The Left Behind Bride

by Mahrie G. Reid

  Her heart rate slowed and her shoulder muscles eased. I need to learn from this place. Life flows on, sometimes around and over events and occasionally altered by them. But life remains constant. We are born. We live. And then we die. In between, we choose our paths, or like leaves, are swept along by the life flowing around us. Which am I? A leaf tossed by the world? Or a rock, flying in the face of the flow? And if a rock, will I sink without leaving a trace? Or am I able to either skim the surface or make a resounding noise and create ripples?

  Will I matter?

  Her ruminations reminded her of her poems. At sixteen, she’d had similar thoughts about potential versions of her life.

  I chose to serve as a volunteer nurse during the war. I chose to come home when Mother had the flu. But I stayed because of the expectations of Father and the community. The good daughter. She snorted at her thoughts. What a maudlin creature I am today.

  She dusted off her skirt and standing, headed along the shore. Banishing her gloomy thoughts, she focused on the trees, the path under her feet and the birds overhead. The breeze blew the dust and cobwebs out of her head and left her calmer. Energized by the flowing water, she plucked a dandelion and ruffling it with her forefinger, strolled back toward home.

  There would be opportunities. There had to be. Life isn’t static. She needed to be aware, to have a vision for herself, and to choose an appropriate action in the moment. To grow and bloom where life put her, just like the dandelion.

  Now, what shall I make for supper? And with that, she stepped back into her life, crossed the road and started up the driveway.

  An older woman came out from behind the house. “There you are,” Mrs. Naylor said.

  Maggie, delighted to have a visitor, asked. “What can I do for you?” She wouldn’t have come on a Sunday to buy fabric. Maggie led the way into the house. “Would you like tea?”

  “Yes, thank you. I heard you’ve been doing cleaning and that your recent job ended.” She accepted the cup and saucer Maggie handed her. “Did you know that I’ve been cleaning at the school ever since it was built in 1907?”

  She didn’t wait for Maggie to answer. “I’ve enjoyed the job. I talk to the teachers and help children who stay after school. But it’s been twenty-two years.” She shook her head and tsked. “I started before I married. And stayed on as my husband was only a header on the ships. We needed money for food and heat.” She looked down at her hands, clasped together. “We never had children and I just kept on.”

  “That’s a long time,” Maggie said. “I’m sure they appreciated your steady work.”

  “I hope so. Anyway, I am giving it up. My husband and I decided it was time.” She nodded. “That brings me to you. I was sorry to hear about your father. And I know Ivan will soon be on his own. I trust I’m not overstepping if I say you will need to be looking after yourself now.”

  The kettle boiled and Maggie poured water into the teapot. Settling it in a cozy, she brought it to the table. “You’re right. That is exactly where I am.”

  “I have a proposition. I’m going to see Mr. Zinck and Mr. Himmelman tomorrow to tell them I’m leaving. If you are interested, I’ll suggest they talk to you about the job.”

  “That’s kind of you to think of me.” She’d hoped to get the teaching job. Would she be content cleaning the school? Did she have any choice?

  “The work will continue as long as the school is there. You have summers off. And they won’t fire you if you do get married. Not like the teachers.”

  Is this the answer to my ruminations? “What work is required?”

  Mrs. Naylor waved a hand. “It’s not difficult. You sweep the halls and stairs. The teachers sweep the three classrooms and wash their blackboards daily. Although sometimes I swept for them if they were busy marking papers.” She stopped to sip her tea.

  “At the end of the week, you wash all the floors and dust and sweep the office. And in both the fall and the spring, you clean the insides of the windows. One of the older boys does the outside because a ladder is needed.”

  Maggie knew the school’s interior and walked through it in her mind as Mrs. Naylor outlined the work. She could certainly handle it. And it would leave her free in the mornings to sew.

  “You sound as if you’ve enjoyed your work. Even dealing with the students who act up.”

  “They’re the most fun. Usually, they just have extra energy.” She smiled and stared into space. “Some talk a blue streak while they work. I grew to love them. It’s been wonderful to see them grow up and become part of the community. They were, I suppose, my children.”

