Farmerettes

  “I have to finish Kathryn’s job. She wanted me to.”

  “Want to know what I think?”

  “No! Yes.”

  “You don’t really want to fly.”

  Binxie hesitated a second too long. “Yes I do.”

  “No.” Peggy stopped cutting and faced Binxie. “You want to be like your sister.”

  Binxie stood firm. “I have to live up to what she’d want.”

  “You’ve told me Kathryn was independent and questioned things.”

  “And took time to teach me so much.”

  “Like having a mind of your own?”

  “I need to live up to her legacy. It’s the only thing I can still do for her.”

  “You won’t honor her by becoming a pilot. Your sister wanted you to be your own person and think for yourself. If you blindly follow her footsteps, do something you don’t even like…you’re not doing that, are you?”

  Binxie stared at her.

  “I think Kathryn wanted you to do what’s right for you, the same way she followed her own dream.” Peggy turned and gazed at the field, counting how many rows were left.

  The giant clamp squeezing Binxie’s heart loosened a bit. She took a deep breath. “Throw me another broccoli, will you?”

  X

  Her work as a farmerette was almost done. Gossip and shame waited for her at home. She couldn’t go back.

  As the other girls made plans for the evening, she slipped away. The days darkened earlier now, and autumn flowers blazed defiantly before winter frosts killed them. She needed to walk these beautiful fields, feel the fresh breeze in her hair, see the lake at sunset once more—before she was gone.

  Friday, September 3, 1943

  Isabel

  Isabel finished stirring the custard into the butter, scraped it into molds, and set them into the refrigerator. She filled the salt and pepper shakers. With no dinner to prepare she had extra time. Tonight was the baseball game and corn roast at the Smith farm.

  Freda dried the last of the lunch dishes and hung up her towel. “You bought three pounds of flour yesterday?”

  “Yes. Cookie gave me permission to bake apple muffins for everyone when they leave Sunday morning.”

  “They’re going to follow you home.” Freda smiled at her.

  Isabel had enjoyed working side by side with Freda this summer. She’d miss their easy cooperation, and this kitchen with all its modern equipment. She looked at Freda. “You’re staying until October? Then what?”

  “I’ll find some other place to cook, at least until my husband comes home from Africa. He loves my meals as much as I enjoy preparing…” She smacked her hand to her mouth.

  “It’s okay.” Isabel smiled. “That’s what I want too—I mean, to keep cooking, learn more about it. Be taken seriously.”

  “Then you’re in luck,” said Freda.

  “Why?”

  “You have a school right in Guelph that teaches cooking and all the domestic sciences.”

  “Where?”

  “The MacDonald Institute.”

  MacDonald Institute! Maybe there was a place for her after all. She had often passed the big red brick building, but never wondered about it. For the first time in a long while, Isabel felt a glimmer of hope.

  The next morning Isabel rushed to the library. Miss Willing helped her find information about the school and its founder, Adelaide Hoodless. “Amazing woman, passionate about the importance of a healthy, efficient home. I was fortunate to hear her speak once and I’ll never forget her.”

  Isabel read an article about the MacDonald Institute with growing excitement. Daddy wouldn’t say no—he wanted her to be happy. She belonged there. She felt it in her bones.

  The last paragraph smashed her dream. Two years ago, the MacDonald Institute closed to make room for an RCAF training facility. “Damn,” Isabel swore—for the first time in her life.

  Saturday, September 4, 1943

  Peggy

  Peggy watched the solemn faces in the McDonnells’ parlor. If only the farmerettes could relive last Sunday evening—undo the damage done in those few foolish minutes.

  The McDonnells listened politely to Helene’s heartfelt apology.

  “It’s done,” Jean’s mother finally interrupted. “You’re here to repay us.”

  Helene handed her an envelope of money.

  “Thank you,” said Mrs. McDonnell, and her husband nodded.

  Nanny wasn’t satisfied. “And will you send us money for the hours wasted working without the tractor, the time spent looking for the new parts, the back pain—”

  Peggy faced the old woman. “We are sorry, and we’re trying to make up for it. We worked extra hours all week, and we’ll pick your peaches this afternoon too.”

