by Nancy M Bell
Her fingers brushed the hard knot of the secret gift in her skirt pocket. Excitement mixed with some other intangible feeling rushed over her. George, a gift from George. A promise Mister Miller said. Whatever can it be? Nothing stolen, I hope. He has no money… The thought was hardly formed before she dismissed it and felt ashamed for even entertaining the idea in the first place. George was nothing if not honourable, he was a good man.
The cold hit her like a fist and she pulled door shut behind her and slogged down the barely broken path through the snow to the barn. Inside it was marginally warmer and at least out of the wind.
“Where have you been?” Ivan leaned on the pitchfork behind Molly’s straight stall next to the milk cows. “The chores are almost done and I’m half froze.”
“Mister Miller came to call and I had to play maid for Mother.” She paused and swallowed. There was no easy way to break the news, but that didn’t make it any more palatable to be the one to tell him. “Ivan, put down the fork and come here for a minute.”
“Why?” Her brother frowned at her. “Chores ain’t gonna get done by themselves.”
“Aren’t, Ivan. Chores aren’t going to get done by themselves. Father would skin you for speaking like one of the hired men. They’ll wait for a moment.” Annie sat down on an over turned bucket.
Ivan leaned the fork against the oat bin and crossed the straw strewn floor to join her, upturning another bucket to sit on. “So what’s so important?” He twisted a bit of timothy hay between his fingers, shredding the seed head.
“Mister Miller brought the mail from Arlo’s and a telegram,” Annie hesitated and then rushed on, “it’s—”
“It’s Evan, isn’t it? He’s dead,” Ivan’s voice was dull and lifeless.
“No, not Evan. It’s Steve…he’s been reported missing in action. So there’s a very good chance he’s alive and just wounded…”
“Stop it, Annie.” Ivan looked up an expression of dread and a far too adult knowing on his young face. “I know what it’s like over there, the mud and the rats and the…and the…killing…”
“How could you possibly know any of that? It’s just your over active imagination. I’m sure it’s not as bad as all that.”
The look he levelled at her chilled Annie’s heart. “I read the papers. Dug ‘em out of the trash before they got burned, and I read Evan’s last letter when Father didn’t know. I can read between the lines, suss out what the censors blacked out. It’s hell on earth, Annie. Don’t let anyone tell you any different.” Ivan swiped a hand across his face and went back to shredding hay.
“I know it is, Ivan. I was hoping you would be spared that knowing. We have to keep positive thoughts though. As far as we know, Evan is safe and for all we know Steve is as well.”
“Safe? Safe? How can you call sleeping in mud and filth with shells falling everywhere safe? Not to mention running into enemy fire and getting caught in razor wire…” his voice choked off.
“You didn’t read that in the papers. Where did you get that information?” Annie narrowed her eyes at his bowed head.
“Sammy,” he whispered. “Sammy’s brother came home with no leg and blinded by the mustard gas. I saw him just before the snow started. Sammy says he scared the heck out of him waking up in the night screaming and crying and clawing at his face. The fire popped, you know how pine pops sometimes, and Mathew went white as a sheet and dragged his mother under the table, babbling about taking cover and dirty Huns the whole time. I didn’t stay too long after that.”
“I’m so sorry you saw that. And I’m sorry for Mathew as well. I heard he was invalided out, but Mother wouldn’t tell me anything more about it.”
“So don’t tell me Evan is safe, or that Steve might be alive, you hear me!” Ivan surged to his feet, hands fisted on his hips, glaring down at her. “If I was old enough I’d enlist and go over to beat those dirty Huns. Pay them back for all the trouble they’ve caused.” He glared down at her.
“I feel like that too, Ivan. But then I got to thinking that most of those German soldiers are probably just as young and scared as ours are. They’re just following orders and trying not to get killed themselves.”
“You’re defending those bastards that are killing our boys?” Ivan’s voice rose in shock.
Annie sighed. “Mind your language, Ivan!” Her tone softened. “That’s not what I’m saying, although I dare say most folks around here would agree with you. Let’s forget I said anything and concentrate on thinking good thoughts for our Steve and Evan, shall we?”
Ivan snorted and with a final glare at his sister crossed the floor and snatched up the pitchfork. He stabbed the pile of half-frozen manure viciously with the tines before depositing a chunk in the manure sled. Annie ignored his angry muttering and set about forking hay into the cows. Once her hands warmed up, she slipped off her mitts and started the milking. The small bump in her skirt pocket reminded her she still needed to open George’s gift. Oh, George, please be all right, please come home to me. Lord keep them all safe, Evan, Steve, George, Peter…all the Eganville boys.
Ivan was still shooting her dark looks by the time chores were finished. Annie extinguished the lantern, making sure it was fully out, before following her brother into the early evening dusk. The sun had dipped behind the trees though light still leaked into the clear sky. She set the heavy milk pails down in order to shoot the bolt on the barn door. Pinpricks of stars held back the curtains of the night, glimmering in the royal blue sky. Sighing, she picked up the covered milk pails and trudged toward the house. They would need to settle for a bit before the cream could be skimmed off.
