I was laughing when the door opened again, and this time Mom and Dad entered. I ran into my mother’s arms while Dad picked Cheryl up and twirled her around the room. Then I noticed the tears in Mom’s eyes.
“Oh, Mommy, did I hurt you?” I remembered that she was sick.
“No, April, I’m just so happy to see you again.”
“See what we brought you?” Dad said, after he had hugged me. He had brought some doughnuts and milk and some candies for us to take home.
“See what Apple got me?” Cheryl said, holding up her teddy bear. “His name is Andy Pandy. He’s going to be my friend now.”
“So, you’re five years old. Happy birthday, Cheryl. My baby girl is growing up fast. And we brought you a present, too,” Dad said to her. He nudged Mom to open her purse and she brought out a tiny leather purse with beadwork on it. Cheryl was delighted. Then she asked, “Could we come home now?”
We all suddenly became silent, and I looked, hopefully, at each of them. But Mom said very softly, “I’m sorry, my babies, but we can’t take you back yet. Soon maybe.”
To change the subject, Dad said to me, “So, April, you’re in Grade 1 now, eh? How do you like your school?” I realized he wasn’t all that interested, but I told him anyway. I didn’t tell him how much I liked the Dions and liked living there, because I felt that would hurt their feelings. Besides, going back home with them was my first choice.
We had our snack and talked some more. Cheryl talked the most, because she liked to talk. Too soon, though, Cheryl’s worker returned to say it was time to leave. As I was getting my coat on, I felt total despair. I didn’t want to leave Mom, Dad, and Cheryl again. I kissed and hugged my Mom, then my Dad. I pleaded with him, “Please take us home with you. Please, Daddy?”
“April, we just can’t do that. We want to, but we can’t.”
“Why not, Daddy?”
“Look, you’re making your mother cry, and you’re going to make Cheryl cry. If it was up to us, you would never have left home. But this isn’t up to us, and you can’t come home with us. I’m sorry.”
I felt defeated. My shoulders slumped inside my heavy coat. I walked out of the room, my head down. I didn’t want anyone to see that my eyes were wet. Then I remembered I hadn’t even said goodbye to Cheryl. I ran back and kissed and hugged her, and shot one last pleading glance at our parents. I knew it was of no use.
I had to wait a bit for Mrs. Semple. By then, the rest of my family had left. As we were going down the road, I saw my parents up ahead. Dad had his arm around Mom’s shoulders. I wondered if they still lived in the house on Jarvis. They looked so much like they loved each other. It gave me a good feeling to see them like that. At least they were together; they had each other. As we passed by, I waved to them, excited that I was seeing them again in such a short time. They both smiled and waved back to me.
We drove further and further away from them, and when I could no longer see them from the rear window, I became sad again. I just wanted to cry, but I couldn’t, not in front of Mrs. Semple. I figured that if I did cry, she wouldn’t let me see them again. I answered “yes” or “no” whenever she asked me something, because I knew my voice would give me away. When we got to the Dions’, Mrs. Semple explained to Mrs. Dion that I would be moody for a while because of the family visit, but not to coddle me or I would carry on like this after every family visit. I didn’t much like Mrs. Semple for saying that. How would she feel? I went off to my bedroom and was glad that Nicole wasn’t there. I felt the same as when I first came there.
A little later, Mrs. Dion came into my room and asked me in a gentle, coddling voice, “April, do you want to come out for supper? It’ll be ready in a few minutes.”
“I’m not hungry,” I said listlessly.
“I know how you must feel. But if you eat something, you’ll feel much better. How about if I brought a plate in for you? Nicole can do her homework in the kitchen tonight.” Mrs. Dion patted me on the arm and left.
I ate all the food on my plate that night, knowing it would make Mrs. Dion happy. When I finished, I took my plate and glass into the kitchen. The Dions were all sitting at the table having their meal. I felt shy and timid again. I felt like an outsider. I felt that I didn’t belong to this family—they were being nice to me; that’s all—and I did have my own real family. I wondered again how long it would be before I could go home.
“Are you feeling any better, April?” Mrs. Dion later came in to ask me.
