Papergirl

by Melinda McCracken

  She stalked away, and Cassie was left scrambling to catch up once again. She turned and waved goodbye to Freddy, who was nonchalantly pulling a cigarette out of his pocket. If she hadn’t seen his hand shaking as he brought it up to his mouth, she wouldn’t have known how worried he was.

  “I truly don’t know why you’re so friendly with him,” Mary was saying. “We don’t have time to waste on people who’ll never change their minds. We’re sacrificing everything to fight this. My mother …”

  “I can imagine,” said Cassie quietly. “It’s in my house, too. The food, I mean. That’s what you were going to say?”

  “Yes. The food.” Mary slowed her pace. “The café is wonderful, but one meal a day … we’re doing so much better than we were, truly, but I’m so sick of being hungry.”

  “We have good stores of oatmeal. You could take some home.”

  Mary rolled her eyes. “Can you imagine what my proud mother would say? Thanks, but I am not ready for that lecture.”

  Cassie didn’t bother mentioning how much Mary had learned about lecturing, judging from her talk with Freddy.

  “No, I have another idea,” continued Mary. “We need to go by your house first.”

  Mystified, Cassie walked back to her house.

  “You can just wait here,” Mary said as she darted through the back door. She came out again quickly, carrying Billy’s fishing rod and straw basket that he kept by the door.

  She really was a very clever best friend.

  Eventually the girls were walking south across Portage to the Assiniboine River. They wandered down Kennedy Street beside the new and magnificent Legislative Building, where the provincial government would soon have its home. The Legislative Building was to have a beautiful impressive dome on top and many beautiful statues. But the dome wasn’t finished yet, and there was a fence all around the building’s grounds. Cassie stuck her nose through a crack in the fence to get a closer look at the building. She saw men who looked like soldiers putting up tents on the grounds.

  “Mary, look!”

  “What are they doing?” Mary said, peering through the same crack. “Are they camping out on the grounds? What on earth for?

  “I guess it’s good weather for camping?” Cassie said as they walked down to the riverbank.

  “I don’t like it,” said Mary. “But I can’t figure out exactly why.”

  Down on the bank, both upstream and down, there were lines stretching into the water all along the banks, although the fishermen were hidden in the Manitoba maple trees. Just another sign of a starving city.

  They walked along the river until they found a spot near the bridge. Cassie dug a worm up and put it on the hook, then cast into the shallow brown water.

  “I hope I get a pickerel,” she said. “Mum cooks it so well.” Her stomach growled, and as if in response, Mary’s did too. Cassie silently told her stomach to be patient, that there were more important things than food.

  “I hope you get twenty pickerels,” Mary said, and when Cassie sized up the basket skeptically, Mary responded, “I’ll carry them in my arms if I have to!”

  The girls turned their faces up to the warm sun and chatted quietly, but there was an ease missing. They needed a catch today.

  Eventually, they dozed off in the sunshine, both unused to the long hours they’d been working. After a long nap, Cassie felt the end of her line tug.

  “I’ve got something!” she said. Mary sat up and watched as Cassie reeled in her catch.

  When it came to shore, though, Cassie gagged. It wasn’t a pickerel or even a whitefish — it was a hideous black fish that looked like an eel. A maria. She took it off the hook and pulled her arm back to throw the disgusting-looking fish back.

  “What are you doing?” Mary cried. “Put that down!”

  The fish was flopping and twisting in Cassie’s hand. “Down? You want to keep it?” she said.

  “Put it down,” Mary repeated, lifting the rock from the basket. Cassie obeyed, and Mary swiftly killed the fish with the rock. Cassie closed her eyes tight.

  “You really aren’t used to being hungry, are you?” Mary said as she put the fish into the basket. “Marias are fine to eat. You just have to get past how they look.”

  Cassie was skeptical, and hooked another worm and cast once more into the water.

  “I’ve never tried them. Can’t get past their faces.”

  “Well, that one doesn’t have a face anymore,” said Mary cheerfully. “Here, let me hold the rod.”

  It was a few hours before they had another catch. Mary was pulling in another maria and knocking its head in. Between the heat, her hunger, and the hideous fish, Cassie was beginning to feel woozy.

