Liberty Street

by Dianne Warren

  When she’s done cleaning her ears for the umpteenth time that day, she slumps in a living room chair, miserable with the fear that her mother might be right and she’ll have to let her ears grow over, and there’s Patsy Cline looking at her from an album cover, and she puts the album on the record player and listens to it.

  Poor Patsy Cline. Her future: nothing, because she’s long dead.

  Poor Frances. No future either, even though she’s alive and kicking.

  And then, Joe Fletcher shows up in the yard with the tractor part Frances’s father ordered. A part from Borsa’s has never before been delivered. Normally, Mrs. Borsa calls to say the part is in, and Frances or Alice picks it up. Frances can’t help wondering why Joe Fletcher has chosen to bring the part to the farm. A tingling possibility—that he’s come because of her.

  “I was passing by,” he says to Frances’s father.

  They take the part out to the tractor and Joe helps install it. He’s not dressed in greasy overalls now, but rather is wearing clean jeans and a cowboy shirt. Frances sits on the step at the house and pretends to read a book, but she can’t stop watching Joe Fletcher, intent on her father’s tractor. Everyone is amazed that her blind father is able to maintain his own machinery, but she knows he’ll be appreciating the extra set of hands—hands that belong to someone who actually knows what he’s doing.

  When Joe and her father are finished with the tractor and begin to walk toward the house, Frances tries to look lost in her book. She hears her father ask Joe into the house for a cup of coffee—“I owe you at least that for your trouble”—but Joe says he has to get home, thanks all the same. Frances dares to look up, and she closes the book and stands in a way that she just knows will draw his attention. Thank goodness her father is blind. She goes in the house and doesn’t look out the window until she hears Joe’s truck leaving the yard.

  Is it really possible that Joe Fletcher brought the tractor part because of her, and not as a service to her father? She reaches up to her ear, the one that was infected but is now almost healed, and turns the little gold hoop round and round, barely aware that she’s doing it.

  The next day someone from the drugstore phones to say she’s won the draw for an LP, a compilation of Bobby Bare’s big hits.

  Who wants to listen to those old songs?

  Maybe she does.

  Joe Fletcher calling her baby, all night long.

  GRADE TWELVE FINALS are coming up and everyone is talking about them. It annoys Frances that all the teachers assume Jimmy Gulka will graduate with the best grades, get all the scholarships, and eventually put Elliot on the map for something good, rather than crimes and accidents. She finds herself harbouring a secret desire to beat Jimmy Gulka in at least one subject. She chooses math—algebra and trigonometry both—and begins to study. Her mother notices, but Frances says, “Don’t get your hopes up. I just don’t want to fail. Grade twelve finals are hard, you know.”

  When exams are finally over and the teachers begin their marking, they realize that Frances—who has been a B-minus student throughout high school—has aced almost everything. She beats Jimmy Gulka in both math courses and graduates with the second-highest average in her class. (Jimmy Gulka has the highest because of one subject, social studies, in which Frances had to settle for a B.) There’s a flurry of phone calls to her house from the school about what they can do to help get Frances to university. She watches the fuss from a distance, as though it’s happening to someone else.

  Her mother is more disappointed than ever. If Frances was going to turn up the heat—which she obviously had—why didn’t she do it sooner? And why, if she was planning to surprise everyone with this turnaround, had she not filled out the applications for scholarships and universities when the school made them available several months ago? Frances gets tired of hearing about her mother’s regret, how she’d so wanted to hear it said at the graduation ceremony—and it was now clear this could have been said, with authority—that Frances Moon was heading for university. “Frances’s future: law, commerce, teaching, architecture. The sky’s the limit for Frances Moon.”

