by Jean Little
Bedtime
Fanny is so much better tonight. Ever since she could swallow again, I have had to spoon custards into her mouth. And make her mugs of Horlicks Malted Milk. It is supposed to be especially good for people who have had Influenza, according to Aunt.
I have only had a short time of serving the patient but I already feel great sympathy for those poor mother robins who fly back and forth, back and forth, bringing worm after worm after worm. But my sister is alive!
Sunday noon, October 27, 1918
There is no church service due to the Flu. Aunt went to the funeral of a woman in the congregation and found she was the only one there who was not a relative. And there were two small coffins in one of the rooms — two little brothers who had died. The funeral service was short. They told her they had had over a dozen in the last week. Aunt could hardly talk about it. It is like that bit in “Abide with Me” that says, “The darkness deepens …” But not in this house, not with Fanny recovering.
Late afternoon
Fan is growing downright grouchy, grumbling about everything in a weak voice which is not hers. Nothing we do suits her. She wouldn’t even drink the glass of hot milk Jo brought her, because it had a skin on the top. Aunt says that is a sure sign she is getting well. She told me she has seen this proved true over and over again. I hope Aunt knows what she is talking about. It may help me be patient with the crosspatch.
I admit to you, Jane, but nobody else, that I am close to becoming irritated with my beloved twin. She has been snatched out of the jaws of Death. The least she could do is act sweet and grateful for all the hours I spent in agony watching by her bedside. No, not Francesca! She tosses and turns and says the covers are too heavy or there are crumbs that make her itch or she is thirsty for COLD water. “Really cold this time, Fee,” she whimpers, like that princess complaining about the pea under her heap of mattresses. I feel like telling her to her face that I am no lady-in-waiting and she is not a member of the royal family. But I remind myself that she nearly died, and chip some ice off the block in the icebox to make her highness’s beverage cool enough to suit her.
I can’t let myself look too long at her poor face, even when it is scowling so, because it is so thin and I almost lost her and I do love her so, Jane. But I don’t think it would be good for her if I let all that thankfulness pour out on her even though, like the 23rd Psalm says, “My cup runneth over.”
I toyed with the thought of saying I am coming down with a fever or a sore throat, but it would frighten Aunt. Also it would be tempting fate. Thank heaven I feel jim-dandy.
Bedtime
Back in Aunt’s room
I would not make a good nurse. That miserable sister told me so. Despite the chipped ice in her water. All because I spilled the water she was washing in down her neck. So terrible!!
And Jemma told Theo that there was a shortage of gravediggers because of the Flu. “If one of us gets sick, who will dig for us?” he asked, his eyes sparkling. He has not the faintest idea what it is all about.
“Go away, you little ghoul,” I said.
And Aunt told me not to be unkind.
Maybe, Jane, I should see to it that you are an only child. There must be a way.
Monday, October 28, 1918
More waiting on Francesca! After a good night’s sleep, I think I can be more patient. It is hard to be filled with loving kindness when you are so exhausted and anxious you think you may drop to the floor any minute. She remains as prickly as a porcupine. But I am eternally grateful she came back to me from that darkness.
I almost asked her what it was like in the valley of the shadow, but then, I couldn’t. She is still so very thin and white with dark rings around her eyes.
Aunt and I have been taking turns sleeping in her bed and sitting with Fanny. But she says I can move back into our room today. Father set up a cot for me to sleep on. There is not much peace and quiet for diary keeping. Sorry, Jane.
They say that the epidemic is slowing down and, although there will still be some more ill with it, there won’t be so many die. I pray this is true. We have been so lucky in our family. Fanny was so sick and some whole families died, but all the rest of us were spared.
The officials say we should cancel Hallowe’en parties. We were not planning a party but Theo wanted to dress up and go around the neighbourhood asking folks to shell out. Aunt and Father are still arguing over this. It is too bad. Theo isn’t quite six. He shouldn’t have to consider grown-up things.
