Silver Rain (5 page)

When would things get better?

C
HAPTER
N
INE

E
lsie came back indoors and said good night. Nan offered the side of her dry papery face for a kiss, and Uncle Dannell gave her a smacker that echoed across the room. Her mother held her face against Elsie's for a moment, then gave her a quick hug before she let her go.

Elsie pushed the curtain aside to go into the bedroom, with Dog Bob clicking along behind her. Without waiting to be invited, he jumped onto her bed. When she had undressed, put on her pajamas and climbed under the covers, the dog lay down against her back. She opened
Little Women
, which she kept under her pillow with Baby, the doll Nan had knitted her years ago. Baby had lost one eye, and Elsie had sucked one of her hands so much that the wool was stiff and matted. She tucked the doll under the covers next to her and turned the pages of her book. Jo, the main character, was going to be a writer when she grew up. Why had
she
never thought of that? Or of being a newspaperman, like Scoop? If the Depression ever ended, maybe there would be enough jobs for Elsie
and
Scoop at the
Vancouver Sun
. Or they could be rival reporters if she got a job at the
Columbian
.

The idea made her smile.

Elsie read the last page of the last chapter of her book aloud under her breath.
“Touched to the heart, Mrs. March could only stretch out her arms, as if to gather children and grandchildren to herself, and say, with face and voice full of motherly and grandmotherly love, gratitude and humility, ‘Oh my girls, however long you may live, I can never wish you greater happiness than this!'”

Did happy endings only happen in books?

Elsie must have dozed off. She woke suddenly to find Reverend Hampton peering around the curtain. “You look cozy,” he said. “I know it's late, but I wanted to say a few words. Can I come in?” Nan's friend was tall and thin, with a long droopy face that reminded Elsie of a dog. But she couldn't think which kind. Certainly not one like Dog Bob's, with his happy eyes and lolling tongue.

Tonight the Reverend's thin hands were empty. He usually carried his Bible, which was thick and bulging, the dark red leather cover bent and flaking. Little notes and lists were always jammed between the pages. Scoop's notebook reminded Elsie of the Reverend's Bible, but without the psalms and prayers.

“Your mother suggested I have a few words,” he said. “If you're not too tired.”

“Okay.”

As he bent toward her, Reverend Hampton's long arms swung at his side like the pendulums of a grandfather clock. Then they came to rest on his bent knees, where his black coat flared out. “I noticed you at the shantytown on Terminal Avenue a few days ago,” he said. “That was you, I believe?”

“The hoboes stole the warehouse and built the shacks with the boards and things,” said Elsie, pulling herself up higher on her pillow.

“That is the story, I know.” Reverend Hampton tucked his hands into his wide sleeves.

“My friend is a newspaperman,” Elsie told him.

“I thought that was your uncle I saw with you.”

“Uncle Dannell came too. But my friend Scoop? His real name is Ernest, but we call him Scoop now. He was on the trail of the story. So we went to investigate.”

“I see. Yes. I'm sure he heard some very exciting stories,” said Reverend Hampton. He looked around as if he thought a chair might have appeared suddenly. Elsie knew she should invite him to sit on the bed, but she didn't want to.

“I just wanted to suggest…” He cleared his throat. “As a friend of this family…I go at will amongst the men. They are my flock too, just as you are when I visit you here. I come and go in the shantytowns, where I am known. But it would be better
—
if you don't mind my suggestion
—
that you do not go there.” His folded pale hands looked like pieces of white fish. “These are dangerous places. These men are God's children, of course. But some of them are ill, some are weak. There's desperation amongst them. And anger. Do you understand?”

Nan's friend kept talking, without waiting for Elsie to answer what she guessed Uncle Dannell would call a rhetorical question. The kind that's not meant to be answered. “I have spoken to your mother,” Reverend Hampton said, “and to your grandmother. They agreed that I should speak to you. I hope I have not intruded.”

Elsie shook her head. Then she nodded. She and Scoop had worked out a system long ago. If she was very careful not to actually
say
that she would not go to the shantytown again, she would not have promised anything.

