HIS TWO-WEEK RESPITE from travelling the roads of northern North America was rapidly coming to an end. In two days, Tye’s employer, Sawyer Transport, wanted him to haul three thousand units of maple syrup to the Prairies. Chuck, his boss, loved the idea of a Native man hauling such a uniquely Canadian item across the country. Tye, on the other hand, didn’t care much. Maple syrup, toilet paper, brass fittings, women’s underwear. It was all the same. All came with a location, a deadline, and the necessary papers. Once there, though unconfirmed, there was a good chance he was coming back with a truck full of discount socks and maybe some underwear.
He loved his family deeply, but Tye found his time on the road peaceful, almost Zen-like. He could think his Tye thoughts, listen to his Tye songs, and enjoy the growing homesickness that gradually overtook him, knowing full well it would soon be eased, like an itch or a sneeze, though he would never use those metaphors in front of his family.
“Maple syrup? Socks and underwear? Your ancestors would be so proud.” In retaliation, a pair of Tye’s own socks quickly bounced off Liz’s head, landing on the floor near the closet.
She was helping her husband to pack for this trip, as she did every trip. It had practically become a ritual. He wasn’t scheduled to pick up his truck till day after tomorrow, but experience had long taught the couple it was better to be prepared in advance. Many a time deliveries had to be rushed and there was only time for the rapid grabbing of random clothes. On one such occasion, somewhere on the other side of Thunder Bay, Tye had discovered an odd assortment of Liz’s underwear in his bag. It made for an uncomfortable drive the next day till a Giant Tiger outlet was quickly located.
At this moment, Tye was picking out his travel jeans, as he called them, loose, comfortable, and warm for long stays in the truck’s cab. Meanwhile, Liz was picking out his shirts that fit the same description. On the bed in front of them was a familiar large duffle bag.
T-shirts were next on his list. A frequent problem he had as he packed them was that he’d notice several were missing. In many ways, Tye was a sentimentalist. Each T-shirt in his possession came from a place and time in his past, and he remembered the origins of each fondly. Would he wear a random T-shirt with no backstory? Never. The problem was that, like many stories, frequently they got old, uninteresting, and needed to be replaced with something new. Liz took that awesome responsibility upon herself, frequently weeding out those shirts and stories that sported holes and loose threads. On occasion without telling her husband.
“Have you seen my yellow powwow T-shirt?”
On their first trip together as a couple, Tye had taken Liz to the yearly powwow at Curve Lake, near Peterborough. They had camped there for two nights, and generally a good time was had by all. He distinctly remembered singing songs till three in the morning with a couple in the next tent. Some Creedence Clearwater Revival, some Johnny Cash, some Beatles, and he couldn’t remember what else. The police had shown up. Ever the acoustic experts, the local rez cops told them that sound tends to travel unusually well over water and that this campfire karaoke was keeping quite a few people up in the local community. They had to shut it down. Not the best or the most original story in the world, but definitely one worthy of a T-shirt.
“Threw it out.”
“What! I love that T-shirt. Do you remember I took you —”
“It was full of holes. There was a large grease stain on the side from when you were working on your car that, try as I might, I could not get out. And it was faded. Very faded. You have better T-shirts. You don’t need that one.”
“But I liked that shirt.”
“I am sure you did, but the T-shirt industry needs more sales to survive.”
Knowing there was little point in arguing, Tye sighed his disappointment.
“I heard that.”
“I know. You were meant to.”
Downstairs they heard the door open and the distinct sound of two young adults entering the house, though in a somewhat subdued manner. Tye checked his watch. “The next generation is home. Together. They’re spending a lot of time together these days.”
Liz had finished with the T-shirts, including managing to eliminate one advertising a popular Canadian beer brand that she personally found problematic but that Tye loved due to the fact he had been invited to the product launch after hauling a trailer full of it into town. Technically the term was “swag”, or as he called it, “Stuff We Aboriginals Get.”
“Yeah, I think it’s because of the Everything Wall. And that Danielle Gaadaw.”
Pausing for a second, underwear in his hand, Tye looked to his wife. “I’ve been meaning to ask about that. What are you going to do about that thing … sorry … the Everything Wall of yours?”
Liz stopped what she was doing. “I don’t know. It’s not doing what I thought it was going to. I mean, it did originally, but now … I just don’t know. It may be causing more problems than anything.”
“I know everybody likes that Horse thing, but seriously, it gives me the creeps. Sometimes I feel like we have a fifth person living in this house. And I’m not including William. Speaking of him, where’s he been lately? Not that I’m complaining.”
Liz moved on to the underwear, making sure hers was as far away from the duffle bag as possible, liberally lining the well-travelled bag with Tye’s. “Kids’ politics, I think. Nothing serious.”
“Liz, is it just me or has the feel of this house completely changed in the last little while? I’m almost afraid to go away this time.”
“I know what you mean.” Packing momentarily forgotten, Liz sat on the edge of their bed. “I have to admit, sometimes when I look at the Horse, I feel a combination of things. I don’t know, fifty percent total amazement that a ten-year-old could create that.”
“Agreed. And the other fifty percent?”
Liz thought for a moment. “Twenty percent envy. Twenty percent incomprehension. And ten percent uneasiness, I guess.”
“I feel all of those, but in different percentages.” Tye sat on the bed beside her, idly bouncing a sock ball in his right hand. “Here’s an uncomfortable question, my sweet. Have you ever tried to think about where that Horse came from?”
Brow furrowed, Liz cocked her head to the right, not unlike a cocker spaniel puppy she’d once had. “I don’t understand. It came from Danielle’s imagination.”
He shook his head. “No. I mean yes. But where inside that little girl did such a huge thing come from? I think maybe it’s some sort of cry for help. Or worse. It’s not just a horse. It’s more than a horse. Am I making any sense?”
