April Raintree

by Beatrice Mosionier

  I thought if those other native girls had the same kind of people surrounding them as we did, I wouldn’t blame them one bit. Much of the speech didn’t make sense to me anyway. I’d never heard the terms shoplifting, prostitution and I didn’t even know what drugs were. I’d been into drug stores and they sold all sorts of useful things. So far, I hadn’t had a crush on a boy, well, not a major crush. And what the heck was skid row? All I knew for sure was that somewhere in that speech, she had insulted our parents and I could see that it rankled Cheryl. I held her hand.

  I thought of once more trying to reason with Mrs. Semple but then Miss Turner walked in. Mrs. Semple went over to her and they talked for a few minutes. Then they came to us and told us we were going to the Children’s Aid office.

  There we sat alone in one room while they discussed our futures in another. I was still angry and felt like a criminal. We hadn’t done anything wrong. Well, maybe I shouldn’t have laid such a beating on those two brats. But it was Cheryl who was getting all the blame. Between the two of us, she was the more innocent. It was unjust.

  “Cheryl?” I said quietly.

  “What?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You’re not the one who should be sorry. All of them are the ones who are doing wrong. They’re the ones who ought to be sorry,” Cheryl said, vehemently. After a few minutes, she said, “I guess I’m going that syndrome route, huh?”

  “Of course not. Why do you say that?”

  Cheryl smiled. “I just kind of accused everyone of being against us, didn’t I?” We both laughed.

  It was a while before Mrs. Semple and Miss Turner came back into the room. Mrs. Semple said to me, “April, we’ve decided it’s in your best interest for you to return to the DeRosiers. You never got into any trouble until Cheryl came to live with you.”

  “No, don’t send her back there. They’re mean people. Mrs. DeRosier said we’d never see each other again,” Cheryl shouted.

  “Cheryl, we’ve arranged for you to go to the Steindalls. If you give them a chance, you’ll be happy there. And don’t you worry. There’ll be visits between you and April,” Miss Turner said.

  “But you can’t send April back to the DeRosiers. They’ll do something to her. I just know it. Why can’t she come with me?”

  “Because you’re not good for each other. Now, I don’t want any more nonsense, Cheryl. April, if you can talk any sense into your sister, you’d better try,” Miss Turner said to me.

  “I want to talk to Cheryl alone,” I said. The two women looked at each other, shrugged and left the room.

  I knelt before Cheryl who was still seated, and said, “Cheryl, we can’t fight them. I know I’ll be okay with the DeRosiers. I don’t want you to worry about me, okay? And I don’t want to have to worry about you. I want you to be good at this new place. I want you to keep your grades up. This won’t last forever. When we’re old enough, we’ll be free. We’ll live together. We’re going to make it. Do you understand me? We are going to make it! We are not going to become what they expect of us.”

  I sat back on my heels and looked her in the eyes. She nodded and smiled through her tears. “Okay, April, I’ll try.”

  CHAPTER 5

  On the ride back to the DeRosier farm, I went over what I had said to Cheryl. Those were big words said on the spur of the moment. I had this idea that anyone who went to reform school was doomed for life. I didn’t want Cheryl to end up in one. I could let the DeRosiers suck out my dignity for now and I could pretend they had me where they wanted me. But my future would belong to me. I had said to Cheryl that we would live together and I had meant it at the time. But that was a long way off. Maybe things would change and I wouldn’t have to live up to that statement. Or maybe if I became so rich and important, people wouldn’t care that I had a proud Metis for a sister. As we approached Aubigny, my thoughts returned to my present predicament. Just what was in store for me? It was easy to think to myself that I didn’t care but living it was different.

  I’d often thought to myself that those three DeRosiers were crazy. That night when I did the dishes and they all sat behind me, silently staring at me, I was sure of it. Earlier that day, when I had returned with Mrs. Semple, 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. For that whole summer, they wouldn’t talk to me expcept to give me curt orders. Ricky and Maggie made no comments about Cheryl and I thought this plan of theirs of giving me the silent treatment must be 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 ignored 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 any more. 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.”

  Rebel would give a low whine and wag his tail to indicate he was still listening, whenever I had one of those talks with him.

  “You want to hear the latest? That witch gave me my school clothes. You should see them, Rebel. All real old-fashioned stuff. And she told me that from now on I won’t be able to use the sewing stuff. I’m going to look simply horrible. 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 sent to her place. I’m positive now that the witch 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 Eight as the laughing stock of the school and from the first day on the bus, I was often called, ‘Gramma Squaw’. It was more painful than I’d expected and each time, I’d have to swallow hard. But when Jennifer teased me, I did start crying. She immediately became contrite and sympathetic and that got me crying 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 could 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 sewing I did was to shorten my 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 asked her if she could see to my letters and she ch
ecked with her mother. They agreed to be my go-between. I wrote first to the Dions. It would have been to Cheryl but I didn’t know her address. In November, my letter to the Dions was returned, marked ‘Moved’.