  Maggie heard the pride in the older woman’s voice. She knew she’d made a difference in those children’s lives. That filled Maggie’s requirement of helping others. But to go from teacher to janitor? She didn’t want to belittle the job, but the thought niggled at her. “What about the heat? Who starts the stoves in the morning?”

  “The teachers take turns going in early. But you bank them down at night and top them up in winter so there’s heat overnight.” She paused. “What do think? Would you like the job?”

  “It certainly sounds like a job I can like and do,” Maggie said. Who was she kidding? It was a dream job compared to some of her other options. “Can you tell me what it pays?”

  “They figured the pay by the hour and calculated a weekly wage. For the weekdays, they allowed three hours at twenty cents an hour. For the end of the week, they allow six hours and because the work is heavier, they pay thirty-five cents an hour. And once you do the windows, they give you a bonus. It varies, but it’s usually quite fair.”

  Maggie calculated in her head. Four days at three hours times twenty cents. Two dollars and forty-cents. And then on Friday, six hours at thirty-five cents came to two dollars and ten cents. A total per week of four dollars and fifty cents. A comfortable base she could build on.

  “What about snow shoveling?”

  “They get the boys to do that.”

  Maggie looked at Mrs. Naylor. She looked around the room. With no other opportunity on the horizon, the offer looked good. She flattened her hands on the table and raised her shoulders. She held the pose for five seconds and let it go along with any reluctance she might have. “I’m interested. Please let the trustees know.”

  * * *

  Monday morning, Maggie settled to do the final hand sewing on Nettie Eisenhorn’s dress. She hummed while she sewed, enjoying the work. If she could find enough customers, she’d be content as a seamstress. Her mind leaped to the school cleaning job. Would they hire her? And when would she hear? The stability of that income would take the stress out of her life.

  But what about nursing? The thought came and went and she went back to stitching on trim.

  By the time the light faded, and Ivan arrived home for dinner, she found her shoulders cramped and her fingers rough with pinpricks. But the dress hung on a hanger, ready for pick-up.

  She prepared enough dinner for three. JM’s three days of travel should be at an end. But JM hadn’t arrived by the time she and Ivan sat to dinner.

  “How much will you get for the dress?” Ivan asked over the late dinner. They sat at either end of the drop-leaf kitchen table. The electric blub cast faint yellow light through its globe.

  “I’m charging her ten dollars,” Maggie said. “The fabric cost one-fifty a yard. Altogether, after paying for fabric and notions, I should have five dollars clear for my work.”

  “That’s good money. If you could make that every week, it certainly would help our coffers.”

  Maggie twitched her shoulders. “‘If’ is the main word there. Most of the sewing will be more mundane and bring in less money. But, two or three ordinary items a week would bring in the same money. The question is, will I have enough customers to do that much.”

  “The cleaning job at the school would be a real bonus,” Ivan said.

  “If I get it.”

  “Why wouldn’t you? They didn’t give you the teaching job,
the least they can do is hire you for the cleaning job.” Ivan finished his meal. “I’m planning to study Dad’s navigation books so I can write the ticket next winter. And when Boris is in port, he wants to study, too. We’ll be able to help each other. Anything I can learn will help me get a berth on a ship when I’m ready.”

  “You have your heart set on going on the ships?” Her own heart contracted. Her fear of losing him to ocean storms remained strong. After losing Will and Harris in the Gales only two years earlier, she figured she had good reason to be afraid.

  “Yes, Maggie, I do. So you need to get used to it.” He put a hand, palm up, on the table, sounding reasonable and grown up. “It’s not as risky anymore,” he said. “Most of the ships have radios and hear storm warnings so they can get out of the way. And remember, Grandpa Conrad went to sea for years and died at home, sitting in his rocking chair. Uncle Henry’s been to sea since he turned thirteen, and he’s alive and well. I’ll be fine.”

  She made one last-ditch effort. “Will you at least finish your grade eleven? If you want to make captain someday, book learning won’t hurt.”

