Morning Star (10 page)

CHAPTER 24

Felicia

FELICIA RETRIEVED
the homework from her backpack. The phone jingled just as she opened a book.

“Hey Felicia.” It was Josh. He cleared his throat and his voice accidentally squeaked. “How are you doing?”

“Fine.”

“What's new?”

“Not much. How about you?”

“I'm okay. What did you think of the meeting?”

“The four of us singing was exciting. What happened at the end? Was the last bit interesting, the part I missed?”

“People were assigned roles. I'm going to play the lead, Mayor Thomas.”

“That's great!”

“Except guess who's playing the lead lady?”

“Who?”

“Ashley! The snob goddess!”

“Is that okay with you?”

“Not really, but it's too late for me to do anything about it.”

“I guess.”

“There's more.”

“Yeah?”

“Mr. Butler switched you from your part to one of the Native people. Cynthia is going to be one of the four singing pioneers with Dodie, Renate, and Sophie.”

“Oh no!”

“I know.”

Felicia felt her face getting hot. “Why would he go and do that?” Delia appeared in the kitchen doorway and made the “time” signal with her hands. “Do you know what, Josh? I got home late, and I only just started my homework a few minutes ago. I have to go now.”

“Oh, okay.” Josh sounded disappointed. “See you tomorrow.”

Felicia bent over her assignment once more. Satisfied, Delia left the kitchen. After filling one page with answers, Felicia put down her pencil and silently slipped across the room to peer into the box. The kitten was sound asleep, curled in a circle.

The phone rang again. Felicia snatched the receiver from its cradle on the wall.

It was Dodie. “How's the kitten?”

“Unbelievably cute.”

“Is your mom upset?”

“A little.” Felicia was tempted to say, “Guess what? Josh just called me,” but she didn't. “You'll never believe what I just found out. Mr. Butler cast Cynthia as the fourth singing pioneer, not me!”

“You're kidding! That's gross.”

“I know.” Delia reappeared in the kitchen, glowering and pointing at her watch. “I've gotta go. I'll tell you all about it tomorrow at lunch.”

Felicia hung up and said to her mother, “I can't believe the way you behave sometimes. It's embarrassing.”

“The way I behave.”

“Yes. You behave so rudely.”

“I'm rude.”

“Yes. How would you like it if I interrupted you when you were talking to a friend on the phone? I think you'd hate it. It's rude and pushy.”

“If I didn't push a little, you wouldn't get anything done.”

“I get lots done. I don't need you to push me.”

“Well, I'll leave you now to do your homework—unpushed.”

“Thank you. Now, Nana,” Felicia called out to her grandmother, “where did you say that Bible was?”

“Upstairs, dear, in the old trunk in the bottom of my bedroom cupboard. There's a special box in there, too, with things that might be useful.”

Felicia came down, carrying the box atop the Bible. “Here they are.”

She presented them to Florence, who was sitting at the kitchen table. Felicia looked at the large book. It was heavy, with thick, dark covers. The words “Family Bible” were raised in dark red with gold edges. She started to turn the pages. A few photographs spilled out. They were sepia-toned pictures of women wearing formal taffetas and men in high collars and floppy bow ties, all with solemn faces.

“These people look pretty serious. Do you know who they are?”

“There should be names on the back,” Florence said, turning over one of the photos.

Felicia picked up a small bundle of faded flowers. “Did you wear these to a dance, Nana?”

“Yes, dear, pinned at my waist. It's called a corsage.”

“What was your dress like?”

“Periwinkle blue taffeta with embroidery on the bodice.”

“And a long skirt?”

“Oh yes, with petticoats and crinolines beneath.”

“That swirled out when you danced?”

Florence smiled at the memory and nodded.

“Cool.”

Felicia picked up a typewritten card that had an official look to it. “What's this?”

“Your great-grandfather's union card. He was a steward.” Felicia ran her hand over all the items, then picked up a medal fastened to a striped ribbon. “Is this from a war?”

“My great-uncle Charlie,” said Florence. “A sergeant in the army. He never came home.”

“How am I going to attach some of this stuff to the board?”

“Oh, my dear,” said Florence, “you can't take any of these things to school.”

“What! What am I going to do then?”

“Write the stories Nana's been telling you about,” said Delia.

“I have been writing, but it's not enough! I can't just read off a paper, I'll lose marks. Miss Peabody said we had to bring something in to show. All the other kids are bringing stuff in.”

“These are precious things of your Nana's.”

“That's it. I'm going to fail!”

“I think it's time for some hot chocolate,” said Delia. She pulled three mugs from the cupboard, filled them with milk and a dollop of chocolate sauce, and popped them into the microwave. “Where are those paints of yours?”

“What paints?”

“You know very well what paints. Your paints upstairs in the closet.”

“I haven't done any painting for ages. And why would I paint now?”

“You can paint these heirlooms and stories so you'll have something to show to the class.”

The microwave pinged and Delia removed the mugs, then took a sip of hers. “Just right!”

Felicia raised her head from the table, dragged her feet up the stairs, and returned with a sheet of Bristol board and her paint box and brushes. She remained sulky as she sipped her drink. “I guess I'll need some magazines and newspaper, and glue and scissors. Nana, do you have any fancy material?”

