“Can we be of help?” The breakfast room door burst open, and Mr. Piddington’s voice boomed into the small room. Mrs. Piddington followed him, leaving the door open wide behind her.
The startled canary changed direction midair, flew over the human heads, through the open door and into the hallway beyond. Mrs. Piddington screeched and waved her handkerchief above her hair.
“You did that on purpose!” Emily accused as she brushed by the grinning Mr. Piddington and followed the yellow blur of feathers into the hall.
“I’m sorry,” Mr. Piddington said, sounding more amused than regretful. “I guess our timing was a bit off.”
Emily rounded the corner just in time to see the canary veer away from the closed front door, turn sharply and sail up the stairs. Emily returned to the breakfast room and grabbed the cage.
“And stay out of the way!” she ordered the others as she rushed back out, but she kept the words under her breath, knowing Dede was near.
Sure enough, Dede appeared in the drawing room doorway as Emily hurried by.
“I said slow down, Emily,” Dede warned. “It’s just a canary, not a life or death emergency.”
The canary had flown right into Emily’s room, and once Emily was inside with the door shut and the room quiet, it did not take long for the bird to fly back into his safe and familiar cage. Soon he was pecking happily at his dinner.
Emily collapsed onto her bed, relieved and worn out. The canary was safe. But how had he gotten out? She remembered the smug look on Mr. Piddington’s face after he and his wife had opened the door and let the bird fly out. She was sure he’d done it on purpose. Had he opened the cage door as well? Emily was sure he had.
16
Regatta
The next week was torture. Emily yearned to get away from the house–away from the stifling rules and phony politeness, away from Dede and the Piddingtons–but she was afraid to be away one minute more than she had to be. What if she went for a ride on Johnny and came back to find the canary cage empty?
Emily felt powerless. She couldn’t say anything to Dede, and she was forced to be polite to the Piddingtons or risk getting into more trouble. If she told Dede she was worried that Mr. Piddington might let the canary out, Dede would only laugh and say Emily was being ridiculous and self-important. She couldn’t very well admit to Dede that she thought he might have let the canary out the first time to get back at her for the cigarettes going missing. Even worse, Piddington knew she was trapped, and he was enjoying it.
At supper, Emily exerted the tiny bit of power she had. When she set the table, she made sure to give Mr. Piddington the ugly hand-painted cup. She relished his look of distaste as he was forced to drink out of the cup. To complain about the dishes in front of Dede, his host, would have been too rude, even for him.
Emily confided her suspicions to Dick. He was outraged and sympathetic, and he chuckled when she told him about the teacup revenge.
“Don’t worry,” he told her. “I heard the Piddingtons say they were planning to leave for San Francisco after the Queen’s birthday.”
“At last!” Emily exclaimed.
“I’m glad they’ll be gone before I leave,” Dick added.
“What do you mean?” Emily asked. “You know I’m starting school back East in September,” Dick said.
Emily went cold. She’d forgotten the family plan to send Dick to a private school in Ontario. Mr. Lawson, the lawyer who was the children’s legal guardian, was arranging it in keeping with their father’s wishes. Now, it seemed, it was really going to happen.
“This house is going to be dull without you,” Emily said.
“I don’t leave for months yet,” Dick reminded her. “Besides,” he added. “We’ve got the regatta to think about now!”
Queen Victoria’s birthday was on May twenty-fourth, and every year the city that was named after her celebrated with a wonderful regatta. When Emily was small, the family usually had a picnic in Medina Grove on the Queen’s birthday, but once she and Dick were old enough to sit balanced in a boat, they went to the regatta at the Gorge.
The Gorge was an arm of the sea that ran from Victoria’s inner harbor inland for three miles. The banks of the Gorge were still forested, but here and there, stately houses perched with gardens running down to the water. The water of the Gorge was warmer than the waters of the beaches around Victoria. Emily had sometimes been allowed to bathe in the ocean near Beacon Hill Park, but the nightdress she wore floated to the top of the water, leaving her legs bare and icy. It was difficult to swim in a dress, so she hadn’t done much more than get wet, and she’d never learned to swim properly. At the regatta, people sat in boats, picnicked on the shore and watched the boat races.
