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  Ellie’s New Home

  Ellie’s New Home

  BECKY CITRA

  Copyright © 1999 Becky Citra

  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 of the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in review.

  Canadian Cataloguing in Publication Data

  Citra, Becky.

  Ellie’s new home

  Electronic Monograph

  Issued also in print format.

  ISBN 9781551433752(pdf) -- ISBN 9781554696086 (epub)

  1. Immigrants—Canada—Juvenile fiction. I. Title. PS8555.I87E44 1999 jC813’.54 C99-910903-0 PZ7.C499E1 1999

  Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 99-65483

  Orca Book Publishers gratefully acknowledges the support of our publishing programs provided by the following agencies: the Department of Canadian Heritage, The Canada Council for the Arts, and the British Columbia Arts Council.

  Cover design by Christine Toller

  Cover and interior illustrations by Don Kilby

  IN CANADA

  Orca Book Publishers

  PO Box 5626, Station B

  Victoria, BC Canada

  V8R 6S4

  IN THE UNITED STATES

  Orca Book Publishers

  PO Box 468

  Custer, WA USA

  98240-0468

  www.orcabook.com

  03 02 01 • 5 4 3 2

  To my mother

  Chapter 1 Grandmother’s House

  “Ellie …”

  I frowned at my little brother. “Be quiet, Max.”

  Max and I crouched on the landing of the long staircase. Far away in the big, dark house, one of Grandmother’s clocks struck the hour. The winter wind rattled against the windows.

  Papa and Grandmother had been down-stairs in the parlor since supper. They were having a terrible argument.

  I leaned over the stairs. I heard Papa say, “I can’t think of one good reason why Ellie shouldn’t go.”

  “She’s too young,” said Grandmother. I couldn’t see her, but I could imagine her face — her mouth a thin, straight line and her eyes boring into Papa’s like hot coals

  “Nonsense,” said Papa. “She’s nine years old.”

  Thud, thud, thud went Papa’s boots, back and forth across the parlor floor. I knew that meant Papa was thinking.

  “She’s not strong,” said Grandmother.

  “She’ll get strong,” said Papa.

  Grandmother snorted. “She’ll get sick. And then what will you do? The wilderness is no place for a girl.”

  I frowned. I wrapped my arms around my legs. What were Papa and Grandmother talking about? And why did Grandmother sound so angry?

  Thud, thud, thud. Papa was thinking hard.

  “There will be no schools or churches,” said Grandmother. “How can you even consider such a thing?”

  Papa stopped pacing. “They are building schools and churches,” he said in his stubborn voice.

  “Humph,” said Grandmother.

  I heard the creak of the tea trolley wheels and the swish of Clarissa’s apron. Clarissa was Grandmother’s kitchen maid. She had a round, red face like a plum.

  Teacups clinked. After a few minutes, Grandmother said, “That will be all for tonight, Clarissa.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  I dug my fingers into the thick carpet. And then I heard Grandmother say in a tight voice, “And Max?”

  “Max too,” said Papa softly.

  Beside me, Max stopped wiggling and sat very still. I slipped my hand over his.

  “Max is five,” said Grandmother. “He’s a baby.”

  “Ellie will look after him.” Papa’s voice rose. “They need to see things. They need to play with other children. They’re alone too much.”

  Grandmother sniffed. “Heathen children. That’s all you’ll find there. Quite unsuitable.”

  What did heathen mean? Grandmother made it sound terrible. I shivered. Where was this place with heathen children and wilderness and no schools or churches? And why did Papa want to go so badly?

  “You are making a big mistake,” said Grandmother.

  “No,” said Papa. “I love Ellie and Max. I must take them. I would miss them too much.”

  I held my breath. I waited for Grandmother to say, “I love them too, and I will miss them.”

  But Grandmother said nothing.

  “That settles it then,” said Papa. He sounded sad and excited at the same time. “My children are coming to Canada with me.”

  Chapter 2 The Family

  I perched on the edge of the wagon seat.

