Revenge on the Fly Read online

  “Oh!” She threw her arms around my neck.

  My throat tightened. I cleared it and broke away from Rebecca. “So you see, using my hands makes me feel more like I am doing something.” My fingers curled into fists.

  She pulled a lace hanky from inside her sleeve and dabbed at her eyes. Even when crying, she managed to look pretty. “I do understand.” She sniffed into her hanky. “Only, moving a pen over a paper is also doing something with your hand.”

  She was right. I smiled at her and she tried to smile back. We continued walking and crossed the road to the park. At the fountain, I had her laughing again as I told her about vacuuming the flies up from the window of Souter’s furniture store. “He won’t let me use it elsewhere. But I can ‘demonstrate’ on his premises.”

  “Too bad you can’t borrow someone else’s,” Rebecca said. “I would loan you ours if I thought the housekeeper wouldn’t notice and tell Mother.”

  “The shops are all closed Sunday anyway and I promised Father I would never skip school again.” But the flies still buzzed around the stable even on the Sabbath, I thought as an idea began to take hold. And the maids in Blink Bonnie had no need for the Moodie vacuum cleaner on Sunday. Chances were, if I borrowed it tomorrow, they would never know it had been gone at all.

  Chapter 14

  Later that night, when the rest of the staff at Blink Bonnie had stepped out for the evening, Father filled the large tub left for us in the kitchen. The rest had all had their baths. “Your turn first,” Father told me. “Make sure to wash behind your ears. I’m going to see about our clean laundry.”

  I stepped into the tub and sat down slowly. The water fair boiled the dirt off of me. I steamed like a chicken in a pot. As I passed the washcloth around the back of my neck and around my ears, I wondered exactly where the maids kept the vacuum cleaner. Was it in the cupboard next to the kitchen? Would I even recognize it, if I saw it? Did they all look like Mr. Souter’s Model O? I’m clean enough, I thought, and climbed out of the tub, wrapping a towel around myself. Ducking around the corners, I found the closet and carefully pulled open the door.

  There it sat, a hatbox bagpipe Model O. I didn’t want to chance dressing first and sneaking it out to the stable. I listened for any noise. Nothing. None of the staff or the Moodies seemed to be around. Father might be gone for awhile putting our laundry away. Quickly, I grabbed the handle and pulled it out. It was awkward, keeping the towel up with one hand and first pulling, then pushing the heavy machine with the other. I needed to haul it up the stairs to the back door and free one hand to open it. With my hip I held it open and dragged the vacuum cleaner out. Barefoot, I stepped on a sharp rock and cursed.

  I let go of the machine and hopped on one foot.

  Somewhere someone laughed, but when I looked around I saw no one. I could have sworn it sounded like Fred Leckie’s stupid donkey bray. I had to have imagined it. If it were Fred, wouldn’t he stay around to make fun of me some more? No one behind the stable that I could see. No one on Bay Street. I had to hurry. I lifted the heavy machine the rest of the way and hid it behind the carriage. I smiled as I rested for a moment; this was the miracle that would help beat Fred. I dashed back inside, and down the stairs. I heard Father’s footsteps and hopped into the tub again.

  “Almost done?” Father appeared from the hallway. “I have your clean night shirt here.”

  “Just a minute.” I dunked myself, sputtered, then climbed out, wrapping myself in the moist towel, still dripping.

  “Well done. Dry yourself off better. How the devil did the towel get so wet and you’re still not dry?”

  I shrugged as I rubbed the towel across the back of my shoulder. “Father, you know I won’t ever miss school again, but might I skip church tomorrow? I have a new method to catch flies that I want to try.” I slipped the nightshirt over my head.

  “No, son. Tomorrow we are going to pray for your Uncle Charlie’s recovery.”

  “But I could do that just as well from the stable as I caught flies.”

  “I think it might be easier to communicate with the Lord in his own house. St. Mark’s is only a few steps away, Will. It will only take an hour of your time. We cannot visit Charlie because of his quarantine, but we can do this one thing for him.” Father cuffed my chin gently and smiled. “Now you’ll excuse me while I take my bath.”

