Farmerettes (31 page)

Raising money for Helene helped her focus on something else. Even so, the tears would start without warning. Only when she was alone did she allow them to fall.

After awhile, she splashed cold water on her face. Johnny's calm understanding these last two weeks was a comfort, but sometimes, like today, she preferred to be alone. She'd take a quick walk around the orchard with him, then bid him goodnight.

His truck stood in its usual spot, but she didn't see him anywhere. She pulled a tuft of grass, walked to the pasture fence, and waited for Tinxie to scamper over. She found peace in the calf's brown trusting eyes.

She turned when she heard their voices—Johnny and Jean, crossing the barnyard. There was something intimate in the comfortable way they walked and talked together. She and the other farmerettes were shocked when Jean turned down Hugh, so dashing and madly in love with her. Watching the two old friends now, Binxie suddenly understood why.

“Hello,” Johnny greeted.

“Tinxie and Cairo will miss you,” Jean said softly.

“I'll miss them too…and our walks,” Binxie answered, even though she hadn't seen much of Jean lately.

They stood quietly watching the cows for a while, then Jean said,“I'd better go. We're finishing the last bedroom at Rob's.”

“Do you need help?” asked Binxie.

“Fran's already waiting for me.” Jean smiled at Binxie. “But thank you. Let's take a long ride before you leave.” With a wave she headed across the fields.

Johnny, watching her, said, “You girls did a fine thing with those letters.”

“How could Nelly have been so selfish?” That bothered Binxie. Because of Nelly, the lovers had died never knowing they were loved. Polly and James. Isabel and Billy. Kathryn and Alastair. How many couples had been ripped apart by war?

“It's good to see Fran and Jean friends again. I wish I'd realized how guilty Jean felt. I could have told her Rob always planned to enlist.” Johnny looked directly at her. “How are you, Binxie? Sunday night must be upsetting you too.”

“Just one time trying to forget this damn war, and everybody suffers.”

Johnny put his arm around her. “It doesn't seem like it now, but you will feel better with time, Binxie. This war will end and we will all get back to living normally.”

“Kathryn would have done amazing things.”

“She already did. She lived and died knowing she was helping to win.”

“But why did she have to die?” Binxie whispered. She quickly turned to pat the calf. “My life was perfectly planned. I'd learn to fly, follow Kathryn to England. Everything seemed so exciting, full of possibilities. Now I don't care about anything.”

“You don't need to make any decisions yet,” Johnny said.

“I have come to one decision.” She couldn't look at him. “I'm going home in six days. You're staying here…”

“Toronto isn't impossible to reach,” he began.

“It's better we remember the beautiful part of this summer…then go our separate…” She couldn't finish the sentence.

Johnny stood still, watching her with sad confusion.

“I'm a mess. I can't think about you or anything else.” Her eyes pleaded with him to understand.

“What will you do?” he said hoarsely.

She shook her head. “Aside from becoming a pilot, I don't care.”

“Do you ever wonder if you really want to fly?”

“No. I need to finish Kathryn's work.”

He regarded her a moment. “You did so well helping Jean birth Tinxie. I saw how it affected you. You took command when Hugh was hurt in his plane. Maybe that's where your future lies.”

“No,” she repeated. “I'll be a pilot like Kathryn.”

They stood quietly looking at each other. For once Binxie didn't know how to exit.

Johnny stepped closer, stroked her cheek. “Good luck, Binxie. I'll miss you.”

She threw her arms around his waist, curled into his shoulder, until—afraid she'd change her mind—she let go. “I'll never forget you.”

She let him walk away first, head held high as he climbed into his truck and drove out of her life. It hurt to watch him go, but her sorrow for her sister was so immense she couldn't tell if the pain was any worse now.

Wednesday, September 1, 1943

X

She decided the nursery rhyme was wrong. Yes, sticks and stones hurt for awhile, but names stung forever. This time it was worse. The names had been spoken by Isabel.