“I don’t know. This is not my area of expertise.”
“Mine either. Maybe you can contact one of your weird friends and ask them.”
This time a sock bounced off Tye’s head.
Most of the small talk gone, Liz hovered on the edge of confessing something to her husband. It had been bothering her all day, and she wanted to get it out of the way. Taking a deep breath, she said, “Tye, I went over to see Hazel.”
This generated a perplexed look from the man. “You did? Hazel? Danielle’s mother? When? And why would you do that?” Tye knew his wife seldom had concrete, three-dimensional, concise explanations for many of the things she did, but this definitely required some clarification. Patiently, he waited for an answer.
Formulating her thoughts, Liz pulled a loose thread out of one of Tye’s socks.
“I was worried about that little girl. I didn’t want to tell the kids, but I needed to do something.”
“Okay. What happened?”
“I knocked on the door. That Arthur guy answered.” Liz went silent.
Putting down his favourite jeans, Tye turned to his wife and leaned on the bedpost. He wanted to hear where this story was going. “And?”
More silence followed his question. Then Liz found the words to continue. “They invited me in. I think they felt they should, rather than they wanted to. Once I was inside, I sure didn’t want to be there. The place was a disaster zone. Horrible.”
“Did you see Hazel?”
That question caused a short bark of laughter from Liz. “You could say that. But it wasn’t the Hazel I remember. She’s changed a lot. I doubt she could really see me. They offered me a beer, but I said I couldn’t stay. I asked about Danielle. Evidently our kids had been there yesterday, asking the same question.”
“They were? They didn’t say anything.”
“Doesn’t matter. Hazel said Danielle was sleeping and she didn’t want to wake her up.”
“Do you think that was true?”
There was a creak of wood somewhere in the house, filling in the silence of understanding.
“No.”
Tye went back to packing. Liz went to the closet, rifling through a series of neatly hung winter sweaters. Nothing more needed to be said.
“Mom, Dad?” Ralph and Shelley entered their bedroom, sans winter wear. For the first time in a long time, Liz noticed how quickly her children were growing up. In five months, her little girl would be a teenager. Liz’s mother had always warned her about the terrible twos, but it was those mid-teenage years that struck Liz with their own form of subtle concern. Her son was shooting up, already as tall as his older sister.
Tye looked up, ready to get back to the important task of choosing socks for the road. “Hey, you two, what’s up?”
“We want to talk to you about something.”
That subtle fear Liz had thought about earlier suddenly had a growth spurt. “About what?”
Looking at each other for support, both kids entered the room. “It’s about Danielle.”
Tye mumbled to himself, “Again?”
Though the children had initiated the conversation, there seemed to be a clear reluctance to further it.
“Yes?” said Liz.
As usual, it was Shelley who stepped up to bat, wetting her lips before speaking. “Mom, Dad, about Danielle …?” That was as far as she got. Once more there was an uncomfortable pause.
Slightly irritated, Tye broke the silence. “What about Danielle?”
This time, Ralph spoke. “We think you two should adopt her.”
“Or foster her. Or whatever you think is best, but she needs a place to stay.” The words started to come out fast and furious. “She’s been living at the camp fort, down by the shore. You should have seen her. Oh my god!”
It was Ralph’s turn. “She hadn’t eaten in days. I don’t think her mother looks after her. William said she looked pathetic. She needs our help.”
“She could have my room. I could move back in with Ralph.” Ralph gave his sister a quick, puzzled glance — that had not been previously discussed — but that was something to be dealt with later. “I’m worried for her.”
“Me too,” added Ralph. “We’ll look after her. Feed her. Everything.”
This drew a small elbow from Shelley. “She’s not a dog, Ralph.” She turned her attention back to her parents. “Well?”
Now it was the parents’ turn to hesitantly respond. A slightly amused but still concerned Tye looked to his wife, who was looking down at the wood floor. Two seconds passed before Liz spoke. “I’m afraid things don’t work that way.” She looked as sad as her children, having secretly considered the same thing. Though her heart ached for Danielle, especially after what she’d just been told, the law and the world just didn’t allow for her family to scoop up the little girl and adopt her. To the best of her knowledge, there was precious little she could do.
“But, Mom, she’s so miserable there. They don’t want her and …”
“… we do.” Shelley finished her brother’s sentence.
Liz Thomas wished desperately the world was as simple as her daughter and son seemed to believe it was right at this moment, but she knew differently. She opened her mouth to speak, but it was Tye who came to her rescue.
“It doesn’t work that way, sweetheart. Hazel is her mother. That’s the way things are. It’s not always right, and frequently it sucks.” Tye stopped, aware he’d almost sworn in front of his kids. There was also the fact he was unsure what else to add. While his children’s argument was not exactly a detailed one, it had a clear moral purpose, a forceful superiority that he couldn’t deny.
“Your father’s right. If I could, I would. We would.”
The attitude from the Thomas kids began to change from their original hope to sadness, and then to frustration. Holding on to the purity of a child’s sense of right and wrong, Shelley and Ralph couldn’t understand why what they were suggesting wasn’t possible. Their plan would be good for everybody. It was a win-win situation. The best kind. But their mother, who was usually their biggest supporter in most things, was oddly becoming their biggest obstacle.
“There must be something we can do! Mom, Dad, it’s not right.” Shelley had the floor, but her brother was fully behind her.
Liz was silent for a moment, obviously weighing what her children had told her. She totally agreed with her daughter and was proud of her sense of judgment, but society had a way of interfering with a person’s moral compass. “Maybe …”
Both siblings jumped at the breach in the dam. “Maybe” meant something. Seldom had more hopes been pinned on a two-syllable word.
