Eleanor Marie Schneider was born to August George “Gus” Schneider and Marie Schraeder in Detroit, Michigan, in 1923. She and her brother Gordon, eight years older, grew up on the West side of Detroit until, in 1938, they moved to the farm-style home in Warren Township where Grandfather George Schneider had earlier purchased three acres. Father Gus, along with his brothers and son Gordon, built the home. She returned there with her husband after the deaths of her parents.

Eleanor served as a Marine during WWII at Marine Corps Air Station, El Toro, Santa Ana, California, and at Naval Base, Pearl Harbor, Hawaii. Her experience at the US Post Office before joining the Marines led to similar duties during her three years of service. After the war, she met and married the love of her life, Donald Cockerline. They had one son, Thomas.

Eleanor was an avid reader who wrote poetry, music, and prose. The unexpected deaths, first of her brother Gordon in 1962, then her husband Donald in 1968, along with a nudge from her sister-in-law, Enid, sparked this chronicle’s writing. Writing four books was a massive project, and I know Eleanore would be thrilled to know you are reading them in published form.

This is the first of four books in the chronicle—“On My Mother’s Side,” written between February 1970 and February 1980.

Eleanore typed the first two books and part of the third on a WW2-era Remington portable. The remainder of the third book and the entire fourth book were handwritten. The paper was yellowed and faded after sitting in a box for thirty years. The editing and digitization process presented significant challenges due to the poor paper condition and the difficulty of reading Eleanor's handwriting.

This is historical fiction, so events and settings in the stories are accurate, and remember, Eleanor did not have the internet.

Each book is a memoir of the protagonist—Book One: Katherine; Book Two her daughter Elizabeth; Book Three, Elizabeth’s daughter Jane, granddaughter of Katherine; and, Book Four, Emily, Jane’s daughter, great-granddaughter of Katherine, and granddaughter of Elizabeth—thus the title; “On My Mother’s Side.”

Katherine’s story is based on limited facts; Elizabeth’s story is based on more information; Jane’s story more accurate, with more details; until the final book, where Emily’s memoir is, in Eleanore’s words—gospel. Eleanor described Book One as mostly a "figment of imagination," though it contains real elements. Of Book Two, she noted there is "a little pepper in the pot for flavor." By Book Four, she asserted it was "Gospel, as far as I know."

The recollection of all the characters, anecdotes and events are those of the main character in the final book—the fictitiously named Emily—in life—Irene Cockerline. From that, it is a matter of looking at Irene’s family tree to identify the characters.

There is in each book an overlap of generations, events, and stories. The stories are told from each character’s point of view, and it is important to read the books in sequence.

Referring to Book One, Eleanor cautioned: “So that you don’t get the wrong impression, there was a titled Portman whose life can only be guessed at, and a child that was lost at sea. The rest is fabrication.”

In Book One, we meet three of the four protagonists—Katherine; her daughter Elizabeth; and Elizabeth’s daughter Jane.

Book One centers on Katherine, who, at age 17, is coerced by her father to marry a titled Englishman twice her age. Her sexual naïveté and sense of duty set her up for a difficult life. Sir Hubert is insensitive, ruthless, work and status-centered, and desperately wants a male heir.

Katherine’s daughter, Elizabeth, Book Two protagonist, is pregnant at 16. The father is a stable hand and son of long-time employees of the family. The child from this union is Jane, the protagonist in Book Three.

—Editing by William F. Stratton and Karen S. Schneider (Eleanor’s niece).

The image reflected in the full-length mirror seeed a stranger.

"Today marks the beginning of a new life, and I don't recognize myself," she thought.

She attempted a defiant look, but that quickly retreated, as she thought, "Dear God, I am really getting married today!"

The sound of a door opening behind her distracted her and she saw Carlie's reflection, holding six yellow roses.

"It's time, Katherine."

Peering into the mirror, she thought, "Time, time, and none left for me now. Oh, Mama, how I wish you were here. I know what you would say — I'm a fortunate girl to have been spoken for by a man of Hubert's station, but dear God, I fear this alliance — I fear Hubert."

Carlie spoke again, "Please, Katherine, your father is waiting in the carriage."

Resolved, Katherine picked up her lace wedding bonnet, set it squarely on her head, turned and grasped the flowers and the matching ecru parasol, and hurried through the door.

Quenton Martin stood in the open carriage and extended his hand.

Billy Tupper mounted the box, clucked to the team of bays, and the carriage rolled forward.

Her father patted her hand and murmured, "My dear, my dear."

This unnerved her even more. Looking straight ahead, unmoving, she hoped that her father wouldn't draw her into the conversation because, at this point, she could not speak for fear she would shatter like a pane of glass. Determined not to think of the impending ceremony, she turned to the past.

"Katherine? Katherine, my dear, we're here."

"I see we are, Papa." She closed her parasol, placed it on the seat beside her, gathered her skirt, and, holding the six yellow roses, stepped out of the carriage into the waiting hands of Billy.

"Good luck, my lady," Billy said softly.

As she glanced up at the tall spire that adorned St. Dunstan’s, she wondered how many times she had marveled at this magnificent structure. This time she would exit a married Lady.

For an instant, she felt like laughing, thinking; this must be the way Anne Boleyn felt when she placed her head on the block. To those passing along the walkway, the curve of her lips probably signified a happy bride!

“Well, my dear, as soon as the bells ring, we shall walk down the aisle to join Sir Hubert. I want you to know that I pray for your happiness. Your mother would be proud of you, just as I am.”

Her father had barely finished speaking when the tower bells tolled the morning hour, and she thought of the line from John Donne’s poem, “... And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; It tolls for thee.”

The sexton opened the double ebony doors separating the narthex from the sanctuary. As she and her father waited in the doorway, her attention fell on the aisle leading to the altar. On either side were the families. Aunt Catherine, her father’s sister, with her husband, Thomas, and sons Martin and Michael, were seated on the left. Hubert’s brother Sam, sister Hannah with her husband George, and their four children, occupied the right. Beyond the empty choir stalls was the communion rail. To the left was the lectern, and to the right the elevated pulpit. On the altar, covered with white linen, lay accouterments of the Anglican Church.

The sound of the sacristy door broke the silence. Stepping into the apse was Dean Moines, followed by Hubert and Merriweather Vale, Hubert’s law partner. The Dean, in his black cassock and white surplice, slowly made his way to a position in front of the altar while Hubert stopped at the kneeling bench. Merriweather proceeded to the communion rail.

Receiving the nod from Dean Moines, she and her father walked down the aisle. Leaving her father at the communion rail, she passed through the opening and stopped at the kneeling bench. Hubert, taking three steps, joined her.

Dean Moines coughed once, then spoke, “Dearly beloved, we are gathered together...”

“I do,” said Sir Hubert.

“Do you Katherine Martin take...?”

“I do,” said Katherine.

“In as much as God has joined together....”

“I now pronounce you man and wife.” She was now Lady Katherine Portman.

i.

As Carlie laid out Katherine’s traveling costume and gently traced her fingers over the lovely dress, she began to feel smarting behind her eyes as she thought, “I hope Lady Katherine will be happy.”

Katherine never said, but Carlie knew she had misgivings. “I believe that Quenton wanted this marriage, not Katherine. If only Katherine hadn’t been so bound to her father and had taken an interest in the young men of her age—if only, if only.

“Carlie,” she said aloud, “stop it this instant and get on with the business at hand.”

ii.

Cook had outdone herself preparing the refreshments for the reception. Resting now on the dining room’s sideboard were the trays of finger lickers, as Cook called them. Tiny rolls of biscuit dough encircling slices of boiled tongue; feathery pastry tarts the size of shillings were filled with a chopped beef mixture; fresh bread sliced thin then cut into small squares were spread with goose liver pate; and finally, jellied veal on biscuits. For the sweet tooth, there were custard tarts, fruitcakes, and sweet biscuits. 

The best linen graced the table. Fresh flowers made up the centerpiece. One end of the table contained the china and serviettes, while the other end held the crystal wine goblets. The drawing-room was filled with flowers. The heavy drapes had been pulled aside to let in the late morning sun. Expansive windows looked out over the trimmed lawn and manicured flowerbeds. The outside wall contained the marble fireplace with an eight-foot opening to accommodate logs large enough to heat the room.

The sound of wheels in the gravel signaled the arrival of the guests. Quenton, first to return, hurried through the kitchen into the hall toward the front door, just in time to greet Hubert and Katherine making their way up the front steps. Quenton hugged his daughter and, at the same time, included Hubert by grasping his shoulder. “You have made me the happiest man in the world. Come, let us receive the others.”

The others were those who had attended the ceremony. If Katherine had had her way, there would have been no one there, but, to appease her father, she had agreed to allow close relatives to attend.

Hannah and George Wooster and their children were next to arrive. Hannah was three years younger than Hubert. She was stiff and formal, not only with strangers but with her family as well. George never argued with his wife. He found that by giving her free rein, his life was comparatively peaceful. Nearly thirty when she married, Hannah’s children were young. Christopher and Crystal, the twins, were seven; Louise was five; and Maybelle, four.

Aunt Catherine approached her and tearfully extolled the merits of married life. Uncle Thomas mumbled something about happiness and edged toward the dining room and the wine. At fifteen and sixteen, Martin and Michael gave her a swift kiss and followed their father. This would be their first official experience with spirits, and they didn’t want to miss the opportunity. Little did Aunt Catherine know how often those boys had tipped the bottle. Not so much that Catherine or Thomas would notice, but enough to know the merits of a fine Port, Claret, or Madeira.

Sam shook Quenton’s hand, then his brother’s, and turning, he kissed her on the forehead and said softly, “I wish for you all the best that the gods have to offer. I pray they are kind.”

As the last of the guests arrived, Quenton spoke to Carlie. “As soon as Dean Moines arrives, I want you and Billy to join us in the drawing-room. I’d like you both to share in the toast to the happy couple.”

“Yes, Sir,” Carlie replied “Happy couple indeed,” she thought.

“Katherine?” Hubert had put his arm on hers and brought her back to the present. “Your father is asking us into the drawing-room, come along.”

Jacob and Cook Marion marched into the drawing-room looking like two Beefeaters defending the Tower, bearing champagne glasses. After everyone had been served, Merriweather called for silence, then raised his glass.

“To Hubert and Katherine, may they enjoy a long and happy life together.”

Quenton, who had capitulated to Merriweather for the initial toast, now raised his glass. Looking at the newly married couple, he spoke in a husky voice, “To my dear daughter and my new son, I want to express to them all of the blessings of married life and happiness that will grow year by year. God bless you both.”

Standing at the back of the room, Billy and Carlie also raised their glasses. Billy drank, but Carlie merely raised her glass to her lips, just in case Quenton’s desire should come true. Deep in her heart, Carlie knew that Quenton Martin was a fool.

i.

While Billy carried her portmanteau to the waiting carriage, she changed into her traveling clothes. Carlie would pack the rest of her clothing and personal articles and send them on to Tottenham Court Road.

Because of pending cases, Hubert could not leave the city for any lengthy period. He decided on five days at Brighton. He had been there before and found it acceptable, especially since the Brighton Pavilion was built for the Royals.

She had never been to the South coast. When time was available, the family had taken the coach to Southend, a lovely resort near Prittlewell on the Thames. Now, with rail beds being laid to the more popular holiday resorts, crowds were turning the once-sleepy villages into active communities with people trying to live life to the fullest in the shortest possible time. Margate, Blackpool, Brighton, and all the rest felt the same impact from the newly traveled Britons.

The watering season usually started around mid-June and lasted until early September. During the season, travel time could take as much as three or four hours, so Hubert had reserved a compartment on the South Coast Railway. With the through-line, they should reach the Admiral Hotel in Brighton in time for four o'clock tea.

On the way to the train, Hubert took hand and talked of the beautiful day, how happy he was, and of the life they would have together. Katherine avoided his eyes but answered appropriately. She wondered what he was thinking.

Crossing the Thames on Blackfriars Bridge, she looked out over the river. Traffic was heavy with barges and flatboats carrying trade goods and various supplies to the city. Looking down-stream, she was able to see the North stanchion of the Tower Bridge. Again, Anne Boleyn came to mind. Willing herself to change her train of thought, she managed to occupy herself with the immediate surroundings, and soon Anne Boleyn was left to her fate at the Tower.

Waterloo Station loomed into view, and she noted that street traffic was light, allowing Wooten to draw up in front of the Station. After helping them dismount, he went about the business of unloading the baggage. She stayed close to Hubert as they entered the cavernous building. The attendant directed them to the second car behind the engine where Wooten stowed their luggage, wished them well, and confirmed that he would meet them in five days.

"Katherine, dear, why don't you sit here by the window and ride facing forward. It should be a pleasant journey. The country is beautiful at this time of the year."

Despite the inner turmoil, she could feel a twinge of excitement working its way up her spine. This was her first journey by train. Her few friends and relatives all lived in London, and the trips were by mail coach or in their private carriage. They sat on the cane benches, facing one another. This was the first time since the wedding that they had been alone. Neither spoke. As the pause lengthened, she began to feel as though she were in a vacuum, and the only possible means of escape was to run from the car and never stop running. The high-pitched scream of the train whistle and the abrupt jerk of the engine straining to put the wheels in motion brought her back to reality."Oh my goodness, we're moving," she said, and the vacuum was broken. As long as she could keep some activity going, she was sure that she would be able to keep her panic in check.

While Katherine was marveling at her first train ride and occupied with the scenery, Hubert had time to think.

After his father's death, his mother put aside enough to see her sons well educated and ensure Hannah's dowry. He was not interested in saving; he resented the changes in lifestyle that saving money necessitated. He was interested in becoming wealthy.

After graduating from Oxford, he secured a position as a practicing barrister in the prestigious firm of Whitelaw & Lowe. When Malcolm Whitelaw died in 1834, he left no heirs. A few days later, he met with Jonathan Lowe and immediately got to the point. He wanted a full partnership in the firm with the threat that he would resign. He didn't know what he would have done if Lowe had called his bluff, but the firm would now be known as Whitelaw, Lowe, and Portman.

He found himself more in demand at social gatherings. When the need for sexual outlets arose, he would manage to find a willing partner among London's working-class; however, when invitations started coming, he was hard-pressed to escort a woman who would be considered proper. It wasn't long before he found that there was always an unattached female at the previous party who would be more than willing to have him as an escort at the next gathering.

At one of these parties, he met Lord Melbourne. Melbourne had the reputation of being a gallant, and a bond was established. When William IV died in 1837, Melbourne was made Prime Minister. Melbourne called on him soon after to ask a favor. In return, he promised Hubert that he would speak well of him in the highest circles.

In February, an engraved message from the Queen notified him that he would be knighted at a private ceremony in March. He knew his title was being bestowed on Melbourne's recommendation, and he blessed him for that.

When Queen Victoria said, "Rise, Sir Hubert Portman," he looked up to see her smiling. He bowed low, offered his thanks, and after he had kissed her ringed hand, retreated to one side of the hall. The entire ceremony had taken only two hours. He was titled and just thirty-two years old.

The end of 1840 found Whitelaw, Lowe, and Portman recognized as one of London's best legal firms. His title had mellowed Lowe's resentment, and Merriweather Vale was now certified in the law. Lowe split his partnership, and Merriweather Vale became a junior partner in the firm.

Lowe died in November 1842, with the bulk of the estate left to Merriweather. For a time, the added responsibility of being a full partner managed to keep Merriweather away from his most singular fault, the gaming tables. Slowly he started again, losing and winning, but more consistently losing. According to Hubert's calculations, it would only be a matter of time.

He was successful, titled, and lonely. What he needed was someone to care for him and his house and someone to bear an heir. After all, the point of being prestigious was to pass it down to his sons. He wanted the firm to read, "PORTMAN & SONS."

In the almost daily round of revelries, he had bedded many women, but he could not picture any of those women, so free with their virtue, as a wife and mother to his children.

One evening, while in Brown's Club for a drink, Quenton Martin walked in. Fate must have played a hand, for, on this night, Quenton asked if he might join Hubert for a drink. The conversation wound up with an invitation from Quenton for Hubert to call at his home that evening. 

Standing in the foyer of the Martin home, he glanced around the drawing-room. He had become bored and had decided to retreat gracefully when he saw Quenton Martin heading toward him with a most beautiful young woman. He decided then and there that this woman would be his wife. Her name was Katherine, and she was Quenton's daughter. She would be ideal as his wife and as the mother of his children and would be molded to fit his lifestyle.

i.

It was nearly 4 o’clock when the train arrived at Brighton station. They had hardly spoken during the entire trip. Hubert was at the compartment door when he spoke: “Stay in the coach Katherine while I find a hackney. You will be all right alone for a few minutes.” He closed the door, stepped to the platform, and was soon lost among the other passengers.

She found the excitement of the trip still very much with her. With her nose at the windowpane, she looked in either direction, trying to get a glimpse of the Pavilion. Not able to see anything, she opened the compartment door and stepped outside. The sea, she could smell the sea. Not like the Thames at all. This was the wild and pungent odor of kelp tossed up on the beach to ferment in the sun. She watched a flock of gulls pirouetting through the air like well-trained ballerinas. For the first time that day, her defenses were down. The crowd had thinned, and she saw Hubert coming along the platform with a wizened little man in tow.

“Katherine, I thought I told you to stay in the coach.”

“I’ve been right here at the door, Hubert. I couldn’t wait inside another minute.”

Although he said nothing, she sensed his annoyance. “Well, he’s going to have to get used to me too,” she thought.

The drive along the main street, which ran parallel to the oceanfront, fascinated her. Funny-looking carts were standing at the bottom of the breakfront. She didn’t want to interrupt the spell, so she decided to ask Hubert about them later. The sun had started its westward passage, and the expanse of water took on a red glow that shimmered off the white caps. She was so engrossed with the sea that she had not yet looked landward. 

She felt Hubert lightly shaking her arm. “Look over here, Katherine! There it is!”

She turned her head to find one of the most unusual sights she had ever seen. Facing the sea, well back from the shops and inns that lined the waterfront, was the Brighton Pavilion. Built by King George IV in the late eighteenth century, it had once had an unsavory reputation; however, as King George mellowed, so did the Pavilion. The British populace seemed to either love it or hate it. At this moment, she loved it. She supposed that a person could interpret the domes and minarets that reached gracefully toward the heavens as onions and turnips, but they were ingenious adornments to her. 

“Hubert, could we go through the palace while we are here?”

“It might be possible, Katherine. The Royal family is not in residence. Tomorrow I’ll see if it can be arranged. You know, I went through the Pavilion in ’37 when Melbourne was Prime Minister. It is a masterpiece of architecture.”

The hackney soon drew up to the Admiral Hotel. Originally built to accommodate overflow guests who were invited to the Pavilion revels, it still catered to the titled English and the wealthy.

Refreshing herself in the dressing room, she looked into the mirror above the commode. Her eyes were bright, and her face was flushed, but there could be no help for that. Hubert was waiting to go into the dining room for tea, and at this moment, that sounded wonderful. As she was adjusting her hair, she heard a knock on the door. Hubert opened the door, and standing there was a young woman of about 17, wearing the household uniform. 

“What is it?” Hubert asked.

“Pardon me, your Lordship, but I’ve been assigned to help you with unpacking.”

“Come in, come in. We are just getting ready for tea.” Turning to the dressing room, Hubert called, “Katherine, come in here please and leave instructions for the maid.”

She came into the sitting room and pointed toward the portmanteau and Hubert’s travel case. “Please put the clothing away, and I shall talk to you in the morning.”

“Yes, my lady,” replied the young woman as she picked up the case and moved it to the bedroom.

They were late starting tea, so they only had scones. She was hungry and ate two.

While they were seated and Hubert was enjoying his first cigar of the day, she asked, “Hubert, could we walk along the shore before dinner? It is such a lovely day.”

“Of course we shall. A walk will do us both good after that train ride. Unless there is something you need from upstairs, we can start now.”

Hubert noticed the difference in Katherine’s attitude since their arrival. She seemed more relaxed, or perhaps it was the excitement of the new surroundings. At any rate, he would try to keep her in that frame of mind. He knew the extent of Katherine’s reluctance in this alliance. It would take time and patience on his part to bring her to the awareness of mature womanhood.

They joined the procession of strollers along the boardwalk. Katherine’s natural exuberance affected Hubert, and he too looked upon Brighton with a fresh perspective, thinking perhaps this was an excellent choice. “Katherine,” he thought, “is not worldly, but if I give her a sense of security early in the marriage, the rest will be more easily attained.”

At the railing along the breakfront, she pointed to the beach and asked, “What are those unusual-looking carts, Hubert?”

“Those are watering wagons.”

They were crudely roofed, four-wheeled, wooden wagons, about six feet wide, eight feet long, and six feet high. On one end, small windows near the roof allowed light into the interior. On one side was a door with four steps. Extending over the doorway and folded up like accordion pleats was a canvas canopy. It resembled the canvas on a peddler’s wagon and rested umbrella fashion over the steps when lowered.

Hubert explained the rudiments. “These wagons are designed to give privacy to those who wish to bathe. They are rented by the day or half-day. One enters the wagon at the beach; then, horses pull the wagon into the surf at the beginning of high tide. One changes into a bathing costume in the wagon and enters the water by those steps.”

“Oh, Hubert, could we do that?”

“I’m afraid not, Katherine; at this time of the year, the water is still too cold, and Victoria does not condone men and women bathing together. On our wedding holiday, who would expect the happy couple to be separated. We shall come again with our children, and you shall experience the watering wagon with them.”

At the word children, she inwardly shuddered but remained calm. Perhaps children would be the answer to a fulfilled life. She thought of her mother’s struggles and prayed that she would not experience the severe disappointments and pain of miscarriage and stillbirth.

When they returned to the hotel, Hubert stepped over to the dining room and spoke to a waiter. Rejoining her, they climbed the wide staircase to their accommodations. She noticed a bottle of champagne and two glasses on the table. She made her way to the bedroom to remove her hat and gloves. Reluctant to look at the bed, she busied herself about the room. A small fireplace in one corner stood ready for use with the scuttle full of coal and starter wood at hand. The wallpaper was the standard flowered variety, although the soft, satiny texture indicated that it was expensive. Two seascapes were suspended from the picture mold on opposite sides of the room. A hurricane lamp rested on a small table beside the bed__ah, the bed. There it was. No longer able to avoid the inevitable, her eyes rested on the large bolster bed that the maid had turned down. Turning, she was startled to find Hubert standing in the doorway.

“Did I startle you, Katherine? I’m sorry.”

Nearly breathless, she managed, “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“I wondered what was keeping you. I’ve ordered our dinner for 8 o’clock. Why don’t you make yourself comfortable? I’m sure Carlie has packed a dressing gown; why don’t you put it on, and then we shall relax with a glass of that champagne. I’m going to get out of this tie and coat.” Going to the chifferobe, he removed his coat and took out a dark blue velvet robe, slipped it on, and tied it securely about his waist. “I shall wait for you in the other room, don’t be long.”

She felt the panic building as she unfastened the buttons on her jacket. She finished removing her dress and starched petticoat and retrieved the dressing gown that Aunt Catherine had given her. A soft, misty green, heavy satin cut in the Empress Eugenia style — fastening tightly under her breasts and falling free to her ankles.

She paused in the dressing room to observe herself in the full-length mirror. Her hair had become disarranged from the walk, so she removed the pins that secured the curls at the nape of her neck, picked up her brush, and slowly ran the bristles through the curls so that when she had finished, her hair lay softly on her shoulders. Not daring to delay any longer, Katherine opened the door and stepped into the sitting room.

When she entered, Hubert looked up. His eyes widened, and he smiled. “My dear, you are beautiful.” Walking to her, he bent down and kissed her long and tenderly. She sensed the energy of the kiss but was unable to understand her feelings. She had never experienced a passionate kiss. Even after she and Hubert had become engaged, a kiss on the cheek or forehead was the extent of his expression of love.

Sensing her hesitation, Hubert drew back and, taking her hand, led her to the table where the bottle of champagne rested. He handed her a glass and picked up the other. Tipping his glass against hers with an elegant gesture, he said, “Katherine, my Love, may our lives be one of loving companionship and good times together.”

The waiter soon arrived with the evening meal, set the table, lit the candles, and laid out the food. He quickly finished, smiled, and withdrew.

They ate in silence. Her portion of succulent beef served with Yorkshire pudding was virtually untouched. While she toyed with her food, Hubert was enjoying his meal with the exuberance of a trencherman.

Her hand found itself drawn to the glass and decanter in front of her. She experienced a floating sensation, and each additional sip gave her a sense of euphoria that she found pleasant. Whatever Hubert had planned for the hours ahead, she was sure that she would be able to handle it.

The clock on the mantle chimed nine when Hubert leaned back and wiped his mouth. He looked at Katherine’s plate, noting how little she had eaten. He could see she was intoxicated and decided to postpone the marriage ritual. He had waited this long, and delaying a little longer could be to his advantage.

He went over to Katherine. Helping her to stand, he spoke, “Katherine, this has been a most exhausting day for you. We are both tired, and I think you should prepare yourself for bed. Go along now, and I shall join you later.”

She found it challenging to maintain her equilibrium. By concentrating on placing one foot ahead of the other, she managed to make her way to the bedroom. She closed the door behind her and leaned against it with a sigh of relief. She stood there for a few minutes before attempting the steps needed to get to the dresser for her nightwear. Determination helped her persevere, and she managed to get into her bedgown. She paused only a moment before slipping between the sheets. Closing her eyes, she realized she had escaped Hubert again. With these thoughts, she quickly dropped off to sleep.

A faint chime from the sitting room clock roused her. Her head was pounding, and she felt nauseous. She eased herself from the bed and stood for a moment. Making her way to the dressing room, she lit a candle and looked in the mirror. The flickering light cast ghostly shadows, but it was not the Katherine who had examined herself in her mirror the day before. She poured herself a glass of water. Two sips incited rebellion from her stomach. Swallowing several times and breathing deeply, she was able to control the nausea. Picking up the candle, she went into the sitting room. The table had been cleared. The mantle clock indicated two-thirty. She sat on the settee, hoping the jabbing pains in her forehead would subside. She was unaware of how long she sat there until she heard the clock strike four. Her headache had abated somewhat, so picking up the candle that had dwindled almost to a nub, she returned to the bedroom. Hubert lay on his back, breathing deeply. As quietly as she could, she placed the candle beside the hurricane lamp on the bedside table, blew out the flame, and eased herself into the bed. Lying on her right side and as close to the edge of the bed as possible, she was unable to go back to sleep. The slightest movement from Hubert caused her to feign sleep.

Shortly before dawn, just as she was dropping off, Hubert began to stir. Her first indication of his wakefulness was his arm over her left shoulder and his hand on her left breast. His fingers were nimble in their caress, and she found herself wide-awake. To pretend sleep was impossible, and she was faced with her fate. Hubert pulled her over on her back, pushed her legs apart, and entered her. The pain caused her to cry out, and Hubert, even in his uncontrollable desire, managed to mutter, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” At last, Hubert groaned and shuddered, then quietly kissed her on the mouth and withdrew to his side of the bed.

In a state of shock, she lay unmoving. Her lower abdomen felt as though it was on fire. The burning pain gradually became numbness. How dare he violate her like that. Aunt Catherine had impressed upon her just before her marriage that a husband’s rights were something to be borne, not enjoyed. Perhaps Aunt Catherine was right; maybe women were to be used by men, although, deep inside, she felt there must be something more. The kiss at dinner held some hope of that, yet she could only think of how much she regretted her acceptance of this marriage. If only she had waited. Practically, she knew that regrets would not help and decided if this was the extent of the relationship between herself and Hubert, so be it, and, with those thoughts, she dropped off to sleep.

Opening her eyes, she found the unfamiliar surroundings confusing. As her eyes focused on the wall, she was facing — flowered paper, a nightstand, and the seascape, things came into perspective — “Oh, God, the Admiral Hotel with Hubert.” 

She quickly rose, slipped on her robe, and went out into the sitting room. He was not there. Despite the lingering feelings of disgust, she felt somewhat alarmed about being alone. Looking about the room, she spied the bell-rope. After pulling on it several times, she sat down to wait.

Shortly, a soft tap on the door brought her to her feet. Opening the door, she was greeted by the maid, standing with a tray containing a pot of tea.

“Please come in,” she said. “I’ve just awakened, and my husband is not in the suite. Did he leave any messages?”

“Yes, my lady, he rose early, had breakfast, and said he would be out on business for some time.”

The maid put the tray on the table and offered Katherine a cup of tea.

“Yes, thank you. I should like to know your name. No doubt we shall see each other a great deal during our stay.”

“My name is Hepzibah, my lady, but mostly I’m called Hepsi. It’s shorter, and I do like it better than what my mum insisted on calling me.”

“It’s an interesting name. It means my delight is in her. Your mother must have loved you very much.” The previous evenings’ events were evident. Although she had managed to hang up her dress and jacket, the rest of her garments were strewn about.

”The room is in a terrible mess, Hepsi; would you pick up and see to the laundering of my clothes, and then have a tub brought up. I’d like a hot bath before luncheon.”

“Of course, my lady.”

Hepsi scooped up the garments, placed them under her arm, and left the room.

The clock showed ten-thirty. She poured another cup of tea and wondered what business Hubert could have in Brighton. Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock. She opened the door to admit three men bearing a copper tub. They placed the tub in the dressing room. One of the men poured two large buckets of hot water into the tub. Hepsi carried the equalizing catalyst of cold water. Testing the water with her hand, Hepsi poured some of the cold water into the tub. Again feeling the temperature, she announced that the bath was ready. Portable tubs were not spacious, and with her knees bent, she could only partially submerge herself. The hot water on her tense and weary body brought a sigh of relief.

She found Hepsi an avid listener. Hepsi was near Katherine’s age, and this bond made Hepsi her contemporary, no longer an employee but a new friend to be cultivated. This feeling was something she did not share with Carlie. Carlie was old enough to be her mother, and Carlie was rigid in her propriety standards between mistress and servant.

When she had toweled and put on clean undergarments, Hepsi offered to do her hair. She quickly agreed; she had no idea what Hubert would be planning for this afternoon, so she intended to look her best. Hepsi deftly arranged her hair in curls about the ears with a chignon resting easily at the nape of her neck.

She stood at the open doors of the chifforobe. She would have to wear each costume twice. The yellow-flowered linen was too formal for afternoons. Her green muslin was acceptable, but she had worn that yesterday. The last dress was a long sleeve cotton faille, the color of polished rubies, plain but practical on her figure. “I’ll let Hubert decide,” she thought, and then turning to Hepsi, she said, “The tub can be removed now, Hepsi. I’ll ring if I need you.”

“Thank you, my lady,”

Hepsi, with a curtsy, withdrew.

The tea was cold, and her stomach was growling in protest when Hubert returned. 

“Well, Katherine, how fetching you look,” were his first words. “Well-recovered from last evening’s wine, I trust.” He walked over to her and kissed her lightly on the mouth. “While you were sleeping, I’ve been busy. I’m afraid that the weather will not cooperate with us; we are in for heavy rain and wind. I posted a letter to Wooten instructing him to pick us up earlier than planned. We shall take the morning train day after tomorrow. This coast is beastly in bad weather. I also managed to arrange a private showing at the Pavilion for tomorrow afternoon at three. It will be restricted to the main floors, but even that is a treat. This evening, an old friend hosts a small party here at the hotel, with dancing and a late supper. If we are going to take one more stroll along the sea and pick up a few tokens for Hannah and Catherine’s children, we should do it immediately after lunch.”

Hubert’s weather report determined her choice of dresses; the green muslin today and the ruby faille tomorrow afternoon. This evening she would wear the yellow linen. She would have Hepsi help her with her hair.

At luncheon, she did not toy with her food. She finished her plate, wishing she could have a second helping of the Welsh rarebit but deciding that would be unladylike.

Stepping onto the street, she could feel the wind tugging at her bonnet. The sky was dark, although rain was not in evidence. They walked faster than yesterday, and she enjoyed the briskness of that pace. When they approached the intersection, they found themselves nearly alone. Two or three hardy souls, looking like merchants, were scurrying like ants to their home hill to wait for a better day. The tide was up, and the sea was thundering toward the breakfront, angry that its passage was barred from its natural course. Occasionally an aggressive wave would hit the wall and send a rebellious spray into the street. She noticed that anchors had been lashed to the watering wagons to keep them in place. 

“Do you wish to return to the hotel, Katherine?” Hubert asked. 

“Oh no, Hubert, I love the wind. Let’s continue for a bit.” 

“Then I suggest we cross the street where the spray is less likely to find us. Even if the temperature is fairly stable, getting wet is not the healthiest of conditions.”

Hubert led her to the relatively sheltered walk on the opposite side of the road. Stopping in front of the shops that faced the sea, she searched for something appropriate to take home. A haberdashery was displaying cravats that Martin and Michael might like. They purchased two of the more colorful neckbands and continued on their way. Passing an inn with a lady’s entrance, Hubert remarked they would stop there on their way back to fortify themselves for the walk to the hotel. A few doors from the inn, she found what Charles Dickens might describe as a “Curiosity Shop.” It was a large room with counters that displayed the oddities of the day.

Ribbons, pins, feathers, clocks, handles, shoe scrapers, brushes, and pictures were just a few of the items. She spied a toy bank fashioned of lead and shaped in the likeness of a palace guard. When coins were dropped into the soldier’s shako, his gun arm extended with a salute. On the bottom, a slide opening would eject the coins when the bank was full or when an eager child had something to buy. This would be grand for Christopher. On another counter, she found a lovely doll. The face was china; the body was stuffed and dressed in red velvet. The tiny china hands were encased in lace gloves, and on the feet were black velvet boots. Chrystal would love it.

Further exploring found stuffed animals suitable for Louise and Maybelle. After instructing the clerk to put her purchases in a packing case and deliver it to the hotel, she looked around for Hubert. He was standing by the front door, looking bored.

The sky was getting darker and the wind stronger. They gave up going any further and made their way back to the inn. Stepping inside, they found the room deserted. Hubert ordered two brandies. From an adjoining room, male voices could be heard. Hubert asked the waiter to call for a hack to the hotel.

Sipping the brandy, she could feel its warmth, a pleasant sensation. Extolling on her purchases, she managed to keep the conversation going, although Hubert seemed to have lost interest in everything except the delay in the arrival of the hack. He ordered another brandy. Despite her enormous lunch, she felt the effects of the potent liquor and declined another. Hubert had nearly finished his second drink when the hack arrived. By the time they arrived at the hotel, huge drops of rain had begun to fall.

She hastily removed her outer clothing before the dampness penetrated her skin. Hubert followed her into the bedroom and proceeded to do the same. Standing in her shift and pantaloons, she reached for her robe when Hubert came up behind her, pulled her to the bed, and stripped her. Hubert released the string on his drawers and stood before her naked. Her first look at a nude adult male made her stomach constrict and her heart pound. With his manhood at its fullest, Hubert again penetrated her. This time the pain was negligible, but still, she was unable to respond. When he finished, Hubert gathered up his undergarments and robe and went into the dressing room, closing the doors behind him.

She slowly rose from the bed, wondering if she was somehow to blame for Hubert’s disappointment. Hate for Hubert was replaced by regret for her inadequacies. Hubert was standing at the fireplace when she entered the sitting room. Thinking of nothing better to say, she merely said, “I’m sorry.”

Hubert turned and looked at her with his black eyes burning into her flesh. “I’m sorry too,” he replied as he left the suite.

She rang for Hepsi, and as she waited, she began to consider her situation. Marriage bound her to Hubert for the rest of her life. If she did not relish the sex in itself, she would never deny him his rights. She would be a good wife and companion, and she would mother his children. She would see to his comforts and, above all, bow to his wishes. It would be the only way they could reasonably live together.

i.

She lay on the chaise, her swollen body rebelling at every movement. She was eager to deliver this child. Her mind wandered over the past eight months. Conception had taken place in Brighton. Hubert’s fierce and crude lovemaking had not elicited any response from her except to leave her cold and disenchanted. The last two days in Brighton were strained. They attended the party and visited the Pavilion, but the barriers erected by her distaste for sexual intercourse remained. After their return, Hubert did not attempt physical contact. It wasn’t until after she showed signs of pregnancy that Hubert showed any interest. His need for a son to carry on the family name was foremost in his mind, and during the interminable months of the pregnancy, he became solicitous. With that slight advantage, she broached the subject of bringing Hepsi from Brighton as her maid. After exchanging several letters, Hepsi was now an employee of the Portman household. For the first few months of her pregnancy, she was able to act as a devoted wife and hostess to the distinguished Sir Hubert; however, as time went on, social activities became difficult. According to the mores of the day, pregnancy was to be inconspicuous; women with child were relegated to the background until after the birth.

She was in this position now — her body in a state of limbo. If it were not for Hepsi, the prose of Mr. Dickens and a contemporary American poet, Mr. Poe, she was sure she would have lost her senses. Frederick ran the household. Even the task of preparing menus were usurped when Hubert engaged a chef from France.

Hepsi entered the sitting room with a tray of tea and some small biscuits. “A nice cup of tea will perk you up, my lady.”

“Hepsi, until this child decides to be born, I don’t think anything will perk me up; however, pour me a cup.”

After some difficulty, she managed to get herself in an upright position. “I shan’t want any biscuits. Lord knows I wouldn’t know where to fit them in, even as small as they are!” She found herself smiling at her bon mot as Hepsi giggled.

Hearing the front bell sounded, then footsteps on the stairs indicating a visitor, she winced. To be polite and carry on conversations taxed her mind, not to mention her body. She was sure it must be someone from the family and was not surprised to see Aunt Catherine bouncing through the door.

“How are you, my dear?”

“Except for getting bigger, everything is fine. The doctor assures me I shall have the baby in about two weeks. Frankly, it can’t come too soon for me.”

As Aunt Catherine stepped away from the chaise, she could see something was bothering her. Turning to Hepsi, she said, “Hepsi, the tea is still hot; bring another cup, please.”

As soon as Hepsi had left the room, Aunt Catherine burst into tears. “Oh, Katherine, I’m so miserable!”

“Come now, Aunt Catherine, tell me what’s troubling you; perhaps I can help.”

Snuffling into her handkerchief, Aunt Catherine managed, “Michael has been expelled!”

“What happened? Sit down and tell me about it.”

Hepsi returned with the extra cup and saucer but quickly poured the tea and withdrew.

Unable to support a cup of hot tea and cry simultaneously, Aunt Catherine took a deep breath and began her story. Michael had broken school rules by bringing in a bottle of wine. Actually, three bottles. He not only drank it but passed it among his roommates. During the imbibing, tempers shortened, and a fistfight broke out. The foray brought the school authorities, and Michael was dismissed.

“Was it a good wine?”

Aunt Catherine’s shriek brought an apology. As far as her sons were concerned, Aunt Catherine had no more humor than Hannah, and she was sorry for her flippancy. Trying to appease Aunt Catherine took a little time, but eventually, she calmed down and was able to talk.

“Oh Katherine, what am I going to tell my friends? How am I going to face them?”

“That’s easy, Aunt Catherine; you don’t tell them anything, and, as for facing them, look them straight in the eye and dare them to ask questions. If you stand firm, the situation will blow over and soon be forgotten.” She only hoped this would be the case. Aunt Catherine was her own worst enemy when it came to gossiping and had a penchant for discussing things better left unsaid. 

“Katherine I’m so sorry I troubled you with my problems, but I had to talk to someone. I must be off now. I’ll see you again soon, and thank you.”

With that, Aunt Catherine adjusted her bonnet and left.

Hepsi returned. “Frederick just told me Sir Hubert will not be dining at home this evening, and he would like to know if Chef can prepare anything special for your dinner?”

“No Hepsi, just something light; I’m too exhausted to eat.” She settled back in the chaise, closed her eyes, and dropped off to sleep.

Sometime during the night, she was awakened by the sound of ice-coated tree branches brushing up against the glass in the bedroom window. Lying perfectly still, she hoped that she would not have to get up to use the bathroom. Hubert had it installed soon after buying the house. Regardless of its repulsiveness, it did make nature’s call private and decidedly more convenient. She could feel the child pressing on her bladder and reluctantly pushed herself to a sitting position. Lighting a small candle, she made her way to the bathroom. When finished, she walked about the bedroom. Inexplicably, Hubert still insisted on occupying her bed. He was sleeping soundly on his side, light snores escaping in an even rhythm.

Pulling the drapes aside, she looked out. The view was obscured, but the glistening formations of ice could be seen shimmering in the darkness. Just as she was about to drop the drapes back into place, she experienced a searing pain. It started low in her abdomen and moved to her shoulder blades. She gasped, and, as quickly as it came, it was gone. After carefully making her way into the bed, she lay on her back, trying to return to blessed sleep. When she opened her eyes, Hubert was gone. Although she had no pain, there was a weight on her stomach that discouraged movement.

Hepsi entered with the usual elixir of strong black tea. Raising the cup to her lips, a spasm of pain again engulfed her. Hepsi quickly took the cup and stood anxiously by the bed.

“Are you all right, my lady?”

“Oh I think so, Hepsi. I had one of these pains during the night. I don’t think this child is going to wait for another two weeks.”

This was Hepsi’s first experience with childbearing, and she was as frightened as Katherine.

“Shall I summon the doctor, my lady?”

“Not yet, Hepsi; even if this child is determined to be born today, it’s still going to take time. Let’s wait for a while and see how things go.”

Her knowledge came mostly from her experience with her mother. There seemed to be a hurry up and wait, and she disliked asking for help until it was needed.

By midday, she had experienced the spasms three more times. By two o’clock, the pains were coming at half-hour intervals. She told Hepsi to inform Wooten that he must get the doctor and pick up Hubert.

The afternoon dragged on with a series of alternating pain and relief. She was the calmest person in the household. The doctor had come and had assured her that everything was progressing normally. He left to visit other patients but promised to return before the birth. He had brought in a qualified mid-wife to stand by.

Hubert was not at his offices. Wooten left a message asking that Hubert return home as soon as possible.

By eight o’clock she was paying the toll of her labor. Each pain brought profuse perspiration, and her fingers were numb from grasping the mid-wife’s hand. She was aware of the presence of the doctor, the mid-wife, and Hepsi. Hubert was nowhere in sight, nor did she recall seeing him.

The clock struck midnight when a pain that she was sure she could not endure bore down. The doctor’s instructions to push down was an echo, and subconsciously she obeyed. Through the fog, she could hear a slap and a cry, but her mind did not fully comprehend the events. She was about to drift into sleep when an intense pain hit her. She could faintly hear the mid-wife calling, “Doctor, there’s a second baby.” 

On the edge of consciousness, she anticipated the slap and cry, but no sound was forthcoming. The doctor’s words told all. “Damn, the umbilical cord is wrapped around his neck. The poor little bugger never had a chance.” 

Hubert was standing over her when she returned from the depths of sleep. Slowly gaining her senses, she felt an ache in every bone in her body and thought that any movement would court disaster.

Hubert’s voice penetrated the fog, “Katherine, I’m sorry the boy didn’t live. I’m disappointed, of course, but we shall have other children, so don’t feel sad about the loss of my son.”

If she had had the strength, she would have struck him. How like him to blame her.

“Where were you, Hubert? Wooten could not find you.”

Seeing his reaction, she knew that he had been with another woman. Angry at herself for her jealousy, she took Hubert’s hand and pressed it against her cheek. “Forgive me, Hubert, that was unkind of me. I’m sorry.”

After all, she thought, “What reason have I ever given him to think that there would be a normal loving life for us.”

The girl they named Amelia. The boy, known only as Baby Portman, was laid to rest beside Hubert’s mother.

ii.

She was still recuperating when Sam entered her sitting room. He seemed ill at ease, but her welcome seemed to relax him. The soft brush of his lips against her cheek aroused a feeling of blissful peace. Unable to reconcile the feeling, she quickly put it from her mind.

“Well, Katherine, Hepsi just showed me that beautiful daughter of yours. She is a delightful child.”

“Oh Sam, how I wish my baby boy could have lived, but I’m still happy. Hubert is taken with that little mite. I think he feels guilty that he wasn’t here to welcome her into the world.”

“Hubert was not here at the birth?”

“Don’t fret, Sam; Hubert had business, and we weren’t able to locate him in time.”

“What business could Hubert possibly have to keep him after midnight?” 

It was now her turn to feel ill at ease. “It’s all right, Sam, the boy, would not have lived even if Hubert had been here.” 

For what seemed an eternity, neither of them spoke. Sam’s eyes conveyed a message of sorrow and compassion but signaled something else that she didn’t comprehend. She was aware that something was happening to her. Sam’s gaze penetrated her being, creating in her a sense of anticipation, a sense of rebellion. Sam broke the silence. Rising from his chair, he said, “I must not tire you, Katherine.”

He attempted to kiss her on the cheek, but her arms crept around his neck and forced their lips to meet. Sam responded with a groan but quickly backed away from her and whispered, “Take care of yourself and the child. I shall see you again soon.” 

i.

April burst forth in a profusion of color. Lilac’s, crocuses, daffodils, and hyacinths all seemed to be at their best. It was a joy to look out into the small garden at the back of the house. She could see Hepsi, with Amelia in her pram, enjoying the fair spring weather from her bedroom window.

Amelia was a model of decorum. She rarely cried and was entranced by her father. Amelia was able to sense when he was about. From this distance, she could not distinguish her expression, but the flailing of Amelia’s arms was a sure sign that Hubert was not far away.

Within seconds the carriage drove in. Hubert alit before Wooten took the team into the stable. She noticed signs that Hubert’s enthusiasm for Amelia was beginning to diminish. He no longer picked her up. The edge of guilt was wearing off. Looking into the pram, he patted Amelia’s cheek and began to talk to Hepsi.

It appeared to be an engaging conversation, for, at one time, Hubert’s hand went out to Hepsi’s shoulder and rested there for a moment. After watching for a minute or two, she turned from the window, seeds of suspicion planted in her mind.

ii.

In early July, Hubert was engaged to prepare a case in Manchester that required him to be away for several days. Hepsi asked her the day after Hubert left to take a weekend holiday to visit friends in Brighton. With Hubert out and no social engagements during his absence, she could not very well refuse Hepsi’s request. Amelia would be no problem; she only required food and a change of napkins to keep her happy.

That night, after Hepsi’s request, she was unable to sleep. The coincidence of Hubert’s trip and Hepsi’s holiday weighed on her mind. She also thought about Sam and what the empty house would mean to her.

She had seen Sam only twice since Amelia’s birth, once on that afternoon in February, and once at Hannah’s for a family dinner. At Hannah’s, no opportunity presented itself to do more than exchange pleasantries. She sensed his discomfort, so she avoided him, although secretly, wished she were with him.

After breakfast the next morning, she asked Hepsi to have Wooten bring the carriage around. She did not tell Hepsi of her destination but merely said she would be leaving the house. It wasn’t until after she was in the carriage that she told Wooten to drive her to Portman Imports.

The warm summer day was pleasant, but second thoughts on her rash behavior prevented her from enjoying it. She had, on two occasions, been ready to turn around and return to Tottenham Court, but an intangible force urged her on.

She was astounded at the number of goods stored on the first floor. Sacks, bales, and barrels nearly filled the space. She made her way to the narrow stairway that led to the offices on the second floor. Gathering her skirt, she made her way up the stairs. A narrow landing provided space to get from one office to another. The doors were closed, but she saw Sam’s name printed on one and George Wooster on another.

Taking a deep breath, she opened the door to Sam’s office. Just to the right was a desk where one of Sam’s clerks sat. Sam’s desk, or what she assumed was Sam’s desk, was empty at the other end of the room. Not expecting to see a female of quality cross the threshold of Portman’s, the clerk looked up with a startled expression. He managed to stammer, “Is there something I can help you with, mum?” 

“Yes,” she replied, “I’m looking for Mr. Portman. Is he here?”

“Yes, mum, he’s down on the dock. We received a shipment of cane, and Mr. Portman and Mr. Wooster are overseeing the unloading.” 

“Could I trouble you to tell Mr. Portman that I am waiting and wish to speak to him?” 

“Who shall I say is here, mum?”

“Tell him that his sister-in-law wishes a few words with him.”

“Very well, mum, sit please, and I’ll fetch him.” 

Looking about, she saw indications of a flourishing business. The walls tacked with papers, ship schedules with arrival dates, price quotes from refineries, and names and addresses of what seemed to be wholesalers in the sugar business. Sam owned no ships of his own. It may have been more lucrative if he had, but Sam did not want the added responsibility inherent in ownership. He was happy just paying the tonnage fees. More than enough money could be made in this capacity.

Sam strode in, closing the door behind him.

“Katherine, whatever are you doing here, is something the matter?”

“No, Sam, everything is all right. Is your clerk coming back?”

“He’s taking my place with the unloading.”

“I haven’t seen you in so long; I thought perhaps I said or did something to offend you.”

“Katherine, nothing you do or say could offend me, you know that.”

Sam took her hand as he spoke, giving her the courage to continue.

“Oh, Sam, I have missed you. You are the only person I can talk to. I know I shouldn’t be here, but I could not spend another day in that house without seeing you.”

“Now what’s this all about?”

“Sam, I want to talk to you, but not here. Could we have dinner on Saturday evening? Hubert is in Manchester, and Hepsi will be in Brighton. I shall be alone, and I don’t want to be alone; please?”

“Why don’t you have your father over for dinner? He would like to spend more time with you.” 

“Oh Sam, father doesn’t know me. He is a dear, but he would never in the world understand my needs or comprehend what I have to say. His world is black and white. Order and obey. I couldn’t discuss this with him.” 

“All right, Katherine. I don’t think that dining at your home would be advisable. Hubert’s servants are loyal, and I don’t think they would understand my being there. I shall send a hack for you, and we can have dinner at my flat. Would seven o’clock be convenient?”

“Seven would be just fine, Sam. I shall be waiting.” 

“Katherine, I can only hope that neither of us has reason to regret this!”

iii.

Early Saturday afternoon, she went down to the kitchen to inform Chef that she would be dining out. Tilda would stay with Amelia.

Luxuriating in the tub and humming, she thought that, regardless of what the evening held, she could never be happier than she was at this moment. Guilt would be felt just as well tomorrow, and she pushed those thoughts out of her mind.

The trip to Holborn did not take long. Street traffic was light, and the horse seemed to be high-spirited and eager to reach its destination, just as she was. Sam was at the door when the hack drove up. He issued instructions to the driver to engage her return and then helped her down from the rig.

She had been in Sam’s flat only once before. She and Hubert had stopped to pick him up on their way to a party. Looking over the room now, she was impressed by its simple beauty.

“Sam, I’ve never had the chance to appreciate this room fully. You have a master’s touch in combining style and comfort.”

Sam sensed that small talk helped Katherine feel at ease, so he continued by telling her that he had gathered everything at random over the years, and somehow it all fit.

“Are you hungry, Katherine? I had my cook prepare a soup that is warming on the stove. I rarely eat the gourmet foods that hostesses serve. It seems every woman wants to outshine her rival in gastronomical atrocities, you included.”

She laughed. “Sam, you know that we have a social position to fill and our Chef seems to be pulling to the forefront. I love soup. Can I help you serve?”

“No, my dear.”

Sam returned bearing a beautiful Spode tureen. The aroma made her mouth water. The soup was delicious; a thick ox-tail and barley that contained bits of carrots and onions. The tailbones had been disjointed and left in the broth for their marrow.

“Oh Sam, this is just wonderful. Could you have your cook give me the recipe?” 

“Katherine, the trick is adding a few spices and herbs, and I shall be happy to give you the recipe. Modesty is not a virtue, so I suppose I should tell you that the cook who prepared this was myself.” 

