Farmerettes

by Gisela Sherman

  Isabel said good-bye to Jean but scowled at Johnny. He’s as bad as Billy, she thought. Carrying on with two girls. Except, of course, he didn’t promised to marry one of them. She rubbed her diamond against her apron to make it gleam. Billy had meant it when he gave her that ring, and he would have kept his promise—it was the war that broke it. She’d never tell anyone here about Billy’s deceit.

  Across the barnyard she saw Binxie coming up the driveway, carrying a bag, heading for the dorm. When Binxie saw the couple on the porch, her gait slowed only a second.

  Isabel took her usual long route to avoid Cracker and wondered, Is this what war does to men? Johnny wasn’t away fighting, but everyone knew he went back to the registration office every month, hoping they would accept him one day. Did war make boys greedy to taste as much life as possible while they could, no matter whom they hurt?

  A horrendous screech burst Isabel’s thoughts. Giant flapping wings rushed from behind the tractor, where he had lain in wait for her. The rooster’s sharp beak stabbed forward as he shrieked threats at her. Isabel backed away. Cracker’s chest puffed out, his wings spread even wider, to double his size, his red wattle shook.

  Terrified, Isabel ran.

  The rooster launched himself into the air. His legs thrust toward Isabel at an angle, his claws ready to rip and maim.

  Isabel dodged. The rooster missed by an inch. Hissing and pecking furiously, he chased her even faster.

  Suddenly Mrs. McDonnell raced toward them. She grabbed the ax from the woodpile, seized Cracker by the neck, and in one clean stroke, she chopped off his head. His headless body dropped, then strutted in circles around the yard, blood soaking his feathers.

  Isabel stood paralyzed as Mrs. McDonnell tossed the head aside and found a piece of rope. When Cracker finally collapsed, she grabbed him by the legs, looped the rope around them, and hung him from the branch of a tree to drain. He dangled there, suddenly small, his wings drooping lifeless, his blood dripping and forming a pool on the ground below.

  Mrs. McDonnell tossed the ax onto the woodpile and looked at Isabel, whose eyes were wide in horror, mouth agape.

  “I’ve had enough of his nonsense,” she said. “He’ll be stew tomorrow night. You’re all right now.” She headed back inside.

  The terror, the blood, the body dangling from the tree—Isabel sank to the ground and sobbed hysterically.

  Binxie ran to her, with Jean and Johnny close behind. Binxie held her, murmuring comforting words. When Isabel had calmed down, Binxie helped her up and led her inside to a chair. She brought a damp, cool cloth and gently wiped her face.

  “I can’t stand it anymore,” Isabel sobbed. “It’s not fair,” she moaned over and over again.

  “You’re bearing too much,” Binxie cooed. “Billy should never have been killed.”

  “Billy!” Isabel spat out the name.

  Binxie looked shocked.

  “Billy, my faithful love? My hero? You think he died courageously fighting the enemy, true to his fiancée?”

  Looking confused, Binxie tried to soothe her.

  “No. He was splashing in the warm waters of the Adriatic Sea. Got caught in the undertow and drowned. My hero died playing water polo with his buddies.” She sobbed again while Binxie stroked her head helplessly.

  Isabel sat up, her face stony. “There’s more.” She blurted out the words. “He met another woman in England. Norah. Married her before he went to Italy. She’s expecting his baby.” Out loud, it sounded worse.

  Binxie sat in stunned silence.

  After awhile, Isabel spoke. “Will you tell Peggy and Helene for me? And Jean. They should know, and I can’t say it again. But please don’t tell the other girls. It’s too humiliating.”

  Binxie nodded and looked down at Isabel’s finger.

  “You’re wondering why I still wear his ring.”

  Binxie shrugged. “It comforts you.”

  “When Billy gave it to me, we loved each other. That’s what I want to remember. I’ve belonged with Billy so long I don’t know how else to live. This ring keeps me joined to him. It’s all I have left, and it means everything.”

  Binxie looked at her friend. “It’s better to remember him with love, but…”

  “It wasn’t his fault. It was this war. I’ll never love anyone but him.”

