From Anna

by Jean Little

  Frieda nodded and hurried to keep up to the others.

  “I’ll take Mr. Solden and the boys and the two big bags,” Mr. Menzies suggested as Dr. Schumacher, still clutching Anna, halted and looked helplessly at his car.

  “The door’s locked,” he explained.

  Mama did not waste words. She grabbed Anna’s dangling arm and gave it a good shake.

  “Enough of this, Anna,” she said in abrupt German. “You are not sleeping. Get down and stand on your own feet.”

  Anna opened her eyes as slowly as she dared. She yawned widely, innocently, like a kitten. Staying limp till the last possible moment, she allowed herself to be set on the pavement. Dr. Schumacher smiled at her as he released her but Anna was aware of the scorn her family felt.

  “Anybody would be tired out after a long trip like that,” the doctor said, backing her up. He sounded serious but his eyes twinkled.

  He knows I wasn’t really sleeping, Anna thought, and he doesn’t mind.

  Dr. Schumacher turned and began to open car doors.

  “In here, Anna,” he directed. “I’m afraid you’ll have to squeeze over to make room.”

  Anna squeezed, but still there was not room enough. Mama pulled her.

  “Come. You will have to sit on my knees,” she said.

  Anna obeyed but this time she did know she was too heavy. She tried to make herself lighter, to perch on the very edge of her mother’s lap. The car started with a jerk. Anna crashed backward, and Mama gasped as the breath was knocked out of her. The girl braced herself but her mother, when she had breath enough to speak, had controlled her temper. She closed her lips tightly and shifted to adjust herself to Anna’s weight.

  They drove and drove. Lights were coming on in the houses they passed but they were dimmed by drawn curtains. The streets were empty and grey with dusk. Anna peered out into the shadows but she saw nothing comforting, no single bright thing which said, “Welcome to Canada!” Her throat ached with sudden misery.

  “It looks lonely,” Mama murmured.

  Gretchen, sitting in the middle with luggage on her far side, did not answer. Maybe she, too, was remembering the small streets in Frankfurt where the Soldens knew and were known by everyone. Even fat Frau Meyer, who complained so about the noise they made when they played outside, seemed a friend now that they would never see her again.

  For an instant, Anna’s mind wandered, picturing their neighbours — Trudi, the downstairs baby, who was not quite walking when they left; Maria Schliemann, Gretchen’s best friend; Herr Gunderson …

  Suddenly, her mind jerked forward again to the present. Had Mama actually said it looked lonely? Frieda was chattering to Dr. Schumacher. The old car rattled and roared. Maybe she had merely imagined she heard Mama speak.

  She twisted halfway around and tried to read her mother’s expression. If Mama was lonely, Anna did not know what to do.

  Her mother’s face stayed masked in shadow.

  Gretchen, say something to Mama, Anna wished.

  Then the car stopped at an intersection, directly under a streetlight. Klara Solden lifted her head and smiled brightly at Anna and at Gretchen too.

  “We will be there soon, children, very soon,” she told them in her choppy English. “We are almost at our new home.”

  As if we didn’t know that! Anna scoffed to herself, turning her back on her mother again.

  Mama’s loud, too-cheerful voice made the twilight lonelier than ever.

  “You must be so excited, both,” Mama forged ahead. “This is a wonderful chance for you, Gretchen … and Anna too … seeing another country … while you are still only young.”

  Mama did not sound as though she believed a word she herself was saying. Anna stared out at the darkening street. It was not up to her to answer, even if she knew what to say. Gretchen would do it. Gretchen, Mama’s pet, would know exactly the right words to comfort their mother. Anna waited.

  Gretchen said nothing.

  Forget Maria, Anna stormed at her without making a sound. Say something. Say something to Mama.

  Gretchen coughed, a small hard cough.

  Then, seconds late, she at last responded to Mama’s rallying speech.

  “Yes, Mama, of course we are excited,” she said. “It will all be very nice, I’m sure.”

