Farmerettes (24 page)

Thursday, August 12, 1943

Binxie

“Happy birthday!”

Binxie woke up to Helene's cheery greeting. Then Peggy and Isabel chimed in. Bright beams of sunlight streamed through the windows. It was going to be a glorious day.

She grinned at her friends. “I'm eighteen! I can sign up!”

“Not today,” said Peggy. “We have plans for you.”

“You're not leaving!” gasped Isabel.

“Not yet,” Binxie reassured her. “But come September, I'm off to the skies.”

“You can't even fly yet,” said Isabel.

Binxie frowned. It was high time to organize all that, but this summer was so busy. “Once I get back to Toronto, I'll sign up for lessons,” she vowed. “By spring I'll be in England.”

Helene shuddered. “I pray the war's over before that.”

“Then I'll work for Kathryn and Alastair's air transport company.”

“You've mapped out your life already,” said Isabel wistfully.

“We should control our lives, Isabel. I'll live my own goals, not my parents' plan for me to attend college to marry well, so I can spend my days chairing committees and social events.”

Peggy laughed. “A rich husband sounds okay to me. Now get up. I know we celebrated your birthday on August 1st with the rest of the farmerettes, but today we'll have our own celebration. Isabel made your favorite breakfast—pancakes with blueberries. See you downstairs in twenty minutes.”

It was the beginning of a perfect day. The sun shone kindly on them as they picked peaches at the Beldings' orchards. The girls were especially jolly, and on the way home, Mr. Belding stopped to buy ice cream for all.

Back at the dorm, Binxie opened her presents. Her parents sent clothes, toiletries, and a camera with several rolls of film. Binxie read Kathryn's birthday card, wishing she were here to say the words in person. Her gift was a white woolen scarf.
A racy flying scarf—it gets blooming cold up there
, Kathryn had written.
I knit it myself, as you'll quickly see by the uneven rows.
Binxie wrapped it around her neck. Knowing how much Kathryn disliked domestic activities, she understood this was a labor of love.

She took her camera outside and snapped her friends posing and clowning for her. She'd send Kathryn those pictures and some of the farm, Cairo, Tinxie, and, of course, Johnny.

Somehow Isabel had persuaded Cookie to prepare Binxie's favorite meal tonight—roast beef with browned potatoes, baby peas, and a delicious trifle for dessert.

Right after dinner, she showered, put on the new blue dress from her mother, styled her hair for tonight's date with Johnny, and went downstairs to wait.

Jean knocked at the screen door, carrying a magazine. “Happy birthday, Binxie. This is just a small gift. There's a story about Amelia Earhart in it.”

Binxie swallowed hard. “Thank you. That was really thoughtful.” She hadn't seen much of Jean lately—between work, and Hugh and Johnny's visits, it was awkward to find the time. “Can we walk tomorrow? I miss our excursions.”

Jean nodded. “I'd like that.”

Johnny drove up. Jean waved at him cheerfully, and headed for the barn.

“Happy birthday.” Johnny kissed her. “I wangled a car for tonight. We can go dancing in Stoney Creek. There's a great place by the lake.”

“That sounds wonderful.”

And it was. They laughed as they stepped and swung to the jazzy music, and held each other tight for the slow songs. At the first notes of “Stardust,” Johnny led her out to the terrace, where they danced under stars shimmering in a sable sky. Johnny gazed at her, his brown eyes tender, and he leaned in and kissed her. She pressed closer, felt her breasts crush against the heat of his body, her hips move with his. Later, they walked along the beach arm in arm, the bright moon reflected in the velvet water beside them. She was intensely aware of Johnny's arm around her, his deep voice humming the “Stardust” melody.

One more dance and it was time to head home. Along the lane to Highberry Farm, Johnny stopped the car and took her in his arms. His lips touched hers, gently at first then more urgently, and Binxie answered with a passion she didn't know she possessed. A minute later she pulled back.

Johnny smiled, stroked her hair, and asked, “Did you enjoy your day?”

“It was perfect,” she answered and kissed him again.

Finally they said goodnight, and she went inside still feeling his lips, his arms, his body. As she slipped into bed, Binxie wondered how it would feel to lie next to him. Finally she reached for her flying scarf, hugged it to her heart, and thought about her lovely day. It was the best birthday of her life.

