Farmerettes (6 page)

Jean watched him climb onto his horse and ride down the lane and noticed some farmerettes also eyeing him. She shook her head, yawned, and headed for the chicken coop.

Isabel

Isabel lay in the dark, wishing that the last group of girls would stop giggling and whispering. What could be so funny about these little cots still smelling of disinfectant? She missed her own comfortable bed and pretty room. Some creature was making a chirping racket outside, and the girl beside her snored.

She was tired, but she lay rigid and sleepless. Every time her eyes closed, she saw that vicious rooster again. Why did anyone keep such beasts on a farm? And there was so much excrement here—piled behind the barn in a disgusting heap and lying around the barnyard for anyone to fall into.

She had felt so humiliated, sitting in that reeking mess, everyone thinking she was a baby. She shouldn't have pushed away the offer of help, but for a second, that girl had reminded her of Gloria, always so helpfully superior. Were Mom and her sisters right? Was she not strong enough for this?

If only she could hug Billy, even for a moment, everything would feel better. Where was he now? In some cold, lumpy army cot, wanting her too? Or on a deadly mission, holding brave against the enemy? She had no excuse to feel sorry for herself.

Was that a sob, she heard nearby? Could someone else feel as lonely as she did tonight? Somewhere outside a dog howled. Isabel pulled the covers around her and hugged her teddy bear as if it were Billy. But still sleep eluded her.

X

A few girls still whispered softly, and the spring peepers croaked lustily in the pond outside, but she knew she'd sleep well tonight. Tomorrow was a new start among friendly strangers. She would be normal like these other girls, get rid of her shameful sickness. She breathed in the smell of fresh sheets and clean country air, turned on her side, and fell into a peaceful sleep.

Helene

Helene lay in her bed, too happy to sleep. Inside she was surrounded by the soft, safe sounds of girls settling down for the night, while outside rang the songs of country creatures dining, courting, glad to be alive.

She had followed Jean this evening with awe and joy, taking in everything—the fresh green fields, the pink blossom-clad orchards, the pond full of ducks and geese, the vast blue sky tinged with evening shades of red. She was going to spend a whole summer in this paradise.

When the girls followed Jean into the barn, Helene had stayed back. She turned toward the sun and gazed at the fields stretching to the horizon. Never had she seen so much open space, inhaled air so clean. She flung her arms wide, spun in a circle, and laughed out loud. Then she had slipped into the barn with the others.

Now soft light glowed through the window across from her. How would everything look by moonlight? Helene slipped on shoes, stole to the door halfway down the length of the dorm, and quietly opened it. She tiptoed down the outside stairs, crossed the yard, and watched the moon reflect golden in the pond. She inhaled the scent of grass and newly turned earth. If only her family could enjoy this too.

As she headed back to the stairs, she heard a soft sob over the night noises. Quietly she followed the sound to the back of the barn. There, hunched over a washtub, was her roommate Isabel, scrubbing at her yellow-flowered dress.

Helene stepped forward, but then remembered how Isabel had slapped away the helping hand earlier. She turned, went upstairs, fetched her old white shirt, a bar of laundry soap and came back outside. She rubbed the shirt in the grass and joined Isabel at the washtubs.

Helene nodded at Isabel as if it were quite normal to be washing clothes so late at night. She dampened her shirt and began soaping the grass stain on it.

Ignoring the small glances from Isabel, Helene hummed and rubbed, rinsed, sighed, and scrubbed some more. “That's a lovely dress,” she said.

“Thank you. But it's ruined. I hadn't expected a farm to be so filthy.”

“Everything is always cleaner and easier in magazines, isn't it?”

Isabel laughed. “Well, look, your stain is gone. You're not using the same soap I am, are you?” She held up her box of Rinso. “The ad said it would wash away stains just by soaking them for twelve minutes. It lied.”

“We make our own soap.” Helene blushed. Her family couldn't afford Rinso.

“A secret family ingredient?” Isabel said wistfully, dabbing at her dress again.

“Would you like to try it?”

Isabel hesitated, then took the bar of soap, lathered and rubbed it onto her dress, rinsed, and grinned widely at the clean garment she now held up. “Thank you.”

“My mother makes good soap.”

Isabel nodded in agreement. “I'm Isabel Lynch, from Guelph.”

“Helene Miller, Hamilton. Do you see a clothesline?”

“Right there. And clothes-pegs!”

The girls hung their things on the line. A warm breeze blew them softly.

“Isn't it wonderful here?” said Helene.

“Maybe I'll like it better tomorrow.”

“Look up,” said Helene. “Have you ever seen so many stars shining as brightly? There's the Milky Way. It's so amazing.”

