The breeze died down after supper and left the clouds obliterating the moon and stars as she’d expected. The silent, semi-dark kitchen pressed in on Maggie, stemming her breath and leaving her gasping for fresh air. She donned her heavy coat, wrapped her shawl around her head. “I’ll be back,” she told Ivan and stepped into the moisture of a coastal evening.
She took the path around the house, stepped onto the drive and fast-walked to the road. Once there, she hesitated only a moment before heading north toward the graveyard. She needed to talk to her father, even if he couldn’t answer. If I organize my details to tell him, I’ll find my own way through the problem. I hope.
The white picket gate at the graveyard creaked under her hand. She stared over the stones and markers, none of them fancy. They memorialized lives, short ones like her sister who’d died at age six, and longer lives like her maternal grandmother who had lived to seventy-two years. Who maps the length of a life? Who decides what is fair? Just inside the gate, the names of those lost in the August Gales etched a tall stone. Alma Mae’s husband, Billy, and her son, Maggie’s fiancé, Will, and her own brother, Harris, included.
She headed for the corner where her parents rested side by side, her mother’s stone already collecting moss. How long before I can afford a stone for Dad? She stood at their feet, her arms around her middle and her eyes closed. Gradually, what she needed to say slid into her mind, ready to tell their spirits.
Dad, I’m sorry the store did so badly. And I don’t blame you for borrowing money. It had worked the previous year, and I’m sure if you were still running things, we’d be fine. But they won’t let me sign the loan. They want their money. She relayed the conversation she’d had with the banker and stopped when the air currents around her stirred. Right. Talking to Henry is the last option to consider. I understand.
She opened her eyes and knelt beside her mother’s stone, putting a hand on it. Mom, what do you think? Aunt Maude wants me married. Ivan wants to leave school and work.
Silence. She lowered her chin and stayed immobile. What do I want? The question snapped into her conscious mind. Her eyes flew open and she traced her mother’s name on the stone. I don’t know. I haven’t looked at it that way.
She waited but nothing else occurred to her. Whether they were speaking to her or not, no one knew, least of all her. But she’d been right. She’d focused on a new perspective. “Goodbye,” she said to her parents and throwing them a kiss, left the graveyard, her heart lighter than it had been since her father’s death.
On the way home, she paused at the corner turning to Alma Mae’s home. I could use some tea and a wise, listening ear. She turned and, reaching Alma Mae’s door, knocked for entrance.
Alma Mae opened the door. “Come in, child. I have the teapot on the hob.” She stood back and waited while Maggie hung up her coat and shawl. “And cookies made.”
Maggie hugged the older woman. “We can always count on you for the cookies.” The two women moved to chairs tucked in beside the range. Large tear-drop armrests created stands for the tea and cookies and crocheted throws hid horsehair seats.
“Tell me,” said Alma Mae, “how did you make out with the banker?”
Maggie drew a breath and told her the whole story. “I’ve just been down to the graveyard to talk it over with Mom and Dad.”
“Always a wise move,” Alma Mae said. “My Billy helps me when I talk to him. I have no grave to visit, but I sit in his chair, that very one you’re in now, and I find it does help.” She sipped her tea. “Now, do you want to tell me your conclusions?”
Maggie looked at her friend. The woman had lived through as much or more than Maggie had. She’d raised five boys only to lose two in the war and one in the Gales. Another one went west last spring looking for work and sent for his family in the fall. The youngest boy still fished off Sable Island. She must worry.
“What did occur to me,” Maggie said, “is that I haven’t examined what I want in over a decade.” Apprehension struck her. “But is it appropriate to do what I want?”
Alma Mae took Maggie’s free hand in hers. “My dear, if there ever was a time to consider what you want, this is it.” She sat back. “You’ve taken care of your family for so long. Except for the war years. Look around you. What is there to hold you? Ivan? He’ll be off on the ships soon.”