  Binxie nodded, stood up, and put away the damp cloth.

  X

  She couldn’t bear to see Isabel in pain any longer. She had come home from the baseball game to see the hanging rooster and hear the story. She wished she could be the one to console Isabel.

  Frustrated, she took her sketchbook to the orchard to get the images of the rooster and Isabel’s sad, red eyes from her mind. Would anyone ever love her as Isabel loved Billy? Jean and Hugh, Binxie and Johnny, Helene and Dan, Stella and Harry, Doris and Jack. Girls and boys paired off together, the way it was supposed to be. Why not her?

  She drew lacy wildflowers and peaches hanging fat and ripe from the trees. The sumacs were turning red, and here and there a yellow leaf drifted to the ground. Signs of autumn. In three weeks she would have to go home. Life on the farm had been good—but it hadn’t cured her. What would greet her when she returned to school? Suspicious looks? Shame? She couldn’t face it all again.

  Sunday, August 15, 1943

  Jean

  Jean stretched her legs on the blanket and sighed. A blue sky streaked with rose glowed above her, the waves on the deep aqua lake rolled in nearby. Golden fields, peace, and beauty surrounded her.

  “Are you happy, darling?” Hugh asked.

  She smiled at him, his arm warm around her, the taste of his kisses still on her mouth. She loved being with Hugh. She loved his laugh, his charm, the way he missed his family, his unpredictability. One day he brought her flowers, the next he took her rowing on the lake, singing silly songs. Yesterday he snuck her onto the base to see the planes. They sat in one, pretended to take flight, ducked when a guard passed by, then cuddled and necked awhile.

  Now he pulled her closer. Kissed her nose, her cheek, her ear. She giggled and wrapped her arms around him again. His body felt firm, his mouth soft. He stroked her back, slowly lowered her onto the blanket. His hand slid to her front.

  Her entire being focused on that hand and how good it felt. She yearned for more. When he reached lower, nothing existed but his hand.

  But Polly flashed through her mind. Reluctantly she sat up.

  Hugh gazed at her, hunger, love, frustration in his eyes. “I love you.”

  “I can’t. It’s not right.”

  Hugh collected himself. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I’m leaving Wednesday for England.”

  It felt like a slap. Wednesday. Only three more days. How would she ever let him go? How could she stand him going—to war, then back to Australia. She’d never see him again. The thought was too terrible. Her lip quivered.

  His sincere eyes, bluer than the sky, held hers. She so wanted to give him his loving farewell, to complete their love. But she knew what could happen. Afterward he’d be far away, and she’d be here, trying to cope. She shook her head. “I can’t.”

  “I’ve never met a girl like you, Jean. You make me a better person.”

  She crushed him to her. “I’ll miss you every minute.”

  “When this war ends, I’ll come back for you.”

  Her heart lurched with hope. “Come back here?”

  “Yes. To take you home with me.”

  She was too stunned to talk. Finally she croaked, “To Australia?”

  “Yes. Marry me. We’ll run the best ranch in New South Wales, have beautiful children, a wonderful life together. Jean, I love you so much.”

  “I love you too, Hugh,” she whispered.

  He drew her to him and they kissed again. The knowledge that they planned a future together bu
t would soon be apart made them more passionate than tender.

  But something, perhaps the thought of Polly and James, kept her upright. There would be time later—in Australia.

  Helene

  Helene and Isabel walked down the aisle and out of the church, the final verse of “Abide with Me” and the deep tones of the organ surrounding them with majesty and comfort. She was grateful there had been no sad names read out before the service today—for the sakes of the young men, their families, and for Isabel, who was so near the edge that another dead boy might push her over.

  “Let’s take the long way home,” she suggested. “It’s so lovely out.”

  Isabel’s smile looked forced, but she was trying.

  “May we escort you ladies home today?” The offer came from a boy with the shadow of a mustache, advertising he was almost ready to begin shaving. The boy beside him gazed at Isabel.

