Patchwork Society

by Sharon Johnston

  “I thought it would be so nice to walk into a hotel and sign the guest register Mr. and Mrs. Donnelly,” she lamented. “It would make me feel married.”

  “Well we are married,” Red said. “We don’t have to be in Chicago to have fun. I’m going to lock the door,” he added with a grin.

  Ivy put her hand on her lips and grimaced. “Oh-oh, I gave Mum a key to check the house while we were away.”

  “If Clara enters in the next half-hour, I will run down the stairs naked to greet her, and she won’t come by again.”

  Ivy started to giggle as Red encouraged her up the stairs to the bedroom.

  The disappointment about Chicago was offset when Ellen Donnelly invited the newlyweds to mitigate the heat at Batchawana. Red had suspended all building projects after his foreman was hospitalized with heatstroke. While the heat wave lasted, the cottage was overrun with family members seeking relief.

  Ed Donnelly had carved his initials and the date of construction, 1910, into the chimney cement at the back of the house. Red brought Ivy for a brief moment of privacy to show her how Ed had left his mark.

  “You’re fortunate to have known your father,” Ivy said. “I have little memory of mine. I do remember putting flowers on his gravestone and recall being frightened that my brother was buried in the same plot. I thought I might be buried there, too,” Ivy added, laughing through her tears. “Silly to be crying over things that happened so long ago.”

  “Yours was a double tragedy,” Red said soberly.

  “Mum looked so happy at our gift-showing to see how well we were starting out. She had to auction most of her belongings to pay for our passage.”

  Red embraced her. “All that’s behind you now.”

  The cottage provided little privacy, and on a windy morning, Red suggested they take the roadster to Gros Cap, a rocky out-cropping into Lake Superior where giant waves crashed against the rocks, spewing spray in their faces. Ivy threw some odds and ends into a basket so they could spend the day. They gathered rocks to weigh down the corners of their picnic blanket.

  “I hope our marriage won’t be as wild as this wind,” Ivy said, grabbing Red for balance.

  “I don’t want it to be dull, either,” Red replied. “And I need to get out from under my family.”

  “We were a family of two,” Ivy said. “I love your big family.”

  “I’m merely suggesting we have our own place — not divorce them.”

  CHAPTER 38

  It was a relief to be out on the water in the blazing heat, the hottest summer ever recorded. Red abandoned his younger brothers, choosing Ivy as his fishing companion. Patiently, he taught her the vagaries of his fishing tackle and let her run the boat once she had learned the simple mechanics of the motor and water safety rules. It was a singular thrill when she drove the boat, and Red shouted from the bow, “Let her rip, Captain!” These outdoor activities, so foreign to Ivy growing up, were feeling more normal.

  While at the cottage, Ellen Donnelly gave Ivy a recipe for venison pie with the sage advice that she be prepared to cook whatever Red brought back from the bush during the November deer season.

  “Hunting and fishing are Red’s first two passions,” Ellen said, lending Ivy a well-used cookbook. “You’re the third,” she added when Ivy pouted.

  “What should I expect?” Ivy asked.

  “Gruesomeness!” Ellen made a face to match the word. “Fortunately, the hunters dress the animals in the field, so you won’t have to see the entrails. They remove the guts where the deer comes down and leave them for wild animals.”

  “Gruesome things made me sick in nursing school.”

  “Then you’d better stay inside when the men come home. Skinning the deer is worse than anything you’d see in a hospital.”

  When the hunters returned to the city, Ivy was too curious to heed her mother-in-law’s advice. She ventured into the garage to find Red and his Uncle Geordie grunting as they hoisted a five-hundred-pound buck off the back of the Donnelly Building Materials truck they had backed into the garage. Geordie Plaxon was Ellen’s youngest brother, and he ran a farm-supply business. He was only ten years older than Red, and they seemed more like cousins who shared a love of the outdoors.

