by Nancy M Bell
“Annie.”
She whirled around at the sound of her name. “George!” She threw herself into his arms. He was solid and real, his hand stroked her hair, his lips warm on hers. Only his eyes were different when she drew back to gaze at his face. They were the same warm grey, but shadows lay behind them giving him a haunted look.
“Annie, God I miss you.” His arms tightened around her.
“Why are you here? I must be dreaming.” Annie moved with him to sit on a mossy stump, his arms around her shoulders. His heart beat under her hand where it rested on his chest. How can that be? Oh, I don’t care. Don’t spoil this by trying to figure it out. You know it can’t last long.
George stirred and tipped her face up toward his. “I came to remind you of your promise. I need to know Peter will be cared for. You can make him happy. He’s always been in love with you. He’s my little brother and I’ve always done my best to see him right. Will you honour your pledge to me? Please, dearest Annie. I can’t rest until I know Peter is settled.”
Tears sprang to her eyes and she blinked hard. “It’s so hard, George. To go on, you know? I’m just going through the motions of living, but there’s just this huge empty pit where my heart and my joy used to be.”
“I know, Annie. I know. It’s unfair of me to ask it of you.” He stroked her hair, tangling his fingers in the unbound strands.
Where is my bonnet? The random thought surprised her.
“I’ve imagined you like this, your hair around your shoulders, all soft against me. I dreamed of it lying in the filth and mud in the trenches. We used to talk of our sweethearts, the lads and me. You wouldn’t believe how many of the poor buggers got Dear John letters from home. I wonder if those girls realized how it ripped the heart out of the boys who got them. One of my mates went crazy, kept throwing himself over the bags and begging Fritz to shoot him. They never did then. Alf went down right next to me when I was hit; the last thing I heard was him saying ‘At last.’ I tried to live, Annie. I really did, but it was wet with thick pea soup fog, and I was hit more than once.” He paused. “It’s true you know, what they say. It doesn’t hurt a first, just a numbness. Then the blood runs hot, then it feels cold, so cold. Too cold, too much blood…” His voice faded.
“George! Don’t go. Not yet!” Annie clutched at his shoulders.
He raised his head. “No, not yet. I need your promise. Promise me you’ll marry Peter, do your best to make him happy. Can you do that for me, Annie? Please?” His form wavered in the sweet green air.
“Yes! Yes, I’ll do it. For you, I’ll never stop loving you, but I promise to do my best to make Peter happy. Give us both a good life.”
“Thank you, dearest.” The flesh under her hands became insubstantial, his face transparent. “I’ll wait for you, when the time comes, I’ll be there waiting for you. Til then, Annie.” His lips brushed hers and then she was left with nothing but the scent of apple blossoms.
She woke with a start, bolt upright with the quilt clutched to her chest, eyes searching the dark for a familiar face. The scent of apple blossoms clung to her hair.
Chapter Sixteen
Between 510 and 520 a.m. on a foggy French morning in railway car Number 2419 D on a siding in the Forest of Compiegne some 37 miles north of Paris, the Armistice was signed. Present in the rail car were from France, the Supreme Commander of the Allied Armies, Ferdinand Foch, and General Maxime Weygard. Representing Britain British Naval Officer Captain Jack Marriott, Naval Officers Rear Admiral George Hope, and First Sea Admiral Sir Rosslyn Wemyss. The German delegation was led by politician and official government representative Matthais Erzberger, he was accompanied by Admiral Ernst Vonselow, and German Count Alfred Von Obendorff. The document was signed by F. Foch, R.E. Wemyss, Erzberger, A. Oberndorff, Winterfeldt, and Vonselow.
The official cease fire, the end of the war to end all wars, was agreed upon to occur on the 11th hour of the 11th day of November, 1918.
Annie slept fitfully through the night of November 10, 1918, unknowing of the fact that at 11 o’clock Eastern Time on that dated, the war was declared over.
* * *
“Father, Father!” Evan pulled Elsie up at the front steps and jumped down from the buckboard seat. Ivan stood on the sacks of feed in the wagon bed whooping at the top of his lungs.
Annie left the milk pails and hurried out of the barn toward the house. What in the world is going on? Evan hasn’t been this excited since I can’t remember when. And what’s gotten into Ivan. Mother will scold him for sure for acting like a hooligan. She broke into a run and arrived breathless just as her parents stepped out of the house.
“Evan, what is all this nonsense?” Father demanded.
Instead of answering, Evan grabbed Annie with his good arm and danced her around in an impromptu jig. Giving her a final spin, he stopped.
“It’s over! The war is over! I got the news when I picked up the mail! It’s over! Thank God.”
“Are you sure?” Father frowned.
Annie’s legs threatened to give out and deposit her in a heap. She disengaged herself from her brother and sat on the bottom step, attempting to gather her scattered thoughts. It’s over? Oh George, you almost made it. Just another three months and you’d have been coming home. Bitterness rose in her throat. She should be happy for the men and boys who would be coming home, but somehow just right this moment it was a struggle. Evan’s voice penetrated the fog in her brain.