Saturday, August 14, 1943

Jean

Jean carried a bushel basket of early tomatoes from the family garden, thinking of the delicious sauce her mother would make with them.

“Need some help?” Johnny came up behind her and took the basket.

“Thanks. I didn't see you coming.”

“You were concentrating on the tomatoes. I had some time off and thought I'd see if Binxie's around.”

“She walked to town after lunch but she should be back soon.”

“May I wait? It's been awhile since I've talked with you,” he said, carrying the basket into the kitchen, where Isabel and Nanny were pulling cinnamon rolls from the oven.

“Hmmm, they smell terrific,” said Johnny, smiling at the two women.

Nanny flushed with pleasure. “You may try one when they cool.”

Jean poured two glasses of milk, gingerly pushed four hot cinnamon rolls onto a plate, and led the way to the porch.

When they sat, Johnny bit into a roll and rolled his eyes in mock ecstasy. “No one beats Nanny's cinnamon rolls.”

“Isabel made these.”

“She learned well. How's she doing?”

Jean shook her head. “Sad, brave, but something else too. She's holding something back.”

“And Rob?”

“He writes he's fine, that everything is fine, but that's likely all he can say. I wish I really knew.”

“He'll be home soon. We just sent the Germans and Italians running across the Messina Strait to Italy. Rome is on the verge of defeat. It's the beginning of the end.”

“Oh, I hope so,” answered Jean. “Prime Minister Mackenzie King is meeting with Winston Churchill and President Roosevelt in Quebec City this week. The faster they figure out how to win this war, bring Rob and our boys home, the better.”

“You're smart to get Rob's house ready for him.”

“His house ready?”

“Crazy Nelly's place.”

“Uncle Ian repaired the chimney after the storm. We haven't done anything since.”

“Oh? I saw a bike parked there last week, and the door wide open yesterday. Figured you were fixing the place up.”

Jean looked puzzled. “It's odd, I noticed someone was there a few weeks ago. Why? And who?”

“Someone searching for the rumored treasure?” Johnny laughed.

“They better not.” But it made Jean wonder. No one really believed Nelly had a fortune hidden, but maybe someone was searching for a different treasure—old love letters. Could James or Polly have returned? “We'll keep an eye on the place. What's new with you?”

“I bought my first two calves yesterday. Aberdeen Angus.”

“Good start. They're supposed to have excellent meat.”

Isabel stepped out onto the porch, said good-bye to Jean, scowled at Johnny, then walked across the barnyard.

“Have I offended her?” Johnny asked.

Jean shrugged. “She's grieving.”

When Johnny talked about his plans for his cows, Jean didn't mention that Hugh had hundreds of Black Angus on his ranch. Instead, she told him Dad had finally received the part for the tractor. Now the horses could have a break. She finished her cinnamon roll, and turned her face to the sun. How comfortable it felt to chat here on the porch with Johnny.

Before either one could say more, a high-pitched scream of terror rose from the barnyard.

Isabel

Isabel took off her apron, brushed white flour from her skirt, and smiled at Nanny. “Thanks again for your help with the cinnamon rolls. I'll bake more in the kitchen tomorrow, and the girls will love them.”

Billy would have loved them too,
she thought. But then she wondered,
Why am I still learning to cook like this? Billy's gone.

The answer swooped upon her.
Because I love doing this. I like sliding a perfect pie from the oven. Watching everyone enjoy my food makes me happ
y
.

Nanny interrupted her thoughts. “I was named best baker at the county fall fair for ten years.”

“I'm sure that's true,” Isabel agreed.

Nanny looked pleased. “It's good to have someone appreciate my work. Someone worthy of learning my skills and secrets.”

“Mother, we appreciate it,” said Mrs. McDonnell, entering the kitchen. “I have neither the time nor the talent to bake like you do, so I'm grateful.” She dropped some muddy new potatoes on the counter, washed her hands, and picked up a hot roll to nibble. “Mmm, perfect.”

“They'll taste better after the war, when we get decent flour again,” grumbled Nanny.

“Hello, Isabel,” said Mrs. McDonnell. “These are delicious.”

“Thank you. I'll know so much when I get home.” Isabel sighed.

