Farmerettes (19 page)

You are a wonderful, beautiful woman. I admire what you have accomplished as a farmerette.

Isabel smiled, and stopped to wipe a tear forming in her eye. Billy was always so romantic.

I have loved and adored you for the last six years.

He loved and adored me—past tense?

But several weeks ago, I realized I have fallen in love with Norah Wyecroft. She's an amazing, passionate woman.

Stunned, Isabel couldn't believe the words. Was he joking? She had to read on.

When I received word we were being deployed to Italy, Norah told me she is expecting our baby. We were married before I left England.

Isabel stood up, stupefied. There was more, but she couldn't read it. She had been betrayed. Her stomach heaved and she threw up on the floor.

She wiped her mouth and began to shake. Billy loved someone else. He had married another woman. He was going to be a father.

No. He
would
have been a father.

But he would never see his child. And she would never see him again.

She gazed at his picture for a long time. Now his aunt's words and his sister's strange glance made sense. They knew. They were concerned about helping Norah, not her. Their grief would have some comfort—Billy's child. Isabel had nothing.

How could he do this to her? She flung the photo across the room. The glass shattered against the dresser, but his face still smiled up at her. She yanked the ring off her finger and threw it at the picture.

Full of angry energy, she pulled on some clothes, walked downstairs and out the back door. The sun had begun to rise—their star no longer glowed in the sky.

Isabel walked. And walked. Her mind teemed with images, all of them ending with a picture of Billy getting married, making love—to someone else.

At the bridge over the river where he had proposed, she stopped. The water bubbled and raced below her. It flowed exactly the same way as the evening Billy asked her to marry him, to share the rest of her life with him. That night, moonlight had gilded the glistening waters. Nothing else had changed. Except Billy was gone.

She sighed and walked on. Every street, their high school, every building held a memory of their life together. She couldn't bear to walk among the memories anymore. When her father's car pulled up beside her, she was relieved. She climbed in, and as they sped home, she closed her eyes to the reminders of a life that was now history.

At home her mother poured her coffee with too much cream and sugar. Gloria brought her toast, cut into four pieces. They spoke to her in kind, careful tones. Isabel finished half the coffee, ignored the toast, and got up to clear the table.

“Oh, leave that, honey. We'll do it. You sit, rest.”

“I'm bereaved, Mom, not ill.” The last thing she needed was rest and time to think. But her mother shooed her from the kitchen. Isabel headed up to her room. The vomit and the broken glass were already cleaned away, the picture discreetly removed. But her diamond ring lay gleaming on the night table. Defiantly, she slipped it onto her finger. At least that still belonged to her.

How long had Billy's family known about Norah? She washed and dressed and headed for his house. Today they were going to tell her everything.

Sunday, July 18, 1943

Peggy

Peggy sat staring at the empty bed across the room. She missed its pink frilliness. A faint glow from the rising sun tried to make up for it, but succeeded only in making the space look lonelier.

Poor Isabel. Peggy and many other girls wept yesterday as they watched Isabel drive away. They canceled the talent show. Instead, they sat outside on the lawn, watching Isabel and Billy's star, all the stars. They talked about the boys they knew fighting across the sea, about fear and courage, and about growing up during this awful war. Newscasters predicted victory was in sight, but too much had been lost already.

Of course, Peggy's prayers were for Canadian and Allied boys. But she wondered about German, Italian, and Japanese boys too. Didn't they have parents, sisters and brothers, wives, and children who loved them? Didn't those boys grow up in similar fields, streets, and schools, with the same dreams as Canadian boys?

When her parents took her to visit both sides of her family six years ago, she discovered that her granny from Warwick and her great-aunt from Leipzig loved to solve crossword puzzles. Both walked their dogs through miles of countryside, and fussed over her, their distant granddaughter. All her cousins asked questions about Canada, played soccer with enthusiasm, teased each other and her. The English cousins took her rowing along the River Avon. With her German cousins, she floated on the White Elster River.

