10

Lost Fathers

THEY ALL SLEPT IN and had to rush to be ready for church.

Jess went to the old stone church that was right across from the bench on which Min had sat studying the statue of the happy family less than a week before. Glimpsing it when they got out of the van, Min found it almost impossible to believe that her life could have changed so drastically in such a short time. Only a couple of hours after she’d been sitting gazing at that stone family, Jessica Hart had swept her out of the Children’s Aid office and taken her and her unhappiness into a world she had never dreamed would be hers. It seemed that she had been caught up in a dizzying whirl ever since.

To Min, the naked people still looked cold. She dropped a step behind the others and sent a quick wave to the baby festooned with snow.

I sat right there and hoped for a miracle, she remembered, and I got one!

As they waited to cross the street, Jess told them about being taken to this church when she was six by her adoptive parents.

“I was in the children’s choir, and when I was nine, I actually sang a solo on Christmas morning. I remember shaking in my shoes,” she said, laughing and leading the way up the aisle.

The church was crowded and they had to sit in the second row. A large Christmas tree stood near them and Min smiled as she caught its woodsy scent.

“Do you remember the song?” Toby whispered to Jess once they had settled themselves.

“I do, as it so happens,” Jess told him quietly. “It was a verse from ‘The Huron Carol.’ I suppose they thought it was made to order for an Indian child, although, to my knowledge, I was never wrapped in a ragged robe of rabbit skin.”

Min had no idea what she meant until they sang the hymn as part of the service. It reminded her not of Jess as a child but of herself. She stood and joined in singing the words and smiled at the verse Jess had quoted:

Within a lodge of broken bark

The tender babe was found.

A ragged robe of rabbit skin

Enwrapped his beauty ’round …

But his parents were with him, Min told herself. And they had not left him there alone. And the rabbit skin might not have been ragged.

When she had been fostered by Natalie Snyder, her little girl Holly had had a rabbit-skin muff, and it had been beautifully soft and not a bit ragged. Min had stroked it and longed for one just like it, even though Holly Snyder hardly ever used it. It ended up in the dress-up box.

While the rest of the service went on, Min looked up the next hymn. It was one she had never heard before, even though Enid had dragged them all to church every week and made Min go to Sunday School too. It wasn’t just a song, like “Jesus loves me,” but a poem with its own music. She read over the words to the first verse while they took up the collection. Some of the words reminded her of herself out in the country in front of Mabel’s house, spinning around in the drifts and toppling over and ending up making her snow angel.

Reeling, clapping, touch the air

Is that fragrant music there?

As she took in the last two lines, her eyes widened.

Lost we were a grief ago.

Now we’re dancing through the snow.

It was as though the person who made up the words had looked inside her and seen her imprisoned in loneliness and then, all in a blink, breaking free to dance through a field of shining snowflakes.

While the minister led them in prayer and made an announcement about refreshments, Min concentrated on trying to memorize the rest of the words. She did not understand them all, but they still sang deep inside her, bringing with them a delight she usually only experienced when she was drawing.

That afternoon they watched an old Christmas movie about Ebenezer Scrooge. After supper they played games and then, before bed, Jess turned on the television to see if a choir would sing them one last carol.

The newscast was a terrible shock. While they had been spending a pleasant Boxing Day, a mammoth tidal wave had swept up onto the shores of Asian islands and countries, killing hundreds of people and leaving thousands lost. As they watched and listened in horror, the news grew more and more alarming and tragic. Thousands of men, women and children in Thailand, Indonesia, Sri Lanka and countless other places Min barely knew existed, seemed to have been swept away or their homes had been broken and flattened under the rushing wall of water.

As facts piled up, backed by the first television pictures, Toby’s face went white as chalk. Min, staring at him, learned in a flash that having your father in danger could hurt as much or maybe even more than having none.

“If Dad’s all right, why doesn’t he call?” Toby kept saying in a strangled voice.

