No Small Victory (2 page)

“I thought it'd be over by now. But 1936 has been no better than the first half of this decade.” To Bonnie's surprise, her tough old Grandpa O'Carr put out his hand and patted her father on the shoulder.

The wind whipped clouds back over the moon. Nearby crickets chirped loudly. Everything suddenly went dark again. Then she heard the sound of a big truck screeching to a quick stop on the highway right in front of their house.

“You bloomin' idiot!” Dad's voice came through the other night sounds.

Bonnie jumped up from behind the cedar bush She shook off some broken twigs and took a few steps toward her father. He didn't see her. He was staring at the truck and shouting, “Can't you watch where you're going? Now just look what you've done!”

The driver jumped out of the cattle truck parked on the other side of the road and looked under his front wheel. “I didn't see the cat there! Honest!” Dad crossed over the highway and held his lantern close. Both men were now staring down.

With a gasp, Bonnie ran toward the road.

“Stop!” Dad yelled at Bonnie as she dashed ahead. He met her halfway across the road and pulled her back to their front dooryard with his strong arms. “No use you looking now, Bonnie,” he said. “That little mite's gone to heaven for sure.”

“But he's under the truck!”

“Bonnie, what are you doing out there?” Mum's sharp voice cut through the damp night air. Bonnie started to cough. Her mother ran outside and, grabbing her daughter's hand, led her back into the house and over to sit in the wooden rocking chair by the kitchen door. Lantern light glowed around the chair, but the corners of the empty room were full of dark shadows. Boxes stood piled by the doorway.

Mum took a thick quilt and threw it over Bonnie. Its green and reddish-blue patches seemed to glow in the light of the lantern. Bonnie started crying.

Dad followed them inside and knelt beside his daughter. “Bonnie, I'm sorry—I'll get you another cat.”

“I don't want another one!” Bonnie wailed. “I want Shadow. Now he's dead! I hate that man!”

“No one can see in the dark,” said Dad. “The cat should have been sleeping in the barn. No one knew he was heading for the house.”

A sudden realization hit Bonnie in the stomach like a fist. She was the one who let Shadow into the house at night. Now she couldn't stop the tears rolling down her cheeks.

“Come, mop up those tears. Let me see those big blue eyes again,” said Dad, handing Bonnie his big red kerchief. “It's too bad. Poor Shadow would have been just fine at our new place. No cars for miles.”

“No cars for miles!” Bonnie gasped. “Where are we going? To the North Pole?”

“Only about seventy miles north. We're moving to a fine farm between Lang and Keene—about twelve miles from Peterborough,” said Dad. “It'll be a big adventure. You'll see.”

“But I don't know that place,” said Bonnie. “I like it right here in Massassaga. I like going to Belleville with Grandma Brown. Peterborough's too far away.”

“We're going to miss our relatives, all right,” said Mum. “But it'll have its compensations. Your uncles won't be snitching my pies and cakes out of the pantry window before they've even cooled down.” Then she smiled at Dad, for Mum was a crackerjack cook, and she was just bragging a bit about everyone going for her baking.

Bonnie wasn't just sad now—she was angry. “I don't want to leave Grandma and Grandpa Brown!” she stormed. “I don't want to leave my school! I like my school. Miss Anderson said I could take Grades Four and Five together this year. I will
not
move!”

She stood up and stamped one foot on the floor.

“We'll see about that, young lady,” said Mum. “Get into some warmer clothes now. And calm down or you'll bring on another coughing attack!”

Bonnie looked at her father with pleading eyes.

“It can't be helped, Bonnie. Now, do as your mother says. I have work to finish up.” He bent over, kissed her on the forehead, and hurried out the door.

“Go back to your bedroom, Bonnie,” said Mum. “I've laid out your skirt and blouse. Since you're up anyway, you might as well put them on and wait there. We'll call you when we're ready to go.”

Bonnie wished they would forget her. She trudged across the dining room into the hallway and up the steep stairs. She hadn't had a chance to say goodbye to anyone—not her teacher nor her school friends. And not even her Grandma Brown or her aunts who lived in the big house on the hill next door. Nor Grandma O'Carr and Aunt Leah, who lived on the Ridge Road near Stirling—nineteen miles north of Belleville.

She was going to hate this new place. She knew it. Perhaps she wouldn't have to go. Maybe Mum and Dad
would
forget her. They were always busy working anyway. Bonnie put her clothes on quickly and flung herself on the little cot in her room.

Shadow. If only he were coming too. She wouldn't have been quite so lonesome. Then she buried her face in her pillow and sobbed for her cat, her school friends, her aunts and uncles, her grandparents—just everyone. And whatever would the new home be like?
Would
there be polar bears and icebergs away up north?

Later, someone covered her, half asleep, with a blanket and wedged her between piles of boxes in the back seat of the car.

She was floating on a leaky raft in the middle of Lake Ontario.
Dad had told her to leave the farm and go to the North Pole.
But she was lost. She couldn't even see the sandy banks of the
shoreline. Clinging to the raft, she rode up and down the huge
waves.

When she woke up, she was lying on a bare mattress on top of a table in a strange room.

“Where's Dad?” Bonnie asked her mum, who was now busy unpacking one of the utility cupboards by the light of a coal-oil lamp.

“Oh, he'll be here soon. He brought us and all the breakables in the car first. After he helped unload the cattle truck, he went back with the driver.”

“Without us?”

“He just went along to meet your uncle with the horses. Your dad is driving them here now while Elvin goes home with the truck driver. It's been a long walk for those horses today. They set out early yesterday and now here it is, coming on three a.m.; so your dad'll have to take this last stretch pretty slowly. Still, he'll be along soon.”

Just then a faint melody broke the silence.

