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

by Anna Markland

  “Hey.” Jan followed her and put a hand on her arm, concern replacing humour. “I didn’t mean to upset you. Don’t worry about Jamie. He’ll respect your cues. You don’t want to go there, no problem. I’m just putting in a plug, then I’ll be quiet forever, or at least a week or so. He’s a good guy. And he’s in demand. I have one or two friends who are only friends because of him, a fact I resent.”

  “I expect he could say the same.” Jan actually sounded like it mattered to her that Kate not be upset, although how she could be friends with, much less have an intimate conversation with, a woman this gorgeous escaped the bounds of her reality. She was the ordinary ex-goth, ex-punk rebel. Not runway model beautiful.

  Jan made a rude sound. “A guy opens with a comment about my looks, he’s outta there. Sometimes I think I should shave my head, just to test.”

  “Tried it once. All I got was cold.” She’d forgotten all about the fur coat, and hadn’t even considered the diary Jan had unearthed, seduced by the idea of the sort of conversation she’d read about, even overheard, but almost never participated in. Plain goth punks didn’t have friends who talked about boys.

  Jan grinned and went back to the desk, chattering away. “There was this one guy a few years ago, always touching, always letting everyone know how special he was for landing me. We were at a party and he touched a little too much, if you know what I mean. I socked him. Baby brother made sure I knew how to fight. Took a taxi home… for some reason the guy took offence.” She laughed, then sobered. “I hate creeps. Jamie’s no creep.”

  Kate folded the bulky fur and added it to a pile next to the plywood wall. The spooky sense of being watched got stronger in that part of the attic; involuntarily, she looked around “This is hopeless,” she said in a blatant change of subject. “I can’t sort anything, there just isn’t room.”

  The two women simultaneously looked at the plywood. “Do you suppose…?” Kate began.

  “I don’t guess Mrs. Cummings would…?” Jan said.

  “Even a door.” Kate ran a hand over the wall’s rough wood.

  “Or rip the whole thing out.”

  “We could build it again when we’re done.”

  “I know just the guy to do the ripping.” Jan leapt up and joined her by the plywood. “And Mrs. Cummings likes him. Considers him responsible.”

  “So she might agree.”

  “Let’s go, sister,” Jan said.

  Undoubtedly she used the word to indicate a common mission, but Kate felt a warmth flood her that had nothing to do with embarrassment.

  From the head of the stairs, Jan added, “We’d better clean up a little first.”

  “She’ll serve tea and cookies,” Kate said. “I’m starving.”

  ~~*~~

  As the two women trooped down the stairs, Jan’s grandfather made himself more comfortable atop the plywood, nodding to himself. With Jan onside, young Jamie might even stand a chance.

  ~~*~~

  Taking down the plywood was a team effort. Jamie demonstrated with an electric screwdriver, then handed it over to Kate, who had dragged the utility ladder up to the attic again, while he shifted the panels into vertical stacks by the far wall. Jan supported loosened panels, collected screws, and supervised. Something had changed since the last time they’d all been up here, Jamie mused. It was almost as if Jan had adopted Kate as a member of the family. He shot a glace at the corner—he’d maneuvered the unscrewing so that panel would be left for last—and got an approving nod from the wraith making itself at home there. He and Jan were in cahoots, he’d bet.

  With the panels down, the three of them stood in the middle of the empty space, Kate practically levitating with excitement. “What do you reckon? Four generations?”

  He and Jan both glanced over to where Gramps sat cross-legged on a chest. He held up his hand, fingers spread wide.

  “Five,” they said in tandem, then gave each other a guilty look before turning to Kate. “Including us,” Jamie clarified, “and we were just kids. The actual construction date’s uncertain, but early nineteen hundreds, anyway. We could check the deed of sale to Mrs. Cummings, I suppose.”

  “I’d like to group this stuff by family, if we can. Date it by whatever we find inside. Or by style, but sometimes things keep getting used…” She remembered Jamie’s ancient kitchen table.

