by Jean Little
I wish I could put that photograph out of my mind for a couple of days. I feel haunted by it.
Tuesday, January 7, 1919
Theodore Roosevelt died yesterday. He used to be the President of the United States and people tell lots of stories about him. He led soldiers in a brave charge up some hill in the Spanish–American war and is the one Teddy bears are named after. Father was telling me Theodore Roosevelt’s last words. He spoke to a negro servant and said, “Please, put out the light, James.” I wish I could turn on the light for so many who did not die quietly like that, but choked to death from the Spanish Flu, like Jemma.
Bedtime
Oh, Jane, I don’t know where to begin. Late this afternoon … No, I’ll start at the beginning or it won’t make sense. Theo and I were out in the front yard making a snowman. We had almost finished and I ran into the house to fetch some coal for eyes. Somebody had moved the coal scuttle so it took me a few minutes to find it. When I went back out, Theo had vanished.
He is not allowed to leave our property without asking. He’s good about this. I looked all over the yard anyway. We don’t have a large garden so that only took a minute. Then I looked up and down the street. Dusk was falling so it was not easy to see but I thought I spotted a little boy with a red striped scarf like his disappearing around the corner. There was a large lady dragging him by the hand.
I called to him and I thought he called, “Fee, help.”
I ran like a deer and caught up with them on the next street. Theo was fighting to get away from the woman but she was strong and she was holding him in a grip like iron. Later we saw she had bruised his wrist.
“Come along, Frederick,” she was shouting at him.
She sounded furious. I grabbed him and yelled at her, “This isn’t Frederick. He’s my brother Theodore. Let GO, you!”
She hung on and started to run but, even though he is small, Theo dragged his feet and he was too heavy for her to carry off.
Then I kicked her, Jane. I didn’t know what else to do. My boot struck her on the ankle bone and she let go of Theo and doubled up. Then my little brother and I ran for home, Theo crying all the way.
But I did look back when I felt safe and the woman was sitting on the wall in front of Pearsons’ house, weeping.
We ran for Aunt and told her what had happened and about the woman crying. Aunt went right away. Father went too. And they brought the woman back with them. She was still crying and making gulping noises that were not words.
Theo hid upstairs but I stayed where I could hear and see what would happen.
Aunt made her drink something and calmed her down until she could understand her. Her name is Mrs. Dutton and her young children — two girls and one boy called Frederick — had all died of Spanish Flu. I think Frederick’s winter clothes must have looked like Theo’s because, all at once, she was sure Frederick was not dead after all. Oh, Jane, it was pitiful. She does have one older daughter left who came to take her home. I was up with Theo by then so I did not see her. Her name is Olive and she said her father could talk to her mother and make her understand. But whenever he has to go to work she gets agitated and insists on going out to search for her missing children. They called the father at his work and he came to help Olive get her home.
“Poor soul,” Aunt said when the door shut behind them. Theo raced down and flung himself into her arms then and she hugged him so hard he squeaked.
It is all over now but Theo says he’ll never play in the front yard again. He’s afraid she’ll come back for him. I don’t blame him. I saw such a desperate look on her face when I got him away.
The Spanish Flu is supposed to be over, but it isn’t, not for the Duttons, not for us either, without Jemma. It will always cast a shadow over us.
Close to one thousand people have died of the Flu in Toronto alone. Tonight all through this city there are all those families as broken and lonely as we are. At least, in war, you have a known enemy to face, but this disease is like a dark monster without a face and nobody knows how to slay it or how to lock the door so it cannot get in.
Wednesday, January 8, 1919
Last night, Theo had terrible dreams about being stolen away. He was crying in his sleep and Hamlet lay next to the bed and nobody could coax that great lump of a dog away.
“Leave him,” Theo begged when he woke up. “He makes me feel safe.”
