Farmerettes

  “We’re skipping services today, going to visit Nanny’s sister in Mount Hope. Her eighty-fourth birthday.”

  “That sounds nice—a chance to get away.”

  “Cairo needs exercise. You can take her out later.”

  Binxie grinned at the beautiful brown mare. “Oh. Thank you!”

  “Take the roads. No galloping through the fields. They’ll either have a crop growing, or holes where horses could break a leg. If you lose your way, stop at any farmhouse. They’ll point you back to Highberry.”

  Jean’s mother, wearing a fine-print dress, followed Nanny and Jean’s dad to the family car. She waved at Jean.

  “I better go. Enjoy the ride.” Binxie watched them drive away, wishing she could leave for the day too.

  After church, the girls devoured a large lunch—deviled eggs and potato salad over-spiced with curry. Luckily they finished with yummy oatmeal cookies full of nuts and berries—Isabel at her best. They still had to put up with her overboiled vegetables and lumpy gravy, but Isabel had become an excellent baker.

  After dessert, Binxie slipped away and saddled Cairo. They trotted along the road, enjoying the movement and the fresh breeze. At the sound of hoofbeats behind her, Binxie turned and her heart smiled. It was Johnny on a tall black horse. She brushed her fingers through her hair.

  “Good day for a ride,” Johnny greeted her. “Where are you headed?”

  Maybe it was her restless energy, or the sun and wind on her face, but today Binxie felt she could say anything to him. “Exploring the countryside. Any recommendations?”

  “Want to see my favorite spot?”

  Binxie decided she’d follow him anywhere. “Lead the way.”

  They rode side by side along the gravel concession, then turned into a grove of trees. All those riding lessons were worth it, she thought, glancing sideways at her escort.

  The woods were dappled and cool. Shrubs, ferns, and wildflowers crowded the trail, forcing them to ride single file, Johnny leading the way. A chipmunk skittered across the path and birds chirped overhead. It was so enchanting she half-expected some Walt Disney animals to perch on a branch and sing to them. Prince Charming was already here.

  Abruptly the forest ended and before them stretched a magnificent vista—a green field sloping down to a blue lake, which rolled seamlessly into an azure sky.

  Johnny stopped and watched her expectantly.

  Binxie was too awed to speak. She smiled at him and they rode on until they reached the beach. There they unsaddled their horses, and led them to the cool water to drink. Then they tied them to two shady maple trees and walked along the shore.

  “We usually swim in the inlet east of here, but this is more private because there’s no road in.”

  “But the path to get here is so beautiful.”

  “Not if you’re walking on a hot day.” He took off his shoes and waded into the water.

  Binxie did the same.

  “Watch these rocks. They’re slippery.”

  Even as he said this, Binxie’s foot slid out from under her and she landed on her behind. Shocked, she sat in the cool water. Even more shocking, instead of helping her up, Johnny burst out laughing.

  She dipped her arm into the lake and swooshed a wave of water at him. Then she laughed too.

  Dripping, he finally reached a hand and helped her up. “I’m sorry. If you had seen your face, you wouldn’t blame me.”

  “We’re wet now. We may as well swim,” Binxie shouted and plunged into the lake.

  Johnny followed and the two swam far out. And farther. It became a contest—who would turn back first.

  Finally, puffing hard, Binxie realized she would need enough energy to return, so reluctantly she angled toward shore. Johnny followed. As they waded from the water, he looked at her, blushed, and quickly turned to point to a sunlit patch of grass. “Let’s dry out there.”

  She realized how her wet shirt clung to her breasts, and sat with her arms folded in front of her. Their silence was awkward until a formation of yellow planes flew overhead.

  Johnny looked up. “I wonder how that pilot is doing, the one who crashed in your field.”

  “I suspect he talked his way out of trouble.”

  “And is already on to more escapades, maybe overseas.”

  “He probably needs to find excitement. There’s a lot of drudgery and boredom in between the flights,” she said, thinking of Kathryn’s countless hours of training. Once last summer she and her friend Marion had taken Binxie out to the airfield in Goderich. They’d talked endlessly about throttle friction, tail wheel locks, and hydraulics, checked over every inch of the plane and its instruments before taking off.

