Farmerettes (13 page)

“I couldn't have done them without your nanny.”

Jean nodded. After the salty mashed potato and the nutmeg disasters, she had suggested Nanny take Isabel under her wing and teach her to bake. Nanny was delighted to pass on her skills and have company several afternoons a week. “Nanny tried to teach me too.”

“You're lucky. Farm women are natural bakers.”

Jean laughed. “The first time Reverend Ralston asked me to bring a pie to our Thanksgiving feast, I stayed up half the night. Baked five horrid pies to finally get one decent one. My mother did the same when she was young.”

“So maybe someday I'll bake as well as Nanny?”

Jean nodded.

“And you won't tell anyone?”

“They don't need to know.”

“Thank you.”

Thunder boomed somewhere above them. “We should go inside,” Jean said.

Isabel sighed. “I can't see our star—and it's the brightest one.” She pointed south. “Sirius. It's usually there.”

Jean looked at her. “Billy?”

“We named it our star just before he left. Promised each other we'd look at it every night.” Her voice quivered. “I can't see it.”

Jean reached tentatively to touch Isabel's shoulder. Isabel flung her arms around her. Jean awkwardly returned the embrace and made comforting sounds like ones she might make to an ailing calf.

Raucous laughter burst from around the corner.

Isabel jumped.

Jean scoffed. “The safe-side soldiers have won another battle.” She watched the men standing in their smokers' circle, exhaling tales of daring and glory. She wondered if they ever spoke of pain and brutal death.

“You're out here alone for a reason,” Isabel said gently. “Are you thinking of someone over there too?”

“My brother. He's a prisoner of war.”

Isabel frowned sympathetically. “Our boys are so brave to face such terrible danger. I guess we need to find the courage to keep going until they come home.”

Jean didn't add,
if they come home.

Two dark shadows emerged from the field. First Peggy, then Harry Rayner. Without glancing at the girls, Harry abruptly turned left toward the men in the barnyard. Peggy joined the two girls. Jean noted she kept her face down.

Sounding as glum as Jean felt, Peggy muttered, “You can dance and sing at the top of your lungs, but you can't escape this damn war!”

Her vehemence surprised Jean. “Are you all right? Did Harry behave badly?”

“Oh. No. He was a gentleman.” Under her breath, she added, “But an awful person just the same.”

Jean let the comment go. Everyone had their own worries.

Somewhere across the lake, thunder rumbled and lightning flared. “It's on the way,” Jean said. “Wish it would wait another week or three.”

“It isn't all sunshine and plenty out here, is it?” said Peggy.

Jean shrugged. It had been easier when Rob was here and Dad was well. But there wasn't a thing she could do about it, except pray the rain would end quickly before too many berries were ruined.

Music and laughter erupted from the barn.

“Shall we join them?” said Peggy.

Lightning, then deafening thunder exploded overhead.

“This must be what the war feels like for Billy,” Isabel said. “How can I dance when he's out there fighting for us?”

Peggy wrapped her arm around Isabel's slim shoulder, and regarded both girls. “We've all read their letters. They're taking some good times whenever they can too. Don't you think Billy's been to a few parties on his base in England? That Rob and the other prisoners have found ways to cheer each other up?”

Jean and Isabel looked doubtful, so Peggy pushed on. “I think they try to forget the war sometimes too, escape into fun. I'll bet they expect us to do the same. We can't help them by spending these years crying.” Another bolt of lightning punctuated her speech. Closer this time.

“Let's go in before the next set begins,” said Jean. “We don't want to miss another one.”

Binxie

Binxie skipped across the square with Johnny's arm linked to hers, her hand wrapped in his. He smiled down at her.
Did my heart just flutter?
she wondered, then mentally kicked herself.
I'm not in a romance novel. But why does it feel so good?

A final twirl and the music ended. The dancers stood clapping and puffing for breath. People divided into streams—toward the refreshment tables, and outside for relief. Binxie only half-planned to stand beside Johnny at the table of baked goods.

With a wide white-toothed smile, he passed her a plate of strawberry tarts.

