on>Under Emily’s Sky
Under Emily’s Sky
By Ann Alma
Copyright © 1997 Ann Alma
First Edition
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or any information storage, retrieval and transmission systems now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.
This book is published by Beach Holme Publishing, #226– 2040 West 12th Ave., Vancouver, BC, V6J 2G2. This is a Sandcastle Book. A teacher’s guide is also available from Beach Holme Publishing at 1-888-551-6655.
The author and publisher acknowledge the generous assistance of The Canada Council and the BC Ministry of Small Business, Tourism and Culture.
Editor: Joy Gugeler
Production and Design: Teresa Bubela
Cover Art: Emily Carr, ‘Above the Trees’, VAG#42.3.83, oil on paper, 90.5 x 60.3, 1938-9. Courtesy: Vancouver Art Gallery; photo: J. Gorman.
Canadian Cataloguing in Publication Data:
Alma, Ann, 1946-
Under Emily’s sky
(A sandcastle book)
ISBN 0-88878-379-5
1. Carr, Emily, 1871-1945--Juvenile fiction. I. Title.
II. Series.
PS8551.L565U53 1997 jC813’.54 C97-900646-5
PZ7.A444Un 1997
This book is for Gutsie,
who helped me write it
just by being there.
THANK YOU, thank you to THE SLOGGERS, Linda Lee Crosfield, Barbara Little, Marilyn McCombe, Thelma Rolingher, Helen Stevenson and Judy Wapp for their undying enthusiasm, support and helpful critiquing.
The setting of this novel is at a fictional beach and hillside. In reality, in September of 1936, Carr was camped on a sheep farm in Metchosin, which was then about ten miles out of Victoria. The ‘elephant’ was parked at the edge of a gravel pit, which gave Emily the wide views she loved for her paintings of the sky.
Lee wrenched herself from her mother’s arms. “How do you know?” she yelled, clenching her fists. “How do you know we’ll be better off without Dad? You have no idea what makes me happy.” Tears came to her eyes and she turned away. “You don’t know anything about me. Nothing. Why doesn’t anyone ask me what I want?”
She ran from the living room, slamming the door behind her. As she passed her parents’ bedroom she saw her dad standing with his back to her, packing a suitcase: shirts, pants, socks, model train engines, cowboy boots, everything thrown onto the big double bed. The section of wall where a framed picture of his favorite locomotive used to hang was now empty; only a faded patch of wall remained. Lee stormed down the hall to her own room, slamming this door even harder. Her paper kite fell off the wall and she kicked it under the bed in one swift, forceful motion.
Lee pulled the bottom drawer of her old dresser
open until it stuck. She yanked harder to get it past the grove and it slammed against her legs. “Arrrg!” she yelled, kicking it furiously. From under a sweater she picked up her journal and a battered cookie tin. She flung the lid across the room and grabbed a chewed-up pencil stub. She wrote:
My parents don’t care how I feel about all this!!!!! They’re too busy fighting to think about anyone but themselves. Mom tells Dad to leave and he stomps off for hours. When he comes home, it’s always really late, sometimes in the middle of the night. He makes a huge scene, yelling and screaming, saying he wants to try and make things work. Sometimes he doesn’t come back until the next night and it starts all over again. Why cant they just stop? Why doesn’t he give up drinking? Why doesn’t Mom make him quit??? Why, why, why?
Nobody in this house listens to me, especially Dad. I might as well be talking to his gin bottle. I told him to stop drinking. He promised he’d stay sober. Why does he lie?
She underlined promised so hard, the pencil tore the paper. Disgusted, she hurled it across the room.
Flinging herself on the bed, she banged her fists on her pillow. “You lied,” she said loudly. Then she yelled, “You lied to me!” at the top of her lungs. She buried her face in her pillow, knowing he wasn’t listening. He never listened. She knew he wouldn’t quit drinking. Deep down, she also knew that Mom was right, that they would be better off without him. But to kick him out forever, for good?
As much as she hated Dad’s behaviour, Lee wanted two parents. She’d give anything to have a family who would talk to her at dinner, take her on trips, and love each other like they did when she was younger.
There was a knock at the door.
“Go away!” she cried into her pillow.
After another knock she heard her father’s voice. “I’m coming in to say goodbye.”
Lee saw the door inch open slowly. She hid her face in the pillow.
He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Lately I…I haven’t been much of a father.” His usually gruff voice sounded funny, cracked. He cleared his throat again.
“Why didn’t you just stop drinking?” Lee shouted into the pillow, gripping the edges of it with her nibbled fingernails.
“I just can’t do it, Lee. And I can’t live here any more,” he said firmly. “I won’t be coming back this time. She’s pushed me to my limit.” Lee heard the springs sigh as he sat down on the edge of the bed.
“What’d she do?” Lee looked at him sideways, her thick hair falling across most of her face.
“She phoned my boss.” He stopped and slammed his hand on his thigh. “Never mind. It’s nothing for you to worry about.” He sat very still, looking at the floor, before he said, “I’m moving to Edmonton. I’m getting a job at a train station there. It’ll be better than working at the bus depot. We’ll still see each other. I’ll take you on a vacation, on a real train.” He patted her shoulder.
“That’s not good enough.” Lee sat up. “I want to live with both of you. Why can’t you stay?” She looked into his eyes. They were the same blue as her own, but his weren’t looking back at her. They seemed
