In Search of April Raintree

by Beatrice Mosionier

  I felt Barbara Radcliff ’s disapproval of me from the very start. I couldn’t blame her, though. She had missed out on her son’s wedding, and that’s when I realized why she hadn’t been invited. He had, in effect, eloped. She was, however, very polite to me, and extended a gracious welcome to their home. Somehow I had the feeling I had landed in another foster home. I was even subtly ordered to call her “Mother Radcliff,” although at times I thought of her as “Mother Superior,” and religion had nothing to do with it.

  We entertained a great deal, and in turn, we were invited to social events and theatres and concerts and dinners and clubs. Because it was all new to me, it was quite thrilling. I had plenty of moments of being nervous and tongue-tied, committing social gaucheries, and I was forever wondering what the other women thought of me. In all fairness to Mother Radcliff, I must say she taught me all I hadn’t learned from my long-ago etiquette books. She took me on shopping excursions and on twice-a-week appointments to hair salons, always giving me advice in a detached way. Although we spent a good deal of time in each other’s company, we never did become close, never joking and laughing together. Her laughter seemed reserved only for those on her social level. I used to wonder what Bob’s father had been like. He must have been a good-humoured man because Bob was so easygoing.

  As for Bob, we got along very well. We had none of the problems that face most newlyweds. No hassles over finances or work, or even in-laws. I suppose because of my childhood, it was easy enough for me to play second fiddle to a woman like Mother Radcliff, even to the point of allowing her to run our lives.

  By November, it occurred to me that it would be nice if Cheryl could see how right I had been in my decision to marry Bob. I checked with Bob to see if it would be okay for her to come for the Christmas holidays. He thought it would be a great idea, and urged me to phone her. I did and was surprised that she accepted, just like that. I found out on the phone that Nancy had moved in with her. I thought once again that Cheryl didn’t belong with a bunch of Native people. Then the other thought struck me. Not once had nativeness been discussed in this household. Mother Radcliff had resented me simply because Bob had married me without her approval. What would she think once Cheryl came? And Christmas times were for gatherings. What would all the others think?

  I should have thought twice about inviting Cheryl to visit. I had wanted to show off to her so much that I had forgotten that, in turn, I would have to show her off to these people. I looked over at Bob, who was smiling at me. Well, if it didn’t matter to him, why should it matter to me? Still, I felt that perhaps Cheryl’s predictions would come true. If Bob were ever forced to make a choice, what would it be? In his mother’s hands, he was like putty. I was beginning to realize that my Prince Charming had a flaw.

  Cheryl came on the Saturday before Christmas. Bob and I went to pick her up at the airport, and when we arrived home, I was dismayed to find that Mother Radcliff had some of her friends over for dinner. I watched her face for a reaction when Cheryl was introduced, but there wasn’t any. It was the same as when I had been introduced five months earlier: gracious, but cool. I showed Cheryl around the “mansion” after dinner, and although she was complimentary, I could tell she wasn’t all that impressed. I was piqued. She was so religiously Métis!

  Every minute we were alone, she would talk about the Friendship Centre and the program she and some other counsellors had started for teenaged Native girls. She loved what she was doing, though, and that was great. It was when she criticized my lifestyle that I got on the offensive.

  “What you aim to do is very commendable, Cheryl, but I can’t see you changing a whole lot of people. You may turn a few lives around, but they’re not the ones who are going to make an impression on the rest of the population. It’s the ones who are dirty and unkempt and look like they’ve just gotten out of bed with a hangover and who go to the neighbourhood department store: they’re the ones who make a lasting impression.”

  “Well, there are just as many white people out there who are in the same state,” Cheryl shot back.

  “It’s not the same. I don’t remember the white ones; I only remember the drunk Natives. It seems to me that the majority of Natives are gutter-creatures, and only a minority of whites are like that. I think that’s the difference.”

  “I still think our project with the Native girls is worthwhile. Damn it, April, why do you have to be so prejudiced?” she exclaimed.

  “I’m not prejudiced, Cheryl. I’m simply trying to point out to you how I see things.”