  Instead, on a hot night at the end of June, the principal tells one and all—students, parents, everyone in town, it seems, all dressed up for the graduation—that Frances’s future is “employment” (and even that isn’t a sure thing, since she doesn’t have any job prospects). Jimmy Gulka’s future is civil engineering. He’s presented with the school’s academic scholarship, plus another scholarship sponsored by an oil company. The principal also announces, perhaps prematurely, that when the provincial results are tallied, Jimmy’s sure to be awarded a premier’s medal for academic achievement. There’s a small scholarship designated for a girl, sponsored by the local Kinette club, and it goes to Caroline Smith, who’s planning to go away to take nursing and live in a nurses’ residence. Her grades are not especially good, nothing like Frances’s, but it’s a scholarship you had to apply for, and of course Frances had not applied. Frances knows this kills her mother at the graduation, seeing Caroline Smith pick up the girls’ scholarship and hearing it said that that her future is medicine.

  Frances does receive one award, which she is definitely not expecting. When she’s asked to come to the stage as the recipient of the most improved award, she says, under her breath, “You’ve got to be kidding me,” but then she walks up and stands under the decorated arch and accepts her plaque and a cheque for twenty-five dollars. When she gets back to her seat between her parents, her mother doesn’t even congratulate her. It’s as though most improved is a disgrace.

  On the way home in the car, Alice says, “Nursing is not the same as medicine. You’d think that Smith girl was going in for a doctor, the way they said that. And then I had to sit there and hear it said that your future is employment.”

  “Well, at least they didn’t say our girl’s future is unemployment,” her father says.

  Frances says, “Don’t take it out on Caroline. She’s actually kind of nice. She’ll likely make a good nurse.”

  Alice says, “The only positive thing I can think of to say is that you didn’t end up like Myrna Samples.” (Myrna was at the graduation with her giant belly on display, pregnant with more Buddy Hynde progeny. The last couple of months at school she’d been showing off her diamond engagement ring and going on and on about her fiancé, the same boy who had abducted her two years earlier, although there’s now a lot more skepticism about that.)

  “It’s true,” Frances says. “I didn’t end up like Myrna. For one thing, you have to have a boyfriend to get pregnant.”

  Her mother looks at her as though she’d like to strangle her. As they pull into the yard, Alice says, “So that’s that. Your education is over. You are as educated as you will ever be. A sorry state of affairs. It breaks my heart.”

  Frances says, “I’m not Einstein, you know. It’s not as though the world is going to miss out on some amazing invention, or a cure for cancer that couldn’t possibly be discovered by anyone else.”

  When they make a trip to Yellowhead a few weeks later, Frances uses the money from her most improved prize to buy an acoustic guitar and a how-to-play book. Her parents think she’s wasting it, since she’s never before shown an interest in learning a musical instrument. They stop in town on the way home to pick up the mail and there it is in the paper—Jimmy Gulka has won a premier’s medal. Frances’s mother folds up the paper and doesn’t say another word the rest of the way to the farm.

  A STATEMENT OF fact, not a question: “I’ve come to take you to the movie show.”

  It’s Joe Fletcher, who has driven into the yard on a warm Saturday evening in July. Frances’s father had thought he’d come on business, but Joe asked to speak to Frances.

  Frances grabs a sweater off the hook by the door and says to her parents, “I’m going out for a bit.” She doesn’t tell them where she’s going. She doesn’t give them a chance to say, “You’re not going anywhere with that man,” which is what she kno
ws they would say, or at least her mother would. She doesn’t look back as she and Joe leave the yard and drive toward town.

  The movie is a James Bond movie, with Roger Moore as the new Bond. It’s a year old because this is Elliot. While Joe buys their tickets, Frances studies the poster in the foyer and tries to guess at Roger Moore’s age. Before the lights dim in the theatre, she sees several people she knows from school. Daphne Rose is sitting just a few rows in front of them. On the way out of the theatre after the movie, Frances stops at the washroom and Daphne follows her in and says, “Are you with Joe Fletcher—I mean with him?” Frances says, “He’s a friend of my father’s,” and Daphne says, “I just wondered,” and Frances knows that Daphne is going to tell everyone, it’s going to be all over town that she’s dating Joe Fletcher, even though she didn’t say that.

  She’s a bit disappointed that Joe drives her straight home. She says thank you and gets out of the truck. “Bye,” she says, giving him a little wave.

  He nods and drives away.

