Village Squire, 1978-12, Page 24in the dark, she sometimes crept down the hall and into my bed,
snuggling up against my back for warmth. Mother was cross
when she'd come in in the morning and find her there. At first,
she'd just told Betty she was old enough that she had to sleep in
her own room but later, after it had happened three nights in a
row, she made her stay in her room all morning and wouldn't let
her go next door to play with Janie Malcolm. From then on Betty
stayed in her own room but sometimes, when the night was
particularly black, I'd hear a series of taps on the wall between
our rooms, a prearranged code we used to talk to each other.
I wasn't tired tonight. I knew I wasn't tired. Mothers! But it
seemed only seconds between that thought and waking up later
to the sound of raised voices below.
"And what are we going to do about our own Christmas
presents?" It was mother. It was a question that roused my
curiosity just as its volume had roused me from my sleep. I got
out of bed and tried to glide quietly and smoothly across the floor
to where the grill of the little vent that carried a meagre supply of
the heat from the livingroom stove below up to my room, but the
linoleum was so cold on my feet that I made a hasty trip.
sending one of the old floorboards to creaking.
"Shush," my father warned below. "You'll wake the children
with your temper."
"Don't shush me Albert Johnson," she said in her most firey
Irish way, yet already her voice had dropped so that I had to bend
my ear near to the grill to pick up the conversation.
"A fine thing, we may be giving Christmas presents to
everyone in the community and have nothing for ourselves. You
and Danny Riley today. He's already got a bill here that would
choke a horse. And the same with Mrs. Thompson. You letting
her charge that new pair of dress pants she wanted for her
husband's present. She's already got a bill for over $65. I know. I
have to do the books every week."
"But they're not cheaters, Millie. You know that. They're
good neighbours, down on their luck. We've all got to stick
together in tough times."
"Sure and just because we're in business, we're supposed to
keep everybody else in this village until times get better."
"They're trying, Millie. Dan Riley brought me three cords of
wood last September. Your house is warm right now because of
that wood."
"He brings $15 worth of wood and runs his bill up to $50 for
groceries."
"He's not extravagant you know. He spent a half an hour
today trying to pick out things that weren't too expensive for
Christmas presents. And Celia Thompson, she may have a bill
but she's brought us butter and eggs every week now for
months."
"Then she goes out and talks about how rich we are. I heard
her talking to Doris MacDonald one day at a church meeting
about how it must be nice to be in business, like the Johnsons
and wouldn't you think they could give more to the fund to repair
the church roof. I was so mad I nearly told her off right then and
there."
"One of these days, Millie, that Irish temper of yours is going
to get you in trouble."
I could hear my father's voice trail off as he went out to the
kitchen, probably to get a refill for his pipe which he liked to
smoke when he sat around the livingroom stove and read at
night. The conversation ebbed for a few minutes. I stood up to
rest my aching thighs that were knotted from crouching,
listening. Outside the night was black and silent. There were
stars in the sky but the moon hadn't yet come up. The snow was
tailing downwards slowly through the light from the two
lampposts that were on the street, remnants from a more
prosperous time in the village. I looked out over the front porch
of the store and down to the street. There wasn't much to see out
there really. The lights were on in the little church down the way.
Probably Ed MacKenzie cleaning the church or some of the
ladies starting decorating for the Christmas carol service coming
up on Friday night. There were lights on too in the old inn at the
main corner that now served as a boarding house. There were no
22 Village Squire, December 1978
4 CHRIS M
a -7'S F
�o�oao
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