In From the Cold Read online

  DEBORAH ELLIS

  In From the Cold

  Grass Roots Press

  Copyright © 2010 Deborah Ellis

  First published in 2010 by Grass Roots Press

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  The Good Reads series is funded in part by the Government of Canada’s Office of Literacy and Essential Skills.

  Grass Roots Press also gratefully acknowledges the financial support for its publishing programs provided by the following agencies: the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund and the Government of Alberta through the Alberta Foundation for the Arts.

  Grass Roots Press would also like to thank ABC Life Literacy Canada for their support. Good Reads® is used under licence from ABC Life Literacy Canada.

  (Good reads series)

  Print ISBN: 978-1-926583-25-9

  ePub ISBN: 978-1-926583-64-8

  Distributed to libraries and

  educational and community

  organizations by

  Grass Roots Press

  www.grassrootsbooks.net

  Distributed to retail outlets by

  HarperCollins Canada Ltd.

  www.harpercollins.ca

  To those who love to learn

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Mother and daughter hid in the shadows.

  “There’s no one else here.”

  Rose kept a grip on her daughter’s arm. Hazel was ten years old, and she was more interested in adventure than in safety. “What do we do?”

  “Always take one more look,” Hazel said.

  The two of them peered around the corner and toward the back of the shopping centre parking lot. A streetlight shone down on the giant blue Dumpsters. Hazel was right. No one else was around.

  Rose looked up at the high-rise apartment buildings in the area. Someone standing on a balcony or watching from a window could look down and see them. She tugged on the front brim of her daughter’s baseball cap, lowered her own, then led the way.

  They both wore dark jeans and jackets and carried large cloth bags over their shoulders. In her hand, Rose held an extra bag that could expand, in case the haul was especially good.

  By now, they were good at climbing. Rose was up the side of the first Dumpster and had the lid back in a flash, without making any noise.

  They spoke in whispers, sorting through one Dumpster together before going on to the next. Hazel often wanted to split up, but Rose was too afraid of what she might find. People threw things in Dumpsters that they hoped would never be seen again.

  “I see bread,” Hazel said.

  “Whole wheat?”

  “White, I think.”

  “Take it for now.” They’d throw it away later if they found something healthier. Rose put apples and oranges into her bag, along with a battered box of Fruit Roll-Ups and some kind of cereal.

  The next Dumpster gave them a carton with half a dozen eggs — only one was broken — and some cottage cheese that had only just expired.

  “Look!” Hazel held up a large Toblerone chocolate bar. It looked to be in perfect shape, except for the torn wrapper. Hazel added it to her bag.

  “Shh! Someone’s coming!”

  The two of them stopped sorting. They could hear voices coming nearer.

  “Hide or run?” Hazel whispered.

  Rose could not decide. She and Hazel always found a lot of free food in these Dumpsters, but the neighbourhood was full of people with nothing to do. Bored people could be dangerous.

  She hesitated too long. The voices were now right outside their Dumpster.

  “Take the first one,” a young man’s voice said. “I’ll look in here.”

  And then a face appeared over the side of the Dumpster, the face of a young man with messy hair. He didn’t have a chance to blink before Rose and Hazel let out loud, crazy yells. Hazel threw something at the man’s face. He screamed, clutched at his eyes, and fell to the pavement.

  Rose grabbed her daughter. In the next moment they were out of the Dumpster, running madly and disappearing back into the shadows.

  “What did you throw?” Rose asked as they ran.

  “Orange juice,” Hazel said.

  Once they knew they were not being chased, they relaxed enough to laugh, briefly, before continuing with their treasure hunt.

  Chapter Two

  “Oh, good. Carmen is working.”

  Donut Heaven was their last stop for the night. They only went inside when they saw that Carmen was behind the counter.

  Hazel opened the door. Carmen greeted Rose and her daughter with a big smile and a friendly “Hola!”

  The donut shop was nearly empty. A man sat with his head on his arms at a table in the back corner. A college student leaned over her laptop computer. Neither looked up at Rose and Hazel.

  “I have a present for you, Carmen,” Hazel said. She plopped her full shoulder bag down on the counter and opened the zipper of the small pocket on the side. She took out a bracelet with red stones that she’d found in a bag outside the Salvation Army.

  “Oh, that’s beautiful,” said Carmen. She put it on her wrist. “Muchas gracias.”

  “De nada,” said Hazel. “Teach me a new word.”

  “Say please,” said Rose.

  “Please.”

  Carmen taught Hazel a new Spanish word every time they saw each other. Rose left them to the lesson and went to the small stack of newspapers on top of the garbage bin. She quickly checked through them. After all this time, she didn’t expect to see anything, but she felt better after she looked.

  “Coffee or hot chocolate?” Carmen asked Rose.

  Rose preferred coffee, but she wanted to be able to sleep later. “Chocolate. Thanks.” She joined her daughter at the counter. She curled her cold fingers around the warm cup.

