We were taken to an orphanage. When we got there, Cheryl and I were hungry and exhausted. Inside the large building, all the walls were painted a dismal green. The sounds we made echoed down the long, high-ceilinged corridors. Then this strange person came out of a room to greet us.
She was dressed in black from head to foot, except for some stiff white cardboard around her neck and face. She had chains dangling around her waist. She said her name was Mother Superior and she had been expecting us. My eyes widened in fear. It was even worse than I had imagined. We were being handed over to the boogeyman for sure! When Mrs. Grey and the man said goodbye and turned to leave, I wanted to go with them, but I was too scared to ask.
Mother Superior took us into another room at the far end of the corridor. Here, another woman, dressed the same way, undressed us and bathed us. She looked through our hair: for bugs, she told us. I thought that was pretty silly, because I knew that bugs lived in trees and grass, not in people’s hair. Of course, I didn’t say anything, even when she started cutting off my long hair.
I was thinking that this was like the hen my mother had gotten once. She had plucked it clean, and later we ate it. I sat there, wondering if that was now to be our fate, wondering how I could put a stop to this. Then the woman told me she was finished, and I was relieved to find that I still had some hair left. I watched her cut Cheryl’s hair, and reasoned that if she was taking the trouble to cut straight, then we had nothing to fear. Between yawns, Cheryl complained that she was hungry, so afterward, we were taken to a large kitchen and fed some of the day’s leftovers. When we finished eating, we were taken to the infirmary and put to bed. It felt as if we were all alone in that pitch-black space. During the night, Cheryl groped her way to my bed and crawled in with me.
That was the last night we’d share the same bed, or be really close, for a long time. The next day, Cheryl was placed with a group of four-year-olds and under.
I found out from the other children that the women were called “nuns” and that they were very strict, at least the ones who tended to my group. I’d seen the ones who looked after the younger children smile and laugh, but whenever I saw Mother Superior, she always seemed so unruffled, always dignified and emotionless. But the ones who took turns looking after us gave us constant orders, and that made my head spin. One would want us to hurry with this and that, and another would scold us for hurrying—like at mealtimes, when I was told, “Don’t gulp your food down like a little animal.”
Eventually, I figured out what the different nuns wanted and avoided many scoldings. My parents had never strapped us, and I’d never had to think about whether I was bad or good. I feared being ridiculed in front of the other children; I feared getting the strap; I feared even a harsh word. When I was quietly playing with some toy and somebody else wanted it, I simply handed it over. I longed to go over to Cheryl and talk and play with her, but I never dared cross that invisible boundary.
Most of my misery, however, was caused by the separation from my parents. I was positive that they would come for Cheryl and me. I constantly watched the doorways and looked out front-room windows, always watching, always waiting, in expectation of their appearance. Sure enough, one day I saw my Dad out there, looking up at the building. I waved to him and wondered why he didn’t come to the door, why he just stood there, looking sad. I turned from the window and saw that the attending nun was busy scolding a boy, so I left the room and went to look for Cheryl. I found her down the hall in another room. I looked in to see where the nun was, and saw that her back was turned to Cheryl and the door. I tiptoed in and took hold of Cheryl’s hand, whispering for her to stay quiet. I led her down to the front doors, but we couldn’t open them. They were locked. I didn’t know of any other doors except for the ones that led to the play yard at the back, but it was all fenced in. I left Cheryl there and raced back to the nearest empty room facing the front. I tried to call to Dad, but he couldn’t hear me through the thick windows. He couldn’t even see me. He was looking down at the ground, and he was turning away.
“No, no, Daddy, don’t go away! Please don’t leave us here! Please, Daddy!” I pounded the window with my fists, trying desperately to get his attention, but he kept walking further and further away. When I couldn’t see him anymore, I just sank to the floor in defeat, hot tears blurring my vision. I sat there and sobbed, for we had been so close to going home again.
