Farmerettes (28 page)

Mrs. Fraser recited the first lines of the poem, then added, “I would love to read the entire sonnet again.”

“We have a copy. Dan can bring it next time he visits.”

“I would dearly like that.” Helene had never heard Mrs. Fraser sound so wistful.

“I'll bring it in now,” said Dan. “It's in the truck. I was planning to return it to Helene tonight.” He hurried outside and came back with the slim volume.

Mrs. Fraser's hand reached for the worn book, then it flew to her heart. She grabbed the book, opened the front flap to read the inscription. Helene already knew what it said.
To Polly, October 1917. I love thee with the breath and smiles of all my life. James.

“Where did you find this?” Mrs. Fraser rasped.

Hesitantly, Helene answered. “Jean found it at Nelly's place.”

“Nelly Turner's?”

Dan nodded. “Do you want to sit down?” He reached an arm out to her.

“No. Thank you.” She stood taller. “But please bring me another glass of cordial.”

Even as she drank, Mrs. Fraser clutched the leather-bound book tightly in her other hand. “I never thought I'd see this book again.” Then she regarded the young people staring at her with concern. “You need an explanation.” She took a deep breath. “It was my brother's. We bought it together in a bookstore in Halifax.”

“James Earnshaw is your brother?” Helene blurted.

“Yes. My maiden name is Earnshaw. Jamie was my little brother—your Willy and Peter so remind me of him.” She stroked the book tenderly. “He wanted this for his sweetheart. How he loved that girl. Polly. He met her when he was visiting us here in Winona.”

Helene stifled a gasp. Dan glanced at her. He knew what this meant to her and her friends.

Mrs. Fraser shook her head sadly. “We were worried about Jamie loving an unknown servant girl, but he reassured us she was a gentle, sweet daughter of a minister. She worked for a respectable old family who trusted her completely. Jamie planned to marry her when the war ended…but she broke his heart. Never answered a single letter he wrote to her.”

She sighed and regarded her guests. “How could she do that? He was so sure she loved him. But even if she didn't, could she not have done the decent thing and written back to a lonely soldier in a strange land?” Mrs. Fraser clenched her jaw. “How could she have been so heartless?”

Only one answer made sense to Helene. “Maybe she never got those letters,” she said quietly.

Mrs. Fraser stared at her, puzzled.

Helene took a deep breath. “We found a packet of letters—written to Polly by James Earnshaw—lovingly wrapped in lace. Someone treasured those letters, but I don't believe it was Polly.”

Dan's eyes grew wide. “You found them at Crazy Nelly's!”

“And the poetry book was there too?” asked Mrs. Fraser. “You think Nelly stole them? Why would she do such a thing?”

Helene remembered the story about the packed suitcase. “Wasn't there a rumor about Nelly waiting for a lover who never came? Maybe she loved James too. She thought he cared for her, but when she realized it was Polly he loved, this was her way to keep them apart, to get James for herself.”

“In a twisted way, that makes sense,” said Mrs. Fraser. “But how did she get letters addressed to Polly?”

“If Polly was Nelly's maid, she could easily intercept her mail. Polly never answered your brother's letters because she didn't receive them!”

“My poor brother. I wonder why Polly didn't write to him?”

“Nelly probably stole those letters too, maybe even offered to mail them for her. Then Polly assumed he wasn't interested in her after all, and gave up.” Suddenly Helene gasped. “Oh my Lord. There was another letter.”

“What other letter?” Mrs. Fraser asked.

“The package included an unsent letter from Polly to James.” Its full impact hit Helene like a bullet. She breathed deeply, then continued. “Polly wrote to James, telling him how much she loved him, how she hoped he would write to her…and that…she was expecting his baby.”

Mrs. Fraser sat down. “My brother's baby?”

“Nelly must have stolen that letter before it was ever sent. When Polly didn't get an answer, she stopped writing, thinking he didn't want her or their child.” Helene ached with pity for the girl.

Mrs. Fraser grew so agitated Dan fetched her a glass of water. She took a sip. “My poor brother. He almost made it to the end of the war. He was killed crossing the Sambre-Oise Canal. November 4, 1918. Almost the last battle of the Great War. He died never knowing he had a child at home. It breaks my heart.”