  “A little at a time?” Jan asked. “As we figure it out?”

  “It even feels brighter. I can work at night… I won’t disturb you, I promise,” Kate added with a worried glance at Jamie.

  “Just let me know if there’s any heavy lifting. Gotta go. Have fun, gals.”

  “So do I,” Kate said, regretful. “Meeting at the university.”

  “Take this down with you. I know it’s the kind of thing you’re looking for.” Jan crossed the room to a desk and pulled an old book from a drawer. “That diary I was looking at earlier. Maybe you’ll find something more exciting in it than I did.”

  Jamie left them in good spirits, chatting about the diary. Kate was still prickly as a hedgehog, but she’d accepted his and Jan’s role in her project. Given Gramps’ presence as well, that could only be positive.

  He hoped.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Kate did take the old diary downstairs. The desk where Jan had unearthed it was utilitarian, nothing feminine about it, and not large, but based on the odds and ends in the drawers, the woman of the house had used it to conduct her daily business.

  She also took a large, sealed manila envelope she’d found buried in the bottom of a box, underneath a man’s military uniform jacket and hat, a canteen, and a couple of medals. Military records, probably. The uniform and envelope excited her. She was sure that with Jamie’s or Jan’s help she could trace the original owner, and from there develop a picture of his military service and its effect on the family.

  After turning back the pristine pink floral coverlet on her bed—on second thought, she folded it up and tucked it in the top of her closet for safe keeping, lest a speck of dust from the papers soil Mrs. Cummings’ ordained perfection—she opened the diary.

  It was undated, but having found a reference to Dominion Day falling on a Wednesday, she hit the Internet and pulled up a list of possible years. The diary’s contents strongly suggested 1936, the height of the Great Depression. She read about visits with friends, walks through James Bay and across the Causeway into Victoria. Fashions, shopping. The writer spoke of occasional hardship, food shortages and deprivation when the same dress had to be used for two seasons, but it didn’t appear the hard times touched her deeply.

  Interesting. Kate made notes. She needed Jamie’s family tree, so she’d know what names to look for.

  After finding nothing earth-shattering in the diary, she carefully pried open the flap on the envelope. Inside was a small stack of papers… letters. At some time in the past, they had been roughly tied together with twine. She tucked the binding back in the envelope and unfolded the letter on top. From the first words, she sat up straighter on her bed.

  September 6, 1950

  Dear Robert,

  I am so happy to hear that you are enjoying your time in Calgary and all the training. It must be terribly difficult to be a soldier! Thank you for the photo. You do look most gallant in your uniform.

  I miss you buckets. All is well here. We will harvest a ton of vegetables, and of course Mother expects me to help put them up.

  Your Annie

  A love letter. To a military man. Kate grabbed her tablet and confirmed her memory from a long-ago history class. In 1950, Canada was just gearing up to play a role in the Korean War. Robert must have been in Princess Pat’s Canadian Light Infantry.

  How did Robert respond? Did she ever send a picture to him? Kate checked the next letter, but there was no mention. Were all the letters there? The little sheaf accounted for barely three months of one-sided correspondence.

  She let the pages drop to the blanket and flopped back on her pillow. A love story
. It didn’t get much better.

  It was late, and she had work in the morning. She returned the letters to the envelope and tucked it into her white Queen Anne chest of drawers, shoving aside a couple of black turtlenecks. As she turned off her light, her head danced with images of dashing soldiers and the women waiting at home for them.

  She expected to sleep well, but that creepy feeling she was being watched came back full force. It was the first time she’d felt it in her bedroom, and she didn’t like it.

  ~~*~~

  Annie raced for the mail, the same as she’d done virtually every day since Robert left. If there was a letter, she’d place it under her pillow, close but invisible. Her mother’s lecture still rang in her ears.

  “Don’t you go corresponding with that man. He’s a soldier, and you know what they’re like. Only want one thing. Keep your skirts clean, girl. I’ll not have any scandal in the Douglas family.”