It was her own fault. She had carelessly left her sketch pad on her chair while she went to the washroom. As she reentered the recreation room, some girls were admiring her sketch of Cairo galloping through the field. Betty flipped the page and there were two portraits of Isabel. On some level the girls must have understood the love that went into those drawings, and each one stood staring at it.

“You don't think she could be one of
those
people?” asked Grace.

“No!” Doris sounded appalled. “Not her. That kind are an abomination against God.”

Isabel asked what they meant. When Doris explained, Isabel was shocked. “Ew! No one would do something so disgusting! I'd die if I met someone like that.”

At that moment, she wanted to die too. She stood in the doorway, not sure whether to run away from the shame or pull her sketches away from cruel hands and eyes.

Suddenly Binxie stood up from her chair, grabbed the sketchbook from Betty, and slapped it shut. “Don't be ridiculous. If you looked at the rest of this, you'd see pictures of all of us, plus the animals and trees. That's what artists do. They sketch all the time, drawing everything around them. I wish I had her talent.” Binxie rolled her eyes at the girls and left the room with the book.

Confused, she followed Binxie. Halfway up the stairs Binxie stopped, handed her the sketchbook, said, “Beautiful work,” and continued up.

Tucking her sketchbook under her arm, she turned and went outside, trying to calm down. Binxie had saved her, but Isabel's words twisted into her soul. Somehow she had hoped against hope that Isabel would understand.

But no one did. Not even her.

For two days she had felt good, working with the others to help Helene. But how quickly that would stop if they found out about her. Next week she would return to Brantford, where people already eyed her suspiciously. If she stayed at the farm any longer, it would happen here too. No matter where she went, this curse would follow her.

She looked down at the lake. There was one way out.

Isabel

Isabel swiped the potato peels into the slop pail. Time to wash the beets. Soon she'd frost the Raspberry Matrimonial Cake. Normally Cookie insisted raspberry jam was enough—but tonight was their last birthday party. Isabel planned to decorate it with pink icing roses.

As she quickly washed the peeling knife, she nicked her index finger. Ouch. She hadn't done that in a long time. But she was worrying about Helene, about the McDonnells' tractor, and about the huge amount of money it would take to repair it.

Almost every girl at Highberry Farm had contributed to the fund. Even Smokey, Cookie, Dan, and Johnny pitched in. It was nowhere near enough. This weekend they'd all go home. Helene would have to work in a factory. She remembered how thin Helene had looked when she arrived here last June.

She checked on the potatoes, then picked up the basket of beets. She cleaned the mud from them and wished she could wash off her guilt as easily. Although Helene shouldered all the blame, Isabel felt just as responsible. She had climbed on that tractor too, ready to ride with Helene. She'd given all her money. How could she help more?

She rolled the clean beets into a pot of water and lit the stove. Then she turned on the tap to rinse the grit from her hands. A glint of light from overhead made her diamond sparkle at her.

She stared at the ring.

It would pay to repair the tractor.

She swallowed hard. This ring was the symbol of everlasting love, proof to everyone that she had been half of a devoted couple ripped apart by war. It gave her a role in this confusing world—tragic fiancée, loving to the end. Though she hated Billy's betrayal, she didn't know how to stop loving him. She had been Billy's girl for so long. Who else was she?

Billy's eyes had shone with love as he slipped the ring on her finger. They must have shone with love when he proposed to Norah too. She likely treasured some cheap hastily bought band.

Maybe it was time to become Isabel Lynch, her own woman. Let Billy stay in the hearts of Norah and their child. One day she would recover, and the ring would end up, useless, at the back of her jewelry box. Years from now her grandchildren might use the ring to play dress-up.

It was time to let it go. Tenderly she stroked the ring. “I loved you, Billy. Good-bye.”

Helene

Helene stared at the empty wall above her bed. She had hoped seeing her space empty and impersonal would make it easier to leave, but every step outside proved her wrong. She loved this place of light and plenty, being part of the cycle of life, the farm families she had befriended—and Dan. He was everything she wanted. How could she bear to leave?

She would always look back on this summer as the most beautiful, idyllic one of her life. In time the summer would fade into warm sepia memories but her passion for Dan would never be tucked away as some pleasant interlude.

