by Jan Conn
What were you two doing over there?
We just went to play for a minute. And to see if there might be ice cream from the store. We didn’t stay long. Hart was nice to us. He gave us cookies and lemonade and let us hold his guns.
His guns? He let you hold his guns?
They’re heavier than you’d think, Stacey said, trying to make it sound like an informative trip. Tommy pulled the trigger, but I didn’t. I just held it.
Never again. You hear me? Never again. Now go out in the backyard. You’ve got an hour before Tommy’s mother gets here.
With visiting Hart next door, they’d forgotten about the hose and the irrigation. It hadn’t formed a lake like they’d thought it might. Instead, every inch of the garden was soaked, and some of the plants were floating in puddles. Stacey ran and shut the water off.
I hope it dries out before they see it. My dad can get mad sometimes.
You worry too much, Tommy said. It sure is a lot of water out there. It’s like a real irrigation ditch. As soon as you start school, I want to go back there because that guy says he’ll help us make our own bow and arrow. Stacey stared at a radish floating in the irrigation project and covered in mud. That was the problem with vegetables. They grew in dirt and came out dirty and needed to be thoroughly cleaned. She liked apples and plums better. They showered when it rained and were ready to serve when you picked them. She picked the radish up and pushed it back into the muddy dirt so it almost looked like a normal radish.
With a house full of kids weekdays, Della found it hard to keep her home as she liked. She was in survival mode most of the time. Her last client wasn’t picked up until 5:30, and then she had supper to worry about. Most Saturdays started off with what Della called getting the house shipshape. Sage helped if he was around, but most of the time, he had something like an oil change or a tune-up scheduled for Saturdays. That left Stacey at home to help with cleaning the house. She could watch cartoons between nine and ten and then had to help put the house in order.
Stacey didn’t mind Saturdays so much. She liked things in order. Sage had built her two long shelves that ran along one wall of her bedroom. One for books and one for stuffed animals. Because Della knew she wouldn’t get an argument from her about cleaning her room, she assigned her vacuuming and dusting the living room, and then she got to tend to her own affairs. So that was how Della and Stacey passed a Saturday with light snow falling outside. It was still early winter, and like every year, the snow began like a rumour that might or might not stay, a rumour eventually confirmed. It didn’t matter to Stacey. She didn’t start school until next year, and if she wanted to play in the snow, she only had to open the door any time she wanted for the next four months.
Sage, why do you keep leaving your coat on the back of a chair when you come home? We have hooks in the porch for coats. Sage had something on his mind and wasn’t in the mood to fight; instead, he accepted Della’s comment and returned his coat to the rack that sat beside the back door.
We’ve owned that car for what? Six or seven years now?
How would I know? Della said. We bought it four years before we had Stacey is all I know.
That makes it eight years then. Arnie down at the garage says it will burn oil worse and worse unless we rebuild the head. I’m wondering if it’s worth it. Caught up in that important decision, he forgot to take his boots off until he’d already walked halfway across the kitchen floor. He went back to the porch to take them off but not before Della came into the room.
Look at that, she said. We can’t even have a clean house for two days a week. Why can’t you be as neat and tidy as your daughter?
Stacey?
Do we have another daughter?
Since when is she Miss neat and tidy?
Well, if you were around more on Saturdays, you’d see what she can do for someone her age. She doesn’t complain about it either. She’s outright finicky. The other day one of her stuffed animals had fallen on the floor, so I went to put it back again and noticed she has them all in order, shortest to tallest. Her books are the same way too.
Sage got up from his chair in the kitchen and went to her bedroom door. Well I’ll be damned, he said. Where is she?
Next door. I made a batch of cookies, and she took some over to Molly and Hart.
Since when are we cooking for those two?
You know, Sage, you should look around and be thankful for the friends and neighbours we have in this town. Molly has always been there for us whenever we need her. She’s invited me to go to church with her tomorrow, and I’m going. You can come with us if you want.
