Revenge on the Fly Page 5

  Father gave me a wink and a shrug. I knew we had nowhere else to go so I just ate. What little meat I found was stringy. There were far more potatoes and carrots than anything else. When I spooned up the last potato I saw a large chunk of pepper in the bottom of the bowl. At least I hoped it was a chunk of pepper. But when I nudged the black speck I saw that it had wings.

  Chapter 7

  I swallowed hard. Madame Depieu claimed to run a clean house. But there, bent legs in the air, lay the proof otherwise. Had I already eaten flies that I hadn’t noticed? If so, would I get a fever like Baby Maureen on the ship? Even if I hadn’t eaten any, surely the dead one stuck in the gravy had flailed around, spreading deadly germs with his hairy legs. I sighed. If I was going to get sick and die, I wanted to leave this earth victorious, beating Fred Leckie out of a winning spot in the competition. I carefully picked the fly from the bowl. Maybe I hadn’t killed this one on my own, but I would keep it anyway. It would make 386 flies in my Magic Baking Powder can.

  I couldn’t help staring at the bowl and the streaks of brown gravy clinging to it. Ordinarily I might take a slice of bread, soak up that gravy, and eat it. But today, instead, I wondered just how attractive this stew might be as a fly trap.

  I stood up as Madame Depieu started clearing the table. I began taking the dishes into the kitchen, keeping my dish to the side. Finally, I grabbed the dustbin.

  “Mais, what are you doing?” she asked.

  “Taking out the trash.”

  “Very well. Put it in the alleyway in the back.”

  Carefully, when Madame wasn’t looking, I grabbed my bowl with its thick puddle of gravy. It was awkward, carrying both the bag of garbage and my fly trap to the heap of trash in the lane. After setting down the garbage, I found an out-of-the way place to put the bowl. Immediately, a thick black fly flew toward it, landed, and began floundering. Its legs twitched. I could have almost felt sorry for it, but for my mother and sister. Instead, I smiled. Three hundred eighty-seven.

  “Will! Good news! I found your uncle’s address in my suitcase,” Father called from the back door. “Come along. We’ll try to find him!”

  I ran to join him and we headed out the front.

  “If we find him tonight, who knows? Maybe we can stay with him and not have to deal with the good madame.” Father held a map. “One of the men drew this for me. See here. We need to travel north for three blocks and then west to this park.”

  We walked past my school and then turned north. The houses here were fine, two stories, and red brick. One day we would own one just like these. Perhaps my fly winnings could act as a down payment. We passed a grocery store and then Father pointed. “Look, there’s the fire station.”

  I watched, hoping for an alarm so I could see the fire brigade in action. I stepped into the road.

  “Watch out!” Father’s arm flung me back, away from the corner. A gleaming black motor carriage turned in front of us. To the right, two horses pulled the trash wagon, slowly, clip-clop. They hadn’t immediately noticed the motor car either. Suddenly, one horse rose up on his hind legs, the whites of his eyes showing. Terrified, he whinnied. The carriage shimmied back and forth, looking as though it would tip.

  The man driving the carriage raised his whip. He looked as frightened as the horse.

  “Easy boy.” Father stepped into the street and grabbed the reins under the horse’s throat. “Steady there,” he said, his voice soothing the horse enough that it allowed its hooves to touch the cobblestones again. He patted the animal’s neck. “There, there.” He stroked the other one. “You are both fine. You may not like those motorcars, but you have to get used to them.” He dropped the reins again and then stepped back.

  The driver of the wagon thanked him and Father tipped his hat. “My pleasure.”

  “Do you think cars will replace horses?” I asked as we crossed the larger main street and continued along.

  Father shrugged his shoulders. “That would certainly make a cleaner city. Sweeter air too. But I would miss them.”

  We passed a garage and carriage company, a tire firm, an umbrella store, and a jewelry shop. Just like London this city, only less crowded. Past a hair dressing salon, a tailor, a laundry, and furniture store. We walked by A. H. Dodsworth Funeral Emporium. Even in Canada people fell ill and died.

