Bitter, Sweet Read online

  Bitter, Sweet

  LAURA BEST

  Copyright © Laura Best 2009

  E-book © 2010

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission from the publisher, or, in the case of photocopying or other reprographic copying, permission from Access Copyright, 1 Yonge Street, Suite 1900, Toronto,

  Ontario M5E 1E5.

  Nimbus Publishing Limited

  PO Box 9166

  Halifax, NS B3K 5M8

  (902) 455-4286 www.nimbus.ca

  Printed and bound in Canada

  Design: Margaret Issenman

  Author photo: Brian Best

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  Best, Laura

  Bitter, sweet / Laura Best.

  ISBN 978-1-55109-736-7

  E-Book ISBN: 978-1-55109-814-2

  I. Title.

  PS8603.E777B58 2009 jC813’.6 C2009-903631-2

  We acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Canada through the Book Publishing Industry Development Program (BPIDP) and the Canada Council, and of the Province of Nova Scotia through the Department of Tourism, Culture and Heritage for our publishing activities.

  This book was printed on Ancient-Forest Friendly paper

  For my three M’s

  Melanie, Michelle, and Matt

  Dalhousie Road

  1948

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter One

  That has to be the law, thought Pru Burbidge the day a strange car stopped in front of the house. It was late January and bitterly cold, even with a fire burning in the kitchen stove. The bottoms of all the windows were decorated with sheets of frost frozen so solid that Pru had just a small patch of glass to see through. An icy wind had whipped across the crest of the snow all that morning and shut the house completely off from the main road. Although a wide white expanse separated the house from the driver of the car, Pru was frightened. She wished Jesse were here. She had considered this exact situation many times in her mind, wondering what her reaction might be if the law came calling while she was home alone with Flora and Davey.

  The car was sitting just a few feet past the row of maple trees and it might have been completely hidden had it not been for the fact that one of the trees had snapped in two during a big windstorm late last summer and had needed to be removed.

  Reese Buchanan helped Jesse cut the tree up for fire–wood—they worked all day cutting and splitting. The air was cool and a light breeze rustled through the treetops. Mama said it was perfect wood-splitting weather and it couldn’t have been more perfect for working than if they had ordered the weather up special. Then she said they would have to celebrate the firewood later when she was feeling less tired.

  “Reese has been a good friend to us, Pru,” Mama said as she sat beside the window watching them work up the wood. “I don’t know what we would have done way out here in Dalhousie without him.”

  Reese stayed for supper and Mama sat at the table with her housecoat wrapped around her because she didn’t feel up to getting properly dressed. She kept thanking Reese, and Reese kept saying, “Oh, it was really nothing,” looking more bashful each time.

  For a time no one got out of the car, but it made Pru nervous all the same. Pulling the curtain back just far enough to get a clear view without being seen, Pru gestured for Flora and Davey to keep quiet. The two youngest Burbidges were playing a game of go fish, laughing whenever one of them called for a card that the other was holding. Reese had brought the deck of cards over last week. They were old and worn and twice their normal thickness, but every queen and king and ace was accounted for. The cards had been a great distraction, and with the all the snow outside and not being able to make it out to the schoolhouse most days, they’d spent much of their time shuffling the deck of cards back and forth.

  Davey laid his cards down and joined his older sister at the window, stretching up on his tiptoes to see out. “Who’s that, Pru?” he asked, as if sensing her apprehension.

  “It might be the law or someone from Children’s Aid,” she said, knowing that both were equally serious.

  “The law?”

  “Take Flora and go upstairs,” said Pru in her most authoritative voice, the one that she’d been practising since Mama got sick.

  “Come on, Flora,” said Davey, not bothering to argue with Pru, which his older sister was most grateful for.

  “You be quiet as mice. And watch out for that broken step!” Pru called out as she heard them shuffle up the stairs. There was a small cubbyhole at the top of the staircase beneath the attic steps; this was the place they were supposed to hide if ever they were told to, the place both Pru and Jesse knew they could fit in as well. There was a small latch on the inside of the door that could be hooked if need be. Pru had always hoped that need would not arise.

  Pru had no reason to believe that the police had been sent for them, but it had been the first thing that came into her mind when she saw the strange car parked out by the road. Besides, Mama had warned them that this might happen.

  “You be careful what you tell them,” Mama had said. “Don’t tell them any more than they want to know. And no matter what, don’t look like you’ve got something to hide. They’ll send you all away and that’ll be the last you’ll see of one another. You’ll end up in foster homes or at the orphan house.”

  Pru knew her brothers and sister looked up to her; all of them did, including Jesse, even though he was the old–est. Jesse rarely made any important decision without first consulting her. But they had decided it would have to be that way right from the start. A united front. Mama had said that the most important thing was that they stick together. “There’ll be times when you might not agree,” Mama had said, looking up at them from her sick bed. “But you stick together all the same. If you want to keep the family together you have to form a united front.”