  Ivy remained at the back entrance to the garage, transfixed by the two beautiful carcasses hanging from the ceiling and dripping blood. The men were so engrossed in wielding their sharp knives to peel back the hides that they didn’t notice her. Ivy watched Red, who seemed almost like a surgeon as he slid the knife up and under the skin in the direction of the animal’s hair. Despite the macabre scene, the skinning of the animal appeared to be a delicate procedure to Ivy. A thought crossed her mind: It was the hospital odour that made me sick more than the actual surgical procedures.

  She slipped back into the house unnoticed and prepared two mugs of coffee, adding a dollop of brandy to each. When she returned with the steaming mugs, she grimaced at two bloodsoaked towels — wedding presents — lying on the garage floor.

  “I’ll buy you new ones,” Red said with a sheepish grin.

  “We had to clean out the cavity,” Geordie added, jumping in to get his pal off the hook.

  “I’ll hold you to it,” Ivy said.

  Moose season followed deer season, and a month later Red was off to hunt with Geordie again.

  “What happens to the cuts of the animal you don’t want?” Ivy asked before the men left.

  “Geordie and I share them with our employees, who are grateful to have any kind of meat during this economic crisis.”

  Ivy turned twenty-one while Red was away hunting moose farther north of Batchawana on Lake Superior. “Red wouldn’t be aware my birthday would fall while he was away unless I told him,” Ivy said to her mother.

  “He should be here for your milestone,” Clara replied.

  “I’m not hurt, so you shouldn’t be hurt on my behalf.”

  By January, the St. Marys River was frozen enough to ice-fish, and the Donnelly shack was hauled into Still Bay. It no longer seemed an intimate moment for Ivy now that she and Red were married, but she went along for the companionship.

  “I’ve purchased another cement truck that’ll be delivered in May,” Red confided. He hadn’t revealed his business decision to his mother despite her half ownership of Donnelly Building Materials.

  “Isn’t this risky with talk of another war?” Ivy asked. “The newspaper reported only last week that Hitler ignored the Versailles Treaty by building up arms and his aggression in nearby territories.”

  “Houses will still be built, albeit smaller ones,” Red countered. “Every house needs a foundation, which we do much faster with our cement trucks. If there’s another war, I expect to be sent overseas, so it’s better to expand while I can.”

  CHAPTER 39

  A shopping trip to Chicago never did materialize. Ivy had planned to replace her practical outfits from her Royal Victoria days at a fancy American department store. She was making do with her limited wardrobe when Red suggested she take the train to Toronto to shop for clothes with Anne Rossiter, who was now married to Tom Blake and living there. Although Ivy didn’t know her well, she called Jessie Rossiter and asked for her daughter’s address.

  “Anne and Tom live in downtown Toronto not far from Eaton’s Department Store,” Jessie told her. “I’m sure my spendthrift daughter will be delighted to take you shopping.”

  “I could certainly use some help. Your daughter’s very fashionable.”

  “Hmm,” Jessie murmured. “Anne’s negotiated a continuance of her clothing allowance with her father. Tom’s a trading clerk in a brokerage firm that managed to stay afloat despite the financial crash. I’m sure he’ll rise in the company and keep up with his wife’s extravagances. Until then, K.G. is sending his darling daughter a monthly cheque.” Jessie laughed amiably. “Ivy, would you like to hand-deliver Anne’s allowance?”

  “It would be fun to be the delivery girl,” Ivy said, smiling broadly and happy this
task would facilitate her renewed acquaintance with Anne.

  Anne was quick to answer Ivy’s letter about her upcoming trip. “We live in a tiny apartment near the streetcar line, so I’d suggest staying at the King Edward Hotel for its convenience,” she wrote back.

  In Toronto, on her first night in the hotel, Ivy took the elevator to the main dining room and marvelled at the smart-looking guests. She ordered the special of the day, veal in mushroom sauce, and water when the waitress said, “We don’t serve wine by the glass.” Back in her room, she bathed in the enormous porcelain tub. Snug in the heavy cotton bathrobe provided by the hotel, she then called Red to thank him.

  “I feel like a princess,” she told her husband, leaning back on the pillows piled on the bed.

  “That was my intention,” Red said. “Try to find time outside of shopping to call my best man. I’m sure Max will invite you out to dinner. Or maybe Mrs. Laird will ask you over.”