  “Through white man’s eyes.”

  “Maybe so, but that should be an advantage to you. How many white people would honestly tell you what they think? I don’t want to discourage you completely. Helping some of the teenage girls avoid the Native-girl-syndrome thing is certainly worth the effort. Remember Mrs. Semple telling us about that? First, you do this and then you do that, and next you do this and next you do that, and she had our whole lives laid out for us. Well, we fooled her. But the thing is, you’ll never change the image of the Native people. It would take some kind of miracle,” I said, attempting to lighten our conversation.

  That’s how our private talks went, and I was grateful that Cheryl kept the Native subject private. As I expected, we had a full social calendar over the Christmas holidays, and I tried to coax Cheryl, unsuccessfully, to go shopping with me for evening gowns I was sure she would need. She could not see the sense in spending money on clothing she would never wear again, so I insisted she wear some of my dresses, since we were the same size. As a matter of fact, we could have been almost identical twins, except for our skin colouring. No wonder I had always found her so beautiful (my pretentious way of admitting my own beauty).

  I had taken it for granted that Cheryl would be able to attend the dinners to which we had been invited, but Mother Radcliff took me aside—actually she summoned me to her study—and informed me that it would cause upsets to bring an uninvited guest. She also stated that Cheryl would feel out of place, and although I agreed and understood, it was unthinkable that I would leave Cheryl alone. Mother Radcliff pointed out that we were giving a New Year’s party, so Cheryl would not be left out of all the festivities. I left her study wondering how much of this I was going to tell Cheryl. At the same time, I was relieved that Cheryl’s debut into my society was to be delayed. When I made my explanations to Cheryl, she made it easier by saying it was all right because she hadn’t really wanted to go to the big, fancy gatherings anyhow, and she was relieved to be able to avoid them.

  On New Year’s Eve, all the important people I had met over the past months, and many I had never met, gathered in our living room and the adjoining family room. To me, it was the biggest sign of how wealthy and important we Radcliffs were. I guess I was the only one who was so greatly impressed, because when I took Cheryl around to introduce her to some of the women I already knew, I got a few surprises. It was worse than I had expected. After I had praised all these people to Cheryl, some came out with the most patronizing remarks.

  “Oh, I’ve read about Indians. Beautiful people they are. But you’re not exactly Indians, are you? What is the proper word for people like you?” one asked.

  “Women,” Cheryl replied instantly.

  “No, no, I mean nationality?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. We’re Canadians,” Cheryl smiled sweetly. Another woman, after being introduced to Cheryl, said, “Oh, we used to have a very good Indian maid. Such a nice, quiet girl, and a hard worker, too.” I suppose she meant it as a compliment— but I felt like crawling into a hole, I was so embarrassed for Cheryl.

  Then two men came over, and one asked Cheryl what it was like being an Indian. Before she could reply, the other man voiced his opinion, and the two soon walked away, discussing their concepts of Native life, without having allowed Cheryl to say one thing. Cheryl and I shrugged to each other, and I was wondering how she was taking it. It was the questioning stares that bothered me the most.


  About an hour later, my discomforting thoughts of what people must be thinking were interrupted when I noticed the entrance of an actress we had seen recently at a theatre production. As I watched Mother Radcliff greeting her, I remembered her name: Heather Langdon. She seemed to know Mother Radcliff quite well. I saw Heather look around the room in anticipation, and I noticed the satisfied look on her face when Bob appeared and kissed her on the cheek. They looked like they knew each other quite well, and I felt this twinge of jealousy and worry. Mother Radcliff spotted me just then, and indicated I was to come over.

  When I reached them, Mother Radcliff said, “April, I would like you to meet Heather Langdon. We saw her play the other night; remember?”

  “Yes, I do. I enjoyed your performance,” I said as I shook her hand. What was the right thing to say to an actress?

  “April, go find your sister. I am sure she would like to be introduced to Heather.” I was ordered. I obeyed.

