No Small Victory (21 page)

When the tired, coal-oiled children finally sank into their seats in their little schoolhouse, Mr. McDougall stood up to speak. “Now you are going to be busy—
ahem
—bees for the rest of the day,” he said. “You will notice I said bees, not fleas.” Mr. McDougall laughed at his own joke but again, none of his pupils smiled. Even the senior boys did not like his humour anymore.

Mr. McDougall continued with a scowl, “This afternoon, you are all going to clean this school from top to bottom. You are going to fire up that stove and heat water. Then you'll put this Lysol in the water and wash the place from stem to stern—every inch!”

Mouths opened in amazement. Slinky stood up slowly and cleared his throat.

“Well?” said Mr. McDougall. “If you have anything worth saying, then spit it out, boy.”

“I, for one, do not intend to scrub this school today,” Slinky shot back. “We have walked all the way to Keene and back two days in a row. And we still have lice treatments ahead of us! We ain't gonna clean the schoolhouse. If you're not going to do any teaching, I'm going home.”

Mr. McDougall's face turned bright red. He looked as though he would soon explode. He took up the strap on his desk and fingered it menacingly.

Then Slinky turned to his classmates. “Mr. McDougall is paid to keep the school clean. If he asks me nicely another day, I might help, but I ain't gonna be told to do it today. Follow me, kids!” The boy's lanky body headed toward the door and disappeared into the vestibule. The sound of his footsteps blended with the creaking of the rickety steps.

Mr. McDougall stared down the aisle and out the open door in surprise.

Then they could all hear Slinky starting to chant Bonnie's poem:

“
Beware of our Cooties,
Fear our disease,
We'll sting you like hornets,
We'll…”

Suddenly, Bonnie could not stay sitting there any longer. Slinky was right. She jumped up and marched down the aisle to the door. Outside, she ran to join Slinky.

Everyone—all the pupils and the teacher—stared in shock.

Then, in one wave, all the Grade Seven and Eights marched out the door, leaving their books behind. In a jumbled mob, all the others followed. Once outside, they rushed across the long front yard.

Archie shouted, “Wait for us!”

Slinky and Bonnie turned around. As they all came together in a group, the whole school started to sing.

“Beware of our Cooties,
Fear our disease,
We'll sting you like hornets,
We'll bite you like fleas,
And if you don't want to die,
Then you'd better just freeze!”

Then the Lang school kids shouted at the top of their lungs,
“FREEZE! FREEZE! FREEZE!”

As they wound through the village, the pupils sang the chorus over and over again.

Beside the bridge at the far end of town, the children from the village said goodbye to the farm kids—Bonnie and the Johnsons. And Slinky shouted, “Three cheers for our poet, Bonnie!”

“Hip, hip, hooray!” yelled the crowd.

Along with the Johnsons, Bonnie waved goodbye before she turned off the dirt road that snaked alongside the Indian River. The sun shone warmly down on Bonnie's bright smile as she skipped home.

NINETEEN:
CONSEQUENCES

“Anti-I-Over!” The shouts of the Lang schoolchildren rang out. It was just after four o'clock on the Thursday following the Cootie Kids' trek to Keene and the Big Walkout. They had all gone to school wondering what would happen to them but nothing did. Mr. McDougall did not even mention the incident. All day, the expected thunderbolt did not hit. Bonnie felt sure he was just delaying the inevitable to make them suffer more. But at the end of the day when nothing had happened, she started to think that maybe Slinky was right.

“He probably realizes he's wrong and won't mention it again,” Slinky had said. But Bonnie was not so sure. Something must have happened to make him change his mind. She was sure they would find out about it sometime. But better later than sooner, she decided.

Now, Bonnie was glad they were playing Anti-I-Over instead of baseball. She was seldom to blame for putting her side out—unlike baseball. She was a fairly good runner. So when the person with the ball came running round and told everyone to freeze, Bonnie was always far from the fence. Also, she was able to throw the rubber ball over the roof and no one, not even Bonnie, could predict where it would land on the other side. An advantage in this game.

