I’d often thought to myself that Mrs. DeRosier, Maggie, and Ricky were crazy. That night, when I did the dishes and they all sat behind me, silently staring at me, I was sure of it. When I had returned with Mrs. Semple earlier that day, Mrs. DeRosier had made a big fuss over me. It had made me sick, and I hadn’t been able to hide my hostility towards her. And throughout that whole summer, they wouldn’t talk to me except to give me curt orders. Ricky and Maggie made no comments about Cheryl, and I thought this plan of theirs to give me the silent treatment must have been hardest on Maggie because she was such a verbal person.
The only companion I had was Rebel, who had now adopted me as his new friend. When I could sneak off, I’d go down to my spot at the riverbank, taking Rebel with me.
By the end of the summer, I didn’t have anything good to tell him. “You know, Rebel, I think you’re going to be my only friend around here for a long, long time. When I first came here, I hated you because you were their dog. Now I think of you as Cheryl’s dog. You saved her life, you know. You must miss her as much as I do. But now, I don’t have to worry about protecting her from them anymore. Doesn’t help me from being jumpy, though. If it’s not the hot, stuffy air in my room keeping me from sleep, it’s staying awake, listening for sounds. I’m so scared they’ll do something during the nights. They’re crazy, Rebel. I don’t trust them one bit. I wish you could sleep in my room.”
Whenever I had one of these talks with him, Rebel would give a low whine and wag his tail to indicate he was still listening.
“You want to hear the latest? That old hag gave me a box of school clothes. You should see them, Rebel. All ‘gramma’ stuff. And she told me that, from now on, I won’t be able to use the sewing stuff. I’m going to look worse than a Hutterite. I guess I shouldn’t say that; they look all right to each other. But me, I’m going to have to go to school in those things. I don’t know what I’m going to do. I’m glad they built that new high school. That means Ricky and Maggie won’t be in my school. And I hope Ricky doesn’t fail, or he could end up being in my class next year. This year, I’m going to ask Jennifer if she can mail my letters for me, and if I can have letters for me mailed to her place. I’m positive that old DeRosier has been throwing all my letters away. Cheryl said she wrote to me, and I wrote to her, but neither of us got any letters at all. I sure hate it here, Rebel. Except for you.
“Oh yeah, and you want to know what else that old hag came up with? Now if I want my clothes washed, I’ll have to do all the laundry and ironing. But if she thinks that’s going to keep me from doing good in school, she’s wrong. You know, Rebel, you and me, we talk the same language. We both whine.” I smiled and scratched him behind the ears. Cheryl had said he liked that. Then I got up to walk back.
I started Grade 8 as the laughingstock of the school, and from the first day on the bus, I was often called,“Gramma Squaw.” I renewed my friendship with Jennifer, but I could see that even she was embarrassed to be seen with me. One day, we were in the washroom and she made fun of the way I was dressed. I expected that from the others, although when they would call me “Gramma Squaw,” it was more painful than I’d expected, and each time a lump would come to my throat. But when Jennifer teased me, I did start crying. She immediately became contrite and sympathetic, and that made me cry even more.
“April, don’t cry,” she said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. Hey, listen; I’ll bring you some of my stuff and you can keep it in your locker, okay?”
I was wiping my eyes when our Home Economics teacher walked in to see what was taking us so long. “What’s going on? What’s the matter, April?”
Jennifer explained, “Mrs. DeRosier’s making her wear these kinds of clothes, and she won’t let April use the sewing things at home to make them look better.”
“Would it help if I transferred you from the cooking class to the sewing class right now?” the teacher asked me. Her kindness made me want to cry all over again, but I kept my self-control and simply nodded.
Between the chores I was assigned and all my homework, there wasn’t much time to alter my clothing. Whenever I could, the first thing I’d do was shorten the skirts, as they hung down almost to my ankles. I’d still have to wear the black, ugly shoes to school, but once I’d get to school, I would change into a pair that Jennifer had brought from home. I told her about my postal problems, and she checked with her mother, and they agreed to be my go-between. The first letter I wrote was to the Dions. It would have been to Cheryl, but I still didn’t know where she was. In November, my letter to the Dions was returned. They had moved from St. Albert.
