by Lesley Crewe
While I congratulate myself on how well I’m hoodwinking these fine ladies, they hatch a genius evil plan.
I start seeing a pattern.
“Grace, could you bring in more firewood from the shed? Thank you, dear!”
“And make sure you clean out the grate this time. The chimney doesn’t draw properly if you leave a pile of ashes.”
“Grace, dear, do you think you could help me put up a few wreaths?”
“While you’re out there, shovel the snow off the porch.”
“Dearest, is there any chance you could cut down a small tree and bring it inside? You can help decorate it. Isn’t that exciting?”
“Do you see these arthritic hands? Mix up that fruitcake for me. I’m surprised I have to ask.”
Then they inform me that in their day, the house had to be clean from top to bottom, walls and everything, so that the neighbours would be impressed when they came to socialize over the holidays.
“Do you have many visitors? No one’s come since I arrived.”
Aunt Pearl takes her rolls out of the oven. “That’s because we told them to stay away.”
I grab a banana from the fruit bowl and peel it. “Well, thanks a lot.”
“Now that you’re housebroken, we can send invitations.”
Naturally they start to do the chores themselves, hanging off a ladder or standing on a chair to dust their endless knick-knacks.
“Give me that before you kill yourself,” I shout.
“Why, thank you, dear.”
“About time!”
I’m exhausted by Christmas Eve. But I have to say the place looks like a little dollhouse. I take a weird pride in it. I even fluff a pillow.
All I want to do is sit, but no. The two of them come downstairs in their finery.
“Where are you going?”
“To church, obviously. It’s Christmas Eve. The whole reason we’re celebrating? We’ve let your lack of interest in religion slide, but we must insist, on tonight of all nights. Go get dressed.”
“Wear your red sweater, dear! It’s so Christmassy!”
“No fucking way.”
It’s like I shot them with bows and arrows. They both flail backwards and Aunt Mae starts to weep while she looks for a handkerchief in her purse.
Are you proud of yourself, Amazing? “That didn’t come out right. I meant to say, I’ll be down in five minutes.” I bolt up the stairs.
Can I be any meaner? Why am I such a bitch? All these questions go through my mind as I put on the red sweater and tie a red bow in my hair. I even steal Aunt Mae’s red lipstick and slap that on too.
They are composed when I come back down.
“You look very nice, dear,” Aunt Mae sniffs.
“Your great-great-grandmother Grace was a lady. How proud do you think she’d be, knowing her namesake spews filth like that?”
“You are absolutely right. I will never say that word again. I’m very sorry.”
Aunt Pearl straightens her shoulders. “I should think so. Now let’s go.”
The little white church in the snow is crammed with people and twinkling lights. All these old ladies gather round and shake my hand as my aunts introduce me. My cheeks are scarlet, thinking of what transpired back at the house.
I’m squished between the aunts and I try desperately not to listen to the man in the pulpit asking us to follow God’s son Jesus, to praise the name of Jesus, to love one another and obey the master.
I panic, leaning over to whisper in Aunt Pearl’s ear. “Did he say obey the Master?”
She gives me a look. “No. Clean out your ears.”
Now we have to stand up and sing the hymn “Silent Night.” My knees buckle and I put my face in my hands and cry and cry and cry. The kind of crying you can’t ignore.
The minister, organist, and choir keep going. There’s an uncomfortable atmosphere around us and a murmuring of the crowd. Aunt Pearl puts her arm around my shoulder and leads me and Aunt Mae out of our pew, down the church aisle, and back to the car.
When we get to the house, Aunt Pearl sits me at the kitchen table, while Aunt Mae puts the kettle on.
“I’m sorry I ruined your night,” I sniff. “I’m not sure what happened.”
Aunt Pearl takes off her gloves and sits beside me. “No, I’m sorry we made you go. I should have known better.”
“What do you mean?”