Tuesday, October 29, 1918
This morning, Fanny asked me to sing to her. She’s the one with the angelic voice, but I did my best. I sang her all of “Clementine” and “John Henry was a little baby” and “John Brown’s body lies a-mouldering in the grave.” When I started on “Danny Boy” she sighed and asked if I only knew songs about dying. I had no idea there were so many on the subject of death.
I was thinking hard when she said languidly, “You may cease singing until you can think of something cheerful.”
So I searched my store of songs and sang her “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.” At least I made her laugh. That laugh, croaky as it was, sounded so good.
I then hit on “Coming Through the Rye.” And she fell asleep, thank goodness.
It was wonderful to hear her laugh!
I can admit now that I was afraid she might die in spite of seeming to get better. But now I know she is really growing well. I could hear it when she laughed.
Wednesday, October 30, 1918
I am sitting in the back room in front of a small fire sipping a cup of Postum. Aunt thinks I have a sniffle and should cosset myself, so I am sitting here by the hearth. The fire is like a good companion. It chats to me but never minds if I do not answer. And, even though I like Fry’s cocoa better than this Postum, it is still much better than a drink of water. Except on a hot summer day, of course. Then water is the perfect beverage.
The doctor is sure Fanny will fully recover but she is still very weak and pale and listless. I have never seen her be listless before. It is unsettling.
Theo is not going out for Hallowe’en. He was going to make a big fuss but Father took him off for a man-to-man talk. When Theo came out of the study, he had stiffened his spine and he held his head up but I saw his lips quiver. Poor Theo.
Hallowe’en Day, October 31, 1918
The paper said that the deaths for yesterday were down to only fifteen. As though fifteen is nothing.
I feel like spending the day in bed but I won’t say so. It would terrify Aunt and she has been through enough.
November 1918
Friday, November 1, 1918
Only two children came to the door. Last year they arrived in droves and Aunt used all our sugar making them fudge and taffy apples. The two who did show up were disappointed to get plain old barley sugar this year. Aunt let me answer the door, but I had to wear my mask and send them away without chattering.
I hate that mask. I even wear it when I take Hamlet for walks. Everyone else is too small, too sick or too busy. Of course, he could easily pull me over but he is a perfect gentleman and he gets so pleased when I fetch his leash down from its hook. Theo claims that Hamlet would be a perfect gentleman if he walked him, but Aunt has forbidden him to try. “Even a dog with a heart of gold can be tempted beyond his self-control,” she says.
Saturday, November 2, 1918
The whole time Fanny was so sick, Miss Dulcie Trimmer never darkened our door, but now that the doctor has pronounced Fanny well again, that woman seems to be here every minute. She is supposed to be visiting Grandmother but she is forever to be found in the hall or the kitchen or just outside Father’s study door. I told Fanny and she says she has noticed it, too.
“She lies in wait,” says my sister. “I think she sees him as a catch.”
If Fanny has hit the nail on the head and Dulcie Trimmer has her eye on Father, I see no need to worry. While she is here, he does not emerge. When he runs into her, he postive
ly scuttles away and looks hunted. I told Fan and we laughed till we hurt. Aunt came in and asked what was so funny and I was about to tell her when I found I couldn’t. I caught Fan’s eye and she shook her head and told Aunt we were laughing over some joke that was not suitable for a lady of her advanced years to hear.
Sunday, November 3, 1918
I made the mistake of telling Father that I was bored and he gave me a pile of newspapers to read through. “Record some of it in your diary, Fiona,” he said.
I told him it was the Sabbath and I was not supposed to work. But he just gave me the look that makes you hop to it.
I am NOT going to copy all that War news in here but it does sound as though we are winning at last. Just two days ago, our troops pounded the German lines at Valenciennes. It sounds as though they trounced them. And the end seems certain. Even the Huns cannot stand up to such a beating. We lost eighty men and a lot more were wounded, but if it means it will soon be over, I suppose it is worth it. I keep thinking of the wounded I saw with my own eyes and I feel sick. I wonder what has become of Michael Franks. Maybe, someday, I will meet him on the street.
