Farmerettes

by Gisela Sherman

  Nevertheless, Helene went about her work silently, head down. Any confidence she had gained here vanished. She barely ate, and spent her time off lying on her bed, reading.

  “Come outside. We’re doing a quick run-through of our song,” Patsy called. Binxie followed her to a spot past the chicken coop, hoping Cracker wasn’t feeling aggressive today.

  “We’ll sound better if we look good,” Kate had suggested earlier in the week, so they’d rounded up matching checkered red-and-white shirts and denim overalls. Helene had sewn a jaunty red bandana for each girl. Now with some straw in their hats, they did look dandy.

  By two-thirty, the excitement was at fever pitch. Friends, neighbors, and girls not taking part in the show milled around the farmyard, sipping lemonade and eating squares—Freda’s best efforts to imitate Isabel. Binxie waved at Jean, who had come with her parents and Nanny.

  The Belding family, the Smiths, and the Grants took seats near the front. Agnes Fraser arrived with Reverend and Mrs. Ralston. Of course, Miss Willing and her choir ladies were there. Binxie half-expected them to jump up and perform too.

  The surprise visitors were Peggy’s parents, who drove up in a noisy old Dodge. Peggy screeched with joy and hugged them repeatedly. Then two blond boys bounced out of the backseat, followed by a thin woman who resembled Helene. Helene ran to embrace her mother and held her like a life preserver. Her brothers—identical fellows with freckles and short uneven haircuts—ran around them gleefully.

  Watching the joyful reunions, Binxie wished for a moment that her parents had come to watch her, but, the train ride down from Muskoka was too lengthy and strenuous. Then, watching Helene lead her family to the refreshment table, Binxie worried—would Helene return home with them? One friend gone was already too many.

  Helene

  By the time Helene and the rest of the audience finished the last lines of “The White Cliffs of Dover,” tears and happiness mingled on their faces. The talent show had been a success, and this song brought everyone together in a perfect finale.

  Helene exchanged smiles with her mother. How good it felt to see her again. But when her mother stopped smiling, the lines remained on her face. Next to the robust farmers and farmerettes, she looked pale and weary.

  People rose in their chairs, clapping, cheering, whistling. Finally the performers ran from the stage to greet their guests. Peggy, out of breath and beaming, hugged her parents and shook hands with Mrs. Miller. “A standing ovation! They loved us!”

  Helene smiled at her. Peggy would cherish this day for a long time—and she deserved the glory. She had worked hard to put this show together, get everyone involved, give their best. And she’d perfected her performance of Dvořák’s boisterous “Festival March.” Helene knew she too would treasure this memory.

  Now others came to congratulate Peggy, and meet her parents. Helene and her mother drifted away to watch her brothers tearing around the barn with the other youngsters, climbing the bales of hay, running, stopping only long enough to grab sweets from the refreshment table.

  “You look lovely, Helene,” said Mrs. Miller. “I’ve never seen you healthier.”

  Helene wished she could say the same to her. “I’m glad you came. I’ve missed you.”

  Her mother looked at her a moment. “Something’s wrong. What’s troubling you?”

  “I should come home. Give you a hand.”

  “Don’t be silly! Several people are coming to look at the rooms, and until they decide to rent them, I have less work—a little holiday.”

  Peter ran between them. “Mama, I brought you a cherry tart.” He handed her a slightly smushed pastry.

  “Thank you, son.” She rolled her eyes in exaggerated joy. “Mmm, delicious.”

  He ran off again.

  Mrs. Miller regarded her daughter closely. “There’s more.”

  Does she have to know me so well? Helene looked down at Mama’s worn shoes, polished to a proud shine. She wouldn’t burden her with the story of her humiliation in the orchard. “It’s nothing really. I’m just disappointed in someone I thought might like me.”

  Her mother nodded sympathetically. “That hurts.”

  Helene was glad she didn’t offer platitudes about getting over it, or say that someone better would come along.

  “Hello. You must be Mrs. Miller.”