“Mine too,” said Helene sadly.

Mrs. Fraser sipped her water and asked softly. “Would you like to see some photographs of Jamie?”

Helene nodded and Mrs. Fraser pulled a faded album from a drawer and carried it to the sofa. Helene and Dan sat on either side of her as she opened the book to sepia pictures of two youngsters in various poses and places. Young Agnes's face, framed by long, curly hair, was strong and determined. James looked like a saucy, happy little guy. He resembled his sister, but he reminded Helene of someone else too—although she couldn't put her finger on it.

Mrs. Fraser flipped through the childhood photos, then reached pictures of them as adults. James had grown into a handsome fellow, the mischief still in his eyes.

His sister touched the photos gently. “My husband worked for the government, so we spent most of the war in Halifax. We visited Warren's parents here twice. Jamie came with us the second time and met Polly. He made a few trips back before he enlisted. The last time I saw my brother was in Halifax, before he shipped out. He was happy, in love, full of plans for the future.” She took another sip of water. “For so long I've hated that Polly, but now I realize how horrible it must have been for her too. To be an unwed mother with no support—her father was a rigid Baptist minister from a small town near Lake Erie. He would never have accepted Polly in his house again. Obviously Nelly wouldn't have helped—indeed that's probably why she fired her.”

Dan suddenly paled. “I know that story. A girl with a Baptist father who came here from Lake Erie to work for a family that suddenly let her go.” He began to shake. “That sounds like my mother.”

Helene gasped. “Polly? Mary!”

Dan's brow furrowed in thought. “But she married my dad. It doesn't make sense. She never spoke about her past. Nor about James. We only met her father—a harsh old man who didn't like noisy boys—twice before he passed away.”

Mrs. Fraser looked at him with awe. “This is impossible. But if it's true…you could be Jamie's son.”

Dan stood up. The muscles in his face, his hands, everything seemed to move at once in agitation. “We need to find out for sure.”

“But who would know?” asked Helene.

“My dad,” said Dan. “Mrs. Fraser, I'm sorry. We have to leave.”

Barely waiting for Helene to follow, he hurried from the room. The second she shut the truck door, they sped down the lane, gravel spewing behind them.

Dan dropped her off at Highberry, and Helene watched him race home. What would he discover there?

Saturday, August 28, 1943

Helene

Helene barely slept that night and dragged herself to the Beldings' orchard the next morning. Although she was bursting to tell the girls the news, she decided to wait until she had the whole story. As she picked, her mind kept racing back to the possibility. She almost fell off the ladder she was so preoccupied.

At one o'clock, as they arrived back at Highberry for the day, she heard Dan's truck. She raced for it and jumped into the passenger seat.

Unshaven and wearing the same clothes he had on yesterday, Dan looked at her, his face full of emotion.

“It's true?” Helene whispered.

He nodded. “He didn't want to tell me, and we have more to talk about—” He hesitated, then continued. “When Nelly fired her, and James didn't write back, my mother was lost. Dad was sweet on her, so he offered to marry her. I was born five months later.”

Helene reached for Dan's hand. Several farmerettes came out to the barnyard, glancing curiously their way.

“Mrs. Fraser will be anxious to know.”

“I'm on my way. Will you come?”

Mrs. Fraser stood at her door when they arrived. When Dan told her, she made no effort to stem her tears. She stretched her arms out to him.

Dan, quickly wiping at his own eyes, embraced her. “I'm honored.”

Mrs. Fraser finally pulled back and beamed at him. “Ever since I first pulled you from that pond when you were nine, I knew you were special, that we had a bond between us. If only Jamie had known.”

“If only he had,” said Helene, full of emotion herself. “And Polly too. How awful it must have been for her. Unmarried with a child on the way, so desperate she had to marry Mr. Scranton.”

“My father loved her,” Dan answered quietly. “And they did share some good times. After she died, he was never the same.”

“I'm sorry,” said Helene. “I didn't mean to be so unkind.”

Dan nodded. “We're all emotional right now. I should head home.”

“Please don't go yet,” Mrs. Fraser said. “Stay for a cup of tea. I need to let this sink in.”

“I'll make it,” Helene offered and hurried to the kitchen.