  “Jean said your sister flies?”

  Jean. Binxie wondered how she would feel about this expedition. Did she care for Johnny or were they just buddies? It was hard to tell. “Yes,” she answered. “For the ATA in England.”

  “England?”

  “The Canadian forces won’t let women fly.”

  “Picky bunch,” Johnny said ruefully.

  Binxie knew from Jean that he had tried to enlist at least two more times. She looked right at him. “They’re missing some good people.”

  He smiled hopefully. “If this war goes on, they may have to get less choosy.”

  Binxie shuddered. “I’d rather it ended now.”

  “We’ll fight until we win. Stop that madman Hitler.”

  “I wish there was a better way to do it.” Binxie decided to steer the conversation to him. “What are your plans? Veterinary college? I hear there’s an excellent one in Guelph.”

  “Probably. I have some other ideas too.”

  Binxie tried to picture him crammed into a suit and tie in an office. She couldn’t imagine him anywhere but on a farm.

  As if he’d read her mind, he said, “My life is in the country, but I may try something new. Raise beef cattle or try breeding some new stocks. I’ve heard interesting things about French Limousins or cattle from South America. What about you?”

  “Not sure yet. First and foremost, I want to fly like my sister. Come September, I’ll sign up.”

  “You fly already?” He looked at her with such admiration she was tempted to fib.

  “As a passenger. Kathryn used to take me up. The view from there is incredible. There’s nothing like it.”

  He nodded, and they sat quietly for awhile, watching the silver-tipped waves sparkle in the sun. Nearby, wild red roses grew thick and lovely. They reminded her of the tin the letters were in.

  “Have you ever heard of a James Earnshaw living around here?” It didn’t hurt to ask.

  “Jean already asked me. No, I don’t know him.”

  Jean again. Just how close were they? And why was he sitting here with her?

  Cairo whinnied restlessly. “I guess it’s time to go,” Binxie said reluctantly. “I promised to exercise the horse.”

  Johnny led the way back through the woods, Binxie wishing they had walked so they’d be closer together for a longer time. Too soon they reached the road. Then with a wave, they separated, Binxie wondering when she’d see him again.

  X

  She sat in the meadow, sketching the wildflowers and the cows, content in their grazing. How wonderful that must feel, instead of this turmoil, this guilt. She waved at Binxie riding by with that young fellow who sometimes visited Jean. Why couldn’t she be like her? She had wept when she realized she loved Isabel. If this was a sin against God, why did He allow it? Was it punishment? But for what?

  She pressed her colored pencil so hard it punctured the paper. It didn’t matter. She had a dozen pasture scenes already. She had also drawn over forty pictures of Isabel and destroyed most of them. Much safer to sketch scenery.

  Jean

  Jean felt good speeding through the countrysid
e at twenty-five miles per hour, windows open, her hair blowing in the breeze. Strawberry season was over, the raspberries were under control, and the cherries were coming along—early this year, but not yet screaming to be picked.

  Her parents sat in the front seat of the blue Willys sedan. She shared the back with Nanny, wearing her best dress and in a cheerful, talkative mood. Mount Hope was a long drive and a lot of precious gas away, so she didn’t get to see her remaining sister often.

  “That nice young Isabel helped me with Fiona’s birthday cake. Her pink icing roses are beautiful.”

  “You spent a lot of time teaching her to bake. The farmerettes sure appreciate her now.”

  “She learned from the best baker in the county. I won every year at the fall fair—my peach pies were famous,” Nanny bragged. “But why does she want to keep our baking lessons a secret? She sneaks into our kitchen before the first crow pees, or she arrives in the afternoon while the girls are away.”

  “City girls have strange ideas, Nanny, but I know she’s grateful.”

  “Keeps me busy. Not many friends left to come calling anymore.”

  Jean listened and nodded as Nanny talked about old times. “You can’t raise five children and run a farm without friends to help each other along. But I’ve outlived most of them.”

