Janette Oke (5 page)

Chapter Six

Siblings

Since brother Jack was four years older than Janette, she would play mostly with the younger Margie, who was a soft, plump, sparkling little girl. Whenever visitors would arrive at the house, Margie seemed to take the spotlight. She knew songs like “Jesus Loves Me” and “You Are My Sunshine,” and her baby voice could carry a tune quite well. John Mann, a sturdy little Scotsman from Mann's store, enjoyed her especially, often singing songs back to her in his Scottish brogue.

Margie seemed to thrive on attention, whereas Janette was shy and withdrawn. But as a small child, Janette was most familiar with Margie's temper. Perhaps it was aided by the fact that, out of necessity, she had been allowed to have her way frequently during her bout with whooping cough. At any rate, Margie usually knew what she wanted, and she wasn't above using fingernails, teeth, or anything else it took to get her way. And she could squeal! Her loud, piercing cry would bring Amy, and then Janette would be scolded for making Margie cry.

Janette did not feel resentment toward Margie, since it seemed to her that this was just what babies did. And Margie's “stage” did not last for long. Before she was even off to school, Margie had changed into a gentle, compassionate, sweet-tempered little girl, and the maker of many friends.

Though the Steeves family was far from wealthy, it was accepted that a mother with a number of little ones would have a “girl” to help her. Ruth Chapman had come north with the family and stayed with them for a time, and Margie was Ruth's pet.

One day young Margie was standing on a chair beside the kitchen stove when Ruth walked by. Margie reached for her, lost her balance, and fell with one little hand on the hot surface of the stove, her other hand pressing her weight on top. There was a great deal of scampering and screaming, but the tiny hand was badly burned.

For several weeks the burn was dressed and cared for by the family. Two people would work on it at a time—one holding Margie and trying to distract her with some kind of goodie while the other carefully clipped away dead or damaged skin with a pair of tiny manicure scissors. Somehow she was spared infection but the scars remained, and though not at all her fault, they were an ugly reminder to Ruth of the terrible incident.

Margie was given a puppy one Christmas and he was named Pal. A mixed breed of mostly collie, he was a cute, fluffy little thing that grew to be quite smart, and even though he had been given to Margie, all of the children claimed him.

He joined Pooch, the family's older black-and-white mutt that was anything but a watchdog. Pooch typically ran and hid if things looked at all dangerous, being especially afraid of thunder and lightning. Janette could not fault him for that, though. She shared his feelings completely.

On the few occasions when Amy and Fred were away from home in the late evening, Pooch would sit and howl mournfully, sending shivers up Janette's spine as she slid farther down beneath the covers. To her young imagination it sounded like a death call and always made her worry that Pooch might know something she did not. She would lie silently, holding her breath until the familiar sound of her parents' return would reach her. Then, at last, she could drift off to sleep. Their howling prophet had been wrong again.

Pooch had one thing in his favor. He could pull a small sled—although not without a great deal of coaxing. In fact, the youngsters really worked much harder than the dog, since someone had to lead the way, calling and urging and pleading with the animal. But he did give some fair rides, pulling against the simple homemade harness.

Pooch lived to be quite old, and eventually the time came when it seemed wise to put him out of his misery. Fred preferred not to do the job himself, so he accepted the offer of help from one of the neighbors. Even though he was a bird dog by breed, Pooch was afraid of guns and the young man was forced to coax him away from the farm site. Fred had been very specific that the children be kept from learning of the incident. For all of the limitations of the silly old dog, the family had loved him.

In 1940, when Janette was five, Amy was expecting again. The children were allowed to place their hands on their mother's growing tummy and feel the baby kick. Amy told them that the baby was saying, “Let me out! Let me out!”

For this birth, Amy returned to the Champion area to stay with her mother, Grandma Violet Ruggles, and, in exchange, Grandma Kathryn Steeves came from Calgary to stay with Fred and his six offspring. She was a full-figured woman, well dressed, well mannered, and very dignified.

Grandma Steeves made no secret of the fact that Fred was a pretty special son in her thinking. While she was in his home, it was evident how much she loved him by the wonderful care she gave him and his family.

Kathryn had not lost her sense of propriety, however, and would tolerate no misbehavior. Although Fred did not use swear words and the children heard little of it from others, it was discovered that her penalty for what she called “bad words” was for the culprit to have his or her mouth washed out with soap.

