by Jean Little
Dear Eliza,
I took your advice. They were not going to let me into the ward because he had said he would not see anyone. But I sent in your password, gave him time to take it in and then just pushed the ward sister aside and made for his bed. He was holding my note, which made it easier to be sure it was him. Oh, Eliza, poor old Jack is having a rough time of it these days. He blames himself for Rufus’s death. And he thinks he has turned into some sort of monster because his face is so scarred. At first he thought he was going blind because of the bandages, but he is not. He is a brick. I think I managed to turn his mind in a new direction by telling him about my troubles and asking for his help. I knew Jack had promised Rufus to look after me if I ever needed looking after. Well, I do need help and he rose to the challenge. I can’t tell you now. But you will learn soon what a honey your brother is. No wonder Rufus loved him! He said “Jack is very decent, an all around great fellow.” That really means he loved him as though they were brothers.
Thanks a million for your help, Eliza. Jack and Rufus both said you were a great kid and they were surely right. I met Hugo, you know. He came to England on leave just before Vimy. He spoke of you too. He told me you were his favourite sister. That is quite a compliment from a man with four. I must go. Maybe we will have happy times together some day. They seem far off at the moment.
Write to Jack, Eliza. He needs to hear there are people out there remembering him.
Your friend,
Rosemary
I wonder why she wanted to see Jack so urgently. I mustn’t be a Nosey Parker but it does make me curious. She sounded almost desperate. What help did she need?
I will write to Jack every chance I get. I will tell him about Charlie trying to make poor Isaac’s ears match with flour paste he made himself. Isaac looked a sight! It is a good thing paste is not hard to wash out.
Finally Mother and Father got a proper letter from him. They look much happier, although I know they will not stop worrying over him until he is here where they can touch him and feed him and hear him speak. And hug him, of course. We’ll all hug him until he begs for mercy.
Friday, December 7
There has been a terrible explosion in Halifax harbour. The newspaper headlines are full of the story. A ship called the Imo collided with a French one, the Mont Blanc, and the Mont Blanc was full of munitions. Many buildings are destroyed, many people killed. It will take officials weeks to sort out the number of dead and injured, the newspapers say. The only good news we can see in it at all is that 150 soldiers who had been wounded at the Front and were on their way back home to Toronto had left Halifax before the tragedy happened. But what of any other wounded soldiers who were still there, dear Reader? What if Jack had been coming home and got off the ship there? To think of the brave wounded men getting all the way back from the Front only to be blown up right here in Canada.
Father can only shake his head. I hope you do not live in Halifax, dear Reader.
Saturday, December 15
Dear Reader, you have to forgive my neglecting you, because today is my birthday. I am entering on my fourteenth year or, in other words, I have turned thirteen. It took a lot of explaining before I understood that. Did you know that in China you are one when you are born? If I were Chinese, I’d be fourteen today.
I got a strange present from my parents. Elocution lessons! The teacher is not the one who rolls her eyes. She has just moved to Uxbridge. Her husband is an invalid. I suppose she is a Duck but she doesn’t droop or carry on about herself or act like most Ducks. She was an actress before she got married and, of course, gave up her stage career. I heard one of the regular Ducks say that about her.
Why did she say “of course”? People say such things all the time. Grandmother Bates was a Methodist before she married Grandfather and she used to say, “Of course, I became a Presbyterian.” But why couldn’t Grandfather have turned Methodist?
Grandmother also used to say he couldn’t hold onto a tune “even if it were tied up and put in a lidded basket.” She has funny ways of putting things.
As for my elocution teacher, I don’t think you must stop acting because you marry. It would be hard, though, to take care of your house and children and be ready to play Lady Macbeth after the dishes were done. Maybe, when you marry, you need to wed a millionaire who can pay for people to clean your house and raise your children.
The others pooled their money and bought me some secondhand books. My favourite is Jo’s Boys. I already had Little Men. And Grandmother gave me Little Women and Good Wives when I was ten. I got Daddy-Long-Legs by Jean Webster. It looks wonderful. I do so like books about orphans.
Corny gave me a present. Are you ready for a shock? She gave me a cross-stitch kit complete with a small embroidery hoop and all the thread. I said I was thrilled and I did not laugh, but Susannah almost gave me away.
“But, Eliza, you always said —” she started.
I was brilliant. I interrupted her fast and firmly and said, “… always said how badly I wanted a kit just like this!”
Susannah closed her lips and Corny beamed.
The Webbs are talking about making a fresh start somewhere else, far from here. They have relatives out West and Richard might do better there. I do pray so. Corny says he’ll be hunky-dory. That sounds funny applied to Richard.
Friday, December 21
This is the beginning of winter officially. It is the shortest day and the longest night. It is nice to toast our toes at the hearth fire in the evenings but I will be glad when the light begins to come back. Dark skies make gloomy thoughts harder to chase away. I try never to write to Jack when I am gloomy. I tell him the funniest and most beautiful things I can think of. I feel it is like throwing him a lifeline. Maybe I am wrong.
