‘It was my fault. I haven’t driven on this sort of surface before. Look, if you feel you’d rather not buy it, why don’t I? I’ve learned my lesson, after all!’
‘Can you afford it? I’m sorry I can’t pay you for what you do, but—’
‘I don’t expect you to – I’m just glad to earn our keep, Charlie! You’ve helped me realise that this is not the right time for us to chance setting up on our own. However, the car will be an investment; we’ll need transport when we move on . . .’
‘Not going yet, boy, I hope. We’ve got used to having you around,’ Charlie said.
During the summer, the church ladies’ sewing-circle met on Friday evenings at the farm. They sat out on the veranda and chatted while they sewed. At 8.30 they folded their work: garments for the missionary box and layettes for babies of needy parents in the parish. Then Charlie would appear, beaming, with a tray of glasses, a big jug of home-made, iced lemonade and oatcakes.
When Mattie was asked to join the working party, she hesitated. ‘I’m not very skilled at sewing, Anna.’
‘Look, my dear, we use the simplest, free materials. We save our flour sacks and boil them white. You’d be surprised what we can make from ‘em! Pillowslips, petticoats and underwear, children’s nightdresses, tea towels, and hankies, from the scraps. It’s the embroidery that makes them special. You can do daisy-stitch and a french knot or two, surely? And you must have learned to hem!’
‘Not without sore, pricked fingers,’ Mattie admitted ruefully.
‘Persevere with a thimble! Making do and mend is what we learned to do in the old pioneering days. They say times will be as tough again, so best be prepared! You’ll meet a few neighbours; you’d like that.’
So Mattie joined the group. She actually enjoyed sewing the soft cotton and making the garments pretty with embroidery.
Her first success was a tiny gown for Mai. With much encouragement from Anna she edged the cuffs and neckline with fine lace. One of the older ladies had hands twisted with arthritis. She couldn’t sew because ‘my fingers are too stiff’, but she collected scraps of lace and pieces to appliqué to share among her friends as her contribution to their efforts.
Mattie wrote to tell her family of her prowess. Evie wrote back:
This will all come in very handy when you have a baby of your own to dress! Robbie is running about and talking now. There is a lot of whispering between Mother and Fanny – so I think there will be an announcement shortly.
Ronnie is busy studying at nights to better himself. The station master retires in a couple of years’ time and Ronnie is the right age for promotion.
In September I’ll be on course for matriculation! We have to work really hard at the grammar school.
I am sorry to be the bearer of bad news. Christabel’s mother is very ill. She is in hospital, but there is not much hope . . .
Mattie read the letter out to Griff, omitting the bit about ‘a baby of your own’. She knew he was keen to start a family, but they were still considering their future. If they stayed over winter here, Griff said he would have to get a job in town, or their savings would dwindle rapidly. They had to adapt to their circumstances. There was more chance of succeeding if they bought land and by a miracle struck oil. They were heading for a world-wide recession: the papers were full of gloom and doom.
‘Christabel must miss you, Mattie,’ he said quietly. ‘You were good friends.’
‘We still are, but you were her friend before me,’ Mattie reminded him gently.
‘Will you write to her from both of us?’ he asked.
She nodded, not trusting herself to say more, in case she cried.
FOURTEEN
It was Mattie’s birthday at the end of July.
‘We usually have birthday picnics at the lakeside,’ Anna said, ‘but in this heat, with everything so dry – just look at the yellow grass! – and all that dust blowing in the wind, not enough water to paddle in, and the poor, stricken wildlife we’re bound to come across, we might as well sit in the shade under the veranda and invite your friends to join us there, for tea. We’ll make some ice cream, shall we, and a big chocolate cake—’
‘With glacé cherries on top, and cream inside?’ Mattie was excited like a child.
‘If that’s your favourite, it shall so be! Now, who would you like to come? You won’t mind waiting until Saturday afternoon, will you, then Charlie and Griff can join us.’
‘I’d like to invite Grace, Tommy and Lydia. I’m not sure about Edwin. He didn’t appear pleased to meet us when we all arrived at Moose Jaw. We hardly had a chance to say goodbye to them. Oh, would Ollie and Treesa come, d’you think?’
