When the Bough Breaks (10 page)

I shout out after him, “If it's true, why didn't you tell me before?” The back door slams.

I hug Eddie tightly and rub his back, the way he loves. “I'm never letting you go, Eddie – you're staying right here with Millie. Hamish doesn't know what he's talking about.”
Thank goodness the baby can't understand what his big brother just said.
After I've put him back in his crib, he soon settles down.

And then … and then I stand perfectly still. I have to force myself to breathe calmly because suddenly I know that Hamish is telling the truth. I remember all those talks with the Prices, and how Grace told me that Mrs. Price came round to their house and asked to hold Eddie. And then there's Mr. Price, always making so much of Hamish – giving him a nickel, flattering him, filling his head with nonsense.

Only it wasn't nonsense at all. It wasn't Hamish he was after – he doesn't need anyone else for farmwork – it was the baby. A present for Mrs. Price.

All along I've been worried about Elsie Bates, when the danger was always right here, at home. This must be what the traveling woman meant when she said there's a difficult time ahead, a time to test my patience and my
strength.
When will the test be over?
It seems I'm tested every minute of every day!

Father's always asking me, “Is everything alright?” He looks anxiously at me because he thinks the boys are too much for me. Now I understand why he doesn't take much interest in Eddie.
Why would he, when he's made up his mind to give him away?

I heard him myself, yesterday, when I passed by the forge, saying, “It's a generous offer, Dan. I accept.”
Didn't I see Farmer Price and Father shake hands on the bargain, as if … as if my Eddie is a horse to be sold?
I can't bear it. I won't bear it.

If only I hadn't asked Father about having Eddie taken care of when I go back to school. Maybe times are so hard that he thinks it will be easier to give the baby away to Mrs. Price than to pay someone a dollar a week to look after him for a few hours a day. I'd gladly give him all the egg money and all the boot fund, as well as my share of the pay from Mr. Mercer, if only he'd keep him.

Eddie's sleeping peacefully, so I leave him and go into my room.
What am I to do? Who can I ask to help us?
I lie down on my bed for just for a few minutes. My head aches; I must have fallen asleep….

Father's voice wakes me up from below, “Is anyone at home?”

Father's back early, or is it supper time already? Didn't he say not to wait for him for supper?
I rub my eyes, and go downstairs.
What am I going to say?

“Well, Millie, my love, it's settled. Let's hope I've done the right thing, that it's all for the best.” Father smiles at me wearily, and I wonder how he can smile.
Doesn't he feel the least little bit sorry?
I follow him into the kitchen.

“I'm tired,” he says, sitting down, as though nothing at all has happened. “It's been a big decision to make.”

“No! You can't … you mustn't! Father, please don't send him away. Promise me you'll keep us together. I know his crying disturbs you, and he's another mouth to feed, but he doesn't cost so very much.” Then I lean my arms on the back of Mother's chair, thinking how greatly she loved this baby. I put down my head, and burst into tears – all the tears I haven't had time to shed since she died.

When I finally stop to wipe my face, my father is staring helplessly at me. “Will you please tell me what this is all about? I don't understand why you're crying, Millie. You never cry. Tell me….”

I'm trembling, from crying so hard. “Mother said I was to hold us together. She trusted me, and now … and now, you are giving Eddie away. It is true, isn't it?”

“Millie, look at me! What kind of man do you think I am? I would never, ever, send one of you away. Now sit
down here beside me and tell me who put such a foolish idea in your head.” He mops my face gently with his handkerchief.

“Hamish said … he said you are sending Eddie to the Prices. It seemed to make sense because Farmer Price is always saying how much he'd like to give the boys a home. Hamish says he heard him say that Mrs. Price can't wait to take care of a baby again.” More tears roll down my cheeks. I don't bother wiping them away. “And then you shook hands on the deal – I saw you.”

Father grips my shoulders. “No, no, no, that's not it at all. There's your brother at the door now. I am going to find out what's at the bottom of this. Hamish?” he calls out sternly. “Get yourself in here, and make it sharp.” His fingers drum on the table.

