No Small Victory (20 page)

Mr. McDougall cleared his throat and went on, “After our National Anthem, you will walk to Keene for inspection by the medical officer of health. This is not my instruction. It is the law! So tell your parents. There can be no truants. Those without lice may stay at home or remain here to work on their own while the rest are going to Keene.”

Mr. McDougall sat down and several hands flew up in the air.

“Well, what is it?” Mr. McDougall sounded irritated.

“Will we go just the once or more often?” asked Angela.

“Each of you must be examined every day until you are free of lice. For now, follow the instructions on the sheet. Don't use each other's combs or wear anyone else's hat. And don't sit too near each other. Lice can jump from one head to another if they are not far apart.”

“But we share desks and even books,” said Tom, without even raising his hand.

Mr. McDougall just shrugged, unconcerned.

SEVENTEEN:
SHORN

“Mum, where are you?” Bonnie called as she stepped through the back door and into the log shed—their summer kitchen. The dining room was used only for company, now, and since the chickens had been moved out of the parlour, Mum had unpacked her good furniture. So they finally had two nice rooms in the house.

“I'm up here, Bonnie!” Mum was upstairs, cleaning out the winter bedrooms. They would be sleeping in the cooler and the more spacious front bedrooms during the summer.

“I have something important to show you, Mum.”

“Can't it keep? I'm awfully busy.”

“I suppose.” Bonnie plopped the sheet down on the kitchen table. She was not looking forward to telling her mother about the head lice. Well, she had to do her chores first, anyway. So she called Boots and headed out to bring in the cows.

When she got back, Mum was reading the sheet about the lice. “I can't believe my eyes,” she said. “Do you have lice, Bonnie?”

“Most everybody does,” Bonnie squeaked.

“You must have been using someone else's comb. How many times have I told you not to use anyone else's comb!”

“But I didn't. Honest. Our teacher says lice can jump from one head to another. So I guess one must have jumped onto me from someone else's head. Our desks are so close together.”

“Nonsense! That's an old wives' tale. Lice don't jump or fly—but they do scurry. You must have had your head right next to someone else's or shared a hat. Don't get too thick with those Lang kids. I'll bet the Hubbs and Johnsons don't have lice!”

“Yes, they do. That's how we found out. Mr. Hubbs came to the school because Marianne has lice. Then he sent us all down to Keene to be checked.”

Mum shook her head. “Well, don't just stand there. Come over here and let me take a look.”

Bonnie stood still as her mother parted her curls. “Here they are…” Mum said. “Little white clumps on each strand. And some of the wretched creatures are walking brazenly along your hair as if they own it. And—” Mum dropped the strands of hair she'd been holding as if she'd been burned. “More of them, actually laying eggs! What a mess! You're covered with lice and nits!”

Bonnie shuddered and nearly threw up. She no longer cared how unpleasant the treatment might be. She wanted those horrible things out!

“Go back into the outer shed and take off all your clothes,” said Mum. “I'll bring you out an old housecoat to put on after you bathe. No point in bathing, though, till after we get you doused with coal oil. Some of it's bound to drip down.”

Just beyond the summer kitchen was another roofed area, closed on three sides but open to the south. It was almost like being outside, and Bonnie felt strange, though she knew no one could possibly see into this sheltered area away from the front of the house.

Bonnie stripped, then stood, shaking and fearful. A fresh breeze was blowing in, and Bonnie started coughing. She hadn't had a coughing fit for a long, long time. She didn't even have a towel to cover herself up, since Mum didn't want her to touch anything for fear of spreading the lice. Mum yanked a big square tin tub off the wall.

“Won't the lice get on the tub?” asked Bonnie.

“They can't live on tin,” said Mum. “And, anyway, don't worry. I'll clean it afterward. We'll also have to clean everything in this house. We'll use the copper boiler on the stove for all the bedding, towels, and all your clothes. It's the only way to kill the eggs. Now, walk out to the grass. I don't want this coal oil inside the shed. It could start a fire. Close your eyes and keep them closed.”

Bonnie closed her eyes and squinted. She knew the coal oil would hurt when it reached her head. She waited and waited. Then she realized what was happening. Mum was
cutting
her hair!

