Jimmy died at the end of an unusually hot and humid August day. The boys were across the street fishing in the Elbow River. The two women sat beside his body, bathed in their own perspiration, tears and sweat coursing down their faces and between their breasts to their bellies.
As the family all left the house in Winnipeg together in their sombre grey and black funeral clothes, suits, dresses, coats and hats, in spite of the hot summer day, and filed past Melville in the porch where he sat in his favourite chair, he did not raise his head: he watched their feet as they went by. He was wearing his suit, but with a scarf of Pearly K’s, red and white striped silk, tied in a bow around his neck.
“We thought you were getting ready to go, Mel,” said Opal.
“Guess you thought wrong,” he said.
“I didn’t say you could wear my scarf,” said Pearly K.
“Tough,” said Melville. “I never asked if I could.” He would not speak another word to anyone, just sat there hunched over, smoking and mumbling and smoking. He would smoke uncontrollably for days, Georgie told Opal, in his lap a carton of Jimmy’s brand of cigarettes. He didn’t use an ashtray, just ground out each butt on the porch floor with the heel of his boot after he had lit a fresh one.
Opal watched her elder daughter closely as Pearl approached the coffin at the front of the church, but no look of sadness or grief crossed her daughter’s face. May snuffled and sobbed beside her mother. After standing at the coffin for about ten seconds, Pearl returned to the pew and sat down again. Opal kept watching her. How could anyone be so hard, so heartless?
Before the lid of the casket was closed, Mabel Maude approached the coffin with her three children one last time. She leaned into the coffin and kissed her husband goodbye. Her little sons were clustered around her, their bewildered faces full of sadness. One boy reached in and tried to hold his father’s hand, but pulled away at the coldness and stiffness, and the look he gave in that split second was full of realization. Pearl’s were surely the only dry eyes in the church as everyone watched this scene. Even the minister wept.
But when the church had been emptied of the living and the dead, Pearl couldn’t be found to go with them to the interment, and Opal went back into the church to look for her. When she heard the sounds of sobbing and of moaning coming from inside the bathroom, she stopped outside the door. As she listened to the sounds of sorrow, a small but joy-filled smile of gratitude spread tentatively across her face, as though the sound of her daughter in anguish were a gift from God. Her daughter had a heart after all. Opal whispered a thank-you before she pushed open the bathroom door.
Inside, Pearl was leaning against the wall, her hot cheek against the small white tiles. Her shoulders slumped, she held herself in her arms as though she were in pain. Pearl’s face was turned upwards, twisted and distorted, transfigured and wet, tears still streaming down her face. Opal approached her daughter tentatively, carefully, scrabbling to open her purse and get out a hanky, which she offered, saying, “Dear?” But when Pearl turned to her, the look on her face was instantly one of sheer hatred, and she hissed, “Get away.” And Opal, longing, aching, lamenting, went.
A week or two later, Opal and May climbed the hill home together after helping Mabel Maude sort through Jimmy’s belongings and box them up for the Goodwill. May, wonderful daughter that she was, offered to get them both a lemonade and meet her mother in the summer house. Opal entered her back garden through the gate at the side of the house and began crossing the lawn, when she was stopped in her tracks by the smell of cigarette smoke, which seemed to be coming from the summer house. Perplexed, Opal approached. When her eyes met her daughter’s, Pearl lifted the cigarette to her lips. “Hello, Mother,” she said.
The entire world, including her body, seemed that much heavier for Opal to carry around these days. Now that he had retired, Mac was at home all of the time except on the blessed days he played golf or went fishing. He helped her in the garden a little, and read copiously, but still there wasn’t enough for him to do, and his nitpicking was driving her crazy. Her territory had been invaded, and they fought constantly.
“There were few enough complaints before about how I ran the house,” she said.
“I hadn’t the time to notice what was going on,” he said.
“Well, I wish you would go and play some more golf.”
“Wish away.”
There was a litany of her offences that she endured listening to at least once a month. Every time the bill from the Hudson’s Bay arrived, Mac had something to say about her stupid extravagances or her extravagant stupidity. Her driving was another topic: Mac believed women were too stupid to drive, and it was better for everyone concerned if they didn’t. But Opal liked driving, and until Mac had retired and started hogging the car, she had gone out nearly every day shopping or visiting. But it seemed Mac found there was something offensive about his wife’s getting into his car and pulling out of his driveway and driving away, leaving him home alone, poor man, abandoned and carless. Why did she have to go out anyway? he complained. He decided he would drive her everywhere, but then he complained about that, and when he came to pick her up, often well past the agreed-upon time, it was terribly embarrassing, because he would lay so long and hard on the horn until she appeared. The experiences became so humiliating that she stopped wanting to go anywhere at all except places they were going together. Her licence expired and she didn’t renew it. She would just stay home.
