by Laura Best
“Jennie’s down!”
“Get the supervisor!”
“Get a spoon! She’ll swallow her tongue!”
I take off in a flash, running down the hallway, calling out for help. Quicker than a finger-snap, Miss Turner is on the scene.
“Jennie’s having another fit. She fell on the floor this time.” My words run together like a string of farts. I’m surprised that Miss Turner can decipher what I’ve just said.
“Seizure, Cammie—we call them seizures.”
Seizures or fits or whatever you want to call them; in the few weeks since I’ve been at the school Jennie has had two of them, but she didn’t land on the floor those times. They don’t last for long, a few minutes tops, but it’s scary all the same.
Before you can say, “spirit board,” Miss Turner is in the dorm and taking control of the situation. She tells everyone to step back. Nessa’s spirit board has mysteriously disappeared and she’s making out she doesn’t know what Jennie was doing right before she took her fit.
“Seizure,” corrects Miss Turner. She inspects Jennie from head to toe to make sure she doesn’t have any bumps or bruises even though Jennie insists that she’s fine, just fine. “I’ve got the worst headache, though,” she adds.
Taking Jennie’s hand, Miss Turner slowly helps her up off the floor. As soon as Miss Turner goes off to the infirmary to get some Aspirin, Jennie starts apologizing for ruining the séance.
“Too bad it had to happen before it answered the last question,” giggles Nessa.
“It’s not like she can help it,” I state. I can’t believe the gall. Who cares about Nessa getting kissed, anyway?
“We know she can’t help it,” says Tammy. “Nessa just meant—”
“Some things are more important than boys and stupid spirit boards,” I cut in.
“It’s okay, Cammie,” says Jennie, kind of mousey-like. “Really it is. I know what they mean.” She sounds as though she could start crying at any moment.
Having the kibosh put to Nessa’s séance doesn’t make me feel the least bit sorry, even though I can’t say much for the way it came about. Poor Jennie. Being totally blind is one thing. Taking fits on top of all that is adding insult to injury. What have I got to complain about? Nessa Maxwell and her bossy tendencies, that’s all. A knot starts growing in my throat as I look at Jennie. I hurry away to find a little privacy, a little time just for me.
Life sure has a funny way of giving you what you want.
Chapter Five
Just as I’m about to tell Evelyn Merry about Nessa’s stupid séance flop, Miss Turner interrupts my thoughts. It takes a few seconds for what she’s saying to sink in.
“Yes, Cammie—there’s a telephone call for you.” The words sound like honey dripping off her lips. My heart hiccoughs. I scoop up the letter I’m writing, faster than Evelyn Merry can crack a whip, and put it in my locker. Clamping my lips tight, I head down to the pay station. There’s a smile beaming inside me that I don’t want to show. I can’t make myself out to be an amateur in front of everyone, like I’ve never in the world ever talked on the telephone before.
My mind starts guessing who could be calling. It can’t be one of the boys—that’s for sure. Besides, Nessa seems to have that market cornered. Last week she got a total of three telephone calls. Each time she came back to the dorm claiming the call was from a different boy. Like anyone would believe that. I haven’t been close enough to any of the boys to even say hello, let alone get a telephone call from one of them. I’m still working up the courage to ask one of them to help me sneak out of here. Taking all this into consideration, I can’t decide if getting a telephone call is a good thing or a bad thing. Bad news comes by telegraph. That old busybody Mae Cushion still goes on about all the telegraphs that were sent out when the war was on. Seeing as how one of them got delivered to her own house, I suppose that’s to be expected. Finding out your son isn’t going to come home can’t be easy. Maybe bad news comes over the telephone lines, too. But that’s just silly. Who would be calling me at all, let alone someone with bad news? I tell my head to smarten up as I make my way along.
While the telephone lines were run though Tanner way before I was born, Aunt Millie could never be bothered to get connected. “What do I need a telephone for?” she’d sometimes say. The few times she used one, she’d gone up the road to old Genie Radcliff’s and, because she wasn’t sure Genie would let her use her telephone, she’d drag me along.
