Silver Rain (2 page)

“Don't wake Nan!”

Ernest leaned toward Elsie and whispered, “I spoke with the authorities. The hoboes came. And they took it away.” He nodded once and tucked his book in his pocket.

“Reverend Hampton's hoboes?” asked Elsie.

“Maybe not
his
hoboes, exactly,” said Ernest. “But some bums. They stole that warehouse clean away in the dead of night. And you know the best part?” Now he sounded more like a little boy with candy than a newspaperman with an important story. “They took it apart, board by board, under cover of darkness. And you'll never guess what they used it for? Go on. Go on.”

“Give me a chance.” Elsie peered at Nan, whose head was tipped against the scratchy wing of Father's chair. A shiny drop of spit hung from the corner of her mouth. “A boat to sail on the Pacific Ocean?” suggested Elsie. “A stage for tap dancing?”

“You're not trying. Guess again!”

Elsie yanked her hat out of her pocket and jammed it on her head. “Okay. I give up.”

“They used it to build a new shantytown. Halfway across town,” said Ernest. “Overnight. Just like that! That's what I heard. Let's go and see if it's true. We should go now, before the story goes cold.”

Before Elsie could ask how a story could go cold, a voice came from behind them. “You're not going anywhere, Little Bit. Not until we've had our supper. And guess what I brought home for us all?” Elsie's uncle stood at the doorway, holding a bulging paper bag.

Ernest had been making such a racket, they had not heard Uncle Dannell and Dog Bob come in. “Don't call me Little Bit. I told you,” Elsie said as a wet nose nudged her hand.

The scruffy black and white mongrel gave her a lick with his long tongue. Then he did the same to Ernest. “Gedoff!” he said. He shoved his hand in his pocket.

Dog Bob slumped down under the table with a sigh. He used to belong to Uncle Dannell's friend Bob, who had jumped a train to Calgary to look for work and hadn't come back. Dog Bob hardly seemed to miss his namesake.

Short and wide, Uncle Dannell had a huge smile just like Father's. A thin mustache crawled above his top lip like a dark worm. Father had a mustache too, although his was shaggier.

But Elsie was not going to think about that now.

“I expect your mother will be wanting you home,” Uncle Dannell told Ernest. “It getting dark and all. How about you meet us at the end of the block. Tomorrow first thing. We'll all go see this hot story that's going to get your name in the
Vancouver Sun
.”

“But Dannell…,” said Elsie.

“
Uncle
Dannell to you, Little Bit,” he said. “No ands, ifs or buts. Tomorrow is another day, and I have a supper here the likes of which you've not seen since a month last Wednesday. With leftovers for Dog Bob, if he's lucky.” He held out a hand to shake Ernest's. “Good night. With your nose for news, we should call you Scoop. Now that Elsie no longer likes her nickname, we'll give
you
one.”

“Scoop. I like the sound of that,” Ernest said. He shook Uncle Dannell's hand. Then he licked the tip of his stubby pencil and scribbled in his book. “What time? I'll make a note of it.” He looked up. “We should find a new nickname for Elsie too.”

“Sidekick. Scoop and Sidekick. How'd you like the sound of that?” Uncle Dannell wiggled his eyebrows at them both.

“I ain't no one's sidekick,” said Elsie.

“It's ‘am not', not ‘ain't,'” said her uncle. “Don't let your mother hear you talk like that.” He opened the door and stepped aside for Ernest-who-was-now-Scoop to leave. “How's seven forty-five sound? Be off with you, now.”

When Ernest-Scoop had gone, Uncle Dannell turned sharply, like a soldier on parade. He bent down to hold his bag close to Nan's ear, crackling the brown paper to wake her up. “Mother Nan. How's about a little supper, then?”

Nan rolled her head and opened her eyes. “Hmph. A pay packet would be nice. But whatever this is may have to do. Otherwise it's potatoes and greens again.” She groaned as she stood up. “
Phh
. These old bones. Elsie, you done those spuds yet?” Nan frowned at the bag Uncle Dannell had dumped in the middle of the table. “You look, Elsie,” said her grandmother. “I wouldn't touch that object with a barge pole until I know what's inside. I know this fella's tricks. And take off that hat, child! How many times!”

