Sophie Sea to Sea Read online

  “Cook supper in the fireplace? What a good idea, Chérie. It’ll be like camping. And tomorrow, first thing in the morning, we’ll go downtown and buy some new pots for the kitchen. And some new school clothes for you.”

  School. Sophie hadn’t thought about school for more than a month while they were travelling across the country. She wondered what her new school would be like. Would the kids be friendly? She’d never meet anyone like Marcie.

  Henri built a crackling fire in the fireplace and soon they were all eating hot dogs and steaming roasted potatoes.

  Maman coaxed some lively old tunes out of her tall black piano (which really did fit perfectly under her high stained-glass window). Papa crooned in his deep baritone while Arthur, Joseph and Henri harmonized. Grand’maman rocked in her old rocking chair, tapping her feet to keep everyone on time.

  The setting sun shone through the stained-glass window and splashed a pattern in pink and blue and gold on the dusty wooden floor where Sophie danced, whirling Zephram round and round, their feet drumming an echoing beat.

  Their cheerful music chased away the creepy squeaks and groans and shadows. It transformed that dark green house in the tangled garden into their new home.

  Monday was Sophie’s first day at the new school.

  All the kids were staring at her. She looked down at her new desk. It had a hole cut in the upper corner. In that hole sat a small round bottle of ink. Blue-black ink. Ink the colour of midnight. She brushed dust off the round lid.

  They’d never used ink at Sophie’s old school in Quebec. Ink was strictly for teachers and older kids. Kids in grade four always used pencils for their work.

  She looked up from her desk and gave the kids her mad Star Girl stare, narrowing her eyes at them. They still didn’t look away.

  “Right, boys and girls,” said Miss Wiggins, Sophie’s new teacher. “Eyes to the front.”

  All eyes left Sophie and swiveled toward the teacher.

  Miss Wiggins stood at the shiny blackboard in front of five straight rows of desks. “Today is a very special day for three reasons. First, we welcome Sophie LaGrange, all the way from Quebec on the east coast of Canada,” she said, pointing to one side of the map of Canada behind her, “to our school here on the west coast.” She pointed to the other side of the map. She smiled and her gold-rimmed glasses flashed.

  Twenty-nine pairs of eyes stared at Sophie again.

  Sophie ignored them. She looked straight ahead at Miss Wiggins. The teacher had large front teeth that stuck out.

  “And second,” the teacher continued, clutching her hands together. “One month ago today, on March 31, Newfoundland became Canada’s tenth province. Here it is on our map. Let’s give our Newfoundland a welcome clap.”

  The class clapped quietly.

  Newfoundland! thought Sophie. That’s where her cousin, Danielle lived now. She stared at the map. It was so far away that she’d probably never see her cousin again.

  “I’ll announce our third special event after our lesson about our new province and its important neighbours,” said Miss Wiggins. She flipped up the map. Under it were four charts with writing on them. “Here is some information about our maritime provinces,” said Miss Wiggins. “Let’s read it together.”

  NEWFOUNDLAND INI LABRADOR QUICK FACTS

  Motto: Quaerite Prime Regum Dei (Seek ye first the kingdom of God). Newfoundland has been known as ‘New Found Land’ since the early 1500s by Europeans who came to fish in the Grand Banks area.

  Population; 539,800 (1999)

  Size: 405,720 sq. km

  Capital: St. John’s

  Main industries: mining, forestry, fishing

  Flower: Pitcher Plant

  Bird: Atlantic Puffin

  Tree: Black Spruce

  History:

  For thousands of years, the Inuit hunted seals and bear along the coast of Labrador. First Nations people called Beothuk hunted caribou and fished in the rivers. In 1497, explorer John Cabot claimed St. John’s Isle for England. By 1502, the island was being called New Found Land. Fishing fleets from France, England and other European countries fished the Grand Banks every summer. English and Irish settlers began to build villages along the coast. In 1867, Newfoundland decided not to join the new country of Canada because there were many jobs in fishing, mining and logging on the island itself. The 1930s Great Depression created much hardship and in 1949, Newfoundland voted to become Canada’s tenth province.