  We continued walking, passing several beautiful buildings as we made our way.

  “Banks,” Father answered the unspoken question. “So many of them, and so grand!”

  “Look there!” I pointed ahead toward a statue mounted high over an island of parkway in the middle of the busy street.

  “That’s Gore Park,” Father read from his map. “Not far now.” We crossed to the white concrete walkway that wound around the statue and I stopped at its base to stare upward. Queen Victoria, complete with crown and scepter. Queen and Empress, a model wife and mother, the plaque beneath her read. Mum had been far more beautiful. I tried to replace Queen Victoria’s face with hers but I couldn’t do it. I didn’t remember Mum’s well enough.

  “Will?”

  I dropped my eyes and saw the flowerbeds of pink and white blossoms. “It’s all so beautiful.” Farther ahead, a huge fountain spilled water up and out of a two-tiered stone urn. “Can we walk through there?”

  “Only halfway. That street over there should be Charlie’s.” We continued beneath the trees, a soft spray from the fountain cooling us. Along the right side of the park, street cars jangled by. Along the left, motor cars rumbled and horses clip-clopped as they drew their carriages. A few queued up close to the edge of the park. A black one whinnied and stomped his front hooves.

  I stopped to admire him and then turned again.

  Up ahead I saw Mum walking with a little girl at her side, one hand draped at the back of her shoulder. She used to put her hand, just like that, on my back! I squinted at the little girl, perhaps three years old. Yes, that is how old Colleen should be now. There must have been some mistake. They were not dead at all! I felt like I might float away. Here they were, alive and well in this new country, this new wonderful park! Hadn’t Father said she would be waiting for us in the new country?

  Then the mother and daughter came closer and I saw, of course, that she wasn’t Mum at all. Still, the way she held the little girl was so like Mum. I gritted my teeth for wanting someone to hold me that way right then and there.

  “Come along, Will. Why are you dragging your feet?”

  “That woman…,” I tried to explain.

  Father turned his head. “She wears her hair the same way as your mother, and her gait is similar, isn’t it?”

  I squeezed my eyes closed so that nothing could spill from them and nodded.

  “I see her everywhere too, lad. Mr. McNiven told me that it was perfectly normal. As time goes by we will see her less and less.”

  I shook my head. I was already having trouble calling up Mum’s face. Mr. McNiven might be right, but it didn’t give me any comfort to know she would fade from my memory.

  “We can only hope that in a while it will not pain us so much.” Father squeezed my shoulder and we kept walking. I leaned into his hand, grateful for the comfort of his touch. “Just think, we’ll be seeing your Uncle Charlie soon!”

  The thought brought a smile. To see even one familiar face would make things a lot better. I hurried alongside of Father.

  We made our way past a few stores and another fire station, down three more blocks and then, finally: “Over here. Number 192. This is where he lives! Come on, Will!” Even after the long walk, Father sprinted up the stairs and knocked on the door.

  It was a fine new gray building. Even if it meant a longer walk to school, I could hardly wait to move here. No Madame Depieu to deal with, and Fred Leckie could no longer make fun of where I lived.

  The door opened and a very tall woman frowned at us. “What do you want?”

  “My brother, Charles Alton, resides here.” Father stepped forward so that she could see him
better. “We have come all the way from England to visit him. Can you tell him we have arrived? There was apparently a mix up in the dates of our arrival.”

  The woman frowned and shook her head. “Charles Alton. No. No one by that name lives here.”

  “What? But see here, this letter…” Father took a folded piece of paper from his pocket.

  She raised an eyebrow as she looked at Uncle Charlie’s letter. “I am not certain why he would use this address on his post to you unless he was hiding the true circumstances of his life here.”

  “But why would he do such a thing?” Father asked.

  She shrugged her shoulders. “Perhaps he is in jail for drunken behavior. You Irish and your spirits.”

  “Neither my brother nor I drink,” Father told her.

  The tall lady smiled as though she were reassuring a child. “Well, sir. I surely do not know where your brother is. Good day.” She tried to close the door.