“Pucker up and make yourself look pitiful. You’re good at that,” she’d say before knocking on Genie’s door. “Genie’s a sucker for a sob story. We’ll just tell her you’re not feeling good and I’m putting in a call to the doctor.”
“Aunt Millie,” I’d whine, wondering how I was supposed to make myself look sickly at the snap of a finger.
“Oh, hush now, Cammie. I’ve seen you put on that pitiful look when it suited you.”
We’d go into a little room where Genie’s telephone was mounted on the wall. Once we were in complete privacy, Aunt Millie would ring Central and give them the number she wanted to call.
“Keep your ears plugged,” she’d sometimes say to me. When she was through, she’d ring the operator back up and ask what the charges were, dig into her dress pocket for the change, and hand it over to Genie before we left. She’d gush on about how generous it was of Genie to allow her to use the telephone, and how sickly I was.
“She does look pale,” Genie would agree.
I bet Genie wouldn’t have been so free-hearted about letting Aunt Millie use her telephone if she knew those calls were really going out to some Ray or Ted or Harvey over in Sheppard Square. Aunt Millie was never bashful about telling lies. I guess when you’re a born liar, it’s an everyday occurrence in your life just like breathing or digesting your food.
The queasy feeling in the pit of my stomach is hard to ignore. I pick up the receiver and hold it to my ear. I say hello, the way Aunt Millie did, only I don’t make my voice sound all syrupy the way she used to. There’s loud crackling on the other end like a cat scratching on a fence post.
“Hello,” I repeat, wondering at this point if someone isn’t playing a prank on me. I don’t know a thing about using one of these contraptions. I can’t help feeling dumb. Forget the fact that it’s awkward standing at the pay station with a telephone receiver stuck up to my ear—anyone passing by will hear what I have to say. Just as I’m considering hanging up, words start reaching my ears. The voice on the other end sounds a million miles away. It’s mixed in between the snaps, crackles, and scratches already dancing on the line.
“Cam…is…you? It’s aun…mill…”
“Who is this?” I ask, wishing whoever it is they’d speak up. Seconds later the crackling stops.
“Who in Sam Hill do you think it is? I was just about to hang up. Me, running up long-distance changes on dead air. What do you think I am, a millionaire?” The words leap into the telephone receiver, sending the little bird in my chest somersaulting inside of me.
“Aunt Millie?” Blood rushes to my ears, making small thumps against my eardrums. My brain is going a billion miles an hour. The fact that Aunt Millie is telephoning me at all is enough to kick-start my heart.
“Well, it’s not the Queen of England.”
“Has something happened? Is Evelyn okay?”
“Don’t worry about that Merry boy. He’s making out okay. Besides, I didn’t call about that.” Relief blusters through me like the hurricane that destroyed Jim Merry’s chicken coop last year. But then, right away I’m annoyed at Aunt Millie for elbowing her way into my new life. It’s not like she wanted me to come here to school. She did everything she could to stop me, convincing Ed I was better off not knowing he was my father. And all because she knew he’d give permission for me to come.
“What do you want, then?” I ask with a mouth full of sassi
ness.
“I’m not so bad, now that you’ve asked. ‘I dare say I’ve missed you, Aunt Millie. How are you? Is life treating you kindly?’” That snotty tone in her voice is impossible to miss. If I ever said any of those polite things to her she’d ask me if I was running a fever.
“So…How are you?” I drag the question out like a wrung-out dishrag. “Well, excuse me for thinking that you might actually be glad to hear your dear sweet aunt’s voice after all these weeks.” Dear sweet aunt? What a laugh. She sounds as though she’s hurt, but then quickly changes gears. “Aren’t you wondering where I’m calling from? Drew just got the telephone hooked up a week ago.” She sounds pleased. I can hear a smile building in her voice.