Before Christmas, I had a visit with Cheryl. She was full of enthusiasm about her new foster home. Mostly, it was because the Steindalls had horses.
“Mr. Steindall gives lessons most nights, and when he’s not busy, he’s been teaching me how to ride. We went on a sleigh ride last week. Oh, April, it’s so much fun. It’s easy being good there. The kids at school are all right. They don’t make fun of me or anything. And some of the girls who like horses made friends with me, but that’s only ’cause they figure I’ll invite them over and they’ll get to ride. Mr. Steindall gave me my own horse to ride. His name is Fastbuck. I have to help clean the stalls and feed the horses, but I like doing all that.”
She went on telling me all the good things that were now happening to her, and I hardly said anything. What could I say? That I was lonely and miserable and my foster mother dressed me funny? I envied Cheryl. I envied her having her own horse to ride. I envied that she could feel so much excitement. I knew I should have been so happy for her, but comparing our lives, I simply envied her. I even envied the fact that she was so smart at school. Before we parted company, I got her address and told her Jennifer’s.
In early February, I received my first letter through this new courier system. I had sent her a letter in January.
Dear April,
How are you? Mrs. Steindall says we will have our next visit in April or May. I can’t wait. We had to make speeches in front of the class, and I made mine on buffalo hunting. Mr. Darnell, my teacher, said I was an exceptional Métis, ’cause most would have avoided such subjects. That made me so proud that I just had to send you what I wrote. Tell me what you think of it.
Have a Happy Valentine’s Day. I’ve enclosed a homemade card. Do you like it? I’m going to ask Mrs. Steindall if you could at least come to see me here for the summer holidays. I want to show you my horse. (Not really mine.) Would you like that? I told them about the DeRosiers, but I don’t think they believed me. That’s the only thing I don’t like about them.
I got your letter. I feel so sorry for you, April. I wish there was something I could do to help you. I’m glad you got a friend like Jennifer. I’m glad too that Rebel’s keeping you company. I sure do miss him. He was a good ol’ dog. They have an Irish red setter here. Nice-looking, but what a nervous wreck. She follows me all over the place. I thought of all these funny things to tell you so you would laugh when you read this letter, but once I started writing, all those funny things disappeared. Sorry about that.
Well, I’ll close off for now and I’ll be seeing you in the springtime. Write back soon.
Love,
Cheryl
Buffalo hunting! That was almost as bad as giving me a book on Riel. I looked at the card. Cheryl had drawn a picture of a horse, a girl, and a red setter: Cheryl in her setting. How lucky could one get?
Then I chided myself, “Now, April, you should be happy for her. Isn’t that what you wanted? Didn’t you want her to be safe and sound? Yeah, sure, but can’t I even be a little bit jealous?”
Great, now I was talking to myself. Dutifully, I started reading her speech. I couldn’t help but be impressed. It was so well written, and it was obvious she had pride because she was writing about her people.
The Métis hunters, equipped with buffalo guns, used one method known as “running the buffalo.” This was perhaps the most dangerous way but definitely t
he most exciting. Men on horseback would ride through the stampeding herd, shooting prime animals. Once a shot was fired, the hunter had to pour some more powder from his buffalo horn into the muzzle of the gun, spit in one of the lead balls, which he carried in his mouth, and hit the gun butt on his saddle to shake down the powder and ball. All this was done as he raced his horse among the stampeding buffalo. If a horse stepped into a gopher hole or if the rider became dismounted for any other reasons, his hours as a buffalo hunter were probably numbered to mere seconds. Perhaps a bull would turn on him, or a stray shot could bring him down. Or he may have loaded his rifle too fast or not properly, and it could explode and blow his hand off. The hunt required steady nerves, much skill, and expertise in horsemanship and marksmanship ....
