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  Under Emily’s Sky

  Under Emily’s Sky

  By Ann Alma

  Copyright © 1997 Ann Alma

  First Edition

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or any information storage, retrieval and transmission systems now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

  This book is published by Beach Holme Publishing, #226– 2040 West 12th Ave., Vancouver, BC, V6J 2G2. This is a Sandcastle Book. A teacher’s guide is also available from Beach Holme Publishing at 1-888-551-6655.

  The author and publisher acknowledge the generous assistance of The Canada Council and the BC Ministry of Small Business, Tourism and Culture.

  Editor: Joy Gugeler

  Production and Design: Teresa Bubela

  Cover Art: Emily Carr, ‘Above the Trees’, VAG#42.3.83, oil on paper, 90.5 x 60.3, 1938-9. Courtesy: Vancouver Art Gallery; photo: J. Gorman.

  Canadian Cataloguing in Publication Data:

  Alma, Ann, 1946-

  Under Emily’s sky

  (A sandcastle book)

  ISBN 0-88878-379-5

  1. Carr, Emily, 1871-1945--Juvenile fiction. I. Title.

  II. Series.

  PS8551.L565U53 1997 jC813’.54 C97-900646-5

  PZ7.A444Un 1997

  This book is for Gutsie,

  who helped me write it

  just by being there.

  THANK YOU, thank you to THE SLOGGERS, Linda Lee Crosfield, Barbara Little, Marilyn McCombe, Thelma Rolingher, Helen Stevenson and Judy Wapp for their undying enthusiasm, support and helpful critiquing.

  The setting of this novel is at a fictional beach and hillside. In reality, in September of 1936, Carr was camped on a sheep farm in Metchosin, which was then about ten miles out of Victoria. The ‘elephant’ was parked at the edge of a gravel pit, which gave Emily the wide views she loved for her paintings of the sky.

  Lee wrenched herself from her mother’s arms. “How do you know?” she yelled, clenching her fists. “How do you know we’ll be better off without Dad? You have no idea what makes me happy.” Tears came to her eyes and she turned away. “You don’t know anything about me. Nothing. Why doesn’t anyone ask me what I want?”

  She ran from the living room, slamming the door behind her. As she passed her parents’ bedroom she saw her dad standing with his back to her, packing a suitcase: shirts, pants, socks, model train engines, cowboy boots, everything thrown onto the big double bed. The section of wall where a framed picture of his favorite locomotive used to hang was now empty; only a faded patch of wall remained. Lee stormed down the hall to her own room, slamming this door even harder. Her paper kite fell off the wall and she kicked it under the bed in one swift, forceful motion.

  Lee pulled the bottom drawer of her old dresser

  open until it stuck. She yanked harder to get it past the grove and it slammed against her legs. “Arrrg!” she yelled, kicking it furiously. From under a sweater she picked up her journal and a battered cookie tin. She flung the lid across the room and grabbed a chewed-up pencil stub. She wrote:

  My parents don’t care how I feel about all this!!!!! They’re too busy fighting to think about anyone but themselves. Mom tells Dad to leave and he stomps off for hours. When he comes home, it’s always really late, sometimes in the middle of the night. He makes a huge scene, yelling and screaming, saying he wants to try and make things work. Sometimes he doesn’t come back until the next night and it starts all over again. Why cant they just stop? Why doesn’t he give up drinking? Why doesn’t Mom make him quit??? Why, why, why?

  Nobody in this house listens to me, especially Dad. I might as well be talking to his gin bottle. I told him to stop drinking. He promised he’d stay sober. Why does he lie?

  She underlined promised so hard, the pencil tore the paper. Disgusted, she hurled it across the room.

  Flinging herself on the bed, she banged her fists on her pillow. “You lied,” she said loudly. Then she yelled, “You lied to me!” at the top of her lungs. She buried her face in her pillow, knowing he wasn’t listening. He never listened. She knew he wouldn’t quit drinking. Deep down, she also knew that Mom was right, that they would be better off without him. But to kick him out forever, for good?

