by Janette Oke
CHAPTER 18
Marisol
George was suspended until after Christmas. His schoolwork would be passed back and forth via the children so that he’d continue to progress. Mr. Jensen was very encouraging and empathetic as he spoke with the sisters.
Lillian found that she enjoyed George’s company, spent time helping him with his lessons and chatting one-on-one as they shared a household task. She discovered he had a dry sense of humor and a zealous loyalty. No wonder he was in such a state. He felt it was his responsibility to stand up for Hazel and the others.
Mr. Thompson set a requirement that before returning to school, Albert McCready would confess and apologize for his actions that had provoked George. Albert refused. And although many of the students testified that they had seen the sign he held up, he and his father stood their ground. Mr. Thompson declared that Albert would be welcome at school when he was ready to confess. Albert remained absent. Grace worried that the boy would quit school entirely, worried what defiance might cost him for the rest of his life. Lillian felt far less compassion.
Miss Tilly made her opinion known to all in her own characteristic way. “That Wallace McCready, he got hisself ahold’a the sharp end of the horn now. Ain’t no way out but to have his boy admit what he did or else lose his educatin’. Hold on or give up, he’ll suffer the outcome one way or t’other.”
There was an additional toll exacted by the trouble between the boys. Lillian could tell that some of the people in town had grown increasingly suspicious of the children. Even at church she noticed parents steer their own youngsters away from playing with Matty and Milton or discourage their daughters from inviting Hazel to sit with them during service. The judgmentalism displayed pierced Lillian’s heart. Albert had accused them of being guttersnipes—beggars from the slums—but it seemed somehow he had convinced a portion of the town that his prejudices were correct. She wondered how much Wallace McCready himself was fueling the fire.
Miss Tilly began a quilting project with her friends back in Hope Valley. The extra provisions Roland brought had freed her up to ride out twice a week now with the postmaster and spend the day sewing and visiting until his return trip brought her home to Brookfield again. At her insistence, the sisters agreed to reduce her pay proportionately. And the decreased expense did help their meager budget. One day Miss Tilly approached with a suggestion while Lillian and Grace were filling out forms so that the home in Lethbridge would pay for Matty’s medical needs.
“Girls, I’d like to take George along tomorra. He can do his school on the way. I had a chat with Elizabeth, the schoolmarm, and she said any’a the kids would be welcome in Hope Valley ta make friends with her students there. Not all at once, mind ya, but bit by bit. She thought it’d be good fer the Hope Valley kids to git to know folks thet ain’t as well off as they. Works both ways—and I thought George’d be a good one to start with. Not too shy, but mannered. What ya think? Okay if we give it a try?”
Lillian and Grace exchanged glances. Had Miss Tilly also heard that a couple in Hope Valley had some interest in George and Hazel? They’d said nothing, but of course she could have heard from any number of friends.
Miss Tilly hesitated and looked from one sister to the other. Then, seeming to feel that her plea might be rejected, she placed a hand on her hip and continued with a bit more fervor. “The boy needs friends, and thet Hope Valley bunch won’t know nothing ’bout this Albert fracas. They’ll give the boy a fair chance, an’ I think he needs a break from all this foolishness thet’s been goin’ on. He can’t be feelin’ very good about hisself right now. We need ta prove ta him thet he’s not a bad kid. Jest got caught up in a mess of someone else’s makin’. I think it’d be good for ’im. It’ll make ’im feel more growed.”
Lillian felt she had made some valid points. She nodded.
Grace answered, “Yes, I think that would benefit him. I think he’d probably prefer that to being stuck here every day. You’re welcome to ask him.”
George was enthusiastic as he explained his thoughts to Lillian later. “There’s lotsa boys there my age an’ they play ball and stuff and Miss Tilly says that Clive makes friends real easy an’ he’ll get the other fellas to let me play with them. Maybe even go fishin’.” He stopped, and a worried look drew his smooth brow to a frown. “I don’t have a pole, but maybe . . .”
