Halfbreed

by Maria Campbell

  Bob and Ellen moved to the farm when Mr. Grey retired to Prince Albert. Karen would stay at Ellen’s for the weekend and be at our house the whole time. She had a Shetland pony and I had old Nellie, and we rode everywhere. When Ellen became pregnant and could no longer ride, she lent me her Welsh pony. We rode everywhere on those ponies, going on picnics and talking all the while. Karen was the first person I ever confided in, other than Cheechum. I told her about the hard time we were having, and how afraid we were of the relief people and the wardens and the Mounties. With Daddy hunting and trapping in the Park they were at our house constantly. She understood our fears and poverty and helped us when she could. We had many dreams, the two of us, but so different from each other’s. She took her lovely home for granted and all the things they had, but admired the way we lived and preferred to be with us; my constant ambition was to finish school and take my family away to the city, giving them all Karen had and more.

  While Grannie was with us for those few months, I had time to be just a fourteen-year-old girl and I started to notice boys for the first time.

  No one had ever talked to me about life, babies or boys. Dad had often tried but would become very confused and put it off. Cheechum and Grannie must have taken for granted that Momma had talked to me. Most girls my age already knew everything, but I was completely ignorant. I came home from school one afternoon very frightened. Jamie and I were very close but Robbie was the only one I could talk to about personal matters, so I told him what was happening to me. He said, “Oh, don’t worry about it. It’s normal for girls to get like that. I heard the guys talking about it.” I was so alarmed at the thought of having periods for the rest of my life that he went to find some older guys and learn all about it. Meanwhile I stayed in bed and certainly didn’t have to pretend that I was sick. The cramps were so bad I was sure mushrooms I had eaten earlier must have poisoned me. Robbie came back a while later, carrying a box of Kotex, with the information that I would have periods a couple of days every month, unless I was going to have a baby. I was so relieved: I was not poisoned after all and this period thing would only last two days.

  Karen and I both fell in love that summer, but our boyfriends didn’t know we existed. The boy Karen liked was in my school and I tried everything to bring them together, without much success. I didn’t work on mine at all, just suffered in silence as I felt I had no chance with anyone. I was almost five feet six and very thin. My hair was so short and curly it was almost impossible to comb. Instead of tanning a golden brown my already dark complexion would go almost black during the summer. Black hair was supposed to have, as the storybooks went, snapping black eyes or sparkling brown ones. Mine were green. My aunts, uncles and cousins all had brown or black eyes and used to tease me for having dark hair and skin—“like a nigger,” they said—and eyes like a white man. The Indian kids made fun of me and called me names in Cree. The old people called me “owl eyes.”

  One day we met our “boyfriends” accidentally-on-purpose at the store. They rode along with us, and we stopped half-way home to talk. Just as we were leaving, Harold, the boy I was mad about, helped me on my horse and kissed the top of my head. I was thrilled to death. Harold was seventeen and six feet tall, a beautiful Swede who was the dream of every girl in the country. Already many mothers with marriageable daughters were inviting him to suppers and dinners. He was considered a good match because he was an only child who would inherit a good farm.

  Karen and I came home in a daze. I was so happy I couldn’t believe my luck. I didn’t see him for nearly a week, and then I saw him at Ellen’s with a girl from a nearby farm. He was standing by the door and tousled my hair as I went by. He introduced me to his girlfriend and said, “This is Maria. She’s the girl I was telling Mom I’d love to have for a little sister. She can ride, hunt, shoot and do anything a grown guy can do. She’s Danny’s daughter.” I didn’t stop to say hello but raced upstairs. I was completely heart-broken and swore I would never have anything to do with men again. Mom had warned me that men liked dainty ladies, not girls who ran wild and dressed like boys.

  I moped around for days and suddenly I remembered that I had not had my periods again. I became frantic, certain that I was going to have a baby. I told Karen and she wanted to tell Ellen, but I was frightened that Dad would find out. We talked it over and I told her that I would get rid of it. I often heard the old ladies talk about miscarriages and how to cause them. We told Jamie and Robbie and they were as frightened as we were. So we started “operation miscarriage.”