No thanks. Hart doesn’t go to church, does he?
No. But that doesn’t mean you can’t. Come here. I want to show you something. Della walked into Stacey’s bedroom and took the second-largest stuffed animal and moved it about halfway down the pecking order. You watch, she said. Before bedtime she’ll have them all lined up again.
She had a choice, on Sunday, to attend church with her mother and Molly the Nose or go for walk to the river with Sage. Her dad told her once that Jesus Christ didn’t have a sense of humour. Sage liked to watch the snowflakes fall into the river. She chose the river.
Not much presented itself in Della’s closet as formal, so if she liked going to church, she would have to look around the secondhand stores for something else to wear because if you met the same people in the same place once a week, you couldn’t wear the same thing forever. Molly’s friend, Rose Schultz, picked them up at 9:30. By then the snowfall had let up.
I feel good about today, Molly said. I’ve wanted to invite you to give our church a try for the last two years, and I finally got around to it. Knox United doesn’t have a huge congregation, but it’s peaceful.
I know little about the United Church, Della confessed. I went to a few Catholic services with my mother when I was much younger. Easter and Christmas normally.
Well, Molly said, think of it as somewhat similar to the Catholic Church but with less fanfare. No rosary beads and no fish on Fridays.
No fish on Fridays, Rose said. That’s a good one. Della could see why Molly liked Rose because Rose found anything Molly said funny or interesting.
Knox United was huge compared to any church Della had ever set foot in. The windows along the side let in the glare of winter light that reflected off the newly fallen snow. The worn sheen to the pews and the elegance of the pulpit reflected a more prosperous time in the history of the town. And the smell. Every church Della had ever entered had what she assumed was a church smell, and Knox United was no exception. She now thought of it as the smell of sin, the result of decades of church attendance by those who walked in with their sins and left them behind when the service ended.
Molly insisted they get there early and sit close to the front. The church appeared to hold at least a hundred and fifty churchgoers, and yet when the minister, who hadn’t been identified by Molly or Rose, got up to the front to welcome the congregation, no more than twenty-five parishioners sat before him. And with the church only slightly warmer than the outside world, many kept their coats on. Della wondered if the church was ever full. At Christmas perhaps. Or for a wedding. She didn’t ask because she knew the question would sound like a slight to Molly the Nose.
The minister had a resonant voice that made everything he said sound truthful. He talked about God and salvation and how winter was a time for internal contemplation. He led three or four hymns, but with so few trying to keep up with the organ, the result was faltering. Toward the end, all but two of the attendees, Della and a young girl who sat at the end of her pew, rose to accept communion. Entering a church was a big enough step, and Della didn’t feel the need to consume a Christian vitamin her first day.
The minister stood on the landing at the front of the church as they departed. It took time to leave because he had a brief conversation with each of his regulars. Molly introduced Della, explaining her newness to the community, and the minister held her hand
in his hands and looked into her eyes and welcomed her with such deep earnestness that Della felt compelled to return the following week. Out on the street, where the snow fell more deliberately than before, the people looked vulnerable, like field mice out in the open, while inside there had been a sense of comfort and safety that Della still carried with her.
Rose Shultz only lived a block and half from the church, but because of the soft snow on the ground, they drove to Rose’s for tea after church. Our ritual, Molly said. Do you mind? I’d love to sit and have a cup of tea, Della said. I don’t get out much.
Once Rose had seated them in the wallpapered dining room, she brought out an ashtray for Della. I don’t smoke, she said, but my understanding is you do. So far, Della liked this Sunday ritual. It beat watching snowflakes fall into the river. It beat a lot of other things she could think about too.