On the morning of the Queen’s birthday, Emily looked out her bedroom window. Rain had spattered the ground yesterday, but today the sun was out, and the air was sweet with the smell of hawthorn and other blossoms. There would be good weather for the regatta and for the first day of summer frocks.
Emily, Dick, Alice and Lizzie walked into town, while Dede and the Piddingtons followed in the phaeton. They joined with friends, Mr. and Mrs. Bales and their children, at the shipyard near the Point Ellice Bridge. The rosy-faced Mr. Bales helped everyone into rowboats, storing the picnic supplies in the boat with him and his wife. They pushed off and rowed under the Point Ellice Bridge that crossed the start of the Gorge waterway. Overhead, the bridge rumbled with the sound of traffic crossing on the way to the regatta. All along the arm, buggies and wagons stopped, horses were tied to bushes, and people made their way, laden with picnic baskets, down through the woods to the shore. Great strings of colorful pennants stretched out across the water from one side to the other, and the sound of band music grew louder as the boats made their way down the Gorge.
Emily clutched the side of the boat as it rocked in the water, feeling her stomach lurch. She was relieved when the small flotilla of rowboats nosed up against the shore. The men and boys jumped out first to help the ladies and deliver the picnic supplies safely to shore. The roar of the big naval guns fired at Esquimalt Harbor signaled the start of the regatta, and a bugle blown from the Gorge Bridge called the boats to assemble for the first race.
Both sides of the Gorge waterway were lined with people cheering and waving as the first naval boats cut their way down the middle of the arm, racing from the Gorge Bridge to Deadman’s Island. As the boats rounded the island and headed back, the shouts from shore grew louder. One boat of uniformed navy officers had pulled into a clear lead. Emily and Dick struggled to see as onlookers crowded in on either side of them, pushing them back.
“I wish we were out on the water,” Dick said, straining to see around a large woman with a huge white dress and matching parasol. “We’d have a better view.”
At the edge of the water, they saw Mr. Piddington and some of the Bale children climbing into one of the rowboats.
“Come on!” Dick called, tugging on Emily’s arm.
“Not with him!” Emily said, drawing back.
“It’ll be okay,” Dick said. “We can ignore him and just watch the boats.”
The bugle sounded for the next racers to assemble. Emily caught a glimpse of the long slender dugout canoes coasting into place. The Indian canoe races were the most exciting of the regatta. Down on the water would definitely be the best place to watch.
“Oh, all right.” Emily gave in and followed Dick.
Mr. Piddington gave them an uninviting look as they climbed into the boat. The bang of a gunshot signaled the start of the race, and nine canoes shot forward. Down the length of each long canoe, ten men dipped their paddles in one movement, while the steers-man in the rear grunted out the rhythm. The sleek canoes seemed to fly over the water.
As the race finished, the wake of a small steam launch jockeying into the shore among the other watching boats set Emily and Dick’s boat rocking. Emily’s stomach churned, and she was sure her face was turning green. Mr. Piddington gave her
an appraising look. His mouth twisted into a grin.
“Let’s make the kid seasick,” he called out.
He pulled in the oars, grabbed hold of the boat’s sides and rocked. The youngest of the Bale children squealed with delight as the boat tipped back and forth.
Dick saw Emily’s face.
“Hey!” he objected, but it was too late. Emily’s stomach heaved. Clutching the side of the boat and fearing she might fall overboard, Emily leaned out over the water just in time.
17
The Whip Again
Emily shrank back into the boat. Dimly, she heard Mr. Piddington and the others laugh.
“That was a rotten thing to do,” said Dick.
“It was just a bit of fun,” Mr. Piddington declared. “If the kid can’t take being on the water, she shouldn’t have gotten in the boat.”