“Sam, you missed your calling. Anyone who can prepare a dish like this should be doing it for a living.” 

“It’s a hobby. As for earning a living at it, I don’t suppose there would be many females who could stand a steady diet of three or four dishes that I happen to like to cook. The dessert was procured from a nearby bakery—some excellent gooseberry tarts.” 

Sam served the tarts with a pot of strong green tea. The combination was complementary, and when she finished, she wiped her mouth on the serviette and exclaimed, “Sam, I can’t tell you when I have had a meal that I enjoyed more. Thank you.” 

“Let’s sit, Katherine. One thing I’ve never learned to like is washing dishes. I assure you my maid will take care of them in the morning. What was it that you wished to speak to me about?” 

Taking a deep breath, she got to the point.” Hubert is having an affair with Hepsi.” 

“Are you sure, Katherine? I cannot see Hubert carrying on in his own home.”

She related all her suspicions. She could see Sam’s hands forming into fists, knuckles whitening.

“Please don’t place all the blame on Hubert. I, too, have a part in this. I think you know that I don’t love Hubert. I have not given him what a man desires. He is sensitive and knows how I feel. When Amelia was born and our son died, he tried for a time, but he wants a son, and I shudder at the thought of our next physical encounter. His only recourse for release is with someone else, and Hepsi is a beautiful young woman who at present can give him what I cannot.”

Sam took her in his arms and gently held her. Resting her head on his shoulder, it seemed that this was the most natural place for her to be. Her eyes met Sam’s Hand slowly she brought her lips to his. Sam responded with a passion that aroused feelings that she had never experienced. His hands held her head and then moved to the small of her back, then to her waist and breasts.

“My God, Katherine, do you know what we are doing?”

“Oh Sam, why didn’t you ever speak for me? What I feel at this moment is a love for you that knows no right or wrong. Please, please love me!”

Sam was a tender lover, slowly bringing her to complete fulfillment before he, too, reached that point. Lying in Sam’s arms, she felt peace for the first time in her life.

“My Love,” she whispered, “oh my Love, if you could only know my feelings for you. You have given me what I’m sure God had intended for the Garden of Eden.”

“Katherine, you must go. Hubert is my brother. Even though I hate him at this minute, I also love him. I can’t betray him. I’d be no better than he is. In my heart, you will always be with me, but I cannot deceive him again. This must end now. Do you understand?”

“Dear Sam, I know you are right, but it seems so unfair that having found one another, we must say goodbye and act as though nothing had happened. It did you know.”

“Oh, I know all too well, my Love. It shall be with me the rest of my days. Remember this, I have always loved you, and I will until I die.”

“God, Sam, how I wish things could have been different.”

iv.

When Hubert returned home, he not only greeted her lovingly he also showed some remorse. She was eager to bridge the gulf between them. Her discreet affair with Sam had left her in a state of guilt. Much as she loved Sam, the future held no promise with him, so she must live as best she could with what she had. 

On the evening of his return, Hubert once more occupied her bed. Trying to imagine Sam being there, she gave Hubert his first taste of the experience that he had tried to attain in Brighton. His ardor deepened, and his relief in her response to him was apparent. From now on, it would be a matter of pretending.

i.

She sat in the garden doing needlepoint, quietly reflecting. The late autumn sun was high, and it was still pleasantly warm. The past few months had been dreadful. This time she did not carry the baby to term. She wondered what might have been if this baby had lived. She was sure the baby was Sam’s, but she would never know and never expressed this to Sam. If Sam suspected, he never spoke of it. They had given him a name, Richard, for he had managed to survive for a soul-wrenching three weeks.

ii.

Hubert again turned elsewhere to find solace that she could not give him. She was starting to be up and about when one early morning in April, Carlie called with more bad news. Quenton Martin suffered what the doctor described as a stroke.

Seeing her father for the first time after the stroke, she thought, “This isn’t the man who took care of me all my young life. This isn’t the man who could issue orders and know they would be obeyed.”

With his eyes staring at her, she felt the tears coming. She took his limp hand in her own and softly rubbed along the vein that protruded on top toward the knuckle. With her other hand, she took a damp cloth from the nightstand and gently wiped his eyes and mouth. She couldn’t speak.

She asked Billy and Carlie to remain for as long as her father needed them. She asked them to move into the main house so that they would be closer. Carlie, with tears streaming down her cheeks, grasped her hands in agreement. Billy nodded.

iii.

Quenton had an excellent printer and layout man. Martin Soames, Quenton’s nephew, was now the business manager and a perfect one at that. Martin had come to work for his Uncle Quenton after dropping out of high school. He took to the printing business like a duck to water. He started as a printer’s devil, and Quenton quickly noticed his affinity for the work. As Martin’s experience grew, Quenton placed more responsibility on him until he became business manager. Martin agreed that everything should continue as before. Quenton’s cool head would be missed, of course, but they would manage.

iv.

The summer brought no improvement in her father’s condition. His eyes were bright at times, but muscles continued to atrophy, and each passing day found him weaker. The doctor cautioned her that it was likely that his condition would not improve but that, given Quenton’s strong constitution, he could remain in his present state for quite some time.

v.

Amelia was toddling about the garden and pulled a purple aster from its bed. Holding the blossom, still attached to the stem and roots, she stumbled toward her mother. Just at that time, Hepsi came into the garden to announce the arrival of Merriweather Vale. “Mr. Vale seems very upset, my lady. Do you wish to see him?” 

“Yes, of course, Hepsi, send him out, then bring a brandy for him and a glass of sherry for me.” 

“How nice to see you, Merriweather. Won’t you sit down?” Katherine indicated a wrought iron chair opposite the one she had been sitting in. “I hope you don’t mind talking out here, but the weather is lovely, and I’m trying to enjoy as much of it as I can.”

“Of course not, Katherine, this is just fine.”

Amelia huddled behind her mother’s skirt, the purple aster still in her hand. She could not coax her from behind her skirt and was relieved when Hepsi appeared with the drinks.

“Thank you, Hepsi, just put them on the table. Take Amelia inside and put my flower in a small vase of water so I can look at it later.” At that, Amelia’s face lit up in a beautiful smile. 

“Sit down, Merriweather. I took the liberty of serving brandy instead of tea.”

“Katherine, I’m in trouble.”

“I’m sorry.”

Merriweather took a swallow of brandy, breathed deeply, and spoke again, “Hubert is about to ruin me.” Merriweather told her how the partnership came about, about his knowledge of the law and his earnest endeavors for the firm; he also told her of his gambling and how this vice was his source undoing. He had exhausted all the money his Uncle Jonathan had left him and had approached Hubert for a loan. Hubert refused. Deeply in debt, four thousand pounds to be exact, he had no resources except his salary and the firm’s profits. His creditors would not wait, and Hubert had given him an ultimatum. He would buy out Merriweather’s partnership, and Merriweather would leave the firm. 

“Katherine, do you realize that if I’m discharged, I shall not be able to hold up my head in the city. I will be shunned like a leper with a bell.”

“Oh, Merri, this is most distressing,” was all that she was able to say. 

“Katherine, could you talk to Hubert?” 

“Merri, I don’t know what I could do. You know as well as I do that Hubert will brook no interference where business is concerned. This request is out of my sphere.” 

“Please Katherine, I beg you.” 

“All right, Merri, I’ll do what I can. I’ll talk to Hubert, but please don’t expect too much.”

“Oh God, thank you, Katherine.”

Merriweather drained the last of the brandy from the glass, pressed his lips to her cheek, and left.

She waited until they were preparing for bed that evening. Hubert seemed in a somewhat jovial mood. At dinner, he had had several glasses of wine. Later he had looked in on Amelia and smiled at her curled-up figure in the trundle bed. Perhaps this good mood would be the best time to bring up Merriweather Vale.

“Hubert, I had a visitor today.” 

“Oh, who was that, my dear?”

“Merriweather Vale stopped by to see me.”

She could see the storm clouds gathering in Hubert’s expression.

“What did he want?” 

“He told me that you had refused him a loan, and he desperately needed the money.”

“Did he also tell you he had gambled away his entire inheritance? That in six years, he has managed to gamble away more than ten thousand pounds. My God, Katherine, that’s unspeakable; I don’t intend to pour good money after bad. A loan would only allow him to try and recoup his losses, and eventually failing in that, I’d be right back where I started, less a thousand pounds. His gambling is a sickness. It has to lanced like a boil. I’m doing him a favor in the long run.”

“Hubert, denying him a position in the firm is not a favor.”

“Katherine, I’m only going to tell you this once. Never again will you ever question anything that concerns my business. What I do, I do to protect the good name of the firm.”

The following morning, Hubert called Merriweather into his office. Hubert gave Merriweather his final decision. He would pay off Merriweather’s debts, and in return, Merriweather would forfeit his partnership and seek employment elsewhere.

“It is also to be understood, Merriweather, that you will never draw my wife into any further difficulties you may have.” 

Merriweather nodded his agreement.

vi.

Two weeks later, lying in his room, Merriweather Vale gave earnest thought to his situation. “If I had not relinquished my partnership or the fact that I have — either way, I am dead.” With that, he drew a pistol from the desk drawer and put a bullet in his head.

i.

“Tomorrow,” she thought, “Queen Victoria and Prince Albert will open the Great Exposition.”

Two years in preparation, Hyde Park was transformed into what Prince Albert hoped would be an international meeting for peace. She sat in her bedroom looking at the engraved invitation that had arrived three weeks earlier. Hubert had been pleased when it arrived and was looking forward to attending. He had taken a keen interest in the erection of the Crystal Palace and routinely came home with a progress report. Now that it was finished, they would again have difficulty finding common ground for pleasant conversation. Katherine reached over to the table and poured herself another glass of wine.

ii.

The final straw in their precarious relationship had come only days after Merriweather’s death. Hubert came home late one evening roaring drunk. He cruelly forced himself upon her. The fact that she did not resist only angered him more. He seemed to want to vent his rage and likely his guilt.

“My attempt to take Merriweather’s part made me the target,” she thought.

After what seemed like a lifetime, Hubert passed out. She lay there beside him with tears streaming down her face.

The result of what she regarded as rape presented itself nine months later. At first, she hated the child she was carrying, almost as much as she hated its father, but as time went on and her pregnancy became more difficult, she came to terms with the situation. She no longer shared a bed with Hubert, only this time on her terms. Hubert expressed regret for his behavior on that night and did not object to separate rooms.

The birth was difficult. Besides being a large baby, it was breech. The doctor dosed her heavily with laudanum and, after she was unconscious, did what he had to do with hands and instruments. Thus Elizabeth was born — a ten-pound baby girl with mottled skin and instrument lesions who much too frequently squalled her head off.

The doctor warned that there should be no more children. She could not sustain another pregnancy without problems, and miscarriages would threaten her life.

iii.

Elizabeth was not the docile child that Amelia was. Looking at her new daughter, she thought how much Elizabeth reminded her of Hubert, demanding in all things and screaming to a royal purple when attention was not forthcoming. From the moment of her birth, Hubert tolerated his daughter. Elizabeth seemed to sense this and appeared to go out of her way to torment him. The conflict of personalities seemed never to end.

On the other hand, Amelia still followed her father about, continually trying to please him. Hubert would smile at her and pat her head, but the affection ended there. He did not accept the love she so clearly had to give.

One particular characteristic of Elizabeth’s personality was her compassion for all things in distress. Elizabeth was well over a year old and walking when she first took her to see her Grandfather, Martin. Amelia, who had also been accompanying her mother on the twice-weekly visits, consistently paled and hesitated at the sick room door. On Elizabeth’s first visit, she went immediately to her grandfather’s bed, climbed up and put his hand in hers, and sat quietly while Katherine talked of the goings-on in London. Each visit was always the same. Whether her father comprehended his grandchildren or understood her gossip, Katherine never knew.

Trying desperately to keep both girls in harmony with their father was not an easy task. Amelia was easily appeased, but Elizabeth rebelled in any way she could. She found herself drawn more and more to the wine glass, never over-indulging but tippling from morning until after the girls were in bed at night.

iv.

Hubert never entered her room now unless he knocked, even though she never locked her door. His time at home was limited to receiving guests. Merriweather Vale’s suicide had no adverse effect on Hubert’s practice, and in fact, he was prospering. He had changed the name of the firm to Portman & Associates. No son would be forthcoming, and Hubert decided not to offer partnerships to the eager and capable young men he had working for him. He paid them well to keep staff turnover at a minimum.

From the time that Hubert returned from the Manchester trip, she observed that Hubert was little more than civil to Hepsi. Since the birth of Elizabeth, that situation had changed. She had never seen them together, but something in her subconscious kept prodding her to an awareness she preferred to ignore.

v.

She stared into the full-length mirror. Changes had taken place over the years. Her figure was still that of a handsome woman, but she could see small lines about her eyes and mouth. Her hair, once a brilliant chestnut, was beginning to show gray streaks. At their first appearance, she had Hepsi pluck them out, but now nature was advancing faster than Hepsi could pluck, and she had to accept the fact that the gray was to be a permanent feature. She was grateful that the gray was limited to the right side of her face, just above the brow. She had to admit it gave her a rather noble if somewhat rakish appearance.

The door opened, and Amelia rushed into the room. “Mama, Mama, Beth has found a puppy, and Tilda won’t let her bring it in the house,”

“All right, Amelia, let’s go downstairs and see what we can do about it. Where is Beth now?” 

“She’s on the front steps crying.”

She quickened her pace, Amelia struggling to keep up. Elizabeth was not one to cry. She was one to shout, so whatever had happened had been traumatic.

“Where did Beth find the dog, Amelia?”

“He was laying in the gutter by the road next to Mr. Osborn’s driveway.”

“What was she doing over there? Where was Tilda?” 

“Tilda was there too, Mama. I threw the ball, and Beth didn’t catch it, and it rolled away from her. She went to fetch it, and there by the ball was the puppy.”

Tilda was stooped over Elizabeth on the porch landing, trying to get her to relinquish the lump of black and white fur that she cuddled in her arms. The more Tilda entreated, the harder Elizabeth clung to her bundle.

“Tilda, take Amelia upstairs, bathe her and change her clothes. I’ll speak to you later.”

“Yes, My Lady.”

She took two steps down the stairs and seated herself next to Elizabeth.

“Beth, Love, may I see the puppy?” 

Without looking up, Elizabeth opened her arms. The sight brought a fullness to her throat, and her instinct was to vomit, but she swallowed hard and overcame her aversion. The pup couldn’t have been more than a week old. Someone had crushed its head and tossed it into the gutter. Elizabeth’s dress and face were spotted with blood. 

“Oh Beth, Love, we can’t keep the puppy. He’s dead.” 

“No, Mama, no,” and Elizabeth once more clutched the bundle to her chest. 

“Elizabeth, someone killed that puppy because they didn’t love it. Don’t you think it would be nice if we had Wooten get a box for the puppy, then we could put him in the ground near the stables where he would be loved even though he didn’t know us?” 

Elizabeth, sniffling, seemed to understand her mother’s plan. She knew something was wrong with the puppy. She didn’t understand all the words, but she trusted her mother to know what to do. She nodded in agreement. 

She picked up Elizabeth, dog, and all and went around to the stables where she found Wooten. Wooten gently took the dog and spoke softly, “Lady Beth, he’s going to be happy here, I promise.”

vi.

The next day everyone in the Portman household moved with accelerated motion. There was a fever of excitement surrounding the grand occasion. The opening of the Exposition was for guests only. The public would be admitted later. The Exposition would extend until mid-October so that all British subjects would have the opportunity to visit this spectacular display that Prince Albert had so lovingly fostered.

With last-minute details to be taken care of and the girls hovering underfoot, she was hard-pressed to find a moment to relax. Even though the children would not be attending, they seemed to sense the holiday spirit that permeated the house. Amelia was continually asking questions. As the time drew near for her to dress, she had to banish the girls from her room. Hepsi helped her dress and adjusted her hair after the gown was neatly in place. The excitement had affected her, and it showed in the pink of her cheeks. Biting her lips brought out the rosy color. She placed her bonnet carefully so as not to disturb the curls that peeked out underneath. She had to admit she was still a stunning woman, gray streaks and all.

Hubert knocked at her door, eager to get started. She did not miss his expression when he saw her standing at the mirror. Quickly recovering, Hubert announced they must leave at once.

The invitation included a schedule of the order in which the Exposition would be presented. Sir Hubert and Lady Portman would have gallery seats, and they must be there before the arrival of the Queen. The heads of state and foreign dignitaries would occupy the main floor.

Hubert presented his invitation to the Sergeant-at-Arms stationed at the door. He nodded them through, and immediately a Beefeater, resplendent in his traditional uniform, showed them through the maze of people and directed them to the stairs to the proper gallery. With no time to gaze, for which she was sorry, she could only marvel at the scene around her. Their assigned seats were at the railing overlooking the main floor. They seated themselves, and she leaned forward to view the astonishing sight.

Suspended from the arched glass-domed ceiling directly in front of her was a blue velvet and crystal canopy that engulfed the low three-tiered dais that the Queen would occupy. The area that the building encompassed included the small trees of the Park. Water fountains and statues were strategically located. A red carpet had been laid to mark the Queen’s route.

She could only guess at the importance of the guests who occupied the main floor. Directly across from her and on a low dais of their own, elegantly dressed ladies, whom she assumed were the wives of dignitaries, stood by themselves. To her right, the handsomely groomed men dressed in the fashion of their home country milled about talking to each other. Each country attending had a booth. At her extreme right, she thought she could make out the members of Parliament and their wives.

The fanfare of trumpets brought the gathering quickly to attention. Those seated in the gallery rose. The Beefeaters formed into positions on the far left side, behind the dais. A vanguard of Palace guards stiffly marched in, followed by Queen Victoria, Prince Edward, Prince Albert, and Princess Royal, Victoria. The rest of the Royal family followed according to their place in ascension. Bringing up the rear came the rest of the Palace Guard. When Victoria had mounted the dais with her two children, the rest of the family circled behind her. The Palace Guards closed ranks immediately behind them. 

Victoria paused a moment or two before speaking; then, she heartily welcomed everyone and expressed her hopes for peace and goodwill among all nations. Each country was acknowledged, and when the last country had been called, Victoria announced that the Great Exposition was now open. Prince Albert came forward to escort his wife and children through the various booths.

After the Royals had departed, the main entrance to the building was opened. Hubert decided that they should return later in the summer with the huge crowd waiting to enter.

The entire family had been invited for dinner so that they could hear first-hand news of the exciting happenings. Table talk was lively with questions about women’s fashions and what Albert hoped to accomplish with this Exhibit. Later, the excitement dwindled to conversations more in keeping with everyday living. Martin spoke of Quenton’s business, which was going well. Sam and George had nothing to offer except that business was profitable, although Christopher, a curious bugger, spent a lot of his free time at the docks poking his nose into things that did not concern him. Hubert, of course, would not discuss pending trials, but this was to be expected, so no one thought anything of it.

The only quiet one in the group, who had moved off to a corner of the room, was Michael. He had an announcement to make that even his mother and father knew nothing about. Vacillating between telling and keeping silent preyed heavily on his mind.

She noticed Michael off by himself. “Michael, Love, what are you doing over here?” 

“Katherine,” Michael offered, “I’ve got something to say, but I can’t seem to get up the nerve.” 

“Surely, Michael, it can’t be all that bad; say what you must and let the devil take the tail.”

Michael knew she was right; still, he hesitated. She had helped him over a stormy sea with his mother four years ago, and he hadn’t forgotten that, but what he wanted to tell the family now was something he knew would not be taken lightly.

Sensing his dismay, she spoke quietly, “Michael, the hardest part of a secret is keeping it. Wouldn’t it be better now to let it out, then the living with it would be easier.”

“I suppose so Katherine, just give me a moment or two to get my thoughts together.”

She rejoined the family, filling her glass again with the excellent Port that Frederick had put out, wondering what earth-shattering news Michael could have.

The small group talked in generalities when Michael spoke from the corner of the room, “May I have your attention, please?”

Every head pivoted.

“Please, what I have to say will be a relief to some and a shock to others. This gathering of our family could not be more appropriate.” Taking a deep breath, Michael continued. “I have enlisted with her Majesty’s forces, and henceforth, I will endeavor to defend our country’s honor.” 

A shriek disrupted the stillness that followed Michael’s announcement from Aunt Catherine as she fainted.

i.

Both girls had started attending Misses Farthingal's & Finch's Academy. Each day they left the house; Amelia looking forward to seeing her new friends and Elizabeth rebelling at the discipline. Perhaps both girls would have been better off with a governess, but she wanted them to share her experiences.

Hepsi and Tilda had taken the girls to the Exposition in the summer of 1851. When they returned later in the afternoon, tired but excited, it wasn't long before they told their mother about meeting Papa there.

"Papa gave Tilda some money, and she took Beth and me to get a grape ice," volunteered Amelia.

"Did Hepsi go too?" she inquired. 

"Oh no, Mama, they stayed and talked." 

Elizabeth blurted out, "Papa was holding Hepsi's hand."

"I see," she said, quickly changing the subject. "Well, I imagine you young ladies must be tired. I'm going to have Tilda give you both a bath and when you are ready for bed, Chef will send your dinner up. If you are very good, I'll read a story to you before you go sleep."

The two little girls, drooping from exhaustion, nodded their pleasure but still had enough energy left to argue about which story to read.

ii.

One October morning, she rang for Hepsi. After several minutes Hepsi had not responded, so she went to the servants' quarters. As she entered Hepsi's room, she saw her doubled over a chamber pot retching.

By December, Hepsi had begun to thicken at the waist. Loathe to broach the subject to Hubert; she nonetheless knew it had to be done.

Hubert exuded innocence. "Well, I suppose that we shall have to see after the girl."

"I should think so, Hubert. Gossiping servants in all the households of London, especially after her dismissal, would not be pleasant."

"What do you suggest, Katherine?" 

Placing the solution of his indiscretion on her shoulders angered her, but she spoke calmly. "She cannot stay here, a subject of public disgrace, nor can she return to Brighton. Her friends there would make it unbearable. I suggest she be sent north to Yorkshire or possibly Cornwall. I leave the details to you." For the first time since she had known Hubert, she saw an expression of discomfort and perhaps even self-recrimination. "I shall take care of the matter immediately." 

It was a relief to him that Katherine agreed to provide for Hepsi. Indeed, his wife's composure in dealing with the situation astounded him.

iii.

In July, Hepsi, now living in Cornwall, delivered a healthy baby boy. Hubert was pleased but did not mention his first living son's birth. That summer, Hubert made several trips to see the boy. She did not comment, although she did resent Hubert's lack of concern for his legitimate daughters.

iv.

When Quenton Martin died in 1853, it left an emptiness in her heart, even though she had to admit that wherever his spirit had landed, it was certainly better than being caged in that shell of a body. Dean Moines performed the funeral ceremony. Ironically it was his last official act. He succumbed to a heart attack two days after Quenton was buried beside his wife.

Quenton's will had been prepared several years previously. Since the preparation of the will preceded Elizabeth, Amelia inherited the bulk of the estate with a token amount to her. Michael inherited one thousand pounds, and the printing business went to Martin Soames. A substantial amount was left in trust for Carlie and Billy Tupper, enabling them to retire after long and faithful service.

She understood the omission of Elizabeth from the will, although it distressed her. She sensed that Elizabeth would be the one who would eventually do the best with the money.

v.

The Crimean War was at its height, and following the Battle of Balaclava, Uncle Thomas and Aunt Catherine received word that Michael had been killed in his Queen's service.

She openly grieved for sometime after hearing the news. "Michael, sweet Michael, he was a scamp, but such a dear one. It didn't seem fair that he should be taken before he could know the true pleasures of life." 

Aunt Catherine was inconsolable. She took to her bed and refused to see anyone for three months. Gradually, the edge of grief and despair eased, and slowly she came back into the reality of the world.

During this time, Elizabeth took an interest in a woman serving the injured in Crimea. Her name was Florence Nightingale. Each night when Hubert brought home the evening paper, Elizabeth would prod her mother into reading anything that pertained to Ms. Nightingale's succoring of the troops. Amelia's learning ability and agility in reading prompted Beth to promise to do better in school to read all these extraordinary exploits herself. As a rule, however, the following morning left all good intentions hanging with Elizabeth once more, arguing against the need to attend classes.

vi.

She was beginning to adjust to Michael's death when she received the most heart-rending news of all one afternoon late in November. For the first time since that evening so long ago, Sam came to see her. When Frederick ushered him into her sitting room, she noticed how frail he looked. He had lost weight since the last time she had seen him, and his complexion was sallow.

"Can I serve you anything, Sam, tea or a brandy perhaps?"

"Nothing, Katherine, there is something of importance that I must talk to you about." 

"That will be all, Frederick. Please do not disturb us. If we require anything, I shall ring." 

"Very well, my Lady."

"Sam, it's so good to see you. It's been a long time since you and I have been alone together."

With a half-smile curving at the corners of his mouth, Sam replied, "It certainly has my love." His expression became serious as he continued, "My presence here today, I'm afraid, is of a practical matter."

She took Sam's hand and led him to the small sofa by the fireplace." What is it that you want me to know?"

"Katherine, this past week, I spent several hours with my solicitor. I have made out my will, and I want you to fully understand it so that you will know what I have in mind."

"What is this nonsense about a will, Sam?"

"Please, my dear, listen. I know that Hubert has two sons who live in Cornwall with their mother. What I am going to do is provide you with means for independence if ever you feel the need for it."

"How did you find out about Hepsi? Hubert has been very discreet."

"Katherine, Love, I know that Hubert has been discreet. It's a well-kept secret from London society. Please now let me finish while I am still able to. I have deposited for you, in my solicitor's name at the Bank of England, all of my monetary assets. I know your father did not leave you an inheritance because he thought you would be well cared for. This is my way of correcting his mistake. Amelia and Elizabeth and Crystal, Louise, and Maybelle will be left a small amount. Portman's Imports is held in trust for Christopher, with George directing the operations until Chris reaches age thirty. There will be many questions raised, mostly from Hubert, about what happened to the bulk of my money. You must not offer any information in that regard. Do you understand that, Katherine?"

With her mind spinning, she could only nod.

"Remember this name Katherine — Timothy Colburn — that's the name of my solicitor. He has my utmost confidence, and if at any time you need assistance, you may go to him for help."

The implication in all this slowly penetrated her brain. Sam was going to die and soon. The blood rushed from her head, and she felt as though she was going to faint.

"Are you all right, my dear?"

Gathering her wits, as well as her strength, she took a deep breath and tried to slow down the heavy beating of her heart. With tears welling up and slipping down her cheeks, she whispered, "I'll be all right in a minute."

While Sam still held her hand, she tried to reason with herself. This must be horrible for Sam. He had not mentioned the word death, so she must not. How could she survive knowing he soon would leave her? Struggling to overcome her emotions, she was finally able to look up into Sam's face.

"Katherine, I must leave now. Just remember what I have told you. It will be our second secret. Ring for Frederick now and have him bring my coat."

"In a minute, Sam, in a minute," and with that, she fell into his arms, clinging desperately to old memories.

Sam could barely control the tears. Slowly he pushed her away. The Gods, as he once told her, were not going to be kind.

Wiping her eyes with a handkerchief tucked in the sleeve of her gown, she walked over to the bell-rope and rang for Frederick.

She went to her bedroom, shut and locked the door, then collapsed on the bed in agony.

vii.

It was a quiet cold night in December l855 when Sam died. He died alone in his flat, and it wasn't until the following morning that he was discovered. She was horrified when Hubert brought the news later that morning. No one should be left alone to die. She blamed herself in some respects for allowing that to happen, although she knew Sam would not have wanted her there. He had lived alone, a solitary life of his choosing, and that was the way he proposed to leave it. 

Hubert was visibly shaken. Immortality was something no one could claim. Sam had passed through this life quietly and with dignity. Hubert knew the same could not be said of him.

Sam had been right. There were a lot of unanswered questions regarding the disappearance of his fortune, but she remained silent.

i.

Amelia, grown into a beautiful young lady, was receiving gentlemen callers, while Elizabeth's only interests were her riding and her work at St. Giles.

On her twelfth birthday, George had given Elizabeth a horse, a beautiful chestnut mare. It was love at first sight. For Elizabeth to have her horse was the epitome of heaven on earth.

She suspected that Wooten had a great deal to do with George's decision. Wooten had never forgotten the grief-stricken little girl who had given him in utmost trust that poor dead pup. When she was small, Elizabeth seldom did not go out to the stable each day to visit. She loved animals. The cats, whose primary function was to keep mice and larger rodents out of the stored grain, brushed against her legs looking forward to being held or at least scratched between the ears. 

Instruction for Elizabeth in the art of handling a horse fell upon Wooten. He couldn't have been happier. He did not have Billy Tupper's expertise, but he was more than adequate. She had never learned to ride, the big beasts frightened Amelia, and Hubert thought it undignified for a man of his station in life to travel on horseback, although he kept a gelding for no other reason than to say he had riding horses. 

ii.

Elizabeth's passion for horses and nursing started at about the same time. Elizabeth had always had a deep feeling for suffering, human or otherwise. It wasn't until Hubert came down with a bad case of gout, when she was thirteen, that her penchant for public service surfaced.

Dr. Treymane had called Hubert several times during his illness, always admonishing him on the necessity to keep his diet under control. No rich foods and especially no wine, plus plenty of rest, was the best cure in the world. Hubert had become portly, a sign of his affluence as well as his lack of exercise. He had always enjoyed good food and good wine. He carried the extra weight well enough because of his height, but each passing year brought on an extra inch to his waist. The doctor's prescription of moderation did not sit well with him, and he was irascible. 

On Dr. Treymane's first call at the house, Elizabeth followed him up the stairs to her father's room, asking all kinds of questions. Typically, the doctor's tolerance for children was limited. Still, he sensed that the questions she asked were not childish curiosity but genuine interest, and indeed she was quite versed in the realm of healing. 

Hubert would not tolerate Elizabeth in his room, so she was disappointed in not administering to her father. After each subsequent visit, the doctor put aside a few minutes to speak to Elizabeth. On his last visit to the house before Hubert was to return to his work, Dr. Treymane gave Elizabeth a bit of information that changed her life.

"Elizabeth, how old are you?" Dr. Treymane asked.

"I'm thirteen, Dr. Treymane," Elizabeth replied. 

"You are very young, but if you still feel this way when you reach your fourteenth birthday, I want you to come and see me. You are strong and healthy, and the hospital where I see patients desperately needs ladies to help out. Do you think you would like that? It would only be on Saturday's of course because you must stay in school, but you think it over and let me know what you decide."

Thus Elizabeth began her nursing career.

iii.

It was about this time that she received a letter from Carlie. She and Billy were well, just getting older. Their youngest son, Rufus, was seventeen. He had finished his grades but had not found a permanent position. The small five-acre farm they had bought in Devon with the money from Quenton's trust could not support many livestock, and Rufus was not one to take to the hoe. Did Katherine know of anyone in London that could use a hand with driving or with horses?

She spent some time pondering over the letter. Wooten was getting on in years, and Hubert's erratic schedule often left the rest of the family without transportation. It would be to their advantage to have Rufus come work for them. He could also ride with Elizabeth when Wooten was not available. Discussing Carlie's letter with Hubert that evening after dinner, they agreed that Rufus should be brought down to help Wooten.

Her first glimpse of Rufus Tupper sent a shiver down her spine. He wasn't the little boy she remembered. He was a full-grown man and an extremely handsome one. Elizabeth became enamored at once.

To her and Amelia, Elizabeth repeated continuously, "Rufus said this, or Rufus did so and so," but to her father, Elizabeth remained silent on the subject. She knew, as did Elizabeth that Hubert would brook no familiarity between servants and members of the household. "With one exception," she thought wryly.

iv.

Katherine was in the dining room with one of the maids sorting out silver to be polished when Frederick came in and presented her with a hand-delivered message. She saw the Royal Seal and nearly dropped the tray she was holding. "Oh, my goodness," she said aloud as she hurried upstairs to Amelia's bedroom. Rushing in, she saw Amelia in her favorite spot—on the window seat reading. "Melie, Melie, you and Elizabeth are to be presented to Queen Victoria!"

Amelia dropped the book she was holding and ran to her mother, hardly believing what she had heard. "How do you know Mama?"

"Frederick just brought the invitation."

"Goodness, Mama, that's next week. I won't have time to be fitted for a new gown."

"Madam Farber is still working on that gown you were going to wear to Lord Kenerly's Ball. Tomorrow morning we will see Madam Farber, and with some alterations, it will be acceptable. Now we have you taken care of; what are we going to do about Elizabeth?"

"She can always wear her riding costume, Mama; she would be right at home since I understand the Queen used to ride."

They both laughed as she asked, "Where is Beth, by the way? I haven't seen her since breakfast this morning."

"She was going to go riding with Rufus, but Dr. Treymane sent a messenger over while you were calling on Mrs. Overton. He wanted Beth at St. Giles. He has a young boy there who needs cheering up before he operates on him tomorrow."

"I hope she will be back for dinner. Your father expects us all at the table." 

"You know Beth, Mama. She does what she wants to do. She's not afraid of Papa. I wish I weren't."

She patted Amelia's arm, then went downstairs to finish supervising the silver polishing.

Talk at the dinner table that evening was animated. Hubert was pleased with the turn of events. Even Elizabeth's absence from the table had not affected his good humor. After Albert's death in l86l, Victoria had placed herself in a self-imposed exile of mourning; the loss of her loving companion had decimated her. All civic and social duties were relegated to lower echelons of the royal family. This presentation tea was one of the first public appearances Victoria would make on her return to the public view.

When Elizabeth finally arrived, dessert was almost ready to be served. She came in the back and washed up in the kitchen, causing Chef Jean-Claude's eyebrow to rise an inch and a half above its usual resting place. Attempting to change her clothes before eating would mean missing the meal entirely, and she was hungry, so she went immediately to the dining room and seated herself.

Hubert frowned as Elizabeth sat down at the table. "You are late, and I am going to insist that you be on time or make other arrangements for your meals."

"Yes, Papa."

Trying to get the conversation back to a pleasant plane, she spoke, "Beth, this afternoon we received an important invitation from the Queen."

"What was that, Mama?"

"You and Amelia are to be presented to Queen Victoria next week."

Elizabeth could only gasp, "Sweet Jesus."

"Watch your mouth Elizabeth, or leave the table!"

"Yes, Papa, I'm sorry. It just slipped out."

"You are a lady, and I expect you to behave like one."

"I'm sorry, Papa, it won't happen again." 

"See that it doesn't."

Mary brought in the dessert, and all conversation stopped while she served. By the time she had left, Hubert's temper had cooled, and the talk had reverted to the up-and-coming event.

By the time the day of presentation arrived, Katherine was worn to a frazzle. She had no qualms about Amelia, but Elizabeth was another matter. Each day she tried to instill in both girls the basics of proper etiquette. Both were polite, but Elizabeth did not hold with formal trivialities. She only hoped Elizabeth's behavior wouldn't disgrace them.

Sitting in the garden in the late afternoon waiting for their return, she was on pins and needles. Even the sherry had not calmed her nerves. Hearing the carriage, she walked toward the stable to greet the girls. Seeing Amelia's smiling face, she breathed a sigh of relief.

"Oh, Mama, it was so exciting," were the first words out of Amelia's mouth as Wooten handed her down from the carriage.

Elizabeth had already jumped down from the other side, catching her gown as she did so, putting a small tear in the material near the hem.

"You must tell me all about it," she said as she steered them to the bench in the yard.

"First of all, Mama, it was held in the gardens. Her Majesty greeted us all there. Our names were called grandly as 'Lady Amelia Portman' and 'Lady Elizabeth Portman', and when we approached her, she said, 'You are Sir Hubert's daughters. Please give him my kindest regards."

Amelia could hardly wait to tell her father of the Queen's message. 

"And what about you, Beth, did you enjoy yourself?" 

"Yes, Mama, it was very nice. Her Majesty looked lumpy. She was dressed in black and looked quite old. The food was good. It was served on long tables, and everyone helped himself or herself. Some of the girls I could have kicked. They were so silly." 

"I'll bet you don't know that the Queen is younger than your father, quite a bit younger. I think that when Prince Albert died, it aged her." 

"I suppose you're right, Mama." 

v.

Mid-summer in London in 1864 was hot and humid. She found the drawing-room the coolest place in the house. Lightly clothed to take advantage of it, she prayed for a good summer storm to clear the air. Any thought of paying calls on the women who had not departed the city for cooler climates exhausted her. 

Katherine was surprised when Frederick announced Hannah's arrival. Had it been anyone else, she would have had him or her wait until she changed to more suitable clothing, but Hannah was family, and why not be comfortable in this heat. She felt sorry for Hannah. Always one to stand on propriety, Hannah stood there with beads of perspiration at her hairline and forehead. She greeted Hannah with a kiss on the cheek and insisted she take off the long-sleeved jacket that covered the dark brown bombazine dress beneath it. It appeared she could have endured a snowstorm in the clothing she wore. "It's so good to see you, Hannah, would you like a cold glass of lemonade to help cool you?" 

"That would be very nice, Katherine. It is warm today. Katherine, only an insane person would be out on a day like today, but I need your help." 

"Well," she thought, "at least she knows it's hot."

"What can I help you with, Hannah?"

"One of George's suppliers is coming to visit from Jamaica. He has a large plantation there and is a very wealthy man. George thought the proper thing to do would be to offer him the services of our home instead of a hotel during his stay."

"That sounds like an excellent idea, Hannah. When will the gentleman be coming?"

Hannah screwed up her forehead for a moment, trying to think. "I believe George said he is on the high seas now, which I suppose would mean sometime this week. He is traveling by steam, so the travel time won't be as long."

"It sounds like quite an exciting time for you, Hannah."

"It will be Katherine if you can help. I plan to have you and Hubert, and the girls, for dinner on his arrival. Would you come? I'm not one for small talk with gentlemen, as you well know, and I certainly want to put the man at his ease."

"I'm sure something can be arranged, Hannah. I shall have to find out Hubert's plans before giving you a definite answer, especially since this man's arrival is a little uncertain. Please notify me as soon as he arrives."

vi.

Harry Haverill arrived in London six days later during a thunderstorm. 

Hannah's dinner party was planned for two days later. There were mixed feelings about attending. Since Hannah was Hubert's sister, he could not object too strenuously. Besides, he thought a fresh face from the colonies might prove stimulating. Amelia agreed without comment. As usual, it was Elizabeth who chose to be difficult. Except for her cousin Christopher, Elizabeth dreaded what she knew would be a dull evening.

Driving up to the old Portman home, she noticed the house was beginning to show its age. It was well kept, but time had not stood still, nor had progress. The house was surrounded by several flats that housed the ever-expanding population. It saddened her to think of all the old things that were beautiful in their time and now were relegated to the past. Even Tottenham Court Road was feeling growing pains. At present most of the shops were concentrated near Oxford Street, but she knew things would not remain as they were. She wondered if Hubert could see all the changes coming.

The butler that Hannah had hired for the occasion took Hubert's hat. The ladies retired to an upstairs room to remove their gloves and bonnets and straighten their gowns and hair.

Descending the staircase with Hannah and the girls, she felt a growing curiosity about Harry Haverill. What would he be like, she wondered? With Hannah leading the way, the four of them entered the drawing-room.

Standing with George and Hubert was a tall thin young man. His skin was the color of pecan, and the wrinkles at his eyes resulted from constant squinting in the sun. She judged him to be in his late twenties. She extended her hand, and Mr. Haverill bowed to kiss it lightly. He repeated the same with Amelia, but she grasped his hand in a firm handshake when Elizabeth was presented. Initially startled, he nonetheless accepted the gesture.

Taking a glass of wine from the tray that the butler passed, she first stopped talking to Crystal. She had married Charlie Overton, Percy's son, and seemed to bloom. Louise was "spoken for" by Martin Soames. Still, Martin had not been included in this evening's gathering because the engagement was not official, and Hannah did not consider him part of the family. Maybelle was rather plain, and to make matters worse, she took after her mother. At twenty-five, Christopher had not married and was considered a gay blade in his circle of friends, although the firm did not suffer because of it. George kept a pretty tight rein on him. 

With the younger generation gathered at one end, Mr. Haverill dominated the conversation on the other end of the table, primarily answering Hubert and George's questions. The American Civil War had caused some inconvenience to his business. The Northern States were blockading shipping into the South, so until the hostilities were settled, which he felt would be very soon, sugar cane would not be directed there. Some companies were willing to run the blockade because of the exorbitant prices the South was willing to pay. Most were not successful, and when this happened, it meant the confiscation of the ships. The privateer, however, was ready to take his chances.

Haverill loved the Caribbean. He had lived there all his life. He had been to America on several business trips, but Jamaica was his home. This was his first trip to Europe.

Jamaica had slaves; indeed, he owned many. It was the only means of providing sugar to the world's countries and still making a profit.

At this last statement, Hubert was noncommittal, but she could see in George's eyes revulsion at what Haverill considered a fact of life.

The rest of the evening was lighthearted. After the gentlemen had their cigars and brandy, Crystal played and sang many old English tunes accompanying herself on the pianoforte. Haverill stood next to Amelia, and although he wasn't familiar with the words, he managed to harmonize in a most respectable baritone with her sweet soprano.

Harry Haverill became a steady caller. He was smitten with Amelia, but she could not discern Amelia's feelings toward him. The situation elicited memories of herself and Hubert. Pray God, Amelia's life would not parallel her own.

She planned a reciprocal dinner at Hubert's request. This time, several of Hubert's friends were to be included. Hubert wanted Harry to meet some of the more influential men in London. Hubert respected Haverill and found him interesting, a man with land and money he could appreciate. The evening went well, and, as the last of the guests took their leave, she sighed in relief. The only ones who stayed behind were Harry, George, and Hannah. Amelia and Elizabeth had retired to their rooms as soon as the guests began leaving. Amelia was tired, and Elizabeth had to be at St. Giles early in the morning.

She shepherded the five of them to a more intimate corner of the drawing-room, suggesting they have a farewell glass of wine. Hubert agreed and called Frederic to bring in the decanter of Madeira. 

Harry Haverill was the first to break the silence. "Sir Hubert and Lady Katherine, I wish to thank you both for a wonderful evening. It was kind of you to accept me into your home." 

"The pleasure was ours, Harry," said Hubert.

She did not respond, for, at that instant, a chill was running down her spine. Harry had more to say, she was sure.

"I must be returning to Jamaica very soon, in three weeks, to be precise. Before I go, I must speak of what is in my heart."

Not used to being privy to private conversations, Hannah was about to suggest that she and George leave when George, knowing what was going to be revealed, put his hand on her arm to silence her.

"Sir Hubert, I'm in love with your daughter. I wish to make her my wife. I would very much like to marry her before I return to my home."

She emitted an audible gasp while Hubert asked, "Does Amelia know of your feelings for her?"

"Yes, Sir Hubert, I spoke to her yesterday." 

"What did she tell you?" 

"Only, Sir Hubert, that she would be willing if you approved." 

She closed her eyes and thought, "Oh no, oh no."

"She has my approval," Hubert gallantly announced. "May I say, Harry, I'm proud to have you as a member of my family."

vii.

The three weeks that followed were a blur. Katherine had tried talking to Amelia, who was resolute in her decision. For the first time in Amelia's life, she had taken a stand and would not tolerate any interference. Papa was pleased, and that was all that Amelia needed to know. Papa was proud of her. Unable to reason with Amelia, she concentrated on the task ahead.

Reverend Tisle, the new rector of St. Dunstan's, was notified to post the banns. Hand-written invitations were sent out. Harry, having no one in England, did not have to be consulted. Madam Farber was contacted about the wedding dress. Material and pattern were picked out, and she was informed that any extra help necessary to fashion the gown should be hired.

The food preparation was left up to Chef Jean-Claude. For once, she was glad Hubert had engaged him. He was in his glory and assured her that everything would be "magnifique." Frederick would take care of the extra waiters and maids. Wooten and Rufus would take charge of parking the carriages and see that all coachmen, whether household retainers or hired for the day, be given food and drink in the stable tack room.

Aunt Catherine came over to help, but she relied mainly on Hannah. Hannah was the one person who could be counted on to efficiently take care of the one hundred and one details that cropped up.

Seated in the drawing-room, waiting for the appearance of Reverend Tisle, she had to admit the house looked marvelous. Hubert had spared no expense on the wedding of his eldest daughter. Except for the kitchen and servants' quarters, every room in the house was filled with late-blooming mums, all in white, yellow, and rust shades. Green ivy roping was woven on the staircase and also framed the interior doors.

She was surprised and pleased that Amelia wanted to be married at home. She thought perhaps Amelia wished to take with her all the memories she could of her life in this big house. It was quite possible she would not return. Jamaica was almost half a world away. 

She was grateful that Elizabeth had not interfered or quarreled with Amelia's decision to marry Harry Haverill. The only evidence of Elizabeth's inner turmoil was the tightly clasped gloved hands that rested in her lap.

Before she could wonder if all was well with Elizabeth, Reverend Tisle entered the room, followed by Harry Haverill and George Wooster, who would act as a witness. As soon as they had taken their places, Hubert entered with Amelia on his arm. The ceremony was about to begin.

viii.

Some of Amelia's young friends and her cousins went with the couple to see them off at Waterloo. They would train to Plymouth, then board the "Indies Star," a sailing packet that would sail at high tide the next morning.

The servants moved silently about, attending to the aftermath scattered throughout the house. Wearily she walked to the staircase and slowly mounted the steps. When she reached her room, she closed and locked her door, walked over to the chaise, and sat down. With her hands over her eyes, she wept.

i.

Katherine huddled into a wing-back chair by the fireplace in her sitting room. The book she was trying to read did not capture her imagination. Placing the book in her lap, she gazed out the window. February, she thought, was a dreary month. Hubert had decided to go to Cornwall for two days. The only pleasant thing about the day was that this was Amelia’s birthday. She was eighteen years old. How she wished Amelia were here. She missed her quiet, genteel, good-natured presence.

She frowned for a moment, wondering how Amelia was faring in her new home. There had been no word from them since their departure nearly five months ago. Harry had decided that they should take the slower sailing vessel instead of going by steam so that he and Amelia would have an opportunity to get to know each other before they arrived in Jamaica. She prayed every day for Amelia’s happiness. She had talked to Amelia frankly before the wedding on the subject of sex and marital duties. She had vowed to herself that her daughters would not ignorantly approach the marriage bed as she had. Amelia was shocked at first, but Katherine explained to her the joy that it could be without revealing that it wasn’t Amelia’s father that had provided the only genuinely sexual fulfillment she had ever felt.

Tilda came in with tea and asked if there were anything else she wanted. 

“No, I think not, Tilda. Is Elizabeth still at St. Giles?” 

“Yes, my Lady.” 

“That girl spends more time at the hospital than she does at home.”

“She said she would be home early today, my Lady. I’m sure she will be home for dinner.”

Tilda had hardly finished speaking when Frederick knocked on the casing of the door and entered. “My Lady, Mr. and Mrs. Wooster are here to see you. I showed them into the drawing-room.”

“Very well, Frederick, I’ll be right there.”

“Bring in extra cups, Tilda; we’ll have our tea there and perhaps a brandy for Mr. Wooster.”

“Yes, my Lady.”

She knew that something had happened. Hannah’s eyes were red and puffy. George was ill at ease and looked quite stressed. Her first thought was that something had happened to Hubert.

Hannah rushed to her, took her in her arms, and started sobbing.

George led her to a chair and spoke softly. “Sit down, Katherine. Please. What I have to tell you is going to be a shock.”

“Something has happened to Hubert?”

“No, Katherine, please sit down.”

George knelt in front of her and took her hand in his and said very gently, “Katherine, I have just received word from our suppliers in Jamaica that the ‘Indies Star’ has not yet arrived__assumed down at sea.”

She sat stiff and unyielding for a full minute, not expressing any sign of having heard or of understanding. Suddenly she bent over and moaned in anguish.

Tilda entered the room with a tray of tea and scones. George rose from his position and spoke sharply to her. “Is Lady Elizabeth in the house?”

“No, Sir, she’s at St. Giles.”

“Tell Rufus to fetch her immediately. She is needed at home. Send Wooten for Dr. Treymane. Lady Portman has had a terrible shock, and his services are required.”

Tilda placed the tray on a table and hurried out. Noticing the brandy glass on the tray, George picked it up and brought it over. Her moans had turned to convulsive gasps as though she were trying to bring herself under control.

“Here, Katherine, drink this; it will do you good.”

The searing liquor brought about a spasm of coughing and tears. Allowing a few minutes for the grief to vent and the brandy to have its effects, George finally said, “Katherine, can you talk to me now?”

“Yes, George, I think I can talk.”

“Good, Hannah and I stopped at Hubert’s office before coming here. The clerk said Hubert was out of town. Do you know where he is?”

“He’s on business. He will be back tomorrow afternoon.”

“Is there any way he can be reached before then?”

“No, George, I haven’t any address,” she lied. Ferreting out Hubert and Hepsi in Cornwall was the last thing she wanted now. Besides, he could not reach home much sooner than he had initially planned, even if he were summoned.

Swearing under his breath, George was at a loss as to what to do. The slamming of the front door brought George’s thoughts to an abrupt halt.

Brushing by Frederick, Elizabeth swept into the room. When she saw Elizabeth, the tears began to flow. Gathering Katherine in her arms, Elizabeth looked up at Hannah and George, “What has happened? Is it Papa, Uncle George?”

“Beth, my dear, we have just received word that the ship Amelia and Harry were sailing on has been lost at sea.”

“Sweet Jesus,” Elizabeth exhaled. She closed her eyes and clung even closer to her mother. Death was a familiar caller at St. Giles, and Elizabeth had seen more than her share of families distraught at the loss of a loved one. This was the first time it had called on her own. Elizabeth felt drained and empty of emotion. Her mother was devastated, and she knew Katherine would need all the support she could muster. She would have time to grieve later.

“We’ve sent for Dr. Treymane, Beth.”

“That’s fine, Aunt Hannah; I’m glad you did. Mother should be given something to calm her. Let’s go upstairs now, Mama, and lie down. You’ll be more comfortable there.”

Once in bed, Katherine laid there, tears still seeping into her hair and pillow.

Hannah, drawing Elizabeth away from the bed, whispered, “We have not been able to locate Hubert.” 

“Yes, I know, Aunt Hannah. He’s out of town on business, but he should be here tomorrow.”

“Your mother should not be left alone at a time like this. Hubert should be here.”

“Aunt Hannah, there is nothing we can do about that. I will be here with Mama until Papa returns. You and Uncle George go home now. The doctor will be here shortly, and I’m sure he’ll give Mama something to help her sleep. I want you and Uncle George to come back tomorrow afternoon before Papa comes home. Could you tell him about Amelia? Mama is in no condition to do so. Don’t say anything to anyone else about Amelia, especially Aunt Catherine, until Papa gets home.”

“Of course, Beth, if you think that best. We shall abide by your wishes.” 

“Thank you, Aunt Hannah. You are a solid wall I can lean upon.” 

Hannah blushed in pleasure at one of the few compliments she had ever received.

George and Hannah had just left the house when Dr. Treymane’s trap drove up. Instructing Tilda to stay with her mother, Elizabeth went downstairs to meet him. She had the door open before he reached the steps. Waving his hand to move Elizabeth back, he hurried up the steps and into the house.

“Now, Beth girl, what’s this? Wooten had a time finding me, and I came as quickly as I could.”