The Reverend cleared his throat and smiled at her. “I'm glad we had this chat.” He tugged on the lapels of his black coat and turned to go back into the other room.

Out of the blue, Elsie heard herself ask the question she'd wanted to ask for a long time but had not dared. “Reverend?”

He turned back. “Child?'

“If you ever see my father? Maybe in the shantytowns. Or when you're working on the breadlines. We've looked. But we can't find him. He was going to the Relief Office, but they said he never got there. But if you do see him”
—
she took a deep breath
—
“will you tell him to come home?” Her throat was too thick to let any more words out.

“Oh, my child.” Reverend Hampton cleared his throat. “Of course. You have my word. If I see your father, I will tell him that you need him.”

Elsie felt the lump in her throat dissolve. She blinked and shifted down in the bed, pulling the covers up to her chin. “Thank you.”

“You are most welcome. It would be my pleasure.”

Elsie closed her eyes as the Reverend went through the curtain to join the grown-ups. She opened them again as she heard the voices coming from the other side of the curtain. The dance marathon! She should have asked Reverend Hampton about it. Maybe he could explain what was so bad about them.

She pulled Baby into her arms.

She and Scoop would just have to find out for themselves.

C
HAPTER
T
EN

A
t school the next day, Elsie's class used their catalogs to calculate the cost of a spring wardrobe for a family of four. She couldn't imagine ever having that much money, or wearing those kinds of clothes again. Then they picked out furniture for their dream bedrooms and drew floor plans to see how it would fit in. Finally everyone cut out pictures they liked and glued them onto a long sheet of newsprint. Elsie, Jack Cattermole, Sheila Phipps, Roddy McPherson and Ruth Cohen were assigned to color a border around it to brighten up the collage. Miss Beeston planned to hang it on the back wall of the classroom.

“I can color just as well as any of that lot,” Scoop told Elsie on the way home, as he kicked at anything that lay on the sidewalk. “I don't know why I wasn't chosen to do that border thing.” He picked at the dried wallpaper paste on his fingers. “Anyway. It's a stupid idea. That collage will look like a dog's breakfast.”

“Dog Bob has bread and water for breakfast. And dinner too. It won't look anything like it.” Elsie flicked him with her hat.

“Don't be so stupid. You know what I mean.”

“You can walk by yourself if you're going to be rude,” she said.

“You sound just like your nan,” said Scoop. “You're as pigheaded as she is.” With that, he shoved his hands into the pockets of his overalls and strutted off around the corner.

“Good riddance to bad rubbish,” muttered Elsie. She kicked at a can, and it clanged as it thumped against the lamppost. When she chased after it and did it again, it wobbled into the road and stopped on a grating. She would have gone after it and given it one more mighty kick if she hadn't seen Mrs. Tipson headed toward her.

Elsie pulled her hat down tight and dashed off the other way, pretending she hadn't seen the lady who now lived in her old house.

“Where's that catalog?” asked Nan when Elsie got home and dumped her schoolbooks on the table.

“You said we didn't need it anymore.”

Nan tutted. “Your mother wants you,” she said. “She's in the bedroom.”

Mother was folding clothes into the suitcase that usually held Elsie's baby things and her own jewelry box.

“Where are we going?” asked Elsie.

Mother carefully folded her minty green blouse and laid it on the bed. “My old friend Daisy Newman is very ill in New Westminster. She has no one to look after her.”

Elsie had been to New Westminster once for the May Day parade. They had gone on the Interurban train, the only time she'd been on a train in her life. But she had never heard of this Daisy Newman. “When are we going?”

“I'm going alone,” her mother told her. “You'll stay here with Nan and Dog Bob.”

“How long are you going for?”

“A couple of weeks. Maybe a little more. We'll see.”

Elsie hated
We'll see
.
We'll see
really meant
Maybe yes. Maybe no. Probably no
. It meant,
Maybe you'll forget what you've asked and I won't ever have to answer
.
We'll see
was always the wrong answer.

“Who's Daisy Newman, anyway?” Elsie asked.

“I told you. A school friend. We were very close.”

“You never told me about her. Why can't I come? I don't want you to go.”

