Patchwork Society

by Sharon Johnston

  When the ladies discovered that Kathryn Derrer had a master’s title, as well, they decided the evening was an opportunity to hone bridge skills rather than grand-slam an opponent. Clara advised one table and Kathryn the other. Occasionally, a player, waiting for a bid, interrupted the game with a thought about the possibility of war, given Hitler’s aggressive behaviour. “Louis is a retired colonel,” Kathryn said, “and he’s worried.”

  Phyllis Crowder was married to Adam, the editor of the daily newspaper, the Sault Star. Her father-in-law, James Crowder, was the owner of the newspaper, an outdoors enthusiast, and a hero of Red’s. James had published Wolves Don’t Bite, a wilderness novel. “Adam’s last editorial suggested that when the Germans repatriated their coal areas in the Rhineland last year it was for industrial purposes, not war,” Phyllis said. “I also think it’s quite reasonable for Hitler, an Austrian, to bring the Sudeten Germans back into their homeland. I don’t necessarily see that as expansionist.”

  Eileen Howland, the wife of the local broadcaster, jumped into the conversation with her bit of gossip. “Grant, my husband, allows people to say the most outrageous comments about Germany.” She folded her elegant hands over her pregnant belly. “I’m surprised the regulators haven’t closed his radio station. We’re so far away we don’t really know what’s happening to the Jews.”

  Ivy had a tinge of jealousy, wishing she were pregnant herself. Red preferred to wait so he could concentrate on his “new toys,” as he called the insulation and ready-mix machines. The ladies were in full-gossip mode and showed no sign of going home. Ivy was enjoying their company and slipped into the kitchen to make more coffee in her new electric machine.

  “Let’s put the card tables away while we wait for coffee,” Clara suggested.

  The guests folded up the card tables and put them in the basement where Clara indicated they were stored. Then the ladies settled around the fire to drink coffee and munch on the remains of Ellen’s cake.

  “What happened to Ruthie Cohen?” Clara asked. “She loves to play bridge.”

  “She’s at a baby-naming ceremony being held above Allen’s Ladies Wear,” Ivy reported.

  “Is that something I should know about?” Eileen asked. “Grant and I can’t agree on what we should call our child. Whatever we decide, he’ll blast on the radio.” She giggled and patted her stomach.

  “It’s a Jewish custom to name a boy at the time of his circumcision,” Clara interjected. “They call the ceremony a bris. There isn’t a synagogue in the Soo, and that’s why Ruthie’s on the second floor of a department store celebrating her nephew’s bris.”

  “This is a terrible time for European Jews,” Betty Greensted said. She was a glamorous Toronto girl who had moved to the Soo when she married Beau. Her father, George Frederick Kingston, was the dean of Trinity College at the University of Toronto and had publicly denounced the treatment of German Jews on a radio broadcast. Temple Kingston, Betty’s younger brother, was a student at the divinity school at Trinity when Hitler passed the first Nuremberg Law to prevent intermarriage between Germans and Jews. If it hadn’t been Ivy’s birthday, Betty would have attended the bris.

  “Although Louis is the senior engineer at Algoma Steel, there’s much he can’t say,” Kathryn said. “Algoma was heavily committed in the Great War and will be again if Hitler pushes Europe into another conflict.” After a pause, she confided, “The government recently accused Sir James Dunn of disloyalty. There are a lot of politics involved in making steel.”

  “I have a dim view of the government after four years working at a residential school,” Clara said. “I’d put my money on Sir James.”

  The ladies laughed.

  “During the Great War, Algoma made steel essential to war materials,” Kathryn said. “It was a fatal mistake, according to Louis, to dedicate production to tank and shell steel, which would no longer be in demand after the war. Algoma went into a lengthy decline, heading for bankruptcy, until Sir James Dunn took over and directed production to plate steel, which could be used after the war for domestic appliances.”

  “We’ll have to keep our used clothing depot open if bankruptcy happens again,” Betty said. “Let’s end on a happy note and sing ‘Happy Birthday’ to Ivy. We forgot to sing it when we served the cake.”