Liz’s visit with Hazel had raised some very serious concerns but had provided no answer. There were always possibilities, as Liz had frequently tried to impart to her children. Life was not a series of dead-end lanes.
Though definitely sharing his wife’s concerns about Danielle — what normal parent wouldn’t be troubled about the precarious welfare of a child? — Tye had learned to be suspicious of his wife’s brainstorms.
“I suppose I could have a word with Marilyn. It doesn’t hurt to chat, I suppose. Tye?”
That earned a firm nod from her husband. “Good idea.”
Marilyn was the local Children’s Aid worker, the woman in charge of making sure as many of the homes in Otter Lake were as happy and fit as was humanly possible. It was a hell of a job for just one woman, because a good part of her job involved making enemies. But Liz trusted her and felt sharing some of the information provided by her children might have an overall positive outcome.
Tye was more than a little relieved that they would be handing this particular ball off. This whole subject, from the Horse to legally extracting a little girl from a potentially abusive home, was in a decidedly grey area. And for all his strengths, Tye was not a fan of grey areas. The blacker and whiter the world, the better he understood it.
Saying her children were pleased would be an understatement.
“Really!” Shelley knew Marilyn. Shelley’s good friend Vanessa was her daughter. Though both girls thought the woman’s clothes were a little out of fashion and she needed a better haircut, this was definitely a step in a more proactive direction. “Are you gonna phone? Like now?”
More an observer of the story than a participant, Tye contributed his own curiosity to the conversation. “Yeah, you gonna?”
Standing up from the corner of the bed, Liz appeared obviously more fortified. There was a direction to move, and she was the one everybody expected to do the moving. “This is important. This needs a personal touch. I’m gonna go see her.”
Both kids, considering themselves way too old to jump up and down in happiness, merely smiled and cheered. But deep inside, they were indeed doing handstands and somersaults.
“Uh, Liz, it is a Saturday, you know. I think she’s off the clock.”
Walking out the door, Liz dismissed her husband’s concern. “Child welfare workers are never off the clock.” Tye heard his wife’s voice say, as she walked down the hallway, “I assume you can finish packing by yourself.”
The kids raced after their hero, leaving Tye behind, an unpaired sock in each hand.
“No problem.”
Downstairs, Liz got on her coat and shoes. It was the second time that day that Liz had suited up for battle. Hopefully this time there would be a victory involved.
Her children started to don their winter attire, but Liz stopped them.
“No. I should do this alone. You two stay here.”
Almost in unison, both kids said, “But we can help!”
“Ah, that’s so sweet that you think you have a say in this. We’ll talk when I get back. Stay here. Look, there’s some soup on the stove, and feel free to make yourself some toast or a sandwich if you get hungry.”
“Uh-huh.” The two high-fived each other. For all their mother’s embarrassing faults, the Thomas siblings knew she would ride to the rescue. That’s what mothers were supposed to do — except for those like Hazel Gaadaw.
Buttoning up her coat, Liz kissed her children goodbye and promptly left the house. With a determined stride, she walked out to the road, down four houses, and then up Marilyn’s driveway. It was one of the benefits of living in a small reserve. Glued to the window, they watched every step their mother took until she disappeared from their sight.
“I’ve gotta phone William, let him know.”
Oddly enough, Shelley didn’t say anything snarky.
When Ralph called him, William seemed quite delighted. He hadn’t been able to think about much else since he’d returned home. Sitting in his room, he’d occasionally looked out the window towards the trailer park. Once his mother had looked in to see if he was feeling better. A sedate and solemn William was an unusual event, enough to warrant investigation. After some parental interrogation, William was allowed to be introspective.
On the desk in front of him was a blank piece of paper. Beside it, a pencil. A seemingly innocuous pair of inanimate objects. For a second, the boy’s fingers pushed the pencil back and forth on the desk, wondering why he was doing this. Then, in a burst of conviction, William sat in the chair. Pencil in hand, paper in front of him, he tried to remember what Danielle had said about the Horse and how it came to her. What had she said? She … called … it. William wondered, just how was he supposed to call an imaginary horse? His mind wrestled with the concept. Maybe he was thinking about the question wrong. “Too literally” was how one of his teachers would put it. A person usually called something when they wanted it. So, maybe, if he wanted something, something good and amazing, and just somehow put it out to the universe, something might happen. It sounded silly when he thought of it that way, but he’d seen it work. Really work. Danielle’s Horse was the proof.
Instinctively he knew he couldn’t, shouldn’t, call on the Horse. He was hers, and William had no right to try. But there must be something. For the next hour, he tried. Dogs. Cats. Motorcycles. Cars. Boats. A multitude of different things, using up a fair stack of white paper. All were well drawn and showed imagination — William had always been a good artist — but nothing really leaped off the page and into the world around him as he’d seen happen with Danielle and the Everything Wall. Whatever he was looking for wasn’t there.
Though only ten, William had been slowly developing an interest in drawing. He was experiencing just an inkling, a tiny seed of awareness: there was to be more art somehow down his youthful road. He knew there were real artists out there, even a lot of successful Native ones. His siblings would, of course, ridicule him for such a thing, but that would be a battle for later years. At the moment, he was desperately trying to find his Horse. Maybe his Horse was deaf.
If it was okay with Danielle, maybe he could ask her about how she was able to draw like that. Maybe she could teach him, but only if she wanted to.
WHEN LIZ GOT home, Shelley and Ralph were on her like she was carrying an armful of freshly baked pies. Even a curious Tye came down the stairs. “Well?” they all asked in one manner or another.
“She’s gonna look into it.”
All three of them looked at each other, but it was Tye who spoke. “She’s gonna look into it? What does that mean?”
