Homesick by Guy Vanderhaeghe Page A

poor man in those days,” her father announced.
    “I get a wage or I’m dust. I’ll cash one of my bonds and climb back on that bus tomorrow and head right back where I came from.”
    “Look at her, Stutz!” cried Monkman. “Look at her! There’s fire for you! Exactly like she was when she was seven, skipping rope with the other little girls. Going over that rope with her jaw set solid as iron and her pigtails cracking up and down like buggy whips. Little Miss Determination. When I saw that, I said to myself, Lord help and protect the man who gets her.”
    “Let the Lord look after whoever He has to. I’ll look after myself. Do I get a wage or not?”
    “What was it your mother did down east?” Monkman inquired of Daniel. “Trade horses? I got a feeling I’m about to be skinned. I best remember you don’t sup with the Devil unless you own a long spoon.”
    “I’m not joking,” said Vera. “I’m deadly serious.”
    “Well then, how much?”
    “Room and board for Daniel and me and a hundred a month. When I find a place and move out – two hundred a month.”
    Monkman shot Stutz an ironic smile. “Sound fair to you, Stutz?”
    “This is family,” he said. “I don’t put my nose into family business.”
    “You got any idea what minimum wage is in this part of the world, girl?” demanded her father. “Any idea at all?”
    “I don’t work for minimum wage. I’m not a minimum wage person.”
    Monkman pushed back his fedora with the tip of his forefinger. “Stutz,” he said, “why don’t you take the boy and his luggage upstairs to his bedroom. We’re going to have a money discussion here and I don’t want you getting any exaggerated notions of your worth from my daughter here.”
    Daniel looked questioningly at his mother. “Go along,” she said, motioning to the stairs with her head. Stutz and he disappeared up the stairs, toting a duffel bag and suitcases.
    “Daughter,” said Monkman, “you can have your money. But let’s not get into the habit of public wrangles. I don’t like them. I prefer a soft voice in private. Besides, this isn’t just about money, is it? What else is eating you?”
    “I want one thing clear,” said Vera. “Daniel is my son. I’ll have no interference from you. I saw what you’re up to.”
    “What the hell kind of nonsense are you talking now, Vera?”
    “Trying to get on the good side of him and put me on the bad. Offering him a drink. Winking at him or pulling a face whenever you made a reference to me. I won’t be turned into a witch or a fool, or talked around as if I wasn’t in the room.”
    “Jesus, didn’t somebody come prepared to stomp snakes? I meant nothing by it.”
    “I won’t allow you to put yourself between me and Daniel the way you did between me and my brother.”
    “You’re dreaming, daughter. I never came between you and your brother.”
    “Not much. Then why didn’t he write when I sent my wedding announcement? Because you wouldn’t let him. He was always under your thumb.”
    “Don’t be ridiculous. I did no such thing.”
    “Then why didn’t he write? He wrote once a week during the war.”
    Monkman stirred from one foot to the other. “Maybe you should remember who stopped writing first. He went down to the mail box once a day for almost a year after the war, looking for a letter from you. There weren’t any.”
    “I had my reasons.”
    “Maybe somebody else is entitled to reasons, too.”
    “I got my suspicions why he didn’t write.”
    “She has her suspicions,” Monkman told the ceiling.
    “You say you never stood between us,” declared Vera furiously. “Then how come every time I asked you for his address I never got it?”
    “You never got it because I didn’t have no address to give. He’s always on the move. I never know where he is, Alberta, the States. Those drilling rigs never stay put. He doesn’t have an address.”
    “A man without an address,” said Vera sarcastically.
    “That’s