But my hopes were dashed when, a month later, they split up. At first, Cheryl wouldn’t tell me what happened. That night, they had gone out together, supposedly to dinner and then to a movie, but later in the evening, Garth had called for her. When she came in a few minutes later, I said to her, “I thought you two were going out tonight.”
“No. Something more important came up. If he calls again, tell him I’m not in. I’m going to take a bath and go to bed.” She seemed very depressed.
“Hey, Cheryl, did you two have a fight?”
“No, not a fight. More of an insight.” With that she stalked off to the bathroom.
Garth called again, and I was tempted to ask him what had happened, but I felt I should hear it from Cheryl. The next day was Saturday, and Cheryl was still in a state of depression. Finally, I asked her again what had happened. After hesitating, she finally told me.
“We were walking down Portage, and Garth saw some of his friends coming toward us. He told me to keep walking and he’d catch up. I pretended that I was window-shopping so I could listen to them. You know what he did? You know what that creep did? He left me there and went for a beer with them. He didn’t want them to know about me. That goddamned hypocrite! He’s ashamed of me.”
I didn’t say anything. I didn’t say anything because I was guilty of that, too. I had never invited Cheryl to come and meet me for lunch because I didn’t want anyone at work to see her, to know she was my sister. Even now, I knew this wouldn’t change me. I would continue to walk the five blocks or so at lunchtime, so I could meet her where she was already accepted.
That night, Cheryl decided she was going to keep a journal. I smiled and told her she shouldn’t start a journal with an unhappy opening. “Wait until something good happens to you, something special.”
“Well, I haven’t got a lifetime. I want to start this thing right now. I have a feeling there will be a lot more of this kind of thing.” I thought to myself, “Oh, no, I could be in there one day.”
Not long after Cheryl’s breakup with Garth, I met someone I thought was very special. I was waiting for Cheryl outside one of her classrooms, when another of Cheryl’s professors approached me. We talked until Cheryl came out. His name was Jerry McCallister, and whenever he saw me alone after that, he’d stop to chat. One day, he asked me to go out with him. I guess he thought I shared some of the same ideals as Cheryl because he talked about Native subjects, like their housing and education. Having heard Cheryl often speak about such things enabled me to carry on a reasonable conversation with him. When he dropped me off at my apartment, he asked me to go out with him again, but he didn’t try to kiss me. I had gone out with some of the students to plays and concerts, but they had only one thing on their minds at the end of the evening. So Jerry’s behavior was refreshing to me. We’d go out together frequently after that, even during the week. He was always a perfect gentleman. The more I saw of him, the more I appreciated him.
Finally one night, when we stayed at my place for dinner and some conversation, he made his first advance. I held back. Good girls didn’t do that kind of thing. Furthermore, and more importantly, if things got out of hand and we went all the way, there was the risk of getting pregnant. Maybe that was my worst fear, because when Jerry tried to get too close, I would always back off.
Jerry’s initial amusement and patience waned, and one night he was trying to coax me again. Finally, he said, “April, what are you scared of? Are you scared of getting involved with another human being? Or is it sex you’re afraid of?”
“I don’t know. I never ... well, I never ...” so how would I know? “I can’t. That’s all.” I hadn’t wanted to reveal that I was from the stone age. It made me feel so immature.
Jerry smiled and said, “April, if you feel the same way that I feel, then making love is the most natural thing in the world. And if it’s respect you’re worried about, I’ll certainly not respect you any less. We’re not teenagers anymore. We’re man and woman. Adults, with adult feelings and adult needs.” He pulled me close to him and I tensed up.
“I can’t.”
“Why not? There’s nothing wrong with it. Now stop acting so childish.” He took his arms from around me and sat up.
“No, I’m sorry, Jerry. I want to, but I just can’t.” I looked to him for some understanding.
He stood up and went to the closet and got his coat. As he put it on, he said, “I don’t like playing silly little games, April. Either you want me or you don’t. When you make up your mind which it is, I’ll be at the university.”