  Strange, I thought, that Mother Radcliff would want Cheryl to be introduced to an actress. I found Cheryl and brought her back to be introduced, and noticed the exchange of looks between Mother Radcliff and Heather. I couldn’t read any meaning into the looks and shrugged it off. Heather seemed to make a point of socializing with me for the rest of that evening, and my initial worry and jealousy disappeared.

  On Friday, Bob went to his office, so Cheryl and I had the whole day to ourselves. It was supposed to be a pleasant day, but Cheryl had to get her two cents’ worth in on what she thought about my lifestyle. I think the only thing that really aroused me in those days was when someone criticized me. So I tore right back into Cheryl, openly angry.

  “Cheryl, get off my case, will you? I don’t ask you to live my kind of life. I know why you’re doing this. You want me to take up your glorious cause. Well, I’m happy here. I love the parties, and I love the kind of people I meet. I love this kind of life, and I have no intention of changing it. So, go home and live by what you believe in. But stop preaching at me. I admire your devotion and your confidence in Native people, but to me, they’re a lost cause. I can’t see what anyone can do for them, except the people themselves. If they want to live in their rundown shacks that are overridden with flies and who knows what other kinds of bugs, and that stink of filth, and soiled clothing and mattresses, and if they want to drink their lives away while their children go hungry and unclothed, then there’s not much that can be done for them, except to give them handouts and more handouts. So don’t ask me—”

  “How the hell would you know how they live? You wouldn’t go near them if your life depended on it. Who are you to sit around up here in your fancy surroundings and judge a people you don’t even know?” Cheryl cut in, even angrier than I was.

  “I know because I looked for our parents in those kinds of places. So don’t tell me that I don’t know what I’m talking about. I went—” I stopped abruptly as I realized I had just let out the secret about my search.

  Cheryl and I looked at each other for a few silent seconds and our tempers were forgotten. Then she said in a quiet, accusing voice, “You went to look for Mom and Dad? How come you never told me, April?”

  I sighed and wondered which way to go. “There was nothing to tell. I never found them. I came to a dead end. And later, when I thought it over, I figured it was probably just as well. Finding them would most likely have opened old wounds for them, and for us.”

  “What do you mean? It wasn’t their fault. The Children’s Aid had to take us because they were sick. You told me that. You told me Dad had tuberculosis, and Mom just had poor health all the time. Anyhow, you should have told me. How did you know where to start? I thought of looking for them. That’s one reason why I spend so much time down at the Friendship Centre: listening for names.”

  “Cheryl, I still think it’s best to leave it alone. Just pretend that we never had parents. Leave all that behind us.” I thought that now was the time I should tell Cheryl what I already knew about our parents: that they were liars, weaklings, and drunkards; that all the time we were growing up, there was a more important reason for them to live, and that was their booze. But no. I couldn’t do that to Cheryl. I couldn’t tell her that alcohol was more important to our parents than their own daughters. I had given her cherished memories of them. I couldn’t take that away now. They were too important for her. Those memories and her too idealistic outlook for the future of Native people: those things helped her, and gave her something to live for. I added, “Pretend that we’re orphans.”

  “No! They’re our parents, April! And we’re not orphans,” Cheryl’s eyes blazed. “I want to see them again. Please, April. I have the right to make that decision for myself. You have to tell me where to begin. How do I find them? You have to tell me, April.”

  I silently argued with myself. The information I had was out of date. Even the notations I had added were now dated. The chances of Cheryl finding our parents were so slim that I felt she wouldn’t find them. And because I felt that way, I relented.

  “Okay, I guess you’re right. Mr. Wendell is the one who gave me the old addresses and names. I guess they were places where our parents used to stay. A lot of the places have been torn down, and I’ve marked that down so you won’t have to go there. But Cheryl, when I went to those places and saw the living conditions ... well, I would hold my breath so I wouldn’t smell the stink or breathe in the germs. I’d try not to touch anything, everything was so dirty. And if they offered me anything to eat or drink, I’d refuse because I was sure their cupboards were infested with bugs. I’d back away from people so I wouldn’t get their lice. I didn’t feel sorry for them, Cheryl. All I felt was contempt. They are a disgusting people. And maybe, just maybe, our parents are part of that. And if that’s where we came from, I sure don’t want to go back. That’s why I’m happy with my life here. Happiness to those people was a bottle of beer in their hands. I vowed to myself then that no way was I ever going to end up like them, or live in places like theirs. So, Cheryl, if you want to criticize me for my lifestyle, then go ahead, because if I can help it, I’m not ever going to change it.”