“Yes, it’s official. The Germans signed the agreement around five in the morning French time, so last night our time. I can hardly believe it. The fighting is supposed to stop at eleven a.m.” He glanced at his watch. “Which means it’s already done. That would have made it five in the morning here. Ivan, you eejit, quit screeching would you?” Evan hauled his younger brother off the wagon and cuffed him good naturedly on the ear.
“Mister Mulligan said he heard David Lloyd the British Prime Minister announced it on the steps of Number Ten Downing Street. We should unload the feed and head back into the village. They’re celebrating in the street. It’s bedlam, everyone’s shouting and dancing, Mulligans are giving out candy to all the kids. C’mon, Ivan. Let’s get this unloaded. I want to go find Frances.”
Evan led Elsie toward the barn, followed by Ivan. I should go get the milk. The abstract thought failed to spur her into motion. Her limbs seemed stuck in thick clay, unmoving in spite of her intention to get to her feet. Shaking her head to clear it, Annie pushed to her feet and trailed after her brothers. Peter would be coming home. Not George, though. No, he was being buried in some foreign grave yard, far from home and no chance of Annie every seeing his grave. Peter’s last letter said he’d managed to get in touch with someone and found out George was buried near some place called Villers-Bretonneux. Lord, she couldn’t even pronounce it. Appropriately, she thought grimly, the grave yard was named Crucifix Corner Cemetery.
Working without really thinking about what her body was doing, Annie helped unload the feed and then carried the milk pails up to the house. It would have to be separated and then stored in the cold cellar before she went anywhere. Evan’s voice echoed out the open back door of the house urging her parents to hurry and chivvying Ivan. He was certainly in a hurry to get to the village. Maybe the war ending would spur him to act on his feelings and ask Frances to marry him finally. Lord knew, the whole village and surrounding area was aware the two of them only had eyes for each other.
“C’mon, Annie. Hurry up!” Ivan stuck his head into the milk house.
“You all go on without me. I need to finish up with the milk. I can ride one of the plow horses into the village when I’m done. Sarge is broke to ride. Tell them to go and I’ll catch up with everyone in a bit.”
Ivan regarded her with an odd expression and shrugged. The sound of his feet thundering over the floor boards reached her even across the yard. She needed time alone to figure out how she felt. Glad the fighting was over, of course. But what did it mean for her p
ersonally? Peter would be coming back and expecting her to marry him. Annie supposed she did need to marry someone, and if that was so, then Peter was the best of the lot in her opinion. She paused in the process of tipping cream in to a clean can. The crazy dream, the Sight, she was sure of it. She’d promised George she’d take care of his brother. Annie sighed and rested her head on one of the spouts of the cream separator. It would be enough to base a life on, wouldn’t it? They both loved George, and it seemed they’d both promised to look out for the other. It would be enough, it had to be.
* * *
For some reason, Annie thought since the fighting was over that the troops would be coming home by the end of the year. The newspaper reports soon disabused her of this notion. Although the Armistice was signed on November 11th, 1918. It wasn’t really in effect until the Treaty of Versailles was signed in the end of June, 1919. It seemed a long drawn out process to her. Now she’d made up her mind to marry Peter, she just wanted to get on with it.
The first Armistice lasted from November 11 to December 13, 1918. Then there was a prolongation from December 13, 1918 to January 16, 1919. Then a second prolongation, followed by a third that lasted past the signing of the Treaty of Versailles until January 10, 1920 when peace was finely ratified at 415 p.m. French time.
Annie spent the time helping Frances and Della prepare for Frances and Evan’s wedding. Evan and Frances finally came to an agreement and neither wanted to wait any longer than was necessary. She sewed on her own trousseau along with Frances’. Between the girls they turned out delicate undergarments, hemmed bed linens, embroidered pillow cases and towels. It made her blush to work the entwined initials of A and P on hand towels and pillowcases. Annie’s stomach twisted oddly when they began to work on baby clothes and cutting and hemming flannel diapers. Somehow it made everything so startlingly clear. The reality she was going to have to be intimate with Peter was oddly both disturbing and exciting. It felt like a betrayal of everything she and George shared. Although, she reminded herself, she was honouring his last wishes, honouring the promise she made to him.
Peter’s letters arrived at regular intervals, the post seeming to be more expedient since the hostilities ended.
February 14, 1919
Happy Valentine’s Day, Annie!
Tomorrow morning we sail for home on His Majesty’s Troopship Canada. We’re a sorry lot, I’m afraid, but so happy to be coming home to you. No time to write more. Don’t try to write back as it may well be lost and never reach me. I shall be home soon. How wonderful that sounds. Home.
Spr Peter Richardson
788629
C.R.T. Depot
March 17, 1919
Ottawa, Ontario
Dear Annie,
It’s official. I have my discharge papers and have been demobilized. We left Liverpool on February 15 of this year. How odd it seemed to be setting sail from that port again. But this time I have you to look forward to and not some unknown future with people I didn’t know. The HMT Canada arrived in Halifax on February 23rd. From there we were loaded on a train, which was pretty crowded but all the lads were in good form, glad to be on Canadian soil at last. I’m currently in Ottawa, so not all that far from you.