  Carmen put a bag of day-olds beside Rose.

  “Muffins and donuts tonight,” Carmen told her.

  “You are a life saver.”

  “It’s getting colder out,” said Carmen.

  “We’re fine,” Rose said.

  Carmen left them to take care of a new customer. They finished drinking their hot chocolate, and then Rose got the key to the women’s washroom.

  “It’s too cold to wash my hair tonight,” Hazel said.

  Rose almost gave in to her, but she didn’t know when their next chance to get clean would be. “We’re both washing our hair,” she said.

  They both had short hair, although Rose would need a cut soon. It had been ages since she had been to the hairdresser’s.

  Hazel fussed, but she bent her head over the small bathroom sink. Rose ran water over Hazel’s hair and added hand soap from the soap dispenser. She worked it into a lather, rinsed, then tried to get most of the water out with paper towels.

  She washed her own hair, then the two of them did their best to wash the rest of themselves with soapy paper towels.

  “My boss is cutting back my hours,” Carmen said, as Rose and Hazel stopped by the counter to say goodbye. “He’s talking about putting me on the day shift.”

  Rose was not happy to hear that. No Carmen meant no more free hot chocolate and donuts. Even worse, it meant no safe place to wash, and no regular way of checking the newspapers.


  “I hope that doesn’t happen,” Rose said.

  “Me, too,” said Carmen. “I can’t pay my bills if I work less hours. I’ll have to find another job.”

  Rose and Hazel said goodbye. They left the comfort of the warm donut shop and headed back out into the chilly, dark night.

  Chapter Three

  Rose and Hazel were both bone tired by the time the city sky turned from black to purple. The rest of the night had passed without incident, apart from ducking out of sight when a police car drove by. The hunting had been good, and they were burdened with their treasures. All they had to do now was make it safely home.

  Always, on these journeys, Rose wished she were two people. She had to walk in front of Hazel, to protect her from anything that was ahead, but she also wanted to walk behind. What if something — someone — snatched at her daughter as they walked by?

  Most of the city was asleep at this hour. The pre-dawn air was cold, as if to encourage people to stay home under the covers.

  A large river valley cut through the middle of the city. In the richer areas, this ravine was steep and narrow, with a concrete pathway at the bottom for dog-walkers and joggers. There were streetlights in those parts of the valley to keep the joggers safe at night.

  In other spots, the ravine opened up to a wide area of waste land, stretches of undeveloped scrub brush. The river widened there, with weeping willow trees hanging over it.

  Rose and Hazel crossed a footbridge over some train tracks. They left the sidewalk and headed down a dirt path into the long grass of the waste land. They had half a kilometre to go before they reached their shack. The streetlights didn’t reach the waste land. Rose and Hazel had to walk in the dark.

  Rose would have felt better if they could sing while they walked, but she knew there were others living in their ravine. It was safer not to disturb them. So they walked almost in silence. Rose only whispered to her daughter now and then to make sure Hazel was still with her.

  By now, Rose knew each group of trees, each clump of brush. She knew when to leave the open area and walk into what looked like thick bushes until she lifted away the branches and uncovered the trail. Their hut had been harder to find before the season changed and the leaves fell from the trees.

  She waited for Hazel to get in front of her, then she put the branches back in place, like closing a gate.

  Their shack could now be seen. It, too, was covered with branches, but they could not hide the blue plastic tarp, draped over the old boards and windows leaning into each other. It was a sturdy little shack, built from things other people had thrown away.

  The walls were wooden skids, stolen from warehouse yards late at night. Rose and Hazel had carried big pieces of particle board from a construction site to add to the wood from the skids. Everything was covered with plastic to keep the rain out.

  Rose did not waste time admiring the shack. She looked for signs that it had been disturbed.

  The row of empty soda cans lined up in front of the door was knocked over.

  “Hold it,” she whispered.

  This had happened before. The wind, or an animal, had disturbed the cans. It was probably the same this time. But Rose had to check to make sure.

  “Mom,” complained Hazel, her arms full and aching.

  “Shh. Wait.”

  Rose carefully pried open the board they used as a door and peered inside the hut.

  Someone was sleeping on the floor.

  Rose dumped her armload of treasures. “Get down!” she yelled at Hazel, then she leapt into the hut, grabbing the thick stick that they kept just inside the door.

  “Get out of here! Get out!”

  The person on the floor was an old man, hairy and scruffy. He stumbled to his feet, stinking of alcohol and filth from the street.

  “I’m just sleeping,” he said, in a sound that was part roar and part mumble. His words slurred together.

  “Get out! Out!”

  Rose waved the stick at him. She wanted badly to hit him. In his drunken state, it would be so easy to knock him to the ground. But then she’d have a knocked-out drunk on her hands. She just wanted him to go, and to scare him enough so that he wouldn’t come back.

  “Get out!”

  He ran out. Rose chased after him, pounding the ground every time he showed signs of slowing down. When he was a good distance away, she stopped chasing him and threw stones at his retreating back.