Isabel gazed up at the magnificent celestial display and smiled. “There's the Big Dipper. And Orion, the hunter. I've never seen Sirius so bright.”

Helene was impressed. “How do you know so much?”

“Billy used to show me the stars.” She spoke softly. “Before he left, he chose our star. Sirius. We find it every night before we go to sleep and think of each other. He could be watching it this very minute.”

“Billy?” said Helene.

“Billy Morrison, my fiancé. He's stationed in England.” She sighed, and peered up longingly.

Helene wished she missed someone that much. She thought of telling Isabel about the five boys she wrote to every week—she'd taken over Peggy's soldiers when she kept forgetting to write—but she feared Isabel, so beautifully dressed and well-spoken, wouldn't be interested.

Once she had uttered her fiancé's name, words flowed from Isabel. She sat on the steps, motioned Helene to join her, and told her about Billy—how handsome and smart he was, his romantic proposal by the river, their plans for the future.

By the time the moon had traveled high in the sky, Isabel linked arms with Helene as they climbed upstairs to sleep.

Strawberries and Sunburns

Tuesday, June 8, 1943

Peggy

Peggy stood onstage, Glenn Miller and his band playing behind her, a spotlight above making her white gown shimmer. Glenn smiled at her—his new lead singer—and then at his piano player—Michael. Lights dimmed. She sang “At Last,”
and when she reached the final notes, her fans stood, shouting “Bravo” and “Encore.” Someone whistled.

The whistle shrilled louder. Glenn, Michael, and the adoring audience faded. “Five-thirty. Rise and shine, girls.” An overhead light glared through her eyelids. The whistle blasted again.

“Breakfast in thirty minutes,” called Miss Stoakley.

The dream totally evaporated. Peggy lay for another minute with her eyes scrunched shut. She wanted that fantasy back. She wanted three hours more sleep until the smell of fresh coffee lured her downstairs to breakfast.

Someone bumped her cot as they thumped by. Girls chattered, and clattered noisily over the wooden floors. Peggy groaned.

“Peggy, wake up. If you don't get to the bathroom soon, you won't have time for breakfast.”

Peggy slowly opened her eyes and saw Helene, fully dressed and smiling. “How long have you been up?”

“A while. I'm on my way out to watch the sunrise. Look, the sky is pink already. I'll see you in the dining room.”

Peggy watched Helene rush out the side door. It was good to see her so happy, her gray eyes glowing, her pinched expression smoothed into a smile. Peggy was glad they'd fibbed about the telegram to get here. She rolled out of bed, grabbed her toiletry bag, and trudged downstairs to the washrooms.

Hungry and late, Peggy hurried to the dining room, as girls who met only yesterday chatted like old friends. Miss Stoakley stood by the serving table, greeting everyone.

Now that Peggy was washed and fully awake, she was eager to get to the fields. She helped herself to eggs, toast, chunks of cheddar, and milk, then found a seat next to Helene. She introduced herself to her new tablemates and dug into breakfast.

“We're already invited to watch a baseball game this Saturday, the minister asked us to tea, and they're planning a growers' party,” said a thin, frizzy-haired girl. “It's going to be a fun summer.”

Peggy immediately perked up. “Where's the party? I hope there'll be dancing.”

Before the girl could reply, Miss Stoakley announced, “Twenty minutes until the wagons arrive. Time to pack your lunches. Take enough. You'll be hungry.”

Still chewing her toast, Peggy joined the others at the serving table, where plates of buttered bread, sliced meats and cheese, carrot sticks, and bowls of fruit were laid out for them. She slapped together a sandwich, wrapped it, and dropped it into a bag along with an apple.

Soon they stood in the barnyard, wearing solid shoes, straw hats, a variety of shorts and trousers, and shirts with the Farm Service Forces badge sewn onto them. Many girls had come here with a friend and were sticking close together to make sure they'd be on the same wagon.

Just as three vehicles drove up the laneway, Jean came from the barn, her brown hair pulled into a messy ponytail, hay and muck stuck to her boots. She wished everyone a good morning, and asked for four girls to stay at Highberry Farm to work.

Binxie stepped forward. Even though she acted stuffy, Peggy admired the tall girl who strode with such confidence—and she enjoyed annoying her. Peggy tapped Helene's arm and they followed. Rita joined them, and the other girls scrambled into trucks of their choice. Soon two groups pulled away, horns tooting, girls waving.

“The strawberries are ripening early this year, not too many yet, but we need to pick them before it gets too hot. The baskets are already out there,” said Jean as she led them down the path toward the field. The last thing Peggy saw as they turned a bend was Isabel, running from the dorm. She stopped and stared in dismay at the third vehicle—a beat-up-looking wagon pulled by a muddy tractor.

