To Dance at the Palais Royale, page 2
Aggie looked down at her smallest sister’s worried face. Even strangers sometimes commented on the resemblance between Jen and Aggie. They both had the same thick hair, small, sharp faces, and large, grey eyes. Aggie would not usually try to take all the wee ones to church, but as the time to leave approached she found herself wanting to spend more time with them. Especially Jen. And Aggie knew their mother needed some rest and quiet. She leaned over and cuddled the younger girl. “Jen, please, will you no do this just for me?”
The child gave a sigh that seemed too big for her small, thin frame and said, “If you ask me like that, I canna say no.”
Aggie laughed.
Davy met them just inside the church. Usually, they sat on either side of the children to keep order. But today Davy let the children go past him and sat by Aggie’s side. She knew this was probably asking for trouble, but it seemed heartless to ask him to move.
This Sunday there was a special collection for the church missions in China and Aggie had scraped together a few extra ha’pennies for her brothers and sisters. The children never saw money. Aggie saw the longing in their faces as she passed the coins to them.
The grey stone church was unheated, the minister old, and his sermons dull. The children had reason to misbehave. At least this week the hymns were lively. Before the mission collection they sang “Bringing In the Sheaves.” Jen, who knew all the words, sang with fervour. Aggie and Davy shared a single hymn book, standing close together. Aggie worried about gossip. Then she realized it didn’t matter—she would soon leave all gossip behind.
The collection baskets were passed along on long poles.
They were made of wicker and emptied from the bottom by a hinge. Aggie was busy putting all the hymn books back when the basket passed along her pew. Davy was busy watching her.
And that was how they failed to see what happened.
Later, at noon dinner Aggie noticed something was wrong. “Jen,” she said, “are you ill? You’ve barely touched your food.” The child nodded miserably.
“She didn’a want to go to church this morning either,” Aggie recalled.
“Come here, pet, and let me feel your head,” their mother said. Jen did. “Well, there’s no fever. Do you want to lie down, Jen?”
Jen nodded. Aggie took her upstairs while the table was cleared.
“Just rest a wee while,” Aggie said as she tucked a blanket around her and kissed her forehead. “I’m sure you’ll feel better soon.” Jen nodded, turned her face to the wall, and closed her eyes. She must be sick, Aggie thought. Jen never slept during the day.
Aggie was busy washing the dishes when Callum crept upstairs to Jen’s bedroom. If anyone had noticed, they might have wondered at his unusual concern for his sister’s health.
Jen seemed well enough to go to school the next morning, but at supper Aggie thought she still seemed subdued. Remembering Dougie’s illness, which had come on gradually at first, Aggie decided to keep an eye on Jen. In only a little more than a week Aggie would be on the boat to Canada. The thought of Jen falling ill now was more than she could bear. Every night at bedtime, Aggie checked to see if Jen looked pale or felt hot. Every night, there were no obvious signs of illness. Aggie only noticed that Jen was still strangely quiet and that she seemed . . . sticky.
Sticky was the only word. Jen’s hands stuck to everything and were covered with fuzz from her woollen sweater, no matter how often Aggie sponged her clean. She also had a curious, sweet smell, something like peppermint. What kind of illness, Aggie wondered, could make a child smell like that? Then she noticed the boys were all the same—sticky and sweet-smelling. Aggie wondered if they had all fallen prey to the same rare disease. She said nothing to her mother for fear of worrying her.
But Aggie worried almost constantly as she went about her work at Mrs. MacDougall’s. On Wednesday, Aggie was busy stocking the pantry with the week’s grocery order when Mrs. MacDougall returned from a funeral. Aggie couldn’t help overhearing the two older women as they gossiped in the kitchen.
“Well, we had a green Christmas. You know what folk say: a green Christmas means a full kirkyard,” Ritchie said as she poured hot water into the teapot.
“Aye, that’s so. But Lydia Thorburn was ailing for years. It was the strangest thing, though,” Mrs. MacDougall said. “They said, before she died, she smelled like violets, sweet violets, just like perfume.”
“Sometimes they say that those who’ve led good lives smell sweet before they die,” Ritchie said. “I had an aunt . . .”
