MISTER Chapter III

Chapter Three - 1973

I was sitting as polite and still as possible after our evening devotions. Usually we Younger Girls had to go right up to our rooms after the group devotions with the Older Girls in the living room. Tonight, though, Mister and Missus were sitting on the couch together while most of us girls languished on the rug, playing with each other’s hair, waiting expectantly for the reason we weren’t dismissed to go wash and brush our teeth.

A year or two before, we were told that we couldn’t call them Mister and Missus anymore because it didn’t sound respectful. Thus, they had been renamed Mr. and Mrs. Beal for some time, now, but to me, they were still just good old Mister and Missus.

Missus smiled, tucking a long, stray, white wisp of hair back into her bobby-pinned roll at the nape of her neck as she began to speak. Absentmindedly, I noticed her everyday hairstyle’s similarity to Charlie Brown’s Lucy. I wondered if Lucy’s hair was half-way down her back when it was undone,too. Missus was explaining something about love being ‘for keeps’, but I was lost in a memory of being in her bedroom, watching her carefully brushing her long, snowy white hair and rolling it up with her fingers as she prepared for the day. Mister and Missus’ bedroom was off-limits, and it was rare treat when Missus invited me in.

“But we don’t want you to go!” one of the girls cried. My seven-year-old brain snapped to attention as I scanned the faces around the room. Some girls were quietly staring, some were distracted and others had a look of concern. My eyes settled on Mister and Missus. Exhibiting reassuring smiles, they explained that it will be a little while before they are gone, and we can always find comfort in knowing that love is ‘for keeps’, whether we are near or far.

My eyes began blinking rapidly. Inching closer to Lisa, searching her face, I realized she appeared to not be affected one way or another, so I followed her lead, taking it all in while nonchalantly tracing an invisible pattern on the rug. Lately, conversation at The Home had turned more and more to the upcoming departure, and I wasn’t really sure when we were first told that Mister and Missus were leaving. It probably hadn’t seemed real at the time – just something that would happen far off in the future. For the first time tonight, I realized the only parents I had ever known were really going away.

Thoughts began racing through my head and heart as I began to grasp what I just heard. “What does this mean? Why are they leaving us? Why are they leaving me? This is our home, we are all a family". Some girls and staff had come and gone, but some of us had never been apart. Not since I could remember.

After more matter-of-fact explanations and question-answering, Lisa, Robyn and I were ushered upstairs to begin the bedtime routine. We went through the motions and acted like we weren’t affected one way or another knowing that life would never be the same again. I thought about the storybook I’d read earlier about Chicken Little panicking because the sky was falling.

Mechanically, my heart breaking, I brushed my teeth in silence, feigning indifference in an effort to avoid exposing my inner anguish.

The light was turned out after bedtime prayers. Lisa and I usually giggled and fooled around enough to be told at least twice that we were going to be punished if we didn’t settle down. That night, though, Lisa was quiet and I could see the outline of her head on the pillow with a halo of moonlight shining on her through the window. I stared at her form long enough to burn her picture into my vision and closed my eyes to see how long I could still see her in my eyelids. Her silhouette faded after a while and I repeated the process and again, willing myself to sleep. Finally, I whispered softly to her in case she was still awake, like me.

“Can I sleep in your bed?”

“Sure,” she mumbled, in a fake, sleepy voice.

I crawled into her twin bed a few feet away. Our nightgowns barely touching, we lay there silently on our backs, staring at the ceiling, thinking our own thoughts until at last, our eyes closed off the night around us.

The next morning, and for many mornings after, I kept my eye on Mister. He still strode though the house whistling and singing, teased the girls with a twinkle in his eye, lifted me to his lap, letting me comb the sparse gray hair around his ears and the back of his head, and did all the deliciously, wonderful things he ever did. Words were said here and there about retiring, but Mister had a store he built that sold Christian books and Bibles in another town. He spent more and more time there each day before joining the rest of us for supper and evening devotions.

I loved to hear him on the telephone placing book orders, and at night, I was sometimes allowed to sit with him at his table while he ‘figured’ his numbers. I was always quiet and sat very still, secretly admiring every move he made.

I began watching for him in the morning, and if I saw him reach for his fedora, I begged to go with him, relishing the trip, wherever it would be. I was usually pretty sure he was on his way to the Wholesalers to buy food for The Home, or to the bookstore. Most of the time, he let me tag along, offering me a piece of tangy Dentyne gum in the car.