For a very brief moment, I was caught up in her excitement. Then I wondered how she ever had the courage to stand up in front of her class and give the speech. I would never have had the courage.
Grade 9 became the very worst school year I’d ever have. A lot of the kids in my class had started pairing off and going steady. I’d never been interested in boys, except as friends. When I was younger, I had thought different ones were cute, but that was the end of it. As long as I lived with the DeRosiers, I knew that I would have to give up any ideas about special friendships with boys, and the easiest thing to do was simply not to look.
But then a new family moved into Aubigny, and with it came a boy who was in Grade 11, the same class Maggie was in. While I secretly worshipped him from afar, Maggie talked about him every night at the supper table. Mrs. DeRosier even went so far as to invite his family over for a Sunday dinner. The boy was named Peter. I guess he liked me because after that Sunday dinner, he would stop and talk to me at school. Being seen with him brought me more friends. I loved school.
Maggie had not been openly hostile toward me until the other kids’ attitudes changed. I knew she felt that way because of Peter’s friendship with me and not with her. It had even made me smug and more sure of myself. As soon as the whispering started behind my back, I knew that she and Ricky were behind it. Whatever they were saying spread throughout the school quickly. Kids were looking at me and snickering. I’d pass by a group of boys and they’d whistle. I started getting notes on my desk that said things like, “If you want a really good time, meet me at ...” such-and-such a place. Some of the notes had obscenities in them, and the comments I got from the boys were also obscene.
First, Peter stopped talking to me, and then Jennifer began avoiding me. This confused me even more. Jennifer was the kind of girl who would stick by a friend, no matter what. I asked her, “What is going on, Jenny?” Jennifer looked around quickly because there were other kids watching us and obviously talking about me. “April, I have to go.”
She slipped me a note that said she’d still post my letters for me, but that was all. I became so angry and hurt, my first impulse was to tell her to just forget it. But she was my only connection with Cheryl, and I had to accept things the way they were. Again I was a loner, and now, I didn’t have a single friend at school.
I was glad I still had Jennifer as a go-between on letters because, in January, I got another fat envelope from Cheryl. At lunchtime, I looked around to make sure Maggie and Ricky weren’t around. If they ever found out that Cheryl and I were exchanging letters, I felt sure they would put an end to it. I was rather disappointed when I opened the letter and found most of it was a speech on the Métis.
January 26, 1963
Dear April,
How are you? I just know you’re waiting for my next speech with anticipation. Well, here it is. Actually, it’s not really a speech. I’m just caught up in this stuff. I was going to deliver this speech, but I think my fellow classmates might not be able to hack another speech on Métis people. Now I’ve decided I will keep it among my papers on the history of the Métis people. I think it’s important that we know our own history. It’s rather a short history compared to other races, but it’s interesting, as I’ve already stated, and I wouldn’t have minded one bit living in those days. Mrs. MacAdams used to have so many good books on the subject of Native peoples. I’ve been babysitting lately, and next time we go to Winnipeg, I’m going to spend all I’ve got on books. I wish I could afford to buy every book there is. Sally says I’m soon going to need glasses. I doubt it. I’d hate to have to wear glasses. Wouldn’t you? It’s un-Indian.
Oh, I made the volleyball team. We’ll be going around to different places and playing other schools. Rita, one of the girls in my class, says it’s not fair that I’m so smart, and athletic too. Of course, I’m not the only one. It’s too bad you couldn’t try out for after-school sports. I know you’d be good. Come spring, I won’t join any outdoor stuff because I’d rather practise riding.
Write back to me, April. And tell me what you think of my project. I’m going to work on something about Riel. I need a few more books, though. Well, I’ll sign off for now. Got a load of homework to do.
Love,
Cheryl
Again, I dutifully read through her essay. Again, she wrote about the Métis with such pride.