Thursday, January 9, 1919
Stupid, dull day, Jane. Aunt told me I should not leave so much of the work to Fanny. She sounded tired but I am going to bed feeling like a worm. I don’t like cleaning up messes and I do sometimes hide out with a book until Fan has the dishes washed or the beds made. Fanny enjoys those jobs — or that is what I tell myself. Maybe she doesn’t.
I just want to be left alone!
Friday, January 10, 1919
This morning I heard Grandmother saying that they should not trust me with Theo, since I had allowed him to be stolen.
I ran into my room and cried and cried until I ended up having hysterics. Then Jo marched in and slapped my face!
“Stop it this minute, you selfish pig.” She snapped out the words like more slaps. “It’s hard enough for Aunt and Father without having to deal with melodramatic scenes from you. Nobody was watching him. It was as much Fan’s and my fault as yours. Now get up off this bed and be helpful!”
So I did. Jane, do you suppose she’ll whack her patients? She won’t have a large practice if she tries.
I couldn’t believe it when she smacked me like that. Nobody ever hits anybody in this family. What has come over us?
Almost noon
Saturday, January 11, 1919
I kept away from Jo this morning, Jane. And I did the breakfast dishes before anyone could ask. But I feel so strange. Not like Fee at all. What is wrong with me? I can’t fix it and I can’t bear it either. And you are not real. I probably will never have a daughter.
What if Jo should get the Flu? What if Aunt or Father catches it?
Bedtime
Today seemed long and dark and I wished I could run away to some other life. But Jo found me just before supper and pulled me out into the hall where nobody could see us and kissed me. She had tears in her eyes, Jane.
“It has been a horrid day, hasn’t it, Fee?” she said. “I’m sorry. Your poor cheek. I couldn’t seem to stop myself, but I am so ashamed.”
And I felt sorry for her then and much better. I told her my cheek was fine and to stop worrying. I think it must all be because of coming so close to losing Fan and then really losing Jemma. It has been too much for us to bear.
Sunday, January 12, 1919
Theo is fine today. When we were in church, I felt like dropping to my knees and thanking God for his deliverance. Father caught my eye. I never knew before that he could read minds. When it was time to ask the blessing at noon, he said, “Let us give thanks to our heavenly Father that our son who was lost is found. And for his loving sister who raced to his rescue.”
I felt some tightness inside me come unknotted. I took a huge breath and let it out in a whoosh. Then Aunt smiled across at me as we raised our heads.
“I do give thanks for you, Fee,” she said softly. “I’m afraid I’ve been a bit hard on you lately but I could not face life without you.”
I waited for Grandmother to say something nasty but she said not a single word. Amazing. Mind you, we were having shepherd’s pie which she loves and she had taken her first big bite.
I guess I am still Fee Macgregor after all.
February 1919
Monday, February 10, 1919
I know, Jane. I have written not a word for almost a month. When I swept under the bed and this book came out, I nearly stuck it somewhere out of sight and gave up on it. But then I thought of sharing it with you and made up my mind to start in again.
After I wrote the last bit, I thought I was over feeling queer but then, all at once, I just went to bed and stayed there. I was ill. No, not the Spanish Fl
u. I don’t even know how to tell you about it. Father and I talked and he said he believed I became afraid of losing everyone after Fan so nearly died and then Jemma did die and then Theo came so close to being kidnapped and I overheard Grandmother saying to that Miss Trimmer something about someday Aunt would be leaving us. I didn’t believe her but it all grew into a great weight somehow. All at once, I just could not keep doing everything I usually do.
I actually fainted and then I could not eat or sleep.
I think I was not alone in feeling this way. The doctor said I should go on a sea voyage the way they do in books, but he felt perhaps just a week or two staying home and resting would do the trick. The trouble was that, at the end of one week, I still could not make myself feel alive inside. I kept lying there staring at the wall. I didn’t even want to read, Jane!
Aunt began the cure, I think. She came up to our bedroom one morning and said, “Up you get, Miss. I need help with the washing. Your sister has done it three times without complaining while you lay here not moving hand or foot and it is now high time you took your turn. If you don’t stir your stumps, we’ll have poor Fan going into a decline and I cannot manage all the work in this house by myself, even with Myrtle’s help.”
