The Skye in June (26 page)

THE FIRST DAY of school didn’t come fast enough for the eldest or youngest MacDonald sisters, both were eager for fresh experiences. June missed saying good-bye to Annie, who had left at seven o’clock to begin high school across town. Impatient to start her own new adventure in the fourth grade, June decided not to wait for Maggie and Mary, who were reluctant to begin their first day. They lollygagged on the front porch, savoring their last minutes of summer vacation on the beautiful, sunny morning; typical September weather in San Francisco.

Skipping merrily down Liberty Street with her journal tucked under one arm and a lunch bag in the other, June missed seeing Brian waiting for her on the steps of his house. Catching a blur of red hair bouncing past him, he jumped up.

“Hey! Where’s the fire?” he yelled, rushing to catch her.

“
I look like I’m flying, huh?” she gleefully called back to him. With outstretched arms, she swept down the steep Castro Street hill.

“
You always say that,” Brain yelled to her. He’d never actually seen her fly.

As he
jogged toward her, she saw his clothing was askew. The zipper on his rumpled trousers was undone and his shirt, with buttons in the wrong holes, hung lopsided.

“
Gads, look at you!” she pointed giggling, “Your fly’s open.”

With his face blazing red with shame, he turned away to zip his pants and redo the buttons. Jeannie, who had always helped him prepare for school, now left earlier to walk over the Castro Street hills to James Lick Junior High School in another neighborhood
, called Noe Valley. Now Brian would have only June’s company on their walk down the hill to Nineteenth and Diamond Streets, when he would turn toward the public school and she to Holy Savior.

Waiting for her pal to pull himself together, June opened her journal.
“Look,” she said, showing him page after page filled with her careful writing. “I’m going to share it with Sister Noel, just like she told me to. It’s all about what happened this summer.”

Busy flipping through the journal, neither saw Mary sneak up behind them. Sarcastically, she sang,
“
June and Brian sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g.”
June grasped his arm and ran away from her mean-spirited sister.

Sadly, she and Mary hadn
’t gotten along all summer. Mary had cruelly belittled her younger sister’s visions of her angel and constantly made unkind remarks about June being a kook and an evil pagan. The unhappy little girl held her temper, even after finding the crimson silk scarf on her bed without the tarot cards. To June it was a sign she must let the cards go. Before summer vacation Sister Noel had advised her to, “Put the cards away for now. Instead, use your journal to express your visions.”

The sisters
’ feud had begun with a misunderstanding. Mary had accused June of being disloyal and not keeping a secret between them. June had adamantly defended herself, “I swore to Our Lady I wouldn’t tell!” Nevertheless, knowing it was June who had spied her pouring a little water into their father’s whiskey bottle, Mary was convinced June was the tattletale and couldn’t be told otherwise.

Jimmy’s thunderous voice had boomed through the house, calling his daughters to the living room for interrogation about the evaporating whisky. He had immediately dismissed June. For once, he was not blaming her. She hated to abandon her sisters, but it would have infuriated him only more if she hadn’t.

She slid the door closed and stayed rooted in the drafty hallway, plastering her ear against the door in an effort to hear. Her mother came to her side, wringing her hands on a dishrag, an
xious about the punishment the guilty one would suffer.

Jimmy
’s questioning was loud and harsh. “Do you know who drank my whiskey?”

June peeped through the slit of an opening in the door. Her father
’s back was to her, allowing a clear view of each sister.

Annie pulled herself tall to answer with a solid,
“No.”

Maggie swayed back and forth, nervously biting her full lips. Jimmy queried her with the same question. She blew out hard before answering.
“I wouldn’t do that, Daddy.”

Another deni
al, Cathy worried. She knew that would make Jimmy’s temper boil. She could imagine how frightened the girls must be when he zeroed those narrow dark eyes on them. It made her nervous, too. A few weeks before, he mentioned his whiskey had seemed awfully weak. A few days later, he said he knew one of the girls was watering it down. Cathy had a good idea who it was. It wouldn’t be Annie. She was piously responsible. Maggie was too vain to want to appear out of control. June was too young. It had to be Mary. Silly girl would have no idea of the difference between good strong whiskey and weak watered brew, Cathy had thought.

She heard his voice become dangerously low a
s he asked Mary whether she knew anything about the whiskey. Cathy imagined Jimmy’s eyes burning into Mary’s face, causing her guilt to show. I hope he remembers his own infractions, Cathy thought, remembering the many times she’d heard him laughingly tell Sandy how he’d enjoyed his first taste of whiskey at twelve––Mary’s age now. She leaned against June’s back to get a better view of the girls.

Inches from Mary
’s face, Jimmy growled, “Don’t you dare tell me it wasn’t you!”

Her head quivered a jerky
“no” as she watched him cautiously.

“
Bloody lying bitches,” he snarled, his thin lips curled up. He began tugging off his thick brown belt.

Mary burst forth in tears and
she screamed, “Mommy!”

Boldly, Annie came to her defense.
“Daddy, it’s not right to hit us. Look how you’re scaring her!”

A fierce argument ensued between the strong-willed daughter and angry father. The sound of furniture scraped across the hardwood floor. June
’s stomach wretched in spasms as she held her hands tightly over her ears. Cathy squeezed her eyes shut, wishing it all to stop. She heard a swishing sound and knew it was Jimmy’s belt whipping through the air. The loud slap meant the belt had found its mark.

“
Jimmy! Stop it!” Cathy yelled, as she swiftly rushed into the room, knocking June aside.

The ugly scene of the family discord terror
ized June and she started to wail loudly, adding to the chaos. Mary flew past her, escaping upstairs as though the Devil himself were at her heels.