The two armed parties met at Seven Oaks. Grant sent an emissary to Semple, demanding his surrender. An argument ensued and a settler fired. The sound of gunfire brought a nearby group of fifty more Métis to the scene. The battle-experienced Métis fired their round of shots and then fell to the ground to reload. The settlers, thinking they had shot these men down, began to cheer. The Métis, with their guns reloaded, charged the settlers. Terrified, most of the settlers turned and ran. The horsemen took over as if running buffalo. They overtook the settlers and shot them. Within fifteen minutes, twenty settlers and two of Grant’s men were dead ....
I thought it just made the Métis look like bloodthirsty savages, but Cheryl went into great detail pointing out all the “grievances” of the Métis and why they had fought some of their battles. But when I finished reading, I didn’t feel much happier. I hated dates and company names. And how come all this mattered to Cheryl so much? She said she was going to keep it among her papers. Did it help her accept the colouring of her skin? Was that why we thought so differently? That and her superior intelligence? One had to be intelligent to find this kind of thing exciting. Skin colouring didn’t matter in my school. Everyone treated me like a full-blooded Indian. “Gramma Squaw!” I hated those DeRosier kids so much. I sure wished I knew what they had been up to this time.
A few months later, I did find out. The guidance counsellor, Mrs. Wartzman, was waiting for me in the hall one day at lunchtime. She said she wanted to see me in her office. As Mrs. Semple had done, the counsellor came right out and made her speech. I suppose the speech would have been okay if I had been guilty of any wrongdoing.
“April, I’ve heard some disturbing things, and I feel I should talk this over with you. I know that you’re a foster girl, and perhaps that’s the reason: you feel a psychological need to be loved. Well, what I’m really trying to say is that you shouldn’t be letting Raymond and Gilbert fondle you. From what I understand, you’ve also been trying to flirt with Mr. DeRosier.”
I sat in the chair with my mouth open. I felt such humiliation. I was sure my face was red. I thought later that Mrs. Wartzman probably assumed I was embarrassed because the truth was coming out.
“Perhaps it’s not my place to be talking to you. But it’s such a sensitive issue. I know that you’re doing well in your grades, and I want to warn you that a pregnancy would disrupt your life. Let’s see if we can’t get your life on the right track again. And if Mrs. DeRosier has taken this up with your social worker, I can say that we had this little talk. Okay?” Mrs. Wartzman finished it with a smile.
I walked out of her office in a daze. It was a warm spring day, so I went outside to eat my lunch. I really wanted to avoid the lunchroom and have some privacy, but there were kids outside. When they saw me, some of them snickered. I wanted to die, crawl away into some hole, and never be seen again. Instead, I
sat and nibbled my sandwich. If it had been Peter I was accused of fooling with, I would have been embarrassed. But Raymond and Gilbert? Both? At the same time? Not only were they ugly and pimply, but they passed their grades only because of their age and their size. I didn’t have anything against them, but I’d have to be plumb out of my head to even look at them in “that” way. Well, it was no wonder Jennifer and Peter stayed away from me. But then, how could Jennifer believe that of me? And had Raymond and Gilbert gotten that same kind of speech? Probably not. Only girls got pregnant.
For the rest of that week, I walked around thinking of this. On Saturday, I found myself at the riverbank, talking to my old friend Rebel.
“I know I shouldn’t feel so sorry for myself. I know that other kids go through much worse than me. But knowing that doesn’t help very much. At least Gilbert and Raymond are getting out of this rathole. I wonder who Maggie and Ricky are going to accuse me of doing things with next. And if they don’t get some other foster boys, I’ll probably have to take the bales off the fields all by myself. How could Jenny believe all those things about me? How could she? I thought she was such a good friend. Maybe she doesn’t believe them. Maybe she’s just scared to be seen with me. Boy! I’m going to get even with those DeRosiers. I don’t know how, but somehow, some way, I’m going to get them. And when I get through with them, they’re never going to get another foster kid. Never!”
In Search of April Raintree Page 7