All Fall Down

by Jean Little

  Then, as though the stag sensed he was being watched, he raised his head, turned about and lifted into the air with one bound. He was there and then he wasn’t.

  The train picked up speed and then the others came clattering back. I opened my mouth to tell them, and then John and I looked at each other and neither of us said a word. As he went back to his seat, though, he grinned and winked at me.

  Maybe I’ll tell Mother when we are by ourselves.

  Later

  We still have two nights and two days to go before we get to Medicine Hat. Davy is growing used to the train whistle blowing and the rumbling wheels. He used to bounce around and try to make the same sound. It was funny to listen to him. It was also a little embarrassing. People going by would jump or laugh. Now he is calm and I actually miss his noises.

  The other passengers are getting used to him, though, and they smile real smiles at him now. They have asked me what his name is.

  I haven’t talked to anyone my age yet. I have seen some, but I think Davy makes them feel shy.

  Still later

  A new boy, or maybe I should say “young man,” has taken a shine to Olivia. This is always happening, of course. She is so pretty. She does not think much of him, I believe, because he is not very handsome. She is so picky. But I suppose she cannot help enjoying his worshipful eyes fixed upon her. John says he is actually going to Frank. His name is Jeremiah and he is older than she is. He wears glasses though and he is short. Olivia likes her admirers to be tall.

  This one likes Davy. He called him a jim-dandy laddie. I hope Olivia heard him.

  Wednesday, July 16, 1902

  We have left Ontario behind finally and slept through some of Manitoba. We are really coming into the Great North West, but not quite. The train chugs along for miles and miles without us finding any of the towns named on our map. There are lakes and trees and rocks by the millions. But hardly any people. Is this what they mean when they talk of wilderness?

  I got talking to the girl who moved into an empty seat behind us when Mother began reading aloud. Her name is Betsy Hunt. She is going to Regina to live with her grandmother while she attends high school. She was pretending not to listen, but now she can laugh along with the rest of us. She loves Little Men.

  Still Wednesday

  Betsy has taken the train before and she says it goes on like this forever. She’s thirteen. I wish she was coming on out to Frank.

  Later on

  We stopped in a town I thought was Winnipeg but it wasn’t. A new family with children got on. Because of staying with Davy, I don’t roam up and down the train the way John and Olivia do. I wonder where they are going. There is a boy about my age and two little girls with flaming red hair. Olivia says they are snooty, but I think they are just shy. The boy’s name is Connor.

  Mother asked if we would like to try eating in the dining car today.

  “We can’t!” John muttered. “Not with Davy.”

  “Please, can’t we go without him some time. Abby could stay with him,” Olivia began.

  Mother gave her an ice-cold look. Then, without saying a word, she turned her back and stared out the window. Olivia opened her mouth to say she was sorry, but shut it without speaking.

  I confess that I would love to try eating in the dining car. It sounds opulent. Is that the right word? Maybe elegant is better. But Davy doesn’t do well sitting at dining tables.

  After what felt like hours, we stopped at a station and Mother sent John and Olivia to buy food. They got apples and stale buns. We ate without speaking. Even Davy was quiet. It was horrible. Betsy must have wondered what was wrong with us. She must wonder what is wrong with Davy but she has never asked.

  Thursday, July 17, 1902

  We are crossing the prairie now. It goes on for miles and miles. And then, guess what? More miles! Not wilderness exactly. Wild though. Flatter. You can see a long way and the sky is the biggest I have ever beheld. That is the right word for looking at such a grand sky. It needs a grand word.

  I am glad Mother brought books. Without them, this journey would take an eternity. Canada is so HUGE! Davy loves watching the prairie dogs popping up out of the ground and then vanishing quick as a wink.

  Today a child on a horse rode up beside the train and began racing us. We were all laughing and cheering and then his hat blew off and he was a girl. How I would love to ride like that.

  I worry about our fitting in when we arrive. What if they don’t like us? Mother says they will, but I suspect she might be slightly worried herself. She stares out the window and sighs and wrinkles up her forehead.

