The Trouble with May Amelia

by Jennifer L. Holm

  Oh, Jalmer, Mamma says.

  In the distance, there is a loud shot. A cougar got another one of our sheeps, so Wild Cat Clark is out hunting for him right now.

  Kaarlo says, Pappa, have you given any thought to my idea of opening an oyster cannery in Astoria?

  There’s enough canneries already, Pappa says. I’m going to move the family to San Francisco as soon as we get the money.

  San Francisco? Isaiah gasps. But what about the sheeps?

  So we can be near Matti? I ask.

  Pappa nods and says, He has some good ideas for businesses to invest in there.

  Kaarlo looks like he would spit in Pappa’s face if he had the sisu.

  Pappa picks up my lump of lead and says, Your fortune was right after all, May Amelia.

  What do you mean? I ask.

  Your lump meant you would have Good Ears this year. We couldn’t have made the deal with Mr. Yerrington without you doing the translating for me.

  I have Good Ears? Wendell asks.

  Not You, Wilbert says loudly. May Amelia.

  And then Pappa says the words I never thought I would hear cross his lips. He says, You Did Good, Girl.

  Mamma smiles at me, and my heart just about bursts out of my overalls.

  Ivan asks, Did my lump predict my hand getting chopped off?

  No one says anything to that.

  There’s a knock at the door, and I open it expecting to see Wild Cat Clark standing there with a cougar flung over his shoulder. But instead of the famous hunter, it’s Lonny, and there are tears running down his cheeks.

  Daddy shot himself, he says just as matter-of-factly as if he was saying he milked the cows.

  What did you say, son? Pappa asks.

  Daddy went into the barn and shot himself. Can I have supper here tonight?

  Merciful heavens, Mamma says, and everyone jumps up at once and goes running out the door. I start to follow, but Mamma shouts, Stay with Lonny, May Amelia!

  Then it’s just me and Lonny.

  You okay, Lonny? I ask.

  I don’t think so, he says.

  You want something to eat? I ask, and he says, Daddy forgot to make supper today. And lunch and breakfast.

  Come on, I say.

  We go into the kitchen and I spoon out some laksloda onto a plate. I set it in front of him and he starts to eat.

  This tastes good, he says. Then he lays his face down on the table and starts crying.

  Turns out that the only lead that predicted the future was the bullet from Mr. Petersen’s gun. Now we know why Mr. Petersen is dead and poor Lonny an orphan. There is no Stanley Company. There is no stock. Mr. Yerrington was a fake. He took our money and has disappeared.

  We have lost everything.

  Mr. Petersen discovered the news because he has a cousin who is a clerk in a bank in San Francisco. Pappa found the letter next to Mr. Petersen’s body.

  The funeral for Mr. Petersen is sad. Everyone comes out for it and Lonny wanders off halfway through the service, saying he doesn’t want to see his daddy put in the ground. Folks cry and cry. Wilbert says that the people crying the most are the ones who invested in Stanley.

  Lonny moves in with us because he has no kin left. It isn’t much different having him around, since he was already eating here most nights anyways. The preacher says we are charitable to take him in, but that is the only kind thing anybody says to us. The Stanley scheme has swept through the valley like a storm. At first folks were so shocked they didn’t know what to do, but now they are angry and everyone is blaming Jalmer Jackson for their Misfortune.

  The church is quiet when we Jacksons walk in, and people give us angry looks. Pappa refuses to come with us because he cannot bear to see the faces of the other men who invested in the scheme on his word. I have heard that the Petersens, and the Niemis, and the Paarlas, are all ruined, for they mortgaged their farms heavily and now they cannot make the payments. No one has seen or heard from Mr. Yerrington. If I hadn’t met him myself, I would’ve thought he was just something I dreamed up.

  But the worst shock of all is finding out that Mr. Clayton hasn’t lost his farm. He hasn’t lost it because he never invested.

  I didn’t trust that Yerrington fella, I overhear Mr. Clayton tell Pappa. He had a touch of the snake oilman about him.

  And I have never been so unhappy at someone else’s good fortune. For I was so sure that Mr. Yerrington said that Mr. Clayton was going in with the Stanley Company.