Much as I would like to come straight to you, I have no money to speak of, the army withholding my pay still. My mate, Alex is from New Westminster, BC and his father has offered to front me the money for a train ticket. As I said in a previous letter, I have a job promised peeling logs for Fraser’s Mills. I can’t in all good faith expect you to marry me when I have no means of supporting you. Nor I expect will your father be willing to allow such a thing when I have such bleak prospects. I hope you understand and are willing to be patient. The train leaves this afternoon. The sooner I leave the sooner I can save money to return to you. The address you can reach me at is below.
All my fondest wishes,
Peter
Contact Information
Peter Richardson
c/o Alex Franklin
327 Pine Street
New Westminster, British Columbia.
April 30, 1919
Dear Peter,
I’m sorry there wasn’t time for us to meet face to face before you left for the west. I do understand your feelings in wanting to be able to provide for us, but I need you to know I have a small nest egg put away. It’s not a great deal, only $100.00. I trust Father’s letter has reached you by now and you are aware he has agreed to our marriage. I have some good news, Father has agreed to deed us 20 acres of his homestead. We can build a small cabin on the piece of land across the lane leading down to Doe Lake. There are good stands of timber and Ivan is helping me clear what will be the front fields looking down toward the water. It’s hard work and the black flies will be swarming in the next few weeks as the weather warms, but I think of you and the life we are planning and that keeps me going.
I have some happy news. Evan and Frances were married in a quiet ceremony a few weeks ago. Frances not wanting a large affair, Father married them in the parlour with just close family and a few friends. They seem happy.
I have to confess, I miss George, as I’m sure you do as well. I feel what we are doing and the life we are planning is honouring his memory.
Your Friend
Annie
May 31, 1919
Dearest Annie,
I received your last letter with gladness. I miss George as well, more than I can ever say. It helps ease my heart to know I can care for you in his place. I confess, that is not the only reason, as I hold you in great regard for your own self and can only hope you will come to feel the same affection for me with time.
The news of your Father’s generous gift of land is most welcome. Please don’t over task yourself with clearing the bush. I am hopeful that by fall, or next spring at the latest I will be able to quit the mills and return to Ontario. It is growing late here and morning comes early. I had a slip with the draw knife yesterday and gave myself a good cut on the knee. Alex took a dunk in the river last week, he works unplugging the log jams which occur when they float the timber down the Fraser.
Please give my best to your brother and his new bride.
Good night for now, dear Annie.
Your Good Friend
Peter
June 26, 1919
Dear Peter,
I hope you are well healed from your mishap now and that you have managed not to sustain any other injuries. The weather here is hot and humid, the worst of the blackflies have died off, although in the bush they still seem to thrive. Now the mosquitoes are out in force. I have managed to clear an acre of land, the soil is good and should be fairly easy to plow.
I know what you mean, the day ends late and starts early. I am writing this in my room by moonlight, not wanting to waste lamp oil.
Hoping you are well and will be able to join me soon. There is a train station in Sprucedale. I checked with Chet at the station in the village. You will have to change when you get to Union Station in Toronto and then wend your way north to Sprucedale. Once you know when you will come, I will arrange to meet you in the village with the buckboard.
Your Friend
Annie
July 31, 1919
Dearest Annie,
I have great good news. I have received a bonus for my work. Alex’s father may have had a hand in it as I fished Alex out of the river and saved his life after he fell between some logs when the jam broke. I happened to be down by river and heard him yell. It was a close call, for both of us, but I managed to get him out only a little battered about. He has a nasty gash on his head and was out cold when I reached him. I’m not afraid to confess it was terrifying being in the water with those huge logs shifting and banging on every side.
But the good news is I have bought a train ticket for 10 September. I’m coming to Ontario! Also, please expect to receive a package from me in the mail. I posted it two days ago, so it might even have arrived before this letter. I charge you to open it
and examine the contents carefully. I trust you will be pleased with what you find.
Looking forward to seeing you very soon,
Your Good Friend,
Peter.
Chapter Seventeen
A package? I wonder what on earth Peter is sending? Annie pondered the question all the way into Sprucedale. Peter’s last letter arrived twos week ago, but still no package. Today was Annie’s turn to collect the mail, deliver the cream for Eaton’s and pick up sundries at Mulligan’s. She stopped at the train first and exchanged the cream cans, then hastened to the General Store.
“Good Afternoon, Annie,” Mrs. Mulligan greeted her from behind the wide counter.
“Afternoon, Mrs. Mulligan.” Annie crossed the hardwood floor, inhaling the scent of tea leaves overlaid with the sharp smell of hemp rope. Barrels of pickles stood by the counter adding their briny over notes. She handed over the list of supplies and contemplated the penny candy in the clear glass jars lining the counter top.
“I’ll just get this together for you, then. Oh, by the way, I have lots of mail for you today.” She winked. “A nice big parcel addressed to you, with a return address of British Columbia.” Mrs. Mulligan bustled off leaving Annie to hide her burning face.
