Sophie Sea to Sea Read online

  When she hugged Sophie and kissed her, Sophie thought Grand’maman’s cheeks were like wrinkled satin and she smelled like fresh baked bread.

  After everyone had been hugged and kissed soundly, Grand’maman said, “Entrez, entrez, all of you. Out of this rain. You must be starved. I’ve got a pot of my special pea soup and a big loaf of fresh bread waiting for you.” She led the way into the house, motioning them all inside.

  The long table in the kitchen was already set with bowls and spoons and cups. A big round coal oil lamp was in the centre so everything had a warm yellow glow. Sophie could smell Grand’maman’s good soup simmering on the wood stove.

  They all quickly washed their hands and faces at the kitchen sink and sat down to dinner followed by crunchy sugar pie for dessert.

  Sophie sat at the back of the table on a long wooden bench beside her three big brothers. Before she even finished her pie, she found herself nodding off in the steamy heat of the kitchen.

  “Everybody’s so sleepy,” said Grand’maman. “Maybe you should all go to bed.”

  Arthur, Joseph and Henri could sleep in the attic in a big bed up there. Maman and Papa could sleep in the front room on a pull-out couch and make a little bed for Zephram with two chairs pushed together. Sophie knew even if she curled herself up into a ball, she couldn’t fit into such a little space herself.

  She remembered the last time they’d come to visit the farm. It had been three years ago when Grand’papa had died and the whole family had made the long journey from Quebec by train. They hadn’t stayed long.

  “Where do I sleep?” she wondered aloud.

  “Ah, Sophie. You can share my bed. There’s plenty of room,” said Grand’maman. “As long as you don’t jiggle around as much as you did last time.”

  Sophie’s eyes sprang open. Sleep with Grand’maman? She’d ask where that fancy nightcap was, the one she’d made especially for Sophie’s birthday, the one Sophie had given away to the storekeeper in Kitchener, Mrs. Miller. Sophie would have to get into bed very quickly.

  “Sure am tired,” she yawned.

  “Brush your teeth, pop into your night clothes and into bed with you,” said Maman, as she changed the baby into his pajamas.

  Arthur stomped back into the kitchen and shook the raindrops off his Jughead cap. He was carrying Sophie’s red suitcase with the ‘S’ on its side.

  “Thanks,” she said and took it into Grand’maman’s room next to the kitchen. It was cool and dark so Sophie left the door wide open. Now the light and warmth from the kitchen could heat the room. She shucked off her skirt, sweater, shoes and socks and scrambled into her nightie as fast as she could. She scooted into bed and buried her head in one of Grand’maman’s pillows. Hopefully Grand’maman wouldn’t notice she wasn’t wearing the frilly nightcap.

  Grand’maman came in carrying an oil lamp that made the shadows dance around the room.

  “In bed already, Sophie? I hope you didn’t forget to say your prayers.”

  Sophie had to admit that she’d forgotten her prayers.

  “Well, up you get then and say them now.”

  Sophie slipped out of bed and knelt in the shadows on the cold floor on her side of the bed.

  But Grand’maman noticed right away.

  “And where’s that lovely little nightcap I sent you for your birthday?”

  “I um, I, well, I sort of gave it away,” stammered Sophie.

  “You what? You gave away your beautiful nightcap? Why, it’s the fanciest one I’ve ever made.”

  “It really was fancy, Grand’maman.” Sophie was going to lie and say she’d given it to her best friend who’d loved it so much and had begged and begged for it until Sophie had finally given it to her. But how could she lie, kneeling as she was, in front of the little statue of Our Lady holding Baby Jesus?

  “I gave it to the lady at the gas station in Kitchener, in exchange, um, for two comic books,” she confessed quickly.

  She held her breath and squeezed her eyes shut. She knew Grand’maman was going to scold her. But she didn’t. She just sighed an unhappy sigh and said, “What ever are we going to do with you, Sophie?’

  Sophie shrugged. She didn’t know what to say.

  “You can wear my old nightcap, I suppose,” said Grand’maman. “It’s worn, but there’s some warmth left in it. We can’t have you catching cold in the night, now can we?” She dug a plain dark blue knitted nightcap out of her bureau drawer and put it on Sophie’s head. It fitted over her curly hair like a woolly shower cap.

