by Laura Best
“Maybe…” It’s impossible not to miss the hesitation in Nessa’s voice. Still, I pretend not to catch on to what she’s insinuating.
“I think we might have a mystery on our hands,” says Nessa just then.
“A mystery? Oh, Nessa, there you go, making mountains out of molehills.” This time I make the queer laugh. Sometimes you’ve got to play dumb in life. There are times when being your own smart self will only make more problems than it solves.
Chapter Ten
The chain-link fence separating the boys’ playground from the girls’ is chilly. I shake out my hand and blow on my fingers. I’m taking a chance just being here at recess, but things don’t happen unless you’re willing to take a risk from time to time. The leaves surround the playground, forming a patchwork of red and orange and yellow. A few trickle to the ground in the breeze. Already it’s the middle of October and I haven’t worked up the courage to ask for help getting to Burnham Street. Since I’m lacking in the note-tossing department, another line of action seemed in order. Last night thoughts came raining down on me as I pitched about in bed. Plans shift and change. You’ve got to be flexible. I’m a rubber band. I’ve got to be if I intend to get to where I want to go.
The boys are yelping in play, making quick zigzags back and forth like ants at a picnic; others are huddling near the far side of the fence. What’s a person got to do to get a little attention around here? Am I invisible or something? At this rate it’ll take an entire school year to talk to a boy, let alone work up the courage to ask one of them for help. You can’t expect someone you hardly know to do you a favour of this magnitude. Friendships take time to build.
Cries from behind me of “Red Rover, Red Rover, we call Nessa on over,” tantalize the heck out of me. Red Rover is one of my favourite games. I hold my ground. The Turple in me won’t give in.
I’m a little on edge standing here by the fence all by myself, a sitting duck of the highest degree. I expected the boys would see me standing by the fence and head on over. A lot I know. I take a few steps back. I don’t want to arouse the supervisor’s attention. You never know when one of them will show up.
Nessa’s voice rings out across the playground. She’s calling my name and I spin around. Hurrying toward the line of girls with their hands locked, I see an opening and I take it. A hand on either side of me squeezes mine. A voice calls out, “Red Rover, Red Rover, we call Cammie on over.” Releasing the hands I’m holding fast to, I race across the playground smiling. I’m not invisible. Not anymore.
When lunchtime swings around I’ve decided this plan to find my mother is going to require further consideration. There has to be a way to get acquainted with the boys other than waiting for the Christmas dance in December. Could be one of the boys likes the sound of my voice. Myself, I’m kind of partial to Barry Huphman’s. His soft way of speaking kind of reminds me of Evelyn Merry. And he saved my skin in Mrs. Christi’s class the other week. That counts for a lot. But right now he’s just a voice, since I can’t even get close enough to tell what colour his hair is.
Once classes are over for the day, Mrs. Galloway hands out the mail in the supervisor’s lounge and there’s a letter for me. I flip it over and check the return address: Aunt Millie. A shock wave ripples through me. Letters have come from Evelyn every couple of weeks and I even got one from Miss Muise, but I never in a million years expected to get anything from Aunt Millie. I put it in my locker to read later. I’m not even sure I want to.
Most everyone gets mail. When a parcel arrives from Newfoundland or Prince Edward Island you’d swear Christmas arrived early. Having the other girls brag about the parcels they get sometimes leaves me wishing Aunt Millie would wrap up a little something and send it off. It’s not like a few penny candies every now and again would hurt her. But, like everything involving Aunt Millie, it usually comes down to her not having a thoughtful bone in her body. If I want candy, Nessa would be more than happy to share. Most times I don’t take any when she offers it. It isn’t about the candy. It never will be. Believe it or not, I’ve got principles. You can’t always be taking from someone without giving something back in return. Besides, she could have something up her sleeve. This nice act of hers could be just that—an act. You wouldn’t need to be too bright to figure that one out.
Curiosity finally gets to me.
Opening the envelope feels a little strange, seeing Aunt Millie’s handwriting on the page. Taking my glasses off, I hold it up close and read the Dear Cammie part. I squirm a bit on the edge of the bed—things are likely to get nasty from here on out. I can feel it in my bones.