C
HAPTER
T
HREE

N
ext morning, after a breakfast of toast and weak tea, with a slab of cold porridge in her pocket for lunch, Elsie trudged along beside Uncle Dannell and Dog Bob on their way to meet Ernest. She was going to have to get used to calling him Scoop. He'd been her best friend ever since she beat him at skipping stones at the tugboats hauling their loads down at False Creek. Katy Lillis and Ruth Cohen were her friends too. But you wouldn't catch
them
standing in black sticky mud under the Connaught Bridge, lobbing rocks with cold fingers.

Ruth and Katy were fine once in a while for looking through the Eaton's catalog with. Or playing jump rope or five stones. But Ernest
—
Scoop
—
always had real adventures in mind, always on the trail of a good story. He'd told Elsie she could be his best friend until she grew nubs like the Noises. Until then, she was just as good as a boy, he said.

Elsie checked her chest regularly. But there were no sign of nubs yet.

Her fingers found the cold porridge in her pocket. If she ate it now, she'd have nothing for a snack at recess. “That was a lovely supper last night, wasn't it?” she said to Uncle Dannell. There had been just enough meat on the two chicken legs for the four of them, cooked up with Elsie's potatoes and the vegetables that Mrs. Tipson had passed on to them. Vegetables that came from what used to be Elsie's family's garden. But last night she had been too hungry to care.

There was even enough leftover gravy to dribble over Dog Bob's supper of stale bread.

“That was nothing!” said her uncle. “Just a little treat. By the end of the week, I will be in a position to treat us all to supper at Melvin's.”

“How?” Elsie trailed her fingers across the fur on Dog Bob's back as he clicked along the sidewalk beside her. She often stopped by Melvin's Café on her way home from school. Not to go in. Just to peer through the steamy windows, to breathe in the lovely smell of bacon and coffee that wafted though the grille above the door.

Uncle Dannell reached inside his jacket and pulled out his oilcloth baccy pouch. He rolled a cigarette as he walked. “I have a brilliant idea,” he said. “A failsafe plan, if I do say so myself.”

“Can I help? Ern
—
Scoop and me are both good at schemes. They don't always work, but no one gets hurt.”

Uncle Dannell snorted. “Sounds like something your Nan might say. But mustn't talk ill. Not many other people would take me in like that. Not after what my no-good brother did to you and your mother.” He tucked his pouch back in his jacket. “But let's not be gloomy. My scheme, you may wish to know…”

But Elsie wasn't listening. Instead, she watched an old man muttering to himself as he leaned against a lamppost. He bent over and shoved a handful of newspaper into his boots. He wore a hat too, but his was stained, and ragged on one side. Not as nice as hers. He pulled it down low over his eyes like she did though.

Most of the hoboes never looked at you, Elsie realized. Not straight on. So as she passed him, she said, “Good morning, sir,” to see what would happen.

Instead of answering
—
which would have been the polite thing to do
—
the man just lifted his other foot and shoved more newspaper into that boot before he pulled his trouser leg down as far as it would go. Which wasn't far. His thin ankles stuck out like gray sticks above his boots. It looked like he got his clothes from the church rummage, just like she had to these days.

“…and it'll be a breeze.” Uncle Dannell stopped to wait for Elsie and Dog Bob, who was doing his business against a wall covered in torn posters. “If I sell forty tickets, that's fourteen dollars' profit,” he told her. “No problem. Don't you think? Now, where is that boy?”

They looked around, but there was no sign of Scoop. “Where is this place Scoop talked about, anyway?” asked Elsie. “If I'm late to school, Miss Beeston will give me lines.”

“Did you hear a word I said?” Dannell asked. “I'm not used to being ignored. Oops. There he is.” He grabbed Elsie's hand. “Here we go.” With Dog Bob scuttling behind, he hauled her between the few cars lined up along the sidewalk, and then across the road and over the railroad tracks on the other side.

C
HAPTER
F
OUR

U
ncle Dannell didn't often run. He was panting hard by the time they reached Scoop, who was leaning against a broken wooden crate. He scribbled busily in his notebook, then closed it with a snap and stuck the pencil behind his ear. “See that?” He waved one arm. “All that wood and stuff there was part of Mr. Branscombe's warehouse just yesterday. Now it's a shantytown. Or will be when those shackers have done.”