  What if I translated something else Mr. Yerrington said wrong? I ask Wilbert.

  It wouldn’t be your fault, Wilbert assures me. He probably just lied to you.

  But all I can think about is the cannery where Otto’s mother works. Because I feel just like some poor salmon on the table waiting for a knife to chop off its head.

  Nobody talks about the future now, or about living in San Francisco and opening businesses. No one talks about anything. It’s as if a child has died, a child that never even had a chance to live, except maybe in our dreams, and like Mamma always says, there is nothing worse than thinking of a baby that did not get born.

  Pappa is full of righteous fury and decides he will fight This Injustice. He has me write letters to Important Persons who he thinks will help us. He says that he is an Honest Man and deserves to be dealt with fairly. He dictates to me.

  Dear Mr. President McKinley, he says. I am a citizen of the United States residing in Washington, Pacific County. My family has recently suffered the most inhuman treatment at the hands of a well-organized lawless body of tyrannical thieves under the leadership of a man going by the name of F. B. Yerrington, formerly of Carson City, Nevada. This man—

  Can you go a little slower please, Pappa? I ask. I can’t write that fast.

  Pappa sends letter after letter after letter. To the president. To the governor. To the senator. But the president does not write back, and neither do the governor, or the senator. I hope it’s not because I have bad penmanship and spelled words wrong. I hope it’s because they are big men who are too busy for the little problems of the Jacksons.

  The sound of Mamma and Pappa fighting wakes me up.

  How are we going to pay the mortgage, Jalmer? Mamma demands.

  We can sell some of the cows, Pappa says in a weary voice.

  We’d have to sell every last one of them to pay the bank! she wails.

  Well, what do you want me to do? he shouts, and my mother starts sobbing.

  A few days later, Pappa auctions off all our cows.

  Even Patience.

  We have a new teacher at the schoolhouse and his name is Mr. Trebble. He is a sour man who doesn’t let us learn our lessons in our under-drawers and punishes us if we talk Finn.

  Speak English or there will be Trouble, Mr. Trebble says, rapping his ruler against the desk.

  Poor Charles gets the worst of it because he has such a hard time with the English. He ends up getting his knuckles rapped so much that they are bright red.

  The boys start calling him Mr. Trouble behind his back. And Mr. Trebble doesn’t have a high opinion of Girls in general, and Me in particular.

  Waste of schooling if you ask me, he says. You’ll just have babies someday.

  But Mr. Trebble is not the only one giving me a hard time. At lunchtime, no one wants to play with us Jackson children.

  Nuutti comes up to where Wilbert and I are sitting and says, My daddy says that we’re gonna lose our farm and it’s all because of the Jacksons.

  Wilbert stares stonily at the ground.

  My mother’s been crying every night! Nuutti says.

  I try and close my ears, but I can’t. For once, I wish I was deaf as Wendell.

  We’re gonna get turned out of our own house and it’s your daddy’s fault!

  Wilbert’s fist clenches and I say, Don’t Pay Him Any Mind, Wilbert.

  But Nuutti is like Friendly the Bull and he doesn’t stop, he just keeps on chasing you.

  My daddy says your daddy should
be ashamed of tricking so many people. He says your daddy was in on the scheme, he says—

  I never find out whatever else Nuutti’s dad says because Wilbert hauls off and hits him.

  The teacher punishes Wilbert by rapping him on the knuckles with his ruler, but the truth is no amount of rapping can make up for the punishment we Jackson children are going through.

  On Saturday night, the men do not take a sauna because Mr. Petersen is dead and it was his sauna. Instead they all go drinking. I keep Mamma company as she waits up for Pappa. We card wool for socks, but Mamma’s face is pinched. I know she is worried.

  I bet Uncle Aarno would lend us money if we asked him, I say.

  Your father would rather die than take money from his brother.

  But why? I don’t understand.

  She looks down. A man’s pride is a terrible thing, May Amelia.

  There’s a knock at the door and Mamma opens it and there is Mr. Clayton with Pappa slumped against him. He’s got a bloody nose and looks dead to the world.

  Sorry, Alma, Mr. Clayton says.