  “Let’s pack it in for today,” she said. “It must be close to suppertime by now.”

  “All right,” said Mary. “But look around the river. I haven’t seen anyone else get a catch. I know you don’t feel it, but we got lucky.”

  “We’ll see what Mum can do with it,” Cassie sighed, not feeling lucky in the least.

  On the way home, Cassie stuck her nose through the fence and watched the soldiers at work again.

  “They look … I don’t know, official,” she said. “Like they mean business.”

  “But what business?” said Mary. “And why are they setting up here?”

  But Cassie had no answer.

  When she got home, she pulled the first maria out of the basket so that Mary could carry hers home out of the heat, said goodbye to her friend, and went inside with the fish and the rod. She found her family sitting around the kitchen table with solemn looks on their faces, holding hot mugs of tea, oatmeal cooking on the stove. Billy’s suit jacket was dusty, and his jaunty boater, which he had pulled down off the shelf because of the balmy weather, was on the table in front of him. His tie was all askew. His normally rosy cheeks were extra red, and his eyes were extra blue. It was funny to see him in ordinary clothes.

  “And here’s Cassie back. Out fishing all day, were you?” said Billy with false heartiness. Everybody looked so worried. Cassie couldn’t get over it. What had happened to all their happiness? “Get anything for us?”

  “Well …” said Cassie, wondering if she’d made a mistake bringing the maria home. They might be insulted, thinking it had come to eating something that ugly. But what else could she do? She held up the slippery body of the maria for everyone to see.

  “Heavenly days!” shrieked Mrs. Hopkins, clutching her bosom. “What on earth is that? Take it away quickly!” She pointed toward the kitchen sink with one hand, and covered her eyes with the other.

  “It’s only a maria. It won’t hurt. It’s dead.”

  “Dead, she says!” exclaimed Mrs. Hopkins. “Dead!”

  “Sorry I couldn’t get any pickerel or whitefish. These make good eating too, though. At least, that’s what Mary says. I’ve never —”

  “How in heaven’s name do I clean a fish like that?” said Mrs. Hopkins. “If it is a fish. It looks more like a snake. How will I stand looking at it while I …” She swallowed bravely and forced a smile at Cassie. “Thank you, Cassie dear. I’m sure it will be just delicious if Mary says so. And it was clever of you girls to go fishing.”

  Everybody was silent again and stared into space. Cassie gently put her maria in the sink and let the water run over it. For a moment the running water was the only sound.

  “I could go out into the country and snare a rabbit,” Billy finally suggested. “They’re very tasty.”

  Cassie remembered a dear little brown rabbit she had seen hopping down the lane last fall. Rabbits were so sweet.

  “I won’t eat a rabbit,” she said firmly.

  More silence.

  “We could always creep up on Mrs. Watson’s tomcat,” said Billy. Nobody laughed. Was it actually possible? thought Cassie. Could they eat Ro
dney? He was at least fifteen years old, fat and stiff, with chewed-off ears and a scarred old face. Surely Rodney would taste awful, even if he was fat.

  “I was joking!” said Billy. “We can’t eat Rodney. He’s Mrs. Watson’s friend. And, you know, a cat. I’ve heard people talking about poaching deer out in the bush near Charleswood. A buck would do us and the neighbours fine. I’d have to walk out to Charleswood with the rifle, though. I just don’t know how long this is going to go on. After what I saw today, it looks as if the police lockout has changed the situation for the worse.”

  “What did I miss?” said Cassie. One day away from her corner, and there were some important developments to catch up on.

  “The streets were full of people — you know what a beautiful day it was. Now, when I direct traffic at the corner of Portage and Main, everything runs smoothly. But just after you left today, things became completely chaotic. Those two Specials were trying to do my job, and they were in a terrible muddle. One was making the traffic go forward while the other was trying to get it to stop. Pretty soon traffic was jammed and people were overflowing the sidewalks into the street.”

  Cassie giggled. It sounded ridiculous and it served the Specials right.

