“Sounds to me as if you don’t want me there,” Cheryl said, tilting her head to one side.
“You know it’s not that. You have it so good here. And I could probably come and visit you for holidays. Besides, I’ll be finished school in two years, and you still have four years to go. What would you do if you didn’t like it? When I graduate, you’d be alone. If you left there, they might put you in another home like the DeRosiers’.” Cheryl shrugged and accepted my reasoning. I was very relieved.
Going to St. Bernadette’s was good for me. I had many friends, and it was easy to study and do well in my school work. On weekends, I was invited to other girls’ homes, with Mr. Wendell’s okay. I never told Cheryl about those weekends, knowing she’d probably feel slighted. Long weekends, I always went to the Steindalls’. I’d often wish that I had been placed as a boarder at this school long before. There were no hassles about belonging to a family all the time. There was no one who made fun of my parents. Of course, that was due to the lie I had told. I might not have known a family life as I had at the Dions’, but I would not have known the cruelty of the DeRosiers either.
I spent Christmas with the Steindalls. Perhaps Cheryl had put her family fantasy aside, I thought, because when I went there, she had something new to tell me.
“You know, April, I think that since we have made it, or we’re going to make it, we ought to help other kids like us make it, too. You know what I’ve been thinking? I’m going to become a social worker when I finish school. And I’m going to be a good social worker, just like Mr. Wendell. What about you? What are you going to be when you grow up?”
“I haven’t got a clue what I’m going to be. I used to think of being a lawyer, but I’m too shy. All I know for sure is that I don’t want to be in anything medical, and I don’t want to be a teacher or a social worker. I just don’t know.”
“Well, geez, April, you better start thinking about it because you only got a year and a half to go.”
True, I did have only a year and a half to go before I would graduate. But even so, I’d only be seventeen. What I wanted to do was start working and making money.
At the end of my Grade 11 school year, Mr. Wendell gave me the option of returning to the Steindalls’ for the summer or going to Winnipeg and finding myself a summer job. He said my room and board would be provided. Not another foster home, but room and board! I opted for the city. To ease the guilt I felt for not choosing Cheryl’s company, I told myself that I had to start making my life, for me, and that both of us should have friends of our own, not always relying on each other. I wrote Cheryl a hurried letter to tell her all this.
I moved to Spence Street, just off Portage Avenue, near the heart of the city. It didn’t take me long to find a job as a waitress, and I made new friends among the other boarders. Some of them were Natives from northern communities and were there to go to the University of Winnipeg. Others were former foster children who were working at steady jobs, on the verge of going into the world on their own, but who still required the security of the Children’s Aid to fall back on. I would work from eight in the morning to four-thirty. After supper, I would go with the other girls down to a coffee shop where a lot of other kids hung out. On Fridays and Saturdays, we would all go to the Hungry Eye, a discotheque on Portage Avenue, near Carlton.
The people I met at the discotheque were fascinating to me: the musicians who played in the bands, but especially the individuals with whom I made friends. I liked the way they dressed, and I liked the way they danced. They were good and bad at the same time. Good in that the Native girls I saw were beautiful and sure of themselves. Good in that Natives could go with whites and no one laughed. Good in their open acceptance of others. Bad in that they went shoplifting, drank liquor even though they were underage, and had easy sexual relationships with each other. When the discotheques closed, all-night parties followed. I always went back to my place, though. I felt at home with these new friends, but a lot of times, I imagined myself much better than they were. The girls made me think of Mrs. Semple’s speech on the “syndrome.” So, I enjoyed the good things they offered, but stayed away from the bad.
I worked hard all that summer and put all my earnings in a savings account. I hadn’t bothered to write to Cheryl; I had kept putting it off. When I returned to do my Grade 12 at St. Bernadette’s, I was more aware of what was happening in the world. I was there less than a week when I got a letter from Cheryl.
September 7, 1965
Dear April,
How are you? In case you forgot, it’s me, Cheryl, your sister. How come you never came to see me once this past summer, and you never even wrote to me? Your last letter made me very sad. It’s like you don’t want to have anything to do with me anymore. Your pretense about not caring seems to be turning into reality. I was looking forward to our spending the summer holidays together again. Instead, all I get is a short letter. I know we each have to have our own friends and make our own lives. But it was you who said all we’ve got is each other. We’re family, not just friends. Are you coming for Christmas? I hope so.
I finally got another essay done on Riel. I didn’t have much time in school with sports and other things going on. I did have a lot of rainy days when I was alone this past summer, though. I’ll probably grow up to be a nag, huh? You’re so lucky to be in Grade 12. They really should have let me skip a grade too. Well, I’m going to sign off now. This was just going to be a short note to let you know how much you hurt my feelings. Hope you like Riel at Batoche.
Your loving sister,
Cheryl
I felt guilty all over again after I had read the letter. She was right. I should have written to her and given her my address in the city. I should have made a special effort to go and see her. I tried to imagine myself in her place. Yes, she must have felt abandoned by me, more than she showed in her letter. I wrote her a long letter to make up for it. I even sent her lavish compliments on her essay; it was quite extraordinary for someone her age, but it had no big effect on me. Riel and Dumont: they were men of the past. Why dwell on it? What concerned me was my future. And this essay proved my point once again. White superiority had conquered in the end.
