pull up the hockey mask, but Tedder held it fast.
We both put our arms around Tedder’s shoulders.
“Do you want me to take shots on you?” Frank asked.
Tedder nodded and waddled out the door in his goalie pads. Frank followed. He always tried to do what was expected of him. Well I could take my shots too. I was going to fight.
A couple of days later the whole family had an appointment at the dentist’s office in Eltonville. Dad asked me to be home by three thirty. He asked me twice.
“I’ve got late patients coming in and I’ve got to be back,” he said.
“Okay,” I replied.
But I didn’t go home. The moment the yellow buses were gone and all the teachers had left, I started toilet papering the entire school. Tissue banners hung from the trees as I wrapped the bike racks like mummies and climbed up on the roof rolling balls of toilet paper. A horn honked. I walked over to the edge –so close my toes poked out. It was Dad. I put my hands on my hips. He pushed his hat back. Frank and Tedder were in the back seat of the car, looking through the window.
“Madeline!” Dad called, waving for me to come down. “We’ve got to get going.”
I ran to the other side, giving him no choice but to climb up. Dad stood on the roof. The ribbons of white toilet paper rippled in the wind, wrapping around his legs. He glanced at his wristwatch and then at the horrible mess.
“We’ll have to come back later and clean this up,” he said, walking towards me. “Let’s go.”
“No.”
He tried to snatch my sleeve, but I ducked, running to the other side of the roof. “I hate her!”
“You don’t even know her.” He walked towards me, fists clenched. He was mad and that was good.
“I don’t want to!”
“This isn
’t your choice.”
We’d see about that. I started to hum.
“Does she sing to you the way Mom used to?” Then I began to sing their song. “Gonna take a sentimental journey…”
His mouth went crooked and then he moved, charging across the roof, kicking up a cloud of gravel and asphalt. My foot stepped back, but the roof was gone, nothing there but air. My arms spun. The Oldsmobile was right beneath.
Dad grabbed me, pulling me back, holding me fast in his arms. I wanted to hug him and hold him close, but spat out the lyrics instead.
“Sentimental journey home. Never knew my heart could be so yearny.”
“Stop it!”
I wriggled away, breaking free from his grasp.
“Don’t you get yearney for Mom anymore? How could you forget her so soon?”
He was panting so hard his chest heaved up and down.
“Have you forgotten the way she smelled? The way she smiled? The way she laughed?”
Then he slapped me across the face.
We got in the car. My upper lip had started to swell and bleed. It really hurt, but I wanted Dad to hit me again. At least he knew I was alive. Instead he just sank behind the wheel, twisting the key in the ignition.
“Why are you doing this to me?” he asked. “Why?”
We drove home. I glanced in the rearview mirror, touching my lip. The boys sat silently in the back seat, too scared to ask what happened, and then Dad started to cry.
I sat on the counter in the dispensary while Dad applied ice to my swollen lip. He was still crying, apologizing over and over again, muttering that he wasn’t the kind of man to strike a fifteen-year-old girl. His crying scared me, and the fear made me mad.
“Stop crying.”
He didn’t. Couldn’t.
“I’m sorry.”
I didn’t care that he was sorry. I didn’t care that he was upset. Somebody had to stop this terrible mistake.
“Granddad always said you were weak.”
That slowed the crying.
“That’s why you’re marrying that woman. Because you’re weak.”
He wiped the tears away.
“You’re going to treat Miss McAllister with respect.”
“No I won’t.”
“Yes you will.”
Then he slammed his palms down on the examining table and left.