Patchwork Society

by Sharon Johnston

  “While I stand holding the coats,” Ivy said, quietly.

  CHAPTER 50

  It had been rare to see Sir James Dunn out and about in the Soo when he first took over Algoma Steel. However, in 1946, he arrived with his new bride, Marcia, and wanted to celebrate the end of the war. Invitations were sent for an evening celebration at the Windsor Hotel. In his early years running Algoma Steel, Sir James had remained aloof with the locals. He never stayed long in the city and didn’t court any friends. But having built a mansion at the extreme east end of Hilltop, he wanted to be more sociable, and the affair was planned for June before families left for their cottages. Dress would be top hat or full-dress uniform, and a train from Montreal would transport much of the food and wine.

  The bash was like no other the city had ever seen. It was a party for men, most of them much younger than Sir James. Three gentlemen brought their guitars, and a piano was wheeled into the dining room. The guests sang ribald songs reminiscent of the war, and the merrymaking spilled onto Queen Street, which might have accounted for what happened next.

  Sir James stood up and announced that the desk clerk had called for taxis to pull up to the front door of the hotel. He exited out the back with his chauffeur. Chas Greer and Grant Howland were the first to make their way to the street. Red was a few minutes behind them. It was too late to stop the shenanigans.

  “I have to take a leak,” Grant said, slurring his words.

  “Ditto,” Chas said, equally fuzzy in his speech.

  Grant began to relieve himself noisily on a nearby hydrant. Chas, laughing, unzipped his trousers and joined Grant.

  “A pissing contest,” Grant said, bowing as he doffed his top hat.

  A car pulled up behind the men.

  “That’s prompt for a taxi,” Grant said, adjusting his hat.

  Before they could turn to face the street, they were in handcuffs. Two fresh-faced cops stood before them.

  “I could hear you partiers all the way to Gore Street,” one officer said with a smirk. “You don’t got a right to pee in public just cause you’re friends of Sir James.”

  “Good Christ!” Grant shouted at a man snapping a photo. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Sault Star,” the man said. “You’ll see yourselves in the paper tomorrow.”

  At 3:00 a.m., Red received a call from Dot. “I’m so sorry to bother you, but I don’t know who else to call. Chas hasn’t returned home, and I’m about to call the police.” Dot forgot she had driven Chas with the agreement that he would return home by taxi.

  “I’ll come right over,” Red said reassuringly. When he arrived at the Greers’, Dot was on the phone speaking with the police station.

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Greer,” the desk officer said over the phone. “Your husband was caught urinating in front of the Windsor Hotel. Mr. Howland’s in the adjacent cell.”

  Dot recognized Grant’s hoarse voice cursing in the background. Serves you right for being up all night, she thought.

  Red took the phone. “Red Donnelly here. I’m helping Mrs. Greer.”

  “The men will need a lawyer,” the desk officer said.

  “My business lawyer can handle such a minor case,” Red said.

  Red’s lawyer persuaded Magistrate Bill Langdon, a straitlaced man, to come to the courthouse on a Sunday. The men, in formal attire, top hats under their arms, were led into the courthouse in handcuffs to stand before the cross-looking magistrate.

  “I see you’ve been to an all-night costume party,” Langdon said, looking askance at their wrinkled waistcoats. “Do you have anything to say?”

  “The men’s toilet was locked and we had to relieve ourselves,” Grant said cockily.

  “Prostate troubles,” Chas added gravely, trying to sound like a doctor.

  “The officers who picked you up said you used foul language, Mr. Howland.”

  “Since when was swearing a crime?” Grant replied.

  Langdon put down his glasses and suppressed a smile. “The newspaper photo will be punishment enough.” He paused. “Another public pee and you’ll have more than a night in the slammer. Go home and apologize to your wives.”

  PART FOUR

  Spiralling Down —

  Forging Ahead

  CHAPTER 51

  For reasons more complex than those of her friends whose husbands had been sent overseas, Ivy was glad the war was over. She hoped Red would regain his infectious enthusiasm now that war wasn’t the centre of all conversations. People were getting on with rebuilding their lives. The Canadian Soo, by virtue of its proximity to the American locks, had become a de facto military centre during the war. When peace was declared, the Soo didn’t immediately return to normal, however. Celebrations across the city were loud and boisterous. Anyone in uniform was offered free coffee in the restaurants and an extra pint of beer in bars. Algoma Steel was at full capacity and the city enjoyed almost full employment.

