Cammie Takes Flight

by Laura Best

  Copyright © 2017 Laura Best

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission from the publisher, or, in the case of photocopying or other reprographic copying, permission from Access Copyright, 1 Yonge Street, Suite 1900, Toronto, Ontario M5E 1E5.

  Nimbus Publishing Limited

  3731 Mackintosh St, Halifax, NS B3K 5A5

  (902) 455-4286 nimbus.ca

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  NB1266

  Printed and bound in Canada

  Cover Design: Sari Naworynski

  Interior Design: Heather Bryan

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  Best, Laura, author

  Cammie takes flight / Laura Best.

  Issued in print and electronic formats.

  ISBN 978-1-77108-467-3 (softcover).—ISBN 978-1-77108-476-5 (HTML)

  I. Title.

  PS8603.E777C34 2017 jC813’.6 C2016-908044-7

  C2016-908045-5

  Nimbus Publishing acknowledges the financial support for its publishing activities from the Government of Canada, the Canada Council for the Arts, and from the Province of Nova Scotia. We are pleased to work in partnership with the Province of Nova Scotia to develop and promote our creative industries for the benefit of all Nova Scotians.

  To the students and staff of the Halifax School For the Blind 1868–1983

  Me, strutting my way into the Halifax School for the Blind with my head held high in the air. Like a book with a whole lot of empty pages, I can hardly wait for my new life to begin. Freedom lets you fly like a bird in the sky, and you don’t even want to think about landing, not even when your wings get too tired for flapping. The only person back in Tanner who’s worth me caring about is my best friend, Evelyn Merry. And while I’m anxious to hear about the steer his pa bought him right before I left, the rest of Tanner can go take a hike. Like it or lump it, Cammie Turple isn’t going to spend her days stuck fast to Tanner—no way, no how.

  My new life is looking bright and sparkly, smooth and polished as a string of ocean pearls. I’m just itching to tie up the few loose strings left dangling from my old life—tracking down my mother, for starters, and finding out why she never once came to see me when I was growing up. From there on out, there’ll be nothing but smooth sailing for me. I’ll be sitting back with my feet up, enticing life to sit up and take notice. Cammie Turple will be someone to be reckoned with. I’ve got big ideas for the future, plans to be made and new memories to build. Not one of them is going to end up with Aunt Millie or Tanner in the picture.

  Chapter One

  “I didn’t want to talk to just any old spirit, so I said, ‘Is Granddaddy here?’ And right away, the pointer started moving across the board. James got scared when it stopped on yes. It was all I could do to keep him from jumping up from the table—the big old fraidy-cat. ‘You can’t up and leave in the middle of a séance,’ I told him. I mean, really!” Nessa grabs her peach off the table and sinks her teeth into it. I roll my eyes.

  The girls at our lunch table act like Nessa’s the best entertainment to come along since Gene Kelly. If she could dance like him, she’d have my attention fast enough, but until that happens I’m not much interested. My plate is cleaned, my napkin folded. I’m just waiting for the bell to ring so I can be on my way to English class. Bad enough I’m in the same dorm with Nessa, but did I have to get stuck sitting beside her in the dining room for an entire school year, too? Everything she has is bigger, better. The girls back home in Tanner all think they’re something. Well, I’ve got news for them. They can’t even hold a candle to Nessa Maxwell. She’s got them beat all to pieces. All those times I dreamed about going to blind school, I used to imagine we’d all be friends. But just because you have something in common with someone, like bad eyesight, it doesn’t mean you’ll want to be friends with them.

  “Weren’t you scared, even a little bit, Nessa? I would have fainted dead away,” croons Jennie, rocking back and forth as she speaks. Jennie would do or say just about anything to worm her way into Nessa’s good graces—most of the girls would, in fact, all because they’re hoping to be invited to Nessa’s for a weekend. Talk about being a back-scratcher. Last year these weekends were a fairly regular occurrence. So far this year, Nessa hasn’t asked a single one of them home. I say it’s all part of Nessa’s plan to be popular.

