When the Bough Breaks (6 page)

“I think you've behaved beautifully,” Sadie says, “and I bet Denise doesn't do nearly as well as you, Millie. She should be grateful you didn't give her away to Mr. Mercer.”

Grace gives me a hug. “Everything will be fine, you'll see,” she says.

I feel much better, getting all that off my chest. I miss having someone to talk to….

It's almost supper time. Sadie says she still has laundry to deliver for her mother. “Once in a while, I even get a tip, and you know what? It makes me feel like a beggar. I hate that as much as walking through the streets with my brown parcel.”

“It's no different than delivering milk or bread,” I say trying to make her feel better.

“Yes, it is. How would you like to carry people's shirts and underwear through the streets? Do stop giggling, Grace; it's not funny,” Sadie says, upset.

Grace manages to compose herself. “They can't see through paper, silly. No one knows what you're delivering. Look happy and you'll get lots of tips, and we'll help you spend them. Come on, I'll walk you back home.”

I give Eddie his bottle early; he's got into the habit of yelling the minute Father comes through the door, so no one can have supper in peace. When he's finished, I make batter for pancakes, pour the mixture into a heated pan, and watch it turn a nice, crisp, golden brown – not burned round the edges at all. I am ready to dish the pancakes up just as Hamish rushes in for supper. I pour him a glass of milk and ask him to wash his hands. He takes no
notice, and crams a slice of bread into his mouth. Father sits down at the table, and I serve him first. Thankfully Eddie is quiet.

“Didn't you hear what I said, Hamish?” I put on my big-sister expression.

“My hands are clean from swimming.” Hamish looks mutinous.

“Please do as you are told,” I say, passing Father the maple syrup.

“You can't tell me what to do; you're not my mother.” His unkind words bounce off the wall and hang in the air between us.

Father pushes his plate aside and gets up, frowning at Hamish. His face looks older these last few weeks. I hadn't noticed those lines around his eyes – laugh lines aren't the same, somehow, as worried ones.

Mother said I should hold the family together.
But how do I do that when Hamish is always angry at me and when Father has changed into someone so sad and silent?

There is a long pause. “What did you say, Hamish?” Father's voice is ominously quiet.

Hamish turns scarlet and his eyes well up. “All I said is, Millie's not my …” he takes a deep breath, his anger bursting out of him, “… not my mother. She's not, and I hate her, and I hate that stupid baby. I hope the Gypsies come and take him away.”

I put my hand over my mouth so as not to scream.
The room sways. I see the three of us – Mother, the traveling woman, and me – sitting around this table, and I can still feel those hard thin fingers gripping my hand. I sit down, and the room rights itself again.

Father's arm is half raised.
Is he going to hit Hamish?
He's never hit us, never. He doesn't believe in the strap. “It didn't make me a better man,” I heard him say to Mother once.

Hamish waits, tense and defiant, ready for battle. Father's arm drops to his side.

“Leave the table, Hamish, and go to your room. You will not go out to play with your friends again until I say so. And you will apologize to your sister.”

“I'm not sorry, so there,” Hamish says.

Father grabs him by the shoulders and marches him out the door. When he returns, Father says, “I'll get the ladder and we'll strip the apple tree before the fruit spoils.”

I bring the apple bin and we pick apples. We don't talk about Hamish, as Mother and I would have done. Supper is forgotten, and I try not to think about what just happened … how we seem to have turned into enemies instead of loving members of the same family. I push that thought away and plan on filling jars and jars of applesauce.

After we finish storing the fruit, I ask Father if I should make tea. “You didn't have a chance to finish your supper, Father. Let me cut you a slice of pie.”

“Maybe later, Millie, thank you. Dan Price is coming to the forge with some tools for me to look at. I'll be home in an hour or so.”

After I've bathed Eddie and put him to bed, I sing the song I remember Mother singing to Hamish and me when we were little, to help us fall asleep:

I listen at the door of Hamish's room before I go downstairs to wash the supper dishes. There isn't a sound. Hamish must still be sulking.