  Father threw his foot in its path. “He was a big man, red hair. You cannot have forgotten him.”

  “Sir, kindly remove your foot or I shall call the police.”

  “Please.” Father took a deep breath and lowered his voice. “If a man by that description should come here, can you tell him I work at the Blink Bonnie?”

  She gave him a cold stare until he pulled his leg back. Then she slammed the door.

  Father continued to stare at the closed door, his face turning as gray as a tombstone. He took a deep breath but did not muster a smile. Finally, he shook his fist at it. “Liar!” he gasped.

  We were done for if even he couldn’t make light of this.

  My heart fell. There was nothing left for us here. What would we do now? Was Charlie’s yet another face I would never see again? My stomach squeezed together till I could feel my supper back up into my throat. Father continued to stare at the closed door. Suddenly, I knew I would be sick. I ran down the stairs and threw up into the grass.

  My father came after me. “It will be all right, Will,” he said, gentle as though he were soothing a horse. I felt his hand rubbing my back. “You are going to school. I have a position. We can find a better place to live. If we are careful with our money, we can buy a place of our own.”

  I straightened. “But what happened to Uncle Charlie?”

  “I don’t know.” Father frowned and shook his head. “But there has to be an explanation for his disappearance. And I won’t rest till I find it.”

  Chapter 8

  Walking back, we passed the same establishments as before, only Father chattered about them as though he could charm something wonderful out of this terrible turn of events. I went along with it, same as I always did, hoping against hope he was right.

  “A. M. Souter and Co.” Father read the name of the furniture store with a forced brightness. “Do you know—the owner had an article in the paper that would interest you. He suggested a rather ingenious method for catching flies.”

  I no longer had to pretend interest. “What method?”

  “He claimed that he used a vacuum cleaner and that the suction power attracted the insects.”

  “Do you suppose Madame Depieu owns a vacuum cleaner?”

  “I know you will think of a way to find out.” Father winked.

  Turning south again toward the rooming house, I spotted a small black-and-white dog sniffing around a trash pile. Suddenly, the dog leaped up and snapped at the air. What was he doing, I wondered.

  The dog landed again, jaws shut around something.

  “Finnigan, give!” a girl’s voice commanded.

  The animal ran back down the street. I watched him meet up with a young girl wearing a gray dress that drooped at the back of her knees. One of her boots opened into a flap at the toes. Near this boot, the dog spat something on the ground, wagging his tail.

  I noticed sloppy braids hanging from the girl’s faded bonnet. She bent down and picked up something tiny. I sighed. Trust Ginny Malone to have a dog trained to catch flies for her. The dog didn’t care about the torn boot or drooping old dress. It just gazed up at Ginny with admiration and loyalty.

  “It must be ever so nice to have a dog,” I called to her.

  She turned toward me and gave me her stare. The one that made her eyes squint and her nose wrinkle, a stare that was far too hard for those friendly-looking golden freckles.

  “School mate?” Father asked.

  I nodded.

  “She’s a tough one.”

  I shrugged and we walked on.

  Back at the rooming house, I ran through the hall, calling Madame Depieu.

  “Trop de bruit. Quiet, quiet!” she came out of the salon. “What is it that you wish?”

  “To help you clean, of course. My father and I have returned. Can I vacuum your halls?”

  “Eh bien. I do not spend the money on the fancy gimmicks. But I do have the mop and a bucket. And you can wash my kitchen floor.”

  It was worth the try, I thought as I swished the wooly gray mop along the tiled floor. When I spotted a group of flies swirling near a corner, I swung the mop, splat, and caught another two.

  “Mais, qu’est-ce que tu fais?” Madame Depieu came running as I collected their bodies.

  “I am just ridding your kitchen of these disease-carrying bugs!” I told her.

  She squinted at me, one hand on her hip.

  “We learned it in school. They walk in horse patties and then they walk in our stew.”

  “Voyons. See that you kill these flies with less noise and”—she pointed at the suds splattered against the wall—“less mess.”

