“You can alter a jaw,” Dan interjected, trying to be helpful. “They used clay models to rebuild many chins that were blown off in the war. I found it interesting as an artist.”
Ellen appeared chastised. “I wasn’t suggesting Rupert have reconstruction. I just want Jean to be aware that face and character are related.”
“Maybe they are,” Dan said thoughtfully. “In a war, we’re only interested in character.”
Red glanced up from his tackle box. “How many rods do we need?” he asked to change the conversation. “Are you ladies fishing or sunbathing?”
Ivy blushed, and Jean’s arched eyebrow seemed to ask the question: “Is something going on between my brother and Ivy?”
“Red gave me a lesson on casting.” Ivy laughed. “All I hooked was his fishing hat.”
“Corbeil Point is a good place to try again, Ivy,” Red said, grinning.
Ivy touched her cheek, embarrassed that she might look as hot as she felt. The previous weekend Red had demonstrated casting. Standing on the end of the Donnellys’ dock, she hadn’t expected an intimate experience. Red had stood behind her, holding the rod and her hand to demonstrate the movement. Ivy’s thoughts hadn’t been on the extending fishing line. Red’s cheek was pressed against her neck, and his warm breath moistened her ear as he gave instructions on flicking back and then snapping forward the rod. It was a graceful movement by Red compared to Ivy’s rushed performance.
Clara’s facts-of-life approach to sex didn’t explain the explosion of feelings Ivy had as Red pulled her into his rod-casting arms. She fixed her eyes on the colourful lure on the line to regain her concentration and was weak in the legs when Red had breathed into her ear, “You’ve got the hang of it, Ivy.”
After a round of goodbye hugs, Dan and Gerda sauntered off to where Lily had parked her blue Rambler. She wanted to check on the Italian mothers and was happy to have an excuse to return to the Soo.
Just then, Albert Martin with his peg leg and crutch came through the woods for the send-off. “Get me a new leg,” he pleaded.
Gerda shot Dan a resigned look, familiar with his spontaneous behaviour. Before she opened her mouth to protest, Dan had unbuckled his leg. He was wearing shorts, which made this easier.
Leaning on the car for balance, Dan handed his state-of-the-art prosthesis to Albert. “It fell in Lake Superior by accident. If the government wants to know where, I can show them.” He shot Albert the same impish grin that had saved him during his tantrums.
“They’d need ocean divers,” Albert said with a smile that broke his normally taciturn face.
Dan grinned. “Get back to guiding, Albert, and take me up the Batchawana River next year.”
“You have an open invitation to stay with us,” Lily offered.
As the car pulled away, Dan rolled down the passenger window. “All white guys aren’t bad! Just the government!”
Albert raised his hand in farewell.
“How well do you know Dan?” Red asked Ivy as they returned to the beach.
“I was quite young when Dan was in the hospital. I remember looking for my mother and finding her kneeling in the corridor comforting him as he howled. He was one of her favourites. Still is.”
Ivy helped Red load the fourteen-foot Peterborough runabout with fishing rods and tackle as well as the lunch Ellen had prepared. She had apologized to Jean about the chin, and Jean was now in a mood to enjoy the few days with her family.
“I prefer to sit in the bow to get the wind head on,” Jean said.
Ivy donned a life vest so big that her blond head was barely visible above the collar.
“Come back here,” Red said as he stood at the transom, ready to pull the cord on the Johnson motor. “Try it.”
Ivy, somewhat impeded by the jacket, pulled hard, but the cord didn’t budge. Red laughed, and with a quick snap of his arm, the motor began to hum. They headed for the point that protected the northwest corner of the bay.
Philemon Riel, the lighthouse keeper who lived on the point year-round, was at the shore to greet them. She was a small but sturdy woman who had known Ellen Donnelly since childhood, and her cropped brown hair always looked as if she were her own barber. Philemon put the lunch in the icehouse while Red checked the direction of the wind before settling on a fishing spot.
“There’s not much sun in Vancouver,” Jean said as she wandered off to sunbathe. “Let me know when you stop for lunch.”