  “Now finish your prayers and pop into bed.”

  Sophie said three quick Hail Marys and hoped Grand’maman wouldn’t be so mad at her in the morning.

  After many days of rain, it was a surprise to wake up the next morning to sunshine. When Sophie looked out Grand’maman’s bedroom window, the glare from the sun glinting off the river made her squint. The river definitely seemed wider and deeper than it had yesterday. The trees at the edge were mostly under water now except for a few branches which looked like thin black fingers pointing up to the blue sky.

  Sophie quickly washed her face at the wash stand and dressed. When she went into the kitchen, her whole family was already there sitting around the breakfast table.

  “A perfect day for washday,” announced Maman as Sophie sat on the edge of the bench against the wall and reached for a boiled egg and some toast. Joseph and Henri were already putting on their boots to go out to explore the farm. Sophie gulped down some milk and took a big bite of toast. She didn’t want to be left behind.

  “Before you boys leave,” said Papa, “we’ll need your help to do the laundry. So fetch some water from the pump house and wood from the woodshed.”

  The boys groaned.

  “Laundry day on the farm, everybody helps,” he said. Papa finished his coffee and followed Joseph, Henri and Arthur outside with his axe.

  Grand’maman dragged a big copper vat from behind the wood stove and Maman helped her lift it. When they poured a pail of water into the vat, it spat and steamed. They sorted the laundry and stirred it into other pots of hot water already simmering on the stove.

  Wherever Maman went, Zephram tagged along behind her, hanging onto her skirt. She had to be careful or she’d step right on him.

  “What can I do to help? I could haul water too,” said Sophie, finishing her breakfast and gathering up the rest of the breakfast dishes.

  “I’d like you to look after Zephram,” said Maman, tucking her hair into a flowered scarf. “Keep him busy so he won’t be in our way.”

  “Okee dokee.” Sophie took Zephram’s hand and led him away from the laundry area. “What do you want to do?”

  “Ball!” he said and trotted into the front room. The new ball he’d gotten for his second birthday a few weeks before was under his makeshift bed. It was so red and shiny you felt cheerful just looking at it.

  “Ball!” he squealed and threw his ball right at Sophie’s face. She ducked and it bounced off the wall behind her, just missing an old family portrait in a fancy frame.

  “Oh, Zephie! You almost broke Grand’maman’s picture. Be careful!” The walls in the front room were covered with photographs in frames and in a corner stood a tall glass cupboard filled with shiny crystal bowls and goblets. “Let’s go where there aren’t so many things to break.”

  She gave him back his ball and he trotted after her to the kitchen.

  “My ball,” he said, hugging his red ball to his stomach.

  “Roll your ball to me and I’ll roll it right back,” said Sophie, kneeling on the blue linoleum floor in front of him.

  He shook his head. “No. My ball.”

  “I’ll roll it right back. Really, I will.”

  He stared at her for a minute then he cautiously rolled his ball to her.

  Sophie gently rolled it back to him.

  He caught it and laughed. He got so excited that he threw his ball at her again. It swooped right over her head and splashed into the vat of
boiling water Grand’maman was stirring.

  Grand’maman squealed and leapt away from the stove, her apron soaked. She gave Sophie a grouchy look.

  Maman handed her a dry towel and fished the ball out of the vat. “Find something else to entertain Zephram,” she told Sophie, giving Zephram back his ball.

  The kitchen had become so hot and steamy that Sophie felt she was beginning to melt. “Can I take him outside?”

  Maman blew a lock of hair away from her eyes and squinted down at her through the steam. She was scrubbing a shirt on a scrubbing board and soap was bubbling up around her elbows. “I don’t know, Sophie. You know how he wanders. I’m worried he might fall right into that river.”

  “We’ll stay in the backyard the whole time. There’s a fence around it, right? I’ll watch him every second,” Sophie promised. “I’m big enough to look after a little brother.” Star Girl protected everybody.

  Maman thought for a moment. Then she nodded. “Okay, but don’t let him out of your sight for one minute. I’ll call you when lunch is ready.”