  “Yes, Madame.” Meanwhile I counted in my head as I put the flies in my pocket: 388, 389.

  Next morning I tiptoed out the back door to look in on my stewy fly trap near the trash. I scooped out thirty-one winged terrors, and found an empty Ovaltine jar in which to store this latest catch. Four hundred and nineteen, I thought to myself, smiling. In my mind I pictured the spotted dog Finnigan leaping up and snapping at the air. A fly-catching dog! How far behind would I fall if Ginny Malone gave all the insects both she and her amazing animal caught to Fred Leckie?

  Thinking I would catch some more with my bare hands, I scrambled up the fence at the back of the trash pile to reach one.

  “What are you doing?” Shrill and close, Madame Depieu’s voice startled me.

  I stumbled into the mess, all the trash clattering down around me.

  Madame yelled now. “This is what I get. I say no to the children, especially no to the boys, and you say to me you will clean. I give you chances after chances, et regarde, what do you give me, un autre grand mess!” Her hands flapped as she gestured at the toppled garbage. “And you steal my good plate. Always you Irish give me the trouble.”

  “We do not steal,” Father came from behind her now.

  I picked up the dish and stood up. I held out the empty fly trap to her. Much as I disliked Madame Depieu, I had to think quickly so that Father and I would not be tossed out onto the street. “I am so sorry. I remembered this morning that I had seen a dish of yours in the garbage. Maybe when you scraped the bowls, you accidentally dropped one?”

  Madame Depieu’s mouth dropped.

  “So I rushed to retrieve it as I had seen the trash wagon and feared for your dish.”

  “You better clean up again before you head off for school,” Father said.

  “Certainly, Father. Let me just put all this garbage in order.”

  Madame Depieu’s mouth still gaped. I had a feeling that if she came to her senses before I scooped the trash back into the square bin she would throw Father and me out, so I worked quickly. Then I went to the pump inside the kitchen and washed up. I collected my lunch from inside and carried off my jar of flies.

  “You’re not stealing my Ovaltine. Isn’t it enough your father insists I make you lunch?” Madame Depieu said when she saw me leaving.

  “It’s just an empty jar, Madame,” I answered.

  She caught my hand and pulled it
up to her eyes so she could look in the jar herself. “Des mouches!” she exclaimed and made a sour face.

  “Yes, yes. I found them all in your stew. See you after school!” I ran out the door before she could say anything further.

  Many children were already heading toward Central Public. I spotted Ginny holding the hands of a small girl and boy. The girl sported the same loose braids as Ginny, and the boy’s knees, poking out from beneath his pants, were dirty.

  I frowned. What it must be like to have a sister and a brother. I wanted to call out for her to wait, but I remembered her scowl. Instead, I hung back a bit and walked a suitable distance behind them.

  In the classroom I stored my jar of flies—421 of them now—along with my hat and lunch in the only wooden slot at the back of the room with no name on it. I frowned as I placed the jar on the shelf. Fred Leckie’s slot was adjacent and even the sight of his name soured the morning for me.

  After we sang “God Save the King,” recited the Lord’s Prayer, and read the scripture for the day, we watched and listened as Mr. Samson cleared his throat and addressed us. “I think it admirable the enthusiasm with which this class has undertaken to rid the city of Hamilton of flies.” He looked around. “And I know I said you should confine your activities to outside the classroom. But we do seem to have plenty of the menaces flying around here. I think we can organize a civilized attack on them in the classroom. Do you agree?”

  Our voices answered as one: “Yes, Mr. Samson.”

  “So…to that end, I want you to raise your hands if you intend to participate in the competition.” All hands shot up except Rebecca’s. “Good, that makes forty-eight students and we have twelve days left of school. Miss Edwards…”

  “Yes, Mr. Samson.”

  “You will make a chart assigning four students a day to fly-catching duties. We will have two morning fly killers, who will kill all the flies in the classroom before the others arrive… and we will have two lunchtime catchers. How many catchers does that make…Ginny?”