  Only now there was a strange car parked out by the road and Jesse was not there for Pru to consult. He was gone into town with Reese Buchanan to cash Mama’s government cheque and buy some food. They had only been gone an hour or so and were not likely to return anytime soon.

  Pru stood at the window, nervously watching to see if someone was going to get out of the car. One set of tracks, which belonged to Jesse, created a narrow winding path from the house to the road. It had started to blow shut, and was barely visible now. Jesse thought not shovelling the drive was a good way to keep people away. The last thing they needed was some stranger poking around, asking nosey questions. Pru wondered if the stranger in the parked car would wade through the deep snow, and if he did, what his reasons would be for doing so.

  “Go away, go away,” whispered Pru, rocking gently back and forth as she stood by the window. But she was not so lucky. The car door opened and a
lthough the snow on the ground and hanging on the trees muffled the sounds from outside, it did not silence the thump of the car door as it closed.

  The first morning after the storm the house had felt safe and snug heaped up with snow, something Pru hadn’t felt for months. Were it not for the sound of Jesse already out of bed and rattling the lids on the wood stove, she might have allowed herself the small indulgence of lying in bed a bit longer, savouring the crisp quietness that lay beyond her bedroom window. She might have imagined herself sailing across the sparkling white waves of snow, off to some exotic land in search of adventure.

  But now the house no longer gave Pru a sense of security. Now the mounds of snow and the heavily cloaked trees filled her with a feeling of entrapment. How would they escape if the man approaching her door was the law? Where would they run to?

  Pru waited for the soft thump of boots on the doorstep.

  Chapter Two

  Time stood still as Pru waited for the stranger to walk up the path to the house, to tread upon the weatherworn steps that led to her front door, to pound on the door or rattle the latch. So strong was her fear in those moments of waiting that her own heartbeat drowned out the sound of the wind wailing outside the door. What would she say? More importantly, what would this person want?

  Strangers did not visit their house. There had to be some reason for this man to be wading through the snow toward them. Mrs. McFarland from up the road used to drop in just to be nosey, but she had since stopped visiting, and sometimes the people from Red Cross would stop by, but they had already been to the house in December to make their delivery of winter coats and were not likely to drop by again anytime soon.

  Last summer the local reverend had come by to visit them and had ended up staying for hours. “War is a terrible thing, Mrs. Burbidge,” he’d said to Mama. “Lives lost, families torn apart. The country is still reeling from the effects and will be for some time to come. Bodies can be mended but spiritual needs are often overlooked.”

  The reverend had continued his spiel about the horrors of war and the need for people to turn toward the church for solace, ending with an invitation for the Burbidges to join the congregation some Sunday. “And the choir is in dire need of a few good singers,” he’d added with a wink. Mama had smiled and said, “We’ll have to see.” Only that was Mama’s polite way of saying no.

  Mama invited the reverend to stay for supper and sent Pru out to the garden to pick some peas and beans. Jesse stoked up the fire even though it had been far too warm for one. Still, the reverend was a guest in their home and it would have hardly been fitting to dish up a cold supper. Besides, there was little else that could have been served on such short notice.

  The reverend sat out on the front verandah and helped Pru and Mama shell the peas. Pru worried that Mama would get one of her nosebleeds, but she didn’t. Mama didn’t do much talking and neither did the reverend.

  Pru felt too awkward in the reverend’s presence to do anything other than what Mama instructed her to. She had cooked hodgepodge before; in fact, she made all the meals, even on those days when Mama felt a bit better. It was good practice for Pru, and she knew that the day was fast approaching when Mama wouldn’t be there for her to ask how to prepare this or that.

  Mama was apologetic—there wasn’t any cream for the hodgepodge. “Hodgepodge without cream is hardly hodgepodge at all,” she said.

  “Our Lord was served but bread and fish, if I recall,” the reverend replied as Pru set the steaming pot in the centre of the table.

  “You’re only being kind,” said Mama.

  After the reverend offered up grace—something that had never once happened at their table before—he ate as though it were a meal fit for a king. Flora and Davey watched him with curiosity, their usual mealtime antics forgotten for the time being even though the reverend made no attempts to put on airs. He smacked his food and slurped his tea just like you’d expect a regular person would. Pru even saw him wipe his chin with his coat sleeve.

  The two youngest Burbidges knew little about manners nor did they care to and Mama could not seem to bring herself to correct them when they were at the table. In fact, she couldn’t bring herself to correct any of their behaviour since her illness. The way Pru saw it, the reverend fit in quite nicely at their table, even in all his holiness, although it didn’t cause her to trust him any more. He was still, after all, a stranger to them, regardless of his out–ward behaviour or the fact that he got to talk to God on a regular basis and, Pru figured, he was quite likely responsible for at least the occasional miracle being performed on His behalf. When the reverend spoke, God listened, of that Pru had no doubt.

  “Very fine, Mrs. Burbidge,” the reverend said. “This is all very fine. My compliments to the young cook.” He smiled and nodded in Pru’s direction.

