Farmerettes

by Gisela Sherman

  Sunday, July 18, 1943

  Peggy

  Peggy sat staring at the empty bed across the room. She missed its pink frilliness. A faint glow from the rising sun tried to make up for it, but succeeded only in making the space look lonelier.

  Poor Isabel. Peggy and many other girls wept yesterday as they watched Isabel drive away. They canceled the talent show. Instead, they sat outside on the lawn, watching Isabel and Billy’s star, all the stars. They talked about the boys they knew fighting across the sea, about fear and courage, and about growing up during this awful war. Newscasters predicted victory was in sight, but too much had been lost already.

  Of course, Peggy’s prayers were for Canadian and Allied boys. But she wondered about German, Italian, and Japanese boys too. Didn’t they have parents, sisters and brothers, wives, and children who loved them? Didn’t those boys grow up in similar fields, streets, and schools, with the same dreams as Canadian boys?

  When her parents took her to visit both sides of her family six years ago, she discovered that her granny from Warwick and her great-aunt from Leipzig loved to solve crossword puzzles. Both walked their dogs through miles of countryside, and fussed over her, their distant granddaughter. All her cousins asked questions about Canada, played soccer with enthusiasm, teased each other and her. The English cousins took her rowing along the River Avon. With her German cousins, she floated on the White Elster River.

  The sun had now risen completely. Soon everyone would wake up. They would all attend church this morning, pray for Billy’s soul, pray for Isabel, for everyone they loved, and trust it would help. But then what would they do? It would have been easier if it had been a working day, to keep their hands and minds busy.

  “Swimming.”

  Peggy looked left.

  On the next cot, Binxie lay propped on one arm, watching her. “Let’s all go to the lake after church. It’s going to be a scorcher.”

  Peggy nodded. “Let’s pack a picnic. Cookie will be in a terrible mood today with her assistant gone.”

  Helene yawned and stretched awake on her bed. “We’ll make our own sandwiches. That should help.”

  “Anything to keep busy,” Binxie said.

  By noon, a large group of girls walked to the lake carrying lunches, towels, and sorrow. Peggy kept thinking of Isabel’s face in the car yesterday. She remembered the handsome face of Billy, a man she had never met, but whose photo she saw every day.

  He reminded her of Michael. Blond, wavy-haired Michael had taken her for bike rides, paid kind attention to his young cousin visiting from Canada. She’d developed a huge crush on him, later exchanged letters and photos. He was the practical joker in his family; people said the party started when he arrived. Yet he always knew how people were feeling, who needed a gentle word. When her uncle Rudolph took them to hear the famous boys’ choir in St. Thomas Church, Michael had confided in her. “One day I’ll play the organ for such a choir.” The German military had other plans for him. He was killed at Dieppe too. Peggy’s neighbors didn’t bring casseroles or flowers like they did for Donny Ferguson. Her family grieved in secret.

  A cloud of dust appeared on the horizon, coming their way fast. A familiar truck. Peggy glanced at Helene. “You know who that is.”

  Helene nodded. “Act like we’re having such an interesting conversation we don’t notice him.”

  Peggy complied, watching from the corner of her eye as the truck approached on the narrow road. “He’s slowed down,” she whispered. “The passenger window is opening.”

  “Keep talking.”

  Peggy noticed Helene’s head was averted from the road but her eyes were full of timid hope as the truck pulled up beside them.

  “Hello, girls!” Agnes Fraser called cheerfully. “Where are you headed on such a glorious day?” She seemed ready to chat, but Dan looked down, tapping the steering wheel.

  He’s hurting my friend. He can’t get away with this, thought Peggy. She leaned in and spoke directly to him. “Hello, Dan. How are you today?”

  “Fine,” he answered gruffly, fidgeting with the gearshift.

  Before Peggy could say more, Helene elbowed her into silence.

  “We’re going swimming, Mrs. Fraser,” answered Kate.

  “Wise choice on a day like this. Enjoy your day, girls.” She waved as the truck sped off.

  “You okay?” Peggy asked Helene.