As she handed a steaming cup to Mrs. Fraser, then Dan, she realized who else James looked like.

“Jamie's son. My nephew,” Mrs. Fraser repeated with wonder. She looked at Dan. “I thank God for this,” she said, then turned to Helene. “And I thank you, dear girl. You've brought part of my Jamie back to me.”

Helene smiled modestly. At least this one tragedy of war was made a little better. Although James and Polly had not ended happily ever after, at least their son might.

Sunday, August 29, 1943

Isabel

Isabel woke up disappointed again. She'd been dreaming—not the dream she'd hoped for. Even in sleep Billy slipped away from her.

At least she didn't have to get up at five today to begin breakfast. After Helene had shared her amazing news last evening, the girls were too excited to sleep. Even Jean and Binxie stayed in the yard talking.

“We'll never know exactly what happened,” Helene had said, “but my guess is, Nelly had a crush on James. He must have chatted with her when he came to see Polly, maybe they even invited her along on some outings, and she read too much into that. She picked up James's letters from the post office before Polly ever saw them.”

“Poor trusting Polly,” said Isabel. “All those years, she thought James abandoned her. It's so tragic I could cry.”

“When Nelly found out Polly was expecting his baby, she fired her,” Peggy finished. “Polly had no choice but to marry that awful Scranton.”

“To be fair, he gave her a home when most men wouldn't have. They had three more children together. He wasn't always so gruff,” said Jean. Quickly she added, “I'm glad you found the rightful owners of the letters. I'm tired. Goodnight.” With that she left. She'd been cranky since Hugh shipped out Wednesday.

The girls had discussed Polly's tragedy late into the night. Now they were happy to have slept in until eight o'clock.

They were dressing for church when Peggy said, “Let's do something spectacular today! We need a grand adventure before we go back to home and school routines again.”

“Like what?” Isabel asked.

“Niagara Falls,” said Helene. “It's one of the wonders of the world and I've never seen it.”

Isabel thought of the dreary months ahead of her in Guelph. “We may never be this close again.”

The girls stared at each other. The idea was enormous, crazy—perfect. Even Binxie was easy to persuade. “It's a long trip. We need to leave now.”

They hurried through breakfast and packed a lunch. When the others left for church, the girls slipped off to the main road.

Mrs. Belding picked them up and drove them as far as Grimsby. Then they stood nervously at the side of the new highway, facing oncoming traffic. Cars flashed by, faster and more often than Isabel was used to on the streets of Guelph and certainly more than the quiet roads of Winona.

Peggy held out her arm, thumb up, but Isabel kept back with Helene and Binxie, not entirely comfortable. “We do this all the time at the farm,” Peggy reassured them. But in Winona they knew everyone, and the neighbors were kind about giving farmerettes a lift.

Soon a red Chrysler stopped. Two young fellows smiled at them. “Where are you headed?” asked the handsome blond passenger with a crew cut.

“Niagara Falls,” Peggy answered.

“So are we,” the passenger said. “I'm Bob and he's Butch. Hop in.” All four girls wedged into the backseat.

As they sped along the highway, Bob and Butch claimed they attended McMaster University in Hamilton. Peggy made up some good stories about their lives back home. In no time they reached Niagara Falls. The girls looked out the car windows almost bouncing with anticipation. Peggy asked Butch to let them off.

“We'll come with you,” he offered.

“No, thank you,” Isabel replied firmly.

“If you're at this corner around five o'clock, we'll drive you home,” said Bob.

With many thanks, the girls hurried down Clifton Hill toward the Niagara River. As the sound of the waterfalls grew, so did their excitement. First they saw the American Falls across the river and stood marveling at the massive amount of water cascading over the cliff.

“There's more,” said Binxie, urging them on. The thundering grew louder. Ahead, an even more tremendous wall of foaming waters crashed to the rocks below. As they approached, a cool mist sprayed them. Dozens of people leaned against the iron fence, gazing at the Horseshoe Falls.

They stood awestruck above the crest of the Falls as torrents of water surged downriver, then plummeted over the edge. It was mesmerizing. Under its spell, they watched for a long time. Even when they finally wanted to move on, Binxie stood transfixed, holding onto the iron fence so tightly her knuckles turned white.