Dreams and Promises: Love, Loss and Redemption in a Land of Infinite Promise

by Anna Markland

  “In the parlour.” Ada jerked her chin in the direction of the best room. “Mabel wanted to read and he’s keeping her company.” She slapped the dough with her palm. “He should be outside in the fresh air, working up an appetite, not lounging in a chair while that woman reads poetry to him.”

  “This is my last night shift for a bit.” Dot snitched a few raisins off the table. “Tomorrow I’ll start taking him on outings. Show him our old haunts. I’ll ask Archie if I can borrow his horse and buggy.

  “I’m sure he’ll agree. Archie’s so helpful.”

  “I’m going to get some sleep. At least Mabel won’t be fussing about in my room if she’s reading to George.” She pulled down one corner of her mouth. She’d never spoken spitefully in her life. She resented Mabel even more for bringing out her mean side. “Don’t worry, Ada. We’ll get our old George back.”

  “Thanks, Archie.” Dot yawned. It was mid-morning on Saturday and she’d only had a few hours sleep, but she was determined to pry George away from Mabel for the day. “We’ll go by his old home. See if that jogs his memory.”

  “I’d offer to take you myself, but the gig has room for only two.”

  “All the better. Mabel can’t come along even if she tries.” Dot flicked her fingers through her bobbed hair.

  “I like the look.” Archie’s eyes twinkled. “Very modern.”

  “I’m a very modern girl.” She fluttered her eyelashes, then giggled. “Sorry, I can’t do the femme fatale thing. I feel silly.”

  “I like you as you are.” The twinkle left Archie’s eye, replaced by something deep that made her duck her head.

  She gave herself a mental shake. Archie was an old friend. No need to go shy and simpering around him. “You’re sweet, Archie. Would you mind waiting a minute while I get George?”

  At his nod she darted inside. George and Mabel lingered over their breakfast tea. Another English custom. Dot wrinkled her nose. George used to drink coffee in the morning, like everyone else. “Come on, love.” She put her hand under his elbow and persuaded him to his feet. “I’ve something to show you.”

  “If you mean your haircut and indecent skirt, I’ve seen enough.”

  Dot reddened. Last night she’d taken up the hem on her skirt. The new length exposed a good three inches of ankle and was the latest style. “Not that.” She met Ada’s eye over George’s shoulder and received an encouraging nod. “Outside.” She half-led, half-pushed him out the door.

  “Hello, George.” Archie extended his hand. “Welcome home.” George shook hands but no flicker of recognition crossed his features. “Do you remember the battlefields?” Archie looked grim.

  “Only the noise.”

  “Those god-awful guns, pounding away day after day. Enough to drive a man mad.”

  “Yes.” For the first time George appeared to connect to someone besides Mabel.

  “Well, here you go.” Archie waited for them to get into the gig, then handed the reins to Dot.

  “But Mabel . . .” George looked over his shoulder to where the nurse stood on the doorstep, hands on her hips.

  “The horse is a sweet-goer with a soft mouth.” Archie patted the animal’s neck affectionately.

  Dot clicked her tongue and called, “Walk on.” The horse obeyed and they trotted down the road toward the countryside.

  George looked back. “Mabel should come too.”

  “Only room for two,” Dot smiled “and you can’t drive. You’d get lost.”

  “No need to rub it in.”

  She bit down on her disappointment. She’d hoped today would be a true homecoming for George, but he seemed determined to dislike everything in his old home, especially her. “Does anything look familiar?” She felt a little wistful as they drove out of town and along the road that led to the Weston homestead. Her own home was just a mile further on. She and George had traversed this stretch of dirt on foot as school children, on horseback as teenagers, and in a buggy as a sparking couple. Devil’s paintbrush and wild chicory bloomed orange and blue on the banks, replacing the violets and marsh marigolds of spring. Later tansy heads would ripen in a yellow tangle. “This road runs through our lives like a golden chain,” she said, “every important moment is a link. Do you remember hunting frogs’ eggs in the ditches?”

  “Sorry.” George shook his head, his voice echoing a little of the same longing she felt. “I wish I could.”