The sun had now risen completely. Soon everyone would wake up. They would all attend church this morning, pray for Billy's soul, pray for Isabel, for everyone they loved, and trust it would help. But then what would they do? It would have been easier if it had been a working day, to keep their hands and minds busy.

“Swimming.”

Peggy looked left.

On the next cot, Binxie lay propped on one arm, watching her. “Let's all go to the lake after church. It's going to be a scorcher.”

Peggy nodded. “Let's pack a picnic. Cookie will be in a terrible mood today with her assistant gone.”

Helene yawned and stretched awake on her bed. “We'll make our own sandwiches. That should help.”

“Anything to keep busy,” Binxie said.

By noon, a large group of girls walked to the lake carrying lunches, towels, and sorrow. Peggy kept thinking of Isabel's face in the car yesterday. She remembered the handsome face of Billy, a man she had never met, but whose photo she saw every day.

He reminded her of Michael. Blond, wavy-haired Michael had taken her for bike rides, paid kind attention to his young cousin visiting from Canada. She'd developed a huge crush on him, later exchanged letters and photos. He was the practical joker in his family; people said the party started when he arrived. Yet he always knew how people were feeling, who needed a gentle word. When her uncle Rudolph took them to hear the famous boys' choir in St. Thomas Church, Michael had confided in her. “One day I'll play the organ for such a choir.” The German military had other plans for him. He was killed at Dieppe too. Peggy's neighbors didn't bring casseroles or flowers like they did for Donny Ferguson. Her family grieved in secret.

A cloud of dust appeared on the horizon, coming their way fast. A familiar truck. Peggy glanced at Helene. “You know who that is.”

Helene nodded. “Act like we're having such an interesting conversation we don't notice him.”

Peggy complied, watching from the corner of her eye as the truck approached on the narrow road. “He's slowed down,” she whispered. “The passenger window is opening.”

“Keep talking.”

Peggy noticed Helene's head was averted from the road but her eyes were full of timid hope as the truck pulled up beside them.

“Hello, girls!” Agnes Fraser called cheerfully. “Where are you headed on such a glorious day?” She seemed ready to chat, but Dan looked down, tapping the steering wheel.

He's hurting my friend. He can't get away with this,
thought Peggy. She leaned in and spoke directly to him. “Hello, Dan. How are you today?”

“Fine,” he answered gruffly, fidgeting with the gearshift.

Before Peggy could say more, Helene elbowed her into silence.

“We're going swimming, Mrs. Fraser,” answered Kate.

“Wise choice on a day like this. Enjoy your day, girls.” She waved as the truck sped off.

“You okay?” Peggy asked Helene.

“Of course.” Helene shrugged. “I was silly to think he was interested in me.”

“He still is. He was blushing.”

“Then why is he so rude?”

“He's a Scranton,” replied Binxie.

Peggy started to answer, but Helene frowned. “No. He was being polite to me that day, and now he's embarrassed. I'm too young, too plain.”

Peggy put her arm around her friend's shoulder. “You're prettier than you think. He'd be lucky to have you.”

“Everything looks worse today. We're all sad,” Binxie added.

“I don't even want to become involved with such a moody fellow. Too much heartache.”

Peggy nodded at her. She knew why.

The noon sun shone down hard, and insects buzzed at them. “That lake will feel so good,” said Doris.

In a golden field beside them, a man led a horse and plow to cut the hay. He stopped, wiped his brow, and waved at them. Wasn't this the McDonnells' extra field? Nelly's farm?
The letter,
thought Peggy.
Another tragedy from another war.
Would they get a chance to right this one?

Knowing Jean and Binxie often walked together, Peggy turned to Binxie and asked, “Has Jean mentioned Polly's letters? Surely she has found out who Polly is by now.”

“Didn't the librarian tell you there are too many Pollys, including some who moved away?” Binxie replied.

Peggy sighed. Then she glimpsed Lake Ontario between the trees ahead, and forgot everything else. Soon she heard laughter. More young people were already sunning and swimming. Evie Belding called to them, “Come on in. The water's wonderful!”