  As much as she hated Dad’s behaviour, Lee wanted two parents. She’d give anything to have a family who would talk to her at dinner, take her on trips, and love each other like they did when she was younger.

  There was a knock at the door.

  “Go away!” she cried into her pillow.

  After another knock she heard her father’s voice. “I’m coming in to say goodbye.”

  Lee saw the door inch open slowly. She hid her face in the pillow.

  He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Lately I…I haven’t been much of a father.” His usually gruff voice sounded funny, cracked. He cleared his throat again.

  “Why didn’t you just stop drinking?” Lee shouted into the pillow, gripping the edges of it with her nibbled fingernails.

  “I just can’t do it, Lee. And I can’t live here any more,” he said firmly. “I won’t be coming back this time. She’s pushed me to my limit.” Lee heard the springs sigh as he sat down on the edge of the bed.

  “What’d she do?” Lee looked at him sideways, her thick hair falling across most of her face.

  “She phoned my boss.” He stopped and slammed his hand on his thigh. “Never mind. It’s nothing for you to worry about.” He sat very still, looking at the floor, before he said, “I’m moving to Edmonton. I’m getting a job at a train station there. It’ll be better than working at the bus depot. We’ll still see each other. I’ll take you on a vacation, on a real train.” He patted her shoulder.

  “That’s not good enough.” Lee sat up. “I want to live with both of you. Why can’t you stay?” She looked into his eyes. They were the same blue as her own, but his weren’t looking back at her. They seemed to look through her, as if she weren’t even there.

  “No. I can’t. We’ve been through all this.” He rubbed his unshaven chin. “You can come for a visit.”

  “When?” Lee scowled.

  “Soon.” His hands clenched into fists. They moved nervously against his jeans, tapping his thighs impatiently.

  “You lied to me.” Now Lee’s fists were pummeling his chest, hitting him as hard as she could.

  He held her wrists. “It’s no use.” He pushed Lee away so that her lanky body fell backward onto the bed. “I guess I can’t do anything right.” He jumped up and strode through the door, closing it behind him as he left.

  His usual loud, angry footsteps thundered down the hall. The front door slammed. Suddenly the house was very quiet.

  Lee wiped her face on the sheet and jumped up. Kicking the dresser, she turned her old tape deck on full blast. To the drum beat she kicked the bottom drawer of her dresser– whack, whack, whack. No one listened anyway, so why should she care?

  Whack. Whack. Whack.

  There was another knock at the door, loud, above the music.

  “Go away!” Lee hollered. “Leave me alone.”

  She heard Mom’s voice yelling something at her through the door, but she couldn’t understand it. Her mother didn’t come in.

  Good. In the cookie tin Lee found another pencil.

  It’s her stupid fault!!!! she could have tried harder to make it work. Now I’m alone. I hate them both!! I hate this room! I hate this music! I hate this day! I hate everything!!!

  Lee looked up at the wall at one of her favorite photographs hanging above the b
ed: a picture of she and her cousin Alex tubing at “The Slide” near their usual campsite. That’s the picture she’d take with her if she left. If Dad packed his locomotive picture, he must be leaving for good. And he had said goodbye in a way that made it sound absolutely final. He had never done that before, ever.

  I might as well run away too. Why stay in this place??? I’ll go and live in the old, abandoned shacks in the hills. I’ll tell Alex, he’ll understand. I’11 swear him to secrecy. He’ll bring me scraps of food. I’ll survive without them. I’m sure no one will even notice I’m gone!

  She banged the covers of her journal shut. Maybe that was a stupid idea. Kicking the dresser harder, she turned up the music- loud, angry music- to block out everything, especially the word goodbye.

  She lay on the bed, listening to her tape. When one side finished, it flipped automatically, and she tuned in and out, listening to song after song after song.

  She stared at the ceiling, wondering if she’d ever see her father again. She’d hardly seen him these last few years anyway. He always came home late (even though his job at the depot ended at seven o’clock) and stayed in bed until after she left for school most mornings. On weekends or holidays, if he was around, he was cranky. Sometimes, when he worked on his latest model engine in the garage, he put the “Do Not Disturb” sign on the door and didn’t even acknowledge she was home.

