Farmerettes

  “I’m not sure yet.” Binxie realized the irony. Here she was telling Isabel to live her dream, when she still wondered what hers was. Peggy was right. Kathryn hadn’t insisted she become a pilot—she encouraged her to do what mattered to her. Well, what mattered to her? Maybe Johnny had known.

  Isabel said, “Give yourself time. It’s hard to make decisions now.”

  But Binxie needed something to focus on besides her grief. Something Kathryn would have been proud of.

  A few more songs, another story, and slowly the girls drifted off to bed. Binxie headed upstairs beside Helene. “I’m glad you’ll return. You belong here.”

  “Best of all I’ll be back at school in January.”

  “You’re really working in a factory until then?” Binxie didn’t realize her face showed her disapproval until Helene’s gentle answer.

  “Lots of girls have to work in factories, Binxie. The pay is better.”

  “I’m sorry. I wish you all the luck in the world.”

  “It doesn’t feel like it now, but you’ll be all right too. Time really will heal,” said Helene.

  As she put on her nightgown, Binxie realized she’d never sleep next to her friends again. “I’ll miss you.”

  Helene leaned over and hugged Binxie. “I’ll always remember you.”

  “Will you write to me, Helene? I have to find out what happens.”

  “She’s a better writer than I am,” Peggy said from her cot. “She still writes every week to three soldiers overseas.”

  “Two now,” Helene said quietly.

  “Goodnight,” Isabel called from across the aisle. “Sleep tight.”

  Binxie stretched out her legs—and screamed. Something slimy wiggled on her toes.

  At almost the same time, Helene screeched too. “Worms!”

  Peggy jumped out of bed. She ripped back the covers. “Wet spaghetti!” she shouted. “Who did that?”

  The giggles across the aisle gave them their answer. “Got you! Goodnight, girls.” Isabel yanked her blanket over her head just as the soggy pasta flew her way.

  Sunday, September 5, 1943

  X

  The early morning sun warmed her as she watched Isabel cross the yard to the kitchen. Isabel smiled and waved to her. It comforted her. A romance was impossible, but at least they parted as friends.

  Binxie was up early too, standing at the pasture fence, quietly patting Cairo. She knew Binxie preferred to grieve alone, but she had to talk to her.

  It was that book. Those beautiful, amazing poems. She had taken the book to a secluded spot in the orchard, read the passionate plea in “A Leaf for Hand in Hand” several times. “You natural persons…You friendly boatmen and mechanics…I wish to infuse myself among you until I see it common for you to walk hand in hand.” He had called them natural persons! She hungrily devoured more, then spent the rest of the day absorbing this major shift in thinking.

  Now she stood hesitant, until Binxie stepped aside to let her pat Cairo too. “A horse gives such comfort.”

  “Did you leave a book on my bed?” she finally asked.

  Binxie shrugged. “I thought it was Lucy’s bed. We studied Whitman at school last year and she wanted to borrow it.”

  “I’ve never read anything like it.”

  “It’s daring and beautiful.” Binxie recited,

  “From this hour, freedom!

  From this hour, I ordain myself loosed of limits and imaginary lines!

  Going where I list—my own master, total and absolute…

  I inhale great draughts of air,

  The east and the west are mine, and the north and the south are mine.

  I am larger than I thought!

  I did not know I held so much goodness!”

  Binxie stopped to catch her breath. “We had to memorize our favorite section. This one reminded me of my sister.”

  “Thank you.” Wishing she could say more, she turned to go.

  Binxie asked. “What are your plans? Will you go back to Brantford?”

  Even the thought of returning to that small town—where everyone knew your business and discussed it with everyone else—made her unsure again. “I guess I have to. What about you?” It felt safer to turn the focus onto Binxie. And she did want to know.

  Binxie actually smiled. “It’s still a new idea. I have to think it through some more…but maybe…I might train to become a nurse.”

  “War or peace, they’ll need you.”

  “We have good hospitals in Toronto.” Binxie perked up as if the idea had just come to her. “You know, Toronto is a big interesting city. Lots of art galleries, artists, musicians, writers. They appreciate Whitman’s poetry. You should visit sometime.” With that, Binxie pulled an apple from her pocket and fed Cairo.