  Now Gretchen’s voice was unnaturally loud, desperately bright, just like Mama’s. Anna stiffened with anger at the pair of them. Why couldn’t they be their usual calm, irritating selves? Why did they have to be so brave?

  Frieda, in the middle of telling Dr. Schumacher how she and Fritz had won a singing prize when they were seven, looked over her shoulder at her older sister.

  “What did you say, Gretchen?” she asked.

  “I was speaking to Mama.” Gretchen’s voice was flat now.

  “Did Mama say something?” Frieda questioned, not wanting to be left out.

  “It is all right, Frieda. Never mind,” her mother told her. Then she reached out and squeezed Gretchen’s hands, which were clenched together in her lap.

  “Thank you, daughter,” she said softly. “I know you are trying. Right now … right now, you are the dearest child.”

  That was the last straw. It had been a long time since Mama had called any of them “the dearest child,” and Anna, without letting herself think about it, had been thankful. It was a family tradition, something Mama had done since before Anna could remember. Mama always assured them she loved each of them equally. All five were precious. None was her favourite. Yet once in a while, one child did do something extra special and was Mama’s “dearest child” for that one moment.

  Everyone liked this — everyone but Anna.

  She knew, and so did the others, that she had never really been “the dearest child.” Oh, Mama called her that now and then, but always when Anna did something Mama asked her to do, like setting the table or going to the store. Anna tried not to care, of course. She often told herself how little she cared. Still, it had been nice when Mama stopped bothering. Since Papa announced they would go to Canada, Mama did not seem to notice special moments.

  And what’s so wonderful about stupid old Gretchen this time? Anna silently asked the world. She’s being good on purpose.

  Mama and Gretchen were talking softly now in German but Anna would not give in and listen. She did not want to hear Gretchen being …

  Grown-up, thought Anna.

  But that was silly. Gretchen was only thirteen. Not grown-up at all.

  “Here we are,” Dr. Schumacher said and parked the car.

  They unfolded themselves and climbed out.

  “There,” the doctor pointed.

  “The whole house?” Mama gasped.

  It had been years since they had had a house to themselves. Not since Gretchen was a baby and they lived in a cottage.

  But Frieda looked more closely.

  “It’s half a house,” she said. “There are people in the other half.”

  “Yes. You share one wall with your neighbours,” the doctor agreed. “But it really is a separate house.”

  Mama suddenly sighed. It sounded almost like a sob. This time, Gretchen did have the right words ready.

  “It will be better with lights in the windows, Mama,” she said.

  “I know,” Klara Solden answered, struggling to sound convinced.

  Then the other car pulled up and Papa was there. As Mama turned to him, somehow she made her smile real.

  “Our new home, Ernst,” she said.

  Papa now stood and stared at the tall, narrow slice of house which was theirs.

  “What did Karl want with a place this size?” he wondered aloud.

  “Oh, he didn’t live here. He rented it. He boarded with a family next door to the store. I don’t know why he bought this place but I’m afraid it is pretty rundown,” Mr. Menzies explained.

  Papa nodded his head thoughtfully.

  “Yes, of course, I remember. Karl planned to marry years ago. Gerda Hertz … but
she would not wait. Let us go in.”

  It was a dirty house. It was dark and smelled closed-in and musty. Their feet crunched grittily as they crowded into the downstairs hall. Anna pushed close to Papa again, this time wanting reassurance herself. He set down the large suitcase he was carrying and put one hand on top of her head. It rested there for only a moment. That was enough. Anna moved quickly away before the others had time to notice.

  Mr. Menzies went from room to room, switching on lights. The Soldens followed in his wake. This was not a house to explore by yourself.

  They had been upstairs for several minutes before anyone realized that they were one bedroom short. There was a room downstairs with a huge double bed. That was clearly Mama’s and Papa’s room. There was a small room in the front of the house upstairs. It was small because the bathroom next to it ate into its space. It too held a double bed — and there was no room for anything much else. A dresser had been crowded in behind the bed but you could only open the drawers halfway. Nobody demanded that room.