Sunday, December 23
Dear Reader, I am busy making some Christmas gifts. I like drawing and I decided I could make Belle a colouring book and draw some paper dolls for Susannah. It is harder than you might think. I would trace the clothes from Vogue, which Mrs. Webb gets, except then they do not fit the dolls. I can’t seem to draw a Vogue doll and make her look one bit real.
Everyone says the War is nearing its end. I do not quite believe it though, because they have been saying the same thing for so long. It is strange to think that Belle cannot remember a time when there was no war. I wonder if she will forget Hugo. She was so little when he enlisted. She will know his face from photographs and lots of family stories about him. But will she really remember him the way I do? Poor Belle.
Christmas Day
Tuesday, December 25
It is Christmas morning and I do not hate my sister Verity! It is strange, when I look back, how angry I was just one year ago because they went skating without me. I wanted to strangle poor Verity. I forgave her long ago. Although I still do not relish being called an immature limpet!
So much has changed since then. Verity is so much easier to put up with now that she is a nurse. They all liked their presents, which was nice. Father and Mother gave me a big fat dictionary for my very own. Two years ago I would not have wanted such a useful present. But now I love sitting and reading it in odd moments. There are so many strange words. Dear Reader, do you know what an ygdrasil is? I thought I might try to learn one new word every day. Merry Christmas to you.
Later
What we hear from Jack is extremely skimpy. He has not said whether he will have to stay in hospital over Christmas. Maybe he has been with Rosemary and met her family. Neither has ever told me what happened about that secret wedding.
I wrote to him anyway and did my best not to sound reproachful.
1918
January–April 1918
Tuesday, January 1, 1918
Happy 1918, dear Reader. I hope this one is happier than the last.
Now is the day for checking those New Year’s Resolutions Verity and I wrote in our journals so long ago. I found Verity’s journal in her dresser drawer after she moved out. She is too tired to
have energy to keep a diary. I read over her resolutions and I think she kept hers pretty well. I kept mine, more or less, but I was careful to write resolutions I thought I might be able to keep.
Wednesday, January 2
The Webbs moved out West right after Christmas. They did not put their house on the market in case they decide life in the West does not suit them. They have rented it for a year to an older couple with middle-aged children. They come to church but they are what Moppy calls “cold fish.” Not the neighbours we hoped for.
On their last Sunday, the Webbs came to church — that was a surprise — all but Richard, of course. He will be going out West with them. When we sang, Lead, Kindly Light, I saw Mrs. Webb’s eyes fill up with tears during the last verse. Do you know it, dear Reader? It goes:
So long Thy power hath blest me, sure it still
Will lead me on,
O’er moor and fen, o’er crag and torrent, ’til
The night is gone.
And with the morn, those angel faces smile
Which I have loved long since, and lost awhile.
Richard is not dead, but I am sure she was thinking of him being so changed. Then I saw Dr. Webb take her hand. But they left right away after the benediction. He must have felt like the Alm Uncle in Heidi when he first went back to church. Some of the congregation were disappointed at not getting the chance to pat them. And make a fuss. After all, everyone knows Dr. Webb said there was no God.
Saturday, January 5
I must write back to Cornelia. She says the cows are not as great a comfort as she imagined. She’s scared of them. She actually misses me. I miss her too which, once upon a time, I would not have believed. But you get fond of people when you understand them. Even the parts of them which you scorned to start with grow familiar, and even endearing.
Monday, February 4
This time my neglect of you, dear Reader, has not been my fault. We have all had whooping cough. Belle caught it first, of course, from Ellie James in her Sunday school class. But she was very generous and every one of us then caught the bug. Mother put this book away on a high shelf until I got better because she was afraid the contagion would stick to it somehow. What a scene it was! People coughing and then whooping and then bringing up their boots. The adults took turns sleeping downstairs so that somebody would get some sleep. They were all kind to us but got heartily sick of it. But today we are all recovered, at long last, and Mother gave me back my precious journal.
We got TWO letters from Jack. They were most unsatisfactory. He is not telling us things that really matter. I cannot understand it. He does say he is getting better faster than the doctors believed possible. No mention of Rosemary!
He sounds cranky and discouraged. It must be hard for him, facing the future without Rufus.
It would feel empty. And I am not the only one who misses Hugo. I must try to remember.
Thursday, March 21
It is the first day of spring. But I feel as though it is cold old November with all the winter stretching out ahead of me. Mother is keeping me home from school. She says I look peaked. I am never sure what that means but it is not good. My throat hurts and I have a headache.
Easter Sunday
March 31
On Easter Sunday morning, in our house, we greet each other with the old words, “Christ is risen.” Then the person who has been greeted answers, “He is risen indeed!” I did not really learn to do it without being prompted until I was nine and I was so proud when I beat Father to it and surprised him. Yet I met him in the hall this morning and said, “Christ is risen, Father.” And he didn’t answer. I said it again, louder. Then he seemed to wake up and he said, “Yes, daughter. Christ is risen.” He went on down to the kitchen.
I felt tears in my eyes because he had forgotten. Oh, dear Reader, seeing him this way makes my heart ache.
Fifteen minutes later
I just heard him going to the hall mirror to check his tie and I ran out to him.
“Father, listen to me,” I said. “Christ is risen.”