  Jean saw an opportunity. “Did you know a Polly?” She hoped Mum hadn’t heard. Last week, she asked her mother the same question, but her mother had dismissed it all.

  “Strange situations happen during war, Jean. People make rash decisions, then spend the rest of their lives trying to live with them. Don’t dredge this up now.”

  “But I want to help.”

  “Help? You don’t know whose carefully built-up life you may ruin. Leave it be.”

  It made Jean wonder if her mother was living with a mistake too. She hoped not. It also made her more determined to find the star-crossed lovers. If there was a child born of that love, it might want to know about its parents. Perhaps this was one mistake she could rectify.

  “Every Polly is gone too,” said Nanny.

  “No, mother’s age.”

  “Polly Belding you already know. Polly Henson—prettiest girl around here, stole your Mum’s first beau.” Nanny stopped to gaze out the window into her past.

  Jean had read and reread the letters. The early notes were loving and passionate. Gradually they became more formal, but they never stopped begging for a reply. James described tender times together—picnics, long talks, moonlight strolls—it was obvious they had shared a great love. Polly had saved his letters in lace. She cared. Why did she never answer? Why did she not mail the news about the baby?

  And what about the farmerettes? She knew by the searching way they looked at her that they wanted to solve the mystery with her. She couldn’t—not yet, maybe never. She liked these girls, especially Binxie and Helene, but they didn’t need to know her neighbors’ business, pass judgment, turn it into an amusing story to tell the folks back home. First she had to find out more herself.

  “Polly Neal,” Nanny continued. “Her family helped us the winter our barn burned down, but she was a miserable thing. I much preferred Polly Belding—Campbell then.”

  Which Polly is it? wondered Jean. I hope not the miserable one, but I can’t imagine Mrs. Belding with anyone but her Tom. Maybe the girl who stole boyfriends? Is that how she operated? Make a boy fall in love with her, then don’t answer his letters?

  “We’re here,” said Mum as they pulled up to a red brick house large enough to comfortably fit her aunt Morag, uncle Douglas, their daughter, Mary, and her two youngsters while Mary’s husband served overseas, and great-aunt Fiona. “You can stop quizzing Nanny now.”

  Jean grinned at her mother and shrugged.

  “I hope you won’t regret it,” her mother said. She turned to wave at Aunt Fiona standing at the front screen door.

  The family walked up the stone path and stepped onto the veranda. Nanny happily greeted her sister, adding, “Sorry we’re late. Have you waited long?”

  “I’m not waiting for you,” Fiona replied. “I’m expecting those good-looking young fellows.”

  Jean was confused. “We didn’t bring any good-looking men. Just Dad.”

  “Not him. I mean, handsome, dashing airmen.”

  “Sure, Aunt Fiona. We’ll bring a batch next time we visit.”

  “Don’t get cheeky with me, young lady. I’m not off my rocker yet.”

  Mrs. McDonnell stepped forward. “Happy birthday, Aunt Fiona.”

  Aunt Morag appeared at the screen door. “Welcome, welcome. I have a cold lunch ready,” she said, opening the door.

  Lunch passed pleasantly, then Jean’s father and uncle left to locate some tractor parts. They were in scarce supply, since the factories were building only war machinery. As the women chatted in the parlor, Fiona glanced anxiously out the window several times.

  “Who is she waiting for? Reg?” Jean asked her cousin Mary.

  Mary shook her head. “No, she knows he’s in Italy. Whenever the children ask about their daddy, she points out Europe on the globe.”

  So she’s not completely batty, thought Jean. She looked at her cousin, noticed how pale and tired she looked. “Have you heard from Reg lately?”

  Mary frowned. “Operation Husky. They’ve invaded Sicily. Three thousand ships. He’s with one of the eight divisions of men fighting there—the largest undertaking so far. This may be the beginning of the end, and it will get intense. I try not to let the children see me worry, but I lie awake at night imagining the worst. What would I ever do without him?”

  Jean patted her cousin’s arm. “We’re praying for him.”