  “Your time off. That’s kind of you,” said Mrs. McDonnell. “We really can use your help.” Her graciousness made Peggy feel worse than Nanny’s outburst.

  The girls excused themselves and headed across the barnyard. Mr. Grant’s wagon would be here soon to pick them up for a morning of tomato harvest.

  “I’m glad that’s over with,” said Isabel. “I don’t know how much sorrier I could feel.”

  Helene laughed shrill and sharp. Peggy worried her friend would reach a breaking point. Helene had worked too hard, worried so much lately. Now she was afraid Mrs. Fraser’s offer was too good to be true.

  Peggy wondered if she’d ever love someone as much as Helene did Dan. She preferred someone more dashing, like Hugh—devilishly handsome, daring—and who could sing and play music with her family. But not yet. There’d be some interesting fellows at school next week—if they hadn’t enlisted. She’d be a senior, in the school band, and head of the social committee.

  One quick trip to the washroom first. She whistled “Oh, What a Beautiful Morning” as she washed her hands. Now that they had settled with the McDonnells, she looked forward to Romeo’s tonight.

  When Stella and Grace joined her at the sink, Peggy stopped whistling and braced herself for a comment. Peggy glanced in the mirror at her, then Grace. No words, just a smirk and a lifted eyebrow. It was enough to make Peggy cringe.

  Angry at them, and at herself, Peggy stormed out to Mr. Grant’s wagon and stayed silent all the way to the tomato fields.

  “What are we singing today?” Helene asked as she bent to pick her first ripe tomato.

  “Maybe later,” Peggy replied. She grabbed a tomato too hard and tore off the branch. Stella disliked her for reasons besides her background. And Stella wasn’t alone. Other people were more subtle. Conversations that stopped when she came close, the slight currents of mistrust, all hurt. She could buy war savings stamps, hoe vegetables, and pick fruit until her fingers fell off, but she was still the enemy. Would it be like this forever?

  She shook her head to get rid of her gloom. What had Binxie told her? No matter what anyone said, she knew she was decent and kind. Her friends trusted her. That had to be enough.

  Helene began to sing softly, “There’s a bright golden haze in the meadow…” The other farmerettes joined in. At last Peggy did too.

  At one o’clock, they returned to Highberry and rinsed off at the pump. Smokey called to them. “Helene, there’s a phone call for you.”

  Helene rushed to the office.

  Peggy groaned. Now what?

  X

  She washed the pungent odor of tomatoes from her hands, though it wouldn’t matter. Her work at the farm was finished. It was time.

  The other girls jostled to the dining room. After lunch, most of them would shower and get ready for tonight. They would take extra care with their appearance for the last evening at Romeo’s. Their last chance to dance with their farm beaus—something she hadn’t been able to care about.

  From the corner of her eye, she saw Binxie watching her, a sma
ll frown on her face. It wasn’t the first time. Ignoring Binxie, she headed upstairs for her knapsack. Her sketchbook and private things were tucked safely inside it. She wanted them with her.

  Just as she leaned down to pull out her knapsack from under her bed, she noticed the thin red book on her pillow. In spite of herself, she was curious. She flipped open the book. Poetry? She read the poem on the bookmarked page. Hmmm. Who wrote this? Walt Whitman. Who was he? Who left this book here? It didn’t matter. She tossed it back onto the bed, shrugged on her knapsack, and went downstairs, outside, to the lake.

  Jean

  Jean packed the last of Nelly’s clothes and things into a box. Reverend Ralston had promised to find families who needed them. She stood up to survey the bedroom. Like the other upstairs rooms, it was scrubbed clean, the floors waxed, windows washed clear. Fran had sewn a red, white, and blue quilt for the bed.

  “It’s beautiful,” said Jean.

  “I think Rob will be pleased. I keep him up-to-date on our progress.” She paused. “I hope they give him my letters.”

  “I’m sure he gets them,” Jean said with a smile. “They always send a receipt for the packages we send.”