“Anti-I-Over!” shouted Archie as he threw the ball to the top of the roof. It didn't quite make it and slid back down. He probably did that on purpose, Bonnie thought, for Archie had a strong swing with the ball. But sometimes this approach put the other side off guard.

Archie aimed again and this time a strong gust of wind from the northwest blew the ball right back to them.

As the group watched the ball's descent yet again, Bonnie saw a huge black cloud rolling in behind and above the roof. In fact, a big shadow seemed to have encompassed the whole roof and both sides. A dampness filled the air.

“We'll be drenched soon,” shouted someone from the shed's other side.

Then they came running around from the back and up and over the fence. Half a dozen pupils including Bonnie grabbed their bookbags off the school stoop and loped across the yard. The clouds had come up suddenly and might pass over. But maybe not.

“Bye,” some yelled to others. But Bonnie, Archie, and Angela just ran together toward the big gate and the winding Indian River Road toward their homes.

Then Bonnie lapsed into walking and back to running again till she came to the cow field. She started rounding up the cows. Dad would not mind her bringing them home early if it was going to rain. They wouldn't eat much in the rain anyway.

“Sic 'em, Boots,” she yelled, even though the dog was nowhere in sight. That started them off. Bonnie had to chase only one cow lingering under the big maple tree—the worst place to be in a thunderstorm.

She puffed and panted as she took the cows up the side hill. It was shorter this way but steep. She'd be glad when she got them to the fenced lane where she could go a little more slowly and she could keep them all confined to a single or double line. Running all over the field was not an easy way to bring in the herd—especially on these sharp but short hills. She wished that Boots had met her. She could only fool the cows for a little while before they caught on that Boots was not there to nip at their heels.

Bonnie and the cows were coming down the hill in the long lane before Boots spotted them and came running. In no time, she and Boots got the cows in the barnyard.

“Whew!” she grumbled, as she closed the gate. “I'm glad that's over.” Cows always got restless before a storm. So now she relaxed and sauntered toward the house. If it poured, she could easily make it to shelter. Actually, the sky did not look any more ominous than it had in the schoolyard when they'd broken up their game.

Bonnie stepped through the back door. Mum shouted down the stairs. “Get at your chores, Bonnie! Hurry and feed the young chickens. Then pick up the mail.”

Boots came dashing up just as Bonnie started out across the field toward the chicken coop with a full pail of water. “Back, Boots,” she said a little sternly. Bonnie had grown to love him almost as much as she'd loved her cat, Shadow, but she didn't want to spill a drop of this water intended to fill the water jugs.

“It's okay, Boots,” she said soothingly. He wagged his tail and walked beside her at a safe distance from the water pail. He was now very skilled at herding the cows, and Bonnie always took him as a bodyguard when she went to pick up the mail. It was the pigs she was afraid of. They pastured in the grassy field in front of the house. And one pig was growing very big. He was no longer friendly like the smaller ones.

As Bonnie walked across the field, the sky grew almost black. Even though the storm had been threatening for some time, now it was promising to be a riptailsnorter—as Dad would say. She could see her dad lightly tapping the reins on the horses' backs in the hillside field to the west, by the main gravel road. He wanted to finish seeding before the rain hit.

Bonnie pulled open the door to the chicken coop and rushed inside. She picked up the turned-over sealers that Mum had set up as watering jugs. She threw the bit of stale water out the door, rinsed each jug, and then filled it with fresh water. The water eased out slowly for the chicks now crowding around. Then she set down the empty pail and went over to the big barrel of feed in the corner. She dipped out full scoops and poured them one by one into the big wooden feeder in the centre of the floor. The plump chickens fluttered around the fresh grain seed. There would be plenty to last till the next night.

Bonnie hurried outside. She lifted the makeshift hook on the door over the nail in the doorframe. Then she ran across the field. Already she could feel a few sprinkles of rain. But maybe that wouldn't be so bad. The rain might just drown out a few of those horrible lice and ease up the smarting sores caused by the coal oil.

