Yesterday's Dead

by Pat Bourke

  Back in Port Stuart, Meredith had told herself that working in Toronto would be an adventure. So far, it had been nothing but insults, hard work and worry. Well, she knew one person who wouldn’t care what she smelled like. She settled into the chair beside the settee and picked up the basin of water. Mrs. Butters moved her head away when the wet cloth touched her skin, but Meredith knew she’d settle in a moment or two.

  Meredith shivered, partly from the brisk air flowing in through the open window, partly from the cold water on her hands, and partly from the staggering fatigue that made her head almost too heavy for her neck. She closed her eyes, just long enough to keep the tiredness from dragging her under. It soothed her sore eyes and made her head ache a little less. She could almost believe that the ticking of the kitchen clock was really the mantel clock at home. She’d always thought it had such a lovely chime—

  “Why do you have that towel across your face?”

  “Oh!” Meredith jerked upright and dropped the towel, her heart pounding. The basin overturned in her lap, the water soaking right through her work apron and the taffeta skirt.

  “Are you always that clumsy?” Maggie stood in the doorway in a cream-colored dress with a wide, blue sash, looking fresh and pretty, as if she had dressed for church.

  “I asked you a question,” Maggie said. “Two questions, actually. You’re supposed to answer when someone asks you a question, or don’t they teach people that where you come from?”

  Meredith tried to calm her hammering heart as she pulled the sodden fabric away from her legs. If she ignored Maggie, maybe Maggie would leave her alone.

  “I don’t know why Papa ever hired you,” Maggie said, her nasty tone at odds with how daintily she was dressed. “I’m going to tell him you’ve been rude to me.”

  Mama would say Meredith should be polite, no matter how rude the other person was. It was the first rule of storekeeping. “Is there something I can help you with, Miss Margaret?”

  “So you do know how to be polite—when you’re worried about your job.”

  Meredith’s wet skirt pulled uncomfortably at her legs as she stood up. She tried not to grimace as she peeled the clinging fabric away from her legs and started toward the kitchen.

  Maggie blocked her way. “Why does she sound like that?”

  “She has pneumonia.” Meredith pulled the towel down from her face as she carried the basin past Maggie and over to the kitchen sink.

  “Pneumonia? But my Mama—people die from that.” Maggie’s voice got higher as she dogged Meredith’s steps. “How do you know it’s pneumonia?”

  “Your father said that’s what it is.”

  “What about Harry? Does he have pneumonia, too? Did he catch it from her? Can we catch it from—”

  “I don’t know!” Meredith hurled the tin basin and its contents into the sink. The satisfying clatter made her wish she could throw Maggie in there, too. She glared out the kitchen window at the leaves of the maple tree in the next yard flaring an angry red. “How do you expect me to know that?”

  Purple asters nodded against the wall of the stable. Meredith fastened her eyes on a black squirrel as it ran along a branch of the maple tree.

  “You’re not to speak to me like that,” Maggie said, after a moment. “And anyway, Harry can’t have pneumonia. He just ate too many sandwiches. He’ll soon get over a stomach ache. I bet anything he’s faking so we’ll all feel sorry for him.”

  Meredith tried to slow her breathing so her voice would be steady. “He’s not faking. He’s sick and needs tending. Just like Mrs. Butters.”

  “Well, that’s not my job. It’s what we have you for, isn’t it?” Maggie said, breezily. “I only came down to tell you I want some cocoa. And toast with strawberry jam. You can bring the tray to my room.”

  “I won’t bring it anywhere. Breakfast’s over!”

  The reckless words were out before Meredith had a chance to bite them back. The thunk-thunk of water dripping from the faucet onto the tin basin in the sink sounded loud in her ears as she waited for Maggie’s outburst.

  “Bring it to my room,” Maggie repeated, as if Meredith hadn’t said anything at all.

  Chapter 17

  “Hello? Meredith? Is anyone there?”

