Cammie Takes Flight

by Laura Best

  A scattering of brown leaves swirls along the ground and I shiver as the November air whips my legs. At this rate the trees will soon be bare, stretching their naked branches up to the sky, and there’s something about it that seems a little sad. Nessa speaks up just then, like until that moment she didn’t have anything important to say. She looks at me in a curious way.

  “At least you’ve found another piece to the mystery,” she says.

  “What are you talking about, Nessa?”

  “The mystery of Cammie Turple.”

  Me? A mystery? Maybe Nessa’s right. Aunt Millie sure has some explaining to do. Knowing her, she’ll come up with a bunch of new lies to cover up the old ones just like she has in the past. Only this time I’ll be armed with some facts. I have to wonder if any of this has something to do with the reason she doesn’t want Ed to adopt me. With Aunt Millie it’s impossible to speculate. One thing’s for certain: The real story of Cammie Turple is a whole lot more complicated than I ever imagined.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  The music is already playing in the girls’ gymnasium when we arrive. I’m feeling pretty snazzy in Nessa’s green print dress tonight. The row of white eyelet on the hem swishes against my legs. Me, strutting along like nobody’s business, about as dolled up as a Hollywood starlet for the night.

  Last week, Nessa and Ellen brought in a bunch of dresses from home. There were plenty to choose from. Ellen’s tastes are different from Nessa’s: dark navies and deep reds, browns, and oranges that suit her complexion and dark brown hair; Nessa’s about as light as anyone could get without using bleach. We spent an entire evening trying the dresses on, deciding what we liked and what looked best. I chose the green dress I saw in Nessa’s closet the weekend of my birthday. Everyone said it was a good choice. Nessa’s sporting the dress her mother bought her especially for the dance. It’s blue with a white collar and has gathers in the front. Nessa’s the luckiest duck in the whole school.

  Deciding on an outfit was the easy part; knowing what to do if a boy asks me to dance will be a whole other thing. We helped Jennie and Rebecca pick out dresses because neither one of them can see at all. Rebecca has on the red and brown one from Ellen’s stack.

  “Do I look like a dream?” she asked, twirling around slowly.

  “A dream come true,” we assured her.

  We all agreed that the yellow-and-white dress in Nessa’s collection went nicely with Jennie’s brown hair. I tied a white satin bow on top of her head when we were getting ready this evening. She asked me again if I was ready to write a verse in her autograph book. Each time someone writes a verse for Jennie, she sets it to memory. She even knows the colour of the page each person wrote on. “When I close my eyes, I can picture what the colours look like,” she said, like everyone can remember things from when they were five.

  “I’m still working on it,” I said, straightening her hair ribbon so it wouldn’t get lost in her curls. Everyone keeps giving me ideas but none of them feel right. I don’t want to write about diaper pins and having twins or the ocean wearing rubber pants to keep its bottom dry—those things are all cute but they’ve got no meat to them. I’ve been hoping to come up with something no one else has written.

  The necklace I’m wearing came from Greenburg’s Department Store right here in the city. I keep feeling for the turquoise stone to make sure it’s still there. Mrs. Maxwell took me to the store the day after my birthday, and Nessa helped me pick it out. Nearly two weeks since I bought it, it’s the first time I’ve had some place fancy enough to wear it.

  “Turquoise is the birthstone for December,” Mrs. Maxwell said at the jewelry counter that day. I picked up each box that held a necklace in it. Seemed like the perfect thing to spend birthday money on. A card came from Ed with a crisp five-dollar bill the week before. I didn’t open it until the third. The girls were impressed with my willpower.

  The school doesn’t make much of a deal out of birthdays, but neither did Aunt Millie when I was growing up. Usually there was a cake and sometimes she’d bake a few dimes inside it for me, but that was about it. When you’re not used to a lot it doesn’t take much to please you. Along with the card and money, there was a short note from Ed asking me how I’m doing and he hoped I was keeping my grades up. He signed off by telling me he could hardly wait for Christmas and maybe I would like to spend some time with him and Miranda. Miranda—I have to wonder what she thinks about this idea of Ed’s. It’s not like she’s even met me. What if she doesn’t want someone who can’t see so well hanging around? I’ve been trying not to think about her too much. I’ve only ever thought of Ed loving my mother, even though she probably didn’t deserve it. Something about him seeing someone else, someone he plans to spend the rest of his days with, feels strange.