  PRINCE EDWARD ISLAND QUICK FACTS

  Motto: Parva Sub Ingenti (The small under the protection of the great). Prince Edward Island was named to honour Queen Victoria’s father, Prince Edward.

  Population: 136,900 (1999)

  Size: 5,660 sq. km (Canada’s smallest province)

  Capital: Charlottetown

  Main industries: Farming, lobster fishing, tourism

  Flower: Lady’s Slipper

  Bird: Blue Jay

  Tree: Red Oak

  History:

  First Nations people have lived on the Island for thousands of years where they hunted deer in the forests and fished for salmon in the sea. Around 1720, it was settled by the French who called it lie. St. Jean. When the English took over the island, the French farmers were forced to leave. In 1770, many settlers arrived from Scotland. Most of the island was owned by wealthy men who lived in England and farmers had to pay high rents. Finally the government decided to buy the estates and sell them to the farmers. It also offered to build a railway across the island. Both projects were so expensive, the Islanders couldn’t pay. When Canada offered to help in 1873, the Island became Canada’s seventh province. In the 1900s, potato crops became very successful as did dairy farming and fishing.

  NOVA SCOTIA QUICK FACTS

  Motto: Munit Haec et Altera Vincit (One defends and the other conquers). Nova Scotia means “New Scotland” in Latin.

  Population: 935,600 (1999)

  Size: 55,490 sq. km

  Main Industries: Manufacturing, mining, forestry, fishing, tourism

  Flower: Mayflower

  Bird: Osprey

  Tree: Red Spruce

  History:

  In 1605 when Europeans arrived at the area now called Nova Scotia, the Micmac First Nations people were living there. French settlers called the land along the coast Acadia. By 1755, France had lost the war to Britain, so Britain ordered the Acadians off their lands. Settlers then came from Britain, Germany, and United States. In 1867, Nova Scotians decided to become one of the four founding provinces of Canada. Coal mining was in decline by 1950, and by 1990, the shrinking cod stocks closed fish processing plants.

  NEW BRUNSWICK QUICK FACTS

  Motto: Spem Reduxit (Hope was restored)

  New Brunswick is named for the English king, George the third. He was also the Duke of Brunswick.

  Population: 753,100 (1999)

  Size: 73,440 sq. km

  Capital: Fredericton

  Main Industries: Dairy and potato farming, mining, fishing, forestry

  Flower: Purple Violet

  Bird: Blackcapped Chickadee

  Tree: Balsam Fir

  History:

  First Nations people lived in what is now New Brunswick for many years, fishing, hunting and gathering plants. By 1608, French settlers called Acadians farmed the land around the Bay of Fundy. In 1755, England defeated France and the area became English. Since the Acadians refused to swear loyalty to Britain, they were sent off to France or the United States. In 1784, settlers fleeing New England during the American Revolution arrived and founded the city of Saint John. Many people arrived from Ireland, fleeing the famine of 1846. In 1867, New Brunswick became one of the first four provinces of Canada. Lumber, fishing and manufacturing continue to be important industries today.

  After Miss Wiggins and the children read the charts together, she said, “That’s all the time we have this period, boys and girls. After recess I have another surprise for you.”

  The bell rang and the children f
iled out of the classroom row by row. Sophie followed them as they clomped downstairs and out to the playground where she stood and watched the children run around and play in the muddy field. She was glad when the bell rang and they could go inside.

  The children settled back into their desks quickly. The teacher stood at the front of the room waiting until the room was silent. Sophie saw her take a breath and say, “Now for our third special announcement. Today is the day that we shall graduate from using pencil for our writing practice to using ink.”

  An excited murmur circulated through the room.

  Sophie wiggled to get comfortable in her seat. The wood stuck to the back of her bare thighs.

  “Have you used ink before?” asked Miss Wiggins.

  “Oh, yes, Madame,” Sophie lied before she could stop herself. “At my old school in Quebec we always used ink.”

  “You’ll be our class expert then,” said Miss Wiggins. “This will be a review for you.”

  The girl in front of Sophie turned around and screwed up her nose. “Miss Frenchie Smarty pants,” she hissed.

  Sophie stuck her tongue out at the mean girl.

  “Gwendolyn!” said Miss Wiggins, rapping her pointer on her desk. “Your attention here, please!”