“Oh, Dr. Treymane, I’m worried about Mama. Uncle George just brought us news of Amelia’s death. The ship went down before they ever reached Jamaica.”

“Oh Beth girl, I’m sorry to hear that. It must have been quite a shock for her and you too, of course.”

“I’m all right for now, but Mama has stopped talking. I’ve got her in bed, but she is just lying there with her eyes closed. She refuses to say anything.”

“Well, let’s go up and have a look.”

After examining Katherine, the doctor motioned to Elizabeth to follow him into the hall. “Your mother is going to be all right, Beth. It will just take time for her to adjust to the loss. The best medicine I can prescribe for her is you. Don’t come to the hospital for a few days. Stay here where you can be of help. I’m leaving a sleeping potion that you will mix with water. Give her some now and then again tomorrow if she becomes agitated. It will help her sleep, and that right now is the best thing for her.” 

Elizabeth took the packet of powder from Dr. Treymane as he explained the dosage. 

Elizabeth spent the night on the chaise next to her mother’s bed. Her sleep was fitful and interrupted whenever Katherine moved. The morning brought bright sun, and it was well after seven before Katherine stirred. 

Elizabeth rang for tea and hot muffins hoping her mother would be able to eat something. Katherine had slept now for more than sixteen hours. Her system would require nourishment.

“How are you, Mama?” 

“Oh Beth, Amelia’s dead, she’s dead,”

“I know, Mama. It is sad, but we must try to be brave.”

“What time is it, Beth? Has your father returned yet?” 

“No, Mama, it’s early morning; Papa will be here this afternoon; Wooten will pick him up at three.”

“I don’t want to see him.” Katherine struggled to sit up.

“It’s all right, Mama, just lay back now. Uncle George and Aunt Hannah are going to be here to tell Papa when he comes home. Tilda has brought some tea and muffins. Won’t you try and eat a little something?”

Katherine attempted a few bites but could not swallow the muffin. She drank some tea, then handed the cup to Elizabeth, sank back on the pillows, and closed her eyes.

Katherine retreated into a world of her own. She answered when spoken to but did not start conversations. She showed total indifference toward Hubert. How he had taken the death of Amelia, she did not know, nor did she care. She vaguely remembered Hubert being in her room, but whether he spoke or what he might have said did not register.

ii.

As time passed, she was able to get up each morning, dress, have breakfast, and write the many thank you notes to friends and acquaintances who had expressed their sympathies. She lunched with Beth, received callers, dined with Hubert and Elizabeth in the evening, then retired to her room.

The nights were the worst__because of the dream__it was like looking through a kaleidoscope –the sea was always present in changing patterns, but when she turned the tube, another body would be floating on the water. Amelia more often than anyone else, but Harry too could be seen. Her father and mother, her two dead sons, Michael, even Sam, haunted this nightmare. Once she woke up screaming, her body drenched in a cold sweat that brought Elizabeth running into her room to calm and reassure her. Gradually spring arrived, and her interest in the life around her began to open up like the buds that had formed on the trees waiting for nature to bring them into full foliage.

She was grateful for the mourning period that was a principle in Victorian mores. She did not have to entertain, nor did she need to accept invitations from Hubert’s circle of friends. Her vitality was at a low ebb, and this quiet interlude allowed her to regain some perspective. The place in her heart that Amelia occupied was there, but the numbness subsided__the dreams less vivid and less often. For that, she thanked God.

i.

She awakened earlier than usual. Unable to will herself back to sleep, she put on a robe and went downstairs. Hubert was already at the sideboard in the dining room, helping himself to eggs and sausages.

“Good Morning, Katherine; it’s a little early for you, isn’t it?”

“Good Morning Hubert. Yes, I suppose it is, but I couldn’t get back to sleep, so I may as well be up and about.”

She took a muffin from the warmer and poured herself a cup of coffee. She hadn’t been drinking the beverage very long, but she quickly acquired a taste for it. There was something about the rich brown brew, topped with heavy cream in the morning that gave her the necessary momentum for the day. She walked to the table with her plate and cup and sat down.

“Elizabeth was just leaving when I came down this morning,” Hubert said. “What on God’s Green Earth does she do that is so important that she has to be out of the house at this hour?”

“I imagine she is wanted at the hospital, Hubert.” 

“It’s demeaning for a girl in her station of life to be working, and it casts a terrible light on me.” 

“Hubert, she does charity work, something all of us should do. It should make us appreciate what we have even more.”

“I disagree, Katherine. It’s one thing to be charitable, but quite another to spend your life at it. This is going to have to stop. I won’t have my daughter spending all her time in an institution, where God knows what does on, to say nothing of the exposure to diseases.”

She remained silent. She would talk to Elizabeth. Perhaps something could be arranged so she could spend more time at home.

“Well, I must be off. I have an early appointment this morning,” Hubert said as he pushed back his chair from the table. “Wooten is bringing the carriage around now. I shall expect Elizabeth to dine with us this evening. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Hubert, it is understood.”

Ever since Amelia’s death, Elizabeth had made it a point to have lunch with her. She looked forward to a break in her day to spend a quiet hour with her daughter. St. Giles was not far away, and Rufus would escort her back and forth. Early mornings she would ride double with Rufus on the mare. At the luncheon hour, Rufus returned to pick her up in the light buggy. With Dr. Treymane’s influence at St Giles, Beth need not be in attendance from noon until two o’clock.

As the clock approached noon, Catherine went downstairs to see about luncheon. Chef Jean-Claude had prepared a hearty soup of beans and ham to be served with crusty yeast rolls. Katherine never ate soup without thinking of Sam and his expertise with oxtail and barley. It saddened her to remember what was never to be.

Katherine forgot the past as the two of them sat down to eat. “How are things going at St. Giles?” 

“They’re just the same Mama, too many patients and not enough help. I’m only glad I can be of some help.”

Beth was not the confidante that Amelia was. She kept a great deal to herself, much like her father in that respect, although Beth would have resented it if Katherine had said so.

“Beth, Love, your father and I talked this morning, and it is only fair that I tell you he is becoming more adamant in his feelings about you spending so much time at St. Giles.”

“Mama, I love the work. I’m doing something worthwhile with my life. Can’t Papa understand that?”

“No Love, he can’t. He feels it’s debasing him. He has a highly regarded position to uphold. To him, your social obligations should come first, as befits your title. You’ve become so engrossed with your work you hardly even ride anymore.”

“My social obligations? God’s Glove. I’m sorry, Mama, but sometimes Papa makes me so angry. He is so wrapped up in his business and his influential friends that he never sees the other side of the coin. If I wanted to play Lady of the manor, I would. I do not enjoy frivolity for frivolity’s sake. It’s pointless. I’m sorry if I have hurt you, but that is the way I feel.”

“Believe me, Beth, I can understand how you feel. I would help you if I could, but I am bound by twenty years of marriage to that frivolity. Times are changing, and perhaps if my life had been different, I could have changed too. Your father, however, will remain true to his class at all costs. He does not understand nor will he accept anything but his judgment in all matters of this family.”

“Oh Mama, what am I going to do?” 

“Beth, you must restrict your time at the hospital. If you don’t, your father is going to forbid you to go at all. You are still only fifteen.” Katherine could see Beth forming a protest. “I know you are soon to be sixteen, but you are still your father’s ward. If you persist, he can see to it that your services at the hospital are terminated. You don’t want that, I know.” Leaning forward over the table, Katherine implored, “Face the inevitable, Beth. For once, don’t fight it.”

Elizabeth knew she was beaten and grudgingly accepted defeat.

ii.

Elizabeth managed a compromise that Hubert accepted. She now went to St. Giles only in the morning, where she stayed until one o’clock.

Katherine was selfishly happy. The two of them shopped, made calls, drove through the Park, or received callers. She tried to find different things that would arouse Elizabeth’s interest. Most times, it was a lost cause. 

Elizabeth’s availability soon spread through their circle of friends. More often than not, she declined the invitations sent to her, except when her cousins were doing the entertaining. Hubert would bring young men from London society or his office for dinner, hoping that Elizabeth would show some interest. She was always polite but remained distant. 

Elizabeth returned to her riding, and it soon became her predominant interest, with Rufus as her only companion.

iii.

In early September, she began noticing a change in Elizabeth. It was nothing that she could readily identify. Beth was subdued and silent a good deal of the time. She questioned Beth on several occasions, but Beth would not confide in her and insisted that everything was alright.

Riding with Rufus was almost a daily ritual. That handsome young man, now twenty-one, was becoming Beth’s central focus. She was disturbed by the gradually increasing influence Rufus seemed to have in Elizabeth’s life. The cauldron of uneasiness and confusion boiled over late in December.

Elizabeth was late in returning from St. Giles. She had Jean-Claude keep their luncheon warm. Any delay in serving his masterpieces always disgruntled Chef__today was no exception. She refused to be served until Lady Elizabeth arrived. Being paid a good salary and reluctant to argue with the Lady of the house, Jean-Claude acquiesced.

She finally heard the buggy stopping at the front of the house and wondered if Beth was again going to defy her father. She hoped not. Hubert was still a formidable figure.

When Elizabeth entered, she noted an almost ethereal aura about her__pale and calm.

”Beth Love,” she asked, “where have you been? I’ve been worried about you. You are almost two hours late.” 

“I know, Mama, and I’m sorry to have worried you. There is something you must know, and it will explain my lateness. I’m not hungry. Can we have tea in your sitting room?” 

“Of course, Beth.”

Elizabeth walked to the fireplace and stood over the flames, warming her hands. Turning, she faced her mother and said, “Can we wait, Mama, until Mary gets back? I don’t think I’ll be able to talk if we are interrupted.”

“Beth, Love, you are very mysterious, but of course, we shall wait if that’s what you want.”

The two of them, wordless, stood facing each other, the silence between them a dark shadow of ominous tidings. When Mary had placed the tea service on the table and left the room, Elizabeth shut the door.

“The reason I was late, Mama, was because I had Dr. Treymane examine me before I came home.”

“Oh, Beth Love, are you all right, are you ill, what’s the matter with you?” 

“I’m not exactly ill, Mama. It depends on how you look at it. I’m going to have a child!”

“Oh my God, Beth, no.” She dropped Elizabeth’s hand and staggered to the sofa, cupping her hands over her ears as though she thought by not hearing it, it would not be. She raised her head and looked directly into Beth’s eyes__“Rufus?”

“Yes, Mama, we love each other, and we are going to get married.”

It took several minutes for the enormity of what Elizabeth had told her to register. She knew the attachment Elizabeth had for Rufus but never dreamt it would come to this. On the other hand, she knew in her soul that the two of them thrown together could lead to a compromising situation. She finally said, “Beth, in the cabinet over there is the wine. I think each of us could use a glass.”

Elizabeth took two glasses and poured the wine. She handed one to her mother, who reached out for it eagerly.

“Please sit down, Beth. It’s difficult to talk to you when you are hovering.”

When Elizabeth had settled herself, she began. “Beth, what you have told me just now grieves me deeply. I am disappointed that you would allow this to happen. I feel that, in some way, I am to blame. Since Amelia’s death, I have not watched over you as I should. If I had, perhaps this could have been avoided; however, looking backward would not be the solution to the problem. I do not condone what has happened, but in fairness, I can see how it happened. The repercussions are going to be deafening, and when I say that, I mean your father. I cannot speak for him, but I am sure he will be furious, and the first thing he will do is dismiss Rufus from this household. Have you considered the consequences of this, Beth?”

“I know Papa is not going to understand, but Mama, we do love each other, and that’s all that matters. We shall manage. Rufus is very good with animals, and he shall be able to support the child and me, I know.”

“Does anyone else know of your pregnancy, Beth?”

“When I first suspected, Rufus was going to write to his mother and father, but I asked him to wait until after I was certain, so I don’t think anyone else knows about it, except for Dr. Treymane.”

“Oh, Beth, Love, I don’t know what we are going to do. The first thing will be telling your father, and then I don’t know what will happen. How I wish I had never brought Rufus to London.”

They decided that they would say nothing until after the holiday. The following afternoon, New Year’s Day, she had planned an open house for close friends and family. Usually, the invitations would encompass many people but, concerned about proper decorum during this mourning period; she decided to keep the gathering small.

Percy Overton and his wife, along with Charlie and Crystal, had already come and gone. John and Kitty Osbourne, good friends from next door, were leaving as Hannah, George and Maybelle arrived. After Frederick had taken their wraps, Hannah, always one to get to the heart of the matter, approached her and asked, “Are you all right, Katherine. You are so pale. Is anything the matter?”

“No, Hannah, I’m fine; it’s that I’m a little uneasy about entertaining before proper respect is shown Amelia.”

“Don’t feel that way, Katherine, for all we know, the mourning period could be over. We don’t know exactly when Amelia drowned.”

The tears welled up__tears for her daughter that was no more and tears for the daughter whose secret she carried.

Hannah, realizing she had been cruel without meaning to, took Katherine in her arms and apologized for being so insensitive. “Have Louise and Martin been here yet?”

“No, but I’m sure they will be.”

“Katherine, one thing I detest about married daughters is that you have to share them with the in-laws. I’m so grateful you asked George, Maybelle, and me to stay for dinner. It would be a lonely day except for you.”

“It would be lonely for us too, Hannah. I’m glad you can stay. Now, let’s stop all this nonsense and mingle with the rest of the people here, shall we?”

The afternoon wore on forever, and the dinner that evening, despite the New Year, was subdued. It seemed each person sitting at the table had thoughts that were not to be shared.

i.

The twelfth day of Christmas passed, and she knew that Elizabeth’s news could no longer be ignored. She did not understand how Hubert could not see the change in his daughter, but then family matters rarely came into his field of perception. When Elizabeth came home that afternoon, she said, “Beth Love, we haven’t spoken of it since you told me about the child, but we can no longer escape the inevitable. We must tell your father.”

“I know you are right, Mama, but it’s going to be very unpleasant. I’m not concerned about myself, but you are going to have to bear Papa’s anger.”

“Don’t worry about me, Love, I shall be all right. It’s you I’m thinking about.”

“Mama, Rufus wants to be here when I tell Papa.”

“No, Beth, that’s the last thing we should inflict on your father. I admire Rufus’s courage, but can’t you see what effect that would have on father? This is going to be difficult enough without adding complications. I hesitate to think what your father would do if Rufus were here. No, we should tell him alone.”

That evening after dinner, which only Hubert enjoyed, Elizabeth spoke to her father. “Papa, may I speak with you in the library? I have something to tell you. I want Mama to be there too, please.”

“Can’t you tell me now?”

“No, Papa, what I have to say is private.”

“Very well then, we may as well talk now and get it over with.”

The three of them walked across the hall to the library. It wasn’t a large room. Hubert’s law books lined the walls, which gave the room an atmosphere of sobriety. 

“Now, what’s this all about?” Hubert asked as he extracted a cigar from the humidor. 

“Papa, I plan to be married.”

“I didn’t realize you were serious about anyone. Who is the gentleman?”

“Rufus Tupper, Papa.”

The color drained from Hubert’s face. “I forbid it. No daughter of mine will marry the hired help.”

“Papa, I’m going to have a child. We love each other, and we are going to be married.”

“What are you saying? Have you lost your mind? How could you allow a thing like this to happen? Did you know about this, Katherine?”

“Yes, Hubert, I did. Beth told me a few days ago after Dr. Treymane confirmed the pregnancy.”

“Well, she shan’t have it. Steps will be taken.” Turning back to Elizabeth, he thundered, “I’ll send you up to Scotland.”

Elizabeth, standing perfectly straight, looked directly into her father’s eyes. “Papa, I am going to marry Rufus, and I am going to have this child.”

“Tupper, that unmitigated bastard, I’ll have him horsewhipped and jailed!”

The two bright red spots on Elizabeth’s cheeks were the only indication of her agitation. She again spoke quietly. “No, Papa, you will not. I am going to be married. There shall be no bastards in my family.”

The implication of that last statement was clear. She could see Hubert’s fists clench, with one hand still holding the unlighted cigar. For a moment, she thought Hubert might physically attack his daughter. She made a move to step between the two of them.

Hubert pushed her aside and spoke. “Very well, Mrs. Tupper, you shall be married, but you will leave this house and never return. Is that understood? You will have no contact whatsoever with your mother or myself. We shall have no further interest in your life or your whereabouts. Furthermore, if I ever lay my eyes on that son of a bitch again, I shall kill him on the spot.”

For the first time, Elizabeth’s lower lip quivered, but she regained her composure and replied, “Very well, Papa, if that is the way you feel.” Turning sharply, she left the room.

Katherine was crushed. She never dreamed the outcome would be like this. “Please don’t do this, Hubert, I beg you!”

“It’s all your fault. If that damned Tupper hadn’t been employed here, none of this would have happened. I hope you are satisfied. I shall never forgive you for what you have put me through tonight. It will be a long time before I can hold up my head again in this city.”

The castigation did not penetrate; her thoughts were only of Elizabeth and what Elizabeth would do. She had to see her one more time before she left the house, so she backed away and left the library.

She knocked gently on Elizabeth’s door and waited until she was asked to enter. Elizabeth was packing a portmanteau.” Oh Beth, I never thought it would be like this.”

Elizabeth took her mother in her arms and held her tightly. Each tried to reassure the other. When she could finally speak, she asked, “What are you going to do?”

“Tonight, Rufus and I are going to spend the night with his brother, Harvey. He works for Percy Overton, remember? We could not impose on him for very long because I’m sure Papa would have Mr. Overton dismiss Harvey if he knew. Don’t worry, Mama, it will be all right. I have money that I have saved, and I still have the money that Uncle Sam left me. We shall be fine until Rufus is established.”

“Beth, I don’t have very much I can give you, but I want you to take what I have. I cannot disobey your father, but I want you to know that I love you very much.”

“I love you too, Mama. Now don’t fret, please. We shall be fine. Do you know I’m happier now than I have ever been in my life? You needn’t worry about me. You’ll hear from me, I promise.” 

“Oh God, Beth, I wish things had turned out differently. What am I going to do without you?” 

“Mama, you will have all you can do to live with Papa. Your life isn’t going to be easy either, you know!”

“I don’t care about that, Beth; you are my concern.”

“Mama look, I’m happy, be happy with me. Frederick is bringing up my trunk. After I pack it, would you send it on to Carlie? It’s the only way I know of outwitting Papa until we know for sure where we’ll be.”

“Of course, Love.”

“Mama, I want you to leave now. Please, no tears, because regardless of what happens, I love you, and nothing will change that. Be happy if you can and remember I love you no matter what.”

Heartbroken, she nodded. The longer they stayed together, the more difficult the parting would be. For what could be the last time, she embraced her daughter and prayed that God would be kind to her.

i.

The family sided with Hubert when the news of Elizabeth’s departure became known. Only Christopher showed concern for her well-being, but his position at Portman’s Imports was still not solidified. Hubert could be a powerful force in shaping his future, so Katherine did not blame him for not openly picking up the gauntlet for Elizabeth.

Through Christopher, Elizabeth informed her that she was married and now living in Devon with Carlie and Billy. She was grateful to Christopher, as he understood what hearing from Elizabeth meant to her.

The house was cold and empty, silent as a tomb. The servants tiptoed about their chores. All conversations took place in the back parlor or the kitchen, where they had their privacy.

She moved through the house in a state of indifference. The void of Elizabeth’s absence lay heavily on her heart. Visitors no longer paid courtesy calls, and as she had not made any effort to call, her contact with the outside world became limited.

Hubert was spending more time in Cornwall, leaving his cases with his associates. When he was home, he spoke only when necessary and then in the presence of the servants. He was determined that the staff should not be presumptuous enough to assume that discord reigned in his household. She smiled to herself as she thought of this. Servants were like sponges; they absorbed and retained all looks, whispers, innuendoes, and any hint of a change in routine. They had a second sense in all matters of internal household affairs. She could imagine the speculation and gossip that went on in their quarters.

ii.

By early summer, the state of affairs had reached such proportions that even her apathy was affected. One evening, forcing herself to eat a solitary dinner, she decided to change the course of her life. She had been ruminating on the step she was about to take for some time. When she had finished her meal, she retired to her room and wrote a letter to Timothy Colburn requesting an appointment.

Four days later, she had her reply. Mr. Colburn would welcome her presence at three o’clock on Friday next.

Shortly after lunch on the appointed Friday, she had one of the stable hands seek out a hack. Wooten would not be involved; thus, she would not jeopardize his position. Besides, it was best that her destination not be known.

When she arrived at Colburn’s office, she was surprised to see a young woman sitting behind a desk in the waiting room. She gave her name, and the young woman went through a door and closed it. Shortly after that, she came back and told Katherine that Mr. Colburn would see her immediately.

When she entered the inner office, Timothy Colburn quickly moved around the side of his desk to assist her into a chair.

“Lady Portman, this is the first time we have met. It is indeed a pleasure,” as he bent to kiss her gloved hand. “Won’t you sit down?”

Timothy Colburn was different from what she imagined. He was tall, slim, and fashionably dressed. She couldn’t help but think that he couldn’t have been practicing the law very long before Sam engaged him.

“Would you like a glass of wine Lady Portman? I find that sometimes a good sherry makes discussing business easier.”

“Yes, I would. It’s very kind of you.”

Colburn went to a side cabinet and produced glasses and a decanter. He poured the wine, handed one to Katherine and the other he took with him to his desk. “Now, Lady Portman, how can I assist you?”

“Mr. Colburn, what I have to say is in the utmost confidence. You must understand that.” 

“Lady Portman, anything said in this office is not discussed outside, nor is it open for public examination at any time. You have my word.”

“Thank you for that assurance, Mr. Colburn. Eleven years ago, Sam Portman gave me some startling news. He informed me that his cash assets had been put in my name through you at the Bank of England. Is that correct?”

“Indeed it is Lady Portman. I can tell you that you are a very wealthy woman in your own right.”

“Very well, Mr. Colburn. I have three things that I want you to do for me, and again this is strictly between us. Sam said I could trust you completely.”

“Before we continue, Lady Portman, let me tell you how I became acquainted with Sam. I was a young lad and a dock worker for the old Barton firm, and Sam was manager. For some reason, Sam decided to take me under his wing. He put me through school, and he saw to it that my family was provided for while I was away. Everything you see here I owe to Sam Portman.”

“I’m embarrassed, Mr. Colburn. I don’t know quite how to continue.”

“Lady Portman, please do not concern yourself. I only told you the facts about Sam so that you would trust me to do whatever I can for you.”

“Thank you, Mr. Colburn. I am relieved. I want to send two thousand five hundred pounds to my daughter in Devon. I shall send you her name and address. The second is more difficult, and I shall need your advice along with your help.” Clearing her throat and taking a swallow from the wine glass, she continued. “I have decided to leave London, and the move will be a permanent one. I shall require a small house and staff. The house must be purchased anonymously, for my husband could demand his marital rights and confiscate it.”

“This is a serious thing you are planning. Have you given the matter deep thought?”

“Mr. Colburn, for some time now, I have thought of nothing else. Can you help me?”

“I’ll do what I can, of course.”

“Thank you, Mr. Colburn. Thank you.” 

“Now, before we begin with the specifics, I suggest you tell me where you plan to settle.”

“I cannot stay in England. At first, I thought of Rome or the south of France. However, sooner or later, I would be bound to run into friends. Do you know anything about Greece, Mr. Colburn? “

“Only that it is was considered the forerunner of civilization as we now know it and that its climate is agreeable most of the year.”

“I think I should like that.”

“Well, then, would you like me to make inquiries about purchasing a house for you there? I have a good friend who lives in Piraeus. I’m sure he would do me the favor of seeking out what you want. You have the means to restore and make livable any building he would find suitable.”

“I would be most appreciative, Mr. Colburn.”

“You realize, Lady Portman, that this is going to take time. Are you going to be all right until the preparations are final?”

“Yes, of course, Mr. Colburn, the decision I have made does not affect my physical well-being, only my mental and spiritual state.”

“Lady Portman, you said there were three things to discuss; I completely overlooked the third. Can you tell me what it is?”

“Mr. Colburn, is it possible to have the funds that Sam left me transferred to Greece? I should not like to have communications between myself and the Bank of England after I leave the country.”

“Lady Portman, it’s not only possible, but I recommend it. I shall send your letter of credit to Athens as soon as we know where you will be located. I have authority to dispense your funds.”

The next hour was spent going over the specifics as Timothy Colburn called them. It was nearly five o’clock when she closed the door to Timothy Colburn’s office.

iii.

The rain was coming down in sheets when she boarded the boat train to Dover on that cold November evening. She was somber as she thought about the step she had taken. She was no longer Lady Portman. For the rest of her life, she would be known as Mrs. Martin Richard, a merger of her maiden name and the name of her dead son.

Left behind at Tottenham Court Road were twenty-one years of memories and a letter to Hubert explaining her departure and expressing her desire that he does not seek her out. Her thoughts about leaving Elizabeth were mixed. She knew that she had a granddaughter and that she would miss the joys of being a grandmother. Elizabeth herself had no misgivings—Elizabeth was a survivor—she would get the most out of life.

The train jerked into motion as she mused, “I have made my bed, and I must lie in it, but surely it will not be as hard as the one I left.”

Eleanor Marie was born to August George "Gus" Schneider and Marie Schraeder in Detroit, Michigan, in 1923. She and her brother Gordon, who was eight years her senior, grew up on the West side of Detroit, where they lived until about 1938.

Her Grandfather George Schneider purchased three acres in Warren, Michigan, where he hoped one day to live. Father Gus, his brothers, and son Gordon built the farm home there.

After George's death, she and her parents moved into the house, where she returned with her husband after her parents' deaths.

Eleanor served in the Marine Corps during WWII at Marine Corps Air Station, El Toro, Santa Ana, California, and Hawaii. Her work experience at the U. S. Post Office before joining the Marines led to a continuation of similar duties during the three years she spent with the military. After the war, she met and married the love of her life, Donald Cockerline. They had one son, Thomas.

Sadly, the unexpected deaths—first her brother Gordon in 1962—then husband Donald in 1968— may have sparked this chronicle.

The nudge from sister-in-law Enid, and her fascination with Emily's life, helped her cope during those difficult years.

Eleanor was an avid reader who wrote poetry, music, and prose. This series of four books was a major project, and I know she would be thrilled to know you were reading it in its published form.

The second of four books in the chronicle — On My Mother's Side — was typed on a WWII-era Remington portable. In the decade of the 70s, this was Eleanor's project.

In 2010, Eleanor handed us a large cardboard box containing four manuscripts. We brought them home to Washington State__scanned and converted them with OCR software. This gave us text files that were spell-checked and error-checked against the original manuscript. We were careful to correct spelling and grammar errors without changing meaning or intent.

Eleanore said, ”There was an Elizabeth, Kevin, kids, farm life, and Lake of the Woods; what transpired there is true fiction; I just put a little pepper in the pot for flavor."

In Book One, Katherine was coerced into marriage and lived an uncomfortable and unfulfilling life with Sir Hubert Portman. She finally broke free and escaped to Greece, where her story ended.

Elizabeth was banned from the Portman household after her affair with the stablehand, Rufus Tupper. The pregnancy produced our Book 3 protagonist, Jane.

In Book Two, Elizabeth's adventure takes her across the Atlantic to Canada. This book has nearly double the words of any of the other books in the chronicle. Elizabeth may have been Eleanor's favorite character or a more story-worthy life for Eleanor, the writer. We can only speculate.

Like the other three books, Elizabeth's story is from her perspective. As Eleanor described the book — there is a little more truth and a little less fiction.

Supporting characters are based on real people. The recollection of the characters, anecdotes, and events are those of the main character in the final book — the fictitiously named Emily.

There is an overlap of generations, events, and stories, but from the characters' unique perspective, resulting in the same tale from a different perspective.

It is critical to read the books in sequence.

Telling stories in this manner is complicated but effective when done well.

The genre falls under the general heading of historical fiction, with a twist. Eleanor did not write the stories to deal with events but deal with the characters in that time.

Historical events and settings in the stories are accurate, and Eleanor did not have the internet.

Edited by William F. Stratton and Karen S. Schneider (Eleanor's niece)

i.

Her earliest recollections were of her mother, Katherine, and her sister, Amelia. Mama was gentle and loving but always seemed to have a lot on her mind. The main thing she remembered about Papa was that he didn't love her.

One evening early in December, Papa arrived home later than usual__after she and Amelia had changed into their bedclothes. Mama came upstairs to read them a story. After Mama left, she and Amelia whispered back and forth until Amelia was silent. Unable to sleep, she pushed the comforters away from her body and slid out of bed. Maybe Mama would read another story. She stepped into the hall. Voices became louder as she tip-toed down the stairs. As she got closer, she could hear Mama's and Papa's voices coming from the library. Her bare feet were silent on the cold floor. She could make out something about Hepsi and how she must leave because she was disgraced. Mama said Hepsi should go to Yorkshire or Cornwall. Papa told Mama he would take care of it. Realizing she would not be welcome, she backed away and headed back to her room. Besides, her feet were cold.

Lying there, she tried to imagine why Hepsi was disgraced. Sometimes Mama told her it was disgraceful when she went about with dirty hands and face, but Hepsi was never dirty. Unable to think of anything, she drifted off to sleep.

Two weeks later, Hepsi was gone. When she asked what had happened to Hepsi, Mama would only say that Hepsi had left to take care of an aunt in Cornwall. She did not say that she didn't think that was disgraceful at all.

i.

The day her grandfather died, she was in the stable helping Wooten feed the horses. Standing on a box at the front of each stall, she offered hands-full of oats to each horse. She loved the feeling as the horses nibbled the light brown seeds from her hand then gently nuzzled her hand, looking for more.

She saw Wooten go to the stable door and peer out. She jumped off the box and followed him. Up the gravel path beside the house came Carlie and Billy Tupper, driving Grandfather's light buggy. Standing at the stable door, she could not hear what was said, but she saw Carlie run into the house while Billy sat, head-down, in the buggy.

Wooten turned to her with a pained expression, "Lady Beth," he said as he walked toward her, "Carlie and Billy have brought bad news. Your grandfather has passed. Go into the house now and see to your mother."

The word "passed" she knew meant dead, and that brought to mind the puppy that lay beside the stable, his resting place grown over with cockscomb. She picked up her skirt and ran to the house. As soon as she entered, Mary stopped her and insisted she wash her hands and face.

"Let me go, Mary; I have to see Mama."

Mary recognized that determined look and did not persist. When she reached the sitting-room, she saw her mother sitting in the wing-back chair, Carlie holding her hand. Amelia crouched by the sofa. She moved to her mother's side, laid her head in her mother's lap, and began crying.

Mama stroked her hair and spoke, "Beth, Love, don't cry. God has taken Grandfather to be with Him. I'm sure that he is happier now than he has been in a very long time."

Raising her head to look at her mother, she was surprised to see no tears. She wondered why Grandfather's death did not bring tears.

"Beth, Love, for years, you and I have visited Grandfather. In all that time, he was not able to speak or move. Do you think he wanted that? I think he wanted to leave this place and travel on to a place where he could be at peace. Do you understand what I am saying?"

She recalled the man with white hair who lay unmoving in the large bed, his eyes wide and staring. She thought of her puppy that had not moved, resting in a place where he was loved and remembered. She supposed Grandfather would feel the same. She nodded.

Mama had brought her and Amelia to Grandfather's house to stay while Grandfather lay in-state. She wasn't sure what in-state was, but she remembered that Grandfather lay in a large wooden box called a coffin. People came and went past the box. On the third morning, a large glassed-in wagon, pulled by four black horses with black plumes fastened to their harnesses, pulled up in front of the house. Four men dressed in black, wearing tall black stovepipe hats, came to the door. Carlie showed them into the drawing-room. She peeked around the foyer archway and watched as they walked over to the coffin, closed the lid, picked it up, and carried it to the wagon.

Sitting in the first pew with Amelia and her parents, she looked about. Aunt Catherine was sobbing quietly into her handkerchief. The only other person who showed any emotion was cousin Martin who looked straight ahead, eyes glistening. Turning her head to look at the others who almost filled the church, she felt a sharp nudge in her ribs. Her father's dark eyes stared her into submission.

The frail man who stood in the pulpit droned on and on. She was about to nod off when a blast from the organ startled her. Looking about, she watched the four men she had seen earlier pick up the coffin and move down the aisle toward the narthex. Her mother and father followed the coffin. She and Amelia stepped in behind them with Aunt Catherine, Uncle Thomas, Michael, and Martin bringing up the rear.

Standing at the open grave, while once again the frail man spoke, she glanced up at her mother's face. For the first time since Carlie and Billy had brought her the news, her mother was crying. For some reason, she didn't understand; she felt happy.

ii.

That summer, the Portman house was quiet. Mama spent a great deal of time alone in her bedroom and sitting room. Papa was always off on business and usually returned after she and Amelia were in bed.

In the playroom, she and Amelia created their fantasy worlds. She liked to line up her dolls and stuffed animals on the sofa and treat them for various injuries and ailments. Most common were stomach complaints and broken bones. Torn arms, disjointed legs, or a cracked head represented injuries that needed mending, and stomach complaints were caused by the stuffing that fell from torn fabric that covered the body.

Amelia always seated her dolls on miniature chairs surrounding the miniature table and served tea, carrying on a doll conversation.

Sometimes Tilda would come up to the room with hot chocolate or tea laced with milk, and cinnamon toast or sweet biscuits. On these occasions, she suffered the indignity of conversing with Amelia's dolls. Amelia insisted that Elizabeth's patients were too ill to take nourishment at the table, the proper place to serve tea. The tiny china cups and saucers were filled, each doll with its service. The two of them managed to act out a play and consume what Tilda provided.

iii.

She was five and Amelia seven when Mama sent them off to Misses Farthingal's and Finch's Academy for Young Ladies. The school had three sections — the youngest section ages five through eight and the middle section ages nine through twelve. Most of the girl's ages thirteen through seventeen found the school boring. They persuaded their parents that they had reached the limit of what Misses Farthingal & Finch had to offer.

She hated the school and didn't like the girls in her class. Farthingal's & Finch's considered good manners, deportment, and social graces the first requirements of good breeding. Still, parents insisted that the fundamentals of reading, mathematics, history, and French be incorporated into the curriculum. The only thing that kept her from total rebellion was her desire to learn to read and write.

iv.

When England entered the Crimean War in March of 1854, Mama became concerned about her favorite cousin, Michael. Mama explained that Michael's regiment was called up, and he was on his way to the Crimean Peninsula. Each night Mama made her and Amelia pray for his safekeeping. The semantics of war was beyond her comprehension, but she sensed that Michael was in danger and if by praying she could help Mama or Michael, she would pray. Aunt Catherine, Michael's mother, was constantly in tears. She avoided Aunt Catherine whenever she could.

That summer brought the exploits of a remarkable young woman__Miss Florence Nightingale. With thirty-seven of her cohorts, she entered the fray to care for the suffering of the wounded serving in Her Majesty's Forces. She could hardly wait for Papa to bring home the newspapers to learn more about this woman. She wished she were older so that she could go there to help Miss Nightingale.

Papa said that the tide was turning after the Battle of Balaclava. Still, all was not well. In November, Uncle Thomas and Aunt Catherine received notice that Michael had been killed. Mama stayed in her room for several days, saying that she did not want to inflict her sorrow on the rest of the family.

v.

Hard on the heels of Michael's death came the news of Uncle Sam's death. She never really knew her Uncle but recalled that he was a nice man and was not like Papa. He spoke softly. Whenever the family was together, usually at Aunt Hannah's, he would allow her to sit on his lap and play with the large gold watch he kept tucked away in his waistcoat pocket. He seldom visited them, but then Papa was more inclined to entertain his friends than his own family.

Papa acted gloomy after Uncle Sam's death, while Mama cried for a long time. She thought her Uncle must have been a lonely man. He had no wife or children. Perhaps that was why Mama was so sad. After the funeral, Mama told her and Amelia that Uncle Sam had left them each a small amount of money. Papa would put it in the bank for them, so they could take it out when they needed it.

vi.

Farthingal's & Finch's Academy for Young Ladies was boring. She learned to read, write, and figure, but at age nine, she discovered an even more important thing —the meaning of disgraced. One day, in the school dining room, her friend, Patsy, whispered to her, "Beth, did you hear about Martha Gilchrist?"

With her mouth full of pudding, she could only safely shake her head.

"Well, Martha is going to have a baby."

She swallowed quickly, "How do you know?"

"I was outside Miss Finch's office, and the door wasn't closed tightly. I heard Miss Finch tell Miss Petty that Martha was disgraced. She was going to have a baby, and she wasn't married."

"I feel sorry for her," she said.

"I don't," replied Patsy, and with a voice of authority added, "Nice girls don't behave that way."

"What way?" she asked, her curiosity aroused.

"I don't know. I know they don't have babies before they are married."

She still felt sorry for Martha Gilchrist. She felt sorry for Fiepsi, too, alone in Cornwall with a baby and disgraced.

i.

In August, she would be ten years old, and when Mama asked what she would like on her birthday, the first thing that popped into her head was a pony.

"Beth, Love, I don't think Papa would agree to that, perhaps when you are older."

The only other thing that she could think of was a trip to the seashore. Patsy Locke was going to Blackpool; in fact, she was there now with her family.

"That might be fun, Beth. I'll have to ask your father about it. He may not be able to get away from his work long enough to accompany us."

"I'd be happy if Papa didn't come. Mama. Why can't we go alone?"

"We shall ask Papa tonight when he comes home."

ii.

"A trip at this time is impossible, Katherine."

"Hubert, if we left on Saturday afternoon, you could escort us there, and either Christopher or Martin could bring us back."

"It seems like a great deal of trouble for a week at the shore."

"This will be Elizabeth's birthday present, and it would be good to get away for a short time."

"We have time to think about it. Where would you plan to go? Brighton?"

"No Hubert, not Brighton, perhaps Bournemouth or Margate, whichever would be easiest to acquire accommodations."

"Very well, I will see what I can do."

When she learned that Papa had agreed to the excursion, she was happy. The fact that Papa would not be able to stay with them pleased her even more. She hoped that her favorite cousin Christopher would be the one to bring them home. He made her laugh.

Three days before her birthday, on a beautiful Saturday afternoon, they boarded the train for Bournemouth. The travel cases were packed, and resting at the top of the neatly folded clothes were the fabulous bathing costumes Mrs. Farber had made — identical, with matching caps.

Papa made arrangements in a private boarding house. He felt that it was inappropriate for unescorted women to stay in a hotel.

Papa managed to arrange for four seats together in the crowded train. He would return to London on the Sunday morning train. She was thrilled with her first train ride. The panorama of green fields slipping by fascinated her. Mama and Papa nodded off, but the occasional bump on the rails brought a reflexive jerk to their heads before they settled back to the soothing rhythm of the train. Amelia was buried in a book. Seeking an adventure, she went to the door of the compartment. She beckoned for Amelia to follow, but Amelia frowned and shook her head.

Sliding the compartment door to one side, she stepped into the narrow corridor. At the end of the coach stood a tank filled with drinking water. A metal ladle hung alongside, attached by a chain. Even though she wasn't particularly thirsty, the fascination of the convenience drew her to the tank. She found no revulsion in using the ladle that hundreds of others had used before her. Dipping a small amount of water into the ladle, she took a sip and was disappointed to find the water tepid and stale. She hesitated at the coach door, looking across the open space to the coach ahead. Should she dare to proceed any further? Suddenly a hand closed on her shoulder. Turning quickly to face her adversary, she gazed up into the face of her father. His black eyes flashed in anger.

"Be kind enough to return to your compartment immediately, young lady."

"Yes, Papa."

Mama's expression showed concern. Amelia did not look up from her book, which gave her a clue that Amelia had told on her. Papa was angry, but she acknowledged her guilt, which restored the compartment's atmosphere to normal. However, Mama no longer tried to nap. The train pulled into the Bournemouth Station at dusk. Papa insisted that they wait in the compartment until he could find a hack to take them to "Manners by the Sea."

The house was large, square, and weather-beaten. It was not opulent, but true to its name; it faced the Sea. A large veranda surrounded the house, with chairs for the residents' comfort and relaxation. Lamps were alight when they arrived. Papa twisted the brass knob on the door, and I heard a faint ring. A uniformed maid answered his summons and ushered them into a large hall where they waited while she fetched Mrs. Manners. A woman dressed in a light green frock protected by an apron approached, "Sir Hubert Portman? I am Mrs. Manners. Welcome."

"Mrs. Manners, this is my wife, Lady Katherine, and these are my daughters. Lady Amelia and Lady Elizabeth. They will be staying with you until Friday."

"Of course, Sir Hubert, we are very pleased to have you. I understand that you will be spending the night and returning to London in the morning. A wise choice, as weekend travel is becoming congested. Mattie will show you to your rooms. We serve dinner at seven."

Mattie struggled with three of the cases while Papa picked up his own. Mattie put the bags down at the first door, took out a key, and inserted it into the lock. "Please wait here while I light a lamp. It is dark as the drapes are closed. I shall only be a moment."

It was a small room but pleasantly decorated, and it faced the Sea. Mattie opened the window, and the breeze billowed the curtains. A double bed sat against the wall. A commode holding a pitcher and washbasin sat against the opposite wall, along with a tall narrow chifferobe. Across from the bed was a door that connected to an adjoining room. Mattie opened it and repeated the process of lighting a lamp. "I'll bring hot water right away. The water-closet is at the end of the hall."

After dinner, Papa went out on the veranda to smoke his cigar. Mama, she, and Amelia went upstairs to unpack. As soon as they had laid away their clothes, Mama insisted that they prepare for bed. Lying between the cool sheets, listening to the waves break on the shore, she had trouble falling asleep. Amelia had dropped off almost immediately and was faintly snoring. The air sometimes expelled through her nose and then her mouth. The sound of the waves crashing on the shore finally lulled her to sleep.

The first sound was that of screeching seagulls. The room was bright, and the air crisp and fresh. She had no idea of the time, but Amelia had begun to twitch, and that meant she too would soon awaken. She slipped from the bed and went to the window. White-capped waves were expending their energy on the gray sand that stretched along the shore. Fascinated with the panorama before her, she barely heard the tap on the door before Mama entered. "Oh, Beth, you are awake. Papa is going to have to leave soon. He doesn't want us to see him off at the station, but we shall all have breakfast together."

Amelia sat upright in the bed and asked, "What time is it, Mama?"

"It's almost eight o'clock, Melie, and if you want to have breakfast with Papa, you must hurry. The train leaves at nine-thirty."

Amelia slipped out of bed and stood before the mirror above the commode. "What shall I wear. Mama?"

"I suggest you wear a light frock this morning, and we can decide later what is proper for the beach."

At five minutes past nine, Hubert was at the front door bidding goodbye and instructing Mrs. Manners on what he expected. Mrs. Manners assured him that his family would be well cared for, as were all her guests. As the hack started down the road, she and Mama went into the house. Amelia stood on the veranda, waving to the disappearing figure who neither waved nor looked back.

iii.

Her tenth birthday dawned bright and breezy. Mama rented a carriage, and they went to Poole, the neighboring town in Dorset. They ate at a lovely little inn at lunchtime above the cove where they could look down on the Sea and the town. The food, she thought, was particularly delicious. By the time they reached Manners, Mama was tired, but she agreed that they could attend the evening concert in Bournemouth Square if they took a short nap.

She noticed a pimply-faced boy sitting two seats away who kept glancing over at Amelia at the concert. The slight flush that burnished Amelia's cheeks indicated she had seen her admirer. She leaned forward and, staring at the boy, crossed her eyes and stuck out her tongue. The lad immediately lowered himself in his seat and stared straight ahead. After the concert was over, weaving their way out of the crowd. Mama stopped at a concession stand and bought each of them a grape ice. Sucking on the wonderful concoction, they strolled back to Manners by the Sea. She could not have been happier.

The following days were filled with carefree exploration. Mama sat on the veranda talking with other guests while she and Amelia took off their shoes and stockings and danced about in the waves along the beach. She was disappointed that there were no girls her age staying here. Still, Amelia was willing to go along with her on most expeditions. Mama prohibited them from wandering about alone. She suspected that Amelia went along to keep an eye on her and report back to Mama. Amelia could be quite a stick.

They rented a watering wagon on three occasions. The first time was frightening. Mama and Amelia squealed as the swaying wagon made its way into the Sea. The wagon-man, shouting to be heard, insisted that there was nothing to fear. When they stopped, the wagon-man knocked on the door.

"Here ye be, ladies. I'll lower the canvas and unhitch the team and take them back. When the tide rises to the third step, I'll be back for ye. If ye have trouble or want to come in sooner, raise the red flag, and I'll come. Have a good time."

The rusty metal hinges screeched as Mama closed the door. The wagon-man clucked to his horses, and soon the rattling of the harness and bridle could no longer be heard.

"Well," she said, "I'm going to put on my costume and go outside."

"My goodness," said Mama, blushing. "I feel rather wicked with so few clothes on."

"You look, lovely Mama," Amelia volunteered as she pushed her hair under her cap.

After they'd hung their clothes — their shoes and stockings on the bench — Mama said, "Well, shall we brave the ocean? We could call ourselves the Nina, the Pinta, and the Santa Maria like Columbus' three ships starting on a voyage."

Amelia said with a smile, "Oh Mama, you're so funny."

She joined in with, "I think I'd rather be Lord Nelson."

Mama opened the door, and in single file, they went down the steps.

Lord Nelson was leading. Ducking her head, she got her first full view of the Atlantic Ocean. Several other wagons were there, abandoned to the whim of the tide. She lowered her body into the cool water, waded out several feet, and waited while a wave approached. Not accustomed to sea bathing, she came up sputtering. Looking eastward, she could see another wave coming, and this time she was more prepared for it. She bobbed up and over the swell, reveling in the exhilaration of being high above the sand. When her feet settled once more on the sandy bottom, she looked to the wagon. Amelia was clinging to the canopy, and only Mama's feet were visible on the first step of the wagon. Shouting to Amelia, she again took the crest of a wave. Squealing in fear and excitement, Amelia made her way to Elizabeth.

By the third time, even Mama was riding the waves. They were a soggy lot when the wagon man towed them back to the beach. Still, somehow everyone who enjoyed bathing looked the same, so they didn't experience any embarrassment.

The days floated one into the other, each day unique. The ocean held so many mysteries that she wished she could stay forever to learn them. Too soon, Friday morning arrived. The packing signaled preparation for their return to London. The seashells and oddly worn wood debris gathered from the shore, still wrapped in kelp blankets, were carefully put in the cases to be looked at later — to rekindle fond memories. Papa wrote that Christopher would be on the morning train and accompany them back to the city.

"Oh Mama," she exclaimed, "I wish we needn't go home. This has been so much fun."

"I know, Love; we've had a wonderful time, but your father needs us and, who knows, perhaps we'll be able to come again."

Christopher arrived in time for lunch. After they had eaten, Christopher reached over and gently yanked her hair, saying, "Come along, Birthday Girl, let's take a walk before we get on that train. I need to stretch my legs."

Pleased at his attention, she asked to be excused, and she and Christopher headed for the beach. They didn't remove their shoes but walked outside the perimeter of breaking waves where the sand was solid and not too wet.

"Well, Beth, how did you enjoy your holiday?"

"Oh, Chris, it was just wonderful. I wish we could stay forever."

"You wouldn't think so if bad weather had decided to descend upon you. Winter months along the coast are quite disagreeable."

"Yes, but we've had such a good time, and without Papa to correct or scold us, it was as though we were like birds flying free."

"Beth, I can only say that most of us wish to be free and to do as we please, but few of us can. We are responsible for our actions. Do you understand? You will have to accept that Sir Hubert Portman is your father, and his attitude is strict where his family is concerned. He believes he is doing what is right."

"Oh, Chris, I wouldn't mind his being strict with us if he loved us."

"Nonsense, come along. I'll race you back to Mrs. Manners, and the one who loses has to carry the luggage to the hack."

i.

She slowly opened her eyes to the sun streaming through her window. She was twelve years old today. Lying quietly, she could hear the occasional clang of pot or pan from the kitchen below. She slipped from her bed, put on her robe and slippers, and moved to the door. Everything was quiet as she made her way down the back stairs to the kitchen.

Chef Jean-Claude was bent over the stove, concentrating on a dish that would please Papa. Tilda and Mary were busy peeling potatoes at the service table. When they heard her, they both glanced up.

Tilda greeted her with a big grin. “Happy Birthday, Lady Beth.”

“Thank you, Tilda.”

“Me too. Lady Beth,” responded Mary, her eyes sparkling and her fingers fluttering over the half-peeled potato.

“Thank you too, Mary.”

Jean-Claude, immune to emotion except for those he created, said nothing. He continued to stir the pot in front of him.

“Shall I fix you a cup of tea, Lady Beth?” queried Tilda.

“Yes, I’d like that. I guess I’m the first person up. Everybody is so quiet.”

“Oh no, miss,” Mary volunteered. “Your Uncle George was here early this morning.”

Tilda’s cough and frown brought silence, and Mary concentrated once more on the potato in her hand.

“I wonder what Uncle George was doing here?”

Tilda set the cup and saucer down and reached for the tea-pot. “Lady Beth, it’s going to be a lovely day for you and quite a celebration too. The family will all be here for dinner.”

“I suppose so, Tilda, but I wish we were in Bournemouth.”

“Don’t fret, Lady Beth; you will have a wonderful time, and Bournemouth will still be there.”

She was busy munching a buttered scone and drinking her tea when Mama entered the kitchen from the front hall.

“Beth, Love, happy birthday.” Mama strode to her, clasped her arms around her, and kissed her properly on the cheek.

“Thank you. Mama.”

“Everyone seems busy being busy,” she thought.

Mama took her cup of tea into the dining room to join Papa. She did not wish to encounter her father, so she finished her tea and returned to her room.

Amelia was struggling into a petticoat when she entered their bedroom.

“Happy Birthday Beth.”

Amelia grasped the garment’s waist tightly to her body and came over to give her a sisterly kiss on the cheek.

“Thank you, Melie. That seems to be the word I’m using most this morning. Everyone has been so kind.”

“Did you see Papa?”

“No, I decided to wait until this evening. When the house is full, he seems more at ease.”

“Oh Beth, you shouldn’t say things like that.”

“I can’t help it, Melie. Papa and I are on opposite ends of the pole. If I stay out of his way, he seems happier.”

“That’s not true, Beth.”

Still hanging on to the petticoat, Amelia walked over to her dresser, opened a drawer, took out a small package wrapped in gay paper, tied with a ribbon, and handed it to her. “This is for you, Beth. I made it myself.”

Inside the package were two carefully folded handkerchiefs, each monogrammed with an ‘E’__edges surrounded by delicate Irish lace.

“Oh Melie, I’m not going to be able to blow my nose with these. They are much too beautiful. Thank you.”

Blushing, Amelia became engrossed in fastening her petticoat.

ii.

At four o’clock Uncle George and Christopher arrived in Uncle George’s buggy. They drove to the stables, got out, and went inside.

Watching from a window at the back of the house, she was puzzled. Uncle George seldom came to the house. When they came out of the stable, Uncle George’s arm was on Chris’ shoulder, and they were smiling at each other.

She hastily made her way down the back stairs and out into the garden toward the stable. Uncle George stretched out his hand and wished her a happy birthday. Chris opened his arms, raised her off the ground, and swung her around twice before setting her down.

“Well,” said Uncle George, “how does it feel to be a real grown-up lady now?”

“I don’t know Uncle George, I’ve only been one for a short time, and I’m afraid I’m not very good at it yet!”

“Don’t you worry, Beth, you’ll be fine.”