  “Of course.” Helene shrugged. “I was silly to think he was interested in me.”

  “He still is. He was blushing.”

  “Then why is he so rude?”

  “He’s a Scranton,” replied Binxie.

  Peggy started to answer, but Helene frowned. “No. He was being polite to me that day, and now he’s embarrassed. I’m too young, too plain.”

  Peggy put her arm around her friend’s shoulder. “You’re prettier than you think. He’d be lucky to have you.”

  “Everything looks worse today. We’re all sad,” Binxie added.

  “I don’t even want to become involved with such a moody fellow. Too much heartache.”

  Peggy nodded at her. She knew why.

  The noon sun shone down hard, and insects buzzed at them. “That lake will feel so good,” said Doris.

  In a golden field beside them, a man led a horse and plow to cut the hay. He stopped, wiped his brow, and waved at them. Wasn’t this the McDonnells’ extra field? Nelly’s farm? The letter, thought Peggy. Another tragedy from another war. Would they get a chance to right this one?

  Knowing Jean and Binxie often walked together, Peggy turned to Binxie and asked, “Has Jean mentioned Polly’s letters? Surely she has found out who Polly is by now.”

  “Didn’t the librarian tell you there are too many Pollys, including some who moved away?” Binxie replied.

  Peggy sighed. Then she glimpsed Lake Ontario between the trees ahead, and forgot everything else. Soon she heard laughter. More young people were already sunning and swimming. Evie Belding called to them, “Come on in. The water’s wonderful!”

  Peggy recognized Alice Belding and Luke Scranton among them. She was relieved Harry wasn’t there. She heard Binxie’s sharp intake of breath and followed her glance. Johnny Clifford emerged from the lake like a Greek god, water rolling from his chest. I knew it, thought Peggy. There’s something between those two.

  Johnny splashed toward them. He waved to everyone, then asked Binxie, “Ready for a rematch?”

  Peggy caught Nancy’s glance at Binxie as she dropped her bag, pulled off her shirt and shorts, and ran into the lake in her bathing suit.

  The cool, soothing water, jumping into the waves, and swimming hard made it impossible to stay gloomy for long. Being young on a sunny summer day trumped grief.

  Sometime during the afternoon, Binxie and Johnny wandered off, walking close together along the shoreline. Peggy knew by their serious faces when they returned that Binxie had told him about Billy. Maybe that was why Johnny had hugged her? At least they weren’t as bad as Irene and one of the farm boys, kissing underwater.

  But Alice glared at Binxie and asked Johnny, “Where’s Jean?”

  Johnny answered coolly. “Haying the back field. Two fellows from the air base insisted on helping her today, so she took them up on it. She needs all the assistance she can get.”

  Stella smirked. “Must be that cute guy she danced with all Friday evening. What was his name? Hugh? He sure looked good in his uniform.”

  Peggy glared at Stella. Johnny shouldn’t learn about Hugh this way, and the dig about the military was cruel. That witch will find a toad in her milk tonight, she fumed.

  Johnny opened his mouth to answer, but instead turned and dove into the lake. Binxie shot Stella a look of disgust, then sat with Helene, her back to Stella.

  Luke approached Peggy. “Want to walk along the beach with me?”

 
Not after the way you cursed at us last week, thought Peggy, but she smiled. “Sure.” She could find out why Dan had gone from hot to cold with Helene.

  “My brother can’t take a joke,” Luke answered as they sloshed through the water. “He got annoyed with us for teasing him about that skinny girl he likes.”

  Peggy wished she could put a few toads in his drink too. She had to settle for accidentally tripping him into the Canada goose droppings along the shoreline. As he picked himself up, she turned back to join the others.

  “Hey, I thought we were going to have fun,” he protested.

  “We just did,” she called over her shoulder, gratified to see him sulk awhile.

  The girls returned to Highberry in time for dinner, a somber meal—blah meatloaf, dull mashed potatoes, pale cauliflower, no flowers on the table. At least there were lots of Isabel’s squares and cookies, but they made the girls even sadder.