  The girl sniffed and turned forward, tossing her long red braids back over her fancy starched collar.

  Sophie itched to give those braids a good hard yank.

  “Now let us begin our first ink day with a warm-up lesson,” continued the teacher. “Today we shall practice on paper. Will you hand out these practise sheets please, Donald? And our new pens, Elizabeth.”

  Each student received a sheet of lined paper and a straight wooden pen, shiny red with a pointed metal pen nib on the end.

  Sophie would show them that Quebec kids were just as smart as they were. And much, MUCH better writers. She’d have the best page of writing in this whole class. It would be so perfect that Miss Wiggins would marvel at it. “What a star writer Sophie is!” she’d say. She’d even ask Sophie to write the report cards for the whole class. Then Sophie would give that Gwendolyn what she deserved. A big fat zero!

  “Now you may open your ink bottles,” Miss Wiggins directed. “Very, very carefully, boys and girls. We don’t want an accident.”

  Miss Wiggins told them to dip their pen nibs carefully into the ink bottles, and touch the edge gently so they wouldn’t drip. “Now backs straight. Both feet flat on the floor,” she instructed. “We’ll begin by writing our names and the date at the top of our paper.”

  Sophie straightened her back and gripped her new pen firmly. She dipped the nib into the bottle. Her pen slipped in and ink splashed up onto the red holder. She tried to wipe the ink off but it smeared onto her fingers and made a blue-black smudge on her paper.

  “Now today’s date,” the teacher was saying. “May 1, 1949. Let’s write “Writing”. All together now, boys and girls. A nice big W. Down, up, down and up.” With a splendid flourish, Miss Wiggins wrote on the shiny blackboard.

  Pressing her pen hard on the paper, Sophie started the “W” of “Writing”. Splat! An ink blot where the “W” was supposed to be! She tried rubbing the blot off with her finger but ink smeared over the top line of her paper.

  She tried writing another “W” on the line below. But no matter how hard she pressed her pen, it wouldn’t write. Instead it carved deep grooves into her paper. The pen must be out of ink.

  She dipped it into the bottle again. Again ink splashed onto the holder. A row of round ink blotches dripped across her desk. She blotted them up with the sleeve of her brand new blouse.

  Her next attempt was no better.

  Maybe she should forget about the title and get into the actual lesson. After all, that was the important part. Today they were writing “O”s. Lots of “O”s joined up to each other. Big “O”s and little “O”s. Sometimes their “O”s even overlapped.

  Miss Wiggins was still practising her lovely big “O”s on the front blackboard. “That’s right, boys and girls,” she said encouragingly. “That’s right. Nice big round “O”s. Touch the top line and down to the bottom. O-O-O-O.”

  Sophie gripped her pen even harder. She tried with all her might to make a row of perfect “0”s. Everyone else’s pen seemed to glide across the page like skaters on smooth ice.

  She tried to peek at Gwendolyn’s writing, but she was hunched over her paper so Sophie couldn’t see it. She glanced at the boy across the aisle. His “0”s rolled across his page like blue-black rubber car tires. Beautiful!

  She looked down at her own page. Disaster!

  Miss Wiggins started down the aisles to check everyone’s writing. “What an expert job Elizabeth is doing!” she said, holding up Elizabeth’s perfect paper for everyone to admire.

  Elizabeth smirked in Sophie’s direction.

  “And Donald. What beautiful writing! It looks to me as if everyone is ready to start using ink in their writing book,” said the teacher. “Oh class! You must look at this. Another perfect paper!”

  All eyes swiveled to the back of the room. Even that gawky boy in the back row was being praised for his writing!

  Sophie stared down at her disastrous page. What will the teacher say when she sees it?

  As Miss Wiggins moved closer to her desk, Sophie’s neck grew hotter and hotter. And pricklier and pricklier. She’d have to try extra hard! She turned the paper over to begin again. She gripped the pen.

  Gwendolyn wriggled and shook Sophie’s desk which made her hand jiggle. Splat! An ink blot where her row of perfect “O”s was supposed to be!

  “Stop wiggling, Freckle Face!” she hissed, jabbing her pen into Gwendolyn’s back.

  “Quit poking me!” grunted Gwendolyn. She snapped her pen back at Sophie.