Emily was too ill to do anything but slump against the side of the boat, holding onto her stomach, but under her fog of seasickness, her anger grew. How dare he make her sick? How dare he call her “the kid” as if she were a little child he could push around?
Once the boat was back on shore, Emily struggled out and collapsed onto the grass. Dick sat down beside her, while Piddington and the other children strode past them toward the picnic site, laughing.
Emily gulped air until the queasiness passed and the ground felt steady. Her anger rose up and boiled over. She pushed herself to her feet and marched after the others.
“Emily, wait!” Dick jumped up and called after her, but Emily did not stop.
“You!” she pointed, striding straight up to Mr. Piddington. “You made me sick on purpose!”
“Emily!” Dede cut in quickly. “That’s no way to talk to a gentleman.”
“He is no gentleman,” Emily said, shaking with anger. “He is a lazy sponger and a cruel bully!”
Emily heard the sharp intakes of breath all round her. Even Dede’s mouth dropped open.
“The kid has insulted me,” Mr. Piddington sputtered.
Emily looked around at the shocked faces and knew that this time she might have gone too far. Dede’s face had darkened ominously.
“Emily, you must apologize to Mr. Piddington at once!” she ordered, making an effort to keep her voice quiet and controlled.
“I will not apologize for speaking the truth,” Emily said, and she clamped her mouth shut tight. She was in for it now, but she didn’t care. Enough was enough!
Dede’s anger had not diminished by the time they all arrived home. She marched Emily straight to the kitchen and the riding whip.
“I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life!” Dede said through clenched teeth as she grabbed the whip from its hook. “Your behavior has shamed our whole family.”
“But he–,” Emily began, but Dede cut her off.
“I don’t care what he did.” She turned Emily away from her with one hand and raised the whip with the other. “You were not brought up to speak that way to your elders–let alone to a gentleman who is a guest in our home.”
Swish! The whip bit into the back of Emily’s legs. Emily sucked in a shocked breath at the strength Dede had used.
Smack! The whip snapped again.
Whack!
Emily began to feel faint, but stubborn anger kept her on her feet. Why couldn’t Dede see how unfair she was being? Why couldn’t she see what Mr. Piddington was like? Dede pretended affection to Emily in front of others, but she punished Emily for speaking the truth, for standing up to a cruel bully. It wasn’t right.
Dede raised her arm for another swing. Emily braced herself, but as she did, she felt renewed outrage. This time, as the whip came down, Emily turned, reached out her arm and grabbed.
The whip stopped in midair.
“Enough!” Emily said, looking straight into her sister’s eyes. “I am almost sixteen now, and if you thrash me ever again, I will strike back.”
Dede glared at Emily, but Emily did not look away, and she did not loosen her grip on the whip. After a moment, Dede’s hand let go, and the whip dropped to Emily’s side.
“Very well,” Dede said, her voice emotionless. “If you think you are too old to be disciplined, I will not whip you. But if that’s the way you want it, then I expect you to act your age and start behaving like a young woman with responsibilities and duties, not like a child who has nothing in her head and does whatever she wishes.”
18
The Sky Beckons
It was dark by the time Emily got to bed. She took a candle to light her way up the stairs and set it on the chest of drawers in her bedroom. Alice hadn’t come up yet, and Emily stood in front of the chest looking into the mirror that hung above it. Beyond the reflected candlelight, dark eyes stared back at her. It was as if Emily was seeing herself for the first time. A young woman stared back at her, not a child–a young woman with a firm set to her round face and a spark in her dark eyes.
Today she had stood up to Dede. She had surprised herself with her own courage and determination. Now it seemed anything might be possible. But what did Dede mean when she said she expected Emily not to behave like a child? Emily knew all her sisters thought her art was child’s play. Did Dede want Emily to give up art? Had Emily gained one thing only to lose another?
