by Jean Little
“Who’s there?” she whispered.
I told her it was only me, keeping my voice low. “Jasper is in there, isn’t he?”
He was. She was taking him food and a bottle of milk. She rushed at me and begged me not to tell the others, especially Father.
“Please, Victoria, please,” she pleaded. “You can’t betray him.”
“Of course I won’t,” I promised. How could she imagine I would? I did try to talk some sense into her about letting me get Mother or Father, but she
wouldn’t listen.
“All right,” I said. “Let me see him.”
When the two of us slipped through the stable door and she lit her candle, I understood her terror. The dingy child curled up in the darkest corner was not the bright little boy I had seen at the station. If I had not known who he must be, I would not have recognized him. He is skin and bones. And so badly bruised!
I can’t write about it now. Later on, when I have time to think, I will try. I know now what people mean when they talk about their hearts aching. Mine aches for Marianna and her brother.
Thursday, July 22
I didn’t write any more yesterday. I couldn’t. Here it is now. I’ll tell it as it happened. I want to remember. It is important somehow that I put down every detail.
“Jasper,” Sparrow called softly, bending to touch his shoulder.
He cried out in fear, leapt back from her hand and put up an arm to shield his face. It was clear he was expecting a blow.
“Don’t hit me!” he moaned. “Don’t.”
“It’s me, Sparrow,” she said gently. “I brought you some food and an old quilt. A pillow too. Don’t worry about Victoria. She won’t tell. Swear, Victoria.”
The boy’s round eyes were filled with panic. They looked far too big in his pinched face and they burned. Mother has an old doll made of wax and its skin looks like his.
“Swearing is wrong,” I mumbled.
I could tell he had a high fever. I know about fever from last winter when Tom got pneumonia and everybody thought he would die. His eyes looked just the same as Jasper’s. Mother said Tom’s were like “burnt holes in a blanket.”
“Swear,” she repeated. I could feel her glare.
“I swear not to tell,” I said.
Jasper was trembling. He snatched at the bottle of milk Sparrow held out and began to gulp it down as though he were scared we would take it from him before he could drink.
I watched for a bit and then reached out and pulled it away.
“He’s so thirsty. You have lots of milk in the ice chest!” Sparrow said, angry at me.
Did she really think I would not give him every last drop we had? I explained that it wasn’t that. If he drank it too fast, after going hungry, he’d vomit it right back up. I’ve heard Mother say so. “All right, Jasper, take some more,” I told him. “But try to go slowly. Small sips. There’s more where this came from. I promise you will have enough to fill you up.”
He stared at me.
“I know you,” he said hoarsely. “I’ve seen you.”
I reminded him that I had been at the station with Father and he had seen me then.
“You held Bess’s bridle while Father talked with that woman. Then we took Marianna away. Remember?”
His eyes stopped looking so wild and he began to drink again. One gulp. One pause to breathe. One more gulp. Another shaking breath.
I stared at him. I couldn’t help it. He was filthy. His hair was chopped short in ugly tufts and it was matted with dirt. His clothes weren’t clothes at all. Just rags. And one of his arms looked crooked. Not the way it should.
“What happened to the things in your Barnardo trunk?” I asked, thinking of Marianna’s wardrobe.
“He said they were too good for me and he had given them away to a Canadian boy,” Jasper said in a flat, lifeless voice. “He told me he threw away my Bible. He said God didn’t care about scum like me.”
Marianna gasped. Her eyes flashed. I tried to stay calm. It was hard. Those things belonged to Jasper.
“What happened to your arm?”
“He broke it,” the tired voice said, as though his shocking words were no longer a shock to himself. “He hit me with a spade the very first night. He told me to fetch the cow to the barn and milk her. I was afraid and I cried. I had not seen a cow up close and I told him I could not milk one.”
He stopped to catch his breath and swallow another gulp of milk. Then his tired voice went on. He sort of droned the words.
“Mrs. Jordan wanted to take me to the doctor, but he said I was shamming. He did it to make sure I knew who was boss. I think it has just about healed up. It doesn’t hurt all that much now.”
All at once his teeth began to chatter and it was hard to catch every word. Marianna wrapped the quilt around his shoulders and he gripped it tight under his chin. But the shivers were part of the fever, I guess. They kept on. They made it hard for him to hold the milk bottle steady.
I knelt down and supported it while Marianna set the candle up in a safe place. She crept out and came back with a bucket full of water.
“We’ll have to wash you, Scrap,” she said.
He shuddered and gave a pitiful whimper.
But I knew she was right. Mother says cutting yourself is bad, but letting dirt get into the cut is worse. He could get blood poisoning. People die of that.
We eased off the rags that hid his back and we both cried out in shock. His entire back was covered with welts, probably from that whip. Some were old scars. But many were still oozing. He must have had a terrible beating just before he ran off.
“What did you do to make him beat you?” I asked, without stopping to think.
Jasper looked at me out of those big eyes and I could feel myself shrinking down into a worm. He could not have done anything bad enough to be given such a cruel whipping.
“I stole a chunk of bread,” he said. “I had to have something to eat. He’d given me nothing all day. I took it from Brutus’s dish. He’s half-starved too, but he let me share. Then Mr. Stone caught me. He liked hurting me. He laughed about it sometimes.”