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN HERE?” the nun from my room asked, making me jump. “Don’t you know what a fright you gave me, disappearing like that? You get back into the playroom. And quit that snivelling.” Then she asked why Cheryl was at the front and what did I intend on doing. I wouldn’t tell her anything, so she gave me the strap and some warnings. That strap didn’t hurt nearly as much as watching helplessly as my Dad walked away.
A few days later, I woke up feeling ill. My head hurt, my body ached, and I felt dizzy. When I sat at the breakfast table and saw the already unappetizing porridge, I knew that I wouldn’t be able to eat it. I tried to explain to the nun at our table, but she merely looked down at me and said in a crisp voice, “You will eat your breakfast.”
I made the attempt, but every swallow I forced down pushed its way back up. Tears had come to my eyes, and I finally begged, “Could I please be excused?”
The nun responded in exasperation. “You will stay right there until you are finished. Do you understand?”
To my horror, I threw up just then. Instead of getting heck, though, I was taken to the infirmary room. I was bathed and put to bed, and by then, I was feverish. When I slept, I dreamt I was somewhere near home, but I couldn’t find our house. I was very hot, and I walked and walked, but our house was no longer where it should have been. I woke up and called for Mom and Dad.
The next time I went to sleep, I dreamt my parents were on the other side of a large, bottomless hole, and I had to edge my way slowly and carefully around the hole to get over to them. But when I got there, they were back over where I had started from. At last, I dreamt that I was finally running towards them and there was nothing around that could stop me. They even had Cheryl with them. I felt such relief, such happiness! Just as I was about to jump into their outstretched arms, I glanced up at their faces again. Their faces had changed. They weren’t my parents; they were the two social workers who had taken us away in the first place.
Meanwhile, my temperature was rising, and the nurse decided I’d better be taken to the hospital. My dreams continued in the hospital. I was always on the verge of reuniting with my parents, but that was always thwarted by something beyond my control. When I was awake, a new kind of terror came to me. I guess it was delirious imaginings, but I would see this huge, white, doughy thing, kind of like a dumpling, and it would come at me, nearer and nearer and nearer. It would always stop just in front of me, and I felt that if it ever touched me, it would engulf me, and that would be the end of me. Sometimes, its huge bulk would whiz around my head, back and forth in front of me. I was always scared it would bang into me, but I couldn’t duck it or anything. It didn’t matter if my eyes were open or closed: I could see it there, and it seemed to know I was scared of it. I remained in the hospital for about a week before the fever broke and the dreams became less intense.
2
I was glad to get back to the orphanage because I was looking forward to seeing Cheryl. A new social worker had been assigned to me. Her name was Mrs. Semple. She told me she would find a home for Cheryl and me together. Or maybe she told me she would try, but I didn’t understand that. When I found out that Cheryl was no longer at the orphanage, I thought she had already gone to our new home. I wondered how come I wasn’t sent there too. But the day soon arrived when Mrs. Semple came for me. She said she was taking me to the Dion family. I was really excited but I pretended nonchalance. I figured if the social workers knew how much I wanted to move with Cheryl, they might take me to another place, or else leave me at the orphanage.
When we arrived, I jumped out
of the car, looking for Cheryl, wondering why she wasn’t outside waiting for me. The front door was opened to us by a pleasant-looking lady. I walked in, looked around, and asked, “Where’s Cheryl?”
Mrs. Semple realized then that I had misunderstood her, and she tried her best to explain to me, but I wouldn’t listen. She assured me,“Don’t worry about Cheryl. She’ll be well taken care of in her new home.”
“But I can take care of Cheryl,” I said indignantly. “I want my sister.”
“April, you’ll be going to school now. So don’t make a fuss.” Mrs. Semple had a hint of exasperation in her voice.
Mrs. Dion, my new foster mother, said, “Why don’t you come into the kitchen, April? I’ve got some milk and cookies waiting for you.” For some reason, she reminded me of my mother. Obediently, I followed her and sat at the table. The two women went back into the living room, leaving me there alone. My eyes were stinging as I took a bite of an oatmeal cookie. The tears spilled over and rolled down my cheeks. I was so sad, so lonely, so confused. Why was all this happening?