  I almost fell over when a parcel came from Aunt Millie the day after my birthday—some licorice whips (my favourite) and a pair of mittens she said she knit herself, like I’d believe that. Her note tickled my funny bone. The thought of Aunt Millie sitting in a rocking chair with knitting needles clicking together makes me want to laugh out loud.

  I quickly make myself a promise not to let Aunt Millie into my head this evening. Tomorrow I’ll be heading back to Tanner for the holidays. After that I’ll deal with Aunt Millie. Tonight, I plan on having a time for myself.

  “There are refreshments on the table,” says Miss Turner as we walk into the gymnasium. I smile real big at her. It’s like that day at the Public Gardens never happened. A month after the fact and she acts like it was no big deal, me thinking she was my mother of all things.

  Nessa and I sashay on over, playing it cool until the dance actually gets underway. It’s the one time of the year we’re actually allowed to talk to the boys. No one wants to come off looking desperate, like it would be the end of the world if we didn’t have someone ask us to dance.

  I help myself to an egg sandwich even though I’m feeling a little unsettled. If I keep busy, maybe I won’t have to worry about making it onto the dance floor. Dabbing my mouth with a napkin, I’m careful not to end up with egg stuck on my face. Nessa is wolfing down some of the sweets. Tammy reaches across me for a sandwich. Seconds later we’re joined by Mary Louise and Amy. In no time flat, a cluster of girls is milling around the refreshments. Hands reach and take and the food starts to disappear from the plates.

  “Where are the boys?” I ask, squinting and leaning in toward Nessa. You’d at least think they’d be somewhere near the food. No one’s dancing. Maybe this whole thing will end up being a bust.

  “They’re standing by the wall,” says Nessa, pointing across the room. “But don’t worry. They’re just waiting for someone to start.”

  The music is loud but then I suppose it would have to be with everyone talking and filling the room with noise. Nessa’s scoping out the joint—trying to see Frankie Parker from all the way across the room is my guess. I haven’t a clue where Barry Huphman is, and I can’t see well enough to pick him out from the crowd. I’m not even sure I want him to ask me for a dance. It would be a lot less pressure on me if he doesn’t. I don’t really know him, just the soft sound of his voice.

  All Nessa’s been talking about the last few weeks is Frankie Parker, speculating as to how many dances she’ll have with him. Earlier in the week he called her on the pay phone and asked if she’d go steady with him. I guess now they’re an item so long as they don’t get caught.

  The notes started flying back and forth Mrs. Christi’s room about a week ago. No one wanted to end up standing around the food table with no one to dance with. You could have knocked me over with a feather when a note landed on my desk and it was actually for me. The boys sure have this whole note-tossing thing perfected. Mrs. Christi never suspected a thing. Later, in the dormitory, the girls oohed and aahed as I read what Barry Huphman wrote—nothing mushy, just that he’d like it if I saved a dance for him.

  �
�Barry’s one of the best dancers, and a real snake charmer,” said Tammy, grinning from ear to ear.

  When I complained that I didn’t know how to dance, Nessa said she’d teach me.

  “Barry’s danced with all of us…but he never wrote any notes before,” said Jennie. “I wonder what that means?” Me, I couldn’t help but smile at that news, thinking maybe it’s possible that one of the boys might actually like me.

  We’d practiced our dance steps in the recreation room every spare chance we had. We danced along to Kitty Wells, Hank Williams, and Patti Page—whatever happened to be playing on the radio. When my feet wouldn’t do what I wanted them to, Nessa told me to follow her lead.

  “Stop looking down,” she said. When I’d bring my head up she’d remind me not to stomp on her feet. Being about as graceful as a cow on ice doesn’t make you a good dancing partner. I didn’t think I’d ever get the knack of it. But then I dug in those Turple heels of mine and got determined.