‘Treesa would insist on serving the refreshments. As for Ollie, she’s not one for social gatherings, but I’m sure she’d like to be asked, even if she declines.’
‘Just a small party, that will be good, Anna.’ Mattie thought wistfully of past birthdays, before she came to Canada, at home, with her family, especially Evie, and more recently with Sybil, Christabel and Griff in Plymouth.
‘You still have dear Griff and happy memories of family gatherings,’ Anna observed, sensing Mattie was experiencing a pang of home-sickness. ‘Your party will be the calm before the storm, I reckon, Mattie.’
‘Is bad weather on the way?’ Mattie asked anxiously.
‘Not in the usual sense, like rain or even snow! But harvesting is about to start, and what with the drought and blight spreading on the crops, it’s a worrying outlook.’
Mattie wore the pretty dress Dolly had made for her to wear on the emporium outing. As she regarded herself in the long mirror in her bedroom, fingering the coral necklace which was Griff’s birthday gift to her, he came up behind her, smiled at her reflection, spanning her waist with his work-roughened hands.
‘Mind you don’t snag the cotton,’ she teased him.
‘I’ve toughened up since we came here. You’re more shapely . . . and irresistible . . .’
‘Enough of that,’ she returned, firmly removing herself from distraction, ‘our guests will be arriving any minute!’
‘I just wanted to say – I’m sorry things haven’t worked out exactly as we planned.’
She had turned to face him now. She reached up and gave him a kiss. ‘Maybe not, but we’re very lucky to have been made so welcome by Anna and Charlie.’
‘I feel like part of a real family again. No regrets about coming to Canada, then?’
‘None at all. We’ll get by,’ she said firmly.
Mattie was determined to be cheerful, despite receiving sad news along with the birthday post. Dolly had passed away soon after she was admitted to hospital. Christabel was leaving Plymouth, the unrewarding job, to ‘change my life’ as her mother had hoped she would. Sophia and Will had invited Christabel to stay with them at the Plough in Suffolk for a while, while she considered her future.
Evie wrote:
She is repeating your journey in reverse! Walter will meet her in London, and she will stay at Mitcham overnight. He is due for his annual holiday, so he’ll accompany Christabel here tomorrow. I know you’ll be glad to know she will be with us. She has become a good friend, because of you.
I find it hard to believe you are 20! I can’t imagine marrying so young, if at all. Have a lovely day – I will be with you in spirit!
Fanny had her birthday last week and announced that they are expecting a new baby next spring – they were married a month after you!
Now, glancing out of the window, Mattie exclaimed, ‘Oh good, Grace is here!’
Grace, looking younger and trimmer in a pretty blue cotton frock and wide-brimmed hat, told them proudly, ‘Tommy drove us over in the buggy.’
Tommy, who appeared to have shot up a few inches, grinned widely. ‘I’m not nervous of horses any more – you should see the huge pair I help to look after. There’s a pony too, called Nipper – that’s what he does to the seat of your pants if he can’t find a sugar lump in
your pocket! Ted, the man who is in charge of them, says the big old boys are sort of retired – like him! But he still takes them to ploughing competitions and they often win. I help Ted with their grooming, plait their manes and tails before shows. Ted taught me how to handle the buggy.’ Ted was obviously his hero, not Edwin.
‘Oh, I’m really glad things are working out for you all.’ Mattie gave Grace a warm hug. Anna whisked Lydia away to the shade of the porch, while Griff helped Tommy to unharness the horse in the stable.
‘For Tommy, yes. He quickly learned to keep out of Edwin’s way. That’s not possible for me. I have to make the best of things, but I’m not going to kowtow to him.’
‘Good for you!’ Mattie approved. As they walked toward the house, she added, recalling the rapport between Grace and Mungo on the train, ‘Any news of Mungo? Has Jeannie joined him yet?’
‘He’s Tommy’s teacher at school! As for Jeannie, I’ve only just received a reply to my letter, letting them know we’d arrived here.’