Liz took her coat and boots off, showing an unusual amount of weariness. “It means she’s gonna look into it. That’s all she can do. Hazel and Danielle have been on her radar for some time. So, she’s gonna look into it. She’ll keep us posted.”
Tye hung his wife’s coat up. “I thought all this stuff was private, confidential.”
“Yeah, you’d think so, huh? I need a tea.”
Without saying much more, Liz went about making herself some tea. She didn’t ask her husband or her children if they wanted any. This one time, this moment and this tea was to be hers entirely.
WILLIAM RAN UP to the siblings as they walked to school. “Hey. Anything happen with Marilyn and your mother? About Danielle?”
Ralph shook his head. “Not really, but she was there for about two hours. You know adults, there’s a … what was the word Mom used, Shelley?”
“Protocol.”
For a second, William’s consciousness focused on that word. It didn’t sound like a good word. “What the heck does that mean?” There were some words the boy instinctively had a dislike for. The way the syllables of those words were strung together were unpleasant to his ears. He reacted to the sound of words as much as what they meant, and this generated his overly negative response. Protocol was such an uncomfortable word for William, as were such equally distasteful things as yogurt, caterpillars, and people who smile with their lips parted, showing their teeth.
Shelley listened to William’s questions, equally disliking the word protocol — along with shrimp, snakes, and people who are too touchy. “She says there’s a process for dealing with things like this. There are things to do. Doors and hoops, stuff like that. She told us it takes time.”
William, another Otter Lake individual cut from the same black and white cloth as Tye, mumbled aloud, “So nothing then? That sucks.”
Ralph shook his head. “Not right now. Luckily, Marilyn had heard stories about Hazel Gaadaw and that guy who lives there, and what kind of shape the trailer is in. She said she’s gonna look into it today.”
“Look into it?”
“That’s what she said.”
“Well, I guess that’s better than not looking into it.” William made the choice to be pleased at the outcome. “All right.”
They continued their walk to school, their camaraderie re-established, with the added bonus of their joint interests making Shelley a little less critical of William. Casually, William picked up a chunk of hard snow and threw it against an aged oak tree, where he watched it dissolve. Ralph followed his lead but missed, his snowball falling into a bush at the side of the road.
“So, what did you do last night?” Shelley seemed oddly uninterested in tossing portions of snow at flora.
William searched for another chunk of suitable snow. “I tried to draw.”
“You always draw.” Ralph tossed him a good-sized, apple-shaped piece of ice.
“I tried to do that Danielle thing,” William said.
This caught both Ralph’s and Shelley’s attention.
Shelley spoke first. “Did you draw the Horse?”
That got a very emphatic response. “No way. That thing scares me. No, I just tried to, I forget how she put it, but I wanted something really good. Really impressive.”
Ralph spoke. “And?”
Without looking at either of them, William shook his head. “Nope. What about you guys? I mean, have you ever tried?”
Looking down at the snow, Ralph shook his head. “I was never good at art to begin with. I don’t need to prove that.”
Shelley’s eyes were on the school in the distance. “Almost. A couple days ago, I was looking at the Horse. And I wanted something of my own. But I couldn’t.” They were all quiet as they walked the rest of the way.
As they crossed into school territory, skirting past the parking lot where Ralph and Danielle had had their first run-in a scant three weeks or so ago, Shelley caught William’s eye. “William, I’m a little confused. Last week … you hated Danielle.”
Immediately, the boy looked down to the dirty snow under their feet. “No. I don’t hate her. Not anymore. I just … I don’t know. Just never mind.” An uncomfortable silence descended on them as they crossed the playground. It was there that Shelley saw a lone little figure walking up the road coming from the trailer park, slowly making her way to the school.
“I think …” Shelley then started shouting, “Danielle! Hey! Danielle!” Both boys pivoted in the direction of Shelley’s gaze. They saw the little figure start running towards them. William actually smiled as Ralph spoke.
“Looks like she’s going to school today.”
“Yeah. Look at her run,” commented Shelley. Out of breath, Danielle practically ran into Shelley’s arms with a thud, knocking her back a foot. It was an interaction worthy of William’s physicality, but for a far different reason.
“Hi,” was all she said. They assumed that’s what she said, as it was difficult to hear her with her face buried in the bigger girl’s coat. Shelley hugged her back. Still feeling a bit sheepish over his earlier treatment of the little girl, William stepped back for fear of spooking her again. Reluctantly emerging from Shelley’s arms, Danielle then hugged Ralph and even managed a small smile for William, who felt a genuine glow inside, though he was unsure why. And he didn’t care. As the school bell rang, signalling another day of education, all four finished their walk to the school entrance.
During the rest of the day, Danielle spent both recesses and the lunch hour with the three of them. At one point, Julia and Vanessa came up to Shelley to invite her to participate in some recess activity. The Thomas girl begged off, astounding everybody, saying she was busy. Even William struggled to be friendly in his own way; discovering that Danielle had a lone bag of chips for lunch, once again he magnanimously gave her one of his sandwiches. It was ham and cheese on brown with lots of mustard. He also gave her half his orange. Danielle really liked it, and William was pleased. By the end of the day, Danielle ended up hugging him goodbye after they all walked her to Twin Pine Lane, where, as usual, she demanded they leave her. Waving enthusiastically, Danielle disappeared down her street, leaving the three friends to think about their day.
“Well, that was a good day,” summed up Shelley. The boys heartily agreed.
Though it was a cold day, they all felt comfortably warm as they made their way to the Thomas home. Equilibrium had been restored in their lives, in their homes, and on the Otter Lake reserve.
Walking up the driveway, they saw Liz in the big bay window, looking out at them. They all immediately had the same idea and went racing in, hoping there was good news on the other side of that glass window.
The first words out of Liz Thomas’s mouth were, “There’s nothing Marilyn can do.”