  Tommy! At last! It was nearly noon and Meredith had almost given up on him. She’d taken Maggie some toast and cocoa in the end, and slipped upstairs to change her clothes as Parker had requested, but that had been hours ago. Now she hurried to the back door and beckoned Tommy inside, glad he hadn’t forgotten about their outing even though she’d have to disappoint him.

  “She looks bad,” Tommy said, surprised, when he caught sight of Mrs. Butters. “When did she fall sick?”

  “Yesterday. The doctor says it’s pneumonia,” Meredith hesitated, “and it might even be that Spanish Flu. I’m afraid I can’t go out today like we planned.”

  “Me neither,” Tommy said. “That’s what I came to tell you, so I’m glad, in a way, that you can’t. Although I wish we could.”

  “How’s your little sister? And your mum?”

  “They’re still sick, and now Mary’s sick, too.” Tommy studied the cap in his hands. “I came to ask the doctor what to do. I thought he might help, since Mam works here and everything.”

  “He’s not here. We’ve been waiting for him all day.”

  Tommy’s face went pale behind his freckles.

  “Are they bad?” Meredith asked.

  “Mum’s the worst, then Mary. Bernie isn’t as sick as they are.”

  “Do you think it’s the Spanish Flu?”

  “That’s what our neighbor thinks. She’s awfully afraid of it. She says I should call a doctor or take them to a hospital, but we don’t have the money for that. I thought maybe they’d get better if the doctor could tell me what to do. But now I’m afraid—” Tommy turned away from her and looked out the big window over the sink, the muscles in his shoulders working as he crushed his cap.

  Meredith reached around him and took hold of his cap to stop him from twisting it into a rag. With his brothers overseas, and his mum and sisters sick, he had nowhere to turn.

  “Listen,” she said. She recited the instructions Dr. Waterton had given about Mrs. Butters. “And wear a mask,” she added, “a towel or something across your nose and mouth, so you don’t get it, too.”

  “All that,” Tommy said, looking so tired that Meredith wondered if he’d been up all night, too, “the sponging and everything, is it helping?”

  Meredith wished with all her heart she could say yes, but Tommy deserved the truth. “I’m not sure,” she said slowly, “but she isn’t getting any worse, and that’s a kind of better, isn’t it?”

  “It’s the only kind of better we’ve got, lassie.” Forrest’s gruff voice from the back hall startled them. He made his way to the kitchen where he dropped into a chair.

  “I’m too old to be up all night. Is there something to eat?” Forrest ran a hand through his hair and rubbed his eyes. “Looks as if you two could do with something yourselves.”

  Meredith hurried to fill the kettle and set it to boil. “Did the doctor come with you?”

  “No, lassie. I’m to check in here and let him know how you’re faring. He won’t be home until late.”

  Meredith was certain Mrs. Butters was getting worse, but she’d just have to take care of the cook as best she could until the doctor returned. She removed the cheese from under the china keeper on the kitchen dresser and rummaged in the drawer for a knife. “Is it bad at the hospital?”

  “Like the gates of Hell. Sick people arriving every minute, some sounding like poor Elvie there, others delirious with fever.” Forrest shook his head. “People shouting and moaning and crying everywhere you turn. The doctor says it’s the same at all the hospitals, and there’s not much they can d
o for the poor souls.”

  “That’s dreadful!” Meredith exclaimed. “Those poor, poor people!”

  “The doctor says the only way to stop the spread is for people to stay home,” Forrest continued, sounding angry. “He says people who go out when they’ve got sick ones at home should be locked up.”

  “I…I should get back,” Tommy muttered. He turned and fled through the back hall. The screen door banged behind him.

  Meredith rounded on Forrest. “That wasn’t fair!” she exclaimed. “You’ve been out all day and we’ve sick people here. He only came here to get help.”

  Forrest sighed. “I’m sorry, lassie. I’m tired. I didn’t mean him. I forgot about his sister.”

  “It’s not just one sister; it’s two—and his mother.” Meredith was tired, too, but no one seemed to think about that. She sawed some cheese off the block of Cheddar, dumped it onto a plate alongside some bread, and banged the plate onto the table in front of Forrest.