Looking at Christopher, Uncle George raised an eyebrow and tilted his head toward the stable. Christopher grinned and nodded, and both of them took her by the hand and headed for the stable.

“Beth I hope you’ll like what your Aunt Hannah and I got you for your birthday. It was Wooten who put the bug in my ear, and I decided it was the perfect gift.”

Her heart beat a little faster, and she stepped up her pace to the stable door, hardly able to hope what the surprise might be. In the last stall, next to the granary, Wooten’s head and shoulders could be seen above the separation boards briskly rubbing down the stall’s occupant.

“There you are, Elizabeth,” said Uncle George. “Wooten is grooming your present now.”

She rushed to the stall. There was the most beautiful horse she had ever seen. The russet chestnut coat gleamed. There was a white blaze on its forehead, and both forelegs wore white stockings.

Jumping up and down, then rushing into the stall, she reached for the horse’s muzzle to stroke it.

“What’s her name. Uncle George?”

“I think perhaps you ought to name her since she is your horse.”

“She’s so beautiful —I shall call her Beauty.” Turning to Wooten, she asked, “Oh Wooten, would you lift me please?”

“Well Lady Beth, I don’t think your Mama would approve, what with wearing that dress and all, but maybe we’ll just keep it a secret.”

iii.

It took some coaxing to get her out of the stable so that she could bathe and dress for dinner.

After dinner that evening, the family gathered in the drawing-room, and each one presented their gift. One large box rested in the corner, and with the other presents opened, Christopher hauled it forward.

“This is from me, Beth; I hope you like it.”

Struggling with the heavy cord, she managed to open the box. Inside lay a beautiful saddle with all the trappings. Embossed in gold on the rear left side were her initials, EP.

Christopher was almost toppled to the floor as she turned to hug him.

With a harrumph, Papa said, “For goodness sake Elizabeth, that is no way for a lady to act.”

“I’m sorry, Papa, but I’m so happy. This is my best birthday ever.”

She looked about the room at all her relatives, smiled, and said in a ladylike fashion, “I wish to thank you all for the lovely gifts.”

Everyone was basking in the glow of her happiness when Papa, with another harrumph, spoke, “I can’t say that I approve of a horse; however, what’s done is done. Your mother and I have had a riding costume made for you.”

She ran to her mother to kiss her. She turned to her father to repeat the process, only to have him turn his head aside. The gesture of affection turned out to be a peck somewhere in the area of his ear.

iv.

She spent the remaining weeks in the stable. Wooten led her up and down the gravel drive between the outbuildings and Tottenham Court. As her confidence grew, so did her ability. Beauty’s affinity with her owner and general good nature combined to help her become a good rider in a short time. The first week in September, Wooten felt she was ready to make her first public appearance astride a horse. Traveling the bridle paths through Kensington Gardens with Wooten following a half-length behind on Molly, one of the carriage horses was the highlight of her young life.

School was tolerated, not enjoyed. She resented every moment spent away from Beauty. Wooten’s job was to care for the animals, but she made it her business to attend to her horse’s needs. The only other outlet she had for her energies was her interest in medicine. Florence Nightingale had never left her mind. When Papa came down with a severe case of gout, her first thought was that she would be able to care for him. Papa was adamant that she was not to approach his room. Dr. Treymane, the physician who treated Papa, lifted her spirits when he suggested that she might be of help at St. Giles hospital.

v.

It was after her father’s recovery that Rufus Tupper entered her life. Entering the stable one afternoon, she was surprised to see a strange young man pitching hay into the stalls. She stepped into the aisle way and asked, “Who are you? What are you doing here?”

The young man jumped slightly, then turned to face a young girl who was bristling.

“I’m Rufus Tupper. I work here. Who are you?”

Her cheeks flushed as she replied, “I’m Lady Elizabeth Portman. Mama didn’t tell me you had arrived.”

“I arrived last evening. Wooten has kept me busy, so I haven’t been to the house.”

Her indignation was tempered by the realization of how handsome he was. At thirteen, she was well aware of the changes that had taken place in her body. She was near maturity. When this Rufus Tupper smiled at her, she could feel unfamiliar sensations running through her body. She was at a loss as to what to do about it.

Rufus tried to pass over the awkward moment by pointing to the last stall and asking, “Is that your horse there, Miss?”

At the mention of Beauty, she quickly moved toward the stall. “Yes, that’s Beauty, and beautiful she is, isn’t she?”

“I’d say you have a mighty fine filly there. Do you ride often?”

“As often as I can, but sometimes Wooten is too busy, and then I just come out here to keep her company. Papa forbids me to ride alone.”

“He’s quite right; you never can tell what might happen. Maybe I’ll be able to ride with you sometime. I take after my Pa; horses are all I understand.”

They talked for several minutes about the care and feeding of horses. When Wooten entered the stable leading the team, she knew Papa was home, and if she didn’t want to invite his displeasure, she must get ready for dinner.

“I’ve got to go now, Rufus, but I’ll see you tomorrow. I’ll ask Mama’s permission for you to ride with me.”

That night, she had trouble going to sleep. Her mind filled with thoughts of Rufus Tupper. He certainly was good-looking, although rough around the edges.

vi.

The rest of the summer was a delight. With Papa’s permission, she was allowed to ride with Rufus, who rode Papa’s aging gelding. Cantering in Rotten Row was commonplace, and she handled her horse expertly. Those rides garnered several side-long glances from the dandy’s who frequented it. Her strategy was to look straight ahead and ignore the stares. Rufus’ presence also discouraged any breach of good manners from the would-be swains. The best parts of her rides were when she and Rufus would turn off onto the bridle paths that crisscrossed the garden. Often they would dismount and, with reins in hand, walk the animals and talk. She shared her love of nursing and her volunteer service to Dr. Treymane and St. Giles when she turned fourteen. She related how much she disliked school and hoped that Mama would let her leave Misses Farthingal’s and Finch’s when she was fifteen.

Rufus was quiet and inclined to listen. When he did speak, it was about his family. He had a brother Harvey who Grandpa Martin had found employment for at Overton’s Lumber. Harvey and his wife had three children. Then there was Amy, married and living in Glasgow. Brothers Peter and Joshua migrated to Canada. Terrence died in the Crimean War. The family was scattered but stayed in contact. The few acres Ma and Pa purchased in Devon would not support more than a few head of cattle and some chickens. Pa’s expertise with horses soon found him in demand at neighboring farms. The prestige this afforded did a great deal to alleviate his feeling of dying on the vine. At almost sixty, he was busy and happy. Rufus’ greatest joy was when he accompanied Pa on trips to neighboring farms. He, too, had an affinity with horses. As he grew older, he and Billy would confer on procedures or treatments. If there was a disagreement regarding care, it didn’t matter whether he or his father was correct; there was always some grain of wisdom. Ma managed to keep her house meticulous and spent a great deal of time between her vegetable garden and the flowers that abounded in the colorful array all about the cottage.

i.

The kitchen was a beehive of activity. Papa was going to be home for dinner tonight. She slipped up the back stairs to change her clothes. The bedroom was empty. The book lying on the window seat was evidence that Amelia must be out of the house. Amelia almost always had a book in her hand; to leave one behind meant that wherever she was off to, reading wouldn’t be considered proper. She stepped back out into the hall, looked into her mother’s bedroom and sitting room, and found both of them empty. Unbuttoning her jacket as she went back to her room, she guessed that Mama and Amelia were out shopping or making calls.

Pouring cool water into the basin on the commode, she set about making her toilette in preparation for dinner. With the last button on her gown fastened, she decided to write to Dr. Treymane, as she had plenty of time before dinner. She was almost fourteen, and he had said to let him know when she could help him at St. Giles.

Looking for paper and a pen neb, she entered the small room that Papa used from time to time when working on a case at home. The desk, almost centered in the room, loomed large and formidable. Here, Papa kept all his papers and important documents, like bankbooks, bills to be paid, receipts, and household accounts. The contents of the desk were sacrosanct and not to be disturbed. Most of the time, the side drawers were locked.

She walked to the desk, seated herself in Papa’s chair, and carefully opened the middle drawer. It was a jumble of sheets of paper, sealing wax, sand, and the family seal, all in disuse since the postage stamp and envelope had taken over as the mode of delivering letters. Feeling about the drawer seeking a pen neb, her hand brushed against a book tucked away in the back of the drawer. Her curiosity overcame her fear of discovery, and she drew it into view. It was a small ledger. Leaving the drawer open, she placed it at the bottom of the drawer. She thumbed through the first few pages titled Hepzibah Morse. They contained lists showing rent, food, and clothing expenses. She knew her father and mother had agreed to care for Hepsi; however, as she turned to the next page, her heart began to pound. There on the top line was the name James Morse, and in parenthesis was the name Portman. The birth date was July 8, 1852. Listed beneath the name were deposits for clothing, tutoring, and additional money in his name in a Cornwall bank. The next page read: Robert Morse (Portman), born October 30, 1853, with a similar expense list. Quickly closing the book, she pushed it back into the corner of the drawer and covered it with papers, hoping that Papa wouldn’t notice someone had been snooping. She brushed by Frederick in the hall and, without speaking, hurried to the sanctuary of her room.

She had no idea how long she spent sorting out the jumble of thoughts. First came anger at Papa, then sadness when she thought of Mama. She had half-brothers that she would never know. She doubted that Hepsi deliberately planned this association; Papa had probably taken advantage of Hepsi. She was sure Mama knew of the alliance, and if she desired to ignore it, her knowledge of the affair would only cause distress. To whom could she talk? Amelia would refuse to believe it. Aunt Catherine would throw up her hands and faint. Aunt Hannah, like Amelia, would doubt any misdeeds by her brother. Uncle Thomas was hopeless; he would merely shrug his shoulders, mumble something and reach for the wine glass. Uncle George would listen, but his position would be neutral. Chris, she could talk to Chris. Then she paused; Chris would think nothing of a liaison between Papa and a servant. It was a common practice among the gentry to bed the help__a hazard that a female servant, especially an attractive one, accepted. Need for employment out-weighed the risks. No, she could not confide in Chris. She realized this would remain a secret. Those who knew had no reason to tell.

A few days later, she once more made her way to the library to pick up a sheet of writing paper. Her previous visit had ended so abruptly that she had forgotten. She opened the drawer and took out a sheet of paper. Before she closed the drawer, she reached back into the corner but did not feel the ledger.

ii.

When Dr. Trey mane’s answer arrived, she took it to the stables to share it with Rufus. She found him in the tack room, rubbing oils into her saddle. He looked up and smiled as she approached.

“Beth, it’s the first time I’ve seen you happy in two weeks. It must be good news.”

“I just received Dr. Treymane’s letter.”

“When do you start at St. Giles?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t opened it yet.”

“Why not? You’ve been on pins and needles for a week.”

“I wanted to read it with you.”

Her fingers trembled as she broke the seal on the envelope and extracted the letter. Clearing her throat, she proceeded to read aloud:

Dear Lady Elizabeth,

How happy I was to receive your letter of August 1 last. It pleased me to know that you would like to volunteer your services to St. Giles Hospital, a service much needed and often unheralded.

Because of your age, no steps can be taken regarding service at St. Giles until you have permission from both Sir Hubert and Lady Portman.

When I have their permission, I see no reason you should not become an asset to our hospital.

Your obedient servant, Roswell P. Treymane

She ran to Rufus and hugged him. After the initial excitement, the embrace became a moment of awkward tenderness.

Backing off, Rufus spoke, “I don’t know Beth, do you think Sir Hubert will agree to you working at St. Giles?”

“Papa wouldn’t say no, would he?”

“You know Sir Hubert, Beth. He is not an easy man to get along with. I think you’d best tell Lady Katherine first, and maybe she can push Sir Hubert into it.”

“I’m going to see Mama now. I do dearly want to work at St. Giles. Wish me luck, Rufus!”

“I wish you luck, Beth.”

She was beginning to feel a bit apprehensive. What had started as a triumph could quickly become a defeat; Mama must influence Papa and get him to sign the permission.

The kitchen was quiet as she entered. Mama was not there. The team was stabled; Mama couldn’t have gone far.

She went to her bedroom, where Amelia was reading. “Melie, where’s Mama?”

“She went next door to Osborn’s. She and Mrs. Osborn are planning some musical soiree to benefit St. Dunstan’s. Why?”

“I finally have my letter from Dr. Treymane, but I can’t go to St. Giles until Mama and Papa give their permission.”

“Oh Beth, I’m glad for you. It’s what you’ve always wanted to do.”

“I know, but I’m beginning to think perhaps Papa will not be eager for me to go to work.”

“I don’t think Papa will object Beth, after all, you’ll only be going on Saturdays for a few hours.”

“That’s just it, Melie; I am hoping to work full time until classes start at Farthingal’s & Finch’s. Lord, how I wish I could leave that place.”

“You better not let Papa hear you say that.”

“I know, but I have so much I want to do, and learning how to hold a teacup properly isn’t one of them!”

“Did you tell Rufus about your plans?”

“Yes, he was the one who suggested Papa might not approve.” Her cheeks flushed when she recalled what had happened in the tack room.

“What’s the matter?” Amelia asked, “You look funny. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, it’s nothing,” and before Amelia had the chance to delve further, she said, “I’m going downstairs to wait for Mama.”

She spent the next hour pacing from room to room. She was sitting on a dining room chair making intricate patterns on the table with her fingers when she heard the front door open. She thought Frederick must have exceptional hearing, for he was there to assist Mama almost before she entered.

Bounding out of the dining room, she started speaking before she had reached the entrance hall. “Mama, may I speak to you please?”

“Of course, Love, just let me get my gloves and bonnet off. Now then, Beth, what is it you want to talk about?” Katherine asked as she walked to the drawing-room.

“Mama, I have Dr. Treymane’s letter accepting me at St. Giles.”

“That’s what you’ve hoped for, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Mama, only you and Papa must give your permission.”

“I don’t think that there will be any difficulties.”

“But Mama, there may be difficulties. I want to work full time until classes start at the Academy.”

“That is something quite different. I don’t think your father would approve of such a proposal.”

“Mama, can’t you make Papa see that this is what I want to do?”

“Beth Love,” Katherine spoke, as she put her arm around her shoulder, “we don’t always get to do the things we like to do. Your father is very strict about what constitutes proper behavior in young ladies. You should know that. Heaven knows you’ve been reminded enough about it.”

“Please, Mama, please.”

“All right, Beth, I’ll try.”

“Thank you. Mama.”

The following two days were excruciatingly long as she waited for her father to return from a trip to Cornwall. These trips were referred to as business trips. She envied her half-brothers. They had a father who at least loved them. She and Amelia were crosses to be borne. She often wondered how her father acted toward his sons. Did he play with them? Did he take them on excursions throughout Cornwall? Were there picnics where he took off his coat and enjoyed the pleasure of being among his own with no distractions or need to maintain a position of respectable decorum? She had no way of knowing since she and Amelia had never experienced anything similar.

Papa had been home for three days and had just left for his offices when Mama knocked on her door. The smile on Mama’s face was all she needed to see. “Well, Love. Papa has agreed, but you must return to school when classes resume.”

i.

In her first few days at St. Giles, Elizabeth had mixed feelings about her future in the medical field. On her first day, she accompanied Sister Mary for a tour of the building. The Sister took her by the arm and led her out into the hall. “I’m Sister Mary Broom, Lady Elizabeth. Dr. Treymane speaks very highly of you.”

“Thank you. Sister,” she replied. “I’m a little nervous. I didn’t realize that St. Giles was so large.”

“Everyone coming into St. Giles is awed at first. It is large, but we like to think we have the best facilities in the City. In a few days, you will find yourself at home here. Our surgeons and physicians are the best. Now let me show you around.”

Following Sister Mary down a long corridor, she could feel her excitement mounting. Sister Mary stopped at the door marked Staff and pointed to the cubicles that filled the room.

“This is where our staff members prepare for work. Those with names above the cells are taken. Let’s go toward the end, and we’ll find one that isn’t marked.”

“Ah, here’s one, Lady Elizabeth; take your bonnet off and hang it up, and I’ll find a cover-all for you.”

Sister Mary went to a wooden cabinet, pulled out a garment, fluffed it, and handed it to her. It was an oversized apron. The bib covered her from shoulder to shoulder, held in place by cloth straps that crisscrossed. The bottom covered her gown and was fastened in the back by streamers.

“Now you look very efficient, I must say,” Sister Mary said. “Shall we have a look at the rest of the hospital?”

The first floor was filled with endless wards where the lower classes received their hospital care. The odor of feces, urine, and suppurating wounds elicited nausea.

The second floor was not as bad. One wing was devoted to private rooms reserved for the well-to-do. The sparsely furnished rooms were more comfortable and mostly empty. London’s upper class expected home treatment and nearly always received it. The gentry that needed care there were kept only for a time considered safe. Pest hole was a name attached to all hospitals. Although hospitals were striving to reduce pain and suffering, they still could not shake the image described by the phrase – went in whole and came out holy.

The other wing comprised the children’s ward and the lying-in ward. To act as a buffer from crying children and screaming women in labor, which the gentry felt it should not endure, was the Sisters quarters. These tiny rooms housed the dedicated women who kept the hospital operating. She could not help but wonder if she had made a mistake. Her dream was to help, but her reaction to her introduction to St. Giles was one of helplessness; and nausea. Sister Mary steered her to a bench to sit with her head between her knees.

“Are you feeling better, Lady Elizabeth?”

“Yes, thank you. I’m sorry to be such a nuisance.”

“Perhaps you ought to reconsider your decision to work here.”

“Oh no. Sister Mary, I’m not usually so faint-hearted. I shall be perfectly all right in a moment or two.”

“Well, I think you have had enough of St. Giles for today. If tomorrow you still feel you want to help, we will see you at nine o’clock. Do you remember the room you dressed in?”

“I believe so.”

“Here is the key to the door. Hang up your cover-all, and it will be ready for tomorrow morning. Leave the key with the Matron. Oh, and Lady Elizabeth, I suggest you wear darker clothes so that stains will not be as noticeable. I have some patients to care for, so will you excuse me, please?”

She nodded, and Sister Mary hurried off.

With some difficulty, she found her way to the dressing room. She sat for a moment on the bench in her cubicle. Taking a deep breath, she stood up, removed the cover-all, picked up her bonnet, and left the room. After locking the door, she made her way to the Matron’s office. She tapped lightly on the window and waited until the Matron motioned for her to enter.

“Well, Lady Elizabeth, shall we see you again?”

“I shall be here at nine o’clock in the morning,” she replied, with more tour de force than she felt. “Whom shall I report to?”

“Dr. Treymane and I decided because of your age; you will work in the children’s ward. If you are capable and willing, you’ll work in the women’s ward later. Report to Sister Alberta on the second floor in the morning.”

“Thank you, Matron. Here are Sister Mary’s keys.”

The Matron was still to have the last word. “That reminds me, Lady Elizabeth. You shall pick up the keys to the staff room here and return them to me. The same shall apply when you leave.”

It wasn’t until she was on the front steps of the hospital that she realized she had no way of getting home. Carriage traffic was heavy on the road, but she spied an empty cab before long and flagged it down.

Fifteen minutes past nine the next morning, she was on the second floor of St. Giles looking for Sister Alberta.

There was a bustle of activity__young women carrying empty breakfast trays, bedpans, and slop jars. They had either dedication or a desperate need for the small stipend they received for such disagreeable tasks. She spied Sister Mary coming out of one of the private rooms and hurried over to her.

“Good morning Sister Mary; I must report to Sister Alberta. Do you know where I can find her?”

“Good Morning Lady Elizabeth, and yes. Sister Alberta is in the children’s ward changing a dressing.”

“Thank you, Sister.”

Taking a deep breath, she pushed open the swinging door and entered the large room. Only one child in the room was crying, and it appeared that the cause of that distress was a woman bent over the cot.

“Sister Alberta?”

“Yes, what is it?”

“I’m Elizabeth Portman, Sister. I’ve come to help.”

“Help, is it? We shall see. This one spilled a pan of boiling water over his legs. I’m changing his dressing, and he doesn’t much like it. I can’t say that I blame him. Go to the other side of the bed and hold his arms, so he doesn’t thrash about.”

Startled by the brusqueness of the greeting, she moved to comply. As she bent down to take the child’s arms, she looked into the face of a boy of about fourteen, his black curly head whipping from side to side, eyes tightly closed against the pain.

“Lay still, you little bugger, or I’ll take the rest of your hide off,” Sister Alberta threatened.

She was about to protest, then thought better of it. She glanced down at the lower half of the boy’s exposed body. The sight of the male organ was shocking, and she could feel the oncoming flush. She focused further down to the two hands working over the boy’s thighs, encased in bandages. The outer layer of bandages had been removed, and the heavily stained dressings could be seen, dried, and stuck to the skin. Sister Alberta moistened a cloth from a pan of water. Gently she laid the fabric over the worst areas letting the wetness penetrate the surface to loosen the crusts. She removed the cloth, dampened it again, and applied it to the other leg. Leaving those to soak, she started the painstaking task of removing the last of the bandages.

“All right, girl, this is where you earn your salt. Hold him steady.”

Grasping the boy by the shoulders, Elizabeth pressed him to the cot. Sister Alberta’s fingers were like feathers, hardly touching the skin and gently coaxing the encrusted matter to part company with the burned tissue beneath. The first leg finished, Sister Alberta reversed positions at the cot. She crooned assurances to the boy while he continued to cry out. The removal of the last soiled dressing brought convulsive sobs as the boy sensed the worst was over. The sight of those poor limbs brought tears to her eyes. The healing process had started, but it would be a long time before the last of that ugly red mass would be gone. There was no doubt of scarring.

“Hand me that jar over there, girl,” Sister Alberta said, pointing to the stand.

She passed the jar. Again, those miraculous hands laid a coating of the ointment over the burned tissue and wrapped clean bandages over the affected areas. This time the boy only moaned. For the first time in forty-five minutes, she had an opportunity to study Sister Alberta. She was very tall and thin, with gray hair and steel-gray eyes, probably in her early forties. Impulsively, she asked, “Sister Alberta did you serve in Crimea?”

“I did. Now, who are you, and when did you begin service at St. Giles.”

“I’m Elizabeth Portman, Sister, and I started this morning.”

“You’ll do, girl, you’ll do.”

She blushed with pleasure.

The rest of the morning was spent in the children’s ward, changing bedding and emptying bedpans. Walking among the cribs and cots, she became acquainted with her young charges. Most of the children were in various recovery stages; however, there were one or two who would not leave. The most tragic case was lying in a crib, a baby girl who, horribly deformed, clung to life by a thread. Had she been born at home, there was little doubt that a compassionate mid-wife would have smothered her. Her head was abnormally large. Her arms were short, with hands that had only three developed fingers. Her legs were drawn up so that napkins could be placed under her tender bottom. Urine had created a rash on her stomach. She learned later that the mother had died giving birth and the father had fled and not returned after one look at his daughter.

ii.

The month passed quickly, and before she knew it, she had to return to school. Her initiative in doing something worthwhile with her life made her a celebrity among her classmates. They plagued her with questions. Many of the girls held a morbid fascination for the sick, but she refused to discuss her charges with them.

She continued to help at St. Giles on Saturday mornings, and the children were always eager to see her. One of the routines they enjoyed most was listening to stories. Taking their minds on wings of imagination gave them moments of reprieve from the stark realities of illness and hospital confinement.

As Christmas approached, Elizabeth asked her father if she might withdraw some of her savings from the bank to buy Christmas presents for the children at St. Giles. Hubert refused, reasoning that these funds were not for frivolous things. After church services the following Sunday, she and Rufus rode over to see Uncle George. Rufus waited with the horses while she walked up to the house; Maybelle answered her ring.

“It’s nice to see you, Maybelle. Is Uncle George at home?”

“Yes, Papa and Christopher are in the study going over some business.”

“Do you suppose I could see him, please? It’s important.”

“I guess so if it’s important/’ and Maybelle went off in the direction of the study.

She was nervously fingering her crop when Christopher came into the hall and greeted her with his usual hug and spin. “And how is Florence Nightingale Portman these days?”

“That’s what I want to talk to Uncle George about. You too, Chris if you like.”

“All right, come along.”

Uncle George was at his desk. When she entered, he smiled and said, “Whatever brings you here, and on a Sunday at that?”

Standing very straight in front of the desk, she extended her hands to the ends of the crop and said, “Uncle George have you bought my Christmas present yet?”

Abashed for a moment, Uncle George replied. “I don’t know, Beth; your Aunt Hannah takes care of those things. Why?”

“I need some money. I wanted to draw from my savings account, but Papa refused. I thought perhaps if you hadn’t bought anything for me yet, you might advance me the money instead.”

“Do you mind telling me what you need this money for Beth?”

“I’d like to buy some Christmas presents for the children at St. Giles, Uncle George. I thought a small gift for each of them would make them feel better over the holiday.”

“I see, and what amount do you think you would need to acquire these presents?”

She hesitated; she did not want to appear greedy, nor did she want to underestimate her need. “I was hoping it could be four pounds.”

Smiling, George cleared his throat, “Well, I don’t think that’s too much to ask for.” He looked up to Chris and continued, “What do you think about Portman Exports sponsoring the children’s Christmas at St. Giles, Chris?”

“Pa, that’s a wonderful idea.” Looking at her, Chris raised an eyebrow and said, “Unless you object, Beth.”

“Oh no, Chris, that’s wonderful. I’m so grateful. Thank you.”

“Beth,” Uncle George asked with a smile, “would you like us to guarantee a certain amount for the children at St. Giles each Christmas?”

“Would you do that, Uncle George? You have no idea how desperately those poor children need something to brighten their lives.”

“Of course we shall. Five pounds a year will be yours to spend as you see fit for as long as you feel it is needed.”

Laying the crop down, she ran around the desk to kiss him on the cheek. “You’ve made me and the children delighted Uncle George, thank you.”

“Beth, you are a very compassionate young woman, and I’m glad you are part of this family.”

iii.

On the Saturday before Christmas, Rufus helped her carry her packages up to the children’s ward. She smiled and handed out the gifts, admonishing them to wait until Christmas morning. As she came to the last crib, she saw that it was empty.

i.

Everyone in the house was excited about her presentation to the Queen, everyone that is except Elizabeth. She felt it was nonsense but something she would have to endure. After all, one did not ignore an invitation from the Queen. One positive thing was Papa’s good mood. She thought it might be a good time to ask Papa for permission to leave school.

The opportunity presented itself at breakfast three days before the presentation. “Papa, I’ll be 15 years old in three months, and I’d like to leave The Academy.” As soon as she spoke, she regretted her choice of words.

“What are you saying, Elizabeth?” Papa asked.

Grateful for a second chance to couch her request, she took a deep breath and continued. “Papa, I know you and Mama want the best for me, and I appreciate that, but I feel that I have learned all that Misses Farthingal & Finch can offer. I know my French could be better, but it would make me very happy if I could leave now. It would also save you the cost of my tuition .”

“Did you know about this, Katherine?”

“No, Hubert, I didn’t; however, I do know that Beth is unhappy at school. Perhaps it would be wise to let her leave.”

“I disagree. She is too young to have no direction in life other than to ride that horse.”

“Papa, my life does have direction. My work at St. Giles is very fulfilling, and I’d like to continue it.”

“Rot, what good is that, mucking around with sick people?”

“They are people who need help, Papa, and in a small way, I do help them.”

Papa placed his knife and fork across his empty plate with such a flourish that she knew he had made up his mind. “You will continue in school. I expect you to do your best until the end of the year. If your French has improved by that time, I shall consider your leaving Misses Farthingal’s & Finch’s at the Christmas holiday. Is that understood?”

She nodded her head, secretly pleased.

ii.

Meeting Queen Victoria was a thrill. The slightly obese lady in black welcomed her and asked about the family. It was an emotional experience.

After everyone had been presented, the Queen quietly left the garden and returned to her haven in the palace. The affair which followed was relaxed enough to place everyone at ease. She enjoyed the food, but the tittering girls grated on her nerves. She was relieved when a liveried footman announced the arrival of the carriages.

Wooten’s smile was an indication that he had reached a high point in his life. He had never come within a half-kilometer of Buckingham Palace. This was a day he would remember and be able to boast about to his friends.

iii.

The late summer of 1864 was unbearably warm. The fetid air and everpresent odor of sickness at St. Giles took its toll. The moans and groans welded themselves into the cacophony. Tempers had never been shorter nor endurance lower. She felt guilty when her workday was over. A cool tub awaited her while the sisters had no means of escaping. When their hours on the floor were over, there was still the boiling of bandages to be done, and the oppressive air of their quarters offered no relief. A blessed thunderstorm at last presented itself with flashing bolts of lightning. The wind whipped cool air about the halls of the hospital. It was a welcome gift for all.

iv.

For the first time in a month, Elizabeth had taken a day off. Because of the heat, she had not ridden, and Beauty was eager to run. With Rufus beside her on this beautiful clear morning, they started north, avoiding the paths. As they rode further away from the city, open fields with small farms became prevalent. They had ridden about fifteen kilometers when they came to a crossroad. Resting idly on the northwest corner was a charming inn with a sign above the door that read; HAVEN’S HELP.

“Let’s stop here, Rufus; we can get a cup of tea and rest the horses before we start back.”

“If you stick to tea Beth, all right. I don’t have enough money to pay for anything else.”

“Don’t be silly, Rufus. I’ve got money. We can have anything we like.”

“Beth, before you dismount, you need to understand this. I am going to pay for our refreshments. I can pay for the tea, and that is all.”

“Very well,” she replied as she slipped down from her saddle.

The inn was rustic; a large common room with fireplace__blackened timbers rested on the grate. Looking around, she could see a stairwell that led to sleeping quarters. It was only a moment before a rotund man in a soiled apron approached them to take their order.

“Two teas please,” Rufus said.

“Very good, Guvnur,” his host replied.

The tea was hot, strong, and tasty. Neither could think of a thing to say, and the silence became awkward. The innkeeper occasionally moved about behind the spirit counter, rattling a bottle or two. They soon finished their tea and were back to their horses. On the ride back, neither spoke. For the very first time, she was glad when they arrived back at Tottenham Court Road. Perhaps tonight at Aunt Hannah’s will be a distraction and take her mind off the tumult she had been experiencing.

The moment she shook the hand of Harry Haverill, she liked him. “First impressions are the basis of forming an opinion,” she thought. Her offer of a handshake seemed to surprise Harry, but he grasped her hand firmly and bowed slightly. As the evening progressed, she became aware of the attraction Harry had for Amelia. His eyes constantly followed Amelia, and when possible, he stood beside her.

The weeks that followed were busy. She had been transferred to the lying-in ward at St. Giles and was initially shocked at the difficulties of birthing but soon became accustomed to the procedures. Each birth gave her the satisfaction of contributing to the changing mores of her time. Hospital care was making gradual inroads on society, although it still dealt primarily with the less fortunate.

Her favorite people at St. Giles besides Dr. Treymane were Sister Mary Broom and Sister Alberta Gagley. Sister Mary worked the “lying-in ward,” while Sister Alberta was much in demand by the doctors throughout the hospital for assistance in surgery and post-operative care. On those occasions when no births were anticipated, Sister Alberta took her in hand and introduced her to a new world of medicine. There was so much to observe and learn that sometimes she thought she would never comprehend all that was needed to be an asset to St. Giles. Sister Alberta, gruff on the exterior, had a soft spot that encircled her heart, and the rapport with her patients was something to behold. If she could emulate anyone, it would be Sister Alberta.

v.

Her feelings about Amelia’s upcoming marriage were conflicted. She truly wanted Amelia’s happiness, and at the same time, she wanted to urge her to follow her heart, not Papa’s puffed-up ego. Elizabeth was happy that for once Amelia had taken a stand but disappointed that Amelia did not talk about Harry Haverill or her new life. If Melie had expectations, doubts, or even regrets, she never knew.-

Wedding preparations created turbulence at the house on Tottenham Court. She was excused from school until after the wedding. Aunt Hannah came over to help and ruled with an iron hand, like an Army Sergeant drilling recruits. Orders were issued to the staff, and orders were obeyed. Poor Aunt Catherine would have been better off at home entertaining her lady friends and drinking tea. She found the most amusement in the lack of communication between her aunts. Orders issued by Aunt Hannah were countermanded by Aunt Catherine, which would cause Aunt Hannah to throw up her hands in despair. She felt that it was only out of deference to Mama that Aunt Hannah did not bodily escort Aunt Catherine from the house and ask her not to return until the wedding day. After one such episode, she could not control her laughter. She laughed so hard that she had to sit down. Aunt Hannah, whose lack of humor was well known, took umbrage at her amusement and brusquely said, “Elizabeth, you are hopeless. Your presence here is not needed right now. Why don’t you take that horse of yours out for a ride?”

Still laughing, she got up, nodded agreement, and headed up the stairs to her bedroom to change clothes.

Since their ride to Haven’s Help, she had spent little time with Rufus, other than a short canter to Kensington Gardens or Hyde Park. She looked forward to a quiet afternoon. As she passed through the kitchen, she spied meat pies cooling on the counter. Picking up a large linen towel, she placed two of the pies in the center of the towel, tied a four-corner knot in the material, and continued to the stable.

Rufus was changing the straw in the stalls when she entered. Rufus quickly washed up, changed his clothes, and they were on their way.

“Rufus, that is a madhouse I just left,” she laughed as she told him about her aunts.

He grinned but said nothing. They rode silently for a few minutes, enjoying the colorful autumn foliage. The trees had started the yearly ritual of returning to earth the bright, brittle leaves that not too long ago had been green and moist. The road they were on soon narrowed into farming country. Crossing a narrow bridge, they found themselves following a stone wall that held grazing cattle.

“Rufus, it’s beautiful here. Let’s stop and have a bite. I filched two meat pies from under Chef’s nose. That will make them taste twice as good.”

They dismounted, leaving the horses to nibble through the leaves, searching out the green grass beneath. Rufus walked over to the wall and brushed the leaves from the surface. He lifted her and deposited her gently on the wall, then hoisted himself up beside her. She carefully untied the bundle, and there lay Jean-Claude’s meat pies. She handed one to Rufus while she took a bite from the other. The pies were cool, but the gravy still liquid, so when she broke the crust, the juices ran into her hand. Like a kitten at a milk dish, she quickly lapped up the drippings. Before taking another bite, she glanced at Rufus. She could see he was in the same predicament.

Rufus grinned at her, “The next time we do this, Beth, let’s just bring bread and cheese.”

“You’re right,” she giggled, “but somehow, I wouldn’t have missed taking these pies for the world. You know I have never liked Jean-Claude, but today I love him. Aren’t they delicious?”

“Indeed they are.”

Conversation stalled; they finished their meal in silence. With the last finger licked, they wiped hands and faces. Rufus broke the silence; “I think it best Beth if we start back. I need to finish the stalls, and tomorrow Wooten and I have to clean the tack room for our wedding drivers.”

With that, he jumped down and turned to face her, his arms open. The impact was not a jolting one, but each grasped the other, and she looked up into Rufus’ face to find him bending his head forward, seeking her lips. She responded. After an eternity, although only a few seconds, they drew apart.

“Bloody hell, Beth, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, Rufus; I wanted you to kiss me.” Nothing more was said as they rounded up the horses and rode back to Tottenham Road.

After Amelia’s wedding, which she thought was lovely, although somewhat stilted due to Amelia’s stiffness, her life once again revolved around St. Giles and school.

True to his word. Papa allowed her to leave Farthingal’s & Finch’s in December. It was good timing because the heavy load of caring for the sick and maimed allowed her to avoid thoughts of Rufus. She was in love and unable to deal with it. The cold weather limited their riding and, when they did, no reference was made to that earlier moment of affection.

i.

She was hurrying down the hall of St. Giles toward the supply closet to gather clean bandages when she spied the Matron coming toward her. As the gap between them closed, the Matron called out, “Lady Elizabeth, your groom is here to collect you. It seems there is a crisis at home.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know, Lady Elizabeth. I’m only telling you what the groom told me.”

She was removing her cover-all as she spoke. “I’m sorry, Matron, can you have someone get bandages and take them to Sister Alberta?”

“Of course,” the Matron replied. Her attitude had altered after observing the young woman’s dedication and skill.

She was still pulling on her gloves when she arrived at the Matron’s office where Rufus was waiting. Taking her elbow, Rufus steered her to the front entrance of the hospital. “WeTl have to ride double Beth. It was faster than harnessing up the buggy.”

“What’s happened, Rufus? Is something the matter with Mama?”

“I honestly don’t know Beth. Tilda came rushing into the tack room very excited, telling me to fetch you at once and telling Wooten to get Dr. Treymane.”

Papa’s gelding was tied at the rail. Riding astride without her regular habit would be uncomfortable, but she did not mind. Rufus pulled the gelding’s head around, and they started at a gallop for Tottenham Court Road. Grasping Rufus firmly about the middle, she hung on as they made their way back to the house.

“I’m frightened, Rufus, terrified.”

“Try not to be Beth; whatever is the matter, your Uncle George and Aunt Hannah are there.”

“Something has happened to Papa. Otherwise, Uncle George and Aunt Hannah wouldn’t be there.”

“Beth, calm down; don’t anticipate; you’ll find out soon enough.”

Rufus had hardly finished speaking before they drew up in front of the house. She twisted her body over the horse and, with skirts flying, landed on the ground. Frederick had the door open before she reached the top step. Brushing by him, she rushed into the drawing-room. The sight before her caused her heart to sink. Mama was in a state of shock, her face white and tear-streaked. Aunt Hannah, sitting beside her, was also weeping. She walked quickly over to her mother and took her in her arms. Looking up at Uncle George, she asked, “Is it Papa, Uncle George?”

“No, Beth, we just received word that Amelia and Harry have been lost at sea. Their ship never reached Jamaica.”

“Sweet Jesus,” was all that she was able to say as she pulled Mama closer.

The next few moments were taken up, discussing her father’s absence. She convinced Aunt Hannah and Uncle George that she could take care of Mama until Dr. Treymane arrived and they should return the next day to help when Papa had returned.

The doctor prescribed a sleeping potion which she prepared as soon as the doctor departed. When Mama was sleeping soundly, she went to her room. Amelia’s empty bed brought memories flooding back. Blinking back the tears, she took off her hospital clothes and put on a dressing gown. Going over to the dresser, she opened the top drawer to take out a handkerchief, and lying on top were the two lovely pieces of gauze, each monogrammed with an “E.” She lowered her head and sobbed quietly.

The household staff would have to be told of Amelia’s death. Mary was setting the kitchen table for the staff dinner, and Jean-Claude was at his usual place, bent over the stove. “Mary, would you get the rest of the staff and bring them here. I’m sure Tilda is in Mama’s room, but I have no idea where the rest of them are. I have something to tell you all.”

“Yes, my Lady,” and Mary scurried off.

“Jean-Claude, please do not plan any meal for us this evening. Mama is indisposed, and I shall take a snack here in the kitchen later.”

Jean-Claude’s expression meant that he had already started the evening meal preparation.

“Is the tea still hot? If it is. I’ll have a cup while I’m waiting.”

Jean-Claude took a sturdy mug from the cupboard, turned, and looked directly at her. “Amelie, est elle mort?”

She nodded and replied, “Oui, how did you know?”

Jean-Claude merely shrugged his shoulders and reached for the pot.

Mary returned with Tilda, Wooten, Frederick, and Rufus. Seeing them standing there waiting for her to speak, she could feel the tears welling up. Clearing her throat and struggling to keep her composure, she finally spoke, “The family has just received news that Lady Amelia and her husband have been lost at sea. I know all of you share our loss, and I thank you for your sympathy. We shall carry on as best we can. Please bear with us through this difficult time.”

When Sir Hubert arrived home the next afternoon, she was in the kitchen with Jean-Claude. She asked that he provide light food that would not interfere with the household schedule. His nod guaranteed his cooperation. Walking down the hall, she could hear Aunt Hannah speaking to Papa. “It was God’s will Hubert. We must accept it and not mourn too deeply.”

She stepped into the drawing-room where Papa stood at the mantle with his hand over his eyes. When he looked up and saw her, he asked, “How is your mother taking this Beth?”

“Very badly. Papa. She refuses to leave her bed and most of the time will not speak.”

“I see. I shall go up to see her now.”

She placed her hand on his arm and carefully chose her words. “Papa, you are tired from your trip, and Mama is exhausted. It would be best if you waited until tomorrow to see her. It will give you both more time to adjust to Amelia’s death.” At the mention of Amelia’s name, her voice cracked.

Aunt Hannah approached Papa and said softly, “She’s right, Hubert.

You are in no condition to see anyone. It’s best if you wait. Would it be easier if George and I had dinner with you this evening? Family can be a comfort, you know.”

She wanted to hug Aunt Hannah at that moment.

Papa nodded his head. “I shall go to my room and rest now, Beth. Tell Jean-Claude we will have dinner at seven.”

“Yes, Papa.”

The conversation at dinner was minimal. Her sole consolation was in not being left alone with Papa. Aunt Hannah and Uncle George’s presence was a welcome buffer.

She was not aware when Papa spoke to Mama. She found out from Tilda that he had gone into Mama’s room and asked to be left alone.

Three days passed, and Mama had not left her room. Elizabeth decided to take matters into her own hands. Seeing Mama in bed, pale and unmoving, she approached. “Mama, I want you to get out of this bed immediately. You will dress and have tea in your sitting room.”

Mama rose on her elbows and whispered, “I can’t.”

“Oh yes, you can. Amelia is dead. Nothing can change that, but we cannot go back; we must go forward, distasteful as that may seem.”

“Beth, Love, you don’t know what you are asking me to do.”

“Yes, I do. Mama. I resent you laying there feeling sorry for yourself when everyone else struggles to do their best in this saddest of times. In my whole life Mama, I never once thought that you would become another Aunt Catherine!” In the hall, she bit her lower lip to keep from crying.

She was still standing there when Tilda came rushing down the hall. “Lady Beth, Lady Katherine just rang for me.”

“Thank God, Tilda. I was beginning to wonder if I had done the right thing.”

ii.

The London papers carried the Indies Star story being lost along with its prominent passengers: Harry Haverill of Jamaica and his bride. Lady Amelia Portman. It seemed that callers arrived en masse at Tottenham Court Road to offer their condolences. Even Queen Victoria sent a note of sympathy.

Papa spent the mornings at his office but always managed to spend the afternoons receiving the queue of well-meaning friends. She could see the strain in her mother’s face and was grateful when Reverend Tisle suggested that it was time for a Memorial Service. It would finalize the deaths and end the need for any further visitors unless specifically invited.

iii.

St. Dunstan’s at ten o’clock was overflowing. The staff was invited to attend the services, and they were seated behind the family. Reverend Tisle gave a moving eulogy about Harry and Amelia that left no dry eye. It was a fitting farewell to her sister and brother-in-law.

The Portman and Martin families were the only ones invited to the house after the service. The staff had risen early that morning to prepare the noonday meal, and in some ways, it was a godsend that Jean-Claude had chosen not to attend the Memorial. During their absence, he had put the finishing touches on the meal. Papa went to the sideboard and drew out two bottles of Claret he had been saving for a special occasion.

She supposed it could be called a special occasion; what death wasn’t? Perhaps she was judging Papa too harshly. Amelia, after all, deserved the best. By two o’clock, the last guests had left, and Mama slowly climbed the stairs to lie down. Papa went into the library and closed the door. Tapping on Mama’s door a few minutes later, she waited until she was asked to enter. Tilda turned down the bedclothes while Mama stood in her chemise and shift waiting for Tilda to finish.

“Mama, would it be all right if I took Beauty out for a ride? I feel that I must get away for a short time.”

“Of course, Love, just dress warmly.”

“Thank you, Mama; I shall be back in time for tea.”

“I’ve asked Jean-Claude to make it simple for tonight, so if you are late getting back, don’t worry, something will be available. Right now, I could sleep through to morning.”

“Perhaps you should, Mama; this has been a hellish week.”

“Indeed it has.” Taking her hand. Mama pressed it to her cheek. “Thank you, Beth. Without you, I would not have survived.”

“Nonsense, Mama. We English are all bloody survivors.”

Her choice of words brought a frown but realizing what she had said, Katherine smiled and replied, “Perhaps you’re right.”

“I’ll see you later. Mama.”

She had alerted Rufus that she may be riding today, so Beauty and Colonel were saddled when she arrived at the stable. Rufus was nowhere in sight. Wooten was busy pulling out the dirty straw from the stalls.

“Where’s Rufus, Wooten?”

“He’s in his room, Lady Beth, putting on extra clothes, I think. It’s a might cold to be riding.”

“I suppose it is Wooten, but I’ve begun to feel like a caged animal.”

“Lady Beth,” Wooten spoke softly, as he came around to the front of the stalls, “There is nothing I wouldn’t do for you, and after this past week, there is no one in this household who doesn’t feel the same. You have been the steady hand that has guided us all. I’m sorry about Lady Amelia; we all are. What I’m trying to say is that all of us hope that Lady Amelia’s death will not sit too heavy on your heart.”

“Oh, Wooten, you are going to make me cry, and I have promised myself that I wouldn’t.”

“There’s nothing dishonest about tears, Lady Beth. I remember a young lass with a small pup; she had all the compassion in the world.”

The tears began to roll down her cheeks. Wooten took her in his muscular arms and patted her on the back. The pungent odor of sweat, stable, hay, and tobacco gave her a feeling of security. A few moments later, Rufus came in and asked, “Are you ready to ride. Lady Beth?”

“Yes, Rufus, let’s be on our way.”

The horses were eager to run and showed their enthusiasm as the riders gave them their head. Her talk with Wooten had been comforting, but her sense of loss still seemed overwhelming. Despite the exhilarating ride, the tears continued to flow. Rufus glanced over at her and noticed the tears. He quickly reined in Colonel as he grasped Beauty’s bit, bringing both animals to a halt. Jumping down from his mount, Rufus reached up to help her to the ground. With Rufus’ arms around her, suddenly the dam broke, and she began to sob uncontrollably. He stroked her back and arms trying the best way he knew to comfort her. When the tears finally stopped, she looked up. Gently he bent down and kissed her. “Beth, I love you.”

“Oh God, Rufus, do you know how long I have waited to hear you say that?”

“Beth, I’m wrong to say it now. We don’t have a future together. Our lives are so far apart. This is insane.”

“Love is never insane, Rufus. We can work it out.”

“Sir Hubert Portman is your father, Beth; it will never work out.”

“Hush now,” she said as she placed two fingers against his mouth. “Rufus, today has been both abject sorrow and glorious joy for me. I wept for Amelia just now, but my love for you is alive.”

“Bloody hell Beth, what are we going to do?”

“Nothing for now. I am not of age. We shall have to be careful not to let anyone see that we love each other. I shall be going back to St. Giles the first of the week. Our rides together are an accepted fact, and our times together shall be then.”

“I don’t like it, Beth. It’s deceitful.”

“Please, Rufus, it’s the only way.”

i.

Spring brought budding leaves and daffodils. Mama was functioning with the stiff upper lip of a determined Englishman. It came as a shock when Mama told her that Papa was unhappy with the amount of time she was spending at St. Giles. He was insisting that she shorten her hours or leave the hospital. If Papa had known what her duties were, she knew Papa would have made her leave months ago. She only spoke of her work in generalities, except for her time in the children’s ward. Perhaps St. Giles was taking advantage of her. She was the gem every jeweler searched for; flawless, genuine, brilliant, and many-faceted. She didn’t mind except that it left so little time for Rufus. Sundays and an occasional afternoon off were their only times together. Yet, she was forced to agree that half a loaf was better than none. Besides, there would be more time to spend with Rufus.

Mornings were devoted to St. Giles, and afternoons were spent with Mama or riding with Rufus. Except for the time with Rufus, her afternoons were near boredom. Mama tried hard to reach her, to help her adjust, and she tried her best to appear happy. Even Papa was attempting to bring some interest into her life by bringing young men to dinner, men who were acceptable in London society. She bore it without complaint. Rufus was bitterly jealous of these gentlemen callers, but nothing she could do except discourage them from calling again. She was sixteen and would not openly defy her parents.

When there wasn’t ample time for a long ride, Kensington, Hyde Park, or the Serpentine served mainly as a means of exercising the horses. When there were no pressures, they rode up to Haven’s Help or their favorite spot-the stone wall. Those days were heavenly, although they lacked privacy.

The long summer days grew shorter, and she found that each afternoon she spent with Rufus was becoming more difficult. Emotions were not easily disguised. Rufus was the one who fought hardest to maintain her innocence. It was a bittersweet time.

In early November, a day when the sun shone and the winds had died, she experienced an unfortunate occurrence at St. Giles. Dr.Carmichael had lost a patient in the women’s ward, a lovely young woman only two years older than her. The young woman’s husband was at her bedside when she sighed and closed her eyes for the last time. The poignant scene unnerved her, and she was glad when her tour of duty was over.

Waiting for Rufus to saddle Beauty and Colonel, she paced back and forth, eager to get away from the sorrow of death. They rode north without speaking, the horses frisky after the long interval of bad weather. Before they realized it, Haven’s Help loomed on the horizon.

“Would you like some tea, Beth?” Rufus asked as they approached the crossroad.

She nodded and headed Beauty to the inn. Their host greeted them hospitably, urging them to sit and be comfortable while he prepared their tea.

“Beth, what’s the matter?” Rufus asked as they seated themselves.

“Nothing Rufus.”

“Something has happened; you haven’t said a word since we started.”

The tears welled as she spoke. “Oh, Rufus, it was an awful morning. I had to watch a young girl die while her husband stood over her, unable to help. I kept thinking, what if that were me watching you on that bed. What would I do? It was horrible.”

“Beth, Beth, hush now,” Rufus said as he sat beside her. She was still crying when the innkeeper brought them their tea.

“Is there a place here where we could have some privacy, please?” Rufus asked.

“Yes, Guvnur, there be rooms up the steps. Not fancy but clean.”

The room they entered was small, but as the innkeeper had said, it was clean. “Please bring a brandy for the lady and a fresh cup of tea for me. I’ll settle up with you when we leave.”

“Very good Guvnur.”

“Please, Beth, please stop crying. It won’t help. What happened won’t happen to us, I promise.”

Her sobs had subsided to short gasps by the time the innkeeper returned. Taking the tray from his hands, Rufus thanked him and closed the door.

“Beth, drink this.”

She gasped, then slowly the warmth spread through her body, and she relaxed.

“Feeling better now?”

“Thank you, Rufus. I don’t know what got into me. I could not stop crying.”

“Bloody hell, Beth, you don’t know how you frighten me sometimes. I can deal with your ups and downs, but your feelings about things you cannot control give me the willies.”

“Oh, Rufus, I’m sorry. Please hold me for a moment. I shall be all right.”

Thus began her romance with Rufus Tupper.

There were a few minutes of embarrassment when she proved more inadequate than Rufus. He had the advantage over her, having been with a few local girls around Devon, who, if not polished in the art, had at least given him the rudiments of correct procedure, while she, completely ignorant, could only respond to Rufus with painful tenderness.

It was not good for either. Rufus had tried to be gentle. Her pain did little for ecstasy the poets wrote of, but the die was cast, and from this moment, they would cling to each other with loving understanding.

They were intimate on three more occasions, each more fulfilling than the last before winter forced abstinence. Together now meant short excursions to Kensington Gardens. It was during these times when they walked the animals that they made their plans.

“Next August, I shall be seventeen,” she said as she led Beauty along behind her. “Papa will object, but it won’t matter. We shall be married.”

“Beth, I wish I had your confidence. Your father will be furious. There’s no telling what he might do.”