Wooden planks and sheets of corrugated metal had been used to build a jumble of shacks and lean-tos. Mountains of rusty old car parts rose between them. A huddle of men stood around a big black kettle balanced on a blazing fire.

Elsie watched a man crawl out from a hole between teetering piles of wood. He stretched and scratched and looked around as he joined the others at the fire. He held something on a stick above the flames.

“Squirrel for supper, do you think?” said Uncle Dannell. “Or rabbit?”

Elsie swallowed hard as Dog Bob trotted toward the men, drawn by the greasy smell rising from their fire.

Uncle Dannell quickly called to him. “Good boy. You stay here.” He gave Dog Bob a quick pat when he came right back. “The survival instinct of those fellas,” he said, shaking his head. He waved one arm at the shantytown. “It's a marvelous thing, I don't think.” He stubbed out his cigarette on the sole of his shoe and tucked the stub into his pocket.

Elsie studied the men as they worked. Some wore pants, shirts and suspenders. Others hunched down inside long coats or jackets that looked like they once belonged to old suits. They shoved things around, leaned one sheet of wood against another, tucked in a chunk of cardboard, moved a rock to hold something else in place. A bunch of them shared a cigarette, passing it back and forth as they shifted from one foot to another, their shoulders pulled up to their ears.

Suddenly Elsie spotted a man in a long black coat near the back of the new shantytown. “There's Reverend Hampton.”

Uncle Dannell and Scoop turned to look where she was pointing. “Busy as ever, your Nan's friend,” said Dannell. “Out among his people. Silly bugger. 'Scuse my language.” He spat on the rubble at their feet.

“Why silly?” Elsie asked.

“Who's he?” asked Scoop, his question falling on top of Elsie's.

Uncle Dannell answered them both at once. “The very Reverend Hampton tends to his flock by supporting schemes like this
—
a shantytown jury-rigged from a stolen warehouse. He can't just stick to his breadlines and soup kitchens. Oh, no. He tends to men who've abandoned their families and now only care about themselves.” When Uncle Dannell scuffed his boot savagely on the ground, Dog Bob backed out of the way. “My brother is somewhere out there”
—
Uncle Dannell's voice was getting louder
—
“though heaven knows where he's skulking.” His cheeks were bright pink now. His eyes flashed.

Elsie had heard him talk like this often enough. Nan called it “getting aerated.”

And he hadn't finished yet. “
My
brother.
Your
father. Just as bad as this lot.” He prodded one yellowed finger into Elsie's chest. “But don't you worry.” Now he stabbed his own chest with his finger. “
I
will take care of my family even if your no-good father won't. You can rely on that.”

Elsie thought she should defend Father. But what Uncle Dannell said was true. Her father
had
left them. Maybe now he was just another shacker in another shantytown somewhere. Maybe he had already forgotten all about his family stuck living in a garage behind what used to be their own house.

And she was confused about what her uncle said about the Reverend. Surely it was good to want to take care of people? The Reverend came by to visit Nan most days and was always kind. He got aerated sometimes too. Talking about unemployment and people who could no longer afford a doctor. And children with not enough to eat. He had strong views about the System and Society
—
whatever they were. He said it was his job to help all God's children. That made sense to her.

“And now the latest,” said Uncle Dannell. “You'll have heard all about it. The man's all set to shut down the dance marathon.”

He flapped his arms around him to keep warm, and Elsie moved away so she wouldn't get hit by his big meaty hands.

“He spouts all kinds of rhetoric from the pulpit,” Uncle Dannell went on. Nothing could stop him now. “Banging on about degradation and humiliation. When people are just trying to make a bit of money. He offers the hand of charity to his hoboes. No questions asked. But a dance marathon that might allow a few poor folks to make a few bucks? Oh, no! We can't have that!” He pulled up his collar and stuck his hands in his pockets. He was silent for a long time while Elsie and Scoop watched the men in the shantytown pouring tea into tin cans.

“But enough of this,” said Uncle Dannell. “We came, we saw. Now let's skedaddle. Come on, you lot. You're going to be late for school.”