8
Tommy’s parents had a medical emergency in their family that meant they had to drive to Calgary, and since Della had taken a Friday off earlier in the year, Tommy’s parents asked for the sleepover in a way that suggested Della couldn’t say no. The house the Howards lived in had only two bedrooms and a smaller spare room with no bed, so Tommy would have to sleep in the same bed as Stacey for the night. Everyone agreed that would be okay. Woohoo, Stacey said in response. Tommy, who she fought with half the time Della babysat him and played with heartily the other half, would be the first friend to sleep overnight at her house.
When Tommy’s parents dropped him off early Saturday afternoon, the day was clear and crisp after two days of snow. Della didn’t feel right about assigning housekeeping duties with Tommy there, so she told them they could watch an afternoon movie on TV but that they needed fresh outside air for two hours first. The two of them busied themselves building an igloo and forgot about coming in for the movie.
If we build it right, maybe we could stay out here overnight, Tommy said. Eskimos live up north in igloos, and they sleep in them and everything.
It would be cold, don’t you think? And it would be so dark out at night, how could you read when you went to bed?
I guess they read in the daytime, Tommy said. Or they must have lanterns that burn blubber.
A crust had formed on the top of the snow, but the snow underneath was wet enough they could roll balls a foot in diameter, shave them off to approximate squares, then lift them into place along the four walls. They only stopped once for hot chocolate, and by dark they had four walls built as tall as Stacey, but they hadn’t thought to make a doorway into the house. They turned the porch light on and worked a while longer, but they couldn’t lift the heavy snow above their heads.
Why don’t we use some of the fresh snow in your front yard? It’s like new.
I like to leave the front yard that way. Right now it’s even on both sides of the sidewalk. When Dad gets home, we’ll get him to help. He’s strong enough to help us build it higher. But what can we do about the roof?
I don’t know. They must have used boards or something. Do you have any boards lying around?
They looked behind the garage and found some one-inch boards under the eave, out of the snow. Soon they had a small igloo with boards stretching overhead from wall to wall. We’ll get your dad to help us finish, Tommy said. By the time we’re done, no one will know the difference.
Behind the Howards lived the only neighbours they didn’t know well. A broken-down wooden fence separated the two yards, and they often heard yelling and swearing coming from the house. Molly the Nose said the Browns lived there, or some of them. Mr. and Mrs. Brown hadn’t decided whether they should live together, she said, and every time Mr. Brown came back, it lasted for a day or two until more yelling and swearing left only Mrs. Brown to look after the two sons, twins, either fourteen or fifteen. Molly said that even though they were twins, they had been born in different years. One before midnight and one after. Della didn’t know what to think about that, but she had heard a big blow-up the previous fall and had brought Stacey in from the backyard and told her she could watch whatever was on TV. Molly the Nose didn’t know the twins’ names, but she thought they both began with D.
In the afternoon, the twins stood at the fence, watching. They asked what Tommy and Stacey were building, and Tommy told them it was an igloo. Then an hour later, the two boys hid behind the part of the fence still standing and threw snowballs at them while they worked.
Stacey told Tommy some D-twins stories she knew and called them disgusting. Tommy said Eskimos had enemies too, and once they got their igloo finished, they wouldn’t have to worry about them anymore.
Sage had covered for someone at work and didn’t get home until late, but Della had dinner ready when he finally got in. The whole time they ate, Stacey and Tommy pleaded with him to go back out and help finish the igloo, but Sage had numerous excuses, such as it’s dark out there now, I’m too full to build an igloo and I’m dead tired from working all day. Stacey knew her dad didn’t work on Saturdays but said nothing because she hoped to appeal to his sunny side if she could find it. The debate got them nowhere, and Della suggested Sage could help them in the morning when she went to church. Tommy thought that would be all right, but Stacey wasn’t satisfied. This was no way to treat a guest, she said. Della said she would make them another hot chocolate and they could each take a piece of chocolate cake and eat out by the unfinished igloo for half an hour before a bath and bed. Tommy thought this would be a great adventure and took charge of carrying a tray with the cake and hot chocolate, and Stacey had a flashlight so they could see what they were eating. That should have been a perfect ending to an almost perfect day, except that when they got out to the backyard they found their igloo trampled to the ground. The boards lay akimbo, and none of the remaining walls stood more than a foot high.
