to think of such things. While living at home with my mother I was always angry or hurt at the way she treated me. I had to work hard, I had to do everything right. I had to do as she said or get a lacin’. I had to look after all the little babies that seemed to come every year. Even though I loved all of them, I resented having to babysit them. As an adolescent I’d become a tomboy and choose whenever possible to be with my father or big brother. I’d had no time to think of family. What was a family anyway? I’d been sent away to a hospital at age four because my head was torn up by husky dogs. I was sent away to boarding school at age seven, because there were no schools on the Labrador coast. I was sent out to work at age eleven because my mom and dad needed help to feed the babies that kept coming every year, and as an adolescent I did hours and hours of babysitting for several Cartwright residents, and was sexually molested by a couple of them. At age fifteen I moved out of the family home and worked for the Mission that I’d attended as a little girl, and now, at age seventeen, I moved away from my hometown forever. What would I know about home or a family setting? Would I ever see them again? Tears soaked into my pillow. Yes, I had freedom, but freedom from what? And at what price?
Chapter 3
Dating Games
Black and pink — those were the colours I was told were sexy. I craved love and attention. I wanted to be sexy, so I bought myself sexy new clothes. I’d get dressed up in my black skirt with lots of crinoline underneath, pull on my sexy pink top, brush my long wavy hair, and head to Saunders’.
I entered the restaurant and a group of girls were sitting at a table. They didn’t invite me to join them, and it looked like they were talking about me as my tiny frame meandered to a table and slid into a booth. I jutted my chin out and paid no attention. I was the new girl in town and a threat to them. They’re just afraid I’ll take their boyfriends away from them, I thought. There had been several guys milling around outside and whistled as I passed them. I loved those cat calls. I knew I looked sexy, and to me that was all that mattered.
As I was sitting at a table all alone, a guy named Tom sauntered in. He came directly toward me and sat down.
“Josie, is it?” he asked with interest.
“Yah. How did you know my name?”
“You’re the new girl in town,” he said. “Would you like to go for a car ride?”
I’d noticed a few fellows in nice cars milling around Saunders’ but thought they were much too good to talk to me. I thought they must be rich to own such beautiful cars.
“Yes, I’d like that,” I said. So we left. I plastered myself in this huge car and tufted my crinoline just so as we took off down the road, spewing up a thick cloud of smoke, dust, and sand behind us. I was thrilled! I hadn’t been in many cars before. After all, I hadn’t even seen one until I came here! I felt exhilarated and happy. This is the life, I thought.
“Where are you from, Josie?” Tom asked.
“Cartwright. I came on the Kyle last week. I work for the post mistress,” I said, trying to sound grown up.
“That’s interesting. Do you like working there? How do you like Happy Valley?”
As the small talk continued, I was thinking of where I was: in a huge car with a nice-looking, clean-cut man and heading for god knows where. We ended up on a hilltop in the woods. Suddenly, I felt scared. Was he going to rape me? My mind went back to that terrible time in the woodshed at Lockwood Boarding School. I’d been pinned down by several boys and gang raped. I was only nine at the time.
We sat and talked for a long time. I began to relax a little and thought that if he was going to rape me, he would have by now. We started necking. I didn’t have the tools to fight off his demands. This world was strange and new to me and there was so much I didn’t understand. Up to that point in my life I hadn’t heard about being easy or cheap, or about being called a slut or whore. What were they? I certainly didn’t know that guys put notches in their belts every time they had sex with a girl! I didn’t know anything! Did I feel anything? Guilt? Shame? I’d lost my sense of self as a very young child and was conditioned to obey, to submit, and to do as I was told. I was powerless to resist. I just couldn’t say no.
I didn’t go out with him again. He never called. Did he win a bet in getting a date with the new girl in town? Did he win the bragging rights? I felt used and abused. I felt cheap. Where’s Murray? I wondered. Is he mad at me? I needed his love — I needed something familiar, someone I could trust to care for me. I’ll call him in the morning, I thought as I, once again, cried myself to sleep.
The next morning was bright and sunny. I felt invigorated and threw myself into getting the kids ready for another day and cleaning up the house. I liked it here with the Crawfords; it was an easy job. George was always working and came home tired. Barbara came home exhausted as well. After cleaning up the dinner dishes and tidying the living room, I called Murray.
“Where were you last night?” he asked right off the bat.
“I went for a ride with a guy.”
“Who? And why?” he asked sadly.
I wouldn’t tell him who, or why. It didn’t seem to matter. I was getting tired of answering his questions. I just wanted to have a good time and experience new things. “It was just a stupid mistake!” I yelled. “I got caught up in the car thing. It’s no big deal.” The fight was on.
“I’ll pick you up at seven o’clock tonight then, okay?” he asked.
“Alright,” I replied, too exasperated to continue.
As Murray drove up, I hopped on his motorcycle and we took off to the riverbank. We embraced, but something had changed. It wasn’t the same warm hug I was used to.
“Why did you cheat on me, Josie? You know I love you and it hurts me so much,” he said. “I realize this is all new to you, and how you must feel. But you have to learn that it’s not right to do what you’re doin’. People will talk.”
“I know, Murray, and I’m sorry,” was all I could say. I went silent, my mind was racing. “People will talk,” he’d said. Was I the talk of the town? Was I bad? Were people calling me that terrible word I hated so much? Was I a slut? I couldn’t think about it. However, I had to think about it. I needed to decide whether I wanted to stay with Murray or break up. This was a strange new life with many exciting things to do and lots of places to go. I’d become overwhelmed and confused as to what to do next. I felt guilty at the thought of breaking up with him. After all, Murray and I had been dating for several years at this point. He had always been there for me. But more importantly, he’d gotten me here! I began to wonder if I’d ever really loved him. Yes, he had come to Cartwright every summer and we were inseparable during those times, but during the winter I would date whomever I pleased, and answered to no one. I lavished the attention I’d gotten from the GI’s. I was captivated with their tales of faraway lands. I believed the nice things they whispered in my ear as we lay on the floor in the powerhouse in Cartwright. There were a few that I dated on a regular basis, but when I’d get a letter from Murray, I’d feel guilty.
“I’ll let you know when I make up my mind, Murray,” was all I could say.
A few days later I had another date. Jack picked me up in his car and we raced up the road toward the base. He took me to the Canadian military base and we entered the big theatre. I don’t recall the movie, just the experience of sitting in this theatre, with the huge masks hanging on the wall