  When all the other girls within earshot agree that they’d be scared too, as though what Nessa just said is enough to leave everybody quivering in their skin, I lose it.

  “Oh yeah?” I say, before my brain has time to put the brakes on my tongue. “Well, my best friend back home in Tanner has a dead brother who’s been visiting him since he was little. And he didn’t need some dumb spirit board to point it out to him either. He just wakes up and sees him standing at the foot of his bed, big as life.” Heads turn. Mouths drop open. Someone gasps. Mention a ghost and the whole world wants to hear more. I can feel the burn from all those eyes staring in my direction. Then questions start bouncing around the table like hailstones on a tin roof. Suddenly, nobody cares about Nessa’s stupid old spirit board.

  “Do you have any proof of this?” asks Nessa, clearing her throat. I’m about to speak up and tell her it’s just as believable as her spirit-board story when I snap to my senses. I’ve been here at the school for only a few weeks, and already I can’t be trusted with Evelyn’s friendship. I promised him I’d never, ever tell. We even sealed it with spit and rubbed it into the palms of our hands. If you’re lucky enough to find someone you can trust with your deepest, darkest secrets, I say you’d best be keeping their secrets in return. Friends like that don’t happen along any old day of the week.

  “Hey, lighten up a little. I was just kidding. My friend didn’t see nothing—I was just making a joke.” I give an awkward laugh and reach for my milk, downing the last few drops. I’ve got no plans to be talking about my old life. Next thing I’ll be blabbing my own secrets. Think I want anyone knowing that Aunt Millie used to be a bootlegger, or about the get-togethers in her kitchen every Saturday night? I’m usually tight-lipped about such personal matters. What’s wrong with me, blurting things out about Evelyn’s brother? Some friend I turned out to be. It’s all Nessa’s fault, getting everyone worked up about that spirit board of hers.

  For a few moments nobody says a word, but then Jennie asks again if Nessa was scared, and that does it—Nessa’s mouth kicks into high gear, leaving me in the dust.

  “Scared? I wasn’t scared at first because I didn’t believe it was Granddaddy—not for a minute.” Relief coils through me. I managed to skin out of that one. Evelyn’s secret is safe and sound. Nessa takes another bite out of her peach while everyone waits for her to continue. “No way was some dumb board going to convince me that Granddaddy was talking through it. What a cruel joke that would be, as much as I loved Granddaddy. So I put it to the test. I said to it, ‘If this is Granddaddy, tell me what your nickname for me is.’ The board spelled it out plain as day and that’s when I darn near filled my pants. The only one who knew my special name was Granddaddy himself.”

  Some of the girls gasp, a few giggle. If Nessa says Granddaddy just one more time, I think I’ll yank all my hair out by the roots.

  “So what was it, dear?” says Tammy, leaning across the table at us.

  “What was what?” Nessa’s innocent act is so put on, it’s practically oozing out her skin.

 
“Now, don’t act stunned. Your special name—you didn’t say what this special name of yours would be.” I want to laugh out loud. No beating around the bush when there’s a Newfie in the crowd.

  Nessa makes some sucking sounds as she polishes off the peach, then she wipes the juice from her chin. She reminds me of old Herb Winters back home, the way he’d give a swipe to his jaw after spitting out tobacco juice. Can’t they all see she’s just stalling for time?

  “It’s private, between Granddaddy and me. Like I told you, no one knows.” The girls coax Nessa for an answer. They’re not about to back down until she spills the beans. Me, I honestly could care less. I’d just like to catch her in a whopper is all; expose her for the bragger she is.

  “Okay, but don’t laugh,” she says, like it wasn’t her plan all along to have them begging her for an answer. A chorus of “We won’t laugh!” rings out in the dining room like the bell from All Saints Cathedral. I’m expecting us to be told to quiet down a little. Nessa’s mouth is rounded up into a full-fledged grin. Maybe she could get a job as a circus clown one day. “It was Peaches, if you must know—he called me Peaches.”

