by Sarah Ellis
Miss Steele and Miss Steele invited us in. They were wearing many layers of clothing (but no squirrels) and when we were shown into the parlour I understood why. It had the kind of cold of a place that has never been warm, and was very dim as well.
The room was full of furniture and so many things that I didn’t know where to look first. Every inch of the walls was covered in paintings. Ships, forests, lovely ladies, dishes arranged on a table, storms at sea, vases of flowers. My eyes just went flit, flit, flit and didn’t know where to stop, which is why I didn’t really look at the chair before I sat in it, which is why I didn’t see the chicken. You don’t expect there to be a chicken in an armchair. The chicken did not like being sat upon and there was a great clucking and flying of feathers and I ended up on the floor. Kathleen just stood there with her mouth open and Murdo got the giggles, but Miss Steele and Miss Steele were not one bit bothered. They offered me a candy from a blackened silver dish. “Have a conversation lozenge,” said grey-haired Miss Steele. “They are our favourites.” Then she offered Murdo a cigar! “Father always enjoyed a cigar,” said white-haired Miss Steele. Murdo looked as though he was going to take it when Kathleen jumped in and said that Murdo was too young to smoke. The chicken disappeared behind the settee and the conversation lozenges were passed once more and then Miss Steele and Miss Steele opened the paper bag with the jars of applesauce and they were delighted. Then grey-haired Miss Steele jumped up and removed a great number of pictures and ornaments and scarves from what turned out to be a piano and played us a piece of music. She played with gusto.
White-Steele burst into applause. “Charlotte is the musician. I am the artist. We might be twins but we have distinct gifts.” She pointed to all the paintings on the walls. “All my own work.”
“A gifted watercolourist,” said Grey-Steele.
I knew that I could not look at Murdo. I knew that we would make each other laugh. Thank goodness for Kathleen, who made proper conversation, discussing grown-up things like the weather and the harvest.
We were just standing in the hall, on our way out, when the best/worst thing happened. There was a kind of knocking and scuffling noise and a large sheep wandered in from another room! “Oh, there you are, Polly,” said Grey-Steele. “Polly is very fond of the vestibule.”
That did it. Murdo had to pretend that he was having a coughing fit and he propelled himself out the front door. Kathleen and I managed to say goodbye properly, but once we were outside we had to run around the corner of the house before we burst with laughter.
On the walk home Kathleen told me what she knew of the story of the Steele family. Mr. Steele (the cigar-smoking father) had made a good deal of money with a grist mill and he built the big house. But then there was a dispute about water rights and he lost all his money and then he died and his two daughters, who never married, just went on living in the house.
“So are they poor?” I asked.
“Cash poor,” said Kathleen. “Land rich.”
Murdo just kept saying, “Polly is very fond of the vestibule.”
Poor and rich at the same time. That’s topsy-turvy.
September 12
Dear Papa and Mama,
Mr. Flanagan has announced that the mill is on half days this week. Something about wool supply being limited. I’ll be happy to finish at noon each day, but Uncle James says it isn’t such a happy story at payday.
September 13
Dear Papa and Mama,
One person who is completely happy about the half-day closing is Mungo. He thinks that the proper day for a human is the following:
Sleep in until 8:30.
From 8:30 to 9 give cat a good petting.
9 a.m. Get up and give cat cream.
9–12 Play “capture the wool” with cat.
12–3 Nap.
3–4 Pet cat.
4–5 Give cat more cream and a nice piece of fish.
5–8 Play “jump into a paper sack” with cat.
8–9 Provide snack for cat (liver is good), pet cat.
9 p.m. Cat goes outside to his own secret life.
September 14
Dear Papa and Mama,
We have much more time this week for reading the newspaper. The story by Mr. Wilkie Collins about the Countess Narona is getting scarier and scarier. Everyone is thinking that the Countess murdered Lord Montbarry for his money. I’m sure the story is already unsuitable for me, but we all long to know what is going to happen so we are not talking about suitable or unsuitable.
September 16
Dear Papa and Mama,
Uncle James has been going fishing every afternoon this week. I am not extremely fond of fish, but Mungo is happy.
September 17
Dear Papa and Mama,
Uncle James was right. It was a thin payday today. There will be no cream for Mungo this week. But Auntie said that we should pretend it had been a holiday week, just like Lord Montbarry and the Countess have, but instead of going to Venice we should go to the concert at the town hall. The concert was given by the students from the high school.
The hall was full to bursting. There were recitations and music, but the very best thing was the “Broom Brigade.” Nine girls, a few years older than me, were dressed a bit like soldiers, but instead of rifles and bayonets they had brooms and dustpans. Their teacher, Mr. Tullis, called out commands like “Prepare for cavalry!” and then they all moved together, in a drill, holding out their brooms or snapping to attention, brooms at their shoulders. It was very pleasing, the patterns they made, a bit like the patterns of weaving. They finished by sweeping their way out. The audience liked it so much that they clapped and clapped until the girls had to do the whole thing again.
