No Small Victory (8 page)

“C'mon back, Boots! Here, Boots! C'mere, you bad boy!” The dog didn't seem to hear. He was too happy thinking he'd been successful. Bonnie kept running and running and calling out to the pup. Finally, she caught up to him and grabbed him by the scruff of his neck.

“Stop! Stop!” she shouted. Boots finally understood. He dropped his fluffy tail and put it between his legs.

Still, Boots had perked up again by the time Bonnie had the cows at the barnyard gate.

“Good job, Bonnie,” said Dad. “You did just fine!”

Bonnie thought she'd better explain what Boots had done, in case Dad had trouble milking. Dad frowned at what she told him. She knew how much he valued his prize cows.

“I'd better train him a little more this week, then. But don't get too used to the holiday,” he cautioned. “Next week you'll have your job back.”

“Eat up, Bonnie. You're too thin. You need all the strength you can get.”

“Sorry, Mum, I'm just not hungry anymore!” Bonnie looked down at the blob of mashed turnips and the fried fish patty on her plate.

“It doesn't matter whether you're hungry or not. You need to eat.”

“Please, Mum, couldn't we have something else besides suckerballs and turnips? Maybe an orange once in a while?”

The minute she said the word “orange,” Bonnie knew it was a mistake.

“Oranges are very expensive,” said Dad. “We simply cannot afford them.”

“And why can't we afford them, Thomas? Because you expanded your farm too quickly down in Massassaga. You shouldn't have bought the best prize Holstein cows. Dad's Jerseys give just as much milk and more cream! We wouldn't be stuck in this place if you'd been reasonable.”

“How was I to know the Depression would hit, Amelia? Lots of people are in worse shape than we are.”

So Dad was calling Mum by her proper name. He did that when he was angry. Bonnie knew she mustn't say anything or both her parents would yell at her. She wished she didn't have to hear all this again.

“And those old folks you borrowed money from? They don't need to be paid back so quickly!”

“If you were elderly, you wouldn't say that!”

“They're not pushing you, Thomas. It's your pride. Of course, you must repay them. But do it more slowly! Have
they
complained?”

That was a good question. Bonnie stared up at her father, but he looked right through her as though she didn't exist.

“No. But it's my duty to pay them back as soon as I can. They're old and they'll be worrying. And we're not starving!”

“Well, not yet, Thomas, but wait till winter comes! What if some of that fish goes bad? Or the turnips get too mouldy?”

“We have lots of fish,” said Dad. “And you're a clever cook, Amy.”

Good!
thought Bonnie. He was calling her Amy again! Things were going to calm down now. That sick feeling in Bonnie's stomach was starting to feel a little better.

“You can think of a million ways to make things tasty. This fry-up is just excellent, by the way.” Dad didn't like fighting any more than Bonnie did.

Bonnie stared at her plate, lifted her fork, and started to eat. One mouthful at a time, she would get it down. And she would never mention an
orange
again. When they saw her eating, maybe they'd stop this fighting.

“Well, thank you,” said Mum, “but no one wants to eat the same fish a million different ways! When I was a girl, we worked hard, but we always had good meals. That was because Dad hunted. When we ran out of meat, he took his gun and shot a deer or a rabbit or—”

Dad's face went pale. “Amy…Amy…please don't talk about hunting. I cannot stand the sight of blood! You know that!”

“Yes, but I don't understand it. You could get used to it, but instead you'd rather putter around on the farm all day.”

“Putter? I wouldn't call ploughing up those tough old fields
puttering
. I wouldn't call milking and mucking out horse and cow stables
puttering
! I'm working just as hard as any man can.”

“Well, so am I.” Her voice was louder now.

“I never said you didn't,” mumbled Dad.

Mum was not consoled. “I get up at the same time as you every morning, and every night you're snoring before I even get to bed. I work longer hours than you do!”

“I know, Amy.” Dad's voice was much quieter now, and he looked sorry. Mum was going to win the argument again, thought Bonnie with a sigh. She usually did, whether she was right or wrong. Most of their arguments started with talk of the debt.

One thing was for sure, Bonnie decided. When she grew up, she would never buy anything she couldn't pay for right then. She would never,
ever
be in debt!

SEVEN:
TOM AND SLINKY

“Get down here, Bonnie!” Mum yelled from the bottom of the stairs.

“I'm dressing!”

“Well, hurry up about it!”

Mum had hung Bonnie's white middy and navy skirt on the bedside washstand made out of an old orange crate that Mum had found in the trash behind a Belleville store. The clothes were all cleaned and ironed, just like a miracle.

Bonnie whipped them off the stand, put them on, and hurried down the stairs. The minute Mum saw her daughter, she rushed over with a big apron made out of a flour bag. That would protect Bonnie's top from all the porridge she would soon be spilling. But this time Bonnie downed her porridge at lightning speed without a single mistake.

Two minutes later, her mother was whisking Bonnie out the door with her blue tin lunch pail, her scribbler, and a warm navy jacket. “Off you go, and pay attention to your teacher. You're a smart girl, but he's smarter. So listen to what he says.”

“That reminds me, Mum,” Bonnie began, “Mr. McDougall only has my June report card. Didn't Miss Anderson give us anything else? Anything about my Grade Five work?”