  Her parents are waiting up. Even her father, who normally goes to bed early, since he gets up at four-thirty every morning to feed and milk the cows.

  “Well, I hope you’re pleased with yourself,” her mother says. “I just got a phone call telling me that you and Joe Fletcher were smooching it up in the back of the movie theatre—necking, I believe is how it was put.”

  “That’s a lie,” Frances says. “Who told you that?”

  “He is at the very least twenty years older than you, Frances. More than twice your age and definitely old enough to be your father. What does a man that age want from a young girl with no experience? I can tell you what.”

  “That’s disgusting,” Frances says. “Tell her, Dad. You know him.”

  Frances’s father clears his throat. “I don’t know him that well,” he says. “I agree with your mother, Frances. He’s too old for you. We’re in agreement on that.”

  “So you’d be happier, then, if I went out with an imbecile my own age than a nice person who’s older than me,” she says. “Anyway, I’m a grown-up. I can make up my own mind about who I go out with.” She goes to her room. She can still hear her mother saying, “You talk to her, Basie. Maybe she’ll listen to you.”

  The next Saturday night, Joe Fletcher pulls into the yard and they go again to the Roxy in town. He doesn’t ask her if she wants to go. He just states the fact: “I’ve come to take you to the movie.”

  Maybe that’s why it’s easy to go with him; there are no decisions to be made—she just goes. By all rights she should be a nervous wreck at even the thought of sitting next to a man in a truck cab, but she isn’t. Miraculously, she feels as though she knows the rules of this game. It’s like when she decided to get good grades on her exams, and just like that she knew how. She begins to make an effort before Joe comes—fixes her hair, puts on lipstick and a bit of eye makeup. She believes she has a kind of power when she’s with Joe Fletcher that she’s never felt with boys her own age.

  At the movies, they share a box of popcorn. When they accidentally make contact in the popcorn box, they both quickly pull their hands away as though some protocol has been breached. She thinks, There’s something going on here. It’s not just me. She’s curious that Joe, who is obviously a shy man, has been able to drive into the yard and pick her up and take her out in public, knowing that her parents disapprove. He must know that they do, although they shouldn’t. If she were out with a boy her own age, he’d no doubt be trying to kiss her or paw at her with his clumsy hands. Joe once again drops her off right after the movie without suggesting they go anywhere else, without asking for more (whatever “more” is). How long, she wonders, before you can start calling someone your boyfriend?

  Her mother tries again. She tells her this is going too far. She says she’s going to get Frances’s father to call Joe Fletcher himself and talk to him if Frances doesn’t end it. Frances says once again that she’s almost eighteen years old, an adult, and her mother had better not dare get in the way of her happiness.

  “You barely know the man. How can you be talking about happiness?”

  “Can’t you see that I’m happy?”

  “I see a foolish girl about to get herself hurt or in trouble, probably both.”

  The next Saturday, Frances has a feeling that Joe won’t come, that her parents will have warned him off. She sits in the house moping, wanting him to come right now, even though it’s still early in the day. She gets out her new guitar and tries to strum the chords to the corny old songs in her book, but she can’t get them and her fingers hurt. When Joe doesn’t show up, she accuses her parents of interfering, but they deny that they’ve had anything to do with it. Her mother looks relieved.

  Frances spends the evening in her bedroom. She thinks about the word “lovesick” and wonders if that’s what she is. It feels the same as being allergic to milk.

  The next Saturday, he’s back, as usual. He doesn’t miss another. Frances knows her parents are beside themselves.

  FRANCES IS IN the grocery store in Elliot, staring at the cash register and thinking she could figure it out pretty quickly if anyone ever quit or died and a job in the store came up, when Lana, the clerk, asks her whether she misses high school yet. Lana has worked in the store off and on, between pregnancies, for as long as Frances can remember. She’s married to the guy who drives the propane truck.

  “No way,” Frances says. “High school is history.”

  “Those years will start to look like the best of your life once you’ve got a bunch of kids and your waistline blows up like an inner tube. And don’t look at me like that. I’m right. You’ll see. So what are you doing in the fall, anyway? Getting married anytime soon? There’ll be a bunch of weddings in the next year, if you get my drift.”