  The only bright moment was when Stella discovered a snail sliming through her salad and gagged. Later, her earsplitting screeches—when her toes touched the chicken foot at the bottom of her sheets—gave Peggy some fleeting satisfaction. Seeing Isabel’s empty bed stopped her smile. She had planned to write to Omi and Opa today, but her letter would be too depressing. She retired early, but whenever she closed her eyes, she saw images of Billy’s face, Donny’s, Theo’s, and Michael’s—and Isabel heartbroken in the backseat of the car. Her last thought before she fell asleep was how glad she was they could work tomorrow and stay busy.

  Friday, July 23, 1943

  Helene

  Helene stepped down from the ladder and handed the full basket of cherries to Matthew Scranton. He squinted at the fruit, searching for flaws. She pulled the picking strap from around her neck and rested it on the ground. She scratched three mosquito bites in a row on her leg and pressed an X into each one, hoping it would stop the itch.

  “One is split, two are overripe, and this one’s too green,” declared Matthew, the son who most resembled his father. He looked as satisfied as if he’d nabbed a criminal.

  “I’m sorry.” Helene climbed back up the tree, found four replacement cherries, and brought them back down to Matthew.

  Without a thank you, he punched her card and stomped off to scrutinize Peggy’s harvest. When he complained about a cherry, she grabbed the offending fruit, ate it, and said, “Tastes fine to me.”

  Helene watched them stare each other down. When Matthew retreated, she wished she had Peggy’s courage.

  At noon, the girls left the orchard to clean up at the pump. Then they carried their lunch bags to a shady tree.

  The talk, of course, was about the talent show. They’d decided to hold it this weekend, and the dress rehearsal was tonight.

  “I’ve changed my mind. I’m going to sing ‘Over The Rainbow’ instead of ‘Roses in December,’” said Estelle. “It showcases my voice better.”

  Most of the girls rehearsed every available minute.

  “Are you sure you won’t sing with us?” Binxie asked Helene.

  Helene shook her head. “I could never sing in front of a room full of people.”

  Peggy shrugged. “I think you could.” But she left it alone, and the girls went on to eat their sandwiches and discuss the outfits for their number.

  Helene couldn’t think about singing when she was so worried about home. Her mother’s last letter sounded too cheery. No one had rented Jake Potter’s room yet, and Alva and the baby had returned to Alberta to live with her parents. Mama said that meant less work, but Helene knew it also meant less money to pay the bills.

  She stretched out on the grass. If she had a short nap, maybe she wouldn’t feel so exhausted, so discouraged. But sleep was as elusive now as it had been last night. Her mind would not rest. The money she was sending home wasn’t enough. She should go home, take a well-paying factory job. School could wait a year or two.

  But she had seen too many girls in her neighborhood leave school “for awhile” and never return. She couldn’t do that. She was determined to accomplish something with her life. Besides, she loved it here. Tonight she would ask Smokey to arrange for her to work overtime.

  And she grieved for poor Isabel’s Billy, for Peggy’s cousin, for the boys she no longer wrote to—and for her own father, wherever he was.

  More terrible thoughts crowded her mind. She hated working at the Scrantons’. There was no kindness on this farm. Matthew and Luke went out of their way to be unpleasant to her. They gave her the oldest ladders, brought her water last, and fussed over the cherries she picked.

  But what bothered her most was Dan. The orchard was not large enough to keep her from seeing him. He would drive by in a truck, work in a nearby field, collect baskets in a distant row of trees. Once he passed her in the barnyard. He stopped as if to speak, then with a grudging hello, moved on. Helene couldn’t understand it, but Peggy kept insisting, “He likes you. He stares at you when he thinks no one’s looking.”

  Helene had shaken her head. “Then he has an eight-year-old’s way of showing it.”

  Now Helene shifted into a more comfortable position on the grass. Tonight she would ask Smokey to move her to another farm. But she already intended to request additional hours of work. Afraid if she asked too much that Smokey would say no to everything, she decided the extra pay was more important. She finally fell asleep.

  Helene dreamed she was in a lovely meadow. Her mother and brothers were there. All was carefree, joyful. Why had she ever worried? Helene handed her brothers a bowl of cherries. They laughed, red juice dribbling from their lips. Her mother smiled.

