by Jean Little
How is Fanny keeping so well informed out at Aunt Jessica’s? I cannot understand, although I am glad of any news.
Saturday, October 19, 1918
I think Grandma is worried about our being homesick so she plans expeditions or gives us jobs to do. We washed the windows yesterday. Grandma climbed out on the windowsill and did the outside panes. I was scared she would fall but she was steady as the North Star. Grandy laughed at me when I said I was afraid she would fall.
“She hasn’t fallen since she fell in love with me,” he said, his eyes twinkling at her.
She teaches us to do things, too. She has actually got me embroidering the end of a pillowcase for Aunt for Christmas. It has pretty flowers and tiny leaves and three beautiful drops of my lifeblood on it.
How do you think my family is, Jane? I have an uneasy feeling about Fanny. I told Grandma and she set me to memorizing another poem. I like memorizing poems but I am still anxious about Fanny.
Also there seems to be no newspaper to read here. I know Grandma gets The Star from Mr. Outram, who lives on the farm up the road. I saw one the day we arrived. But now, when I am wondering what is going on in the city, there is no newspaper. I will ask her outright tomorrow. Now I really suspect that Grandma is hiding them. That would mean the news was so bad she did not want me to read it. But knowing the truth is better than imagining the worst.
Then, tonight, she said she saw in the paper about women wearing “the Spanish veil” to ward off the Flu. It’s a chiffon scarf, really. I asked her, “What paper?” and said I wished to read the news, but she said she had seen it at the neighbours’. It is so unsettling to look into your grandmother’s face and know she is lying to you.
I hope Fan is all right. I’m beginning to feel even more uneasy about her.
Grandma also said people had been arrested for coughing in public. If Theo hears, he’ll be coughing like mad in the garden. He loves policemen, especially the ones on horseback.
Sunday, October 20, 1918
Pansy came in this morning, giggling, and recited the newest skipping rhyme to me.
I had a little bird.
Its name is Enza.
I opened up the window
And in flew Enza.
I was shocked but I had to laugh too. I don’t think she understands it.
Even though today is Sunday, Jane, we didn’t go to church. I asked Grandma if it was shut and she just shook her head and said she was taking no chances with her dear granddaughter.
Bedtime
I just overheard Grandy saying, “I think she has a right to be told.” And then Grandma hushed him and shut the door so I couldn’t hear another word. I am sure they meant me. What are they keeping from me? Something must be wrong at home.
Monday, October 21, 1918
No mail for me again except a note from Theo in Aunt’s writing. It says, “I miss you and so does Hamlet. Can dogs get Flu?”
Why did he ask me that? Who would give Hamlet the Flu?
Tuesday, October 22, 1918
I keep reading to stop myself brooding. Grandma has a complete set of Charles Dickens books. The print is almost too small for me to make out but they feel wonderfully important. Father read David Copperfield aloud to us when Jo and Jemma were fifteen. He meant it for them but I got caught up in it and listened every night. Fanny sat there but she always fell asleep long before Father closed the book. Now I am reading The Old Curiosity Shop to myself. It is thinner and it is enthralling. The villain is much more evil than Wickham in Pride and Prejudice.
Oh, Fanny, write to me. Do it NOW!
Wednesday, October 23, 1918
Something is really wrong at home, Jane. I am certain of it. I wish you were real and here with me so I would have someone to talk to. Tim is not interested and Pansy is too young. I am positive Grandma knows something. I heard her talking on the phone. She always shouts through the mouthpiece as though she thinks her voice has to carry over all the miles with no help from the telephone wires.
She said, “I won’t tell her. I think you are quite right. Let me know how she is.”
After she hung up, I begged her to say why they had phoned and she pretended it was not Father but some friend of hers. Yet she keeps mopping her eyes. I cannot bear it. I feel in my bones — and in my heart too — it is something very bad and it is Fanny that has it. They say a twin knows when the other twin is in danger and I have known things before now. When Fan fell out of the apple tree, I dashed out of the house screaming her name until I saw her lying on the grass with her arm bending the wrong way. Oh, it doesn’t matter about all the other times. I just do know when she is in trouble and she knows about me.
