by Lesley Crewe
We drive out of the gates and into the world. All my life I’ve dreamt of this and thought it would be like flying in the sky. But it’s nothing like that. I get up on my knees and look out the back window.
“I need to go back! My mama and sister might come looking for me! Stop!”
They keep driving.
The next few days are jumbled up in my mind. A lady takes Buddy away, despite my wailing. She tells me he’ll be looked after. I throw up when she walks out the door with him, because he cries and meows for me. I never see him again. I hope the policeman with the nice wife took him in.
In the hospital they give me lots to eat and I gobble everything. But then a doctor comes in and wants to look at me. I scream blue murder because he’s a man. Finally a woman comes in wearing a stethoscope around her neck. She sits beside me on the bed.
“Hello,” she smiles. “I’m Doctor Stevens. What’s your name?”
“Amazing Grace Fairchild.”
She looks delighted. “Imagine! You must be very special, to have a name like that.”
“I think so. My sister is Ave Maria and she’s special too.”
“I’m sure she is. Now Amazing, I want to tell you what’s going to happen. I need to look at you, to check your body, to see if you’ve been molested. Do you know what that means?”
“I think it means he married me.”
Dr. Stevens gathers herself. “I’m going to put a sheet over you, so no one else will see but me. Do you trust me to do that? I promise I won’t hurt you.”
She does have a nice smile. “Okay.”
It’s over pretty quickly and she doesn’t hurt me. She takes off her rubber gloves and throws them in the wastepaper basket. Then she comes close to me and puts her hand on my shoulder. “All done.”
“Do you believe me?”
“Yes, I believe you.”
“What will they do to him?”
“Hopefully he’ll go to jail.”
“Can I come home with you?”
She quickly turns her head. “Let’s just get you better. You rest now and I’ll be back to check on you.”
“Okay.”
But I don’t see her again either. A nurse comes in instead and she’s very brisk. I don’t ask to go home with her. She probably hates cats.
Then another man comes to see me—I pull up the blankets around my neck.
“Grace, I’m Detective Grant. I want to ask you a question.”
“Am I in trouble?”
“No, not at all. But before we can proceed further, I need to know if you’d be willing to testify against Mr. Wheeler.”
“Who’s Mr. Wheeler?”
“The man who did this to you.”
“What does testify mean?”
“Tell your story in a courtroom to a judge and jury. All you have to do is tell the truth.”
“Will the man be there?”
“Yes, I’m afraid so. But you’ll be protected from him, I promise.”
Promises don’t mean anything. “No.”
“Don’t you want him to go to jail?”
What a dumb question. He tries hard to change my mind but gives up after a while.
A few days later I’m eating rice pudding when a heavy woman comes into my room. Her skirt looks like it’s going to split up the seam. I wait for her to sit down to see if she pops out of it, but she only stands at the end of my hospital bed.
“Grace Fairchild, I believe.”
“Amazing Grace.”
“Grace, I want you to get dressed. You’re coming with me.”
My bowl of rice pudding drops in my lap. “NO! I don’t want to come with you.”
“Whether you want to or not makes absolutely no difference. You are a ward of the state until your family is found. In the meantime you’ll be placed in a foster home. It’s for the best.”
I grab the sheets and pull them over my head. “Go away!”
“Nurse!”
When two or three adults want you to do something, it usually gets done, even when you’re limp and don’t co-operate. By the end of the struggle, the looks on their faces are the same as the adults in the camp. Grown-ups get mad really fast. As they escort me out of the hospital I ask them, “Where’s my duffel bag? I need it.”
“There’s no duffel bag.”
“I have to have it! It’s my grandmother’s.”
“If I find it I’ll give it to you.” The fat woman only says that so I’ll be quiet. They put me in a car and I slump over so my head is on the seat.
“Get up.”
I don’t, and what’s she going to do about it? She has to drive the car. So I don’t see where I’m going, only hear the motor and feel the wheels go over the bumps and dips in the road. It almost puts me to sleep, but the car stops before that happens. The fat lady gets out and she’s gone for a while. Then the back door opens and a man’s face appears.
“Get out of the car, please.”
No way am I getting out of this car.
“Do you hear me?”
Pretend he’s not there.
He grabs my arms and pulls me out all at once. He places me on the sidewalk and points his finger at me.
“You will not get away with this sort of behaviour in my house. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
There’s a woman behind him. She’s got an apron on. “I’ll take you to your room.”
“Goodbye, Grace,” the fat woman says.
I ignore her. She says to the man, “Do you see what I mean? You’ll have your hands full.”
The woman walks ahead of me, but does turn around to look at me when she talks. “I know this is frightening and unfamiliar, but we’ll do the best we can until your family situation gets sorted. My name is Sandra. My husband is Lloyd. We have three foster kids with us at the moment. I’m sure you’ll make friends quickly.”
It’s a big, rambling sort of place, set back on a street with a lot of other big homes. There’s a part of me that’s interested in being inside, since I’ve never been in a house on an actual street before. The minute I walk over the threshold, the smell is different. Do all houses have their own smell?