  “Don’t worry,” Kathryn said as the ladies pulled on their coats. “Bankruptcy won’t happen again under Sir James.” Kathryn stayed for a few minutes after everyone else had left. “Let us know when you’d like to visit Gawas Bay at St. Joseph Island,” she said. “There’s an original log cabin in the bay for sale.”

  “Red expressed an interest,” Ivy said.

  “Louis and I would love some young neighbours,” Kathryn said. “Louis shares Red’s love of boats.”

  Ivy put the back of her hand across her forehead and groaned. “Is Red thinking of buying a boat as well as the cabin?”

  “I hope I haven’t spilled the beans,” Kathryn apologized

  Ivy frowned. “I’ll wait for Red to bring the matter up.”

  “Spend and expand seems to be my son-in-law’s motto,” Clara said. “I have to trust he knows what he’s doing because he married my daughter.”

  The three ladies laughed, and Ivy offered Clara a nightcap when Kathryn departed.

  CHAPTER 41

  Red and Ivy were on the car ferry crossing the rough and windy North Channel that connected Lakes Huron and Superior. They climbed the circular metal stairs of the boat to speak with the captain, who had worked for Ed Donnelly before he died.

  “I’m sure my old boss would be pleased to see you’re married to such a pretty girl,” the captain said.

  Red grinned at Ivy, who shook with the cold. The crossing took less than ten minutes, so they dashed back to the car where Red switched the heat on.

  The couple were on their way to visit Louis and Kathryn Derrer at Gawas Bay on St. Joseph Island and to look at a cabin for sale. When they arrived at the Derrers’, Ivy immediately raced to the fire blazing in the living room to warm her hands. “I think I’ll skip the boat ride to see the cabin,” she said, shivering.

  “I’ll send the children along with Louis and Red and enjoy having you to myself,” Kathryn said jovially. She turned to her children, five-year-old Harry and ten-year-old Audrey, glaring at them with mock severity. “You must behave.” Then she bundled them in winter clothes, ignoring their protests that snowsuits were stupid in May. Complaining vocally, the children trudged down the hill to the boat and were drowned out when it sped off.

  “They’ll thank me when they return,” Kathryn said sardonically. She went to the kitchen to prepare tea and returned with a tray and cups to find Ivy sleeping in an armchair. Kathryn covered her with a wool blanket and poured some tea, being careful not to rattle the cup and saucer.

  There was only a short, crudely constructed dock in front of the cabin for sale. “We better pull up on shore,” Louis advised. Whitecaps rolled in from Lake Huron, rocking the boat. “The bay’s calmer once the lake warms up.”

  The children, arms outstretched for balance, jumped off the bow onto the sandy shore, and with exaggerated grunts, pulled the boat up. Red and Louis finished the job so there was no possibility of it slipping away.

  Red laughed as he took a big leap onto the sand. “It would be a cold swim back to your cottage.”

  Harry and Audrey dashed off to see what critters were in the outhouse.

  “Let me tell you something about your Chicago neighbours,” Louis said. He pointed at a large cedar cottage painted green perched on a rocky island in the open waters of Lake Huron. Several smaller outbuildings and a large square one surrounded the main house. “That entire complex belongs to James Scutter, a wealthy businessman from Lake Forest, Illinois. The square building is his squash court and the small cottages are for the staff they bring from Chicago.

  “Interesting,” Red said. “What about the small cabin just across the bay?”

  “Betty and Beau Greens
ted own that one,” Louis said. “Her brother, Temple, comes up occasionally and installs his family in a small cabin set back in the woods. Betty rarely comes.”

  “She’s a good pal of Ivy’s,” Red said. “I’ve known Big Beau since childhood.”

  “He’s an enormous man,” Louis said. “The Greensteds dock their motorboat at our cottage. I cross my fingers each time Beau gets in. He must have divine intervention because he’s never capsized.”

  Red laughed. “Betty’s blessed, as well! Her father’s the dean of Trinity College at the University of Toronto. When I was at Wycliffe, another Anglican college, Betty would walk around campus smiling at an abundance of admiring men. We were all a little surprised when she married Beau. I don’t believe she told Ivy they have a cottage on Gawas Bay. Otherwise my wife would have been more enthusiastic about buying something away from my family.”