  When she was younger he had taken her to the park, played ball and soccer with her, pushed her on the swings. That was before he started drinking so much. Since then it had been like Mom always said: “If he’d paid as much attention to his daughter as he did to his bottle, he’d have been a real father.”

  What difference did it make now? Mom was right; they’d be better off. He wouldn’t spend all their money on liquor, they’d stop arguing, she’d know where she stood.

  The gray spot on the ceiling, where water had once seeped through from the above apartment, shifted shapes before her eyes. Ugly shapes.

  Her alarm clock read 7:12. Lee didn’t feel like leaving now, but maybe later, after dark, she’d take off. She’d go to her friend Natasha’s house and ask if she could spend the night there. She sighed. I suppose I can stay here for now, she thought, but I’ll definitely never talk to Mom again. Ever.

  Lee woke up at 6:14. She stretched and noticed she was still wearing her shorts and T-shirt. She was covered with a blanket and her shoes lay beside the bed. Minnie, her gray tabby, lay curled up beside her pillow, one paw outstretched. She started purring, but didn’t move.

  Mom must have come and tucked her in. Lee didn’t remember waking up. Just as well. She’d be just like that with everyone from now on- asleep, deaf, silent.

  She got up quietly, but stepped on the pencil stub. Swallowing her scream, she kicked the stub across the room.

  With a longer pencil, she scribbled:

  Another dreary day. I may move tonight. I won’t even tell Alex. Maybe I’ll live in the mountains–the bears and cougars should leave me alone. I’ll eat berries. I’ll make it on my own. They’ll all be sorry!!!

  She bit hard on the end of her pencil. Putting her journal in her pack and picking up her shoes, Lee walked to the front door. She’d leave early for school. Her stomach growled. She’d better take some food. Opening the fridge, she shoved aside the milk, cheese and bits of left-over chicken. Never mind her mother’s rule about eating a healthy breakfast. Lee grabbed the bread and jam and headed for the counter.

  As she rummaged in the drawer for a paper bag, her mother walked in, tying the belt of her faded cotton housecoat.

  “You’re up at the crack of dawn,” she yawned.

  Lee grabbed her sandwich and hurried to the front door. Why did her mother have to be up so early?

  “Honey, you need to eat something.” She pushed her uncombed auburn hair off her face. Lee noticed her puffy eyes. “I know you’re angry at me, but you have to at least eat properly.” Her mother sighed, trying to smile. Instead, her bottom lip trembled and her eyes welled with tears.

  Turning her back to her mother, Lee bent over to put on her shoes. Slowly, she tied her laces. Why don’t I just walk out? she thought. What would happen if I left too? If I yelled, “I’ll never come back either!” and slammed the door?

  Her mother stood in front of the door. Lee noticed her bare feet, the toenails she used to polish pink. Standing as tall as she could and facing her mother, she said, “What do you care?”

  “Honey, I do care.” Her mother’s eyes reddened. She held her arms out. “This is really hard for me too, you know.”

  Lee backed away. She ran to the kitchen and banged the cupboard doors as she got her cereal. After slurping her orange juice, she purposely spilled part of her cereal on the table before eating a large spoonful. She left, flinging the front door shut behind her.

  She slowed as she got closer to Natasha’s house. She was too early. But what did she care about stupid Natasha anyway? She was going to spend the rest of her life being angry. Even at Natasha. Especially at Natasha, who had a nice dad and grandmother, even if they were terribly strict. At least Natasha had a family.

  Lee ran past her friend’s house, her pack bouncing against her back, and on to the school playground. The doors of the school were still locked, the grounds empty. It was Friday, the first week of school after the summer holidays. Lee’s first week in grade seven.

  Hurling her pack to the side, she sat on one of the swings. Her feet shuffled in the summer dust, then pushed hard off the ground. She started moving, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, her long legs pumping the air as it rushed by her face.