Each day seemed the same, until I heard the word, “tomorrow”. Everyone was still acting like nothing was happening, except for one of the girls who often blurted out her emotions. Sometimes I secretly admired her for being able to tell people how she felt.

“I wish you were my parents!” she cried. I held my breath, waiting to hear how Missus would reply, because I, too, wished they were my parents, but never dared to tell them. My ears wanted very much to hear Missus say, “I wish you were my daughter,” but instead, she explained that she would never want to take the place of anyone’s mother or father, and that we are in God’s family, so in a way, we are related through Him. I had never even seen this girl’s mother, and I didn’t remember what my own looked like, though I thought she visited once or twice a long time ago, so I doubted it would be any problem at all to take her place.

My father visited us sometimes, and he even brought my sisters and I to the apartment he had set up with his new wife in Brokton, Massachusetts. We were instructed to call her “Maum”. Dad had a loud, dark voice and talked all the time, but not really ‘to’ us unless he was upset. He swore and yelled a lot, and I was afraid of him. Once, he came to visit The Home and brought us all into the den to tell us that he was not my sisters' ‘real’ father - only mine. Since he made me feel small and nervous, I wished he wasn’t my real father, either.

The girl who had wished Missus was her mother turned to me, smiling. “Liz, you are my Sister-In-Christ! We are all in God's family!”

That may have been all well and good for her, but it didn’t console me one bit. If we were all in God’s family, that would include people all over the world I didn’t even know. Adding strangers to our family took away all the meaning! Who wanted to be in a family who didn’t love each other, or really know anyone? This home, these girls were my ‘real’ family, and Mister and Missus were my parents. Weren’t they?

Looking for some time alone, I asked if I could walk our new dog, Benji, but was told I could sit in the cellar with him instead, to keep him company. Making sure no one could hear me, I poured out my heart to him, going on and on about how frightened and lonely I felt, not even really sure why.

I sat Indian-style on the floor, my back pressed against the uneven, mini-boulders that served as the cellar walls, as Benji nipped at my fingers, trying to entice me to play tug-of-war with a tattered towel he’d found. After a while, he seemed to sense my mood and curled up in my lap with his head on my leg. Eventually, running out of words, I rose to my feet and kissed my dog‘s fuzzy brown muzzle, avoiding his wet nose with my lips.

Was he really anyone’s dog? I wasn’t sure, and was just beginning to realize for the first time that I was living in a home for girls. Everything I thought was mine, every photo, every toy, my own bed and even my second-hand clothes, weren’t really mine, after all, were they? It had all been a dream. This big beautiful home was not my home. They were just letting me live here, that’s all. I slowly took the stairs one-by-one to the first floor. A pitch black fog of loneliness descended over me, chilling my seven-year-old heart.

‘Tomorrow’ came, whether I liked it, or not. The talk at breakfast was about Benji taking ill in the night, and what time were Mister and Missus leaving? At some point, the last of their belongings were loaded into the car as the girls thronged around them. I hung back, feeling invisible, wishing I was bubbly and cute enough to demand their attention as they shut the doors, rolling down the windows to finish their good-byes.

“Remember, love is for keeps!” Missus reminded us all. Sensing that I wouldn’t be able keep my emotions from spilling out and ruining everything, I retreated back into the house to the Music Room where I could fall apart in solitude. Helplessly resting my chin on the windowsill, I watched as the car inched slowly out of the driveway, blinker on, waiting for traffic to let them in. I counted up to twelve blinks before Mister’s car pulled onto the busy street.

Blankly staring at the vacant driveway, tears began streaming down my face and my whole body melted with emotion. The girls began filing back into the house and after a few minutes, the head staff worker poked her head into the doorway, finding me alone on the chair, willing the road to magically deposit Mister and Missus back in our driveway.

“What’s the matter, Liz?” she asked, “Everything is going to be ok - you‘ll see.”

“I’m sad about Benji,” I lied. My hurt was so deep, I didn’t want to share it with anyone.

“Benji will be just fine. Dogs get sick all the time. It’s time to eat, now - come on out and join the rest of us,” her voice faded as she collected girls throughout the house.

I stole one more hopeful glance out the window. Seeing that Mister and Missus were not coming back, I wiped my nose and eyes on my sleeve, sighed deeply to try to get rid of my crybaby-hiccups and bravely made my way to the dining room to join what was left of my family.