“Yes,” I replied. I had been half lying and sitting, so I sat up properly on the edge of the bed. Mrs. Dion sat next to me. I asked, “Mrs. Dion, why can’t I be with my Mom and Dad?”
“You poor angel. It must be so hard on you.” Mrs. Dion put her arm around my shoulders.
“I want to be with my Mom and Dad. I want to be with Cheryl.” I tried hard not to cry, but I felt so sorry for myself that the sobs and tears broke loose. Mrs. Dion hugged me to her and rocked me back and forth. She tried to explain. “Honey, sometimes we can’t have everything we want. Believe me, living here with us is what’s best for you right now. I know it’s hard to understand that. You just have to trust God’s wisdom.”
“Mom and Dad say they’re sick. They say when they’re better, then we can go home to them. But they used to take a lot of medicine before, and it never made them any better. So, will they ever get better? Will they?” I looked up at her face. “They never will take us home with them; will they?”
“Honey, that medicine that your Mom and Dad take does make them feel better, but not for long and not in the right way. Someday you’ll understand that. For now, just keep loving them and praying for them. And try to be happy with us. We all care for you very much, April.”
“I know. It’s just that ... I belong to my Mom and Dad.”
“That’s true, April.” Mrs. Dion gave me a big hug and then stood up. “Come and join us for the rosary now. Tonight we’ll say it for your family.”
I did feel a whole lot better, but I wondered about the mysterious medicine.
My first Christmas with the Dions was the most memorable, because the holiday had been celebrated so differently when I was with my family. We went to bed right after supper, but of course we couldn’t get to sleep for a long time. Then Mrs. Dion came to wake us up so we could go to the midnight Mass.
As we walked to church it was snowing, but it wasn’t cold. The snow shone like a million sparkling diamonds. The Mass seemed endless that night, but relief was provided by the choir singing Christmas hymns. After it was over, we went back home and gathered in the living room to open all the presents. That’s what stood out for me: all those presents. I got a set of books, a doll, puzzles, games, and I couldn’t decide which present to play with first. In the kitchen, Mrs. Dion had set out the best dishes, and all the baking she had been doing was displayed. By the time we had eaten, it was almost four in the morning!
It wasn’t that long after Christmas that I received my very first letter from Cheryl. I was amazed that she could print, and she wasn’t even in school or anything. There were spelling mistakes and some of the letters were reversed, but I could make out exactly what she meant.
January 5, 1956
Dear Apple,
How ar you? Mrs. Madams tole me to ast that. I got lots a presnts. A dol and sum books of my very own an sum puzles an gams to play with Cindy an Jeff an Fern an some craons an a colring book. Wen they is at scool I colr an lok at my boks. I am lerning to reed an print an count an Mrs. Madams says I is fast lerner. I wish I was going to scool. Jeff is bad boy. I is good. I is good girl like Dady tole me. I mis you, Apple. I mis Momy an Dady.
luv,
Cheryl Raintree
p.s. I had to ast how to spel sum werds.
I had never written a letter, but I sure learned how to write one that day! Nicole helped me write it, and I made sure that my letter was a little bit longer than Cheryl’s.
Our next family visit came in February. Up until then, I had b
egun to get the feel of being part of the Dion family. Like all our future visits with our parents, the pattern would be the same. From the day I was told about an upcoming visit, I would become excited, and the excitement would mount until the day of the visit. Then, when I actually saw my parents and Cheryl, it was a constant high for those few hours. As soon as a social worker came to tell either Cheryl or me that it was time to go, I turned instantly despondent, and I would stay that way for maybe a week or more. But just for those few hours, I was with my real Mom and Dad, and I was with my real sister. I loved them and they loved me. And there were no questions of ties or loyalties. Just family.
I loved the Dions because they took care of me and they were nice to me. They were deserving of my love because I had nothing else to give them. But Mom and Dad were different. It didn’t matter that they were sick and couldn’t give us anything. I thought then that I would always love them, no matter what. Cheryl and I did ask them when we would go back with them— we would always ask them that—and they would promise us that as soon as they got better, we would all be together again. So, I had hope, and I knew it wouldn’t be long before we once again had our own home.