St. Albert was a small French Catholic town south of Winnipeg. The Dions lived on the outskirts, not far from the Red River. It was September 9, 1955, when I moved there, and the three Dion children were into their fourth day at school. Usually they came home for lunch, but on this day it had been raining quite heavily, and they had been allowed to take their lunches to school. It was midmorning when I arrived, and I spent most of that day moping around the house, fretting over Cheryl.
In the afternoon, Mrs. Dion turned on the television set for me. I’d never seen one before, and I sat in front of it transfixed. I was still sitting there when the Dion children came home. The oldest was Guy, who was twelve. Then there was Nicole, whose room I would be sharing. She was ten, and the youngest was seven-year-old Pierre. They were all friendly and polite, and only Pierre asked about my hair, which was still ridiculously short. Of course, I was very shy, and I couldn’t look them in the eye. They reminded me of the rich white kids in the park, so I was amazed at their friendliness.
I had come on a Friday. So the next day, I got up at eight with everybody else, had breakfast, then waited for Nicole to finish her Saturday chores. Meanwhile, Guy swept out the garage, washed the car, and collected all the garbage. When they were finished, we all went to the vegetable garden to do some weeding. Pierre and I carried the boxes of weeds over to a pile that was to be burned. We stopped for lunch, which Mrs. Dion brought outside for us. When we finished, some other kids came over, and we all played dodge ball. By the end of that day, I had forgotten how lonely I was.
The next day, when we got up, Mrs. Dion came into our bedroom and got out a real nice dress for me from the closet. She told me it had been Nicole’s. I saw that there were some more nice clothes for me, and I was very happy. I thought now I was rich too, just like those other white kids.
We went to Mass that morning. I didn’t like it. I was fidgety from having to stay still for so long. But after Mass, we had a nice, big Sunday dinner. When the dishes were done, we all piled into the car to go on one of Mr. Dion’s excursions to find plants to bring back to his gardens. On these trips, Mr. Dion would tell us about the trees and the plants and the wildlife that lived in the forests. Of course, I didn’t learn much on that first trip. I was excited about the adventure and explored things by myself.
Monday was my first day of school. Mrs. Dion came with me that day, and the others rode their bikes. I was scared and excited at the same time. When I was introduced to the rest of the class, I was so shy I couldn’t look at any of the other children. All I knew was that there must have been at least a hundred kids in that classroom. By the end of that first week, a few of the girls had deemed me acceptable enough to take possession of me. That is, they made it clear to the others that they were going to show me the ropes. At recess times, we played hopscotch or we skipped rope. Although I found them bossy, even haughty, I was very grateful for their acceptance.
I learned that I had been baptized into the Roman Catholic faith when I was a baby. Therefore, I had to study catechism to prepare for my First Communion in the springtime. Since the majority of the students were also Catholics, we had catechism classes every day at school. Every evening, I was obliged to learn my prayers in French, so when they were said at church I would be able to say them too. I memorized all the Acts, and there were a lot of them: the Act of Love, the Act of Charity, the Act of Faith, the Act of Penance. I was allowed to learn the prayer for the confession in English, because later I would be telling the priest my sins in English. I also learned the answers to all the questions in my manual, and there were a lot of things in it that puzzled me. Was it possible that my parents had committed a lot of mortal sins because they had never gone to Mass on Sundays? That meant they would go to hell when they died. If so, I didn’t think that I’d want to go to heaven so much, after all. Another thing was that the Church was infallible, never to be questioned, but I couldn’t help it—nor could I ask anyone else my questions about it, for fear they would know that I, April Raintree, had sinned.
By October, all the vegetables and crabapples had been canned, and Mr. Dion had made his last trips to get new plants for his gardens. I had settled in at school, and I had found that this home could be as safe and secure as the tiny one on Jarvis Avenue. Sometimes, when it was windy, cold, and grey outside, I even enjoyed the cozy feeling of being with a family. At the same time, I still yearned to be with my own.