  What happened? Mamma asks in a tired voice.

  Someone else started it, Mr. Clayton says.

  Looks like Someone Else finished it, too, Mamma says.

  Pappa does not give up hope that this Wrong will be Righted. He does not give up hope when Mamma cries late at night. He does not give up hope until the letter arrives from the bank telling us that we must vacate the farm because we haven’t paid the mortgage.

  My father goes to see the bank to plead our case, but when he returns, he walks straight to the fireplace. He flings the stock certificates into the fire and watches them burn. Then he takes to his chair and he does not get up. For a whole day, he just sits there, not saying a word to anyone, not even to Mamma. He just stares into the fire. He is still there the next morning when we come in for breakfast after we’ve finished our chores.

  Mamma says to me, I’m worried about your father. Bring him his breakfast.

  I walk into the parlor, and say, Pappa, here’s breakfast.

  He looks at me and his eyes are burning. He’s fingering the lumps of melted lead.

  This is all your fault, he says in a low voice.

  Pappa?

  You’ve Ruined Us, Girl! he says, every word a curse.

  He flings the lumps of lead at me and I stumble back, dropping the bowl of porridge. It spills everywhere.

  You’re the one that translated what that man said! he shouts, and it stings worse than if he’d struck me, because it’s true.

  But Pappa—

  You’re the one who read the papers!

  Please, Pappa—

  You Are the Reason We Have Lost Everything! You! You Useless Girl! he roars.

  And then his shoulders slump like the fight has gone out of him and he starts sobbing, a broken man, and I turn around and all the boys and Mamma are standing there, shocked looks on their faces, but no one defends me, no one says a word, and I look at Wilbert, my Best Brother, and he won’t meet my eyes.

  Wilbert, I whisper.

  But he doesn’t say anything, and something inside of me curls up and dies.

  Then Ivan says, If we have to leave the farm, I’m digging up my hand and taking it.

  * * *

  I don’t think. I just run to the Nasel and take the rowboat and go to the Baby Island. I hide myself and my shame in the sorcerer’s tree because it is the only place I can think of where I won’t have to see the disappointed looks on my family’s faces at discovering what must surely be the truth. It’s All My Fault.

  Darkness falls and I wait and wait and wait for Wilbert to come and find me like he always does, but my brother Wilbert does not come. No one comes but the wind and the rain and the thick feeling that this will never be better, that I will never be forgiven.

  I am in Trouble Forever.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  What Ghosts Want

  It’s as if I’ve died but I am still here, like one of the Finn ghosts haunting the tidelands. Pappa refuses to speak to me and the boys follow his lead, and I don’t know if it’s because they agree with him, or because they’re scared of him. I don’t know which is worse.

  This isn’t like washing out the yeast starter, Wilbert says.

  Lonny’s the only one who talks to me, but that’s just because he doesn’t know any better. He doesn’t know that I am the reason for his poor father’s death. That I, May Amelia Jackson, a Useless Girl, am to blame for the terrible Misfortune that has befallen the whole of Nasel.

  I can hardly bear to go to the schoolhouse but I do because it means I can get away from the farm and Pappa. But even the schoolhouse does not give me any relief, for every day there is another empty desk, another family disappeared into the night because they have lost all their money in the Stanley scheme. First to go is Nuutti, and next is Waino, and then, finally, Berle.

  Where’s Berle? I ask.

  They moved away. I hear his daddy is looking for work in the cranberry bogs, Charles says.

  The sight of Berle’s empty desk is more painful than Pappa’s condemning eyes, and when Mr. Trebble asks why I am crying, I say that I feel sick. Because I do.

  I write to Matti telling him what has happened and that we need his help. I know my big brother will come home as soon as he gets word. But the only person who comes is Uncle Aarno, and he brings a letter from the new owner of our farm that says the sheriff will turn us out if we do not vacate the premises. Uncle Aarno and Pappa and Mamma sit around the kitchen table, talking.

  I’ll fight it, Pappa says. To my dying breath.

  You got to face facts, Jalmer, Uncle Aarno urges.

  Where will we go, Jalmer? Mamma says, sounding like she is going to cry. What will we do? How will we feed all these children?

