Farmerettes (33 page)

Fran leaned on her broom. “First let's decide what to keep and what to sell. Maybe I'll earn enough money to buy one of those fancy new refrigerators with a section for freezing food.”

“Really! What will they think of next?”

An hour later, they finished cleaning, and packing knicknacks “My back may never recover,” puffed Fran as they half-carried, half-pushed a heavy chair, to the door.

At the sound of footsteps on the veranda, Jean looked up to see Johnny smiling at her. She kept her hello light and cheery.

“Oh good.” Fran dropped her end of the chair. “You can take this monster.”

Johnny carried the chair to his pickup. After he'd loaded all the cartons, he pointed at an overly ornate broken lamp. “There's room for that too.”

“That's so kind of you,” gushed Fran.

Jean smiled. Flirting was Fran's way of coping, just as being practical was hers. She no longer questioned Fran's loyalty to Rob. “What about this?” She pointed at a round table covered by a thick blue tablecloth. “One leg is propped up with a book.”

“The tablecloth looks new. I'll keep that.” Fran grabbed a corner and flipped it off. “Oh my Lord!” she exclaimed.

Jean and Johnny both gasped.

X

Half a mile ahead the lake sparkled clear, clean blue. She would find peace there. The waves washed to shore, then pulled back in invitation. Looking neither right nor left, she kept walking.

But every step she took was set to the beat of those lines from the bookmarked poem:
I remember I saw only that man who passionately clung to me, again we wander, we love…

She reached the beach and stared at the lake a long time. The water, cool and deep, would solve everything. As soon as she'd made the decision yesterday, she felt calm. This was the right answer. But now something held her back. That poem. She had to read more.

Slowly, she turned toward the farm again. She would return tomorrow.

Binxie

Binxie was heading for bed when the girls clattered home from Romeo's. After yesterday's hard-fought baseball game, this morning's final frantic harvest, and tonight's dancing, they should have been tired. Yet it was their last time together, and they were reluctant to end the day. Tomorrow the exodus would begin.

They collected in the recreation room. Draped over couches and chairs, they laughed over the events of the summer—Hugh's thrilling plane crash, the talent show, baseball, Romeo's, swimming in Lake Ontario, the night they tried smoking behind the barn then threw up, Oslo the farting horse, ice cream at Linton's, the growers' party.

Binxie sat with Isabel, both slightly apart from the others. Each carried one memory of the summer she would never chuckle over or look back at fondly. But they liked the friendship and goodwill around them.

“Anyone hungry?” asked Peggy. “Who's up for a raid on the kitchen?”

They tried their usual outside window but it was locked. “On our last night. You'd think Cookie would have pity on us,” sighed Nancy.

But after Myrtle went to use the bathroom, she ran back carrying a large tray. “Look what I found in the dining room.” She set down the tray, loaded with little Spam sandwiches, cookies, and apples. “There are two jugs of lemonade in there too. Dear old Cookie.”

Helene and Kate ran to fetch them, and the feast began.

“It's been such fun,” said Peggy, sipping lemonade. “Let's all come back next year.”

“Brilliant idea!” said Rita. Others agreed.

“Yes, we'll ask for Highberry again. I love it here,” added Doris.

“Do we have everyone's address?” asked Grace. “Let's keep in touch all winter, sign up together next spring.”

Scraps of paper were passed around, and girls scribbled names and addresses.

Binxie knew this summer could never be repeated. Even those who did return would be different. Another year of life, the continued fighting or its end, would change them.

Helene smiled. “I'll be here, but not as a farmerette. When you return, be sure to visit me at Mrs. Fraser's.”

“What?” Everyone crowded around Helene to hear her story.

“My mother telephoned today. She accepted Mrs. Fraser's invitation. I'll return to Hamilton tomorrow, work with Mama in the factory until we sell the house, and arrange the move. With luck we'll be back by Christmas. My brothers can start at their new school in January, and I'll finish high school in Winona!”

“It's like a fairy tale…
Cinderella
!
” exclaimed Kate.

Helene's entire faced smiled. “We're going to live on Mrs. Fraser's farm. I can hardly believe it.”

