The Left Behind Bride

by Mahrie G. Reid

  The Left-Behind Bride

  Canadian Historical Brides

  Book 10, Nova Scotia

  By Mahrie G. Reid

  Digital ISBN

  EPUB 9781772998566

  Kindle 9781772998573

  WEB 9781772998580

  Print ISBN

  BWL Print 9781772998597

  Amazon Print 9781772998603

  Copyright 2018 by Mahrie G. Reid

  Series Copyright 2018 BWL Publishing Inc.

  Cover art by Michelle Lee

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, store in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or my any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book.

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  Reid, Mahrie G., 1949-, author

  The left-behind bride / by Mahrie G. Reid.

  (Canadian historical brides ; book 10)

  Issued in print and electronic formats.

  ISBN 978-1-77299-859-7 (softcover).--ISBN 978-1-77299-856-6 (EPUB).--

  ISBN 978-1-77299-858-0 (PDF).--ISBN 978-1-77299-857-3 (Kindle)

  I. Title. II. Series: Canadian historical brides ; bk. 10

  PS8635.E4323L44 2018 C813'.6 C2018-901482-2

  C2018-901483-0

  The Canadian Historical Brides Collection – Book List

  Brides of Banff Spring – Book 1 Alberta

  His Brother’s Bride – Book 2 Ontario

  Romancing the Klondike – Book 3 Yukon

  Barkerville Beginnings – Book 4 British Columbia

  Pillars of Avalon – Book 5 Newfoundland

  Fields of Gold Beneath Prairie Skies – Book 6 Saskatchewan

  Landmark Roses – Book 7 Manitoba

  Fly Away Snow Goose – Book 8 Northwest Territories/Nunavut

  On a Stormy Primeval Shore – Book 9 New Brunswick

  The Left Behind Bride – Book 10 Nova Scotia

  Envy the Wind – Book 11 Prince Edward Island

  Where the River Narrows – Book 12 Quebec

  Fly Away Snow Goose – Book 8 Northwest Territories/Nunavut

  On a Stormy Primeval Shore – Book 9 New Brunswick

  The Left Behind Bride – Book 10 Nova Scotia

  Envy the Wind – Book 11 Prince Edward Island

  Where the River Narrows – Book 12 Quebec

  Dedication

  BWL Publishing Inc. (“Books We Love”) dedicates the Canadian Historical Brides series to the immigrants, male and female, who left their homes and families, crossed oceans and endured unimaginable hardships in order to settle the Canadian wilderness and build new lives in a rough and untamed country.

  Acknowledgements

  Books we Love acknowledges the Government of Canada and the Canada Book fund for its financial support in creating the Historical Brides of Canada series

  Books we Love further acknowledges the Province of Alberta for their Provincial Operating Grant for Publishers, for its financial support in creating the Historical Brides of Canada series,

  The Left-Behind Bride story was inspired by Mary Grace (Ross/Bingley) Reid, my mother. Her poetry, written in 1929, provided headers for the chapters. I also wish to acknowledge Nova Scotian’s who told me Riverport stories, provided geographical layouts, historical information of businesses, buildings and people. Lucy (Mosher) Niford (age 95) and her granddaughter, Wanda Crane. Mike and Susan Kaiser, Gail Creaser, and Gloria Stephens, VGH Archives Manager, Victoria General Hospital School of Nursing Archives

  Chapter One

  With human hearts we sorrow;

  But we should happy be,

  For he has reached his port

  While we are still at sea.

  Maggie Conrad Benson opened her eyes in the dim light of her bedroom. For long moments contentment washed over her. Behind her, her cousin, Eloise, stirred, her foot kicking Maggie’s leg. The jolt started her brain and grief chased away the contentment. Dad is dead. Today we bury him. Wrapped in sorrow, she slipped out of the double bed without disrupting the covers.

  An image of her father’s body as they’d carried him into the parlor invaded her memory. So still, so cold, so soaked with the salt water from his location of death. A heart attack. A head-first plunge off the dock into the ocean. She shook off the image and focused on her clothing in the armoire. Best dress, best sweater. She pulled them out and after donning her undergarments put them on. Never thought I’d need these so soon for one more family funeral.

  Behind her, Eloise rolled over in bed and sat up. She’d come over two days previously to help Maggie get ready for the funeral. That’s what cousins are for, she’d said. “Were you up all night?” she asked and covered a yawn. “It’s awfully early, isn’t it?”

  “There’s the fire to start and breakfast to make,” Maggie said and ran her hands up her arms. “We have a busy day ahead. And it’s not as early as you think. The fog is hiding the sun.” She glanced toward the window. Thick salt air draped the landscape. It would limit navigation and hinder anyone traveling by water. Since they lived on an island that could be quite a few.

  “Did you come to bed at all?” Eloise asked and swung her feet out from under the covers. “Last I remember, you were still sitting watch over your father.”

  “Ivan came and relieved me about three this morning. He and Boris, and Daisy are sitting with Dad now. That dog barely went outside to do her business and then bolted back to his side. She didn’t even stop to eat.”