  Billy shook his head as though he wanted her to stop laughing. “The people on foot, mostly strikers, started to tease the two Specials. They yelled, ‘Are you afraid of being run over? Are you lost? Does your mother know where you are?’ The crowd was having a good holiday time and then along came groups of Specials on foot swinging their clubs, and a woman was struck.”

  Mrs. Hopkins gasped.

  Billy nodded. “It got worse. Along came some Specials on Eaton’s ponies and they charged into the crowds of women and children, and the strikers started throwing bottles and bricks, anything. It was around Dingwall’s.”

  “Well, so they should! Riding horses into a crowd of people, that’s terrible. Good for the strikers,” said Cassie.

  “No, bad for the strikers, for all of us. It’s terrible. It’s exactly what the Citizens’ Committee wanted to happen, so they can call in the Mounties and use guns. I think it’s a turning point.” Billy sighed and glanced over at the sink with the maria in it. “Anyway, I’m off duty until further notice. I think I can get my hands on a car through my friend Daniel’s father and use it as a jitney, and give people rides for a nickel, since there are no streetcars. I could use it to drive out and get us a deer or a rabbit. I can make enough to pay for the gasoline and use of the car and still have some left over for income too. It’ll bring us a little money, anyway.”

  Mrs. Hopkins looked over to Mr. Hopkins, who was staring into his mug, his tea untouched. “David,” she said.

  “Yes, luv?” Mr. Hopkins said without energy. Cassie thought he was probably thinking of his future. He might never be a policeman again. And without the work that Cassie knew he loved, what could he do? Run an elevator in a hotel? Work in the kitchen of a restaurant? He wasn’t young anymore.

  “David, stop being so gloomy,” said Mrs. Hopkins firmly. “Summer is here. And you know what that means. We need to plant the rest of our garden. The sooner we get the vegetables in, the sooner we can eat them. It’s almost too late now, and all we’ve got in is the potatoes, beans, and carrots. We have to think of the future.”

  “Yes, luvvy,” said Mr. Hopkins, sipping his tea.

  “When you’ve finished that, you can take off the storm windows and mend the front steps and patch the screen on the back door. And put up some chicken wire for my sweet peas. Cassie, you should stay home from now on. It’s too dangerous to be out on the street.”

  “I’m not staying off the streets! I’ve got an important job to do. People still need the bulletin.”

  “I think it’s safe enough,” advised Billy. “She’s got Freddy, and people know her. She’s right by you and Mary and Mrs. Smith in the café. As for me and Dad, I think we need to start looking for other work. Actually, I’ve been thinking I might even look into working with a threshing team when harvest time comes. It’s only temporary money, but it would be a job.”

  Cassie blinked. Was Billy truly considering not being in the police anymore? Why, that was his life! His future! If he couldn’t be a policeman, how could he save his money and meet a sweetheart and get married and have a family of his own?

  This strike was changing everything. Cassie thought about herself. Boys and girls just four years older than she was were out working. She wanted to keep learning things, as much as this break from school was nice. But if there was no money at home, she might have to work to contribute to the family. She would be like Freddy. Perhaps she could stay in school somehow and learn to be a typewriter girl. She hoped and hoped.

  The mood of the city changed. Whereas before it had been lighthearted, a sort of holiday mood, the atmosphere was now tense and forbidding, and the weather, whose warmth had been so welcome after the long winter, began to get too hot and muggy. People were beginning to wish the strike was over. Many families were on the verge of starvation. People had used up their savings, if they had any in the first place.

  The people in charge of the strike were getting grimmer, too. Now when Cassie went into the Labour Café, she would often see Mrs. Armstrong in the corner at a table, writing and writing and not even looking up to greet people or smile at them. She was writing letters to politicians, articles for newspapers across the country, and notes for her many speeches.

  Cassie, Mary, and Billy went again to hear J.S. Woodsworth speak at the Labour Church in Victoria Park — which the strikers were calling Liberty Park — and somehow people dug into their pockets and donated a thousand dollars to keep supporting the strikers. Spirits were still high, but Cassie sensed that people were less hopeful. There was less exhilaration and more people looking resigned. A woman standing next to them fainted from standing in the heat for so long, falling heavily against Mary on her way to the ground. Mary stumbled and Billy quickly caught the two and laid the woman down gently while Mary ran to get some water. As Cassie watched her go, she saw several other women swooning. Was it the heat, or was it hunger weakening these women?