“I think I can find some.”

Felicia picked up a brush.

CHAPTER 25

Flower

FLOWER WATCHED
as her
father slid a stone against the blade of a long, curved knife. Satisfied, he ran
a finger along an edge and whistled. “That should do it.”

“What's that for, Pa?” The scythe glinted in the
morning sun, sharp and dangerous. She didn't want him to touch it.

“There's still some hay to cut, to neaten
things.”

“You might hurt yourself, like Hettie's Pa.”

“I have no plan for doing that.”

“You've done a lot of good work here.”

“Yes.”

“Are you finished?”

“I'd like to be. We need to be moving on. They tell
me it's a long way to Ripley. I don't like us staying in one place too long like
this.”

“Can we leave once you've done everything?” Flower
watched as Wilfred made his way toward them.

“We'll be leaving soon.”

“I want to help you.”

“You help the elder girl with the children and the
women with the house. That's what you should do.”

“Women's work for you and men's work for me! Isn't
that so, Eldon?” said Wilfred as he joined them.

“Seems to be the way of the world. Now, get
yourself a rake, young man, and follow me.”

Flower watched her father walk away with Wilfred,
and she envied their male companionship. They did things together that seemed to
be enjoyable as well as important.

She returned to the house to find Hettie sitting on
the bottom porch step, tracing letters in the dirt with her finger.

“Can you read?” asked Hettie.

“I wasn't allowed to go to school. Maybe when we
get to the place where we're free, I'll be able to learn. I hope so.”

“Do you know any letters at all?”

“Not yet.”

“Look,” said Hettie. “I can sign my name.”

She carefully drew the letters in the dirt.

“Let me try,” said Flower. They both laughed as she
outlined the image of a flower. “Do you have any books?”

“We have a Bible. I don't think Ma will let me
touch it. It's for good.”

“Hettie!”

“Yes, Ma.”

“What are you two lazy girls up to when there's
these boys need looking after? Come in here and help with the lunch.”

After their meal the others trooped off
to help in the fields, leaving Flower in the cabin with a heavy baby in each
arm. They wriggled impatiently; when she set them down, they fought over the
spoons placed in their fists. She decided to use the spoons like puppets and
improvised a story.

“Aren't you the clever one.”

The sudden intrusion of a croaky voice made her
jump. “Excuse me?”

“With the babes, settling their disagreement with a
little theater. Leave them for a moment and come here.”

Flower's instinct was to avoid the dark corner.
Reluctantly, she approached the cot. Mr. Jenson was even more pale than his
children. Hair stood up in spikes on his head, his chin was bristly, and there
was a whiff of sickness about him.

“The babes are fine for the time being. I could use
a sip of water.”

Flower pumped some water into a mug. Mr. Jenson
hoisted himself up onto one elbow and drank quickly. “I shouldn't be thirsty.
I've been doing nothing at all.” He sighed and lay down again. “What's your
name, then? Tell me about yourself. I could use a good story. I've got nothing
in my mind but worry.”

She told him the tale of her family on the run. He
listened with interest, nodding and frowning at different parts of her
account.

When the babies began to cry and rub their eyes,
Flower placed them side by side in the cradle and rocked them to sleep.

Mr. Jenson started to speak again. “What's it like
outside?”

Flower followed his glance to the window. “It's
cooler.”

“No sign of rain?”

“No. I can't see any clouds.”

“Sometimes I can smell the rain coming.”

“You can?”

“Yes. And I love the smell of the earth after a
rain, everything nourished.”

Flower ran her finger along the edge of the cradle.
It was dusty.

Mr. Jenson continued. “Oh, how I'd love to be
outside, seeing the earth, smelling it, working with it.”

“Would you like some tea?”

“Thank you. That might perk me up.”

Flower was pumping water into the kettle when
Wilfred burst through the door, his siblings close behind him. He managed to
make his voice heard above the sudden din of adult voices and the cries of
wakened babies. “Look! It's Dr. Simon in his carriage, coming fast up the
road!”

CHAPTER 26

Felicia

“COMING
to lunch?” Sophie asked.

“I have a chore to do,” answered Felicia. “I'll meet you in the cafeteria in a few minutes.”

Felicia walked purposefully down the hall. She stopped in front of Mr. Butler's classroom and took a deep breath, then poked her head around the doorframe. He stopped reading when he noticed her. They both said hello.

“Mr. Butler, I want to talk to you for a minute about the play.”

“Of course. What is it?”

“Didn't you like my singing?”

“Yes. It was very good.”

“Then why did you give that part to Cynthia?”

“I thought the other part would be perfect for you.”

“Why did you think that?”

“Well, I just thought it would suit you better. I thought you might be more comfortable in that role. What if I made you a Native princess? Would you like that?”

“Mr. Butler, I auditioned. You gave me the part of the pioneer because I was good. I want to be a singing pioneer with my friends. It's not fair what you're doing.”

“All right, Felicia, I didn't know you felt so strongly about it. You can be one of the pioneers.”