Peggy hugged her. “You deserve it!”

Isabel touched Binxie's hand and smiled at everyone. “We won't all return, but what matters is, we shared this summer—I couldn't have survived it without you.” She dabbed an eye. “Thanks for putting up with my early cooking disasters…”

“And the best desserts in the world,” called Helene, as others cheered.

“I'll always be grateful,” Isabel finished.

It was a wonderful summer—until August,
thought Binxie.
Thank goodness Kathryn made me come.
She frowned.
But it will always bother me that I was enjoying myself while she died. Every birthday from now on will also be the anniversary of her death.
Binxie forced herself not to run to her cot and burrow under the covers.

Peggy looked thoughtful. “We were like travelers on a train. We all came together for awhile, shared everything, and now we go our separate ways.”

“Maybe we were more like butterflies,” said Helene. “Some dust from our wings rubbed onto others. Changed us.”

“You read too much poetry,” said Patsy. “But I like it.”

Helene stood up and looked at everyone. “I hope I thanked you enough for your generosity about the tractor repairs. It means the world to me.” She smiled especially at Isabel, and the girl with the yellow scarf.

“Roll along, farmerettes, roll along. Roll along, farmerettes, roll along,” sang Peggy. The others joined in. “Oh, we're here to lend a hand, while working the land. Roll along, farmerettes, roll along.”

“I learned so much this summer,” Isabel told Binxie quietly. “I can cook healthy meals, pluck chickens, even milk a cow. But I probably won't be allowed to make more than tea and toast at home. I know it's not as important as flying planes, building tanks and bombs—”

“Yes, it is,” Binxie interrupted her. “Everyone needs good food, and wants to come home to a clean, comfortable place. A happy home is what makes the fighting and working worthwhile.”

“Really?”

“Don't look so surprised. It's an important job, and you do it well. You must tell your family you want to do more.”

Isabel looked hopeful, then frowned. “I thought I could attend MacDonald Institute since it's right in Guelph—but now I can't. It's closed for the duration.”

Binxie eyed her directly. “Is it important to you?”

Isabel nodded. “Very.”

“Find another way. Kathryn always said to follow your star, no matter what.”

Isabel sipped her lemonade, then asked, “What about you? Will you really fly an airplane? Go overseas?”

“I'm not sure yet.” Binxie realized the irony. Here she was telling Isabel to live her dream, when she still wondered what hers was. Peggy was right. Kathryn hadn't insisted she become a pilot—she encouraged her to do what mattered to her. Well, what mattered to her? Maybe Johnny had known.

Isabel said, “Give yourself time. It's hard to make decisions now.”

But Binxie needed something to focus on besides her grief. Something Kathryn would have been proud of.

A few more songs, another story, and slowly the girls drifted off to bed. Binxie headed upstairs beside Helene. “I'm glad you'll return. You belong here.”

“Best of all I'll be back at school in January.”

“You're really working in a factory until then?” Binxie didn't realize her face showed her disapproval until Helene's gentle answer.

“Lots of girls have to work in factories, Binxie. The pay is better.”

“I'm sorry. I wish you all the luck in the world.”

“It doesn't feel like it now, but you'll be all right too. Time really will heal,” said Helene.

As she put on her nightgown, Binxie realized she'd never sleep next to her friends again. “I'll miss you.”

Helene leaned over and hugged Binxie. “I'll always remember you.”

“Will you write to me, Helene? I have to find out what happens.”

“She's a better writer than I am,” Peggy said from her cot. “She still writes every week to three soldiers overseas.”

“Two now,” Helene said quietly.

“Goodnight,” Isabel called from across the aisle. “Sleep tight.”

Binxie stretched out her legs—and screamed. Something slimy wiggled on her toes.

At almost the same time, Helene screeched too. “Worms!”

Peggy jumped out of bed. She ripped back the covers. “Wet spaghetti!” she shouted. “Who did that?”

The giggles across the aisle gave them their answer. “Got you! Goodnight, girls.” Isabel yanked her blanket over her head just as the soggy pasta flew her way.