  Karen had heard her mother and another lady say once that the best method was to sit in a tub of hot water. Jamie and Robbie dragged the washtub into the bush, hauled water for it and built a fire. I sat in hot water for a whole day but nothing happened. Then I jumped over logs and rocks and rode horseback at full gallop. After three days of this, I finally decided to jump off the roof as I was sure that that would bring it on. (By this time I could hardly walk as my feet were sore and I was bruised from my exertions.) So there I was about to leap when I saw Daddy standing by the barn watching me. He asked what on earth was wrong and why was I trying to hurt myself. I started to cry and he took me inside, sat on the rocker and pulled me on his knee. Grannie came in and so did Jamie and Robbie. Dad asked again what was wrong. Finally Jamie walked over and said, “Daddy, Maria’s going to have a baby and she was trying to get rid of it.” Grannie sat down and everything was deathly still. Finally Daddy jumped up and dropping me to the floor, said, “Who did it?” Jamie grabbed me, sure that Dad was going to kill me and Robbie jumped in front of Dad and said, “Don’t hit her. It’s not her fault.” Dad tried to get hold of me, saying all the time, “I’ll kill him, I’ll kill him.” I was sure that he meant me. By this time the little ones were all in the room, crying hysterically.

  Grannie managed to catch Daddy’s arm and calmed him down. She told Dolores and Peggie to take the children outside. Dolores’s face was terrified and the look in Dad’s eyes was awful. Grannie asked why I thought I was pregnant and who the boy was. I didn’t know what she was talking about, so she explained, “Maria, you can’t be pregnant unless you sleep with a man.” When I told her what Robbie had told me she started to laugh and pulled me close, saying, “No, my girl, you are not going to have a baby.” Daddy, however, was not so sure, so I was taken to the doctor in town. After he had examined me and talked to me about babies, he spoke with Dad privately for a long time.

  On our way home Dad and I talked about babies, men, women and love. I asked him what kind of women men liked—I have to laugh now at his description. It made me feel that I might as well give up right then as there was no way I could ever be the combination of saint, angel, devil and lady that was required. I decided that it was a good thing I liked horses and had a big family to raise as my future with men didn’t look very bright.

  Soon afterwards we went to visit Cheechum and spent a week with her. I was so happy, for I had so many things to talk over with her, but it seemed we were never alone. Then, the day before we left, she took me with her to dry some meat. While we sat by the fire, I told her about Harold, about how I had thought I was pregnant, and that I was probably going to be an old maid. She gave me some advice: “Your father, like all men, is a dreamer and that’s the key. Don’t try to impress them, let them impress you. Be yourself and do what you want. Someday you’ll find the one man you belong to—when it happens you’ll know.” I was quite prepared to take her advice as I had already decided to ignore boys.

  Cheechum and I spent the whole day talking. I told her how desperately I wanted to finish school and take everyone away; how I longed for something different for us; how I didn’t want to be like our women who had nothing but kids, black eyes and never enough of anything; that I didn’t want my brothers to be like the men around us, who just lived each day with nothing to look forward to except the weekend drunks. She didn’t say very much, only smiled and said, “Now I know that you be
long to me. Don’t let anyone tell you that anything is impossible, because if you believe honestly in your heart that there’s something better for you, then it will all come true. Go out there and find what you want and take it, but always remember who you are and why you want it.”