  Ivy felt her life getting back to normal. She had delivered a second daughter, christened Nora at St. Luke’s Cathedral, where she and Red had been married. Again a caesarean delivery required a two-week stay in the hospital. It was a coincidence that Nora was born on May 8. Clara wanted the baby to be named Victoria, but Ivy quickly put an end to associating her child with the war, even a victorious one. The name Nora was Red’s choice. Unlike Alice’s thin black mop at birth that was soon replaced with blond hair, Nora had thick dark hair and Red’s tawny complexion. Alice had arrived in the world with opinions. Nora was a plump, cooing little baby who smiled the moment she noticed a human face. Red was proud and happy when he passed cigars around his office. Nora’s birth seemed like a new beginning for her parents.

  With the war over, Red spent more time at the cottage, using his cruiser to entertain friends. Cottage life and outings on the Great Lakes seemed to be the affirmation that the Donnellys were a happy family. He had even made peace with Clara and invited her to the cottage. The Greensteds and the Derrers, with cottages so close, were regular guests on the Ivy League, as were the Greers, who came over from their farm. Even in a twenty-seven-foot cruiser like the Ivy League, Beau Greensted’s bulk could tip the vessel to port or starboard side, depending on where he sat. Jeff Wilkes was back, too, and he purchased a cottage on the mainland close to where the ferry took off.

  The Americans had brought Grant into their social network in the Kensington Point area, but he never refused an invitation to travel the North Shore islands with Red. He had bought a smaller mahogany inboard in which he would cross the open waters into Gawas Bay. The new chief executive of Algoma Steel was Dave Brewster, an American from Cleveland, Ohio. He and his wife, Patsy, were delighted to discover the Great Lakes geography with Red. Dave and Louis were lifelong fly fishermen and would get out on the upper deck to cast their lines, taking care not to hook Dot’s sports cap.

  Despite the joy of returning to their families, Red’s friends who had been to Europe weren’t in perfect physical health. Their wounds were invisible, and the outings on the Ivy League were the breath of fresh air they needed. Tom Blake, Anne’s husband, had visible shrapnel wounds that had left his legs heavily scarred. His dark hair covered the wounds on his head. A few weeks with Anne’s parents would give Tom time to rest before moving back to Toronto. Ivy, having lived through Red’s moodiness, was helpful to Anne in understanding Tom’s.

  Red offered to take Tom on a canoe trip on the Michipicoten River where he had first met Anne. She had told the story of their courtship when K.G. was tutoring her in the Ojibwa language when a handsome stranger paddled up to the dock. Tom had been abandoned by his canoeing partner after an argument and asked if he could stop for a bit to rest. Tom had won his colours in boxing at Upper Canada College. He was an athlete but not as much of a rugged sportsman as Red. Despite their different personalities, Red and Tom got along well, and a trip together seemed a good way to put the latter’s past behind him.

  “I might not have argued with my canoe partner,”
Tom said, “if I knew paddling solo would be twice as hard. Seeing where I fell in love will be healing after so many years apart.”

  Red suggested they bring Alice and Daniel along on the trip and give the ladies a break.

  “I feel a bit disconnected from my son,” Tom confided.

  “Give it time,” Red said. “Your boy’s been indulged by his devoted grandparents for five years.”

  The two men set out on the Ivy League with a green canvas canoe roped on the roof. When the boat passed out of the Canadian locks into the great expanse of Lake Superior, Tom said, “It feels great to be back in my own country.”

  Red purchased the supplies for a four-day paddle at the Michipicoten Outfitter’s store. Wrapping a bottle of rye whiskey in the groundsheet, the men set out with Tom kneeling as he took up the bow on a cushion to ease his shrapnel-damaged legs.

  Dipping a pot into the cold, clear water to make coffee the first morning, Tom said, “There was no clean water in Europe.” That was the last comment he made on his war experiences.