Hamish comes in and looks at me belligerently.

“Sit down and take that look off your face. We both have some explaining to do, I reckon,” Father says.

“I never started it, Pa. Millie was bossing me and she said I was spoilt and –”

“And I have every reason to believe she had good cause to say it. However, I am not interested in listening to any tittle-tattle. The baby's crying, Millie. What I have to say can wait until you bring him down. Eddie might as well hear this too.”

When we're all sitting round the table, Father says, “It is a terrible thing to have to give away a child, and it
is not something that I am prepared to do, now or ever. Is that clear, Hamish?”

My brother nods his head, never taking his eyes from Father's face.

“What, exactly, did you hear me say to Dan Price, son?”

“Well, it's not
exactly,
maybe, but I thought I heard Farmer Price say …” and Hamish looks down, shamefacedly, “… that Mrs. Price said she is looking forward to looking after the baby.”

“He was not talking about Eddie. He would not dream of asking for Eddie. He was not talking about our baby – do you understand, Hamish? You jumped to conclusions before finding out if those words were true. You have upset Millie, who does so much for us all. You have upset me and disappointed –”

“Don't say it, Pa. Don't say Ma would be disappointed in me.” Hamish looks as if he is going to burst into tears.

“I wasn't going to, but Mother would say Millie has enough worries without you adding to them.” Father takes Eddie from me. “From now on, Hamish, you will have no time for jumping to conclusions. You will help your sister: make your own bed, keep your room tidy, and dry the supper dishes in the evenings. And if Millie needs your help with chores, you will do them, without making excuses.”

“Do you mean forever?” Hamish asks, horrified. “Housework?”

“Yes. And when your brother is old enough, he will help too.”

“I'm sorry, Pa. I'm sorry, Millie. I'm glad Eddie's staying home.” Hamish wipes his face on his sleeve.

Father ruffles Hamish's hair with his free hand, still holding Eddie with the other. “And now I have some news for you: the Prices are selling their farm. They are moving closer to their married daughter. Mrs. Price wants to help look after her new grandchild – that's the baby she is looking forward to, Hamish. Dan Price is going to go into partnership with his son-in-law in his hardware business.”

Father pauses, then says, “I have decided to make some changes too. I'm starting a mobile forge. Dan and I have been discussing it, and he has offered to sell me his old Ford truck. I gave him a small down payment – all I can manage at present – and he's fine with that. Everything necessary for the trade will be in the truck: all my tools and a portable forge that I'll build in the back, with your help, son.”

Hamish jumps up and down with excitement, his tears forgotten.

“It means I'll be away long hours – dawn to dusk and even later – two, three days a week. I'll go to farms and do the work farmers need on-site. They won't have
to come into town to me. I won't only shoe horses, but I'll mend tools and harnesses, fix barn doors, retool locks and hinges and anything else that needs replacing. In time, I aim to make wrought-iron goods and even weather vanes.

“With four blacksmiths here in town, there isn't enough work to go around. But if I can travel to customers who live far out and offer them a service at a price they can afford, I've a better chance of making a living for us all. An itinerant blacksmith, that's what I'll be. The forge will still be open for my regulars, on the days I'm not traveling.

“I'm going to need your help, all three of you. Millie, will you be able to handle things here? I know it means more responsibility for both you
and
Hamish. Can I count on you? You know your mother and I had been talking about this for quite a while before young Eddie came along.”

“We will be fine, Father, and I think it's a wonderful idea,” I say.

“You can count on me, Pa, I promise. Carr and Son, traveling blacksmiths,” Hamish says dreamily.

“Good enough. Now, this blacksmith is starving. Is there any supper?”

“A truck, Pa, a real truck,” Hamish says. He can think of nothing else!

“No, I don't think I want to eat a truck, son.” When he hears us laugh, Eddie joins in.