  Sometimes the wagon swayed back and forth like the huge ship we had sailed on from England.

  Sometimes it bumped and bounced in the ruts, making Papa grunt and the horses swish their tails.

  I was too excited to mind. We had left the inn in the town early in the morning. Papa said we were close to our homestead. I pressed my hands against my knees. It was hard not to shout out loud.

  It was early summer in 1835. Papa and Max and I had sailed from England in the spring. We landed in Montreal, where we bought the wagon and our horses, Billy and George. I liked traveling with Papa. But I couldn’t wait to see my new home.

  When Papa stopped the wagon in a grove of trees, Max said, “Are we here?”

  Papa shook his head. “Not yet.”

  I could see a cabin with a curl of smoke, which meant someone was already living on this land. Our land would be just trees. Billy and George would help clear the fields and Papa would build our house.

  A man with a long black beard was chopping wood. A small boy with an armful of sticks stared at us. He had bright eyes and a pointed face like a fox.

  “Hello,” called Papa. He jumped down from the wagon.

  Papa and the man talked while Max and I waited in the wagon. Then Papa told us to jump down too. The man showed Papa a log corral for Billy and George. He brought buckets of water and oats.

  Max helped the boy gather kindling and carry it into the cabin. A girl came outside and scattered yellow corn from a pan. A flurry of brown chickens scurried from the side of the cabin. Their heads bobbed up and down like puppets. I said shyly, “Do they have names?”

  The girl looked surprised. “They’re only chickens.”

  She scattered a few more handfuls of corn and then said gruffly, “Here. You take a turn.”

  I took the pan and shook it gently. A fat brown hen rushed towards my feet. It snapped its beak and glared at me with angry black eyes.

  I dropped the pan and screamed.

  A look of amazement swept over the girl’s face. Then she laughed. “Haven’t you ever seen chickens before?”

  “Only dead ones,” I whispered. My cheeks felt hot. “They were hanging in the market when I went shopping with Papa.”

  The girl’s mouth dropped open. Then she shrugged and picked up the pan.

  A woman came to the door of the cabin. She was wearing a big blue apron and she had a round red face. I thought right away of Clarissa. The woman banged on a pot with a spoon.

  “Come along,” said the man. I couldn’t see his mouth, but when he talked, his beard bobbed up and down.

  Inside the cabin, Max clung to my hand while I peered around curiously. It was dark with log walls and two small windows. Why, I thought, the whole thing would fit into one of Grandmother’s rooms. The floor and the table and chairs were made of boards. A curtain hung at one end, and there was a door that led to a tiny bedroom.

  The woman was leaning over a pot, which hung in a huge stone fireplace.

  Papa said, “This is my daughter, Ellie. And this — ”

  “I am Max,” said Max in a loud voice.

  The woman smiled. “It is nice to meet you, Max. And Ellie.”

  We sat at the table, Papa between Max and I. The woman brought bowls of stew and warm cornbread. Then we bowed our heads. The man said, “Bless our food and our home. Keep these travelers safe.”

  “Amen,” said the girl and the boy.

  I wondered what Grandmother would think if she could hear them. I had asked Clarissa about that word heathen. Clarissa had told me that a heathen was a person who didn’t know God. It was no wonder Grandmother was so against our trip to Canada.

  After the meal, Papa pulled out his pipe. He told the family stories of our journey from England.

  I tried to sit up straight in my chair the way Grandmother had taught me. But my shoulders slumped. I felt like something heavy was pressing on my eyes. I swallowed a huge yawn.

  “And what do you think of Canada so far, Ellie?” said the woman.

  I jumped. Everyone was staring at me. My face felt hot. I wanted to say, “I don’t know.” But Papa didn’t like it when I said that. He said that I must try harder to think of things to say when people talked to me.

  “It is big,” Max squeaked.

  The man and the woman laughed. Papa laughed too. And then he chided gently, “You mustn’t interrupt, Max.” He looked at me.

  “Canada is fine,” I mumbled.