Of her two daughters, it was no surprise that it was Pearl who almost never wrote or called. It was understandable, to a point: now Pearl had children to look after, and with her and Tom’s recent move to the coast, no doubt finding the time was a bit of a challenge. But after all they had done for her, surely Pearl could make a small effort. If, as Pearl said, telephone calls were too expensive, then a short note would be better than no letter at all. Opal wanted to hear about her granddaughters! On this point she and Mac agreed: the only time Pearl could be sure to write was if they had written first suggesting they come for a visit, and then they were assured an answer by return post, trying, though thankfully not always succeeding, to nip the suggestion in the bud and dissuade them. Or if she wanted money. Why she should still need money when she was well over thirty years old and married to a doctor was a good question, but there it was. “She doesn’t like us,” Opal lamented. “Our daughter doesn’t want us within five hundred miles of her.”
“Tell me something I don’t know,” said Mac.
May, now living in Seattle with Fred, was much better. She at least responded, often at length, and she always answered questions. She and her father, especially, had a thriving correspondence. Since May had gone to take library science in Edmonton, she and Mac had great discussions by letter about books. Admittedly there had been rocky times right after May married Fred, when they had refused to visit her and made a point of staying north of the border on their few trips west. But it was better now.
There had been more than a decade between their daughters’ weddings. Pearl had married Tom Mayfield of Banff in January 1941, in Montreal, where he was finishing his internship. For some reason Pearl had not wanted to wait until summer, or even spring, when travelling would have been easier for both the Mayfields and the Macaulays. But maybe that was why. Pearl used some vague excuse about the war, and then everyone was expected to dance to her tune. Even Mrs. Clive Mayfield, Tom’s mother, who struck Opal as a woman who would prefer to be playing the fiddle. It would be interesting to see how those two would get along in the years ahead. They started their married life in Banff, but then Tom had joined the RCAF and they moved to Regina for his training. It was there that the first grandchild for both families, Ruby, was born.
When Tom heard that he would be going overseas to Topcliffe, England, Pearl got the idea in her head that she and little Ruby would move in with Opal and Mac until his return, and Pearl pushed and pushed against all objections until she got her way. They had room: May was still away at u
niversity in Edmonton. Didn’t they want her, their first-born, there? Didn’t they miss her, after all her years away? How could they pass up the opportunity to spend virtually unlimited time with their first and perhaps only grandchild? Opal and Mac had succumbed.
Well, that had been a disaster, hadn’t it? While Opal tended to little Ruby, Pearl had stayed in bed every day until the postman came, and if he didn’t have a letter from Tom to deliver, there was h-e-l-l to pay for everyone else, little Ruby included, for the rest of the day. Pearl spent hours every evening writing Tom letters, which were often accompanied by angry tears. Opal, who had had misgivings about the plan from the word go, finally told Pearl that she had already done her child-rearing years in spades, helping her own mother with her siblings in Winnipeg and then raising her own two. Pearl called her selfish and she called Pearl selfish and things deteriorated from there. The arrangement hadn’t lasted six months.
Pearl had packed up Ruby and caught the train to Quebec, where mother and child stayed in rental accommodations until Tom’s return. Relatives on both sides lost out. And Pearl hadn’t even said thank-you—not for the months of help and support, not for the ride to the train station and the money with which she paid for her ticket, for heaven’s sake! In fact, Pearl had barely said goodbye, though she did kiss her father on the cheek. Opal heaved a great sigh. Somehow she had managed to get on with him, while it was she, Opal, who had done all the work. Life, life was unfair. Unjust. At least little Ruby seemed sad to say goodbye to them, her sweet little face framed with white fur crumpling with tears, her small hands in their little white gloves, holding Opal’s own.
Now Pearl and Tom were living on the west coast, and had bought a house and property of their own—with help from them for the down payment, of course.
And then there was that whole mess May got herself into. May had finished university and was back living at home and working at the public library downtown, and Opal had thought they were in for some calm waters. But that summer Fred, a Scot from Dundee, had been hired as the church organist and choir leader. He was immediately a great hit with everyone, the Macaulays included. He was affable, and gifted as a musician and teacher. The Macaulays had him over for dinner often, and Mac, Opal and May had all enjoyed his company. But when it became apparent that he was turning his attentions specifically towards May, that was a different kettle of fish. How dare he, a man twenty years her senior? He had no business courting a young girl like that. Opal felt he had betrayed their hospitality, and their trust. She took him aside politely to suggest that it was not appropriate, that he was taking advantage of a young girl’s naïveté. But nothing Opal said dissuaded him. In fact, her objections seemed to make him more, not less, resolved, and May, completely lacking experience when it came to matters of the heart, was easy prey. She was moonstruck. And giddy. And silly as Opal had never before seen her. She was more like Lillie than like herself. Never mind that she was almost thirty; she was completely innocent and susceptible to his machinations.
The situation only got worse when it was revealed that Fred was in fact a married man! He already had a wife! How dare he set his sights on May?! Opal was faint with outrage. Fred would not be invited to their home again, but she had felt only temporary victory because now the whole wretched affair was continuing in secret. Whenever May left the house, Opal suspected she was going to meet him, but what could she say? And she couldn’t forbid May from singing in the church choir. The whole business was deeply humiliating for Opal, and she could not hold her head up. She almost stopped going to church.
