Unwritten Books 3 - The Young City (5 page)

They heard footfalls in the hallway leading to the storefront and Edmund’s bedroom. The door opened a crack. “Don’t laugh.”

Rosemary rolled her eyes. “I won’t. Come on out.”

The door opened the rest of the way and Peter entered the kitchen. His expression soured and Rosemary knew he’d spotted the quirk in her mouth. She bit her lip, but her shoulders betrayed her.

While Rosemary was Faith’s height and girth, Peter towered almost a foot over Edmund. Cuffs bit into his wrists and his trousers ended halfway up his shins. Peter’s glare hardened as Rosemary struggled to hold back her giggles.

Then Faith burst out laughing. Peter threw up his hands.

“I’m sorry,” said Faith, bringing her laughter under control. “But ’tis the best we can do.”

“What am I going to do?” moaned Peter. “I’ll go down to my church tomorrow,” said Faith. “I’ll see what they have in the poor box.”

Peter sighed. “This will have to do, then. One more thing for the shopping list.”

Edmund strode into the kitchen, stopped, and looked Rosemary up and down. “Ah! I knew Faith would find a use for those old clothes. You wear them well. Is supper ready, Faith? I could eat a horse!”

At the mention of dinner, Peter and Rosemary’s stomachs grumbled. They stood at Edmund’s shoulder as Faith inspected the stew, testing it with a ladle before nodding and pouring the ladleful into a bowl. She clopped to the kitchen table without a word, leaving Edmund to ladle out his own bowl and join her. Peter
and Rosemary followed. Edmund had his spoon halfway to his lips when Faith cleared her throat and fixed him with a sharp glare. He put down his spoon and leaned forward into grace.

The moment “Amen” left his lips, Edmund attacked his stew, Faith not far behind. Peter and Rosemary were left staring a moment before they took up their spoons. Everybody ate with little thought to decorum. Edmund fetched himself a second bowl.

“Now that we have you clothed and fed,” said Faith, cutting off a hunk of bread, “we must talk about shelter.”

“But you’ve done so much for us already,” Rosemary began.

“Least I could do for fellow Watsons,” said Edmund. He swallowed. “We have an apartment over our store, beside Faith’s room. Faith and I used to rent it out, but it’s been empty for a month.”

“How are we going to pay you back for all this?” said Rosemary.

“I have a suggestion.” Faith picked up a sheet of paper from the counter. She passed it to Rosemary.

Edmund peered over her shoulder and said, “Your university application?”

Rosemary blinked. Then she understood. “You’re applying to university?”

Faith shook her head. “I’m already attending, I’m only applying for more classes. I take a class here, a class there, fitting things around my work. ’Tis a slow
way to get an education. But now you are here.”

Edmund stared. “Faith?”

“You can cook?” Faith asked Rosemary.

Rosemary drew into herself. “Some things.”

“And you can man a shop counter as well as I could,” said Faith.

“Faith,” Edmund cut in. “It takes skill to sell in a shop! You know that!”

“I’ve manned counters before, though,” said Rosemary. “I helped staff a library ... where I was before.”

“See?” Faith beamed at Edmund. “If Rosemary could take three hours a day, or four, I could take two extra classes and graduate a whole year sooner!”

Edmund sat back. He picked up his spoon and started on his third helping of stew. “Time is one thing. What of money?”

“There is my sewing,” said Faith. “I could take on another batch to pay the extra cost.”

Edmund grunted. “That solves money. Now we are back to time. More sewing and more study?”

Faith waved Edmund’s comments aside. “It means a few late evenings of work, ’tis all.”

“You will ruin your eyesight.”

“’Tis a small sacrifice.”

“’Tis not!”

“What are you studying?” Rosemary cut in.

Faith drew herself up. “I am at the Women’s Medical College.”

Rosemary set down her spoon. “You’re going to be the first woman doctor in Canada!”

Faith’s smile widened. “Hardly the first, my dear! I do not have the strength to change the world, but I do have the wit to follow the path cleared by Miss Stowe and Miss Trout.”