  Sophie gasped. Another ink blob splashed onto her paper!

  Gwendolyn turned back to her own writing, flinging her long red braids over her shoulder. Their tips brushed the top of Sophie’s ink bottle.

  Sophie lifted those long red braids and plunged them into the bottle!

  Gwendolyn shook her head. Her braids fell forward. Blue-black ink rained about her shoulders like a midnight storm, splattering her fancy white collar!

  “What?” she gasped. “You! You Frenchie Pea Soup! I’ll teach you!” She flicked her pen at Sophie’s face.

  Sophie felt a large wet splotch spray her cheek! She flicked her pen back at Gwendolyn.

  Splat! An ink blot exploded on Gwendolyn’s freckled nose!

  Gwendolyn snatched up her ink bottle and dumped it over Sophie’s head!

  “Girls! Girls!” Miss Wiggins swooped down the aisle. “Stop at once!” The teacher towered over them. Her hands gripped her hips and her glasses glinted angrily. “You two are disgraceful! Simply disgraceful!”

  Twenty-eight pairs of eyes swiveled in their direction.

  Ink dripped off Gwendolyn’s nose.

  Ink trickled down Sophie’s cheeks.

  Miss Wiggins snapped the pens out of their hands. “I was wrong,” she said, her bottom lip quivering behind her buck teeth. “Not everyone in this class is ready to use ink after all.” She scooped up their ink bottles and thumped them up on a high shelf.

  The bell rang for lunch.

  “You may be dismissed, class. Except you two, Gwendolyn and Sophie. You shall stay in and clean up this mess. When we return, I expect to see not one speck of ink anywhere. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, Miss Wiggins,” mumbled Gwendolyn.

  “Yes, Miss Wiggins,” mumbled Sophie.

  Twenty-eight pairs of tidy feet filed out for lunch, followed by Miss Wiggins. They left Sophie and Gwendolyn alone.

  While the girls were scrubbing at the splattered ink, Sophie happened to see Gwendolyn’s paper. It was a muddle of blue-black ink blotches, as dreadful as her own!

  She looked at Gwendolyn’s red face. A grin tugged at Sophie’s lips. “Want to see a real disaster?” she asked.

  Gwendolyn shrugged.

>   Sophie spread out her own writing paper.

  Gwendolyn stared at the mess and her mouth dropped open. “But you said…you told the teacher you always used ink at your old school. I thought you were an ink expert.”

  “I guess I—sort of—exaggerated,” admitted Sophie. “Pretty bad, isn’t it?”

  Gwendolyn nodded and grinned a wide inky grin at her.

  Sophie grinned back.

  When Gwendolyn flicked back her long red braids, Sophie thought the blue-black tips made them look quite elegant!

  10

  The dance teacher at Sophie’s new school was Madame Mimi. She had quivering chins and a fancy upswept hair-do.

  “Attention, boys and girls,” she tweeted, clapping her hands. Her shrill voice echoed off the basement walls. “Today we have a special treat! I’ve brought my phonograph player. And our very favourite record, The Forest Dance.”

  Sophie wondered why the class groaned. Dancing lessons at her old school in Montreal had always been fun.

  “We’ll practise our Creative Dance for our Spring concert,” continued Madame Mimi. “Find a partner, everyone.”

  A dark-haired boy grabbed Sophie’s hand. His hand was hot and clammy with sweat.

  “Now we shall begin our dance,” said Madame Mimi. “Always remember: be creative. This is CREATIVE Dance. So we must use our imagination.”

  As soon as Madame Mimi turned to put on the record, the dark-haired boy grinned widely at Sophie. Then he stomped on her toes! Hard!

  “Ouch!” she yelped and leapt away from him.

  But he stomped on her toes again.

  She tried to pay him back by stomping on his toes, but he just laughed. Madame Mimi didn’t notice.

  “Now this side,” her shrill voice pierced the air. “Let’s be little flowers. Imagination. Use our imagination, mes enfants. No. Not like that, Gwendolyn. Pretty little, LITTLE flowers.”

  “But I’m a dandeLION,” growled Gwendolyn.

  The teacher frowned at her and turned to the other children. “Now those on this side, be little forest creatures.”