Right now, she needs me. Inside my head, I hear her calling my name. I must go. I must.
Fan is supposed to be at Aunt Jessica’s, but I feel I should go home to our own house. I wish I could be allowed to make a long-distance telephone call but children never do. In my family, long distance is for emergencies. And they only talk for three minutes exactly because it is so expensive.
Still, I think I will try it. I can tell the operator our number while Grandma is putting Pansy to bed.
I will do it, Jane, no matter what.
Bedtime
I tried, Jane. I had the number ready to say and when Grandma took Pansy upstairs, and Grandy and Tim were out in the cowshed, I took down the receiver from its hook. The operator said, “Number please.” And, oh, Jane, I was so nervous that my voice came out all squeaky like a two-year-old’s. There was this silence and then the woman said, “Little girl, does your mother know you are making a long-distance call?” I was so flustered I hung up. And I could not try again! It was too humiliating.
Then Grandma called down to ask who I was talking to. I said I was talking to myself, which was smart because I do. Grandma teases me about it. She says she has heard that it is the first sign that your mind is failing.
I could try to call again but I’ve been thinking it over. If I did get through, I would not know whether or not to believe them because I would not be able to see their faces. If Fanny is sick, they would want to keep me away so I would not catch whatever it is. I have to be there in person to find out.
So I have made up my mind to go. Now I just have to work out a good plan. The thought is a relief but it scares me half to death.
I am as sure as I can be that she is at home. I think I can get there by myself. I have already walked into Long Branch, twice, when Grandma has sent Tim and me to do errands. And I know where to catch the train. It will take me to the streetcar stop. Luckily it is not far into the city. Also, very luckily, I have the money Father gave me.
I am nervous but I must do it.
Grandma is going to her WMS meeting tomorrow afternoon and Tim and Pansy are going to stay at a neighbour’s house until she comes home. They have two boys near Tim’s age. I asked to stay here and will set out while they are all away. I can walk to town. I know the train goes every afternoon. I will just wait till it comes.
Thursday, October 24, 1918
On the train
I am on the train. I came out the front door with my bag and ran straight into Grandy. I thought he had gone into town with Grandma. I looked at him and he looked at me. Then he nodded at my bag.
“Are you going home, Fee?” he asked calmly. “If you are, I’ll hitch up the horse and drive you to the depot.”
I stood there with my mouth open and then I came to my senses and dropped the bag long enough to hug him. He was back in no time, driving the gig. When we got to Long Branch, he helped me into the depot and bought me a ticket. I told him I thought I should go home to our own house and he nodded his head. I also tried to get him to take my money but he waved it away.
When the train came, he said, “You are right to go, young Fee. I believe they need you. You are sure you know the way?”
I nodded and here I am, safe on the train and on my way home. I feel brave, almost heroic. Swash-buckling? Not quite.
> I am almost too nervous to write. But I am too nervous just to sit and think what is ahead. It is a good thing I take this diary with me wherever I go. Jane, you are a great comfort.
A man across the aisle keeps staring at me. Should I move? No. Why should I?
We will be there soon. Grandy will do his best to keep Grandma from getting upset. I wish I felt braver myself but it is good to be doing something.
On the streetcar
I am sitting beside Carrie Galt. She got on when we stopped at Mimico. I have never been so glad to see anybody. She was visiting her relations. She has not heard any news about Fanny but she has been in Mimico. Carrie says she will come with me all the way to Collier St. I am so grateful. I must stop trying to write about it all or I might burst into tears and distract her. She is studying a book called Gray’s Anatomy. She keeps glaring at it. I think it is not her favourite subject.