  “That’s something to think about.” She watched Binxie and Cairo awhile, then walked away. The air felt fresh, blown clean by the morning breeze. She thought of the forbidden love and the acceptance expressed in that little red book. Someone else felt like her—and embraced it. She wasn’t alone. Perhaps it was time she considered her future too.

  Isabel

  Isabel stacked the last dish onto the shelf, rested the muffin tins in the cupboard, and hung her tea towel to dry. Everything was clean and neat, and the air still carried the aroma of the apple muffins she baked all morning. Her work had officially ended Saturday, but she’d offered to help Cookie with the breakfast today. In exchange, Cookie allowed her to bake the muffins that were now packaged in threes and tied with red wool bows—her parting gift to the farmerettes. They could eat them on their journeys home.

  She gazed around the kitchen—at the stove where she’d helped cook over two hundred meals and burned herself six times, at the sink where she’d peeled tons of vegetables, scrubbed thousands of dishes. She had worked harder in this kitchen than anywhere before. She would miss the challenge of adapting a new recipe, the satisfaction of pulling a perfect pie from the oven, the pride when she saw the delight on the girls’ faces as they wolfed down her brownies. They had named her the “duchess of desserts.” She loved that.

  This evening, she’d be home—where the reminders of Billy filled every space. By now the news of his marriage would have seeped through town. She’d hate the looks of pity, the careful words. Would her mother let Itsy run her kitchen? Cookie ranted and shouted, Nanny could be sharp-tongued, but they had let her experiment, fail, clean up her own mess—and succeed.

  Would her father allow her the freedom she had enjoyed this summer in Winona? Hitchhiking with local farmers, getting her hands dirty, hadn’t hurt her. Helene, Peggy, and Binxie were like sisters. They’d teased and hugged, borrowed clothes and traded secrets, and shared the Niagara Falls adventure. Never once had they rolled their eyes at her like Rosemary, or taken over her work like Gloria.

  It would feel good to sleep in her large bed again, in her own pretty room. But she’d grown used to getting up at five o’clock when the day felt fresh, open to possibilities. What would she do with her long days at home?

  She sighed and gathered the packets of muffins into baskets to distribute to the girls as they left. Then she carried the pail of apple peels to the pigs. Dan’s truck stood in the yard, so when she carried the muffin baskets to the recreation room, she was surprised to see Helene there, helping Peggy and Kate tidy last night’s mess. As Helene neatly stacked games and cards into the cupboard, Isabel wondered what the next months would bring.

  Peggy picked up the last of her records and eyed the muffins. “Can we have one now? I sure will miss your baking.”

  Isabel slipped one to her, and to Helene and Kate. “I made extra.”

  Farmerettes milled around the doors. Packed suitcases lined the entrance. Last-minute items had been located, good-byes said. Now they were anxious to return home and get on with their lives. Helene
looked radiant. Even the girl with the yellow scarf looked happy. Everyone seemed eager to go but her.

  Helene

  Helene watched a bus clank up the lane. An old blue car followed close behind. “I guess that’s it,” she said to Peggy.

  Peggy’s eyes were moist. “It’s been one heck of a summer.”

  Helene swallowed and waited to answer. She had gained so much this summer, but she was losing her best friend. “We’ll still visit each other.”

  As girls drifted out to the yard, Isabel waited at the door, handing each one a packet of muffins. Smokey stood beside her, saying good-bye. Many, including Helene, carried baskets of fruit to take home.

  Another bus and a small brown car arrived. Several farmers and their families, Reverend Ralston and his wife, the choir ladies, Johnny, and some lovestruck farmboys were there to bid the farmerettes farewell. Dogs darted in and out of the crowd, tails wagging. Where in this chaos was Dan? His truck had stood here almost an hour.

  “Good-bye. Thanks for a great summer and the pennywhistle lessons.” Kate embraced Peggy, then Helene. “I’ll miss you. I hope you’ll invite me to your wedding.”