Aunt Mae also sits at the table. “Before you came to us, the social worker sent us your case file so we would know what we were up against. She told us we had every right to refuse to take you in. That because of your upbringing, you had a lot of baggage, and she needed to know if we could handle it.”
The kettle starts to sing. Aunt Mae gets up while Aunt Pearl continues.
“We know what happened to you at that farm.”
“You do?”
Aunt Pearl looks down at her lap. “I know about the leader of that miserable cult you were in. God knows what you suffered. I didn’t want the details, which I realize now was selfish on my part. If you were courageous enough to survive him, then I should be courageous enough to hear it.”
So over toast and tea, I tell them about the man. Aunt Mae sheds copious tears and Aunt Pearl keeps patting my hand. They’re outraged on my behalf, which is comforting.
“And he calls himself a Christian!” Aunt Mae keeps yelling. “He deserves to be doused in honey and buried in an anthill!”
We both look at her.
“Well, why not? Or cut his pecker off!”
When I open my eyes the next morning, I have a dull headache, no doubt from reliving some of the worst days of my life. If only memories could be shut off like a tap.
I lay in bed awhile, listening to the sounds of the house. The aunts are up, because the house is toasty, the smell of bacon is in the air, and someone has opened my door a crack—Lulu, the fat black and white cat, is curled up at the end of my bed. There’s Christmas music playing on the radio, which is kind of nice.
Christmas wasn’t celebrated when I was a kid. Well, it was as far as learning that Jesus was born on Christmas Day and the three Wise Men showed up, but the man never let any of us have presents and we never saw Santa Claus. We all knew about him of course, the few times we saw television, but the man said that greed was a sin and we wouldn’t partake in such blasphemy.
I think he was just cheap.
The calm, peaceful mood this morning almost puts me back to sleep again but then I hear a sound.
“Psst! Psst!”
I lift my head. Aunt Mae’s head is poking through the doorway.
“Good morning,” I say.
“Good morning,” she grins. “Have you forgotten it’s Christmas morning? We’ve been waiting downstairs for hours.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
“Don’t tell Pearl I was up here. She’ll get mad. Just come down soon or your bacon will be charcoal.” She disappears.
It’s while I’m putting on my housecoat and slippers that I realize that maybe my aunts have bought me Christmas gifts. I have nothing for them. It never crossed my mind. Frantically, I look about the room, but there’s nothing that’s not theirs already.
“Lulu! I’m such a jerk.”
Lulu rolls over and exposes her belly for immediate attention but I don’t have time. There’s only one thing I can do.
When I go downstairs, the aunts are in their bathrobes and slippers. There’s a fire burning in the fireplace and candles lit even though it’s morning. Our small Christmas tree’s lights are on and there are a few presents underneath.
I’ll make sure I remember this. What families are supposed to look like.
“Merry Christmas!” the aunts shout. They then come over and hug me. “Breakfast first, and then we’ll open our gifts.”
“I don’t have any gifts
,” I mumble as we go in the kitchen.
“Matters not a whit.” Aunt Pearl puts a bowl of porridge with brown sugar in front of me. Aunt Mae pours the cream. Afterwards we move on to orange juice, bacon, eggs, and toast.
If this is all they do, it’s still the best Christmas I ever had.
After breakfast we go back in front of the fire. The aunts hand me my presents to open. They look more excited than I am. I receive a pair of handmade mitts, a new nightgown, two books, scented bubble bath, and a pair of earrings—pearls, of course.
I’m overcome. “Thank you. I don’t deserve this.”
Aunt Pearl gets annoyed. “Don’t be so foolish. I’ll have no more of that kind of talk. You deserve as much happiness as anyone else. Remember that. You’re not a victim.”
Aunt Mae then gives Aunt Pearl a new Mixmaster and a cookbook. Pearl gives her sister perfume, stockings, and a pretty sweater. Both are equally happy with their gifts.
They make a move to get the turkey in the oven, but I call them back.
“I wrote a poem.”
“Did you, dear? That’s nice.” The aunts continue into the kitchen.