  He took his plate to the sink. “I’m thinking about it,” he said. “I’ll see.”

  If he considered it, maybe he would go. “Fair enough,” she said.

  Ivan fetched the navigation books and settled at the table to read. Maggie found a book and settled to enjoy it. Her sewing done, she could afford an evening off.

  * * *

  Two hours later, JM returned. First thing, he put on the kettle. “Tea, folks, or hot cocoa?” he asked and turning a chair, straddled it beside the table. His tousled hair and dimple struck a warm chord in Maggie. Too bad he’s a revenue agent or spying for one. Her abdomen tensed and her shoulders stiffened. She looked from him to Ivan. This isn’t a comfortable situation. At least for me. They have no idea. At least Ivan doesn’t and JM may or may not know Ivan is bootlegging.

  Ivan turned over his book. “Hot cocoa sounds good. I’ll get the mugs.”

  Maggie finished reading. “Did you accomplish what you needed to do?” she asked and marking her page, closed the book. Did you see any bootleggers? Am I going to have to ask you to leave? She couldn’t afford to lose the income from the rent. At least not now.

  “I certainly did,” he said. “I have more books in the car and some extra classroom supplies. And I saw my dad and one older brother. The other two were out on the banks, fishing.”

  Ivan returned with cocoa and sugar measured into the mugs. “Did you ever go to sea?”

  “I worked a few summers fishing with my father,” JM answered. “But things on land interested me more. I used my summer money to go to university.”

  Too bad Ivan wouldn’t do that. Curious, Maggie asked, “What did you study?”

  “A bit of this and a little of that. I got a general bachelor’s degree.” The kettle boiled and he went to get it. “A broad base that I suppose makes me a jack of all subjects and a master of none.” He laughed. “Good for teaching though. I like teaching and I like summers off.”

  Maggie’s spoon clicked on the mug as she stirred. Had he taken criminal studies? Was that why he chased bootleggers “Dad went to Dalhousie for the law program,” she said. “Unfortunately, he returned home when his father died and never finished.”

  “That explains the books,” JM said and blew on his drink. “You must miss him.” He produced a new crossword puzzle book. “From what you’ve said about him, I suspect he might have like these.”

  Ivan ducked his head and Maggie nodded and the conversation shifted to the crossword puzzles. They ended up laughing as they worked together to decipher the clues. Bittersweet. Maggie watched Ian and JM arguing over an answer. Just like a real family. But we’re not. And we probably never will be.

  The puzzle completed, Maggie stood. “Goodnight,” she said. At the door, she looked back. Crosswords and reading. JM enjoys what I enjoy. And he makes me laugh. She blinked and ignored the implications of that realization. Ivan and JM were already deep in conversation. How surreal. A bootlegger and a bootlegger-catcher at the same table. Should I laugh? Be afraid? Or talk to Ivan. No definitive answer presented itself and she headed to bed.

  Chapter Fourteen

  So profit by experience

  Of those who’ve tried and lost

  And follow not the speed-track

  Of those who’ve won at cost.

  Nettie Eisenhorn arrived mid-afternoon Tuesday. Maggie ushered her into the bedroom to try on the dress. Back in the sewing room, she twirled. “I love it,” she said. “It’s exactly what I had in mind, even though I couldn’t have described it.” She laughed. “I’ll be the belle of the ball.”

  Maggie checked the seams, twitched the skirt to make it hang better and stood back. If she said so herself, she’d created a product to be proud of.

  “It’s perfect,” Nettie said. “Thank you.” She hugged Maggie. “I’ll be sure to tell the ladies at the general store all about it.” She went off to change.

  Maggie accepted Nettie’s money and watched her first paying customer drive away. She put the ten-dollar bill on the table and smoothed it flat. She couldn’t remember if she’d ever had a ten-dollar bill of her own before. But then, this didn’t belong to her. It had to go to the bank.

  She stowed the bill in her satchel and left the house. Summer settled on the landscape and sunbeams glinted on the water. She marched to a tune she’d learned during the war. “...bless ’em all, the long and the short and tall.” Excellent tempo for marching.