The next big event for me was my birthday. Mrs. Dion gave me a small birthday party, and some of the girls in my class came to it. I got a present and a card from Cheryl. After that was my First Communion. I felt more grown up, because from then on, I was able to receive Communion. I bragged about this to my parents at our summer visit, but they didn’t seem at all interested. Then I remembered they had never gone to Mass, and realized that they probably knew they would go to hell. I wanted to tell them that if they went to confession and then went to Mass every Sunday, they too would go to heaven, but I felt awkward about the whole thing, so I didn’t say any more on religion. Cheryl had been going to kindergarten, and she told us that she could read and print while most of her classmates were still learning their ABCs. She was still very funny, and she always made Mom, Dad, and me laugh. Most of the time, she had no intention of being comical.
I sure did a lot of wishing, once I was back with the Dions.
It was after that family visit that I received another letter from Cheryl.
August 20, 1956
Dear Apple,
How ar you? Mrs. Madams got our scool thins. I am so cited to go to scool for reel. I wil be in Grad 1. Apple on Sunday I wuz bad. I did not meen to be. I wanted to see the litle peeple who lives in the radio. I culd see the lites on. The radio fel on the flor. The lites wont even werk an thos peeple is ded. I am skared. Mr. Madams is mad. He ast who brok it. I wuz to skared. I didnt say nothin. Dont tell Momy and Dady. Pleese Apple. I am so skared.
luv,
Cheryl
I felt so sorry for Cheryl. I used to feel scared like that at the orphanage, so I knew what she felt like. I also knew that there weren’t any people who lived in radios. I’d seen Mr. Dion fix their radio. Poor Cheryl. She was scared she’d killed some people, and she was scared she’d get heck. Mrs. Dion had told us that telling the truth was always easier and better than telling lies. I wrote to Cheryl and told her to go to Mr. MacAdams and explain how she broke the radio. I told her to write me and tell me what happened afterward. Her response came on August 30th.
Dear Apple,
How ar you? Mr. Madams sed you wuz good to tel me what to do. He even laft after I tole him. He sed to me the peeples werds cum frum waves in the air or sumthin. I dont no. Now I am cited agin bout going to scool. 1 week to wate. I try to be good. I promis.
luv,
Cheryl
I felt warm and happy that I had been able to help Cheryl. I was glad that Mr. MacAdams was the kind who could laugh at something like that. Not that I knew of any other kind, because Mr. Dion was just as understanding, and my Dad ... well, I really couldn’t remember when we had broken anything in the house. Of course, we never had much to break. One of the good things about having nothing, I guess.
I don’t remember the exact day when I began to call my foster parents “Maman” and “Papa.” I just copied their children, and nobody made any comments about it. I was still very shy, and if anyone had made note, I would have stopped. It did make me feel more comfortable in their home.
At the beginning of the winter, when I was in Grade 2, my classroom was overcrowded. I was among six students who were placed in the Grade 3 class. With Nicole’s help and patience, I was able to adapt very quickly to the higher grade. When I passed with a good average, all the Dions were very proud of me, and they made a little celebration. For an eight-year-old, I had a very large head for a while.
That summer and the following summer, we all went to a Catholic camp at Albert Beach on Lake Winnipeg. Those two weeks were filled with wonderment for me.
At home, all the neighbourhood kids would gather to play baseball, mostly in the evenings. When there weren’t many kids around, we’d play badminton. If it was raining, we’d find something to do indoors. There was always lots to do.
In winter, we’d go tobogganing down the slopes of the Red River. Sometimes, a man from a farm on the outskirts would come with a team of horses and a hayrack and give the kids of the town a hayride. Afterwards, Mrs. Dion, or some other mother, would give us all cookies and hot chocolate. At Christmastime, we would go around carolling, even those of us who couldn’t sing. And for me, there were my regular family visits. They always made me happy and sad, at the same time.
