by Carol Matas
When I came back out carrying Albert, who was making faces and getting ready to bawl again, Lavinia was standing in the snow looking frantic. You would have thought I was a kidnapper. “What did you do to him?” she shouted at me. But good old Albert let loose with his next bellow and drowned out any answer I might have made. I handed him over without having to mention why his lips were sticky. When I get a chance, I will tell Tamsyn the secret. It won’t work a miracle, but it maybe will help for tiny bits of time. His cry is like a fire siren! Yet Lavinia hugged him to her as though she had snatched him from a lion’s jaws.
I stood and watched her rush back inside with him and I admit I was pleased he was making an enormous rumpus. He wanted more honey.
After that, Tamsyn went over to Mrs. M’s with me, glad to escape from the trouble at her own house. She told me more about Albert’s father. He was going to start a general practice when he got home from the War, but Lavinia’s getting Spanish Flu, and almost dying, changed him. Albert’s birth might have helped set everything straight, but instead it made the whole thing worse.
Tamsyn says she is scared of David sometimes. When they have visited before, he has had bad dreams and talked in his sleep. When he wakes up, he is stiff and hard to talk to.
Nobody talks to Tam about what’s wrong, but she has heard Lavinia pouring out her troubles behind closed doors. I told Tamsyn that David should talk to Father. Everybody says he is wonderful with the men who come home from the War with troubles. So many are out of work because the jobs they had before they joined up are gone. Even the men who come back in good shape are having a hard time finding work, now that they’re home.
Tamsyn said she did not think David would talk to a minister. He has told Lavinia he does not believe in God any longer. He is not the only one. I overheard Father tell one of the men that we all lose our faith in God once in a while, but it does not matter because God never loses His faith in us. Tamsyn looked shocked. “I never thought a minister would say such a thing,” she said.
I said I needed fresh air and went outside. She did not follow me. I sat on the front steps and I thought about Hugo and wondered if he would have come home from Vimy like that, empty and cold inside. I miss him so and I would want him back home no matter how badly he was hurt. But how would he feel about life after what he had been through? He was always so strong and filled with laughter. Is it just another sort of war wound?
Jack’s burns are so obvious, but does the hurt inside go deeper? I don’t know. I need Hugo to explain it to me. And nobody talks about Hugo much these days because we are afraid of hurting Father. Jack and I do speak of him, but we are hardly ever alone. I have a feeling Charlie misses Hugo a lot, but maybe not. It is not a thing you can ask.
1920
Thursday, January 1, 1920
Happy New Year!
I needed to get away from Mrs. M so I went over to Tamsyn’s this morning and I could hear Albert shrieking before I even got to the door. I had brought the honey jar. Mother laughed and said it would do him no harm in moderation. She also suggested that Tamsyn and I offer to take him for a walk. What Lavinia needs most in the world, according to Mother, is a chance to sleep.
Mrs. M had amazed me by offering a baby carriage we could use. It is a beautiful wicker pram such as a princess would ride in. I wanted to ask her where it had come from, but Mother shook her head at me so I just dusted the pram off, put in the blankets Mrs. M brought me and wheeled it over to Tamsyn’s.
After the first few minutes of bumping along, Albert snuffled a bit and hushed. Tamsyn peered in, all worried. “He’s asleep!” she gasped. You would think it was a miracle sent by God. Maybe it was. I felt smug, as though I had done some magic spell to make it happen. The ground is uneven with the snow and ice, so the pram jounced him and the wheels droned a sort of raspy lullaby that sent him to sleep.
When we got back to Tamsyn’s, her mother hustled out with her finger to her lips. Lavinia had been sound asleep ever since we left. We were not allowed to bring her darling child inside but were sent back out for another trudge and trundle. We spent all New Year’s morning and even a bit of the afternoon pushing that perambulator with its sleeping prince all over Uxbridge. Pushing a pram through snow, even a good one like Mrs. M’s, is not as easy as you might think. We stopped in to see Mother and she told Tamsyn that there is one thing you can count on with colic. It ends. It seems as though it never will, and then it stops and your baby becomes a pure blessing.