Ivy, her fine blond hair tumbling over Red’s tackle box as she crouched to rummage for an appropriate lure, contemplated Jean glancing back at her. For a moment, it seemed as if Jean was frowning at her. Does she not like me being with Red? Ivy thought.
Later, when Ivy caught two small bass, Red threw them back in the lake. “The wind’s coming up on this side of the point,” he said after an hour of no bites. “We need to move where the water’s calmer to catch any fish.” Ivy was opening the tackle box to pack up when Red put his hand on hers and leaned forward to kiss her on the mouth. “Can I visit you in Montreal?”
She wondered if her rapid heartbeat showed under her shirt. “I don’t have much time off, but I promise to write and let you know when I’m free.”
Red seemed disappointed.
“Promise,” Ivy added, running her fingers through his thick wavy hair, which had fallen over his forehead. She leaned forward and initiated another kiss. Red pulled her up and put his free arm around her waist as they moved to a calmer location. They settled in a quiet alcove close to the lighthouse. Ivy felt ecstatic.
“Do you mind if I smoke?” Red asked as he hooked a large minnow on the line.
Ivy had objected to touching the squirming bait. “My mother hates cigarettes. I mustn’t smell of smoke when I get back to the cottage. Maybe we can have a swim.”
Red was wearing a beige cotton vest with multiple pockets. He pulled out a pouch of tobacco and a pipe with a highly polished brier bowl. Then, holding the bowl, he emptied it on a rock and pushed a wad of aromatic tobacco into the cleaned pipe. Striking a match on the zipper of his vest, he sucked until the pipe was lit. “Take a puff and don’t inhale,” he said, passing the pipe to Ivy.
She could taste his saliva on the stem, and the tingling in her legs returned. Drawing a deep breath, she blew it on Red. “Now you’ll smell of smoke.” Ivy laughed. “My mother will be mad at both of us!”
Red cupped Ivy’s head, pulling her forward for a kiss when the fishing rod suddenly jerked. He jumped up to grab it, began reeling in the fish, and pulled up a six-pound rainbow trout.
Ivy closed her eyes while Red put the fish out with a quick thud of a club. “Jean will be expecting us.” She wanted to renew her interrupted kiss but decided returning to the lighthouse would preserve her reputation. Jean can be a tease, she thought. I don’t want Mrs. Donnelly thinking I’m one of those girls who make a man quit his education because they get in a family way. I don’t want to end up like Tina Courtney!
They put the fishing gear and the trout in the boat and walked up to the lighthouse where Philemon had spread out their food on a table in her small parlour. Jean was gossiping about her upcoming trip to Vancouver.
Red pulled out a chair for Ivy and then sat opposite. “I want you to have a view of the lake. It changes constantly.”
“It’s important to know that,” Philemon said. “Almost every drowning on Lake Superior was a case of misjudging how rapidly conditions can change. Waves get as high as those in an ocean and can sink a small boat.”
“You’re wearing Dad’s life vest,” Red said, seeing Ivy’s worried expression.
“Red’s grown up on this lake,” Philemon assured her. “You’re safe in his hands.”
“Let’s eat,” Red said, pleased with the compliment.
Ivy studied Red, though it appeared her eyes were fixed on the turbulent water behind him. His facial features were more refined than his brothers, who had the same red hair and freckles as their father. He had inherited his mother’s wa
vy brown hair and dark brown eyes. At five foot eight, Red was shorter than his brothers but more muscled and agile than the stockier boys. Red Donnelly, you’re as well put together as any young man I’ve ever met, Ivy thought, moving her tongue to taste Red’s saliva from the pipe.
CHAPTER 26
Ivy had two days to pack and get organized when she returned to the Soo from her vacation at Batchawana. Her trunk had remained at Royal Victoria Hospital. “If they change my room, they’ll move it,” she told Clara. “Red would like to take me to the train,” she added, expecting her mother to look hurt.
“I think that’s a fine idea. I’ll be less sad seeing you go down Hilltop Crescent in a roadster with Red Donnelly than standing on a platform by myself watching the train pull away.”
Ivy hugged Clara. She knew her mother would be lonely at her departure.