  Ivy hung up the receiver and wrapped herself in a hug. I have the best husband in the world, she thought.

  It turned out that Tom Blake knew Max Laird, who wasn’t married but had a girlfriend who had been at Havergal College with Anne. Tom bought five tickets to the Fall Musical Revue at the Arts and Letters Club on Elm Street. After the performance, they joined mutual friends in a nearby jazz club. Ivy was pleased to be hobnobbing with such a stylish Toronto crowd and fitting in. She thought of former classmate Sass Mitchell with her unconventional attitude. Ivy didn’t think anyone in the jazz club would kick over the traces the way Sass had. She made a mental note to write to Sass on the King Edward notepaper. Her former roommate had given birth to a son five months after quitting her nursing course and had just published her first crime novel. Ivy hoped to pick up a copy in a Toronto bookstore if it was still on the shelves.

  Early Saturday morning after the jazz club evening, Anne met Ivy at Eaton’s. This was Ivy’s last opportunity to shop, and until then she had looked but not bought any clothing. The ladies were serious shoppers that day. Anne led the way to the “weekend wear” floor where Ivy purchased gabardine slacks, coordinating blouses, and a scarf to go with any outfit. Anne, in a good-humoured manner, described her own reality.

  “Tom and I are often in formal dress on weekends, thanks to the charitable invitations of my parents’ rich friends.” Anne laughed. “I don’t often get to wear outdoor casual wear.”

  “You’ll think back on your small apartment days and wish you could return there,” Ivy said.

  Anne leaned forward and embraced Ivy. “We don’t know what life will bring, do we?”

  In the gown department, both women tried on dresses and paraded in front of the sales clerk to solicit her opinion. Ivy bought a long black dress that was fitted until the bottom where the hem flared out. It had lace overlaying the bodice and off-the-shoulder straps.

  “I should probably buy an everyday dress while I’m in Toronto,” Ivy said. At the information desk, the lady directed the friends to the third floor for daytime wear.

  “Eaton’s dining room is a nice place for lunch,” Anne suggested.

  “Let me thank you for your sartorial advice,” Ivy said. “My treat.”

  “Then let me treat you to the Art Gallery of Toronto before you return to the hotel,” Anne countered. “There’s an exhibition of Toronto artists who travelled to Northern Ontario to paint the autumn colours. Dad rented a cottage for two weeks each summer near Michipicoten Harbour where Toronto artists gravitated for the exceptional autumn scenery. My father wanted his daughters to experience raw nature before holidaying at our civilized summer home on Lake Simcoe.”

  “Red’s family has a cottage at Batchawana, not far from the harbour,” Ivy said. “I can understand why artists would go there in the fall to paint. The colours are spectacular!”

  “Lake Superior’s a beautiful part of the world,” Anne agreed.

  Entering the gallery, Anne spoke with the nearest docent and inquired about the exhibit of Northern Ontario art.

  “You mean the Group of Seven?” the docent asked.

  Anne smiled. “Are they still called that?”

  The docent laughed. “By me, yes.” She chatted as the women entered the exhibition room, stopping in front of a work entitled Autumn Leaves, Batchewana, Algoma by J.E.H MacDonald. “This is a recent gift from the Students’ Club of the Ontario College of Art.”

  “My father was surveying the hydro lines when he encountered the artists living in a boxcar on the Algoma Central rail line,” Anne said. “He loaned the artists an Indian guide from his crew to help them navigate the waters. My dad said the artists operated out of the boxcar for four weeks.”

  “How interesting,” the docent said, moving to a work by A.Y. Jackson.

  “Jackson rented a cabin not far from ours,” Anne said excitedly. “At the time, we didn’t realize he was such an important artist.”

  “He was, indeed!” the docent said. “I’ll pass on this added information to other visitors to the gallery who might be familiar with Toronto but ignorant of Northern Ontario. There’s a short documentary about the painters. Would you like to see it?”

  “Oh, my goodness!” Anne cried. “It’s almost five o’clock. I’ll bring my husband another day. Some years ago he was on a canoe trip on the Michipicoten River when he got stranded and stopped at our cottage for help. That’s how our courtship began in Northern Ontario,” Anne confessed with a broad smile.