‘Oh, what does she say?’
‘It was short and to the point. She’s decided to stay in Quebec with Ma. She said, “The engagement is off, but fortunately neither of us is broken-hearted!” She hopes we will keep in touch.’
‘Have you seen Mungo at the school?’
‘No. After the first day, Edwin decreed Tommy could make his own way there. It’s not so bad, because he has another boy to walk with, the son of a Chinese worker on the estate. His friend is not from the town, which is a relief.’
‘Oh, why is that?’
‘Surely you’ve heard the rumours about the secret tunnels under Moose Jaw?’
‘No . . .’ Mattie was mystified.
‘They say – whoever they are! – Chinese illegal immigrants live in the tunnels, and are involved in smuggling supplies of liquor by rail over the US border to beat prohibition. They are organised by gangsters from Chicago. It’s called the Soo Line. Or so they say . . .’
‘No wonder Anna tells me not to venture into Moose Jaw by myself, especially to River Street, which she says is notorious, but hasn’t explained why!’
Then Grace confided: ‘Tommy brought me a note from Mungo. He would like me to play the piano at the end of term show. I haven’t mentioned it to Edwin yet, but—’
‘You’re going anyway?’ Mattie guessed.
‘Yes, I am. Mrs Mack, the housekeeper, she’s been good to me, will look after Lydia, I know, so there’s no reason for me to refuse.’
‘Be careful, Grace,’ Mattie warned her, then wished she hadn’t. It was none of her business, after all.
Grace gave a little shake of her head as they stepped up on to the veranda. It was hard to deduce what she meant by that.
Treesa scooped ice cream from the bucket, and served it in little glass dishes.
‘Your boy already ate his up!’ she told Grace. ‘It took a long time to make!’
‘Lydia looks quite big beside Mai.’ Anna now had a lapful of babies.
‘She’s five months old, already determined to sit up,’ Grace said proudly. ‘But if she decides to crawl early, she could cause havoc in the kitchen!’
‘Charlie made a playpen for our son at that stage,’ Anna said. ‘It’s still stored in the barn. A good clean, and it’s yours, if you want it.’
‘Best place for baby is on mother’s back,’ Treesa put in. She didn’t hold with prams, or penning babies in. ‘She not a lamb.’
Grace unwrapped Lydia’s bottle and ascertained that the milk was the right temperature.
She caught Mattie’s look of surprise. ‘I had to wean her. Edwin – insisted.’
‘Ah,’ Anna observed. She could guess the reason why.
‘Can I go with Charlie and Griff to feed the animals?’ Tommy asked.
‘Why not? Be back in time for the birthday tea! There’s chocolate cake . . .’
‘It’ll give you a chance to jaw-jaw!’ Tommy grinned.
‘Cheeky child!’ Grace called after him, then, ‘He’s right, though, eh?’
Back home in England, Evie and Walter were picking watercress for tea. Christabel declined their invitation to accompany them, pleading a headache and sore throat. Sophia fussed around her, pulling the curtains in the bedroom she shared with Evie, and making her a comforting brew of hot water, lemon juice and honey.
‘You have a nice nap on the bed, dear, and don’t forget, I’m here to listen, if you feel like confiding your troubles to me . . .’
‘You’re so kind – thank you.’ Christabel sipped the mixture, to please her. ‘I really decided not to go along, knowing that Evie thinks of Walter as her special friend.’
‘My dear, he’s her cousin, that’s all. And it should stay that way. He’s too old for her, and she’s far too young for him. Perhaps I shouldn’t say, but I will! You’d be a good match for him . . .’
How could Christabel explain that she’d discerned a hint of jealousy in Evie’s greeting yesterday? Young love, as she knew from experience, could be unsettling. She had, after all, been barely sixteen when she fell for Griff. She and Walter had immediately been at ease with each other, but nothing more, she thought.
‘Well, I’m off, to ice a cake. Fanny’s baked some Suffolk rusks, bless her, but we must celebrate Mattie’s birthday with her favourite chocolate sponge, even though she’s not here to share it.’
