Rush Home Road (32 page)

If Hamond had known the truth he'd have noticed it was the very day Gabriel Green left for his cousin's place at the lake that Mary Alice stopped caring about her appearance and wasting money on creams and perfumes. As he didn't know anything at all, Hamond was pleased with his
wife's new prudence, until she also stopped bathing or fixing her hair or changing her clothes altogether.

Mrs. Lemoine would sit with Mary Alice in the chairs by the window, sip hot coffee, and gossip about the neighbours, trying to get her daughter's mind off the thing that was troubling her. But it was Addy alone who knew what the thing was. Willow Ferguson even came down on the train and stayed for a week to see if she could help set her daughter-in-law right, but they all feared by the glassy look of her feline eyes that Mary Alice would never be right again.

The winter came fast and furious that year. The Ferguson boys would remember, among other things, that there'd been skating on the river a full week before Christmas. Addy and Mose were wed on his four days off in late October and Addy would learn quickly why porters' wives were called porters' widows. Even so, she loved him, and she loved the little apartment they kept on the third floor of the big old house on William Street, and the shabby wine-coloured sofa Hamond'd brought over from the farm when the owner'd told him burn it out back. And she loved the way Mose brought her a present, a pair of salt'n'pepper shakers, each time he came home. His homecomings were always a celebration, except the one that February. That February he got special leave and he didn't bring salt'n'pepper shakers.

It had been Nora Lemoine who'd planned and hosted Addy's wedding and Nora Lemoine who stood at her side
when the Justice of the Peace pronounced Mose and her man and wife. And Nora who said, “Wear my good pearl earrings as your ‘something old,' Child.” Mose was ashamed he had not the money to buy a ring for his bride but Addy wanted her wedding ring to be the diamond-and-emerald from Poppa, sure it would bring them luck, as it had brought them together in the first place. Hamond was there in that same suit he'd pulled on years earlier for Olivia's wedding and no one minded he wore his work-boots, seeing as the wedding wasn't in a church anyway.

Mose hadn't cared about the church part. His mother would have though, and he'd agreed with Addy that just this once they could lie in their letter to Nova Scotia, and say how it was a lovely church service and how they wished she wasn't feeling poorly and could have stood the long trip.

Mary Alice had not attended the wedding. Mary Alice had not set foot outside the house in weeks. The doctor had used the word
catatonic
, which made Addy think of Mary Alice's cat eyes and wonder if the secret of her illness lay in their shape. It was a windy fall day and it seemed that all the leaves took up and fell whirling and swirling to the earth at once. Hamond had come home with a bushel of fresh apples and found his wife at the kitchen table where he'd left her that morning. The smell in the room made him gag. He thought his mother-in-law must have smothered Mary Alice in liniment or that maybe an animal had died in the wall, until he realized the smell was his wife and that she had evacuated right there in her dress. He'd cleaned
her up before the boys could see their mother that way, and carried her to her bed and called for the doctor.

Addy could not bring herself to feel sympathy for her friend and was ashamed of that. She could only think of Mary Alice as a glutton, one starving and sinister and retaliating against a world that would deprive her of her cream cake. On that cold February day, when Gabriel Green married his cousin by the lake, Mary Alice shook herself out of her stupor, went to the woodshed, and hung herself with the ropes she'd once used to tie the arms of her young lover.

After the funeral, back at home in their apartment on William Street, Addy and Mose made a fire in their little sitting room and slept there on the thin red rug as they always would in winter. With music drifting up from the phonograph in the apartment below, they'd made slow, sweet love, Addy begged Mose as she kissed his mouth, “Give me a baby, Mose. Give me a baby.”

 

Seeds

THE SONG SHARLA'D BEEN
singing was beautiful but Addy wondered if it was an appropriate song to teach to a grade-one class. Sharla's new teacher, Mr. Toohey, brought his guitar for music circle on Thursdays and Sharla always came home singing folk songs. But how, Addy thought, could a six-year-old understand lyrics about
answers blowing in the wind
?

Sharla was drying the supper dishes and Addy smiled, thinking what a good girl she was and how she never had to be asked to help with chores. Sharla's little pink tongue lolled against her lower lip as it liked to when she was concentrating. She dried the top and bottom of the plate in her hand, folded the plaid dishcloth, and started toward the towel rack beside the stove. She began to sing again, in her high sweet voice.

The old woman leaned against the sink. It had suddenly occurred to Addy that she'd already walked down her many roads and that if there was an answer in the wind, it had long since blown past her. She listened to Sharla's pretty voice grow dimmer and dimmer until she knew the
little girl had left the room. She looked out the trailer window and watched the moonlight make stars on the snow. She knew her brother, Leam, was behind her but didn't turn to look when she whispered, “Leam?”