  It comforts me to know that they are Mother’s relatives, not Father’s.

  We miss seeing big chunks of the country because we have to sleep. Tonight we are supposed to be in Medicine Hat. We will still have miles to go after that.

  Later

  I was just thinking that we hadn’t seen any Indians when we stopped at a little station and there stood a whole family of them. Well, two parents and two boys. They were on the platform — meeting someone, I think. They were not one bit red-skinned but they were definitely Indians. They were talking to each other in a foreign language. Well, an Indian language.

  Tonight we get to Medicine Hat. I am eager to get off this train and walk around. I feel full of twitches from sitting still. Also, Davy is getting cranky. I hope he is not getting sick.

  Suppertime

  The prairie we went through earlier was absolutely flat, but now the land is looking bumpier. Mother told us to start watching out for foothills. Someone on the train was pointing out ravines he called “coulees.” But they aren’t foothills.

  We have come so far. When I tried to picture the journey before we left Montreal, it was not as unending as this. Father died just over a month ago, but I feel as though he was someone I knew in another life. It is not that I have forgotten him exactly, but our world with him in it seems unreal, not connected to where we are now. He seems no longer part of our lives, like a memory that is fading away. It troubles me a bit, but I try not to dwell on it.

  I cannot believe we will get to Frank tomorrow. We have a long way to go yet, but everyone is gathering up bits and pieces and starting to look more like travellers nearing their destination.

  Mother got talking to Connor’s mother. They are going to Frank! We were surprised. She offered to take care of Davy while we go to the dining car. Mother said not today, but it was very kind of her to offer. Then Mother gave John some money to take Olivia there. When they had gone, she asked if I would have liked to go with them. I told her no. She said she thought I’d feel that way.

  I wasn’t lying exactly. I would like to have gone, but not without her.

  After supper

  The train is just sitting still. Sleeping in a berth in a train that is not moving will be strange.

  The little redheads run races up and down the cars. Their names are Susie and Eileen. Eileen runs faster than Susie but S. has a friendlier grin. Every so often, Connor is sent to chase them down. He hates this. He nods to me now when he passes, but we don’t speak.

  When we stopped in Regina, Betsy got off. She gave me her address. She wants me to write to her.

  Thursday evening

  When the conductor told us we were in the District of Alberta, I stared out the window, all agog to see mountains. I had heard so much about snow-covered peaks and wild animals like elk. And what did I see? Not even a hill. There was lots of land and there were animals, but the ones I saw were cows and horses, not bears or elk or mountain lions. No eagles swooped over. It was disappointing.

  I was moping over this when Connor came down the aisle and asked me what was wrong.

  “No mountains,” I growled.

  “I promise there soon will be. Frank is built right up against one called Turtle Mountain. And there are lots higher ones,” he told me.

  Then he leaned down and tickled Davy on the back of the neck. Davy squealed with delight. He was not interes
ted in snowy peaks. To him, Connor was far more exciting.

  “What are your sisters up to?” I asked.

  Connor laughed. “They’re asleep and Mother is reading” he said. “That’s why I came looking for company.”

  “Take my seat, Connor,” Mother said. “I want to stretch, and if your mother is not too deep in her book, I’ll stop for a chat with her on my way back. She makes me feel we may actually arrive.”

  Davy did not like her leaving, but he did like Connor staying. So did I.

  “Is there really a Turtle Mountain?” I asked. Turtles seemed a bit low down to give their name to a mountain.

  Connor drew me a picture. It’s a sort of map. It made Frank seem like an actual town. Turtle Mountain is BIG! We kept gabbing on until Mother returned. But when Connor stood up to give her back her seat and I looked out the window, there were still no mountains in sight. There wasn’t even a hill. Then we passed a belt of trees and there, on the other side, were two long-horned animals. Connor told us they were antelope. He says the buffalo are almost all gone. Davy and I were both delighted to sight real wildlife.

  “Holy cow!” I said.

  “Holy antelope, you mean,” Connor said with a snicker.