His words hung in the air as if he hoped someone would find a way to remedy the situation. Lillian didn’t have an answer, but George seemed willing to let things work out on their own. He reached for his jacket, even as the other hand flipped on his cap, and headed out to do chores. Then he seemed to remember the school assignments that were to be completed en route to Hope Valley. His face fell, but as he turned back to gather them up in order to be ready for the drive the next day, he maintained his enthusiasm. He was ready to go.
“Hurry up, Lemmy. I don’t wanna be late.”
Mr. Thompson had requested that both Harrison and Lemuel appear at the barn on Saturday morning. He was going to show them how to work with the filly.
“Hurry up!”
“I’m comin’. But ya don’t gotta run.”
Jesse waved to them as they hustled up the driveway, pointed toward the barn. Two steps behind Harrison, Lemuel escaped the frigid air outdoors and rushed into the shelter of the stables. Mr. Thompson, with the filly already on a line, was leading her from one end to the other. Instantly, the boys froze. They quieted and approached timidly, not wanting to do anything that might spook her.
The man led her quietly over to meet them. Her hooves danced nimbly across the floor. “So this is Marisol. You can see her up close now, get to know her a little. We don’t expect much from her at this point in her life. She’s already learned to wear a halter, but now she needs to learn to follow after a lead rope, accept grooming and hoof care. That’s all we want from her right now. Just to become familiar with those few practices. There will be absolutely no attempts at saddling or riding or—well, anything else you might be tempted to try. Are we clear?”
Together they answered, “Yes, sir.”
“Fine then. Lemuel, let’s start with you. Take the brush from that bucket and you can start to groom her. Then, Harrison, I’ll show you how to comb out and trim her mane. It isn’t difficult. But what we want to achieve today is just to make her comfortable, to learn that when we’re working with her it means that pleasant things are going to happen. We want her to trust us. So we’re going to be predictable and slow.”
“Yes, sir.”
Lemuel took the brush from the bucket as he’d been directed. It looked a lot like the one Miss Tilly used to scrub floors. Slowly, slowly, he lifted it and brought it closer. Marisol sniffed at it, inspected it. He placed one hand on her withers and drew the brush across her back gently. She shifted a step away. He moved close again, brushed her lightly. This time she stood in place. She seemed to discover that she enjoyed the sensation. He worked on her sides, her rump, her neck. She sniffed at the brush again.
Mr. Thompson nodded, satisfied. “Soon I’ll have you brush her legs too, but for a first day I think you’ve done very well. Ready, Harrison?”
“Yes, sir.”
For the remainder of the morning, Mr. Thompson supervised how they handled the filly. By the time they were walking home again, there was a skip in Lemuel’s step. He could think of nothing he enjoyed more than working with Marisol. Her soft muzzle, her long lashes, her frivolous attempts at play. The news that this would become part of his job was thrilling.
Lillian bundled Matty and Milton into their jackets. Morning chores had been completed and it was time for a visit to the doctor. There was simply no option of taking Matty alone. He was still too dependent on his brother.
The waiting room was particularly busy. One of George’s classmates sat with a bloody rag to his mouth, a piece of tooth in his hand. A man Lillian had never met stood in the corner, leaning against the wall. Mrs. McCray, the postmaster’s wife, waited on
the opposite side of the room, her stomach round with their expected child. From the examination room came the sounds of muffled conversation.
“And we had an appointment!” Lillian whispered to Grace.
“I wonder if we should come back another time.”
“I’ll keep the boys busy if you’ll at least wait to speak with Dr. Shepherd.”
Grace nodded. “That’s fine.”
Lillian took the boys for a walk outdoors, staying close enough for Grace to call. With a little effort she was able to scratch a hopscotch game into the dirt using a stick, then demonstrated for them how it was played. They were a comedy of errors trying to maneuver through the course. Their laughter was contagious as Lillian cheered them on. At last Grace motioned them inside, where the waiting room was now empty.
“You’ve had a busy morning, Dr. Shepherd.”