  Of course I couldn’t tell Father that I wanted to use the Moodie vacuum cleaner on the flies while the staff and owners were out of the house. I’d just have to get up earlier than everyone else so that I could vacuum up the flies in the stable. “Yes, Da,” I answered and headed back to the room we shared off the downstairs hall.

  Even as I shut my eyes to sleep, I tried to keep my ears open for the sound of the birds. At the first chirp, I would get dressed quietly in the hall so my father wouldn’t wake up. Keep listening, keep listening, you have to do this to beat Fred Leckie, I told myself but it only served as a lullaby.

  In my dreams, I saw Fred Leckie at the counter of the health department, rubbing black threadlike arms together, one over the other. His nose, still swollen from my punch, became a stinger, his eyes, huge discs. “Dr. Roberts! Dr. Roberts! Look at Fred,” I called to the health officer. Why does no one but me see? Fred Leckie is part fly! I ran to the front of the line and shouted to the fly counters that they couldn’t let Fred win.

  Dr. Roberts merely shook his head. “A fly most certainly can enter the contest and win. Who best to kill others of the same species?”

  I opened my mouth to argue, but then woke up. I rubbed my eyes and listened. Birds. I rushed to the window and parted the drapes, and sunlight streamed in. Another cloudless, hot day. I gathered my pants, overshirt, and shoes and tiptoed out the door. My heart beat hard as I dressed in the hall. Then I raced down the stairs and out the back.

  In the stable, I connected the rubber hose and then plugged in the machine, just as I had in Souter’s furniture store. Pressing the on switch hard, I made it roar to life. One of the horses whinnied in protest. “Shh, shh, Beauty. I’m just ridding you of those fly menaces.”

  I yanked the machine to the corner and aimed for some flies. Unfortunately, some hay was sucked up too. No matter, I’ll remove it when I remove the flies, I told myself. Still, my heart continued to thump wildly in my chest. What would Mr. Moodie do if he knew one of his stablehands’ son was using his cleaning instrument in this way? This was foolish, I thought, Father might lose his job. Schlump! I vacuumed up about ten insects in the window before they could flit away. How satisfying! I smiled. Five windows and all the corners done now. Did I dare to head to the dust bin? No, better not. Instead, I carefully emptied the flies, pulling them out through the bag opening. It was disgusting work, and a considerable amount of fluff and dust came out as well.

  There had to be about two hundred of them. I stashed the jar carefully on a shelf and then began dragging the Hoover back.

  Wait! What was that noise? A bark? It didn’t matter if a dog was disturbed. I hurried the machine back into its place just as Mrs. Swanson rounded the corner.

  “See here! What are you doing up so early? There is no food in there for you to steal.”

  “No ma’am. I was just admiring the vacuum cleaner. I’ve never seen one before.”

  “Go on with you. You can’t fool me. Here have a scone.” She pitched me a small baked bun. “That’s all you’re getting for another hour yet, mind!” She sounded harsh but her face looked kind.

  I munched as I headed back to our room. I slipped into the room and lay back on the bed, dozing happily.

  Later, I enjoyed porridge with Father and then together we left for church. St. Mark’s was the large red-bricked building with steeples and stained-glass windows just next door. “Father, it’s so close. Surely my prayers from the stalls will make it to the Lord while I catch flies.”

  “You’re keepin’ me company, not another word about it,” Father warned. As we walked, people passed us on their way to the Presbyt
erian church several blocks past the school. Others joined us heading in the same direction. I told Father how Fred Leckie had beaten me by a hundred flies in Saturday’s count.

  “But you did marvelously well!” Father said. “I’m proud of you.”

  “I don’t know if I can win if he keeps coming up with new ways to cheat.”

  “Ah, but you already have beat him. You know that in your heart. Fair and square you caught 2,100 flies, whereas he needed some 500 of yours to come in first place.” Father put his arm around me as we entered the church and slid into a pew.

  Dark and quiet, the air felt a bit cooler and smelled like old books—I could almost believe prayers could be heard better from here. Other people must have felt that way too, as they crowded in.

  Father knelt onto the wooden trestle and bowed his head. I knew he was praying for Uncle Charlie.

