A Time for Giving

by Jean Little

  Here is how it happened: We were discussing whether or not we could get jobs as waitresses. Jean snorted at that idea and asked how I would carry food when all I do is stumble about on crutches. I thought that was mean, but before I could yell at her, she got up and came over to see what we were doing. I told her we were tatting, making snowflake ornaments. I’ve already made two, one for Mother and one for Aunt Ella for Christmas, and I’m almost finished a third one (that I plan to give to Ann, though she doesn’t know it yet). Anyway, Jean said that Ann and I should sell our ornaments. Ann and I looked at each other and got very excited, but then we realized that we didn’t know where to sell them. That’s when Jean said that we needed to go to where people had a little extra money and suggested that we sell them to the parents and teachers at her old private school. But we were not to expect her, Jean, to go with us because it would be too embarrassing for her. So Ann and I told her we were too shy to go alone, and after listening to our pleading that she come, too, Jean said, “What the heck! I’ll come with you.” (Heck is another word Mother does not let me say.)

  Ann and I thanked and thanked Jean. We decided to go next Monday, before the girls spend all their Christmas money.

  I must stop writing now because I have to start tatting snowflakes. It takes a long time to make even one of them, and I need to make hundreds so I can make lots of money.

  Wednesday, December 15, 1937, afternoon

  I have been working so hard tatting snowflakes that I haven’t had one minute to write in my diary until now. I’m even tatting in my dreams!

  I wanted to write this because it’s about polio. Jean and I were doing Math problems this morning when Grandpa slammed down the newspaper and made us both jump. He was upset because there was a report that a nasal spray that doctors had hoped would stop polio doesn’t work. It was tested in Toronto, where there is a bad outbreak. “They have to try harder,” he said.

  Saturday, December 18, 1937, evening

  I am tatting like mad while we all listen to a Christmas benefit concert on the radio. A young boy is singing and Grandpa says that the boy had polio like me, but that the polio didn’t rob the boy of his voice or his determination to continue doing what he loved. I told Grandpa that it was not school time and that I knew he was teaching me a lesson. Grandpa said I was getting too big for my britches. Jean pointed out that I don’t wear britches, and we giggled about that for a while. The boy has a wonderful voice and I am glad his polio didn’t take away his singing.

  Sunday, December 19, 1937, afternoon

  Mother says I can’t do any tatting this afternoon as I have been really grumpy all day and I’m obviously tired and need a real rest. I am also probably tired because Grandpa, Jean and I have a secret. This past week Grandpa has been taking my braces off for a short time so I can try walking without them on. It has been a bit snowy outside the last two days and is very slippery, but he and Jean each take one of my arms to make sure I don’t fall. Not that it matters whether they hold me or not, because I can only take about three steps and my legs start shaking. I told Grandpa that I didn’t want to practise walking anymore without my braces. I’ll never walk properly again anyway.

  And I’m also grumpy because, after all my work, I only have five snowflakes finished, and that includes the ones for Mother, Aunt Ella and Ann. Ann has four snowflakes done, and I’ve not even had time to thread green and red ribbon through them yet, and we are supposed to sell them tomorrow! No one will want them anyway. It was a dumb idea. I’m a nimrod.

  Mother and Aunt Ella are fighting again. They do this a lot lately. Aunt Ella wants to move the china cabinet to the opposite wall in the dining room to make more room for Grandpa’s bed and a Christmas tree. Mother says the tree can go in the living room where it goes every year. Aunt Ella says Mother is stubborn. Here is what Mother said back: “Stubborn? You’re calling me stubborn when you waited so long to tell us Tom had lost his job? That is being stubborn and prideful, and you know what they say about pride.”

  (Jean just came in and plopped onto her bed. She says she is staying out of the line of fire. I told her that was a good idea.)

  To continue, Aunt Ella then said that Mother was always jealous of Aunt Ella’s social status. Mother blew a fuse and said, “Why would you take Noreen and me to the Bessborough Hotel for tea when you knew you didn’t have any money? If that isn’t pride, I don’t know what is.” Then Aunt Ella said, “Because I thought it would make you and Noreen happy. You’d both been through such an awful time with her illness. I just wanted you to be happy.”