In the following weeks, I agonized over Jerry’s absence. I had really liked the intimate suppers, long talks, and having a steady friend to go out with. I had planned to ask him to our social and show him off, especially to Roger Maddison. I didn’t attend the law firm’s Christmas social after all. I went with Cheryl to spend Christmas with the Steindalls, and returned alone because of work. I was so lonely during the holidays that my resolve broke down, and I decided to call him. I had never been out to his home, and I looked up his name in the phone book. As I dialed the number, I thought of being flippant about the whole thing. I’d say something like, “Hi, Jerry. I was wrong and you were right, so I’m yours for the taking.” No, that wasn’t my style. I’d just play it by ear.
“Hello?” a small child’s voice answered.
“Uh, hello. Is Jerry McCallister there, please?”
“No, Daddy’s not home. Do you want to talk to my Mommy?” and before I could say no, I heard the child calling to his mother.
“Hello?” came the voice of a woman. I tried to picture what she looked like.
“Oh, hello; Mrs. McCallister? I’m a student from the university, and I was working on a project over the holidays, but I needed Mr. McCallister’s advice on something. I’m sorry to be bothering him at home.” My cheeks were flaming hot.
“Oh, that’s all right. He should be back any minute now. Could I have him call you back? Oh, just a minute. I think he’s at the door now. Hold on.”
I thought of hanging up, but if I did that, it might arouse his wife’s suspicions.
“Hello,” Jerry’s voice came on.
“It’s me, April. I guess I made a terrible mistake. I’m sorry.” I hung up before he could say anything. I felt incredibly stupid. I had been going around with a married man. Not only that, he had a child, maybe more than one. And I was about to go to bed with him! I shook my head and sat there for a long time.
He came to see me one evening in the new year. “April, I’d like to explain.”
“There’s nothing to explain. You’re married! You wanted me to ... well, you know. And all the time, you were married. And you don’t like playing games?” I said, sarcastically.
“My wife and I have been talking about getting a divorce. Then I met you, and I wanted to get to know you right away. I’m sorry I didn’t wait until it was all proper and legal.”
“And I’m sorry, too. But I don’t go out with married men. That is, when I know they’re married. It’s finished. Over. Just leave me alone.” I opened the door for him to go, and then stood back waiting.
“But April, you know how I feel about you. We could have a good future together,” Jerry said, stalling.
I gave him the coldest, hardest look I could muster. He had no choice but to give up and leave. He looked dejected, and I felt sorry for him. For a second I almost said, “It’s okay, we could still be friends at least.” I didn’t. I closed the door on my almost first lover.
For the next few months, I didn’t go out on dates. I just stayed in and moped. When Cheryl brought home another of her strays for supper, I didn’t even mind. (That’s what I called the Métis and Indian girls she befriended from the Friendship Centre.) Nancy was a dark-skinned Native girl with long, limp, black hair. The story of her family life was similar to that of other Native girls Cheryl met. Drinking always seemed to factor in. Nancy had been raped by her drunken father. Cheryl remarked that people calle
d that incest, but Nancy insisted it was rape. Everyone in Nancy’s family drank, even the younger kids—or the new rage: sniffing glue. Both Nancy and her mother had prostituted themselves, sometimes for money, sometimes for a cheap bottle of wine. Nancy was like a wilted flower. She even had a defeatist look to her. What a life to have led! I supposed she had stayed at home because there was nowhere else to go. I was shocked when Cheryl told me Nancy was only seventeen. She looked at least twenty-five.
How Cheryl could stand to hear those kinds of stories all the time was beyond me. That she wanted to make a lifelong career out of it was impossible for me to understand. It was depressing, especially when I knew that Nancy and the other strays came from the same places we came from.
