I banked most of it. I was too busy to spend it, except when the circus came to town. Everyone turned out for it: the procession headed by the elephants and the show afterwards. But I was always glad to get back to the forge. It made me feel uneasy looking at the mangy wild animals in their cramped cages.
“‘I remembered the girl on the boat, the way she’d gripped the rails. Sometimes I’d look up when I saw a girl with dark curls pass by, or heard a laugh that reminded me of her.
“‘I stayed with Joe and his wife until 1914, the year after my apprenticeship ended. In September, a month after World War I broke out, I went to the armory on Queen Square and volunteered for the army, hoping to be sent to a cavalry regiment. “Come back safe, Will,” Joe said.
“‘We embarked for England, where we were to receive training before they sent us to France. I was anxious to see my brother again. I managed to have one leave with him. Frankie joined up the following year. I never saw him again; he died in France, at the Battle of Vimy Ridge in 1917. After the war, I returned to Canada and married your mother.’
“Dad refused to say another word on the subject after that and retreated into his customary silence. But we should be getting home. Gran will wonder where we’ve got to.”
“The story sounds like it happened yesterday,” I say. I’m full of questions, but I can tell Grandfather has closed up too, exactly like his dad.
It’s really warm in my room tonight. The window’s open, but there’s not a breath of air. I read a bit, write down some of Great-grandfather’s story in my journal, and throw off the quilt before I go to sleep.
Skivvy
I can smell the storm brewing. Heat hangs in the air, lingering like dust mites in the rooms as if they haven’t been cleaned. Where I sleep near the roof, it’s as hot as the big kitchen stove.
It’s early when I go out to clean the henhouse, feed the birds, and gather the eggs. The hens cluck and flap their wings, running round in circles as if trying to tell me something. Perspiration trickles down the back of my dress. I’d twisted my hair up this morning to keep it off my neck. If only there was a breeze, just for a minute. What wouldn’t I give to lie in the grass under the apple tree? The leaves on the big maple hang so still, they look as if they’ve been painted on.
Back in the scullery I wash the eggs, hating the sight of the specks of blood on the eggshells more than usual.I’d better watch myself today; heat makes adults irritable, quicker to find fault.
Mrs. Dunn is keeping to her room with a nervous headache. That means extra trips up and down stairs with cold compresses.
I sweep the dining room and hall and wipe down all the woodwork, upstairs and down, with a damp cloth. It grows warm in my hands in seconds. Just as I’m finishing, I hear Mrs. Dunn’s little bell. I empty the bucket hurriedly, rinse out the cloth, hang it to dry, and go up to see what she wants. Her face is blotched red with the heat, or temper, or both. “Didn’t you hear me ring, girl?” she asks, impatiently.
I’m sent on an errand to Madill’s Drugstore on George Street to fetch her medicine. She orders me to hand the sealed note to Mr. Madill himself, and to come straight back. It shouldn’t take any more than twenty minutes, she tells me.
Miss Alice purses her lips when she sees me getting ready to leave–there are vegetables to peel. She decides she needs lemons, and hands me a dime to buy six from Hamilton’s Grocery. It’s a very grand place, with food from every part of the world. This is the first time I’ve held a Canadian coin in my hand. Mrs. Dunn always tells me to charge everything.
I wish there was time to sit by the river and take off my boots and cool my feet in the water, but today I don’teven dare to look in the windows of the fine shops. I know Mrs. Dunn will be lying back against her pillows–embroidered with the words
Good
“‘I remembered the girl on the boat, the way she’d gripped the rails. Sometimes I’d look up when I saw a girl with dark curls pass by, or heard a laugh that reminded me of her.
“‘I stayed with Joe and his wife until 1914, the year after my apprenticeship ended. In September, a month after World War I broke out, I went to the armory on Queen Square and volunteered for the army, hoping to be sent to a cavalry regiment. “Come back safe, Will,” Joe said.
“‘We embarked for England, where we were to receive training before they sent us to France. I was anxious to see my brother again. I managed to have one leave with him. Frankie joined up the following year. I never saw him again; he died in France, at the Battle of Vimy Ridge in 1917. After the war, I returned to Canada and married your mother.’
“Dad refused to say another word on the subject after that and retreated into his customary silence. But we should be getting home. Gran will wonder where we’ve got to.”
“The story sounds like it happened yesterday,” I say. I’m full of questions, but I can tell Grandfather has closed up too, exactly like his dad.
It’s really warm in my room tonight. The window’s open, but there’s not a breath of air. I read a bit, write down some of Great-grandfather’s story in my journal, and throw off the quilt before I go to sleep.
Skivvy
I can smell the storm brewing. Heat hangs in the air, lingering like dust mites in the rooms as if they haven’t been cleaned. Where I sleep near the roof, it’s as hot as the big kitchen stove.
It’s early when I go out to clean the henhouse, feed the birds, and gather the eggs. The hens cluck and flap their wings, running round in circles as if trying to tell me something. Perspiration trickles down the back of my dress. I’d twisted my hair up this morning to keep it off my neck. If only there was a breeze, just for a minute. What wouldn’t I give to lie in the grass under the apple tree? The leaves on the big maple hang so still, they look as if they’ve been painted on.
Back in the scullery I wash the eggs, hating the sight of the specks of blood on the eggshells more than usual.I’d better watch myself today; heat makes adults irritable, quicker to find fault.
Mrs. Dunn is keeping to her room with a nervous headache. That means extra trips up and down stairs with cold compresses.
I sweep the dining room and hall and wipe down all the woodwork, upstairs and down, with a damp cloth. It grows warm in my hands in seconds. Just as I’m finishing, I hear Mrs. Dunn’s little bell. I empty the bucket hurriedly, rinse out the cloth, hang it to dry, and go up to see what she wants. Her face is blotched red with the heat, or temper, or both. “Didn’t you hear me ring, girl?” she asks, impatiently.
I’m sent on an errand to Madill’s Drugstore on George Street to fetch her medicine. She orders me to hand the sealed note to Mr. Madill himself, and to come straight back. It shouldn’t take any more than twenty minutes, she tells me.
Miss Alice purses her lips when she sees me getting ready to leave–there are vegetables to peel. She decides she needs lemons, and hands me a dime to buy six from Hamilton’s Grocery. It’s a very grand place, with food from every part of the world. This is the first time I’ve held a Canadian coin in my hand. Mrs. Dunn always tells me to charge everything.
I wish there was time to sit by the river and take off my boots and cool my feet in the water, but today I don’teven dare to look in the windows of the fine shops. I know Mrs. Dunn will be lying back against her pillows–embroidered with the words
Good
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