Before the children were born, she found that the money went quite quickly. Now, because she was busy and didn’t have time to drive into the city to shop for a new dress or to take a meal at Eaton’s, the money began to accrue, and as the account grew, she wondered what she should do with it. She found an orphan in Vietnam through a church organization and donated five dollars a month to that child. The child’s name was Trang, and one day there arrived in the mail a black-and-white photograph of Trang and a letter from her. The letter was in her own words, or so it appeared, and Trang described her house and her life and the school she was attending and she thanked Hope for the support. Trang’s face was thin and she wore a white short-sleeved shirt and a blue skirt, a school uniform, and on her feet she wore rubber sandals. She was seven. Hope pinned the photo to the bulletin board.
Strangely, she had been experiencing morbid thoughts in the last while, thoughts of Roy dying and leaving her and the children bereft and poor. She had no occupation. On certain days she was sorry she had quit nursing to marry, but for the most part she had convinced herself that she hadn’t enjoyed nursing to begin with. She liked the sound of certain occupations, such as law, and she had it in mind that she might want to look into the education required to become a lawyer. In high school she had always achieved the top marks in her grade, and there had been the sense, both from her teachers and from her mother, that she could go far. She had also been a top debater. And so, one morning, Hope arranged for Mrs. Tiessen, the neighbour, to watch the two younger children, and she drove to the city, to the University of Manitoba, where she had made an appointment to see a counsellor about studying law. The counsellor was younger than Hope and she wore a tight skirt to mid-calf and her hair was high on her head. She sat beside Hope and together they talked about Hope’s having dropped out of nursing and Hope’s burden of having children. At first Hope didn’t understand what the counsellor was saying, this notion of a burden, and then she realized quite quickly what she was implying.
She said, “Oh no, I love my children. They’re not a burden. I was hoping I might study part time, or be able to take courses by correspondence.”
“Almost impossible,” the counsellor said. “Have you written the LSAT?”
Hope shook her head. She felt suddenly lost. She pushed back her chair and thanked the woman and then wandered about the campus. Everyone was younger than she was. She found the bookstore and on a whim bought a Russian grammar text and workbook. Roy’s father spoke Russian, had in fact come over from Russia in 1926 along with the second wave of Mennonites, and there was also the Cold War, something with which Hope had been keeping up, more out of fear than interest. She took the textbooks home, and for the first week she worked one hour a day at learning the Russian characters. One night Roy found the textbook and picked it up and said, “What’s this? Are you planning on being a spy?” He said no more but she was slightly humiliated and saw the futility of her studies. Eventually, the books were relegated to a shelf near the fireplace, and finally they found their way up to the attic, where they sat in a box alongside Hope’s high school diploma and her mortarboard.
One evening in late June, Hope asked her mother to watch the children and she drove over to the church for a counselling session with Pastor Ken. Ken was quite young to be a senior pastor. He had been educated at a seminary in California and he carried himself with tremendous aplomb and a certain arrogance. Some of the members of the church, especially the men, found him to be puffed up, but most of the women thought he was genuine. He had a mellifluous voice and he was a fine listener. On this evening, Hope found him in his office, reading. He was dressed in
Strangely, she had been experiencing morbid thoughts in the last while, thoughts of Roy dying and leaving her and the children bereft and poor. She had no occupation. On certain days she was sorry she had quit nursing to marry, but for the most part she had convinced herself that she hadn’t enjoyed nursing to begin with. She liked the sound of certain occupations, such as law, and she had it in mind that she might want to look into the education required to become a lawyer. In high school she had always achieved the top marks in her grade, and there had been the sense, both from her teachers and from her mother, that she could go far. She had also been a top debater. And so, one morning, Hope arranged for Mrs. Tiessen, the neighbour, to watch the two younger children, and she drove to the city, to the University of Manitoba, where she had made an appointment to see a counsellor about studying law. The counsellor was younger than Hope and she wore a tight skirt to mid-calf and her hair was high on her head. She sat beside Hope and together they talked about Hope’s having dropped out of nursing and Hope’s burden of having children. At first Hope didn’t understand what the counsellor was saying, this notion of a burden, and then she realized quite quickly what she was implying.
She said, “Oh no, I love my children. They’re not a burden. I was hoping I might study part time, or be able to take courses by correspondence.”
“Almost impossible,” the counsellor said. “Have you written the LSAT?”
Hope shook her head. She felt suddenly lost. She pushed back her chair and thanked the woman and then wandered about the campus. Everyone was younger than she was. She found the bookstore and on a whim bought a Russian grammar text and workbook. Roy’s father spoke Russian, had in fact come over from Russia in 1926 along with the second wave of Mennonites, and there was also the Cold War, something with which Hope had been keeping up, more out of fear than interest. She took the textbooks home, and for the first week she worked one hour a day at learning the Russian characters. One night Roy found the textbook and picked it up and said, “What’s this? Are you planning on being a spy?” He said no more but she was slightly humiliated and saw the futility of her studies. Eventually, the books were relegated to a shelf near the fireplace, and finally they found their way up to the attic, where they sat in a box alongside Hope’s high school diploma and her mortarboard.
One evening in late June, Hope asked her mother to watch the children and she drove over to the church for a counselling session with Pastor Ken. Ken was quite young to be a senior pastor. He had been educated at a seminary in California and he carried himself with tremendous aplomb and a certain arrogance. Some of the members of the church, especially the men, found him to be puffed up, but most of the women thought he was genuine. He had a mellifluous voice and he was a fine listener. On this evening, Hope found him in his office, reading. He was dressed in
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