When the Bough Breaks (5 page)

“Yes, thank you, sir, a little restless at night – from the heat, I guess. Father asked me to say that he is expecting you this evening, sir. He'll see to Charlie.”

“Good, good, we cannot make deliveries with a lame horse, can we, now? Thank you for bringing the message, Millie.”

He moves over to the shelf where the infants' remedies are kept, and takes down a small bottle of gripe water. “All the young mothers swear by this mixture – it flies off the shelves. Which reminds me, I must place another order. A most effective and soothing answer for colic and restlessness. Offer the baby a quarter of a teaspoon, no more, at bedtime, if he continues to be uncomfortable. No charge this time, Millie. Call it a sample. We will see you at your usual time on Friday, I trust?” He does not wait for my reply, but turns away. I must tell him what I really came to say.

“Thank you for the gripe water. It is very kind of you, sir. I'll try giving it to the baby tonight … um … Mr. Mercer, I need to speak to you about working this Friday. I wanted to ask you … I was wondering … if I might come the following week instead, so that I can get caught up at home. I have so much to see to now….”

Mr. Mercer looks soberly at me, purses his lips, and says, “Indeed, it is a great responsibility for someone your age, Millicent. Do you think working here will be more than you can manage with all your other duties? I must be able to count on my staff… to rely on you.” He polishes his spectacles on his spotless white sleeve. “Because if not, that young lady you sent me – Denise Tetrault – is working out quite nicely. And I am sure she would be pleased to stay on. She seems very keen, and grateful for any work I can find her. In fact, I expect her at any moment. She volunteered to help young Mr. Horace, our salesclerk, with the inventory – on her
own
time, I might add.” He emphasizes “own,” as if he's forgotten that I worked two whole weeks here without pay, when I first started. “Ah, there is your little friend now. Such a pleasant, hardworking young lady.”

Denise said that we're friends? That I sent her?
It's the first I've heard of it. How typical of her to worm her way in here, trying to take advantage and push me out.
Haven't I got enough to bear?
I'd never recommend her for anything, nor would anyone else who really knows her.
Funny how grown-ups can get taken in so easily by a sneak like Denise. Well, I won't let her get away with it! I need this job. Without it, how can I make a Christmas for Father and Hamish, and Eddie? His first Christmas. Our first Christmas without Mother. I take a deep breath.

“Mr. Mercer, I really love working here, and it is truly important for me to keep this job. I need only a few more days. It won't happen again. Please, let me come back to work next week, sir.”

I'm embarrassed having to beg like this, and I haven't even worked out what I'll do with Eddie while I'm away.

Denise has been hovering close by, eavesdropping. She smiles brightly at Mr. Mercer, batting her eyelashes as hard as she can.
Who does she think she is?
Anyone would think I was the one on trial here. She looks at me and says, “I am so sad for you and your family. Isn't it hard keeping house? It's so lucky I can help out here, now that you are confined to home.”

Fortunately, Mr. Mercer speaks before I have a chance to lose my temper: “Denise, my dear, I have just been saying to Millie that we would appreciate your coming in to work for another week.”

Denise looks up at Mr. Mercer, smiling coquettishly (I read that word in a magazine and looked it up in the dictionary – it means she's a big flirt).

“I'd be happy to, sir. Excuse me, Millie, I must get on,” Denise says, and sidles past me.

Mr. Mercer brushes an imaginary speck of dust off the front of his coat, and says, “Very well, Millicent, I appreciate that you need a few more days to set up a routine at home, and as I informed Denise that her position is only temporary, we will carry on as before. However,” he pauses, “I have a business to run. You do understand that?”

I nod, incapable for a moment of saying another word. I understand alright: I am on trial all over again. I find my voice and say, “Thank you, sir, I am grateful. I won't let you down.”

“Good-bye, Millie, we shall expect you next week as usual.”

I have been gone more than half an hour – I hope Hamish doesn't think I'm late on purpose. I take off my dust-caked shoes and leave them outside, then wash my face in the scullery to cool off. I can hear Hamish talking to our brother.