The stack of cold pancakes left over from supper sits untouched on the kitchen table. I take a bite – it's good. I just finish drying the dishes when a familiar voice calls out: “It's only me, Millie – may I come in?”

I open the door to Grace, who beams at me and says, “I asked Mother and she said I could.”

“Could what, Grace? I have no idea what you are talking about. Sit down and catch your breath.” I point to the pancakes, make tea, hand Grace a cup – with a little milk, the way she likes it – then sit down too, happy to have her to talk to.

“You have no idea what a horrible, cranky supper we had. No one ate a thing. Do help yourself; there's no sense in wasting good food. Hamish is upstairs in disgrace, and Father is still at the forge. He practically lives there now.” I sip my tea.
There, I've said it.

“Did you hear a word I said when I came in, Millie? Mother has agreed.”

“Grace, you are not making sense. What did she agree to?”

“On the way home this afternoon, Sadie and I talked about how we could help you keep your job at Mercer's. You know how I've tried to find work outside of school-time? There are so many experienced men and women trying to get hired that it's hard. Woolworth's has a wait list as long as my arm. Sadie's mother can't spare her for the time being – she's needed for pressing as well as delivery. But I'm here, Millie – experienced, reliable. Haven't I been looking after our terrible twins ever since they were born? Mother says they'll be easier to manage once they turn three … and that's not far off, thank goodness. So I asked her if I could watch Eddie for you, and she agreed!

“We've worked it out – you bring Eddie on your way to work, and pack his bottle and whatever he needs for a few hours, and you can pick him up again on your way home. It's only Friday afternoons and Saturday mornings. Mother's around if there's an emergency – oh, don't look like that. There won't be one, and you're not far away.

“Yesterday, I let Cynthia and Clara dig in the little patch of ground at the back of the house. I closed my eyes for only a few seconds, and when I opened them, Clara was feeding Cynthia worms! But don't worry, I stopped her before she swallowed any – doesn't that prove how trustworthy I am? I never really go to sleep when I'm watching the children.”

“Grace Ludlow, is this supposed to be a recommendation – closing your eyes on the job?”

Grace laughs a bit sheepishly. “I guess it doesn't sound very good, does it?” I shake my head. “The point is, Millie, nothing happened, and it will be a while before Eddie crawls around digging for worms. So what do you say?”

“I say, yes please, and thank you, Grace; you are a true friend. I'd hate to give up my work, and Mr. Mercer pays me fifty cents for the week, so that's twenty-five cents each. We'll split my pay straight down the middle.”

“Riches, Millie. I'll be able to start saving to buy Christmas presents. My brothers will be home from Toronto and we'll all be together.”

I think of our Christmas dinner table … of us eating mince pies that I will have made from Mother's recipe and trying not to look at her empty chair.

“My mother's always complaining that she can't afford to replace her chipped teacups, and I saw that Claxton's is having a special summer sale on bone china cups and saucers. You can buy one for a dime. We'll be helping each other out, Millie. I can't wait to get started.” Grace looks up at Papa Joe's clock and continues, “I'd better get going. I promised Mother I wouldn't be late.”

“I don't know how to thank you, Grace.”

“You just did, oh, and the pancakes were great. See you next week. Bye, Millie.”

I lock the door after her, leaning against it for a moment. What a good friend she is …
but what will I do about Eddie when school starts? Who is going to take over when I'm away all day?
Father and I will have to have a proper talk soon and make plans.

I'm tired and go up to bed. My head's buzzing with everything that's happened today. I hear Father arrive, lock up, come upstairs, and close his door. He's late getting back. He works such long hours.
Does he stay in the forge because he doesn't want to be home with us anymore?
Eddie's crying irritates him … I see him looking at me … I wonder if he thinks I can't manage. That makes me nervous and clumsy.

I think about Mother and what she'd do to make everything run smoothly. Only it's
because
she's not here that we're all falling to pieces.
How can we ever get back to normal, and make things right between us again?

“Talk things out, Millie” is what Mother would say and that's what I'll do. I'll begin with Hamish this very minute.