Simultaneously, all three of the kids’ hearts sank. “She went over and interviewed Hazel and Arthur — that’s her boyfriend’s name — but —”
“Couldn’t she see —” argued Shelley.
“Listen to me. Yes, she saw everything. But the Children’s Aid Society can’t just yank every kid who lives in poverty away from their families. It wouldn’t be right to the parents. The way the cas official policy puts it, you can’t fault a family for not giving a child what they don’t have. It’s not deliberate neglect.”
Shelley wasn’t buying this. “It’s not just because they’re poor. They told Danielle that she was a bad girl and that’s why Santa didn’t bring her any presents. I don’t care how poor you are, that’s not right. And they drink —”
“No, it isn’t right, and I told Marilyn that. She promised me she’d help them with stuff.”
“What stuff?” Now it was Ralph’s turn to question authority.
“Marilyn said she’d help them with social assistance and counselling.”
“That’s it?”
“I’m afraid so. cas policy is to try and keep families together as much as possible.”
Admittedly, this was a far cry from the CAS of Liz’s parents’ and grandparents’ time, but supposedly society marches forward. The arc of justice and all that. But one thing was for sure: at some point in their development, children begin to become disillusioned with the adults around them. Monsters under the bed and Santa coming down a non-existent chimney get replaced by different kinds of monsters and shopping mall Santa Clauses. Children’s loss of belief usually begins around the ages of ten or twelve, but not with a loss of faith in government agencies.
“I’m sorry.” And Liz truly was.
The problem with children is they often can’t see beyond their own disappointment. The problem with parents is they often take on their children’s disappointments and magnify them under their adult lens. This was a situation where truly nobody was happy. Even William, deep in his own funk, went home early.
LATER, AS HE was preparing to go to bed for the night, Tye, who was the most distantly touched by what was going on under his roof, felt the pangs of impotency. Originally he had had no interest in having another child in his house, they both had long ago accepted that, but under the circumstances, if everything he had been told was true — and he believed his family wholeheartedly — he’d be the new villain in this scenario if he chose not to take Danielle in. More importantly, he would feel that about himself.
“And that’s where Marilyn is gonna leave things? I don’t think I like that.”
Brushing her hair, Liz concurred. “I absolutely do not like it, either. I don’t like it so much, it almost burns.”
“You know, I’ve met that Arthur guy once or twice.”
“You have? Where? I can’t imagine you wandering around in the same social circles.”
“At the bar in Bayfield.”
“I stand corrected. And …”
Tye pulled back the sheets on the bed and crawled in. “I haven’t seen him there in a while. He was barred.”
“Barred from the bar. Even better.” Liz put her brush down and looked into the mirror. She saw herself. She also saw the woman she used to be, as well as the woman she one day wanted to be. But, most of all, she saw what she wasn’t: a woman with the power to fix this situation.
“The kids are really disappointed in us. I’m disappointed in us.” Her eyes could not leave her mirrored reflection. Maybe on that side of the mirror, she could have been more effective.
Had this all started with the Horse? Or had it all started with the Everything Wall? It had been such a good idea. And look what it had caused. Part of her, on this side of the mirror, wished she’d not created the Everything Wall. Nothing would have changed. Would that have been better? It is often said that ignorance is bliss. Would she, Liz Thomas, have been happier not knowing about Danielle and the awful living conditions she herself had seen? After everything — the drawing, the children’s friendship — nothing on either side of the mirror would have changed. Was it wrong for her kids to get Danielle’s hopes up? To get their own hopes up? Only to have them come crashing down, a terrible lesson in the reality that not everyone grew up in happy homes. Maybe maintaining the status quo was the right path in life, a statement Liz never thought would enter her mind.
But, on the other hand, maybe she was grossly misjudging Marilyn. After all, she was a professional. This was what Marilyn did for a living — and had been doing for a good seventeen years. This had to be the necessary step, the right one, a good one, the first in forward movement. She had the wisdom and knowledge of decades of CAS experience to back her up — again, another sentence Liz had never thought would enter her consciousness. Marilyn did say she was going to do what she could, that she was going to help.
Help is always good.
It has to be.
“What are you thinking?” asked her husband, noting the silence.
“Nothing I’m sure you haven’t thought.” Later, after a bad night’s sleep, in the early hours of the morning, while the house slept, however restlessly, Liz descended the stairs to the kitchen. To the Everything Wall. As silently as possible, she poured herself a bucket of warm, soapy water. The Horse watched her as she stood before it: It seemed to know, and to acknowledge, that it was to be the object of artistic euthanasia. Swipe by soapy swipe, the Horse left the Thomas home.
“I’m so sorry,” Liz said. As she spoke the apology, she wasn’t sure if she was addressing the Horse as she made it disappear or if she was addressing herself. About an hour before dawn, the kitchen was pristine and ready to face the new day. Both the Horse and the Everything Wall had been retired.
THE NEXT MORNING on their way to school and then standing around in the schoolyard, Ralph and Shelley and William did not see Danielle. At recess they could not find her, and at lunch hour, the same. It seemed that once again, she had disappeared.
“I haven’t seen her anywhere,” William said as he and Ralph met up with Shelley at lunch hour.
“Me neither. I’m worried,” said Shelley.
“So am I,” admitted Ralph.
“Being worried ain’t gonna do anything. Let’s go find her.” This time, it was William’s suggestion. And it was a good one.
Eagerly, Ralph expressed a thought. “Should we check out the camp fort?”
Shelley shook her head. “Yeah, we can try there. But maybe you guys are over-thinking this.”
“We are?” William didn’t understand the concept of over-thinking this or anything.