Mother pushed the suitcase aside and sat down on the bed. She pulled Elsie toward her so she was standing between her knees. “You've got school. And I'm only going away for a little while.” She pushed a hair away from Elsie's face. “You'll be fine here with Nan. Things change, my love,” she said. “But life goes on.”

That was just the kind of thing Nan would say. Of course life goes on. What else could it do? Elsie leaned away from her mother's arms to poke through the things in the suitcase. “Why are you taking these?” Ivory dancing shoes peeked out from under an orange satin blouse with a floppy collar.

“Perhaps my friend and I will do a little dancing,” Mother told her.

“I thought she was very ill,” said Elsie.

Mother got up and pushed the bed back so she could get at the bottom drawer in the dresser. “Would you like to help me pack? If not, you might help your grandmother with the supper.”

Elsie didn't want to do either. She wanted to dump everything out of the suitcase onto the floor. She wanted to fling the filmy blouse and the dancing shoes and her mother's good tweed skirt and cable-knit sweater across the room. She wanted to send her underthings into the air like rude birds. She wanted to demand that her mother stay here. With her and Nan and Dog Bob and Uncle Dannell. Father had gone. And now Mother was going away. The family fractions would change all over again.

Elsie felt just like Dog Bob, always circling around, trying to keep everyone where they belonged.

She wanted to kick the bed the way she'd kicked the can on the street. She wanted to stamp her feet and yell that it was not fair. But if she did, she knew she'd hear Nan's voice coming through the curtain:
If you think life should be fair, you've got another think coming
.

So Elsie sat on the bed and watched her mother pack. But she refused to help. And Mother had another think coming if she expected Elsie to speak to her for the rest of the evening, even though she was dying to tell her about the Eaton's catalog project, and the collage, and the fight she had with Scoop.

They were supposed to be best friends. But he wasn't talking to her, and she hadn't even grown nubs yet. What would it be like when she did? She wanted to talk to her mother about that too.

Elsie ate her supper slowly, feeling Mother's gaze on her. By the time she was done, she had decided the only thing to do was to be a good loser like Father had taught her to be. If she could be a good loser when he left, she could be one when Mother went away to visit a sick friend. “We did loads of things with the Eaton's catalog today.” Elsie watched her mother's face brighten now she was talking to her again. “We furnished our dream bedrooms, and we made a collage too.”

“Dream bedrooms, my eye,” Nan muttered from her chair behind them. But no one answered her.

Later, Elsie won three games of checkers with Uncle Dannell while Mother washed the dishes. As she helped him put the little black and white pieces back in their box, Uncle Dannell said, “So, it'll just be you and your Nan for a while. Can I leave Dog Bob in your care?”

“What do you mean?” Elsie closed the box and held it against her chest. “Where will you be?”

Her uncle glanced over at Mother, who was hanging the damp dishcloth on the string overhead.

She turned sideways to look at Elsie, her hands still in the air, with clothespins between her fingers. “Didn't I mention it earlier? Your uncle has work.” Mother picked up the laundry basket and hugged it to her chest. “In the cranberry fields at Richmond.”

“A supervisory position.” Uncle Dannell puffed out his chest and flicked his suspenders with a loud snap. Nan took the basket from Mother without saying a word and disappeared into the bedroom.

Elsie felt her chest fill up with heat. “You're going to New Westminster?” she yelled at her mother. “
And
Uncle Dannell is going to Richmond?” She tugged her hat down hard on her head, watching Mother take off her apron and fold it into a tiny square.

“You got it, baby girl,” said Uncle Dannell.

Elsie didn't like his smarmy voice. Or being called baby girl. It was even worse than being called Little Bit. “Don't call me that. How many times do I have to tell you? Anyway. We don't have any money. How are you going to get there?”

Uncle Dannell looked at Mother. Mother looked at the floor and quietly said, “I pawned my brooch for my fare.” She unfolded her apron again and smoothed it against her stomach. “Uncle Dannell will hitchhike. Don't worry…” She must have seen Elsie's eyes fill with tears at the thought of the last piece of jewelry from Father's shop being in the pawnshop for anyone to buy. “We'll get it back when Uncle Dannell has his first paycheck,” she said.