I creep downstairs and take an apple from the bowl to bring to him – he must be starved. I open the door to his room as quietly as I can, so as not to wake Father. Hamish is asleep, curled up on his side, his face dirty and streaked with tears,
and
he's still wearing his overalls. Father never did get round to cutting my brother's hair on that awful day.

Suppose I were to let him keep all his paper-route money this week, instead of putting his share into the “boot fund”? Suggest he go to the barber for a big boy's haircut? Not as a bribe, but to make him feel more grown-up.

I need him to know that he's not being pushed out. I remember Mother explaining all that to me, on the morning before she died. It's hard for us to find our place in this different kind of family. Hamish says he hates me and Eddie, and I hate being forced to be this different person.
How can I be expected to turn into a mother and a housekeeper overnight?
I'm not ready; I won't even be thirteen till fall.

If only Mother had not said that I'm the strong one.
I'm not strong at all.
If only everything could be the way it was before.
But that's not going to happen. Nothing will ever be the same again, but, somehow, I have to find a way to get along with Hamish. We need to be friends, not enemies.

Hamish stirs and opens his eyes.
How unfair for a boy to have such long eyelashes and hair that deep shade of golden blond!
He puts an arm across his face, and I push the apple into his hand.

He sits up groggy with sleep, and bites into the fruit. “What did you wake me up for?” he asks.

“I came to tell you what the doctor told me the day Mother died, Hamish, while you were taking care of the forge for Father. He said her heart was tired. It gave out, and it wasn't anyone's fault.” Hamish doesn't say anything and I wait a moment, choosing my words carefully. I ask him, “Hamish, will you tell me something special you remember about Mother – something I don't know?”

He speaks with his mouth full of apple, and I listen intently. “She always said to me, ‘I don't know how anyone can get his clothes into such a state!’ But I always knew she wasn't really mad at me, like when she read my report card, and said, ‘Whatever am I going to do with a boy who won't listen to his teachers and talks in class? I know you can do better.’ When I asked her why I should, when all I want to do is work with horses like Pa, she hugged me tight and said, ‘Because l love you, and
expect you to do better.’ And once she told me, ‘I swear you are the fastest and smartest paperboy this town has ever seen.’ And she always saved a bit of the pie dough for me, because I like to eat it raw.”

“Thanks for telling me, Hamish. Those are things I've never heard before, and I think you are pretty smart too. I'll try to remember about the dough.”

Hamish mutters, “I'm sorry for what I said. I don't really hate you – it's because you aren't her. Ma knew all about me. You're awful bossy, you know.”

“Well, I have to be, I'm the oldest.”

“Then I'll get to boss Eddie,” Hamish says, with a grin. My brother always has an answer for everything.

“Eddie will never remember Mother the way we do. You and Father and I are all the family that little baby has. We must love him, to make up for not having a mother.” I manage not to cry. “You are his big brother. I want you to look out for him. I wish I had a sister to look out for me.” I smile at the grimace on his face at the very mention of another girl.

After a minute, he says, “Eddie can move into my room, if you want. I don't mind reading to him. He's pretty good most of the time.”

“Thanks, Hamish, I'll get Father to move his crib in next week. A boy shouldn't have to share with his sister. You
will
take care of him, won't you? Don't let anyone hurt him. You remember that woman who came to the
door? She's been here before. Her name is Elsie Bates and I don't trust her. If you see her again, let me know.”

“I never meant what I said at supper. I'd never tell the Gypsies to take my brother.” The apple has disappeared. He lies down again. I'm tempted to ask him to take off his dirty clothes, but decide not to.

“If you could choose anything you like for breakfast tomorrow, instead of my ‘lumpy’ oatmeal, what would it be?”

“A boiled egg and bread cut in fingers, a whole egg just for me – a Sunday egg.”

I tell him he's got a deal, if he collects the eggs for me before he goes on his route.

Hamish smiles. His eyes are closing. “Thanks for the apple, Millie.”

“Good night, Hamish. And mind what I told you: never let any strangers into the house.”

“I won't, and I won't let Farmer Price take Eddie or me home with him.” Hamish is asleep before I have even left the room.
What is he talking about? What would the Prices want with either of them?
They have three grown children of their own.