I felt furious. Nobody seemed to understand. But I rose from the bed and dragged myself downstairs and put the clothes to soak and started heating the water for the boiler and, all at once, the sun came out and flooded in through every window. Well, almost. And I knew that this terrible winter would end before long and we would have spring again.
Then I got busy and went to work with a will. When I had done my stint of housework and a bit more, I turned to my schoolbooks. I’m a month behind, so I had heaps and heaps of work to catch up. I could not take time off to write in this diary, Jane.
Then, just as I was beginning to feel like me again, Grandmother invited Miss Dulcie Trimmer over for supper and the evening. We got through the meal, although it was not easy, and then we decided to teach Aunt to play Pounce. We were out in the back room at the big table. Grandmother and Miss Trimmer were there too because we had a fire blazing in the fireplace and the rest of the house was chilly. But as we were in the thick of the game, the back door blew open.
Miss Trimmer shivered loudly and Grandmother said, “Fee, jump up and close that door. Our poor guest is sitting in a dreadful draught.”
Well, Jane, our poor guest was not a cripple. She had nothing wrong with her legs or arms and I was winning the game, but Aunt shot me a look that said, “Just do it.” I jumped up, ran over and slammed it with all my strength, so she would hear how I felt. But there is a frosted glass pane in that door and my hand and arm went right through it!
There I stood, with my hand out in a snowstorm, wondering what on earth to do.
Jo came on the run and helped me draw it back slowly. Blood was running down to my elbow from a cut on my wrist. A flap of skin had lifted right up and, although I did not know it at the time, the tendon had been cut.
Jo put on a tourniquet! So deftly that I was astounded. I was talking a blue streak and Jo sent Fan to get me a drink of water.
When she brought it, Dr. Jo gave me a pill to take with it. It might have been an aspirin. And when I tried to swallow it, my teeth clattered on the rim of the cup like castanets.
“What’s the matter with her?” Fan asked.
Jo laughed. “She’s in shock,” she said. “It’ll pass.”
We borrowed Miss Trimmer’s car and drove to the doctor’s and he stitched me up. I had to have twelve stitches. And then he put a wooden splint on my arm and hand and bandaged it all the way from my elbow to just above my fingertips. I couldn’t hold a pen or a fork properly. It was incredibly awkward.
It didn’t hurt all that much until that night, when it began to throb. But I could not take off the splint for over a week and could not write for school or in this journal. It is unbelievably difficult when you are right-handed to have yourself trussed up that way. I longed to write all this down for you, Jane, but had to wait. My wrist is still sore, of course, but if I hold my hand just so I can manage now.
I am lucky to have Fanny for a twin when I am getting dressed or trying to cut my food. “You certainly are unhandy,” she says.
That is all I can manage, Jane. Writing this much has taken almost two hours. Good night.
Tuesday, February 11, 1919
The cases of Spanish Flu are becoming few and far between now. They think it might have killed more people than the Great War did. I know that sounds impossible but Father says he believes it might have done so.
Carrie and I were talking the other day. I think Jo put her up to it. She told me about her brother Gord’s death. And she said, “It is almost a year since he went on the Great Adventure.” That is how she thinks of death. A great adventure. I did not know what to say.
“Did you tell Jo that?” I asked her at last.
She had. I think that might be why Jo asked her to talk with me. I poured out all my fears and she was so comforting. I told her that it would help if we knew what happened after death. And she shook her head and smiled at me. “I want to be surprised,” she said.
After she and Jo went off, I felt a million times better and ready to enter into everything again, I went to the kitchen and gave Aunt a hug and a kiss. She hugged me in return and said, “Oh, Fee, how wonderful to have you back!” Just as though I had really been away on that sea voyage.