“Yes, Addy?”

“I can't seem to get my head outta the past.”

“I know.”

“Was it the same for you?”

“I had just a little time before the river choked me, but I did think of the past, Addy. I thought of you and Mama and Daddy and Birdie and of the things that happened to me and to everyone I knew.”

“You think of the crickets on the road? Remember how we thought it was a omen of doom? I was thinking about the crickets and remembering that day like it was this morning.”

“I remember the crickets. And I remember that time you got lost, too.”

“I don't remember getting lost, Leam.”

“You got lost. You were somewhere near six years old. You were living out at Teddy Bishop's for a while.”

“I don't remember being lost. And I don't remember living out at Teddy Bishop's. If I was six years old I'd surely remember that.”

“It was a hot summer day. I was sickly.”

“I remember you being sickly.”

“You were chasing a little grey kitten.”

“A grey kitten. I do remember a little grey kitten.”

“Whose kitten was it?”

Addy tried to picture the kitten, annoyed when Leam asked again, “Whose kitten was it?” She shook her head and looked out the trailer window, craving a cold bottle of beer. She turned around from the sink, startled to see Sharla standing there holding the neatly folded dishcloth.

Sharla asked for the third time, “Whose kitten was it though, Mum Addy?”

Addy blinked and smiled calmly. She reached for the handle on the refrigerator door, frightened to think she'd been talking out loud and that the child had heard it all. She found the cold brown beer bottle and further stalled as she searched the drawer for the opener. She took a long drink of the crisp Pilsner, sat down in the hard-back chair, and lifted her arms, bidding Sharla to come. She gathered the little girl in an embrace, kissed her cheek, and said, “I do love you, Sharla Cody.”

Sharla nuzzled Mum Addy's old neck. “Was it your kitten?”

Addy held Sharla back a little so she could look into her eyes. “What kitten, Honey?”

“The one you was chasing when you got lost.”

Addy cleared her throat but didn't know what to say.

“Maybe it was a stray.”

“Mmm?”

“Musta been a stray,” Sharla concluded, drawing a finger around the edge of Addy's ear. It was a thing Sharla did that irritated Addy, but she'd never say so and
risk hurting the child's feelings. She pulled the little hand away and kissed the chubby brown fingers, saying, “I sure like that song you were singing. You want to sing for me some more?”

Sharla shook her head.

“You want to sing something else?”

Sharla shook her head again. “You're coming on our field trip tomorrow. Mr. Toohey said me and Prasora can sit with you on the bus.”

“Well, good.”

“Mr. Toohey said old people are a gift.”

Addy laughed at that. “Wait till he's old. He'll be saying old people are old.”

“Christmas is soon.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Mr. Toohey likes that candy-cane ice cream what they make at Blenheim Dairy. Bet I do too.”

“Think so?”

“They bringing Santa to my school. Mr. Toohey says don't ask for a toy but just ask for a good thing to happen to your neighbour and that's two gifts for the price of one.”

Several weeks ago, just after Mrs. Pigot's accident, Addy'd come down with a fever and felt sure it was the end. She feared that Sharla'd wake one morning and find her dead in her bed. When she didn't die after a few days, Addy knew it was just the flu. She'd been eager to meet Sharla's Mr. Toohey, but until now hadn't had the strength to leave the trailer. She liked the changes she saw in the child since
the new teacher's arrival. Sharla couldn't wait to get on the school bus each morning and at the end of the day she had a thousand stories to tell. Most of the stories began with “Mr. Toohey says…” When the letter was sent home Monday asking for chaperones for Friday's museum field trip, Addy'd agreed right away. The truth was Addy didn't even know Chatham had a museum and thought the trip would be educational for her too. She just hoped there wouldn't be too much walking.

The brown bottle was empty and Addy hesitated a moment before she reached for the refrigerator again. She was thirsty. Lately the water tasted briny, juice gave her heartburn, and she liked to save the milk for Sharla. Sharla watched as Mum Addy opened a second beer and brought the cold bottle to her lips.

“Mr. Toohey said
past
means ‘old.'
Past
means it happened before.”

“That's right.”

“Mr. Toohey said Chatham Museum is our past.”

“That's right.”

“Is yesterday our past?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Is me saying ‘Chatham Museum' our past?”

“If it happened before, it's the past. If it's yet to happen, it's the future.”

“Mr. Toohey says you learn who you are from the past.”

“Mr. Toohey say anything about little girls needing a bath before bedtime?”

“My bedtime is the future.”

“That's right, Honey. Go run the tub.”