  Chapter 12

  DAD HAD A VERY BEAUTIFUL, spirited horse he used for hunting. He was a yearling stallion when Daddy bought him and had never known another rider. When I tried to ride him I got so bruised and battered from being thrown off and chased out of the pasture that Dad decided that I would have to continue to use Ellen’s Welsh pony. So I kept it in our pasture, but I had my heart set on King, and any other horse seemed like a nag in comparison. I spent hours watching him, scheming how to win him. Finally, one day I discovered something. Robbie was eating raw turnips and when he happened to drop one, King gobbled it up and looked for more. I raced to the house, peeled a turnip and cut it up into pieces. I went over to the trough and dropped a few on the ground. I did this for several days, always making sure that King knew that I was the one who had dropped them. I would sit on the fence and eat huge pieces of turnip while he watched. Sometimes I would offer him a bite, and soon he was following me around, looking for a handout. In a week, he would even let me saddle him without biting. Then one day I climbed on. He stood still for a few seconds—then I was face down in the dirt. So for two days he had no turnips. He would follow me all over the pasture but I ignored him. The third day I saddled him again, feeding him turnips first. I got on and this time he tossed his head and crowhopped all over the field. I fed him when we got back to the barn and from that day on, I had no problems. He was very spirited and would sometimes take the bit and try to run away, but never to the point where he could not be handled. My brothers tried to ride him, and my uncles and Daddy’s friends, but none was successful, and I never volunteered my secret.

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  During all this time Dad worked for Bob and poached on the side, and as usual the Mounties and wardens were often at our house. We were eating fairly well, as Dad made good money from the sale of meat. One day he was away and Grannie and I were drying meat in the bush. We had a tent set up about a mile from the house and all the children were with us. I raced home to get something we’d forgotten just as three RCMP drove up in a car. They said they were going to search the house as they knew Daddy had brought meat home the day before. I let them in and said that everyone else was at the store, and prayed that no one would come from the camp. While one Mountie was upstairs and another in the barn, the third followed me into the kitchen. He talked for a long time and insisted that I knew about the meat.

  Suddenly he put his arm around me and said that I was too pretty to go to jail. When I tried to get away, he grabbed my hair and pulled me to him. I was frightened and was fighting back as Robbie came running into the room. He tried to hit the Mountie but was knocked to the floor. I was nearly to the door when the other one came in. All I can recall is being dragged to Grannie’s bed where the man tore my shirt and jeans. When I came to, Grannie was crying and washing me off. I must have been in a state of shock, because I heard everything she said but could not speak or cry despite the pain. My face was all bruised and I had teeth marks all over my chest and stomach. My head felt as if my hair had been pulled out by the roots.

  Grannie was afraid that Dad would come home, so she helped me upstairs and put me to bed. She told me not to tell Daddy what had happened, that if he knew he would kill those Mounties for sure and be hung, and we would all be placed in an orphanage. She said that no one ever believed Halfbreeds in court; they would say that I had been fooling around with some boys and tried to blame the Mounties instead. When Daddy came home she told him that King had gone crazy and had thrown me. Dad sold King because he was afraid that I might be crippled or even killed next time. I don’t know what Grannie told Robbie. After that, he always hated the police, and when he grew up he was in trouble all the time and served prison terms for assaulting policemen. My fear was so great that I even believed they would come back and beat me to make sure that I told no one. For weeks afterwards, if I heard a car coming in the yard, I would be sick to my stomach with fear.

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  Grannie left us just before Christmas and never came back. She was ill with cancer. I had so much to do that I seldom had time to be sorry for myself. The children were getting older and harder to manage. My sisters needed me as they were getting to the age when they wanted pretty dresses and were teased a lot about their poor clothes. No one wanted to house-keep for us as there was just too much to do, not enough to eat, and we could only pay poor wages. We struggled along as best we could and managed to survive that winter.

  Sophie, a Halfbreed woman married to a white farmer, lived about a mile from our house. She and her husband were childless, and although Sophie was hardly the motherly type, she was kind and loved children. They were extremely poor as her husband was very lazy. They were also dirty and I doubt whether the house had ever seen soap and water. Their five dogs lived in the shack with them, as well as numerous cats, and in summer the chickens wandered in and out. She was an ugly woman with a huge hooked nose, greyish yellow hair and had scarcely any teeth. She always wore three or four dresses, one on top of the other, rubber boots and a hat. In the summer she wore a white night cap with raggedy lace, and in winter a hood trimmed with fox fur. She always wore bright red lipstick and smeared it on her cheeks as well. She loved to cook, but couldn’t, and was the greatest talker. She would even talk for hours to Geordie, our baby. Her husband was skinny and had bumps all over his hands and face. They had lived in the community for years and were considered crazy.