Dear Cammie,
Since I already warned you about Ed, and you didn’t seem to want to listen, I have more I want to add to what I told you on the telephone the other week. It would be in your best interest to keep reading and not just ball this up and toss it away.
I let out a grunt. It’s like she can read my mind.
Ed might mean well, but he really hasn’t a clue as to what he’s doing, coming up with some lame idea of adopting you now that he’s got a lady friend in his life. The world is filled with people meaning to do well, but in the end they just ruin the lives of others.
Ed ruined your mother’s life. It’s why she took off the way she did. I’ve never told you this before, mainly because I didn’t want you to think Ed was a schmuck, but the real reason he never married your mother didn’t have a thing to do with him going off to war. Back then Ed was even more irresponsible than he is now, if you can believe that. He was charming, though, and Brenda fell under his spell. She was young and Ed was her first love—puppy love, really. I told her but she wouldn’t listen.
I never wanted to be the one to say, “I told you so,” but I was right about Brenda and Ed all along. In the end Brenda told me she couldn’t stand Ed’s recklessness, and the way he’d take off right out of the blue when something struck his fancy. Brenda was a serious young girl with big plans of getting married and having a family one day. I promised Brenda I wouldn’t ever tell you any of this because she never believed in badmouthing another human being, even one who did her wrong. Brenda’s a lot more generous than I am.
Ed’s backing me into a corner right now and I’ve got no choice but to lay the truth down at your feet. You’re a big girl and it’s high time you knew the real facts. Ed was the one who broke it off with Brenda. Ran off with her best friend is what he did. And he broke her heart, pure and simple. Ed’s not a bad man, I’ve never said he was, but if the past is any indication of the future I can’t just let you go off with him. No matter what Ed thinks, he won’t be adopting you. You’re mine—at least until Brenda comes for you. I’m signing off now. I’ve had my say.
Signed,
Aunt Millie
Badmouthing Ed must be Aunt Millie’s new pastime. But the truth is, part of me doesn’t mind the letter so much. Reading about the way my parents met gives me something to hold fast to. It might not be some fancy fairy tale, but at least it’s my life. Yet something about all this still doesn’t make sense. Aunt Millie has her drawers in a knot over this adoption thing—but why? It’s not like much would change, except maybe I’d be going off to stay with Ed over the summer and Christmas vacation. Being away at school, my time spent with Aunt Millie is pretty skimpy anyway.
I put my glasses back on. You’d think Aunt Millie had some say in the matter of this adoption. At least until Brenda comes for you. I let out a grunt. I squeeze the letter tight in my fist before putting it away in my locker. Hearing that same old song, year after year, gets mighty tiresome to the ears.
Chapter Eleven
Flopping down on my bunk, I reach for the envelope I’ve got hidden under my mattress. The stampede’s over. Everyone’s down in the recreation room, waiting for The Sealed Book to come on. The minute that big gong sounds they all suck in air. That’s when the keeper of the book opens the door to the vault and it’s like you’re heari
ng it all first hand, the creeks, thumps, and whistling wind coming over the airwaves. A fright shimmies up my spine every single time—stories of murder, mystery, and dark deeds. I can’t admit all those eerie sounds give me the willies. Maybe this time I’ll pass. Before I can haul the envelope out I realize there’s someone standing beside my bed.
“I’ve been thinking—you’re the one who wrote that note in Mrs. Christi’s class, aren’t you?”
Nessa Maxwell. I’ve been trying to be decent to her without getting too chummy. I sit up quickly, swinging my legs over the side of the bed.
“Come on! It’s almost time for The Sealed Book.” I jump to my feet. Just as I’m about to make my getaway, Nessa grabs me by the arm.
“You’re hiding something,” she says. “But I haven’t figured out what. Does this have something to do with your mother?”
There. Finally. I knew it was too good to be true, Nessa keeping her trap shut all these weeks. I break loose from her grip and spin around.
