The Left Behind Bride

by Mahrie G. Reid

  A knock on the door announced arrivals. Alma Mae entered followed by the Presbyterian minister. “I’m sorry for your loss,” he said and shook hands with them. “Let’s sit a minute and talk about the service.”

  Alma Mae put a hand on Maggie’s arm. “First, tell me how you want to set up for the service. There are far more people here than can fit in the parlor.”

  Maggie scanned the room and halted her gaze on the large front window. “Let’s bring in relatives and immediate neighbors, and anyone who needs to sit. We’ll open the windows and the others can stand on the front veranda.” She turned to the minister. “Is that okay?”

  “Won’t be the first time I’ve preached to an outside congregation.” He smiled. “I’ve been told I have a booming voice that carries well.”

  Alma Mae left to organize the mourners.

  Maggie sat on the sofa with the minister.

  Ivan leaned against the wall.

  “I remember your father,” the minister said. “He voted to stay Presbyterian when the churches amalgamated in 1925. And at more than one service, he’s read the Bible verses for me.” He flipped open his Book of Common Order. “Let’s see what readings you’d like.”

  They decided on the readings and moved to hymns. “Dad’s favorite hymn,” Ivan said “was Onward Christian Soldiers. Can we use it?”

  “That’s a good choice. Most people know it.” The minister stood and went to the casket. “A short prayer for you and your father before we start.”

  When he finished, Ivan opened the windows and spoke to those gathered outside. Maggie opened the door and welcomed her Uncle Henry and Aunt Maude. “I see you left Lucy home,” she said. At six years of age, Lucy possessed an independent streak and a vocal attitude.

  “That child asks way too many questions at inopportune moments.” Aunt Maude adjusted her hat, and going to the coffin, stared at her brother-in-law’s body. “Where’s his tie?” she asked and whirled on Maggie, one hand on her hip.

  Maggie gritted her teeth. “He always made us promise to bury him without a tie.”

  Her aunt snorted. “It’s disgraceful. You island folks are far too informal.”

  Under the casket, Daisy whimpered.

  Aunt Maude pulled back and looked down. “What is that beast doing there? That goes beyond informal.”

  “Dad would have allowed her to be here,” Ivan said. “She stays.” He lifted his chin and stared Aunt Maude down.

  Maggie turned her back on Aunt Maude and greeted two elderly sisters, their hands encased in black lace gloves and their heads topped with large black hats.

  “We had to come,” said the taller woman. “We were such good friends with your grandmother and we watched little George grow up.” She dabbed her eyes with a lace hankie. We can’t believe we’re still here and they’re both gone.” Maggie pointed them toward the sofa.

  The room filled and people shuffled to comfortable positions. The minister opened his Book of Common Order.

  “Blessed are they that mourn: for they shall be comforted.”

  The words slid by and the responses and hymns marked the passing minutes. The final prayer signaled people to head outside. Henry, Ivan, Chester, and Boris stayed behind and with the minister, lifted the coffin lid.

  Maggie bent, whispering one last message in her father’s ear. “I’ll miss you, Dad.” He’d been a father, a teacher, and a daily support. She’d kept house for him, mended his socks, prepared his meals and hugged him before he left to open the store each morning. “And I’ll remember you forever.” She patted his hands and stood back for the men to fit the cover.

  Chester picked up a small hammer and a handful of finishing nails. And to the tap-tap of the hammer’s blows, her father disappeared from her sight forever. The weight in her chest blocked her breath, and she covered her mouth with one hand to hold in a moan.

  The men gathered around the coffin once more. “Ready?” Uncle Henry asked. At the responding nods, he put his hands under the head of the coffin. The others, spaced around the coffin, took hold and lifted it to their shoulders. And so they left the house and paraded down the road to the graveyard.

  * * *

  Sunlight dappled the gravestones and freshly turned earth scented the air. At the graveside, men slid ropes under the casket. The minister read Psalm 103, and the neat, black casket disappeared into the grave.

