Part 2 (2/2)

You must take care of your parents. They've worked hard and they're good people.” With a slight air of apology, as if he knew he was being sententious, Mr. McCauley said, ”Honor thy father and thy mother, that thy days may be long in the-”

Edith said something not for him to hear. She said, ”Shoe Repair shop.”

”I'm taking up your time, I'm imposing on you,” said Mr.

McCauley sadly. ”You have work to do.”

”There 's no need for you to be sarcastic,” said Edith's father when the old man had gone.

He told Edith's mother all about Mr. McCauley at supper. ”He 's not himself,” he said. ”Something's come over him.” ”Maybe a little stroke,” she said. Since her own operation-for gallstones-she spoke knowledgeably and with a placid satisfaction about the afflictions of other people.

Now that Sabitha had gone, vanished into another sort of life that had, it seemed, always been waiting for her, Edith had reverted to being the person she had been before Sabitha came here. ”Old for her age,” diligent, critical. After three weeks at high school she knew that she was going to be very good at all the new subjects-Latin, Algebra, English Literature. She believed that her cleverness was going to be recognized and acclaimed and an important future would open out for her. The past year's silliness with Sabitha was slipping out of sight.

- 26*

Yet when she thought about Johanna's going off out west she felt a chill from her past, an invasive alarm. She tried to bang a lid down on that, but it wouldn't stay.

As soon as she had finished was.h.i.+ng the dishes she went off to her room with the book they had been a.s.signed for literature cla.s.s. David Copperfield.

She was a child who had never received more than tepid reproofs from her parents-old parents to have a child of her age, which was said to account for her being the way she was- but she felt in perfect accord with David in his unhappy situation. She felt that she was one like him, one who might as well have been an orphan, because she would probably have to run away, go into hiding, fend for herself, when the truth became known and her past shut off her future.

It had all begun with Sabitha saying, on the way to school, ”We have to go by the Post Office. I have to send a letter to my dad.”

They walked to and from school together every day.

Sometimes they walked with their eyes closed, or backwards.

Sometimes when they met people they gabbled away softly in a nonsense language, to cause confusion. Most of their good ideas were Edith's. The only idea Sabitha introduced was the writing down of a boy's name and your own, and the stroking out of all letters that were duplicated and the counting of the remainder.

Then you ticked off the counted number on your fingers, saying, Hates.h.i.+p, friends.h.i.+p, courts.h.i.+p, loves.h.i.+p, marriage, till you got the verdict on what could happen between you and that boy.

”That's a fat letter,” said Edith. She noticed everything, and she remembered everything, quickly memorizing whole pages of the textbooks in a way the other children found sinister. ”Did you have a lot of things to write to your dad?” she said, surprised, because she could not credit this-or at least could not credit that Sabitha would get them on paper.

”I only wrote on one page,” Sabitha said, feeling the letter.

- 27*

”A-ha,” said Edith. ”Ah. Ha.”

”Aha what?”

”I bet she put something else in. Johanna did.”

The upshot of this was that they did not take the letter directly to the Post Office, but saved it and steamed it open at Edith's house after school. They could do such things at Edith's house because her mother worked all day at the Shoe Repair shop.

Dear Mr. Ken Boudreau, I just thought I would write and send my thanks to you for the nice things you said about me in your letter to your daughter. You do not need to worry about me leaving. You say that I am a person you can trust. That is the meaning I take and as far as I know it is true. I am grateful to you for saying that, since some people feel that a person like me that they do not know the background of is Beyond the Pale. So I thought I would tell you something about myself. I was born in Glasgow, but my mother had to give me up when she got married. I was taken to the Home at the age of five. I looked for her to come back, but she didn't and I got used to it there and they weren't Bad. At the age of eleven I was brought to Canada on a Plan and lived with the Dixons, working on their Market Gardens.

School was in the Plan, but I didn't see much of it. In winter I worked in the house for the Mrs. but circ.u.mstances made me think of leaving, and being big and strong for my age got taken on at a Nursing Home looking after the old people. I did not mind the work, but for better money went and worked in a Broom Factory. Mr. Willets that owned it had an old mother that came in to see how things were going, and she and I took to each other some way. The atmosphere was giving me breathing troubles so she said I should come and work for her and I did. I lived with her 12 yrs. on a lake called Mourning Dove Lake up - 28*

north. There was only the two of us, but I could take care of everything outside and in, even running the motor-boat and driving the car. I learned to read properly because her eyes were going bad and she liked me to read to her. She died at the age of 96. You might say what a life for a young person, but I was happy. We ate together every meal and I slept in her room the last year and a half. But after she died the family gave me one wk. to pack up. She had left me some money and I guess they did not like that. She wanted me to use it for Education but I would have to go in with kids. So when I saw the ad Mr. McCauley put in the Globe and Mail I came to see about it. I needed work to get over missing Mrs. Willets. So I guess I have bored you long enough with my History and you'll be relieved I have got up to the Present. Thank you for your good opinion and for taking me along to the Fair. I am not one for the rides or for eating the stuff but it was still certainly a pleasure to be included.

Your friend, Johanna Parry.

Edith read Johanna's words aloud, in an imploring voice and with a woebegone expression.

”I was born in Glasgow, but my mother had to give me up when she took one look at me-”

”Stop,” said Sabitha. ”I'm laughing so hard I'll be sick.”

”How did she get her letter in with yours without you knowing? ”

”She just takes it from me and puts it in an envelope and writes on the outside because she doesn't think my writing is good enough.”

Edith had to put Scotch tape on the flap of the envelope to make it stick, since there wasn't enough sticky stuff left. ”She 's in love with him,” she said.

- 29*

”Oh, puke-puke,” said Sabitha, holding her stomach. ”She can't be. Old Johanna.”

”What did he say about her, anyway?”

”Just about how I was supposed to respect her and it would be too bad if she left because we were lucky to have her and he didn't have a home for me and Grandpa couldn't raise a girl by himself and blah-blah. He said she was a lady. He said he could tell.”

”So then she falls in lo-ove.”

The letter remained with Edith overnight, lest Johanna discover that it hadn't been posted and was sealed with Scotch tape. They took it to the Post Office the next morning.

”Now we 'll see what he writes back. Watch out,” said Edith.

No letter came for a long time. And when it did, it was a disappointment. They steamed it open at Edith's house, but found nothing inside for Johanna.

Dear Sabitha, Christmas finds me a bit short this year, sorry I don't have more than a two-dollar bill to send you. But I hope you are in good health and have a Merry Christmas and keep up your school-work. I have not been feeling so well myself, having got Bronchitis, which I seem to do every winter, but this is the first time it landed me in bed before Christmas. As you see by the address I am in a new place.

The apartment was in a very noisy location and too many people dropping in hoping for a party. This is a boardinghouse, which suits me fine as I was never good at the shopping and the cooking.

Merry Christmas and love, Dad.

”Poor Johanna,” said Edith. ”Her heart will be bwoken.”

- 30*

Sabitha said, ”Who cares?”

”Unless we do it,” Edith said.

”What?”

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