Seeing the Donnellys’ roadster parked on the street, the eldest resident of Hilltop, Miss Leila Shell, came to say goodbye. She and her spinster sister watched the street’s comings and goings from their front porch. Ivy had struck up many conversations with elderly patients at the Galt Hospital and enjoyed speaking with the spinster ladies. They passed on a surprising bit of gossip before she left: “Ed Donnelly has purchased the empty lot across the street.”
“Why is it a secret?” Ivy asked.
“Mr. Donnelly doesn’t want to be accused of property speculation. There was a feeling that his father, I.J., took advantage of Francis Clergue when he went bankrupt. After all, he was chief of police and privy to private information.”
Ivy didn’t want to be caught in a web of gossip, so she didn’t tell Clara. She wondered if Mr. Donnelly would build or just turn the property over at a higher price when the economy improved.
Leila stood on the street beside Sergeant Stuart, who was admiring Red’s car.
Red tossed Ivy’s suitcase into the roadster’s trunk and held the door for Ivy to get in the passenger seat.
“I’ll be back at Christmas!” Ivy cried, waving. Red slipped behind the wheel and put the car in motion. Ivy returned the wave of neighbours working on their gardens as they passed.
It was still August, but fall was in the air. Clara basked in her daughter’s happiness and offered Leila and Sergeant Stuart tea. “Company will lessen the loneliness.”
Clara was soon occupied at Shingwauk overseeing incoming desks for the smaller students. She had become embroiled in this non-nursing matter before the children left for summer holidays. In June, six-year-old Jimmy Sagebrush had arrived in her office with welts on his knuckles, which had begun to bleed. Clara thoroughly washed the boy’s hands and then applied antifungal ointment before confronting the teacher about the severity of her strapping.
“He’s disruptive, annoying to other students,” the teacher blurted.
“I don’t think a thin-skinned little boy deserves corporal punishment,” Clara said. “What did he do to make you react so harshly?”
“He swings his legs back and forth until I’m driven to distraction. I keep him up front to stop him.”
“So he’s bothering you.”
The same teacher had put a disruptive, short-sighted boy at the back of the classroom where, unable to see the blackboard, he had just created mischief. He spent much of his day in the hallway. Clara asked Jimmy to sit at his desk, and the problem became obvious. His feet were half a foot off the floor. There were no sizesuitable desks in the classroom.
Clara had returned to her office and placed a call to D.T. Walker, the school inspector for the Soo. He had held the position for twenty years and was thought to be even-handed by both Protestant and Catholic authorities. Protestant teachers wanted the Union Jack in their classrooms and Catholic teachers a statue of Mary or Jesus, costly in either case to supply. For every cross of Jesus, D.T. ordered a flag. Clara had thought he would understand the problem.
“School supplies, including furniture, are stored in a warehouse on Bruce Street,” D.T. had said when Clara called. “Furniture for residential schools is considered a federal matter, but I’ll see what I can do. They should be available before the school year begins in late August.”
Occupying herself with the desk problem after Ivy left was cathartic, and Clara threw herself into her work.
Most of the children hadn’t arrived yet when the dust-laden desks were delivered in a city truck. Noel Thomas brought in the big boys from his workshop to unload the desks and carry them into the classroom. The boys arranged three rows of five on either side of an aisle. Clara returned home that evening, happy she had been able to resolve the desk situation but disheartened by the uphill battle with the custodians. In her mind, they didn’t see the problems. She could feel her blood pressure rise much as it had at the Galt Hospital.
A few weeks after Red had returned to the University of Toronto, Clara and Ellen Donnelly spoke about the budding romance. “While they’re both in school, they won’t jump the gun and get married,” Ellen said with a reassuring laugh. “I must say I’d be pleased to have Ivy as my daughter-in-law. She’s a good match for my son who’s a rough outdoorsman.”
“I have little experience as to what makes a good union,” Clara said. “My own marriage was fraught with war and illness until George’s death. Ivy’s had so many complications in her young life. Red would make an ideal partner once she’s finished her nursing and has that diploma in hand.”
“I’m sure he will,” Ellen assured.