  Rudi claimed the only other bedroom though, the instant they entered it.

  “This must be where Fritz and I belong,” he said.

  He dumped his armload of bundles down on the better looking of the two sagging single beds.

  “But, Rudi,” Gretchen began.

  She stopped in mid-sentence. Rudi was eldest.

  “All right. Come on, Frieda,” she sighed, glancing back at the first room with distaste.

  “But Papa,” Frieda said then. “Look. There’s no place for Anna.”

  7

  Anna’s Place

  FRIEDA LOOKED SORRY a moment later.

  “It isn’t that I wouldn’t share with you, Anna,” she hurried to say, her brown eyes hoping her sister would understand. “But there’s just one bed — and I had you all the way over on the ship.”

  She grinned, trying to make Anna smile too.

  “I could show you the bruises,” she said.

  Anna could not answer. What was there to say? She knew she was a restless sleeper. On the ship Frieda had often poked her awake and ordered her to stop thrashing around in the narrow berth they had shared.

  Here there must be someplace though. There had to be.

  “I’ve found something,” Dr. Schumacher called. His voice echoed eerily in to them from the dark hall. Relieved, they went to see. Anna walked slowly, her back very straight, her head higher than high.

  It was not a room really. It was a bite out of the hall with one side open, a space left between the other two bedrooms.

  “An alcove,” Mr. Menzies said.

  Anna swallowed. It was dark in there and there was no window. A narrow cot stood against the wall, though. Someone had used it as a bedroom before.

  “Anna is too little to sleep out here all alone,” Mama said, her voice troubled.

  “She can’t sleep with Frieda and me, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Gretchen burst out. She was tired of being the brave, kind, big sister. She spoke sharply, without kindness. “You know how she is, Mama. She even moans sometimes!”

  Anger flared up in Anna, saving her. Something like pity in Dr. Schumacher’s face helped fan the flame.

  “I want to sleep here. I want to be by myself,” she declared fiercely. “I hate having to share — especially with them!”

  Klara Solden’s temper caught fire as quickly as Anna’s.

  “Fine,” she snapped, all softness gone. “This shall be Anna’s room. And nobody will disturb her. Remember that. We shall wait to be asked.”

  The others murmured uneasy assent. The older children were busy looking at their feet suddenly. There was something about Anna’s aloneness that they did not want to see. Papa cleared his throat.

  “Papa,” Anna warned under her breath before he could begin.

  He stopped, peered down at her, and cleared his throat again.

  “What is it, Ernst?” Mama asked crossly.

  “Nothing,” Papa said. “We’ll get you a special chest to hold your things, Anna.”

  “All right,” Anna said in a dull, colourless voice, as though it did not matter much one way or the other.

  Papa suddenly took charge.

  “Baths for everyone, Klara,” he ordered. “I’ll find that box of bedding for you. These children are sleeping on their feet.”

  “I’ll need something to clean that bathtub,” Mama responded, beginning gallantly to attempt the impossible. “Gretta, you come and help me. Oh, this place needs cleaning so.”

  “Tomorrow we’ll get properly settled,” Papa called after her. “It will look better in daylight.… What about food for breakfast?” he remembered, turning back to Mr. Menzies.

  Mr. Menzies looked helpless. “My wife …” he began and stopped.

  Dr. Schumacher came up with the answer.

  “You’ll find plenty at the store,” he said. “Do you have the key, John? We could go now.”

  Mr. Menzies produced the key, and the three men started for the stairs.

  “When you do get settled and a bit rested,” the doctor said, “bring the children around to my office to have their medical examinations for school.”

  “School!” Fritz echoed, horrified.

  The doctor looked back at the boy and laughed.

  “Yes, school,” he said. “It starts a week from Tuesday.”

  Fritz groaned.

  The men went on downstairs, Dr. Schumacher explaining on the way where his office was.

  “Come on, Fritz,” Rudi ordered. The boys disappeared into their new room. Frieda ran after them.