  Taking a handful of dirt, the minister concluded the interment. “Forasmuch as the soul of this our brother has departed this life, we, therefore, commit his body to the ground, earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust, looking to the infinite mercy of God, in Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.” He threw the dirt onto the coffin.

  Family and friends filed past, some adding a handful of dirt. Others tossed in bunches of wildflowers. In groups of twos and threes, they left the graveyard. Uncle Henry, the oldest living family male, stood at the top of the receiving line and shook hands with folks. The women hugged Maggie.

  “Please join us at the house for refreshments,” Maggie said to all.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Benson,” said the bank manager from Riverport. “I need to get back. Your father did business with me.” He paused, still holding her hand. “You and your uncle need to come and see me soon about his business.”

  She raised an eyebrow and glanced at Uncle Henry. Why would she take her uncle? “I’ll come and see you,” she said. She knew about her father’s business. Uncle Henry didn’t. She stifled a sigh. There were those who would expect her to turn to Henry for help. But I’m fine without him.

  Harry Mosher, the lighthouse keeper from Mosher’s Island stepped up. “Your father and I played many a game of chess,” he said. “I’ll be missing his visits.” He patted her hand and left.

  Many made their farewells and headed back to their own lives. Still, in the end, about thirty people crowded into the kitchen where neighboring women, Alma Mae and Rita, served the tea and sweets. Maggie leaned against the kitchen cabinets and watched people shifting in and out of conversations. As usual, the men collected in a pack, this time near the front entry. Their conversation moved from comments about the deceased to events around the area. Snatches reached her, keeping her brain occupied and off her father lying in the graveyard up the road.

  “....taking the Lucky Lucy south....”

  Uncle Henry planning his next voyage.

  “We could use a good run of fish this season.”

  Enos and the younger fishermen.

  “Mahone Bay...Prohibition Boys shut down.... confiscated all the liquor....”

  Laughter followed another comment she couldn’t hear.

  “....sure and with over seventy boats running rum, that’ll last....” More laughter.

  They rarely talk about it, but they all know which boats run the booze from St. Pierre and Miquelon to the provinces and the states further south. And who the local bootleggers are.

  “....someone will set up. All they need is a quiet back room away from the road.”

  It is a wonder they don’t close down more of them. The locations are rarely secret.

  “And someone will bring it on in and down the road...”

  Always someone to fill the gap. Until they get caught as well. Bootlegging gives a man danger, excitement and cash. But the fines are huge. And Prohibition Officers carry guns.

  The men drifted out to the front veranda, and Ivan, Boris, and their friend, Eugene, went with them. Maggie refrained from looking, sure that Henry had a bottle. There’d be pipes lit and cigarettes smoked and toasts made with rum or whiskey.

  Maggie inspected the female crowd and found Aunt Maude steaming toward her. “A nice enough funeral,” Aunt Maude said. “More women than men. I suppose they were usually his customers.” She scrunched her lips. “Such a ladies’ man, your father.”

  “Maybe.” Maggie crossed her arms. “But many men are off fishing on the Banks, and,” she said, looking directly at Maude, “far too many were lost in the storms.”

&
nbsp; “Not the entire population of men,” she said and punctuated her words with her usual sniff.

  “Fifty-two in this area,” Maggie said, not willing to let it pass, “in the 1926 fishing season alone. And more in ‘27. Apparently, a total of one hundred and thirty-eight men from the islands, Riverport, and area were lost.”

  Aunt Maude relented, more or less. “I suppose.” She peered around the room, ignoring Maggie’s statistics. As usual, when things didn’t go her way, she changed the topic. “New curtains, I see. Must be nice to have access to fabric whenever you like.” She looked down and scuffed her foot on the worn linoleum. “Although it looks to me like you’d have done better to sell the fabric and use the money for new flooring.”

  Maggie closed her eyes. I will not respond.

  “Although I suppose access to fabric is some compensation for the store’s limited income.” Aunt Maude never let anyone forget her brother’s status as a lowly shopkeeper. And she missed no chance to point out her husband’s superior status as a ship’s captain.