Tamsyn stared at her as though she did not believe a word of it.
“I promise,” my mother said.
When we did bring the baby home, Dear Diary, Lavinia looked so much better that I was glad we had kept going.
David gave his son’s cheek a gentle poke with his finger and said, “Atta boy, Bertie,” very softly. So he is not just a troubled veteran, but a true father. I saw Bertie smile, although nobody else seemed to notice. It was a real smile too, not just gas. But it didn’t last. When he started yowling again, I headed back to Mother and Mrs. M and Belle who, when she cries, does it quietly.
I have written a lot because there is nothing else to do here. Mrs. M only reads religious magazines, too preachy for me. Belle and Mother finished the jigsaw puzzle and now I can hear Mother reading The Five Little Peppers out loud. Belle thinks Phronsie Pepper is just like her. I am glad that Mother and Father did not name her Sophronia. Sweet as Phronsie Pepper is, I much prefer the name Emily Belle.
Now Belle is coming to bed and I am tired too, so we will go to sleep early even if it is New Year’s Day. I hope she doesn’t kick tonight.
“Eliza, isn’t it lovely to be together again?” she just said. Then she gave a gigantic yawn. She must feel safe with me, which is nice.
I have made a secret New Year’s resolution. This year I will get my hair bobbed. I put it off because Hugo asked me to, but it is time I got on with growing up, and short hair is the first step.
Friday, January 2, 1920
Father came over last night for dinner. We actually had goose. It was very greasy, but good. I told them all about Lavinia’s troubles and Father took me apart to ask again about Dr. Lewis. Maybe he will drop in on Albert’s father.
I told Mother I wanted to get my hair cut and she said she saw no reason why I shouldn’t. The Bible calls long hair “a woman’s crown of glory,” but Mother says she thinks St. Paul would not have felt that way if he had had to look after such a crown. It is funny she says this, because her own hair is long, but I thought I wouldn’t ask.
She actually made an appointment for me to get it done and suggested that I keep mum about it until the deed is done. That was what Verity did. Well do I remember! Sometimes it is handy to have an older sister to go ahead and blaze the trail.
So I will be going back to high school with short hair like everyone else my age.
Saturday, January 3, 1920
After supper
I did it. My hair is bobbed. My head feels pounds lighter and a bit strange, as though I lost part of my self with my hair. I wonder if anyone’s head ever came loose and floated away. It feels as though it might. Tamsyn says I will get used to it in no time. I wish Mrs. M had a better mirror in the bedroom so I could gaze at myself without anyone watching me and making rude remarks. People can be so rude. Even Mrs. M has a certain way of smiling that makes me want to hit her. In books, they call that sort of smile “arch.” I don’t know why but I know I dislike it.
I personally think I look quite pretty, even with my one eye being slightly off.
No, I don’t. I really think I look enchanting!
Bedtime
Finally, finally, finally! We are moving back into the Manse on Monday. We are pleased as punch. I went over today to get a book to read and found Dr. Lewis and Father dressed in old clothes, wallpapering the study. They were talking a mile a minute. I stood in the hall, as still as a shadow, and listened. Father was telling him that Uxbridge needed another doctor and this would be a good pla
ce to start a practice. David didn’t answer, but he did not seem in a rage or anything. I crept away without saying a word. Father will help him if anyone can.
I could offer to lend a hand looking after dear little Bertie if the Lewises came here to Uxbridge to live. When they are not screeching, I do love babies. I love being left alone with them and smiling into their eyes. I pretend they are mine. I might even like twins — although perhaps I wouldn’t. I don’t remember much of ours when they were babies, except for Belle.
Monday, January 5, 1920
I might have known, Dear Diary, that the Preacher’s Children would have to go back to school even on moving day. But Mother persuaded Father that we could come home at noon, and wrote us notes. That astonished us all.