When Annie entered the kitchen she was relieved to find Mother tending the stew pot. Father’s potion must be working as the woman seemed composed if unusually quiet. Ivan shed his clothes in the mud room and disappeared up to his room. Annie envied him, she worked just as hard, if not harder than he did, but because he was a boy her brother was exempt from ‘womanly duties’. She smothered a snort.
* * *
By the time Annie could retire to the privacy of her cold room it was late. She set the calico packet on her bed and changed quickly, pulling on two pairs of woolen stockings and a thick sweater over her flannel nightgown. The fire in the room’s small fireplace was reduced to barely warm embers. She padded over and poked at it with a long stick. Leaning over she blew on the embers till they glowed brighter, then she added more kindling and made a tripod of some hardwood over the growing flame. Once she was sure it was well and truly caught, she lit the lamp by her bed with a spill and then slid the bed warmer she’d retrieved from the fireplace between the sheets. Her clothes from earlier in the day hung by hooks on the wall, once they thawed and dried enough Annie would knock the worst of the mud and dirt from them. With luck they would be serviceable enough to wear again. Washing laundry in winter was particularly onerous.
She climbed into bed, snuggling her stocking feet by the warming pan. Her hand shook from more than the cold when she picked up George’s gift. Her fiancé, she smiled and hugged the thought to her heart. With fumbling fingers she untied the string and unfolded the thin cloth.
“Oh my!” The lamp light glimmered on the mother of pearl face of the ladies wrist watch nestled in her palm. “It’s beautiful. I wonder where ever he could have gotten this.” Her fingers stroked the band which was inlaid with mother of pearl as well. The smooth patina of the watch told her it had been worn often and well taken care of. She lifted it from the wrapping and laid it across her wrist. A small square of folded paper fell onto the quilt. Setting the time piece aside she unfolded the note.
Dearest Annie,
I had hoped to give this to you in person, but circumstances have made this impossible. I have entrusted Mr. Miller with the task of delivering this safely into your hands. It is the only thing of value I have and it is my dearest wish that you accept it as a token of my love and a seal of our understanding. In case you are wondering, this watch belonged to my mot
her and is the only thing of hers we managed to hang on to. I have spoken with Peter about giving it to you and my brother in is full agreement that you should have it. As you may have guessed, Peter is quite fond of you, I daresay nearly as fond as myself. I will make every effort to write to you, but the mail is very inconsistent from the front, as I have experienced trying to keep contact with Peter. As of this writing, as far as I am aware, he is well and hale. I fear I must close now, I must leave in time to meet the train.
With all my good wishes,
George
At first she thought it was a smudge of ink, or a trick of the light, but on closer inspection she saw he had contrived to add a tiny x and o at the end of his name. She touched a finger to it while tears stung her eyes and burned in the back of her nose. Please keep him safe, dear Lord. I know it’s selfish of me, but please let him come home safe and sound. Annie picked up the watch and fastened it on her wrist. What was George’s mother like? Was she pretty, or worn out with having babies and trying to raise them without proper funds? From the little the brothers had revealed to her, the family had not been wealthy. Their father worked as a platelayer, a drayman, and a carter. They’d lived in someplace called Wavertree, Lancashire which was part of some city called Liverpool. George told her his mother died soon after Peter was born and he really didn’t have a clear memory of her being only two when she died. George and Peter ended up in the Liverpool Sheltering Home when their father proved unable to cope with the loss of his wife and taking care of young children. Neither George nor Peter knew what had become of their older brothers Alfie and Jim.
The snap of the fire broke Annie’s train of thought. She got up shivering and banked the flame so it would hopefully last the night, barring a gust of wind swooping down the chimney. Back, snuggled under the blankets she turned on her side and fell asleep cradling the watch to her cheek.
Chapter Eleven
Spring of 1917 came late. The roads muddy and almost impassable well into the first week of May. Annie closed the trunk holding the last of her belongings and looked around the now bare room. She crossed to the curtainless window and gazed out over the familiar fields. This was the only home she’d ever known and now Father decreed they were moving house. Mother seemed excited by the prospect of being near Hetty again. Annie was not so enthralled at the idea. She wasn’t even sure where it was they were going to. Some small place near Georgian Bay called Sprucedale. The place was much smaller than Eganville from what she could gather from her parent’s conversation. The letter to George crackled in her bodice when she bent down to secure the strap around the trunk that would safeguard the latches from coming open during transit. It was securely locked, but accidents could and did happen enroute if Mother’s paranoia was to be believed.
As a precaution Annie had managed to speak privately with Mister Miller went he came to make his farewells of the family. He promised to let George know where she was if her letter somehow went astray and he came back to the area searching for her once the war was over. Please let that be soon. How much longer can this misery go on? Letters from George were few and far between arriving tattered and water stained at irregular intervals. Annie cherished each thin sheet, tucking them securely in the bottom of her small purse not trusting them out of her possession even momentarily.