  Fish was on the menu, and Red collected root plants. “Spuds,” he called them, “to replace potatoes.” Red had brought his photography equipment, and the men talked about the artists who had captured the same scenery they were admiring.

  “Is this your first time up north in the fall?” Red asked.

  “My first but not my last as long as my in-laws live in the Soo. You share the outdoor mania like K.G.,” Tom said admiringly.

  Returning with a four-day growth of beard, Tom heard the news that Anne thought she was pregnant. “I’m upchucking every morning,” she declared proudly. With a quick flip, Tom stood on his head on the dining room table, while Anne reached for Red’s and Ivy’s hands. “Thank you,” she said.

  Ivy felt the loss of a friendship nurtured during the war years when Anne moved back to Toronto.

  In the first postwar months, those Soo veterans well enough to travel had already trickled into the hometown that had sent them off with such pride five years earlier. It wasn’t until nearly a year after the war ended that the more severely wounded could return home. They appeared at city events with partially blown-up faces and missing limbs. It wasn’t unusual to see a man in uniform being guided by the arm so that he wouldn’t trip on the curb. The city paid homage to these heroes. Red would stand beside Ivy in the crowd, hating himself for making money during the war.

  With the building boom of small wartime houses in the northern part of the city, Donnelly Building Materials’ business increased again. Red purchased two more cement-mixer trucks. It was this purchase that alerted Ivy that Red was in trouble financially. He had tried to borrow from his mother. Over the years, Ellen had lost most of her Donnelly shares by investing in a health food company that went bankrupt. Red was furious that his mother hadn’t consulted him about her diminishing funds.

  “Neither of us has much money sense,” Ellen rebuked. “We relied totally on your father, a man who went to work in coveralls and wore a suit only to church. His men trusted him. I have an offer from a lumber dealer who needs the cement part of Donnelly’s to be able to build houses from the ground up. You’ll have to take a bank loan to pay for your mixers or cancel the order.”

  CHAPTER 52

  In 1947, Red had to remain in the city to sort out his “self-inflicted” financial problems, leaving Ivy at the cottage with the girls without a car. “You’ve squandered what most men would love to have,” Ivy chastised before they left. She treated his absence as normal in front of the girls, telling them their father was staying behind to work on a large construction project. If the children missed their father, they didn’t show it. Alice was a conscientious eight-year-old, and as long as Nora didn’t sit on Alice’s pillow leaving a “bum smell,” they didn’t argue. Ivy kept the stress of her marriage to herself. We’re going to the cottage to have fun, and I’m going to make that happen, she thought.

  Since Ivy didn’t have a car to drive, Alice’s seven-horsepower cedar-strip boat served as transportation between cottages in the bay. However, the outboard wasn’t safe to venture into the main waters of Lake Huron. Groceries could be purchased in the general store in the village of Hilton Beach, which was accessible by road or water. Audrey Derrer, now sixteen, could drive her father’s mahogany inboard to take Ivy and the girls to buy provisions. Alice loved the roar of the engine when Audrey jerked the gear into reverse to avoid a crash as she sped toward the dock. The Derrers, aware that Ivy was under a lot of strain, found ways to be helpful. Louis popped over on weekends to see if he could get rid of garbage or do any other chores.

  It was welcome news that a girl named Harriet Burns had moved into a cabin next to the Derrers’. Harriet was eight, the youngest of four sisters and the same age and tomboy temperament as Alice. Like Alice, she loved to fish, pick blueberries, and eat marshmallows around a bonfire. Audrey and Harriet’s older sisters made sure these things happened. Nora couldn’t keep up with the older girls and was often left with Kathryn Derrer and Ivy, who enjoyed a summer gin and tonic on the patio while the young people disappeared in Louis’s boat.

  “I’m so glad Alice has Harriet,” Ivy said. “This will be the first summer she hasn’t fished alongside her dad. I know she’s hurting inside. She adores Red. Alice is a chip off the old block.”

  “Everyone’s hurting, Ivy. We all love Red.”