Peggy recognized Alice Belding and Luke Scranton among them. She was relieved Harry wasn't there. She heard Binxie's sharp intake of breath and followed her glance. Johnny Clifford emerged from the lake like a Greek god, water rolling from his chest.
I knew it,
thought Peggy.
There's something between those two.

Johnny splashed toward them. He waved to everyone, then asked Binxie, “Ready for a rematch?”

Peggy caught Nancy's glance at Binxie as she dropped her bag, pulled off her shirt and shorts, and ran into the lake in her bathing suit.

The cool, soothing water, jumping into the waves, and swimming hard made it impossible to stay gloomy for long. Being young on a sunny summer day trumped grief.

Sometime during the afternoon, Binxie and Johnny wandered off, walking close together along the shoreline. Peggy knew by their serious faces when they returned that Binxie had told him about Billy. Maybe that was why Johnny had hugged her? At least they weren't as bad as Irene and one of the farm boys, kissing underwater.

But Alice glared at Binxie and asked Johnny, “Where's Jean?”

Johnny answered coolly. “Haying the back field. Two fellows from the air base insisted on helping her today, so she took them up on it. She needs all the assistance she can get.”

Stella smirked. “Must be that cute guy she danced with all Friday evening. What was his name? Hugh? He sure looked good in his uniform.”

Peggy glared at Stella. Johnny shouldn't learn about Hugh this way, and the dig about the military was cruel.
That witch will find a toad in her milk tonight,
she fumed.

Johnny opened his mouth to answer, but instead turned and dove into the lake. Binxie shot Stella a look of disgust, then sat with Helene, her back to Stella.

Luke approached Peggy. “Want to walk along the beach with me?”

Not after the way you cursed at us last week,
thought Peggy, but she smiled. “Sure.” She could find out why Dan had gone from hot to cold with Helene.

“My brother can't take a joke,” Luke answered as they sloshed through the water. “He got annoyed with us for teasing him about that skinny girl he likes.”

Peggy wished she could put a few toads in his drink too. She had to settle for accidentally tripping him into the Canada goose droppings along the shoreline. As he picked himself up, she turned back to join the others.

“Hey, I thought we were going to have fun,” he protested.

“We just did,” she called over her shoulder, gratified to see him sulk awhile.

The girls returned to Highberry in time for dinner, a somber meal—blah meatloaf, dull mashed potatoes, pale cauliflower, no flowers on the table. At least there were lots of Isabel's squares and cookies, but they made the girls even sadder.

The only bright moment was when Stella discovered a snail sliming through her salad and gagged. Later, her earsplitting screeches—when her toes touched the chicken foot at the bottom of her sheets—gave Peggy some fleeting satisfaction. Seeing Isabel's empty bed stopped her smile. She had planned to write to Omi and Opa today, but her letter would be too depressing. She retired early, but whenever she closed her eyes, she saw images of Billy's face, Donny's, Theo's, and Michael's—and Isabel heartbroken in the backseat of the car. Her last thought before she fell asleep was how glad she was they could work tomorrow and stay busy.

Friday, July 23, 1943

Helene

Helene stepped down from the ladder and handed the full basket of cherries to Matthew Scranton. He squinted at the fruit, searching for flaws. She pulled the picking strap from around her neck and rested it on the ground. She scratched three mosquito bites in a row on her leg and pressed an
X
into each one, hoping it would stop the itch.

“One is split, two are overripe, and this one's too green,” declared Matthew, the son who most resembled his father. He looked as satisfied as if he'd nabbed a criminal.

“I'm sorry.” Helene climbed back up the tree, found four replacement cherries, and brought them back down to Matthew.

Without a thank you, he punched her card and stomped off to scrutinize Peggy's harvest. When he complained about a cherry, she grabbed the offending fruit, ate it, and said, “Tastes fine to me.”

Helene watched them stare each other down. When Matthew retreated, she wished she had Peggy's courage.

At noon, the girls left the orchard to clean up at the pump. Then they carried their lunch bags to a shady tree.

The talk, of course, was about the talent show. They'd decided to hold it this weekend, and the dress rehearsal was tonight.