Tomorrow she would say good-bye to Mrs. Fraser. Friday the farmerettes at the Smith farm in Vineland had invited them for one final baseball game and corn roast. Saturday was the farewell evening at Romeo's. On Sunday, she and Peggy would take a bus to Hamilton.

But how would she say good-bye to the love of her life?

She picked up her laundry hamper, her soap, and carried it downstairs. Better to arrive home with clean clothes. As she pulled the last pair of underwear from the rinse water, she heard his voice behind her. “You don't think I'll let you go so easily, do you?”

She turned to see Dan, wearing a short-sleeved shirt and a hopeful grin on his face. She stood awkwardly, holding her wet underwear, glad they weren't the ripped ones.

He picked up the laundry basket and led the way to the clothesline. Without a word, the two pegged damp clothes onto the line. Sometimes their hands touched as they reached into the basket for another item at the same time. Helene wished she had washed a hundred things.

“Look how beautiful it is. You can't leave,” Dan said.

She pointed at her shirts billowing on the line. “What, this?”

He laughed. “No, that.” And he pointed at the sunlight streaming into the orchard.

She shrugged. She didn't want an argument.

“What about us?” Dan said.

“We're all I've thought about this week.”

“I have an answer.”

Helene looked into his eyes.

“Mrs. Fras…Aunt Agnes is getting on. The house and land are becoming harder to manage. She wants someone to help her.”

“I can't—” Helene began.

But Dan talked faster. “Not only you. Your mother, the boys. They need a home and Aunt Agnes needs help. It's perfect.”

Helene stood stunned. She felt a moment of hope and joy, then all the obstacles crowded in.

“Do you like the idea?” Dan studied her face. “That's the only question. Everything else can be worked out.”

Helene wondered if she was dreaming. “You talked to Mrs. Fraser?”

“It was her idea. She likes your mother and would love to see little boys playing in that house again.”

Helene dared a smile.

“She's already composed a telegram to your mother. She's waiting for your permission to send it.”

Her brothers playing free in the fields, her mother relieved of excess work and worry, enough food for all…it was too perfect to be true.

“I still owe the McDonnells.”

“The farmers need help until October. You can work weekends and after school.”

“School?”

“We have a good high school here in Winona.”

Tears stung Helene's eyes. Holding them back, she asked, “What about you?”

“My dad needs me at the farm. Matthew signed up.”

“But you want more than that.”

“I'm working on it.” He grinned. “Eventually I'll save enough. Then I'll attend university in Hamilton.”

She didn't know what to say.

“Helene. I'm not going to lose you. Consider this offer. You belong here…and in school.”

Helene wanted this so badly. Did she dare hope?

Thursday, September 2, 1943

Binxie

Binxie stood up to rub her back, then knelt in the warm earth again to cut another broccoli stem. She tossed it to Peggy, who placed it into the crate. The vegetables filled the crates rapidly, but there were many rows to go.

“We've come full circle,” she said to Peggy as she tossed the next broccoli head. “It seems like yesterday we were hoeing these as seedlings.” She expected the usual joke in reply, but Peggy stayed sober-faced.

Binxie realized she had come full circle with Peggy too. Last June, she dismissed Peggy as loud and annoying. She was happy to change her first impression. Peggy's volume covered a warm heart, sense of fun, and talent. “Are you okay?”

“It's just my monthly.”

It was more than that. Last night, when the radio announced five thousand killed as eighteen hundred tons of bombs leveled Berlin, the room erupted into cheers. Stella taunted her. “We're blasting your Nazis off the planet.”

Binxie tossed another broccoli. “It's Stella, isn't it.”

Peggy bit her lip.

“Don't let her bother you. She has a nasty streak—you've seen it before.”

Peggy clamped the crate shut. “At least she says it out loud. Others are more subtle.”

“They're scared for their brothers and fathers.”

“I'm not the one trying to kill them. I'm not the enemy.” Peggy caught another head of broccoli, then placed it into a new crate. “I pray Canada wins. But I can't help worrying about my relatives in Germany, just as I'm scared for my English cousins.”