Farmerettes (27 page)

“I need you in Muskoka,” her mother said softly. She waited, then stood up. “Perhaps the farm is best for you right now. It's only three more weeks. We'll spend time together in September.”

Sunday, August 22, 1943

Peggy

Peggy pulled her last shirt from the rinse water, wrung it out, and hastily carried her wet laundry to the clothesline. She couldn't leave the wash area fast enough. Behind her she felt Stella's and Grace's eyes boring into her back.

“Forget those two. Most of the girls don't care where your mother came from. They like you,” Helene had told her yesterday. But it was the others, those who looked at her with uneasy glances or who acted friendly but made little comments, that upset Peggy.

Three days ago, August nineteenth, had been hard for her. One year since Michael and Donny died at Dieppe. The Grants looked sad that day too, remembering their nephews and neighbors killed or captured on that terrible beach. Everyone on their farm was extra kind to them. Only Helene understood why Peggy didn't sing in the orchard that day.

Peggy hung her clothes on the line, then went back inside to put away her soap. An overpowering smell of bleach filled the building, making her eyes smart. Binxie was furiously scrubbing the washroom. She hadn't stopped moving since she arrived back at the farm yesterday.

Peggy decided to soothe both Binxie and her own restlessness with a gentle Debussy piano recording.

“That's lovely,” said Helene, stepping in the door, brushing peach fuzz from her arms.

She looks exhausted,
thought Peggy. She can't keep working these extra hours forever. “I saved you some lunch,” Peggy offered. “Come join me after you wash up.”

Helene nodded gratefully and plodded upstairs to change. When she hadn't come down after twenty minutes, Peggy went upstairs and found her asleep on her cot. She hadn't even removed her shoes.

Binxie came up and tiptoed across the floor, avoiding the squeaky boards.

“I'm awake,” Helene said, stretching sleepily.

“Me too,” Isabel said from her cot. “I have an hour before I need to go back to the kitchen. Come sit with me, Binxie. You'll exhaust yourself.”

Peggy knew that was her aim, but Binxie sat beside Isabel, united in sorrow.

“I'm starving. Let's go eat that lunch you saved me, Peggy,” Helene said, tactful as always.

“Any news from home?” Peggy asked her friend as they sat at a table munching sandwiches and pickles.

Helene shook her head. “Mama decided to sell the house. She thinks a small apartment will be easier, but who wants to buy a house in these times?”

“Someone will come along. Everything will turn out all right.” Peggy knew she sounded too chipper.

“I'll collect a good paycheck this week to help out,” Helene said, but she looked miserable.

Peggy's heart ached for her. And for Isabel and Binxie upstairs. She had to find a way to cheer them all up.

Tuesday, August 24, 1943

Jean

Jean took extra care putting on her prettiest dress and brushed her auburn hair to a shine. When Hugh knocked at the front door, she took a last glance at the mirror and pinched her cheeks to make them rosy. She had to look her best. It was their last evening together for a long time—Hugh was leaving for England tomorrow.

She tried not to think about the dangers he'd face and how much she would miss him. Tonight Hugh expected the answer she had put off too long already. Not because she hadn't thought about it every minute since he'd asked her. She had pored over books about Australia, cattle, and sheep. She talked to her parents, Reverend Ralston, Fran. They had, each in their own way, said, “Do you love him? Then follow your heart. Everything else will fall into place.” It was usually Johnny she went to for advice but this was one question she couldn't ask him.

She opened the front door and glowed at the sight of him. How did she get so lucky? Hugh! Australia!

He whistled. “You're beautiful.”

She hugged him. How good he looked, standing tall and expectant in her front hallway.

Mum invited him into the parlor, but he offered to help her in the kitchen. “I make great coffee…and your kitchen reminds me of ours,” he said. He needed this taste of home before he left for battle.

Dinner was jolly for everyone as Hugh and her parents compared funny farm-disaster stories. Nanny topped them both with her tale about the day their outhouse tipped in the wind with her fat uncle Egbert still sitting in it. Jean had to force her laughter. Tomorrow Hugh would go to war.