“For you guys.”
They both turn at the same time and come back to the couch.
“I hope you like it.”
The Kid
When you have no home, and no one loves you, life is dark and bleak.
Then Aunties come and hold your hand and make you want to speak.
They listen to your stories, they give you food to eat.
They get upset and cross with you, which means you’re not so weak.
They want a better life for you and this is what they seek.
I wouldn’t be the girl I am, without Aunt Mae and Pearl,
So thank you for your loving arms, a place to rest and curl.
They both rise from the sofa and disappear upstairs. I think that means they liked it.
While I sit and eat breakfast one morning in the new year, the aunts come in together and try to be nonchalant as they join me. It’s not working.
“So,” says Aunt Pearl. “Any plans this weekend?”
“No.”
Aunt Mae can’t contain herself. She shakes the car keys at me. “Wanna learn how to drive?”
This is how I end up slipping and sliding over snowy roads in rural Cape Breton, with a cheerleader in the back seat and a sergeant-major in the front.
“You’re coming to a turn! Slow down!”
“I am slowing down!”
“Not enough!”
I brake a little too quickly and fishtail a bit, but we manage to navigate the turn.
“Well done!” squeaks Aunt Mae. “You’ll be driving to Sydney in no time.”
“We have to get to Baddeck first!” Aunt Pearl hollers. “Watch out! There’s a gravel truck coming! Don’t be nervous! Don’t look at him! Keep your eyes on the road! Slowly release the gas! No! You’re too far over! Watch the ditch!”
The gravel truck roars past us.
“Well done!”
“My nerves.”
You should always learn to drive in the worst conditions possible, because then you’re not afraid of anything. The three of us drive everywhere that winter. Whenever I’m not in school I’m ferrying them around to their friends’ houses, the grocery store, the gas station, to church, and finally to take my driving test in Sydney.
They wave as I go into the room to write the test and then wave when I go out with the driving instructor. They stand when I get back, clutching their purses in front of them. I give them a thumbs-up. We go to K-Mart to celebrate.
Later that night, Aunt Pearl asks me to come into her bedroom. This is an unexpected privilege. I sit on her bed as she sits on the stool of her makeup table. Not that she has any makeup; just powder, scent, and her mother-of-pearl brush and comb set. She does have one lipstick for special occasions, unlike Aunt Mae, who has dozens.
She looks at me in the mirror. “I bought you something.” She reaches into one of the dresser drawers by her side and hands me a rectangular box. Inside are a pair of leather gloves.
“Everyone needs gloves to drive a car. It’s safer.”
I don’t tell her that I’ll never, in a million years, drive the car with those gloves on. And the next time I’m behind the wheel, I wear them. Why is anyone’s guess. I just pray none of my friends see me.
I’m first in my class that year. And the next. At my high school graduation, I see the two of them in the audience, Aunt Mae beaming as she gives me little waves, Aunt Pearl with her hands in her lap. We go out for dinner that night and Aunt Pearl says I can order lobster if I want to, but I choose a cheeseburger. We all have chocolate cake for dessert.
One of our neighbours lets me borrow his lawnmower and I spend about a week cleaning up the grass that threatens to drown us around the house, but I leave the field alone because the buttercups, daisies, and Indian paintbrush look so lovely swaying in the wind.
Aunt Mae likes to sit outside and sketch from time to time. She shows me a drawing she did while I was working. It really does look like me, with my auburn hair pulled into a messy knot at the back of my head. I didn’t realize I was so pretty. And I’m smiling, which is almost more shocking. I tuck the picture into the mirror over my dresser so I can look at it sometimes. That’s when I realize I have no pictures of myself. If I die tomorrow, there’s no evidence that I lived.
At dinner that night, we’re lazy and have tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches. Aunt Mae pours us tea so we can dunk our gingersnaps.
“Remember you asked me what I’d like for a graduation present?”
They nod.
“I’d like a camera.”
“That’s a great idea,” Aunt Pearl says. “Clever girl.”
