Discovering Emily (3 page)

Father led the way out through a gate, then through another gate and out into the hawthorn shrubbery that ran around the cow yard. A small path ducked and twisted through the thorny bushes and was fun for games, but Father took the straight, clear path alongside the shrubbery. His walking stick poked and pushed at any branch, stick or rock that was out of place. Mother came behind him, holding little Richard's hand. Next came Alice, her arms hanging loose and floppy because she wasn't allowed to play
with her dolls on Sunday. Next came Lizzie, her head held high and full of sermons. Emily came last, wishing their walk wasn't so fenced in by straight hedges and high wooden fences.

The sound of voices and laughter drifted from the road on the other side of the hedge. Emily parted the hedge with her hands and peaked through. Her friend Edna Green and her family were heading to the beach for their Sunday picnic.

“Hello, Edna,” Emily whispered.

“Hello, Emily,” said Edna, stopping. “Would you like to come to the beach with us?”

“I can't,” Emily answered. She looked back towards Father. He didn't approve of picnics and fun on Sundays. He liked his family to stay home and walk with him.

“Too bad,” said Edna. “Walking around your own cow field looks so dull.”

“It is,” Emily whispered back, hoping that none of her family heard.

Lizzie frowned at her when she ducked back through to the path.

For the rest of the walk, Emily was so busy wishing that she could go to the beach with the Greens that she almost missed the small yellow pansies poking up under the hedge. They must have grown from seeds on the wind. One stood right in the center of the path as if it didn't care what her Father or any of the others thought. Emily laughed to herself. One day she would do what she wanted, too.

Early Monday morning Emily walked with her father along Carr Street as far as the James Bay Bridge. Father's store was over the bridge in the business section of town along Wharf Street. When Emily was smaller she sometimes went to work with Father, but now she said good-bye and turned to head to school. Under the bridge, the tide was on its way out. Emily saw a brown-skinned family, probably from the Songhees reserve, climbing into a canoe at the edge of the water. She paused, checked that Father was not looking back, and turned her attention to the man, woman and boy and their canoe. The boy hunched down in the middle
of the canoe beside a small brown dog. Emily thought again of how she wished she had her own dog that would go everywhere with her. As the boat pulled away from the shore, the man and woman both dug their paddles into the water. They wore loose, comfortable looking clothing and seemed content and unhurried — as if they could do whatever they wanted and did not care what the corseted and stiff-suited townspeople thought.

Without thinking, Emily crossed the bridge, following the canoe. Even after it disappeared behind an anchored tall ship, she kept walking. What would it matter if she were a bit late for school? She needed a few minutes of freedom. Every morning, every day was the same. Father didn't like her to walk into town by herself, but she would just walk a bit further, then turn and run to school. Maybe she would get one glimpse of the outside of a saloon. Surely, that would be exciting. Dede and Father would never let her even look at a saloon. Whenever they passed one they'd pull her along and tell her to look straight ahead as
if there were nothing to see. When she tried to get a glimpse past the swinging doors that the sailors and rough looking men passed through, a grown-up always blocked her view and yanked her ahead.

As she walked, nearing Fort Street, Emily heard a rumbling sound. At first she thought it might be thunder in the distance. She looked up, but the sky was blue and clear. As she turned onto Fort Street with its one-story offices and businesses close together, the rumbling grew louder. Suddenly, a huge cloud of dust full of terrible roaring and bellowing was coming right at Emily. She froze. Through the dust she could make out the shapes of cows. Hundreds of frightened, bellowing cows were thundering right up the middle of Fort Street, and she was right in their path. She was going to be trampled to death.

“Hey, there!”

Large, rough hands grabbed Emily and yanked her back from the road. The next instant she was in a large dim room looking out through swinging doors at the dust and
cattle flowing past. The shouts of men and barks of dogs drifted in with the bawling of the cows and the drumming of their hooves. A dust-covered man passed by the door, cracking a whip.

“Cattle drive,” said a deep voice near Emily. “On their way to the slaughterhouse. Wouldn't do to get in their way.”

Emily turned and looked into a broad dark face and a wide smile filled with gleaming white teeth. She smiled back shakily.

Slowly, Emily looked around her at tables, chairs and a long countertop with rows of shining bottles and glasses on shelves behind it. Behind them a long mirror reflected back the glasses and bottles so that it looked like there were twice as many of them. The legs of the wooden tables and chairs sank into a carpet of sawdust, and round shiny copper buckets sat on the floor by the tables and the counter.

“Welcome to the Beehive Saloon,” said Emily's rescuer. He spat sideways, straight into one of the copper buckets. Spittoons, Emily realized.

Another man standing behind the bar counter poured some yellow liquid from a shiny silver tap into a glass and shoved it across the bar to Emily's rescuer. Taking the glass in one of his big hands, he threw back his head and gulped down the drink. Emily looked around her again. So this was what the inside of a saloon looked like.

Once the noise of the cattle had made its way up the street, Emily's rescuer held the swinging door open for her, and she headed back out into the still dusty street. She hurried away, coughing and disappointed. What had all the fuss been about? All that had been in the saloon were a few lonely dusty men and the smell of beer and sawdust. Emily hurried back over the bridge, dusting off her pinafore as she ran. At least it hadn't been a boring ordinary Monday.

Out of breath, Emily arrived at Mrs. Fraser's house, where she attended school. Before Mrs. Fraser moved in, the little house had been called Marifield Cottage. Now it was referred to as Mrs. Fraser's school for young girls. Next year Emily would be walking the two miles to the public school with Alice and Lizzie, but for now she could still enjoy going to the little house in her own neighborhood. Mrs. Fraser's brother, Lennie, tended house while his sister taught school, and he let Emily in.