  Alice’s tonsils were to be removed the Tuesday after Labour Day when the weekend cottagers closed up and children started back to school. Louis Derrer came by with his son, Harry, to see if Ivy needed a hand winterizing the cottage. He had helped Red open the cottage in the spring and was efficient at reversing the process. Until this summer, Red had enjoyed opening and shutting the cottage. A week before closing up, he would put the Ivy League in dry dock at the Kensington Point marina. Ivy mustered a grateful smile as Louis whistled while he drained water pipes, dumped antifreeze in the toilet, and unhooked the gas line to the fridge. He then turned off the water, leaving the outhouse as the only place to go to the bathroom. Alice carried a bucket of fireplace ashes to the outhouse to pitch into the hole before they left.

  “Thank God I have you as neighbours,” Ivy said.

  “We’re happy to do this,” Louis said. “Are you sure Red is coming to pick up you and the girls?”

  “Absolutely,” she replied, masking her worries.

  “Come with us,” Louis urged. “We can call Red once we’re on the mainland.”

  Ivy refused, unwilling to believe Red might not arrive. She held back tears as she watched Louis’s boat disappear from sight, shuddering at the overcast sky. Lake Huron could get rough, and Gawas Bay, normally calm, churned with whitecaps.

  She distracted herself by finishing the work of winterizing the cottage with her annual anti-mouse campaign. Mice were always a problem in the spring. In search of water, they drowned in the toilet after eating seeds. Mice couldn’t tell the difference between antifreeze and water. It was a messy job to remove them at the beginning of each summer. To prevent mice burrowing into mattresses, the girls wrapped plastic around the beds.

  Red had taught Alice how to make an ingenious mousetrap that caught several mice at one time. After filling a metal bucket with water, she threaded the straight part of a metal clothes hanger through a can, resting each end of the wire on the edge of the metal bucket. Nora was quite happy to dig into the peanut butter jar and smear a handful of the gooey mixture onto the can. Alice then rested a yardstick on the edge of the can — the plank that led the mice to the delicious-smelling peanut butter. Ivy called this the Bridge of Sighs. The moment a mouse stepped on the can, it spun and the rodent dropped into the pail.

  “Don’t lick your fingers,” Ivy scolded Nora.

  Finally, the fireplace was blocked with plywood to prevent animals larger than mice coming into the cottage and wreaking havoc. The winterizing complete, Ivy realized they were in trouble if they missed the last ferry. It only operated on weekends after Labour Day.


  “We’re going to start walking,” Ivy said. “Maybe Daddy had car trouble. We must get to the Derrers’ before they leave for the ferry.”

  “What about our suitcases?” Alice asked.

  “We’ll have to leave them and Daddy will pick them up next weekend,” Ivy said.

  It was dark going through the woods until they reached Gawas Bay Road. But the light was fading fast. There were piles of bear droppings, and Ivy motioned with her hand to talk quietly when Nora let out a scream. “The bears will move away if they hear voices. They’ll be feasting on roadside berries before hibernating, so keep your eyes open,” she warned. Ivy had never liked bears because of their unpredictable nature. Doubt now crept into her mind as she watched the girls troop along the dirt road, expecting to see their daddy’s Buick. Please, Red, don’t disappoint them, she thought.

  They had been walking for an hour when car lights shone in the dim light.

  “It’s Daddy!” Alice shouted. “I knew he’d come.”

  The car slowed, and Ivy couldn’t hold back her tears. It was Louis and Kathryn.

  “Just checking before we left,” Kathryn said.

  Ivy and Alice climbed in the back of the car. Nora sat up front on Kathryn’s knee. Not a word was spoken as their eyes focused on the road, certain they would intercept Red. Louis drove onto the ferry, and the boatman slammed down the gate.

  “Take the girls up to see the captain,” Louis suggested to Kathryn. Once they were alone in the car, Louis glanced back at Ivy. “You’re as thin as a rake.”

  “Hurt eats away like a cancer,” Ivy said. “I still love Red.” Louis knows I must make a decision, Ivy thought. Yet neither of us knows what that should be.

  When the ferry reached the mainland, Red was standing by his car. “I missed the last ferry to the island,” he said, tucking in his shirt as he spoke.