Leaning, Leaning Over Water
“Our entire family rode the bus to Hull and then the streetcar across the bridge and past the Chaudière Falls, to meet her at Ottawa’s Union Station. This took an hour and a half each way. When she stepped through the iron gate, I was surprised to see our cousin Georgie—known to us as Georgie-Porgie—right behind her. He was the same age as Lyd; we’d coloured Shredded Wheat cards together in the backyard of our old place when we’d lived in Darley. We seldom saw him except when we returned to Onta...rio in the summer; he’d shot up half a foot and was now taller than Lyd.
The air was cold and clear when we got back to St. Pierre; our family had been the only travellers on the bus and, except for Mother, who refused to abandon Granny, we’d placed ourselves all around the bus in different corner seats, as if we were strangers. We walked across the field to our road, chemin Brébeuf, and Granny Tracks stood on our front step, her back to the river, to let Father know that she’d been dropped into the Quebec wilderness.MoreLess
The air was cold and clear when we got back to St. Pierre; our family had been the only travellers on the bus and, except for Mother, who refused to abandon Granny, we’d placed ourselves all around the bus in different corner seats, as if we were strangers. We walked across the field to our road, chemin Brébeuf, and Granny Tracks stood on our front step, her back to the river, to let Father know that she’d been dropped into the Quebec wilderness.MoreLess
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