  Peaches! I want to laugh right in her face. That is such a lie! When the girls giggle and tell her it’s a cute nickname, I can’t believe my ears. An eye roll wouldn’t do her ridiculous story justice; neither would a big whoop-de-do. Can’t they tell she made the whole thing up? Peaches—like that wasn’t the first thing to pop into her head when she found herself wedged into a tight squeeze. What do you want to bet that if she’d been smacking on an apple or a banana that would have been her so-called nickname instead?

  Maybe there’s something wrong with me, but you won’t find me cozying up to Nessa Maxwell. Who has time for silly spirit boards, anyway? I’ve got more important things to occupy my time. Looking for my mother in this big old city, for starters.

  “I got it! Bring it back with you next week, Nessa. We’ll have our own séance right here,” squeals Jane like she’s just come up with the plan of the century. If she’d been there the day me and Evelyn concocted a plan to blow up Hux Wagoner’s moonshine still, she’d have really had something to be excited about.

  “Um…I don’t know,” says Nessa. “If Mum ever found out—I mean, she doesn’t know I’ve used it. Not to mention what Mr. Allen would do if we got caught.”

  That last excuse sounds mighty puny. From what I’ve seen so far, Nessa doesn’t much care if she gets into trouble with Mr. Allen. She’s always being spoken to about one thing or another. If she spent half as much time practicing the piano as she did in Mr. Allen’s office, I bet she wouldn’t be hitting the wrong notes at morning assembly. Can’t tell me that her daddy being a lawyer doesn’t speak to the fact that she only ever ends up with a talking-to. Knowing Nessa is dragging her heels on this gives me the perfect opportunity to show her up for the brag-bag that she is. “You do have a spirit board? I mean you really have talked to spirits, right?” I say, putting on an innocent act of my own.

  A tiny gasp circles round the table like they can’t believe my nerve.

  “Fine,” snaps Nessa, her voice as crisp as the bread Aunt Millie toasts on the top of the wood stove in the morning. “I’ll bring it Monday morning. Be ready to be made a believer, Cammie Turple.” Believer, my left foot. I’ll be surprised if Nessa even brings this stupid spirit board of hers to school.

  The bell rings and we jump to our feet. For a split second, Nessa and I are standing face-to-face. I beat it away from her as fast as I can, following the sea of navy blue tunics in front of me. “Slow down, Cammie,” comes a warning as I hurry to get in line. Fine for the supervisor to say; she hasn’t spent the last half hour listening to Nessa Maxwell spilling out her stories. I slow to a respectable speed, my face hot from being spoken to. Truth is, I know better than to hurry. Hurry isn’t a word that gets used here at the school. Hurry is for wide-open spaces, Evelyn and me on our way to the river, moving so fast that he has to hold my hand to make sure I don’t stumble over a rock in the path.

  I finally get myself situated in line, and I want to groan when I look across and see the snow-white hair of my partner. As her hand slips into mine, I wish that stupid rule about holding hands everywhere we go didn’t exist. It’s only to help out the blind students anyway. I can get myself around okay so long as I know where I’m going.

  “I have albinism,” Nessa said the very first time we met—as if this albinism of hers was something I would want to know about. She’s not the only one at the school with white hair. “And I’m a sight-saving student,” she added, like she thought I wouldn’t know what that meant just because I was new here.

  “Everyone at the school who can see is sight-saving,” I stated. I don’t know why Nessa thinks it makes her special

  The day I arrived Mr. Allen showed me around the school. I asked him if I’d be learning Braille, something Mae Cushion put in my head last summer. At the time it got me thinking. Maybe my fingers wouldn’t be able to make sense of those little dots she talked about. What a relief when he explained that I’d be reading from large-print books, since I could see regular print. He said it’s important for those of us who can see not to strain our eyes, and to save what sight we have.

  “I’ve got some jawbreakers in my locker. Do you want one?” asks Nessa, like two seconds ago I hadn’t been a cat’s jump away from catching her in a lie.

  “No, thank you,” I snap. I look straight ahead as the line begins to move. Nessa might’ve gotten off the hook this time, but I’ll trip her up sooner or later. The right time will come and Cammie Turple will be waiting.