  I could not stop staring at them until we left them behind. I have never seen wild animals roaming about freely, except for that stag. Both Davy and I have been to a circus, but that is entirely different. I felt as though I had finally caught my first glimpse of the Wild West.

  “Well, that’s better than staring out at nothing for hours on end,” John said, looking over my shoulder.

  Mother arrived back in time to hear this. She was disgusted. She says that most children never get out of their home town, and we are most of the way across an enormous country yet all we do is complain.

  Connor smiled at her. “My father says Alberta is going to be made a province in the next two or three years,” he told her. “Saskatchewan too.”

  He sounded like a Geography book. Then Davy let out a squawk. When we looked to see what he was excited about, there was an elk in the distance and more prairie dogs close to us. And, far, far away, a blur on the horizon that might even be an actual foothill.

  My bad mood melted away like butter in the summer sun. I gave Mother my best smile to cheer her up and she relaxed.

  Bedtime

  We will have to change trains to get to Frank. There will be a lot to gather up.

  John might be more helpful than he was in Montreal. He has taken Davy for a ramble two or three times, giving Mother and me a rest. It was lovely. Davy does bounce about a lot and my arms get tired sometimes. Keeping him still is impossible.

  I am coming to like John better than I used to. Olivia too. We’re more joined together somehow. We feel like a proper family. Most of the time anyway.

  Friday, July 18, 1902, very early

  We are nearly there. I feel so grubby and tired. Davy needs a bath in the worst way. He smells. He hasn’t been washed properly since we left Montreal.

  I would not be surprised if I smell too, although not as powerfully as Davy. Even Olivia looks crumpled, and her hair, which is usually like spun gold, looks dull and stringy.

  We are excited about getting there, but also on edge. Or is that just me? I wish it were tomorrow.

  I said so and Mother told me not to wish my life away. “This journey will soon be over and not only will Davy have a bath, but we’ll all sleep in a proper bed,” she said.

  “Not all in one!” Olivia said, actually teasing her.

  Mother chuckled. “Right,” she said.

  But I bet I share with Davy as usual.

  I am packing this notebook away in my bag to keep it safe. Next time I write in it, we will be in Frank.

  Friday, July 18, 1902, Frank, Alberta

  We are in Frank! We are in the Four Winds Hotel as I write.

  I’ve just fished out my notebook and will tell about our arriving while Davy naps. He is exhausted, so I might have lots of time — even though I am tired myself.

  We changed trains last night and got here at dawn. “Next stop Frank,” the conductor shouted, grinning at us.

  Jeremiah came to help with our cases. He is so nice. He and John are good friends now. He just appears without making a fuss about it. He’s like Connor.

  John picked up Davy. I was surprised and so was our little brother. He whooped and smacked John on the head. I think maybe John needed somebody to hide behind when he faced unknown relatives. I understood. I was planning to use Davy that way myself.

  We bumped down the aisle and then suddenly we were out on the platform, staring at a new world. The sky was such a bright blue, without a single cloud. Vivid, Miss Radcliffe would call it. There were huge looking mountains, especially one that seemed to loom over us. It scared me a little. Maybe even a lot.

  Connor spoke up from right behind me. “Behold Turtle Mountain,” he announced in a booming voice. Even though I felt nervous, I had to laugh. Davy bounced up and down in John’s arms when he saw it. It was enormous for a turtle.

  I stood staring at it, and then a breeze brushed my cheeks. It was cool and it smelled different. A tall boy who I knew must be my cousin Mark, because he looked so like Mother, was standing grinning at me. He said, “You’re smelling the snow. That wind is coming from the mountains.”

  It felt marvellous. Like cool fingers brushing away the soot and sweat.

  After a short break

  Davy gave a moan and started waking up so I stopped writing, but then he went right back to sleep. It is lucky he’s such a fine sleeper — lucky for my notebook.