“You are late, Emily,” Mrs. Fraser said with a frown when Emily appeared in the doorway of the room that had been made
over into a classroom. The other girls looked up at Emily from the wide wooden desks that they shared, two to a desk.

Emily took a step toward the one empty seat, but Mrs. Fraser pointed past it to a stool at the back of the room — the dunce stool. This was where Mrs. Fraser sent anyone who misbehaved. Emily walked to the back of the room and climbed up onto the stool, smiling to herself. She didn't mind this punishment. Her trip to the saloon was worth it. Besides, the dunce stool was more comfortable than the regular desks. She knew this from past experience. You might even say the dunce stool was Emily's special seat.

The saloon visit remained Emily's secret. The days went back to being the same. The fall rains began, and each day Emily was scolded for the mud that ringed the bottom of her dress and pinafore. Then one weekend the sun came out again. Father was sick, and they had to walk to church on Sunday without him. On the way home, Emily looked with longing at the ocean
beyond Beacon Hill Park. This was probably the last warm sunny day of the year, and she would be stuck at home.

When they arrived at the Carr house, Emily's friend Edna Green was waiting by the gate.

“Your mother said you could come with us today,” Edna told Emily in an excited voice.

Could it be true? Emily glanced up to her father's bedroom window. Of course, there would be no family walk today with Father being sick. For once, he wouldn't miss her.

“I'll be right back!” Emily said, trying to keep her own excitement quiet — at least until she was safely away from the house. Then she ran inside to thank Mother and change her clothes. She pulled off her tight Sunday dress and corset and pulled on a loose frock and pinafore.

“Make sure you behave well,” Mother told Emily. She said it with a smile as her hand reached out to Emily's face and tucked a stray piece of hair back into place. If it had
been Dede, Emily would have scowled, but she smiled at Mother and nodded. She would try.

The beach was wonderful. The warm sun heated the cold wind that blew from the ocean. On the bluff above them stunted trees twisted away from the wind. Down below, Emily raced Edna and her two brothers along the gray sand. They clambered over logs, explored for shells and crabs and drew pictures in the sand with sticks. They played tag with the waves while the wind sang in their ears. Seagulls hung above them, screeching. Across the blue sky, huge clouds swirled like bold strokes of white paint. Emily climbed onto a rock and stood as tall as she could, her arms raised up over her head.

“Look at me!” she called, her voice rising up with the gulls.

“Dare you to walk out on that log,” one of Edna's brothers called back, pointing to a log that had one end stuck between Emily's rock and another and the other end jutting out over the water.

“I double dare you!” challenged Edna's other brother.

“Don't do it, Emily,” Edna cried from the sand beside her brothers.

Emily looked down at them from the rock. It was so wonderful to be out at the beach — to be wild and free like the waves and birds. She remembered her promise to Mother about behaving, but what could be wrong with walking on a log? Emily grinned down at her friends and stepped out. She walked slowly, balancing with her arms straight out to her sides. The wind whipped her dress and pinafore around her legs.

“You're such a show-off today,” Edna teased, but she looked up at Emily with admiration.

Emily smiled and waved her arms dramatically. Then her foot slipped. The next thing Emily knew, she was sitting in the ocean — boots, stockings, dress and all.

That was it for the day at the beach. The Greens brought Emily home, dripping wet.

“How could you get into such a mess?” scolded Dede. “And on a Sunday of all days!”

Dede stomped toward the kitchen to heat water for a bath.

“Don't stand there dripping all over the hall,” she called back over her shoulder. Shoulders slumped, Emily followed after her.

“Your sin will find you out,” Lizzie whispered after them. She always had a Bible quote ready whenever Emily did something wrong. Emily glared back at Lizzie. She was glad Mother had gone upstairs to lie down.

That night Emily lay awake in bed, thinking about the day. She didn't feel sorry for having had such a good time, but she couldn't help feeling bad that she'd gotten everyone mad at her again. She tried to concentrate only on the wonderful things about the day — being near the ocean, running and laughing, feeling as free as the seagulls.

Finally, Emily fell asleep, dreaming about trying to balance on a log like on a seesaw — tipping one way and then the other. As hard as she tried, she couldn't seem to get it right.

Emily found it hard to pay attention in school the next day. The memory of her day at the beach made the classroom seem even smaller and stuffier than usual. She dipped her pen in the inkwell and tried to do her work, but the letters on the page looked more like trees, waves or seagulls. The pen moved from her paper. She began to draw a smiling face on her hand — the face of someone at the beach. Smack! Mrs. Fraser's ruler hit the top of Emily's desk.

“Emily Carr! You will wash that mess off your hands and stay after school until you get your work right.”

Much later, Emily walked home, dragging her feet on the dirt road. When she came to her house, she opened the gate and turned into the yard, then hesitated. She wasn't in a hurry to get inside and be scolded again. She headed towards the cow yard instead and stopped by Carlow's kennel. The old black dog was chained up beside his house. His tail thumped the ground as soon as he saw Emily. She knelt down beside him, and Carlow sniffed her face with his cool, wet nose. He was happy to see her no matter what. He didn't care if she had dirt on her pinafore and ink on her hands or if she behaved like a lady or not. She still wished she had a puppy of her own, but she always felt good when she was with Carlow. Dogs were even more comforting than cows or chickens.

Suddenly, Emily had an idea. She jumped up and ran into the house. She came back out carrying an old paper bag and a charred stick she'd found in one of the fireplace grates. She sat back down beside Carlow, tore open the bag and smoothed it out. Then she picked up the stick, looked at Carlow and began to draw.