  Anna stood in the hall alone. She could hear the men’s voices rumbling below, Rudi telling the twins how “his” room would be arranged, water running into the bathtub.

  Gretchen came back through the hall. Mama had sent her in search of towels.

  The older girl almost tripped over Anna, who still stood by herself in the alcove which was to be her bedroom. Gretchen paused. She looked at her little sister. Standing there, alone, she seemed to be crying aloud for help. But Gretchen knew Anna. It was not that easy. She was as difficult to get close to as a porcupine. It was no use asking her what was wrong. She would never tell.

  Besides, Gretchen thought, there’s so much wrong. I hate it here too. We should never have come to this awful place.

  “Gretchen, are you coming?” Mama called.

  “Yes, Mama. In a minute!” Gretchen called back.

  She took two steps toward the stairs. Behind her, Anna stood not moving, not speaking. In spite of herself, knowing it was useless, Gretchen turned back.

  “Anna, it’s not so bad …” she started.

  “Mama wants you,” Anna interrupted. “You’d better go. You’re standing in my room, anyway, and I didn’t ask you in.”

  “You … are … impossible!” Gretchen spat the words at the younger girl.

  She whirled away and ran down the stairs.

  “Papa!” Anna heard her calling. “Mama wants towels.”

  She was alone again. She backed up and sat down carefully on the extreme edge of the rickety cot. She sat very still, with her arms hugged in close around herself.

  School — a week from Tuesday!

  She should have known, of course. She should have seen it coming. Yet somehow, in all the rush of the packing and the weeks of travel, she had never thought that far ahead. Not once had she pictured herself actually going to school in a strange land.

  School had been terrible enough back in Frankfurt. Anna sat in the darkness and remembered Frau Schmidt. Now it was going to start again, only this time it would be one hundred times worse. It would be in English.

  When Mama came bustling in search of her, Anna had not moved.

  “Anna Elisabeth Solden, get up from there and undress for your bath. What’s the matter with you?” Mama jerked at her, getting her onto her feet. “I’ll have the bed made by the time you’re finished. Here, let me help.”

  Anna freed herself. “I can do i
t,” she said.

  Mama’s hands dropped to her sides. She sighed. Then she frowned. Anna was moving — but so slowly.

  “Speak English,” her mother commanded suddenly.

  Maybe she too was thinking of school beginning. Maybe she too was afraid for Anna, her one German child.

  “I will not,” Anna said in German. The words grated in her throat.

  Then she turned her back on her mother and pulled her dress up over her head. Whatever Mama said next, she could not hear.

  8

  Dr. Schumacher’s Discovery

  DR. SCHUMACHER’S WAITING ROOM was shabby and crowded. When the Soldens arrived, the two boys had to stand up against one wall with their father because there were not enough chairs.

  “All right,” Dr. Schumacher smiled, “who’s first?”

  Rudi stepped forward. Mama got up to go with him. He scowled at her.

  “I’m not a baby,” he muttered, sounding like Anna.

  “Let him go in by himself, Klara,” Papa said. “Go ahead, Rudi.” He came over and, taking Anna on his knee to make room, sat on the bench beside his wife.

  “It will be fine,” he told her. “Wait. You’ll see.”

  Mama was not convinced. She was used to taking her children to the doctor only when they were sick. Gretchen had to have her tonsils out when she was three. Fritz had those bad earaches. And Rudi had broken his arm falling out of a tree he had been told not to climb. But for most things Mama did not need a doctor to tell her what to do. She had her own remedies for sore throats and skinned knees, stomach aches, and even measles. They all had injections before they came to Canada, but that had been so hurried that she had no time to think about it. Suppose this doctor she did not know found one of her children had some dread disease?

  “I don’t trust these foreign doctors,” she muttered now at Papa.

  “Klara, we’re the foreigners here!” he reminded her, speaking quietly but not bothering to whisper. “Besides, Franz Schumacher is as German as you are.”

  Mama shook her head — but there stood Rudi, grinning.

  “One healthy one!” Dr. Schumacher said. “You’re next — Gretchen, is it?”