  Helene blushed. “We haven’t planned that far ahead.” She turned even deeper red when she saw Dan approach from the direction of the farmhouse. Jean and her parents walked beside him. Jean grinned widely, the happiest she’d looked in days.

  Dan faced Helene, his eyes shining green with emotion.

  “What’s wrong?” Helene asked.

  “Everything’s better than fine.” He paused, then blurted, “Jean found Nelly’s fortune.”

  “Oh.” Helene smiled at Jean, but wondered why this mattered to Dan.

  “Helene, you can stop worrying,” he said.

  She stood confused.

  “Apparently Nelly didn’t trust the bank.”

  “No wonder she made such a fuss about a new dark tablecloth every year,” added Jean.

  “Tablecloth?” None of this made sense to Helene.

  Dan took a deep breath. “Nelly spread her money flat on the parlor table. Every January, she covered the bills with a new tablecloth and started over again.”

  “There were twelve layers of money and cloth on that table,” said Jean. “Nelly’s fortune. According to her will, it belongs to ‘Baby James, who should have been mine.’ That’s Dan.”

  “But it was in your house,” said Dan.

  “We’ve been through this. The will says it’s yours. You’re kind to share it with us,” said Mrs. McDonnell.

  “Helene. Do you know what this means?” Dan took both her hands in his. “I can enroll in Hamilton Normal School. Qualify as a teacher. When this war ends and they finally build farm machinery again, we’ll outfit Mrs. Fraser’s farm properly. Helene, we can build a future together.”

  Helene clutched Dan’s hands, too overwhelmed to talk.

  Peggy, Isabel, and the girls hovering around them made up for her silence. They bubbled over with congratulations, then went back to their farewells and promises to keep in touch.

  “Ready!” the first bus driver called. Girls hurried to it, blowing kisses, waving.

  Peggy shook Dan’s hand, hugged Jean. “Thank you for an amazing summer.”

  “Thanks for your hard work. I’ll never pick another fruit without wanting to sing, ‘Hi ho, hi ho.’”

  Isabel could only sob. “I’ll never forget any of you.”

  “You have good news too,” Helene said to her.

  Isabel stood tall. She broke into a proud smile. “I’m going to school to study domestic arts! Doesn’t that sound impressive? They closed the classes in Guelph, but this morning Smokey told me they’d moved to Toronto. I’ll live with my sister Rosemary during the school term. I can’t wait!”

  The bus driver started his motor.

  “Wait! Where’s Binxie?” asked Peggy. Helene pointed to the picnic table where Binxie was talking to the girl with the yellow scarf. The three friends ran to join them.

  “Guess what?” Binxie smiled as her friends drew near. “We might be neighbors. She’s going to continue working here until November, then come to Toronto, find work in a gallery, maybe attend art school.”

  “You’re so talented. I expect you’ll become famous,” Isabel said, and the girl blushed with delight.

  They all wished her luck and hugged her good-bye.

  The second bus driver honked his horn.

  Binxie embraced her friends. Peggy and Isabel dashed for the bus. Helene ran back to Dan. It was hard to leave him.

  “I’ll come see you next weekend,” he promised as she pulled herself away and climbed aboard. She sat beside Peggy, and the bus rolled away.

  Helene looked back even after the farm was a distant speck. “I’m coming back, Peggy. I’m coming back.”

  Jean

  Jean watched Binxie wave good-bye to her friends on the bus, then turn to Johnny. The two spoke briefly, earnestly. They embraced, not long enough for Jean to feel nervous. With a smile, Binxie headed her way.

  The two girls stood quietly together. It felt comfortable, like the walks and rides they had shared this summer. Jean would miss Binxie most of all, even though she was relieved she was leaving.

  “Take care of Tinxie for me,” Binxie said.

  Jean nodded. “And you take care of yourself.”

  “You’ll find a way to see the world,” said Binxie. “When you do, send me postcards.”

  “You will be all right, Binxie. Did you give more thought to becoming a nurse?”

  “No. Not a nurse.”

  Binxie grinned at her. “Me? Clean bedpans? Take orders? Never. I’ve decided to become a doctor. That’ll be a real challenge. Thanks for everything.” With that, Binxie hugged Jean good-bye and hurried to the large black car waiting for her.