Home
My bones were right. Fanny is here. She is alive but terribly ill. She got brought home from Aunt Jessica’s a week or so ago because their son George caught the Flu and was sent home from university. We don’t know how he is today. But Fanny got feverish a few days after she arrived home. Soon after that, she was burning up. Grandmother, who likes to make things sound as bad as possible, told me this and added that the doctor said fever was the first stage of the Flu. Next Fanny would start choking on phlegm and come down with pneumonia. “I am sorry to have to tell you this, Fiona, but you need to be prepared,” she began. “There isn’t much hope …”
I pushed her out of the way, Jane, and rushed up to our room. They said I must not go in but Fanny fixed that by calling out my name in a hoarse voice. I marched right past Aunt, who was doing her best to stop me in my tracks. I did not take time to think. I just did what I knew I should.
The worst moment, almost, was when I came to her bedside and she did not know me. She stared at me with big glassy eyes and called out, “Fee. I need Fee.”
I wanted to hug her but Aunt would not let me get close until I put on a mask. She wears one every time she goes near Fan. Of course, I did not look like myself in the mask, but at last she knew my voice and gripped my hands with her thin fingers. Oh, Jane, her pretty hands are like claws.
They tried to order me out but Fanny cried out for me again. It was terrible. She seemed to quiet a bit while I held her hands in mine. Aunt still tried to argue with me but she is too tired to do battle. Theo is not allowed even in the doorway of her room.
The doctor told us he thought Fanny was nearing the crisis. “It might be tonight,” he said. “Once their faces …”
He did not finish but it was bad news, I could tell. Her face had turned a greyish colour. He sounded so like the doctor in Little Women, but this is not just a story.
Jane, I sit here in Fanny’s room. I can hardly bear to look at her. She is grey and her breath rasps and gurgles and wheezes. She has lost pounds. Her face is all hollow and a dark colour. A bluish grey. That is one of the symptoms of this Flu, Aunt said. Nobody is saying the word but we all know. So many have died, but not my Fan. I will not leave her whatever anyone says. I am giving her some of my strength. I can’t make them understand, Jane, but I must stay or she might leave me. I vow, here and now, that I will not let her go.
Later
Aunt wants me to come out for some fresh air.
I won’t.
“Breathe, Fan,” I order her, over and over. “Breathe.”
I heard Grandmother, in the hall, telling Father that I was being morbid.
“How can you say such things, Mother?” he said. “If anyone can save her, it will be her sister.”
So he knows. And he will back me up.
After supper
I could not eat even though Aunt carried up a tray. When she was not looking, I slipped the biscuits and cheese into my apron pocket and dumped the Horlicks out the window. I hope it rains and washes it off the window ledge before anyone notices.
Oh, Jane, I am writing to you because I cannot sit still unless I have something to do. Mostly I hold onto Fanny’s hand but then she grows so restless and pushes me away. Whenever anyone comes near, though, she reaches for me again and clings for dear life. I feel as though I am made of glass and may fly apart into little sharp slivers.
After a break
Fanny is still alive. The doctor is coming back. Aunt has gone to make sure Theo is all right. Father is putting him to bed. Aunt just looks in and blows Theo kisses from the door. I saw her do it. She keeps her mask on the whole time. Theo asked how the kiss could get out and Aunt said a kiss can fly right around the world with no trouble.
Wearing that mask may do no good. Nobody knows how you catch this Flu. And nobody knows a cure. Yet Aunt can’t take a chance. It is like the Plague in the olden days.
“Fanny, breathe,” I tell her in my strongest voice. If she was not so sick she would tell me to stop being so bossy.
She must not guess how frightened I am.
3 a.m., Friday, October 25, 1918
I am so tired. But I must not sleep. I have a feeling that, if I can watch till morning breaks, my Fan will live.
But I am so tired and there is no sign yet that morning is ever going to come. If only the sky would start to show a trace of light! I feel sure she will be better then. Must not fall asleep. I know it makes no sense. Stay awake, Fee. Watch
I fell asleep in my chair. I had been holding Fanny’s hand lightly because it was so hot. I started to write and then the pen dropped from my grasp, leaving a smear of ink behind.