  “His notes never say much.”

  “I suspect he’s not allowed. Your letters are the important ones—they give him hope and a glimpse of home. And when this war finally ends, he’ll come home and see for himself what you’ve done.”

  “How I pray for that day,” said Fran. “We can finally begin our life together.”

  “What a wedding that’ll be!”

  Fran smiled. Then she looked at Jean carefully. “I know I did well. I readied this house. I financed the repairs by renting out the extra fields. I love my position as the mayor’s clerk.” She paused. “Don’t take this wrong…I love Rob with all my heart. But…I don’t want to give all that up when we marry.”

  Jean was startled. Her future sister-in-law had voiced what Jean had been thinking too. She nodded. “I manage our farm as well as a man. My cousin works in a factory in Hamilton. Clara Linton has run her household and the drug store without her husband for three years now, manages it better than he did. What will happen to us when the men come home? Do we all go back to the way it was?”

  “The war has changed our world, Jean.”

  “We’ve changed even more. I hope the world can keep up with us.”

  They carried four cartons to the front porch. “Johnny’s coming by to pick them up for the church,” said Jean, wiping her brow.

  “Johnny? You two have been close for so long. Won’t you ever be interested in him as someone more than a pal? He’s such a catch.”

  Jean forced a casual smile. “Maybe, someday. Now let’s tackle that parlor.”

  The girls retrieved their brooms and rags and headed for the parlor—another dusty room overcrowded with heavy furniture.

  Fran leaned on her broom. “First let’s decide what to keep and what to sell. Maybe I’ll earn enough money to buy one of those fancy new refrigerators with a section for freezing food.”

  “Really! What will they think of next?”

  An hour later, they finished cleaning, and packing knicknacks “My back may never recover,” puffed Fran as they half-carried, half-pushed a heavy chair, to the door.

  At the sound of footsteps on the veranda, Jean looked up to see Johnny smiling at her. She kept her hello light and cheery.

  “Oh good.” Fran dropped her end of the chair. “You can take this monster.”

  Johnny carried the chair to his pickup. After he’d loaded all the cartons, he pointed at an overly ornate broken lamp. “There’s room for that too.”

  “That’s so kind of you,” gushed Fran.

  Jean smiled. Flirting was Fran’s way of coping, just as being practical was hers. She no longer questioned Fran’s loyalty to Rob. “What about this?” She pointed at a round table covered by a thick blue tablecloth. “One leg is propped up with a book.”

  “The tablecloth looks new. I’ll keep that.” Fran grabbed a corner and flipped it off. “Oh my Lord!” she exclaimed.

  Jean and Johnny both gasped.

  X

  Half a mile ahead the lake sparkled clear, clean blue. She would find peace there. The waves washed to shore, then pulled back in invitation. Looking neither right nor left, she kept walking.

  But every step she took was set to the beat of those lines from the bookmarked poem: I remember I saw only that man who passionately clung to me, again we wander, we love…

  She reached the beach and stared at the lake a long time. The water, cool and deep, would solve everything. As soon as she’d made the decision yesterday, she felt calm. This was the right answer. But now something held her back. That poem. She had to read more.

  Slowly, she turned toward the farm again. She would return tomorrow.

  Binxie

  Binxie was heading for bed when the girls clattered home from Romeo’s. After yesterday’s hard-fought baseball game, this morning’s final frantic harvest, and tonight’s dancing, they should have been tired. Yet it was their last time together, and they were reluctant to end the day. Tomorrow the exodus would begin.

  They collected in the recreation room. Draped over couches and chairs, they laughed over the events of the summer—Hugh’s thrilling plane crash, the talent show, baseball, Romeo’s, swimming in Lake Ontario, the night they tried smoking behind the barn then threw up, Oslo the farting horse, ice cream at Linton’s, the growers’ party.

  Binxie sat with Isabel, both slightly apart from the others. Each carried one memory of the summer she would never chuckle over or look back at fondly. But they liked the friendship and goodwill around them.