Thud! Both women looked up, startled. The sack of flour Aggie had been carrying was at her feet. “Why Aggie, hen, are you ill? You’re as white as a ghost. Sit down,” Mrs. MacDougall cried, and both she and Ritchie eased Aggie into a chair and made her drink a cup of tea before she went back to work.
Those who’ve led good lives . . . Aggie went over the words in her mind again and again. The four wee ones, Jen and the boys, were certainly no better than other children. In fact, it seemed to Aggie they were in trouble more often than she and Dougie and Emma or even Flora had been when they were the same ages. But, over the last few days, ever since Sunday in fact, Jen did seem quieter and more thoughtful than usual. That night, at bedtime, as Aggie pulled a nightgown over Jen’s temporarily unsticky hands and face, Jen said, “Aggie, do you think God gives things to people?”
“Well,” Aggie said, “some things certainly. Mum and Da and all of us were given to one another by God.”
Jen was not satisfied. “I didn’a mean family. What about things?” She paused. “Money and the like.”
“Well, I suppose some people might say so. Emma found out about Canada and went over there to earn more money for all of us, so we can get the boys away from the mines—maybe God helped her.”
“That isn’a quite what I meant,” Jen said. But when Aggie questioned her further, she yawned and said she was tired. As Aggie watched her fall asleep, the faint odour of peppermint filled the air.
Thursday afternoon was always maids’ half day off. This was Aggie’s last Thursday in Loughlinter and there was a great deal to do. Flora was left at home to make final preparations for the minister’s tea. He would come to say goodbye to Aggie late in the afternoon. Before that, though, Aggie would finally see the Canadian doctor who travelled all over this part of Scotland giving medical exams. When he came to Loughlinter, the doctor used an empty room in the shipping agent’s office. If Aggie failed this medical, she would not be allowed into Canada. After the medical, Aggie and her mother would finally pick up her steamship ticket. Before any of this, however, they were to visit Mr. Sheff, the old Jewish tailor who could be trusted to lend money when it was needed.
Dressed in their best clothes, Aggie and her mother set out for Loughlinter’s main streets—a few small shops crowded together on narrow, cobblestone roads. Everything, from the glass in the windows to the weathered paint on the woodwork, was covered in a fine rime of coal dust. Like most of Loughlinter, it looked old and tired.
Usually, Aggie’s mother spoke only when words were needed. Now, she talked constantly as they walked along. Aggie could see something of her own nervousness reflected in her mother’s chatter.
“Now you know how folk gossip, and I dinna doubt you’ve heard unpleasant things about Mr. Sheff, Aggie lass. Well, no one likes to be in debt. But if they need to borrow money and Mr. Sheff is willing to lend it, whose fault is that? He’s a kind-hearted old soul. I know that myself. And there’s more folk owe him money than you or I will ever know.” She paused for a moment, then sighed. “I didn’a think I’d need to come to him again for you. Could we no save a few pounds? But Callum’s shoes wore out, then Jen’s blue dress—remember when it belonged to you? When I tried to mend it, it fell to pieces.
“But then Aggie, do you know, it’s the strangest thing. When I picked up Callum’s suit after church on Sunday what do you suppose I found? Half a crown in one of his pockets! Where could it have come from? Did you give the wee ones money for the collection on Sunday?”
“Aye, but only pennies, Mum. Where would any of us find half a crown?”
“That’s just what I thought. I’m afraid we’ll have to talk to him,” she sighed. “I hope it’s nothing. I’d hate to have to tell your Da.”
Aggie knew why. There were some things Douglas Maxwell would not tolerate from his children, and stealing was one. It would certainly be bad for Callum if he had stolen the money. Callum was only eight, but he was the chief mischief-maker in the family. Aggie doubted that he would actually plan to steal, but if money came into his hands, he’d find it hard to return to its rightful owner. Her father was unbending in his ideas about honesty and that would count as stealing. Callum was certainly in trouble. Only one question remained in Aggie’s mind. Why had he not spent the money as quickly as he could?