  Jean just looked out the door. She says both Mother and Aunt Ella are crying now.

  I feel so bad because my having polio has upset everyone. Now I’m crying. I don’t want to write in this stupid diary anymore.

  Evening

  My ornaments are all done! I can’t believe it.

  What happened is that I fell asleep before I could put my diary away and I think Jean must have read it again, but it doesn’t matter if she did, because while I was sleeping, Mother, Aunt Ella and Jean put the ribbons through my snowflake ornaments and finished them! Then Mother starched them. They look beautiful. Aunt Ella says they look as good as any ornament she’s ever seen in a store! And then Mother and Aunt Ella said they were happy to know I’d made two ornaments for them, but they would be even happier knowing that if I sold the ornaments, Eugene would have his mother with him on Christmas Day.

  I better get to sleep as tomorrow is the big sale day.

  Monday, December 20, 1937, evening

  I am so excited I can’t sleep. We sold all the ornaments! Ann left school early this afternoon, and Grandpa drove her, Jean and me to Jean’s private school. We stayed outside by the front door while Grandpa went into the school to see the principal to tell her what we were doing. While we waited, a group of girls came out and were very excited to see Jean. One girl said, “I thought you had moved! Why aren’t you at school anymore?”

  Jean looked really embarrassed, so I quickly said, “Jean is moving to Toronto after Christmas, but for now she and her mother are staying with us to help me while I get better from my polio. She’s my cousin.” (I’m pretty proud of myself for thinking of that entire story right on the spot.)

  Then Jean told them that Ann and I had made ornaments and were selling them to make money to help a boy who also has polio. The girls really liked the ornaments.

  Grandpa came back and said the principal wanted to buy one of our ornaments, and had given permission for us to show them to the teachers and a few of the girls’ mothers who were inside. We sold eight of them right on the spot, and James bought the last one to give to Marcy McCleary for Christmas. (Jean and I asked if he had kissed her yet and he said it was none of our beeswax, but he was grinning, so we think he has.)

  We sold them for 20¢ each and altogether we made $1.80 and I added in the nickel the lady gave to me and that made it $1.85. Grandpa said it was enough to buy a train ticket for Eugene’s mother and he would see about getting one tomorrow morning.

  Here is a secret: I don’t think it is enough for train fare from Saskatoon to Regina, but Grandpa plans to make up the difference so that Eugene’s mother can go.

  Eugene is going to be so excited. And Mother is going to wrap up some of the fruitcake she and Aunt Ella made for Eugene’s mother to take to Regina for Thelma and Edna.

  Grandpa said he was very proud of me and Ann and Jean for working hard and helping someone less fortunate. It’s funny how sometimes I think I am the less fortunate one because I had polio and can’t walk without braces, but now I think I’m pretty lucky because I have my family and Ann.

  Before we went to sleep, I thanked Jean for taking us to her school even though it was embarrassing for her. She thanked me for sticking up for her.

  Thursday, December 24, 1937, late at night

  It is Christmas Eve!

  At six o’clock this morning the doorbell rang, waking us all up. It was Uncle Tom! He had spent n
early three days on the train coming home to Saskatoon. First Aunt Ella kissed him, and then she scolded him for not calling while he was away. He said it was too expensive to telephone, but the good news is that he found a job. We’re all very excited for him, but it is a little bit sad that Aunt Ella, Uncle Tom and Jean will be moving to Toronto in the New Year.

  I spent the afternoon rereading my diary about the past year. I remembered how scared I was in the polio ward here in Saskatoon and then in Regina, but I also remembered all the new friends I made since I got sick. My most favourite part of my diary is selling the ornaments.

  It is snowing and blowing outside, and I can hardly move beneath all the blankets Mother has put on me to keep me warm. Next week, after Uncle Tom, Aunt Ella and Jean leave, I will be moving into the dining room to sleep for the rest of the winter. I’ll miss my sun porch.