Wednesday, February 12, 1919
Jo has started to talk about the Daffydil. It is a theatrical evening the Meds students put on every year. William is planning to go with her. I am happy she is happy. It is lovely to see her high-spirited again.
Friday, February 14, 1919
Pixie died in her sleep last night. We all miss her. It is surprising, since she belonged heart and soul to Aunt. But she would cock her head on one side and her little flat face would look so comical. She wagged her stumpy tail sometimes but often she just quivered it. It is hard to explain. More subtle than an out-and-out wag. When you were responsible for setting that tail quivering, you smiled and smiled. Hamlet seems to know she is gone somewhere he can’t follow. He looks so sad and lonely.
Fan and I got valentines from nearly everyone at school. I got a lovely one from Ruby, nearly as pretty as the one I gave her. Theo turned our cards over longingly so Jo and I made him one of his own — Fanny had to do the cutting because of my sore hand. It had a big red heart on the front pasted onto a paper snowflake we had made, and behind that was a sort of pocket holding an enormous sugar cookie. He was pleased as punch. We had made a face on the cookie with raisins and icing.
Then I made the mistake of telling them about a girl in our class named Helga. She’s a sort of refugee from somewhere in Russia. She is so quiet and nobody knows her and so nobody sent her a valentine. Theo felt SO sorry for her that he ran up the stairs and got out his paintbox and made her a card then and there. It was partly made of the one we made for him but he crossed out his name and made a lovely picture of a castle. It read, “Be my princess!” And he signed it with a question mark. It was messy and I was afraid Helga would feel insulted but I will take it to her and hope for the best.
She has no family in Toronto. They live on a farm. Her parents arrange for her to board with another refugee family while she goes to school.
Lately, she has been following me around, for some reason. She sticks to me as closely as my shadow — which is too close. She is forever putting her arm around my shoulders or linking it through my elbow.
I don’t know what you would call it but there is a certain distance around me that is mine and I only like my family coming inside the line. Maybe everybody feels this way. I am sure Aunt does. When Miss Trimmer comes at her with her hands outstretched, Aunt backs away and picks up a dishtowel or a cup that she can hold in front of herself like a shield. I don’t know when I first noticed this. I don’t know if she knows she is doing it. But it is what I want to do when I see Helga
bearing down upon me.
What makes it most awkward is that she is jealous of Fan.
“Your sister sticks to you like glue, doesn’t she?” she said with a sort of sneer today. “I am glad I do not have a sister who never leaves me alone for five minutes.”
For a moment, I did not know how to answer and I almost pretended I had not heard. But I changed my mind and tried to change her thinking.
“We are identical twins,” I said. “And that makes us share everything. It is mysterious, I know, and hard for people who are not twins to understand. We hatched from the same egg, after all. We become ill when we are separated.”
It wasn’t totally true but I had a feeling Helga might believe in it and back off a bit. I think she did. We shall see.
Goodnight, Jane.
Sunday, February 16, 1919
The funniest thing happened today, Jane. Miss Dulcie Trimmer came over again “to visit Grandmother.” She came into the hallway in her new wine-coloured coat with a fox fur wound around her neck. She also wore overshoes, of course, and a felt hat with a fancy plume. But my sweet little brother was mesmerized by that fox. It was a live fox once and it did look extremely lifelike even though it had glass eyes. I think Theo believed it was enchanted.
Anyway he stared and stared but nobody paid attention. This was a mistake, Jane. When Miss Trimmer was leaving, she went to get her fur and it was gone. We all helped search until, finally, Aunt called, “Theodore!”
He confessed at last. He had taken it to play with and he had made a true fox’s lair for it in a hole in a snowbank in the back yard. When he fetched the fur in, it was wet and a bit muddy and looked as though it should be sent back down into its den where its vixen and their cubs would be waiting.
We struggled not to laugh. Then all laughter stopped when Father marched Theo into his study and spanked him. He does not believe in spanking children, but this was a special case. The neighbours must have heard my little brother howling. I hated that, but it didn’t last long because Father hated it too.