Monday, November 4, 1918
Nothing interesting happened all day long, Jane. Besides, I feel too tired to write. Nothing happening wears a young girl out.
Tuesday, November 5, 1918
I woke this morning to hear Theo chanting outside our bedroom door,
Remember, remember
the 5th of November.
Gunpowder, treason and plot.
I thought at first he had gone mad and then I did remember that it is Guy Fawkes Day and he wants to set off some fireworks. I wonder who put him up to it. Probably Jemma. She’s looking for something to do these days. While her Normal School was closed, she helped with sick people some, but then Aunt decided she should stay home and Jemma was relieved. But she does hate being cooped up with nothing to do but help keep Theo entertained. I wonder if I could find some fireworks. I don’t know where to look with so many shops being shut. Maybe a campfire in the garden will do.
Jemma does not go to help the Sisters of Service the way I thought she would. Jo’s the one who does it. Jemma says she liked the idea at first but she is not good at it. I know what she means, having sat with Fan. It is frightening and you have to keep changing sheets and wiping mouths and cleaning up messes in general. And you keep being afraid you’ll be left alone with someone who will choose that moment to die.
Wednesday, November 6, 1918
Aunt decided that the whole house should be cleaned from attic to cellar so not one trace of a Flu germ will lurk anywhere. I have not had a moment to myself, Jane. Scrub, sweep, dust, shake and run up and down all day long. Pity the poor housewife.
I see to it that Theo does his fair share. Someday his wife will thank me.
Thursday, November 7, 1918
More housework. I feel positively grubby although we wash, of course. We scrub, as a matter of fact. Jemma says it is like working with the S.O.S. except, at least, you are doing it for your own people.
Friday, November 8, 1918
Jo has told us terrible stories. She and Carrie and their friends in Meds and lots of nursing students volunteered to help the Sisters of Service care for the victims, just as Jemma had at first.
There were so many corpses to transport late in October that there were no hearses big enough to carry them so they adapted streetcars. Jo saw one with ten dead bodies packed into it. Father knows a minister who conducted fourteen funerals in one day. It sounds like a nightmare but it is a fact.
When anyone gets started telling gruesome stories, I get nervous. Fanny was nearly bringing up her boots when Jo was telling some of the worst bits.
“Please, shut up, Josephine!” I hissed at her.
“Yes. Have mercy,” Aunt put in.
I actually fetched a kidney basin at one point. Fan had made a choking noise and Jo laughed this new harsh laugh she has now and sang out, “Hasten, Jason! Bring the basin.” Fan looked daggers at her but did not vomit. I was devoutly thankful. I’m fine until I smell it and then I can’t help gagging. (Sorry, Jane, but you want to know ALL about your young mother, don’t you?)
One family Jo and Carrie went to help had almost all died before they arrived. Only two little girls were alive, huddled up side by side in an upstairs room. Downstairs lay their mother, their baby sister and their father, all stone dead.
I think Jo should not go near such a place, even if she is a Sister of Service. I am afraid for her. She is not sick but she looks tired and sort of haunted.
I had bad dreams after she told us about one visit. I think she is incredibly brave, but not her old loving self any more. I asked Aunt if she thought our Jo was growing hard. She said, “I know what you mean, Fee. But she has to make herself tough and keep her heart strong or she would be of no use. How could you face going into the next house after finding most of a family dead? What use would she be if she collapsed on the spot and sat weeping and wailing? She must fight down her true feelings daily.”
I saw what she meant but it is still troubling to find my Jo a stranger. I am terrified she will catch the disease. But she says she somehow knows she and Carrie will come through as long as they keep giving their best. “Maybe being with people who are ill is lending us some kind of immunity,” she said last night.
“You take care,” Father snapped at her. Then, for the millionth time, he told her to wash her hands with carbolic soap and keep her mask on and get out in the fresh air every chance she got. And to give her aunt every stitch of her clothes the minute she came home so they can be washed. Jo laughed at him but she does what he told her. I know that the horrors she is facing must make her fearful inside, but she makes fun of our worries.