Stop staring at him,
she told herself. She took a tart and concentrated on eating it. What was wrong with her? She had been taught how to handle herself in any social situation, say all the appropriate words. Where were they when she needed them?

Johnny turned as if to leave. Binxie blurted, “You'd think I'd be tired of strawberries by now, but these taste so delicious.”

He turned back and regarded her. “Do you have the strawberry crouch yet?”

“Is that a disease?”

He demonstrated an exaggerated strawberry-picking position.

Binxie grinned. “My knees may be permanently damaged.”

“You did a great job helping Tessie the other day. Jean told me you were a natural.”

“It had to be done.”

Johnny smiled at her. “Not everyone could do it.”

“The calf is so cute. I watched it run across the field today, and thought how lucky we were to save it.”

“Farm life suits you.”

Binxie realized it was true. “I feel useful here.”

“We sure need you farmerettes…”

The rest of his words were drowned out by a barrage of thunder.

Binxie remembered what Jean had told her about his way with animals. “There's more to it than the crops we pick.”

“Maintaining the machinery, the buildings, paperwork, planning, purchasing—Jean's dad, my mom, spend hours on that.”

“I meant the livestock.”

Johnny nodded. “That's the best part. Animals trust us and give back more than we give them.”

Binxie thought of the roast chickens and ham they'd eaten earlier. “Some give us everything.”

Johnny nodded. “You've square-danced before.”

“At our cottage. It's more fun than ballroom dancing.”

“You are a farmer at heart,” Johnny said with a grin. A few weeks ago, Binxie would have felt insulted, but not now. She relaxed and asked about his work with the animals. She'd hit the right topic. They talked for several minutes.

“But think of Oslo. There's no cure for him,” said Johnny.

Binxie laughed. “I've met him. A cure would be sweet.”

Another tremendous boom of thunder stopped her. Suddenly Jean, Peggy, and Isabel ran inside the barn and headed their way. The fiddlers tuned their instruments again and everyone hurried to form their squares.

“Come join our set,” Johnny invited her, but his eyes were already on Jean as he headed for the dance floor. Binxie sighed and found Isabel and Peggy at another square of dancers.

The music and joy soon took over her mood again, and she danced as happily as the others. Then one deafening crash, like an explosion, burst through the merriment. The music paused. Everyone stopped in mid-step and stared at the open barn doors. Outside, rain slashed down in sheets.

“That hit something mighty close,” said Mr. Belding.

“Should we head home?” asked Shirley.

“No sense in that,” Dr. Clifford told her. “Rain's pouring, lightning's cracking everywhere. It's smarter to stay put.”

The music and the gaiety continued. In the light and warmth of the barn, people celebrated, while the storm outside battered their fields and homes, and soldiers stormed at each other in fields across the sea.

X

The rain had stopped and the night air felt cool, a welcome relief after days of heat. She sat quietly among the other girls, forcing the misery from her face as the wagons rolled home on muddy, puddle-pocked roads. Sitting on damp blankets and splattered by mud flying from the wheels, the girls were too full of music and excitement to be tired.

The only person looking almost as unhappy as she felt was Binxie, wistfully looking ahead at Dr. Clifford's car, where Jean sat in the backseat next to his son, Johnny.

“How did you two manage to walk outside with the cutest fellows?” Beside her, Kate teased Peggy and Helene.

Peggy shrugged. “I noticed you flirting with the boy in the plaid shirt.”

“It was such a nice evening,” sighed Isabel. “The best time I've had since last October.”

She watched Isabel's pretty lips tremble, wishing she could put her arms around her, stroke her hair gently, comfort her. If only Isabel wanted her instead of longing for Billy.

She tried to force away these wicked thoughts. Coming to the country had not cured her; it had made it worse. She was hopelessly in love with this delicate angel. Isabel. Even her name was beautiful.

She'd fought this feeling so hard. Every night, she prayed for it to stop, but the day she carried Isabel from the field, she had to admit it to herself. The light body she held protectively in her arms, the lovely face, the blonde curls draped over her elbow as she carried her to the infirmary and gently deposited her on the bed—she loved this girl. She hated herself, but there was nothing she could do about it.