“Mum!” Bonnie shrieked, stepping back and opening her eyes. “What are you doing?”

“I'm cutting your hair,” Mum said calmly. “It's so matted that the coal oil won't get through properly. You'll thank me later. Your head will be sore enough from the coal oil and lye soap without my pulling on those tangles.” She continued to snip away at Bonnie's hair.

“Don't take it all!” Bonnie begged.

“I won't. My goodness, I've got the scissors here—not your father's razor. Don't worry, the short ends will curl and you'll look just fine. I hate to think what the kids with straight hair will look like.”

Bonnie looked down at the ground as chunks of her dark golden curls fell on the floor. It seemed like a lot of hair. How could she possibly look good after this? But she would not be completely bald, like the boys.

“Now close your eyes,” Mum said gruffly.

Bonnie gasped as the coal oil hit her head. She'd been scratching and the raw spots were sensitive. They started to sting terribly. Soon her whole head was aflame. But at least the itching had stopped.

Bonnie kept her eyes shut tightly as Mum led her back into the inner shed. “Stand here and keep your eyes shut. I'll fill the tub with nice, warm water from the reservoir.”

After waiting in the chilly air for what seemed like months, Bonnie took Mum's hand and stepped up and over the side of the tub. She had to cross her ankles and bend her knees to fit, but once she got into the water, it was a nice feeling. Mum gave her a washcloth to put over her eyes.

“While you're soaking, I'll strip your bed and gather up all your clothes. With luck and this wind, your sheets should be dry by bedtime.”

Half an hour later, Mum returned with hot water to warm up the tub. Then she applied strong lye soap to Bonnie's short hair and scrubbed hard—pushing Bonnie's head back and forth. When she thought she'd scrubbed enough, she poured fresh water from a nearby pan over Bonnie's head. Then she told her to step up and into another tub of fresh rinse water.

“Just like Monday wash day, Bonnie—wash water, then rinse water.” Bonnie's face was stinging, and the clear water of the second tub didn't stop the pain. Little blisters were bursting out over her hairline and in patches on her face. The only thing worse, Bonnie thought, would be bluing. It's a wonder Mum didn't add some of that to make her cleaner and whiter! But maybe her mother could see that she was blue enough!

It was a long evening. All the sheets were plunged into the copper boiler on the stove, then rinsed in two tubs that had been disinfected first with coal oil and then with Lysol. Then the sheets were hung on the line outside.

When Mum tucked Bonnie in for the night, the sheets on her bed were crisp and white, and a thick towel lay on her pillow to protect it from the light coating of coal oil Mum had reapplied to Bonnie's hair. “Enough to kill any lice that hatch during the night,” Mum said.

“How long is this going to go on?” Bonnie asked. The smell of coal oil was making her sick.

“Probably a week. That should finish them off. Your father and I will have to check each other for lice when he comes in from the barn. He's taking the time to clean out the horse stable. You know how fussy he is. He likes to keep the barns as clean as I keep the house.” Mum said it with a laugh, but Bonnie knew she was bragging a little about Dad. She also knew how angry he'd be if he had lice. Would he blame her?

Bonnie sighed and closed her eyes. How could she ever sleep with the coal oil smell all around her? But soon she was thinking of something else. Those Keene kids and their rude taunts! Then she smiled.

Before she fell asleep, she had a plan.

EIGHTEEN:
BONNIE'S PLAN

The Lang school kids were a sorry sight as they straggled toward the outskirts of Keene. Most of the boys were bald. All the girls had short-clipped hair.

Bonnie's hair looked all right, for the ends had curled and no thin spots were showing. But Bonnie's face was another matter. It was a mess of blisters around the hairline and across one cheek.

Of all the pupils, Archie looked the worst. He had no hair left and there were blisters all over his head and face. Angela didn't have any blisters, but her straight dark hair stuck out in all directions. Lizzie was one of the lucky ones. She didn't have lice, so she'd stayed at the schoolhouse with the two other Grade Eight girls and the two Grade One students. Mr. McDougall would be teaching them today while the others took the long walk to Keene.