So far Mother and Father didn’t seem to be aware of her correspondence or perhaps they were aware and didn’t disapprove. Her mouth twisted in a parody of a smile. The latter situation wasn’t a likely possibility. More likely they just hadn’t bothered to pay any attention to her affairs, which suited Annie just fine, thank you. Now Hetty, she was another story. Her older sister would be all over it like flies on a dead hog. She’d have to go canny once they were settled in their new home and Hetty once again was a frequent visitor.
Taking the corn broom, she gave the floor a last lick and a promise, letting her thoughts wander at bit. Hetty was nigh on a year married now and still no sign of babies. Granted her husband was a bit of dry stick, but still one would think he would expect his marital rights, whatever they were. Mother went on about them and the onerous duties involved but Annie had never quite figured out exactly what those duties entailed. Nothing messy or Hetty would have kittens, she was sure. Giggling, Annie left her trunk in the middle of the empty floor for the men Father hired to help them move and began to sweep the upper hall. She faltered by her older brothers’ bedroom door. What if Steve comes home and finds us all gone? What if he can’t find us again? What if he thinks we’ve deserted him, if he’s maimed he might think we don’t want anything to do with him? Panic closed her throat and her lungs refused to take in air. Annie leaned on the wall and forced herself to breathe. This is silly. I’ve got to stop acting like a loon. Someone will tell him where we are and offer assistance if Steve needs it. We’ve good neighbours hereabouts. I know Father wrote to Evan so the letter will catch up to him eventually. Shaking her head, she finished sweeping and took the broom downstairs to see what else needed doing at the last minute.
Annie took one last look around the familiar barn yard and the surrounding bush. She’d taken the time last night to go out to the spot where she used to meet George. If he came home and found her and her family gone she’d taken the precaution of hiding a note in sheltered hollow branch on the old maple. The missive was wrapped in waxed canvas to keep out any wet. George would know where to look for it as they’d used the hiding place to communicate in the past.
“Annabelle, hurry up!” Father called from the buggy where Mother and Ivan were already seated.
Giving Molly a stroke as she passed, Annie climbed up and scrunched in beside Ivan. The big work horses in the pasture whinnied as Molly trotted by. Father sold the livestock with the farm, even Molly would be remaining. One of Arlo’s boys would return her to the farm and unharness her once the Baldwin’s unloaded the buggy in Golden Lake at the train station. Annie’s heart was sore at losing the amiable mare and the other livestock. She hid her upset because Father would frown on any emotional display and Mother would sniff and look down her aristocratic nose at her youngest daughter in dismay. Ivan bounced on the seat beside her when they detoured into Eganville and stopped at the general store to pick up Arlo’s son. He cheerfully wedged himself in beside Ivan after politely greeting Annie’s parents. Annie took a deep breath to ease the tightness in her chest when the Golden Lake station came into view after a long and uncomfortable ride. It was really happening; she was leaving the only place she’d ever known. Annie wished she could feel even a tiny bit of the excitement Ivan was displaying. Instead she swallowed back the thickness in her throat and willed the panic rising in her gut to still.
Molly halted by the station and Father helped Mother down. Ivan leaped over the side and set about helping the Arlo boy unload the trunks. Annie clambered down unaided and stood uncertainly at the edge of the platform while her parents oversaw the transfer of their personal effects to the baggage car. She took the opportunity to slip around the far side of the buggy and give Molly one last hug, all she could do was hope the new people would be good to her, and the work horses. The square building squatted between East and West bound tracks, the platform so close to the tracks only a few feet separated the distance between.
“Annabelle!” Mother’s imperious summons sent her scurrying back to the station porch. “There you are, come along now.” She sailed on ahead, head held high as if she owned the place. Annie trailed along behind, tucking her wayward hair back into her bonnet.
The small station was fairly empty. The trains carried mostly lumber and other cargo with only a few passenger cars. Mother settled on an upholstered bench and surveyed the room much like a queen would survey her domain. Annie always found her attitude somewhat embarrassing and failed to emulate it. She went to the door and watched the back of the buggy and Molly disappear back toward Eganville. Father and Ivan’s boots echoed on the planks of the station porch. Twisting her small finger purse in her hands Annie started in s
urprise. Paper crackled in the reticule where none should have been. Hiding her puzzlement she started toward the far side of the station.
“Where are you going, Annie?” Ivan tugged at her skirt. “Father says we need to stay close, the train will be here soon. Aren’t you excited? We’re going on a train!”
“I need to use the rest room. Tell Mother I’ll only be a moment.” She hurried toward the outhouse by the far door of the station. Once inside the small odiferous confines she pulled open the crocheted strings of the small pouch. Nestled inside was a thin paper envelope. “How in the name of all that’s holy did that get there?” she whispered. The purse hadn’t been out of her possession…except when I dropped it in the buggy and Frank Arlo picked it up for me. Her fingers rattled the paper as she unfolded it. George! It’s from George. Bless Mister Arlo, the letter must have come recently and hadn’t had a chance to make its way out to the house. Her eyes scanned the awkwardly written words.
Dear Annie,
I am well, or as well as one can be in this situation. I have escaped the influenza that has stricken my regiment. The news is uncertain, but I did get word of Peter, though I have no idea how old that news may be. He is recovered from the bout of flu and sent back to his battalion. He is now attached to the
