by Lucy Lambert
Rubbing the remnants of sleep that tried to glue my eyelids closed, I peered about my room. Mother had been in, I could see. She'd drawn the drapes for me, and my shoes had been arranged neatly in the corner.
Aside from my bed, I had a small dressing table, a stool, and a chest of drawers with an old flower pattern on its cream-colored finish that served as my dresser.
Untangling my legs, I grimaced as I put my feet to the floor. The tightness in my calves from the previous day had tied the muscles like some hangman's slipknot that wrenched on them every time I moved my feet up or down. It was good that I had this Saturday off. I couldn't have spent a minute in that hot room filled with women churning out clothes for soldiers, let alone an entire shift.
The sound of my mother's laugh came up the stairs. I frowned at myself in the mirror. Were we expecting company today? I didn't think so. Who could it be?
Sitting down on the stool, I pulled out my brush and did my best to undo the effects of my night's turbulent sleep on my hair. I sucked in a sharp breath each time one of the bristles caught in a stubborn tie. But I kept going. I could hear my mother's voice, though I couldn't make out the words.
I brushed until my hair shined, loose and straight about my shoulders. The rays of light leaking in through the window caught in it, giving the blonde lengths the appearance and coloring of many strands of burnished gold.
There was another voice, too, I noticed then. Lower. A man's voice.
Slipping out of my dress, I opened the wardrobe and pulled out one more suited to a Saturday. The flower-patterned skirt hung down to my ankles, and it had a small, rectangular opening that went a few finger's widths down past my neck.
There was none of the red puffiness about my eyes today. I examined my face closely in the mirror, checking it for any outward signs of the turmoil that still twisted and tightened in my stomach. Maybe, I figured, my mother wouldn't ask me what had upset me so if I pretended it had never happened. Though I know the chances of that were as likely as Kaiser Wilhelm and King George ending the war and swearing an endless, fraternal love to one another.
Getting up, I made my way downstairs. In my bare feet, the stairs did not creak as much as they had on my laborious climb up them the previous day.
High emotion and the heat of the day had parched my mouth of all moisture, and my tongue felt like a dried, withered thing in my mouth. I planned on giving a brief, polite greeting to whomever our guest turned out to be, and then begging off for some water and perhaps a bit of toast (maybe with a bit of butter smeared on it for flavor, if we had any left).
"Oh, that's wonderful! Truly wonderful! I'm so proud of you," mother said, her voice becoming clear as I neared the living room.
"I'm glad. I just wish that my mother and Eleanor weren't so upset. They don't seem to understand in the least..."
My body tensed up as I heard Jeff's voice. Why was he here? And so early? He worked Saturdays. Though, with his decision to not fight the draft, I wondered if he hadn't begged off for one last weekend before his training.
I'd stopped right by the doorway to the living room. Up ahead was the entrance to the kitchen, with its water and bread (and maybe butter). But I found I couldn't move another step.
"Ellie? I'm so glad you're up!" Jeff said.
I turned to look into the living room. Jeff had his hat clutched in both hands against as chest as he rose from the couch. Mother rose as well from her small rocking chair.
Jeff had dressed in his Sunday best. A dark suit, a white handkerchief folded in his breast pocket, with polished black shoes, and a vest.
My casual Saturday dress felt suddenly immodest on me, and I had the urge to run upstairs and put on a gown to match him.
He looked at me, his eyes clear and plaintive. His fingers worried the brim of his hat, spinning it in slow revolutions.
"Eleanor! Why didn't you tell me straight away the news about the letter?" mother asked, turning to face me. Some mixture of indignation and excitement glittered in her eyes.
She knew that Jeff and I wanted to marry. Had she always secretly wanted him to join the war? He'd come home a hero, and she'd have some valiant soldier as a son-in-law. Had she caught that same fever as those women handing out feathers to every man who hadn't thrown his lot in with the army?
I spared her a glance, but my eyes were for Jeff. He did look so dashing in that suit. It fit him well, showing the broadness of his shoulders and the tapering slenderness of his waist. I tried to burn that image of him into my mind. After this weekend, he would be gone.