  “You haven’t lost your northern roots,” Ivy said as they exited the gallery.

  “I try not to.”

  Ivy was leaving on Monday, so Anne invited her for dinner that evening at her apartment. Tom was a serious man, but he possessed a wry and intelligent sense of humour. In the course of the evening, he spoke about his family and the unexpected course of events related to the stock market crash.

  “I was at Upper Canada College when my father lost everything. At the time, I was captain of the Cadet Corps, and the headmaster didn’t want me to leave the school. He, or someone — I’ll never know — provided a scholarship so I could finish my last two years.”

  “My husband had to leave medical school three years ago to run a family business when his father suddenly died,” Ivy said. The unexpected often happens.”

  “My parents said you have a lovely house on Hilltop,” Anne interjected.

  “We’re in the cheap seats,” Ivy said. “Much farther down the street. Not at all like your parents.”

  “I tried to remain grounded at Havergal, but it wasn’t always easy,” Anne said. “My classmates had difficulty believing my home was in the Soo. One snide girl suggested I must live in an igloo.” They talked well into the evening. Tom and Anne hopped the streetcar to accompany Ivy back to the hotel where they each enjoyed a cocktail in the bar. Before going to bed, Ivy wrote to Sass, who was now living not far from Royal Victoria Hospital where her husband was a doctor. Ivy ended her letter with: “My next trip will be to Montreal!”

  Anne had asked Ivy to join them at the Sunday service at Grace Church on-the-Hill to see where she and Tom were married. After the service, the minister shook Ivy’s hand on her way out of the church.

  “You must be one of Anne’s Havergal friends.”

  “I didn’t go to Havergal,” Ivy said politely.

  “Aha!” the minister exclaimed. “You’re a Bishop Strachan girl!”

  “I didn’t go to a private school. I attended a high school in Sault Ste. Marie.”

  “I’m so sorry if I embarrassed you,” the minister said.

  “How long have you been at this beautiful church?” Ivy asked.

  “This is my first year. I had the privilege of marrying Anne and Tom.”

  “And where were you before Grace Church?”

  “Smiths Falls.”

  “We all come from somewhere,” Ivy said with an impish grin.

  “Touché!” Tom said outside the church.

  Ivy and Anne began giggling like schoolgirls.

  CHAP
TER 40

  The cold weather in November 1937 with a brushing of snow didn’t deter Red and Geordie from heading to Batchawana to hunt moose. Ivy took advantage of his absence to throw a hen party for the friends she had made at the used clothing depot organized by Kathryn Derrer in the basement of St. Luke’s Cathedral. She had gained her knowledge of clothing relief while helping Lily distribute second-hand cocktail dresses to the Italian mothers in the west end. This type of clothing might have seemed impractical at a time when many families were unemployed. However, Italian mothers refashioned the colourful attire into fancy dresses for their daughters. Although Algoma Steel was rehiring again now that a war seemed imminent, many families were still impoverished. Sending their daughters out in nice costumes had been a bright light for many parents during the Depression.

  One of the depot volunteers had leaked that the hen party was being held on Ivy’s twenty-second birthday.

  “I longed for a home when I was growing up,” she said emotionally at the party. “And now I have one,” she added with an infectious smile as she held up the lounging pajamas the ladies had bought as a group present. Clara was sitting in an armchair next to the fireplace that crackled with heat. Ivy walked across the room and leaned over, kissing her mother’s wiry grey hair. “Mum and I are both grateful we discovered the Soo.”

  “Let’s get at the cards,” Clara said, giving Ivy a warm smile and avoiding the question: “What brought you to the Soo?”

  “My mother-in-law sent along a birthday cake,” Ivy said. “She doesn’t enjoy bridge, though she did play poker with her sons when they were growing up.” Ivy chuckled. “Mum’s been awarded the title of master player and will be happy to provide bidding tips.” There was a murmur of appreciation among the players as they situated themselves across from a partner at the two bridge tables set up near the fire.