  “Yes’m.”

  Her mother couldn’t ever know that ship had sailed. But she didn’t regret a thing, she thought defiantly. Robert loved her. He’d as much as promised to be back by Christmas.

  In the meantime, she’d go to her job selling hankies and gloves at the big Eaton’s store in town, and she wouldn’t flirt at all, for all that men constantly commented on her red hair and trim figure. Acting so swell, as if they deserved her attention. Her Robert wasn’t a bit like that. She was a respectable girl.

  ~~*~~

  The next night, after a pleasant roast chicken supper with Mrs. Cummings, who surprisingly was interested in the attic research and pumped her for information, Kate started to mount the stairs to the attic, but stopped when she heard a voice above. Or… were there two? The harder she listened, the more she was convinced that Jamie was the only speaker. And yet when she had first opened the door, she could have sworn there was another.

  She stood still, listening to the oddest one-sided dialogue ever.

  “I’d say you’re doing just fine without the wall,” Jamie said.

  …

  “Oh, I’m sure you’ll know if we find anything interesting. That dresser with all the old kitchen equipment, for instance…”

  …

  “Yeah. Sorry. What are you so upset about? You were excited.”

  …

  “Before you knew what? What’s going on, Gramps?”

  Gramps? Kate strained to hear more.

  “I can’t tell her not to. That’s the whole point, isn’t it? To unearth anything that’s been buried up here for years?”

  …

  “Yes, I still like her. A lot. Don’t push. And don’t change the subject.”

  …

  “Valuable advice, Gramps. Pure gold. But you’ve got to back off.”

  Kate continued up the stairs, assuming Jamie was on the phone. But there was no sign of it as she reached the top of her stairs. He cut off whatever he’d been saying and swung in her direction, a look of pure horror on his face. “Hey,” he said faintly.

  The furniture had been rearranged so that it ringed the shared attic, roughly divided into eras, leaving a large open space. She’d kept a heavy table from the 1930s in the middle, for sorting. Jamie was perched on a chest in the vicinity of the 1920s. The system worked, more or less. The magnitude of what she had undertaken still threatened to overwhelm her.

  “Hey, yourself. I thought I heard voices.”

  He flushed and produced his phone. “I, uh… I was just thinking out loud. We ought to have each other’s emails and phone numbers. Want to enter yours?”

  She had kept to herself for so long that casually exchanging information this way amounted to a new experience. Hesitantly she handed over her phone, then added her contact info to his.

  He still seemed flustered as he typed. Why? Who had he been talking to?

  “So,” she said, her phone safely back in her pocket. “Are any of your ancestors named Anne or Annie?”

  “Don’t think so. I’d have to check. Did you find something?”

  She shrugged. Keep it casual, no big deal. She wasn’t ready to tell Jamie or Jan about the letters. “Just a name that’s turned up.”

  “Mom’s the family historian. I’ll see what I can get. You came up to work? Happy to help, since I’m here.”

  Those blue eyes again, looking worried and eager and… what was he hiding?

  ~~*~~

  That night Kate once again pulled out the small stack of letters. She planned to ration herself; it would be so easy to romp through them all in an evening, but then what would she have to look forward to? She had a great love affair in her drawer, and given her own relationship history, she wanted to savour it, luxuriate in the delight Annie and Robert found in each other. At least, Annie clearly adored him, and he must love her, too, or why keep the letters?

  She settled down in bed to read.

  September 15, 1950

  Dearest Robert,

  I can’t begin to tell you how much fun we had the other day. Betty Lou and I went down to the breakwater and wouldn’t you know, the wind was blowing something fierce and lifted Betty Lou’s hat right away, but this nice man caught it before it got swept into the water, then he took us for ice cream. Wasn’t that gallant of him? I think he might be smitten with Betty Lou. He said he had a friend for me, but I said no, sir! My boyfriend was off fighting the Koreans, I said. That put him in his place!