After dinner, Hugh suggested a walk. “I need to say good-bye to the horses and the farm.” He had already romped with Dickens and scratched Shep's favorite spot behind the ears. The dogs followed them to the pasture, sticking to Hugh's side, somehow sensing he was leaving.

Jean breathed deeply. How she loved this place. Could she leave it? Her great-grandparents had come here from a home they loved in Scotland, had set new roots into this fertile earth, turned it into home. She could do no less.

So why did she hesitate?

The sun sank lower, draining away the gold and leaving shadows in its wake. “Shall we have our peach pie outside?” Jean suggested when they returned to the house.

They sat on the dim front porch eating pie and sipping hot coffee. She wiped a dab of whipped cream from the side of Hugh's mouth, and he kissed her. She loved the intimacy. She wanted to savor every second with him before he left, but she was too tense.

“Let's take a drive,” suggested Hugh.

“You got the Jeep again,” Jean said. “Someday I'll find out how you manage that.”

“I have my ways,” he answered, “but they're classified.”

She smiled. Life with Hugh would never be dull. But what if he was too daring once too often when he went to war? She could not imagine this vital, wonderful man ever ceasing to exist.

Beyond the Jeep she saw Johnny leading Binxie to the pasture fence. He came every night to comfort her. She walked with him like a girl in a trance. Jean had watched how gently, how patiently he treated her. It wasn't easy for him to find the time to come; there was so much work to do at the farm this time of year, but he did.

Johnny called Cairo and handed Binxie an apple to feed her favorite horse. Jean remembered how calmly he had comforted her after the first bad news about Rob, and how he could make her laugh in the good times.

As she watched him profiled against the twilight sky, she realized she could never leave this land, or Johnny. Yes, he was with Binxie, but she knew that she had loved him since forever and could never totally stop. If she felt this strongly about Johnny, was it fair to marry Hugh? He deserved better than half a love.

She gripped Hugh's hand more tightly. It would be so hard to let him go.

“Are you ready to take a drive?” Hugh asked her.

“Let's stay here and talk,” she suggested, an ache already beginning in her heart.

Friday, August 27, 1943

Isabel

Isabel toweled her hair dry and put on her favorite flowery blouse and blue shorts. All week she had worked hard—setting tables for seventy people, starting breakfast before dawn, washing dishes, peeling and chopping endless quantities of vegetables. At least she didn't have to do the bathroom this week. Binxie had scrubbed it beyond spotless, then cleaned the entire recreation room.

Isabel baked every day too, but that wasn't a chore—she loved creating cookies, tarts, and pies. She felt special with every smile and compliment she received. Several girls joked about taking Isabel home so they could keep enjoying her delicious desserts.

It was Friday night—date night. She stroked her ring wistfully. Last year at this time, she would have been getting ready to see Billy. Tonight, although she wasn't interested in any other man, she itched to go out, do something besides work and grieve.

She pulled her curls back with a blue ribbon, then ran downstairs to join the other girls, scattered around the recreation room. She hoped someone might offer something more exciting than another game of cards or Monopoly. But everyone looked tired, and complained about scratches, aches, and peeling sunburns.

She sat beside Helene, whose face was lined with exhaustion. Binxie slumped in a chair across from them, deep in her own world of sorrow. Several times a day, she went from that melancholy state to rushing around in a frenzy of action.

Lucy entered the room. “Anyone want to go to Romeo's?”

Several girls ran upstairs to change their clothes.
That leaves only us gloomy ones,
thought Isabel.
Is that girl in the corner staring at me again?
She turned her head quickly to see, but the girl was sketching something in her book.

In a clatter of laughter and chatter, the farmerettes left for Romeo's. Peggy stopped in front of Binxie and asked, “You're sure you don't want me to stay?”

Binxie shook her head and smiled weakly. “No. I need some quiet time to study my manuals. Please, go.”

“I'll be here with her,” Isabel reassured Peggy. Relieved, Peggy followed the others.