Sunday, September 5, 1943

X

The early morning sun warmed her as she watched Isabel cross the yard to the kitchen. Isabel smiled and waved to her. It comforted her. A romance was impossible, but at least they parted as friends.

Binxie was up early too, standing at the pasture fence, quietly patting Cairo. She knew Binxie preferred to grieve alone, but she had to talk to her.

It was that book. Those beautiful, amazing poems. She had taken the book to a secluded spot in the orchard, read the passionate plea in “A Leaf for Hand in Hand” several times. “
You natural persons…You friendly boatmen and mechanics…I wish to infuse myself among you until I see it common for you to walk hand in hand.”
He had called them
natural persons
! She hungrily devoured more, then spent the rest of the day absorbing this major shift in thinking.

Now she stood hesitant, until Binxie stepped aside to let her pat Cairo too. “A horse gives such comfort.”

“Did you leave a book on my bed?” she finally asked.

Binxie shrugged. “I thought it was Lucy's bed. We studied Whitman at school last year and she wanted to borrow it.”

“I've never read anything like it.”

“It's daring and beautiful.” Binxie recited,

“From this hour, freedom!

From this hour, I ordain myself loosed of limits and imaginary lines!

Going where I list—my own master, total and absolute…

I inhale great draughts of air,

The east and the west are mine, and the north and the south are mine.

I am larger than I thought!

I did not know I held so much goodness!”

Binxie stopped to catch her breath. “We had to memorize our favorite section. This one reminded me of my sister.”

“Thank you.” Wishing she could say more, she turned to go.

Binxie asked. “What are your plans? Will you go back to Brantford?”

Even the thought of returning to that small town—where everyone knew your business and discussed it with everyone else—made her unsure again. “I guess I have to. What about you?” It felt safer to turn the focus onto Binxie. And she did want to know.

Binxie actually smiled. “It's still a new idea. I have to think it through some more…but maybe…I might train to become a nurse.”

“War or peace, they'll need you.”

“We have good hospitals in Toronto.” Binxie perked up as if the idea had just come to her. “You know, Toronto is a big interesting city. Lots of art galleries, artists, musicians, writers. They appreciate Whitman's poetry. You should visit sometime.” With that, Binxie pulled an apple from her pocket and fed Cairo.

“That's something to think about.” She watched Binxie and Cairo awhile, then walked away. The air felt fresh, blown clean by the morning breeze. She thought of the forbidden love and the acceptance expressed in that little red book. Someone else felt like her—and embraced it. She wasn't alone. Perhaps it was time she considered her future too.

Isabel

Isabel stacked the last dish onto the shelf, rested the muffin tins in the cupboard, and hung her tea towel to dry. Everything was clean and neat, and the air still carried the aroma of the apple muffins she baked all morning. Her work had officially ended Saturday, but she'd offered to help Cookie with the breakfast today. In exchange, Cookie allowed her to bake the muffins that were now packaged in threes and tied with red wool bows—her parting gift to the farmerettes. They could eat them on their journeys home.

She gazed around the kitchen—at the stove where she'd helped cook over two hundred meals and burned herself six times, at the sink where she'd peeled tons of vegetables, scrubbed thousands of dishes. She had worked harder in this kitchen than anywhere before. She would miss the challenge of adapting a new recipe, the satisfaction of pulling a perfect pie from the oven, the pride when she saw the delight on the girls' faces as they wolfed down her brownies. They had named her the “duchess of desserts.” She loved that.

This evening, she'd be home—where the reminders of Billy filled every space. By now the news of his marriage would have seeped through town. She'd hate the looks of pity, the careful words. Would her mother let Itsy run her kitchen? Cookie ranted and shouted, Nanny could be sharp-tongued, but they had let her experiment, fail, clean up her own mess—and succeed.

Would her father allow her the freedom she had enjoyed this summer in Winona? Hitchhiking with local farmers, getting her hands dirty, hadn't hurt her. Helene, Peggy, and Binxie were like sisters. They'd teased and hugged, borrowed clothes and traded secrets, and shared the Niagara Falls adventure. Never once had they rolled their eyes at her like Rosemary, or taken over her work like Gloria.