“What can he do, Rufus? He’ll be angry, of course, and you will be discharged, but I’m not worried. You are so good with animals that we shan’t have to worry about money. Anyone in London would be lucky to have you!”

“Well and good, Beth, but have you considered what this would mean to your life in Tottenham Court?”

“Rufus, except for Mama, my life on Tottenham Court Road has been a sham from the day I was born. I have always known that Papa resented me. I don’t know why. Mama refuses to discuss it.”

“You imagine things, Beth. No father resents his daughter.”

“In my case Rufus, there is a reason, although I don’t suppose I’ll ever know what it is.”

In December, she missed her menstrual period, and mornings brought unfounded irritability. The odors at the hospital, which she had learned to accept, were becoming offensive and causing nausea. Months in the lying-in ward had taught her to recognize the symptoms of early pregnancy. She waited before saying anything to Rufus. By the third week, she could wait no longer. Thankful that Mama and Papa had accepted a dinner engagement at Lord Bolt’s that evening, she waited until the servants had gone to their quarters, then quietly let herself out the front door and walked to the tack room.

Rufus, are you here?”

“Beth?” Rufus answered as he came down the stairs carrying a lamp. “What are you doing here this time of night?”

“I have to talk to you, Rufus. It’s important.”

“All right, we’re alone for a time. Come up to my room.”

“I’m in trouble, Rufus. I’m going to have a baby.” Even in the dim light that the lamp cast, she could see his face pale.

“Are you certain, Beth? Could it be something else?”

“No, I’ve seen enough at St. Giles to recognize the symptoms.”

“Have you told Lady Katherine, Beth?”

“No, I want to be sure before I do. I’m going to see Dr. Treymane after Christmas for an examination; then I’ll tell Mama.”

Rufus leaned forward and took her hand in his, and whispered, “I’m sorry, Beth.”

“I am too, Rufus, but this hurries up our plans. It doesn’t change anything, does it?”

Seeing a question of doubt in her expression Rufus pulled her up from the bed and gently gathered her into his arms. “Beth, Love, don’t ever doubt me. What you see before you is a man who is worried that I won’t be able to care for you properly. I can’t give you what you have here.”

“I don’t want what I have here, Rufus; I want you.”

“Then we shall have to make the best of it. I’ll write to Pa and see if we can go up to Devon for a while.”

“No, Rufus, don’t write yet; wait until I know for sure. I’ll tell Mama first, and maybe she can help us, although I doubt that.”

The two of them stood holding each other, their thoughts on the uncertainty that lay ahead. The clock on the table softly chimed ten o’clock, and they drew apart.

“Oh, Rufus, I wish I could stay here with you tonight.”

“So do I love, but that’s impossible. You should leave now.

Sir Hubert and Lady Katherine will be home very soon, and the last thing I want is for Wooten to find you here; he’d skin me alive. Come along. I’ll see you back to the house.”

“No, hold the lamp until I’m down the stairs. I can manage. I slipped out the front door and left it unlatched — one kiss before I go.

ii.

Two days before the New Year, she sat in Dr. Treymane’s waiting room nervously picking at imaginary lint on her wool skirt. The doctor was with another patient, but she would be the next. Rufus was outside in the buggy waiting in the cold for what she knew, in some respects, could only be called bad news. Dr. Treymane’s office door opened, and an old gentleman, leaning heavily on a cane, came out with Dr. Treymane following.

“Come along, Beth, you’re next.”

“Now, to what do I owe the honor of this visit? Things not going well at St. Giles? I’ll help if I can. You’re too good a helper to lose.”

“It’s not that, Dr. Treymane. I guess you could say I’m here for your medical opinion. I think I’m pregnant.”

For a moment, he could think of nothing to say, then regaining his professional manner, he fussed about his desk and asked, “Oh, and what makes you think so?”

“I’ve missed my period, I feel very uncomfortable in the morning, and I do have cause.”

“Good Lord Beth, what have you gotten yourself into?”

“A situation, doctor, that I wish I hadn’t, but it’s too late now for regrets. I don’t have any regrets. I love this man; it’s just that the timing is wrong.”

“I would stay so. What do your parents think of this?”

“I haven’t told them; I wanted to be sure.”

“Very well, Beth, undress and get up on the table, and we shall see what is what.”

Dr. Treymane left the room while she disrobed.

When he had completed his examination, he wiped his hands on a corner of the sheet covering her and sighed, “I’m reasonably sure that you are with child. The internal organs give every indication. The fetus is still very small, but I would say that you should deliver sometime in early August.”

“Thank you, Dr. Treymane, for not passing judgment.”

“Beth, the one thing I’ve learned over the years in this business is never to pass judgment on human nature. Sometimes I am discouraged with humanity and what God has dealt us, but each of us has to cope with the situation as best we can.”

“Thank you, Dr. Treymane.”

“I wish you well, Beth. Take good care of yourself. That’s important, you know.”

“I know.”

As she stepped toward the buggy, Rufus was walking beside it, stamping his feet to keep warm.

“I’m sorry that it took so long, but I had to wait.”

“That’s all right; what did the doctor tell you?”

“We shall have a child in early August.”

“I don’t know whether to laugh or cry, Beth.”

“Oh, Rufus, let’s laugh. For once, just let us be happy and not think of the consequences.”

And consequences there would be.

She was distraught at the sorrow this brought to bear on Mama. The hardest thing was Mama’s self-recrimination. Almost word for word, she repeated to Rufus what Mama had said. Papa would be very angry and never accept the situation. Rufus was certain to lose his position. Mama also wanted to wait until after the New Year to tell Papa. This was the worst possible time to bring disgrace to the family when there were so many social events with Papa’s influential friends.

“I want to be there, Beth; after all, this is my fault, and you shouldn’t have to face Sir Hubert alone.”

“We’ll see Rufus. Maybe it won’t be as bad as we think.”

This last statement was merely clutching at straws. She knew Papa’s self-righteousness would drive his decision, and his sins would have no bearing on what she had done.

Plans had to provide alternatives. Harvey would take them in for a few days until they could be married. Rufus would look for employment, and then they would take a small flat of their own.

She was unprepared for Papa’s reaction. He was incensed, as she anticipated. But more than angry, he was cruel. For a moment, she feared for her life. Never before had she heard her father curse, and his curses carried with them the wrath of God. She was thankful that Rufus wasn’t there. She wished that she hadn’t goaded Papa about his illegitimate sons. Papa’s vindictiveness made it plain that she and Rufus would find it impossible to live in London. Even staying at Harvey’s now could present a problem. Harvey might lose his job at Overton’s, something Harvey could ill afford with his wife and children to support. She was thankful that Carlie had offered them a place in her home.

Two days after she left Tottenham Court, a messenger arrived at Harvey’s with a small packet. Nothing on the package indicated the sender. Inside was a letter of credit from the bank and fifty pounds in currency. Folded in a lace handkerchief was an emerald-ruby ring that had belonged to her Grandmother Martin. There was a short note.

“Beth Love, it only fits that you have what truly belongs to you. God go with you always, Mother.”

Touching the delicate lace to her cheek, she felt the tears coming. The last cord that bound her to her family was severed. Between them, they had almost four hundred pounds, enough to see them through until they could get settled on their own. Immediately after the wedding, she would take the train to Devon, and Rufus would follow. It would be a cold trip for Rufus and Beauty.

i.

The Magistrate at the registry office was a stern little man who donned his robe and wig for the wedding ceremony. Standing beside Rufus as the Magistrate read the words, she still couldn’t believe they were getting married. It wasn’t as beautiful as Amelia’s wedding, but she knew she was just as happy. This selfish thought brought a flush to her cheeks, and she immediately regretted it.

After signing the papers, she, Rufus, and Harvey, who stood as witness, left the damp old building to return to Harvey’s flat. Mabel, Harvey’s wife, was preparing tea for them. When Mabel opened the door, she was pleased to see Chris standing there with a big grin on his face. He swept her up with his usual two turns.

“Oh, Chris, however, did you find out?”

“Beth, Love, I have my ways. I wanted to see you before you left.”

“Will you stay for tea, Chris?”

“No, I’m afraid not. Except for your mother. I’m the only other rebel in the family, although I have not been vocal about it. Perhaps I’m a coward, but I think I can help if I stay in the background. Your mother will want to hear from you, Beth, so write to me at the company, and I’ll keep her informed.”

“Thank you, Chris, you are a dear.”

While they had been talking, Harvey had opened a bottle of wine. Passing the glasses around, Chris took his from Harvey’s hand and then said, “Forgive me, Harvey, if I overstep my bounds, but I’d like to propose a toast before I leave.”

“Very well, Mr. Wooster.”

Raising his glass, which Mabel and Harvey imitated, Chris spoke, “To Rufus and Beth. A lifetime of happiness together, with no regrets.”

She thought about the toast. Did Chris have some doubts? Dismissing that thought, she joined the rest in a second glass. Chris took his leave, and Mabel set out the food. The table gleamed with her finest china and linen. Mabel had prepared smoked salmon with beef and kidney pie for this special occasion, something very seldom served, for Harvey’s wages did not permit it. For once, she was too excited to eat, and even Rufus had trouble relishing the repast. It mattered little for the children absorbed the food like blotters, and none would go to waste. Almost before she realized it, it was time to leave. There were tearful farewells with gratitude for all that Harvey and Mabel had done. Tomorrow Rufus would say his goodbye.

The train had already started getting up a head of steam and would be pulling out in a matter of minutes. She clung to Rufus, who was uncomfortable at the public display. She didn’t care at all; she only wanted Rufus’ arms around her for as long as possible.

The train whistle blasted out a long scream, and Rufus pulled away, guiding her toward the compartment door. He opened it, helped her up the steps, and saw her safely inside. A sudden jerk and the train began to move. He waited on the platform until she was no longer in sight.

When she stepped out of the compartment at Tiverton, it was dark. The station-master had a light burning in his waiting room, and she, with portmanteau in hand, headed in that direction. She was greeted by the warmth from a pot-bellied stove in the corner of the room. Stepping to the ticket counter, she spoke to the man behind it. “Pardon me, sir, could you help me please?”

“If I can, Miss, if I can.”

“I just arrived from London, and I want to travel on to Kilkarn. Can you tell me how that can be arranged?”

“Well, Miss, if I were you, I wouldn’t be traveling so late. Hackies don’t take to driving that distance at night and especially in this weather. Once they get there, they have to come back, and it’s a good eighty kilometers

round trip. My advice would be to spend the night here and start early in the morning.”

“I suppose you are right. Can you direct me to the nearest hotel or inn?”

Before the man had a chance to answer, the outside door opened, and there stood Billy Tupper. “Oh Billy, am I glad to see you.”

“There now, Lady Beth, don’t fret. I’m sorry I’m late, but Carlie, well, you know a woman always has to have the last say, and I didn’t get away as soon as I should have.”

“That’s all right, Billy. I didn’t expect you to be here at all.”

“Carlie insisted that our new daughter should not be alone one minute after she sets foot off the train.”

“Billy, it’s good to see you again. How are you? How is Carlie?” Her questions were running one into the other, and realizing she was carrying on to no purpose, she stepped back a pace to stare at her new father-in-law. He looked much older, stooped and bent with arthritis. The lines in his face conveyed his discomfort. She hoped that her expression did not tell her thoughts.

“Come along, Lady Beth,” Billy said, “the sooner we get started, the sooner we get home.”

“Oh Billy, wouldn’t it be better if we spend the night here in Tiverton and start early in the morning?”

“Lady Beth, I’ve lived with Carlie nigh on to forty years. If I don’t bring you back tonight, she will skin me alive. Besides, we can be home in an hour or so unless you want to stay here overnight.”

“No, Billy, I’m eager to put my roots down, and if you want to travel on tonight, we’ll go.”

“Good, come along then. The wagon is just outside.”

ii.

The ride to Kilkarn was cold, but Billy had brought rugs and blankets to ward off the chill. The two old mares who drew the wagon knew their route, and Billy allowed them to travel at their own pace, only now and then clucking them onward when the pace slowed. The conversation was awkward at first. Opposite ends of the pole had difficulty joining in the middle. There were questions of everyone’s health, distress at Amelia’s death, and Martin’s success with the print shop. Finally, she spoke of her reason for being where she was.

“Sir Hubert was mighty unhappy, eh Lady Beth?”

“Billy, he was furious. I have never seen Papa so angry. His threats made it impossible for Rufus and me to stay in London, and Billy, for goodness sake, don’t call me Lady Beth. As of now, I’m no longer a Lady.” She giggled at the unintentional double entendre.

Billy reached across and put his large right hand over her small ones and patted them gently. “Beth it shall be girl, but remember this, you will always be a Lady in every sense of the word.”

“Thank you. Pa.” She was surprised at how easily the word came out of her mouth. If it hadn’t been so dark, she would have seen Billy blush.

A few lamps were burning as they approached Kilkarn. She could discern a small inn, a stone church, a house or two, then a blacksmith shop and livery stable. At the main intersection stood a mercantile and grocer establishment. Billy made a left turn and said, “Well now, we’ll soon be there. It is just over the rise. You know if you stay on this road, you can go clear over to Barnstaple. Carlie and I like to make the trip each year, but being around the water now isn’t very pleasant; cold, what with that wind whipping in from the bay.”

As he spoke, she could see ahead of her on the right side of the road a thatched cottage with lights shining in every window.

“There she is, Beth, your new home.”

“Oh Pa, it’s lovely.”

As they turned into the lane, she spied Carlie standing at the open door with a shawl around her shoulders. Pulling the team to a halt, Billy made his way down from the wagon. After helping her down, he took her portmanteau from the wagon bed and placed it by the door. “I’ll just see these beasts to the barn Carlie, and then I’ll be in for a toddy and a cup of hot tea.”

“The kettle’s been singing for the past half-hour Billy; hurry up now.” Carlie opened her arms and gathered her in. “Come, let’s get out of this cold. What a time to be traveling; you must be frozen.”

With that, she herded her through the door into a large room that served as kitchen, dining, and sitting room.

“How was your trip, Lady Beth? Did you have any trouble coming down?”

“No, Carlie, everything was fine, and I was so pleased to find Pa waiting for me. I thought I might have to spend the night in Tiverton.” Using the word Pa so unconsciously, she knew she would have to make her peace with Carlie as well.

“Carlie, on the ride over here, Billy and I had lots of time to talk. As I told him, I’m no longer entitled to be called “Lady Beth,” just Beth. I want to be a part of this family. My past is behind me. I regret nothing, and I truly love Rufus with all my heart. Can you accept me?”

“Oh Beth, of course, I can,” and once again, Carlie hugged her.

“Thank you, Ma. I’ll call you that because that’s what Rufus always calls you.”

They were still clinging to each other when Billy came in the door. “Well now, what does a man have to do to get a little attention around here? Two women together can create more talking than the vicar on Sunday.”

“Hush now, Billy. Beth and I are just getting acquainted after a good many years. Take your coat off, and I’ll have a toddy for you in a moment. How about you, Beth, could you use a drop of old John Barleycorn?”

“That would be nice, Ma, but pour a lot of hot water in mine if you don’t mind. It’s been a long day and night, and I don’t know what effect it will have on me.”

“You’re tired, of course.” Carlie fussed about the stove and came back to the table with three steaming mugs. “Can I get you anything to eat, Beth? I’ve plenty of food prepared.”

“Would you mind if I said no? When I finish this toddy, I’d like to go to bed.”

She followed Carlie up a ladder stair to the loft. “This room belonged to Rufus,” Carlie explained. “He loved it up here.”

She was surprised to see so many items of Rufus’ youth. There was a small desk with a pen and inkwell and in the sloping eaves was a built-in bookcase that held children’s books along with volumes on veterinary medicine. Faded pictures and drawings lined the walls. A small glass cabinet contained a display of native butterflies. Tucked in the corner, out of the way, was her trunk.

Turning down the bed, Carlie said, “Don’t be alarmed by the rustlings, Beth. That is only the thatch shifting about in the wind. You’ll get used to it.”

“Ma I don’t think a volcanic eruption would keep me awake tonight.”

“Sleep well then, Beth, and sleep in. We’ll have plenty of time to talk in the morning. Good night.”

She could smell the bacon before she opened her eyes. Hungry, she quickly dressed and descended the ladder.

“What are you doing up at this hour, girl?”

“I must confess I’m starving.”

They ate the morning meal in easy companionship. Beth was amazed at how much Carlie and Billy had changed. Not only had they grown older, but there was a spirit of love between them which did not have to be put aside as it had been when they were both serving in another man’s house.

Billy sat in a rocker next to the range smoking his pipe, and she was helping Carlie wash up when they heard the rattle of a wagon. Billy walked over to the door and opened it.

“Eh, Ezra, you’re early this morning. Come in for a cup of tea, it’s mighty cold out there.”

“Can’t stay but short, Billy. Need your help.”

“Well, come in anyway, someone I want you to meet.”

A middle-aged man dressed in heavy work clothes entered the kitchen. He quickly pulled off his cap.

“Ezra Perkins, this here’s my daughter-in-law Elizabeth.”

“Pleased ta-meet-cha Ma’am.”

“I’m happy to meet you, Mr. Perkins.”

“A cup of tea, Ezra?” Carlie asked.

“No time Carlie, thanks,” he replied, obviously ill at ease and eager to be on his way. “Billy, Gertrude is going to foal real soon now, and I think she may be in for trouble. Can ye lend a hand?”

“S’pose I could, Ezra. Got time for me to hitch up the team?”

“Ifn ye don’t mind Billy, I’m already hitched. I’ll bring ye home later.”

Billy took his heavy coat off the peg by the door and spoke, “Don’t wait lunch Carlie, Minna will feed me if I don’t get back. Should be home for tea, but don’t wait that neither.”

“All right, Billy, be on your way now before you get overheated and catch a chill,” and she shoved him through the door, quickly closing it behind him. “If Ezra Perkins showed as much concern for his family as he does for his live-stock, he’d have a lot easier time getting into heaven,” Carlie scolded as she returned to the sink.

“I guess you don’t like him very much, do you, Ma?”

“Oh Ezra’s a good enough sort, but every shilling he puts into his pocket, he takes out again to spend on his barn and animals. I tell you, Minna and the youngsters would be a lot better off living in the barn with the animals. That house of hers is falling about her head. Oh, Beth, I’m sorry. Your first day here, and already I’m gossiping about someone you don’t even know.” Wiping her hands on her apron, she took the damp towel and placed it on a rod in the back of the range.

“There’s still some hot tea left, Beth. How about another cup, and then let’s spend the day talking?”

The following two days were happy ones, even though she missed Rufus terribly. She had walked about the farm with Billy. He pointed out the stones that marked his boundaries and identified the trees. With no leaves, they all looked the same to her. He had fenced off four acres for cattle to graze so they wouldn’t get into Carlie’s garden. She could see that the large barn was a pride to Billy. She, too, loved the old stone building. Billy had one cow, two workhorses, and two head of cattle, all in excellent health, although the winter was hard on them. Stowed in the loft were the tons of hay it took to keep his animals fed during the lean part of the year. She learned that, more often than not, Billy did not accept payment for his services. Instead, he would strike a bargain in hay and grain because he did not have enough land to raise his own. By mid-summer, his cattle were fat and ready for market. They were driven to Barnstaple, where the large hotels bid for good beef. He always got a fair price, and the past two years, one hotel had contracted solely for his beeves. Billy, in turn, would buy two weaned steers and repeat the process.

Carlie kept the parlor closed off in winter except for special occasions. It took a lot of wood and coal to heat the room, and it was much cozier in the kitchen. Besides, when the days were short, they went to bed early. Their room opened off the kitchen. In winter, Carlie put the bed against the wall between the range. Coal was added to the range at night to hold the fire until morning. In the loft, the bed was on the floor over the stove.

Carlie showed her the chest filled with quilts and comforters, made by hand during the long winter months. She wondered if she would ever be capable of working with her hands. These beautiful items that Carlie was so proud of were not the delicate things that Misses Farthingal & Finch expected their students to master.

iii.

By the late afternoon of the third day, the cold blue sky had begun to cloud over, and she became nervous. Rufus still hadn’t arrived. The wind had picked up, and there was no doubt that snow was coming. The lamps were lit, and they sat at the table finishing their tea.

“Don’t fret Beth girl,” said Billy, “Rufus has a solid head on his shoulders.” Leaning over to Carlie, he pinched her cheek, then turning back to her, he said, “Rufus gets his good sense from his mother, his good looks he gets from me!”

Knowing that he was trying to put her at ease, she managed a halfhearted smile. Billy was stoking the range when she thought she could hear hoofbeats. Grabbing Carlie’s shawl, she opened the door and stepped out into near blizzard conditions. She searched for movement in the darkness, and suddenly there was Beauty ten feet in front of her. Stiffly, Rufus dismounted and reached over to put his arms around her and kiss her.

“Rufus, oh Love, I was so worried.”

“Get in the house Beth, it’s freezing out here. Sweet Beauty here has had a hard three days, and I’ve got to take care of her. Tell Ma I’m hungry and to put the kettle on. I’ll see you in about fifteen minutes.”

Relaying the message to Carlie, she could do nothing but pace back and forth until Rufus entered the kitchen. After another long embrace, she relinquished him to Billy and Carlie, who hadn’t seen their youngest son in three years. Tonight she could afford to be generous, for, after tonight, he would be hers.

The effects of his journey were in his face. A stubble of beard had formed, and his nose was red and running. His eyes, bloodshot and watering, were almost closed. Beneath his eyes, the sagging pouches were practically blue. Sitting at the table eating cold ham and biscuits, Rufus proceeded to describe his journey. The first day was a pleasure; after that, he kept ahead of the storm and pushed Beauty. When Beauty cast a shoe, it was necessary to walk her for three hours to find a blacksmith. With that delay, the storm caught up with him just before he reached Tiverton. Knowing that she would be worried, he decided to finish the last few kilometers. There was no way of knowing if the storm would pass, and he didn’t want to be stranded in Tiverton, so he decided to take the chance and thank God he had won.

That night, cozy under the feather ticking, Rufus reached out and pulled her into his arms and immediately fell asleep.

iv.

The months passed quickly. Carlie was a superb teacher and helped her adjust to her new life. Cooking, baking, cleaning, and planting were only a few of the things she learned. The long evenings were spent mastering the art of knitting, quilting, and learning how to darn and patch the never-ending array of clothing that was still salvageable. She had never needed to consider frugality. Now she began to appreciate what “having to watch your pennies” meant.

There were evenings when the Kilkarn community gathered to dance, gossip, and drink the dark ale that flowed from the spigot of a keg. At these social functions, she met most neighbors. It was a time of euphoria and as her body swelled, so did her contentment. One morning in early June, she was hanging up the wash when Ezra Perkins drove up the lane.

“Is Carlie here, ma’am?”

“Yes, she’s in the house. Can I get her for you?”

“If n you don’t mind ma’am. I got trouble at home. Minna needs Carlie’s help. The stove pipe come down, and she’s near burned bad.”

Without hesitation, she headed for the barn while barking instructions, “Mr. Perkins, I’ll hitch up our team. You go into Kilkarn and get some tannic acid ointment and some sterile bandages. Then meet me at your place.”

Ezra was about to voice his objections at receiving orders from a young woman but seeing the expression on her face, he simply nodded and made his way out of the lane.

When she and Carlie arrived at the Perkins place, they were greeted by four squalling children, all in a state of hysteria.

“Ma, do something with these children. I’ll go in and see Minna.”

“Are you sure you can help, Beth?”

“I’m sure, Ma. I learned a thing or two about treating burns at St. Giles.” She entered the kitchen and quickly surveyed the situation. The stove pipe lay where it had fallen. Ezra had had the good sense to extinguish the fire before going for help. Minna was nowhere to be seen, so she called out her name. She heard a voice respond from beyond a door leading off of what was presumably the parlor. She was greeted by Camille, the oldest of Ezra’s children. “Oh help us, Miz Tupper, help Mama.”

“I’ll do what I can, Camille. Now step aside and let me see what is what.”

Minna lay on a bed, her eyes closed. The left sleeve of her dress was brown and charred where the stovepipe had made contact. Turning to Camille, who was standing anxiously at the bedside, she said, “Camille, get me a pair of scissors please and a pair of tweezers if you have them.”

She cut away the fibers of cloth that clung to the burn. Minna was fortunate; the area most seriously burned was around the upper shoulder. Toward the elbow, it was blistered, and although it would be painful, it would likely heal with no permanent scarring. Working quickly, she relied on her experience at St. Giles to do her best for Minna. By the time she had picked the last of the fibers from Minna’s arm, Ezra had returned with the ointment. Ezra had not been able to get sterile bandages. After she had finished applying the ointment to Minna’s burns, she straightened up and faced Ezra Perkins.

“Mr. Perkins, I shall need bandages. Get that stove pipe fixed and start boiling water or save time; if you have a cauldron, you can start a fire outside. A sheet or table cloth will have to be torn into strips and boiled for ten minutes, then hung to dry. Until they are ready, I shall leave Minna’s burns exposed to the air.”

It didn’t take long for the news of her proficiency at nursing to become known throughout the County. The nearest doctor was at Tiverton, and while Billy was the acknowledged expert with animals, she was soon being called on to help the human population.

v.

At the end of July, Billy was preparing to take his two beef steers to Barnstaple. She had looked forward to going along, but she realized that with her time so near, it would be folly to make a trip that possibly could end up with her giving birth along the road or in a town filled with strangers. Rufus would go with Billy this time, and Carlie would stay behind with her. It would be good for Rufus to be away for a few days. He was becoming restless. Inactivity did not agree with him. Even helping Billy offered little satisfaction. He wanted to work independently, and there seemed to be little opportunity in this rural area. They still had most of their money because Carlie and Billy would not accept their offers to help with expenses. She had earned a few shillings with her nursing, and she could feel behind Rufus’ smile, mild indignation for her ability to make money while he could not. These were the thoughts running through her mind three nights later as she was waiting for sleep to overtake her. Her day had been a normal one; she felt uneasy as though something was nagging at her. The child she was carrying had been unusually active the past two days, and her discomfort was increasing. When the first pain came, she recognized it for what it was. Pulling on her robe and slippers, she made her way down from the loft. Tapping lightly on Carlie’s bedroom door, she called out, “Ma, it’s time.”

In a matter of seconds, Carlie emerged from the bedroom and went into the kitchen. “Are you sure, Beth?”

“Oh yes, I’m sure,” and just as she was speaking, another spasm of pain enveloped her.

“Goodness Beth, sit down.”

Grateful for Carlie’s calm demeanor, she was glad to do as she was told.

“Now, how long have you had the pains?”

“This was my second one, but the first one was only a short time ago.”

“Then we better get you to bed. You’ll need to conserve all your strength. I’ll get a good fire going, and then, as you know, it’s a matter of waiting. I’ll put you in our bedroom. It will be a lot handier than traipsing up and down to the loft.”

It was a long night, and between pains, she and Carlie talked. For some reason, the lying-in ward at St. Giles was foremost in her mind. She told Carlie of her experiences, and Carlie seemed astonished at her revelations. She could not understand how a young girl could actively participate in such private and personal issues.

“Ma, it was my life. Every woman has a similar body, and every child is born in the same way. It can be a terrifying time for a woman to give birth to her first child. I’m glad that I know as much as I do. At least I know what to expect.”

“Yes, I suppose you do,” Carlie replied.

Soon after dawn, the pains were regular and frequent. The time for talk had passed. Straining at the twisted sheet that Carlie prepared for her to grip whenever she felt the pains helped her expel the frustrations she had in getting this baby born. Just as the wall clock in the kitchen struck ten, she screamed, and the baby emerged.

“Look, Beth, a lovely little girl. Isn’t she beautiful?”

Tired but proud of her accomplishment, she nodded. “Let me have her, Ma.”

“In a moment, Beth, I’ll clean her up some, and then you can hold her.”

The baby was in her arms, and both were sleeping when Rufus and Billy pulled into the yard. Carlie did not wait for them to head for the barn but halted the wagon in the lane, waving her arms excitedly. The two steers tied to the wagon bed were dazed and mooing so loudly that Carlie had to shout above the din to be heard.

“Rufus Love, you have a beautiful daughter. She was born this morning.”

Rufus leaped from the wagon and ran to the house. Looking up into Billy’s face after Rufus had gone, Carlie said, “Billy, we have inherited a most unusual young woman. If ever I knew a girl with a head on her shoulders, she is the one. I only hope that Rufus will be able to appreciate her.”

Nodding his agreement, Billy simply said, “Walk with me to the barn Carlie. They need time to be alone together.”

The baby was christened Amelia Jane Tupper, and her birth was recorded in the Tupper family bible as being born at 10 a.m. on the 2nd day of August 1866, three days before her seventeenth birthday. After the birth, she wrote a letter to Christopher, telling him about the child and her happiness. She knew Chris would convey to Mama everything she had written.

i.

It was a beautiful autumn afternoon. Elizabeth was sitting on the back step of the cottage with Jane in her arms. She was watching Carlie gathering the last of the turnips, carrots, and dry beans to be stored in the root cellar. Earlier that day, she had packed a wicker hamper with food for Rufus and Billy. In a wagon laden with empty baskets and barrels, the two men had set out to gather wild grapes and apples that grew in abundance if you knew where to look. Tomorrow would be a busy day. Rufus and Billy would sort apples__those stored whole and those to be cut and dried for winter use. Grapes would be cooked into jams or crushed and fermented for a rich purple wine.

A shout interrupted her reverie, and when she glanced up, she could see Carlie wiping the damp soil from her hands onto her apron and heading for the cottage. Turning, she saw a cart coming up the lane. Carrying Jane, she moved to the front of the cabin. As he pulled the horse to a stop, the driver said, “Ladies, may I introduce myself. I am Timothy Colburn, and I have come to speak to Mrs. Rufus Tupper.”

“I’m Mrs. Rufus Tupper”

“Good, I was unsure that I had the correct directions. I am unfamiliar with this part of the country. It is a beautiful place.”

Carlie invited him to dismount and to join them for tea.

“You are Mrs. Billy Tupper, are you not?”

Yes, I am.”

“I appreciate your hospitality, but I’m afraid I won’t be staying long enough for tea. I must have a word with this Mrs. Tupper, then be on my way to catch the four o’clock to London.”

“Why don’t you and Beth go into the house. I’ll finish up out here.”

“That is very kind of you .”

Elizabeth put Jane in her crib and invited Mr. Colburn into the parlor. Her visitor was well dressed, probably well-to-do. She wondered why he would want to talk to her.

“Mrs. Tupper.”

“Please, it is Beth.”

“I’m a solicitor, and I am here to give you this, Beth.” Colburn reached into the inside pocket of his frock coat, took out an envelope, and handed it to her.

Breaking the seal, she removed the folded paper. “This is a letter of credit for two thousand five hundred pounds. It must be a mistake.”

“It’s no mistake, Beth. I cannot divulge particulars. The person who arranged this wishes to remain anonymous.”

“I do not understand.”

“I’m sorry I cannot say more; however, I can report to my client that you are in glowing health and happiness.”

“I am happy, Mr. Colburn, and although I do not understand, I would like you to thank them for me.”

“Oh, I shall, Beth, I shall.”

Carlie watched from the garden as Colburn turned the buggy around, tipped his hat, and drove out the lane.

“Ma, this is incredible,” she said, showing Carlie the letter as they met at the edge of the garden. “Mr. Colburn just gave me this.”

“Where did it come from, Beth?”

“That’s just it, Mr. Colburn would not tell me. He said the person wished to remain anonymous.”

“Oh, Beth, this is a lot of money, and you don’t know where it came from.”

“When Rufus gets home, we’ll talk it over, and he’ll know what to do.”

The afternoon dragged on. Beth started dinner and periodically looked in on Jane, who was content to lay and watch the ceiling’s sun patches. Rufus and Billy finally returned, the wagon loaded with fruit. She waited as the two men took care of the team and unloaded the fruit.

When Rufus came into the cabin, Beth was waiting, trying to look calm but failing.

“What’s the matter, Beth?”

“Rufus, a solicitor from London, a Mr. Colburn, came to see me. He gave me this.” She held out the envelope.

“Bloody hell,” Rufus said, drawing a big breath. “Beth, I can’t believe this is real,” his hands shaking as he held the letter of credit.

“It’s real all right, but I don’t know who sent it. Mr. Colburn couldn’t say.”

“The first thing we do is deposit it. Then we wait to see if it is a mistake. If there has been, we’ll be able to repay the money.”

vi

The holidays were usually a happy time, but Elizabeth was unable to unwind. It was like a burr stuck in her boot. Two days after Christmas, the burr grew. Rufus returned from Kilkarn with a post. It was from Christopher. She looked forward to news from London and eagerly opened the letter.

Beth Love:

I have put off writing, waiting in the hope I could be the bearer of better news, which is not to be.

Your mother has disappeared without a trace. Your father,

I am sure, knows more than he admits. Pride prevents him from acknowledging that Lady Catherine has left him.

Doing some investigating, I cornered Wooten — who retains some kindness for me. Household gossip holds your mother’s portmanteau, and small valise are gone, along with some clothing. That appears to rule out foul play. Your father did not call the Yard, which confirms this. He was in Cornwall at the time of her disappearance.

Bear in mind the years of unhappiness in their marriage, which you reminded me of so often. If your mother has decided to find a more pleasant life, who can blame her? I cannot, and I trust you will not.

Wish her well, Beth, and Godspeed.

In the meantime, should any new development surface, I shall post you immediately.

My very best to you and Rufus and the babe.

With love, your cousin, Chris.

She closed her eyes, leaned back in the rocker, and muttered, “Sweet Jesus.”

Rufus took the note from her and began to read. When he finished, he said, “Beth, I should think you would be relieved to know your mother has finally gotten away.”

“But Rufus, where is she?”

“Beth, think, it was the only way your mother could leave. If anyone knew of her whereabouts, your father would bring her back. Isn’t that so?”

She nodded.

“After you left home, she had no reason to stay in that house. It might not be considered proper, but then our life together is not considered proper either. All of us have to make choices, and this was hers. Now, let’s do as Chris suggested. Let’s wish her Godspeed.”

“Rufus, I know you are right, but I’m worried; where did she go? What will she do? Papa controls the money.”

“Lady Katherine is strong. She didn’t leave on the spur of the moment. When she made up her mind, she had plans and knew what she was going to do.”

“Oh, Rufus, I hope you are right.”

Despite Rufus’s assurances, she felt anxious. Her appetite was poor and her spirit low. She carried her end of the work, but there was no pleasure in it. Jane could sense something and began to fuss. By late January, everyone was on edge. Rufus and Billy often fled to the barn to escape the pall that hung over the house. It was during one of their absences that Carlie decided to speak.

“Beth, sit down, please. I have something to tell you. I didn’t think it important before, and perhaps it isn’t; but, what I am going to say may help, then we can get back to a happy household.”

“You were young, Beth, but do you remember your Uncle Sam?”

“Yes, he was a quiet man. I remember sitting on his lap and playing with his watch.”

“Do you remember your Grandfather Martin?”

“Yes.”

“After your grandfather passed away, Billy and I stayed on in the house until it sold. We didn’t leave London until the estate was settled. Your Uncle Sam died in January of that year. He was a wealthy man, and when he died, there was speculation about his estate. The business went to Christopher Wooster. You, Amelia, and your cousins were left a small amount, but there was no accounting for the bulk of his wealth. Kitchen gossip was that your mother was the recipient.”

“That’s impossible. Mama rarely saw Uncle Sam.”

“Mind you; I have no proof, only a sense__that there was between your mother and Sam Portman an undercurrent of deep affection.”

“Do you think that Mama and Uncle Sam were having an affair?”

“Nothing like that was hinted. I’m telling you that your mother may have received Sam’s money__arranged so that your father would never know.”

“Do you suppose that is where the money Mr. Colburn brought came from?”

“That wouldn’t surprise me. If she were going away, she would want to see you cared for.”

“I’m going to write to Timothy Colburn and get to the bottom of this.”

“If what I’ve said is true, you could put your mother’s safety in jeopardy. You’ve got to stop and think. She is making a new life, one that does not include you, but old habits die hard. She and your father cast you out. This may be her way of satisfying her wishes for your happiness.”

“Oh, Ma, what am I going to do?”

“Let her go, Beth, let her go.”

i.

By mid-July, they were ready to leave for Barnstaple. Food, water, bedding, and clothing were packed in the wagon. Rufus devised an enclosure for Jane. It left her free to maneuver but safely confined. With quilts laid at the bottom it served as her bed.

Barnstaple was lovely — small and friendly, situated on the Bay of the same name. A summer crowd moved about the streets. Billy and Rufus were inside Hayward's Cross and Crown to arbitrate the sale of the steers. A page came, untied the beasts and led them away, so they knew the deal was made. Allowing time for a draught of ale, the two men would soon appear.

Outside the town, a vast meadow was filled with wagons belonging to farmers who had come to enjoy the water and to sell livestock. The Tupper's found a good place between a farmer from Mildown and one from Oxarken. That evening was something Beth often recalled with fondness. There was a community bonfire, and women in the compound gathered up their pots and pans to cook a community meal.

After the eating and the cleanup was over, a man in a soiled cap brought out his fiddle and began to play old country jigs and reels. Beth's petticoats whirled above her ankles as she attempted to keep up with the tempo and her partner of the moment. Many, Billy included, gathered about a wooden keg of last year's cider. By nine o'clock, the crowd had begun to thin.

Holding hands, she and Rufus returned to the wagon. The few hotels and inns in Barnstaple were full, so they spent the night under the stars. Billy and Carlie shared the wagon with Jane, and she and Rufus slept under the wagon. She could hardly wait for such an adventure. Billy had brought a large canvas and two poles that inserted into the wagon bed. When the canvas was in place, it afforded some privacy so that they could change their clothes. Lying beneath the wagon, she could see the faint glow of the dying bonfire between the wagon spokes. Rufus gathered her close, and they slept.

The sun was almost at its peak when she and Rufus, with Jane perched on his shoulders, walked through Barnstaple. At the beach, she removed her shoes and stockings, took Jane from Rufus, and gently dipped her into the Bay's cool water. Jane squealed her delight at the water lapping at her feet and legs. When it was time to leave, Jane screamed her displeasure. On the way back, they stopped at a food stand and bought fish and chips for tea.

Billy and Carlie were dozing in the sun." Well, now, this is a fine thing.

Mr. and Mrs. Tupper, sleeping in the middle of the day," Rufus said as they approached.

Yawning, Billy replied, "I tell you, son. I'm getting too old for this kind of thing. My old bones ache."

"More like too much cider last night, eh Pa?"

"None of your lip now. What's in the paper?"

"That's our supper. How do fish and chips sound?"

"Sounds just fine. I'll get a fire going for tea."

Carlie busied herself getting out the cups and plates.

"How was the beach, Beth?"

"Just lovely, Ma. Jane put up quite a fuss when we had to leave."

"Beth, can I talk to you, please?" Carlie asked as she drew her toward the rear of the wagon. "Beth, I'm concerned about Billy. He has hardly moved today, and he's in a lot of pain. For the first time since we've been coming here, he hasn't visited with any of the farmers nor asked about crops, prices, or young heifers for sale. I think it best if we head home tomorrow morning. Can you and Rufus find some excuse for leaving?"

"Of course. Suppose you watch Jane this evening. I'll take Rufus for a walk after supper and tell him."

"Thank you, Beth."

Before the sun began to cast a shadow, the Tupper family pulled out of Barnstaple meadow. The journey was quiet; only Jane from time to time would squeal or talk to herself. With nothing to inhibit their return, they reached Kilkarn late in the afternoon. Billy slowly made his way from the wagon to the cottage. Carlie, Rufus, and Beth unloaded the household items.

ii.

In the months that followed, Billy brooded. For the first time, he had not brought home yearlings from Barnstaple, and he was no longer able to answer his neighbor's call for help with their animals. Rufus was doing that, but calls were fewer because of his youth and his experience's misperceptions. It was the end of an era for Billy, and he knew it.

Riding into Kilkarn on Beauty after being out all night on a lying-in case, she saw the mail coach stopped at Fenner's Mercantile, so she decided to wait for Mr. Fenner to sort it. There might be something for the family.

"Mornin Beth," Clara Fenner said as she entered the store, "Somethin I can get for you?"

"No thanks, Clara. I thought I'd wait until Mr. Fenner had the mail sorted."

"Well, you look around, and if you need me, sing out."

"Thank you, Clara, I shall." She was exhausted and eager to get home, so the minutes that Oswald Fenner spent behind his cage seemed interminable.

"There you are, Beth," he called out. "You seem to know when letters are expected. I have three for you."

"Thank you, Mr. Fenner," she said, taking the letters from him. As she left the store, she glanced at the face of the envelopes. One was for her from Chris, one in unrecognized handwriting for Rufus, and the third for Carlie and Billy from Canada.

She found Carlie and Billy still at breakfast and Jane in her high chair back on the farm. Rufus was not there.

"For goodness sake, girl, where have you been all this time?" Billy asked.

She took down a mug then went to the stove for the teapot. As she poured the black brew, she said, "Bringing life into the world Pa. Grace Magee has a fine new son, although she had a time of it, weighed almost nine pounds."

"I'm not going to live to be a hundred Beth, but if I did, I still wouldn't understand what possesses you to do these things."

"Now, Pa, we've agreed. I'll go when I'm asked."

Knowing the letter she carried would dissuade further argument, she said, "I stopped at Fenner's. The mail coach was in, and I have a letter for you from Canada."

His gnarled fingers eagerly reached for it.

"Where's Rufus, Ma?"

"Ezra Perkins was here bright and early. One of his cows is about to calf, and Ezra for some reason is helpless when it comes to birthing."

She took her cup of tea out to the back steps, sat down, and opened her letter from Chris.

Beth Love:

Still no news about your mother, so shall we consider no news as good news?

I have some information for you about your father. He has sold his firm to the men in his employ and has decided to leave London and spend the rest of his years in Cornwall, something I do not understand. It's a wind-swept, God-forsaken place.

That aside, he does not look well. He has aged considerably and is grossly overweight. If I were a doctor, I'd volunteer that he is not far from a stroke or a heart attack. Perhaps the change of scenery and not having the daily worry of business will help.

The house on Tottenham Court Road is owned by a group of speculators who think commerce will creep up the road making the property valuable. Meanwhile, the house is leased to a large family who seems to love the place.

Mama has not been well. She is beginning to feel her years and complains more and more about pains in her stomach. I'm worried, and I thank God that Maybelle is home to care for her.

I've some good news. I'm getting married to the girl of my dreams. I met her here on the dock, disembarking a ship with a cargo of cane. She took passage at Barbados after spending a long holiday with relatives on the Island. Her home is in Bedford, which you well know makes courting a little inconvenient. However, we have managed with Crystal and Louise acting as chaperons when she can come to London.

Father at long last seems to think I've seasoned enough-being engaged helped — to take over Portman's, so you see I'm finally the proprietor of a prospering establishment.

I trust that no news of your mother will not distress you, and you will rejoice with me in my good fortune.

The very best as always to you, Rufus, and Jane.

Your loving cousin, Chris.

She lowered the letter, looked up at the morning sky, then raised the letter again and reread it. Her emotions were mixed. Hatred and love for her father were so deep she could not distinguish between the two.

She found Jane roaming about the kitchen, prying into the cupboards while Billy and Carlie still sat at the table talking over the letter.

"What's going on with Peter and Joshua in Canada?"

"They are moving from Nova Scotia and taking up land in Ontario,"

Billy said. "Seems like there are still areas to be homesteaded. They decided to become farmers. Peter is going to someplace called Halton, and Joshua has decided on Lincoln. They'll be eighty kilometers from each other."

"Does that bother you, Pa?"

"Those boys don't know anything about farming, but then who am I to say. I've managed here and I was always a coachman."

"Don't worry, Pa; they'll be fine."

A few minutes later, Rufus drove in. She still had one letter to deliver, so she followed him to the barn. While he was unhitching the team, she read the contents to him. "I don't understand this Rufus, what does it mean?"

He smiled. "Beth Love, I have a chance to buy a freight line between Bristol and Birmingham at a price we can afford."

"When did all this come about?"

"When we were in Barnstaple, while Pa was dickering on a price for the steers, I talked to a man in the common room. He was telling me about this line. The gent who owned it was getting on in years and wanted to retire. He said if I were interested, he'd let the old man know. I gave him our address, and now the old man wants to sell. What do you think?"

"I don't know what to think. This is a big step."

"Beth, Love, we can't stay here forever."

"I know that, Rufus, but we don't know anything about this man or this business."

"Beth, do you understand that for the first time in my life, I have a chance to be on my own. This will be mine, or rather ours. This is our chance to be independent and not have to rely on anyone for our welfare."

The freight line with all its embellishments was purchased for two thousand one hundred pounds. When Rufus put his signature on the bill of sale, a shudder ran down her back. During October and November, business went well. As winter closed in, business slowed. They had to draw on their savings to put food on the table and pay the rent. Once again, she relied on nursing for a few extra shillings.

i.

In April, the sky fell. The Bristol News announced that a rail trunk line would be operating by June between Bristol and Birmingham. 

Rufus did what he could to get ready for that kind of competition. He dismissed two of his three drivers. He and the other driver__his first hire__would handle the routes. His customers sympathized, but when it came to choosing__money or sympathy__money had the upper hand. He lowered his rates and replaced his wagons with larger ones to make one trip do the work of two, but as soon as the railroad opened at the end of June, the business was in deep trouble and even deeper in debt. To add to their problems, she was pregnant. It was a consolation that the child she was carrying rested easy and was no more difficult than Jane.

The big kettle on the range was simmering, and she was peeling potatoes and carrots to add when she heard footsteps on the stairs. She opened the door to a young lad not more than twelve.

“Yes?”

“This the Tupper’s?”

“Yes, what is it you want?”

The boy handed her a small envelope. “Wire from Bristol Station relayed from Tiverton.”

It was the first telegram she had seen. From what she knew of Mr. Morse’s invention, messages sent this way brought urgent news, so she was not inclined to read the dispatch. Knowing delay would not change anything, she opened the envelope.

She leaned over the sink where her vegetables were resting, closed her eyes, and shook her head from side to side.

“Not Billy,” she thought, “not Billy; what was to become of them?”

They needed Billy’s steady hand.

She knew that plans needed to be made quickly. Rufus was on a short run to Cardiff and would return in time for tea. She finished her vegetables, added them to the pot, then packed.

Waiting for Rufus, knowing that she had to tell him, was the hardest.

Hearing his footsteps coming up the stairs, she ran to the door. Try as she might, the tears would not stop.

“Beth, what’s the matter?”

She handed the folded telegram to Rufus. “Pa died in his sleep last night, and Ma needs us.”

Rufus sat at the table, head down, sobbing. There were tears for his father, but he also wept for his family and what he had done to leave them paupers. His father’s death was the final straw.

“Rufus, Love, we need to leave immediately. We’ll have our tea here and then take the mail train to Taunton. We can be there by early morning. If we rent a trap, we can be in Kilkarn by tomorrow afternoon.”

“No, by god. I’ll walk before I set foot in a railroad car.”

“Rufus, that’s foolish, and you know it.”

“How are we going to pay for the fare?”

“Rufus, I have the fifty pounds that Mama sent. It’s still in my trunk.”

“We still have fifty pounds?”

“That’s right, Love, and now we are going to use some of it to help your mother.”

Billy was laid to rest in the courtyard of the old stone church in Kilkarn. Many of his friends over the years were already sleeping there, so he would not be lonely. Harvey and Mabel attended the service. Amy did not come but wrote that she expected Ma to come live with her. Harvey told his mother that whatever she decided to do would be all right with him. He regretted that he could not take his mother into their home. The flat was small, and he was sure that three active children would not be conducive to her peace of mind.

They could not offer a home, and this Beth deeply regretted. After all, it was Billy and Carlie who took them in.

Carlie had no qualms about moving to Glasgow. She asked Rufus to make sure any proceeds from the sale of the property would go to Amy. If Amy was to take care of her, Amy should receive whatever estate there was.

ii.

Their affairs did not improve. Creditors threatened foreclosure. Winter came early. Snow and the cold winds blew from the Northwest. By the first week of December, the roads were covered with ice. Even the railroads had a difficult time keeping their schedules. For the first time in two months, Rufus contracted a load, hauling lumber to Bath. There had been nothing but short hauls about the city, and this trip would enable them to pay a little on their debts. The weather meant that Rufus would be gone overnight.

The following day the snow continued to fall, and she was becoming worried. Rufus was several hours overdue. She had bread in the oven, and Jane was playing quietly with her doll when a knock came at the door. She was surprised to see a Bristol Constable.

“Mrs. Tupper?”

“Yes, I’m Mrs. Tupper.”

“I’m afraid I have some bad news for you, May I come in?”

Her knees shaking, she replied, “Yes, of course.”

“Thank you. Mrs. Tupper.”

“Your husband’s wagon was found this morning, overturned on the Bath Road. A local farmer came across it on his way to Norman. Your husband was caught beneath the wagon.”

“Oh my God,” was all that she could say before she fainted.

As she regained consciousness, she could hear Jane wailing in the background.

The constable was bending over her, putting dampened cloths to her forehead, trying his best to perform the distasteful duty he’d been assigned.

“Mrs. Tupper, Mrs. Tupper?” he pleaded, “Are you all right?”

“My bread. I’ve got to take my bread out of the oven.”

“I’ll do that for you, Mrs. Tupper. You lie there quiet and rest.”

The two loaves he took from the oven had risen in a beautiful arch above the rim of the pans. He placed them carefully on the table and then turned back.

“Mrs. Tupper, is there someone I can get to stay with you? You should not be alone now.”

She could only shake her head. She was truly alone. Pulling on the sleeve of the constable’s greatcoat, she whispered, “Where is Rufus now?”

“They took him to the Bristol mortuary, Mrs. Tupper. The people there will wait for your instructions.”

“Thank you, you’ve been very kind to me.”

“Mrs. Tupper, I’m glad that I could help. My sorrow is bringing you such sad news.”

Reaching into his pocket, he extracted a small cloth bag and placed it on the table beside the bread. “This contains the properties that were with Mr. Tupper when he was found. I am truly sorry, but if you do not need me any longer, I must go.”

iii.

Elizabeth barely remembered the week that followed. She posted letters detailing Rufus’s death. There was no need for telegrams, for Rufus would not be buried until spring when the ground would be soft enough to receive him. He would then lie next to his father in the churchyard at Kilkarn. The business that Rufus had left behind was unfamiliar to her, and she knew that she would not be able to carry it on. Thinking about what would have to be done, she wrote to Timothy Colburn, asking him to call on her as soon as possible.

With creditors clamoring for payment, she was happy to welcome Mr. Colburn in early February. His first words were, “I’m sorry, Beth, about your husband. I know this must be an ordeal for you.”

The tears welled up, but she managed to contain them. She had a daughter and another child soon to be born. She had no time for self-pity.

“Mr. Colburn, I asked you here for advice. I could have engaged someone from Bristol, but I felt you would be more sympathetic toward my problems.”

“I’ll help you in any way I can.”

She tried to give him an accurate picture of her situation. When finished, she thought it was an honest appraisal of her predicament.

“I do not hold much hope for you getting out from under with much profit. However, I must look at the books to determine what you can expect.”

She gathered up the ledgers and handed them over. After an hour of scribbling figures, Timothy Colburn pushed away from the table. “As I suspected, the news isn’t good, but if done properly, you will be out of debt. With the railroad now operating between Bristol and Birmingham, only a fool would buy the line.” “I’m sorry, Beth, that was unkind of me.”

“The truth shouldn’t hurt Mr. Colburn, but sometimes it does.”