  “Pru is cook of the family,” Mama said proudly. “And Jesse is the fire keeper. Davey is the storyteller. And Flora—” She stopped to pause for a brief time, “Flora is the darling of us all.”

  “Amen to that,” Jesse said, setting his empty plate on the sideboard. Pru could tell that this little declaration had pleased Mama. It was as genuine and clean as the opening of the morning glories that twined around the verandah posts, and it was said without time for him to be thinking of something just to impress the reverend.

  The Burbidges were not church-goers, although Mama had sometimes brought God’s name up, and not just when she was good and mad like when Daddy up and left. After Mama had gotten sick she’d stopped getting mad. She just smiled whenever something went wrong and said that if they waited a few moments something better would come along, and it usually did. If it didn’t, Mama would say it obviously wasn’t meant to be.

  Pru often thought of the day the reverend came for supper. How Mama had been wearing her pretty red and gold dress, the only good dress she owned. How it had saddened her to see Mama come out of the bedroom wearing it, the way the fabric hung in such an unattractive way on her body. Mama had worn that same dress the day they all took the train to Annapolis to visit Nanny Gordon. Nanny Gordon had come running out of the house to greet them and had placed her hands on Mama’s waist. “Why, just look at you, Issy,” she’d said, laughing aloud, “as plump and round as a dumpling!”

  The wind let out a mighty blast that shook the entire house. Pru jumped like a scared rabbit. Just as she expected to hear the sound of boots plodding up the snow-covered steps or a knock at the door, the floorboards above her creaked.

  “Pru…Pru! It’s dark and I’m tired,” came Flora’s small squeaky voice.

  “Hello?” came a muffled cry from outside in the snow. “Hello in there!”

  Pru stood frozen in her tracks in the middle of the living room. Perhaps whoever it was would go away if she did nothing at all.

  “Pru…” implored Flora. “Davey says there’s a rat.”

  Of all things! Couldn’t Davey behave himself just this once?

  “Quiet!” Pru warned as harshly as she could without raising her voice.

  “I know there’s someone in there. I can see the smoke coming out of the chimney.” The voice paused for a moment then continued. “Can you come to the door at least?”

  “Pru….”

  Pru spun around and ran to the bottom of the stairs. “The only rat up there is you, David Burbidge,” she said harshly. “Now stop pestering Flora this minute. You stop it and you be quiet. Remember what Mama told you.”

  Not another sound came from upstairs, although Pru could clearly hear Flora climbing back into the cubbyhole beneath the attic steps.

  Pru grabbed her coat and slowly pried open the front door. A man dressed from head in toe in winter clothes was standing on the ground below the steps. When he removed his cap, Pru recognized him as Mr. Dixon, the man who had helped Mama get her government cheques coming once they figured out that Daddy wasn’t coming home.

  “What can I do for you, Mr. Dixon?” she asked, shoving her arms into her coat sleeves
. She hoped he would not hear the slight quiver in her voice.

  “I won’t come any farther in case I’m carrying some germs. There’s been an outbreak of influenza. Whole families quarantined,” said Mr. Dixon. “I didn’t see much of a path to the road. Is everyone in the house all right?”

  “We’re all feeling fine. Jesse’s gone into town with Reese Buchanan but he’ll shovel us out when he gets back.” The wind tugged at Pru’s coat as she held it shut.

  “How’s Isadora these days?”

  “Mama’s doing fine, too,” said Pru. “She’s busy or she would have come to the door herself.”

  “Her cheques are coming regularly?”

  “Every month.”

  “And the baby bonus, too?”

  Pru nodded.

  “That’s good, then. Really good. It’s hardly a woman’s fault when her man takes off like that,” said Mr. Dixon, pulling his cap back on. “If you need anything, you tell your mama to let me know. That’s what your councillor’s for, to work for the people, help them out when they need helping.” He was still talking as he trudged back through the snow to his car. Pru thought he sounded as if he were hot on the campaign trail.

  Pru stepped back inside and closed the door. She did not know if she was trembling from the cold or the sense of relief that was surging through her.

  Chapter Three

  After she died, we buried Mama behind the house. Jesse dug a narrow grave in the spot Mama had showed him two weeks earlier, not far from the little tombstone that read:

  JOHN MARSH

  SON OF ELIJAH AND MARY

  1862–1863

  There were three tombstones behind the house, all in line and set inside an old wooden fence. When we first moved in, Reese told us that a lot of houses in Dalhousie had these tiny cemeteries from before the churches were built.

  Jesse and I wrapped Mama in that Dutch girl quilt she kept on her bed. We shut the door because we didn’t want Davey and Flora to see what we were doing. We moved the quilt about the bed real gentle-like, tucking it all around and folding the bottom up around Mama’s feet, because we had never done something like this before and we were not at all sure how we should proceed. The thought never crossed my mind that Mama shouldn’t have died, because Mama always said that there are no mistakes, just hurdles we have to get over, and that we all do what we have to in order to make it over those hurdles.