Bonnie was wearing an old pair of navy blue slacks and a shirt that had been made over so often it was almost completely covered with patches. All her other clothes were still drying. Her head was sore, both outside and in, for she couldn't stop thinking about the horrible kids at the Keene school. What would they be yelling when they saw this sorry parade heading into the village today?

Archie seemed to be reading Bonnie's thoughts. “The Keene kids will be out in the schoolyard when we go by,” he said. “It will be recess by the time we get there.”

“Well,” said Bonnie. “I've got a rhyme ready for them if they yell at us again.”

“Poetry!” Slinky growled. “No poem is gonna help! Those guys need a punch in the nose!”

“We can't do that,” said Archie, “or we'll be in more trouble. Let's see your rhyme, Bonnie.”

Slinky snorted but made no trouble. He was feeling too miserable to do anything but put one foot ahead of the other.

“This is really good,” said Archie. He waved the paper around. “Hey, everybody! Look at Bonnie's poem! It's perfect.”

Slinky grabbed the poem from Archie's hand. “Let's see that thing!” As Slinky read, he seemed to come back to life again. He grabbed Bonnie's hand and raised it in the air. “This girl is a great poet!” he shouted.

Then Slinky passed the paper down the line. The children mumbled the words under their breath so they'd remember them.

“Bonnie will lead us,” said Slinky, dropping her hand and standing beside her in the middle of the group. “Let's practise.”

Bonnie shouted out the words and the children repeated them after her. Then she and Slinky led the troops the rest of the way to Keene. Everyone was in much better spirits. And now they were actually hoping the Keene school kids would say nasty things to them.

When they reached the edge of the village, they heard a tiny voice screaming from behind a bush, “Here come the Cootie Kids from Bug Town!”

“Not yet!” said Slinky, putting up his hand like a police officer. “He's only a little kid.”

Grim-faced, they plodded on. In a few minutes, the school appeared before them. The yard was filled with kids. “Be ready,” Slinky said quietly, “but let them go first.” This was a new Slinky.

Bonnie was still at the head of the line, now flanked by Archie and Slinky. The Lang kids looked straight ahead. Even the Grade Ones resisted looking over at the schoolyard.

Then it started. The Keene kids stopped their baseball game and started climbing up the fence that lined the street. Two boys hung down from a maple tree at the edge of the schoolyard. “Here come the Cootie Kids from Bug Town!” they yelled. “Cootie Kids from Bug Town!” the shouters kept repeating.

Bonnie looked straight at them. A mighty roar swelled above the name calling. The Lang school kids were shouting her poem at the top of their voices.

“Beware of our Cooties,
Fear our disease,
We'll sting you like hornets,
We'll bite you like fleas,
And if you don't want to die,
Then you'd better just freeze!

Freeze! Freeze! Freeze!”

They marched on, holding their heads high and shouting her poem over and over again. They were so loud that they drowned out the sound of the Keene school bell ringing the pupils back into class. When they finally turned left into Dr. Wright's street, they stopped shouting.

They were a more confident group now as they stepped briskly down the street and then onto the doctor's dooryard. Marianne gave Bonnie a bright smile and even Angela didn't seem upset by it all. Archie and Slinky were chattering with a few other boys, and even Slinky's mischievous laugh drifting over to the girls wasn't at all irritating. They sat and waited for their inspection—just like a happy group on holiday. And Bonnie was part of this group!

What a great feeling—finally to be one of the Lang kids,
thought Bonnie.

After she checked everyone, Miss Reid gave each child another information sheet for parents. The treatment would have to be continued for a week. Bonnie was thankful her parents hadn't caught the lice from her. And in one week, this horrible time would be over.

As the Lang kids trooped past the Keene school, they did not need to shout out Bonnie's poem. Classes were going on and the blinds were drawn on the street side of the schoolhouse. Archie saw one student sharpening his pencil and peering out from behind the green window shade. But that was the only sign of life.

All the three-mile walk home, Bonnie was very popular. Slinky wanted to walk beside her, but Archie kept giving him angry looks and nudged him away. Secretly, Bonnie was happy now about the lice. As terrible as they were, the infestation had brought everyone together. And Bonnie finally felt as though she belonged.