  Here is a secret: I might miss Jean, too.

  Johanna lost most of her family to typhus on the coffin ships that brought them to Canada, then was separated from her brother Michael, who had left Montreal and gone ahead to look for their uncle. She is now busy tending house for Uncle Liam and her brother, and wants to make a proper feast for their first Christmas in Canada. But with money scarce, she’ll need to hatch a good plan.

  A Proper Christmas Feast

  November 2, 1848

  Can I call something a diary when it is only scraps of paper that I have sewn together? I don’t know what else to call this little book, but I do know that it feels so good to have a place for my thoughts again.

  I found the pages today while Uncle Liam was helping Mr. Schmidt. Uncle Liam immediately took pity on the man. His voyage took much longer than he expected, and then he fell ill. Now winter is almost here, he has no shelter and he is expecting his family to arrive at any time. Michael does all the chores here and then goes to help Uncle Liam at Mr. Schmidt’s. Uncle says that out here, neighbours must help neighbours.

  After I finished my chores, I decided to tidy the small storeroom that is piled with boxes that I’ve never seen Uncle Liam open. I opened them — without Uncle Liam’s permission, I confess — to see what was inside. I found a small bundle of letters, some papers with writing on them and — glory! — some blank sheets.

  I sat with paper spread across my apron and read the letters, even though they were not addressed to me. There were six of them, all from my gran, each one a few years apart, each one expressing how much she missed her dear Liam and would give anything to see him again. Reading Gran’s words made me weep for never knowing her and for the pain she expressed at being separated from her eldest son. Da never spoke of her sadness. I suppose it was her secret sorrow.

  The other sheets were scrawled in a different hand. These were lists of food — roast stuffed goose, potato oatcakes, kidney soup, mince pies and Christmas cake — with all the ingredients. I was so engrossed in reading that I didn’t notice a shadow fall across me. It was Uncle Liam. I jumped up, scattering the papers all over the floor, and apologized for my long nose. Uncle Liam said nothing, but bent to pick up the papers. He handled the letters delicately, as if he were afraid they would turn to dust in his hands. When he came to the other sheets, he ran his eyes over them and smiled. “I wrote this foolishness,” he said.

  When I asked why he had written lists of meals, he smiled and I knew I was not in trouble. He told me that when he first came to this country, he often thought of his mother’s cooking — how juicy her Christmas goose was, how moist her Christmas cake, how flavourful her mince pies. This was all in better days, before Michael and I were born.

  “Foolishness,” he said again. “I must have been in a remembering mood when I wrote that list.” He would have crumpled the papers had I not grabbed them and begged to keep them. He also let me have the blank sheets.

  That night I hatched my plan: I would make Gran’s traditional Christmas dinner for my small but reunited family here in our new home. I wish Ma and Da and baby Patrick were here to enjoy the dinner with us. Oh how I wish it! But we’re what’s left of the Learys now — Uncle Liam and Michael and me — and I will do my best to enjoy it for them.

  November 3, 1848

  I have received a sign that my plan is meant to be. This morning, after Uncle Liam left for Mr. Schmidt’s, Mr. Goodhugh from down the road arrived at our door. Mrs. Goodhugh’s most recent girl has left to get married. (Not a surprise, since Mrs. Goodhugh is famous for losing girls. Since arriving in the area four years ago, she has made her way through five girls, Uncle Liam says, all hired to cook, clean and watch the children, and all leaving as soon as they could find more agreeable employment.) This time she sent to England for two young girls whom she can train. Until they arrive, she needs someone to help with the housework and the three little ones. Mr. Goodhugh asked if I would be interested. I immediately offered my services three days a week. We struck a bargain as to my wages. Mr. Goodhugh asked me not to discuss the terms with his wife. (Mrs. Goodhugh is also famous for minding her pennies.)