"Because, momma, Jeff doesn't want to stay here with me. He's gotten it into his cotton-filled head that he needs to go off to fight a war that's an entire ocean away from us. He wants the glory like it's some game he'll be laughing about with his friends."
Mother sputtered for a moment. I just looked into Jeff's eyes. He held my gaze, and the muscles in his jaw tightened. His hat shook in his hands. I knew he'd come over thinking I'd forgiven him already, as I usually did. But this wasn't about showing up to dinner late, this was about his life.
"Eleanor! Can't you see that this is important to Jeffrey? He'll look so handsome in his uniform! I hope we can see him before he goes off. I knew he wasn't a coward. I could see it in his face at how angry he was when he brought those feathers here."
"Yes, momma, I know how you like soldiers. They're so proud and noble after they return, right? Just like papa was when he came back. In between the crying and the drinking and the cursing."
My father had been with the Canadian regiment in the Boer Wars. I had few memories of him that did not revolve around his self-destructive drinking, or of waking in the middle of the night to hear him screaming in his sleep while my mother called to me to help hold him down so that he wouldn't hurt himself in his thrashing.
"Your father was a good man, Eleanor, a proud man. It's not a woman's place to tell a man how to live. Stop trying to keep Jeffrey from fulfilling his duty," mother said.
She spoke through gritted teeth at me, her lips barely moving. She whitewashed my father's life with a new layer of nostalgia and ignorance with each year, each month, that passed. I could tell that she had some strong words for me, but was keeping them in check in front of Jeff.
"The whole world's gone mad," I said.
Though I wanted so much just to have a few mouthfuls of water, I went to the front door. A jolt of irritation shot through me as I remembered that my good shoes, the ones that went well with this dress, were upstairs in the corner of my room.
So I made do with an older pair of brown, square-toed flats. I hardly wore them, as they chafed at my feet, but I pulled them on anyway.
"Eleanor! What are you doing? Come back here this instant so we can sort this out. We should be trying to keep Jeffrey in good spirits before he..."
I didn't catch the rest as I let the front door swing shut behind me. The driver of a carriage looked at me quizzically as I went down the walk. His horse's hooves clattered against the road, joining in with the thrum of the automobiles.
As I walked away from my house, down Weber Street along a gentle curve that would lead me down to Waterloo and away from Jeffrey Beech and my mother, other noises slowly intruded into my thoughts.
Gulls and geese honked and cawed, and the trees rustled as the breeze moved through their branches.
My stomach groaned in a most unladylike fashion, and heat rose to my cheeks as I glanced about to see if anyone had heard.
"Haven't you eaten yet?"
I'd been so wrapped up in my thoughts that I hadn't noticed Jeff come out the door after me, delayed only as long as it had taken him to pull on his shoes.
A warm sensation fluttered in the middle of my chest. Some part of me felt pleased that he wanted so badly to make things up to me. I crushed that pleasant feeling like some sadistic child pulling the petals from a beautiful flower.
Turning away from him, I continued on down the sidewalk towards Waterloo. I didn't know what I'd d
o when I reached Kitchener's sister city, as I hadn't taken any money with me. There was the Lutheran seminary down on King Street. I wondered if I remembered enough of my German to attend a lecture there.
"Please, Jeff, you've made your choice. And it's clear that you've had it made for quite some time. So leave me alone and go spend some time with your mother."
He caught up to me, his longer stride easily keeping pace as my legs swished back and forth beneath my dress.
"Come on, Ellie. I promise you I'll be fine. It's going to be an adventure! Did you know the government's got the Mauretania and the Olympic ferrying our boys over there from Halifax? I've never been on a liner before! Can you believe it?"
I couldn't help it as some of his enthusiasm rubbed off on me. I'd seen pictures of those ships in the paper. Especially the Olympic, after that tragedy with the Titanic only five years ago. It was a beautiful ship.
Maybe, a small voice whispered, maybe he will be okay. The war really could be over before he even set foot in England, let alone France or Belgium. Then he really would come back laughing, having just crossed the Atlantic twice on the government's dime, and on some of the finest ships afloat, to boot!