At the road, Bonnie flipped up the front flap of the tin mailbox. In it was a single letter—addressed just to her. It was from Grandma Brown. She'd recognize that smooth, flowing scrawl anywhere. Delighted, she tore it open.

My dear grandchild,

It was nice to hear that Angela and Archie have been such
good friends to you, and I am glad that you are now happy. I
am so lonesome to see you but we cannot likely visit this summer
as we had hoped. The grain seeding is taking longer than
expected because of the rainy weather we've been having here
in Massassaga, but the pea crop may be ready to harvest early…

Tears blurred Bonnie's eyes as she read. Then big blobs of rain dropped on the page, so she stuffed the letter in her pocket—the rest of it unread—and started to run.

She was puffing as she ran across the field. The wind was picking up now. Bonnie raced ahead the few hundred feet to the chicken coop—and stopped dead. The door was flapping!

Just then the larger pig roared out of the chicken coop and headed straight for Bonnie. She screamed, and Boots came from nowhere. Barking loudly, he stood in front of her. The pig turned away and Boots chased him all the way to the barn.

Bonnie reached up and touched the door hook. Maybe she had not latched the door carefully enough. The pig must have nosed it open. She stared through the doorway. The chickens were no longer pecking away at their feed. Instead, they were all crowded in one corner, heaped up on top of one another—limp and lifeless. There was no sound and no movement from the corner. All she could see was a big, soft, bulging pile of feathers high against the wall—no sign of heads or feet—only spread-out wings.

Bonnie stepped inside. She stood very still and stared in horror past the over-turned trough and the sealers at the pile of chickens. There was no sign of any blood or abuse: That rampaging pig must have scared them so much that they had crowded together and suffocated.

Then, blinded by tears, she staggered out the door. But this time, she put the hook over the nail very carefully. Then she tried to open it. The door held.

Bonnie walked slowly in a daze toward the house. The reality of what had happened swept over her like a great cloud. One thing was certain. Her parents were depending on those chickens. They would have provided eggs for baking, and, later, the occasional meal of chicken and dumplings. Most of the eggs would be sold so Mum would have money to buy other groceries and all the little things she missed having. Now the chickens were dead.

There would be no hens this year. Mum would be too proud to tell anyone, so there would be no replacement hens from neighbours. Mum would rather let the family starve than have her neighbours feel sorry for her.

Huge drops of rain were falling steadily. Bonnie trudged slowly toward the house. Her heart was beating so loudly, she could hear it in her ears.

She knew she was in for it. She knew it was probably her fault. She must have been in such a hurry to get the mail that she hadn't put the hook over the nail. No—she
had
put the hook over the nail, she was sure of it. But had she hooked it properly? How many ways were there to put a hook over top of a nail?

Supper, dishes, the nightly coal oil treatment—all passed in a haze, as Bonnie wrestled with her conscience and her memory. She had hooked the door—it was Dad's fault the hook was so flimsy—that pig should be penned more securely—the storm was to blame—she had to tell her parents.

“I think I better check on the chicken coop,” Dad said after the storm had passed. He lit the lantern and went out the door. Bonnie sat firmly holding both arms around herself.

It seemed forever before Dad returned.

“Well?” asked Mum.

“It's still raining, so I just looked out from the verandah. The chicken coop seems to be standing fine. And the door is closed.”

“I'm proud of you, Thomas,” said Mum. “Bet you didn't know you were such a good carpenter. And certainly, there's no need for you to walk out there in this rain.”

Bonnie knew she should tell her parents, but she just could not.

“Are you all right, Bonnie?” her mother asked, when they had gone upstairs. She set the lamp down on the nightstand.

Bonnie stared up at her, unable to speak.

“The treatments will stop soon, and you'll be able to sleep without this dreadful smell. You've been very patient and brave.”

After she was gone, Bonnie stared up at the ceiling for what seemed like hours, her chest tight with guilt and anxiety. When she finally fell asleep, dark dreams kept jolting her awake again.

The next morning, she was as exhausted as if she hadn't slept at all. Dully, she dressed and went down for breakfast.