  “You’ve a right to be peeved, lassie,” Forrest said ruefully. “I come in here belly-aching, not seeing you’ve had a long night of it, too.”

  He reached for a piece of cheese. “Thanks for this. Elvie doesn’t sound good. How’s young Harry?”

  Meredith described the events of the night, careful not to say too much about Parker or Maggie. “I haven’t been upstairs for a while,” she said. “I’ve been down here with Mrs. Butters.”

  “You’ve had more than enough to do. I’m sure Parker has things well in hand upstairs.”

  Meredith traced her finger around the wet ring her mug had left on the tabletop.

  “Parker does have things well in hand, doesn’t he?” Forrest asked, frowning.

  She didn’t know quite how to answer him. Even though she was sure Forrest would believe her, she didn’t want to get into trouble with Parker. “He’s been fine.”

  “I’ll bet my last dollar he’s been anything but fine—leaving a slip of a girl to manage without a lick of help.” Forrest pushed his chair back. “I’m going to pay our friend Parker a visit.”

  “He’s been fine! Really!”

  It was too late. Forrest was already heading toward the back stairs. She followed him across the kitchen. “He’ll be in Mr. Harry’s room!” she called as she climbed the stairs. When she reached the second floor hallway, she saw Forrest leaving the little boy’s bedroom and heading for the front staircase. She followed him all the way to the dimly lit third floor, her heart hammering, just in time to see him wrench open the door of the butler’s bedroom.

  Meredith hovered in the doorway of Parker’s sparsely furnished room as Forrest strode over to the bed.

  “You shirker!” Forrest roared. “You’d make a bloody useless soldier! It’s a good thing King George isn’t relying on you. Get your lazy self out of bed!”

  Parker’s eyes were like giant marbles about to pop out of his head. “You have no right to barge in like this,” Parker said, clutching the coverlet to his chin.

  Forrest leaned down until they were nearly nose to nose. “I have every right,” he said through gritted teeth.

  “I will remind you that I am in charge when the doctor is not here,” Parker said, squirming out of the way.

  Forrest whisked the coverlet off the bed. “Not when you’ve left that youngster to manage all alone.”

  Parker quickly pulled the sheet up to cover himself, but not before Meredith caught sight of his bony shoulders and his scrawny neck poking out of his singlet. “I’ve been up all night, as the girl will tell you.”

  “As has she,” Forrest said, “but she can’t take herself off to bed without someone’s say so. Now get up.”

  “I don’t take orders from you,” Parker said primly. “I shall most certainly speak to Dr. Waterton about this intrusion.”

  “And I shall most certainly tell Dr. Waterton that this lassie’s been doing the work of two,” Forrest said, “while you’ve been lolling in bed. Now get up! Young Meredith needs sleep more than you do.”

  Meredith could have hugged him for that. She followed as Forrest stalked out of the room.

  He stopped halfway down the hallway and turned to her. “Off to bed, lassie. I’ll take care of things.”

  Nothing had ever felt as good to Meredith as slipping between the cool, smooth sheets in her own little room at the top of the house. Forrest was back, and the doctor would be coming. She wouldn’t have to manage on her own any longer.

  Chapter 18

  In the dining room that evening, Meredith nervously eyed the supper she’d assembled: ham sandwiches and a sort of soup she’d created using Mrs. Butters’ bottled tomatoes. Parker had protested when she’d asked whether she could serve it in the kitchen, so now it sat looking like a country cousin come to town on the Waterton’s elegant china. She was contemplating fetching a jar of pickles from the pantry when Jack appeared.

  “Food! I’m starving.” He settled into a chair and reached for the platter of sandwiches.

  He’d stayed in his room for most of the day, and now Meredith’s face grew hot at the memory of his teasing at the party the night before. “I’ll call your sister,” she said quickly.