Jemma hooted when Father finished his speech this time. “You’ll have her doing a striptease on the front verandah,” she told him. “The neighbours will be calling the police and they’ll cart Jo away stark naked before she can put her clean duds on.”
“Jemima!” Grandmother shrieked. “Don’t be vulgar. I never thought a granddaughter of mine would use such coarse language.”
Father scowled at Jemma and then he must have guessed it was her fear for Jo that made her speak that way. That is what I think anyway. I thought over what she said, because she didn’t swear, and it must have been the words “striptease” and “stark naked” that got Grandmother’s goat. Jemma has nerve.
“Just see that you get clean,” Father told Jo and stalked out of the room.
During the night
I woke with a nightmare, Jane, and I heard Jemma crying. I was going to go in to her but then I caught Aunt’s voice through her door, talking gently. So I came back to bed. This is a strange time. Hardly anything feels ordinary. If we went back to school, that would help. But they are not opening the schools yet.
Saturday, November 9, 1918
Carrie and her brother William came over last night. She brought us a burnt leather cake, made with her own hands. We had never had such a thing before. It sounded dreadful but we discovered that, despite its name, it is a real delicacy. It was to celebrate Fanny’s getting out of bed and joining the world again.
We were all so glad to see her back at her place at the table. Aunt told us not to wear her out.
Carrie said mournfully, “No games of Pounce, then?”
Everybody laughed but not one of us said, “Oh, yes! Let’s play.” We really are still not up to such jollification, as Aunt says. It is partly spending so much time shut up in the house. I’ve read so many books. I thought I never could grow tired of reading but I do so long to go to a movie or take a walk in the woods. Anything outside this stuffy house sounds blissful. A spin on Pegasus would be perfect. I would go if Fanny could come, but Aunt says she has to build up her strength first.
Anyway, it may still be dangerous. I keep hoping Jo is being careful. She has been sent, more than once, to help out in a household where the parents have caught the disease. S
he says she takes every precaution, but nobody knows for certain what will keep people safe. Jo says I am tough and she is more so. But still …
After they left, Jemma said, “William certainly appreciated that cake. He ate more than the rest of us put together.”
He didn’t really but everyone looked at the empty plate and laughed.
Then Jo said, not laughing, “He was in the trenches, you know, before he was invalided out. He says they never had enough to eat. After what he went through, you can’t blame him for eating more than Theo.”
Nobody was blaming him, Jane. We were just joking. But the way Jo leaped to his defence, I’m afraid she’s fallen for him. If so, I do hope it’s mutual. Jemma has lots of boys trailing after her, but Jo never has had.
Sunday, November 10, 1918
Father can’t think of anything but the War news. He is absolutely sure that peace will come in a matter of days. I hope he is right but I still cannot imagine it.
Fanny and I went out in the garden today. She got cold soon and her knees wobbled so we came back in, but it was good to see roses in her cheeks. Theo came out with us and so did Hamlet, his face as mournful as ever, his rear end pleased as punch at being outside with the family.
Jemma’s friend Phyllis is staying here tonight while her mother is busy nursing her grandfather. I am glad. Phyllis will keep Jemma from fretting about Jo. Fretting is not like Jemma. She gets restless and makes plans to run away to sea. At least, that is what I heard her telling Phyllis. Phyllis asked which sea she was heading for and Jemma said, “The sea where the seashell seller sells seashells.”
Monday afternoon, November 11, 1918
THE WAR IS OVER! We were wakened by clanging church bells and sirens and people cheering. Old Mrs. Manders from next door came out on her upstairs balcony in her flannel dressing gown and sang, at the top of her lungs, the first and last verses of “Joy to the World.” It was perfect, even though it was still dark out. Father went out to check what was happening and came back in with the glad tidings and a big grin I haven’t seen for ages.