It was a pleasant thought, tainted only by the faint sensation of sickness in the very bottom of my stomach, the manifestation of some awful fear or premonition I did my best to ignore.
"Hey!" I said as Jeff locked his arm with mine. My hand rubbed against his jacket. It really was a fine suit, so smooth against my knuckles. And it did fit him so very well.
Slowly, I looked at him. A small, trembling smile curved my lips.
"Come, I'll take you to breakfast. Then we'll spend the rest of the day together. And we can have supper with my mother; she managed to save the ham, if you can believe it!" Jeff said, putting his hand over mine as he pulled me towards him. We quickly matched our step.
"That sounds lovely," I said, still smiling.
A calmness drifted over me, muffling the voice that still clamored to yell at him, to box his ears until he agreed to shuck this crazy desire for war.
I had heard that a suicide often seems so calm and happy, with not a concern in the world, before committing their sin. It was something I had never understood until that moment.
Suddenly, I pressed my body harder against Jeff, clinging to him, not caring about the passersby and their stares.
"I'll be fine," he said, squeezing and patting my hand, "You'll see. Just wait."
That Saturday turned out to be a lovely day. The air was warm, but dry. The sun didn't burn my fair skin as we walked about the park and called out to the swans paddling majestically out on the water. Breakfast was full of flavor, with fresh bread (and butter!) and lunch equally satisfying.
It was a day that reminded me of why I loved Jeff. When he wasn't being pig-headed, he was so thoughtful, gentle, and caring. We spoke of what we'd do when he returned, where a good neighborhood to buy a house was (I was rather found of some new ones we passed going up Albert Street, with their porches and villa-style siding).
He made me laugh, joking if he saw me grow pensive. And he was quick to hold my hand, not caring if anyone saw.
Even Marie seemed somehow at peace with her son's decision. She talked constantly about all the parcels of food and baking she'd send him every week he was away, all the pulp magazines he liked to read she'd make sure to purchase from the store so he could look forward to them. All the while she carved the ham into thick, juicy slices with a black-handled knife with a long, sharp blade.
We all laughed and talked about all the wonderful places we'd like to see over in Europe. I had always wanted to see London, myself. The Thames, Big Ben, the Tower of London.
Marie said that she's always wanted to see Paris. Jeff agreed with her. I thought of his comment about the real Parisian engagement ring and blushed, hiding it by scooping some of the slightly-dry ham into my mouth. Marie had done a good job of hiding the burnt smell, but it still lingered like some fine dust over everything.
I offered to help Marie clear the table, but she just told me to stay seated.
Jeff waited until she went into the kitchen, then he looked at me. It had been a long day for both of us. The beginnings of his five o'clock shadow dotted his cheeks and chin. He looked older, somehow.
"What?" I asked, beginning to blanch under his gaze. Why did he stare at me so intently?
Under the table, his foot skirted along the floor until it bumped against mine. We both glanced into the kitchen. While Marie thought we were made for each other, that appeared to be no excuse for any sort of physical contact in her presence. If she hadn't been so out of sorts the previous days with the draft letter, she would have said something about all the hand holding.
He winked at me.
"It's going to be okay. You know that, right?"
I started to speak, but I had a hitch in my throat. I put my hand to my neck, gave him a little smile, and nodded. The word just refused to leave my lips. All my inner anxiety and worry hadn't really gone away. It had just retreated under the surface.
“It appears I’ve forgotten dessert!” Marie said, appearing in the doorway suddenly.
Jeff yanked his foot from mine, but nothing could hide the flush in my cheeks.
“That’s okay, mother,” Jeff started.
Marie hurried over to me, “Dear! Are you all right? You’re practically glowing. Are you feeling well?” She tried to put her hand on my forehead.
I warded her off and smiled even as embarrassment tickled my stomach, and an almost uncomfortable heat simmered deep inside me. “Yes, I’m fine. I think I ate a little too much of the meat, is all.”