“What will it take for your silence? I’ll do whatever you want. Just name it,” I say, feeling suddenly brave. I might just as well find out what she wants.
“Keep me quiet?” she says, making a face.
“Don’t play dumb with me. You know my secrets. Who all did you tell?” I’m through playing nice just to keep Nessa quiet. Sometimes you’ve got to jump in with both feet.
“I’m not a squealer, if that’s what you mean,” says Nessa. “If I was going to say something about what I heard, don’t you think I would have by now?”
I roll this idea around for a bit, feel it slowly dissolve like a jawbreaker on my tongue. It’s not like she’s tried to blackmail me or anything.
“Is it so hard to believe I just want to be friends?”
Something in Nessa’s voice finally gets to me as we stand there in the empty dorm. She’s right. All this time and she hasn’t made a peep. Call me gullible, but I believe her. The weight on my shoulders is suddenly gone. Sometimes you’ve got to put your trust in someone even if you’re not sure you want to. Seizing the moment, I smile real big and say, “I don’t suppose you can take me to Burnham Street.”
“Burnham Street? That’s no problem…we’ll just call a cab. I do it all the time when I’m at my grandmother’s house.”
A cab. I never would have thought of that. I can see that being friends with Nessa will have its advantages. Sometimes you just don’t see the things that are right under your nose. Nessa knows all the buildings and streets here. Halifax is her home, after all.
For a second I’m on cloud nine. At last I’m going to get to where I want to go, but then my hopes suddenly spiral to the ground. “I don’t have money to pay for a cab,” I groan.
A grin spreads across Nessa’s face. “Maybe you don’t…but I do.”
“I can’t let you do that,” I say, my head hanging low. Accepting the occasional candy from Nessa is one thing, but letting her pay out money for a cab? I don’t think so.
“Look, it’ll only cost a few dollars, anyway.”
“A few dollars I don’t have.” I guess people who have money don’t know what it’s like to be broke.
“Don’t worry about it. You can pay me back later.” While that sounds good, it’s not very realistic. I shake my head. Money doesn’t grow on trees.
“Look, you can get a job here washing dishes when you turn twelve,” says Nessa. “You can pay me then.”
A job? How come I’ve never heard about this before? I know some of the older girls help out in the dining room, but I had no idea they get paid. I’m as hard a worker as the next person. All those years helping out in Aunt Millie’s kitchen didn’t hurt none, either. With this new bit of information tucked away, I finally say, “Are you sure about this?”
“I’m positive.”
“Oh, and it’s Miss Turner’s weekend on duty,” I remind her.
“I’ll call my mother and tell her I’m going to stay all weekend. She won’t care. And one more thing—we’ll need a diversion,” says Nessa, hardly missing a beat. A devious smile spreads across her face. I’ve seen that same conniving look on Evelyn Merry’s face when he’s cooking something up.
“A diversion—what kind of diversion?” Listen to me, sounding so unsure. You’d swear I didn’t know a thing myself about concocting a plan.
“Just leave it to me,” says Nessa. “It’ll be a piece of cake.”
---
Saturday comes and I can scarcely sit still during morning classes. Dinner in the dining room and my stomach isn’t interested. I pick at the corned beef and cabbage on my plate, forcing myself to chew and swallow. Nessa’s as cool as a cucumber, talking and laughing like we aren’t a few hours away from breaking out of here. I don’t know how she can be so calm. Stealing out of here without being discovered won’t be as easy as sneaking out of Aunt Millie’s house to go meet up with Evelyn Merry. Hard to escape a place when your every move is under scrutiny.
When two o’clock comes, things swing into action. I grab Nessa’s hand and we hurry toward the lobby.
“Slow down, girls. It isn’t a race,” says Miss Turner, sweet as a strawberry tart fresh out of the oven.
“Nessa has to make a call,” I say, yanking on Nessa’s arm.
“She’s such a pushover,” whispers Nessa, hardly slowing our pace. Seems kind of mean, us taking advantage of Miss Turner’s good nature this way, but when you’re working at being devious, you’ve got to stack all the cards in your favour. We won’t have much time to track down my mother, but going by car will sure speed things up. It’ll be tricky, but not impossible.