  I joined him with my own prayers. I squeezed my eyes shut tightly as though that would help two prayers come true. I tried to see my uncle’s face in my mind, but just like Mum’s it was fading. “Please let Uncle Charlie live. We need him right now.” I felt a slight tickle on my nose, a brush of a feather or fur, or…I opened my eyes…the wings of a fly. “Dear God,” I added. “Help me kill every fly in this city and win the Hamilton Spectator competition.”

  Chapter 15

  Early Monday morning, I recopied my note of apology to Fred Leckie, twice, on two cream-colored sheets of stationery Father had borrowed from Ellie, one of the maids at the manor. I looked at both copies when I finished. On one, the dot over the i in my signature appeared as more of an ink blob. That one would be for Fred, I decided. The other, the more perfect one, I would hand to Mr. Morton when I entered the school. Before I left, I asked Father where best to store my latest stock of flies. Father unlocked a cabinet above the harness hook and placed my three cans there. “No one can steal them from you now, my lad,” he told me as he turned the key again.

  I nodded and smiled. I had a good feeling about the competition. “Bye Father!” I called as I waved goodbye.

  “Learn well, Will,” Father returned and waved back. “Make me proud.”

  I will do that, I thought as I began walking. When he sees my name in the paper for killing the most flies, he’ll be so happy. And I’ll give him the prize money so we can buy a home. When I crossed the street and reached the front of our school, I saw Ginny and Fred arguing on the sidewalk, her brother and sister flanking her.

  “You said you would give me those orange pieces today,” she yelled.

  “I never said any such thing. I told you I had run out. You were the one who assumed I would pay another day.”

  “You’re just a big cheat!” The little boy beside Ginny rushed Fred, only Fred ducked and shoved him as he flew past. The boy landed in a heap on the grass.

  Ginny, in turn, shoved Fred and he fell to the ground too. “Touch any of my family, will you! You’ll never see another fly from me. And you certainly won’t win if I can help it!”

  I was too thunderstruck to feel happy about her announcement. I hurried on to get to the principal’s office and turn my apology in.

  Rebecca joined me.

  “Hello, Will.” She beamed at me.

  I grinned back at her, speechless with delight for a moment, then I frowned. “I won’t be going straight in to class. I have to hand in my apology first.”

  Her smiled tugged downwards, but her fingers touched my elbow gentle as butterfly wings. That touch made me feel lighter, if only for just a moment. “I’m sorry you have to do that, Will.”

  I shrugged my shoulders. For certain I dreaded the reckoning also. “See you later,” I told her as I turned off for the front entrance of the school. Rebecca continued to the yard at the back.

  Up each stair, my heart beat a double time. As I reached the office door, it raced like a drum. My face felt warm and my mouth as though it had turned to paper. The secretary asked me to wait on the hard chair at the front of the office. From there I sat through morning prayers and songs, feeling warmer with each minute that passed.

  Finally I stood up. “Could I just leave these letters for Mr. Morton and see him when he is not so busy?” I asked the secretary.

  “No,” she answered without looking up.

  I sat back down and counted dead flies in my head to pass the time. When I reached four hundred, as if called forth, one live one flew in front of my face and over my head. I leaped up to catch it.

  “Step into my office, William Alton,” Mr. Morton’s voice boomed.

  The shock of the sudden command made me loosen my fingers and with that, the fly buzzed off. In a daze, I followed the principal, and when I stood in front of his desk, held out the two letters of apology.

  Mr. Morton ignored my outstretched hand and the contents. Instead, he slid open a drawer behind the desk and pulled out a thick black strap.

  “I let you go over fighting with Fred Leckie because I thought the letters of apology would be a worse punishment for a lad such as yourself. Normally, fighting would have earned you four strokes across your left hand.”

  I swallowed and dropped the letters on the desk.

  “But you skipped school on Friday. Your behavior becomes worse and worse.” Mr. Morton stepped around his desk, strap curled in his fist. “You have earned six strokes. Hold out both hands.”

  I did as I was told and Mr. Morton crossed them, palms up.

  “After each blow, you will switch hands.”

  I nodded and Mr. Morton raised the strap high in the air. Then he brought it down hard. The air whistled and the rubber slapped across my hand. The sting burned from my palms right up my wrist. My eyes filled. I thought I could endure the pain. But the humiliation! Knowing I was in the wrong and deserving of this, I remembered Father kneeling on the stable floor, crying, and blinked hard to keep in my own tears. Trembling, I switched hands for the next blow. No one is watching, you big baby. No one needs to know. I switched hands again. By the time the strap stopped falling, my hands and wrists looked as red as the slabs of meat that hung at the King Street butcher’s window.