  Uncle Aarno says, Rent Niihlo’s place. He hasn’t found anyone yet. It’s small, but it’s got lots of land. Needs to be cleared, of course, but you can farm it. Maybe even buy it from Niihlo someday?

  This Is My Farm, Pappa says punctuating each word with his fist on the table. I proved up every inch of this land!

  You got to think about the future, Jalmer, Uncle Aarno says.

  We wouldn’t be in this situation if it weren’t for Her, he says glaring at me.

  Jalmer! Uncle Aarno snaps. It isn’t May Amelia’s fault. You weren’t the only one taken in by this Yerrington fellow. Folks all over town believed him.

  They went in because I went in, Pappa insists, and his eyes fix on me. And I went in because of her.

  You’re being ridiculous. She’s a good girl, Uncle Aarno says. If you were thinking straight, you wouldn’t say such a thing.

  You can have her, Pappa says. She’s Not My Daughter Anymore.

  The world tilts, and Mamma cries, Jalmer!

  You’re meaner than Mother was, Uncle Aarno says. Then he stands up and says in a gentle voice, Pack your things, May Amelia. You’re coming with me.

  No one says good-bye.

  Not even Wilbert.

  Uncle Aarno’s wife has been dead these many years, so he knows how to cook and clean and take care of himself. He can mend all sorts of things—socks, fishing nets, even a broken clock. I wish he could mend my father’s heart but I don’t think anyone can do that. My uncle says I must forgive my father for being a bitter man, that it isn’t his fault, that their mother made him hard and unkind by never showing a speck of love. He says that this is just a storm, and all storms blow over. That may be, but even I know that sailors drown sometimes.

  Here in Uncle Aarno’s house I can almost pretend that I never had a family—a herd of boys, a mamma so sweet that other children wished she was theirs, and a pappa fierce enough to scare bears away with his eyebrows. I finally have my own bed in my own room and I don’t have to fight for the covers or listen to snores, but I can’t sleep. All I can think about is Old Man Weilen. Every last person said it was such a shame that he lost his mind, that he couldn’t remember what he ate for breakfast
or who his wife was, but I know different. He was Lucky. I would give anything to forget the loathing in Pappa’s eyes and the disappointment in Wilbert’s and the hopelessness in Mamma’s. I wish I could forget it all, but I can’t. It’s as clear as rainwater.

  I help Uncle Aarno deliver the mail and learn all sorts of things. People tell him everything. Briita Salme hates her daughter-in-law and thinks her son could have done better. Gussie Mattson’s cousin made it to New York City on a boat but he was coughing so much when he arrived that they wouldn’t let him in, and he had to go all the way back to Finland.

  When a letter arrives addressed to Jaakko, I can’t help myself; I open it and read it. I guess I’m just as nosy as every other Finn. The letter has no return address and all that’s inside is a newspaper clipping from Finland. It reports that a man named Martti Larson has been sentenced to life imprisonment for the murder of Jaakko’s mother. I hope my cousin will finally be able to sleep at night.

  I wait and wait for one of my brothers to sneak away and visit me at Uncle Aarno’s, but it is the women who end up coming. I guess they’re better at forgiving than men. They probably have to be to do the washing every week.

  Mamma is the first one to come and I’m so shocked to see her that the words get stuck in my throat and I feel like Buttons trying to cough up a hairball. Nothing comes out.

  Your father doesn’t know I’m here, she admits. I told him I was catching a baby.

  I say, Mamma I’m So Sorry! and start crying.

  She just hugs me and says, Oh, My Little May.

  We visit for a while on the porch and she tells me that Pappa is still dictating letters to the president and everyone else he can think of. She says poor Wendell’s hand has near about fallen off from all the writing.

  I miss the boys, I say.

  She looks away and sighs. You have to give your father some time. He’ll come round.

  Then she says, I came to tell you that I’ve taken a job at a cannery in Astoria. A cannery? I whisper.

  I dearly love catching babies, she says, but nobody pays me. We need the money and I can stay with Aunt Alice.

  Jane is the next lady to visit and she brings her kind smile and a basket. When she opens it, out tumbles Buttons my cat.