Sandra walks me up a big flight of stairs. “Do you have any luggage?”
I shake my head.
“That’s all right. I’ll gather some things for you before dinner.”
There are a few closed doors on the landing, with radio music coming from behind them. And some shouting from upstairs on another level. She points out the bathroom and then opens a door to a small room that is at least neat and clean. “Why don’t you rest here and I’ll call you down to supper when it’s ready. You can meet everyone then.”
She smiles at me. Maybe this place isn’t so bad. I have a bed with a quilt on it and a bureau and some towels on a chair. There’s even a stuffed dog on the pillow. But that reminds me of Buddy, and I throw it on the floor. But then I pick it up again because it looks sad down there.
My eyes take in everything. There’s no lock on the door. Another man could come in here. I put the chair under the doorknob. I saw Helen do that once when the red-haired man kept trying to see her.
When I look out the window I see the man, Lloyd, mowing his lawn. I’m glad he’s forgotten about me already. But after a while he sees me staring at him, so I drop the curtains and move away from the window.
I lie back on the bed and listen to doors bang and voices come and go. I don’t know these people. How could I be so stupid? Why did I set the barn on fire? I miss Buddy and my chickens and my tree house. I miss the bog and Helen laughing. I’ve ruined everything.
When Sandra comes up at suppertime and knocks on my door, I don’t answer it. This doesn’t seem to bother her. “There’s some chicken pie on a tray outside your door. And a glass of milk and some co
okies. We’ll see you at breakfast. There’s also a nightgown and some clean underwear for you.”
I wait until I don’t hear a sound outside the door before I open it and grab the food and the clothes. The chair goes back in position. The meal is good and the nightgown fits. I get into bed but leave the light on.
I’m so tired.
In the morning when I open my eyes and turn over, I realize the worst has happened. I’ve wet the bed. Everything is soaked. I don’t have any other sheets to use. Sandra will be mad at me. Maybe I should throw them out the window, but instead I stuff them under the bed along with the nightgown, and pull the blanket over to hide the damp mattress. Now I have nowhere to sit except on the hard chair. I lean against the wall until there’s a knock on the door.
“Grace. Are you awake? Please open the door. Being difficult won’t help you in the long run.”
When I open the door, I wring my hands. “I wet the bed.”
“It happens all the time.” Sandra comes in and gives me more clothes. “Why don’t you have a bath and then come downstairs for breakfast. I’ll take care of this.”
Now that I wasn’t expecting.
My time with this family in Waterloo lasts eight months. I like everyone, even Lloyd. School is hard and I’m way behind in my studies, but I catch up quickly and on the last day I get my certificate saying I can advance into eighth grade. This makes me happy. I don’t have any friends, but the kids at the foster home make things not quite so lonely.
But then Sandra gets cancer and we all have to be farmed out to someone else. I assume we’ll go together but that doesn’t happen. I’m taken to Brampton, to another foster home, and I never see those kids again.
It happens twice more after that, first to a foster home on the other side of Brampton, which means going to a new school, where I might as well be a thousand miles away. Then I’m back in Waterloo. I make it a point to look for the province of Ontario, on the big Canadian map at school, just to see where I am. I also look for Nova Scotia, but it seems very far away. Doesn’t matter. No one there even knows I exist.
On my fifteenth birthday I make a vow that I won’t feel anything anymore. The price to pay for not crying or being homesick or missing mom and Maria, is to not laugh or smile or enjoy even the smallest pleasure. I don’t even hold animals in my arms in case someone takes them from me.
Soon the man who runs this foster home introduces me to liquor and dope. This is a much better way to zone out.
He lets me and another girl, Tracy, go down in his basement, and he hides bottles of beer, wine, and joints for us. His wife is always hollering at us to come upstairs. I think she suspects what we’re doing, but doesn’t want to know. The two of them argue about it in their bedroom at night.
In the back of my mind I know what he’s doing is wrong, but it’s the first time in a long time that someone’s just wanted me to be happy. And if we have to let him touch us for it, why not? Like Tracy says, who’s it hurting? He’s not asking us to take our clothes off.
I have friends now. I’m cool and hanging with the fast crowd, as my homeroom teacher calls us. Mr. Ferguson is always trying to get me to stay after school, and one day I finally do.
“Grace, your English assignments are amazing. You really need to be a member of our writing club.”
“Thanks, but no.” I walk towards the door.
“Then how about the drama club, or the glee club? You’re a bright student and would be an asset to whatever after-school activity piques your interest.”
“Terry says he’s going to help me be a model.”
“Terry James is a thug. Listen to what I’m saying. Stay away from him, Grace.”
I feel sorry for Mr. Ferguson. He hates everybody.
Terry is blonde with blue eyes and he’s very good-looking. All the girls want him, and I’m pleased as punch that he wants to be with me. Every day after school he meets me in the park and gives me presents—cigarettes, a leather jacket, earrings, a necklace.
He even takes me to a restaurant, like a grown-up. After that we go back to his place and he says that he loves me, and that if I love him, I’ll do it. When I hesitate, he gets pissed off. “What? Are you a virgin or something?”
