April Raintree (4 page)

I pleaded with him, again, “Please take us home with you. Please Daddy?”

“April, we just can't do that. We want to but we can't.”

“Why not, Daddy?”

“Look, you're making your mother cry and you're going to make Cheryl cry. If it was up to us, you would never have left home. But this isn't up to us and you can't come home with us. I'm sorry.”

I felt defeated. My shoulders slumped inside my heavy coat. I walked out of the room, my head down. I didn't want anyone to see that my eyes were wet. Then I remembered I hadn't even said goodbye to Cheryl. I ran back and kissed and hugged her and shot one last pleading glance at our parents. I knew it was of no use. I had to wait a bit for Mrs. Semple. By then, the rest of my family had left. As we were going down the road, I saw my parents up ahead. Dad had his arm around Mom's shoulders. I wondered if they still lived in the house on Jarvis. They looked so much like they loved each other. It gave me a good feeling to see them like that. At least they were together. They had each other. As we passed them, I waved to them, excited that I was seeing them again, in such a short time. They both smiled and waved back to me.

As we drove further and further away from them and I could no longer see them from the rear window, I became sad again. I just wanted to cry but I couldn't, not in front of Mrs. Semple. I figured that if I did cry, she wouldn't let me see them again. I answered ‘yes' or ‘no' whenever she asked me something because I knew my voice would give me away. When we got to the Dions, Mrs. Semple explained to Mrs. Dion that I would be moody for a while because of the family visit but not to coddle me or I would carry on like this after every family visit. I didn't much like Mrs. Semple for saying that. How would she feel? I went off to my bedroom and was glad that Nicole wasn't there. I felt the same as when I first came there.

A little later, Mrs. Dion came into my room and asked me in a gentle, coddling voice, “April, do you want to come out for supper? It'll be ready in a few minutes.”

“I'm not hungry,” I said listlessly.

“I know how you must feel. But if you eat something you'll feel much better. How about if I brought a plate for you? Nicole can do her homework in the kitchen tonight.” Mrs. Dion patted me on the arm and left.

I ate all the food on my plate that night, knowing it would make Mrs. Dion happy. When I finished, I took my plate and glass into the kitchen. The Dions were all sitting at the table, having their meal. They all looked at me. I felt shy and timid again. I wondered what had been said about me. I was an outsider and felt more than ever, that I didn't belong to this family. They were being nice to me, that's all. I had my own real family. I wondered again how long it would be before I could go home.

“Are you feeling any better, April?” Mrs. Dion later came in to ask me.

“Yes,” I replied. I had been half lying and sitting so I sat up properly on the edge of the bed. Mrs. Dion sat next to me. I asked, “Mrs. Dion, why can't I be with my Mom and Dad?”

“You poor angel. It must be so hard on you.” Mrs. Dion put her arm around my shoulders.

“I want to be with my Mom and Dad. I want to be with Cheryl.” I tried hard not to cry but I felt so sorry for myself that the sobs and tears broke loose. Mrs. Dion hugged me to her and rocked me back and forth.

She tried to explain, “Honey, sometimes we can't have everything we want. Believe me, living here with us is what's best for you right now. I know it's hard to understand that. You just have to trust in God's wisdom.”

“Mom and Dad say they're sick. They say that when they're better, then we can go home to them. But they used to take a lot of medicine before and it never made them any better. So, maybe they never will get better. Maybe they never will take us home with them, will they?”

“Honey, that medicine that your Morn and Dad take does make them feel better but not for long and not in the right way. Someday you'll understand that. For now, just keep loving them and praying for them. And try to be happy with us. We all care for you very much, April.”

“I know. It's just that… I belong to my Mom and Dad.”

“That's true, April.” Mrs. Dion gave me a big hug and then stood up. “Come and join us for the Rosary now. Tonight, we'll say it for your family.”

I did feel a whole lot better but I wondered about the mysterious medicine.