  Mr. Morton stared straight into my eyes. “Now you will go to your class and bring Mr. Leckie back here.”

  “Yes sir.” I rubbed my hands against my sides as I strode down the hall. The door to the classroom was open, but as I entered all my classmates looked up. I folded my arms across my chest, but could see that only drew stares to them. “Mr. Morton wishes to see Fred Leckie.” I saw Fred go pale. He looked afraid, and I felt pleased for myself as well as for Ginny and her brother. I uncrossed my arms so Fred might anticipate and fear more clearly a similar fate.

  In her seat, Rebecca gasped.

  Fred stood up and marched out of the room ahead of me. I turned and followed him past the lockers, through the door, and past the secretary. Fred hesitated by the open door of Mr. Morton’s actual office.

  “Come in!” the principal’s voice boomed. Mr. Morton walked over and closed the office door behind us. “Sit!” he commanded. He handed Fred one letter of apology. Mr. Morton himself sat behind his desk again and appeared to read his copy. I couldn’t help noticing that the strap lay on top of the papers on his desk. He had not put it away yet. I looked from the strap to Fred and watched as Fred took it in too.

  “I find this letter satisfactory. I think you should accept the apology, Fred, and promise not to hold a grudge against William.” The principal stared at Fred, who simply stared back. Mr. Morton reached for the strap.

  “I accept William’s apology and promise not to hold a grudge,” Fred repeated quickly.

  Mr. Morton slid open the drawer and tucked the strap in again. “Shake on it, gentlemen.”

  I winced as Fred gripped my sore hand hard and pumped.

  “Good. You may return to your classroom.”

  Fred rushed ahead of me, not speaking a word.

  Mr. Samson also gave me lines to write: I must come to school each and every day.

  During both reces
ses and lunch hour I stayed behind to fill ten pages with them. As I scribbled away and the other students passed my desk, items mysteriously appeared, an apple, a piece of hard candy, and three dead flies. Getting the strap seemed to have earned me some new friends. I tucked the candy into one pocket, the flies in the other. Then I bit into the apple as I continued to write. The juice squirted up my face. The strapping had been almost worth it, I thought as I chewed and wrote some more. I bit again and again, till I found myself gnawing at the core. Finally, I ate that too. I was still starving. But before the end of the second recess, the pages were full. I walked over to my cubby for more food.

  “What in…” Inside my cubby was a rusty old can full to the brim with dead flies. There had to be at least four hundred. “Ginny Malone,” I whispered. “Ginny?” I called out loud. I shoved the can back into the cupboard, grabbed my lunch, and ran outside to join the others. I looked around the playground but then remembered to look up. And there it was—her boot sticking out from a branch in a tree.

  “Thank you,” I told her as I swung myself up.

  “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She didn’t even look my way. Then she turned, wiping her hand across her nose as she sniffed. “Did it hurt much?”

  I wanted to brag that, no, it didn’t hurt at all. But her eyes searched mine for truth. “Like the dickens. He gave me six blows but I had to stack my hands so it stung them both and right up my arms.”

  She nodded and sniffed again. “He strapped me that way last week.”

  “But you…you’re a girl.”

  “The only girl in class who’s ever been strapped.” A tear slid down her nose and she wiped it away.

  “But why?”

  “My little sister was sick, so I needed to stay home and look after her. My ma had to go to work.”

  “Did you tell him?”

  “I couldn’t. I didn’t want Ma to get into trouble. The truant officer has already stopped at our house—last time I stayed home a week to watch my brother.”

  I pulled out my sandwich from my lunch bag. Mrs. Swanson had sliced her homemade bread thickly and had covered each piece with butter and cheese. I separated the two halves and offered Ginny one. She shook her head. I reached into my pocket and took out the candy. “For your sister?” I passed it to her and she finally smiled—like the sun peeking from behind two clouds. But the smile disappeared almost immediately. I saw where she was looking. Fred Leckie had sat down beside Rebecca.