“…she'll be comin' round the mountain when she comes!
She'll be ridin' six white horses when she comes…”
It was Dad, singing that silly song that Mum disliked.

But her mother looked happy. She rushed to throw open the front door. It was only a few feet from Bonnie's table-bed. He'd found his way safely over the dark countryside and was coming across the field.

Bonnie lay back on her pillow and was soon sound asleep again.

TWO:
NEW NEIGHBOURS

The late-September light filtered through the north window and woke Bonnie up from her second sleep. The nightmares were gone. She could hear the sound of blue jays squabbling beyond the yard. She tumbled off her table-bed and weaved her way between stacked furniture and boxes over to the window to investigate. Father had said there would be a small apple orchard, a garden, and a splendid grassy dooryard.

Only two scraggly apple trees were in sight. Nothing like the beautiful orchards in Prince Edward County! The lawn was a mess of goldenrod and wild grass. The grass was so long in some places, it waved in the breeze. Bonnie turned her back on the window and pressed down her wrinkled navy blue skirt and white blouse. She hated her warm wool stockings. They were so furry looking. No one but Bonnie had to wear long wool stockings this early, but her mother was always afraid she would “take a chill.” She scratched one leg and sighed.

“You strip that side and I'll do this side,” came a strange voice from another room.

“Fine, Mrs. Elmhirst, I'll do that,” said Mum. “I'm glad Bonnie's having a good long sleep. It was a tough night, and I'd rather not have her wandering in before we finish this room. She's always been a curious child. I don't want her to pick up any germs.”

“Don't worry, Amy. This Lysol kills germs. And we'll be through here by noon. Now put lots of Lysol on the wall after you tear off that wallpaper. Don't forget,” the woman continued, “I cleaned out the pantry, too, after I finished the front room for your furniture. So now you'll have somewhere to put your dishes and food.”

Food! Suddenly Bonnie realized how hungry she was. She slid around the boxes and old orange crates filled with their stuff, but the doorway was blocked with two mattresses. So she squeezed her head between them and shouted, “Mum!”

“Get back! Get out of here! At once!”

“Why?”

Her mother rushed over toward Bonnie like a bat flying out of a cave. “Don't contradict,” she whispered. “Just get out to the verandah where there aren't any germs!”

“Why would there be germs?”

“The Elmh—” Mum hesitated, pushing her thick wavy hair out of her eyes. “The house has been empty for three years. That's all.”

Bonnie shrugged and went looking for the front door. It would take a while to find it with all this furniture in the way. She walked through the tunnels between the piles of boxes and chairs and came to a small winding pathway of polished pine floor that led to the front door. For a minute, she thought she saw Shadow coming around the corner of one of the boxes. Then she remembered with a cold jolt: Of course, it couldn't be Shadow. Bonnie gulped back a sob and determined to explore some more. She mustn't think of Shadow right now.

Out on the verandah, the air was fresh and the sun shone just the way it used to in Massassaga. Bonnie raced down the steps and through the overgrown grass.

She flung herself on the bushy lawn and gazed back at the big, red-brick house. It was much grander than their old grey clapboard home. One side was square but the other side was set back a bit, with a gable on the roof. A white picket fence and a verandah with gingerbread trim both wrapped around the house. It was strange that no one had wanted to rent it for three years. What was wrong with the place?

The blue jays were still making a ruckus in a tree just behind her. Bonnie sat up and turned around to get a better look. Now she saw the big long trail across a wide field. She got up and stepped over to the white picket fence. She squinted but couldn't see the road or any mailbox, though she supposed they had one. Then she looked to her left across the barnyard to the end of a hilly lane. She could only see as far as the top of the first hill. She was almost sure she saw something else—a boy walking along the rail fence up there. He was holding a long, willowy tree branch like a flagpole.

“Bonnie! Bonnie!”

She scrambled back to the house. There was no use hiding from her mother. She always found you—and she always had another job for you.

Well, I might as well get it over with
, Bonnie thought.

So Bonnie clambered up the verandah steps and faced her mother.

“I don't have time to repeat myself, so listen carefully. I can't cook porridge because the stove isn't hooked up yet to the stovepipes. But your grandmother packed sandwiches, and they're somewhere out here on the verandah in a cardboard box marked ‘Food.' Eat first, then bring the rest inside for me and Mrs. Elmhirst.”

“Who is Mrs. Elmhirst?”

“A very important lady who's helping us. Now, get going!”

Bonnie tiptoed along the verandah, looking at every box. Nothing there. So she tiptoed back and glanced over her shoulder at the row of bushes growing directly in front of the verandah. Was it possible that a box may have fallen somewhere between a bush and the verandah?

A spruce tree, just a little bigger than the others, stood right in front of her. She stopped to touch a bright green branch but quickly drew back her hand with a piercing shriek.

A long, thin green snake was draped over its branches just like Christmas tinsel.

“What's the matter, Bonnie?” It was Dad. He smelled like horses and cows.

“Snnnaa…Snnn aaaa…”

“What?”

“SNAKE! LOOK!”

Bonnie pointed at the spruce tree, but the reptile had slithered away.

“There's no snake there now. Besides, we have more important things to worry about than a small, harmless garter—like dirty barns.” Dad grinned ruefully. As he clapped his hands against his overall legs, clouds of dust swirled around him.

Bonnie sneezed. “Boy! Everything's dirty around here,” she said, “especially you. You have cobwebs all over your hair.” She ran her hands through her own mop of short, curly blonde hair—a mess of tangles still not combed out this morning.

Her father was over six feet tall, and he towered above her, laughing. She hadn't seen him smile all summer. “You're completely right, Bonnie. It's a dirty place. And I have cobwebs for hair. But the price is right—and this wonderful farm will help us climb out of debt.”