Isabel watched them leave, half-wanting to join them. She looked at Binxie staring glassy-eyed at a manual, and Helene holding a novel. Every sound outside made Helene look up at the screen door.
Waiting for Dan.
He looks nice enough,
thought Isabel,
but that scar showing under his shirtsleeve is hideous.
From the expectant glow on Helene's face, he obviously made her happy.

Binxie's manual sat open in her lap. The left page was full of dense script, and the right side some complicated diagram. “That looks hard,” Isabel said, just to start a conversation. “But I guess it makes sense to you.”

Binxie looked up, her eyes vague and lost. “I must learn it,” she whispered, “and become a pilot. Kathryn would want me to finish what she started.”

Isabel didn't know what to say, so she murmured, “You'll feel better in time.”

Dan knocked at the screen door. “Are you ready?” he asked Helene. “I have something to show you.”

Helene

Helene watched Dan's profile as they sped down the country roads. She was worried. “Is something wrong?”

“Everything's fine.” His face, intent on the road, gave nothing away.

Through all her worries about home, Dan was the bright spot that kept her going.
And,
she thought with some guilt,
perhaps the reason I'm still here.
Is he about to end it?

They turned onto Mrs. Fraser's drive and approached the red brick farmhouse with its tidy garden of vivid flowers. Why were they here?

Mrs. Fraser welcomed them inside. In her formal way she offered them a seat in the parlor and served crystal glasses of elderberry cordial and slices of cake.

“This is so pleasant,” said Mrs. Fraser, sipping her drink. She leisurely questioned Helene about the work at the farm, her family. Helene was confused. Apparently there was nothing urgent after all.

When Mrs. Fraser walked to the piano, sat down, and played “Cabri Waltz,” Helene noticed Dan knotting his napkin into a wrinkled ball. Why was he so nervous?

Mrs. Fraser finished the first verse. “Dan?” she said, beginning the verse again.

Dan stood up and retrieved a fiddle from a shelf by the piano. He positioned it awkwardly in his weak right arm, lifted the bow with his left one, and accompanied Mrs. Fraser. His bow danced across the strings with spirit and joy.

Helene was astonished and delighted. Watching the two make music together warmed her heart.

“Helene,” said Mrs. Fraser when they finished the waltz.

“I can't play anything.”

“Then sing.” The older woman patted the piano bench beside her.

Reluctantly Helene went to the bench. Dan segued into “Buffalo Girls
.
”
The catchy tune, silly words, and Dan's grin made it easy to join in.

I danced with the dolly with a hole in her stocking

And her heels kept a-rockin'

And her toes kept a-knockin'!

So I danced with the dolly with a hole in her stocking

And we danced by the light of the moon.

They sang it twice, then stopped for breath. Dan looked at her shyly. Helene jumped up, ready to throw her arms around him until she realized she might crush the fiddle. “You're wonderful,” she said.

“Thanks to you, Helene.” He turned to Mrs. Fraser. “And to this tough taskmaster.”

The rest of the evening flew by as they played music, sang, and laughed at off-key notes and words they had forgotten. To see Dan so loose and happy was a joy.

Finally Mrs. Fraser stopped and got up to clear the dishes, waving away offers of help. They picked up the glasses anyway. As they walked to the kitchen, Helene told Dan, “You play so beautifully. I bet the square dancers will be glad to hear you again.”

“It'll be good to go back. How did you know about that?”

“Someone at the growers' party told me. I could listen to you all night.”

Dan hugged her, then returned to the piano and played a short tune.

“That's pretty. What is it?” asked Helene.

“You like it? It's the music for my mother's favorite poem.”

Helene was amazed how the simple haunting melody reflected the spirit of the sonnet.

Dan started again and softly sang, “How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.”

Helene timidly joined in. Before they reached the end, Dan stopped. “It needs more work. Should I continue?”

“Nothing else could do proper justice to that poem. Finish it,” said Helene. She turned to see Mrs. Fraser watching them, tears glistening in her eyes.

The older woman collected herself. “Thank you. That poem is special to me. It's been a long time since I heard it.”

She must have shared that with her husband,
thought Helene as Dan wrapped an arm around her.