But there was no time to talk about this now, because they’d reached Mr. Sheff’s shop. The bell above the door rang as they entered and Mr. Sheff came out from the back room. He had a small rimless cap on his head and wore a tailor’s apron. He was an old man, thin and bent. His face lit up when he saw Aggie’s mother.
“And so, Mrs. Maxwell, here is the next daughter,” he said, smiling at Aggie. “Off she will go to Canada like her sister?”
“Yes, Mr. Sheff, with your kind help.” Aggie could hear the embarrassment in her mother’s voice.
The old man noticed and patted her hand. “Well, it is a small thing I do, Mrs. Maxwell, and not everyone is thanking me.” He turned to Aggie. “Your mother is kind to all peoples, not only her own. Most in this town have minds that are narrow. They see only what a person is, not into the heart. My sister went from Russia to Canada, to Montreal. In Canada, child, you will meet peoples from all lands. If you have the heart of your mother, you will do well.” Then he drew a small green ledger from under the counter.
After the money changed hands, Aggie and her mother went to see the doctor. For the moment, Aggie’s anxiety over the medical exam made her forget about Callum. She was sure there was nothing wrong with her, but it bothered her that she was still without her medical with the day of departure so near.
No one in Aggie’s family ever saw a doctor unless something was very wrong. Dougie was dying the last time a doctor came to the Maxwell household. The prospect of seeing this doctor made Aggie remember Dougie’s death. It had started with such a small accident, a blow to the chest from a stray shovel at the mine. But Dougie grew weaker and weaker, and in a few weeks he could no longer work. Then came the fever and his lapse into delirium.
Suddenly, her strong, healthy brother was slipping away from them, and nothing seemed to help. It was so much like a bad dream that Aggie had half believed she would wake up to find none of it was happening. Finally her mother had called the doctor, who came, listened to Dougie’s chest, and said that he had pneumonia.
Aggie remembered one night especially. She had been sitting by the firelight in the kitchen where Dougie lay on a cot, bathed in sweat and mumbling senseless things. A knock had come at the door. When her mother answered, she found two old gypsy women—tinkers they were called. Like most of the town’s people, Aggie feared the tinkers. They wore old clothes and had no real home and people said they stole little children away. But Jane Maxwell treated them with the same kindness she showed everyone, and they knew they could always find a place by her fire and a cup of tea.
These two women had not come for tea.
“We heard about your trouble, hen,” they said to Jane. “We want to help.” They told her they would make poultices from onions and place them around Dougie to drive the illness away.
When the doctor had learned of the plan he forbade it. “If those tinkers come here with their home remedies, Mrs. Maxwell, I’ll never set foot in this house again,” he’d said. So, of course, nothing was done. Dougie died a few days later. He was twenty-one. Aggie still wondered if the tinkers could have saved him.
But this was a different doctor: the Canadian doctor.
He was the first Canadian Aggie would ever meet. And he could keep her from going to Canada and ruin the family’s plan. By the time they reached the shipping agent’s office, Aggie had to force herself to take deep breaths. Two young women were just leaving when Aggie arrived with her mother. Aggie guessed they were domestics too. Aggie and her mother had just seated themselves in the small, dingy waiting room when a uniformed nurse came out and called, “Agnes Maxwell” in a crisp, highland accent.
The doctor was a big man, easily six feet tall, with sandy coloured hair and large, freckled hands. He seemed to fill the small office. He might have been a Canadian, but he looked just like anyone else. The nurse stood silently by. Aggie couldn’t help staring at the large needle on the tray by her elbow.
“Maxwell,” the doctor said as he checked her throat.
“There was a girl named Maxwell through this office last fall, I believe. Any relation? Say ‘ah’ now.”
It was difficult to follow the doctor’s flat-sounding English at first. But after he looked in her throat Aggie found she understood.
“Oh, aye, sir,” she replied. “My sister.”
“And now you want to come to Canada too, is that it?” he asked looking in her ears and eyes.
Before she remembered to be polite, Aggie found herself saying, “I dinna really want to, sir. It was my sister’s idea.” And she explained the plan to get the boys away from the mines.