  “You can feed the chickens if you like,” said Grand’maman. “Their food’s in a big can in front of the hen house. Just be sure not to let them out of their pen. That Big Bertha is like Zephram, always trying to escape.”

  “Big Bertha?”

  “She’s the fat brown one. My best layer, but she likes to hide her eggs all over the place.”

  Sophie dressed Zephram to take him outside. She buttoned on an extra sweater, his warm blue one, and wrapped a long blue and red scarf around his neck. This was hard because he was so wiggley.

  She stuffed his hands into some mittens and stuck a woolly toque over his curly hair. Clutching his ball in his mittens, Zephram waddled down the back step after her.

  Grand’maman’s backyard was muddy with big puddles which reflected blue sky and grey and white clouds like a jumbled soapy washing. In the deep shadows at the side of the house were still islands of dirty snow. There was a sort of boardwalk made out of long planks which went across the yard from the back door to the pump house, a white building the size of a tall playhouse. The door whacked open and Arthur came out with a pail in each hand.

  “Hey! Hey! Get out of my way!” he chanted as he came towards Sophie on the boardwalk, water sloshing out of his pails onto his pant legs. Sophie jumped off the boards onto a bunch of weeds taking Zephram with her. Zephram turned to follow Arthur back into the house.

  Sophie knew if he went back into the kitchen he’d be in Grand’maman and Maman’s way again. “Come on, Zephie. Let’s play with your ball,” she said. When she jumped back onto the boardwalk her shoes were covered with gumbo mud. It was a kind of mud that stuck to her shoes in big globs that were hard to scrape off.

  Zephram sat in front of her and rolled the ball. She caught it and rolled it back.

  Sophie could hear Papa chopping in the woodshed on the other side of the pump house. Then she saw Henri coming toward them with a big armful of wood.

  “Quick, Zephie. Throw me the ball before Henri gets here,” she said.

  Zephram threw the ball right at her head. She caught it this time and jumped off the boardwalk before Henri came by.

  “You’re in my way, Zephie,” said Henri, stepping down into the mud on his way into the house.

  Joseph followed soon with an armload of wood too. Then Papa came down the boardwalk with his axe. He said, “That’s the last load. We’ll have to go over to the Cote’s to get more wood. The woodshed’s looking a little empty.”

  “Can I come?” asked Arthur coming out of the house with empty pails. “Maman said they’ve got enough water.”

  “Me too, Papa,” said Henri. “The wood box by the stove is overflowing in there.”

  “Me too, me too,” said Sophie.

  “Who’d look after Zephram?” Papa asked her. “Sorry, you’ll have to stay, Chérie. The boys and I’ll take a shortcut over the fields so we won’t be long. We’ll be back in plenty of time for lunch.”

  He started up the tractor and Sophie’s brothers scrambled into the little trailer behind it.

  Sophie watched the tractor pull the trailer as it bounced through the farmyard, past the barn and into the fields, her brothers shouting gleefully.

  “Drat,” she said. “They have all the fun. I’m always left behind.” She kicked Zephram’s ball with her heel.

  She heard it bounce against the house. When she turned around, she couldn’t see it anywhere.

  “My ball!” Zephram’s face crumpled and he started crying. “Ball’s lost.”

  “I’ll find it,” said Sophie. “It has to be nearby.”

  She trampled the shrubs at the edge of Grand’maman’s house but she couldn’t find the ball anywhere.

  “Ball?” said Zephram, his chin quivering and his round blue eyes filling with tears. “Where’s ball?”

  Sophie heard Grand’maman’s chickens clucking in the chicken pen.

  “Let’s go feed the chickens,” she said. “Grand’maman said we could.”

  “Feed chickies, feed chickies,” sang Zephram. He followed Sophie, jumping over the puddles to the other side of the farmyard.

  Sophie got a scoop of grain from the chicken feed bag in the covered pail beside the hen house. Then she opened the gate to the chicken pen.

  “Cluck, cluck, cluck, cluck,” the chickens greeted her with shiny button eyes. Most had white feathers, but one fat hen was brown. “I bet that’s Big Bertha,” Sophie told Zephram.

  The chickens gathered around as she threw grain onto the ground. They all clucked and attacked the grain. Big Bertha was especially greedy, scampering about, chasing away the other hens with her beak.