Mrs. Dion had always been a happy, cheerful person, and as long as I had been there, she had never been sick in bed. I must have been the last to sense the change in her. Mostly, I was told that Maman was very tired, and Nicole urged me to help with the chores a little more. When Maman took to her bed, I offered to do as much as I could. At the end of November, Papa coaxed her to see a doctor. She was supposed to be going to the hospital for a week to have some tests done, but her stay was prolonged to another week, then another.
I remember that Christmas was my saddest. Maman came home and stayed for New Year’s. Everyone was very sad but made a pretense of being happy. When I saw Maman, I wanted to cry. She looked so different. She used to joke about being too fat. She wasn’t really—just pleasantly plump—but now she was skinny, and to me she looked grey. Any movement, even breathing, seemed to be such a strain for her. Yet, she led us all in forced cheerfulness.
I’d lie in bed at night, worrying about her. I’d say my prayers over and over, pleading with God to make her better. I must have overheard Papa and Grandmère Dion saying in French that Maman was dying, because my prayers to God changed to “Please don’t let Maman die.” I would think of Nicole, Guy, and Pierre. It would be so awful for them not to have their real mother. Finally, I would cry myself to sleep.
One night, I sat up in bed and was wondering what had woken me. After a while, I put on my robe and went to the kitchen for a glass of milk. I was on my way back to my bedroom when I heard a noise in the living room. Because of the bright moonlight, I could see everything clearly. There in his rocker was Papa, with his arms on the armrests and his back very straight. I knew he wasn’t sleeping, that he was very, very sad. I went in without turning on any lights and sat on the stool beside him. I wanted to comfort him, but I didn’t know what to say. I put my hand on his and said softly, “Maman says it’s okay to cry sometimes. Maman says it makes you feel better.”
I saw tears, glistening in the moonlight, run down his face.
“Maman says we have to trust in God’s wisdom.”
I heard him restrain a sob and felt him patting my hand. I knew then I should leave him alone. I returned to my room and said another prayer for Papa.
In January, Mrs. Semple told me that I would be moving. At first, I thought I was finally going home. I was happy and excited to be going home at last, but very sad that I was going there only because Maman Dion was so sick, and maybe dying. But my happiness was short-lived because Mrs. Semple began telling me about the farm that would be my new foster home.
I was permit
ted a last visit with Maman in the hospital. She smiled when I walked into her hospital room, and after asking me about school and other things, she said, “April, I wanted to say goodbye to you. We’re all very sorry to see you go, but the final decision was theirs. You understand that, don’t you?”
I nodded slowly, trying hard to smile courageously. I couldn’t talk because of the lump in my throat.
She continued, “I wanted to say some things to you before you .... Papa told me how you gave him comfort. We all love you very much, April. When life seems unbearable, remember there’s always a reason. April, you’re a very special person. Always remember that. Mrs. Semple says that the home you’re going to is a fine home. I’m sure you’ll be happy there.”
“I love you, Maman.” It was the first time I had ever said those words. To me, they were precious words: to be used for very special people. When I saw how much she appreciated hearing those words, I was glad I had said them.
There were tears all around when I said goodbye to the rest of the Dion family. I had promised to write and always keep in touch with them. I left them, with the hope of either coming back to live with them or returning to my own home.
3
I was taken to a small farming community further south of Winnipeg, on the outskirts of Aubigny, to the DeRosier farm. It was a Friday afternoon when we arrived. While Mrs. Semple talked with Mrs. DeRosier, I studied my new foster mother with great disappointment. She was a tall woman with lots of makeup, and badly dyed hair. If she had been a beauty once, the only thing left to her now was her vanity. Her voice was harsh and grating. The more I watched her, the more positive I became that she was putting on an act for Mrs. Semple’s benefit. I wondered why Mrs. Semple couldn’t figure that out. But then I thought it was okay—as long as Mrs. DeRosier gave me a good home.
After my social worker’s departure, Mrs. DeRosier turned to me. I looked up at her with curiosity. She went to the kitchen drawer, took out a strap, and laid it on the table near me. She told me the routine I would be following, but in such a way that it made me think she had made this speech many times before.
In Search of April Raintree Page 3