  “Hazel? Where are you?”

  Hazel stood up. She had been hiding behind a clump of tall, dead weeds.

  “You said no one would find us,” Hazel shouted. “You said we would be safe.”

  “It’s just that it’s fall,” Rose said. “The leaves are gone, and we’re not so well hidden anymore.”

  “So what are we going to do, then?”

  Rose was tired. “I chased him away, didn’t I? I’ll bet you didn’t think your old mom had it in her.”

  It was a feeble joke, but it was the best Rose could do just then. She didn’t want Hazel to know how scared she was.

  Hazel had her sulk-face on. She looked exactly as she did when she was two years old.

  Not another bad mood, thought Rose. She nodded for her daughter to go inside. Hazel picked up her bags and went into the hut.

  Chapter Four

  “Shoes off,” Rose said.

  Hazel peeled off her shoes without untying them first, something Rose hated her to do. It stretched the shoes, and who knew when they would find another pair? But Rose held her tongue. She had decided to be less of a nag. Hazel didn’t pay attention to nagging, anyway, so they might as well have a little peace.

  They put their bags down. Layers of tarp covered the dirt floor of the hut, with flattened cardboard boxes spread over the tarps. On top of the cardboard were pieces of carpet taken from a Dumpster.

  “It doesn’t look like he stole anything,” Rose said.

  “He just stunk up the place,” said her daughter.

  “The smell will go away.”

  Hazel had a bed, a single mattress up on some boards and milk crates. The mattress came from the trash pile outside someone’s house on garbage pick-up day. Rose wrapped it in plastic garbage bags before she allowed Hazel to sleep on it.

  Rose slept on the floor, on a mattress made from extra pieces of carpet. Their blankets came from bags left on the front step of the Salvation Army in the middle of the night.

  Hazel flopped down on her bed and pulled the blankets up over her head.

  “You’re not going to help me unpack?” Rose asked.

  Hazel huffed and got up off the bed.

  “I’m not happy with your attitude lately,” Rose said. “You used to help without complaining so much.”

  Hazel didn’t answer. She bent low over her sack and started pulling things out. Her bed was soon loaded with books, sweaters, socks, and packages of food.

  “You want mice in your bed?”

  Hazel took the food and put it on the piece of particle board they used as a table. The square of board, peeling at the corners, was propped up on bricks and covered with a piece of red cloth. A jar usually held wild flowers, but Rose noticed they hadn’t picked new ones in a while. The jar now held just stems and dead leaves. The flowers had died, and neither mother nor daughter had bothered to replace them.

  This is not good, Rose thought. I have to try harder. I can’t let us get sloppy. This may be a shack, but it is still our home.

  Hazel still wasn’t talking. Rose let her be quiet. Silence was the only way they had any privacy. For four months, neither had been out of the other’s sight. Rose hated for Hazel to be more than an arm’s length away, so she could always grab her.

  The food haul was good. Rose built up a tiny fire, just outside the hut, and cooked all five eggs together, scrambling them without oil or butter. She cut up two of the less-battered oranges and then brought all the food back into the shack.

  “Wash your hands,” she said to Hazel.

  Ha
zel was back on her bed, thumbing through the books she’d found.

  “While it’s hot,” said Rose.

  Hazel left the books and squirted hand sanitizer into the palms of her hands. Rose did the same, and they sat on cushions in front of the low table.

  They ate directly from the pan. Rose let Hazel eat most of the eggs.

  At least she’s eating, Rose thought. She’s safe and she’s eating.

  Rose ate the eggs that Hazel didn’t want, and she finished the orange pieces that Hazel was too full to eat.

  It was usually Hazel’s job to clean up, but Rose did not trust her daughter’s new moody attitude. She did the cleaning herself. She took the food scraps out into the bush and covered them with dirt. Then she went to the river’s edge with the frying pan.

  She was careful not to step on the little toy village Hazel had set up among the tree roots and rocks. Little McDonald’s toys from the Salvation Army, Disney figurines, tiny Care Bears, and cars were arranged around houses made of twigs and garbage. Hazel had even built a little marina, with tiny hand-made boats she could sail.

  Rose squatted down and scrubbed the pan in the river.

  The distant sounds of the busy city waking up drifted down to Rose’s ears. What was it the nuns used to say? Be in the world but not of the world. Rose was in the city, the city she’d lived in all her thirty-one years, but she was no longer a part of it. The quiet around her was an unexpected blessing of their new life.

  “The water’s dirty,” Hazel said.

  Rose jumped at the sound and got to her feet. Hazel was watching her.

  “The heat from the fire kills any germs,” Rose told her.

  “How do you know?”

  “What?”

  “You say that like you know. How do you know? Did you do a germ test? In school, in science class, we did experiments to prove something. Did you do that?”

  “Yes,” Rose lied. “At university.”

  “You studied history at university.”

  “There was a required science course. Heat from fire destroys germs from water.”