Maggie cheered up. “You have a point.” Excitement trickled into her middle. I have choices. I get to decide. “But I did promise Mom that I’d see Ivan through to the end of school.”
“He’s got one more year. That gives you a year to get organized.”
“What would you do, if you could?” Maggie asked her.
“Me? I’m an old lady. But what you don’t know,” she said with a wink, “is that when I was sixteen I got a lift on one of the boats going to Boston.”
“Boston?”
Obviously satisfied with herself, she nodded. “Boston. My friend and I went. I got a job as a backstairs maid in a big house. They still had those maids back then. My employer was a lawyer and his wife a proper lady. They were good to me. I moved up to the front parlor and saw ever so many fancy dinners and dresses.”
“But you came back.”
Her face wreathed in smiles, Alma Mae stared into the distance. “My Billy wrote to me and proposed. Of course, I came home.” She shook off her memories. “And in spite of everything, I’m not sorry I did.”
She chuckled. “But I tell you. There were times when remembering those days kept me sane. We all need memories.”
“And if you had to do it again?”
“I’d go. And I’d come back.” She sighed. “But if I knew then what I know now, I’d have encouraged Billy to go farming. If you do decide to marry, choose a man who stays on land.”
They sat in silence. One considering the past and one the future. Maggie finished her tea and got up to retrieve the pot. She poured more for both of them.
“I thought I wanted to be married and have a family,” she said. “But denied twice, I’m not so sure. Why is it women have to rely on men to take care of them?”
“It’s the way it’s always been,” said Alma Mae promptly. “Maybe because the women bear the children, they stay home, and because they stay home, they do all the rest. Not to mention men think of us as the weaker sex. We can’t do what they do. Ha. No way on earth could they do what we do is more like it. And change takes time and effort.” She waved her arm in a wide arc. “And what could I have done here as a single woman? Even your grandmother and mother owning the store still had their men to help them. What can you do?”
“Well, I could try to revive the store. Or I could find another school to teach in. Or go to work at the fish plant at Rose Bay. Or clean houses. I might get a position running a big house in Halifax for a lawyer or such. I could find a place to live in Riverport and open a sewing and fabric shop I suppose.” She ran out of breath. “And at least here and on the mainland, I have friends and a community around me.” She thought again. “And this is where Ivan needs to be.”
She held out her hands, fingers spread and looked at them. “But it would all take money that right now I don’t have.”
“What about going to the city?”
Maggie frowned. “It’s a big place and I don’t know anyone anymore. I’d have to find a place to rent and a job.” During the war, it had been a great adventure. But I was young. Uneasiness skittered down her back. Apparently, I’m not as brave as I used to be. “And I’d need money while I did that. At the moment, I need all the money we have to pay Dad’s loan. And I can’t leave until that is settled.” She sighed. Making choices wasn’t as easy as it had first appeared.
She put her plate and cup in the sink. “I think I’ll sleep on it and then do what Dad always said. First things first and the rest will fall into place.”
Alma Mae walked her to the door. “Wise man your dad.” She raised a hand in farewell. Maggie held her scarf against the night wind and headed through the trees
for home.
Chapter Four
Though dim the path and hard the way
That I must take this lonely day,
Though naught be sure, one cannot say
I’ll see you here another day.
Maggie rolled over and opened one eye. The scantiest glimmer of light leaked into her room. Early, but still, time to get up. She felt it in her bones. Moving quickly, she pulled on clothing, topped the dress with a sweater and headed for the kitchen. A few puffs of breath and a fistful of dried grasses and the coals in the stove flamed into action. She filled the kettle, set it on the burner and stood warming her hands.
Overnight all that thinking had gelled into a plan. She’d walk Ivan through it as soon as he hauled out of bed. In readiness for that, she cracked eggs into the frypan, pulled out the wire rack, fitted it on an open lid hole and sliced bread for toasting. By the time the tea steeped and the food sent off inviting aromas, Ivan joined her. No doubt rousted by the crowing rooster.
