Cammie Takes Flight

by Laura Best

  “Have you had time to think about what we talked about? Me, I mean us, adopting you—the three of us being a family someday? We’d give you a good home.”

  “I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately.”

  “But you haven’t made up your mind—is that it?” Could be I hear a hint of disappointment in his voice, or maybe it’s just wishful thinking on my part.

  Sorry, Ed, but I can’t agree to anything until I’ve solved the mystery of me.

  “I’m not making any promises right now,” I say, climbing out of the truck. Things are too complicated at the moment, me hardly knowing a thing about when and where I was born. I can’t let him get his hopes up real big just to let them collapse. I’ve had enough experience in that department.

  I’m back to square one with Aunt Millie. It’s not like I can ask her to come clean. I’ve tried that a gazillion times in the past and it never got me anywhere. Getting to the truth with Aunt Millie will be like panning for gold, sifting out all the sand and rocks, hoping to find the tiniest nugget at the bottom. But all this is about my life, and unravelling this mystery. Who better to do it than me?

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Tanner is different. I feel it the moment I step out of Ed’s truck. Or maybe it’s me having been gone these months, life continuing on without me. Like maybe I don’t count anymore. You go away and expect everything to be waiting for you just the way you left it—all the clouds and blades of grass, the trees and even the air. Nothing ever stays the same. Change sneaks up on you like a snake in the grass, and when it finally catches up to you, you want to let out a scream.

  Aunt Millie meets me in the doorway, and if I didn’t know better I’d say she’s happy to see me.

  “Look at you, Cammie Turple. What a sight for sore eyes you are. Drew…Drew,” she calls, looking over her shoulder, “it’s Cammie all the way back from the city. Hey—your hair’s short,” she squawks when I take off my tam. She ushers me in and peels off my coat like I’ve been gone for years instead of a few months. Drew is leaning against the doorjamb like he could care less. Looks like he’s snarling unless what I’m seeing is a smile he’s forcing out for Aunt Millie’s sake.

  “How’s it going?” he asks like he gives two hoots, and I say, “Okay,” because that’s all the answer I can squeeze out for the time being. Once the pleasantries are over, he doesn’t hang around, which suits me fine and dandy. I don’t much want Drew Bordmann in my space if I can help it.

  Aunt Millie keeps clacking away like she can’t get the words out of her fast enough. What’s the school like? Are the meals any good? Do I have a best friend? Are the teachers any good? Am I staying out of trouble? She pays close attention to what I’m saying but she doesn’t fool me. When sweet and nice comes out of Aunt Millie there’s usually a reason. My answers are short and to the point. I’m ready to pounce the moment she brings Ed into the picture. Just let her criticize him and see what happens. Except she doesn’t say a thing about Ed or the adoption, not a peep.

  Pushing a plate of food in front of me, she tells me to eat up. “Beef stew—your favourite. I even made chocolate cake.” I have to admit Aunt Millie is a good cook, even though I know she’s trying to butter me up. Seeing how I haven’t eaten since breakfast this morning, I dig in. She sits watching like maybe I’ll disappear if she doesn’t. I don’t know what to make of this new version of Aunt Millie. Could be now that she’s retired from bootlegging she doesn’t know what to do with herself. Maybe she needs to find herself a hobby. Just as long as I’m not that hobby.

  “We’re heading into Sheppard Square. Drew’s going to cut a tree on the way home,” she says after I’ve swallowed down every last bite. “Want to come along?” Excuse me for being suspicious, but never before has Aunt Millie invited me to go anywhere with her and Drew. Never.

  “I’m kind of tired. Think I’ll take a nap while you’re gone.”

  Seconds before she heads out the door, Aunt Millie stops. “We’ve got things to discuss later—me and you. Sometime when Drew’s not around.” She pauses before adding, “I suppose you’ll want to visit that Merry boy while you’re home.”