The day came that Fred hand-delivered a note in which he insisted upon seeing them the following day, either in their home or at a restaurant. She was not about to discuss anything with that man in a public place, so what could she do? She told Mac she doubted she could stay in the same room with him, but Mac said they had better get it over with and hear the man out. All right, said Opal. But she would not offer him tea.
Fred said right out that his intention was to marry May. He said that he had asked her and that she had accepted.
“Well, this is the first we’ve heard of it,” snapped Opal.
Fred said nothing.
“And what does your wife have to say about it?” asked Opal.
“Agnes is my wife in name only,” said Fred.
“But a wife nonetheless.” Well, what had happened to his marriage? Opal wanted to know. And where exactly was his current wife?
He had parted ways with Agnes York years before, he said, well before he had come to Canada, because Agnes had told him flat out that she had—and he quoted—“no inclination whatsoever towards the pioneering life,” and wanted to stay where she was, in Dundee. (Pioneering life indeed, thought Opal. You would think they were a bunch of savages.) She was terrified, Fred said, with an attempt at levity, of the Indians. So he had set sail alone. He said that he and she were too young when he married. They did not know their own minds. Which was no longer the case with him. He knew exactly what he wanted, and when, and whom, and that whom was their daughter May.
He might as well tell them now, he added, that he had been offered and had accepted a teaching job at a college near Seattle, a tenured position, and that he and May would be moving there in September, soon after they were married. They would marry this coming summer.
Now Opal had heard enough, more than enough to confirm her worst suspicions. She stood purposefully, expecting Mac to usher Fred to the front door. She had her parting words prepared: he was never to darken their doorstep again. He was never to telephone this house again. Never mind what May wanted. But Mac let Opal down. “Come upstairs,” he motioned to Fred. And the two of them went up to Mac’s study, where, she was sure, Mac got out the bottle of Scotch he had hidden there and thought she knew nothing about. Ha. Dollars to doughnuts she would be able to smell the liquor on them when they came back. Before long she heard them up there, sharing a laugh like brothers while she, down here, and alone, was on her third hanky. May was nowhere in sight. When Opal heard the men descending the stairs, she fled to the summer house. There, she wept some more.
This marriage couldn’t possibly be what God had in mind for May. Her future had been unfolding nicely. What purpose could it possibly serve to quit a good job and leave now? And leave not only Calgary but her whole country? What use would her education be down there?
“What about children?” she asked May, when she finally caught up with her and they shared a cup of tea. “Twenty years’ difference in age, dear.”
“We don’t want children,” said May, “and if we did, so what? It wouldn’t be the first time in history someone had an old father, would it?” There was fight in May’s voice. Just look what that man had done to her. Where had Opal’s pleasant, agreeable daughter gone?
For the first time in her life, May had spoken back to her mother. Was not always willing to help. Was not always softhearted and kind. It wasn’t the university or the job that had done this to her—it was that man. What, oh, what was Opal to do? May could without doubt see what she was doing to her mother, the pain she was causing her, and yet she had hardened her heart against the very person who loved her best in this world, and she would not budge in her conviction that she would marry this man, and marry him soon.
It was more than a month before Opal could bring herself to tell her family in Winnipeg about the whole mess, and that was only when May announced that she wanted the wedding to take place there, and she would not listen to alternatives that would have enabled Opal to conceal the details. No one in Winnipeg took Opal’s side either; no one would fight alongside her for what was right. Only her mother objected, and only mildly. “In the end, there’s not much you can do about it, is there?” Georgie said. Opal’s sister Lillie went on about how love was where you found it, and what fun they were going to have planning the wedding. Even Pearl found the time to write and offer her two cents’ worth, which was to say that at her age May should surely be allowed to make up her o
wn mind.
Well, if no one else cared, said Opal to herself, she would soldier on alone. She would fight tooth and nail. But then one day when she had gone into May’s room—to check on the maid’s progress—she found a letter hidden between the mattress and the box springs. She sat down on May’s bed and read it, and realized she would not win this fight.
Monday, March 5, 1951
My darling bud of May,
There has never been any doubt in my mind, sweetheart, regarding you and me. That was just as sure as the day follows the night. We both knew it long before we admitted it to each other, didn’t we, lass? And I don’t feel that there is anything wrong at all about it. Had I been living with my wife, yes! But the end of my marriage to Agnes happened long before I met and fell in love with you. Dearest, it is so easy for people who have never had this sort of love to try and live our lives for us. But they can’t. And they can’t know what we are feeling.
I don’t think your parents have been very fair to either of us, dearest. They both know me well, and I see no reason for them taking their present attitude. Your Ma has certainly done her level best to ruin my reputation, I must say, and I certainly resent it. However, I have an idea that she will be the one to suffer in the end. Insofar as we are concerned, darling, there isn’t anything I want from them anyway, except their regard … and their bonnie daughter. And I’ll have both, one of these days. Though the first will be much harder to get from “Ma” than from “Pa.”
Ah, my Mayflower. Now give me that beautiful mouth again, darling. You are so very lovely.
Yours always,
Fred
Fred Haig finally obtained his divorce in the United States, though Opal had serious doubts as to its authenticity and legitimacy. But in the end, there was nothing for them to do but go. She left a letter saying as much on May’s bed.
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