Back then, there were a lot of good shows on television. It made me wish for adventure, and also for pets just like the ones on TV. First, there was Tornado, Zorro’s black stallion. Then there was Rin Tin Tin, a big German shepherd dog. And, of course, Lassie. I wanted them all. When I grew up, I would have German shepherds and collies, black stallions and white stallions, and palominos too! I spent many church-time hours thinking what it was going to be like.
By November, my hair had grown long enough that the children in school who had teased me about it stopped. Mrs. Dion told me I could grow it long if I wanted to. But even better than that, she told me that I would be going to visit Cheryl and my parents at the Children’s Aid office. I circled the date on the calendar, then waited with impatience and excitement. When the day finally arrived, and Mrs. Semple came to pick me up, I suddenly remembered those horrible dreams. I was very quiet on the trip to Winnipeg. What if something happened? What if Mom and Dad got too sick and couldn’t come? What if Cheryl couldn’t come?
“Why the glum face, April? Aren’t you glad you’ll be seeing your parents and sister again?” Mrs. Semple asked me.
“Oh yes!” I almost shouted, fearful that Mrs. Semple would turn the car around, and it would end up being me who didn’t make it.
I was the first one there, and I was taken to one of the small sitting rooms down the hall. Mrs. Semple showed me some books and toys with which I could occupy myself while I waited. Then she left, shutting the door behind her. I chose to sit on the edge of the chair, and I stared real hard at the closed door, wishing with all my might that the next time it opened, there would be Dad, Mom, and Cheryl. I could see movements going back and forth through the thick frosted windows. What if they all went to the wrong room? Maybe I should wait in the front waiting room. Better yet, maybe I should wait downstairs at the front entrance. I settled for opening the door a crack and peering out. When I saw someone approaching, I shut the door quickly and went back to the chair. The door opened, and in walked Cheryl, followed by her worker, Miss Turner. When Cheryl saw me, her face lit up, and she screamed, “Apple! Apple!” I was just as happy to see her and, for a moment, forgot my fears that Mom and Dad might not make it.
“Hi, Cheryl. I got a present for you. Mrs. Dion gave it to me to give to you.” I presented the gift to her, and she tore off all the wrapping and held up a black-and-white teddy bear.
“Has he got a name, Apple?”
I nodded and said, “Andy Pandy. Do you like that name?”
“U
h-huh. I like Andy Pandy. I don’t got a present for you, Apple. But you could have this.” Cheryl put her hand in her pocket and pulled it out, her chubby little fist clutching something. She opened up her hand and offered me a brass button that had obviously come off her coat.
Miss Turner and I both laughed; then I said, “It’s not my birthday, Cheryl. Don’t you remember having a cake for your birthday?”
“I had lots of cake,” Cheryl answered, moving the arms of Andy Pandy.
“Why don’t you girls take off your coats. I’ll be back as soon as your mother and father come.” I helped Cheryl take off her coat, then took off my own. While I asked Cheryl questions, I kept my eyes on the door.
“What’s your new home like? Mrs. Semple told me you live with the MacAdams. Are they nice?”
“Oh, yes. We have lots of good things to eat. There’s lots of other boys and girls there. And I got my own bed. At night, Mrs. MacAdams reads us stories. But no one reads good stories like you, Apple. Cindy always reads the same story. You used to read me lots of different stories.”
“I’m going to school now and I’m learning to read and print for real. Pretty soon, I’m going to have a confirmation. Right now, I have to learn a lot of prayers in French.”
“What’s French?”
“French is ... well, it’s not English. We talk in English. And the Dions talk in English a lot but they probably think in French. Do you go to Mass on Sundays, Cheryl?”
“Yes. I don’t like going to Mass, Apple. We got to behave and not play. Mrs. MacAdams said so. Cindy was bad in church, so Mrs. MacAdams made her sit in a corner and she couldn’t have dessert. But I took her some cake to eat when she was sitting there.”
In Search of April Raintree Page 2