After letting a word slip that she feared might fall into the “unsuitable” category, Janette stole quietly inside to get the soap and then hid at the end of the clothes cupboard, squeezing herself in the little space between the cupboard and the wall. Not realizing that it was unlikely Grandma heard of the incident at all, she scrubbed her mouth out with the ill-tasting foam, sure that if she did a proper job, it would be unnecessary for Grandma to do it.

After what seemed like many weeks, word came that the new baby was another sister, and when the day arrived for Amy's return, excitement filled the little home.

Janette was playing in the trees of a nearby pasture. When she heard Mommy was home with the new sister, she ran as fast as her short legs could take her, the younger Margie right behind.

After rushing to reach the family cluster, she was suddenly overcome by a sense of shyness. Mother had been gone for what seemed like such a long time and to see her with this new and strange baby felt awkward at first. When Janette finally brought herself to sneak a peek, she was surprised at how tiny the infant was.

Then it was announced that the whole family was invited to submit names for the newest member, and both Margie and Janette were asked for their choice, too.

It was easy for Janette to pick a name. A girl who went to their Sunday school class was Janette's ideal of all that a girl should be—she always wore nice dresses and had her hair neatly combed. Janette may have even envied her a bit if she had been old enough to know those kinds of feelings, but as it was, she just admired her. So little Janette picked “Joyce” as her choice for a name.

The choice was easy for Margie, too. She had not forgotten all the special attention she had received from the hired girl, so she chose “Ruth.”

Each family member put a slip of paper into the container and two names were drawn out. The two youngest sisters were thrilled when they “won” and the new baby was named Joyce Ruth. Janette and Margie were sure that since they had chosen her name, she was even more “theirs.”

Kathryn Steeves packed her bags and returned to Calgary shortly after Amy and baby Joyce were settled, and the children did not see her again. In the following year, 1941, word came that Grandma Kathryn was very sick. Fred and Amy left to visit her in a Calgary hospital. She soon died of cancer—the children's first introduction to the dreaded disease.

After the time spent with Grandma Steeves, Janette was better able to understand her own father. She had always been so proud of him. Even with clothes often dust-covered and smelling of sweat, the hard-working farmer remained a gentleman. He knew how to doff his cap when meeting a lady on the street, and how to rise to his feet when a woman entered the room. He was the first to offer his seat if it were needed, or his condolences with sincere feeling. And he always acknowledged the presence of friend or stranger. Janette would never forget the pride she felt as she walked down the street holding his hand, watching him nod his head slightly, touch his cap, and say “How'do” to those who passed them.

Now she knew he was all those things because of her grandmother. Janette had a daddy to be proud of, and for that she would always be grateful to the older woman who, in a way, still seemed like a stranger in spite of kinship.

Kathryn's picture graced the living room wall during Janette's growing-up years and was still there to see whenever she returned home. She always looked at it with admiration. Grandma had been a special woman.

Four years later, Grandpa Robert Steeves also passed away.

Joyce was still very new when Janette came into the big farm kitchen from playing outdoors and found her mother bathing the baby at the kitchen table. She was small, chubby, soft—and stark naked—and Janette thought that she was quite the cutest little thing she had ever seen. The sight of the tiny arms and legs waving wildly made Janette giggle, until Amy's question caught her by surprise.

“Do you want to hold her?”

Janette was sent to stand by the opened oven door until all the chill had left her clothes and hands. Then the squirming baby was placed in her arms. She would never forget the wonderful sensation. Joyce was so little—so cute—and
hers
.

For the first few months it was the older sisters who got to spoil baby Joyce, and they took full advantage of it. As soon as she would begin to awaken from a nap, Betty, Jean, and June would race to reach her first. But the older she grew, the more the sisters were expected to share her.

Joyce turned into the family comic. Even as a little tot she was “full of ginger.” She was tiny and wiry and always climbing and getting into trouble. From Mother's point of view, Amy felt it was a wonder that Joyce ever lived to grow up, but to Daddy, she was the household entertainer.

Sometimes Joyce's energy got her into trouble. Once she wrapped the roller towel around her neck and jumped off the kitchen chair where she had been standing. Another time she climbed out the upstairs window and onto the roof of the house. Then she proceeded to run down the sloped roof and jump off, yelling “Whee!” as she fell through the air. Her guardian angel must have been especially busy that day—she landed in a mud puddle instead of on the picket fence. Even so, the wind was knocked out of her.