“Maybe she’s at home. Kids have been known to stay at home. Maybe she’s just sick or something. If she’s not there, we can go and check out the camp fort. Eliminate the obvious first.” Ralph did not like the idea of going back to the trailer at the end of Twin Pine Lane where Danielle’s mother and Arthur were.
“Let’s go,” said William, more to himself than anybody else. For a second, Ralph balked at the idea. His sister was older and William was tougher. Both were better suited to tangling with these particular drunken and fearsome dragons. The other two were half a dozen strides gone before Ralph found himself following them. As frightened as he was, the thought of being useless, of not mattering, of not being one of the good guys and letting bad things tell him what he could and couldn’t do, galvanized him. He followed his sister and friend into the discomfort of the unknown and unpredictable.
Leaving the schoolyard behind, they ran down towards Twin Pine Lane. Except for when they took the sobbing Danielle home a few weeks earlier, Shelley and Ralph had rarely ever skipped school before. William had, of course, but only when it was absolutely necessary. They were all becoming uneasily aware that the world had different priorities than the ones they had for themselves. Learning about the root causes of the First World War just did not hold a candle to whatever might be happening to their friend Danielle. As they got closer to their goal, the trio slowed down. Concerned about encountering Hazel and Arthur, not knowing what condition or mood they might be in, the three children circled around the trailer to its back, not exactly sure how to proceed. As driven as they were, this was seriously new territory for them.
Not a one of them wanted to knock on the pale green door. Once again, they were so close but so far. Somewhere on the inside of that weathered aluminum panelling was their friend, who just might be in trouble. William tapped Ralph on the shoulder and pointed. At the back of the trailer, framed by her bedroom window, was Danielle, looking out at a world that did not seem to want her. There was a faraway look in her eyes, and even though she seemed to be gazing towards the forest, they were all sure she didn’t see it. Danielle also didn’t seem to see them.
One by one, they all crept out of the woods, coincidently in sequence of height. One by one, they stood under her window, looking around nervously, then up to her. Ralph whispered loudly upwards, “Danielle.”
She didn’t move. The snow-filled world they were currently standing in still did not command her attention.
He tried again. “Danielle!”
In response to Ralph’s louder yell, the little girl was jolted out of her daydreaming. Looking down, she saw the trio beneath her, amidst an old stone-ringed firepit and two cast-off rubber tires.
At first it seemed like Danielle was having trouble correlating the world inside her bedroom and her friends outside of it. These were disparate images that did not appear together in her limited experience. It took another second for her to fully understand that her new friends were in her backyard, looking up at her. Reluctantly, she opened the window, still not convinced she was seeing what she was actually seeing.
“Why weren’t you at school today?” asked Shelley, trying to keep her voice down.
“I wasn’t allowed,” Danielle whispered back, adding a nervous glance over her shoulder.
“Why weren’t you allowed? You didn’t do anything.”
She gave a sad shrug. “Some woman came for a visit yesterday. Now I’m in trouble. Now we’re moving.”
Uh-oh, thought Ralph. “Moving where?”
“Toronto, I think. My mom’s boyfriend may have a job there.”
It was William’s turn to ask a question. “When?”
“Today.”
Shelley’s breath evaporated. “Today?! So soon?!”
“Yeah. ‘Before some other bitch sticks their fucking nose in our business.’ That’s what my mother said. Seems like a lot of other people have been asking about me, and my mom doesn’t like it.”
All three had heard swearing like that before; in fact, in William’s house he’d heard a lot worse before breakfast. Still, it was completely incongruous to hear it coming out of Danielle’s tiny mouth. Shelley and Ralph had become painfully aware once again that, by knocking on the door and asking for her, they might have contributed to Danielle’s unfortunate situation.
There was an odd silence as her words registered. Then Danielle spoke again. “I was just looking at these trees again. I’m going to miss them. My father put a swing up on that one, so long ago. The branch rotted off and the whole thing fell last spring.”
William was the only one who looked over his shoulder at the tree. If she stayed, he would put up another one for her, he was sure of that.
Ralph took a step closer to the trailer. He was now standing directly under Danielle’s window. “Danielle, we tried to help. Honest we did.”
The little girl smiled sadly at Ralph. “I know. Thank you. I think you were the only one who could really see my Horse, he wanted to meet you, but …” Suddenly her head swivelled around, and the loud, angry voice of Hazel Gaadaw could be heard.
Instinctively, the Thomas and Williams group ran to hide. William hid around the corner at the end of the trailer, while Ralph jumped behind a snow bank. Shelley found the comfort of a large tree to conceal herself, the one Danielle’s father had put the swing on so long ago. Though hidden safely, they all peeked, seeing Danielle suddenly disappear and Hazel’s head jut out of her daughter’s window, curious to find what her daughter was either looking at or talking to. Her hair in a rough, greying bun, Hazel noticed nothing of particular interest to her in the backyard. Angrily, she closed the window with a loud thud. Still hiding, the three friends waited a few minutes, hoping Danielle would appear again, but she didn’t.
On their way back to school, a dark cloud hung over them, darker than the cloudy winter sky. William broke the silence. “What should we do?”
“I don’t know,” said Shelley.
“I think we’ve done everything we could. And it wasn’t good enough.”
Of the three, Ralph looked the most dejected.
“This isn’t right.” Perhaps it was William who summed up their last few days the best. Neither of the other two could argue. Silence was their only comment. They slowly made their way back to school, despondent and defeated.