I couldn’t speak for a moment because I had a great lump in my throat. Then I got up my courage and told him I was going to wash him. I promised to be as gentle as possible. I don’t think he took it in. The moment I began, he gave a shriek that scared me so, I dropped the cloth. I had barely touched one of the sore places with the wet washrag. Because he was weak his cry was feeble, but Marianna clapped her hand over his mouth anyway. He hushed then.
The water did not stay clean. I went to the rain barrel for more. I was afraid the pump handle going up and down would wake someone. But no light shone through an upstairs window.
“Jasper, be still. Victoria’s father will hear you and send you back,” Marianna said sternly.
“He wouldn’t,” I said, glaring at her. How could she think such a thing of my father?
“He has to be quiet,” she mumbled. “Don’t talk about it, Victoria. Just get done quick.”
Her threat worked. Jasper set his lips firmly and no more shrieks escaped him. He just moaned softly. That was somehow worse.
Then I realized I wasn’t getting the dirt out.
“I need warm water and soap,” I told Sparrow.
“I can’t just go and take soap,” she said, looking at the floor.
I stared at her. She had taken a quilt and food. What was the difference? Then I saw how ashamed she looked. It was because I was there and I would know. I got up and squeezed her shoulder.
“That’s silly,” I said, “but I’ll go. I can talk my way out of it better if I get caught.”
“You won’t tell …” she started in, her head jerking up like a deer scenting danger.
“No,” I growled at her and headed out the door. Why couldn’t she trust me?
Then, as I lifted the latch on the stable door, I remembered what had happened to Jasper for taking bread from the dog, and I understood
again how different things were for them. I had never had to be afraid like that. It made me feel dreadful.
“Victoria, I’ve torn up my petticoat for bandages, but we might need more,” she called after me in a low voice.
“I’ll get some,” I called back.
There was still warm water in the big kettle left sitting on the back of the woodstove. Cousin Anna must have come down and filled her hot-water bottle. I got some soap and took the kettle with me. Then I tiptoed to where the ragbag hung and took from the bottom of it some pieces of old sheet which were so worn they were wonderfully soft.
I was so quiet I amazed myself. I even thought that when I grew up I would make a good burglar if my books did not sell. That thought almost made me burst into giggles, loud, wild giggles, but I managed not to give way. It is strange how fear can unsettle your whole body.
Sparrow had let Jasper rest and eat something while they waited for me to come back. When I eased open the stable door, it seemed to creak twice as loudly as before. I held my breath, but nothing stirred except Bess turning her head to peer at me. My unsuspecting family slept on, even Snortle.
I could not see Marianna and Jasper anywhere at first. But as soon as they were sure it was me, they crept out of the shadows at the back of Bess’s stall. She was wide awake by now, and whickered.
“Easy does it, old horse,” Jasper said, smiling up at her. That smile looked twisted and strange on such a small, painfully thin face. But Bess did not mind. She put her nose down to him and blew softly.
“Jasper has a way with horses,” Marianna told me proudly.
Can’t keep writing. Mother is calling me.
Friday morning, July 23
There is so much to tell that I am going to write part of it now and finish later. I could just put down the bare facts and do it much faster, but I want to remember all the exciting details. I somehow owe it to Marianna and her brother. And it is just like a story in a book. I want to see if I can write it the way a real writer would.
Jasper is still hiding at our place. Before we left him the other night, Marianna and I helped him up into the loft where he could hide behind the hay. But it wasn’t really safe. When everyone was out or napping yesterday afternoon, I began talking them into letting me hide him in the house. There is an old storeroom in the cellar filled with trunks and broken chairs and other rubbish. Nobody goes there.
“Billy or Father will find him for sure if he stays in this stable,” I said.
Just then, Jasper sneezed.
“What if you did that and they were down below?” I said.
That did the trick.
But then we had to wait hours and hours until everyone was in bed for the night before we dared try it. It was a fearful journey and I was terrified morning would come before we had him safely hidden. I was astounded when we got back to our room to hear the grandfather clock strike half past three.
But I don’t see how we can keep hiding even such a small boy this way. This morning, when everyone had left the kitchen and Marianna and I were getting together a basket of food to carry down to Jasper, Cousin Anna almost caught us.
“What are you two up to now?” she demanded.
For once I was glad that she never waits for an answer. She didn’t seem to notice the basket. She said Mother needed Sparrow upstairs, so I scuttled down the cellar stairs on my own.
“Jasper,” I said softly.
He cringed away and stared up at me as if he had never seen me before in his life. I don’t think I’ve ever made somebody afraid before, and it made me feel sick. His eyes looked so wild.
“Who are you?” he croaked.
“I’m Marianna’s friend Victoria,” I said. “I washed your sore places last night. I’ve brought you some food.”
“I want Sparrow. I don’t know you,” he muttered.
He snatched at the food, but I had to leave before he had recognized me. Sparrow went down later and he didn’t know her either at first. He cried out but she managed to hush him. He is really ill and I am frightened. Neither of us knows what is best to do. I tried again to get her to tell Father, but she would not listen to me. I promised, finally, to give it one more day.