Tonight when they danced around the circles, their hands had connected for a moment. It had felt like an electric jolt—her whole being had soared to life, throbbing with love, never wanting to let go. Isabel had smiled at her—and skipped merrily on to the next partner, bestowing on him the same happy expression.

She had been aware of Isabel all evening—Isabel hitting the volleyball her way, so she'd purposely missed it; the joy on Isabel's face that she'd earned a point; Isabel laughing; Isabel standing alone and sad, missing someone overseas. She knew she could never comfort her.

Once again she made herself look away. Above her the stars shone extra bright and the silhouettes of the trees stood clear against the dark sky as if the rain had washed everything clean. Everything but her.

Sunday, July 4, 1943

Binxie

Sunday Binxie and most of the girls slept in. Six days of farmwork, last night's dance, and the drizzly morning kept all but the most devout churchgoers in bed. By afternoon, the weather turned hot and humid again and only a few puddles spotted the farmyard. The girls sprawled around the recreation room, listlessly playing cards, listening to music, mending clothes. No one had the energy to go outside.

As Binxie finished a letter to her sister, Peggy went to the piano and leafed through the sheets of music.

Binxie didn't feel like one of Peggy's jolly sing-alongs today. Time for a walk. She headed upstairs for her rubber boots. She came back down to the strains of a Chopin étude. It was beautiful, but she needed air and movement so she continued outside. The afternoon sun shone on the freshly washed countryside. She stopped by the fence to watch Tessie's calf in the meadow.

“We've named her Tinxie,” said a voice behind her.

Binxie turned and smiled proudly at Jean, then at Isabel standing next to her. “Really? I didn't do that much.”

“She might not have made it without your help.”

“I'm honored. A cow named after me. Kathryn will love this…and so will my mother.”

“We're heading to my brother's farm. Want to come along?” Jean offered. The two girls each carried a wicker basket covered with a red-checkered cloth.

Binxie was puzzled. Jean's brother was in Europe. She fell into step between them.

“The tree beside the house was hit by lightning last night, probably that loud crash we heard during the dance,” Jean explained. “It knocked down half the chimney. My uncle and his neighbor are repairing the damage.”

They walked along the road, avoiding the mud and puddles, listening to Isabel chatter about a sugarless cake recipe she had found.

A dozen shades of green surrounded them. Verdant grass and olive green maple leaves lined the road. A stone wall was covered with a patina of moss, and the corn in the field behind it grew knee-high and emerald. The orchards on the north were clad in a gentle haze of apple green.

There was damage too. Tree limbs small and large littered the ground. Young plants lay flattened in the fields. One farmer was already out repairing a fallen fence, and another hammered at boards on his barn.

Half a mile later, Jean turned right onto another road, and then right again, up a lane leading to a weathered brick farmhouse. It looked forlorn and in need of repairs. Its front porch roof sagged precariously in the middle. A board was nailed over a broken window. Chunks of once-white gingerbread trim work had broken off from the high gable long before this storm.

Suspended between the side of the house and a beech tree hung a large limb. It had smashed into the top half of the chimney and broken it off. The ragged line of gray chimney stones teetered dangerously above, and a pile of gray rubble, broken branches, and leaves lay scattered on the ground below.

“Who lives here?” Binxie asked, wondering why anyone would let a house that must have once been quite pretty fall into such ruin.

“My brother,” Jean replied. She waved at a man on a ladder as he hammered boards over a hole in the roof.

Binxie was confused. “Your brother?”

“Six years ago, my parents needed extra acreage, so they bought this farm from Craz…um, Miss Nelly Turner. She sold it to them on the condition she could stay living in her home. Rob planned to fix the house after she passed away, marry Fran Murphy, and they'd raise their family here.” She gave a bitter laugh. “Nelly died this February, but Rob was already gone. I ruined his plans.”

Binxie sensed no question was welcome. She watched a rabbit hop across the yard into a tangle of wild rosebushes. Just as they reached the house a big man emerged from the front door.