  Distant voices called her name, but her mother shook her head. “It’s not for you. Stay here with us.”

  Helene wanted to remain in this peaceful place.

  The voices became louder, more insistent. But the twins beckoned her to come swim in a sunny pond that had suddenly appeared. She stepped into the water. It was so warm, so wonderful, she felt released.

  Then the laughter broke through. Helene woke up. She stared into the grinning face of Matthew Scranton, who was holding a glass of water to her hand. Beyond him, the horrified expressions of the farmerettes. What had happened?

  Helene’s hand was wet and she felt uncomfortably damp below. She bolted upright, her face hot with shame.

  “I told you we had a cure for layabouts who sleep instead of work,” Matthew gloated. He poured the rest of the water onto the grass.

  “You swine!” Peggy shouted at him. She helped Helene up, and tried to hug her.

  Helene pushed her away. She turned and ran from the orchard. Only when she was on the road, out of earshot, did she let herself sob. She had never felt so humiliated in her life. How could she ever face the girls, Matthew, again? Seventeen years old and she had wet herself. Her shorts, her underpants felt cold and shameful. She had never disliked anyone in her life, but now hatred of the Scranton boys pulsed through her body. All she wanted was to go back to the dorm, shower for a long time, then pack up and return to Hamilton, where she belonged.

  When she heard the truck behind her, she didn’t turn. Hopefully it was only a stranger driving by. But the truck slowed down. Could she run into the field? No—a stone wall blocked her way. Keeping her face turned away, she walked faster.

  “Helene.”

  Dan. The last person she wanted to see in this condition. She sped up.

  “Helene, please. This shouldn’t have happened. I’m sorry.”

  So am I, she thought bitterly. I thought I belonged here. I liked you.

  She heard the motor stop, the truck door slam, the crunch of boots on gravel. She ran.

  Dan quickly caught up and ran beside her, but he didn’t touch her. “Let me drive you home. Please.”

  Without looking at him, she spat, “Why?”

  “You didn’t deserve this. It’s my fault.”

&n
bsp; The words came out so broken. She glanced at him, saw his bloody nose and swollen eye. She stopped.

  “Matt’s sorry now too.”

  Without a word, she followed him back to the truck. He handed her a towel to wrap around herself, and she climbed in.

  In silence, they drove along the bumpy road, then turned onto the lane to Highberry Farm. Dan pulled up at the dorm, got out of the truck, and opened the passenger door for her. She climbed down without looking at him. “Thank you.”

  “Helene. Can we talk?”

  She shook her head.

  “Please.”

  “Not now.”

  “When?”

  She wanted to say never, and she wanted to bury her head in his chest and cry. Instead she shrugged.

  “That was a cruel thing Matthew did. He was wrong, not you. Please, when can we talk?”

  “I have to wash.”

  “How about Monday?”

  “I don’t know.” Helene still couldn’t face him.

  “After your dinner. Seven?”

  “All right.” Without looking back, Helene hurried into the dorm, grabbed her soap and clean clothes, and headed for the bathroom. In the shower she cried. And dreaded Monday at seven.

  Saturday, July 24, 1943

  Binxie

  Binxie washed her hands for the third time, trying to scrub the green stain from her fingers, without total success. At least she liked the musky, pungent scent of tomato plants. Her back was sore from hunching over to snip off the suckers all morning, but her mind was on the talent show. Some friends from school were coming to watch, then take her out for dinner. Tomorrow she could sleep in and relax. Girls hurried each other out of the showers, borrowed outfits, tuned instruments, and practiced one last time. The atmosphere was electric.

  Binxie hoped the fun and excitement would distract Helene. Ever since the incident with Matthew on Thursday, the poor girl had avoided everyone. Binxie wished fervently she had been there. She would have stopped the lout before he could hold that glass of warm water to Helene’s hand. She couldn’t understand why the other girls had just stood by. Of course, Peggy blamed herself for not seeing what he was doing until too late, and had apologized to Helene several times.