  “If someone doesn’t soon start dancing, I’m marching over there and grabbing Frankie by the hand,” says Nessa, chomping on what looks to be another date square.

  “You will not!” gasps Mary Louise, trying to sound tough, which isn’t easy seeing how tiny she is. “I’ll drag you back myself,” she adds without cracking a grin. As if! I want to laugh. No one’s afraid of a runt.

  Eventually, some of the boys get some backbone and come across the room. My heart patters. Still pretending to survey the food table, I’m as afraid of being asked to dance as I am of not being asked. What if I end up standing by the sandwiches all evening long? Cammie Turple, the biggest wallflower at school.

  And then, like a star that shoots across the night sky, I feel a hand on my shoulder.

  “Can I have this dance?” says a soft voice behind me. I turn around, smiling. Dirty blonde hair—I never would have guessed. The smile on Barry Huphman’s face leaps out at me. There’s no way I can refuse. We walk out onto the dance floor, my knees a tiny bit wobbly. His hands are as soft and warm as a cat lying in the afternoon sun. He smells like sunshine, too. My feet are heavy, my legs as stiff as a pair of stilts as I try to keep up with him. I remember the things Nessa taught me: don’t look down at the floor; don’t step on your partner’s feet. Glide…glide. One and two and three and four.

  After the first few dances my knees start working without me telling them to. I dance with Barry and everyone else who asks. Soft hands, hard hands, and even the ones covered in warts. Just look at me, Cammie Turple. I never would have thought dancing could be so much fun.

  About halfway through the evening I head back over to the refreshment table. This dancing business sure makes you thirsty. I take a paper cup and Miss Turner pours me some juice. “Having fun?” she asks. And me, I’m beaming inside like the first star at night.

  Sipping my juice, I reach for the stone on my necklace and rub it between my fingers. Feeling like I’ve got the world by the tail, I can’t help smiling when Miss Turner says, “What a pretty necklace you have, Cammie.” I’ve always wanted a necklace of my own. I used to sneak into Aunt Millie’s room and try hers on.

  “Thank you,” I say in a polished voice, mostly because this whole evening has been perfect so far and I can’t imagine anything messing it up. “I got it at Greenburg’s. It’s my birthstone.”

  “Oh, dear,” says Miss Turner, her voice filled to the brim with pity. “Emerald is the birthstone for May. You bought the wrong one.”

  “But May’s not my birthday, Miss Turner.” I’m shocked that she could have forgotten something like that. Especially since her baby was born around the same time as me. I’ve heard tell of people’s memories going out from under them, but Miss Turner’s too young for that. “My birthday was just the other week,” I remind her, not that she was on duty that day.

  “This doesn’t make sense,” she says, her blonde curls bouncing as she shakes her head.

  I down the last of my juice. I know how Cinderella must have felt when she went to the ball. Who will be the next one to ask me for a dance? “Tennessee Waltz” starts playing and I’m burning to get back onto the dance floor. I wish Miss Turner would stop talking.

  “I was there in May,” Miss Turner continues. “That’s when Millie came looking for her sister, not December. Brenda had her baby sometime in May. I’m positive.”

  A strange feeling shimmies up my spine. My brain goes a little wonky like I just jumped headfirst into ice-cold water. The noise in the gymnasium fades for a second and then returns. The empty cup I’m holding suddenly weighs a hundred pounds. Miss Turner pries it from my bent fingers and sets it on the table.

  “Come on, Cammie,” says Nessa, hurrying over and grabbing my hand. “I love this song.” As Nessa pulls me along with her, I look back at Miss Turner standing at the table all by herself. I want to slip to the floor and melt away.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  The countryside goes by and I can’t quite figure out if I’m going toward Tanner or away from Halifax. Somehow neither one seems quite right. Bare trees and blue skies; the sun winks at me through the window of the train. The fields look yellow and old, like they’re suddenly tired of fall. The train clacks down the tracks and I almost forgot how loud it is. I try concentrating on the scenery, but emptying your head isn’t like dumping your chamber pail in the morning. Hard to keep the thoughts from filling your head back up. Nessa’s right. Everything about my life is a mystery.

