Mary stepped gingerly outside the kitchen door and turned back to check the clock on the kitchen shelf, the only clock in the house. While she was not yet able to tell time, she knew that when it chimed twelve times, they would return. The big hand had to go completely around before that happened.
There was a slight overhang on the roof above the side door which created a small verandah. Mrs. Jacques favourite pastime was to sit here in her wheelchair and watch the road. In the barn were stored several old wicker chairs which the family would be getting out for the days of summer.
A group of elm and maple trees clustered together at the front of the house and, unless they were in full leaf, you could still see the road and anyone who might frequent it. Lilac bushes grew close to the house and gave a soft framing effect to an otherwise stark little grey dwelling.
Mary's curiosity did not lie with what was beyond the front of the house or down the road. Her interest was in the yard and the intrigues of the woods just beyond the barn, all places still a mystery to the young girl.
A photograph of the Jacques home taken in early 1890s. Note the pump outside the entrance to the kitchen and the woodpile in the left background. Posing for the picture are Daniel Jr. with his two dogs, Annie standing just behind her mother May, and Daniel Sr. sitting in a chair by the front door. Courtesy Joseph Jacques.
As she walked around to the back, a scrawny mustard coloured cat of questionable beauty appeared from the barn and went right to Mary. As she knelt to pet it, the cat stretched its lanky body and rubbed its neck against her leg. Although she had little experience with animals, Mary gently picked it up and stroked its unkempt coat. She sensed an immediate friendship.
“Well, aren't you a sight!” Mary said as she stroked its back. The cat relaxed in her arms and began to purr. She continued to stroke gently. “I think you need a friend. Would you like to be my friend?” she asked politely. Without waiting for a response, she spoke again. “Then it's settled. We're friends.” She set it down on the ground and started walking, the cat following along beside her.
By the time she reached the top of the hill, Mary was out of breath. The view was beautiful. The house below looked tiny, the barn and shed even smaller. Mary felt very big standing so high above everything as a slight breeze ruffled her brown pinafore and apron. Brushing a few strands of curly blonde hair out of her eyes, she continued on her little adventure.
To the west there was a dense thicket of trees and heavy ground cover. As she walked in this direction, the dry ground crunched under her thin worn shoes, brown oxford style cast-offs from the orphanage. She had stopped counting the knots in her laces. There were just too many.
Mary sat on an old stump and looked around. It was quiet except for a noisy robin somewhere in the distance. Mary picked up some interesting twigs and leaves and put them in her apron pocket. As her pockets were not very large, soon she had all she could carry.
Beyond the wooded area she caught a glimpse of tall grasses, scrub cedars and small pools of water full of cattails. This must be what the Jacques called the bogs. Mr. Jacques was forever telling the boys to stay away from them. Mary reminded herself of this warning, and of the time.
She turned eastward and began to head for home. Home: what a strange word. Was this really going to be her home? She wondered, would she ever think of this as home?
“Come on, Cat. It's time to go back,” she spoke kindly to her new companion. It obeyed. Mary loved the out-of-doors and decided she would try to spend as much time here as she was allowed.
The sound of the approaching buggy wheels could be heard as she got near the house. The cat darted into the barn and Mary, running breathlessly into the kitchen, sat herself down on her perch by the stove.
“No formal agreement has been entered into between the home and those receiving the children beyond signing the application form…and the foster-parents see that they are not likely to be interfered with if they overwork and otherwise take advantage of their young charges.” 7
July 11, 1892
“WHAT ON earth are you doing with that corn broom? Have you no sense at all, Girl? Use the other one. It's far stronger and I don't want a slipshod job either. I want it done right and proper the first time!” Mrs. Jacques bellowed from her wheelchair across the room as she threw up her hands in a gesture of disgust.
“But you said I could use either, Ma'am,” Mary replied shyly.
“I said no such thing. Now get on with your work and don't talk back, Girl.”
Mary exchanged brooms and said nothing more. As she swept, the woman nattered away without seeming to want a response, just an audience.
“I can't run this household by myself, what with Annie working all day and the boys in the fields. I'm left to see that everything is managed properly. If I can't count on you, then what good are you?”
Having finished the floor by this time, Mary began to clear the breakfast table. Try as she might to ignore the woman, the words still hurt and Mary's eyes filled with tears. It was going to be a long, hot day.
“I have so much to do for tomorrow.”
Mrs. Jacques was referring to the work bee that was to take place in her home at two o'clock the next day. Work bees, as they were called, had become very popular. The idea that “many hands make light work” had been a part of life since early pioneer days. A work bee could be organized for a variety of reasons: to shear sheep, erect a building, husk corn, pare apples for drying and, in Mrs. Jacques' case, to sew carpet rags.
At the moment, rag carpets could be found only in the Jacques' parlour, but Mrs. Jacques wanted them elsewhere as well. Such profusion was considered a sign of prosperity. Her nearest neighbours, Mrs. Graves and Mrs. McLaren, had accepted her invitation.
While the intention of work bees was to accomplish a job, they were also social gatherings. Country folks had little opportunity for visiting their neighbours, enjoying each other's company and dispensing the latest gossip. Not unlike Rachel Lynde who sojourned to Green Gables to inspect the “Anne” girl, the neighbours were curious about the “little immigrant” who had come to live with May and Daniel Jacques.
Mrs. Jacques nattered on, “I need you to get the rag boxes out of the loft. Put them in the front room. My sewing basket's in the bottom drawer of the jam cupboard. See that it's out as well.”
As much as Mary did not look forward to extra chores, the thought of having someone besides Mrs. Jacques in the house was a pleasant one. She longed to hear voices and laughter from people even if they were strangers.
Mindlessly, she went through the daily routine her mistress had so carefully mapped out. Luckily, fetching water, sweeping and scrubbing the floor and washing dishes could all be done while her mind wandered.
Mary thought about Cat and wondered what it did all day in the barn. How she would love to have had the cat in the house with her. But she did not dare ask! In fact, she had not even mentioned it for fear somehow Mrs. Jacques would put an end to this pleasure. With a smile on her face, she imagined how wonderful it would be to curl up with Cat beside her on her cot in the loft, and fall asleep next to its gentle purring.
“I don't know what you're so happy about.” Mrs. Jacques sharp tongue brought Mary back to her dishwashing chore with a sudden jolt. “There's so much to be done. I want the grey rug in the hall