  My face felt even hotter. I wished I had said something smart like, Canada is beautiful. The water is so blue and the forests go forever. I wished I had told them about the deer and her fawn that had watched us that morning from a grove of trees.

  But it was too late. Papa and the man were talking about deeds for land, and the woman and the girl were clearing the dishes from the table.

/>   Once Papa glanced at me and frowned slightly. He wanted me to help. But I felt too shy to move. So I pretended that I was listening to the man, and when the girl came close to me, I didn’t look at her.

  Chapter 3 It’s Hard to be Brave

  “Tell me about our new home, Papa,” I said.

  I was sitting on the cabin step, leaning against Papa’s knees. It was night and the trees looked like thin, black shadows. An owl hooted in the darkness. Through the open doorway, I could hear Max talking to the woman, his voice prattling on like Grandmother’s milkman in England.

  Papa pretended to think. “Let’s see, it will be a little bit like this cabin, built out of logs.”

  “But you said it will have a painted floor,” I reminded him. “And we’ll have big windows that let the sun in, right, Papa?”

  “Right, little sparrow.”

  “Will you build our cabin right away, Papa?” I asked. I knew I sounded as impatient as Max, but I was too excited to care.

  Papa tapped the end of my nose. “Not right away. I will have to clear some land first. For a while we will live in a shanty, which is like a little cabin.”

  I snuggled closer to Papa. “I wish we could keep going tonight.”

  Papa gazed silently at the dark forest. He said in a soft voice, “You were a little girl when Mama died and you were very brave.”

  I was quiet. Sometimes it was hard to remember Mama.

  “And you were very, very brave when you said goodbye to Grandmother in England.”

  I traced my finger along the edge of the step. What was Papa saying? I wasn’t brave at all, and Papa knew it. I was afraid of the man who brought the vegetables and loud noises and the doctor who had come to see Mama.

  Papa touched my shoulder. “You must be brave one more time.”

  Papa spoke quickly now. He didn’t look at me. “I want you and Max to stay here with this family while I go ahead. It won’t be for long. I’ll come back for you as soon as I get settled on our land.”

  My chest felt like it was being squeezed. “No!”

  “It will only be for a little while. Max can play with the boy. It will be fun for him.” Papa tried to smile. “The girl is your age. You can be friends.”

  “But I don’t like her.”

  Papa frowned.

  My voice became small. “She’s bossy. And she stares at me. Please, Papa.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Papa.

  My heart thumped wildly. It hurt to breathe. “You can’t leave us! We won’t be any trouble, I promise!”

  “You need to be with a family, and I need some time to settle our affairs.” Papa’s face closed. “Besides, Ellen, I have made the arrangements already.”

  Papa didn’t say little sparrow. He didn’t say Ellie. He said Ellen. I bent my head. My heart felt like a small, cold stone.

  I hated the fat woman, who must have told Papa to do this. I hated the man with the gloomy beard and the sharp-eyed boy and girl. And for one terrible minute, I hated Papa too.

  I knew I must not argue.

  But how could Papa leave us?

  That night I crawled under a quilt beside the girl. The mattress was thin and filled with something prickly. Max and the boy slept on another mattress beside us. Firelight flickered around the edges of the curtain wall. I could hear the murmur of the grownups’ voices, Papa’s up and down like the wind.

  The girl had skinny chicken legs. I stiffened my back so I wouldn’t touch them.

  The boy with the fox face whispered in the darkness, “If your papa leaves, are you orphans?”

  “No, stupid,” said the girl. “He’s still their papa, isn’t he? He’s coming back.”

  I tried to swallow. My throat filled with a hard lump.

  I felt the girl touch the edge of my nightie. “Is that lace? Is your papa rich?”

  The boy giggled.

  I could feel the girl’s hot breath on my cheek. “Did you have a very best friend in England?”

  My nose prickled. My eyes ached with tears. I squeezed them shut and kept very still.

  “I’ve never had a best friend,” said the girl.

  I thought, Go away! Go away!