Emily stepped to the easel that stood in shadow by the window. She fingered the paper propped at the front of the easel, then picked up a paintbrush off the ledge. She turned the brush over in her hand, savoring the familiar weight and feel of the slim wood. No. She could not give up art.
The next day, the mood in the house was heavy. Mr. Piddington and Emily glared at each other, and Dede’s eyes followed Emily with a dark critical look. Only late in the afternoon was Emily finally able to saddle Johnny and escape.
As she and Johnny left the yard, Emily could still feel the weight of everyone’s expectations and criticisms on her shoulders, as well as a lingering pain in the back of her legs. But as Johnny carried her farther away from the house, the weight fell away. In its place was a rising sense of marvel and pride at what she had done yesterday–she had stood up to both Mr. Piddington and Dede. Johnny’s step, too, seemed to lighten the farther away they rode.
Finally, the houses and fields gave way to bushes and trees, and Johnny slowed, dropping his head now and again to nose the underbrush at the edge of the road. When he found a spot that seemed to satisfy him he parted the bushes with his head and took Emily through to a new trail. Emily felt a thrill of excitement as they left the road and the trees closed in behind them. The trees welcomed her into their midst. The branches brushed away all the lingering dust of what other people expected her to be. The forest embraced the pure Emily.
“Whoa, boy.” Emily called Johnny to a halt as sudden inspiration filled her. She dropped off the horse and stood beside him in the tight space of the narrow trail. Then, she bent and undid the saddle girth strap. She lifted off the cumbersome sidesaddle and placed it carefully out of sight in the bushes beside the trail, marking the spot in her mind. Then stepping up onto a handy tree stump to gain some height, she pulled herself up to Johnny’s bare back and sprawled across him on her stomach.
“Just a minute, Johnny,” she crooned softly as she swung her right leg over his back and shifted up to a sitting position. She hadn’t managed it as smoothly as the butcher and the baker boys did, but she was up and riding cross-saddle. If Dede could see her like this, with her skirts hiked up and her stockings showing, she would be appalled.
“Come on, Johnny!” Emily called.
Johnny picked his way along the trail, which began to climb, and Emily adjusted herself to the new way of sitting. Suddenly the trees opened up. Johnny trotted out into a clearing at the top of a hill. Emily bounced on his back, her whole body facing forward. A new sense of freedom filled her.
At the crest of the hill, a twisted wind-blown arbutus tree gestured at the wide sky and the ocean beyond. Emily swung her leg off Johnny’s back and slid to the ground. She loosened his bridle so he could
nibble on the grass. Then she stood by the tree and drank in the view of sky and sea. It filled her up. She felt as if she were expanding– growing as huge as the sky. She loved this place–this whole wild West Coast. It was her home, perhaps even more than the Carr house was. But she knew now that she had the courage to leave it–not forever, just for a while. She, Emily, could do it. She could go and study art. She could learn what she needed to know to become a real artist and to paint the places that she loved.
19
Looking Ahead
In the weeks that followed, the Piddingtons left, summer arrived and Dick began to prepare to head to school back East. Again and again Emily tried to talk to Dede about art school, but Dede would not listen.
“What should I do?” Emily asked Dick one night.
“You could talk to Mr. Lawson,” Dick suggested. “He is our legal guardian. He could give permission and make arrangements.”
Emily thought about Dick’s suggestion. The next week she walked into town to the lawyer’s office. Mr. Lawson looked up at her from behind a huge dark wood desk. He had a wide loose face with bushy gray eyebrows above round wire-rimmed eyeglasses and wild gray whiskers sprouting from his cheeks. He pushed down his glasses to look at her. His small eyes were shrewd but not unkind.
“What can I do for you, Emily?” he asked.
Emily had given the question of art school some thought. The best schools were in England and France, but these places were far away. There was a school in California, which was just two days to the south by boat.
“I would like to go away to study art,” Emily told Mr. Lawson. “There is an art school in San Francisco. Could I go there, please?”
Mr. Lawson looked surprised.
Emily's Dream Page 5