  ---

  As soon as Drew’s truck heads up the road I put on my coat and hat and tear out the back door. I’m dying to look for my birth records, but Evelyn has to come first. Him ending up in the hospital was my fault. If it hadn’t been for me he wouldn’t have blown up Hux Wagner’s moonshine still in the first place.

  Evelyn knows I’m coming home today, I told him so in my last letter. Maybe he’ll be waiting for me like all those times in the past. I race toward our secret camp down by the river, my feet slapping against the ground, hopeful in a way I haven’t felt in months. Our camp might only be a clearing in the bushes, but we spent some of our best times there, making plans and chewing the fat. Just because I’ve got a whole other life in the city doesn’t mean I’ll give up on Evelyn.

  I scurry down the path to the river, letting my feet lead the way. I haven’t felt this free for months. The trees, the grass, the land, all look dead; the middle of December and not a smidge of snow to whiten things up. Stepping inside our camp, I shiver. All the secrets Evelyn and me shared, all the plans we concocted—our disappointments and victories and even tears—I can feel it all.

  The wind whistles up across the river, and I think about the day I almost drowned. How Jim Merry jumped in the water and saved me. I used to think he was nothing but a drunk and a bully. Funny how your opinion about someone can change over time. Too bad most times those circumstances have to be dire for any of that to happen. At least Jim’s not drinking anymore, but while he is trying to make it up to Evelyn as best he can, it’s not always easy to forgive and forget the past.

  The bottles and jars inside our camp are still lined up on the board where we left them. The bricks are stacked on top of one another. I count them. Eleven. Same as the day I left. Opening the cold cream jar, I look in at the blue eggshell Evelyn put inside for safekeeping. I touch it gently with the tip of my finger before screwing the top back on. Reaching into the tin, I take out our playing cards and shuffle them a few times.

  The camp feels deserted, like time stopped the day I went away and forgot to start moving again, like ghosts from the past are waiting to jump out and grab me. The branches inside the camp tremble in the breeze. I’ll wait for Evelyn a little longer. Hard to say how long Aunt Millie will be gone. I might have time to look for those papers yet.

  Hearing my name, I spin around. “Evelyn!” I gasp, looking out through the doorway. The wind answers with a breeze too fragile to hold the tiniest sound. Imagination can play funny tricks on you. Maybe he’s busy with Spark and doesn’t want to leave. Outside I put my feet though the old tire, grab on tight, and start swinging.

  I wait for as long as I dare. Looking down along the river’s black water, I head back home, dragging my disappointment with me like an old wet blanket. It was stupid of me to come here. I should have known better. Hope doesn’t always make sense, but sometimes it’s the only thing you have.

  ---

  As darkness closes in for the evening, I creep up the steps in my stocking feet, slipping across the polished floorboards like a skater on a frozen pond. Aunt Millie and Drew are in the kitchen playing whist. They’ll be there for hours like they have been the past few nights. Finding an ounce of privacy has been next to impossible with Aunt Millie hovering around like a hummingbird to hollyhocks, inviting me to help decorate the tree and make fruitcake—as if she’s ever let me do any of these things in the past. She’s about as genuine as a three-dollar bill.

  “No sense being a stick in the mud,” she said, so I helped her with the fruitcake this afternoon to keep her off my back.

  The door to Aunt Millie’s room is open a crack. I push on it and enter. Reaching for the pull chain, I snap the light on. Below me, Aunt Millie lets out a squeal. Drew’s gravelly voice rumbles.
I head toward her dresser, to the wooden box where she keeps her jewelry, careful not to step on any squeaky floorboards. If the letter isn’t there I’m not sure where I’ll look next. But I’ll worry about all that later.

  I take a big breath and open the lid, my fingers tingling like they suddenly fell asleep. Digging through the mound of jewelry, I pull out a bunch of metal—chains and brooches and earrings twined together like worms in a tin can. My fingertips butt against some paper in the bottom of the box. It’s still there!

  Setting my glasses on the dresser, I hold the envelope up close. My hands tremble with excitement. This has to be it!