“What do you mean, Bonnie? I gave Mr. McDougall all we had—your June report card. We left suddenly. Don't you remember? We did not have time to pick up anything else—not even your school books!”

Bonnie had suspected this but wanted to be sure, just in case some other sort of evidence could still be found. Now there was no hope whatsoever.

Out in the barnyard, Boots was racing around Duke and Rose. Dad was hitching them up to the plough. He shouted, “Have a good day, Bonnie. Work hard!”

“Oh, sure,” said Bonnie. How could she have a good day doing work she had already done last spring? What was the point in working hard? Bonnie slowed her pace, a feeling of gloom and dread creeping over her. Why hurry to that school?

Dad didn't notice. He went merrily on his way as he whistled a cheery tune.

“Hey, Bonnie! Come over here and play on our team!” Archie yelled from the other side of the schoolhouse gate. The grassy area between the asters and the school was wet with dew, but no one seemed to mind. Two teams were already lining up to play.

Oh, no,
thought Bonnie.
Baseball!

She started thinking up excuses. Mum wouldn't want her to get her shoes wet. She also wouldn't want her to get dirt on her skirt and middy. Maybe…Bonnie stopped herself. If she used excuses like that, she knew the other students would make fun of her forever. So she just smiled and said, “Not this morning. I have reading to do!”

That was not really a lie, for she hadn't forgotten
Anne of
Green Gables
. There was a chance Mr. McDougall would let her read it before classes began.

“Why ask that darn snippet anyway?” one of the boys jeered as Bonnie walked up the steps to the school. “I'll bet she can't throw or catch—let alone hit a ball!”

Bonnie turned her head away and marched into the school.

Inside, the room was empty and quiet. Mr. McDougall was busy marking papers at his desk; so Bonnie tiptoed to her seat, not wanting to disturb him. She stashed her scribbler in the desk, then leaned over. She could almost reach the bookshelf. If she moved another inch toward the edge of her seat, she wouldn't have to walk across the creaking floor boards to fetch the book.

Another half-inch…another…

Crash! Bonnie fell to the floor, and a few novels fell down around her shoulders.

“Bonnie Brown! What in heaven's name are you doing?”

Bonnie stood up and dusted off her skirt. A book with a worn-out cover dropped from her lap. “I'm sorry, sir…Sir McDougall, I mean Mr. Sir, I was just trying to—”

“It's ‘Mr. McDougall,' Bonnie. Now, have you signed that book out or did you imagine that you could simply take whatever you pleased?”

“No, I didn't know, Mr. McDougall…it's just…I didn't want to play baseball in the schoolyard…and…”

“And you think that gives you special permission to come in and take books?”

“No, sir, I mean Mr. McDougall, I didn't want to interrupt your work to ask for a book—”

“Well, Bonnie, I know it's difficult coming to a new school, but you have to make an effort to learn new rules. In the future, be sure to sign out each book before you take it. See that pencil and paper above the shelf? If you sign the book out first, you don't have to ask permission. For now, though, just put those books back on the shelf and sit back at your desk. It's nearly nine o'clock and everyone will be coming in soon.”

Bonnie spent the rest of the morning trying to make sure Mr. McDougall didn't notice her. From time to time, she could not resist stealing a glance at the bookshelf. The words
Anne
of Green Gables
were still glowing there in large gold letters, on the spine of the book.

When the wall clock at the back of the room showed twelve, Bonnie breathed a sigh of relief. Lunchtime! She'd have a whole hour away from Mr. McDougall's eagle eyes, and Angela would be waiting for her outside the door. They'd have a nice walk through the nearby fields while everyone else played baseball.

Bonnie left her seat with the others and walked into the girls' cloakroom. Her dark blue jacket was hanging on its hook and her lunch pail was on the shelf above it. She picked up her lunch pail and raced out to the schoolyard where a gentle breeze tossed a few leaves over the ground.

Under the maple tree, a couple of the big boys were tussling over a baseball bat. But Angela and Archie were nowhere in sight. Nor was Mr. McDougall. He had gone for his lunch hour to his boarding house, which was at the other end of the hamlet.

“What are you having for lunch?” Marianne bounded up beside Bonnie and slapped her across the shoulders.

“Oh…I was just looking for Angela and Archie and…” Bonnie said. “And here you are!”

“Weren't you looking for me, too?”

“Oh, yes, yes! But where is everyone else?”

“They went home for lunch. They often do that when the weather's good.”

“Oh…” Bonnie tried not to look disappointed.

“So don't you want to have lunch with me?” Marianne's wispy, blonde braids flew sideways as she turned away.

Bonnie grabbed Marianne's shoulder and said, “Of course, I do!” Marianne was a bit bouncy, but she was friendly.

“Do most kids go home for lunch?” Bonnie asked as they squeezed between the other children on the steps of the school.

“Sure do! Till it snows.”

Bonnie's desk mate, Betty, inched over toward the two girls. “I usually go home for lunch too,” she said, “but my parents went to Peterborough today.” She took a huge orange out of her paper lunch bag and started to peel it.

An orange! How could Betty's parents afford to buy her an orange—for her school lunch? Bonnie couldn't help watching as Betty popped a piece into her mouth—then another, and another.

“Would you like a piece?” Betty asked at last.

Bonnie smiled. She could hardly believe her luck. “Yes, please!” she exclaimed.

Betty handed a section to Bonnie and held out another piece for Marianne.