Evie and Walter plumped down on the parched grass by the stream. His forehead glistened with sweat. He pushed his straw boater to the back of his head.
‘Why don’t you loosen your tie, Walter – or better still, stuff it in your blazer pocket. Phew, it’s hot, isn’t it? I should get a nice tan out here in the sun, today.’ A trifle too innocently, she pulled her skirts well above her knees.
‘Do cover yourself up.’ The sharpness of Walter’s tone surprised her.
‘What – you think I’m being improper?’ she asked in an injured tone.
‘You must behave like a young lady now.’
‘You sound really pompous!’ She giggled, but rearranged her dress.
‘Your mother . . . told me not to encourage you, Evie.’
‘I don’t know what you mean?’
‘I think you do. It made me think. I’m very fond of you, of course, but in a brotherly – or rather, cousinly fashion. I’m hardly Rudolph Valentino!’
‘Who’s he?’ She jumped to her feet. ‘Why are you looking so serious? We came to pick watercress for tea, that’s all – come on!’ She shed her shoes and stepped into the shallow, sun-warmed water. She didn’t look back, aware that he was following her, but not intent on catching her up. It’s just as well, she thought, I don’t want him to see me blubbing like a baby. The girls at school giggle about their ‘pashes’, mostly for teachers or prefects. I would be different, having romantic notions about an older man . . . I wish Mattie was here, so I could confide in her.
Grace was ensconced at the piano to one side of the stage in the hall, which was attached on the other side from the school, of the modern Presbyterian church. Most of the congregation over middle age had been involved in some way with its erection, and subsequently with the building of the school. As the rows of seats filled up, she took a deep breath, and began to play the opening music, selected by Mungo. There was a background buzz of conversation before the lights were dimmed, so she wondered if anyone was listening. She stopped playing when there was a sudden hush at a skirl of bagpipes. Mungo strode down the aisle, resplendent in his kilt, the MacBride and MacDonald ClanRanald tartan, predominantly blue and green, striped with red, the pattern accentuated by white lines.
He turned to address the audience. ‘Time for curtain-up! We’re ready, Tommy!’
The curtains were jerked apart, rather than up, and a red-faced Tommy was fleetingly revealed hauling on one side, his diminutive friend Ho Wang on the other.
None of the acts took long, and followed smoothly on, one from the other. The curtains opened, then closed, opened
again to a change of cardboard cut-out scenery. A small boy, the tip of his tongue protruding in concentration, juggled four balls; an even smaller boy sang in a pure treble; two girls in old-fashioned bonnets sang ‘I’ll be your Sweetheart’ with great fervour; a lanky lad impressed with a reading from Dickens. Leading up to the interval, handbells were rung by the school team. All eyes were on the youngest member, who came in belatedly with the final ‘dong!’
‘You’ve earned your cup of tea.’ Grace looked up from the piano keys to see Mungo smiling at her.
‘Thank you, just what I could do with,’ she said gratefully.
He pulled up a chair beside her. ‘It’s going very well, I think. I thought I’d take the chance to talk to you on your own, Grace.’
She was flustered. ‘What is it? Tommy hasn’t misbehaved, has he?’
‘Goodness me, no. He is playing a vital part with the curtain pulling. He and his friend were too bashful to stand centre stage.’
‘I heard from Jeannie . . .’
‘Ah, then you know we are not to be married, after all. Did she tell you why?’
‘No, of course not. That is private between the two of you.’
‘I wish to explain. I had to tell her that I had fallen in love with another woman. She very generously said she understood.’
‘Oh – you are to marry someone else, then?’
‘No, Grace, it isn’t possible. She . . . is already married. Can’t you guess who she might be?’
‘You haven’t known her long enough to know how you feel!’ she said in a rush.
‘I see you have guessed my secret,’ he said wryly.
‘But you haven’t guessed mine!’
‘You mean, you feel the same way about me?’
‘Yes, I do! But we must both forget this conversation, Mungo.’
He rose, took her empty cup. ‘We should join the others backstage, I think.’
The Meadow Girls Page 12