  “Don’t,” Jack said, around a mouthful of sandwich. He swallowed. “She’ll only gripe and turn up her nose. It’ll put me off my Sunday supper.” He grinned. “And this is good.”

  Meredith couldn’t help smiling at that. “It’s not much of a Sunday supper.”

  “Who cares? Father’s out, Harry’s sick, so there’s only me and Maggie to please, and she doesn’t count.”

  “I count just as much as you do!” Maggie stood scowling in the doorway. “And don’t you forget it.”

  She’d changed out of her go-to-church clothes into a plain, grey dress. With her hair held back with a band of the same fabric she reminded Meredith of the illustration of a young Quaker girl that she’d seen in a book at school.

  “Have some supper, Maggs,” Jack said agreeably. “You’re always extra grumpy when you’re hungry.”

  “I am not! I’m—” She threw a sour glance at Meredith. “Never mind. I won’t argue, not in front of the help.”

  “The help has a name,” Jack said. “It wouldn’t kill you to learn it.” He reached for another sandwich. “Tasty sandwich, Meredith.”

  Maggie lifted a corner of one of the sandwiches. “Ugh! I can’t abide ham. And what’s that red stuff in the tureen? It looks awful.”

  “See?” Jack said to Meredith. “I told you she’d gripe and turn up her nose.”

  “Jack Waterton! You make me so mad!” Maggie turned to Meredith. “You can go,” she said, her nose in the air. “We’ll ring if we need you.”

  Meredith left, fuming. Maggie was just plain rude, and neither of them had asked about Mrs. Butters. In the kitchen, she found Parker sniffing the contents of the soup pot.

  “What’s this red concoction?” he asked. “It looks awful.”

  “It’s soup,” Meredith said. She thought she’d been resourceful in creating a soup out of what she could find, but it seemed her best effort wasn’t good enough for anyone at Glenwaring.

  “You don’t have to eat it if you don’t want to,” she muttered. She marched to the range, ladled some soup into a waiting bowl and carried it to her place at the table.

  She nearly sprayed the first mouthful across the kitchen—they were right, it was awful—but she swallowed it and then grimly refilled her spoon. She knew she shouldn’t waste food, but she hesitated before bringing the spoon to her mouth.

  Parker inspected the sandwiches she’d kept aside for them, sighed loudly, and then left the kitchen. Meredith hoped he was starving. If he got good and hungry, maybe he wouldn’t be so choosy.

  She couldn’t face finishing the horrible-tasting soup, and it put her off eating anything else, so she
covered the plate of sandwiches with a damp tea towel and put it in the icebox in the pantry.

  Forrest had promised to be back by eight. Meredith hoped he’d bring the doctor this time, or a nurse—anyone—to help.

  She checked on Mrs. Butters, wondering whether she should offer the cook some water, but the prospect of a few blessed minutes of rest persuaded her to wait. The air flowing into the back hall from the open window was brisk, so she shrugged into one of the coats hanging on a hook beside the back door, and then settled into the chair beside the settee.

  To pass the time, she decided she’d make a list of all the things she wanted to do in Toronto.

  Ride the streetcar.

  Explore the shops on Yonge Street.

  Visit Mr. Eaton’s store.

  Buy some shoes—that should have been first—smart black ones, with a little heel and a design stamped into the leather.

  Find the nearest library. Papa had told her people could borrow as many books as they liked from the free public lending libraries in Toronto. She longed for a book she could keep in her apron pocket for moments of quiet like this. Even if she couldn’t finish school right now, she could keep up her education by reading so she wouldn’t be so far behind when she did go back.

  Of course, Parker wouldn’t like it if he caught her reading while she was supposed to be working, but she could always read at night in bed in her little room upstairs. He couldn’t stop her doing that, although he still seemed bent on finding fault with everything she did. Mama would say that the good in people always evened out the bad in the end, but Mama wouldn’t say that if she met Parker.

  Thinking about Mama started another round of worries: Would the Spanish Flu reach Port Stuart? What if Mama got sick? Or Ellen?