  “That’s kind of you, but we have lots of girls to walk with.” Helene tried to let them down gently. Two local girls were glaring at them. They’ll be so happy when we leave in September, she thought. That made her sad. Home in September. No more Dan, no more farm life, no funds to finish school, just a bleak future of drudgery in some factory.

  “Why would they ask us?” asked Isabel as the boys left, defeated. “Do I act like I’d want to meet a fellow?”

  “They were only being boys,” Helene reassured her. “Everyone knows you’re loyal to Billy.” She’d said the wrong thing. Isabel twisted her ring and her lips quivered. They both knew she hadn’t been the unfaithful one. It was hard to see Isabel so miserable when a whole glorious day with Dan lay ahead of her. He was picking her up after lunch.

  Other girls joined them. As they walked home, Peggy entertained them with an imitation of Reverend Ralston, and a story about last night at Romeo’s until finally even Isabel chuckled. Helene was glad Peggy was regaining her old exuberance.

  Back at Highberry Farm, Helene had just changed into shorts and a blue shirt and was clattering down the stairs for lunch when Dan appeared at the screen door.

  “You’re early!” she said, delighted.

  “Hoped you’d prefer a picnic,” Dan said, smiling sheepishly.

  Twenty minutes later, as he shook out a blanket beside a creek, he confessed, “Actually, I couldn’t wait any longer to see you.”

  Helene helped him unpack the picnic hamper—two baloney sandwiches, some peaches, and a jug of apple cider. She decided next time she’d pack the meal. But it was lovely to eat in this peaceful grove alone with Dan, instead of with seventy chattering girls. They passed the cider jug back and forth.

  “I should have packed cups,” Dan apologized.

  Helene refused the peaches. “I’ve picked too many of these furry little creatures. I itch just thinking about the fuzz on my hands, arms, and neck.”

  Dan laughed. “It was all I could find. I’ve had enough of them too, though I’ll eat a peach pie any day.”

  “It’s so beautiful here.” Helene gazed at the water and the woods. “Can we take a walk?”

  They followed the stream, talking about the new lighter ladders the Beldings used at their farm. “They’re easier to move. It makes picking faster,” said Helene.

  “It’s a bumper crop this year, in spite of the heat,” said Dan. “We hope to buy another tractor—if we can find a decent used one.”

  “Who, your family, or Mrs. Fraser?”

  “The Scrantons. Mrs. Fraser borrows her neighbor’s.”

  “That’s a big farm for her to look after.”

  “She rents most of her acreage to her neighbors on either side. Keeps just enough for a ring of privacy around her.”

  “She likes being alone?”

  “She has plenty of church and choir friends, her quilting guild, and book club.”

  “No children?”

  “No. She doesn’t talk about that.”

  “What happened to her husband?”

  Dan smiled. “You picked up her cross-examination skills. He was sick for a long time. Died two years ago.”

  “Sad. Wouldn’t it be easier for her in the city?”

  “She loves Winona. During most of their marriage they lived in other countries—her husband worked for the government—so they were happy to retire here. She taught at our local school a few years until Warren got sick, then stayed home to nurse him. He didn’t know her near the end, but I think her voice reading to him soothed him.”

  Helene watched his tender expression as he spoke. “She’s lucky she has you now.”

  He shrugged. “She’s good to me.”

  “I like her too.”

  “You’re her favorite. She admires your mother too. They and your brothers had a nice visit when she dropped off the vegetables.”

  The valley opened up before them and the sparkling stream meandered through the woods in glorious late-summer foliage. “I can see why she won’t leave here,” Helene sighed.

  Dan took her hand as they turned to go back to the grove. As they reached the blanket, he said, “You look exhausted. Sit down while I clear up our picnic things.”

  Before Helene could object, Dan kissed her into silence. “There isn’t much to do.”

  “I don’t know why I’m so tired.”

  “Could it be you’re working like a demon, racing up and down ladders trying to out-pick everyone? You worry about everyone but yourself. Sit. Rest a minute.”

  Helene felt grateful that someone was looking after her for a change. As she sat, her eyes felt heavy.