Ivan ran through their early morning routine, grabbed plates and set them on the far end of the range to let them warm. “That rooster.” He shook his head. “Ah well. I’ll go let them out.” He disappeared for brief moments and returned.
Maggie handed him a mug of tea. “Here, fill your plate. I need to talk to you.”
Moments later they faced each other over breakfast. “I have a plan,” she said and cut into her eggs. “We’re going to need more money than the store will provide, no matter what we do. We should sell what we can to Ritcey and Creaser and move to Riverport to find work.”
“What about what they might not buy? Or what if they won’t buy any of it?” Ivan washed down his toast with tea. “And we still have to transport things to the mainland.”
“If it got here, we can get it off,” she said. “Now who’s the gloomy Gus?”
Over the top of his mug, Ivan narrowed his eyes. “Hmm. That might work. It’s better than letting it go to waste or having the bank grab it all. But where would we live?”
“I thought about that, too. If I’m right, Gran Conrad’s house in Riverport belonged to both Dad and Uncle Henry. And it’s vacant. Dad’s half ownership either comes to me or you. I don’t think that non-person rule applies to family property. At the worst, I’d get it until you’re of age. The Widow Hebert, she’s allowed to live in the family house until the oldest son comes of age. Should be the same for us.”
“What about Uncle Henry’s half? Won’t he want to make rent on it?”
“He hasn’t rented it in the past two years. I think we can convince him it’s better to have it occupied than empty. We’ll offer to fix up the house in exchange for living there.”
Ivan sat back and stretched his legs under the table. “Worth a try. When do you want to head to Riverport again?”
“I think Monday. We can talk to Aunt Maude and Uncle Henry about the house if Henry is in port. And I’d like to check with Mr. Ritcey and Mr. Creaser about the stock. And look for work.”
Ivan stood and, as she’d trained him, took his dishes to the sink. She smiled. He did it so automatically. “I’ll see what I can rustle up for dinner,” he said. “Fish tonight. And then I’ll go to the store in case anyone comes along. Might as well sell what we can.”
Maggie joined him at the sink and pointed at the kettle.
He poured hot water into the basin for her. “What are you doing today?”
“I’m going to dig out the rest of Dad’s papers,” Maggie said. “And see if I can find information about Gran Conrad’s property. And anything else that might be hiding in there. I’ve had enough surprises for a lifetime.”
The paperwork coughed up her father’s will and the ownership of her gran’s house. It all was as she’d expected. By the time she went to church, she had a plan. At the Sunday church social, she talked to people about the possible store closing. They weren’t happy but most of them understood. And Alma Mae’s daughter-in-law told her one of the Riverport teachers planned to leave. That was a job Maggie could apply for. She’d taught for two years on the island and the area trustees knew her. On the way home, she relaxed for the first time in days. I can do this.
* * *
By ten o’clock Monday morning Maggie stood in the Ritcey and Creaser General Store. She’d been unable to eat breakfast, her nerves were so jangled. Now her stomach rumbled and she wished she’d at least had a piece of toast. “Good morning, Clara. How’s business?”
Clara Myra came out from behind the counter. “Steady but not busy. Typical for the last couple of years.”
Maggie pushed the implication of reduced business aside. “Are your bosses around?”
“Not in here,” Clara told Maggie. “But you should find them out back at the storage. Is there anything I can help you with?”
Maggie shook her head. “Thanks, I’ll go look for Mr. Ritcey and Mr. Creaser.” Her nerves rattled harder and her steps carried her faster than usual. The outcome of this visit would play a huge part in what she’d do next. She jumped over a puddle, reached the large back doors and peered through the opening. “Mr. Ritcey? Mr. Creaser?”
One of the men replied, and she followed the sound of his voice.