  “Anyone hungry?” asked Peggy. “Who’s up for a raid on the kitchen?”

  They tried their usual outside window but it was locked. “On our last night. You’d think Cookie would have pity on us,” sighed Nancy.

  But after Myrtle went to use the bathroom, she ran back carrying a large tray. “Look what I found in the dining room.” She set down the tray, loaded with little Spam sandwiches, cookies, and apples. “There are two jugs of lemonade in there too. Dear old Cookie.”

  Helene and Kate ran to fetch them, and the feast began.

  “It’s been such fun,” said Peggy, sipping lemonade. “Let’s all come back next year.”

  “Brilliant idea!” said Rita. Others agreed.

  “Yes, we’ll ask for Highberry again. I love it here,” added Doris.

  “Do we have everyone’s address?” asked Grace. “Let’s keep in touch all winter, sign up together next spring.”

  Scraps of paper were passed around, and girls scribbled names and addresses.

  Binxie knew this summer could never be repeated. Even those who did return would be different. Another year of life, the continued fighting or its end, would change them.

  Helene smiled. “I’ll be here, but not as a farmerette. When you return, be sure to visit me at Mrs. Fraser’s.”

  “What?” Everyone crowded around Helene to hear her story.

  “My mother telephoned today. She accepted Mrs. Fraser’s invitation. I’ll return to Hamilton tomorrow, work with Mama in the factory until we sell the house, and arrange the move. With luck we’ll be back by Christmas. My brothers can start at their new school in January, and I’ll finish high school in Winona!”

  “It’s like a fairy tale…Cinderella!” exclaimed Kate.

  Helene’s entire faced smiled. “We’re going to live on Mrs. Fraser’s farm. I can hardly believe it.”

  Peggy hugged her. “You deserve it!”

  Isabel touched Binxie’s hand and smiled at everyone. “We won’t all return, but what matters is, we shared this summer—I couldn’t have survived it without you.” She dabbed an eye. “Thanks for putting up with my early cooking disasters…”

&nb
sp; “And the best desserts in the world,” called Helene, as others cheered.

  “I’ll always be grateful,” Isabel finished.

  It was a wonderful summer—until August, thought Binxie. Thank goodness Kathryn made me come. She frowned. But it will always bother me that I was enjoying myself while she died. Every birthday from now on will also be the anniversary of her death. Binxie forced herself not to run to her cot and burrow under the covers.

  Peggy looked thoughtful. “We were like travelers on a train. We all came together for awhile, shared everything, and now we go our separate ways.”

  “Maybe we were more like butterflies,” said Helene. “Some dust from our wings rubbed onto others. Changed us.”

  “You read too much poetry,” said Patsy. “But I like it.”

  Helene stood up and looked at everyone. “I hope I thanked you enough for your generosity about the tractor repairs. It means the world to me.” She smiled especially at Isabel, and the girl with the yellow scarf.

  “Roll along, farmerettes, roll along. Roll along, farmerettes, roll along,” sang Peggy. The others joined in. “Oh, we’re here to lend a hand, while working the land. Roll along, farmerettes, roll along.”

  “I learned so much this summer,” Isabel told Binxie quietly. “I can cook healthy meals, pluck chickens, even milk a cow. But I probably won’t be allowed to make more than tea and toast at home. I know it’s not as important as flying planes, building tanks and bombs—”

  “Yes, it is,” Binxie interrupted her. “Everyone needs good food, and wants to come home to a clean, comfortable place. A happy home is what makes the fighting and working worthwhile.”

  “Really?”

  “Don’t look so surprised. It’s an important job, and you do it well. You must tell your family you want to do more.”

  Isabel looked hopeful, then frowned. “I thought I could attend MacDonald Institute since it’s right in Guelph—but now I can’t. It’s closed for the duration.”

  Binxie eyed her directly. “Is it important to you?”

  Isabel nodded. “Very.”

  “Find another way. Kathryn always said to follow your star, no matter what.”

  Isabel sipped her lemonade, then asked, “What about you? Will you really fly an airplane? Go overseas?”