Drew Bordmann. I let out a grunt. I was hoping he’d be out of her life by now. But seeing how I’m in the big city, I’m the last person who should have a say in what goes on back in Tanner. “Full steam ahead,” as Herb Winters used to say. And I’m not looking anywhere but forward.
“I told you I’d be getting a telephone hooked up before you took off for Halifax. I’m sure you don’t remember any of that, though. You never do pay attention to what I’ve got to say.”
Her getting a telephone doesn’t affect me any more than her giving up bootlegging. I’ve been busy living my own life, not wondering what she’s been up to these days. If I could keep her out of my dreams at night I’d be all set.
There’s dead air for a time. “Why did you say you were calling?” I finally ask. It isn’t like Aunt Millie to beat around the bush. She usually blurts things out and worries about what she’s said later.
“I was wondering if you’ve heard from Ed.”
“Ed? Has something happened to Ed?” My heart beats out a fine tune on my ribs. Not Ed, not when I just learned he was my father a few months back.
“No, nothing’s wrong with Ed that a swift kick wouldn’t fix.”
“That’s not very nice,” I say coldly. Leave it to Aunt Millie to say something mean about a person the moment she’s a teensy bit annoyed.
“Ed’s making trouble for us. I think I’ve got a right to be ‘not very nice.’”
“Trouble? For us?” I’ve been around enough troublemakers in my life to know that Ed isn’t one of them.
“That’s what I said.” Her voice is prickly like the bark on a hawthorn bush. Talk about touchy.
“What kind of trouble?” Whatever she has to say will be ridiculous. I can bet on it. Aunt Millie can stretch the truth out like molasses candy. Too bad her truth always ends up tasting bitter.
“He’s butting into things that are none of his concern. It’s not like he was around when you were growing up. No—he was off gallivanting around the countryside having a time for himself, free as a bird, not a care in the world.”
My voice grows loud with anger as I say, “He was fighting in the war, in case you forgot,” which I know she hasn’t. I look around to see if anyone is handy enough to have heard me. She’s got no business criticizing Ed. Her own sister is a shining example of how to be a lousy parent. “Besides, it’s not like mother dearest told him about me,” I add, lowering my voice.
“Now, don’t get fresh with me, young lady. Just because Ed Hanover decides he wants to be involved in your life it doesn’t give him the right to go poking around the past. There’s no point in dredging all that old stuff up anyway.”
I sigh. “What does this have to do with me now?”
“Maybe nothing. Maybe a lot. You never know what’ll happen when people start snooping in your business. I thought maybe he came to see you, asked what you thought about adoption.”
“Adoption? Ed wants to adopt a baby?” This whole telephone conversation is making less and less sense all the time.
“Not a baby. You, knucklehead. He wants to adopt you.”
A big swallow catches up in my throat as I croak out, “Ed wants to adopt me?” People adopt babies, not kids who are going on twelve. Besides, he’s my real father. Why would he have to adopt me?
“That’s what I just said—you. Oh, he’s got these big plans. Wants to change your last name to Hanover. Move you out to Sheppard Square with him and Miranda.”
“Miranda?” I don’t know why, but hearing that feels strange. I’ve never thought about Ed having someone in his life.
“That’s what I said—Miranda. Says he’s getting married and settling down. Says he thinks he can make things up to you, like any of that’s ever going to work out for him.” There’s that mocking tone in her voice again. I hate the babyish way she says Miranda’s name, like she’s jealous that Ed’s finally found someone.
“What did you tell him?”
“I flat-out told him he can’t have you. ‘Cammie’s mine,’ is what I said. ‘Who changed her dirty diapers and spent nights walking the floor?’ I told him. I brought you up through all the hard years, taught you right from wrong, and he thinks now he can just step in and take over from here. Well, he’s got another think coming, he has.”
“Right from wrong?” I can hardly believe my ears. My eyes are rolling in my head like marbles in the schoolyard. Living with Aunt Millie, I’ve seen and heard enough wrong to last a lifetime.