  Last night’s dance feels like a stale doughnut, something you’d still like to bite into even though you know it won’t taste very good. The dance itself was fun, but I can’t stop thinking about what Miss Turner said: that I was born in May, not December. After the dance, she apologized for stirring things up.

  “I should have left well enough alone,” she said, sounding like she could trip over her bottom lip if she wasn’t careful. But I’m glad for this new information even though things keep getting more and more complicated. “I’m sure there’s a simple explanation for it all,” she added.

  “Do you really think so?” I asked. But she didn’t answer.

  If I’m right about those papers in Aunt Millie’s jewelry box, I can settle this thing once and for all. Case closed. Ed can adopt me and I’ll be on my way. Makes me wonder what the holidays will be like this year. Not like Christmas has ever been anything special, except for the fact that Aunt Millie wouldn’t let anyone come in to have a drink. But when New Year’s Eve hit, watch out! The whole crew would land there. Glasses would be clinking together, shotguns lighting up the sky, hooting and hollering, the likes you’d never see the rest of the year.

  “Right here’s the best spot in Tanner to be ringing in the New Year,” she’d squeal, like it pleased her all to pieces to think hers was the place to be every December 31st. Likely now that she and Drew are back together he’ll be having something to say about that, unless he’s all up for celebrating, too. It’s not like I’m going to lose sleep wondering about it, though. So long as I get what I’m after, that’s all I care about. Aunt Millie isn’t the only one who can do undercover work. I’ll gain her trust, maybe even make it seem like I don’t want Ed to adopt me after all, and the first chance I get I’ll hightail it for those papers. Once Ed has my birth records we can get this show on the road.

  Ed’s waiting at the train station in his old green truck. At least one adult in my life keeps promises. Aunt Millie always says Ed is irresponsible, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. He takes my bag from me and swings it over his shoulder. He rubs my head like he did the day he came to the school and tells me I’m getting tall. My knees go a little wobbly on me when I realize that there’s someone sitting in the truck. I can only imagine it must be Miranda. I haul in a deep breath and climb in.

  Her dark brown hair sticks out from beneath her cap and the lipstick she’s wearing is bright red. She smells like the pressed powder Aunt Millie wears when she
goes out on the town. Taking my hand in hers, she says, “It’s nice to finally meet you, Cammie. Ed talks about you all the time.” I make a strange sound that doesn’t even resemble a laugh. I can’t stop staring at Miranda. She has the prettiest smile I’ve ever seen. I don’t ever want to look away.

  We gab all the way to Tanner as if it’s the most natural thing, like chewing bubble gum or gnawing through a licorice whip. I can’t imagine I was ever worried about meeting Miranda. Ed tells us the same story about hitchhiking to Yarmouth and nearly eating his way through a fifty-pound bag of potatoes. I laugh with Miranda like I’m hearing the story for the first time. I can tell Ed is pleased. Miranda asks if I’m learning Braille. I explain to her that we have large-print books at the school and that I can even see regular print when I take my glasses off and hold things up close. I don’t mind her asking. Most people don’t know what it’s like not to be able to see so well, but they’re afraid to ask you anything about it. Evelyn was never afraid to ask. That’s one thing I always appreciated.

  “My hands can’t make sense of all those dots,” I explain, but then I tell her about Jennie and how she can read Braille faster than those of us who read printed words.

  Just before we turn down the Lake Ridge Road toward Tanner, Ed gets serious. “I don’t think Millie will let me come in, so I guess you’ll be on your own when we get there.” He takes one hand off the wheel and rubs the back of his neck. “She’s not too happy with me these days.”

  For a time all I hear is a soft pattering inside the truck. Stealing a glance over at Ed, I can make out him tapping the steering wheel. Ed only taps when he’s antsy about something.

  “Don’t worry, Ed. I can handle Aunt Millie.” I’ll proceed with caution; that much I know. It’s best not to ruffle her feathers. She’ll just put on her crow face and that’s never a pretty sight.