The lobby is deserted. Freedom is just beyond the front doors. So close I could taste it if I stuck out my tongue. But get caught sticking your tongue out here and you could be high-stepping it to Mr. Allen’s office with a lecture about “behaving in a ladylike fashion.”
“Who’s on duty today?” I ask, knowing that one of the older boys is usually in charge of ringing the bell in the lobby. I could be envious of all that Nessa can see if I stopped to think about it. Not that her eyesight’s perfect, but it’s a lot better than mine. When Nessa says she’s sure it’s Allison Gillis, I bite my lip to keep a bad word from slipping out. Allison’s one of the senior boys, and he has a reputation for being a stickler for the rules. All happy, it would seem, being the boss when it’s time to ring the bell for bedtime or mealtime or just changing classes. It wouldn’t surprise me if he ends up being a prison warden when he grows up.
“Hi, Allison,” Nessa calls out, arm waving in the air as we breeze past. “We’re just using the telephone.” We march up to the pay station, big as you please. I can hardly believe our brazen selves. Nessa thumbs through the telephone directory, finally running her finger down one of the pages as she looks for the name of a cab company. Good thing one of us knows what she’s doing. So far, I’m just along for the ride.
“Dependable Cab sounds good to me,” says Nessa all snappy-like.
I have to agree. It sounds so, I don’t know, dependable. If you can’t depend upon the Dependable Cab Company, there’s surely something wrong with the world.
Nessa repeats the number a few times until it’s imprinted in her memory. When someone marches across the lobby, she snaps the telephone book shut. As the clicking of shoes gets farther away, she drops a nickel into the pay phone and starts dialling. The suspense is killing me. What will she say? Me, I’d be stumbling all over my words, afraid of being found out. But not cool-as-a-cucumber Nessa Maxwell. This girl knows what she’s doing.
“Hello.” Nessa adds a twang to her voice to make herself sound older. “Yes. I’d like a cab.”
Simple yet to the point—certainly not overdone. I giggle into my hand as I wonder if we’ll actually get away with this. I’m dying to know what’s being said on the other end of that telephone line.
“Where am I ca
lling from? University Street. The Halifax School for the Blind. Yes…I said, ‘for the blind.’” Nessa puckers up her face. I push my fist into my mouth, trying to keep any noise from escaping.
“I want to go to Burnham Street, but I haven’t got a lot of time. I’ve got someone to find, only I’m not sure where on Burnham Street she is.” I cringe. Nessa’s letting her tongue waggle. Loose lips sink ships, Aunt Millie likes to say. I give Nessa a quick jab in the ribs. She looks at me and makes a face. “Yes. Yes…I’m real busy today, so can you come in half an hour?” I look up and down the hallway. The coast is still clear. The bird inside my chest is flapping away as Nessa signs off.
“Phase one.” Nessa shows her big white teeth and sounds pleased. “So far, so good. Now for phase two—the diversion.”
Now that we got past this first step of ours, I make a quick nod. The kind of nod that fills you with confidence much better than a lazy one ever could. I need to have all the confidence I can if this plan of ours is going to work.
Chapter Twelve
We beat it up to the dormitory to prepare for phase two. On our way there the worry worms starts to crawl.
“We should have told the taxi driver to come to the back of the school.”
Nessa gives me that same look Aunt Millie used to, the one that seemed to say, “Quiet down, knucklehead.” I clam up pretty quick. My two cents aren’t worth much at this point. If I’ve learned anything from being around Aunt Millie, it’s when to keep my mouth shut.
It didn’t take much coaxing on our part to persuade Jennie and Amy to help. A few handfuls of Nessa’s candy and they’d agree to just about anything (the same way Aunt Millie could get Fred Donner to fill up her woodbox with a drink of moonshine when it was calling for a storm).
Ten minutes before the cab is due to arrive, the four of us casually head out of the dorm. At the top of the stairs, Nessa gives Amy and Jennie some last-minute instructions. When you’re carrying out a top-secret mission, everyone can use a little coaching.