  Aunt Maude’s snipping upset Maggie at the best of times. Today she could barely tolerate it.

  Alma Mae Kaiser, her closest neighbor, and almost-mother-in-law joined them. Aunt Maude shifted her conversation in the older woman’s direction. “I don’t know what she’ll do now,” she said. “Her life is so restricted here, taking care of her father and Ivan. Now George is gone and Ivan won’t be at home for much longer.” She looked around. “Nothing more for you here, Maggie. Not even any men suitable for marriage.”

  Eloise turned from another conversation to join theirs. “Mother, that’s not appropriate.”

  Maude turned her glare on her daughter and didn’t notice Alma Mae’s downturned countenance. Aunt Maude knew full well that Alma Mae had lost a husband and a son in the ’27 Gales. How can she be so thoughtless?

  “Well, Maggie can’t run the store. And staying here alone is hardly a smart move.”

  Alma Mae, her eyes narrowed, patted Maude’s arm. “No worries, Mrs. Conrad. She’s a capable shopkeeper. She’ll manage. And I’m right next door. She wouldn’t be alone.”

  “Well, a woman should have her own home and family, don’t you think?” Aunt Maude persisted in her opinion. “It’s unseemly for a woman of her age to be on her own.” She paused and then continued as if an idea had just struck her. “Although, Maggie, you’ll be thirty soon, won’t you, dear? And you were married, for a little while. I suppose, as a widow, your status is quite different.”

  “I’ve heard recently,” Alma Mae said mildly, “women are going out to work and even getting involved in politics.”

  “Pshaw. A group of frustrated old maids,” Aunt Maude declared. “And there’s some Act or other that says women can’t run for office. I don’t know why they even let women vote. After all, why are women required to give up jobs once they marry if it’s not the best thing for them?” She simpered. “But don’t you worry, Maggie, Henry will take care of you.”

  Maggie mentally rolled her eyes. So Aunt Maude did listen to events. And Alma Mae. That radio her children gave her as a Christmas gift must be getting good use. But it would take more than their arguments to change Aunt Maude’s views.

  “Well,” Alma Mae said. “Time will show a lot of changes. And I for one will not be surprised to see more women going to work. If the women polling the government succeed in getting us named as persons, a lot of things can change. After all, if I’d had a job, I wouldn’t be dependent on government monies now. Women could use jobs to fall back on.”

  Fall back on. One way to put it. “She has a point, don’t you think, Aunt Maude?”

  “I still think men should provide for us, and we should care for them and raise the family. It’s the way nature intended.”

  Maggie couldn’t resist. “Why, Aunt Maude, I didn’t know you were on speaking terms with Mother Nature.”

  Aunt Maude huffed and stalked away, her chin up and her purse banging against her hip.

  Maggie grinned at Alma Mae who winked at her. The 1920s had certainly seen changes for women. And more people every day agreed with jobs for women outside the home. Women had taken up medicine and law, although men still gave them a cold shoulder. Maggie set her cup and saucer on the counter. She’d given up nursing to care for her mother and sister. And when they’d died, she’d done as expected by her father and the community and stayed in her father’s home to care for him and her two younger brothers. Now, Dad and Harris are dead and Ivan is soon grown. What would they all say is my purpose now? The babble of voices dimmed around her. I refuse to be a spinster or a widowed woman dependent financially on Henry and Ivan. How do I find my way?

  Chapter Two

  But alas! Dreams scatter and vanish

  As we move forward, and anon,

  In the everyday path of duty, we find

  Our youth’s dreams past and gone.

  Next day, a squall blew in, blanketing the landscape and pelting land and sea alike. Even the weather weeps when a good man dies. Another of her father’s sayings. Maggie prodded the kitchen fire and it flamed higher, generating heat. She lit the oil lamps at noon in an attempt to brighten the house. Neither had an effect on her mood.

  “We could bake,” Eloise said. She and Boris had stayed to keep their cousins company. “Or you could try to teach me to knit socks, again.” She didn’t sound hopeful about the knitting.