My first Christmas with the Dions was celebrated much differently than when I was with my family. We went to bed right after supper but of course we couldn't sleep for a long time. Then when we did finally get to sleep, Mrs. Dion came to wake us up so we could go to the Midnight Mass. As we walked to church, it was snowing but it wasn't cold. The snow shone like a million sparkling diamonds. Our footsteps made crunching sounds and I wished they were leading us back to the house so I could crawl back into my warm cozy bed. The Mass seemed endless that night but relief was provided by the choir, singing Christmas hymns. After it was over, we went back home and gathered in the living room to open all the presents. That's when I became wide-eyed awake, seeing all those presents. I got a set of books, puzzles, games and a doll, all brand new! I couldn't decide which present to play with first. In the kitchen, Mrs. Dion had set out the best dishes and all the baking she had been doing was displayed. By the time we had eaten, it was almost four in the morning.

It wasn't long after Christmas that I received the very first letter from Cheryl. I was amazed that she could print and she wasn't even in school or anything. There were spelling mistakes and some of the letters were reversed but I could make out exactly what she meant.

January 5, 1956

Dear Apple,

How ar you? Mrs. Madams tole me to ast that. I got lots a presnts. A dol and sum books of my very own and sum puzles an gams to play with Cindy an Jeff an Fern an some craons an a colring book. Wen they is at scool I colr an lok at my books. I am lerning to reed an print an count an Mrs. Madams says I is fast lerner. I wish I was going to scool. Jeff is bad boy. I is good. I is good girl like Dady tole me. I mis you, Apple. I mis Momy and Dady.

luv,

Cheryl Raintree

p.s. I had to ast how to spel sum werds.

I had never written a letter but I sure learned how to write one that day! Nicole helped me write it and I told her all about my Christmas.

Our next family visit came in February. Until then, I had begun to get the feel of being part of the Dion family. Like all our future visits with our parents, the pattern would be the same. From the day I was told about the coming visits, I would become excited and the excitement would mount until the day of the visit. Then when I actually saw our parents and Cheryl, it was a constant high for those few hours. As soon as a social worker came to tell either Cheryl or me it was time to go, I turned instantly despondent and I would stay that way for maybe a week or more. But for those few hours, I was with my real Mom and Dad and I was with my real sister. I loved them and they loved me. And there were no questions of ties or loyalties.

I loved the Dions because they took care of me and they were nice to me. They were deserving of my love because I had nothing else to give. But Mom and Dad were different. It didn't matter that they were sick and couldn't give us anything. I thought then that I would always love them, no matter what. Cheryl and I did ask them when we would go back with them—we always asked them that. And they would promise us that as soon as they got better, we would all be together again. So, I had hope and I knew it wouldn't be long before we once again had our own home.

The next big event for me was my birthday. Mrs. Dion gave a small birthday party and some of the girls in my class came to it. I got a present and a card from Cheryl. After that, came my First Communion. I felt more grown-up because from then on I was able to receive Communion. I bragged about this to my parents at our summer visit but they didn't seem at all interested. Then I remembered they had never gone to Mass and realized they probably knew they would go to hell. I wanted to tell them that if they went to confession and then went to Mass every Sunday, they too could go to heaven but I felt awkward about the whole thing so I didn't say any more on religion.

Cheryl had been going to kindergarten and she could read and print while most of her classmates were still learning their ABC's. She was still very funny and she always made Mom, Dad and me laugh. Most of the time, she had no intentions of being comical. I sure did miss them after the visits. It was after that family visit when I received another letter from Cheryl.

August 20, 1956

Dear Apple,

How ar you? Mrs. Madams got our scool things. I is so ecited to go to scool for reel. I wil be in Gr 1. Apple on Sunday I was bad. I did not meen to be. I wanted to see the litle peeple who lives in the radio. I kood see the lites on. The radio fel on the flor. The lites wont werk now an thos peeple is ded. I am skared. Mr. Madams is mad. He ast who brok it. I was to skared. I didnt say nothin. Dont tell Momy and Dady. Pleese Apple. I am so skared.

luv,

Cheryl

I felt so sorry for Cheryl. I used to feel scared like that at the orphanage. I knew what it felt like. I also knew that there weren't any people who lived in radios. I'd seen Mr. Dion fix their radio. Poor Cheryl. She was scared she'd killed some people and she was scared she'd get heck. Mrs. Dion had told us that telling the truth was always easier and better than telling lies. I wrote to Cheryl and told her to go to Mr. MacAdams and explain exactly how she broke the radio. I told her to write me and tell me what happened afterward. Her response came on August 30th.