Mrs. McDonnell nodded kindly and washed the potatoes at the sink.

“Would you like a hand with those?” Isabel wanted to keep busy.

“Everything's almost ready, thank you,” said Mrs. McDonnell. “Go enjoy your time off.”

With a last wipe of the counter, Isabel said good-bye and left. The day was bright, but Isabel felt dark. No dinner duty today, no letters to read, none to write. Most of the girls were in town, or had gone to play baseball at a neighboring farm. This evening they'd go to Romeo's.

They had invited her but she wasn't going. “I can't dance when Billy lies buried in Italy,” she'd replied.

“I don't want you to spend the evening alone,” Peggy had said.

“I'll be fine.” Isabel touched her friend's arm. “I'll finish knitting some socks and get to bed early. Breakfast shift at the crack of dawn tomorrow.” Isabel sighed. Being the brave widow of a man who betrayed her was exhausting and dull.

Now Isabel blinked in the sunlight, then crossed the porch, where Johnny and Jean sat munching her rolls and discussing cows.

Isabel said good-bye to Jean but scowled at Johnny.
He's as bad as Billy,
she thought.
Carrying on with two girls. Except, of course, he didn't promised to marry one of them.
She rubbed her diamond against her apron to make it gleam. Billy had meant it when he gave her that ring, and he would have kept his promise—it was the war that broke it. She'd never tell anyone here about Billy's deceit.

Across the barnyard she saw Binxie coming up the driveway, carrying a bag, heading for the dorm. When Binxie saw the couple on the porch, her gait slowed only a second.

Isabel took her usual long route to avoid Cracker and wondered,
Is this what war does to men? Johnny wasn't away fighting, but everyone knew he went back to the registration office every month, hoping they would accept him one day.
Did war make boys greedy to taste as much life as possible while they could, no matter whom they hurt?

A horrendous screech burst Isabel's thoughts. Giant flapping wings rushed from behind the tractor, where he had lain in wait for her. The rooster's sharp beak stabbed forward as he shrieked threats at her. Isabel backed away. Cracker's chest puffed out, his wings spread even wider, to double his size, his red wattle shook.

Terrified, Isabel ran.

The rooster launched himself into the air. His legs thrust toward Isabel at an angle, his claws ready to rip and maim.

Isabel dodged. The rooster missed by an inch. Hissing and pecking furiously, he chased her even faster.

Suddenly Mrs. McDonnell raced toward them. She grabbed the ax from the woodpile, seized Cracker by the neck, and in one clean stroke, she chopped off his head. His headless body dropped, then strutted in circles around the yard, blood soaking his feathers.

Isabel stood paralyzed as Mrs. McDonnell tossed the head aside and found a piece of rope. When Cracker finally collapsed, she grabbed him by the legs, looped the rope around them, and hung him from the branch of a tree to drain. He dangled there, suddenly small, his wings drooping lifeless, his blood dripping and forming a pool on the ground below.

Mrs. McDonnell tossed the ax onto the woodpile and looked at Isabel, whose eyes were wide in horror, mouth agape.

“I've had enough of his nonsense,” she said. “He'll be stew tomorrow night. You're all right now.” She headed back inside.

The terror, the blood, the body dangling from the tree—Isabel sank to the ground and sobbed hysterically.

Binxie ran to her, with Jean and Johnny close behind. Binxie held her, murmuring comforting words. When Isabel had calmed down, Binxie helped her up and led her inside to a chair. She brought a damp, cool cloth and gently wiped her face.

“I can't stand it anymore,” Isabel sobbed. “It's not fair,” she moaned over and over again.

“You're bearing too much,” Binxie cooed. “Billy should never have been killed.”

“Billy!” Isabel spat out the name.

Binxie looked shocked.

“Billy, my faithful love? My hero? You think he died courageously fighting the enemy, true to his fiancée?”

Looking confused, Binxie tried to soothe her.

“No. He was splashing in the warm waters of the Adriatic Sea. Got caught in the undertow and drowned. My hero died playing water polo with his buddies.” She sobbed again while Binxie stroked her head helplessly.

Isabel sat up, her face stony. “There's more.” She blurted out the words. “He met another woman in England. Norah. Married her before he went to Italy. She's expecting his baby.” Out loud, it sounded worse.