While Ivy was at Sault Collegiate and friendly with so many Italians, Clara had expressed her opinion that marriage was tough enough without adding complications like religion, culture, or finances into the mix. Lily would assert that the next generation of Italians would be living in the east end, and Clara would counter with: “They’ll still be Catholics!”
She was pleased to see Ivy fit into the Donnelly family where there were no obstacles. Ellen had taken Clara’s daughter under her wing, teaching Ivy the culinary tricks she used at the cottage when supplies were limited. Neither mother wanted to be an over-bearing chaperone. Clara’s ruminations were hopeful, nonetheless. Red, as a budding doctor, seemed a wonderful prospect. He was three years older than Ivy and known to be a little high-strung. Ivy was just the opposite. This is a good fit, Clara thought.
CHAPTER 27
Ivy stepped onto the Windsor Station platform and handed her suitcase to the first taxi driver in the queue of cars. His unkempt appearance reflected the hard economic times in Montreal, particularly for French Canadians. The drivers’ unshaven faces and rumpled clothes suggested some of them had spent the night in their taxis.
“Royal Victoria Hospital,” Ivy said, opening her handbag to check that she had the right change. The driver might cheat by taking a longer route, she thought. She had been told that taxi drivers did that in Paris where passengers hadn’t a clue where they were going.
“You a nurse?” the driver queried.
“A student,” Ivy replied.
The man squinted at Ivy through the rearview mirror. Ivy had walked this downtown route before, and when the driver took a left turn onto an unfamiliar side street and sped up, she was afraid it wasn’t the right direction for the hospital. She ran her finger over the lining of her open purse until she felt the hatpin Clara had provided her. Panicking, Ivy moved swiftly. The jab was quick, and the man yelped and braked, jolting Ivy forward before she could exit the car. When she got out, he drove away quickly, no doubt wondering what had happened. Ivy gazed at the receding car and realized she had overreacted. The taxi driver would be familiar with many routes to get to the hospital. She tossed the hatpin in the ditch with an embarrassed chuckle.
Her trudge up McTavish Street through the McGill campus was tiring. Students were milling about with maps in hand, trying to locate their next destinations. Ivy found a shaded place not far from the water reservoir and watched as people hustled past.
She reviewed her last moments with Red. The train to Montreal had been delayed because of an engine prob
lem, so they had returned to the roadster to have a private farewell. There had been few such occasions to talk at Batchawana. Red had lit and drawn deeply on his pipe before passing it to Ivy. She had the same intimate thrill she had experienced at the lighthouse. This time she didn’t let an image of an oversized Tina Courtney enter her thoughts.
“Did you want to become a doctor because of your father?” Ivy asked. The question was often directed at her, since people believed Clara had influenced her decision to become a nurse.
Red laughed. “It was my mother who wanted at least one of her boys to wear a suit to work. My father wanted me to follow him into I.J. Donnelly and Sons. I wanted to be a geologist, but geologists rarely wear suits.”
The train whistle blew, ending their conversation. He pressed a hurried kiss on Ivy’s mouth, and they leaped from the car.
“I don’t want to get in your mother’s bad books,” Red said, grabbing the suitcase and Ivy’s arm. He knocked his pipe sharply on the wheel of the roadster and handed it to Ivy. “See you in Montreal.”
As the train pulled away, Ivy held the pipe to the window and nodded. Red shot back a satisfied smile, revealing his beautiful teeth.
Ivy’s thoughts about their parting were interrupted when a squirrel jumped onto her handbag. She squealed, and the animal scurried off. Most of the students were already in uniform when Ivy got to the nurses’ residence. She stopped by the main desk to ascertain which room she had been assigned and then dashed up the broad staircase to change. Ivy was anxious to share her budding romance with Sass. Sass’s beau will be old hat compared to my news, she thought.
The two girls didn’t have an opportunity to exchange news until Sunday when the nurses had the afternoon off. Ivy was eager to talk about Red when they got together in Sass’s room. Pulling a dresser drawer open, Sass let Ivy peek in. A large diamond ring sat on top of a plastic pouch. Sass smirked. “My diaphragm,” she said, blushing and crowing at the same time. “I’d be kicked out if Miss Hobbs knew I was engaged. A pregnant student nurse is unheard of, and I’m not trying to make history.”
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