“What if he dies?” I said. I did not want to, but I could not think of any other way to get through to her.
“Poor people get sick all the time and get better without doctors,” she blazed at me. “Jasper’s tough. Wait and see.”
I opened my mouth to remind her that she herself told me of Barnardo children who had died at Hazelbrae after coming all the way from England. I am a doctor’s daughter. Disease can strike down anyone. My six-year-old cousin Martha caught diphtheria last year and almost died. Two children who lived next door did die.
Then, just in time, I saw the terror in her eyes. She knows. She just can’t bear to face it.
But what will we do if he gets worse? And, if he doesn’t, what will we do then? I cannot figure out where he could go. Oh, I so long to break my promise and tell Father that the boy Mr. Stone is looking for is in our cellar.
Friday, Late afternoon
Snortle almost gave us away at suppertime. He sat at the top of the cellar stairs and whined. Sparrow and I had let him come down with us earlier so that he would not whine, and he seemed to comfort Jasper. Jasper likes him a lot. Even when he doesn’t know us, he pets my pup and when he drops food, because he’s so weak, Snortle thinks it is a present and jumps to get it. I should have known better than to take him down there.
Tonight there is a concert in town. Father is taking me and Cousin Anna. I am so worried about leaving Jasper, but Sparrow thinks this is a good chance for her to spend time with him after she has settled Mother in bed. Mrs. Thirsk will be busy in Aunt Lib’s room. When Auntie sleeps, Mrs. T. has a nap too. She snores louder than Snortle.
I hope Sparrow is careful.
My poor parents think going to concerts will make me love my piano lessons. They are wrong. I love listening to music, not practising scales.
Saturday, July 24, Early morning
Tom found out about Jasper while I was at the concert. Sparrow had gone down to check on him and Snortle began pawing at the cellar door. Finally, exasperated with him, Tom opened the door and the pup galloped down the stairs. My dear brother, being curious, followed. And scared Sparrow half to death.
When we walked in after the concert, Tom was waiting up. He doesn’t usually. He kept staring at me. Then Sparrow came in and I knew something was up.
“I’m so tired,” I said, yawning widely. “I’m going on up. Tom, I have that book you wanted. It’s in my room.”
He shot out of his chair and all three of us went pelting up the stairs lickety-split.
“Hush,” Sparrow warned us. “Your mother is not well.”
We tiptoed into the back part of the house, closing the door that leads to the front bedrooms, and settled down to talk. Tom was so furious at Mr. Stone, he wanted to go over there and DO something to him. Marianna begged him to be calm. Since Jasper is a runaway, she is sure he would have to be sent right back to Mr. Stone’s farm.
“Don’t you know that women and children have no say when it comes to things like this?” she asked, her voice hard and bitter.
Tom was angry that she could believe Father and Mother would let such a wicked thing happen, whatever the law said.
Marianna turned on her heel and vanished. Two minutes later she was back with the paper. It told about a boy hanging himself in the barn. It said there was no problem between him and his employer, but it did not explain why a boy would do such a thing if there was no problem.
“I am certain he was a Home Boy,” she said.
After that, Tom and I were quiet. After all, Jasper is Sparrow’s little brother, not ours.
“Is he any better?” I asked her at last, holding my breath until I heard the answer. During the concert, I had made up my mind to break my word and tell Father if Jasper was worse.
She looked at the floor.
>
“He knew me … but only for a moment,” she admitted. “But I do think his fever is lower, and he has kept food down. Just let’s wait the week out, Victoria. Your Cousin Anna is talking of taking the old lady away to somebody else’s house.”
“Talk’s cheap,” Tom said, looking morose. “Who would want them? When I carried a tray up to Mrs. Thirsk this morning, Aunt Lib looked like death. Her breath was rattling and she wheezed the way I did with pneumonia. Even if Cousin Anna gets it arranged, I think Father will say she cannot be moved. And that will be that.”
Little did we know that Aunt Lib was about to have a second stroke in the night. Today she is not conscious. Dr. Graham says she does have pneumonia, just as Tom thought, and may not live out the week. Why, oh, why do so many disasters all come at once?
Pneumonia is the old person’s friend, Father says. I have heard that before and I used to wonder what it meant. But I know now — Aunt Lib is so old and miserable.
Jasper is miserable too, but he is just eight. He is so much more alive, even delirious. If Jasper gets pneumonia and dies, he will only have a small part of his life, and that small part mostly unhappy. None of his dreams has had time to come true.
Tuesday morning, July 27
Two days have gone by since I last wrote. Jasper is still safe, still hidden in our cellar, still sick. But Aunt Lib died in her sleep on Saturday at about nine o’clock at night.
Cousin Anna was with her, holding her hand, but she did not wake up. Mrs. Thirsk had gone before it happened, which was nice. I was there with a cup of tea for Cousin Anna about twenty minutes before Aunt Lib died. It was horrible. She sounded as though she was drowning.
I told Father so and he said that was exactly what was happening. Her lungs were filling with fluid. I can’t stop hearing the sound of her struggling to breathe, even though she is now at peace.