The house smells so different, smoke and new wood and paint and plaster and soap and water. Also wallpaper paste maybe. It felt damp and cold too, until we got fires going in the fireplaces and Father started up the furnace. By the time we went to bed, Dear Diary, it was cosy. Don’t you feel it?
Albert stopped crying today for three hours! He was awake and he actually gurgled. It must be the pram rides. Mother says it was bound to happen, but I still like taking some of the credit.
I went to Tamsyn’s to return a cake plate her mother had sent over with a scrumptious roll jelly cake on it. And everyone seemed so peaceful. I took Bertie in my arms and walked up and down a bit and then I said I had to go and I walked over and held him out to his father.
Albert has more sense than they give him credit for. He put his arms out and went to his father and snuggled down. And Dr. Lewis smiled up at me and said, “Thank you, Eliza, for everything you have done to help us.”
I was stunned, but I did not wait for more. I just ran for the door before the spell broke and dear Bertie remembered to yell. Yet my window is on their side of the house and I’ve not heard a peep out of him.
And at last, we are home again safe and sound. Even though we miss Hugo and Jack and Verity, it feels so good. We fit together like a stack of spoons. And again, thank you, Dear Diary, for saving us from the flames. We were always a loving family, but I think that on Christmas night we learned how much we really matter to one another.
Now to sleep in my very own bed by my very own self. What bliss! Rapture even!! At last, we are all together again, back where we belong.
Julia May and her family thought they had at last found freedom when they made the final stage of their dangerous trek north to Canada, but even here old prejudices die hard, and the family has had to search for a community that will truly welcome them. As another Christmas in their chosen land approaches, they still have no word of Julia May’s brother Thomas, who returned to the United States to fight for the North in the Civil War.
Singing a Prayer
Friday, December 15th, 1865
Owen Sound, Ontario, Canada
We’re in our own home! Papa and Mama finally saved up enough to buy a piece of land just under the cliffs on the east side of town, and Papa and Miles built us a little house. Lots of coloured folk live here on account of the shipyard being close by, and a lot of the men and boys work there. Papa’s still at the stables though. He’s so good with the horses, Mister Jones doesn’t want him to leave.
It’s a mite crowded with Sarah and Miles and baby Liza living with us, but we don’t mind a bit, we are just so glad she found us and that we got some of our family together again. In any case, they’re going to be renting a house right near us come spring, so Miles will be close to the harbour and his job on the steamers. For the first time in our lives we’re in our own home! That’s something for folks who used to be slaves down in Virginia only three years ago.
We worry about Thomas, though. Thought we’d hear from him soon after the war in the States finished in April, but we haven’t heard from or seen him since he left to fight with President Lincoln’s coloured troops. Good thing is, wherever Thomas is, he’s not a slave anymore — not since President Lincoln set all the slaves free after the North won the war. He’s a free man and can go where he pleases.
Folks say there’s still a lot of confusion down there in the United States, both in the North and in the South, so we’re praying and hanging onto the belief that that’s what’s keeping him away and he’ll come back soon as he can. Then we can be a real family again. We won’t even tolerate the thought that he’s been killed.
Saturday, December 16th, 1865
My birthday! Mama made my favourite supper, chicken and dumplings, and Sarah made a cake with dried plums in it! I let little Aleisha help me blow out the candles on it. Fourteen of them. I’m surely getting grown up. Mama and Papa also gave me new mittens. My hands will be toasty warm now. Those old mittens were pretty ragged, especially since Boze chewed on one of them. He seemed to realize what he’d done and was real ashamed about it, and he’s usually such a good dog that I didn’t have the heart to scold him.