  After a few minutes, the girl said, “Oh, well then.” She made a clicking sound with her tongue and rolled over.

  When I woke in the morning, the girl was gone. A round lump pressed against my stomach. It was Max. He was sucking his thumb, making snuffling noises. He sounded like the funny tame squirrel that lived outside Grandmother’s kitchen window. I crawled out of bed and pushed back the curtain. The woman was leaning over a pot in the fireplace, stirring.

  I ran to the door. My stomach felt hollow. There was no wagon. There were no Billy and George. The road stretched like a brown ribbon into the forest.

  Papa was gone.

  Chapter 4 Breakfast

  “Ma, she’s playing with her food!”

  “I’m not,” I said. I looked down at my bowl of milk porridge.

  “Watch your tongue, Mary,” said the man. His voice rumbled like a train inside his beard. “Ellie is our guest.”

  The little boy snorted. Two red spots burned in Mary’s cheeks. It serves her right, I thought.

  The man stood up. He reached for his hat on a peg by the door. “Trevor, you boys can play for a while, but then I’ll need you in the field. Mary, you see that you mind Ma.”

  He shut the door with a bang. Mary glanced at Ma’s wide back. Then she stuck out her tongue at the closed door. I sucked in my breath. Mary’s pa looked so fierce.

  “Manners, Mary,” said Ma.

  I thought that Ma must have eyes in the back of her head. I stared at her. She was the fattest person I had ever seen. When she moved around the cabin, she was like the ship we had sailed on from England. I sighed and stirred my porridge. I pushed down a mouthful. I didn’t want Mary to say I was staring at Ma.

  The porridge tasted plain. I can’t eat this, I thought. I peeked at Max. His cheeks were pale. A thin line of milk dribbled down his chin. I felt my eyes prickle with tears.

  Ma set a jug of molasses on the table. It smelled a little like the brown sugar in the metal cannister in Grandmother’s kitchen. I poured some on my porridge. It sloshed out too fast, making a puddle and then a dark lake in the middle of my bowl.

  “Ma,” said Mary, “she’s wasting molasses.”

  The molasses smelled horrible now, sweet and syrupy. I closed my eyes. I felt dizzy.

  Ma whisked the sticky, messy bowl away. “Your tummy must be all in a whirl,” she said in a kind voice. “You can tell me later when you get hungry.”

  I opened my eyes in surprise. Mary slid a sharp sideways look at Trevor. Her look said, What a baby! I bit my lip. Mary was mean. I wasn’t at all sorry I had said those things about her to Papa.

  After breakfast we went outside. There were black stumps everywhere and one big cherry tree. Max and I sat on stumps in front of the cabin. I had the idea that we would keep sitting there until Papa came back. After a minute, Mary sat down beside us. Trevor climbed up into the branches of the tree.

  I looked around. The sky was like a blue bowl. A thin yellow dog lay panting in a patch of shade. Red chickens scratched in the dirt. On the other side of the road was a log fence and a field of green grass. Past that, across another fence, I could see the slow-moving figure of Mary’s pa and a pair of plodding work horses.

  “Hey!” cried Trevor. “Look at me!”

  He crouched on a thick limb, high up in the tree. He flapped his arms. He jumped and landed on the dusty ground with a thud.

  Trevor stood up. He dusted off his knees. “Can you do that?”

  “What?” I said.

  “Can you fly like a bird like me?”

  My heart thumped. The truth was, I didn’t know. I had never tried. In Grand-mother’s house, nobody jumped. “I could,” I said stiffly, “if I wanted to. But I don’t want to.”

  “Humph,” said Mary.

  “I do,” said Max. “I want to fly like a bird.”

  “No, Max!” I said in a sharp voice.

  The yellow dog raised his head. He barked. Trevor and Mary stopped looking at me. They stared up the road. A horse whinnied. Wagon wheels creaked.

  I stood up. My heart thumped hard. “Papa’s come back!” I cried.

  Chapter 5 She’s a Liar!