By Christmas, I had decided what I was going to do. Some of the girls had talked of becoming secretaries. That sounded good enough for me: I would take a secretarial course after I graduated. Over the Christmas holidays, I told Cheryl my plans. She was disappointed. She was sure I could do something better, like become a psychologist or something. She figured I would be wasting my life away. I told her she was beginning to sound like one of those ambitious white mothers she scorned so much. We teased each other back and forth, but I knew she was serious. She really did want me to attend university. And, of course, she was still set on becoming a social worker.
After my graduation, I got my old job as a waitress for the summer months. It was arranged that I would go to the Red River Community College in September. I lived once again on Spence Street, expecting everything to be the same as the previous summer. It wasn’t. The Hungry Eye had been closed. I ran into a few of the old crowd. They told me that some of the others had gone to other cities, or they were doing time at Headingley Jail. Another discotheque had opened on Graham Avenue. I went along with them to check it out. One of the girls I had met the previous summer now had a baby at home and was living on welfare. That bothered me a lot, and somehow the magic of that kind of nightlife was gone for me.
By September, I had over eight hundred dollars in the bank. I thought I was quite wealthy. My first boyfriend wasn’t really a boyfriend. He spent most of his time pining away over his old girlfriend. We went to the school dances together, but in private, we never got real close to each other. If he had tried to kiss me, I would have ended it right there. The thing I liked most about Ted was that he was safe to be with. I turned eighteen two months before I finished my course. When I finished the course, I knew I would never see Ted again, except by accident.
Ch
ildren’s Aid assured me they would support me until I found a job. About three weeks later, I became employed as a legal secretary at the law firm of Harbison and Associates. I was thrilled when I found out I’d be making over four times the amount I had made as a waitress.
When I had my last talk with Mr. Wendell on what I called my Independence Day, I showed no outward reactions. He gave me the accumulation of my family allowances, along with reassurances that if I needed assistance of any kind, I could always come to him. Then I heard myself asking about my parents, and what the chances were of finding them. He went off and came back with a list of names and addresses. I thanked him and said goodbye. I’d probably see him again, but I would no longer be a foster child. I was free, free! FREE!
8
I found freedom rather boring, once I’d settled into my new routine. I’d found an apartment on Cumberland Avenue, which was within walking distance of where I worked. Then I furnished it with used furniture. Working was easy—that is after the first couple of weeks when I got over my nervousness. I worked for Mr. Lord, a young lawyer who did real estate work. I was nervous about making mistakes when I typed up all the legal forms; I was nervous answering the phone; I was nervous each time I handed in the letter I had typed for his signature, in case I hadn’t got my shorthand right. Mr. Lord was generous with his compliments, though, and that soon put me at ease. The other girls in the office were pleasant, several were my age, and when I got to know them better, we would go to movies or shopping together.
Evenings and weekends, I spent on the search for my parents. I’d take the list and a map of the city, and go to the addresses on the list. Sometimes the addresses would lead to a parking lot or a new building. The house where we had lived on Jarvis had been torn down and replaced by a government building. I would feel a vague relief when this kind of thing happened, because I didn’t like the people I’d meet who once knew Henry and Alice Raintree “a long time ago.” I found out that both of them had relatives in the North. I wasn’t going to go to the northern towns on the slim chance I might find them because I considered it unlikely.
At one address on Charles Street, I was practically dragged into the house by a rather large, squat woman. When I asked if she knew the whereabouts of Henry or Alice Raintree and told her who I was, a grin spread on her face from ear to ear. All happy and smiling, she took me by the arm and led me into the house. She hadn’t seen my parents for the last couple of years, but maybe Jacques had. I figured Jacques to be her husband. I didn’t want to stay there but I could think of no polite way of leaving. Besides, she assured me that Jacques would be home in a short while. Meanwhile, she offered me some tea, then a beer, but I refused both. She’d been cooking and she resumed her position at the old stove. I sat at the kitchen table, looking around.
What a horrible place. The linoleum was coming apart at the seams, and here and there pieces were missing. I could see that it hadn’t been washed. The cupboards had been painted white, maybe twenty years ago. The plaster was also coming off the walls, and the ceiling was warped and water-stained. Flies! They were everywhere and reminded me of the book Lord of the Flies. One fly landed on the rim of an uncovered lard can that sat on the table with some bread. It rubbed its legs together, as if with glee. How could anyone eat that food and not be sick? Suddenly, it was very important to me that those flies not touch me, and I waved them away. Of course, the windows couldn’t be closed, but hadn’t they ever heard of screens? I wondered what they did in wintertime, when the smell of the place must be raunchy. They were probably immune to all the germs in the house, but me, I feared getting sick and missing work.