Jess did her best to persuade him that the news might still be good, but it was impossible to believe as the numbers of dead and missing continued to rise.

Min buried her face in Cassie’s soft coat and whispered love words into her ears, but even though the puppy waved her tail happily and puffed breaths into Min’s downcast face, her mistress was left trapped in a deep sorrow, her heart aching for complete strangers. At first she compared the orphaned children to herself. There were dozens of foundlings. But their plight seemed so much worse. There were so many of them and no Mrs. Willis waiting to look after each one. They didn’t even have enough cribs for all the babies, and many were hurt.

The three of them could not go to bed until two in the morning, when even Toby’s eyes began to droop with weariness. Laura called from Saskatoon, but she had no comforting word to pass on.

Toby told them that his mother figured there was always the chance that Patrick had managed to catch an earlier flight at the last minute — even though he wasn’t scheduled to fly out until tomorrow. If so, he would have already started for home when the tsunami struck.

But even Min could tell that she had been unable to keep her son from guessing that she was almost as worried as he was.

It bewildered Min. How could Laura still care so much for someone she had chosen to leave? Puzzled, she looked to Jess for answers. Her question, unvoiced, must have been clear.

Jess said quietly, “Oh, Min, at times like this, the heart doesn’t pay much attention to divorce.”

Finally she sent them off to their beds, promising to call both of them the minute there was any news to be told, even if it was bad.

But there was no word that night. In the morning, while they struggled to eat their breakfast, Jess warned them that it might be a long wait. “If Patrick was safe in some airport halfway home, he would call,” she said. “But, Toby, your father is both a survivor and a reporter. He won’t turn tail if he can help with rescuing people. He would know that we’d guess what he might be doing. We must wait and hope — and pray.”

Min wished she felt sure that praying worked. She felt uncomfortable trying it. If you weren’t sure what you believed, was it still okay to pray? But she had asked for a miracle, hadn’t she? She tried asking over and over, “God, bring Toby’s father back and please make somebody love the babies.”

Over the next few days the news grew worse and the slow, agonizing hours of waiting mounted.

Cassie, who had begun to chase after a doughnut-shaped squeaky toy Jess had given her, put her head through the hole in the middle and began charging around the living room wearing the thing like a sausage-shaped necklace and looking utterly foolish. Everyone, Toby included, burst out laughing. Then Toby realized he was laughing and gasped. Min wanted to tell him it was okay, but Jess got there first.

“If you were lost, Toby, and Patrick was out of his mind with worry, do you think he would not let himself laugh at Cassie?” she asked gently.

Toby glared at her for a second. Then he looked thoughtful. At that very moment, Cassie pounced on his dangling shoelace and fought it to the death in a fierce battle.

Toby could not resist her.

“She’s such a clown,” he wheezed, tears streaming down his cheeks. He collapsed on the carpet next to her and hid his wet face in her mop of fur. Min was not sure whether he was laughing or crying but, either way, she felt certain it was good for him.

Halfway through the afternoon, Min opened her mouth to suggest they go for Emily or, at least, call to check on how she was, but closed it, leaving the words unsaid. They would not want to tie up the phone line. Finally the veterinarian called Jess to say Emily was much better and they could come and get her in the morning. They would have to give her pills several times a day and treat her gently, but he was almost sure she would pull through. Now she had gotten rid of the abscess in her right front paw, she would be better off at home.

“Oh, good!” Min said. She gave Cassie an uneasy look. “Do you think they’ll help each other settle?” she asked Jess.

“What?” Jess said. Then she followed Min’s glance.

“They’ll be fine together,” she said absently, “but we can’t leave the house until we get some word —”

“What if we never do?” Toby shouted at her, his voice raw. “What if Dad’s lost and we never find out?”

“We’ll deal with that if we have to,” Jess told him, her voice kind but matter-of-fact. “But I don’t think that will happen. I’ve known Patrick much longer than you have, longer than Laura even, and I can’t picture him being defeated by a tidal wave, no matter how gigantic.”