Marie tsked at me, but amusement also softened her matronly features. “I should have noticed and had you slow down, dear. I’m afraid it’s just this business with the…” she glanced at Jeff, then sighed, her shoulders heaving.
I knew how she felt. That same heavy feeling of dread waited just beyond my own perception, ready to wrap me in its smothering embrace. The only thing that really kept it away was my constant, almost childish clinging to Jeff’s assurance that he would be all right.
Before she could let herself get too deep into her own misgivings, Marie brightened up immediately, her eyes showing a bit too much white around the irises. “I thought I might take an after supper stroll through the park and pick up some dessert on my way back. I thought that maybe the two of you might like to join me… But I wouldn’t want to upset your digestion, dear.”
Jeff took this chance to intercede, standing up and putting his hands on his mother’s shoulders. He kissed the back of her head. “I think a walk is just what you need now, mother. I know this isn’t easy for you. Why don’t you go, clear your head with the fresh air?”
A struggle played itself out across Marie’s face. Be near her son for another hour, or take some much-needed time to work things through.
“A walk does sound lovely…” Marie said.
“Of course, of course,” Jeff said, leading her gently into the foyer. I listened to Marie rustling as she pulled on her shoes. The swish of cloth and some mumbling I took to be a hug between them. Then the door opened.
“I’ll return before dark!” Marie said.
Then Jeff came back into the dining room. He unbuttoned his collar and rubbed at his eyes before plopping back down into his seat. It weighed on him heavily, I could see.
That infuriated me. If he felt as Marie and I did, why did he insist upon this idiocy of going to war! If only there were some way of convincing him, swaying him over to our line of reasoning.
I wanted him to stay here so badly, as did his mother. Was his fool’s pride worth so much more to him than our wellbeing?
“I know that look, Ellie. Yes, I still think this is the right thing to do. I can feel it, deep inside,” Jeff said, fixing me with a lopsided smile in some attempt to show his certainty. It might have worked it he didn’t run one hand nervously through his hair and wet his lips. With that bit of s
tubble on his cheeks, and the bit of skin I could see showing through his unbuttoned collar, he looked quite dashing. I leaned forward, closer to him.
How dare he make me feel attracted to him at a time like that!
Still, my righteous anger couldn’t slow down the quick tempo of my heart, or cool the sudden wave of heat that seemed to flow up through my body through some point low in my stomach.
He let out a nervous laugh.
“She’s left us alone in here. Can you believe it? Has she ever left us here like this, before? How wicked of her,” Jeff said.
I sat up straighter, a realization widening my eyes. My fingers squeezed the armrests.
Could it work? It could. It would. It needed to! My whole body positively tingled. I kept telling myself that it was to keep him here, to keep him safe. Not to satisfy some sinful urge.
I had to work up more saliva so that I could actually get the words out. My heart wanted to burst from my chest.
“Yes. Do you know what would be even more wicked?”
“What?” he replied, distracted, his eyes peering at the wall but looking at something much farther away.
“If we went to your bedroom,” I said.
That did get his attention. He looked at me. “Ellie… if she came back and caught us…”
“So you’re saying that you’re man enough to go fight a war, but not to show a room in your house to the woman you love?”
This earned me a snort and a shake of his head. Rubbing at his stubble, looking at me cock-eyed, a slow grin spread across his face. He stood and offered me his hand. “Come on, then. Though I’m not sure what you’re so interested in seeing up there.
The polished wooden stairs creaked beneath our feet. He tried to let go of my hand at the bottom of the stairwell, but I didn’t let him.
He’s going to stay, he has to stay! I remember thinking that with each step. He wouldn’t refuse me. He couldn’t, not after he accepted what I wanted to give him.
Upstairs, we went straight to his bedroom. Jeff threw up his door with a flourish.
The open curtains showed a window looking out onto Victoria Street. The sun coming in showed a few particles of dust floating through the air and bathed his small, tidily made bed opposing the window. A few shelves built into the walls held his collection of pulp magazines and adventure books, and a wardrobe against the other wall held his clothing. A small desk with an inkwell was just enough to make the space feel slightly cramped.