“Why, good morning, Miss Maggie. “I was sorry to hear about your father.” Mr. Creaser took off a work glove and shook her hand. His pale blue eyes crinkled at the corners with his smile. Mr. Ritcey, taller and stockier than his slim partner, came around a stack of boxes and repeated the greeting. “Now, what can we do for you today?”
Maggie took a deep breath. She should have brought Ivan along for moral support. But sending him back to school had seemed more important. “With father gone,” she started, “we have to make some changes. It’s no longer practical for us to continue with the island store.”
“That’s too bad,” said Russell Ritcey, “folks out there rely on it. But I suppose it’s a lot for a woman to handle on her own.”
She squelched a snappy retort about women handling things. “Maybe so, but times have changed. In any case, I’d like to ask you two a question.” Might as well go straight to the mark.
The men nodded their heads.
She took a deep breath. “I’d like to sell you some stock. Will you buy it?”
The men exchanged looks, and Russell Ritcey looked over his shoulder at the stack of boxes. “Well,” he said.
Robie Creaser scratched his chin. “We can take a look at what you have.”
Maggie pulled her list from the satchel. “Here’s the current inventory list.” She held it out.
Mr. Creaser took it but didn’t look down. “Can you leave this with us?”
Maggie’s heart fell. They aren’t going to buy anything. Nonetheless, she nodded.
“Good, we will go over this at lunchtime. Can you stop back about two o’clock?”
Her heartbeat leveled. “Yes, I’ll come back.” She smiled at them and left, walking with steady footsteps. She reached the narrow space at the front, between two buildings and stopped. Her breath came in short gasps, and she leaned against the clapboard wall, her eyes closed.
Please buy enough. Please help us. For long seconds, isolation trapped her in a whirling world she couldn’t control. No one to talk to, no one to ask for real help. And mostly because she was a woman. Society expects me to marry or to rely on Uncle Henry. It’s not fair.
The whirling faded. Fair or not, it’s down to me to handle the debt and lack of funds. Even Ivan’s minimal potential for work wouldn’t solve the problem. Here I am. Two summers at Normal College, three years at the VAD in Halifax and two years teaching on the island. I can even run a store, but I have no way to support myself.
This is no way to live. Things need to change for women. Finally, she started down the boardwalk, her heels clicking on the planks. She counted in her head as she went. One, two, three, four. The rhythm improved her mood and leveled her hopes. Next step was to see Mr. Zinck, one of the school trustees. She had to apply for that job and she knew him best
of all the trustees. I should find him at his butcher shop.
* * *
Sun beat down on her as she passed the bridge and the five houses between it and the Zincks’ house. She climbed the slope to the butcher shop in front of the Zincks’ house. When she entered, Mr. Zinck looked up, his apron and hands bloody and a huge knife in his grip. He too greeted her with condolences.
Grabbing a rag, he wiped his hands and stabbed the knife into a wood block. “What can I get for you today?” he said. “I’m just carving a side of beef.”
“Thank you,” she said. “But I’m not after beef today. I heard that Mary Reinhart is getting married and giving up the Advanced Department at the school. I’d like to apply for the job.”
“Ah. Yes, that’s true, she’s leaving.” He brushed the end of his nose with the back of his wrist. “You’ve been teaching on the island, what? For two years now?”
“Yes,” she said. “All grades up to nine. And I’ve been told my students enter grade ten here in Riverport well prepared.” Not a time to be modest.
“You make a good candidate,” he said. “And you are older than many of the young women coming fresh out of Normal College. That’s a plus with the older students.”
“Thank you,” Maggie said. “I appreciate being considered.” She risked a grin. “I’d appreciate it even more if I got the job.”
He laughed. “No doubt.” He sobered. “Mr. Himmelman is meeting with a potential applicant today. It will depend on what he decides after that interview.” He reached behind him and retrieved a small package. “Here, have a piece of round steak for your dinner. My gift.”
Her stomach sank at the idea of other applicants, but she responded to the gift. “You don’t have to....”
The Left Behind Bride Page 4