  Louis and Red stepped into the unlocked cabin, which smelled of creosote.

  “Nothing to steal here,” Louis said. “Would you add on or tear it down?”

  “There’s history in those logs. What this cabin needs is something I can provide — cement. An addition would brighten it up, though. But how can I convince Ivy? She loves Batchawana.”

  “Leave that to Kathryn and Betty Greensted,” Louis said. “Ivy will appreciate having friends living close by.”

  As the men inspected the structural soundness, Audrey came screeching into the cabin with a dead squirrel.

  “You’re not taking that in the boat,” Louis said.

  She pouted, and with a lasso-like swing, tossed it into the bush.

  “It would be nice for our children to have a young couple as neighbours instead of their ancient parents,” Louis said.

  The boaters were frozen when they arrived back at the Derrers’ cottage. Kathryn welcomed the men with drinks. They talked about the cabin and the thirty acres of woods surrounding it. Louis provided more information about the Americans who had summer homes dotting the nearby islands in Lake Huron.

  “I learned from Mum that there was an annual enactment of a play about Hiawatha on Kensington Point,” Ivy said. “According to her, the American families were so enthused by the production by the Garden River Indians that they put $100 in a passing hat. I remember Mum stayed overnight at a small hotel in Desbarats within walking distance of the performance. Have you seen the play?”

  “We saw it when Helen Hayes, the American actress, attended the performance,” Kathryn said. “She created quite a stir.”

  “Charles MacArthur, the playwright, bought a property in 1930 not long after marrying Miss Hayes,” Louis interjected. “He purchased it on the mainland near the point, unlike most of the Chicago residents who bought islands. Real estate was relatively cheap compared to the States.”

  “We’re a bit off the main track here in Gawas Bay, but we do get the gossip,” Kathryn added. “Apparently, Helen eschews motorboats and rows her small skiff to cocktail parties. It’s rumoured she put some money into the Hiawatha performance.”

  “The Americans hold a sailing regatta each summer in the open waters,” Louis said. “We’re invited to watch. They fancy themselves an elite group, but one day my son, Harry, will be in that race.”

  “It’ll be exciting to build your own place,” Kathryn said. “What a lovely idea to think that our young neighbours on Hilltop will be our young neighbours on Gawas Bay.”

  Red had offered his own venison for the evening meal, but Kathryn complained it was too cold to cook outside.

  “Weather be damned!” Louis cried. The barbecue, embedded in a stone wall, surrounded three sides of a patio with the open side leading to a set of stairs down a steep hill to the lake. “Teamwork,” Louis said as he donned an apron and handed Kathryn the meat. “Red shot the buck and I’ll throw him on the grill!”

  Audrey set the table with some help from Ivy. Louis wasn’t a hunter, and the venison was appreciated. At the end of the evening, Audrey played a few songs on a player piano in the living room. Ivy and Red were offered the guest cabin that Harry and Audrey normally occupied.

  When they were in the guest cabin, Red said as he slipped Ivy’s flannel nightgown over her head, “There’s a reason we’re here.”

  “Most women expect to get pregnant in New York or Paris,” Ivy said.

  “Don’t be smart, Mrs. Donnelly.” Red bounced up and down on the metal bedsprings and then lowered Ivy onto a braided rug covering the pine-planked floor. “The floor doesn’t squeak. If I ravaged you on the bed, the Americans might complain about the noise.”

  Ivy laughed. “The floor’s hard,” she said as she swung herself on top of Red.

  “Oh, I like that!” Red said.

  Ivy was surprised by her own brashness.

  In the morning, Audrey found Red and Ivy still on the floor.

  “Breakfast’s on the barbecue,” she said, as though finding houseguests on the floor were perfectly normal. “Don’t worry. I’ve seen my brother naked.”

  Ivy had slipped back into her pajamas.

  “Well, now!” Red replied with an embarrassed grin.

  “See you on the patio,” Audrey said, scurrying off.