  “Don’t give up. You’re safe now. The guns are silent. You can remember and not be hurt.”

  “What do you know about it?” He slouched down and folded his arms over his thin chest.

  “Archie and I talk. We’re both working to elect Miss MacPhail.”

  “He lost an arm. Isn’t he bitter?”

  “Maybe, in the dark of night, but usually he looks forward. That’s why he’s interested in politics. He says the war would be for nothing if we don’t build a better world.” She listened to the clip-clop of horses hooves for a moment, enjoying the sun on her face and the breeze in her hair. “Have you heard of the League of Nations?” she asked as she turned into a narrow laneway.

  “They kept us pretty quiet at the hospital.”

  “Well, the League of Nations is like a big council where all the countries of the world can get together and talk over their differences. Miss MacPhail believes it’s the route to lasting peace in the world.”

  “Wouldn’t that be something?” His tone grated on her ears, so harsh in this serene countryside.

  “You didn’t used to be so cynical.”

  “If you knew what I’ve been through.”

  “So tell me.” She pulled on the reins, bringing their equipage to a halt. “What happened to you, George?”

  “Mabel told you.” He shrugged and turned away from her. “What’s that?” He pointed down the lane to a collection of buildings.

  “That’s your home.” Dot slapped the reins against the horse’s back. “We’re going to see it.”

  “Maybe that’s not a good idea.”

  “Of course it is. You were happy here. The barn’s full of new hay now. It smells wonderful.”

  She drew up in front of the house. Gordon Weston appeared from the barn. She waved and called a greeting. “Look, George. It’s your cousin. You played cowboys and Indians in that mow over there.”

  “Dot.” Gordon came alongside the gig. “Aunt Ada telephoned. Said you’d be by.” He turned his attention to his cousin. “Well, George, didn’t think I’d ever see you again. You’re a bit of a miracle. Want to look around?”

  George made no move to climb down from the gig or to shake hands. “I don’t recognize it.” He shrank back against the seat, as though to hide himself.

  “Come inside. Have a look at your old room. That might jar something loose.”

  “No.” George shook his head quickly. “You’re busy. I do remember that farming is hard work. We’ll be on our way. Don’t want to hold you up.” He joggled Dot’s arm. The reins went slack and the horse started forward.

  “Haw!” She pulled on the left hand line to turn the gig before they went straight into the barn. “Another time,” she shouted to Gordon as they drove out of the yard, leaving him looking after them and shaking his head. “That was really rude.”

  “They don’t teach manners in a trench.”

  “Ah, so you do remember something more than the guns.”

  “Just leave it alone, Dot. You don’t understand.” It was the first time he’d used her name without being prompted. Even though he seemed irritated, she took heart.

  “Here’s the schoolhouse.” She stopped the gig by the well and got down. “Ada packed us a lunch. I thought we’d eat it under that big oak, like we used to. Water the horse, will you, while I set out the food.”

  Reluctantly he got down from the gig. Dot watched out of the corner of her eye as he dropped the bucket into the well, then hauled it up. It was an action he’d performed countless times before the war and it seemed he could do it now without
thinking. Maybe they were wrong to keep nagging him to remember. Maybe they should just let his old life overtake him and he’d be her George again.

  She opened the picnic basket. “We’ve got egg salad sandwiches and a bottle of lemonade, and oatmeal cookies.” She laid out the contents of the basket then leaned her back against the tree trunk, easing into its familiar grooves. When he joined her she handed him the thickest of the sandwiches. “Nothing like fresh air to sharpen the appetite.” He took the sandwich without protest and bit into it with relish. If only he’d eat like that all the time he’d soon be his robust self again. “Sit down.” She patted the grass beside her. “The trunk’s big enough for us both.”

  “We’ll get muddy.”

  “The ground’s dry. We’ll be fine.” She poured lemonade into a tin cup and held it out. “Thirsty?”

  He knelt beside her and took the cup, a frown pulling his brows together. “No glass?”

  “It’s a picnic, George. Glass can break.”

  “We used tin cups in the trenches.”