Min, watching her closely, knew she was lying. Even this Patrick person could not live through being swept out to sea or battered against floating trees or … She made herself stop. And she turned her face away in case her fears showed.

Once again, they went to bed without knowing whether Toby’s father was alive or dead.

The telephone call came at four in the morning. Toby almost broke his neck tumbling down the attic stairs. He snatched the receiver from Jess’s outstretched hand and croaked, “Hello.”

Min had come down the hall and stood watching. It felt as though the others were on stage and she was looking on from an orchestra seat.

“How …?” Toby began. “When will he call?”

So it wasn’t his father. Min held her breath. Now Toby was just listening, his face shining, and, after what seemed not long enough to get all the questions answered, he said goodbye.

“He’s alive,” he gasped, hanging up. “Oh, Jess, he’s alive. That was Mark Jennings, his boss. Dad got word through to the station. He can’t come home yet. He has to stay there to cover the story for the paper and CBC. He’s also doing what he can to help…. Oh, Min, he’s alive!”

Then he began to cry, great wracking sobs that left him gulping for air, fat tears rolling down his cheeks and splashing off his chin onto the T-shirt he wore to bed.

Jess pulled him into her arms and hugged him tight.

“Oh, Toby, he’s fine,” she said, tears running down her face too. “And so are you. Should you call your mother?”

“Mr. Jennings said he already called her,” Toby gulped. “She asked him to call me. I’ll bet she was crying. She told him I would want to hear it first-hand. She was right.”

Min stared at the two of them and then jerked her gaze away. She felt relieved, happy and yet wounded somehow. She did not understand the jumble of emotions that jolted around inside her skull. They were all buzzing in there like stuff in a food processer turned on high. Without saying a word, she turned and ran, silently because she was barefoot, back to her room. She did not know Toby’s father. She had no part in this drama. She had no father …

Then she heard whimpering as she opened her door and saw Cassie, marooned on the bed, her very own Cassie whom she had abandoned.

She forgot all about fathers.

“Oh, Cassie,” she whispered. “Oh, my Cass. Here I am. I’m sorry I left you. You’re the only one who has ever been all mine.”

She lay curled up in a tight ball with her cheek pressed against her puppy’s soft body, feeling the tail wag furiously, feeling the small tongue lick under her chin, feeling the quick heartbeat drumming against her cheek.

I must have a father, she told her puppy. But where is he? Who is he? He must be sauntering around somewhere not knowing he has a kid — and not caring. Never ever caring.

She remembered shows she had seen on TV where parents were reunited with children they had given up for adoption.

“If I ever wanted to find mine,” she whispered into the soft ear, “I would have no way to begin. I don’t know one thing about him. I wasn’t Shirl’s. And I wasn’t Bruno’s kid — I know that — but I don’t even know who Bruno was. I couldn’t bear being related to him.”

“Hey, Rap, are you okay?” Toby asked from just outside her closed door.

She did not answer. He would get the message and go if she just ignored him.

But he didn’t. He opened the door and stuck his head in instead. “Jess is making hot chocolate,” he said. “Come on and have some. It’s a celebration.”

Then, as she lifted her eyes, he caught her expression and retreated a step. “What’s wrong?” he said, his voice low and anxious.

And, as suddenly as it had blazed up, the grass fire of Min’s anger sputtered and died, leaving only wet ash. “It’s nothing,” she got out, forcing her stiff lips into the shape of something like a smile. “I’m really glad your dad’s safe.”

“Yeah!” Toby said. “I’ll feel better when I hear his voice, though.”

Min got up and followed Toby to the kitchen, carrying the puppy cradled in her arms, not speaking, not trusting her voice. As soon as they had downed their drinks, in almost total silence, Jess sent them back to bed.

“We’re fetching Emily home come morning, don’t forget,” she called after them. “So get to sleep — or you won’t wake up in time.”

Yawning prodigiously, they obeyed.