Colburn continued, “My advice is to liquidate your assets. Sell the building and property separately; the same with the horses and wagons. They should bring fair market value. That will allow you to pay off your creditors. The trappings and feed that is left I would sell at auction. What you garner at this sale will likely be the only money you will realize. Now then, do you have anyone you can trust to take care of it?”

She shook her head.

“You must not wait, Beth. The sooner you are out of it, the better off you’ll be. I have a contact here in Bristol. I’ll look him up this evening. He’s an honest man.”

Glancing at her swollen body, he asked, “When do you expect the child?”

“The middle of March.”

“Have you given any thought to what you are going to do?”

“I only know I must stay here until the last of March. Then I’m going to Kilkarn to lay Rufus next to his father.”

“And after that?”

“Mr.Colburn, I can’t very well see one day ahead of the other. Keeping my wits about me is my main concern right now. I’ve been doing some private nursing which has kept food on the table. The rent is behind, but Mrs. Bleavins has been understanding, and I give her what I can.”

“You know, Beth, I see a good deal of your mother in you.”

The moment the words had slipped from his mouth, he knew he had broken trust with Katherine Portman.

Pouncing on this tidbit, she immediately asked, “What do you know about my mother, Mr.Colburn?”

“Not very much, I’m afraid.”

“Please, Mr.Colburn, this means so much to me. Won’t you at least tell me what you know?”

“Beth, sit down, please.”

Colburn pulled a chair out from the table, and when she was seated, he spoke. “My stupidity in my choice of words just now places me in a very awkward position, something every good solicitor avoids on pain of death. I will tell you this and nothing more, so please do not question me further. Your mother no longer resides in England. She lives a tranquil life. She is well, and she is happy.”

Sensing that Elizabeth was about to ask another question, he quickly raised his hands in protest. “Nothing more, Beth, that is all I am going to say.”

“Please listen, Mr.Colburn, I’ll ask no questions, but this is something I’d like you to do.”

“And what is that, Beth?”

“From the way you are speaking, I know that you know a great deal more than you are willing to admit. I cannot be angry at that. I assume you are in touch with Mama. Please, Mr.Colburn, do not tell Mama of my circumstances. I’ll handle this in my way. If you write, merely say that Rufus died in an accident, and I shall be all right. She is not to worry.”

“Beth, I shall be very discreet.”

“Can I ask you one more favor, Mr.Colburn?”

“Certainly, Beth.”

“Are you married? Do you have children?”

Puzzled at such a strange question, he nodded his head and then replied, “I’m married, and I have three fine children, two boys, and a girl.”

“May I ask how old your daughter is?”

“She’ll be ten in May.”

“Mr. Colburn. I have a lovely mare__a present for my twelfth birthday. She’s almost eight now, but a more beautiful animal you’ve never seen. She’s gentle and loves affection. With my future so uncertain, I cannot keep her, nor could I sell her to strangers. Would you allow me to give Beauty to your daughter as payment for your services?”

He paused a moment before he answered. “No, Beth, I cannot allow that. Would you let me make a counteroffer?”

She nodded.

“Peggy has a pony, which she is outgrowing. Would you consider selling Beauty to me?”

“I’m not devious, Mr.Colburn.”

“I know you aren’t Beth; however, in your straits, we have to be practical. We’ll let Mr. Ross, that’s the man who will handle your sale, give you an appraisal on the horse, and if it meets with your approval, I shall buy Beauty from you.”

“If you think that is best, Mr. Colburn.”

“I do indeed. Now I’ve got to leave. I hope to see Ross this evening to make arrangements, and tomorrow I shall return to London. I shall not see you again, Beth, but I want you to know that if you were my daughter. I’d be very proud of you — one more thing; you know where to reach me, Beth. Let me know from time to time how you are faring. You understand?”

“Yes, of course, Mr. Colburn. I’m deeply grateful. Thank you.”

He bent and kissed her on the forehead and said, “That’s my payment.”

On the seventeenth of March, four days after Charlotte was born, Mr. Ross brought the final papers to be signed, releasing her from further obligations. Mr. Ross proved to be an able executor in handling the disposition of the Tupper property. She had one hundred thirty-seven pounds and no plans. She would pay Mrs. Bleavins to the end of the month and leave.

iv.

It was a small group that gathered to join her in laying Rufus to rest. The good neighbors and friends in Kilkarn made up in numbers what Rufus lacked in family. Chris’s wife was expecting momentarily; Harvey was down with the grippe, and Amy had written that it would be too strenuous a journey for Carlie. Walking away from the grave, Clara Fenner came up beside her and spoke softly, “Beth, I want you and the babes to stay with us. It would make us very happy. Will you please?”

“You’re very kind, Clara; I thank you.”

“Beth, I should thank you, after all, you’ve done for us.”

She knew she was referring to when Bobby Fenner was ill with the measles, and she had spent five days nursing him back to health while Clara worked in the store.

“I shall need time to think, Clara. Thank you for offering me a haven.”

“Beth, you take all the time you need. I only expect you to rest and eat properly. We won’t talk if you don’t want to.”

v.

The Fenner’s lived in quarters above the mercantile. It was ample but sparsely furnished. One room had been a summer parlor but was now a room of catch-alls. Clara had cleaned it out and placed a double bed in it. Bobby’s old crib was there for Charlotte. It was plain, but she was used to the bare necessities. 

The next few weeks, she spent most of her time trying to sort things out. The answer to her trouble came from a source that she least expected. Oswald Fenner knocked on her door one morning with a letter for her. The handwriting was vaguely familiar.

My dear Beth: This is a sad time for both of us. I did not write sooner because I felt at the time you had all the sorrow you could handle. I tell you now instead. Hannah died in February and lay resting next to her mother and her brother Sam. She endured a great deal of pain during her long illness, and perhaps it is selfish of me to say so, but I’m glad that the Good Lord called her home.

If you wondered how I found out about you, rest assured that I always knew where you were and what you were doing. Chris is a poor liar, and it didn’t take much persuasion on my part to make him share his secret. I hope that this does not anger you.

I suppose you could say that what I am about to propose is the rambling of a selfish old man, but would you consider returning to London to stay with Maybelle and me? This big old house is empty, and it needs once again to hear the voices of children.

There must be questions running through your mind, and I’ll answer them to the best of my ability.

Your father no longer resides in London. He attended Hannah’s funeral and returned to Cornwall. He no longer has ties to London, and I doubt I shall ever see him again. It might ease you to know that he is looking much better since he decided to leave the city. He has lost some weight, and his eyes are as keen and piercing as when I first met him.

As you well know, we had no mutual friends, so there would be no ridicule of your position.

Maybelle is a good deal like her mother, and I thank God that Hannah instilled in her Christian compassion to assuage the sick and the downtrodden, without which I could not ask you to come to London.

Think upon what I have written, Beth, and know that whatever decision you make, I shall understand that you made it wisely and from the heart.

Your Uncle George.

i.

London hadn't changed much. A bit grimier — more people scurrying about. As the hack pulled up to the Wooster house, Beth was dismayed to see how the area had deteriorated — it certainly was no longer a fashionable neighborhood.

The hackie retrieved her belongings and escorted her to the front door. The door was opened by Emma, the housekeeper-cook, who had been with the Wooster's since she could remember.

"Welcome, Lady Beth. Come in. I'll get your things."

She entered the hall. The familiar surroundings brought tears along with an odd sense of safety.

"Now then. Lady Beth, follow me and I'll show you where you will be staying. Mr. Wooster thought you should have Mr. Christopher's old room and your young ones next door in Miss Crystal's and Miss Louise’s."

"Emma, I don't mean to be a difficult guest to begin my visit, but I must keep the baby with me where I can watch out for her."

"Don't you worry. Lady Beth. I put up a crib in each room. We have lots of them in this house, you know," she giggled.

"Thank you, Emma. Oh, and Emma, please do not call me Lady Beth. Just Beth will do fine."

"I'll try, but it's going to take a bit of doin. Now you get your cape off, get settled and I'll make a pot of tea. Miss Maybelle said she would be here at three o’clock and it's nearly that time."

Maybelle's reaction when they me could easily be taken for disapproval; she shook Beth’s hand and pecked her on the cheek. It wasn't until Jane toddled down the stairs after her nap that Maybelle melted. "Beth, what a beautiful child," and she raised Jane to her breast and hugged her.

"Thank you, Maybelle. I only hope we won't be too much for you and Emma. She's a lively one."

Still clutching Jane, Maybelle responded, "Nonsense, we shall enjoy having her here."

When Uncle George arrived he hugged her, his expression conveying his pleasure. At dinner there was an aura of festivity. Conversation was light, with reminiscing of childhood pranks that seemed so long ago. She was sorry when it ended.

Lying in Chris' bed, she could not see Charlotte, but could hear her soft breathing. Unable to sleep she rose, lit a lamp on the night stand and quietly left the room. Downstairs all was quiet. It was a household that retired early and rose early. She was surprised to see a light under the study door. Tapping lightly, she waited until she heard Uncle George say, "Come in."

"My goodness Beth, what are you doing up at this hour? It's almost ten o'clock."

"I'm sorry if I disturbed you Uncle George. I was tired but I couldn't sleep. Excited I guess."

"Some sit down. It's been a long time since we've talked."

The next two hours were spent exchanging confidences that she thought she may never be able to talk about. She learned that Uncle George knew about her father and Hepsi. He had never conveyed his suspicions to Hannah. Hubert was getting on in years and if he had found something to fill the balance of his days, why not? Everyone was entitled to some degree of happiness.

He spoke of his children. He did not entirely approve of Chris' wife. She was a flibbertigibbet, but loved Chris. Their new son took all of their time and they were spoiling him rotten. Crystal and Louise had made good marriages and he was happy with their choices. His main concern was Maybelle. It troubled him greatly wondering what she would do when he was no longer there.

He and Chris still saw to it that the children at St. Giles had a present every Christmas. It gave him great satisfaction, and last year he delivered the gifts. He now understood how she felt about helping the children. He could not tell her anything about her mother, for it seemed she had disappeared into thin air.

She unburdened her soul — a catharsis long overdue. She spoke of the autocratic way her father ruled their home. How he had treated her when she married Rufus. She told Uncle George of Rufus' weakness but also of her love for him; her nursing, which had become a necessary part of her life; of Rufus' death; the problems that faced her regarding her future. Tears welled up when she told Uncle George that she sold Beauty. Those years had been the happiest ever. She withheld her knowledge of Timothy Colburn and the whereabouts of her mother. They hadn't realized the passing of time until the old clock chimed out midnight.

“My God, Beth, we've got to get to bed or neither of us will be worth our salt tomorrow."

It was the first time since Rufus died that she slept straight through with no disturbing dreams.

ii.

Charlotte's needs were her only responsibility. Maybelle took over Jane's care. She would have protested except that for the first time since she could remember, Maybelle was happy. Maybelle could be heard humming about the house and when Jane was present, Maybelle’s features softened, revealing a handsome woman.

The news of her return to London reached their circle of friends and crossed over to mix with the curious. It was the latter that brought Dr. Treymane to the Wooster home one early summer afternoon. His temple hair was now gray and his stoop more pronounced. Taking her outstretched hand he said, "How are you Beth?"

"I feel fine Dr. Treymane; it's just taking time to adjust to being alone."

"That's what I've come to see you about Beth. Would you consider going back to nursing? You're very good at it you know."

"I couldn't return to hospital work Dr. Treymane. Not only would St. Giles be painful for me, but I have a four month old daughter who needs my care."

"I wasn't speaking of St. Giles Beth. I was speaking of private care. I'll be administering to a lying-in case next week and I could use your help. I gather from the biddies that abound with nothing better to do than pass judgment, that you could use the money."

"I can't deny that Dr. Treymane; this is a difficult time. I would say yes, but I breast feed Charlotte."

"Bring her along. There will be ample time for you to take care of the babe. If I ask you to work on a case, it would be one that I know you would be comfortable in."

She could feel the excitement. Oh, to be active and useful again. "Under those circumstances, how can I refuse?"

"Good, now I've got to get back to the office. I have a roomful of people who think they are sick. When it's time, I'll send a hack."

By the end of July, she added two pounds to her savings. Her future was still undetermined, but her present was productive. Maybelle frowned at the thought of Elizabeth working, but she did not object too strenuously, for when she was away, Maybelle was alone with Jane.

iii.

The first week in August, after Jane's third birthday, and her twentieth, Dr. Treymane called her in on a post-operative case. The patient had stomach cancer. The tumor could not be resolved and her illness was terminal. Mrs. Celia Melton was a Canadian by birth. Her husband, a Britisher, died several years earlier. Despite her years in England, she never felt comfortable with British customs. She wanted to return home to Canada to die among her own.

By the fourth day, Mrs. Melton was able to sit up and notice the young woman Dr. Treymane had engaged. Her nurse was quiet, pleasant and efficient. As Elizabeth prepared her medication a plan began to form — one she hoped Mrs. Tupper would agree to.

"Being ill is such a nuisance, don't you think, Mrs. Tupper?"

"I'm sure it isn't pleasant."

"Did Dr. Treymane tell you when I can get out of this bed?"

"Well, that will have to wait until the stitches are removed — the end of the week."

"What a bother. I dislike lying here like a felled log in the bush."

"In the bush?"

"Yes, in the bush. That's a Canadian expression — in a forest or woods.”

As Mrs. Melton improved, she and Elizabeth became acquainted. Mrs. Melton appreciated Elizabeth’s skills and reason for working. She was also generous with compensation.

Beth was packing, preparing to leave, when a soft tap on the door interrupted her thoughts. It was Mrs. Melton.

"May I talk with you Beth?"

"Of course, come in."

"Beth I'm going to be very blunt. I'm leaving for Canada in two weeks and I want you to come with me."

"That's impossible."

"I think not. Please listen."

Dr. Treymane had been frank about her prognosis and she wanted to go home. She could not safely travel alone and there was a need for Elizabeth's services after the trip. The baby could accompany them. She would assume expenses and provide accommodations for her and the child in St. Catherine's, plus wages.

"Mrs. Melton, I don’t know what to say. That is a very generous offer, but you must understand that I not only have myself and Charlotte to consider, I also have Jane, who is an active three year old."

"When I die, you will have no obligations. You can return here or send for your daughter and stay in Canada. You told me your cousin takes good care of Jane. Would she care for her?”

"I can't honestly say Mrs. Melton. I must have time to think about it. Can you give me a few days?"

"Of course, but I've engaged a cabin on a steamer leaving for Quebec. If you cannot come, I shall have to find someone else. Please do not take too long."

"I'll let you know by the end of the week."

For the next two days, Beth weighed the situation. She liked the woman. God knew, she was needed. She was reluctant to leave Jane, but, unsure of the reason, Elizabeth decided on Canada. Uncle George understood that the decision was her's. Maybelle could not hide her delight.

iv.

Chris, Uncle George, Maybelle and Jane saw them off at the train station. Uncle George's words as she paused at the steps to the coach were ones that stayed with her for many years. "I wish you God Speed Beth. I feel your future lies in that new land and I shall not see you again, but I know that you will succeed in all your endeavors and stand proud, even in the face of adversity. God Bless you, Beth. You have been an added joy in my life."

v.

One day, with a petulant sea, she thought of Amelia. She did not dwell on her thoughts — she did not have time, because Celia Melton's seasickness required her attention. The assigned cabin was not spacious. Adequate was the kindest word. The baggage took up much of the room, allowing a pathway between the double bunks and the door to the passage way, so they spent as much time on deck or in the wardroom as possible. The tea was strong and hot, but the food was plain and unimaginative. She salivated when she recalled the meat pies she had filched from Jean-Claude's kitchen.

Their first port of call in Canada was Gaspe. It had a deep water port to accommodate larger ships that drew more water than the fishing skiffs. It was an English settlement in the province of Quebec, filled with French speaking Canadians, that had managed to maintain its English heritage. The village relied on commercial fishing and timber from the surrounding forests for its support. Ships of call were infrequent so each docking brought a day of celebration to the sturdy settlers who populated Gaspe.

After tying up, the Captain announced that it would be twenty-four hours before the hold was emptied of cargo destined for the outlying areas. Passengers were welcome to go ashore, however, the ship would sail at high tide the following evening. He reminded them to be prompt or be left behind. Some had no desire to disembark, while others, with portmanteau in hand, headed for the town's only hotel. They also chose to disembark, but instead of the hotel, Mrs. Melton had learned from the second mate that a rooming house next to the ship chandler on the waterfront was available.

She was surprised and pleased with Mrs. Ferris' rooming house.

Not only was their room pleasant, but Mrs. Ferris had delivered to their room a copper tub so that she and Mrs. Melton could wash away ten days of perspiration and body odor. Sinking into the tub of warm water she thought she must be in heaven.

The next day, after a lunch of succulent lobster, they strolled about the town. It seemed odd not to have to balance their bodies against the listing of the ship. The outskirts of the village was populated by fishermen who cast their nets for the giant cod. It was commonplace to see men mending nets or drying the kite-shaped cod in the sun. She thought she could have been happy in this place and was sorry when they had to re-board the ship.

Two days later they were well into the mouth of the St. Lawrence River. If asked to define the most magnificent sight she had ever seen, parts of the St. Lawrence were her choice. The river was wide, deep and a dusky blue. The high bluffs on both sides were intimidating. Every few kilometers a small cove would appear and there would be a tiny fishing village nestled against the bluffs with numerous small boats neatly anchored about.

The farther west they traveled the more frequently came the signs of habitation. The bluffs gradually disappeared and now there were merely rises that accommodated houses and farms. By the time they reached Quebec City, both sides of the St. Lawrence were bustling with industry. As they were docking, she gazed up at the wall. The high knoll which Quebec had been built upon had not been built without thought. It was a citadel erected decades ago to defend against enemies. The lower city was a bustling community of commerce, larger and more advanced than she expected.

Mrs. Melton paid the second mate to see that her large trunks and packing cases were sent on to St. Catherine's. She hired a cab to take them to the railroad station. The closest they could get to St. Catherine's by rail was Toronto. The balance of the trip around the western end of Lake Ontario would be made by coach. She was relieved when they finally arrived at a large frame house that faced Lake Ontario. It was weather-beaten but, to her, looked like the Savoy in London.

Their journey from Quebec had been arduous. Even Charlotte, normally quiet and contented, was fussing. Mrs. Melton was beginning to show the strain; her mouth now set in a permanent frown and the eye pouches became darker with each passing day.

The caretaker and his wife had been advised of their arrival date. Dust covers had been removed and a general cleaning had taken place. After a short tea the three weary travelers retired, to sleep without interruption.

The next morning, with Charlotte still sleeping soundly, she made her way to the kitchen. The caretakers, Herman and his wife Abigail, were bustling about preparing breakfast.

"Am I too early?"

"Of course not Mum. Just set yourself down. It'll only take a moment or two," Abigail replied.

During the course of breakfast she learned that they had lived in two small rooms off the kitchen for almost twenty years. They had been servants for Mrs. Melton's father, Mr. Emory. Mrs. Melton kept them on to care for the property after his death and her departure.

"Miz Melton doesn't look well, Miz Tupper." Herman said, "Is something amiss with our lady?"

"Yes there is, Herman, and I'm sorry. Mrs. Melton is very ill. That's the reason I am here. I suppose you could call me a traveling companion, but I've a great deal of nursing experience and she engaged me to care for her."

Using the end of her apron, Abigail wiped away the tears. Death was no stranger, but the implications of what Mrs. Tupper had told them brought them sadness, for the Emory line would die with their mistress.

"Please Abigail, you must not let Mrs. Melton see how you feel. I told you the facts to let you know what will happen. It is going to be long and painful and I shall need your help to make the time she has left as comfortable as possible."

"Yes Mum, I'll do what I can."

"Now, I suggest you take a tray up to Mrs. Melton. I think it best if she spends the day in bed. This trip has taken a toll on her."

vi.

October was pleasant — called Indian summer by the Canadians. Mrs. Melton's condition remained stable, and allowed Beth to leave the house for walks along the beach with Charlotte. Once, while Abigail watched Charlotte, she went into town. The waterfront was a bee-hive. Ships of all sizes were anchored waiting their turn to pass through the Welland Canal to trade at ports of call on the Great Lakes. The merchants were eager to get in and out before the Lakes froze. The center of the town was quiet with unusual shops catering to the seamen who spent a great deal of money lying over. Across from the public library, she found what she was looking for—the hospital.

The last Sunday in October was lovely and Beth asked if she might have the day off to see her brother-in-law. Mrs Melton was eager to let her go — they would have new information for conversation; if Elizabeth would talk. Mrs. Melton still knew nothing about Elizabeth's family, only those of her husband.

Unacquainted with the roads, she hired a driver and buggy. The old man perched next to her in the buggy was not talkative. He knew the town of Fillmore and some of the residents, but he did not know any Joshua Tupper. He would inquire once they got there. That seemed to settle the matter so she leaned back against the aging black leather seat and enjoyed her surroundings; making mental notes as they drove.

It was nearly noon when they drove through a grove of trees to a small frame house. There was no one about. Carrying Charlotte, she stepped up to the door and knocked. She could hear voices and a scraping of chairs and the door swung open. She faced a woman who looked older than her actual years, a condition common among the pioneers here.

Tilting her head to the side the woman asked, "Yes Mum, what is it you want?"

"Are you Clara Tupper?"

The woman nodded.

"Well, I'm Beth, Elizabeth Tupper."

The woman turned her head around and called into the room, "My Lord Josh, it's Rufus' wife."

"For goodness sake woman, step aside and let her in," as Joshua pushed away from the dinner table.

"Come in. Come in, it's good to meet you at last," as he shook her free hand. "Well now, this is quite a surprise. Had a letter from Ma and she said you was cornin' to Canada. Didn't expect to see you though."

"I'm sorry; I hadn't intended to surprise you, but this is the first opportunity I've had to get away and since it was such a nice day I decided on the spur of the moment to visit. Am I forgiven?"

"No need to be sorry, we're glad you came."

"Give me a moment to see about my driver."

She turned and made her way back to the buggy. "If you have friends in Fillmore to visit you may do so. Call for me in three hours."

The old man grunted and retreated back out through the trees.

Clara hadn't uttered a single word since her announcement and the four children at the table had not touched a bite of food and simply stared at their visitor.

"My Goodness, please sit down and finish your dinner before it gets cold. Clara, I must feed the baby. Is there someplace where we could be alone?"

Clara nodded and moved toward a closed door that opened off the kitchen. The room was small and cramped. A bed pushed into the corner allowed room for a small chest and over it hung a beautiful framed mirror suspended on a nail driven into the studding. Clothing was likewise supported in this manner on a narrow wall next to the window. When Charlotte had been satisfied and her napkin changed she returned to the kitchen.

The initial awkwardness was quickly dispelled and conversation flowed freely. Even Clara joined in. Peter and Joshua had worked the docks in Halifax when they first came over. Both wanted better for their families and by chance they came across an old newspaper advertising land available for homesteading. The newspaper article was old so most plots had been taken. They couldn't get abutting parcels, so Peter had taken up in Ralston and Joshua had come here. It was hard work. He only had about twenty acres of tillable land, the rest was bush. He, along with Tim and Hardy, the two oldest boys, spent their extra time felling and clearing the trees.

Joshua laughed as he said, "We might starve to death, but by God, we’ll never freeze. Enough wood stacked to last at least three years and no end in sight."

Clara had a garden and had put down enough root vegetables for the winter. Their diet might be monotonous but it would be nourishing. The bush abounded in squirrels, rabbits and game birds, so they would have meat on the table.

In this part of the country barter was the accepted principle of exchange and so far they had been able to survive. Josh's land was the last to cleared, so firewood was traded for flour, sugar and salt. The stand of trees in the front of the house leading to the road were sugar maple and he would not cut them. Maybe next year he would be able to tap them. Right now he didn't know enough about the process and he didn't want to injure the trees; besides, it took cash to buy the necessary equipment for such a venture.

This was the poorest house they had ever lived in, but however crude, it was a roof over their heads and someday he would build a fine brick building with an indoor privy. He was thankful for his neighbors for their help that first year.

She told them about Carlie and Billy, her hospital work and her reason for being in Canada. Hoof beats signaled the end of the visit. It didn't seem possible that time had passed so quickly.

Bidding them goodbye, she said, "I don't think I'll be back before spring and then it will depend on Mrs. Melton. Please understand if you don't hear from me. Most of all I can't begin to tell you what a happy day this has been for me."

vii.

The old pundits that abounded in St. Catherine's and who predicted the weather were right. It didn't take long for winter to descend. November was cold and rainy with the winds whistling out of the Northwest. The house, a pleasant resort in summer, was drafty and cold in winter and impossible to heat. Herman and Abigail had no problems because the area they occupied was confined. When the first snow began to fall in early December the temperature began to drop. The lake in front of the house was skimming over with ice, like scalded milk left too long over low heat. Taking stock of the lower floor she determined that their comfort depended on living in the least amount of space. Herman and Abigail were already settled and she was not about to cast them out. The kitchen was large and the cooking stove would supply that room the necessary heat. The old summer kitchen, situated on the south-side of the house, was safe from the bitter north winds. It opened to the main kitchen and a small wood burning stove, rusted and decrepit, was adequate to provide them with the needed heat. Within two days the transition had been completed and they were comfortable as the snow continued to fall.

Herman would bundle up once a week and take the horse and sleigh into St Catherine's for supplies. There was no other way if they wanted to eat. Food on this table did not come from a home garden plot — it had to be purchased at markets about town.

i.

As January approached, Mrs. Melton's pain intensified. She seldom left her bed, but was content to stay where it was warm and to suffer in silence. On the few occasions when she attempted to join the others it was plain that the effort was taking a terrible toll. By February she was suffering the torture of the damned. Morphine helped the pain and for a few hours Celia would sleep but would awaken moaning.

It was the silence that wakened her. As soon as she opened her eyes she knew she was sharing the room with death. Wrapping a shawl about her, she lit a lamp and carried it to Celia's bed. She felt for a pulse and placed her ear on Celia's chest. Silence. Tears rose, but they were tears of thankfulness, Celia's agony was over. She straightened the bedding, pulled the covers over Celia's face and went into the kitchen. The old wall clock said four o'clock so she decided to wait another hour before waking Herman and Abigail. She put the kettle on the range to make some tea. In the makeshift crib, Charlotte was sound asleep, curled up on her stomach with her thumb in her month.

Sitting there sipping the hot tea, she thought about the decisions she had to make. She supposed she would be able to stay in the house until some arrangement could be made for her future, but what was her future? Go back to England or stay in Canada? What would she do in Canada? She would need steady work if she wanted to bring Jane over and Charlotte could not be left alone. She could return to England, but that idea left a bitter taste in her mouth. There was still an awkwardness in her family and she was no longer comfortable in London's Society, even with those who accepted her. Her thoughts were as jumbled as the knocked down blocks that she and Amelia had played with as children. The old clock weakly clanked out five gasping dull tones. She rose wearily from the chair to be about the things that needed to be done before this day was over.

Mrs. Melton had no living relatives but there were many neighbors who remembered her. She and Abigail cooked, baked and cleaned. The other rooms were opened up to accommodate visitors but even with fires going it was chilly and damp. Smiling to herself, she knew the chill alone would discourage any lengthy visits from Mrs. Melton's old friends and those who might call out of curiosity.

On the day of the funeral, March had decided to leave a final message in white before retreating in the face of the oncoming spring. As with Rufus, Mrs. Melton could not be buried immediately. Her body would lie in a small, crude, wooden chapel placed in the corner of the cemetery. It was here that the minister from the old family church read a short burial service. There were no pews and the walls were barren. The floor was hard packed dirt, pounded down through the years by many services like this. The only adornment was a stark cross nailed to the wall in the front of the room. While the minister read words of comfort, she looked around and observed five more coffins with name tags and plot numbers lined up against the wall waiting to be interred as soon as the ground was soft enough to receive them. It was distressing and morbid.

Shortly after two o'clock the following afternoon Abigail called Elizabeth to the parlor. Two gentlemen stood before her. One was Mr. Templeton, Mrs. Melton's attorney, and the other was a short stout man she did not know. Mr. Templeton extended his hand and said, "It's very good to see you again Mrs. Tupper. May I introduce you to Mr. Barnes? Mr. Barnes is president of St. Catherine's Provincial Bank."

Mr. Barnes likewise extended his hand and said, "Very nice to meet you."

"Won’t you gentlemen sit down. Abigail will bring some tea."

"That won't be necessary Mrs. Tupper, as a matter of fact I would like Herman and Abigail to be present for this meeting."

"Of course, if you will excuse me for a moment I'll get them."

When they returned, Mr. Templeton cleared his throat and proceeded to speak. "You are well aware that I have taken charge of Mrs. Melton's affairs since her return to Canada. Two years ago Mrs. Melton took out a large mortgage on this property. It seems that William Melton was not as well off it may have appeared. Mrs. Melton died practically penniless and this house is now the property of Mr. Barnes' bank and it will be put up for sale immediately."

"What about her London property? Wasn't that sold when she came back?"

"No, Mrs. Tupper. The house in London belonged to William Melton's family. They allowed her the use of it after her husband's death. Her personal items of furniture, paintings and memorabilia were sold to finance her trip here. The balance in her account will be used to pay her debts to the grocers who have been allowing her credit due to her illness."

"I cannot speak for Herman and Abigail but I myself have not been paid for the past two months. Mrs. Melton was too ill to be aware of this laxity and I was certain that her estate would pay the money due."

It was at this juncture that Mr. Barnes spoke. "Mrs. Tupper, it is a most unfortunate circumstance you find yourself in and I heartily sympathize with your predicament, especially since you are new to our country, a stranger in our land. I have a compromise, if you will permit me to explain, that will perhaps afford you some relief, for a few weeks at any rate."

"And what might that be Mr. Barnes?" she asked.

"I would like Herman and Abigail to stay on as caretakers until the house is sold. They will be paid by the bank for these services. You, Mrs. Tupper, will be allowed to stay if you so choose. There would be no charge for rent and this would compensate in some way for lack of wages. I don't anticipate sale of the house until summer. At this time of the year Lake Ontario is bleak and buyers are not in abundance."

Herman and Abigail, who had remained silent through all the conversation, were now nodding their heads in agreement.

"Very well, Mr. Barnes, I accept your offer."

"I always liked Celia," Mr. Barnes said as they were leaving. "She had a flair for living and I'm sure she would want me to do the very best for you that I could."

"Thank you, Mr. Barnes," she replied, although for the life of her she couldn't think what she was thanking him for. Here she was, left high and dry in St. Catherine, Ontario, Canada.

ii.

By the second week in April the weather had improved. Only patches of snow were left along the North side of houses, hillocks and ditches. She felt a desperate need to visit Josh, Clara and the family so she donned her old riding habit, rented a saddle horse and made her way to Fillmore.

The second meeting was a somber affair. She told them what had transpired after Celia Melton's death and that she had decided not to return to England—that she had decided that her future was here in Canada. She also told them that she had gone to St. Catherine Hospital to seek work.

The hospital was eager for trained help but because she had not had formal training — apparently experience did not count — her wages would be below that of a trained nurse. This posed a problem for her. Her stay at Mrs. Melton's could expire at any time and what with the cost of lodging, food and someone to stay with Charlotte, little was left for the necessities of living, and there was still Jane in London.

When she finished they sat silently for a few moments and Clara spoke, "Beth, would it help if you brought Charlotte out here to us? We aren't rich, but we can find room for another one. God knows we have a lot of love to spare."

The doubts, fears and uncertainties of these past weeks caught up with her and she could no longer contain them — she began to cry. "Clara, I couldn't ask you to do that."

"Why not?" Josh asked, "It would give Alice a good reason for not pestering her brothers when they're working."

She left the farm promising she would return soon with her decision.

She found a room at a house near the hospital for two dollars a week with breakfast. Food at the hospital could be had for three dollars a month. Horse rental on her day off to visit Charlotte and five dollars a month to Josh for Charlotte's care would allow her to barely get by. There was no way that she could ask Josh and Clara to care for another child. It troubled her that she would not be able to bring Jane to Canada. She would have to stay with Maybelle and Uncle George until the situation improved.

i.

The first year at St. Catherine Hospital, Elizabeth was on night duty. It was eerily quiet except for an occasional cough or moan to disturb the stillness. That year rewarded her with personal satisfaction as well as financial gain. The night-staff was small and more than once she had displayed her skills in a crisis. Her immediate supervisor and the doctors with whom she worked were impressed with her quick wittedness and her ability to stay calm under stress. She had earned the status of a trained nurse with equal pay.

With her finances improved, she wrote to Maybelle that she would like Jane to join her. Maybelle wrote back that Uncle George was ailing and could not be left alone and that Jane was too young to make the journey by herself. As soon as Maybelle could find someone responsible leaving for Canada she would send Jane on to her.

In the meantime, Charlotte was blooming. She was well adjusted and content — a child who smiled a lot and showed a willingness to please.

ii.

Josh used the money she gave him for Charlotte's care to buy equipment to tap his maple trees. The initial supply of maple syrup was more than expected. The second year was the same and Josh decided to go to Hamilton for the summer farmer's fair. Peter would come down from Halton and they would have a family reunion. Josh invited her to join them. It would be an opportunity at last to meet her other brother-in-law.

When they arrived, Peter was already there and had reserved a space next to his wagon for Josh and his family. It was, as Josh had said, a family reunion. The two brothers hadn't seen each other in almost four years. She was accepted into the family as though she had always been one of them. There was laughter and endless stories of times gone by. The children, once they knew the boundaries, were allowed to roam. A small carousel and a large wheel, which rotated perpendicular to the ground, invented by a man named Ferris, offered amusement for them at five cents a ride. The adults were more concerned with the stalls and make shift barns that offered the very best in agriculture and home making.

Both Josh and Peter had placed their offerings in competition. Josh entered with his maple syrup and Peter with a developed hybrid yellow turnip that was not only delicious as a table vegetable, but a staple for hog feed. The judges placed Josh's maple syrup first and Peter's turnip third in category.

It had been a wonderful time for Josh. He had seen his brother and he had fifty dollars in his pocket. He had decided that his future lay in the trees in front of his house and his time and energy would henceforth be devoted to them. The boys could look after the farm.

iii.

Once again she wrote Maybelle, insisting that Jane be sent to Canada. The answering letter was heartbreaking. Uncle George had passed quietly in his sleep and the household was in a state of turmoil. Maybelle would consider Jane's leaving when things had returned to a more normal routine. She could not fault Maybelle's decision but the longer Jane stayed, the more she would be influenced by Maybelle, and she did not want that. Maybelle had her good points, but raising a child in her image was not what she envisioned for Jane.

Anticipating Jane's return, she found a small flat above a confectionery.

It had a kitchen, parlor and bedroom. The bedroom was large enough to accommodate the three of them, if the girls shared a bunk bed; an idea that remained in her mind since her passage from England. She contacted a carpenter, who had been hospitalized under her charge at one time, to build the bunks. The old man had hand carved a fan design at the head of each bed and the legs and connecting bars were lathed in a symmetrical design that enhanced the beauty of the entire piece. It was by far the most elegant piece of furniture she had.

Charlotte's departure was especially hard for Alice to understand. Promises to see them as often as possible helped ease some of the sorrow.

At five and a half Charlotte was ready to attend school. A housekeeper would be needed in late afternoons before she returned from the hospital and she was happy to find a middle aged woman, a widow like herself, eager to earn a few extra dollars a month.

iv.

One of Elizabeth's charges was a man with a badly injured leg. He worked for the Canal Company and had become tangled in some machinery. The doctor had been able to save the leg, but there would be permanent impairment.

She greeted her other charges and approached the new patient's bedside. Lying immobile with splints attached to his leg and covered by yards of bandage was Kevin Cooper. He appeared to be asleep but moved restlessly. She leaned over to get a better look.

"Lord, I've been allowed in heaven, for surely no angel this beautiful could be elsewhere."

She quickly pulled back. "How are you feeling, Mr. Cooper?"

"Oh, I guess I'm not in heaven after all, for my leg is giving me a terrible turn. And who might you be, beautiful lady?"

"I'm Elizabeth Tupper, Mr. Cooper. I've been assigned to your case."

"Case is it? Well, do your best Lizzie girl, for I'm sore in need of comfort."

The doctor had managed to save the leg but gangrene was always a ghost waiting for the opportunity to pounce on the slightest infraction by the caretakers of mortal flesh.

Gangrene could mean amputation or even death. Several weeks passed before the bones in Kevin's leg knit properly and the torn flesh began to take on the rosy hue of healthy tissue.

In those weeks, she got to know more about Kevin Cooper. Kevin came from the province of Ulster, Ireland to Canada with his parents during the potato famine. His father was dead, but his mother lived in Huron County. There was never a day that Kevin did not enjoin her in some repartee, making her smile or even laugh aloud. The black curly hair, deep blue eyes and the grin, which exposed his dimples, would melt an iceberg. Hard as she tried to remain aloof, she felt herself drawn to the man. She felt guilty that he could arouse her emotions in this way for her memories of Rufus were still very real.

By the end of January, Kevin was managing on crutches and February had him walking with a cane. The supervisor of the Canal Company paid him a visit just before his discharge and advised Kevin that his expenses at the hospital would be paid but that that would be the extent of the Company's responsibility. His disability would prevent him from returning to their employ — company policy.

Preparing to leave the hospital Kevin asked, "Lizzie, join me at O'Neill's tavern for dinner. I feel the need to celebrate my release."

"I would like that Kevin, if you think it won't be too tiring for you."

"Who could get tired entertaining a beautiful lass?"

She agreed to meet him at seven o'clock.

v.

In the mail that Mrs. Morgan had placed on the sink was a letter posted from London. Tearing the envelope open, she read:

"Never for one instant had I ever dreamed Maybelle would be married. I pray for her happiness and safe journey,” she thought.

vi.

Her excitement showed when she entered O’Neill's. Her eyes sparkled and her cheeks were flushed, half of which could be attributed to Kevin Cooper. He was waiting for her at a side table. As she approached he grasped his cane and rose to greet her.

“By God, Lizzie you re radiant. I’ll need to fight off all the men in St. Catherines to keep you to myself."

She blushed. After they ordered she could no longer contain her excitement, "Oh Kevin, I’ve just received the most wonderful news. Jane is finally coming over. She'll arrive early in May.

"Lizzie, that's good news indeed. You've told me how much you miss her. Now your little family will be complete."

"I'm frightened too, Kevin. Do you realize I haven't seen Jane in almost six years? What am I going to say to her? Will she like me? Will she even know me?"

"Whoa there Lizzie, don't get a head of steam up until you've got some place to go."

"You're right Kevin. It's just that it has been so long and I'm anxious."

"Course you are girl, but let me remind you now that you're here to help me celebrate my freedom from that mortuary you call a hospital."

The rest of the evening was spent in pleasant conversation. It came to an end when she could see that Kevin was tiring. She suggested that they leave and he didn't argue. When the cab drew up in front of the flat, Kevin leaned over and kissed her gently on the mouth. She responded hungrily.

"Lizzie," Kevin whispered, "I want to see you again. Can I call on you on Sunday?"

"Come for dinner Kevin, we’ll eat at three o'clock. Is that all right?"

"That will be perfect Lizzie, I'll see you then."

She was happy and Charlotte was enthralled with this man who could tell the most outrageous stories and make her laugh. In a few weeks Kevin was able to manage without the cane, although his limp was pronounced. He had been unable to secure work and his finances were in a muddle. He asked her for several small loans to tide him over until he could find work and she willingly obliged.

His impairment caused a great deal of difficulty for he could not stand or walk for any extended period. He worked well with his hands however, and it was this that prompted a livery owner to hire him to mend harnesses and other leather goods. These repairs could be done sitting down. The livery owner offered him a room in the loft, so Kevin was able to save some money. With her feeding him almost every evening he was able to get by. She sensed that even though Kevin was working, his physical limitations bothered him greatly.

The telegram finally arrived announcing Jane's arrival time in Buffalo. She was elated. She was telling Kevin about her plans to get Jane when Kevin looked up over his tea cup, lowered it to the saucer and said, "Lizzie, I'm a damned fool, let's get married and leave this place. God knows I don't have two cents to rub together but Dad left me the farm in Huron County. We can make a go of it there. What do you say?"

There was a long pause before she replied, "I don't know what to say."

"Say yes, Lizzie, say yes. Think you'll be able to take care of your girls yourself? They'll have wide open country to grow in, not among this rattle and clatter and low life from the docks. The air is pure and the country rolling. Ah Lizzie, what a time we'd have."

His enthusiasm was so infectious that she was drawn up in his excitement. Throwing all caution to the wind and praying she would have no reason to regret it, she smiled broadly, grasped his hands in hers and said, "I'll marry you!"

"Ah Lizzie, you won't be sorry," he said as he drew her into his arms.

That evening was spent making plans. It was Thursday and Jane would arrive on Sunday afternoon. She would ask for time off for the weekend. They could be married on Friday afternoon and take the train to Niagara Falls for a honeymoon at what was becoming a Mecca for newlyweds. Mrs. Morgan would look after Charlotte.

They were married the next day at noon in the town hall by a court justice. By one thirty they were aboard the train for the Falls. She gave Kevin a hundred dollars so that he could take care of all the expenses. He accepted the money and assured her that things would change and he would be able to support them all handsomely.

Following the bell boy as he escorted them to their room she was feeling her first pangs of doubt. From the moment that Kevin had proposed until now she had not had time to consider her decision. She only knew she loved Kevin and the deed was done.

It was a charming room, large, airy and bright. A majestic four-poster dominated the room. There was a black marble fireplace on one wall, a clothes press with full length mirror, two small tables and a commode with pitcher and basin. Two overstuffed chairs completed the decor.

With all the savoir faire of a bon vivant Kevin tipped the bell boy a dollar. She winced. At that rate the money wouldn't last long. The bell boy smiled, tipped his cap and left the room. Alone, Kevin gathered her in his arms, kissed her deeply then drew away and said, "Lizzie my girl, there's nothing more I would like than to get you into that beautiful bed, but I think I should warn you, once that happens there'll be no leaving this room, so I suggest we do all our sight seeing this afternoon. I'd not have you returning to St. Catherines to say you'd never seen Niagara Falls."

She simply nodded.

They hired an open carriage to take in the sights. From the center of the city the sound of the Falls was a dull rushing noise, unchanging, blending into the background. As they drew closer to the source, the sound became increasingly louder. By the time the carriage was alongside the escarpment overlooking the breath-taking spectacle, she and Kevin were shouting at each other just to be heard. They dismounted and walked to the precipice where the mist from Horseshoe Falls gently wafted around them. Across the river, dropping into a deep abyss, was American Falls, not as spectacular as the Horseshoe but still a phenomenon. They walked a short time along the escarpment pausing to take in a different view. When Kevin's leg began to bother him they returned to the carriage and rode down to the whirlpool, another phenomenon that defied nature's order. A narrow suspension foot-bridge swayed across the river and over the whirlpool. Two couples standing in the middle of bridge were throwing something out over the river and watching while the current drew it to the center of the whirlpool where it disappeared into oblivion. Kevin suggested they walk across but she refused. Nothing could make her go over that raging water.

vii.

Kevin was experienced, tender and knowing. She responded fully and was taken to heights of ecstasy she didn't know existed. It frightened her at times to realize that she could feel her mind leaving her body as she reacted to Kevin's sexual prowess. They made love many times in the hours that were left to them at Niagara. Kevin was right. They did not leave their room and when hungry they had food sent up.

viii.

Sunday morning dawned bright and sunny. She was sad that they had to leave this oasis of loving intimacy; even the thought of Jane's arrival did not dispel a guilty wish that Jane could somehow be delayed, however, as they drew closer to Buffalo, her excitement mounted and those thoughts disappeared.

She stopped at the ticket office and was assured that the New York train would arrive on schedule at two thirty. She and Kevin had an hour to wait so they went to a small tea room not far from the station. She was so anxious, she could not eat and managed to drink only a few sips of her coffee.

The train pulled to a stop and released the steam, while she was pacing up and down the platform watching each car as it emptied. Finally, three people emerged from the last coach on the train, two handsome young adults and a young girl. Rushing to the end of the train with Kevin limping behind, she approached them excitedly. "Mr. Holcolm?"

"Yes, you must be Mrs. Tupper."

"Mr. Holcolm how can I ever thank you for taking care of Jane on this trip. I'm most grateful."

She surveyed the young girl who was still clasping the hand of Mrs. Holcolm. She was tall, thin, with long dark braids that fell beneath her bonnet to the middle of her back. Her expression was solemn and conveyed little interest in her surroundings. She pulled Jane into her arms. "Oh Love, how I've longed to hold you here close to my heart. How I have missed you."

Jane said nothing. Elizabeth straightened up and introduced Kevin to the Holcolm's. At the word "husband" Jane's eyes widened, then almost closed. Her heart sank.

Kevin suggested that they have dinner. The Holcolm's declined as Buffalo was not their destination. An early train the next morning would take them to their last stop at Lockport. They said their goodbyes and parted at the Buffalo station.

They decided to take the coach back to Niagara, have dinner and hire a hack to take them to St. Catherines. They should be home by midnight. The trip was awkward for everyone. Trying to draw Jane into the conversation by asking about the family in London, the most she could accomplish was a "yes" or "no." They were barely out of Niagara Falls when Jane dropped off to sleep.

"Kevin would you be very upset if I asked you to stay at the livery tonight? It will give me a chance to tell Charlotte about us. Tomorrow we'll move my bed into the parlor and we shall have a place for ourselves."

ix.

Breakfast was strained and Jane did nothing to lighten the situation. Charlotte could do nothing more than draw a perfunctory remark or two from Jane. Though the school term was almost over, Elizabeth wanted Jane to get used to the difference between the Canadian and English system before they were dismissed for the summer. She instructed Charlotte to be sure that she accompanied Jane home.

Kevin came at ten o'clock. They moved the bed to the parlor and Kevin exacted his due from the previous evening and pulled her down into the bed where they made uninhibited love.

x.

As August approached, Kevin expressed his desire to leave St. Catherines and move west to his farm in Huron County. His work in the livery was meager in comparison to her salary and had no chance of improving. Although he had no compunction living on her income and from time to time taking money from her, it was clear that it bothered him that she was the chief earner in the household.

It was Jane's birthday when Kevin dropped the bomb-shell. They were seated at the kitchen table and Jane had been coaxed into blowing out the candles on her cake when Kevin made his announcement. "Eh Loves. I've got a surprise for all of you. Talked to old man Tyler yesterday. He's going to sell me a wagon and two plow horses with enough supplies to see us through to my farm in Huron County!"

Kevin reached over and pinched Charlotte's cheek. "You're going to love it lass, fresh air and lots of room to move about."

The two girls had no idea what he was talking about, but she took a deep breath and chose to wait until they were alone to discuss the matter.

"Lizzie girl. You know when I married you, I wanted to go back home. You agreed with me then."

"I did Kevin, but things change. The girls are happy here and I have my work as do you."

"Aye Lizzie, that's the problem. You know as well as I do, with this poor excuse of a leg I'll never be more than a handyman and it galls me to be coming to you for money. At the farm I'll be my own man. You can understand that, can't you?"

"Oh Love, of course I can. It's only that it's such a big step for all of us."

"We'll be fine Lizzie, you'll see," and Kevin led her to the bed. When reason failed, love-making obliterated her doubts.

i.

Sitting on the porch with a chipped enamel basin in her lap, she was peeling potatoes. From time to time she would glance up, look toward Lake Huron and imagine that she could smell the damp pungent odor of the Lake, even though it was fifty kilometers away. Her thoughts wandered as she slid the blade under the peel.

She recalled the journey that brought them here. Kevin allowed her barely enough time to take care of necessary matters before they left St. Catherines. The recollection the how happy and carefree the girls were during the trip west still brought a smile. Even Jane allowed herself moments of uninhibited laughter. Each stop was a picnic and both girls relished the chores of gathering wood for boiling water and cooking.

Aside from utensils and bedding, the only furniture she insisted on moving was the bunk beds. The beds were partially dismantled but still provided the girls a place to sleep while she and Kevin slept beneath the wagon. The wagon, worm eaten and falling apart, rested against the livestock shed. The remaining wheel rims were now rusting in the shed, saved for spare parts. The canvas that had spanned the wagon had long since rotted.

It was four years since they had left St. Catherines, but it was as if it were yesterday as she recalled her first impression of Campbelltown. It was a cross-road community with a blacksmith-livery on one corner, opposite a general store on the other, with a sign over the door that read "Campbell's". There were two houses, occupied by the proprietors of those establishments. A short distance down the road stood a field-stone school house which doubled as an Anglican Church every other Sunday.

They stopped in front of the blacksmith, where a huge man with a red beard, heavily laced with gray, wearing a leather apron, came out to greet them. Jumping to the ground, Kevin thrust out his hand and shouted, "Hey, Dolan, you haven't changed a bit."

The bearded man squinted his eyes and with his left hand shielded them from the sun. "By God Kevin, is that you?"

"Aye, that it is. I've come home to stay. How's the old homestead look?"

"Good you're back Kevin. Your Ma's getting on and the childer need attention."

Elizabeth frowned when she heard the word childer.

"Eh, Dolan, meet the Missus," Kevin said, stepping back and away so Dolan could approach the wagon.

"Lizzie," Kevin explained, "this here is Dolan Murphy. We crossed the water together when we were young pups."

"Dolan, Lizzie here is an angel of mercy, not long off the royal sod. She's a nurse no less and those two lassies you see peekin' out over the side board is me daughters, Jane and Charlotte."

She leaned from the wagon and extended her hand to Dolan Murphy. His enormous hand engulfed hers. She smiled and said, "I'm pleased to meet you Mr. Murphy."

Dolan mumbled something unintelligible and turned back to Kevin. "It's good to have you home Kevin, we need a bit of the old crowd to liven things up."

"Sure, I'll be stayin’ Dolan, and as soon as we are settled in, you'll be hearin' from me."

She was amazed at how quickly the Irish brogue had crept into Kevin's speech.

"Well Dolan, we'd best be gitten on. Have a lot to do yet before dark. Tell your Ma and Pa I'll be talkin' to 'em soon." Climbing back up on the wagon bench, Kevin clucked to the horses, waved his hand to his friend and they started off again.

A mile and a half down the deep rutted road, Kevin pulled into a lane leading to a small grove of trees that surrounded three out-buildings. She gasped when she saw the house. Ugly and barren, it stood out against the horizon like a scab. It had started out as a sod hut with logs laid afterward to enlarge its capacity. As an afterthought, another obscenity had been added — a wooden clapboard roof.

She blurted out, "My God Kevin, this is your home?"

"Aye Lizzie, I grant you it ain't much to look at, but I'll be fixin' it up for us, so don't you worry,"

She leaned back against the wagon seat and closed her eyes, willing the tears not to come. The noise of the wagon brought shouts, and when she opened her eyes, staring up at her were five pairs of eyes emanating from the faces of children of various sizes. Looking over their heads, she could see an old woman, bent with age, coming from the hut.

Kevin jumped down and started toward the hut with the children following him like the Pied Piper. "Oh Ma, glad to see you I am, and to be home," he choked as he gathered his mother in his arms.

"Aye Kevin, and none too soon neither, I tell you. I'm so weary — too much to do and no strength for it."

"Well Ma, I'm here to stay, so don't you worry,"

Elizabeth sat stunned — unable to move from the wagon.

"Lizzie," Kevin called, "come down now and meet me Ma and family. Bring the girls."