I’d go out with Cheryl and Nancy to nice restaurants and treat them to suppers. I began to notice what it was like to be Native in middle-class surroundings. Sometimes, service was deliberately slow. Sometimes, I’d overhear comments like, “Who let the Indians off the reservation?” Or we’d be walking home, and guys would make comments to us, as if we were easy pickups. None of us would say anything, not even Cheryl, who had always been sharp-tongued. Cheryl and I never talked about these things, either. Instead of feeling angry at these mouthy people, I just felt embarrassed to be seen with Natives, Cheryl included. I gradually began to go out with them less and less. Anyhow, Cheryl was starting to spend more evenings at the Friendship Centre, leaving me alone with my magazines and my daydreams. I was even reading books on proper etiquette, preparing myself for my promising future in white society. If Cheryl had known I was reading that kind of material, she would have laughed or criticized me. It wouldn’t have mattered, because I began to think I would be dreaming such dreams right into my senility. Oh, well, Cheryl had once had a fantasy that comforted her, and now I had mine.
The other thing I thought about a great deal was the kind of man I would marry. If my future were to be successful and happy, I’d have to give the man in my life much consideration. I would not be able to afford to let my heart rule my head. I couldn’t marry for money, or I’d be rich but I wouldn’t be happy. So I’d have to find someone who was handsome, witty, and charming. He’d be a good, honest person with a strong character, but he’d also have a fine sense of humour. He’d be perfection personified. “Oh, yeah? Dream on, April Raintree. If such a man existed, he’d be surrounded by females. What makes you think you could ever compete?” With all my planning and everything, I’d probably end up falling in love with a poor farmer or something. And I’d have to work for the rest of my life.
But that spring, my Prince Charming did come into my life. I was typing a mortgage agreement when he walked into the office. He was to see Mr. Lord, and the receptionist sent him to my desk. I let him stand there, without even looking at him, while I finished typing. Then I looked up into his merry, blue eyes. He was one of those smoothly handsome men, the kind I didn’t like; the kind that was so polished he just had to be conceited.
He smiled at me as he asked to see Mr. Lord. I told him Mr. Lord had a dentist’s appointment that morning and had been delayed. I asked him to return at one o’clock.
“Well, I suppose I could be induced to return by your having lunch with me.”
I thought of saying, “I’m sorry, I’m busy,” because it was obvious he was the conceited type I had thought he was. Instead, I asked, “How do you know I’m not married?”
“I looked for a wedding ring. There’s none.” He spread his fingers before me to show that he was not wearing a ring, either.
I looked closely at his finger and saw that there were no telltale marks. At the same time, I figured he couldn’t be so conceited, after all, since he didn’t wear any flashy rings. I realized some of the other secretaries had stopped to watch. I smiled self-consciously and said, “Well, I don’t take lunch until twelve.”
“I’ll wait.”
For the next half hour, I felt him watching me from where he sat. My fingers felt too stiff to do any typing at all, but I made a show of being efficient by finishing page after page, all filled with mistakes.
Over lunch, he introduced himself as Bob Radcliff from Toronto. He had his own wholesale furniture business that he ran with his mother. His father had died when he was in university, and he and his mother had taken over the business. He was in Winnipeg to purchase land for expansion. Since I knew his home was in Toronto, I had no intention of becoming further involved with him: just this lunch and that would be it. But then on our way back, he asked me out again, for that evening. Okay, so he must be lonely. But after this one night, that would be it.
It wasn’t. For the next month, we spent nearly every evening together. He met Cheryl and had shown no negative reaction. They got along quite well, considering Cheryl had resumed her anti-white stance. I found Bob was gentle, good-natured, and very considerate. He was everything I thought a good husband should be. It was just too bad he had to go back to Toronto.
The events of the next several weeks are a blur in my memory. Bob proposed. He asked me, April Raintree, to be his wife. He wanted to get married in a small civil ceremony in Winnipeg. My dreams were coming true, and I ecstatically floated on cloud nine. Everything happened so quickly.
The only discord came when I told Cheryl that Bob had proposed to me. I expected her to be as excited and happy as I was.
“What do you want to go and marry this dude for? You’re asking for trouble. You don’t know anything about him, really.”