  * * *

  On June 17, about a week after Cassie had caught the maria, she woke with a gnawing hunger. Rather than lying around waiting to feel better, she got up before her father and brother and headed to the Labour Temple a bit earlier than usual to get her papers. Her mother, Mrs. Smith, and Mary had gone to the café earlier today as well, as it was their turn to make the bread. The streets were empty, she assumed because of the early hour.

  As she strode toward the doors, her toes hit something and she stumbled. She looked down to see what she’d tripped on and saw the bundled bulletins. Why were they outside? She glanced up and felt a wave of confusion and then a jolt of terror. There was a cordon around the entryway, and the glass of the doors had been shattered. Jagged glass framed the darkened interior of the Temple. Where was everyone? She saw someone moving inside and peered in. When she saw the red of the Mounted Police uniform, she turned on her heel, grabbed her stack of papers, and ran, panicked, to the corner of Portage and Main. As she approached, she heard Freddy shouting, “READ ALL ABOUT IT! MOUNTIES GET THEIR MEN! Strike leaders arrested in dead of night! Taken to Stony Mountain Penitentiary! Read all about it!”

  She gasped, dropped the rock on her papers, and bolted toward the Labour Café, nearly running over Mary, who was on her way out.

  “Is it true?” asked Cassie. “Tell me it isn’t.”

  “Oh, it’s true,” said Mary. “I just found out. Mrs. Armstrong isn’t coming in today because she and her children are so upset.”

  Cassie quickly told Mary about the state of the Labour Temple as the two rushed to Cassie’s pile of bulletins for more details. Mary quickly skimmed for information. “It says Mounties broke into houses — houses where children were sleeping, mind — turned over their mattresses and bedclothes,
held guns to the men’s heads, and handcuffed them and took them away to the Stony Mountain Penitentiary. The federal penitentiary! Those walls are twenty feet high, and guards with rifles keep watch in towers. They’re treating them like they’re dangerous criminals instead of thoughtful leaders.”

  “It was a Mountie I saw inside the Labour Temple! How could they do this? Do you know who they got other than Mr. Armstrong?”

  “No,” said Mary. “The bulletin has a list of missing men, but they don’t know for certain who was arrested.” Her gaze drifted over to Freddy, still hawking the paper as loudly as he could. Her gaze hardened. “I guess there’s one way to find out.”

  She strode over to him. “Freddy,” she said.

  He straightened. “What is it, Red Mary?”

  “Stop it, you two,” said Cassie. “Freddy, does your paper list all the men who were taken last night?”

  “Oh, so your little bulletin doesn’t tell you everything! You need the real newsmen to help you?”

  “Who did they get?” Cassie asked frantically.

  Mary scanned the page. “My goodness. Five hundred Specials. They sent five hundred Specials and fifty Mounties out in the middle of the night. What are they thinking? They can’t do this, can they?”

  “Mary!” said Cassie. “The names!”

  “Yes, they’re here. Reverend William Ivens, Russell, Queen, Heaps, Armstrong, Almazoff, Bray, Verenchuk, Choppelrei, and Charitonoff.”

  “Charitonoff! He’s a friend of my father’s!” Freddy’s mouth fell open and he looked at Cassie.

  “So your father’s not a traitor like you?” said Mary.

  Cassie ignored them. “I guess they haven’t got Woodsworth yet,” she said grimly. She was beginning to know the score. She looked at the bulletin again and read aloud, her horror deepening. Apparently, Mr. Andrews, the man at the head of the Citizens’ Committee of One Thousand, said the arrested strike leaders would be sent home to Britain within seventy-two hours. A law had been passed in Ottawa in just forty minutes saying that the strike leaders could be deported back to Britain. They passed it in order to get the loan from Wall Street. Mr. Andrews would not give the leaders bail; he would not let them pay money in order to stay out of jail. The Immigration Board was coming from Ottawa to deport them all.