  Sophie saw Zephram stuffing grain into his mouth.

  “No, Zephie! That’s chicken food, not baby food!”

  The fat hen spotted the open pen. Out she scooted.

  Sophie darted after her and scooped her up. But by the time she got that hen back into the pen, Zephram had chased out a bunch of others.

  “Oh Zephie! Those hens belong inside their pen.”

  Sophie and Zephram scooted around the muddy farmyard chasing the squawking chickens. They caught them one by one and stuck them safely back into their pen but Big Bertha escaped again, scooting past Sophie’s legs to freedom. Squawking and flapping her wings she flapped away between their muddy car and Grand’maman’s house.

  Sophie raced after her. Zephram was right behind Sophie, shouting, “Here, chick, chickie.”

  They chased Big Bertha down the lane toward the front gate. The hen turned and thrashed into the bushes in the front yard. Sophie darted after her, dodging under bushes and leaping over rocks. Then Sophie whirled around. Zephram wasn’t behind her! He’d disappeared!

  “Zephram! Where are you?” she yelled.

  She dashed back to the lane. There in a puddle beside the gate was his long blue and red scarf. It was the gate she hadn’t closed properly the day before. Zephram had found a space big enough for a two-year-old to squeeze through, and he’d escaped!

  Her heart pounding, Sophie yanked open the gate and slipped through. She frantically clomped down the muddy lane to the road. She hoped, hoped, hoped he hadn’t gone to the river. But when she stared down the road she saw him at the bridge!

  “Zephram!” she screamed her loudest.

  He was crawling up the wheel-like side of the bridge like a round blue caterpillar. He could fall into the flooding river any second! The rushing brown water swirling past the bridge was much higher than yesterday.

  Sophie spun around in a frenzy, searching for help. There wasn’t a car or truck in sight. Not one person!

  If she ran back to get Maman, it’d be too late!

  She swallowed hard and started racing down the muddy road toward the bridge. Her shoes became muddier and heavier with each step.

  “Hurry! Hurry!” she panted, choking back her fear. It was like in her nightmares when she tried to run but her feet were so thick and heavy she coul
d hardly lift them.

  When she finally reached the bridge, she was panting hard. She leapt up to grab Zephram’s leg, but he was already too high. He’d crawled almost to the top of the cement arch. Muddy brown water gushed under the bridge, gurgling and splashing onto the road. If he fell, the river would carry him downstream. It was all her fault for not watching him every second. And for leaving the gate open.

  “Zephram!” she screamed. “Come down!”

  He stopped crawling and peered at her between his arms. “Down?” he said.

  “Zephram!” she commanded in her most motherly sounding voice. “You come down here right this instant!”

  His round eyes grew big. He let go of the bridge and fell right on top of her. Smack!

  She grabbed onto him and they both rolled onto the muddy road. She buried her face in his woolly sweater and hugged him so hard he squealed and tried to wiggle out of her arms. But she kept holding him tightly as she lifted his fat little body out of the mud. They were both soaked through, but he was safe.

  She stood up and grabbed his hand. She wouldn’t ever let him out of her sight again. “Come on. Zephram,” she said, trying to catch her breath. “Let’s go back to Grand’maman’s house. I bet lunch is almost ready.”

  She heard a tractor coming down the road. It was Papa returning with the trailer. When he saw Sophie and Zephram he drove the tractor to them.

  “What happened?” he asked staring at his two muddy children and then at the swollen river. “Are you all right?”

  “It was all that hen, Big Bad Bertha’s fault,” blustered Sophie, still breathing hard.

  “Big Bad Bertha?” he said, shaking his head at her. He bent down and picked them both up at once. He set one on each knee and they helped him drive back to Grand’maman’s house. Even on Papa’s knee, with her shivering back tucked securely into his warm side, Sophie held Zephram’s hand and let go only long enough to run and push the gate open for the tractor.

  This time when she shut the gate, she made certain it was securely closed.

  When Maman saw them, she gasped. Then she just stripped them both and stuck them into a tub of hot soapy laundry water right there in the middle of the kitchen. She didn’t even wait to hear the whole story.