“You never got into trouble like the other kids around Tanner, did you? Why? Because you knew there’d be consequences waiting for you if you did. I promised Brenda from the beginning that I’d make you toe the line.”
“Look, I’ve got to go. It’s bath night and I can’t be late.” If my patience gets any thinner I’ll pop like an overblown balloon right here on the spot.
“Listen up, now: if Ed does come around, this is what I want you to tell—”
I hang up the telephone with Aunt Millie still clacking away on the other end. “Can’t have me!” I grunt. Like she owns me. Like me living with her for the first almost twelve years of my life gives her some special hold on me. Aunt Millie’s never happy unless she’s scrapping with someone. This week it’s Ed. Next week it could be the Watkins man from over in Sheppard Square, although I doubt that since he’s been giving her free product samples for years.
I stomp away from the pay station. Even when I’m away from her, Aunt Millie tries to mess things up one way or another. I should have known as much. Bad enough she keeps interrupting my sleep at night. Why call me up and start in on Ed? Well, she and Ed will have to settle things among themselves. Besides, she should be happy to have Ed take me off her hands. She threatened to send me to the orphan house plenty of times over the years. Guess all those times she was just blowing hot air.
Aunt Millie doesn’t want the past dredged up; big wonder. She’d have to admit her own sister is a miserable excuse for a mother. Even Aunt Millie, with all her faults, has been a better mother to me than Brenda could ever dream of being. And that’s not saying a whole lot. A dead tree stump could have done a better job than Brenda.
Knowing my mother’s living in the city someplace makes me a little antsy. We could pass each other on the street and I’d never know. Hope gets stirred up in you when you’re small. All those years of thinking she’d one day come for me are a thing of the past. I’m doing just great without her. She had no right to leave me behind. One way or another I’ll track her down and tell her so. It’s a matter of principle. I’m not looking for some loving reunion with her, expecting her to be a mother. Sometimes you just want to see things for yourself, get to know the truth on your own terms.
The spite in me continues to build into something powerful and ugly as I hurry toward the washroom. Just let me get caught for running right about now—see if I give a care.
Chapter Six
Leaning in toward the mirror, I stick out my tongue and make the ugliest face imaginable while preparing to let myself have it with a blast of plain old reality. I’m spiteful and need to get a few things off my chest. It’s something I should have done when I was little instead of hanging on to the
hope that Aunt Millie spun for me over the years—pretending that my mother was going to come home one day to get me. As if!
If I could go back in time and see myself whining to Aunt Millie, asking her when my mother was going to show up, I’d set myself straight. I’m fed up feeling sorry for myself. And I’ve got news for my younger self.
Words fly out of me like goose dung as spite spins off the tip of my tongue.
“Grow up, kid. Get over it. Your mother’s not here—so what? She’s making her mark, living it up, having a grand old time. Think she’ll come back for you someday? Well, fat chance of that ever happening. Consider yourself lucky some bootlegger gave you a home. That’s all you deserve. Who’d want you, anyway? Get tough and get over it.”
To end things off, I spit at the mirror and thumb my nose. “Take that, you big old baby!” I lean against the sink, drained and limp as a wilted flower—but in a peaceful sort of way. Never did I imagine that speaking the truth like that could give you such a load of satisfaction.
A split second later, laughter bounces off the ceiling behind me. I let out a gasp, covering my mouth with my hands. My skin settles to the floor right after I jump out of it. Someone has been stealing a listen at my deepest, darkest secrets. Face hot and burning, shame shakes a cold finger at me. My secret is out—my innermost thoughts. Everyone will know. Just like back in Tanner, I’ll be the laughingstock of the whole school: Poor little Cammie Turple, the bootlegger’s niece!
“Who were you talking to, Cammie?”
I’d recognize that voice any day. I whirl around, trying to take up as much space as I can whilst preparing to face my enemy. Figures that of all the people who could hear my deepest, darkest secrets, it would end up being Nessa “Big Mouth” Maxwell.