“I have, indeed. And I’m expected back in Hope Valley tomorrow. But let’s not worry about that now.” He turned toward Matty and Milton. “Let me guess. See if I can remember. You’re . . . you’re . . . Matty, right?”
A laugh. “Nope, I’m Milt.”
“Aw, I knew that. How are you boys? Ready to be very brave for us?”
He nodded toward two waiting chairs. “We’re going to play a game now. We’re going to have Miss Lillian sit on this chair, and Miss Grace can sit next to her on this other one. Then Matty can sit on Miss Grace’s lap and Milton can sit here with Miss Lillian. Now, when I tell you, I want you boys to both open your mouths wide and close your eyes tight. Miss Grace and Miss Lillian are going to give you both great big hugs, and I’m going to have a look at your tongues. Keep your mouths open just as wide as you can.”
He hadn’t mentioned the snip that would take place. Lillian hoped with all her heart that he’d make a clean cut on the very first try. She wasn’t certain what other plan there might be if more needed to be accomplished after Matty became upset. It was enough of a production just to trick him into cooperating in the first place. She looked down as Dr. Shepherd approached and noticed two little hands clenched tight to one another, reaching across from lap to lap. Even without a warning, they seemed to know something unhappy was about to happen.
Lillian need not have worried. The surgical procedure was done quickly and skillfully. Matty yelped, but by then it was already over. There was nothing left to do but hold him close and soothe away his anger and pain.
“He should heal in just a few days. Hopefully he’ll let you check the site, but be very, very gentle. It’ll be sore at first. Just as you might imagine.” He crouched down to speak with the sniffling six-year-old, stroking his head. “Matty, I’m sorry that procedure hurt your mouth. I did it so that your tongue can move around better now. I hope you won’t stay mad at me. But, I’ll tell you what, you and Milt can each have a candy now, if you like.”
Nothing, not even the pain and the tuft of gauze wedged under his throbbing tongue, was going to keep Matty from accepting a sweet treat. His smile returned as soon as he tasted the sugar.
“Miss Bennett, he’ll undoubtedly require some speech lessons. I spoke with Mr. Thompson at the school, and they don’t have anyone trained for this. But I was able to order a book explaining the techniques, which I can loan you. That might be enough help, but if you have further difficulties, it’s possible that he may need to see a specialist in the city.”
Grace accepted the book from him. “Oh, that’s very kind of you. I’m sure between us we’ll be able to help Matty along. I appreciate this so much.”
Grace loaded Bryony’s belongings into a burlap sack. She would be leaving for her new home. On one hand it seemed a little silly to Lillian. She knew that Roxie Mooreland had already been shopping. There was a lovely little bedroom waiting just for Bryony. She was to have new dresses and ribbons and shoes and toys. Best of all, Bryony had been thrilled to be shown the upright piano that made the same lovely sounds as the piano at Miss Lillian’s house.
But Grace had already spoken to Roxie about the need for familiarity in a child’s possessions. There was no way to know if Bryony would feel a strong attachment to the dolly she’d already loved well or to the old pair of shoes that were worn in and comfortable. At the last moment, the small child produced a lump of white from under her pillow. It was the ragged little lamb that had meant so much to Grace.
“Ya want it back, Miss Grace?”
“No, dear, he’s yours.”
“For keeps?”
“For keeps.”
The last farewell was wrenching. Bryony began to cry as she stood in the doorway, one foot inside and one on the porch. Mrs. Mooreland was holding her hand gently. Tears rolled down Lillian’s cheeks too. Only Grace managed to keep her emotions in check—at least until she’d closed the door softly behind her.
Late that night, after the house had been still for a couple hours, Lillian and Grace stood in the foyer double-checking that each child’s winter clothing was ready for the first school morning of a new week.
Grace sighed heavily. “How is it possible that the house feels kind of empty? We’ve only lost one, and she was just tiny. I shouldn’t be feeling like this. Even the row of shoes seems dreadfully short suddenly.”