By midsummer I have about a thousand snapshots of this house, Lulu the cat, the field, the lake, the islands, my rock, and the kids I hang out with sometimes, but my favourite ones are of Aunt Mae and Aunt Pearl. At first I have to chase them around, and Aunt Pearl gets mad if I catch her with her slip on, or her hair in curlers. Aunt Mae only ever has one pose: she throws her arms over her head and pretends she’s a movie star. “I’m Marilyn Monroe!”
That camera is my favourite thing in the world. All of my allowance that the aunts insist I take goes into buying and developing film.
Late one night, Aunt Mae’s already gone to bed and I’m at the kitchen table putting my pictures in albums. Aunt Pearl comes in for her nightly cup of hot water, but instead of taking it upstairs she sits at the table with me.
“What was your mother like?”
I don’t know what to say.
“You don’t have to be polite. It’s between you and me.”
“She was what you said, hippy-dippy. I wanted to protect her.”
Aunt Pearl shakes her head. “That’s a terrible burden for a child.”
“Ave Maria helped me.”
“Was Maria good to you?”
“Oh yes, but she worried a lot.”
“How did Trixie get taken in by this psychopath?”
“Maybe she was lonely.”
“More like Trixie didn’t like rules. She completely cut her mother off, and it broke Rose’s heart.”
“What was my grandmother like?”
“Your Aunt Mae, times two.”
“Oh.”
“Thank the Lord I’m exactly like my father, otherwise my sisters would’ve starved. You can’t live on rainbows and marshmallows.”
I smile at her and she smiles back.
“Aunt Pearl, how did you become a bank manager?”
“I started as a teller. Just goes to show what happens when you work hard.” She sips her hot water. “Now that you’re finished high school, what would you like to do? Any ideas?”
“Find my mother
and my sister.”
It’s the first weekend in September, when I’m in a rush to go to an afternoon movie with some girlfriends. The aunties want me to take them for groceries first. I’m already late and a little pissed off, if the truth be told. The two of them are nattering about coupons and whether the new cashier added them up correctly. They pass the receipt to each other between the front and back seat.
I’m about to yell, “Does it really matter?” when Devon Hibbs comes screaming up behind our car and passes me on a double line. There’s a car coming towards us, so he veers back in front of me, clipping my front end. The jolt takes the wheel out of my hand momentarily, and before I can recover, we’re in the ditch.
It happens so fast I’m not sure I even believe where we are, but I do see that ass-hole’s taillights disappear over the hill. The other car stops and a couple of men run over to us.
“Are you guys all right?” I taste blood on my tongue.
Aunt Mae groans a bit from the back seat. “What happened? Ouch, my neck.”
I reach over to Aunt Pearl. She’s dazed but coming around. “I think I hurt my arm.”
One of the men opens my door. “Are you all right, Miss Pearl? Miss Mae?”
“Hello, Joe,” they say in unison.
“This must be your great-niece. Pleased to meet you. Let me help you out.”
So now I’m on best terms with Joe MacPherson and his brother Burt. Their friend Hank from Christmas Island happens by, so we put the ladies in his car and Joe and Burt pull my car out of the ditch. They insist on driving it to a garage to get checked out. In the meantime Hank takes us to outpatients at the hospital to make sure we’re all right.
I only need a few stitches in my lip, and Aunt Mae has some whiplash, but poor Aunt Pearl has broken her arm. Wait till I get my hands around Devon’s neck. That bastard is going down.
But before we go home, Aunt Pearl has a fainting spell and the doctor wants to keep her overnight. This throws Aunt Mae in a tizzy and now she won’t leave. Joe and Burt deliver our car back to the hospital, bless their hearts. They tell me I need a new bumper but otherwise it’s good to go.
Aunt Mae eventually nods off in the chair by Aunt Pearl’s bed. I can’t sleep. I’m sure I’m overreacting, but when I look at Aunt Pearl’s face, I don’t think she looks well.