Jane and Charlotte remained in the back of the wagon. When Kevin called out they cautiously lowered themselves to the ground. Charlotte took Jane's hand and they made their way to the front while she climbed down.

Kevin came to meet them and turning to his mother and children he proudly spoke. "Ma, this is Elizabeth, my wife and these two bonnie lassies are Lizzie's childer. Jane is ten and Charlotte is seven."

"Now you ragamuffins,"he said to the children gathered around him, get in line and let's see if I can get you all sorted out to introduce you properly."

Standing like a barker at a carnival, Kevin went down the line. "This here is Maggie, fourteen; Homer, thirteen; Barney here is twelve; Marcie is ten; and, who is this last one. I've forgotten."

Kevin, with a wink, tickled the littlest girl and she giggled. "Ah, now I remember, this must be Carrie, and how old might you be?"

The little girl shyly raised five fingers of one hand and the thumb and forefinger on the other one.

"Seven you say? Well now, you'll be a good sister here to Charlotte eh?"

Carrie nodded.

Standing there, Kevin's children reminded her of a staircase.

They all resembled their father with the exception of Marcie, whose red hair and freckles stood out in brilliant contrast to the darker complexion of her siblings.

"All right then," Kevin said. "Granny, Lizzie and me is going to have a spot of tea and you blokes will unload the wagon and be careful not to break anything. Leave the bed; I'll help unload that later. Homer, you unhitch the team and see to feed and water."

With Elizabeth on one side and his mother on the other, Kevin ceremoniously led them into the house as though they were entering Buckingham Palace. The sod hut was a catch-all that contained the flotsam of farming; boots, jackets, coats, buckets, lanterns, wash tubs, rusted and broken pieces of equipment meant to be repaired but never were, a soap cauldron and the unmistakable odor of animals.

Two steps up and they were in the log structure. It was larger than she imagined from the outside. It was crude but comfortable looking. A large black cast iron range with a water fender on the right side stood on one wall. On that side too was a half-empty wood-box. Near the stove was a horsehair rocker that over the years had been reduced to naked hide, with only a few whiskers of its original elegance exposed.

Her eyes widened, for on the opposite wall was a lovely apple-wood side-board with a free standing hutch. In grooves against the back were a few pieces of mismatched china. No kitchen was complete without the usual table dominating the center of the room. This one was a trestle type that had long benches on either side. Overhead, she could see a sleeping loft. The rest of the cabin was a collection of chairs and cupboards.

The clapboard addition was one large room, two if you counted the small closet-like room that abutted the shell. In the main room were three handmade single beds with rope supports covered with old quilts. On the outside wall was a pot-bellied stove. It had spots of rust here and there from lack of use during the damp heat of summer. Two chests and a commode completed the furnishings. The room adjoining held a three-quarter bed with clothes pegs placed strategically on the inside wall. The only advantage that she could see was that it afforded privacy, with a door that bolted from the inside.

Moving back to the cabin area, the kettle was steaming and Molly Cooper hobbled over to make tea. "Sit girl, sit," Molly said. "Sure and you must be tired after traveling these many days."

Not knowing what to say, except for what she had reserved for Kevin, she complied. While they drank their tea, Kevin and his mother carried on a conversation. She neither knew, nor cared, who or what they were talking about. Meanwhile the children were unloading the wagon, bringing in the boxes and crates that contained her possessions.

She noted that Molly Cooper did not keep a clean house. Dust had the upper hand on all surfaces and the floor was strewn with crumbs. Apparently the children did little to help, for she noticed various articles of clothing and debris dropped about. As soon as she felt the proper time had arrived, she spoke. "Kevin, will you show me about the farm. I'm eager to see it."

Of course, Lizzie, come along."

Walking toward the stand of trees that encircled the out-buildings and as soon as they were out of ear-shot, she exploded. "My God, Kevin, how could you do this to me? Not to have told me you were married before and to have a family this size. I'm appalled at your deception. I don't think I'll ever forgive you for dragging me and the girls to this God-forsaken place. How could you? How could you?"

"Lizzie, listen to me girl," Kevin said as he took her by the arms and forced her to face him. "I love you lass, deeply and completely. Tell me true, would you have married me knowing what you know now? God knows you love me, but I could not risk your head ruling your heart. Isn't that true?"

She nodded. "Oh Kevin, that doesn't make it easier to accept."

"I know that lass. But the worst is over. You know what I am now and I'd be praisin' God if you see fit to make a life with me here. Lizzie, I've another confession to make. I have two more boys; twins ,they are; sixteen, but they left the farm and are working in Goderich. Ma wrote that they left last year to make it on their own."

"Kevin," she asked, "is this where the money you borrowed went?"

"Aye, when the boys left Ma had a hard time. With my leg in bad shape I had to do something to keep bread on the table for the rest of the childer."

"With your family here, why on earth did you ever leave?"

"We had to eat Lizzie. After Rose and Pa died, the bairn were still small. This place wasn't as productive as I had hoped, so I had to seek out employment where I could and send money home for them to live on. The Welland was the answer and I did well until the accident. I can thank God for that or I would never have met you."

"What makes you think this farm can be productive now, Kevin?"

"The lads are older Lizzie. On land like this it takes more than one man to bring it to potential. We can finally clear it and get in a good crop."

Burdened with the situation and with the fatigue of the long journey she conceded. What was done was done.

The rest of that summer she and Kevin occupied the loft while the two boys spent the nights in the open air or in inclement weather with the animals in the shed. Jane and Charlotte took the double bunk in the larger bedroom. As cooler weather approached, other sleeping arrangements had to be made. Molly insisted she would be more comfortable on a pallet in front of the stove. Kevin and Elizabeth would take the small bedroom and the boys the loft.

With her own children she was a strict disciplinarian, but she did not command that degree of authority with Kevin's children. She felt that Molly was still the woman of the house and she a boarder who lent more than a willing hand to the endless chores. To her consternation, when school began in the fall, all of Kevin's children openly rebelled at attending. Kevin, with an occasional box on the ears, soon had them realizing it was easier to go to school than to be knocked about.

ii.

That first winter Kevin spent most of his time repairing the badly worn equipment. That fall and winter their relationship was fragile. She was still bothered by Kevin's withholding the truth. The only place that resentment dulled was in bed. Kevin had the power to make her forget everything when they lay together.

Early spring, as the forsythia buds were beginning to open, Molly Cooper slept away her weary life. One of the last of the true pioneers, Molly's funeral was attended by the entire community.

With the house now in her charge, she decided that if the families were going to get along they would have to pull together. At first Kevin's children resented her orders, however, Kevin soon had them convinced it was easier to obey than to suffer the consequences. Only Maggie, the oldest, resisted.

Despite the friction, they managed to put in a large garden. Rotating with the boys on the stone boat Kevin was able to clear considerable acreage that could be plowed under that fall. The arable land had been planted in oats and corn for feeding the live stock. Hay would have to be purchased.

Elizabeth had a plan for building alterations. She wanted the sod hut torn down and a summer kitchen built. Also, there was no root cellar to winter over their food. What Molly had gleaned each year from the garden had been stored in the sod hut and by February the potatoes and carrots were sprouting long tendrils or rotten. They still had some money left and could afford to have the work done.

After church, the second Sunday in June she approached William Collins. Collins was a carpenter and a stone mason. He lived closer to Heron than he did to Campbelltown, but Heron supported a Methodist church and Collins still clung to the Anglican way so every other Sunday he made the five kilometer journey to worship at the church of his choice.

"Mr. Collins," she asked, "may I speak with you for a moment?"

"Of course, Mrs. Cooper. What can I help you with?"

"Mr. Collins, I would like some work done and I wondered if you had time to help me out."

"Well now, Mrs. Collins, I don't know. What do you have in mind?"

"I'd like the sod hut taken down, a summer kitchen put up and a root cellar dug. Can you do that Mr. Collins?"

Collins arched his right eyebrow and wondered just exactly who Kevin Cooper had married. This was a handsome woman who spoke to the point.

"Tell you what, Mrs. Cooper. I'm bringing the team and wagon to Murphy's on Tuesday to be shod and have a wheel mended. I'll stop over and take a look."

Collins contracted for the work at one hundred and fifty dollars. He and his son George would stay at the Cooper farm during the week until the job was finished. With all the stones from the fields, it would be foolish not to use them instead of brick or siding.

Dredging a cellar took time and Will Collins planned for the doors to be accessible from the summer kitchen. The cellar would be lined with stone, and heavy beams overhead to bear the weight of the summer kitchen.

George Collins had a knack for building and anticipated his father's orders. In many ways his ingenuity and skill exceeded that of his father. Charlotte was the only one who paid much attention to what was going on. The rest were busy with daily routines. She carried cool water to the Collins', called them for lunch and dinner, and fetched and carried whenever and whatever she could. She smiled, for Charlotte could not hide her infatuation with George, while he did not seem to know she existed.

The accident occurred the day the Collins' were finishing the roof on the summer kitchen. William had swung his body over the roof edge on his way to bring up another packet of wood shingles. He misjudged the placement of the ladder and only his left foot touched the top rung. He fell fifteen feet.

Hearing George's cry for help, she hurried from the cabin to see Will Collins lying in a heap and groaning. He had taken the brunt of the fall on his right side and his right arm had twisted so when he landed it had broken just above the wrist. The bone had not torn the tissue but was visible pushing against the skin.

Dr. Weston was in Heron, fifteen kilometers away, and she knew the bone would have to be set before the swelling started. Kevin and the boys were in the field. Only George and the girls were there to help. She issued orders. "Maggie, in the cupboard over the sink is a brown bottle labeled 'laudanum.' Bring that and a spoon and go into my sewing basket and bring the large scissors. Marcie and Jane, in the chest under my bed is an old white tablecloth. Cut it into strips." She indicated with her hands how wide the strips should be. "Carrie, you and Charlotte get a sturdy quilt from the loft."

To George, who was shaking, she said calmly, "George, there are slats of wood lying about the summer kitchen floor which haven't been used. I want two about twelve inches long and four inches wide. Saw them to size if you have too."

George stood, fixated. She slapped him sharply. "Did you hear what I said? Twelve inches long and four inches wide; do it now and hurry for I'm going to need you again."

She instructed Maggie to cut away Will’s shirt sleeve and undershirt to the elbow. After administering the laudanum, she spoke, allowing time for some of the pain killer to work. “Will, can you move your legs?"

He nodded and obliged by moving both legs.

"Now your back, do you have feeling in your back?"

"Aye Mrs. Cooper, every inch of my body hurts."

"Good, Will, good; lie quiet now, everything will be all right."

She winced when she saw Marcie and Jane trailing the table cloth strips behind them. There were no open wounds, so whether they were clean or not did not matter that much.

“Will, can you hear me?"

Collins nodded.

"I'm going to set your arm now and it will be painful for a minute or two. I shall be as quick as I can. George, I want you to hold your father down at the shoulders and Maggie, you straddle his legs and sit on them."

Taking a deep breath, she grasped the broken arm, pulled then pushed the protruding bone gently back to rest in a horizontal line with the rest of the bone. Collins jerked, screamed and went limp. While he was unconscious, she felt about the skin where the fracture was, searching for bone fragments, but did not detect any. Taking some of the strips, she wound them around the arm leaving room for swelling. The splints were applied and tied in place with the rest of the strips. They lifted Collins onto the quilt and, with George at the head and she and Maggie at the foot, they carried him into the girl's bedroom.

"George, take one of your horses and go into Heron and get Dr. Weston. Your father is going to be in a lot of pain for a few days. Ask him to bring morphine if he has it."

Dr. Weston had nothing but praise for her treatment of the fracture. His examination confirmed that was the only serious injury. George finished the roof while his father healed enough to tolerate the ride home.

Elizabeth smiled. She now had a covered porch where she could sit during the day and relax in the evening in the cool summer air. Her one regret was the clapboard bedroom which, seen against the summer kitchen, looked worse than ever. Kevin put up shelves in the root cellar and that summer she and the girls preserved crab apple jelly and wild blackberry jam, along with many jars of vegetables from the garden. It was a source of satisfaction for her to look down the rows of jars and know that winter would not leave them hungry. Just before frost the root vegetables were gathered in and after frost two pigs were butchered. Lars Holson, who lived a mile down the road took the hams and bacon to smoke with his own while she rendered the lard and ground pork pieces into sausage. The hocks and feet were parboiled then put down in crocks with salt and vinegar.

iii.

Her prowess at nursing quickly spread after Will Collins' accident. She was called upon to help Dr. Weston from time to time and on several occasions had been asked to assist someone in trouble. In lieu of cash, she would ask for a roast or a fryer chicken.

Maggie, now sixteen, quit school and took a job at Campbell's behind the counter. She also helped Cora Campbell in the house. The hours were long and her compensation was only fifty cents a week. She would walk home at night resentful and irritable.

It wasn't much of a surprise to find Silas Campbell one late fall afternoon knocking at the door to inform them that Maggie had left with a button drummer. She surmised that Maggie had packed a small carpetbag and left it somewhere out of site where she could pick it up on the way to work. Her grandmothers ruby and emerald ring was missing from her sewing basket. Maggie must have seen it when she looked for the scissors when Will Collins was injured.

Kevin was outraged but did not attempt to pursue her. That action would have ostracized Maggie and no God fearing Canadian in these parts would have married her. It was best to let her go and hope that she would be able to make a life elsewhere. She shuddered at the grim reality of Maggie's future.

Homer and Barney stopped attending school. They felt they were too old to sit behind desks with all those little kids. It wasn't until Elizabeth forced compulsory education on them that they attended with any regularity. Their knowledge was limited to reading and writing at a basic level and the ability to add two and two. What they knew about history, government and literature would likely fit on the head of a pin. Now seventeen and sixteen, they seemed content to work the farm.

The past two years had been good to them and they were able to market some corn and oats at the mill in Heron. They had managed at long last to bring in a stand of hay which helped their finances considerably. Kevin had split the profits, taking fifty percent for himself, with the boys sharing the other fifty percent. Homer used some of his earnings for a new suit. Of late he had been calling on Inger Holson.

Barney bought a new gun and, as he was a better shot than his brother, the summer table meat improved.

Watching Jane making her way down the lane Elizabeth felt her heart quicken. She still felt guilt for the years they had been apart. At fourteen, Jane had finished her eight grades and, living where they did, there was no possibility for her to continue on to high school.

"Ah Jane, what are we going to do about you?" she thought. "Five years away from England and you still haven't adjusted to this life. In your mind it is still crude and uncultured. You have no close friends; your sister and step-family are merely tolerated."

i.

Excitement reigned up and down the country roads. The land across from the Holson's was purchased by a well-to-do Dutch family by the name of Van Hoest.

Kevin and the boys, along with Van Hoest and his sons, put up a crude hut to be used while Will and George Collins began the foundation for the barn. When there was no rain the Van Hoests would sleep and live out of the three wagons they had driven across the province. During inclement weather the hut would provide shelter and allow Gerta to cook without the rain drowning the fires.

Like all farmers, livestock came first. After the foundation of the barn was in and the side walls ready to be raised, Collins put out the call for a barn raising. The day of the barn raising was beautiful with the sun in a cloudless sky. While the men worked, the women prepared the noon meal. Planks on saw horses made adequate tables. Other planks laying on nail kegs served as benches. Tablecloths, eating utensils and an array of plates, cups and saucers were all that was needed for the bounty that would soon appear. At noon, Gerta produced a large dinner bell which she rang vigorously. The men washed up at the pump and the ladies brought to the table their works of art. For the first fifteen minutes, the only sounds emanating from the table were the clink of metal against porcelain and porcelain against porcelain. As appetites were sated conversation began to grow, as jocular elbow shoving and laughs among the boys started. She smiled to see Charlotte running back and forth with the coffee pot to make sure that George Collins had his cup full.

While the Collins' were at the Van Hoest place, once or twice a week George would visit the Cooper farm in the evening. George wanted to see Jane, but Charlotte hovered about the two like a hummingbird at a blossom. Jane could have put a stop to Charlotte's interference but she seemed to be indifferent to George's overtures.

The Van Hoest farm was plainly going to be one of the largest in the County. Will Collins had incorporated stone and brick to construct the edifice whose thick walls would keep it warm in winter and cool in summer. The most talked about feature was the indoor privy, an innovation not previously seen in this rural community.

The boys were running the farm while Kevin put his hands to use building cupboards, cabinets and the ornate furbelows which would adorn the exterior of the Van Hoest house. She rejoiced at their good fortune. For the first time a cash flow had allowed them to purchase necessary and occasional frivolous things to make their life easier. Good fortune had its drawbacks. Kevin had started drinking, not too much as yet, but coin in his pocket allowed him to visit Dolan Murphy's. Dolan distilled an illegal spirit which he sold by the jug or glass in the back of his blacksmith shop. After supper each night Kevin would take one of the horses and ride over to chew the fat with Dolan. He came home reasonably sober and always managed to be back at Van Hoest's by seven the next morning.

Homer was involved in a competition for the favor of Inger Holson. Hans Van Hoest.had been calling on Inger and had the advantage of living across the road from the Holson's. Homer, working the land without Kevin's help often found himself so exhausted that after his evening meal he would merely crawl into bed. This left Sundays for calling on Inger.

Elizabeth was sure that Lars and Ilse Holson did everything they could to encourage Inger in Han’s direction; after all what could Homer Cooper possibly offer Inger except a life of back breaking work and growing old before her time.

The Van Hoest house was finished in early September. To thank all his neighbors Emile sent out invitations for a house and barn warming. Gerta insisted on doing the cooking. Emile had dug a pit and a yearling butchered and put on a spit. That Saturday evening was an event long talked about around Campbelltown. Food was old world and delicious. Emile tapped kegs of beer and there was dancing on the plank floor in the barn with corn meal strewn about making the reel, square dancing and waltzing easier on the shoes and boots.

Elizabeth's feet kept time with the music as she stood against the wall. Kevin wasn’t able to participate in the more lively dances so he made his way to the kegs of beer where he was more at home among the other male non-dancers. Will and George Collins, Homer, Lars Holson and even Barney, inept as he was, lead her on the floor. At ten o'clock, giving the fiddler and concertina players a chance to catch up on the imbibing, Emile strode to the front of the barn, clapped his hands and asked for quiet.

Emile was smiling broadly as he said, "I vant to velcome all of you. You half been goot neighbors to me and Gerta. Now ve shall try to be goot neighbors to you. I vant to say too that ve half a special message. Hans, my son has asked Inger Holson to be his vife, and she says yes. You vill all be asked to the vedding."

As the crowd clapped and shouted their approval, she glanced quickly about looking for Homer. She spied him hurrying out the door. She followed, elbowing her way out through the crowd. It took a moment or two for her eyes to adjust to the darkness but she was able to distinguish Homer's form hastily making his way down the drive way. She began to run and as soon as Homer heard the footsteps he stopped and waited for her.

"Ah Homer Love. I'm so sorry. How difficult this must be for you."

Choked with emotion, Homer answered, "I curse the day that Van Hoest moved here with his damned money."

"You can't blame the Van Hoest's for Inger's decision, that isn't fair."

"Lizzie, since they came here. I've worked like a horse to keep the farm going, with no time for myself. Dad is doing too much drinking; he doesn't help, and now I'll be the butt of all the jokes by letting my girl get away.” As he finished speaking the tears began to well up in his eyes and all she could do was hug him and let the sorrow and bitterness expend itself.

Reentering the barn she saw no sign of Barney, but Kevin was still at the beer kegs. To her surprise, Jane was dancing with George, awkwardly, but dancing nonetheless. Marcie and Fredrik were also dancing. On the floor of the loft, several of the younger children were seated with their legs dangling over the edge. Among them she saw Carrie and Charlotte. Carrie was smiling and clapping to the music while Charlotte, looking drawn and sad, was focused on George and Jane.

At midnight the party was over. Van Floest, a staunch Lutheran, still kept the Sabbath, which he insisted be spent quietly and solemnly, with prayers and readings from the Bible.

ii.

Sunday morning she was up early preparing breakfast. Flood or earthquake, chores had to be done. Marcie and Carrie were the first into the kitchen. They were still excited about the dance and chattered incessantly. Barney came down from the loft yawning and stretching, heading for the sink to pump cold water over his head. Drying his face and hair he looked over to her. "Homer must be out already, his bed is empty."

Turning to Marcie she handed her the spatula. "Watch the potatoes Marcie, see that they don't burn. When they are done, put some more bacon fat in the pan and fry eggs for Barney. Carrie, set the table and if the other girls aren't up in ten minutes, you get them up. We have work to do around here. I'll be back as soon as I can. Oh, and let your father sleep."

Wrapping her shawl about her shoulders, she ran toward the shed. Passing the sty she saw the hogs grunting and rooting about the dirt looking for any missed scraps of food. "Don't you worry," she thought, "in another few weeks, you'll be food on the table." Opening the shed door she saw Homer sitting on the feed box. She could see that he had already filled the stanchion bins waiting for the cows to amble in from the pasture for milking. The horses were contentedly munching on hay.

"Homer, are you all right?" she asked.

"I'm fine Lizzie. Just couldn't sleep. Thought I'd get an early start. Being alone here gave me a chance to think."

"Think about what, Homer?"

"Lizzie please, if I tell you, I don't want you to say anything."

"All right Homer, if that's what you want."

"I'm leaving here Lizzie, just as soon as the corn is shucked and stored."

"Where will you go Homer?"

"West, I think. I've been hearing about Alberta and the wide open land out there. They say it’s prime for wheat. Haven't had much to do with wheat, but mostly in grain it's a matter of good weather and luck. Besides, I learn quick."

"Is that a fact?"

For the first time since early last evening Homer smiled. "Eh, Lizzie, you have me there. Let's just say I never wanted to learn."

"How are you going to get there?"

"The past two years Pa has been giving us our share of the profits. I have over two hundred dollars saved up; not counting this year. I'll take the train to Winnipeg and from there by stage or by foot. I'll work my way across. I'm strong and healthy."

"You are so young to be starting out on a venture such as this."

"I'm eighteen Lizzie, a man and a good one, even if there are some who don't think so."

"I'm sorry Homer, I didn't mean to distress you, but you know your father is going to be upset."

"Lizzie, I have to leave here before the wedding. Pa is going to be mad at first but maybe my leaving will straighten him out."

At that remark, she raised an eyebrow.

"Lizzie, I'm going to tell you something I've never told anyone else. Pa always depended on Grandpa. I was only about eight or nine when Ma died and Grandpa didn't live the year out. There was Pa, alone with seven kids to support and he didn't know how. He did then what he is doing now; to avoid responsibility, he drank and when he couldn't stand it any longer he left. Grannie, by begging, held us all together. The few dollars that Pa sent home only eased his conscience."

"Homer, if you are right, why should he be drinking again?"

"Don't you see Lizzie? He finally has a productive farm; we're making money, not much to be sure, but now he has responsibility again. He doesn't want it. Barney and me are carrying the work so he doesn't have to worry about making decisions. He's free. I think maybe my leaving is the best thing that could happen. It's going to force him to face up to his obligations."

Homer's dissertation and keen perception brought to mind Kevin's explanation of the reason why they should make the move to Campbelltown — "The boys are older."

Looking into Homer's eyes, she knew that this young man was someone who could have been a good friend and now he was leaving and she would never have the opportunity to really know him.

Seeing her downcast expression, Homer spoke softly. "You know Lizzie, when you came here, I hated you, so proper and polite, with your grand table manners and schooling and all. I thought Pa had lost his mind. He sure didn't need another millstone around his neck. Oh Lizzie, how wrong I was. You are one of the best things that ever happened, not only to Pa, but to all of us. We became a family again, and I'm going to miss you."

"Thank you, Homer. I appreciate that. Now before I become maudlin, finish up here and come up to the house for breakfast. I left Marcie at the stove and hopefully you'll still be able to take nourishment before she burns the eggs." Turning quickly before Homer could see the tears, she returned to the house.

It was after ten o'clock when Kevin staggered out of the bedroom. She was alone scraping carrots for dinner. His puffed face and bloodshot eyes were evidence of the drinking that had gone on the night before. Seeing him so disheveled, she winced. He was forty-two years old and looked at least sixty. Easing himself to the end of the bench he spoke, "Just coffee Lizzie, my stomach could not accept another thing."

While she poured the twice boiled coffee into a cup he realized how quiet the house was and asked, "Where is everybody?"

"Well, Marcie, Charlotte and Carrie are out in the bush looking for black walnuts. I told them you would husk and crack them." She smiled watching Kevin's face literally pale at the thought of the pounding involved. "Jane went down to Cora Campbell's. Cora is going to show her a new knitting stitch. Barney is out in the cornfield hoping to flush up a pheasant or two for supper." Pausing a moment before she continued she added, "After the announcement last night Homer wanted to be alone, so he took a pole and headed for the river."

"What announcement was that, Lizzie?"

"You don't remember what was said?"

"Swear to God Lizzie, all I remember was the first dance we had."

"Kevin, last night Emile told everyone that Inger had accepted Hans' proposal of marriage and we were all invited to the wedding. Homer was so upset he left the party and came home."

"That ought to be some shindig. Emile sure has the where-with-all. Maybe we can get up a shivaree."

She was disappointed at his callousness. Not trusting herself to speak she paused before saying, "Kevin, Homer was going to ask Inger to marry him. He has been seeing her for two years. He is heartbroken."

"Just as well Lizzie. Inger Holson is no catch. She's common. Holson's are upstarts. They didn't come over until sometime in the late sixties. He can do better."

She bit her lip in an effort not to lash out at Kevin. In his present state of mind it wouldn't have done any good anyway.

iii.

The corn had been cut and shocked and, when dry, would be husked and the ears brought in to the crib. Except for the butchering this was the last of the heavy work until spring. It was now that Kevin made his accounting. He didn't seem to think that the boys were entitled to more than fifty percent even though this year they had done ninety percent of the work. Homer received his share of one hundred five dollars, as did Barney. Homer still hadn't told his father about his plans, and it bothered her to keep Homer's secret from Kevin.

A week later when the family had finished supper and before Kevin left to chew the fat at Dolan's, Homer spoke up at last. "Pa, I've got something to say."

"Sure, and what is that?"

"I'm going out to Alberta."

Kevin laughed. "And when might that be, pray tell?"

"I'm leaving Sunday morning. George Collins is going to give me a ride to Heron and I'll start for London and take the train from there."

The laugh ceased and in its place was a look of astonishment that quickly turned to anger. "You can't go. You're needed here. Barney can't run the farm alone. If you're worried about that little slut down the road, don't be. You're better than all of them."

"Don't speak of Inger like that. She's a good girl and you know it."

"I'll speak as I damn well please. You're not going and that's the end of it. I'll hear no more about it." Kevin pushed the bench away from the table and started for the door.

The girls were wide-eyed and frightened. Barney merely lowered his body on the bench in an effort to make himself smaller. He didn't want to be drawn into the argument. Homer was about to continue his reasons for leaving but stopped when she motioned to let him go. Kevin slammed the summer kitchen door and was gone.

"Homer, let him go. He needs time. He isn't going to like it, but he won't stop you either."

i.

It seemed like only yesterday she bid a tearful goodbye to Homer. She wondered about him — no word for three years — was he even alive.

And now, in early January, Barney announced he was to be married. Harriet Marquart was a widow with two small boys, six and four. She was at least ten years older than Barney, pregnant with his child. She was a house guest of a neighbor. They first met in the hut that Barney had helped to erect.

She spoke; Barney jumped. Harriet did her share about the house, but she was a whiner. She didn’t hesitated to talk about how well her first husband treated her and how living on this farm was beneath her.

Kevin's drinking increased. There was too much snow for the trip to Dolan’s, so Kevin purchased by the jug and drank in the shed with the animals for company. Harriet's incessant complaining made her want to join him.

ii.

On a rainy morning, the second week in May, Harriet was in labor. In spite of her screaming, she had no trouble — within two hours, she helped deliver a healthy baby girl. No doubt it was Barney's child. Who could deny the mop of black curly hair and blue eyes? They named her Mary Ann. She never thought of Barney as a gentle, but he adored his new daughter. Harriet insisted on two weeks in bed to recover her strength and Barney bowed to every whim. Except for feeding — which fortunately came from Harriet — Barney did everything else, from washing diapers to changing them. Working the farm this time of the year was difficult and Barney neglected many of his chores. It put a strain on Kevin. She loved to see Barney with the baby, but she knew Kevin was near the breaking point. Matters came to a head when Kevin came up for dinner and found Barney in the yard soaking diapers.

"For the love of God, Barney, what are you doin'?"

"Soakin' Mary Ann's diapers. Pa."

"Where's Harriet?"

"She's restin’.”

"Resting is she, well, tell her that her rest is over if she plans to live in my house. You damned well know with Homer gone we’re behind in the plowing. That babe is four weeks old, and it’s time your wife took care of it. Your Ma had seven childer and she managed to wash the diapers and keep house besides."

"Harriet’s not a strong woman. Pa."

"And to that I say, bullshit. Now, either you straighten her out or I will — you decide."

From then on it was an uneasy truce. Barney pulled his weight on the farm, but Harriet became sullen — seldom spoke, and never to Kevin. She was hard pressed to choose between the cacophony or dead silence. Either way it was disconcerting and not a healthy atmosphere. She wondered what Harriet was putting into Barney's head behind the closed bedroom door. The farm had become a powder keg and sooner or later it would blow.

iii.

Jane married George Collins in July. It was a simple ceremony with only the immediate family. They moved to a small house in Heron. George and his brother Adam worked the farm with their father. George also took on small building projects. After church every other Sunday they would come for dinner and spend the afternoon.

iv.

It distressed her to watch Charlotte withdraw. Since August, when Jane announced she was going to have a child, Charlotte no longer attended Sunday dinner. She approached Charlotte one morning when they were alone in the kitchen. "Charlotte, what's the matter? You've grown so far away from us."

"Nothing's the matter Mama. I'm fine."

"Love, I've been thinking. How would you like to go back east and spend some time with Uncle Joshua and Aunt Clara?"

"What would I do there?" Charlotte asked.

"Remember the good times you had in Fillmore? Remember your cousin Alice? How she looked out for you while I was working in St. Catherine? You'll be near museums, libraries, parties, dances; you'll be able to go on to high school. Who knows what can happen. It's a whole new life."

"If you want me to go Mama, I'll go."

"Charlotte Love, I don't want you to go for me, I want you to go for you. I'll write Uncle Joshua tonight and make some inquiries.”

Over the years she and Josh exchanged letters. His maple trees treated him well. Tim and Hardy were making a good living off the farm. David was attending university in Toronto. Alice was at home but was seeing a boy in St. Catherine and it looked serious. In the six years since her move to Campbelltown, except for one overnight trip to Goderich, she hadn't been further than forty kilometers in any one direction. She wanted to see Josh and his family to renew the ties. She wrote Josh and described the problem Charlotte had adjusting to Jane's marriage and impending motherhood.

All Josh said was, "Gosh, come on ahead, we'll be happy to have Charlotte."

Telling Kevin of her decision to be away for a few weeks was difficult. He couldn't understand why she wanted to take Charlotte away from the farm, especially to Joshua's. There still was jealousy of Rufus and her former life.

She left Marcie in charge of the house and gave instructions to Carrie to help all she could. She hoped Harriet would do her part.

Joshua met them at the station. Along the lake shore road, where cow pastures had been, were tidy streets with compact bungalows. Driving through the maples she felt a sense of nostalgia. She had made this trip often; only now, at the end of the lane, was a comfortable, brick house.

"There it is Beth. What do you think?"

"Oh Josh, it's lovely." As she spoke she thought how destiny was a fickle apparition that spun about like an avenging angel, meting out justice indiscriminately. She recalled Mark 10:31: “… first will be last, and the last first." This elicited another verse, "Thou shalt not covet."

The next three weeks were pure joy. Charlotte enrolled in high school, and, for the first time in a long time seemed happy. Too soon, Indian summer surrendered to fall.

vi.

The trip home alone gave her time to think. She prayed that Jane and Charlotte had found a niche to fulfillment. As for her, it was her task to maintain peace between Kevin and his children. Drunk or sober she did indeed love Kevin. He could still bring her to heights unknown in love making. Whether it was love, sex or obligation, it made no difference, her life was with Kevin.

George and Jane met her at the station in Goderich. Jane's frown was evident as she stepped from the coach. Those expressions meant unpleasant news. Nothing was said until they were in the buggy circling the spoke of Goderich. She broke the silence.

"All right, what's the matter? Both of you have faces longer than a circuit rider preaching hell and damnation."

"Mama," Jane started, "Barney, Harriet, boys and baby are gone. There was an awful row and Kevin told them to pack up and leave."

Catching her breath she asked, "When did this happen, and why didn't you let me know?"

"We stopped after church yesterday to see that everything was all right and found Kevin in the shed, roaring drunk. Marcie and Carrie were scared out of their wits. They told us what happened."

"And what was that?"

It was George who answered. "Barney asked for an early accounting and for fifty percent, as his due. Barney said Harriet needed some new clothes because they planned to take a trip to see her family in Brantford. Kevin said no trip until the corn was in. Barney insisted he would go where he pleased and that Harriet shouldn't have to do your work, and that they would be back in time for husking. Barney rubbed salt in the wound by saying if Kevin spent more time working and less time drinking, the farm would show a bigger profit. Kevin told Barney to leave and not bother coming back for husking. Barney took him at his word."

“Sweet Jesus, I prayed that this wouldn't happen."

She planned to stay overnight, but now asked go straight home. George dropped Jane off before continuing. It was dark when the buggy rolled down the lane. Lamps were lit and she dreaded what she was going to find when she got there.

George followed her into the house. The summer kitchen was strewn with debris, a sight not so different from the first time she stepped across the threshold. The morning's unskimmed milk was still in the pail. A basin by the door held table scraps for the pigs. Neither Marcie nor Carrie heard them come in. The girls were arguing at the sink.

"Well Love’s, I'm home," she called out. "Do you suppose you could stop that bickering for a moment and give me a proper welcome?"

Carrie dropped the plate she was drying. They both started talking at once. Calming them, she was able to gather that Kevin was sleeping in the bedroom and the animals had not been fed.

"Marcie, skim that milk. Take the cream to the root cellar and feed the skim to the pigs. Put in a quart of mash and add that to the scrap pan. Carrie, sweep up that mess and finish the dishes. I'll change my clothes and take care of the stock."

George interrupted. "I’ll take care of the milking and feeding."

"George, Jane is waiting for you at home. You are needed there. We can manage."

"Nonsense, if anyone knows what is happening here, Jane does. I told her I might be late getting back."

"God love you George. I hope Jane appreciates what a gem she has." For the first time since they left Goderich, she felt like crying. George pulled on a pair of Kevin's overalls, took a lantern and headed for the shed. Picking up her portmanteau, she went into the bedroom. Kevin was sleeping, sprawled across the bed, and she knew it was useless to wake him and expect a rational conversation. She changed her clothes and returned to the kitchen.

"Oh Mama, it was terrible. We didn't know what to do. Pa was drunk most of the time."

"It's all right Love. I'm here now and everything will be fine."

George finished the chores and left. With nothing to do that could not be taken care of next morning, she sent the girls off to bed. She sat for a few minutes by the range with a cup of tea; then, weary and disheartened, she pulled herself up the ladder to the loft.

By the time Kevin appeared the next morning, Carrie was at school. She sent Marcie to the Van Hoest's to write out a few of Gerta's recipes. She knew that Fredrik would keep Marcie there as long as possible. When she saw Kevin she was shocked. In a month's time he had become an old man. His first words were, "So you're back Lizzie. I suppose everyone has told you what a bounder I am, so don't you add fuel to the fire by saying one word. I've had enough."

"I was going to say, Kevin, how glad I am to be home, and I truly hoped that you would be glad to see me."

At her words Kevin crumbled into a heap at her feet and began to sob. She did not move. When he was once more in control, she steered him to the bench and poured him a cup of coffee. "Now then Love, I understand you and old John Barleycorn have taken an insatiable delight in each other. Why is that?"

"Don't be usin' them fancy words on me Lizzie. Me poor head is too far gone to try to decipher."

"All right then, I can understand you having a tote or two of an evening, but I resent that jug out there taking up all your time. It doesn't milk cows, feed horses, clean the shed or walk behind a plow. All it does is make you sick so you can't work. This can't go on Kevin. You're going to lose your health if you keep it up."

"Ah Lizzie, me heart is sore and all the jug was doing was easin' me sufferin'".

"Tell me why your heart is sore Kevin."

Up until now Barney's name had not been mentioned, but the flood gates opened and the words spewed out — frustrations surfaced. His main anger was aimed at Barney, but occasionally Homer's name would enter the soliloquy. He had twins who were no-goods; a daughter who was a thief, and that was the kindest thing that could be said about her; another son who was wandering all over the Wes,t looking for God knew what; another son married to a slut — who led him around by the nose until she finally led him out of the house. The two youngest girls trembled whenever he came into the room. She had removed her daughters from his presence. He was unloved. His children hated him; if they didn't, why had they left?

Taking his hands in hers, she leaned over and kissed him. "I love you Kevin. You'll always have me."

Once more Kevin was crying, this time, in quiet relief.

"Tell me what happened to Barney?"

Kevin's version of the incident was tipped in Kevin's favor. Sorting out the two stories, she was hesitant to take sides. Kevin had been unreasonable and Barney, cruel. The two balanced somehow; unfortunately it would not bring Barney back. "We are going to need help getting the corn in. How near ready is it?"

"We had it shocked. It’ll take another week of dry weather. We’re late getting ours in, so everyone else is about through huskin'."

"Then the neighbors can help. Let's see if old Emile Van Hoest is as good as his word."

"Can't do that Lizzie, never asked a man for a favor in me life. Don't intend to start now."

"Kevin think, even with Marcie and me working the fields, we could only get in a quarter of the corn before the weather breaks. The animals won't make it over the winter. The pigs need the corn, and the cows the silage. Kevin, for once in your life, swallow your pride."

"God Lizzie, when you look at me like that, how can I deny you?"

The next week, Emile, Hans and Fredrik drove their corn-shucker to the field. It was a new contraption run by steam. The team pulled the machine from shock to shock. The men would strip the ears, throw them into a hopper, where a moving belt, propelled by the steam-engine, would spin the hopper and strip the husk. The husks were blown out of the top of the hopper, while the ears were tossed into the wagon attached to the back of the machine. In three days they were done. Kevin swept up the stalks for silage.

vii.

That winter was memorable for its deathly cold. Even the root cellar had frost. To keep the vegetables from freezing, and her canned fruits and vegetables from exploding, she bought a small stove and put it in the summer kitchen. Leaving the root cellar door open allowed enough heat to reach the cellar.

Snow blanketed the area, in some places to six feet. School was suspended. Even sleighs could not traverse the drifts. The North winds howled like a thousand banshees, announcing impending doom. Each morning, new drifts had to be cleared to get to the animals. They stuffed cotton rags into the holes between the logs. They had never taken the time to caulk the chinks in the logs. In that year, they paid for their neglect.

She closed off the big bedroom. The bunk bed was moved to the cabin, while she and Kevin occupied the loft. The four of them, living out of each others coat pocket, got along surprisingly well. She schooled the girls on the fine points of cooking, sewing and quilting. Evenings, Kevin would play checkers with them or they would take turns reading aloud a dog-eared copy of Dickens Tale of Two Cities.

She could not remember when she began to notice a change in Carrie. Once she woke in the night and heard Carrie coughing—a dry, hacking cough. The cough got progressively worse and she became alarmed. The croup kettle, camphor oil, poultices and loving care had little affect. Carrie became weaker. A visit from Dr. Weston was urgently needed, but the weather prevented that until late in February, when the winds died down and the sun shone enough to bring the snow to a depth where travel could be resumed. When Dolan Murphy made a trip to Heron to pick up supplies, Kevin asked him to stop at the doctor's and relay that he was needed.

Dr. Weston confirmed her suspicions. "I'm sorry, Carrie has tuberculosis. It is advanced — both lungs are involved. She has little resistance to combat it. Judging from its progress, she has little time left, three months, at most. You have been exposed and must take precautions. You need to wear masks when near her. Put Carrie in another room. There are some doctors who swear cold clear air is the best. I don't know, but I can’t rule out the possibility. Keep up your treatments, and put the camphor in the croup kettle. It will help her breathing. Find somewhere else for Marcie to stay. There is nothing more I can do except to say I'm sorry."

Two months later, Carrie coughed up her life's blood. She was buried beside her grandmother Molly.

Kevin was devastated and continued to drink heavily. He stopped for a time but his nocturnal wanderings took him to the shed for a nip. Now with his grief he felt he had a reason to indulge openly. He was behind with the farm work. Leaving Marcie to look after the house, she spent as much time as she could in the fields. By the time the cows were milked in the evening it was all she could do to bathe and fall into bed.

viii.

When Portman Alexander was born, she was not there for Jane. Her first grandson was delivered by Dr. Weston.

Two days after Portman’s birth, Huron County was deluged with rain and outside work was impossible. She wrapped herself in an oil slicker and rode into Heron.

Portman was a ruddy, skinny baby, prone to colic. Dr. Weston had given Jane most of the instruction she needed. She added one piece of advice: keep the belly band loose, allowing for expansion after feeding. More times than not, that made for a less colicky baby.

The rain continued through the day and George and Jane insisted that she spend the night. Even if the rain stopped the ground would be too wet to work the next day. She did not argue with that. It was the first time in several weeks she was able to relax and enjoy herself. Waiting on Jane and cuddling the baby was a pleasure she had looked forward to.

ix.

The rest of the summer and fall was drudgery. She could not even look forward to an occasional nursing case; she didn't have the time to spare. Because it was Sunday, she was present at the birth of a son to Inger and Hans Van Hoest. To keep Hans from underfoot, she sent him to the farm to help Kevin with the chores since she couldn't be there. In the fall Hans rewarded her with a quarter side of beef.

With the help of neighbors they were able to bring in the crops, and during this time Kevin's demeanor underwent a drastic change. He no longer laughed out loud or pulled her into his arms for a kiss. He resented friends who were enjoying prosperity. He began demeaning them with snide and unfair remarks. The hard work and drinking was also having an affect on intimacy. Seldom did they enjoy the glories of the bedroom. Some of it was due to her exhaustion, lack of desire and inability to rouse him. When they did have intercourse, once a heavenly pleasure, it was only a bodily function.

At Christmas Fredrik asked Marcie to be his wife. They planned to marry in March, after Lent and before spring plowing. For a wedding present Emile promised them a honeymoon to Niagara Falls. The last chick was leaving the nest and Kevin wasn't pleased. He did not want to be looked down on by the neighbors because he could not afford a dowry. He hated Emile for his money and everything it stood for.

She convinced Kevin of the lasting harm he could do by denying Marcie. Now-a-days all the bride brought to her husband was virginity and a hope chest. In that respect Marcie had nothing to be ashamed of. The past two winters she had worked diligently with her hands. The bottom of the chest in the bedroom was full of hand stitched sheets, embroidered pillow cases, quilt tops with intricate patterns and undergarments delicately crocheted with lace-like edgings. Jane had tried to help her with knitting, and Marcie did complete a shawl. She smiled when she remembered the expression of horror on Jane's face when Marcie presented the fait accompli.

Kevin reluctantly agreed to the wedding. It was a lovely affair. Marcie, as tall as Fredrik, was a picture of happiness. Even her freckles, dulled somewhat over the winter, enhanced her beauty.

x.

That spring her world began to collapse. Kevin refused to consider putting in crops. He rejected reliance on neighbors to see him through another year. Pride was a terrible thing; she knew, having lived with it with her father. Pride could be noble — it could also be a destructive force that allowed no alternatives.

The garden would provide food; the cows, milk; chickens, eggs; and, the pigs would provide meat, but how they were to feed them when winter descended, she could not imagine. Kevin's decision to stop farming brought Fredrik down to the farm one evening.

"Pa Cooper," Fredrik began, trying to speak without his Dutch accent, "I am having a difficult time trying to tell you my thoughts. I ask that you listen to me please."

Taking a drink, Kevin replied, "Well, speak up man, speak up."

"You have not yet plowed or planted. This is not good for a farmer."

Kevin bristled, grew red in the face and almost shouted, "Don't ye tell me what I can or cannot do on me own land."

"Please, please, I beg you listen. I want to rent your land. We need more pasture for our cattle. Your ground is fallow. The hay field can be cut and baled or used for fodder for the cattle. What do you say?"

"And whose grand idea was this eh? Old Emile goin' to try to buy up the whole County?"

"No, no. Pa Cooper," Fredrik entreated. "It's only that we can use the land and you will gain something in return."

"And what might that be?"

"Well, we would see to it that your stock was fed over the winter and allow two hundred dollars for use of the land."

"I'll not be party to any such thing. I'm damned if I'll be a tenant farmer on me own land. You tell your father it's no bargain and he can damn well find some other place to put his high and mighty cattle." With that, Kevin turned and went inside.

She slowly shook her head. She patted Fredrik on the shoulder and followed Kevin into the house. Kevin was pacing. The jug was on the sink and Kevin had refilled his glass.

"Kevin, either you are sick or a fool."

She was stunned when Kevin raised his arm and slapped her. She gasped. Looking into his eyes she could see fear and hate staring back. Neither spoke. Kevin walked to the sink, picked up his jug and left the house.

She went to the mirror above the sink; a large welt had surfaced. She pumped cold water into a basin and applied compresses, hoping the cold would limit swelling. After half an hour, the swelling was down, but she could see there was bruising.

For two days the house was silent. No words were exchanged. Kevin broke the silence, "I'm going over to Heron today. Will Collins knows a man who wants some cupboards built. Can you take care of the stock?"

“Of course."

It was dusk when Kevin returned. It was obvious he had stopped at Dolan's. "I got the job Lizzie. Won't pay much, but I'll be me own man by God!"

"I'm glad Kevin."

It went well for a few days and her hopes were raised. Perhaps they would be able to manage. Such were her thoughts when Will Collins drove into the yard. "Will, how good to see you. Come and have some tea. Kevin isn't here; he's working over in Heron."

"Aye, Lizzie, that's what I've come to see you about."

"Oh, is something the matter?"

"Aye Lizzie, there is. It distresses me. I feel like an old biddy talkin' over the fence."

"You and I could always talk Will. Tell me what's happened."

"Lizzie, the past three days Kevin has shown up at the Jones' late and drunk. His measurements are off so he's wasting wood. Matt Jones told him to leave. I wouldn't stick my nose into your business Lizzie, except Matt asked George to finish up and that could be a problem. I don't want hard feelings in the family".

"I'm sorry Will. You don't know how sorry. Where is Kevin now?"

"At Carmody's in Heron, drinking up his pay."

It was almost noon the next day when Kevin, slouched over the horse, rode up the lane. Her heart sank as he slid off the animal. He walked toward the house like an old man, shuffling, unsteady. His clothes were disheveled and spotted with vomit; he had soiled himself, and more than once, judging from his trousers.

She tried to give him support, but he pushed her aside. "Leave me be Lizzie, leave me be. I'm goin' to bed."

"Kevin, wash up first and change your clothes. You can't go to bed like that."

Kevin raised his arm to strike her, then weakly dropped it against his side.

He stumbled up the steps and made his way to the bedroom, closed and locked the door.

The sun was a red ball slowing sinking behind Lake Huron when George drove up in the buggy. "Lizzie, can you come? Jane's miscarried."

"God's Glove, George, I didn't know she was pregnant."

"Well, it hasn't been long. Jane was going to tell you the next time we came out."

Kevin would not be coherent for another twenty-four hours. She left a note on the table telling him her whereabouts and the reason. She spent three days with Jane. There were no complications. She saw to George's and Portman's needs, allowing Jane to get what rest she could.

On the way back home, she asked what George knew about Kevin while he was working in Heron.

"Lizzie, I honestly don't know. For a few days he did his job. Old Matt Jones isn't the easiest person to work for. I suppose the more Matt got on him the more Kevin drank."

"What happened when Jones fired him," she asked.

"He gathered up his tools, told Matt he wanted the money owing, then told old Matt to go to hell. It may not have been so bad, but Matt told Kevin I was going to do the work because he was too drunk to do it. Kevin headed for the saloon. Carmody told me after he closed he found Kevin passed out in the doorway of the livery. Carmody couldn't waken him so he left him there."

"George, you are not to say anything to Jane, but I'm frightened. We have had our ups and downs but now I don't know. I just don't know. Never has Kevin been this extreme. What will become of us I cannot fathom."

"Ma, anytime you need me, you send for me. I'll help in any way I can."

"God love you George. You are as close to me as my own."

George wanted to go into the house but she insisted that he go back to Heron. She didn't want George to see the condition Kevin came home in and what she might find after three days. The summer kitchen reeked of feces, urine and the cloying aroma of vomit. On the floor were the filthy clothes he had worn. She nudged them with her foot outside onto the ground. The sink held a few cups and plates and the table was littered with scraps of uneaten food. The bedroom was empty and had the same odors as the summer kitchen.

She changed into an old cotton dress and got to work. She stripped the bed and threw the bedding outside with the clothes. She filled a tub with cold water and put the clothes to soak. After stoking up the fire, she poured hot water from the fender into the other tub, then refilled the fender.

Through the stench and filth she swallowed and performed the disgusting chore. An hour later, the clean clothes were hanging on the line. She was sitting at the table with a cup of strong tea when Kevin came through the door. He stopped when he saw her.

He asked, "How's Jane?"

"She'll be fine. She's sad about losing the babe of course."

"I'm sorry."

"We can't change God's plan for us. Would you like a cup of tea?"

"Aye."

As she poured the tea he continued. "You know Lizzie, I didn't think you'd come back. Thought you'd left me for good."

"Why wouldn't I come back? This is my home. I can say however, what I came home to was the most disgusting thing I have ever seen. I pray you'll not do that to me again."

"I promise, Lizzie, I promise."

Through the summer and fall Kevin lived up to his word. He did not lose control again, but did not stop drinking. The money coming in was from her nursing cases. It kept them in flour, tea, and sugar, and the garden fed them amply, though somewhat monotonously. Kevin cared for the stock but the animals would have to be sold or they would not survive the winter. Kevin cut the hay but it would not be enough to feed the animals over the cold months ahead. They needed oats and corn as well. At first frost, the brood sows were sold and the boars butchered. What they didn't use, Silas Campbell bought to sell over the counter. Kevin sold one dry cow to a farmer down Westford way. Money from sales bought enough grain to see them through the winter.

xi.

The spring of '85 was wet. The sun seemed to take a sabbatical and made no commitment to return. The unfriendly weather didn’t matter, since Kevin still refused to farm. He did seem to relish the discomfort of his neighbors. They too were not planting, but not from choice. The ground was so wet the poor horses strained against the plow turning the furrows. Any seed planted, rotted.

It was late May before the ground could be tilled. Every farmer in Huron County prayed for a long summer and late frost. Van Hoest and his sons hired extra men so he had his seed in two weeks before anyone else. Kevin was asked to help out but he refused. His pride would not allow him to give Van Hoest the satisfaction of knowing he needed the money.

She was glad when she worked away from the farm. It was literally falling down and Kevin took no interest in its repair. The few chores took little of Kevin's time and it allowed him time to chew the fat with Dolan, not only in the evening but daytime as well. He paid for his drink using money she kept in a tea canister. At first he was furtive; taking just enough to see him through the day. Gradually, as his thirst increased, he became bolder and no longer cared whether she saw him or not. She too had become furtive. She asked for food and meat instead of wages; accepting enough money to keep Kevin placated.

As the days grew shorter she something had to be done. Nothing short of a miracle could save them. They had nothing left to sell. The horses, few chickens and one cow were necessary to their survival but they had to be fed. The miracle came, but not without the aftermath of God's heavy hand.