  She sat forward and wrapped her arms about her knees, unsure how to respond. Whenever she asked him for details, he got angry and clammed up, but since he’d opened the topic, she wanted to encourage him. “I guess that was practical.”

  He nodded, then set down the tin cup and lay on the ground, staring up at the sky. “It’s so blue.”

  “The sky?” Dot peered up through the branches of the oak. “It looks like a summer sky to me.”

  “A Canadian summer sky. No smoke, no mist, no flying mud. Just blue sky.”

  “George, are you remembering?”

  “No.” He sat up quickly, breaking the peace of their picnic. “We should go. Mabel will be worried.”

  “You don’t want to visit any of your old neighbours?”

  “No.” George was on his feet. “I’m tired.” He walked toward the gig, leaving Dot to clear up their picnic and hurry after him.

  The drive home was accomplished in silence. George ignored her various attempts at conversation and refused to look at the landmarks she pointed out. When they reached the house, he was out of the gig the minute the wheels stopped turning.

  “I’m going in. You can return the gig on your own.” He hurried away from her. She saw Mabel watching through the window.

  Feeling let down and offended, she drove on to Archie’s. Since it was Saturday the post office, where he worked, was closed. He should be home. She left the horse tied to the gate and walked up the path to the modest house and knocked. No answer. She opened the door and called a greeting, but the house was empty. So far her day had gone from bad to worse. She retrieved the horse and led him around to the small shed at the back, unharnessed him, brushed him down and gave him a feed of hay. When she finished she was hot, and rumpled and smelled of horse. She could hardly blame George for turning up his nose when she got home.

  Sunday they all went to church where George caused a sensation. Even the preacher mentioned him in prayers. They sat in their usual pew, Ada, George, then Dot, and Mabel on the end of the row. In a most unchristian spurt of cunning she’d out manoeuvred Mabel to claim the place next to George. As the service progressed she felt a calm envelop her. This was life as it should be, she and George singing from the same hymnbook, repeating the prayers and responses together. Odd that George didn’t recognize his mother but the words of faith were so deeply ingrained in his sub-conscious they surfaced without effort.

  As they stood for the last hymn, she looked up into his face, expecting a look of loving connection, only to find him gazing over her head at Mabel. Dot averted her eyes but not before she’d seen the longing in his.

  The words on the page blurred before her tear-filled eyes. The pain of loss was even sharper than when she believed him lost in battle. At least then she’d had the comfort of knowing he loved her.

  Beside her, Mabel warbled away in her foreign accent, as though she had a right to be here -- in this place, in this pew, with this man.

  The service over, Dot sniffed and squared her shoulders. George, lost and frightened, might be in love with Mabel Featherley. George restored to himself would love Dot. He’d be strong and decisive and full of plans, ready to walk boldly into the future with her by his side.

  They hadn’t made it out of their pew before they were besieged by well-wishers. Over and over friends and neighbours exclaimed about George’s miraculous return. Amid all the hugs and tears, Dot found herself on the outside while Mabel stood as George’s support and partner.

  “How’re you holding up?” Archie fell into step with Dot as she followed the others toward the exit.

  “Fine.” She gave an automatic reply and forced a smile. “Thanks for the loan of the gig.”

  “Sorry I wasn’t there when you got back. You did a great job of tending the horse. Thanks.” Dot’s smile grew wider. Archie always made her feel better. “George recognize his old home?”

  “No.” She sighed. “He remembered that our blue sky is different than the heavens above the battlefield, but that’s all.”

  “It’s a start.” Archie looped his good arm through hers and squeezed her to his side. “Don’t be downhearted.” He left her then to join a group of lads clustered about George. They’d all seen battle. The grim looks on their faces told her the war was still very close in their memories. Tears threatened again. She’d thought when the guns fell silent everything would go back to the way it was. Now she knew nothing would ever be the same again. Her old world was irretrievably lost. All she could do was work for a better future.