Lillian nodded slowly. “Your mind is playing tricks on you. But I know what you mean. Miss Tilly said as much when she packed one less lunch. We’re all feeling her absence acutely tonight.”
“And no one feels it more than Hazel.” A sorrowful sigh. “She’s alone now. Five boys, but only one girl.”
Lillian offered, “Maybe we need them to send us another girl from Lethbridge.” It was an attempt at a joke, but Grace’s expression was anything but amused. “Sorry.”
Grace changed the subject. “I wonder how soon Mr. and Mrs. Thompson will make up their minds. They seem to be very attached to Lemuel and Harrison by now. He’s asked that they go hunting together again soon.”
“Well, I spoke with June a little while ago. She mentioned that they might need to work out some finances before they can adopt the boys. She didn’t go into details, but she said it’s the only thing still slowing them down.”
“I don’t suppose a principal gets paid very much here in such a small town.” Grace frowned. “I hope that isn’t a big obstacle. I know he does a little farming on the side. But I wonder what other resources he has.”
“The horses.” Lillian brushed off the last coat, checked that there were mittens in the pockets, and shook her head. “I suppose he could try to sell one of the horses.”
“His horses? Are they worth much?”
“Oh, Grace, a well-trained purebred horse can be worth a great deal.”
“But doesn’t he use them all for things—for work on the farm?”
“I guess he does. I’m not really sure. But he wouldn’t be using the little filly for anything yet. Have you seen her? She’s just beautiful. I’ll bet she’d fetch a good amount of money. Of course, he’d get more if she were a little older and broken first.”
Lillian tucked the last scarf in place. The sisters had learned long before that every piece of clothing ready and waiting in the foyer at night meant a much easier morning. They returned to the kitchen for a cup of tea before bed. Lillian thought she heard a squeak on the stairs, but when no one appeared, she thought no more about it.
Lemuel had intended to continue on to the kitchen for a glass of water but stopped cold when he overheard the sisters’ conversation. A shiver of horror shot through him. Mr. Thompson would sell Marisol? He’d do it so he could adopt? It didn’t seem right. It didn’t seem fair. She’d have to leave the farm and her mum. Lemuel could scarcely wish for his own happiness if it meant that the filly would suffer.
For a long time, he tossed and turned in bed. What could be done? Perhaps as George had suggested Lemuel should drop out of school in order to find a full-time job. But that accomplished little and sacrificed much. If he could just stick with his education long enough to become a doctor, money would no longer be an obsta
cle. However, by then he would also no longer need the Thompsons—their home, their family. He could strike out on his own.
His eyes were bleary in the morning. He yawned over and over as he carried out the pail of kitchen ashes. But his mind was still wrestling through the dilemma. He liked the Thompsons, but maybe it would be better to remain here with Miss Lillian and Miss Grace. They would probably listen to his wishes if he were to voice them. He hated to hurt Mr. Thompson, would be terribly disappointed, but it might be for the best to decline being part of his family. Then the nagging concern emerged again that Lillian’s father might return. It was a conundrum.
Roland Scott, despite having already extended his visit, still came daily to the house. It was a welcome thing to have a man who was available to do repairs. Lillian appreciated the fact that the house would be none the worse for wear when Father returned. His letters now were filled with stories of his exploits. He had hiked in the mountains of Snowdonia, boated along the spectacular ocean shores, explored castles and caves in the picturesque countryside. He spoke often of his cousin Delyth, explaining more than once that he wasn’t even certain of their true relationship—that by cousin he only meant they were both members of the same extended family.
Lillian laughed aloud after she read his letter. Oh, Father, now you have more family than you can keep track of. You seem very happy. Seated at the kitchen table while Miss Tilly waited for their row of bread loaves to rise, Lillian filled her return letter with the honest truth about George and the hopeful news on the horizon for Harrison and Lemuel. She added a few words about how Matty’s speech had been gradually improving.
Then she gathered her letter box and carried it to its cupboard. “Grace, did you borrow my blotting paper?”