  The ice cream went down real well, because I haven’t been feeling too great the last few days. I’m glad the weather’s turning. With my digestion off, the heat’s been real uncomfortable.

  Your loving Annie

  Kate couldn’t help but wonder what Mother’s thought of Betty Lou. Not much, if she had to guess. Betty Lou just might be—loose?—letting herself get picked up on the Causeway like that. Kate giggled. She’d bet such behaviour wasn’t acceptable back in 1950. But she’d also bet that Betty Lou had more fun than Annie.

  ~~*~~

  Kate’s master’s thesis research occupied her for the next few days. When she wasn’t digging in the Archives, she was on the Causeway at her summer job, slinging gelato. Only at night, after everything else was finished, did she allow herself to read Annie’s story, one letter a day.

  September 29, 1950

  Dear Robert, I’m writing on my break at work, and I’ll have to give this to Betty Lou to mail. Mother found one of your letters, and well, there was hell to pay, pardon my language. So I’ve been absolutely forbidden to be in touch with you. I wrote Betty Lou’s address at the bottom, because that’s where I’ll get your wonderful, loving letters from now on.

  Love from your

  Annie

  October 3, 1950

  Dearest Robert,

  I wish you were here. It isn’t much fun these days, with Mother watching my every move and me not feeling so well. It just seems so unfair of the army to keep you away like this.

  That sergeant guy sounds like a real pill. Do you really have to do what he says? I can’t even imagine that many potatoes!

  Betty Lou got transferred out of jewellery into ladies fashions. She says it’s great and I should apply to move, too. Maybe I will, if I ever get my energy back.

  I wish you would come home. I’m just not myself these days.

  Lots of love,

  Your Annie

  Annie’s tone was troubling. Kate suspected the stomach upset was more than merely indigestion, and in 1950 that spelled disaster.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “Say, Kate.”

  Jamie’s voice sounded serious. She looked up from the pile of old laundry slips she was sorting, trying to identify the items from the near illegible handwriting on the receipts. It was late Friday afternoon. Odd that he wasn’t getting ready for a night out with his friends. Jan said he was popular, so what was this all about?

  He walked over to where she sat at the large table in the center of the attic. The two of them had been working companionably for an hour, since he got home from work; she’d almost forgo
tten to remember he was there.

  Now he stood over her. A familiar tension gripped her.

  Don’t be stupid. This is Jamie, not Clint. Clint’s history.

  He took off his glasses, rubbed them on the long sleeve of his Henley, and put them on again. His feet shuffled on the raw wood floor. “Want to grab something to eat?”

  Was he nervous? How odd.

  “Not tonight.” Belatedly she remembered her manners. “Uh… thanks anyway.”

  “You’re risking Mrs. Cummings’ pot roast?” The aroma had permeated the attic all afternoon. Nervous or not, Jamie grinned. “I don’t recommend it myself,” he continued. “She cooks the poor meat until it’s not only dead but shrivelled and rock solid, or so I’m told. I know a place in town that does great Thai. And it is a beautiful evening.”

  It was. The end of winter had morphed into full-on spring while she’d been obsessed with the attic. The tourists were out in force, and…

  “Sure.” Then, having surprised herself, she swallowed. It would be fine. Just a meal, right?

  “Let’s go,” Jamie said, “beat the rush.” He hustled her toward her stairs.

  ~~*~~

  Kate couldn’t believe it, or rather, couldn’t believe she was participating in it. Her counterculture existence in Toronto had never offered anything like this. They had walked downtown and filled up on Thai, strolled around the harbour, then visited Fisherman’s Wharf for ice cream. And talked, a never-ending flow of things to say. Kate had forgotten to worry.

  The sun was setting by the time they wandered back to their shared house and stood on the porch.

  “This is where it gets awkward,” Jamie said. He’d held her hand all the way home, even though she was sticky from a double chocolate ice cream drip. He didn’t let go now.

  “Your door, my door,” she said, gesturing.

  He smiled, then stopped smiling. “You know what I mean.”