“If you cry, I'll give you to the Gypsies, but if you're good, maybe I'll let you stay.”

I run into the kitchen and snatch up the baby. He starts to whimper.
Gypsies? My mouth is suddenly dry.

“Now look what you've done, Millie. I'd just got him to go to sleep. Whatever did you wake him up for? It serves you right if he yells for hours,” Hamish says, looking at me as if I've lost my mind.

“I don't ever want to hear you scare Eddie with talk like that again!” I say. My heart is hammering and I can hardly catch my breath.
Oh, please, let me be wrong.
I'm almost afraid to ask, “Did anyone call at the house while I was out?”

I put Eddie back in his basket and smooth the little tuft of hair that's just beginning to grow. He waves his fists in the air.

“Some woman came to the door,” says Hamish.

“What did she look like? What did she want?” I need to know, but dread what Hamish is going to say.

“She was thin, thin as a scarecrow, and she was selling shoelaces. She asked after the baby, in a kind of whisper, and I said no to the shoelaces, told her the baby is fine, and I'm reading to him. Then I shut the door. I'm late for my swim, Millie; you promised you wouldn't be long.”

So she didn't leave town after all, but why is she staying around?
I grab Hamish's arm before he runs out the door. “I'm not finished – wait a minute, Hamish, are you sure that's all she said?”

“Yes, I'm sure. I wish you'd stop fussing, Millie. I'm leaving right now.” He runs off to join his friends, his towel rolled under his arm.

I call after him, “Supper's at seven – don't be late!”

He's gone, pretending not to hear me. If Mother were here, she'd shake her head and say, “I'm going to
have to speak to your father about that young man; he's getting to be a real handful.”

A minute ago I was so hot, I was ready to jump in the river myself. Now I'm as cold as a block of ice. I know very well who was at the door. I lift the key down from the hook on the wall by the sink and put Eddie's basket by the window, so I can see and hear him. I go into the garden and lock the door behind me. I'm afraid someone will try to get in. Not someone – Her. The traveling woman, Elsie Bates.

The sun is bright, so bright that I close my eyes for a moment against the glare. Something, or someone, brushes my shoulder. I open my eyes and see a shadowy shape behind the branches of the apple tree.
Is it her, hiding, waiting to see my baby?

I run to fetch the broom that we keep by the rain barrel and shout, “Get away from here,” hitting the boughs of the tree so hard that half a dozen apples fall to the ground. Two blackbirds, their wings tipped with red, fly from the middle of the tree, scattering leaves.

I lean against the broom handle, half-panting, half-sobbing. Blackbirds, their wings spread in flight, must have brushed past me on their way to rest in the cool of the leaves. It wasn't Elsie Bates at all.
Is this me, Down-to-earth Millie, seeing evil in every harmless shadow?
Nevertheless, I search every inch of the garden before picking up the
fallen apples and, gathering them in my skirt, return to the house and the sleeping baby.

Later, rolling out dough to make pastry, I go over and over in my mind what I would have done if the woman had been hiding in the garden. I can't find an answer why she's hanging around a strange town, instead of going off to her sister's.
Why did she want to come back here? Should I speak to Father about her? And say what? That she asked after Eddie?
There's no crime in that. He'll say she was being thoughtful, that perhaps she'd heard about Mother. I try to convince myself that there is truly nothing to worry about.…

Perhaps Mrs. Bates is attempting to get enough money to leave town. Maybe selling shoelaces is easier than reading tea leaves. I don't think she's a thief, and even if she were, there is nothing to steal. The egg money is safely hidden away.

I can reason things out till kingdom come, but there's still something about her that terrifies me. The minute Mother invited her into the kitchen, everything changed. A terrible thing happened to our family.
Could she have made it happen?
She knew Mother was going to die. She as good as said so.
What does she want? Why doesn't she keep away from us?

That night, lying in bed, listening to Eddie breathing quietly in his crib beside me, the time when I feel closest to Mother … the time when I can almost believe that
she is in the room watching over us … the only quiet time in the whole day when I try to share my thoughts with her … I can't seem to bring her near.