“Breathe in and out now while I listen to your chest,” the doctor said when she finished. “Prospective immigrants are usually more eager to come to Canada than that.” He laughed. “But don’t worry, Agnes Maxwell. You may like it in spite of yourself.”
“I’m going to Canada?”
“Certainly. You’re perfectly healthy.”
The doctor was about to pass Aggie on to the nurse for her vaccination when Aggie stopped him. She knew he was busy, but she wouldn’t have a chance like this again. She took a deep breath and quickly said, “Doctor, I wonder, is there any illness a child of six could get that might make her smell . . . different?”
“How do you mean?”
“Well, sweet. Something like peppermint really.” Aggie knew how silly this must sound. She felt her face burning. But the doctor seemed to take her seriously enough.
“Any other symptoms?”
“Well, she’s been much quieter than usual and she’s always sticky.”
“Sticky?” The doctor laughed now. “Sounds like too much candy to me.”
“Sweets? Oh, it couldn’a be that. The wee ones never have money for . . .” Aggie remembered the half crown in Callum’s pocket.
“Roll up your sleeve please, and I’ll pass you along to the nurse. Don’t worry. It doesn’t sound serious.”
When they returned home with the steamship ticket, there was just time to make the minister’s tea. Flora had everything else ready, but she excused herself just before Mr. Macleod arrived. He was a small, anxious old man, given to complaining and difficult to please.
They took Mr. Macleod into “the room” which was only used on very special occasions.
“Well, Agnes,” he said as he seated himself, “I’ve come to say my goodbyes to you. I suppose this sort of thing is necessary, but I canna say I think it wise. Mind you, I know a good girl like you will stay out of harm’s way, but what’s to become of most of these lassies, setting out alone for a strange land? I fear the worst for them. My Jane, this a fine treacle tart.”
It was often said that Mr. Macleod could carry on a conversation in an empty room. He continued on now without stopping.
“I’ve my doubts about the moral fibre of this community even without all this immigration. Do you realize that someone robbed the collection basket in church last Sunday? Never, in all my years as a minister, have I encountered such a thing. It was when you had the wee ones to church with you, Agnes. A special collection for the missions in China too. I’ve not said a word about this to anyone to this very moment, hoping the culprit might repent. But it seems too late for that now.”
Too late indeed, Aggie thought. Fortunately, the minister was busy with his plate. Aggie looked at her mother, who quickly erased the look of shock from her face.
“Another scone, Mr. Macleod?” Aggie’s mother said hastily.
“Why, yes, Jane. Thank you.” And he went on without noticing anything amiss.
Luckily, Mr. Macleod had another call to make and he was gone before the children returned from school. Aggie assembled Ewan, James, Callum, and Jen in the room. The children were unusually quiet. Except for special visitors, the room had not been used by the family since Dougie was laid out there before his burial. The children seemed to know what was going to happen. Aggie’s mother ran her hands through her grey-streaked hair. She looked very old.
“Mr. Macleod told us about the collection basket,” she said simply. “Tell us everything now, before your Da comes home. Callum, why did you steal the money?”
“I didn’a touch the collection basket,” Callum said. “It was her.” He pointed to Jen, who promptly burst into tears.
“He told me God wanted us to have the money,” she sobbed, “because we never had money for sweets.” She ran to Aggie and buried her face in her sister’s lap. Her thin shoulders shook.
Aggie’s mother was so surprised she couldn’t speak. Aggie looked over Jen’s head at Ewan, who was eleven.
“Tell us, Ewan, please.”
“I didn’a see a thing, Aggie,” he said.
“Da will be home soon.” Even Aggie was surprised at the threatening note in her voice, but it worked.
“Well, I really didn’a see it happen,” Ewan defended himself. “I only know what they told me. Just after the hymn, when the collection basket was passed, Callum pinched Jen.”
Jen lifted her head from Aggie’s lap and sniffed.
“It was a wicked pinch, Aggie. My knees flew up and hit the bottom of the collection basket.”
Callum took up the story now.
“All the money dumped into her lap. She could have said something then, but she just took her hand and swung the basket shut. The money stayed in her lap.”
