Morning Star (9 page)

CHAPTER 22

Felicia

FELICIA ARRIVED
at the tryouts just as Mr. Butler bustled in, carrying a large folder under his arm. She watched as he placed it on the table with a dramatic flourish. “Welcome, everyone! I hope you're feeling creative.”

Questions rang out. “What's the play about?”

“Are you giving out copies?”

Mr. Butler raised his hands. “Just give me a minute and I'll tell you. I have written a play about the pioneers who came to this area. There are six main characters and twenty secondary ones. I have copies available for those who would like to audition.”

“Is the play complete, or do we have a chance to work on dialogue, say—”

Josh was interrupted before he finished his question. “It stays as it's written. I don't want any changes.”

“Does it have any funny bits?” asked Matt.

“No. This is a serious subject.”

Matt turned to the group of drama club students and crossed his eyes. Josh doodled on a piece of paper.

Mr. Butler lifted a script out of the folder, pushed his glasses farther up on his nose, and began to read. “There once was a time when the timber was high, and all of the trees grew straight up to the sky…” His voice rose and dipped with emotive intensity, despite the undercurrent of sighs and shuffling feet. Three loud sneezes interrupted the flow of words. The teacher pulled a tissue from his pocket and blew his nose.

“How long does this take, Mr. Butler?”

“Can you give out copies now?”

“Is there any music in this?”

“Yes. There are several songs, and there will be a pianist who will accompany them. All cast members will do some singing, and, by the way, I need four singing pioneers. You'll only have about twelve speaking lines, not much to memorize.”

“What do you think?” Dodie whispered to the others.

“Okay,” said Felicia. Renate and Sophie nodded.

Dodie spoke up. “Excuse us, Mr. Butler, there are four of us here and we can sing.”

“Yes? Good. Come up on the stage. Let's hear you.”

Felicia felt fine until she stood in the center of the stage and looked out at the sloping seats of the auditorium, curious students now staring in her direction. “What are we going to sing?” she asked Dodie.

“Girls? Anytime,” said Mr. Butler.

Dodie took charge. “We'll sing what we sang before riding yesterday. Turn around and face the audience. We'll each do a verse. I'll go first, then Renate, then Sophie, then Felicia. We'll all sing the chorus.” They looked out to the back of the vast room and took deep breaths. Dodie muttered “here goes” and began to sing. Her voice was clear and controlled. Three voices joined her in the chorus. Renate sang the next verse, their voices melded in the chorus, and then it was Sophie's turn. She was shy but brave, and her voice quavered only a little at the beginning. Finally, Felicia sang out, surprising herself with the pure pleasure of performing. They swayed with a shared rhythm at the end. Their audience stood up and moved along with them. After the girls finished, they were rewarded with whistles and cheers and wild applause. The girls clapped back to the students, laughing and hugging each other.

“Very nice,” said Mr. Butler, his voice barely audible over the din. “Yes, very nice, thank you.”

The girls made their way back to their seats, feeling happy and accomplished.

Josh leaned forward from behind Felicia and patted her on her shoulder. “You were amazing.”

“Such talent,” said Matt, “here in our little burg.”

Mr. Butler took charge once more. “We have quite a few readings, so let's get started. I need six First Nations people. Who's interested?” Three hands were raised. “That's three, how about another three?”

“How about we skip this?” whispered Dodie. “We have our parts and the clock's ticking. If we hurry, we can still fit in our riding class.”

The girls stood up and made their way out.

“Leaving?” asked Josh.

“We've got to go riding,” explained Felicia.

“I'll call you later and tell you what happened,” said Josh.

“Thanks.”

“Giving up already?” Ashley had her legs stretched out so each girl had to make her way over them.

“We've got things to do,” said Renate, as she stepped on Ashley's left foot. “Bye!”

CHAPTER 23

Flower

FLOWER AND
her family
climbed out of their hiding place and stepped down off the wagon. Before them
was a wooden-frame farmhouse, weathered and worn. A thin woman who looked as
weather-beaten as her house stood on the covered verandah. She held a baby in
her arms and was surrounded by four children. The tallest was a girl who brushed
unruly hair from her eyes and stared at Flower.

Eldon and the driver unloaded supplies from the
wagon. They were directed by Mrs. Jenson to carry them to a shed. No one said
anything until the men came back and the driver asked about Mr. Jenson.

“You can see him if you like. His days are long and
hard. He needs the talk of another man,” said his wife. She turned to Eldon and
his family. “I'll show you your place.” She led them to the barn, the children
following behind her like ducklings. The barn was large, with an open area in
the center and stalls on each side. A ladder led to a hayloft. One of the boys
ran ahead and started to climb it.

“Get down from there before you break your neck!
That's just what I need, another one lame.”

The boy skittered down the ladder and stood again
with his siblings. Flower watched his efforts with fascination and then turned
her gaze to include the other children, only to discover they were all staring
at her, even the baby in its mother's arms.

Mrs. Jenson continued, “There's some hay to sleep
on, and the animals can come in if you need more warmth.”

“Thank you, Missus,” said Cleo.

All was quiet again as Mrs. Jenson appeared to
organize her thoughts. Finally she said, “You'll be wanting some
nourishment.”

“That would be most kind,” said Cleo.

“Much appreciated,” said Eldon.