  Chapter Two

  I look over at Ed and smile real big. I’m heading off to my new life and I can’t imagine anything sweeter. Having my father drive me to the train station is the cherry on top of it all. I’ve got on a dress from the Simpson’s Sears catalogue. Even Aunt Millie said I didn’t look bad when I headed out the door. And getting a compliment out of Aunt Millie is like squeezing tomato juice from a turnip. The sun shines in through the windshield of the truck and I sit up nice and close so I won’t miss anything important. We drive past the Merrys’ red barn. If Evelyn’s out in the dooryard I can’t make him out, but I give a small wave just in case. We travel along, just enjoying the ride, when right out of the blue Ed stops the truck by a farmer’s field. “Jump on back,” he says. I climb on up and sit next to the headboard as if this invitation is nothing out of the ordinary. This is going to be one heck of a ride. Me, Cammie Turple, arriving at the Kentville train station in fine fashion. If that doesn’t make people take notice, I don’t know what will.

  ---

  “Hang on tight,” Ed calls out as we take off down the road. Gravel flies from the tires like sparks spitting from a grindstone. The truck swerves and I grab fast, woo-hooing as we go. The trees all run together, blurred into a gigantic ball of green leaves and blue sky. I hold fast to my glasses to make sure they don’t go flying off my face.

  If Aunt Millie was here she’d be yapping that Ed’s brain is the size of a pea for letting me ride on back—but me, I’m just smiling up a dust storm. I close my eyes and enjoy the ride. Wind blowing through my hair, I shake all thoughts of Aunt Millie right out of my head. This day is too special for me to be thinking about her. When I hear someone clear their throat, my eyes snap open.

  Aunt Millie! No matter how bad my eyesight is, I’d recognize that bleached hair from any distance. The hows and whys of the situation are running through my brain like a spring grass fire, and it isn’t making a lick of sense. We left Aunt Millie back at the house, wrapped up in her housecoat and holding a cup of tea to her lips. I don’t say anything at first. I’m still trying to figure out what she’s doing on the back of Ed’s truck.

  “You’re on your own from now on, Miss Smartypants.”

  “You don’t have to worry about me,” I snap back. “I’m doing just fine and dandy.”

 
“Guess I didn’t do enough for you growing up, giving you a roof over your head when no one else would,” she says, pushing my satchel at me.

  “Where did you get this?” I left it inside the truck with Ed—I know I did. I start rummaging through my belongings, wondering if she hasn’t snitched a few things when I wasn’t looking—the envelope with my mother’s address on it for starters, the one I’ve been saving for years. I can’t lose that if I plan on finding her one day. I let out a sigh of relief. Everything’s in its place.

  “Well, if it isn’t little Blind-Eyed Cammie sitting over there.” I make a strange squeak like a blade of grass when Evelyn Merry presses it between his thumbs and blows. Hux Wagner! He’s tipping something to his mouth—a bottle of moonshine, if I were to make an educated guess.

  “Just having a little refreshment fer the long trip. A feller’s gotta stay refreshed,” says Hux, his voice filled with same pleasure you get when you’re gnawing your way through a licorice whip.

  “You can’t go on a trip like this without some refreshments,” agrees Aunt Millie. Grabbing Hux’s bottle from him, she wipes the top in the crook of her arm before gulping down a mouthful.

  “Hey! Evelyn and me blew up your still last spring. You don’t even make moonshine anymore.” Bad enough Aunt Millie’s here, but no stinking way is Ed toting the moonshiner to the Kentville train station if I have any say in it. I’ll jump off the back of the truck first.

  “You didn’t blow up nuthin’,” says old Hux, taking another swig from the bottle.

  This doesn’t make any sense. We blew up Hux’s still. Evelyn got hurt. He was in the hospital. “Come on, you two! This is my life—my trip. You’re not coming with me!”

  “Of course we are. You can’t get rid of us that easily,” squeals Aunt Millie.

  I jump to my feet, ready to put a stop to this foolishness—Hux Wagner and Aunt Millie, of all the things. Expecting a sensible word from either one of them would be as useless as chasing a fart in a windstorm.