  The envelope looks all official: To: Mildred Turple. Aunt Millie never keeps anything. It has to be important. Straightening out the letter, I commence reading. The words don’t make sense at first. My head starts to spin as I work my way to the bottom of the page.

  Regret to inform you…Complications from childbirth…a girl, stillborn…burial.

  A cold sensation trickles over me, filling my shoes, and I can’t stop shivering.

  “What are you doing in my room?” asks Aunt Millie, only the words come out in bubbles, like she’s got her head under water. I take a sudden gulp of air and turn around so slowly I’m hardly sure I’m moving at all. Maybe I’m not. Maybe I’m stuck between the past and the present with no place to call home. The letter slips out of my hands and flutters to the floor. Aunt Millie makes a nosedive toward it and snaps it up.

  “Cammie, what did you do?” The fact that she doesn’t even sound mad frightens me the most. My knees want to crumple but I force them not to bend. My tongue can’t straighten out all the words that are in my head to say. Every fear, every bit of anger, every worry I’ve ever felt sits like a rock in my stomach and I can’t move.

  “You weren’t supposed to find out like this,” she says.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  May 15, 1940

  The Ideal Maternity Home

  East Chester, Nova Scotia

  Dear Miss Turple,

  It is with deepest regret that I must inform you of the death of your sister, Brenda, on May 8th of this year, due to complications from childbirth. The child, a girl, was stillborn. Please know that everything medically possible was done to save both mother and child, but some things are left in God’s hands. As mere mortals there is little we can do to intervene when something is not part of God’s will.

  Since immediate attempts to locate her next of kin proved futile, we here at the home were forced to step up and take charge. Therefore, both mother and child were laid to rest in Fox Point Cemetery, according to your sister’s wishes shortly before her passing. Please know that your dearly departed sister spoke highly of you during her stay here with us and it was her wish for you not to suffer unduly by her death.

  There is another matter pertaining to the business side of your sister’s care at the Ideal Maternity Home. In accordance with the legal contract your sister signed upon entering the home, there is the matter of $400 owing, to cover her stay here as well as burial fees for both of the deceased. Your immediate attention to this matter would be greatly appreciated. Please remit payment to the above address as soon as possible to preserve your sister’s good name even in death. Everyone deserves a second chance.

  Yours in God,

  Lila Young

  Drew comes upstairs to see what’s going on. Aunt Millie barks at him to scram. He must know we’ve got some serious business to discuss because he doesn’t kick up a stink about being ordered to leave.

  “You might want to sit down for this,” Aunt Millie says, but I stand with my feet firmly planted. I’m tough. I can take whatever she has to say.

  “Just give me the facts. No sugar-coating. I’m not a little kid anymore.”

  I listen to everything Aunt Millie has to say, how she went to that home for unwed mothers to find out what happened to her sister. Aunt Millie, undercover—the idea sounds just as ridiculous as it did the first time Miss Turner said it.

  When Aunt Millie gets through talking, she asks me why I’ve got nothing to say. But what’s there to say when you find out your entire life has been one gigantic lie after another? Then it hits me like a load of bricks: All this means that Ed’s not my father. That sends a spike of disappointment through me.

  “It’s really not so bad, not like you think,” she says. “You were born at that maternity home just like Brenda’s baby.”

  “Not so bad! You’ve got to be kidding. What about all the lies you told? All the time I spent wondering why my mother never came.” Spite starts climbing up my backbone. All the lies Aunt Millie told—it was to save her own skin.

  “I just took what really happened and rearranged it a teensy bit. It seemed simple at the time. Someone had to take you.”

  “You mean you adopted me?” I ask, finally getting a grip. When Aunt Millie tells a story there are always pieces missing, not to mention the parts that don’t make any real sense.

  “Not exactly.”

  “What do you mean, not exactly?” If I don’t soon get to the bottom of all of this, I’ll blow my stack. Guaranteed.