“I know all I need to know. You’re just saying this because of Garth, aren’t you?”
“Maybe I am. Even if Bob isn’t prejudiced, maybe his friends are. And what will they think when they find out he has married a half-breed? If he had to choose, do you really believe he’d stick with you?”
“Cheryl ...” I said in a warning, angry tone.
“Or what if you had children and they looked like Indians? Do you want them to go through what we went through? It would be better for you to stick to your own kind. I’ve always felt so out of place, living with white families, surrounded by whites. You really want that for your children? Oh, of course; you’re going to pass yourself off as white, aren’t you? You’re not going to tell anyone there who and what you are, are you?”
“Well, I’m certainly not going to go around saying, ‘Hi, I’m April Radcliff, and I’m a half-breed.’ So just knock it off, Cheryl.”
I stormed into the bathroom, cutting our discussion short. I was angry. Not so much by Cheryl’s telling me I shouldn’t marry Bob, but by her throwing shame and guilt, or whatever it was, into my face. We’d never talked about it before. I was sure she had not suspected how I felt. But all this time, she knew. She knew I was ashamed of being a half-breed.
Bob and I were married on July 25, 1969, on a Friday afternoon, with only Cheryl and a “not anyone special” male friend of Bob’s to witness our exchange of vows. I wondered why he hadn’t even wanted to invite his mother, but he had just said that was the way he wanted it. I accepted it, I was so happy. From that moment, I wouldn’t have to worry about changing the spelling of my name, because it was now legally April Radcliff.
Cheryl came with us to the airport on the Saturday afternoon when we were to fly to Toronto. I guess Bob knew I wanted some time alone with her because he left to do some last-minute things. At first, Cheryl and I let some of our precious minutes slip by, just looking at each other and not saying anything.
Cheryl spoke first. “April, in spite of what I said the other day, I do hope you’ll be happy. I really do. I was just mouthing off, you know. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be, Cheryl. I guess I got on the defensive because some of the things you said were true, and I’ve never wanted to admit them. You didn’t come right out and say it, but I am ashamed. I can’t accept ... I can’t accept being a Métis. That’s the hardest thing I’ve ever said to you, Cheryl. And I’m glad you don’t feel the same way I do. I’m so proud of what you’re trying to do. But to me, being Métis mean
s I’m one of the have-nots. And I want so much. I’m selfish, I know it, but that’s the way I am. I want what white society can give me. Oh, Cheryl, I really believe that’s the only way for me to find happiness. I’m different from you. I wish I wasn’t, but I am. I’m me. You have to do what you believe is right for you, and I have to go my way. Remember, though, I’ll always be there if you need me.”
Cheryl was smiling, but sadly. Finally she said, “April, I have known how you felt for a long time. And I decided that I was going to do what I could to turn the Native image around so that one day you could be proud of being Métis.” To lighten the mood, she added, “Of course, you may be old and grey when the day does come, but it will come. I guarantee it.”
Bob came back, and it was time for us to board the plane— and for me to say goodbye to Cheryl. When we hugged each other, I felt good. I felt there was a new kind of honesty between us. I was moving into a new phase of my life with a man I loved and who loved me. And I had just had a good, honest talk with the other most important person in my life.
But once we were airborne, I was still thinking of Cheryl. I missed her so much already. For a younger sister, she was a lot wiser than me in some ways. So, she had known about my shame for a long time, and she had never said anything. She had just accepted me the way I was, in silence. I wished I could do that whole part of my life over again. She was such a giving, unselfish person. What was it that made her like she was, and me like I was?
9
I was totally unprepared when we arrived at Bob’s home, and now mine. When he had spoken of his business, I had assumed it was a small-time operation. There had been the land deal in Winnipeg—I had worked on that—but I had assumed there would be a large mortgage on it. But from the moment I saw their house—excuse me, mansion—I knew I had badly underestimated the wealth I had married into. The house was huge and was located on a sprawling estate.
In Search of April Raintree Page 10