And he hugged me and then held me away and said, ever so softly, “He is risen indeed, Eliza. Hallelujah!”
It was the best moment I have shared with him in a long, long time.
Tuesday, April 9
I am sorry I have written so little lately. The others got all better but I had some sort of relapse. Not contagious. But I was too weak and feeble to write. I do a bit of something and then I have to lie down. I have a fever too. It seems so much more important when you have a fever.
But I will write lots as soon as I feel up to it.
Friday, April 12
It took me so long to grow strong again and then I had all my schoolwork to catch up on. Matthew actually came over to the house to help me with Algebra and Latin. I am not fond of Latin. Matthew, in case you’ve forgotten, is the boy who works in the telegraph office.
As soon as I get less wobbly in the knees, I will write much more, dear Reader. Something exciting is bound to happen and inspire my faithful green pen to fountain forth.
Monday, April 15
Do you think I could possibly have the Second Sight? Something exciting has indeed happened. I think today has been the strangest and most exciting day of my life. It surely had the most exciting beginning. I will tell you every dramatic detail to make up for all the weeks I skipped.
I woke up before sunrise because I heard a burglar in the house. I told myself it was what Father calls my overactive imagination and listened hard. But the noise I had half-heard was not repeated and Isaac slept on. He has slept with me ever since I got sick.
I made myself pull the covers over my head and wait until daylight. But it was my turn to go down and put the big kettle on to boil for everybody’s morning tea.
I know I am spinning this out but it is such a story. I went into the kitchen and saw no sign of a burglar, and I had almost forgotten about it when I had to go into the dining room for something. I took one look through the door. A man, wearing an overcoat, was asleep on the floor with his back to me.
I opened my mouth to scream and squeaked instead. Then the man raised his head and I did scream long and loud. I was looking at some sort of monster.
Father says my lungs were in fine fettle, for they brought him out of his bed in a great leap and he barked his shin on the chair. I’m glad it slowed him up a few seconds because Jack had things to tell me.
The “monster” still had on his greatcoat and he had a sofa cushion under his head. He looked dusty and unshaven in the half-light. He really did look like a tramp and I thought he must have broken into the house because Father locks the doors at night.
“Pipe down, Eliza,” he said, sitting up.
It was Jack’s voice. But, dear Reader, the face was not Jack’s. I am so ashamed. I burst out crying and I stammered, “Jack, I’m sorry. You scared me. I thought you were a mon– tramp.”
And his eyes looked into mine. He knew why I had screamed. He only looked like a tramp until he showed his poor face. Then he looked like a man in a monster mask. It was made of pink rubber and, in those first few seconds, it did not look human. An ugly scar ran from his hairline down the whole left side of his face. One corner of his mouth was twisted down and the end of one eyebrow was caught in the puckered up skin.
Yet his bright eyes were Jack’s and they watched me, seeing my shock but not surprised by it. He had seen it before on other faces. He expected it, by now.
“It’s all right, Eliza,” he said in a tired voice. “I know what you thought. It is a frightening sight, especially when you are unprepared. I could not look in a mirror for … weeks.”
“No,” I began. “I was —”
“Hush,” he broke in. “We must talk.”
We both heard Mother and Father coming downstairs at a breakneck pace. My brother scrambled up and leaned toward me. He looked terrified.
“What is it?” I hissed. “What’s wrong, Jack?”
“I’m marr
ied and we have a baby boy,” he breathed into my ear. “Don’t tell. I’ll tell you later.”
Father burst into the room and grabbed Jack in his arms. He crushed him in such a tight hug Jack had to gasp for breath.
“Sam, let go,” Mother cried out.
But the hug had all of them in it by then and she was as bad as Father — only not as strong, of course. I thought Father would crush him to death.
“Oh, Father,” Jack got out and then everybody, Jack included, was raising such a hullabaloo that the children came on the run, not wanting to miss a second of the show.
Dear Reader, I am still feeling faint. He whispered that he would tell me everything as soon as he got a chance. But there has been no chance all this joyful day. I did manage to force the baby’s name out of him while we were clearing the table after breakfast.
“Rufus Hugh,” he whispered, “but we plan to call him Hugh.”
Oh, what has Jack done?
After midnight
Jack is asleep. He is exhausted. I have been tossing and turning ever since he left my room. I can’t sleep. I feel like a music box which has been wound too tight and will break any second. So I will write to you.
I hope you will help me make sense out of my brother’s muddled story. Tomorrow I will make him tell Father and Mother and I will have to keep my wits about me or they will be completely confused. And hurt because, of course, he should have told them ages ago. They don’t even know Rosemary exists.
I feel as though I’m back in Muskoka and I’ve just fallen off the dock into water which is over my head. I can swim, as you know, but I like to be able to touch bottom if I need to. Where Jack and Rosemary and I are, right now, is deep water.
First of all, they are married. When she got in to see him in the hospital, she needed to tell him that she was going to have Rufus’s baby and she did not know what to do. She had just found out that Rufus was getting the Military Cross posthumously and she was afraid they might change their minds if they found out about his marrying her when he had been forbidden to do so.