“I HATE HER”

F
aces at the window, voices at the door. “Millie, it's only us.” I run to let them in, embarrassed because the back door is always kept unlocked.

“Sorry, when I was outside yesterday, some blackbirds flew at me. I was afraid they'd fly into the kitchen. I've been making apple pies,” I say to Grace and Sadie.

Grace begins to sing, “Four and twenty blackbirds baked in a pie.” Sadie nudges her, and Grace colors and says, “Sorry, I forgot.”

“It's alright to sing,” I tell them, “Mother was always singing,” but I know Grace feels awkward.

Sadie changes the subject – she's good at things like that. “I thought maybe your father had told you to lock the door because the trains still bring so many hoboes from out west.”

I shake my head. “He hasn't mentioned anything lately though I've heard him tell Hamish that there's nothing romantic about riding the rails. It's the only way unemployed men can cross the country to look for work. And once in a while, he's mentioned an accident – hoboes falling off the boxcars, losing arms or legs, or worse. Hamish likes hearing about the railroad police; he says if he wasn't going to be a blacksmith like Father, he'd be a policeman.”

“Then he should have been with me yesterday,” Sadie tells us. “I was running an errand for Mother, way on the other side of town, on Fair Avenue. I saw a small crowd gathered outside the bakery. I crossed over, thinking maybe there was a special on something, like broken biscuits. Constable Albert was there. He was arresting a hobo, putting handcuffs on him. After the constable took him away, one of the women said, ‘Serves him right. There's too many like him – just passing through, looking for handouts. They cause nothing but trouble. There's folk around here every bit as much in need as they are.’ She sounded so mean.”

“Was the man caught stealing?” I ask, and pour out three glasses of lemonade, hoping it's not too sour (I've run low on sugar this week).

“Someone said that he wanted to buy a loaf of bread to take back on the train. He thought day-old bread cost only five cents; he didn't know the price had gone up
two cents. So when the girl gave him three cents change for his dime, instead of the nickel he expected, the man threw it at her. The pennies hit her in the face, and the baker called for the constable. I felt a bit sorry for the man. More than likely, that was the only money he had in the world. Still, there was no excuse to take it out on the girl. She just works there.”

“I'll keep the door locked, Sadie. I guess you never know who might come along.” I'm glad of any reason to keep the back door locked…. “I have missed seeing you two. Is the lemonade too sour?”

Grace says, “It's delicious, thanks.”

Eddie wakes up and tries out his voice, and Sadie begs to hold him. (Grace is one of five, so Eddie is not a novelty to her.) “I'd give anything to have a brother or sister,” Sadie sighs.

“I'd be happy to spare Hamish anytime,” I say, joining in the laughter. I realize this is the first time since Mother died that I've laughed at all.

“We came to tell you about Denise Tetrault,” Sadie begins. “We were gawking at the display window of the Uptown Silk Shop, when who should stop by but Denise.”

Grace continues, “Normally, as you know, she doesn't bother to talk to us. We're not good enough for ‘Mademoiselle,’ but today she could not wait to let us know that she's been asked to work an extra week at Mercer's.
She said she expects to take over your job anytime now, seeing you have your hands too full at home to come back to work. She said it in such a spiteful way I felt like giving her a good pinch.”

“Little toad,” Sadie chimes in again. “She had the cheek to say, knowing full well we'd come straight here and tell you, that Mr. Mercer told her how beautifully she fits into his establishment. It's not true that she's being taken on instead of you, is it, Millie?”

“I'll tell you the way it really happened: Denise went to see Mr. Mercer and lied about being my friend. She said that I'd sent her, and now she's doing everything she can so that he'll let her work there permanently, instead of me. It's not fair; not that she cares about being fair. Maybe she even offered to take a nickel less than he pays me. Mr. Mercer has a business to run and wants someone reliable, and I did ask for another week off. I almost told him that Denise fibbed, but I explained I'd be back next week as usual. Mr. Mercer said he'd see how I manage, but I haven't worked that out yet. I can't rely on Hamish, and with Father working such long hours, there's no one to take care of Eddie. I may have to smuggle him in under my apron.”