Ann-Marie MacDonald - Way the Crow Flies

“I seen some baby rabbits at Rock Bass,” says Colleen, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “They got a den right under the maple tree.”

“Thanks Colleen.”

Claire rides off.

“‘Thanks Colleen.’” Madeleine teases. Colleen headlocks Madeleine and scrubs the top of her scalp fiercely with her knuckles. “Ow!”

Colleen always decides when Madeleine has had enough and stops, in this case calmly walking away.

“Hey Colleen, wait up!”

The final strains of the song straggle out the windows of the gym, but Madeleine outruns them. It’s a small world after all, It’s a small, small world .

Ricky is washing the station wagon when Claire rides by. Elizabeth is beside him in her wheelchair and Rex trots to the foot of the lawn to greet her.

“Hi Ricky.”

“Hi pal.”

“Hi Elizabeth,” says Claire.

“Ay.” Elizabeth is nestled in a light yellow blanket. She has a plastic cup wedged between her hands, the kind babies use, with a lid and a spout.

“What have you got?” asks Claire.

“Ehhhm-oway,” says Elizabeth with her weightless voice and big loose smile.

“Lemonade,” says Ricky to Claire.

“Is it good?” asks Claire.

Elizabeth nods in all directions.

Ricky is wearing his red jeans, a white T-shirt and sneakers.

“You look nice, Ricky.”

“Oh yeah? Thanks.”

“What are you doing?”

“Washing the car.”

“Want to come for a picnic?”

“I can’t, pal, I promised Lizzie we’d go for a run.”

“Oh.”

“Want a drink?” he asks.

“Yes please.”

Ricky gives her a drink from the hose. The best drink of all, rubbery water, it tastes like summer. Then he has some. Claire watches him drink. Then she rides off. “Bye.”

Rex flops to the ground at Elizabeth’s feet, in the shade of the wheelchair, grinning up at her, panting. Her hand slips down and wavers over him, finding his fur, giving him a knuckly graze on the head.

“You ready to roll, Lizzie?”

“I Rek umming?”

“I don’t know, think it’s too hot for Rex?”

“Ing sah wah.”

“Good idea,” says Ricky, heading into the house for a canteen which he fills with icy water from the hose.

It takes Claire ten minutes to make her way up the street and around the corner to the Huron County road, because after she leaves Ricky and Elizabeth, she stops to watch some boys and dads trying to make a miniature go-cart go. She can smell gasoline and see little puffs of white smoke every time they start its engine.

She stops again just out front of the Bouchers’ house, at the corner of St. Lawrence and Columbia, because she thinks she hears someone softly call her name. She looks down in the direction of the voice, but all she sees is the ditch and the metal drainpipe. So she gets off her bike, carefully lies on her stomach and peers into the darkness of the pipe to see if anyone, perhaps an elf or a small creature, might be caught in there and in need of her help.

“Hello,” she whispers into the gloom. But there is silence. She speaks a little louder, “Is everything okay?” But there is no answer. She sees a ladybug crawling up her wrist. She bends close and whispers, “Was it you?” And by the way Claire listens, it’s clear that she has received some sort of answer, for she says in reply, “Don’t worry ladybug, your children are safe. Now fly away home.” And it does.

That was at 3:45.

By the time Claire reaches the Huron County road she has forgotten that she is not permitted to leave the PMQs alone. She was not intending to leave alone, it was her intention to go for a picnic with Ricky Froelich, and so convinced was she of this plan that, when it turned out he couldn’t come, she saw no reason not to continue on alone. It’s important, however, to return home in time for supper and to change into her Brownie uniform. She begins pedalling with all her might. She has passed the first farm and entered the corridor of tall trees when Ricky Froelich catches up to her, jogging along with Elizabeth and Rex. She is a little out of breath from her exertions. Ricky stops, removes his belt and hitches Rex up to her bike, and the little convoy gets underway again, proceeding at a good clip up Huron County Road Number 21, toward the willow tree that marks the intersection where if you turn left you head for Highway 4, and if you turn right you head for Rock Bass. If you keep going you hit the quarry — it’s warm enough to swim today.

Madeleine and Colleen have decided to head for their willow tree. They have opted to travel cross-country, which means cutting through people’s lawns and farmers’ fields. Darting from poplar to poplar, over a fence and across the railroad tracks — stopping at Pop’s to buy a grape pop. Colleen pays and Madeleine asks if she gets an allowance.

“My brother gives me spending money from his paper route.”

They don’t pause to use the bottle opener on the Coke machine; there is no time for that, their lives are at stake. They escape into the open field and hit the dirt flat on their stomachs, cautiously peering through the grass to see if they have been followed by enemy agents.

“Phew, that was close.”

“What’ll they do if they catch us?”

“Arrest us.”

“Throw us in the clink.”

“Firing squad.”

Colleen pries the cap off the bottle with the blunt edge of her knife and hands it to Madeleine. Madeleine takes a sip, wipes the spout with her T-shirt and hands it back to Colleen, who likewise drinks but doesn’t wipe, because it’s her drink and her germs.

“Coast is clear.”

“Come on, we gotta keep moving.”

They hike parallel to the Huron County road, over rough terrain, watching out for land mines — patches of hard gritty snow persisting in shade.

“Duck!”

They roll into the ditch and Madeleine aims her imaginary rifle at the enemy convoy: Ricky is pushing Elizabeth in her wheelchair and Rex is pulling Claire on her bike. “Hold your fire,” says Colleen.

It looks as though the wheelchair is a chariot and Ricky the charioteer in his Roman red jeans, Rex a horse out in front, Claire in her sidecar. Madeleine and Colleen lie unseen, mere feet from the road, and when the little party arrives level with Madeleine she lobs a pebble that twangs off the spokes of Elizabeth’s wheelchair. Colleen punches her in the arm.

“Ow! I wasn’t aiming.” And she wasn’t. “Now I’ve seen everything,” says Madeleine.

“What?”

“Claire really was going for a picnic with Ricky. A Ricknic, nyah dat’s de ticket.”

“Doubters,” says Colleen.

“There’s one way to find out,” says Madeleine. “We just wait and see if he turns down the road to Rock Bass with her or not.”

“I got better things to do.” Colleen gets up, picking off the straw.

“I’ll bet you a nickel he turns down the Rock Bass road.”

“Jealous, eh?”

“No! I just betcha, that’s all!”

“I don’t take money offa small fry,” says Colleen.

“I’m not a small fry.”

“Plus you got a crush.”

Madeleine turns beet-red. Colleen snickers, “T’an amor avec mon frer com tou l’mand,” corks the half-empty bottle of grape soda with her thumb and takes off, dodging cow-pies, following a gully to the next woodlot. Madeleine lingers. It’s true, everyone is in love with Ricky Froelich. The dust still hangs in the air behind him and Claire and their little gang, and they are far enough up the highway now that they have begun to shimmer in the unseasonable heat. She watches the splash of red that is Ricky’s jeans as it pulsates and recedes toward the willow tree at the intersection. Then she turns and runs off after Colleen.