Edmund leaned toward Peter and gave him a conspiratorial grin. “You see my sister’s stubborn streak? Such passion about becoming a doctor! Stay off the subject, my lad, or she’ll go on about the vote, next.”

“And why should I not have the vote?” Faith thundered. “I voted in the civic election this year. Did the Dominion fall to its knees?”

“That’s different,” Edmund cut in. “That was just a civic election. You didn’t have to trouble yourself about affairs of state.”

“Affairs of state?” Faith’s nostrils flared. “Affairs of this state can be left to a souse because he is a man? It would do this nation good if landless women
could
vote. Then, perhaps, we could pass temperance and our prime minister might sober up enough to give affairs of state the attention they deserve!”

Edmund was about to continue, but Rosemary cleared her throat. “Aren’t your dinners getting cold?”

The siblings stared at their stews. Edmund chuckled, got up, and began clearing away the dishes.

“I apologize for my brother,” said Faith. “He likes to antagonize me, though not usually before guests.” She
shot Edmund a glare, but he kept his back to her.

Rosemary grinned. “When I fought with my brother, it was with pillows.”

Lighting the way with a kerosene lamp, Faith led Peter and Rosemary up the stairs from the kitchen. “I’m afraid you will find the apartment small,” she said, “but it has its own tub and stove, and a bed.”

“Thank you so much,” said Rosemary. She carried her own kerosene lamp and rubbed her eyes with her free hand. “It’ll be wonderful to sleep in a bed. I could sleep on the floor.”

Two doors fronted onto the landing. They glowed brown in the guttering light. Faith produced a key and unlocked the door closest to the back, above the kitchen. She handed the key to Rosemary. “Here you are. The other room is mine. We’re separated by closets, so you won’t hear me talk in my sleep.”

“I don’t think that will be a problem.” Peter drooped by the banister rail.

“I’ll retire myself,” said Faith. “I have to arrive early to register for my new classes. Good night!” She turned down the short hall, closing her bedroom door behind her.

Rosemary led the way into the apartment. There, she stopped dead. Peter bumped in behind her.

Faith wasn’t kidding: the apartment was small — one room — and it was bare. A metal tub sat in a corner by a window. A small table held a washbasin, and a single throw rug covered a small square of floor.

The centrepiece of the room was the bed: singular, narrow, laden with quilts, and jutting from the wall into the middle of the room.

“Huh,” said Rosemary at last. She closed the door behind them and began undoing the buttons on her dress. “I’m turning in.”

Peter stared at her, then strode to the window. “Gee, that’s a lot of stars!”

Rosemary threw the corset into the corner with a thump. She breathed deep and rubbed her sides. She blew out the kerosene lamp, leaving the room bathed in the little moonlight that was coming through the window, and slipped beneath the covers. Wearing a camisole and bloomers, she felt more dressed than on a day at school. “Night, Peter.”

“Good night.”

Rosemary took a deep breath. Then she became aware of the silence in the room, and looked up.

She could hardly see in the dark, but she could sense Peter standing, facing her. Then, taking a deep breath, he turned and stepped to the other side of the room. She heard him stripping down to underpants and undershirt, folding his clothes, and draping them over a straight-backed chair. Then he came over,
socks scuffing the floorboards. “Could I have a pillow and a quilt?”

“Sure.” She passed them over.

“Thanks.” He flopped the quilt onto the floor, fluffed up the pillow, and lay down. “Night, Rosemary.”

“Good night.”

She stared at the mottled, shadowy ceiling. Her mind whirled too much for sleep. It was one thing to sleep in a strange bed in a strange room, but in a strange time? That took the cake.

But her joints ached. She closed her eyes and breathed deep. Beside her, on the floor, she heard Peter roll over and smack his lips. She faded away. Suddenly, he leapt up with a squeaking scream.

Rosemary sat bolt upright. “What? What? What?”

“There was a mouse!” Peter yelled.

“Quiet,” said Rosemary. “You’ll wake Faith.”

“I don’t care! It ran across my feet!”