Monday, December 18th, 1865
This was quite the day. It started out just fine, but my goodness it didn’t stay that way. Amelia came over this afternoon and brought me a bag of candies from Granny Taylor’s as a present. That was good of her. Amelia is still my very best friend, even though I can’t forgive her mother for what she said when I brought my mama to the white church. I don’t want to go over to her house for milk and cookies anymore, and I used to love those molasses cookies her mother made. But now, if I tried to eat one of them, it would choke me. If they don’t want my mama to be there, I don’t want to be there either, no matter how much they like my singing. Anyway, I can sing all I want in our own church. Father Miller says I’m a “jewel in their crown.”
But back to the candies. When we opened them, Joseph had his nose right in there and I had to share with him. Partly to get away from him, Amelia and I decided to go climbing on the rocks on the west hill. I haven’t been up there very much since we moved over here to this side of the river. It was wet, but not snowy, so we figured it would be all right. We were wrong.
Boze came with us, as he usually does. When we got to the bottom of the cliff I told him to stay. He’s always done just what I tell him to, but I don’t know what possessed him today. I didn’t realize it till too late, but he decided to climb up after us. Crazy dog. Those rocks are slippery and full of holes and cracks and no good place for a dog.
We’d just about got to the top when I heard yelping behind us. I knew right away it was Boze and, even though I couldn’t see him, I could tell by the sounds he was making that he was in trouble. I had to get back to him fast. We climbed back down to him and, sure enough, he had slipped into a big gap between two rocks and he was stuck. I tried to reach him, but I couldn’t. He was too far in and getting more and more frantic. I saw him pulling and pulling, but one of his back legs was caught. I was really afraid that he would break his leg, yanking on it like that, so I tried my best to calm him down, but nothing I said did any good. I was getting about as frantic as he was.
Finally I made a plan. I told Amelia I was going to lie down right at the edge and lean over into the hole. Told her to hang onto my feet so I didn’t go in as well. At first she was too fussed to do it, but I didn’t give her any choice. I was worried about Boze. I lay down, stuck my feet back and reached for him.
“If you don’t hang onto me I’m going in!” I shouted at Amelia. I meant to scare her into grabbing my feet, but I suddenly realized it was the truth. Those rocks were so slippy and slimy with wet moss, I was sliding in and couldn’t stop! Thank goodness she came to her senses in time and grabbed onto my ankles. Held on so tight I’ve got bruises all over them, but it did stop me from falling. I managed to reach Boze and work his leg out of the crack. Fool dog was so glad to see me he wouldn’t stop licking my face.
Anyway, I finally got him loose and he clawed his way back up. Then I had another problem. How was I going to get back up?
“You’ve got to pull me up,” I yelled to Amelia, but I was worried. She’s not all that strong. But she di
d it. Got me far enough up that I could push against the sides with my hands and get myself the rest of the way out. I just sat there catching my breath for a minute. Boze was acting the idiot, jumping and leaping all around. I didn’t know whether to be mad at him or glad he was all right. I guess I was both. Then, of course, we had to get back down. That was even harder than getting up!
Anyway, that ended our outing for today. I think maybe we’d better not be climbing around there again until next summer. And I’d better lock Boze up real good when we do go.
Friday, December 22nd, 1865
Christmas next week! I’m so excited. Christmas in Canada is wonderful! Mister and Missus Frost up at Sheldon Place bring a great big tree into their house and decorate it all up with fancy trinkets and candles. On Christmas Eve they light the candles on the tree and invite everybody, coloured and white, to come in and see it. Then folk come around singing carols and they give us all hot spiced cider to drink. It’s usually snowing and it’s really pretty. Last year Missus Frost sent us home with a fat chicken for our pot on Christmas Day, too. They are such good folks. But then, you’d expect that from people who built cabins on their own property for slaves who made it this far on the Underground Railroad, then let them live there until they can find a place of their own, like we did.
We won’t have a tree in our little house, but we’ll build the fire up extra good and Mama will fix us a fine supper. Afterwards, we’ll go to our own church to hear Father Miller’s Christmas sermon and sing carols. It will be especially nice this year because Christmas Eve is on Sunday and that means we’ll have a Christmas service in the morning and another one again at night.