  “Poor beast. She doesn’t understand.” Eloise climbed out of bed and started dressing. “It’s hard, isn’t it,” she said, with her back to Maggie, “to lose someone. I knew some of the men lost at sea, but it didn’t register in my brain. Until helping with Uncle George’s funeral preparations, I’d never had close contact with a body. Helping you prepare him for burial gave me an education, let me tell you.”

  “I don’t know how you stayed so calm.” She stood in front of the mirrored armoire and brushed her hair.

  “I wasn’t calm, I was numb. A knot of tears lodged in my throat the whole time.”

  “I was too,” Eloise said. “And that reminds me, I didn’t bring any hankies. Do you have a couple I could borrow?” She pulled open the armoire’s door and Maggie’s keepsake box fell out, spewing its contents across the floor.

  “Oh no, sorry.” Eloise scrambled to pick things up.

  “Not your fault.” Maggie hurried to help. “I was looking through it yesterday and I didn’t put it back properly.”

  Eloise retrieved a folded, official paper. It fell open in her hand. “A marriage certificate. I’d forgotten you were married.”

  Maggie’s heart thumped harder, and she plucked the paper from Eloise’s hand. “No reason to remember. Ten years is a long time ago. You were a teenager and you never did meet James.”

  “What happened? Tell me.” Eloise sank down on the edge of the bed, ready for a story.

  Maggie perched beside her, the certificate still in her hand. Telling the details won’t hurt me now. “James came from Ontario with the army. I met him while they were waiting to ship overseas.” She paused, felt the smile on her face and in her heart. Telling her story soothed her. “I lied about my age so we could marry.” She stared at the opposite wall. “We had three weeks together before he shipped out.” The happiest three weeks I can remember. It’s been all deaths and storms and daily chores ever since.

  “And?” Eloise prompted, turning her knees until they touched Maggie’s leg.

  “Six months, two weeks and one day later he died in
a battle in France. His best friend sent me the news.” That heart-smashing letter lay in the bottom of the box, unopened since that first reading. “No one official knew about the marriage, so the army still listed his parents as his next of kin. Official notice and his belongings went to them.” Maggie folded the marriage certificate and stuck it back in the box. “And it didn’t feel real for ages since there was no funeral. At least with Dad, I can feel I’ve said goodbye.”

  “That is sad but romantic,” Eloise said, “especially with his parents getting his belongings.” She put a hand on Maggie’s arm. “I’m sorry you lost him.”

  “Thank you.” Almost ten years gone. Gone but not forgotten although the intensity has faded.

  Eloise bit the left side of her lip. “Can I ask you,” she said, “can you tell me what it’s like, to be, well, to sleep with a man?”

  Maggie nudged Eloise with her shoulder. A question she might have asked if she’d known anyone well enough. “It isn’t the sleeping you want to know about. It’s the other part, isn’t it?” She couldn’t help teasing her cousin.

  “Well, yes. I can’t ask Mother now, can I?” Eloise blushed. “She wouldn’t tell me anyway. I mean we have cows, and I know a bit about the, well, you know. But that’s not people.”

  Maggie thought back. There were the physical sensations and the absolute connection she’d felt. “Do you remember?” she asked, “years ago when we went skinny dipping?”

  Eloise nodded.

  “You remember the sensation of the river running over your body, the buoyant perception of being held? How soft and tingling it felt?”

  “Yes,” Eloise said, suddenly breathless.

  “Loving James reminded me of that.” Maggie’s body came to life under her memories. “Only more so. Except for the first time.” She shot her cousin a glance. “There’s a part a bit like stepping on a sharp rock, only not on your foot. And that’s okay, too. And that’s all I’m going to tell you.” The connection part defied words.

  Eloise’s exaggerated sigh whooshed out. “That’s more than I knew before,” she said. “What about Will Kaiser? You were going to marry him, weren’t you?”

  “Yes.” Her relationship with Will had been different, but every bit as intense. James was dash and excitement, always ready for adventure. With him, her pulse raced for more than one reason. Will personified stability tinged with a slow, dry sense of humor. Life with him would have been predictable but comfortable. Losing him had torn a second hole in her heart.

  “What about now? Do you want to be married? Mother says you need a man to take care of you.” She rolled her eyes. “She says the same about me. But it’s not that easy, is it?

  A grin snuck onto Maggie’s face. “With my track record, I don’t think a man would be wise to marry me. It might foretell his death. Getting married is complicated.” She summoned what she knew. “I always thought I’d be married, have a family and grow old with a husband. But the war arrived. And the Spanish flu. And the August Gales. And I’m almost thirty.” She twisted her mouth. “And now I know marriage isn’t the insurance they’d like us to believe. For either party. Look at Dad. Mom died ten years ago. He’d lost two children. Now he’s dead of a heart attack, much too soon. What good did being married do for him?”

  “But he was content, wasn’t he? And he had you and Ivan.”

  “I suppose so. But I think a spouse is a different connection. But what do I know? Now,” she said briskly and stood up, “enough lolly-gagging. Let’s get to the breakfast.” She glanced out the window. “We can hope the weather clears and everyone gets here for the funeral.”