Felicia's “thank you” was a little breathless. She was glad to leave Mr. Butler's presence before he could see that she was nervous, not calm and logical as she had wanted to appear. Resentment at having to make such an effort was followed by relief. She had stood up for herself, and she'd made him change his mind.

Felicia decided she had time to go to the library before meeting her friends for lunch. Mr. Allenby sat behind the broad desk just inside the entrance. “What can I do for you today, young lady?”

“I want to do some research,” said Felicia.

“Oh yes, in what field?”

“History.”

“Following up on some local lore, are you, stimulated by Mr. Butler's extravaganza?”

“Sort of.”

Mr. Allenby got to his feet and walked to the bookshelves. “Lots of interesting stuff here; there's the Great Lakes fishing industry, boat building, early agriculture—”

“Maybe more about people.”

“Government? Church? Now, here's a good one about the United Empire Loyalists, how they came to this part of the country.”

Felicia remembered Ashley's claim and shook her head. “I mean like ordinary people, like me. Didn't people like me come to this country a long time ago, too?”

“Ah, yes.” Mr. Allenby crouched down and ran his hand along the row of books. “Let me see.” Then triumphantly he withdrew a book and handed it to her. “Here you go. And here are two more…and I think there was another one I wanted to show you here, too…”

“I think three's enough.”

Mr. Allenby got to his feet. “I think you'll find those very interesting. They'll tell you all about the Underground Railroad. Actually, a lot of escaped slaves settled in Ontario. I think there was a settlement somewhere near here. If you don't have a computer at home, we can look for more information at our Internet station over there. ”

“Oh, okay. Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

When Felicia met up with the group at lunch they were talking about the play. “Guess what?” Felicia announced. “I talked to Mr. Butler and I'm going to be a singing pioneer after all!”

“Thank you,” Dodie said emphatically. “It would have been sickening to perform with Cynthia.”

“I would never have gone for the lead if I'd known I'd have to sing with Ashley,” said Josh. “What am I going to do? This is going to be so humiliating in front of the whole school.”

“You'll be okay,” said Matt. “You worry too much.”

“And every time I make suggestions to Mr. Butler, trying to improve the dialogue, he ignores me.”

“That's because your ideas aren't good enough.” Ashley stood before them, flanked by four of her disdainful supporters.

“Josh is a good play writer,” said Felicia, the words popping out of her mouth unplanned.

“You would be the last person to know if a play is good or not,” said Ashley. Cynthia looked down at Felicia, pretending to stick her finger in her throat and gag.

Ashley turned and walked away, her foursome like a military parade behind her.

“She's good at entrances and exits,” said Matt.

“What is it with her?” Renate asked.

“Just ignore her,” said Dodie.

“I can't ignore her,” said Josh. “I'm stuck with her. We even have a scene where we hold hands and sing to each other!”

“Oh no!”

“Please!” The girls all started to laugh.

“It's not funny.” Josh slumped in his chair.

When they returned to class, Miss Peabody introduced Sally, the first student to present her family history. Sally lowered a screen from the ceiling, then stationed herself beside a computer and, as one photograph followed another, described the arrival of her great-grandparents from Holland after the end of the Second World War. “They brought tulip bulbs with them and planted them here. This is a picture of their garden.”

The screen glowed with a vibrant mass of color. In the midst of the blossoms, an oval pond collected water, which cascaded down into it over a wall of rock. There was a collective “ooh” from the class. Sally also had a pair of wooden shoes, called klompen. Everyone wanted to try them on.

Felicia started to worry about what her own story would be like. She couldn't think of something her classmates might want to see, like the shoes, and she wasn't sure if her family had differences that made them interesting.

After school Felicia came home to an empty house. Florence had started playing bridge with the neighbors every other Thursday afternoon. The television sat silently in its corner, and nothing simmered on the stove. Felicia settled at the kitchen table and unrolled the poster she had begun working on the night before. The painted tree filled up the whole space. It had a substantial trunk with graceful limbs that extended into finer branches and feathery leaves. She'd started to add miniature duplicates of her great-aunt's still life painting and the military medal. The poster looked good, but now she needed to think about how to present her family history. Her first thought was of her father, a shadowy figure, gone from her life before she was old enough to know him. A memory emerged of him sitting in a chair supported by pillows, almost too fragile to be approached by his rambunctious toddler, Felicia. No one would want to hear about that.

What else? She stood and walked to the fridge, poured a glass of milk and mounded cookies on a plate, sat again, rapped her pen against the pad, and stared down at the books Mr. Allenby had given her.

She started to turn pages, glancing at pictures and reading what was written under them. This was a history that she didn't know much about. Words jumped off the page: sad, work, hard, Africa, slave, chain. She pictured her ancestors barefoot, needing a bath, sweaty and dusty, frightened, resentful, exhausted, toiling in fields while their owners sat in the shade fanning themselves and sipping cool cocktails. She thought of the many white faces in her class. Would they really want to hear about that?

Time to get started. Felicia knew her great-grandfather was a porter on trains. That meant he wore a uniform and helped people with their luggage. But her grandmother had told her that he had helped organize a union, so he must have been smart and brave. She started to write.