  Lee swung for what seemed like hours. Her legs grew tired and her head felt empty. When the first students got off an early bus, Lee jumped down, snatched up her pack and hurried to the far corner of the playground. She sat on the grass, her back against the metal fence, and took out her journal.

  I’m never going back. Dad said he’d get me a dog. He promised to help me build a dog house. He said he’d paint my bedroom, let me pick the colours. He said I could even do it myself. He made so many promises!!! What a liar! He lied about meeting in Edmonton, too, I know he did. I hate it when people lie. Now I’ll never see him again.

  I won’t go back! I wish I could live with Uncle Brooke. He doesn’t lie, he doesn’t drink, and he’d never walk out on Alex and me.

  Lee looked around the playground. Some kids were playing soccer not far away. Twice someone called “hi.” She didn’t say anything. She needed a plan. She had to think.

  Just as the bell rang, Natasha ran onto the playground. Lee jumped up and hurried to the far door.

  The hall was crowded with kids yelling, locker doors banging and packs swinging back and forth.

  Her pack! Lee walked back to the fence to pick up her pack and then sauntered back to the building. She was in no hurry to get to class. Natasha was nowhere in sight.

  By the time Lee reached her locker, the hallway was almost empty. Her grade six teacher walked by.

  “It’s not like you to be late,” she said.

  Lee scowled, but didn’t say anything. After throwing her pack into her locker, she banged the door shut and stomped to the classroom. She flung the door open (now that she was into slamming) and marched in.

  Her new teacher, Ms. Candle, looked up from the attendance sheet. “You just made it,” she said, erasing the x.

  “So?” Lee sat down. She threw Natasha a dirty look, then focused on her empty desk top. Why was she acting like this? She didn’t usually treat Natasha this way. They’d been best friends since grade three. Lee put her elbows on the desk and rested her head on her fists. She wasn’t the sort of student who purposely caused problems. Sure, she’d gotten into trouble before, been angry or rude. Now she wanted to misbehave, to yell, to smash something. She was furious. She kicked the desk leg.

  Ms. Candle asked everyone to take their binders out. “It’s time for our writing assignment,” she said cheerfully.

&nb
sp; “Sure,” Lee mumbled. “I’ll write a story: My dad, the drunk, takes all our money for booze…” She scowled. I’m sure Ms. Candle would love a story about that.

  Lee kept her elbows on her desk, her head on her fists.

  “Lee, where’s your paper and pen?” Ms. Candle walked along the row.

  “I can’t think of anything to write.” Lee bent down and found a pencil in the front of her desk. She took a crumpled piece of paper and smoothed it a little, looking up.

  Ms. Candle took a pen from the desk and put it in front of her. “Yesterday you wrote a great story about the beach.”

  “That was yesterday,” Lee muttered.

  “Why not write about that beach again and what you found there. It sounded like an interesting place,” Ms. Candle prompted.

  “Why should I? I don’t want to write a stupid story,” she said loudly.

  Ms. Candle frowned. “I’ll ignore that this once, young lady,” she said. “Get started.” She turned sharply and walked down the row.

  Lee saw Natasha looking at her with surprise, her big, brown eyes wide in her round face. She looked back angrily, then grabbed her pencil. Why write in pen? It would be all wrong anyway. Everything was all wrong. “I HATE my life,” she wrote. She erased it. “My parents are splitting up.” She erased that too. “It’s no use,” she wrote before crumpling the paper into a ball and stuffing it back into her desk.

  She sat, her head on her fists, until Ms. Candle came by again. Lee told her to leave her alone.

  Ms. Candle asked Lee to go out to the hallway for a talk.

  “What’s the matter?” The teacher ran her hands through her short, dark hair. Her olive-brown face wrinkled into a question mark.

  “Nothing.” Lee, looking at the floor, slipped her hands into her pockets.

  “You don’t usually act like this. Did something happen this morning?”

  Lee didn’t answer. She stuffed her hands deeper into her pockets.