A little later, Mum Addy pulled the covers up to Sharla's clean soft chin and made sure that her doll, Chick, was tucked in too. Sharla hugged Chick to her cheek and said it again. “Christmas is coming soon.”

“Few days off yet.” Addy tried to act casual but she was excited about Christmas this year and had an order in to Krazy Kyle's Electronics for a used colour TV that Kyle himself had assured her over the phone he could deliver on Christmas Eve day. Addy knew a young child would get bored silly with an old woman like herself. The winter was upon them and it was a struggle to get outdoors. The flu had laid her up half the fall and her hip was giving her grief. Addy realized she was spending most of her hours now just sitting in that hard-back chair at the kitchen table, sifting through unseen photographs and talking to the dead. Least a television would connect the child with the outside world.

Addy adjusted the covers when Sharla complained Chick's nose was covered up and she couldn't breathe. She stroked Sharla's head. “Wonder if you been good enough this year, Santa bring you something special?”

“There's no Santa though.”

Addy looked at her child, for in every way Sharla was
her
child, and asked quietly, “Why do you say that, Honey? Why do you think there's no Santa?”

“He don't come to the trailer park. Not to my house and not to Fawn's house too.”

“No?”

“Krystal just gets her a new pyjamas.”

Addy wondered for a moment if it was the right thing to do before she said, “Well, I happen to know for a fact there
is
a Santa Claus and he
is
coming to the trailer park this year.”

Sharla wrestled free of her blanket cocoon and sat up in the bed. She looked into Mum Addy's eyes, vaguely suspicious. “How do you know?”

“I know because I know.”

“You talk to him?”

“Well, yes.”

“You can talk to Santa?”

“Yes I can.”

“You can talk to anybody.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Even if they're dead.”

Addy held her breath. “What do you mean?”

“Like your brother. He's dead but you can talk to him.”

Addy smoothed the covers over Sharla's little legs so she had a reason to look away. How many times had it happened? How often had she talked to Leam and been overheard by Sharla? Or anyone else? Had she done it in public? Why couldn't she remember?

“Santa isn't dead, Honey. But I'll tell you what. You been such a good, good girl this year and I happen to know Santa's coming here and I happen to know he's bringing something special.”

“Something special?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“I think I know what,” she said, grinning.

“You think you know but you're only guessing. Now you get back under and go to sleep now. We got a big day tomorrow.”

Sharla nodded and eased herself back under the covers.

Addy kissed Sharla's cheek, shut out the light, and started down the hall toward her own room.

“Mu-um…?” Sharla called.

“What, Honey?”

“Did you find him?”

“Who? Did I find who?”

“That little kitten you was chasing?”

Addy couldn't remember. “Of course I did, Sharla. Now go to sleep.”

 

 

T
HE SMOKE-CHOKED LITTLE SCHOOL
bus pulled up in front of the Chatham Museum, but Addy's eyes were squeezed shut and she wasn't aware they'd arrived. She loved the children and the looks on their six-year-old faces but their joy was deafening. Her temples were throbbing and she felt sure a vessel would burst if the bus doors didn't open to let the screeching creatures out. Mr. Toohey, who with his cropped blond hair looked more like an all-American army boy than a folksinger, had turned and caught the expression on Addy's face. She hoped the teacher
would suggest she get in a taxi and go on back to the Lakeview before her head exploded into a million pieces. Instead, he moved to the seat in front of her, opened his fist, and whispered in his deep, smooth voice, “A chaperone's best friend.” There were three Aspirins in the man's white palm. Addy took the Aspirins gratefully and felt twice blessed when he passed her a Thermos of sweet milky tea.

She was responsible for four children: Sharla, Prasora, Otto Todino, and the little girl with the rash, Lee-Ann. At first, climbing off the bus and heading past the cedar hedges that flanked the cobblestone walkway to the museum, Addy could see nothing but the heads of her charges and feel nothing but terror at her responsibility. She feared one of them might break free and dart out into the traffic. Or one might fall on the slippery cobblestone and crack open her head. “Stick close to me, children,” she shouted over the din, and wondered if the other chaperones, four young mothers, were as anxious as she was. Once inside the place though, once the big oak doors closed behind her, Addy saw the children were safely confined and she relaxed enough to look around.

The place smelled familiar but she couldn't say why. She reckoned it was just the musty smell of old age she couldn't help but know intimately. She was relieved when the museum's curator, a plump, pink young woman who introduced herself as Miss Beth, gathered the children into a circle near a display of military uniforms and she could settle herself on a bench near the back and just watch and listen.

Miss Beth pointed at a handsome red serge jacket in a glass display case, asking, “Does anyone know what this is?”