I stared over at the old woman, her back to me, probably unaware of my presence. From our initial encounter, I thought she would have been the talkative type, but no, she was silent, busy filling up a pot with cut-up vegetables. I thought she probably used the flies for meat, and then I scolded myself for being so merciless. I couldn’t help it, though. I looked down at her feet, stockingless and stuck into a pair of men’s backless slippers. Her legs were lumpy with varicose veins or some other disease. Her heels were dried and scaly. Ugly! Her; this house; this kind of existence. I finally cleared my throat, mostly to remind her that I was still sitting behind her.
“I really have to go now. I’m supposed to meet someone. I could come back another time,” I said.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I was sure Jacques would have been back by now,” she said, turning to me. “Are you sure you really have to go? You could stay for supper.”
“Well, thank you, but I really have to go.” I turned to leave, knowing I would not return.
Later, as I sat in the bathtub, washing off all those germs I’d probably picked up, I thought about the scene I had witnessed. If I hadn’t been brought up in foster homes, I would most likely have been brought up in those slums. I would have been brought up with flies, with mice and rats and lice and germs. I would have been brought up by alcoholic parents, and what would I be like now? Would I have any ambitions? Or would I have come to live just for today, glad when each day would end? I would not go back to that house on Charles Street. I would not go out of my way for a long, long time to try and find the parents who had abandoned Cheryl and me, all for a bottle of booze. When I finished my bath, I put all the papers Mr. Wendell had given me, along with the new addresses I had been given, into a box, and stuck the box in the back of the closet, out of sight and out of mind. If I did find my parents, there would be emotional pain for Cheryl and me. It would probably tear me apart, once again. That part of my life was now finished for good. I had a plan to follow, and from now on, I would stick with it, whether Cheryl agreed with it or not. It was my only way to survive.
Mr. Steindall usually came to get me for long weekends so I could spend them with Cheryl. Otherwise, I usually stayed home, watched TV, read books or magazines, and if I wanted to go out and do something, I would go to the movies.
I’d buy magazines that featured beautiful homes and study how they were decorated. Then I would lie back and have daydreams of myself being in one of those homes, giving lavish parties, and I’d have a lot of friends surrounding me. I also studied fashion magazines, and I’d go out and spend hours shopping for just the right thing. I had no idea how I was going to become rich. All I knew was that one day I would have a beautiful home, a big fancy car, and the most gorgeous clothing ever. Yes, when fortune kissed me with wealth, I’d be well prepared.
I had been working at Harbison’s law firm for almost six months when another lawyer was added to the eleven already there. When I first saw Roger Maddison, I thought to myself, “Now there’s a man I wouldn’t mind spending the rest of my life with.” It wasn’t that I was a sucker for all handsome men, just that his rugged type of handsomeness was the kind I could look at forever. Since some of the other girls openly swooned over him, I figured I’d be cool about my infatuation with him. But then I had to do some work for him because he didn’t have his own secretary. My infatuation quickly wore off. He was a perfectionist, and when I made my first small mistake, he tore into me. I was so angry that he had criticized me. Or maybe it was that I was hurt that his feelings weren’t mutual. I practically yelled right back at him. From then on, we were sarcastic towards each other, made snide remarks, always trying to outdo the other. Even when he did get his own secretary, and she began to do all his work, we still glared at each other whenever it was appropriate. Or, he would smile and greet everyone, excluding me. The thing I couldn’t figure out was that he seemed to study me an awful lot. I’d be working away, then I’d feel his eyes on me. I’d look up and there he was. But he’d give me a dirty look and turn away.
While I worked, Cheryl was finishing her Grade 12. In June, she graduated at the top of her class, and even won a scholarship to go to the University of Winnipeg. If she hadn’t, Children’s Aid would have paid for her education, anyway. There were some advantages to being a ward of the CAS.
In July, Cheryl moved in with me, even
though she wouldn’t be eighteen until October. Children’s Aid agreed to pay all her expenses. The day Cheryl moved in with me, July 6, 1968, was like the real honest Independence Day. The Steindalls brought Cheryl and her belongings to my place that Saturday morning, had lunch with us, and then left. Cheryl and I went shopping for a sofa that opened into a bed. Then we went on to other stores. We dropped our purchases off back at the apartment, then went out for supper. That evening, we sat around talking and thinking about the wonderful feeling of being together with no one to control our destinies but us.
I went to work on Monday, and Cheryl went to the Winnipeg Native Friendship Centre. She volunteered her services for the rest of July and August, believing the experience would help her in her future career as a social worker.
Cheryl began her first year of university in September. I began to meet her for lunch in the university cafeteria. She quickly accumulated a number of friends, both white and Native. To my biggest surprise, she started going out quite steadily with a white student, Garth Tyndall. I was amazed because, the way she had talked in the past, she didn’t like anything white. I wasn’t surprised she could attract the opposite sex because she was very beautiful. She was also outgoing in her new crowd, and stubborn when she made up her mind about anything. When she was home, she’d usually have her friends around. And when she was over at Garth’s place in the evenings, I would be alone.
I gave a party for her eighteenth birthday. I could see that night how close she and Garth had become. He seemed to care about her more than she did about him. I was very pleased. If anyone could change a woman’s mind about things, it was a man.
In Search of April Raintree Page 9