They started back toward the house, the wind
blowing dust up around their feet. The adventurous boy led the way, but stopped
at the door to let his mother enter first. The interior of the house was sparse,
not at all like the Pembertons'. In the center stood a rectangular table with
benches on either side. A rocking chair sat by a black woodstove, and in the
corner was a cot, the driver standing beside it. The children scurried to sit on
the benches, except for the eldest girl, who took the baby from her mother's
arms and settled in the rocking chair.

“I'll make some tea, then,” said Mrs. Jenson. She
placed the kettle on the stove and brought mugs to the table. “Here now,” she
addressed her children, “make room for everyone.” She gestured to Eldon, Cleo,
and Flower, who watched space being made for them, then sat down.

“How's about yourself? Will you be wanting some tea
as well?”

A voice from the cot, raspy and weak, answered,
“I'll try some.”

The driver said, “A nice cup of tea—just the thing
to perk us all up.” He walked to the table and sat down.

Mrs. Jenson poured tea. No biscuits were served.
She brought a mug to her husband, helped him raise himself onto one elbow, and
then held the mug close to his mouth so he could sip it. When he had had enough,
he flopped back down with a sigh, and she came back to the table.

“Hettie, come and have some tea.”

The girl left the rocking chair, placed the baby
back in Mrs. Jenson's lap, and sat down beside Flower. No one spoke; the only
sounds were the swallows of tea from mugs and the wind outside. Cleo unwrapped
Gabriel from his sling. He sat up in her lap, spied a spoon, and reached for it.
Successful, he stuck it in his mouth and surveyed the group around the table,
his gaze stopping at the Jenson infant. Both babies regarded each other with
solemn expressions until Gabriel waved the spoon in the air and made a joyful
cry. The other baby laughed. His mother offered him a spoon.

Cleo said, “What handsome children you have.”

A glimmer of a smile played on Mrs. Jenson's lips.
She could not conceal her pride in her brood. “That is the truth.”

“Many helpful hands.”

Mrs. Jenson's face became downcast once more. “Not
enough help for all that needs doing, I'm afraid.”

“We are able to help, not just hide,” said
Eldon.

Mrs. Jenson looked across the table at him. Her
glance was shy but appraising. “You look strong enough.”

“That I am.”

“You must speak to my husband.”

Flower's father got up from the table and, within
two paces, stood at the makeshift bedside. “I'm sorry for your trouble.” He
stood tall and straight, towering over the slight figure beneath the
blanket.

“Yes. I've come to a sad pass.”

“Tell me what needs doing.”

“The harvest is still in the fields and on the
trees, waiting to rot. Tools are getting rusty, fences falling down.”

“I'll be glad to make things right in exchange for
a safe refuge for myself and my family.”

“Agreed.”

“No one comes to help you? Do your neighbors drop
by?”

“We have no neighbors to speak of. The missus goes
to town occasionally for supplies. She can manage that.”

Mrs. Jenson spoke up. “Children, outside now!” She
handed the baby again to Hettie, so Cleo passed Gabriel into Flower's
outstretched arms.

Hettie led the way to the porch. She and Flower sat
down on the top step with both babies facing each other. The boys settled at
their feet.

“Sing us a song, Hettie,” one of the brothers
commanded.

“Give me a minute.” Hettie readjusted the squirming
infant in her lap, then sat and studied Gabriel and Flower. “Your skin is
brown,” she said.

Flower, in turn, regarded Hettie and her family.
She had never seen such pale people. Their hair was yellowy white, their eyes
light gray, and their skin seemed almost transparent, spattered with tiny tan
spots across their noses. “You all have hardly any color.”

“Sometimes the sun burns us red, but then it goes
away.”

“Does that hurt?”

“A little. What's your baby's name?”

“Gabriel.”

“Like the angel in the Bible?”

“The very one. And he is a little angel, aren't
you?” She gave Gabriel a hug, and he snuggled against her. “What are the names
of your kin?”

The boy who had climbed the ladder spoke up. “She's
Hettie. I'm Wilfred. This here's Edgar, then Joseph, and the babe's George.”

“Georgie,” said Hettie, giving her baby a squeeze.
“I'm the only girl.”

“Do you look after everybody?” asked Flower.

Wilfred stood up. “I don't need anyone to look
after me.”

“What's your name?” asked Hettie.

“Flower.”

“Oh, that is the prettiest name I ever heard.”

“Thank you.”

“How did you get to be here?”

Flower told them of her family's long walk, the
creation of the raft, and the dangerous river crossing. “Gabriel was ailing, but
now he's better.”

“Our Pa is sick. He cut his leg real bad taking
down a tree. Now he sleeps a lot and nothing much gets done.”

“Hettie!” Mrs. Jenson's anxious face appeared in
the doorway. “Here's the slate. Do some sums with the boys.”

Joseph took the square from his mother and handed
it to Hettie. Georgie was transferred to Flower's lap, as the boys gathered
round their sister. Numbers were scraped on the slate, and the boys took turns
giving the answers. Flower coped with the babies and tried to follow what they
were doing. The door creaked open again, and her father stood on the porch. He
watched the activity with approval and then said, “I need a good strong boy to
help me hitch up the horse.”

Wilfred jumped up. “I can do that.”

“Come along then.” Eldon gave both of his children
a pat on the head and then strode to the barn. Wilfred ran ahead.