  Sunday dinner was the traditional roast beef with new potatoes and green peas from the vegetable garden Ada cultivated behind her house. Few of the town ladies grew their own vegetables but Ada maintained her country ways. They had rhubarb crisp for dessert. George ate more heartily than he had since his return. Even Mabel found no cause for complaint.

  Afterward George and Mabel strolled outside to the swing in the backyard. Dot picked up the dirty dishes and loaded them into the sink. “Have a rest, Ada. You’ve earned it. I’ll clean up.”

  “Maybe you should join them outside.” Ada frowned and glanced out the kitchen window. “I don’t like them being alone like that.”

  “I don’t either, but there’s no denying he prefers her company to mine.” She ran hot water into the sink and poured detergent over the dishes. “I had a feeling yesterday that he was remembering a few things, but that he was afraid. Let’s give him a little peace and quiet. Whatever happened at Passchendaele must have been so awful he’d rather remain an emotional invalid than remember.”

  Ada’s chin trembled. “My poor boy.” She dabbed her eyes with the corner of her apron. “My poor, poor boy.”

  “Have a little lie down.” She put her arm around Ada and urged her to the parlour. “I’ll call you in twenty minutes.”

  “All right.” Ada lay down on the sofa and Dot drew a light blanket over her. The summer sun shone hot from a cloudless sky but the parlour was cool and dim behind closed curtains.

  She’d just finished the dishes and hung the tea towel to dry when Archie appeared at the kitchen door. At sight of his cheerful face her spirits lifted. Emotionally drained by the situation with George, Archie’s uncomplicated friendship offered relief.

  “I’ve got a surprise.” He held up a good-sized box.

  “What?” She shoved open the screen door and eyed the box. “Can I see?” She reached for it, but Archie shook his head.

  “I’ll show you.” He put the box on the table and opened the lid an inch. Peering over his shoulder, she danced from one foot to the other. A surprise in a box made her feel like a schoolgirl again.

  “There.” Archie slipped his hand inside the box and opened the lid completely. A black and white pup with brown splotches on his eyes and nose gazed up at them, his little tail whipping back and forth like an aspen leaf in the wind, his eager nose pushing at Archie’s hand.

  “Oh, Archie,” She squealed. “Wher
e . . .?”

  “I tracked down one of Rusty’s pups. The Saunders kids had got him. He’s all grown up now and sired this litter. I persuaded Old Man Saunders to let me have this one for George.”

  “You’re wonderful.” She couldn’t help but hug him, then fell back when she felt the stump of his arm through his shirt. “I’m sorry.” She rushed to apologize, cheeks burning. “I didn’t mean to . . .” She hadn’t meant to embarrass him but she feared her apology only made matters worse.

  “It’s all right.” Archie replaced the lid on the box, locking the whimpering puppy inside. “No use pretending I have two good arms.” His mouth pressed into a thin line.

  “You’re so brave and so kind.” Dot twisted her hands together wishing she had the courage to bestow another hug.

  “You’re not bad yourself.” His face relaxed into its usual good-natured grin. “Shall we introduce this fellow to George?” He picked up the box.

  “I’ll get Ada. She won’t want to miss this.”

  A few minutes later they found George and Mabel on the swing. George’s eyes were closed.

  “Wake up, buddy.” Archie strode forward addressing his old friend in a man-to-man tone, nothing like the tentative murmurings of the womenfolk. George’s eyes flew open.

  “Really,” Mabel protested. “You mustn’t . . .”

  Archie set the box on George’s knees and threw off the lid. The puppy scrambled over the edge and fell awkwardly onto George’s lap, then tried to climb up his chest to lick his face.

  “Rusty.” George scooped the pup into his hands and held him up at eye level. “Rusty.” His voice broke, his shoulders shook, but he held tight to the puppy. The little dog wriggled all over, his tail going a mile a minute, his wet tongue covering George’s face with doggy kisses. George cradled him to his chest, stroking the black and white fur and crooning “good dog,” over and over. When he looked up the vacant stare was gone. His gaze locked on Dot and a look of wonder came over his face. “Dot.” He reached her in two strides and swept her into a bear hug, the puppy squirming between them. “I thought I’d never see you again.”