  “She’s quite a girl,” said Johnny, coming to stand beside Jean. Binxie rolled down her window and waved as the car sped away.

  Jean nodded. “She is.”

  “Much like you.” He touched her hand lightly. “Are you up for a horseback ride?”

  “May as well enjoy today. The extra work begins tomorrow,” she said with a grin.

  Along the laneway, car horns tooted good-bye and the buses chimed in. The crowd lining the barnyard waved. The parade of cars and buses rolled onward toward home and the future. With them traveled the memories of a summer spent in sunshine, friendship, fear, laughter, and discovery—memories that would grow both dimmer and more colorful over the years—of the girls who were farmerettes.

  Acknowledgments

  Many people helped me write this book. My heartfelt thank you goes to:

  Sonja Dunn, who first told me about being a farmerette and started me on this fascinating journey.

  The spunky, fascinating, former farmerettes, who described their days on the farms: Budge Wilson, Estelle Salata, Flora Doran, Fran Beaugrand, Iris Berryman, Marion Fuller, Mary Robson, and Ruth Borthwick. And to Lou Puddicombe who married a farmerette and, along with his friend Reg Horrill, shared stories of those days in Winona.

  My farm experts, Deborah Kennish McCoubrey, who told me stories and checked the birth scene; Elwyn Tomlinson, John and Ariel Goud, Gene and Pam Bork, and to Cheryl Cooper, who mailed me the book, Home Farm by Michael Webster, which provided me with farm life insight and a plot point.

  Alice Vandermeer, who showed me around the actual barn where the Larkin farmerettes of Queenston lived and shared her photos, stories, and enthusiasm with me. Also, Annie Gordon, John Scott, Leah Sheldrick, Lian Goodall, and Jean Covert for their stories.

  Bill Tourtel at the Hamilton Warplane Museum, who explained WWII airplanes to me and checked over my crash scene. Diana Barnato Walker from whose book, Spreading My Wings, I took much of the information about flying for the ATA.

  Leslie Harris—Hamilton Public Libr
ary; Lara Andrews—Canadian War Museum, Ottawa; Donna Corewyn—Executive Assistant, Hamilton YWCA; Dorothy Turcotte—Grimsby Historical Society; Sandy Lindsay—Saugeen Times; Louise Caron—Library and Archives Canada (Ottawa).

  Sarah Ellis, who encouraged me at the beginning, and Peter Carver who generously read my finished manuscript and urged me to submit it.

  Karen Ford, Valerie Parke and Dawna Petsche-Wark, librarians and readers extraordinaire, who read, critiqued, and loved my story.

  My writers’ group, especially Sylvia McNicoll and Deborah Serravale, whose thoughtful critiques, support, and friendship are dearly appreciated.

  My wonderful editors, Kelly Jones and Kathryn Cole, and to Margie Wolfe and the staff of Second Story Press, for their faith and dedication to this book.

  And as always, to my family for their continued love and support: my mum, Anneliese Wessberge Tobien, who lived through it all; my children, Becky, Jainna, and Charlie; and especially my husband, Frank.

  I also wish to thank the Ontario Arts Council for its support in writing this book.

  About the Author

  Gisela Sherman grew up surrounded by countryside, books, and her mother’s reminiscences, which fed her love of history, the land, and story. Two of her books won the Hamilton and Region Arts Council Best Children’s Book of the Year Award, and one was shortlisted as a Manitoba Young Readers’ Choice. Gisela taught writing courses at Mohawk College and McMaster University, and enjoys giving book talks and writing workshops. She’s a current member and past-president of CANSCAIP (Canadian Society of Children’s Authors, Illustrators and Performers) and ACTRA. Her fascination with story and character has also led her to acting in small roles and background in television and movies. She lives in Dundas, Ontario.

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  Sherman, Gisela Tobien, 1947-, author

  The Farmerettes / Gisela Sherman.

  Issued in print and electronic formats.

  ISBN 978-1-927583-64-7 (pbk.)­—ISBN 978-1-927583-69-2 (epub)