  Helene and her mother turned to face Agnes Fraser, who smiled warmly and offered her hand. “You have a charming, bright daughter. She knows how to work too.”

  Now where did she hear that? wondered Helene, even as she tried not to blush. She introduced the two women and stood by while they talked. When Peter ran up with another tart, Mrs. Fraser stopped him before he could escape, and quizzed him as she had done with the farmerettes at the growers’ party. Helene was relieved that he answered politely, in spite of his obvious wish to get back to playing with the others. Finally Mrs. Fraser excused him. She watched him run to the field and said softly, “My little brother was just like him once.”

  When Mrs. Ralston waved to her, Mrs. Fraser said her good-byes and left.

  “She’s quite assertive, but I like her. I’m glad she thinks so highly of you, Helene,” said Mrs. Miller. Before she could say more, Mr. Pigeon strode over and said, “I’m hungry. Let’s eat.”

  Helene looked confused until Mrs. Pigeon pointed at the car. “We packed a picnic.”

  The girls helped unload the hamper of food and Peggy led the way to a wooden table near the apple orchard.

  It was a cheerful meal with jokes and laughter between mouthfuls of food. Helene thought it was a treat to eat the sausages and salads she was used to at home. How nice it would be to go back with her family. But until this week, she’d been happy here. And Dan wanted to speak with her on Monday. What could he possibly have to say?

  Too soon the meal was over and Mr. Pigeon announced it was time to leave. “We need to go before it gets dark on these unfamiliar roads.”

  Peggy hugged her parents. “Thank you for coming. Give Oma and Opa hugs and kisses from me.”

  Her mother shot her a strange glance. “They would have come, if you’d let them.”

  Peggy looked away, and Helene felt bad for her—if her grandparents came, their German accents would tell everyone her secret.

  Peter tossed a ball back to one of the farm boys and told Helene, “I want to stay here.”

  “I wish you could.”

  He looked up at Helene with big brown eyes. “Come home with us. We miss you.”

  “We want to hear Treasure Island again,” added Willy.

  Helene realized how much she missed their evening routine of snuggling into bed and reading a chapter. She was ready to agree, but her mother interrupted.

  “No, boys. Helene will come home later. She has an important job here. Without her and the other girls, our soldiers would not get enough food. We can’t let them down.”

  Both boys regarded their sister with respect. “Okay,” said Willy. “But promise you’ll be back at the end of the summer.” He climbed into the car behind his brother.

  “I want to come home now,” Helene whispered to her mother.

  “No, dear,” her mother said gently. “Your duty is here. Your letters glow with happiness about the farm and the friendships you’ve made. Don’t let one setback change that.”

  As their families drove off, Peggy and Helene waved until the car disappeared over the horizon. Arm in arm they returned to the dorm. Peggy went to the recreation room, and Helene headed for bed. She tried to read another chapter of Gone with the Wind instead of thinking about Monday at seven.

  Monday, July 26, 1943

  X

  “Ooops! Catch it!”

  She stretched her arms farther left, and a head of lettuce flew into her hands, splashing cool water over her chest and face, a welcome shower on this hot day. She p
laced the lettuce in a crate with the others and stood up in time to catch the next one.

  “Sorry, bad aim,” called Kate.

  “Loved the refreshing shower,” she called back, laughing. And I love everything else about this place too, she thought as she caught another wet lettuce. The crate was full. Mr. Grant picked it up and left an empty one in its place.

  She called to Kate. “New crate. My turn to cut and toss you a bath.” She hopped over the row of green heads and Kate handed her the knife. The air was fragrant with the scent of fresh hay. She felt strong, healthy, content. She loved the steady routine of farmwork, long walks through the countryside finding places to sketch, and the companionship of the girls. Sure, she missed Isabel a lot, but everyone did. She enjoyed the banter, the crazy songs they made up as they worked, the tricks they played on each other. Life here was clean, simple, good. Maybe she was finally cured. Maybe she’d even go to Romeo’s with the girls this weekend.