  They often came to visit us and insisted that we go to their place for Sunday dinner. I didn’t mind Sophie and her husband Andy, but my older brothers and two sisters disliked them. The little boys thought they were great, for when Sophie saw them in the store she’d hug and kiss them and buy them candy.

  One Sunday, she invited us for dinner to have roast pork, apple pie and the works. Daddy lined us all up before we left and said that no matter how awful the food, we had to eat it and thank her for it. When we arrived she was bustling around baking pies, with chickens, dogs and cats running around everywhere. It was unbelievable. Andy was so lazy that he didn’t even cut firewood. Instead he kept a long piece of wood sticking out of the stove and as it burned up, he pushed it in.

  When it was time to eat, all the dogs and cats gathered around the table and watched us. The meat wasn’t cooked enough, the potatoes were scorched and the pie crust was soggy and heavy. We managed to get halfway through dinner without too much trouble. We slid our food to the floor for the dogs to eat. As our plates emptied, Sophie gave us more and more, thinking we were too shy to ask for seconds. Just as we were almost finished, Robbie slipped his pie to the floor and the dogs got into a fight. When the commotion was over, Sophie sat down and said, “It sure makes me feel good to have everyone like my cooking so much.” We all burst out laughing and she did too, without knowing the reason why.

  We had a Christmas concert at school that year, followed by a dance. It was a big social event and Daddy promised to buy me new clothes as this dance would be my first grown-up affair. On the way into Canwood he said that I could pick out my own dress and shoes. At last I could have the red dress I had dreamed about for years. I saw it as soon as we walked into the store—red net over taffeta, sprinkled with silver stars. It had a low v-neckline, a stand-up collar, short sleeves with winged cuffs, and a tight waist with at least twenty silver buttons up the front. Daddy tried to steer me to a more practical rack, but I tried it on and although it was a little big in the bust, it fitted otherwise. He bought it for fifteen dollars. I found the shoes I wanted immediately. They were high-heeled wedge pumps with thin red, green and yellow straps across the foot and ankle. I also bought silk stockings. I had never seen nylons, but my aunts back home wore
silk stockings when they dressed up.

  The night of the dance I asked Sophie to come over and watch the children while I got ready. I curled my already curly hair with rags and painted my nails red. After my bath, I undid my rag curlers and I had fat little curls all over my head. I didn’t comb my hair because I felt that it had an Elizabeth Taylor effect the way it was. I held up my silk stockings with red rubber jar rings. Sophie gave me her lipstick and I was ready. She was as excited as I was and raved about how beautiful I looked. In the mirror I saw that the bust of my dress was drooping, so I found some cotton batting and filled my bra so it fit perfectly.

  The family was in the living room, waiting for me to come down. Daddy was sitting in his rocking chair and the kids were on the floor. When I came down everyone just sort of let their breath go. Dad’s eyes filled with tears as I came tottering over in my high-heeled shoes. He got up and hugged me and said, “If only Momma could see you now.” Dolores said, “You’re beautiful.” Jamie and Robbie for once didn’t say a word.

  I went to the concert and dance full of confidence. Daddy had insisted that Sophie chaperone me—that was my only problem. She had on her green hood and old black coat and I was ashamed of her. But she was so proud of me that she told everyone how beautiful I was, almost as if she had invented me. During intermission, I was standing near the door with Karen when a girl from school came over and asked loudly, “Is that woman your mother?” Everyone started to snicker and I looked at her and said, “That old, ugly Indian?” and laughed until I saw Sophie’s face. She looked so rejected as she walked to a bench and sat down that I felt shame and hatred for her, myself and the people around me. I could almost see Cheechum standing beside me with a switch saying, “They make you hate what you are.” My evening was ruined and I left shortly after. Sophie walked home with me and as we got to the door she took my hand and said, “It’s okay Maria, I was young once too and I felt like you did.” I wanted to throw my arms around her and tell her I loved her, but instead I slapped her hand away and said, “I don’t need you. It’s all your fault, all of you,” and ran inside. I tore my dress taking it off and stuffed it into a trunk along with my shoes. I lay in bed with a lump in my throat, wanting to cry so badly, but not being able to.