  Seeing Turtle Mountain was thrilling, but the best moment was watching this big woman, who is our aunt, wrap her arms around my mother and give her one of the most loving hugs I have ever seen. Mother hugged her back and, watching them, I felt as though this lady had lifted a great burden off Mother’s shoulders. I had not seen it before, but I realized it had been there, weighing her down ever since Billy Brigson burst into our kitchen to tell us Father was dead.

  The next best moment was when the same woman turned around and, ignoring me and Olivia and John, beamed at Davy and said in a voice like warm honey, “Hello, my sweet boy. May your Aunt Susan give you a welcoming kiss?”

  Davy flung himself about, which made kissing him hard to do. He was dirty too, filthy from the smoke of the train smeared over his damp face. And he smelled, as I said before. But she dodged his swinging arms and gave him a smacking kiss on his nose. He hooted like a barnful of owls.

  For one moment, I knew how Olivia felt when Davy was acting like a sideshow and everyone was staring. The whole world seemed to be gawking at us and I wanted to disappear.

  Then I was the one being kissed and I wasn’t embarrassed any longer. Olivia stepped right up for hers, but John blushed and backed away fast. He was looking around for me to rescue him from Davy.

  I felt lonely seeing my baby brother being kissed by a stranger, and glad when John handed him back. Aunt Susan kept after John until he too had gotten hugged. Then Uncle Martin arrived and rescued John by holding out his hand in a manly way.

  My cousin Mark had a large, gangly dog named Dulcey with him. Her droopy ears are warm and silky smooth. She has big brown eyes and a long, feathery tail, which I think she uses for smiling.

  “This is Davy, Dulcey,” Mark said. He patted her head and smiled up at my little brother.

  Davy gave a joyful shriek, which made everyone smile. I thought he would be afraid of her, since we have never had a dog, but he adored her from the first moment.

  When the train pulled out, we all waved. Uncle Martin led us to a wagon. He took the reins from the hitching post and swung up onto the driver’s seat.

  “Pile in,” he said. “It’s not far, but Susan said you’d be weary and in need of a lift. Leave the luggage. Mark will come back for it.”

  I rode with Davy on my lap and Mother next to me. Olivia hesitated and Aunt Susan reached out and hoisted her up to squ
eeze in between herself and our uncle.

  Then we jolted off up the main street.

  There are four hotels. All of them have been built in the past year. The whole town looks new. It is so strange after living in Montreal, which has been there for hundreds of years. Frank even smells new. And as we went along we saw that more things are being built.

  “Well, Abby girl, the great adventure has begun,” Mother murmured as we jostled each other. “And it is going to be wonderful. Just as I promised.”

  I tried to smile, but everything had come at me so all of a sudden that I could not. Then Uncle pulled the horse to a stop before a large square building, reached by wide steps. People were looking out the windows, watching us arrive.

  I felt their eyes taking in our heavy winter clothes. They were crumpled and grimy and damp with sweat. I ducked my head and tripped on the bottom step. Somebody laughed and I was mortified.

  Then Aunt Susan patted my back and muttered, “Keep your chin up, girl. They’re curious, but friendly.”

  Then we were bundling through the front doors into the entrance hall of the Four Winds Hotel. We had arrived in Frank, our home to be.

  Almost bedtime

  We’re partly settled in. Aunt Susan took me and Davy to where we’ll sleep. It is on the ground floor at the far end of the staff rooms. It was a big room once but it is divided in two now. You can tell that it used to be part of the pantry. The walls have shelves going right to the ceiling. There is only space enough left over for our double bed. Next to it is a chest which holds a pitcher and basin. Inside it is the chamber pot.

  It is hot and noisy there and you can smell the food cooking in the kitchen, but Davy and I have it to ourselves. If he decides to yell in the night, he won’t disturb everyone.

  We were given a few minutes to wash our dirty faces and hands and comb some of the tangles out of our hair.

  When I had got myself and Davy cleaned up we came out to look for the others. I was amazed to find Mother and Olivia already in the kitchen lending a hand.

  Aunt Susan told me that tomorrow night there would be a Sing. “In the other hotels they mostly play cards and pool. We do too, of course, but getting all the guests singing is something we really enjoy,” she said.