On the way home Uncle James called me Captain Rutherford and we all did a bit of marching, but Auntie and I agreed that real sweeping isn’t this much fun. Then we talked about what would it be like if all the women got together and swept and cleaned through everybody’s house in smart military formation. Auntie Janet said that once they were finished with everybody’s house she would call out, “At ease!” and all the women would sit down and have tea and laugh and tell stories.
September 18
Dear Papa and Mama,
It has been quite the week for armies. This evening Murdo and Kathleen and I were just coming back from the river, where Murdo and I had been practising rock skipping, when we heard the sounds of a band from the direction of Mr. Mitcheson’s store. When we got there we saw that the Citizen’s Band were giving a concert under the electric light. But just as they finished one piece we heard the same piece being played in the distance and then we saw, marching down the street, the Salvation Army with their band. So then the leader of the Citizen’s Band got the band to join in again and soon everybody was playing the same song. The Salvation Army marched by and everybody kept playing. By the time the Salvation Army got back to the electric light on their return trip a huge crowd had gathered between the Almonte House and the No. 2 weave room. Even Mr. Flanagan and his wife and son were there. And everybody was singing and clapping along. The only bad thing was that at the end some mean boys from the high school started to throw eggs at the Salvation Army. Why do boys have to be this way? If I had a brother perhaps I would understand.
September 22
Dear Papa and Mama,
The world of Mr. Wilkie Collins is not the only place where there are mysteries and criminals. There is one right here in Almonte. On the way to the mill this morning I noticed a poster on the big tree at the edge of the Agricultural Grounds. I read it out to Auntie and Uncle. It read, STOP HORSE THIEF, and it went on to describe a dark brown horse with a white spot on his nose and white hind feet that had been stolen from a Mr. Dick Langford.
“Oh, I know that horse,” said Uncle James. “It is driven by that skinny, sour-looking old man who comes in on market day.” The poster went on to describe the thief as George Goodwin, alias St. George, alias Brennan, height such and such, weight so
and so, sandy colouring, age twenty-four, sharp features and so on. The poster said that if anybody saw the man he was to “take charge of any horse he has” and wire the County Constable.
I didn’t know the word alias, but I figured out that it must mean someone using many names. I didn’t know you were allowed to call yourself after a saint.
Uncle James said it was a pity that the poster did not mention a reward. Otherwise we could all go horse-thief hunting and become rich.
September 23
Dear Papa and Mama,
Today we had another half-day holiday. Uncle James says we must be careful not to get used to this or we’ll be wanting to live a life of leisure, like mill owners.
The reason for the holiday is the Fall Exhibition. We walked to the Agricultural Grounds right after noon and we were in time to see the driving contests. There were contests for best lady rider on horseback, best gentleman rider on horseback, ladies’ driving (single horse) and ladies’ driving (team), and the same for gentlemen and for boys under sixteen. The horses were all decked out and so were the people. It wasn’t as wonderful as Charles Fish at the circus, though. Then there was a one-mile bicycle race. Murdo says that if he had three magic wishes he would use one on having a bicycle, and even if he had only one magic wish he would still use it on having a bicycle.
Inside the Exhibition Hall there were more tables with all kinds of fruit and vegetables, including a pumpkin so big I couldn’t reach my arms around it. The winning entries had ribbons on them. There were flowers and preserves and all kinds of handiwork. There were rag rugs and shawls and stockings and mitts and patchwork. Auntie and I spent a long time looking at the knitting and crochet, embroidery and tatting. We decided that next year we will start very early and have something to enter. There was a contest for “fancy pincushion by a girl under fourteen years” won by somebody called Minnie Prentice. It wasn’t that good. I think I could do very well at a fancy pincushion next year.
The exhibits of baking (pies, bread, cakes, cookies, tarts) made us all very hungry so we treated ourselves to tea with cakes at the refreshment tent.
Then we went out again to look at the animals (horses, cows, pigs, chickens). My favourites were the heavy draft horses. They look so strong and patient.
September 24
Dear Papa and Mama,
Tonight was sheep-shearing night. This is what Uncle James calls it when Auntie cuts our hair. She takes great care and trouble with us, making sure that everything comes out even. When she cuts Uncle’s hair she moans about cowlicks, but she’s only pretending. With me she brushes and brushes and then cuts one comb-full at a time. I closed my eyes and it was as though it was you, Mama. The lovely sound of the scissors, the feeling of having my face touched and turned one way and the other for a final inspection. I wanted it to go on for much longer than it did.
September 27
Dear Papa and Mama,
When we were on our dinner hour today, Murdo’s father came up to the spinning room to tell us news of a murder. He told us that Mr. Langford, the old man whose horse was stolen, had been found murdered in his barn. A few days ago Mr. Langford’s neighbour noticed that the old man wasn’t out working, so he went across to check up on him and found his body in the barn. Someone had hit him on the head with an iron bar. The police have called in a detective to try to find out who did it. Of course we all wondered if it was the man on the poster. But we did not feel like joking about him now.
September 29
Dear Papa and Mama,
More talk of the murder today. Murdo’s father knows the cousin of the County Constable, who told him that the detective made a very surprising and odd discovery. It seems that there were muddy footprints in Mr. Langford’s house and on his bed that were not the footprints of Mr. Langford himself. The footprints were those of a thick wet stained sock. “It looks like the murderer did the old man in and then went to sleep in his bed.” And there’s more. It turns out that the horse-thief man was known to wear leather moccasins. “Sounds like a pretty good match for a thick wet sock to me,” said Murdo’s father.