Binxie

Binxie followed Jean along the path beside a fenced field where two cows and four horses grazed. Wildflowers dotted the grass and the air smelled fresh. The four farmerettes paused to admire the heavy-muscled legs of the Percherons. A beautiful gray one trotted up to Binxie and she stroked its velvety muzzle.

Helene came up timidly behind her. “You're not afraid it'll bite you?”

Binxie smiled. “They're gentle.”

“It's ironic,” said Helene, standing well back. “This breed was used by the British to fight the Great War, and now their job is farmwork.”

“You think humanity is getting wiser?” said Binxie.

Helene sighed. “The horses were replaced by tanks—to do even greater damage.”

In the distance an airplane droned. Binxie tracked it for a moment, then said, “Airplanes too. They travel faster and destroy more.” It wasn't the first time she wished her sister had become a nurse instead of a pilot. She retrieved an apple from her lunch bag, snapped it into quarters, and fed a piece to each horse.

“You're good with them,” said Peggy.

“I love horses. Used to ride them every summer at my cottage.” It would be nice to be there now, but she knew she was where she had to be.

A foul odor blew from the back of one horse. Oslo again. Grimacing, the girls backed away.

“Just don't light a match near him,” called Jean as she continued on the path to the berry field. The girls hurried after her.

“What a glorious day,” Peggy exclaimed. “This will be such fun!”

“Say that again at noon,” said Jean.

“Did I hear someone at breakfast mention a baseball game?” Peggy didn't miss a beat.

“Next Saturday,” Jean replied. “Local teams. We'll roast wieners afterward.”

“Sounds like a blast!” said Peggy. “Wish there was dancing too.”

Does this girl ever shut up?
wondered Binxie.

“We'll have a square dance soon. Probably at the growers' party in a couple of weeks.”

“Oh good. So there are lots of boys around here?”

Jean gazed coolly at Peggy. “Girls too.”

Binxie smiled to herself. Were they actually arguing over farm boys?

They had reached the strawberry patch. Jean handed them each a large wooden tray of empty baskets. “When these are full, bring them to the head of a row and get another one.”

Jean showed them how to grasp the stem just above the berry, pull with a slight twist, and allow it to roll into their palms. “Pick only the red ones. Green ones won't ripen after they're picked. Pick any rotten or damaged ones too, and toss them into the middle of the aisle.”

The girls squatted in the straw-covered earth between the rows of berries and began. Jean watched for awhile, warned them not to injure the plants, then went to work herself. Chatting and joking back and forth to each other over the rows, they started strong, happy in the sunshine.

Two hours later, there was less talk. It was hot. Binxie's back hurt. Her knees ached. She tried crawling from bush to bush, instead of the awkward crab walk, and it helped—a little. Sweat dampened her body. Mosquitoes buzzed and bit. The sun blazed. Oh, for a drink of water.

The others looked equally uncomfortable—Peggy rubbed her legs, Rita scratched mosquito bites, and Helene looked ready to collapse. Only Jean whistled cheerfully as she stacked full wooden carriers of berries on a wagon shaded by an elm tree.

The sun climbed higher. Binxie filled another basket and stood up to stretch.

“Let's take a break,” Jean suggested. “There's a pump by the barn and shade under the trees.”

The girls hurried to the pump and took turns drinking eagerly. Binxie gulped large mouthfuls of water, splashed some onto her hands and face, laughing with the cool joy.

“Hurry. I want some too.” Peggy bumped her from behind.

“Here you go!” Binxie turned and sloshed water at her.

Peggy grabbed the tin cup hanging by the pump and splashed her back. She threw another cupful at the other girls. They screeched with delight. Everyone took turns pumping and spraying each other, ducking, laughing, until finally—soaking wet but cool—they flopped onto the grass to rest.

Too soon it was time to head back to the field.

Binxie's mouth soon felt dry again. Her stomach rumbled. Lunch seemed far away. She watched Peggy twist a large red berry from its stem and pop it into her mouth. Binxie ate one too. It was beyond delicious—sweet, juicy, and warm. She picked another basketful, ate another berry.

Helene also dropped one into her mouth, closed her eyes, and savored it. “So this is how food tastes fresh from the fields.”

“Girls, we're trying to make a living here. The berries cost twenty-five cents a basket,” Jean called over.

“I'm sorry.” Helene blushed. “I'll pay for them on payday.”

“Just don't do it again,” said Jean. She studied the field. “We'll be finished in time for lunch. Then we'll hoe vegetables.”