  She went first to the store and found Ruth Reinhart behind the counter. Maggie paused by the fabrics. The selection, more varied than her own, had her mind racing with possibilities.

  Ruth joined her. “I saw your dress last Sunday. It’s the bee’s knees. And I saw your notice. I’ll be sure to draw it to people’s attention.”

  Maggie smiled. “Thank you. I’ve some fabrics, but I’ll be coming here for others. It might be good business for both of us.”

  Eloise entered the store and joined them. “Mother is so jealous of your new dress,” she said. “She’s mentioned it several times since Sunday. I think she’s getting ready to come and see you. She needs to work herself up to it.”

  “Maybe she’s uncomfortable for having set me up with those marriageable men,” Maggie said and laughed. “She can’t resist matchmaking, can she?”

  Eloise nodded. “It’s a good thing Dad sailed and won’t be back until after next weekend, or I think we’d be in for another round. She only has those dinners when he’s home.”

  The cousins headed for the door. “See you later, Ruth.”

  “I’ll tell you what,” Maggie said. “I’ll make it easy for your mother and have you all down for supper Saturday night. I have some books for Lucy, and your mother can look at patterns and styles as well. Will you pass on the invitation?”

  “Yes. I’ll be happy to do that. Can I bring anything?”

  “Not a thing.”

  * * *

  Wednesday morning, Maggie rose early with Ivan. “You’ll be home for supper?” she asked.

  He nodded. “I’ll see if I can bring home a whole fish today.” He scooped up his lunch. “What are you up today?”

  “I’ll be busy. Garth Hollinger is bringing his daughter over for a fitting. She needs new dresses.”

  “Excellent.” Ivan raised a hand in farewell and headed off to the fishing.

  Maggie dug out the patterns she’d used for Lucy. Adapting a pattern made it easier than starting from nothing. She’d finished knitting two pairs of socks and planned to show Garth. Those ones were made from unraveled wool and were for Ivan. But in case Garth wanted to order some, she had brown paper and a pencil ready to measure his foot.

  Her beige dress fell to mid-calf and a bibbed apron topped it, like the clerks at the store. She pulled her hair back in a tight bun and examined the results. “What do you think, Daisy? Do I look like a professional shopkeeper?”

&
nbsp; Finished her morning chores, Maggie picked up her knitting. Ivan had said there’d be an interest in her socks, and knitting left her brain free to consider the complexity of her life. By the time she knit on last plain row and turned the heel using the oatmeal color, it was noon. She laid aside the project in favor of lunch—fried, leftover potatoes and eggs.

  She ate her meal at the scarred table used by her great-grandmother and grandmother. Daisy waddled over and plopped her chubby belly on the floor, lying where she could watch Maggie’s mouth. “You mooch,” Maggie told her and gave her a piece of egg. The dog woofed it down and as if it had been a hard task, lay totally prone and yawned. It won’t be long now, Maggie thought and placed her palms on Daisy’s belly. It rumbled under her touch, puppies kicking to get out.

  Sitting up, she picked up her fork and ran the other fingers along several of the gouges in the table top. So many years of meat cutting, pie making, and vegetable chopping. Signs of a long and fruitful life. Well-used but sturdy and able to serve the family for many more years.

  She looked at her empty place. I don’t remember eating. I need to get my head out of the clouds. Here I am, more or less on my own, in charge of my own home, making my own money. Easiness cascaded down her back. My life ingredients are much the same, but I’m deciding what I want and no longer automatically agreeing to the dictates of family and community. Most of the time anyway.

  She laughed. From there on in, she would ask herself ‘what do I want’ before making any decision. Not that she’d be selfish, she’d simply be in charge. The knock on the front door had her moving and she went humming through the rooms to answer it. Daisy lumbered to her feet and followed.

  “Hello, Mr. Hollinger.” She ushered him and his daughter into the front room and knelt in front of the little girl. “And let me see, your name is McGillicuddy.”