  “And Rob?”

  “He gets around on crutches now, says he’s fine. They actually have a camp orchestra—he plays the fiddle in it. And he works in their hospital. But we get different stories. Some people mention the choir, theater groups, sports days, how good the hospital is, then others describe the prisoners’ work in the coal or salt mines and quarries, getting little to eat but sugar beets. What do I believe?”

  Deafening screeches interrupted them. Young Archie was yanking his sister’s hair, and Annie had dug her nails into his arm. Archie pointed at a mess of Lincoln Logs on the floor. “She wrecked my tank!” he yelled.

  “He wouldn’t give me any logs to build my house,” she sobbed, and hit him.

  As Mary wearily rose to referee, Jean stopped her. “Let me.” She called to the children, “Who wants to look for frogs?”

  It was fun playing with the youngsters along the nearby creek. When they were tired enough, she brought them home for a nap. At last she had some time alone—a blessed hour to sit on the front porch swing, sip ice tea, and read. She was annoyed when a cheery British-sounding voice interrupted her, twenty pages before the end of her book.

  “Well, g’day. What luck meeting you here.”

  She looked up and was startled to see two men in blue air force uniforms climbing the porch steps. She was surprised to recognize the pilot who landed in their field so recklessly.

  “What are you doing here?” she blurted.

  “I hoped you’d be as glad to see me as I am you.” His effort to seem sad made her smile.

  Realizing she had sounded rude, she said, “I didn’t expect you.” She eyed the sling supporting the cast on his left arm. “How are you?”

  He laughed. “That’s better. Bruises and cuts long gone. My arm is healing, though much too slowly. Missed my transfer to England with my mates. Stuck here with this bloke.” He turned to the man beside him, a tall blond fellow, so wide-eyed and gangly he reminded Jean of a calf. “Dick, this is the fair sheila who came to my rescue at my unfinest hour. I missed her name but I’ll never forget that beautiful face.”

  She shook Dick’s hand. “Hello, I’m Jean McDonnell.”


  With a devilish grin, the pilot grabbed her hand next. “Hugh Redmond, at your service.”

  She let go as quickly as was polite. He still had those brilliant blue eyes, skillfully combed dark hair, and natty moustache. Too slick.

  “You’re wondering why we’re here?”

  Actually, she wondered when she could get back to her book.

  The screen door burst open and Fiona appeared, all smiles. “You’re here!”

  Now Jean realized—Fiona had been waiting for these two. Hugh’s charms worked on every age group.

  “I wouldn’t miss your birthday for anything,” said Hugh, pecking the old lady on the cheek. “But how can you be eighty-four when you don’t look a day over sixty?” With a bow and a flourish, he handed her a small box. “For you.”

  Blushing like a teenager, Fiona opened the present. “Whitman’s chocolates! Oh my! How did you know? My favorites!” She stood on her toes and kissed him loudly. “Now come in, boys. Dinner’s about ready.”

  The airmen entered the house and Annie and Archie, awake from their naps, rushed to the door, and each latched on to one of Hugh’s legs. He laughed, scooped up Archie in one arm, swung him around, and passed him on to Dick. Then he picked up the squint-eyed, gap-toothed little girl. “How’s my beautiful princess today?” he asked.

  Annie giggled. “I’m gonna marry you next year.”

  Hugh’s smile turned serious. “I certainly hope so. I’m waiting for you.”

  He was obviously experienced at this, but Jean loved the light shining in the child’s eyes.

  The dinner table was crowded, but there was plenty of chicken stew, conversation, and laughter for all. He must be exhausted, Jean thought as she watched Hugh flirt with Fiona and each woman at the table. But the animated old women giggled like schoolgirls, and even Mary looked heartened. Having managed to sit next to Jean, Hugh directed conversation her way several times, and caught her eye when he could. She couldn’t help but smile back.

  Today was Fiona’s day to celebrate. They carefully avoided talk of war. Jean’s father proposed a toast and everyone sang “Happy Birthday” when Morag brought out the birthday cake and homemade ice cream.