“Put the kettle on, please, Hamish,” I say. “Bread and cheese and tomatoes alright, Father?” I'd totally forgotten to make supper, and poor Eddie hasn't had his bottle yet. “It won't be long.”

“I'll keep hold of Eddie while you get supper, Millie,” Father says.

“Thank you, Father. I wanted to ask you if you would please take Hamish to Claxton's on Monday … if you have time, that is…. He needs new pants for school.”

Father says he will, and Hamish rewards me with a rare smile.

“Thanks, Pa. And will the truck be here soon? You'll need me to clean it, won't you?”

They talk trucks and forges and buying up discarded tools at local farm sales – tools that Father plans to make as good as new again. They discuss the cost of gasoline and replacing worn tires all through supper, but Hamish dries the dishes without being reminded, and I have time to press my blouse for the tea party tomorrow.

THE TEA PARTY

W
hen I go into the kitchen to say good-bye to Father, he barely raises his head. He's marking auction notices in yesterday's newspaper.

“Eddie and I are leaving now for Miss Tracy's tea party.”

He mumbles something that sounds as though he hopes I'll have a nice afternoon. Nothing has changed, and yet everything seems better somehow.

I feel almost happy, that is, as happy as I can be so soon after Mother's death. Wheeling Eddie along our street in the afternoon sunshine, I'm no longer peering over my shoulder for shadows….

I should have known that Hamish hadn't heard the entire conversation properly, and had repeated only part of what was said, because he'd got so mad at me. I know
I'm too bossy sometimes, and that I'm at my worst when I'm tired – which is most of the time, unfortunately.

As for Elsie Bates, maybe, at this very moment, she is packing up the bits and pieces she's been collecting and planning to take a bus, at last, to her sister's place.

Grace asked Sadie and me to meet at her house, so that the three of us can walk together to arrive at Mrs. Wilmot's at the same time. The truth is, I'm a bit nervous about the afternoon ahead – we've all been wondering who else might be there….

“You will be good, Eddie, won't you? It's very kind of Miss Tracy to invite you.” Eddie seems to understand the tone of my voice. “The old lady is a bit of a dragon, but I don't suppose we'll even see her. I'm sure she has a Sunday afternoon nap, just like you do, and it's very important that you don't cry and disturb her. Not everyone adores babies, you know.”

The tea ends at five o'clock, so I plan to be well on our way before Mrs. Wilmot wakes up. But, just in case, I gave Eddie a bit extra in his two o'clock feed. I don't want him screaming with hunger and disgracing me!

I tried my best to tire Eddie out this morning, even taking him into the chicken coop to hear the hens clucking and to watch them flap their wings, making a commotion. I'd never done that before.
“Millicent Carr, you look a perfect picture. Is that a new outfit?” Grace's mother smiles at me warmly, her voice is as kind and loving as though I were her own daughter. She and Mother were good friends long before Grace and I became best friends in grade one.

“How's my baby?” Grace coos.

“
Our
baby you mean,” Sadie, who has arrived before us, says, asserting her claim to the buggy.

We turn the corner onto Victoria Avenue and reach Mrs. Wilmot's white picket fence almost at the same moment as Denise Tetrault, who is walking arm in arm with Francine Leroux. Grace links her arm through mine. I can't help wishing Miss Tracy had asked anyone other than those two to join us.

Denise raises her eyebrows at us, as if surprised that we have been invited. Turning to Francine, she whispers something, which sends Francine into gales of laughter. They compose themselves the minute they see Miss Tracy coming down the path to greet us.

She opens the gate and says, “Welcome, girls, and isn't it a perfect day for our tea party? How clever and thoughtful of you to have planned your arrival so punctually. My goodness, you all look so well turned out. What a charming hat, Francine. May I take a peek at the baby, Millie? He is such a handsome little boy! You and I will find a quiet spot for our ‘gentleman’ guest. Meanwhile, I suggest the rest of you take a stroll around the
garden to admire Mrs. Wilmot's roses before we sit down for tea; the roses are her pride and joy, and quite famous in the neighborhood. Run along.”