  When she awoke, Dan sat beside her, lost in a book.

  She rubbed her eyes sleepily. “I’m sorry.”

  “You’re beautiful asleep,” he answered. “Except maybe when you’re snoring.”

  “I wasn’t!”

  “I wanted to finish this chapter.”

  She squinted at the title of his book. The Great Gatsby. “You like it?”

  “It’s brilliant. I wish Matt and Luke would read it. They’re missing so much.”

  “You’re the only reader in your family?”

  “My brother Paul too. He recommended this one. Says that’s the only trouble with the army. No good books. So he writes letters the length of one.”

  “You miss him.”

  Dan nodded. “He’s not a soldier. He’s a poet. I’m saving all his letters for him. He’ll write a great book about the war one day.”

  Helene sat up. “Maybe being creative is the way to cope with the horrible things that happen in life. Maybe if my papa had that, he’d be okay now.”

  Dan shook his head. “Shell shock can’t be cured with a story. When those bombs blast close to you, they jolt every cell in your body. You may look fine on the outside, but on the inside, your brains are scrambled.”

  Helene shuddered. “Papa still looked so handsome, so kind…” She thought about the last time she saw her father. He had been extra gentle that night to make up for his outburst at the twins that rainy morning. He told them a story and tucked them in with a kiss. After, he shared a cup of tea with her and encouraged her to follow her dream to become a teacher. Had he known then he wouldn’t return? Had she told him she loved him?

  Dan rubbed her shoulders. “What are you reading nowadays?”

  She looked at his hazel eyes, felt his work-roughened hands so soft on her shoulders. Whatever Dan had experienced in the war may have scarred him horribly, but it hadn’t taken away his kind nature. She smiled at him and quoted, “‘How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height my soul can reach.’”

  Dan looked at her and continued, “‘I love thee with a love I seemed to lose with my lost saints. I love thee with the breath, smiles, tears, of all my life.’”

  “Of course, you know it too,” Helene teased.

  “Why
did you pick that one?” he asked.

  “It touches me.”

  Seeing the expression on his face made her wish she hadn’t quoted it. Did this remind him of an old girlfriend? Had he shared a blanket and poetry with her too?

  He stayed silent a moment, then explained, “That was my mother’s favorite poem. She recited it so often Paul and I wrote a melody for it. She hummed it sometimes while she worked in the garden.” Dan looked at her so tenderly she thought her heart would melt. “I should have known you’d love it too.”

  Their kiss was gentle, then hungry, and lasted a long time. Finally, reluctantly, Dan leaned back. “Mrs. Fraser is waiting for us.”

  Helene stood up a little unsteadily. She shook out and folded the blanket, and carried it to the truck. They drove in contented silence.

  As they approached the Fraser farm, Dan said, “I’d like to see that poem again. Is your book from the library?”

  “No, it’s Jean’s.”

  “Would you, would she, mind if I borrowed it?”

  Helene paused. That was the book Jean had found at Crazy Nelly’s. Did she have the right to lend it? “Take it,” she answered. How could she refuse when it meant so much to him?

  Jean

  Jean crossed the barnyard, deep in thought. When she saw Binxie coming her way, she lowered her gaze and walked faster. Binxie turned back and Jean hoped she hadn’t hurt her feelings. She was so confused about everything—she had to think it through alone.

  She headed for the orchard, the late afternoon sun casting a warm glow on the peaches. It was peaceful here, and quiet. Only the empty ladders propped against the trees indicated the frenzy of activity here during the day.

  There was so much to decide. First there was Hugh’s proposal. Her pulse raced when she thought of him, of their kisses. Life with him would be exciting and she knew the warmth he was capable of. She loved him.

  And Australia! She’d read everything about the continent down under, studied every map. His cattle station was located just outside Mandurah, close to the Indian Ocean. For so long she’d yearned to travel. Now her dream could come true. She was living a fairy tale. Hugh was certainly her Prince Charming. She looked at her dry, rough hands. She was no princess, but he made her feel like one.