Ann-Marie MacDonald - Way the Crow Flies

There is excitement in the air. On a long folding table, the yellow paper wings sit ready to be pinned to the backs of the successful Brownies, and along the aisle, the golden pathway extends to the toadstool. Madeleine drifts into a daydream wherein she is Miss Lang in her Brown Owl uniform, with a long train attached. She walks down the aisle to where the fiancé waits at the altar, dressed in a tuxedo, smiling at her with his clean square face. “You may now kiss the bride,” intones the minister. Madeleine is startled out of her reverie by the realization that at the moment of the kiss, rather than being Miss Lang, she is kissing Miss Lang. She reverses things in her mind until she is kissing the fiancé, but the fantasy dissolves and her mind wanders.

“I promise to do my best, to do my duty to God and the Queen and my country, and to help other people every day, especially those at home.” The Brownie Pledge. Forty-two girls between the ages of eight and ten have spoken it in perfect unison, their senses sharpened by the solemnity of the occasion. “Too-wit, too-wit, too-woo!”

Miss Lang takes attendance. “Sheila Appleby.”

“Present.”

“Cathy Baxter.”

“Present.”

“Auriel Boucher.”

“Present.”

Each voice is a little more earnest tonight — there is no girl whose heart remains untouched by Miss Lang. She checks off the names on her clipboard. Madeleine looks around again but her father is still not here….

“Claire McCarroll.”

Miss Lang looks up. Heads turn, everyone looks to see where Claire is, but she is not present. Madeleine looks out across the field, but Claire is not on her way either. Up on the table, along with the wings, is a pin; it is for Claire, who will become a full Brownie tonight when Miss Lang attaches it to her chest. Claire is getting pinned.

“Madeleine McCarthy.”

“Present, Miss Lang.”

Miss Lang pauses ever so briefly, with a smile, and Madeleine’s heart is pierced.

“Marjorie Nolan.”

“Present.”

I will never forget you, Miss Lang, as long as we both shall live….

“Grace Novotny.”

“Present.”

“Joyce Nutt.”

“Present.”

Grace has failed to earn her wings, but there is no such thing as a Brownie uniform big enough to fit her next year, so she will “walk up” to Guides wearing the specially issued fairy slippers made of crêpe tissue paper. Madeleine looks down the row at her — she is sucking on her fingers, sliding them in and out of her mouth. Grace Novotny — Marjorie Nolan’s bad pet.

“Grace?” says Miss Lang.

Grace gets up and shuffles along the row, looking down at her paper feet — they go swish swish . Marjorie joins her in the aisle. It ought to be the Sixer, Cathy Baxter, leading Grace, but Miss Lang has made an exception because the two are best friends. Grace takes Marjorie’s arm and they walk slowly up the yellow paper path — almost as though Grace were an invalid. Like in Heidi , thinks Madeleine. Grace breaks away and runs the last few steps, hurling herself at Miss Lang who, once she has regained her footing, gives Grace a big hug.

As the Brownies begin flying up one by one, Madeleine looks toward the road, hoping to see her father drive up in the Rambler. Will he miss her wings parade? At the turn-in to the schoolyard there is a concrete stormpipe that runs under the road to the field on the other side. You can shout down it but entry has been barred by a metal grid, hung now with grass and weeds, remnants of the water that has been gushing through with the melt — if you get caught in there in spring, you drown. Everyone says a kid drowned in there one year and that’s why they put up the bars. A dog is sniffing around it — a beagle — Madeleine wonders if he is lost. She watches him squeeze through the bars.

“That dog is trapped.”

Madeleine has spoken it aloud, and the Brownie in front turns and draws an imaginary zipper across her mouth. Cathy Baxter, you are not the boss of me.

The dog barks and Madeleine raises her hand. But Miss Lang doesn’t see her; she is pinning paper wings between Auriel’s shoulder blades. Auriel runs up the golden path. Madeleine lowers her hand. One by one they fly up, like proud butterflies. The dog barks a second time. Madeleine can no longer see it in the shadows of the stormpipe. The barking becomes a muffled yelp, retreating farther and farther, and she puts her hand up again, about to call out, “Miss Lang,” when a car swerves into the schoolyard and just keeps coming across the playground and onto the grass, bouncing toward them till it stops right next to the toadstool.

Captain McCarroll arrived home from his flying trip with a new charm for his daughter’s bracelet, but he went straight back out again and began going door to door at ten to six.

“No, dear,” said Mrs. Lawson in her doorway. McCarroll had removed his hat when she came to the door. “Wait now, I’ll ask Gordon….”

To the Pinders. “Yes sir,” said Harvey, tucking his newspaper under his arm, “we saw her, why? Has she gone AWOL on you?” but his tone was not joking.

“When did you see her, Mr. Pinder?”

“Oh, some time before supper. We were out with the little go-cart when she came along, hang on”—he called over his shoulder—“Arnie! Arnie, Philip, get up here, boys!” The boys ascended the basement stairs wearing expressions of all-purpose guilt. “You know Claire McCarroll?”

“Who?” said Arnold.

Philip said nothing, eyes darting. Harvey flicked him on the ear. “She came by while we were working on the go-cart. On her bike. Did either of you see her after that?”

“No sir,” grunted Arnold. Philip shook his head.

“Sorry sir,” said Harvey.

“Around what time was this?” asked Captain McCarroll.

“Oh, this afternoon, three-fifteen, three forty-five? Four?”

“Thanks.” McCarroll was on his way.

Harvey grabbed his windbreaker and headed for his car, telling Captain McCarroll he’d have a look around the area, “in case she’s off on a little adventure.”

To the Froelichs.

He knew his wife had already phoned. None of Karen Froelich’s children were able to help him — Rick was off playing basketball in London and Colleen had taken her sister to the station library. Karen called down the basement stairs, “Hank.” Henry Froelich emerged from the basement, toolbox in hand, and when Karen told him why Blair McCarroll was there, he took off his apron and proceeded to search for his car keys among the stuff on the kitchen table. McCarroll hurried home on foot to see if his daughter had returned in the meantime.

And so it went, until the streets of the PMQs were full of dads behind the wheels of crawling cars, going door to door, playground to playground, peering between houses, eventually with an eye on the ditch.

Jack had raised the window on his screen door to get the warm spring air flowing through the house, then he set out walking down St. Lawrence Avenue a few minutes behind his wife and children. On the way, he saw McCarroll’s car parked in the driveway. He was back. He’d be going to the schoolyard too, with his little girl, and Jack would take the opportunity for a private word. He would need only to say, “I have a special task for you, McCarroll, concerning a mutual friend.” McCarroll would know that Jack was the “officer of superior rank” who was overdue briefing him, and Jack would have fulfilled the favour he had promised Simon. Over and out.

As he neared the little green bungalow, Jack saw McCarroll come out of his house — still in uniform at ten to seven — toss his hat onto the passenger side and get into his car. He drove up the street toward Jack, who waved. McCarroll jerked to a stop alongside him. Jack bent to the open window, about to deliver his simple message, but the words died on his lips. McCarroll was chalky white.