Dear Apple,

How ar you? Mr. Madams sed you was good to tel me what to do. He even laft after I tole him. He sed to me the peeples voice cum frum waves in the air or sumthin. I dont no. Now I is ecited agin bout going to scool. I week to wate. I try to be good. I promis.

luv,

Cheryl

I felt warm and pleased that I had been able to help Cheryl. I was glad that Mr. MacAdams was the kind who could laugh at something like that. Not that I knew of any other kind because Mr. Dion was just as understanding and my Dad, well, I really couldn't remember when we had broken anything in the house. Of course, we never had much to break. One of the good things about having nothing, I guess.

I don't remember the exact day when I began to call my foster parents, “Maman” and “Papa”. I just copied their children and nobody made any comments about it. I was still shy and if anyone had made note, I would have stopped. It did make me feel more comfortable in their home.

At the beginning of the winter when I was in Grade Two, my classroom was overcrowded. I was among six students who were placed in the Grade Three class. With Nicole's help and patience, I was able to adapt very quickly to the higher grade. When I passed with a good average, all the Dions were very proud of me and they made a little celebration. For an eight-year-old, I had a very large head for a while.

That summer and the following summer, we all went to a Catholic camp at Albert Beach on Lake Winnipeg. I loved those times at camp. I felt a twinge of guilt when I thought that if I were with my Mom and Dad, we probably couldn't go to summer camp. At home, all the neighborhood kids would gather to play baseball or touch football. When there weren't many kids around, we'd play badminton. If it were raining, we'd find something to do indoors, like playing marbles or reading comics. There was always lots to do.

In winter, we'd go tobagganing down the slopes of the Red River. Sometimes, a man from a farm on the outskirts would come with a team of horses and hayrack and give the kids of the town a hayride. At the end, Mrs. Dion or some other mother would give us all cookies and hot chocolate. At Christmas time, we would go around carolling even those of us who couldn't sing. And for me, there were my regular family visits. They always made me happy and sad at the same time.

Mrs. Dion had always been a happy, cheerful person and as long as I had been there, she had never been sick in bed. I must have been the last to sense the change in her. Mostly, I was told that Maman was very tired and Nicole urged me to help with the chores a little more. She didn't say why and I resented that at first. I thought she was being bossy. When Maman took to her bed, I offered to do as much as I could, fully repentent. At the end of November, Papa coaxed her to see a doctor. She was supposed to be going to the hospital for a week to have some tests done but her stay was prolonged to another week, then another.

That year, Christmas was a sad celebration. Maman came home and stayed for New Year's. Everyone was very sad but made a pretense of being happy. When I saw Maman, I wanted to cry. She looked so different. She used to joke about being too fat. She wasn't really—just pleasantly plump—but now, she was skinny. And to me she looked grey. Any movement, even breathing, seemed to be such a strain for her. Yet, she led us all in forced cheerfulness.

I'd lay in bed at night, worrying about her. I'd say my prayers over and over, pleading with God to make her better. I must have overheard Papa and Grandmere Dion saying in French that Maman was dying because my prayers to God changed to ‘please don't let Maman die.' I would think of Nicole, Guy and Pierre. It would be so terrible for them not to have a real mother. Finally, I would cry myself to sleep.

One night, I sat up in bed and was wondering what had woken me. After a while, I put my robe on and went to the kitchen for a glass of milk. I was on my way back to my bedroom when I heard a noise in the living room. Because of the bright moonlight, I could see everything clearly. There in his rocker was Papa, with his arms on the armrests, and his back very straight. I knew he wasn't sleeping, that he was very, very sad. I went in without turning on any lights and sat on the stool beside him. I wanted to comfort him but I didn't know what to say. I put my hand on his and said softly, “Maman says it's okay to cry sometimes. Maman says it makes you feel better.”