“No, of course not.”
“Then get over here and stop making me wait.”
I think I’m in love with Terry; he’s so nice to me. When he asks me to go on a date with one of his friends as a favour, I figure I owe him. It’ll probably just another boy in our gang.
When I get in my date’s car, he’s as old as the man. I’m so high I can’t get out of the car fast enough. I try and fight him off, but I lose that battle. It’s a good thing I only remember bits and pieces of that night.
The next week, Terry picks me up with another guy and the three of us go out on a date. I’m not sure how I get home, but when my foster mother opens the door, she grabs my neck and curses before kicking me in the backside when I fumble up the stairs.
“I don’t have time to waste on you useless bitches! You think this is how I want to spend my life? Cleaning puke off the floor?”
And then one day at school I’m at the back of the room and blood starts seeping between my legs. I try and stop it, but there’s more and more. One of the other girls sees it and starts screaming. Mr. Ferguson hurries out of the room to get help. Everyone looks at me with disgust. I need to get out of there, but when I try to stand up, I crash to the floor.
At the hospital they tell me I had a miscarriage.
“I was pregnant?” I ask the nurse.
“Yes, but you lost the baby.”
All sound goes away except the ringing in my ears. I had my own little baby and I lost it? It’s gone? I had Mama, and Maria, and Buddy, and my baby, and I lost them all?
I left my baby on the floor at school. I’m evil. God doesn’t want me to have anything.
I don’t remember crawling out on the ledge of the hospital’s fifth-storey window, but I almost get to fly away before someone grabs my ankle and drags me back inside.
The psychiatric facility where I live for six months is no different from anywhere else. It’s a constant struggle to get me to eat something and most of the time the adults are impatient with me, even though they try to be nice.
One morning as I stare at the ceiling a woman comes in my room. She looks like a social worker of some kind. They all have the same look; like they know everything. No doubt she’s here to tell me something that means nothing.
“How are you, Grace?”
I gave up telling people I’m really Amazing a long time ago.
“I have some news.”
Close your eyes and she’ll go away.
“We found your grandmother’s family.”
“No, you didn’t.”
She doesn’t correct me or get huffy. She sits in the chair by the bed and opens her folder. There are a lot of papers in it, official-looking documents.
“Why don’t I show you what I have here and you can decide for yourself if what I’m saying sounds like the truth?”
When I don’t say anything, she proceeds.
“Your name is Amazing Grace Fairchild. Your mother’s name is Trixie Fairchild. Your grandmother’s name is Rose Fairchild and your grandmother’s sisters are named Pearl and Mae Fairchild. Pearl and Mae still live in a place called Marble Mountain in Cape Breton.”
“My grandmother came from Nova Scotia.”
“Cape Breton is a part of Nova Scotia.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“That’s okay.”
“Not that it’s true, but how did you find them?”
“A lot of hard work.”
“If you know who these people are, why can’t you find my mother or sister?”
“We’re trying, but so far not much luck. We hope this is a start.”
My heart beats a little faster, which annoys me. Don’t feel anything. It’s probably all lies. “So, who cares about them? What am I supposed to do with this? You find two old women who don’t know me and I’m supposed to be grateful?”
She takes out a letter. “They sent this to me. It’s for you.”
When I keep my hands where they are, she places the letter on my bedside table. “I’ll be back.”
The letter is staring at me. It won’t leave me alone. Everywhere I turn, it shows up in my line of vision. It’s sticking its tongue out at me. I dare you, Amazing. I dare you to open me.
So I shout at it, “No! Go away!”
It doesn’t. It’s breathing on my side table, but I’m not fooled. I won’t be sucked into another hole that leads to nowhere. It stays there all night, glowing in the dark, calling to me.
When morning comes, nothing’s changed. It’s there and so am I. The trouble is, my head is about to explode and my brains will be dripping down the walls. Who needs to see that?
I open the envelope and take out the letter. The handwriting is thin and spidery. How am I supposed to read this?
Dear Amazing Grace,
Trust your mother to come up with a name like that. She always was a handful. But regardless, kin is kin. Your grandmother Rose died years ago. I think she died of a broken heart, what with the worry over your mother, Trixie, but Mae says I need to be more charitable. So officially she died of complications from diabetes, but I have my doubts.
Rose was a change of life baby, much younger than Mae and I. Since both of us are spinsters, we felt it was our duty to take Rose in when her good-for-nothing husband left her with a baby to look after. That baby was your mother and I’m surprised I’m not deaf from all the hollering that went on here. Rose was too soft and Trixie was a hippy-dippy from the time she could talk, so I’m not surprised to hear that she abandoned you. They tell me your sister, Ave Maria (absolute nonsense) is gone too. You people have a terrible habit of losing track of one another.
Despite all that, Mae and I are Christian women, and as such, we cannot abandon you to the mercy of strangers, now that we know you exist. They tell us you’ve been bounced around from foster home to foster home. No doubt you have some terrible habits and no table manners, but kin is kin.