Fan’s voice jerked me awake. “So dark,” she said, suddenly, in a croaky mutter. “Why so dark?”
“The dark comes early now,” I said. But she was gone again and did not hear me.
She is still alive though. I must not sleep again. I still can hardly believe I slept. But I remember that the disciples fell asleep when Jesus himself told them to stay awake. I used to think they were awful and I never understood that part until tonight. But they could not help it and neither could I. Fighting sleep is like trying not to sink into quicksand. It drags you down however you struggle against it.
I felt myself beginning to drift again and started singing under my breath to wake myself up. “Abide with me,” I sang, “fast falls the eventide.” I had to change songs quickly or I might have drowned Fan in my tears. But I cannot really sing anyway. I will walk up and down a bit and wash my face with cold water from the jug.
Still Friday, the 25th
Near dawn
I just went to the window and I am sure I am not dreaming when I say that the sky is beginning to grow light at last. Grey instead of black. I will watch until the sun rises. Keeping watch is all I can do right now.
Aunt comes and offers to take my place but I just shake my head and stay and she goes after a few minutes of standing looking at Fanny’s poor face.
In the morning of the new day!
I am in Aunt’s room. I have had a bowl of bread and milk and now I must tell of the miracle. Here is what happened, Jane.
I put down this book and walked up and down to keep from sleeping again. Then I went to the window for what felt like the hundredth time and I saw pink touch the sky. And then Fanny spoke.
“Oh, Fee,” she said, “I’m tired, so tired.”
I ran back to her and snatched up her hand. It was not burning hot. Fear made me shout. “It’s the Flu, Fanny,” I yelled at her. “You’ll soon be better. It’s just the Flu. It always makes people tired.”
And she laughed. A croaky small chuckle. “Always? How does Fee know?” she asked.
“I just do,” I could not stop shouting.
“Fee, breathe,” she said and her hand squeezed mine ever so slightly and then went limp. It was suddenly much cooler too.
Even though my heart did not believe it, Jane, my mind told me her hand growing cold like that might mean she was dying. I opened my mouth to scream but, just before I let loose a shriek that would have brought down the house, Au
nt came.
“Fee, what is it?” she asked and then she rushed across the room and put her hand on Fanny’s forehead. Tears began to run down her cheeks.
I tried to ask outright if Fan had died but I could not make my voice work. I clutched Aunt’s hand so hard it must have hurt her. She looked at me then and guessed my thoughts.
“She’s asleep, goose,” she said. Then she kissed me. I had my mask on crooked and the kiss landed on my hair.
“But her hand is so cool,” I said, still fearful.
“Because her fever has broken,” Aunt told me in a voice that sang. “Your sister is not going to die after all. You twins are as tough as a pair of old work boots.”
And Jane, you know what I did? Just like Aunt, I began to bawl like a baby. And I knew, then and there, that if Fan had died, half of me would have died too. I never understood before how
I cannot write about it. There are no words for what I feel for Fanny and she for me. And I never guessed.
Later
Aunt picked up the diary from where it had slipped to the floor and made me leave Fanny at last and go to bed in her room. I went, Jane, because I knew Fan would be all right. I fell into bed and slept until a sunbeam tickled my eyelids. That is exactly how it felt. Then I saw that the light of full morning was streaming in through Aunt’s window.
I jumped up, Jane, as you can imagine, and ran to check on Fan but Aunt sent me away again. She promised me that Fanny is fast asleep and past the crisis. I am worn out but blessedly happy. I must rest now or I may contract the disease and Fanny will be the one to keep vigil!!
She would too.
I hope I have two daughters, Jane, so you can have a sister. I cannot imagine what would have become of me without Fan. And to think I thought we were so different that we were not really so very close.
My cousin George’s Flu, by the way, turned out to be a mild case, although they have not let him go back to the university yet. I was never worried about him, but I’m glad Father is relieved.