Feeling guilty, the girls resumed picking, slapping mosquitoes, picking, moving stiffly to the next position, picking.

“Too, too boring,” said Peggy. “Are we going to do this another six hours, five days a week for the rest of the summer? How many hours is that?”

“Way too many,” answered Rita.

But there was a certain rhythm to this work. Arm out, pick a berry, place in basket, arm out, pick a berry, place in basket. Peggy began to hum. Binxie recognized it as the Hebrew slave chorus from
Nabucco
, which seemed fitting—and surprising. This girl knew opera. When Peggy switched to “Whistle While You Work,” the others joined in. Halfway through, a yowl of pain pierced the air. Another cry. A cow! Something was wrong. Jean raced to the pasture.

Binxie ran after her. “Can I help?”

“Find Gus or my father.”

Binxie raced back to the farmhouse. Nanny answered the door, her apron and forearms covered with flour. “Mr. and Mrs. McDonnell went to market, won't be back till supper. Gus is plowing at another farm.” Seeing how upset Binxie looked, she added, “Jean will manage fine.”

Binxie raced back to the pasture where Jean comforted a distraught young cow. Jean felt her underside with experienced hands as a thin ribbon of thick white mucus and blood oozed from under the tail. Repulsed yet fascinated, the farmerettes watched.

“We're on our own,” Binxie panted.

With a bellow, the cow sank to her knees and rolled sideways onto the ground. For an instant, Jean looked as scared as the animal pushing and grunting below her. Then she knelt just behind the cow and cooed, “Good, Tessie. You'll do fine.” Jean reached her right arm up into the birth canal.

“The calf is alive. The position feels fine. She should be ready, but it's just not coming.” She withdrew her arm, wiped the bloody slime on the grass, and sat back.

Tessie's sides heaved, her eyes looked wild, and at each contraction, her legs jerked up. Between contractions, Jean patted her, crooning words of encouragement.

Suddenly, Tessie bawled a giant grunt of pain.

“Look!” Binxie whispered, and pointed at the cow's rear. A white sac ballooned out of Tessie's enlarged vulva. Inside was a tiny dark hoof. Binxie stood amazed.

The sac and the hoof continued pushing out. A second small hoof appeared and broke the sac. Fluid gushed, then membrane dribbled out in a thin stream of milky white. Tessie heaved herself to a standing position, the two hooves still protruding. She turned her head back and slurped up the fluids on the ground.

The girls stood rigid with revulsion.

Binxie saw the worry in Jean's expression. Something was wrong.

“It has to come out now or it'll die.”

“Can we pull it out?” asked Binxie.

“Peggy, run to the truck. Grab a hoe and a rope,” said Jean.

Once Peggy handed her the items, Jean quickly tied one end of the rope around the little hooves and the other around the hoe handle.

The girls realized what she was about to do and stepped away. Binxie wanted to stay back, but knew this job needed more strength. She took a deep breath and grabbed the other end of the handle.

“One, two, three.” Together, the two girls pulled the handle gently, steadily, with every ounce of strength they had. The forelegs slid out farther. Binxie wanted to rest, but Jean rasped, “Don't stop or it'll drown.”

Peggy stepped in and helped too. Now three girls pulled until Tessie moaned and a nose and a red tongue appeared. Jean whooped with relief.

More tugging and the rest of a shiny black-and-white head slid out. Gradually the shoulders, then more and more of the calf emerged. Five minutes later, Tessie gave one final push and the newborn lay sprawled on the grass.

The girls dropped the hoe and hugged each other.

Tessie stretched down to lick her little one clean. The calf shook its head, slapped its still-wet ears back and forth, and ventured a small kick.

Jean untied the rope and tossed it aside. The city girls laughed as tears ran down their cheeks. This was the most amazing miracle they had ever witnessed.

But soon another miracle happened. The calf, not even dry yet, stood up on thin, rubbery legs. It wobbled a moment, took two tentative steps, and fell.

“In another ten minutes it'll walk,” said Jean. When it got up again, she leaned over and gently guided the calf's mouth to find its mother's teat. It suckled greedily, its tiny tail switching with contentment. Somewhere across the ocean there was death, terror, and destruction, but in this green field a new life had begun.

Jean sighed with relief. She reached forth her hand to shake Binxie's, stopped, wiped it on her pants, and said, “Thank you.”

Binxie grabbed her hand and shook it. Quickly she shook Peggy's too.

“We may as well stop for lunch now,” Jean said.

Dickens ran from the barnyard, briefly sniffed the new calf, and joined Tessie in feasting on the afterbirth.