Firmly, Cathy took hold of her husband
’s upraised arm, catching it in mid-air, “Please. Don’t hurt them anymore.”

Jimmy
’s eyes, wild with rage, stared into her face. She could smell whiskey wafting from him. It made her heart leap in terror. He could get more dangerous when he drank.

Unexpectedly, Jimmy lowered his arm. The belt dangled from his calloused hand, which he placed over his heart. Slouching onto the couch, he spouted out,
“Them girls will be the death of me yet.”

Cathy patted his shoulder, saying,
“I know. I know.”

Annie stood next to her, breathing heavily and staring accusingly at her mother. Cathy lowered her eyes in shame for not stopping Jimmy sooner.

Maggie fled to safety without a moment’s hesitation. Annie nudged June up the stairs. On the top landing, Annie popped her head into Mary’s bedroom and told her, “Stop drinking Daddy’s whiskey.”

A couple of hours later
dinner was served at the usual time. It was a torturous affair for all. June ate around the meat, hoping her father wouldn’t notice. She snuck a look and saw he wasn’t even looking at her. From under his bushy eyebrows, he kept his eyes trained on Mary.

For June, school was a welcome relief from the summer. Sister Noel greeted each child with an enthusiastic smile and a kind pat on their heads and joshed lightly with a few of the boys. The children looked adoringly at the nun. They were happy to be in her class.

It was in religious study
the innovative nun offered her students a new way of knowing God. She instructed her students to put away their catechism books.

“
I have something very important to teach you to help you be closer to God,” Sister Noel said. She sat down and placed her hands on her desk, palms up. “Praying is talking to God. Learning to be very still quiets your mind to hear His answer.”

Sister led the class in a time of contemplation, guiding them in a soothing, melodious voice to a joyful place. When some children fidgeted during the meditation, Sister encouraged them to focus on the picture hanging over her desk. The large poster showed billowy soft clouds crossing over an azure blue sky. June was drawn to the picture, having many times envisioned her angel in a sky similar to it. Fourth grade became a peaceful enjoyment, filled with
students enthusiastic to learn.

“
Sister, can I show you something?” June asked, holding out the scroll she received for her birthday.

She had hung back and waited for her classmates to leave, which they wer
e more than happy to do on the hot Indian summer day. The windows in the classroom were wide open. Still, there was no breeze flowing through. Sister Noel continued to look fresh in spite of the heat, even though she was wrapped in a nun’s black habit made up of a headdress and floor-length tunic dress with form fitting long sleeves.

The pretty nun put out her hand to receive the scroll. Unrolling it, she said,
“The goddess Juno. Yes, she was considered a powerful goddess.”

“
You know about her?” June asked, amazed with how much her teacher knew.

“
Of course, she’s part of ancient history. It must have been interesting to learn about the origin of your name.” June moved closer to the nun. “Can you stay to talk a while?” Sister Noel asked.

“
Yes. I can walk home by myself now. I’m nine,” June said enthusiastically. Sister patted a chair next to her desk for June to sit down.

June studied how the nun
’s hair was completely hidden by a tight headdress and a stiff white headband shrouded by the black veil flowing over her head and across her shoulders. It made June wonder what color her hair might be. Curiously, she asked, “Aren’t you really hot with all that stuff on?” Her own face was beet red with glistening sweat.

“
No. I like the heat. I grew up in South Africa,” Sister answered.

“
Did you see lions an’ stuff?”

“
Oh yes! I saw many of God’s wonderful beasts and beautiful skies, too.”

“
How come a white person lived in Africa?” the little girl asked innocently.

“Many white people live
there. I was there because my parents were missionaries. They went to save the soul’s of heathens’, not that their souls needed to be saved.”

Sister Noel began to weave a colorful story of life in Africa. June leaned forward on her elbows and cupped her face in her hands, keen to learn more about her favorite nun
’s life as a child in a far-away country. After sharing some adventurous stories about wild animals and the country she had lived in, Sister Noel stopped talking and stared into space.

“
Did the black people like you?” June asked, breaking the silence.

“
Yes, very much,” Sister said. “I had many good friends. I think growing up around them, I became like them, loving God’s earth. They must have thought so, too. They were very kind to the little white Christian girl who had strange dreams.”

“
That’s you, huh?” June asked.

Sister smiled and nodded
“yes.”

“
That’s why you believe me, ‘cuz you and me are like each other,” June said.

“
You and I,” Sister corrected her out of habit. “I was only four when we went to live in a village with the Swahilis. They are proud, handsome people who also have special powers to see what others cannot.”

“
Like I see Helen and my angel.”

“
Yes, somewhat like that. But, also, some of them could see into the future through their dreams,” Sister said. She stopped and sat still. Her dreamy ocean-green eyes captivated the little girl.

Sister Noel continued,
“When I was six, I dreamt about a boy in the village being attacked by a lion at the river. I told my nanny, an old African woman. My parents were very busy teaching, so I spent a lot of time with her. The next day it happened as it did in my dream. From then on I had dreams about people, like you have. Not all bad ones. The Africans enjoyed hearing about them and I enjoyed the attention. Finally, when I told my mother, she thought it was my imagination, or the heat, or the bad influence of the heathens, or something. ‘Visions are only for holy people,’ she told me. So I never again mentioned anything to her about it again.” Sister looked out the window and June felt her sadness.

Enthralled with Sister
’s private memories, June remained quiet, hoping the nun would tell her more.

“
But my nanny understood. She told me from the beginning of time her people, who were brave, fearless warriors, had great mental powers to communicate over long distances with, not only humans, but animals, too. It helped the hunters. They called it dream walking. My nanny taught me how to use my gift of vision correctly.” Sister Noel paused before going on. “Later, I read more about this ability. It is called telepathy. The Swahilis had mastered it.”