  Helene

  Helene filled her last basket of cherries, handed her card to Mr. Belding, and hopped on the wagon to go home. All the girls were hot, exhausted, and wondering what might be served for supper tonight.

  Lost in her own apprehension, Helene sat quietly on the wagon. What would Dan say tonight? Sorry if you thought there was anything to our conversation, but I’m not interested in you, you’re too young, too thin, too boring, too…Or, I already have a fiancée. Or maybe, I’m too messed up from the war to care for you or anyone else.

  Even though dinner was Swiss steak, she couldn’t eat a bite. Canned prunes for dessert made everyone miss Isabel even more. Helene left the dining room early, took special care to shower, comb her hair, and borrow Peggy’s best blouse.

  “You look lovely,” said Peggy.

  “Yes, I do,” Helene had answered with some amazement. “At least I’ll make him regret turning me down.”

  “If he does, he’s an idiot,” said Peggy. “You’re by far the best person I know. Remember that when you talk to him.”

  Helene took her book outside, and settled in a chair where she pretended to read. She wanted to be ready, but appear busy, unconcerned, when he came—if he came. Gone with the Wind could have been written in Greek for all she comprehended as she sat, staring at her book, calm on the outside, stomach churning, heart beating too fast.

  And then he stood before her.

  Her surprise was real. “I didn’t hear you drive up.”

  “This month’s gas used up. Had to ride the bike.” He looked embarrassed, boyish. The hero, galloping in on a bicycle. Not the image he probably wanted, but it helped Helene relax.

  She hesitated. “There are bikes in the barn,” she said softly. “Do you want to go for a ride?” When he nodded, she felt better. He wasn’t in a hurry to run away.

  Soon they pedaled along the road, side by side. Helene felt glad to be with him and not to have to talk yet.

  They reached the lake, leaned their bikes against a tree, and stood, looking at the waves charging the land and retreating again.

  Dan skipped stones across the water and finally spoke. “First of all, I apologize for my rude brother. He was wrong. You didn’t deserve such a mean trick, and I told him so.”

  She looked at his battered eye, now faded to green, and the small bruise on his jaw. “I’m sorry you had to do that.”

  He shrugged. “I’m not.”

  The humiliation and anger Helene had felt since Thursday began to seep away. “Let’s forget it happened. I’m okay now.”

  Dan took a breath and cleared his throat. “And I’m sorry for my dismal behavior too.”

  Helene was about to meekly accept that, but then she blurted, “Why?”

  Embarrassment and doubt crossed Dan’s face. His eyes were dark with regret. “It wouldn’t work, Helene. I’m trying to spare you.”

  “Shouldn’t I have a say in that decision?”

  “You’re so young, so kind. You don’t know how rough it can be. War does things to people. We may have survived, but there’s still damage. You shouldn’t have to deal with that.”

  Helene took his hand—the one with the scar reaching just far enough below the cuff to show the world that it was there. “I have lived with it.” She closed her eyes a moment. “My father. He survived the Great War, Vimy Ridge. No scars on the outside, but such damage inside. Shell shock. His moods ranged from depression to gentleness to angry outbursts. I never knew how he’d greet me when I came home.”

  He looked at her with sympathy. “You don’t have to tell me this.”

  “I want to.” His warm hand in hers made her feel strong.

  “Mama told me he was once a quiet, thoughtful man—worked in the lab at Proctor and Gamble. He loved research, his garden, and her. Before the war, he wanted a big family; afterward, the noise of a crying baby—his crying baby—could set him off. I learned to stay very quiet.”

  Dan squeezed her hand gently.

  “On his good days he read to me, took me for walks in the woods to identify plants, pick mushrooms—as long as it was peaceful. Then the Depression hit Hamilton hard and my dad harder. He lost his job, tried day labor here and there, but he wasn’t suited for that. He borrowed money. When my brothers came along—twins—it was too much for him. They rarely saw his kind side, and only remember his silent moods, the horrible shaking, sudden rages. When he finally headed for Kingston to work building highways, we were relieved.”