  Frances doesn’t. Oh. Knocked up. That’s what Lana is getting at. Like Myrna Samples. Frances pays for the bag of sugar her mother had sent her to town for and wonders whether Myrna got pregnant on purpose just so Buddy Hynde would marry her.

  Before she drives home, she stops at the post office to pick up the mail. There’s a large white envelope addressed to her, Frances Moon, and when she opens it she finds a letter, which is her acceptance letter to the college of arts and science at the university her mother had wanted to tour the day they were robbed. At first she can’t figure it out—how did this happen?—and then she realizes that her mother must have filled out an application without her after she’d become the dark-horse A student. She drives home recklessly, furious, and storms into the house waving the envelope.

  “I’m relieved,” her mother says, reading the letter. “I was worried we’d be too late. I sent in the application after the deadline had passed.” Then she says, “This is the only way you’ll find a good job, Frances. Girls without an education work in restaurants and walk around with gravy spills on their aprons, hoping for a ten-cent tip. That’s just the way it is, and that is not what you want. Tell me now if I’ve got that wrong. I’m putting my foot down. I will not allow you to live here next year and sit on your backside doing nothing. I don’t care what you choose to study, but university it is.”

  “No,” Frances says. “I’m not going.”

  “I won’t accept no for an answer. I want you to take this letter and think. I want you to stop being selfish, and I want you to grow up and act like a girl who is on the verge of becoming a woman. You’re not a child anymore, or so you keep telling me.”

  Then her mother goes outside and leaves her alone in the kitchen with the envelope.

  Frances reads the letter once more. She empties the envelope’s contents on the table and looks through a brochure that tells her what to expect as a first-year student. It contains photos of smiling young men and women carrying books and looking as though they’re in an advertisement selling success and happiness. She rips up the letter and leaves the torn pieces next to the brochure on the table. Then she goes to her room and cries for an hour. Eventually, she falls a
sleep, and when she wakes up she can smell chicken frying. She expects to find her mother livid with anger, and she makes up her mind that she won’t fight but will simply refuse to talk about it. But nothing more is said about the letter, which her mother had no doubt found in pieces on the table. Not a word is spoken about anything, not even Joe Fletcher, as Frances and her parents sit down to chicken and mashed potatoes. They eat in silence until Frances’s father wipes his plate with a slice of bread and says, “Well, I can’t stand another minute of this,” and he leaves the kitchen and goes back outside. Alice clears off the table and puts the dirty dishes in the sink, and Frances gets up to wash them. Her mother dries.

  The silence is terrible, even to Frances, but the conversation about her education appears to be over.

  IN SEPTEMBER, FRANCES turns eighteen without much fanfare. A cake, yes, along with eighteen candles and a set of pens in a leather box, clearly purchased some time ago and intended for the academic life that has now started without her presence. She says thank you, although what she’d really wanted was a special celebration with a boyfriend, with Joe Fletcher.

  On Friday, Frances drives to town in her mother’s car to return library books, or at least that’s her excuse, and she walks up Main Street and past the dealership in hopes of seeing Joe, but instead she runs into Daphne Rose, who acts as though they’re old school pals.

  “Did you hear that Myrna had her baby?” Daphne asks. “A boy. She was in labour for two whole days, and they had to use forceps to pull the baby out. My God, can you imagine? I would die. Anyway, she’s calling the baby Morgan after . . . oh, I can’t remember. And did you know that she and Buddy broke up? They aren’t getting married, but Myrna is keeping the baby anyway. Not like the other one.” A commiserative look comes over Daphne’s face and she says, “After all they’ve been through, they end up splitsville. She’ll need her friends, don’t you think? We should go and see her. Do you want to?”

  Why? Why in the world is Daphne even talking to her, let alone suggesting they go together to see Myrna Samples? But Frances is caught off guard, and even though she wants nothing to do with Daphne, she hears herself saying, “Sure. Okay.”