I’m glad and not glad that Mr. Campbell came to tell us this story. As a made-up story it is good, with the detective and the mystery and all. But when I think of an old man lying dying in his barn all night while the murderer sleeps in his cozy bed, it makes me sad and frightened. And it’s not in some faraway city or distant land, but right here. I hope they find the murderer and lock him up.
September 30
Dear Papa and Mama,
There was another part of the Lord Montbarry story in the newspaper today, but we did not feel like reading about murders, even in a story.
October 1887
October 1
Dear Papa and Mama,
October. I do not like the word October. October is the saddest month. Of course I am thinking especially of you. When I first arrived at the Home there was one kind person there, Cook. She was the only person who ever talked about you. She found me crying one day and she hugged me and said, “October is a terrible month for dying.” I didn’t know what she meant. I was only five — nearly six. I still don’t know what she meant. Is any month a good month for dying? But she made me feel less lonely. She smelled like apples. Or maybe it was you, Mama, who smelled like apples.
Cucumber 2
Dear Papa and Mama,
After church today Kathleen and Murdo and I went to sit by the falls. Even though it was warm and pleasant I was not cheerful. Kathleen, who is a kind person when she is not being superior, noticed the cloud I was under, and I ended up telling them about why I do not like October. At first they did not know what to say, but then Murdo picked up a large hunk of wood and chucked it into the river. “That’s October,” he said, “gone. Now we just need to find another name for the time between September and November.”
We decided it should be a word ending in the sound “ber” and we tried timber and remember and number and then Murdo thought of cucumber, which made us all laugh. So Cucumber it is.
Today there was a missionary in church, from Asia Minor. He had a wonderful fancy name: Garabed Nergarian. He wore a beautiful oriental costume and sang a hymn in Armenian. I’m sure it is the strangest hymn ever sung in St. John’s Church. I wonder how you get to be a missionary? Probably you need to be very clever, to learn other languages and such.
Cucumber 3
Dear Papa and Mama,
Sometimes at the mill the noise of the machines makes the same words go around and around in my head. Today the words were Garabed Nergarian. I take Agnes’s poem with me every day in my pocket, but I don’t read it because it makes me sad to think of her, but now I think it is time to learn another verse so that I have something new to say to myself.
Cucumber 4
Dear Papa and Mama,
I have a new verse by heart now:
Then read from the treasured volume
The poem of thy choice,
And lend to the rhyme of the poet
The beauty of thy voice.
Cucumber 6
Dear Papa and Mama,
Dreadful time lighting the stove this morning. When I’m up before Auntie and Uncle I light the stove and make the tea. But this morning was a disaster. I cleaned out the ashes and laid the fire with paper and kindling as usual. But then the smoke just started coming into the room. And I didn’t know what to do. I did not want to douse it with water for that would make a horrible mess.
Just when I thought I would have to go for help, Uncle James came into the room. He put the fire out and then he showed me how to light a bit of paper and hold it up the stovepipe for a minute or two before lighting the fire. “Days like this,” he said, “damp and still, the chimney won’t draw unless the air is warmed first.” I said I was sorry, but he did not chide me at all. He opened the window and aired out the room. When Auntie Janet got up she said that we both smelled smoky. “Yes,” he said, “that Mr. Haskin will be wanting to fry up Flora for break
fast, like bacon. I’d let him if I were you. He needs a bit of fattening up, that one.”
Cucumber 8
Dear Papa and Mama,
The weather is getting cooler. Time for new shoes — mine have been good shoes, but they are getting small. At the Home our shoes came in the charity bales and mostly they did not fit well, but this last time I was lucky and my shoes were just the right size, with plenty of wear left in them, but now they pinch. I wish I could persuade my feet to stop growing. The shoes are fine for the short walk to church, but I do not think I will manage the walk to the mill. I don’t want to ask Auntie and Uncle for new shoes, as they are very expensive.
Cucumber 9
Dear Papa and Mama,
Mrs. Parfitt, the minister’s wife, has started a Bible Study class in the afternoon after church, at the rectory. Auntie Janet and I decided to go. There are about ten in the class. Auntie and I and Maggie Menzies are the only ones from the mill. Mrs. Parfitt served tea in pretty teacups and there were scones.
After the Bible Study and the scones Mrs. Parfitt read us a poem. It was written by a mill girl many years ago. I didn’t know that ordinary people could be poets. It began, “We, who must toil and spin, What clothing shall we wear?” and it was all about God weaving and spinning, through the rain and sun of heaven. “Wherethrough for us his spindles run, His mighty shuttles fly.” At the end God weaves “finest webs of light” for all who toil and spin.
I loved the way the poet used ordinary words like spindles and shuttles alongside fancy words like vesture and raiment instead of just plain old clothes. It made me think of you, in heaven, wearing white vestures and raiments and having sun and rain and space of sky. I never before thought of rain in heaven.