  “Oh, April, I didn’t know why you felt the way you did. I didn’t mean to criticize you. I just wanted to rouse you out of your passive state. I just wanted you to be aware of who we are, what we are, and what’s been happening to us.”

  “If you’re referring to all the negative aspects of Native life, I think it’s because they allow it to happen to them. Life is what you make it. We made our lives good. It wasn’t always easy, but we did make it. And they are responsible for their lives.”

  “I don’t agree with you. We had a lot of luck in our lives. We’ve had opportunities that other Native people never had. Just knowing what being independent is like is an opportunity. But that’s not the point right now. I still want to look for our parents, okay?”

  “I doubt that you’ll find them after all this time, but okay,” I sighed and went over to one of my dressers. As I looked through the dresser drawers, I said, “They usually move from town to town, from what I understand. I think it’s going to be a waste of your time.”

  “Well, I’ve got to give it a try.” She came over to me. “Need some help looking? What do you need all these clothes for? I bet you don’t wear half of them.”

  “You’re criticizing again. Here we are. My shoebox. Now, this is classy, isn’t it?” I held up the old shoebox where I had hidden my past away.

  Cheryl looked through the papers and asked, “How come you kept all this stuff if you weren’t planning to ever look for them again?”

  “I don’t know. Some deep, profound motive, I guess. Maybe my last link with our parents. Who knows?”

  We copied the names and addresses down, and Cheryl said, confidently, “When I find them, I’ll let you know. Wouldn’t it be great to have a family reunion?”

  I smiled. Nothing could be worse.

  This time, when Cheryl and I parted at the airport, I knew it was more realis
tic to acknowledge there would never be complete honesty between us. And then again, as long as my mouth kept running over, I just might reveal everything I had tried to protect her from. But knowing Cheryl had not hidden any aspects of her life from me made me feel inferior to her in that way. She was so fearless. Me, I was a coward, and I knew it. Cheryl never worried about what other people thought about her. Only what she thought about them mattered. Cheryl was that stalk in the field of grain that never bent to the mighty winds of authority. At the same time, that stalk could bend to the gentle breezes of compassion. That was Cheryl.

  10

  I watched her plane taxi down the runway and gather speed, until its wheels no longer touched the ground. I watched until I could see it no more. Suddenly, I felt so empty. So alone.

  Funny I should have felt that way when Bob was right there beside me. On the drive back home, he was as preoccupied with his thoughts as I was with mine, so we didn’t say much. Sunday dinner that evening was eaten in silence, and not even Bob and his mother made any conversation. The atmosphere reinforced my feeling of loneliness. As usual, Bob and his mother retired to his office to plan the coming week’s business strategy. I went upstairs to our room. I was restless and didn’t know why. I turned the television set on, but there were no programs that interested me. I left it on just for the voices. I looked at a book, then another. That was no good, either. It wasn’t the first time I had felt this way, but it was the worst: this bored restlessness that usually came after big parties or large gatherings. Maybe if I had something of my own to do, something that involved ... what? Useless; that’s what I was. Bob had his business. Mother Radcliff had her social calendar, plus the business. Cheryl had her great cause. I had nothing. I had everything I ever wanted, yet I had nothing.

  Mother Radcliff and I were on different charitable organizations, but none of them grabbed my heart or loyalty. Bob and I had our group of friends, but I felt I had access to them only as long as Bob was with me. But I did find our own age group much more interesting than the older ladies with whom Mother Radcliff surrounded herself, especially after Heather Langdon joined us. I wanted to fashion myself after her so much because she so enjoyed living. She lived by her own approval, not that of others. Just like Cheryl.