  * * *

  Maggie eyed the custom-made coffin, with black outer shell and white inner tucker. Her father’s friend, Chester, had made the box and his wife fitted the tucker. It’s a some fine box, Dad. And it fits you perfectly. She adjusted his collar. We’re sending you off as you wished. No tie and lots of tobacco. She smiled. Her father would have appreciated the sentiment.

  Ivan entered, shoving the door shut behind him. Already people were gathering in the kitchen. “A boat from the mainland just arrived,” he said. Before the door closed fully, Daisy clicked her doggy feet over the floor and raced to the coffin. She put her front feet up and scratched, whining. She didn’t understand what had happened to her master.

  “Looks like the minister, Uncle Henry and Aunt Maude have arrived,” Ivan continued. “Boris and Eloise went down to meet them.” He looked at the window. “Thankfully, the fog has burned off.”

  Each of them put a hand on the coffin edge and bent their heads. The heart attack had been so sudden, her mind still warred with the reality. We are going to bury him. He really is dead.

  “Did you know about his bad heart?” Ivan asked. As he was almost fifteen and the family baby, there were probably numerous things he didn’t know about family members.

  “Yes, but he never mentioned it. I knew they didn’t let him go overseas during the war because of it. Mom always said that bothered him. But I never anticipated it killing him so soon.”

  Maggie bent and scratched Daisy’s ears. “I know, Daisy. We all miss him.”

  “Do you want me to take her out?” Ivan asked.

  “It’s okay. Let her be,” Maggie said. “She’ll only whine and whimper to get in if we put her out.”

  Ivan checked the pipe and pouch of tobacco tucked under his father’s folded hands. “He looks dressed for Sunday service,” Ivan said. “That pinstripe shirt and his trousers weren’t worn for much else but Sundays and weddings.”

  Maggie sighed. Like her choices, the logical outfit for the funeral was his Sunday best. “But no tie. He hated them. If we sent him to eternity wearing one, he’d come back to haunt us.” She met Ivan’s gaze and the tears forced their way out and ran down her face.

  “Ah, Sis,” Ivan said and, all awkward arms and tallness, he hugged her. “Don’t cry.” Old beyond his years and, with blond hair and pale blue eyes, he reminded her of their father.

  She sniffled. “I can’t help it,” she said. “I’ve been preparing him for the wake as if in a trance. Now, it’s all sliding in on me that he’s gone.” She buried her face in her brother’s shoulder. Only two of us left out of six. “Don’t mind my tears.”

  He cleared his throat and attempted a laugh that fell short. “Not your tears I’m worried about,” he said, “I might cry, too.” He sniffed. “I couldn’t believe it when Chester came and told me. I still expected to see him on the dock when we pulled in. Disbelief. Frozen, you know.”

  “You’re right. It freezes you and then suddenly you thaw and it’s like the ice melts into tears.” Maggie pulled back and looked up at him. “No harm in tears.” She swatted his shoulder. “We’ve lost our family. Mom, Betty, Harris, and now Dad. We have a right to a few tears.”

  Ivan rubbed the back of his hand across his nose. “Suppose so.” He turned away, one hand gripping the back of his head. A move just like Dad. After long moments he faced her again. “What do we do now?” His voice scratched and reverberated forlornly in the quiet room.

  Maggie held her breath. What did they do? “One thing at a time, I suppose.” She sank down on the armchair. “We’ll have the service, and we’ll take him to the graveyard and bury him beside Mom.” Both Mom and Dad are gone now. At least they’ll be together.

  Ivan perched on the edge of the sofa. He propped his elbows on his knees and leaned forward. “Yes, that. But what about after, what about when it’s ordinary days again?”

  Maggie stared at the floor. She remembered other times and other deaths. Her husband, all those years ago, as well as her family. More recently her intended, Will, had been lost at sea. The days of plodding through meals, tossing through sleepless nights, and aching until she’d been sure her chest would crack, flooded her. Why are so many young people dead?

  Death has its own agenda. Her father’s words. Oh, Dad, I wish I could be as accepting as you of these deaths.

  She stood and stepp
ed closer to her brother, placing a hand on his shoulder. He leaned into her, wrapped his arms around her waist and buried his face against her like he had as a little boy. His shoulders shook. The tears that he’d feared to shed would be wetting her blouse. She smoothed his hair. They stood for long minutes before he pulled back, grief aging his face.

  “Thanks, Sis.” He pulled out a handkerchief and blew his nose. “We had a pretty good dad, didn’t we?” He returned to the coffin.

  “Yes.” Maggie joined him. She laid her palm on her father’s forehead. Cold. She drew her fingers down his cheek, the stubble exposed by shrinking skin scratching against her fingertips. Dad, but not Dad. It doesn’t look like him. She’d not thought about how much he smiled until the smile was gone forever.

  “What will we do without him?” Ivan’s voice caught in his throat.

  Her answer came as if her dad had whispered the words in her ear. “We’ll carry on. It’s what our family does. We’re doers, aren’t we?” Renewed tears welled in her throat and stung her eyes. The ache tightened her chest. Yes, Dad, I’ll carry on.