Later that afternoon, after school had let out, all three were standing by the swing set wondering if there was anything more they could do when they saw Arthur’s beat-up pickup truck driving down the reserve’s main road. The back was loaded with boxes, bits of furniture, and black plastic garbage bags obviously stuffed with clothes and pillows. Danielle was sitting squashed in the back of the cab. She looked out at them with a resigned expression. The vehicle was moving, the windows were dirty, and there was a fair distance between her and them, but it appeared to all three that she had a black eye. Three sets of eyes locked on her as the pickup approached. The little girl put her hand up to the side window for a brief moment. When she took it down, it left an imprint on the frosty window. All three later agreed that it looked like the same image of her hand on the side of the camp fort Horse. The pickup passed them and turned a corner. Danielle slid out of view.
Continuing its journey out of the village and the children’s lives, the truck disappeared over the big hill at the edge of the reserve. Seconds and minutes passed, yet they stood there, continuing to watch the crest of the hill. They didn’t really expect her to reappear, but they didn’t know what else to do. They were frozen to the spot. Even when the four o’clock school bell rang, they didn’t move. They were each lost in their own thoughts.
Ralph was torn up over their inability to do anything. It was a sense of frustration or of impotence — their failure to accomplish something no matter how hard they tried. There are fewer things sadder than a child realizing how unjust the world can be. He took a deep breath, his body telling him he hadn’t drawn one for too long. The boy hated the feeling of not being able to do anything. Of not being able to make a difference. Somehow, someway, he or his sister or William should have been able to do something. Someday, he thought, he would become somebody who might be able to do things. To help people like Danielle.
All the ten-year-old boy could do was stand in front of his school in the dark Canadian winter cold. Staring at an empty road. Twelve years later, Ralph Thomas would receive his shield and weapon.
Beside him, Shelley’s heart was breaking. Every fibre in her body wanted to run after the truck and beat the two adults senseless, then take the little girl home and make the world a better place for her. The image of Danielle, her eye black and swollen, watching her as she was driven slowly by would haunt her for a very long time. She too could do nothing about it. There had to be better answers in the world. She didn’t hear herself cry. Why does the world have to be that cruel?
Across the road was the daycare. Every day on her way to school, Shelley passed the fence and building that housed the next generation of Otter Lake people. Three dozen children, most of them related to her, played and learned in the building. Was there another Danielle in there? Somebody who needed a hug? A little girl or boy who needed a better champion than a twelve-year-old girl could be? It pained the young girl to think that. Eighteen years later, Shelley Thomas would find herself sitting in an office with a sign on its door that would read Executive Director, Otter Lake Day Care.
It was William who had the most visceral reaction. He stood on the packed snow, watching the weathered pickup drive by, his fists tightly clenched. In that little girl, he saw the worst in himself. When and if a book was written about that girl’s sad and sorry life, he knew that he would have contributed a few unpleasant pages. And he was ashamed. So ashamed and angry he clenched his fists tighter. So tight his nails cut into the flesh of his palms, making them begin to bleed. But he was oblivious to it.
Since the event in the classroom, William had hoped to redeem his actions, not just to the little girl but to himself. It’s been said we make our own hell, and for many like the Williams boy, knowing what you are capable of is frequently the most damning.
Other thoughts crowded his head. Maybe all his brothers and his sister and his parents didn’t hate him after all. Two years ago, he’d been down by the shore of Otter Lake jumping from frozen snow and ice mound to frozen snow and ice mound, even though his father had told him repeatedly to stay away from the shoreline due to the unstable nature of the melting spring ice. And, as is occasionally true, sometimes fathers do know more than their children. As predicted, William went through the weakened ice and landed chest deep in the still remarkably frigid water. He felt a cold that felt burning hot. In a state of both physical and emotional shock, he literally froze.
He dimly recalled hearing the front door of his house burst open with a bang and his father run down the hill to the lake. Jumping into the water, breaking through the ice himself, the man pulled William out of the water and dragged him up to the house, where he was warmed. At the time, the only thing the young boy had remembered was the spanking and scolding he got that night for doing something so incredibly stupid. Now, however, he realized that was the only time he’d ever seen his father, a large Native man with an immense belly and short legs, run. His body wasn’t built for speed, yet the man had seen his son fall through the weak spring ice and he had run down to the lake, jumped in himself, and saved his son. Now William realized his father would never have let him drown in that lake if there was anything he could do about it. And he remembered behind held close, the man’s big arms around him as his father took him up the hill into the warmth of the house.
And there was that time last year, at a nearby hockey arena, two white kids had roughed him up in the boys’ washroom. Crying at home, he’d told his brothers about it, and they’d teased him for being a girl, so weak and defenceless. But two days later, at that same arena, he’d noticed those same white kids stayed far away from him, looking at him with a certain kind of fear. It didn’t take long for William to realize his brothers must have had a rather aggressive word with those two boys. Two minor tormentors in his life had definitely done something to protect him against other possible dangers. He wasn’t as alone as he thought. Nor was he as alone as Danielle was in that pickup.
At this point, having watched Danielle disappear into the distance, William was transformed into one of the rarest creations. In the blink of an eye, William Williams became a bully who would bully bullies. While hardly the super-hero type, William knew that he might not be able to change the world, but there were little things he could do to make it somewhat better. For him, that included keeping an eye on those who were in a position of power and used it to torment those who were weaker or different. It wasn’t a calling or a question of morality, it just became part of his personality. It was something he did because it needed to be done.
William didn’t have Ralph’s uniform or Shelley’s job, he merely had his conviction. And that was good enough for him.
Lost in her own world, Shelley looked down to her new boots, a little more scuffed now. They were the same colour as Danielle’s jacket. That’s when she first noticed the little droplets of blood dripping onto the pale snow directly below William’s ten-year-old trembling hands. Pulled out of her own reverie, she took out a napkin she had in her pocket and grabbed William’s right hand. She had to use all her strength to pry his fingers open and wrap his palm in the napkin. Luckily she always carried tissues with her and found another for his left hand. He was barely conscious of what she was doing, only at the last minute looking at the blood on his hands. He looked confused, unable to process what he was seeing. Then, noticing her hands holding his, he gazed into her face. They saw each other’s pain.