Wow, Tommy said, as he’d never experienced such destruction. Stacey cried and Della and Sage came out to the backyard.
It’s the D-twins, Stacey said. They were watching us and throwing snowballs at us all day. They’re the only ones who knew what we were doing.
Della gave Stacey a hug and patted the toque on Tommy’s head. You’ll have to go over there, Della said, meaning Sage. If that woman doesn’t know how to raise kids, someone’s gotta tell her. They worked hard to build this and now look. If you don’t go over there, I will.
I’ll go, Sage said. I’ll see what’s up. We didn’t see them, that’s the problem.
Della took them both inside and let them eat their cake and watch the second half of Bridget Loves Bernie while Sage followed signs of foot traffic in the snow between the fence and his backyard. He went through one gap in the sagging fence and up to the back door of the Browns’ house, where every light they owned seemed to be on, and even from the back porch, he could smell cooking grease. He knocked on the door and one of the boys answered. Is your mother in? I need to talk to her. The boy looked sideways at Sage, as if the request were unreasonable in some way or had never before been made.
Mom, a man wants to talk to you about something.
Sage heard broken glass and some cussing, and then Mrs. Brown appeared at the back door. She looked dressed up as if she might be going out somewhere. It’s you, she said. What do you want?
The kids built an igloo in the backyard this afternoon, and while we were eating supper, someone came over and trashed it. I’m wondering if your two boys know anything about it.
Are you accusing them of something? she said.
No, I’m just wondering if they know anything about it. The kids are heartbroken.
Donny! Dickey! Get your asses out here this minute. Mrs. Brown glared at Sage while they both waited. Sage jammed his hands into his coat pockets. Do you two know anything about smashing an igloo over at this man’s house? Both boys said they knew nothing about it, then stood there staring at Sage as if his allegation was preposterous. He wondered how two kids that came from the home they did could learn such confidence.
I thought they might, Sage said.
We had fresh snow yesterday, and footprints go between the broken fence and the igloo.
Look Mister, both my kids said they don’t know a thing about it. End of story. Sage didn’t know what else he could say. Mrs. Brown turned and waved the two boys back into the house, and then she pulled the door behind her and stood out on the back porch facing him. She wrapped her arms around herself to brace against the cold.
Look, Sage said. You can see the snow trampled down the middle of the backyard. Of course I didn’t see them smash the igloo, but it seems obvious by the footsteps.
Footsteps? You want to talk about footsteps? I know a few people in this town. I’ve lived here a long time. Some people I know have been watching your footsteps on Sundays. Up the stairs at the back of the pub. If you’re so concerned about where people are walking, Mister, you might consider where your footsteps have been lately. She turned away from Sage and closed the back door between them.
What happened? Della wanted to know. Stacey lay curled up on the couch, a pillow under her head. Sage could hear water running in the bathroom.
She said her boys know nothing about it. I’m sure it was them, but we have no proof. Why isn’t Stacey having her bath?
Because Tommy’s in there having his bath. When he’s done and in his pyjamas, it will be her turn.
I don’t see why they couldn’t share the same bath.
A year ago, they wouldn’t have known the difference, Della said. This is what happens when kids get older.
9
Sage knew he had holes in his moral fiber. He always felt dissatisfied and could never stick with one thing. Going somewhere, climbing the proverbial ladder all the way to the top, that was something he could only dream about. He tried to settle, but as soon as he recognized a comfortable balance, he was overcome by a craving as familiar to him as a next-door neighbour. Now, in his mid-forties, it was happening again. He hated his job, and he wanted a change. You had to be a certain person, like Emery, to be a good first aid man. Emery could embrace tragedy and then pretend it hadn’t happened. You had to have the ability to be on guard and yet live as though you were a normal person.