“What, you’ve never seen a mouse before?”

“I don’t let them in my bedroom, if I can help it.” Peter got his breathing under control. “Where are the mousetraps?”

“I don’t think they’ve been invented yet.”

“Great!” He threw up his hands. “Just great. Not only am I stuck in the past, but I’ve got to share a bed with a mouse.”

“Well ....” She reached out in the dark and touched his arm harder than she’d intended, but held on. “You
could share a bed with me.” She froze. That didn’t come out the way she’d expected it.

She could hear him blinking. Then he said, “What did you just say?”

Rosemary thought a moment, then took a deep breath. “I’m serious. I know it’s a small bed, but it’s better than sleeping on the floor. Besides, we’re supposed to be married. What’s Faith going to think if she finds a second bed on the floor?”

He shook his head. “N-no. I ... I couldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“It wouldn’t be right.”

“Would you rather sleep with me or the mouse?”

“You, actually,” said Peter. “That’s my problem.”

Rosemary blushed red to her ears. But she reached out, found his hand, and clasped it. “Peter, I trust you.”

He stood a moment, staring, then reached for the covers. Rosemary made room for him, but even with their arms touching, each felt the edge of the bed on their other side. They pressed as close to each other as they dared.

“That was a really girly scream, by the way,” said Rosemary.

“Well, it was a mouse,” said Peter. “Or possibly a rat.”

“Or maybe a raccoon,” said Rosemary. Peter elbowed her. She laughed. He laughed too. Then their arms and sides brushed, and they stopped laughing. They stared at the ceiling.

Rosemary took a deep breath. “So ... you remember what we talked about?”

“Yes.”

“‘We’re not ready.’ That still stands, right?”

“What do you think?”

“I asked you first!”

They laughed at that. Then Peter said seriously, “I think it still stands.”

“Good,” said Rosemary.

“Good,” said Peter.

Silence stretched. Then Rosemary rolled onto her side toward him. Peter’s breath caught. She leaned in and Peter grabbed her shoulder. “What are you doing?”

Rosemary sighed and kissed his cheek.

“I love you.” “I love you too,” he croaked.

She rolled away. “Good night.”

“Good night.”

FINDING FEET

Peter squatted on the embankment. The wooden construction fence stretched across the creek, black against the moonlight. The ground sloped away, leaving a hole beneath the wall big enough to walk through while stooped.

Rosemary stood beside him. “That’s not good for security.”

“I watched the place yesterday,” said Peter. “You remember the watchman who chased us out two days ago? He’s actually the foreman.”

Rosemary frowned. “Why would they have the foreman watch the site?”

“I think he lives here,” said Peter. “He’s got a cabin near the gate. With our luck, he’s a light sleeper.”

She leaned over and wrinkled her nose. “The creek looks polluted.”

“Probably. You ready?”

“Wait a minute. Hold the candles.” She passed over a bundle that clattered softly in the silence. Then she pulled up her skirts. Peter almost fell down the embankment. “Rosemary, what —”

She pulled off her overdress and undid the fastenings of her corset. “These things are worse than high heels.” She cast the corset aside and stood dressed in chemise and bloomers. She saw Peter staring at her, mouth agape, and glared. “What? I’m wearing lots.”

He closed his mouth, then chuckled. “The guy who finds your clothes is going to have a heart attack.”

She smirked. “Consider it a parting gift.” Then she looked down at the discarded dress and bit her lip. “I wish we could get that back to Faith somehow.”

“Here, Faith: thanks for lending me your dress. We don’t need it where we’re going.”

She swiped back the candles. “Let’s go.”

They half-crawled, half-slipped down the embankment into the creek bed. Rosemary grimaced as the mud sucked at her boots. Peter hushed her and she stuck her tongue out at him. They ducked under the fence and into the construction yard, following the stream toward the open culvert.

The ferns along the creek bed disappeared and the exposed bank was cut back at a neat angle. Gravel rose, followed by a line of bricks on either side of the straightening stream. Soon they were walking between two low walls.