Ralph saw this happening and noticed a certain amount of caring as his sister did her best to halt the bleeding. Shelley closed William’s hands around the napkins. Then, in the silence of the dark and cold afternoon, they went back to the Thomas house, where the rest of the day would wind down with all three lost in their own thoughts. Largely silent. No play. Just a lot of wondering what they could have done differently.
Outside, it began to snow, and soon the tire tracks left by Arthur’s pickup would be lost to the elements. Like so many other things.
LYING ON AN aged motel mattress in a nameless truck stop just across the Manitoba border, Tye was watching television. For reasons unknown, he kept looking at the large blank wall adjacent to his bed, half expecting to see something either on it or peering out at him. On television was some inane American sitcom that once, he might have found funny. Now he was watching it without watching it. His thoughts were completely detached from what was spitting out of the television. He missed his family. Tye always did when he travelled, but he had left just yesterday and the deep longing usually didn’t kick in for four or five days. To save money, he and Liz had worked out a plan of talking every two days to catch up. They weren’t due to chat until the following night.
Tye dialled the Otter Lake phone number. It rang three times before Liz answered. “Hey, it’s me. I was just missing you and thought I would call early. Is everything okay?” He could hear Liz taking a deep breath. That was not good.
“Something’s wrong with the kids.” Instantly Tye swung his feet off the mattress and onto the floor, hand tightening on the receiver.
“Are they okay? What happened?”
“They’re fine, Tye. They’re just sad.”
“Sad? About what?”
Liz took another deep breath. Tye could imagine her sitting on the stool beside the phone. “Danielle is gone.”
“What do you mean she’s gone? Like lost?” Tye was getting a sick feeling in his stomach. He did not like the direction this conversation was going.
“No. Hazel and her boyfriend and Danielle just disappeared. The kids said they saw them driving out of the village in that old pickup of what’s-his-name …”
“Arthur …,” Tye answered absent-mindedly.
“They just drove away. Disappeared. Marilyn is guilt-ridden. She’s beside herself. She contacted a bunch of CAS officials about this, and they’re going to look into it.”
There was that phrase again. It promised so much but usually delivered so little.
Liz continued, the worry evident in her voice, “But since technically her mother and Arthur haven’t done anything wrong to this point, she’s unsure how seriously they will assess the situation.”
Tye could hear the slight quiver in her voice that made itself known when she was stressed.
“And what about the kids?”
“It’s hard to get anything out of them. I think they feel guilty.”
Puzzled, Tye tugged at the collar of his T-shirt, which announced a 1995 Tragically Hip tour. “Okay, I’m getting a little lost here. What do they feel guilty about? They didn’t do anything.”
“Sure they did,” answered Liz. “They made friends with Danielle. And now this little girl they wanted to help is gone.” She paused for a second. “I feel guilty. We should have done more.”
Tye wanted to say, “What more could they have done?” but he knew that would not be the right answer at this moment. “Do you want me to come home?”
“Can you?”
Now it was Tye’s turn to take a deep breath. “Ray will kill me. He’ll have to get a replacement driver out here, and I’ll have to pay a penalty, but …”
He could practically hear her smile on the other end of the phone. “Thank you, Tye.”
The Native man, alone in a nondescript hotel room in a town he would never remember, smiled to himself. He had made his wife happy and grateful. He was not sure what he would be in a position to do for his kids, but he would try. According to rumour, that’s what a good parent does.
“I have no idea how to get home from here without the truck, but I’m on my way. I’ll keep you posted.”
“Love you, Tye.”
“Love you, too.”
Hanging up, Tye immediately began to repack his toiletries and tomorrow’s T-shirt, socks, and underwear that he’d laid out just half an hour ago. Once he had everything together, he would call the front desk about finding the best way to get out of here and back home. He also wanted to pick up the nifty T-shirt he’d seen in the lobby, something about a bass — the fish — playing a bass — the musical instrument. And there was the issue of presents for his kids. He hadn’t brought back any from the last trip, maybe something from here might cheer them up. Tye remembered seeing some stuffed animals in a big bin when he’d checked in. A giraffe, he remembered, a dog, a cat, a horse …
Tye stopped packing. No horse.
FROM THAT POINT in their lives, Danielle Gaadaw and the Horse passed into legend. Never forgotten, but hidden in the shadows. The Everything Wall, after three glorious weeks of existence, also disappeared into history. At one point, Tye tried moving the refrigerator over the bare spot on the wall in what he thought was an innocuous attempt to put behind them the events of that winter, but by the time he came home a few weeks later the appliance had been moved back to its natural home. Very little was said about the little girl they had come to know briefly. It was better to remember her kneeling in front of the Wall, excited and happy, instead of wondering what might have become of her wherever Arthur’s pickup truck had stopped.
Another family moved into the Gaadaw trailer shortly after, as housing on the reserve was a precious commodity. The Horse lived on in the camp fort for another season, but the structure stopped being a focal point for adolescent mischief. Little partying could be done while the Horse stared down on them, seemingly passing judgment. Later that fall, a fire consumed the building, and the Horse with it. It was now as if there was no trace left of Danielle.
Ralph, Shelley, and William grew up, as children tend to do. Their lives became more complicated, and thoughts of old friends, both human and equine, began taking a back seat to more current and pressing adventures. Tye and Liz grew old together, with Liz still occasionally throwing her family a curveball. One year, she bought a yurt.
Some twelve years after the incident with Danielle, Tye’s journey on Mother Earth came to an end. It was a slow death, made not too painful by modern science, but still one of anguish for the family. William and Shelley had just become engaged, and the wedding had to be postponed.