  “Come and play 45s with us,” Boris suggested. “It passes the time.”

  Maggie pulled out of her sadness and managed a smile for each of them. “A game of 45s it is.” Anything to turn her mind away from the emptiness created by her father’s absence.

  “On a day like this,” Ivan said, “Dad would recite poetry. And make us learn it as well.”

  Boris played his cards. “Our dad’s the same. They know too much poetry if you ask me.”

  Ivan raised a hand to his forehead. “There’s a widow in sleepy Chester....”

  Boris took up the recitation. “Who weeps for her only son....”

  The girls joined in and by the time the blood dripped on the path to the grave the boys were marching around the room. Kipling’s bloody poem had them laughing when nothing else could.

  Eloise sat back and stretched out her legs. “Oh, my. I needed that.”

  The mood in the room had brightened with the laughter. Maggie checked the weather. “And look, the rain is easing. Boys, go fetch some fresh eggs and we’ll have ham and eggs for supper.”

  The boys brought the eggs and Eloise helped cook. “What will you do now?”

  “Get on with things,” Maggie said. “First thing tomorrow I’ll get Father’s accounts and go down to the store. I need to know where we stand.” The thought of family finances pressed down on her. That part Dad always took care of. But now it’s up to me.

  “So you’ll stay on the island?” Eloise selected cutlery for the table and chased the boys away from their resumed game.

  Maggie paused with her hand on the frying pan. “Maybe. For now anyway. We have everything we need.” She resumed stirring the scrambled eggs. Except our father.

  Eloise puffed out and offered her opinion. “Everything except a life. You’ll wither up here. Especially now, with your dad gone and Ivan about to leave. There isn’t anything here for you.”

  Eloise has a point. Cooking, cleaning, sewing, and knitting for two won’t keep me busy. “I’ll see. Maybe I’ll sell off the store and find work on the mainland.”

  “You’re lucky, in a way,” Eloise added. “You can choose to do whatever you want. There’s no one making demands on you.” She folded her arms and stared into an unseen distance. “You could travel the world.” She blinked. “Or at least go to Halifax or Toronto. See something.”

  Maggie laughed. “What an adventurous idea. But I’d need money for that.”

  The two girls laughed and served supper. Eloise called, “Come on, you two, time to eat.”

  Maggie settled at her place. Nothing wrong w
ith dreaming. That’s what Dad would say. But how often do dreams come true?

  * * *

  Maggie stood on the dock with her father’s account books in her arms and waved to Eloise and Boris as they headed for home. With them gone, she turned and eyed the waterfront store. For three generations, her mother’s family had managed it, serving those who came by boat to shop. But do I want to continue? Inside, she settled at the main counter. Ivan doesn’t plan to stay. He’ll be off on the ships as soon as he can. And I’ll be here alone. And so many families left without men had moved away. Fewer to shop at the store.

  Spreading out the recent accounts and the charge ledger, she began her review. In less than an hour, a grim truth trickled around the facts and figures. The charge accounts revealed a startling amount of money owed. Way more than her father usually allowed. Maggie tossed down her pencil.

  How has it come to this? She flipped back through previous years. The annual ledgers revealed the downward trend. Profits declined each year until the end of 1927. That year the store barely broke even.

  And the numbers for 1928 sank even lower. Without her extensive garden, the chickens, and the goods brought home from the store, they’d have trouble surviving. But goods they consumed didn’t contribute to the cash flow. How did Dad manage to purchase new stock this year?

  She needed the inventory list and the invoices recording shipments from suppliers. She shuffled paper and notebooks and didn’t find either item.

  The bell over the door announced an arrival and Ivan strolled toward her. “You’re up early,” he said.

  “Always am,” she responded and smiled at him. “And you always remark on it.” A return to even that small daily habit shifted life toward normal. But not our old normal. We need to find a way to be normal without Dad.

  Ivan’s smile twitched the corners of his mouth, and he looked at the books. “So will you keep the store? It’ll be lonely here on the island without me and Dad. Uncle Henry says....”