  CHAPTER 42

  Red bought the Gawas Bay cottage while prices were still depressed, the property was undervalued, and the executor wanted to close the estate file and was happy to take cash. For $1,500, in September 1938, he and Ivy became the owner of the cabin and thirty acres. The money transaction completed, he sent a bulldozer and grader with his men to St. Joseph Island. He anticipated it would take a month to build a half-mile driveable road through the heavily wooded property to the cabin and organized a crew to go to the island. Before leaving the men to their work, he gave them a friendly order: “Stay off the hooch while you’re operating heavy equipment. I don’t want any accidents. You have four weeks to finish the road before the snow flies.”

  Red was overjoyed when he learned in September that Ivy was two months pregnant. Their mutual happiness at having their first child had been partly dampened by Ivy’s persistent nausea.

  “My part in the pregnancy,” Red quipped to his brother, Jack, “is to have a ready supply of soda biscuits in my shirt pocket while Ivy retches in the bathroom.” During the three months that she felt ill, he dropped in for a meal at his mother’s, or occasionally Clara’s, for food that Ivy couldn’t eat.

  In February 1939, Ivy delivered a six-pound daughter who they christened Alice. She was born with a shock of straight black hair that soon fell out to be replaced by a thatch of thick blond curls. Red jokingly questioned Alice’s paternity until the curls arrived.

  Ivy’s caesarean delivery required two weeks in hospital before she could go home. Red came to the hospital in the morning before going to the office and returned in the evening prior to going home. Clara and Ellen visited General Hospital when Ivy was feeding Alice. Ivy didn’t do well with breastfeeding after the operation, and when the crowing grandmothers arrived, they took turns at giving Alice the bottle supplied. That would have been forbidden had Clara not relied on Sister Marie Claire to bend the rules. Clara admired the director-general after she bent the Catholic hospital’s rules to admit a gravely ill Chippewa boy from the Sarnia reserve who had never been baptized.

  When Ivy returned home, she was grateful that Clara had hired a recently graduated Shingwauk girl to be a live-in helper. Ada Kusugak, an Inuit girl from Northern Quebec, had decided to remain in the Soo where there were more chances of finding work. She remembered Ivy from the Christmas party where she had shocked the custodians with her horse performance. Ada was now eighteen, the same age as Ivy when she galloped around the Shingwauk dining room with a small Native boy on her back.

  Ada’s father was one of the first Inuit to be ordained in the Anglican Church. He conducted services in both his own language and French. The Catholic Church predominated in Quebec, but the Inuit were primarily Anglicans. Ada had already spoken her own language and French when she arrived at Shingwauk, an
d she was quick to learn English. Reverend Hives had a special fondness for the daughter of a clergyman and let Ada speak Inuktituk with the few students at the school who spoke the same.

  Ivy planned to take Alice to Gawas Bay in July, but the cabin still wasn’t habitable for a baby. She changed their plans, and Ada accompanied them to Batchawana where she could enjoy visiting friends from Shingwauk on the nearby reserve on her days off.

  “I can’t speak Ojibwa,” she told Ivy, “so I use English to communicate.”

  “Did you hate your years at Shingwauk?” Ivy asked.

  “Reverend Hives made sure I had a good education. I don’t think the other students had the same experience. Your mother has arranged for me to start nursing school at General Hospital,” Ada added with evident pride, raising her shoulders in a modest shrug, as though Ivy would be surprised.

  “I’m happy for you, Ada. But no one will be happier than my mother, who was so disappointed that I quit.”

  CHAPTER 43

  Ivy had enjoyed her time at Batchawana but clearly missed Red. Several new building contracts that had landed on his desk in the spring had kept him in the city on weekends. Ivy agreed he needed someone to run his newly refurbished office more professionally. Ed Donnelly had relied on an office girl with no skills whose main job was to make coffee that she served to the clients and workers at the front counter. Red interviewed several middle-aged women looking for work while their husbands were laid off from the steel plant. When Nancy Stratichuk came into his office, he decided she had the right amount of brashness to deal with his employees, who were all men. Nancy was a graduate of Sault Technical School and could type and take dictation. She had already spent a year as the receptionist in a doctor’s office. This was her second job, and she was keen to please Red.