  “There was that matter of a bill owing. I couldn’t tell her who I really was. She’d be after her money. But I also knew you were one of the ones who wouldn’t be adopted—not with your eyes. When I brought you back to Tanner I told everyone you were Brenda’s. No one knew the difference. I guess over time I started to believe it myself. You have her colouring. I think that’s why I took to you like I did. As far as anyone knew, you could have been Brenda’s baby.”

  “But you told me she’d be back one day. You said she was off making her mark. You let me hate her. You’re nothing but a liar! A big fat liar!” The words are bunching up on me, pushing against my cheeks and tongue.

  “We all need something to believe in, Cammie. No one wanted Brenda to come home more than me. I thought you’d eventually give up waiting.”

  “You thought I’d give up? Like it wasn’t important?” Fury forms a ball inside me. Twelve years of hope and longing finally let loose. “You could be lying now for all I know!” I scream at the top of my lungs. Grabbing my glasses, I push out past her. I haven’t got time for more of her lies.

  “Go ask Jim Merry if you don’t believe me,” she says. I stop and spin around. She has my attention. “He was there the night I brought you home. We left in his wagon when the freighters came through. He went to Chester with barrels and came home with a baby. But then Ed had to go and ruin everything by showing up here after the war. Why couldn’t he have gone someplace else to live? Why did he have to come back to Sheppard Square? Why did he have to find out about you?”

  I scowl and give Aunt Millie a look. “None of this is Ed’s fault.” Ed—I’ve got to tell Ed. It’s only fair. But what’s he going to say? Guess I can kiss this adoption thing goodbye. Maybe he’ll be relieved. Maybe the whole idea was Ed just doing his fatherly duty. Now he’ll be free. Could be it’ll make him happy not to have a twelve-year-old kid with bad eyes on his hands.

  “My real parents?” I give a sniff but only because I’m done feeling sorry for myself. It’s time to be tough. Like it or lump it, this is my life. No more lies to protect the truth.

  “There’s no way of knowing that. ‘People only adopt the perfect babies.’ That’s what Mrs. Young said one day. ‘Mix some water and molasses,’ she said. ‘That baby’s not going to live anyway.’ The old bat was talking about you, Cammie. And, well, a baby can’t live on molasses and water. Even I knew that. I never did find out what happened to Brenda, but I sure as heck couldn’t leave you there, not after the things I heard.”

  Scurrying to her closet, Aunt Millie pulls out a scrapbook and pitches it open on the bed. “Right here,” she says, tapping a finger onto the page. I get in close to see. The page is filled with newspaper clippings with titles like: “Couple Found Not Guilty,” “Controversy Surrounding
Home for Unwed Mothers,” “Babies for Sale?” I flip the pages. More articles.

  “I started saving everything I could find in case any of this came back on me. The old battleaxe kept sending letters, wanting her money, threatening to get the law involved, but I knew she wouldn’t do that. Not after what was in these articles. It’s a good thing she didn’t know who I really was when I went there to work.”

  “But my parents….” I’m back to square one in that department.

  “Forget your parents, Cammie. They gave you up. I’m the one who wanted you.”

  For all my life I only ever wanted to hear someone to say that. I never in a million years believed it would be Aunt Millie.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  The full moon reaches its fingers through the tree branches and grabs at the furniture in my bedroom. I sit on the floor looking out at it, wondering why life has to be so complicated. Why can’t it be as simple as a morning sunrise, or a moonbeam in the dead of night? I can still hear Aunt Millie’s words in my head like the scorch marks from a hot iron: Go ask Jim Merry if you don’t believe me. All these years she wanted nothing to do with Jim Merry. She said it was because he was a drunk and a bully, but that’s not all true. She trusted him in the past, but that was before his son died and he started drinking on account of it.

  “Loose lips sink ships—a promise doesn’t mean much to a drunk,” Aunt Millie continued. “I kept thinking he’d shoot his mouth off. I’d get sent off to jail and then where would you be—tell me that? Back at that home, slowly starving to death, that’s where.”

  Around and around the story goes, clunking along like a flat tire on a pickup truck. I can’t make my head stop thinking.