  Helene had just spilled the story she never shared. She paused to inhale deeply. “Sorry, that was too much about me.” She tried to release her hand.

  But Dan held on. “I underestimated you.”

  “People usually do.”

  “Not if they know you.” He gazed at her, his eyes full of admiration. He let go of her hand and frowned. “Helene, I’m much older than you, in many ways. The war does that too. I saw dead and bloodied French babies, and German children burned to a crisp. I met people at their best and their worst. Their very worst.”

  He took a deep breath. “My farming ability is limited—this arm, my leg—are scarred, weak. I’ll never earn the income to buy my own farm, to support a family properly.”

  “We don’t have to think that far ahead.”

  “It’s unfair for me to even start with someone.”

  A small song began in Helene’s mind. He wasn’t rejecting her. He was rejecting himself. “Are you sure you have no temper?” She remembered seeing him argue with his father and brothers, the fight he must have had with Matthew on Friday, her own father’s outbursts.

  He nodded, puzzled. “Helene, I have sad moments, some nightmares, disagreements with my family, but I don’t get melancholy or violent. I promise you that.”

  “And that black eye?”

  “Any man would have done that for you.”

  Only someone gallant. She was aware of his breath, his scent of clean soap and masculinity. “Then there’s really only one thing that matters, Dan.” She looked directly at him. “How we feel about each other. Everything else will fall into place.”

  “Dear, innocent Helene…”

  “Don’t tell me I’ve read too many novels. I watch people and listen too.” She paused, then blurted, “Dan, do you care for me?”

  “From the minute you whizzed through Agnes Fraser’s interrogation. She likes you too.”

  “I fell for you as you quoted Robert Frost. Harder when we talked outside, and completely when we shared the ice cream.”

  “It tasted that good?” He grinned at her, his whole face changed.

  She nodded.

  He stopped smiling and asked seriously, “Is it that easy?”

  She regarded the arm dangling at his side. “Roll up your sleeve.”

  He hesitated, then slowly undid the button and pulled up his sleeve.

  Helene gazed at the long, ugly burn scar, the
skin puckered and mottled red, pale yellow, with shiny ridges. It looked horrible. But it was a part of him. She took his arm, stroked it gently. On sheer impulse, she lifted it to her lips and kissed it.

  Dan put his other arm around her, drew her close, and held her tight. She felt his heart beating against her cheek. This felt so right. She wanted to stay there, holding him forever.

  After a moment, Dan backed away some. He cupped her chin with his strong hand, leaned in, and kissed her. If she had ever worried how to kiss a man, she now realized it was the most natural, wonderful thing to do.

  The two walked hand in hand along the shore. For now, no more words were needed.

  When they finally pedaled home, the colors of the evening sky glowed more vivid than ever. They rode past orchards bursting with fruit and birdsong, Helene’s heart singing right along.

  At the spreading elm tree just before the dorm, they stopped, dropped their bikes, and embraced.

  “Do you want to see me again?”

  Dan’s question was answered by her broad smile.

  “Is tomorrow too soon? We could buy ice cream in town.”

  Standing with him in a wet ditch would have sounded fine to Helene. “I’ll see you after dinner. Seven o’clock?”

  Their kiss was cut short by the slam of a screen door. Peggy ran past them, toward the darkening orchard, head down and sobbing.

  Dan and Helene quickly said goodnight, and Helene hurried after her friend.

  Peggy

  Peggy watched Helene pedal down the lane with Dan. Not as romantic as a horse-drawn carriage, but she felt hopeful about this.

  She headed back inside, humming a tune. A card game would be fun. First she’d go upstairs for her Count Basie record—pleasant background music—then she’d find some partners.

  As soon as she reached the top of the stairs, she knew something was amiss. Stella and a group of girls stood around her bed, deep in conversation. When they saw her, they stopped dead.

  Peggy tried a smile. “Anyone for euchre?”