  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 teaches me 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 okay. Some of the girls who like horses went out of their way to make friends with me. But that’s only cause they figure I’ll invite them over for horseback riding. Oh yeah, and Mr. Steindall gave me my own horse to ride. His name is Fastbuck. I got to help clean the stalls and feed them but I like doing all that.”

  She went on telling me all the good things that were now happening to her. 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 happy for her; it was what I wanted. But in comparing our lives, I only came up with envy. Before we parted, I got her address and gave her Jennifer’s.

  In early February, I received a letter through the new courier system. I had sent Cheryl a letter in January. I saved it until I was alone. I walked through the snow, with Rebel following behind, until I reached a fallen tree by the river bank. Then I read it aloud for Rebel’s benefit.

  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 do speeches in front of the class. I made mine on buffalo hunting. I’m sending you a copy of my speech just so you know I’m doing good in school. Pardon me, doing well in school.

  Have a Happy Valentine’s Day, April. If nothing else, think of me. I’ve also enclosed a home-made card. Do you like it? I’m going to ask Mrs. Steindall if you could come to see me for the summer holidays. Then I could teach you what I know so far about riding. Would you like that?

  I told them all about the DeRosiers but I don’t think they believed me. That is the one thing I don’t like about them. They think because we’re foster kids, we probably lie. Anyways, I feel sorry that you have to go through what you’re going through. I wished there were something I could do. At least, you’ve got a friend like Jennifer.

  And Rebel too. Does he miss me? I sure miss him. They have an Irish Setter here and it’s a nice-looking dog but it’s got no brains. It’s high-strung most of the time. She follows me all over the place and is always chasing after the horses. I guess, after Rebel, it would take a mighty big dog to fill his paws. Get it?

  Well, I had thought of all these funny things I could tell you so you’d laugh when you read this letter but once I got down to writing, all the funny stuff slipped my mind. Sorry about that. I guess I’ll close off for now and I’ll see you in the springtime. Write back soon.

  Love,

  Cheryl

  Buffalo hunting? That was as bad as getting a book on Riel. I looked at the card. Cheryl had drawn a picture of a horse, a girl and a red setter.

  I showed it to Rebel and said, “Look at that, how lucky can one get? Me, jealous? Of course, I’m not jealous, Rebel. I prefer the word, ‘envious’. Anyways, what are you so smug about? That dog there, that Irish Setter, she’s with her and you’re not.”

  Rebel made all the appropriate movements as if he understood every word I said. So, I read Cheryl’s speech to him.

  “…The Metis hunters, equipped with buffalo guns, used one method known as ‘running the buffalo’. This was perhaps the most dangerous way but definitely the 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, 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 time as a buffalo hunter was probably reduced 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 enough and it could explode and blow his hand off. The hunt required steady nerves, much skill and expertise in horsemanship and marksmanship…”

  There was more but Rebel had gone off to chase a squirrel. “Hey, Rebel, I’m telling Cheryl you didn’t appreciate her speech.”

  Then I wondered how she ever had the courage to stand up in front of her class and give such a speech. I never would have done it. I read the rest of it to myself.

  Grade Nine 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. 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 think about it. But then a new family moved into Aubigny and they had a boy who was in Grade Eleven, the same class Maggie was in. I had a secret crush on him but 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 began talking to me at school. Being seen with him brought me more friends. I loved school.

  And then, other kids’ attitudes changed. Maggie had not been openly hostile towards me. 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 about me started, 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 finally asked her, “What is going on, Jenny?”

  Jennifer had looked around quickly because other kids were watching us and were obviously talking about me. “April, I have to go,” she apologized and left.

  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. I was rather disappointed when I opened the envelope and found most of it was a speech on the Metis.

  That evening, at the chicken house, I read the letter out loud to Rebel I knew he didn’t understand what was written but it was a little more comforting to be able to share this one joy in my life. And with the last friend I had around here.

  January 26, 1963

  Dear April,

  How are you? I just know you’re waiting for my next speech with anticipation, right? Well, here it is. Actually, it’s not really a speech. I’m just caught up in this stuff. I don’t think…Scratch that, it’s a silly expression. I think my fellow classmates might not be able to hack another speech on Metis people. I was going to deliver this speech but now I’ve decided I will keep it among my papers on the history of the Metis. I think it’s important that we know our own history. It’s rather a short history compared to other nationalities 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 Natives. I’ve been babysit
ting 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 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. 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 practice riding. I’ve been trying to do trick-riding but all I’ve got to show for my efforts are bruises.

  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

  Then I dutifully read through her essay. Again, she wrote about the Metis with a touch of 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 Metis to the scene. The battle-experienced Metis 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 Metis, 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…”

  Cheryl went into further detail describing why The Battle of Seven Oaks had happened. I hated dates and company names. And how come all this mattered to Cheryl so much that she planned to keep it among her papers. It almost sounded like she was going to be a History professor or something. Did it help her accept the coloring of her skin? Was that why we thought so differently? That and her superior intelligence? One had to be super-intelligent to find this kind of thing exciting. Skin coloring didn’t matter in this school. Everyone treated me like a full-blooded Indian. I’d never forget being called ‘Gramma Squaw’. I hated those DeRosier kids so much. I sure wished I knew what they had been up to this time.