  November 4, 1848

  Uncle Liam says he doesn’t understand why I would accept more work when there is so much to be done at home. I told him I’d do my best to keep up with my chores here, but that the money I earn will help me plan my future. After all, I’ll soon be fifteen and I need to think about these things. I set out early in the morning to walk to the Goodhughs. I am excited about my plan.

  November 5, 1848

  I am bone weary from chasing little Goodhughs all day long. Agnes, the baby, gets into all kinds of mischief the minute I turn my back. The two boys, John and Simon, make sabres and pistols out of whatever they can find, and wage war. I am supposed to watch them and help Mrs. Goodhugh with her cleaning and cooking.

  November 15, 1848

  Mrs. Goodhugh and the children keep me so busy that by the time I stumble home, I have scarcely enough energy to wash up, do a bit of my chores here and fall into my bed. But it is worth it. Uncle Liam is going to be so surprised when Christmas finally arrives. So will Michael.

  November 20, 1848

  If I don’t write what I feel, it will spill out of me as gossip. Ma always said gossip is a habit to be avoided at all costs, as no good ever comes of it, and it reflects badly on the speaker. It is much better to pour my thoughts onto a page that no one else will ever see.

  It is about Miss Cantrell, the horrible woman. She puts on airs because her brother is an important person, a retired army surgeon — English, of course — who settled in the area some time ago. She keeps his house for him and is as haughty as any English person I ever met. She tried to make off with my goose and was rude and unpleasant when I told her she could not have it. I am so angry I could spit.

  November 21, 1848

  I have reread what I wrote yesterday, and I am ashamed of myself. Even though it is true that Miss Cantrell puts on airs, she was no doubt only acting according to her nature. Like many English, she looks down on the Irish and on servants, and to her I am both.

  Here is what happened. Miss Cantrell arrived yesterday afternoon to have tea with Mrs. Goodhugh. Mr. Goodhugh also saw military service and so Miss Cantrell sees Mrs. Goodhugh as worthy of her friendship. Miss Cantrell is tall and stout, with grey hair and a dour expression. She dresses from top to toe in black. The only bright spot on her entire person is a gold ring set with white and red stones — diamonds and rubies. It is beautiful.

  The two spoke in the parlour, a new addition to the Goodhugh house. When I came in with the tea tray, Miss Cantrell immediately fell silent.

  I did not think of her again until I stepped outside to sweep the veranda. Mrs. Goodhugh is very particular about her veranda. That is when I saw Miss Cantrell with Tom, Mr. Goodhugh’s hired boy. Miss Cantrell was pointing to my goose, which Tom then set about catching. When he brought the goose to Miss Cantrell, I ran to see what was happening.

  Miss Cantrell had purchased my goose! When I told her it was not for sale, she stared at me as if I had taken leave of my senses and co
mmanded me to get my mistress. I tried to tell her that the goose was mine, promised to me as part of my wages. It is the fattest of all the geese. Thank goodness Mr. Goodhugh came to see what all the commotion was about. If he hadn’t, my goose would have been served up at Miss Cantrell’s.

  November 23, 1848

  Mrs. Goodhugh was in a vile mood all day. She and Mr. Goodhugh argued fiercely about the goose. Simon, the younger of the boys, whispered to me that they have been arguing about it for two full days. Mrs. Goodhugh was angry because of the embarrassment I had caused her — and because I had chosen the best goose. It was just my luck, too, that she caught me listening to her argument. She sent me home. I don’t know whether she wants me back or not, but no matter what, I intend to have my goose.

  November 25, 1848

  I was not sure what to do this morning — go to Mrs. Goodhugh’s or stay home and attend to my chores here. They have been mounting up, and I sense that Uncle Liam is impatient. He says that many hands make light work, and there are only the three of us to do everything.

  In the end, I went to the Goodhughs’ and was astonished when Mrs. Goodhugh apologized to me. She did not know about my arrangement with Mr. Goodhugh. She did not snap at me once today. Nor did she scold me when I burnt the little cakes for Mr. Goodhugh’s tea.