The sound of wheels in the lane drew her to the door of the summer kitchen. Her first thoughts were that Jane had miscarried again. The man who emerged from the buggy was a stranger. He dropped the buggy weight and as he approached her he touched the brim of his hat. "My name is Walter Hemsley, and you are?"

"Mrs. Cooper, Elizabeth."

"I'm happy to make your acquaintance Mrs. Cooper," extending his hand.

Before amenities were completed Kevin was upon them. "What's this Lizzie? Who is this man?"

"My name is Hemsley, Walter Hemsley, Mr. Cooper. I'd like to speak to you if I may.” Once again Hemsley proffered his hand, which Kevin ignored.

"What about?"

"Could we step into the house? What I have to say is rather lengthy and I could do with a glass of cold water."

Kevin ushered him through the summer kitchen into the cabin.

Hemsley removed his hat and seated himself at the table. She pumped cold water into a glass and handed it to him.

"Thank you Mrs. Cooper, you are most kind."

"Let's get on with it man. Say what you have to say. I've got work to do."

"Mr. and Mrs. Cooper, I would like to buy your farm."

A minute or two later he continued, "I've been going up and down the County looking for land that I could use. I decided that your farm was exactly what I wanted. I'd offer you a good price."

"Just what gave you that idea, Eh?"

"Your land Mr. Cooper is lying fallow. It's had time to rest. I'm looking for acreage to experiment with soy beans and sugar beets. I have looked over your property. I was here once before and found no one home.”

“What do you consider a good price, eh?"

"Ten dollars an acre across the board. Added up that's a tidy sum. Eighteen hundred dollars to be exact."

"Not enough Hemsley, not enough. I'll not sell my land for pittance."

"I can appreciate your reluctance Mr Cooper, but let's be practical. You have at least ten acres of rock that cannot be plowed. You have another twenty acres of bush that is too expensive to clear."

"Eh, and what about this house and the buildings."

Hemsley paused for a moment.

She sensed he was weighing his words carefully.

"Mr. Cooper, the summer kitchen is a work of art and one that will stand through eternity. This cabin and the wooden addition you must admit are in such a state that I doubt they will last another two years without extensive repair. As for the out buildings, they are at least fifty years old and crumbling. I will give you my final offer, two thousand dollars. You don't have to make up your mind now. I wouldn't use the land until spring. I would appreciate if you contact me before the first of October. There are other places that would also suit my purpose. I'll leave my address with you. If you decide to sell, notify me and I'll meet you at the bank in Goderich. Bring your deed or homestead papers. Now I must be off. I've got a long way to travel before dark."

It was traumatic to realize that they would be giving up their home but what else could they do. Convincing Kevin to accept the realities of the coming winter and the hardship they would endure took all her persuasiveness. She wrote the letter of acceptance and Kevin signed it. He would be in Goderich on the twentieth of September.

xii.

She planned to go along, but, three days before they were to leave, Cora Campbell suffered a stroke and Silas asked her to help. There was nothing else she could do. The Campbell's were good friends, extending credit, and buying surplus eggs and produce when they really didn't need it. Most of all she appreciated their genuine concern for the welfare of her family. She went.

It was early when Kevin drove the buck-board up to the store to say goodbye. He would spend the night in Goderich and be home the next afternoon. What followed, was difficult to unravel. George supplied the information, for he had heard it first hand from the police in Goderich.

After the land purchase took place, the bank manager suggested Kevin put the money in an account. Kevin would have none of that. It was his money and he would take it with him. Kevin's first stop after leaving the bank was the nearest saloon. The saloonkeeper told Kevin he knew his sons; they were regular patrons. They'd probably be there after work. Kevin waited and drank and was soon buying drinks for the house.

The twins showed up as expected. They didn’t know about the farm being sold; only that Pa had money. Kevin became hostile and the boys took him outside.

The rest of the story was speculation. They were sure that the twins had taken Kevin's money and left town. Kevin had no recollection of meeting his sons. He only knew when he woke up with a bump on his head and his pockets empty — that he had been robbed. Blaming the saloonkeeper he staggered back into the building and started a fight. It ended up with bruises; scraped knuckles; broken furniture; and, Kevin the loser and in jail.

The saloonkeeper agreed not to press charges if Kevin would pay for the damages. Kevin said that he had spent one hundred dollars in that saloon and that was damage enough; besides, how could he pay, he had been robbed of every penny. Kevin did not want to spend the next three months in jail so he called on George, who paid the charges and got him released.

She was glad she did not have to witness Kevin's shame. He did not stop at the store. From the Campbell's window, she watched him turn and make his way down the road to the farm. The next day she asked Granny Murphy to sit with Cora while she went home.

When she got there, it took all of her concentration to place one foot ahead of the other. She silently prayed for fortitude and wisdom. God let me say the right thing. She was surprised but relieved to find Marcie in the cabin. Marcie heard her come in and turned. "Oh Lizzie, whatever are you going to do?"

She sighed. "I don't know, where's your father?"

"I came down with a quart of soup and fresh bread. Didn't think you'd be back while Mrs. Campbell was sick. Anyway I asked Pa what had happened and he left the house. He was headed out toward the bush."

"Was he sober?"

"Yes ma'am".

"I'm glad you thought of your father Marcie. That was kind of you."

"He's my Pa Lizzie; I want to help him all I can. Fredrik has been coming down twice a day to milk the cow and feed the chickens. Are you going to stay?”

"No, not right away. I came this afternoon to do what you have already done. Cora should be walking with a cane by the end of the week. Silas can stay with her nights, then and I'll come home for the evening. In another two weeks I shouldn't be needed at all."

"I'm glad. I always liked Mrs.Campbell. She always gave us penny candy when we'd stop in the store after school."

"I know, your faces were always sticky and smelled like peppermint."

"Lizzie?"

"Yes, Marcie?"

"Lizzie, I'm pretty sure I'm going to have a baby."

"Are you happy about it?"

"Oh yes Lizzie, very happy. Fredrik is too. I think he'd like a son, but Lizzie, I want a little girl first."

"Don't worry Marcie, whatever it is you'll love it and you'll be a wonderful mother."

"Lizzie, I love you."

Overwhelmed, she took Marcie in her arms. Both of them were snuffling when they drew apart.

"Lizzie, I want you to be there when the baby comes."

"I'll be there Marcie, if it's at all possible."

"Marcie, would you be hurt if I asked you to go home now. I want to talk to your father alone. I'll have to get back to Cora soon. Granny Murphy is a nice old soul but not quick on her feet if something should happen."

"I don't mind at all Lizzie. The men will be coming in from the fields soon anyway. Fredrik always likes me to meet him in the barn. Besides, Ma Van Hoest needs my help. If it's all right with you. I'll come back tomorrow with Pa’s dinner?"

'Thank you Marcie, that would be fine."

About fifteen minutes later Kevin entered the house. The air became a vacuum and each of them gasped trying to draw into their lungs that vital component of life. She was first to speak. "Kevin, we must talk."

"I'll not be talking about it Lizzie. You know already, as I'm sure good old George couldn't wait to tell you."

"What I want to talk about does not concern George. It concerns our life and what we plan to do."

"You've always got the answer Lizzie. Tell me just what you think we should do?"

She struggled to speak calmly. "Kevin, please. I'm sorry I don't have a great deal of time; I've got to get back to Cora, but I felt that at least you and I could talk sensibly. Our lives have taken on a new dimension. It is not something that will go away. We've got to deal with it."

Kevin sagged. "Aye Lizzie, you're right. I've been trying to keep the dogs gnawing at me brain at bay by not admitting that I'm a goddam fool. It's my fault, all my fault. Never could handle more than a bob in me pocket at one time. Big man that I am I had to show the world that Kevin Cooper was better than anyone else. I've lost it all," and he began to cry.

She was growing immune to Kevin's moods. Either he was in the depths of abject sorrow or soaring in a towering rage. The happy, loving man she had married was no more. "Kevin, I've got to get back; see if you can get someone to buy the rest of the animals; that will be a start. I'll only be two more days at Cora's full time, then we can plan what to do when I'm home in the evenings."

"All right Lizzie, I'll make inquiries."

xiii.

With the exception of one horse, Kevin sold all the stock. Household furnishings and farm equipment were sold at auction. It brought a disappointing amount; everything was old and worn out. She refused to part with the bunk bed and the apple-wood sideboard. They were the only things of value and she loved them.

The robbery had some affect on Kevin's drinking. What cash there was remained in the tea canister. If Kevin was tippling, someone else was buying. She was grateful.

George found them a small house in Heron. It was meager, but the rent was cheap. Kevin should be able to find work in the village. He was still blessed with the ability to use his hands. His problem would be overcoming the difficulties with Matt Jones and his misfortune in Goderich. People still gossiped. In a small town it was the mainstay at all social functions.

On the twenty-second of October, a cold and blustery day, they left the farm. Will Collins brought his heavy wagon to haul the furniture. Kevin loaded up the buckboard with dishes, bedding and the remains of the root cellar.

Being close to Dr. Weston brought her more cases. Kevin, despite grumbling about George's poor choice, spent his time trying to make the house livable. There were only two rooms and those were a fraction of the size of the rooms on the farm. The one compensation for Elizabeth was that it took little time to keep it clean. When her house work was done she would go down the street to see Jane and her grandson. Portman was a lively child with an inquiring mind and an active body that propelled him into all kinds of mischief. It was difficult for Jane to keep up with him because of her advanced pregnancy.

xiv.

George knocked on their door at two a.m. He had alerted Dr. Weston, who was getting his medical bag ready to go on a fever case. He assured George that she knew as much, or even more than he did about babies. By the time she arrived, Jane's contractions were five minutes apart. She told George to bundle up Portman and take him to their house. She instructed him not to return until next morning.

"Jane, Love, scream if you want. There’s no one here but you and I."

"I'm not a screamer Mama. Just tell me everything is all right."

"Everything is fine Love. By the looks of you, this isn't going to take long. Next time you feel pain coming, take two or three deep breaths, then push. That tyke you have there is fast approaching."

She talked; assuring, instructing and administering all the loving care she had to give. The sky was light gray and the birds had started their morning songs when Charles Hubert was born, a healthy baby boy. Jane dropped off to sleep even before she had him cleaned up. By the time George arrived, she had the coffee boiling and was laying out buttered bread to go with the eggs frying in the pan. "Right on time Love, I see," she grinned. "You have another fine son. Jane is sleeping and so is the babe. Go see her and then come back and eat. Father's need their strength too."

When George returned to the kitchen, his eyes were glistening. "Lizzie, did anyone ever tell you, you are a miracle worker?"

"Oh bosh, George. Would it surprise you to know that the babe in there is the thirtieth I've brought into this world?"

xv.

Dr. Weston anticipated that Marcie's delivery would be difficult. The cervical canal was smaller than normal and the fact that he was sure it would be a multiple birth complicated matters even more. "Lizzie, have you ever seen a caesarean birth?"

"Once, at St. Giles in London."

"Do you remember the procedure?"

"It was a long time ago and the mother and babe both died. Do you think Marcie will need a Caesarean?"

"I pray not, but we had better prepare for the worst. I've never done one. I've tried to talk Marcie into going into the hospital but she won't hear of it. I wired Dr. Abrams and he will not consider a home delivery. He agreed to send me all the information he has available on the surgical procedure. I should have it this week."

Even though she was prepared when Fredrik called her that Friday afternoon in June, she dreaded to think of the ordeal that was facing Marcie. Dr. Weston had given Gerta the necessary instructions to be followed when Marcie went into labor. To one side of the bed, planking had been placed on two saw horses and covered by a clean sheet.

Adjacent to that was a small table, also covered by a clean sheet. It held a basin that would be used as a sterilizer to hold surgical instruments, boiled and then soaked in alcohol.

After thirty-six hours of labor. Dr. Weston decided to act. "Lizzie, we can't wait any longer. We have to operate."

The words were barely out of Dr. Weston's mouth when Marcie sat up clutching her chest. She evoked an ear-splitting scream that brought the whole family into the room. They watched her fall back and take her last breath. Dr. Weston shouted, "Get out, all of you, get out!"

Placing his ear to Marcie's distended abdomen he spoke calmly. "There is still fetal heartbeat. Quick Lizzie, let's get her onto the planking."

As soon as Marcie's body was in place. Dr. Weston took a scalpel from the basin and made the incision. He brought forth two infants, both squalling in protest, a tiny boy and girl.

It wasn't until she stood next to Kevin at the grave that the realization of Marcie's death fully came to her. Lying at her feet was a beautiful compassionate girl who had given her life to bring two children into the world, children who would never know her love. It wasn't fair. She began to weep.

xvi.

Now, mourning Marcie, and with the loss of all his children through death or alienation, Kevin refused to work. He only left the house to go to Carmody's or Dolan's. It was no longer a case of chewing the fat. It was a case of needing to be drunk, in order to forget. It came as a blessing when Fredrik asked her if she would look after the twins. It was the busiest time of the year and Gerta, with the big house to care for, and cooking for the hired help, could not manage alone.

When the twins were six weeks old Emile insisted they be baptized in the Lutheran Church. Their given names would be Elsbeth and Emile, in honor of the grandparents. Hans and Inger would stand as godparents and sponsors. That Sunday she didn't make the 12 kilometer trip to Westford, instead, she went home to clean and cook for Kevin. When it was time for her to return to the Van Hoest's, she gathered up what she wanted to take back, reminding Kevin that she had put eight dollars in the canister to pay the rent, along with an extra two dollars.

xvii.

The following Sunday, as she was washing up after dinner, there was a knock on the door. It was Gabe Neville, their landlord.

"Mrs. Cooper, I hate to disturb you, but may I come in?"

"Of course Mr. Neville. Can I get you a cup of tea? We've just finished dinner and there is plenty left in the pot."

"No thank you, Mrs. Cooper.” Neville paused. "Mrs. Cooper, I must tell you that unless you pay your rent I will have to ask you to vacate the premises."

"Surely there must be some mistake Mr. Neville."

"I'm sorry, I’ve not received payment since June. With your October rent, you are four months in arrears."

She turned to face Kevin. He did not speak, but stared defiantly at her. Turning back to Neville. "Just a moment please Mr. Neville."

She went into the bedroom where her handbag and shawl lay across the bed. She searched for the nine dollars she had set aside to purchase food for the next two weeks. There were two coins at the bottom of her purse. Kevin must have taken the money while she was in the privy. She returned to the kitchen and pried the lid from the tea canister. It was empty.

"I'm sorry Mr. Neville, we don't seem to have any money in the house. I shall see to it that you get your rent next week."

"Fair enough Mrs. Cooper. I shall wait."

She went back into the bedroom, picked up her shawl and went outside. At first her steps took no positive direction, she only knew she was not going to Jane and George's. She needed time to think. Neville was owed thirty-two dollars. She earned twenty dollars a month. Except for six dollars she had put aside toward Christmas presents, and that was at the Van Hoest's, there was no cash.

She found herself near Will Collin's farm on the outskirts of Heron. Nellie Collins opened the door. "My goodness Lizzie, this is a surprise. Come in, come in."

"Thank you Nellie. It's a lovely afternoon and I decided to take a walk."

"Well sit down now and rest. That's quite a distance you put between yourself and the town. Can I get you a cup of tea?"

"Oh, no thanks Nellie, we just finished dinner. Nellie, is Will about?"

"He and Adam are out in the barn checking on one of the horses. They shouldn't be too long."

While she waited, they talked about Adam's marriage in the spring to Jean Murchison, and the fact that Nellie had yet to lay eyes on Marcie's babies. She glowed when she spoke about the babes.

Will and Adam came into the kitchen a few minutes later.

"Didn't hear you drive in, Lizzie."

"I walked over Will; needed the exercise, and I had something I wanted to discuss with you."

"Is it something private Lizzie?"

She shook her head. "Gabe Neville was over to see us this afternoon after dinner. Seems Kevin hasn't paid the rent the past three months and the fourth is due next week. I'm at wits end."

"Easy Lizzie, easy," Will spoke, patting her shoulder. "What is it you owe?"

"Thirty-two dollars, and I haven't a cent. That's not quite true. I have six dollars at Van Hoest's and thirty-five cents in my purse.”

"You want to borrow the money Lizzie?"

Wiping her nose with her handkerchief she nodded. "I did have a thought Will, if you and Nellie would go along"

Will nodded, "I'm listening."

"The apple-wood sideboard and hutch, would you buy it?"

Adam spoke up. "I'll take it Lizzie. What a bonnie gift to give to Jean for a wedding present."

"Hold a moment there, Adam. Let's give the matter some thought," Will said.

Looking directly at her Will asked, "Are you sure you want to do this lass? Old Molly told me her father had made it for her when she married. It's old and valuable; besides, is it yours to sell? That comes from Kevin's side of the family. He'd have to agree."

"I think he'll agree, Will. When it comes to being warm in the winter or freezing in the streets, he'll take the stove and the jug."

"Damn it, Lizzie, you have a mill stone around your neck that I wish you could be rid of."

"Will please, we shall be all right. Kevin overcame the drinking before; perhaps he'll do it again."

Adam agreed to pay her twenty-five dollars for the sideboard and hutch. They would pay Neville the seven dollar difference, which she would repay as soon as she had her monthly wages. Discouraged, but feeling better, she walked home.

It was three o'clock; George wouldn't pick her up until five. She had time to do a few things around the house before she left — the dishes were still waiting to be washed. Kevin was out, probably knocking at Carmody's back door, buying liquor with the money he had taken from her handbag. She was untying her apron when Kevin came home, carrying a flour sack, meant to camouflage something. Sunday sale of liquor was illegal in the Province and if caught it meant a fine and even jail-time. Kevin placed the sack on the sink and untied the top, pulling out a gallon jug of clear liquid. He hadn't been to Carmody's; he'd taken the horse and ridden down to Dolan Murphy's. She was surprised that he had come home so soon.

"Kevin, before you start. I've got to tell you that I've had to sell Molly's sideboard and hutch to pay the rent. I've also had to borrow money."

Before her words were completely out of her mouth, Kevin had already poured himself a generous amount of spirit. He slammed the glass down and shouted at her, "You had no right Lizzie, that was me Ma's and I intend to keep it. Whoever you sold it to, get it back."

"I can't do that Kevin. I sold the sideboard in good faith to Adam Collins. He's going to give it to Jean Murchison as a wedding gift; besides, you had no compunction about selling it when we sold off the farm. I was the one insisted we keep it, and now because of your drinking and stealing we can't afford to keep it."

The blood drained from Kevin's face, he took two steps toward her and, with full force, he struck her. The impact knocked her against the kitchen table, the corner striking her just below the eye. Stunned, she was able to get to her hands and knees. Kevin reached out. Raising her arms, she cried, "Let me be Kevin. Don't touch me, not ever again."

He seemed not to hear. The more she struggled the more Kevin persisted until she realized that Kevin was aroused. He dragged her to the bed where his assault was savage and mercifully quick. As soon as he climaxed he released himself, straightened his clothes, and went into the kitchen.

She lay on the spot where he left her. Besides the pain and indignity, her head ached and there was a humming noise in her left ear. She wanted to pull the covers over her head and never wake up. She knew this was not to be, for George would be here in a few minutes, and she must rouse herself if she intended to be half-way presentable. There was nothing she could do about the eye. It was already swollen shut. Cold water compresses eased her headache, but the ear continued to hum. Kevin sat in the rocker, glass in hand and jug at his feet.

When George arrived she was as ready as she would ever be. Opening the door, she paused for a moment and issued her ultimatum. "Kevin, I suggest you let Adam take the sideboard, unless you plan to spend the winter out-of-doors, where even that jug won't keep you from freezing to death."

When she climbed into the buggy George asked. "My God, Lizzie what's happened to you?"

"A stupid accident George, that's all. I tripped; fell against the table. It's going to be a beauty. Thank goodness I don't have to wait tables or sell thread over a counter. I'd scare the customers away."

The rest of the trip to Van Hoest's was spent giving George instructions for the coming week and arrangements for credit at the market so Jane could prepare Kevin's food while she was away for the week.

Will informed her later that Kevin offered no objection when they moved the sideboard out of the house. Whatever she told Kevin must have had the intended effect; he'd rather be warm than freeze.

xviii.

She now paid the bills. Nothing was said about the assault, and she tried to wipe the memory; but, in November, that Sunday rose to haunt her. She was pregnant. She had not taken precautions.

With Rufus, she had never wanted to use preventatives. With Kevin, it was God's mercy or sheer luck that kept her from conceiving. It wasn't until they came to Campbelltown and she saw all those mouths to feed that she started caring for herself.

Christmas brought another surprise, although in her condition, a rather heart-breaking one. The Van Hoest's gave her a saddle horse. Gerta remembered her talking about her love of riding and Beauty. It was a beautiful, black, five year-old gelding, named Charger. It was love at first sight.

She made the excuse that the weather was too cold for her to ride, but each day, while the twins were napping, she would saddle him, mount and gently walk him around the farm yard.

xix.

It was a stupid, inane accident that caused her miscarriage. Ilse had come to borrow a croup kettle. Hansle had a bad head cold and Ilse thought the steam might ease his breathing. Gerta was a firm believer of a place for everything and everything in its place, and stored seldom used items on the top shelf of the cupboard. She pulled a chair to the counter; standing on it she could reach the kettle. As she was about to draw it off the shelf, Ilse spoke. "Did you know that Hans and Inger are going to tear down your old place and start building in the spring?"

Not quite sure she had heard correctly, she turned to Ilse. The chair slipped away from the counter and she fell. She quickly stood up and assured Gerta and Ilse she was all right. She was stepping back on the chair when the pain hit.

"Lizzie, vat's wrong?" Gerta asked.

"I'm fine Gerta. Let me sit for a moment."

Gerta was easing her onto the chair when the pain came again, this time she could feel the tissues tearing and blood starting to flow. If she hadn't been in pain and a little frightened she would have laughed at her ability to issue orders in a time of crisis. "Gerta, I'm miscarrying. Help me to the floor. Get some towels. Ilse, you look like you are going to faint. Go home, or go upstairs and take care of the twins."

Ilse fled, without her croup kettle, high-tailing it for home. Gerta came back with towels, a blanket and a pillow. "Mein Gott Lizzie, vy don't you say. You should not been climbing, not riding that dumb beast neider."

"Hush, Gerta. There is nothing to worry about, listen to me. As soon as the fetus is expelled the bleeding will ease off. Try and keep the men out of here until the mess is cleaned up. They have weak stomachs when it comes to female trouble."

She groaned as she expelled a tiny, waxy, white globule, no larger than the mouse Gerta had cornered in her pantry last week.

In a few minutes Gerta had everything cleaned up. She stayed on the floor. It was better if she didn’t move for awhile. Emile was the first one into the house. When he saw her on the floor his reaction was, "Gott in Himmel!"

Gerta pulled him aside and they spoke in Dutch. Emile approached, picked her up and carried her upstairs to her bed. There was no more pain; only emptiness and regret. Deep inside, she wanted to have that child.

Lying in bed was tedious. All she had to do was think. The foremost thoughts were the words Ilse spoke just before she fell. “Were the Van Hoest's behind the sale of the farm? If it was so, why hadn't they bought the farm outright?" She could answer that question. "Kevin would never have sold."

After a second day in bed she could stand the inactivity no longer and cautiously made her way downstairs. Gerta was kneading bread dough; the twins confined to a boxed off area where they couldn't roll off into trouble and where Gerta could keep an eye on them. As she entered, Gerta spoke sharply, "Lizzie, you should not be up."

"Gerta, I cannot spend another moment in bed. I'm going crazy, besides the bleeding has stopped."

"Yah, but ve don't vant it to start again."

"I'm fine, really. You know Gerta the human body has a remarkable way of healing itself."

"Yah, if you say so, but all the same I vorry." Gerta shaped the dough into loaves, put them into tins and set them near the stove to rise. "Vould you like a cap of coffee, Lizzie?"

"That sounds heavenly. Gerta; have you time to talk? I know my trouble has put a strain on you, but if you have time, there are a few things I'd like to ask you."

It seemed to her that Gerta sensed the questions, for she nodded, lowered her head and avoided looking at her. Sipping the hot aromatic brew she posed her first question. "Gerta, is it true what Ilse said; that Hans and Inger are going to take over the old farm?"

"Ya Lizzie, tis true, but not vat you think. This Hemsley, how you say, spends more money than he's got. He vants to buy up the County for foolish things. He comes here too and Emile laughed. I'm sorry that Kevin lost his money, but ve hear many farmers from here ver promised, but Hemsley could not pay. Hans, who is like old Pater, smells trouble. It was Hans who vent to Hemsley and said he vould buy back your farm. Hemsley vas very glad to sell, because if we don't pay his debts he vas going to jail for —

"Fraud," she supplied.

"Ya, fraud."

"What did Hans pay for the farm, Gerta?"

"Three thousand dollars."

She laughed.

"Vat's so funny, Lizzie?"

"It's only that either we were cheated or you were. We sold the farm for two thousand."

"Ach no, you sure?"

"I was there Gerta, I know. It would seem that this Mr. Hemsley is still able to turn the shadow of prison into a profit." Sobering, she asked, "Why didn't you tell Kevin or me what had happened?"

"Lizzie, ve vas afraid that you vood think Hemsley had bought the farm for Hans. I swear to Gott lizzie, this vas not true."

"I believe you Gerta, but convincing Kevin is going to be something else again."

"You see now Lizzie vy ve keep quiet. That Ilse, she is such a mouther!"

"Mouther?"

"Ya, von who talks so much."

"By the way Gerta, did Ilse get her croup kettle?"

"Ach no Lizzie, Hansle sneezed twice and blew out all the stuffing and she didn't need it."

They both laughed.

xx.

She felt well enough on Sunday to make the trip to Heron, although Gerta was dubious. George bundled her up in the lap robe and they were on their way. Out of the corner of her eye she noted George’s side glances. "All right Love, say what you have to say. I'm sure you have heard the worst."

"Meaning no disrespect Lizzie, I can't imagine how a black eye and a sprained ankle could cause a woman to become pregnant."

"Can't you now? Well, let's say I lied about the ankle, and the black eye was a blow dealt to me by the gods."

"More likely Kevin; you want to talk about it?"

"It's long over George. There's no point in rehashing something that will never be."

"Are you sorry about the babe, Lizzie?"

“Practically. I'd have to say no. I'm too old George. Neither Kevin nor I could have supported it. From my heart. I'd have to yes, I did want the child."

They rode along silently for a few moments before she asked, "What kind of news has been going around the County about me?"

"This ought to perk you up Lizzie girl — none. We wouldn't have known except that Hans came to see me on a different matter two days after you fell. I guess he advised Use and Inger to button their lips, but it's possible Cora and Silas know. Ilse gets down there at least once a week."

"I'm glad of that, because I want to tell Kevin before he hears it from someone else."

They were nearing the outskirts of Heron when George spoke, "I have some more news Lizzie. When the weather breaks, Pa and I will be working back at your farm. Hans bought it from Hemsley and wants a house built."

"I know."

"You know? How did you find out? Hans insisted that no one know."

"That bit of news was the reason I lost my balance and fell. Ilse dropped a hint just as I was reaching for the croup kettle. The rest of the story I got from Gerta."

"Tell me Lizzie."

"Not now Love, we're home. I'll fill in the details on the way back tonight."

xxi.

Kevin was in the rocker. He rose and walked toward her. Her first reflex was automatic; she stepped backward but found herself against the door. "Dear God," she prayed.

Kevin stopped in front of her but did not touch her. "Jane was here to start dinner. She told me you had had an accident. Are you all right?"

"Yes Kevin, I'm fine, sit down please. I've something to tell you."

“There is no easy way to tell you this, so I guess I had better just say it. I've had a miscarriage. It happened last Monday."

"You were carrying my child Lizzie, and you never told me?"

"I'm sorry, but I was so angry I couldn't tell you just yet."

"You didn't want my child."

"Oh no, no Kevin, please," as she reached to take his hand. "That's not true. Look at me, look at me. With God as my witness I would never have done anything to harm our child. Please believe that. You, more than anyone else knows that human life is a precious thing to me. I'm sorry Kevin, I'm sorry," and she began to cry.

Kevin leaned back with his eyes closed; tears seeped beneath his lids. Without opening his eyes he asked, "How did it happen?"

"It was a silly thing really," and she went on to explain what had taken place, eliminating Ulse's remark.

"Since no one knew I was pregnant, I scared Gerta into gray hair, and Ilse couldn't get out of the house fast enough,"

"How did Jane hear of the miscarriage?"

"That was Ilse. You know Gerta calls her a mouther. That's someone who talks too much. Ilse announced to her family what had happened."

Lying now, she continued. "Hans met George in the bank two days later and asked George if I was feeling better. Since George hadn't heard, Hans explained the accident. Kevin, no one except the Van Hoest's and Ilse knows anything about this. It needn't become public knowledge."

Kevin rose from the rocker, walked to the cupboard and took out a bottle.

xxii.

The strain between them eased, although there had been no physical contact. Kevin continued to drink and she accepted what she could not change. When she had recovered, she hauled out her riding costume. It was out of fashion, but serviceable.

She no longer needed George to spend his Sunday driving her back and forth between Campbelltown and Heron. She was able to transport herself. It was a marvelous feeling to be independent. At every opportunity she would take Charger out for a long ride along the back roads. It was a pleasure that she had thought would never happen again. She enjoyed the animal's speed and sure footedness.

The weather continued to moderate and her thoughts were focused on Kevin's reaction when he found out about the farm. As soon as George and Will started work it would become common knowledge. She dreaded each passing week.

As soon as she entered the house she knew that someone had told Kevin about the farm. She also knew that he was very drunk, for the jug sat empty at his feet. He stared at her with an expression of hatred. A chill ran down her spine. She had seen him so many times in a state of inebriation, but never like this. Instead of dulling his senses, it seemed that the liquor had sharpened his anger. Her instinct was to turn and run but she pushed back her fears and stepped farther into the room. "Good Morning Kevin."

The sound of her voice triggered a reaction that she didn't expect. He rose from the rocker and moved toward her. It wasn't until he tightly grasped her right arm and struck her that he began to speak. Each time he slapped her, he spewed an indignity he had suffered because of her. She knew if she did not get out he would kill her. She was on the verge of losing consciousness when she heard a scream. Jane was in the doorway. Kevin's hand stopped in mid-air. He let go of her arm and slumped into the rocker, his fury spent.

"My God, Mama, let's get out of here. Can you walk?"

She shook her head and whispered, “Go get George."

"I can't leave you with this madman Mama."

"Look at him, he won't do anything more. Do as I say, get George."

In less than three minutes George stormed into the house, took one look around and rushed over to her. "Lizzie, shall I get the doctor?"

She shook her head. "I'm just dizzy. Help me up."

"Just a moment Lizzie."

George turned to Kevin, still seated in the rocker. George pulled him to his feet and forced him over to where she lay. "Look at her you drunken sot — look what you have done. Understand me, Kevin Cooper, if you ever lay another finger on her I shall kill you."

George struck Kevin full in the face. There was a grinding sound of crushed cartilage as blood spewed from Kevin's nose. The blow knocked him to the floor. Lifting her to her feet, George put his arm around her waist to steady her walk.

"George, Kevin's bleeding. I've got to help."

“God damn it Lizzie, so are you. Let's get out of here. He can take care of himself."

All the while he was walking with her down the path to his home George muttered under his breath. Unable to hear him, she asked, "What did you say?"

"I said no more Lizzie, no more. You are never again to go into that house. I shall not permit Jane to go there any longer. That man is crazy, who knows what he might do next."

She was in too much pain to answer. Jane called Doctor Weston. He examined her and found nothing broken. Her lip was swollen where she had bitten into the flesh; her nose had stopped bleeding but it looked like a radish. This time there was not one black eye, but two. It would be weeks before her face would look anything approaching normal. There was also a large bruise on her right arm where Kevin grabbed her. Dr. Weston gave her a sedative and she dropped off to sleep. It was nearly dusk when she awoke. Jane was sitting by the bed. Struggling to sit up, she murmured, "Jane, I want to go back to Van Hoest's. I don't want the whole town to see me like this."

"Mama, you are going to stay here. I've been cooking a beef broth. I'll bring you a bowl."

Before she could protest, Jane left the room. The next morning the pain had eased and she insisted that she leave. She would ride back with George to the farm and Charger could follow behind, tied to the wagon. Her determination forbade argument.

Gerta's first words when she saw her were, "Mein Gott Lizzie, vat happened?"

"Not now. I'll tell you later. May I stay here for a few days?"

"Vat kind of crazy question is that. This is your home. Come, I help you to bed."

For the next two weeks, roles were reversed. She did not want to expose her face to the babies and frighten them so she took over the cooking. She was grateful that her abilities extended that far.

She was setting the breakfast table when Emile and Fredrik walked into the kitchen. They were angry, but not at each other.

"Ma Cooper, better you should sit down."

She moved the frying pan to the warm part of the stove. "Is something wrong?”

"Ya, there is. Charger is dead. Someone came into the barn and beat him to death with a hammer."

"Sweet Jesus," she whispered as she started for the door. Emile caught and held her.

"No, no Lizzie, is not to see. Fredrik and me vill take care of it."

"God Emile, who could have done such a thing?"

"You don’t know Lizzie? Who hates us so much and you too, that he vood stop at nothing to get even?"

"Oh my God, Kevin!"

"Ya Lizzie."

"Emile, what are we going to do?"

"For now, ve are going to eat. Put the food on the table. Ve have lots of vork to do. Tonight ve vill talk more."

Charger wasn't the end of it. At noon George came down to check on her and informed her someone set fire to the summer kitchen. Damage was minor because the stones wouldn't burn. George wished the culprit had fired the cabin instead, it would have saved him and Will a lot of work.

The two incidents occurred so close together, there was no doubt where to place the blame. It wasn't until Kevin left the County that she breathed easier. When Will went with her to the house all Will could say was, "My God, Lizzie, he's mad."

The house was a shambles. Every piece of glass and crockery was broken. Her bunk bed had been chopped to pieces — the bedding torn to shreds. Kevin had taken the horse.

i.

She was growing restless. She had spent three years with the Van Hoest's. There would always be an abiding gratitude and love for these people who and taken her in, but she must leave. The twins no longer needed close supervision. She was eager to get on with her nursing.

Three opportunities presented themselves. First, was Jane's pregnancy. The baby was due in May, and she planned to be in attendance. Second, was a letter from Charlotte, announcing her August marriage to Mr. Toby McQueen. The third, was Fredrik's impending marriage to Heidi Strassberg — a handsome German girl that Fredrik met in Westport.

ii.

Jane had no trouble bringing Emily Hannah into the world. She never questioned Jane's choice of names for her children, but she sometimes wondered what motivated Jane to keep the Portman family names alive.

Maybelle was the only link to their past. With Uncle George's death, she cut her ties with England, at least on the Portman and Martin side. Maybelle's letters to Jane seldom mentioned the family, only what she and her husband were trying to accomplish with the godless natives in Africa.

Joshua's letters kept her informed on the Tupper side. Carlie died and Harvey and his family migrated to Australia.

Portman gained a new name. When he started to talk he was unable to form the word Portman, but came up with something that sounded like Paddy, so Paddy he became — except for Jane, who continued to call him Portman.

George, was contemplative, almost secretive, she thought. Knowing he would talk to her eventually, she waited. One night, she and George were on the front porch, enjoying the sunset, and Jane was inside nursing Emily.

"Lizzie?"

"Eh George, what is it?"

"Lizzie, I'm near out of my mind. I don’t know what to do."

"Do about what, Love?"

"I've been getting letters from an old school chum of mine. He’s settled in the States. He keeps writing how good it is over there and how much work there is."

"And what does that have to do with you?"

"Lizzie, he wants me to come over."

"Are you thinking about leaving Canada, George?"

"Aye, Lizzie, I am. I'd guess that within a fifty kilometer radius there is nothing more to be built here, at least by me. The County has grown as much as it’s going to. There’s nothing more here. We'd have to pack up and move west, and I don't want to colonize the way Pa and his father did."

"What does Jane think of this?"

"She's not said yes nor no. To be true Lizzie, I' think she'd like to get out."

"And what about you George?"

"I've mixed thoughts, Lizzie. Adam and Pa keep the farm going. I think Pa is a throw-back. He's happy whether he's building or planting, and me, even though I know how important the land is, I just want to build."

"I cannot advise you Love. That decision is yours and Jane’s.”

iii.

She stayed through June, then left for St. Catherine. She hadn't seen Charlotte for seven years, though there had been many letters exchanged. She urged Charlotte to return home, at least for a visit, but Charlotte refused. The years had not dulled Charlotte's feeling for George despite her impending marriage to Toby.

When she stepped off the train, she was greeted by Charlotte, Josh, Clara and Hardy. How good it felt to have her arms around her youngest daughter once again. It was several moments before the emotional turmoil passed.

Entering the lane, she saw that Josh managed to keep his farm isolated. Large poplars marked his boundaries, a polite warning that what transpired within its confines had nothing to do with the outside world. After supper that evening the Tupper's left her and Charlotte alone. Until now they had not had a moment to themselves.

"Mama, I'm sorry about you and Kevin."

"Don't be Love. All of us have hindsight. I only wish to God we had foresight, then troubles would not exist. No more about me. I want to hear about you and this man you are going to marry. I'll meet him soon I trust?"

"Oh yes. Mama, but not until next week. He's a fireman in Hamilton. He's on duty this week. He works one day and is off the next. Every three weeks he gets two days off in a row and that will be next week."

"Charlotte?"

"Yes Mama."

"Do you love him?"

Charlotte's pause was all she needed to know.

"Mama, he's a wonderful man, kind and considerate. We have many things in common. He loves music, likes to read and loves to cook; something I was never very good at."

"That's not what I asked you lass; do you love him?"

"Oh Mama, I could never fool you. No, I don't suppose I love him with a school girl's crush, but I love him for what he is. Believe me Mama, I'll be a good wife."

"What about George?”

"Mama, I cannot change a fact. What I feel for George I don't think will ever change, but I do know this: what I owe to Toby will be cheerfully given."

"Oh God Charlotte, I hope you'll not be sorry."

"Don't worry Mama. I'm happy, and I'll not give Toby reason for regret."

Toby was a tall, self-assured man, gray at the temples. She judged him to be at least fifteen years older than Charlotte. In spite of original misgivings she liked the man. He was straightforward and spoke openly; admitting that he knew Charlotte's affection for him was reserved.

He intended to change all that.

Josh and Clara insisted the reception be held at the house. Charlotte might not be theirs genetically, but shewas their daughter in the ties that brought this family together.

The expansive parlor was cleared for dancing — the rug rolled up and stored in the attic. A few chairs and the sofa were left against the walls for watchers, talkers and wall-flowers. The dining room table was pushed to one side and laden with food. The cellar was reserved for the men who wished to smoke or have a draught of fine Canadian ale from the cooled kegs stored there.

iv.

With the exception of Jane and Tim — Emily was too young to travel — the entire family attended. She renewed her acquaintance with Peter and his family. Alice was there with her husband, a telegrapher with the Canadian National Railroad, and David, now a licensed physician and surgeon. David and Hardy were the two who most aroused her curiosity. Each was trying in their own way to contribute to the happy occasion, yet stood apart from the rest.

She approached Hardy. "Hardy, you seem preoccupied. Would you share an old woman's desire to dance?"

"Of course Aunt Beth, it would be a favor to me."

"Nonsense, I don't want a favor, I merely love to dance."

They started out in a slow waltz and she started the conversation, "What's the matter Hardy, you don't seem happy?"

"No Aunt Beth, I don't suppose I am. It's wrong of me and I suppose some people would call it abnormal, but if you must know. I'm sorry Charlotte got married. I cared deeply for Charlotte. I think she made a big mistake."

"In your eyes or her’s, Hardy?"

"Blast me Aunt Beth, you have a way of hitting on the truth — in my eyes of course."

"Hardy, look for a girl who will love you, give you children and make a home for you. Don't dwell on what will never be. In your words, it’s abnormal. Give Charlotte your blessing; wish her well; and, let her go."

"I know you're right Aunt Beth, but it's difficult.”

"I know Love, I know.”

Walking up to David, she felt a qualm. Of all Josh's children, she knew David the least. He had always been on the fringe of the family. When she first came here David was too young to understand her troubles. Now that he was grown she knew even less about him.

"Good evening, David, how are you enjoying Charlotte's wedding?"

"It was a lovely ceremony Aunt Beth. I'm sure Toby and Charlotte will be very happy."

"If that's the case Love, why the long face?"

"I've something on my mind, Aunt Beth. I've got to decide soon and I, quite frankly, don't know what to do."

"Is it something you can tell me, Love?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact it is, but not here. Can I talk to you tomorrow before I go back to Toronto?"

"Of course, of course. I'm an early riser. Meet me in the morning. I'm sure everyone else will be too exhausted to be about."

"You're a brick. Aunt Beth. I'll see you then."

v.

Tiny bubbles of dew still clung to the grass as she and David walked slowly through Josh's stand of maples. It was quiet and peaceful, only the birds scolded among themselves. They walked awhile without speaking, enjoying the refreshing air of a new day.

"On such a glorious morning it makes one glad to be alive," she said, breaking the silence.

"That's true, but I'm a little sad too, for I’m about to make a decision where I won't be around to enjoy it again for a long time."

She waited for him to continue.

"The government is opening a medical clinic at Lake of the Woods Reservation. The post is mine for the asking. It would be for five years."

"That's a long time David."

"Aye, it is, Aunt Beth, but I’ve not had much success in private practice. A doctor has to work if he is to keep up." He grinned, "Why is it that people don't trust a doctor until he has a gray beard and walks with a cane?"

"Habits die hard, Love. It's sad but true. I need to ask; where is Lake of the Woods?"

"It's an immense area bordering Manitoba and the northern border of Minnesota. In winter it is one of the coldest places on the continent. It's remote, wild and pristine, but you know Aunt Beth, I feel I have something to offer. I don't know very much about the wilderness but I dare say it won't take me long to learn. I'm strong, and the primary requirement seems to be that I'm young."

"You've not discussed this with your folks, David?"

"No. Until just this minute, I hadn't made up my mind. Thank you, Aunt Beth."

"God's glove David; I've hardly said a word."

"I know, but you listen, Aunt Beth, and don't question or argue."

She smiled, "Now you must admit you haven't given me much opportunity to disagree." As she spoke, she noticed the oddest expression on David's face. His mouth turned down, then he smiled broadly.

"Aunt Beth, come with me."

"David, you're not serious."

"Oh, but I am. The medical department said I could bring my own assistant."

Flabbergasted and flattered, she searched for words to explain her reasons for refusing. Before she could get the words out, David rushed on, his enthusiasm growing.

"Don't you see Aunt Beth, we'd be a team."

As impractical as his suggestion was, she could feel the excitement stirring in her breast.

"David, I'm honored that you'd even want me. I haven't been active the past few years. About all I'm good for these days is delivering babies,"

"You'd be surprised Aunt Beth, how many Indians have babies. It's a miracle as old as time."

"David, I'm forty years old. You know what they say about old dogs?"

"Yes, but an old dog is wise in his ways and who but an old dog can teach the pup his wisdom?"

For every argument that she offered, David countered with logic. The more they talked, the faster she could feel her heart beat.

"When would you be leaving, David?"

David could sense her wavering.

"We'd have to leave by the middle of September. It will take us a while to get there and I'm expected to tour the area before the snow sets in. What do you say, Aunt Beth? Shall we embark on this adventure together?"

After a pause, she answered. "David, I'm not only an old dog, but an old fool as well. I say yes, let's go."

The die was cast.

vi.

Telling Josh and Clara of the decision she and David had made was hard. They did not understand David's reason for leaving and for going so far away. Tim, gone, and now David. Quite possibly, it was her going with David that kept them from out-right disapproval.

That night, she had time to think of the step she was taking. It was going to be a hard life and she was not young. She knew that she wasn't stupid and it wouldn't take long for her to get back into practical nursing. She would miss her children and grandchildren, but there too she had reached an impasse. Charlotte and Toby would settle in Hamilton and she had no intention of thrusting herself into their new life. The same held true with George and Jane. Before leaving for Charlotte's wedding nothing had been said, but reading George's mind, she was sure that soon he would be leaving Canada and moving to the United States. What better way to free them all from the obligation of feeling responsible for her?

She returned to Heron to clear up her affairs and say goodbye to her many friends. She would join David on the tenth of September in Toronto.

vii.

George said nothing, but Jane thought her too old to go striking off to the wilderness and into circumstances where she would be alone and unprotected. Reassurances didn't help Jane's frame of mind so she kept her own council, determined that no matter the heights of Jane's disapproval, it was her life now, a life separate from Jane and Charlotte and one they no longer shared.

Two days before she was to leave. Will and Nellie had a party for her at their farm. It was a glorious occasion, one that she would always remember. Going away gifts consisted of woolen stockings, scarves, sweaters, gloves, mittens, caps and three gifts which brought a laugh to an already happy group: long woolen underwear; fur-lined boots from Will, Nellie, George and Jane; and, a seal-skin jacket with parka from the Van Hoest's. A large box, which she opened last, contained an assortment of teas, herbs, spices, thread, needles, darning cotton, elastic, safety pins, buttons, packets of vegetable seeds and a variety of odds and ends not readily obtained. These could only have been gathered together by Silas and Cora Campbell. Looking out over the sea of faces to express her thanks, she realized how fortunate she was in being able to call all these wonderful people her friends.

i.

They left Toronto at midnight on the fifteenth of September, aboard a freighter bound for Duluth to pick up a cargo of coal. The equipment and supplies would be unloaded at Fort William.

It was sunset the following day, when the freighter was given clearance through the Welland Canal. Standing with David, at the bow, as it made its way through the narrow canal, she was thinking about what lay ahead and what she was leaving behind. She saw part of her life disintegrating. Kevin; her children; relegated to her past. George and Will insisted she see have her marriage annulled.

David was right. It was a long journey across the Great Lakes to Fort William. She supposed it took less time by water than overland and they were relieved of the jarring ride over roads that in some places were no more than wheel ruts. In Fort William they were met by three young Indians; guides to take them to Lake of the Woods.

They left the guides with the supplies, to purchase their transportation. David had a Ministry requisition for three wagons and six horses to haul their supplies and themselves over the final one hundred-fifty kilometers. They found a livery. The man in charge had horses for sale, but: “…by God, the government wouldn't be getting them for a pittance." After talking for a few minutes, she learned that he'd migrated from Barnstaple. Deacon sold them six horses and a wagon and directed them to someone who could provide the other two wagons.

With transportation secured, she went to the hotel to register for rooms, while David took Deacon to the nearest saloon to show his appreciation. The Indian lads insisted on staying outside with the wagons, an excellent idea, for it would be disastrous if anything were stolen.

The following morning a heavy mist hung over the bay as she and David stepped into the cool dawn. The lads had fed and watered the animals and were ready to leave. As the sun rose, the mist was forced closer to the ground; and, after an hour, disappeared. She was awe-struck. On either side of the road was virgin timber. If it hadn't been for the well worn ruts, she might have thought she was the only person alive in this vast expanse. Curiosity about the life she would be leading the next few years prompted her question for the driver.

"Have you always lived here, White Hand?"

"Oh yes, and my father and grandfather."

"Are you happy that Dr. Tupper and I are coming to live among your people?"

"We shall see lady. Our shaman is now old. He does not have a son to pass his spirit. We wait for white man's spirit."

"Will you be living near us?"

"Oh yes. My brother, Strong Bow and my cousin, Mongu will stay close until you know the ways of the forest."

"Strong Bow and Mongu; do they drive the other wagons?"

"Oh, yes."

"Why were you chosen, White Hand?"

"Grandfather was good teacher. Each sunrise he takes us out and shows us the lakes, the land and the islands. Now we know, like grandfather."

"Your grandfather sounds like a wise man. Is he still living?"

"No lady. The great spirit called him."

"Why are you called White Hand?"

White Hand showed her his left hand. She reached out, but White Hand quickly drew back.

"Was your hand in a fire?"

"Oh yes, many summers ago. I disobeyed my mother's voice. Grandfather said that was my punishment. I should not have tried to take the hot meat from the fire."

ii.

It took three days to reach Fort Francis, and during that time she and White Hand got to know each other and she learned a great deal about the territory. The road they were traveling was not heavily populated. The main road leading west was many steps to the North according to White Hand. Kenora, where most of the tribes traded, was a large village on that road. Fort Francis rested on the Rainy River and an invisible line in the river marked a spot where the Indian nations could not cross. The white man below that line did not want them there but did not prevent him from buying their furs.

Late afternoon, on the second day, brought them to a wide promontory. As far as the eye could see, water circled islands. Evening fires were built against the cold of the night. Ahead of the lead wagon stood a large clapboard building which would be home for the next five years.

They were greeted by an Indian couple. The man extended his hand to David, nodded his head to her and introduced himself as Matthew Standing Bear. The woman, a step or two behind the man, was introduced as his wife, Hanholie. They were caretakers of the lodge. There was no time for further amenities. It was essential to unload the wagons before dark. The next two hours were spent making countless trips between wagons and lodge.

The unloading completed, she sat down on one of the barrels and studied her surroundings. The lodge was about thirty feet wide and forty feet long. The main room would serve as clinic and dispensary. The rear of the building was partitioned off for living quarters. Matthew and Hanholie had worked hard to make them comfortable. On one outside wall was a stone fireplace, already blazing. Enough wood was stacked nearby to carry them through the night. A cook range, cupboards and counter were on the back wall. Over the sink was a hand pump. Facing east was a window and next to that, a door that opened to a lean-to. The inside wall elicited a grin, for there stood a double bed, resplendent with bear skin covering. In the center of the kitchen area was a table and four chairs. A kerosene lamp in the center of the table was lit, casting eerie shadows. She heard the shed door open and Hanholie entered, carrying an iron pot exuding a delicious aroma, and a pail of water.

"You eat now lady."

'Thank you, you are very kind. Just let me find Dr. Tupper and some plates and spoons and we will eat. Will you join us Hanholie?"

"No lady, I fix food for Matthew."

She took the pot over to the fireplace and hung it on the cross bar to keep the contents hot, then carefully took coals from the fireplace and put them in the cook range to start a fire. The odor of food reminded her how ravenous she was. She scurried to find the carton marked dishes as she called to David.

There was a carton someplace that held the large utensils and dish pan, but she did not have the strength to search for them. Besides, she was so exhausted that she didn't feel shame at leaving the dishes till morning.

Both she and David spent a few awkward moments looking at the bed, then began to laugh uncontrollably.

"Aunt Beth, What would people say if they could see us?"

"My dear, if they could see us now they wouldn't have a thing to gossip about."

That was the last thing she remembered until the sun was well above the trees.

David and Matthew constructed a bunk in the clinic area. David preferred that arrangement so if there were patients kept overnight he would be near them.

As they unpacked, Hanholie talked about the Lake and the tribes who inhabited it. It was a mix of tribes of the Sioux nation. Hanholie was native, as were Matthew, White Hand and Strong Bow. Mongu and his family came many years ago when the white man forced the tribes off their land. Many tribes came from the western plains. Each tribe had different strengths — hunters, fishermen, trappers, carpenters and reed workers. Manley One-Shoe and his tribe built this lodge.

iii.

There was much to do and much to learn before the winter isolated them. In the few days they had been here a great deal of foliage had fallen. One mandate from the Ministry was that David call upon as many villages as he could, alerting the tribes to his presence. He would meet with each chief and explain his reasons for being in the territory. Another mandate was that the horses and wagons should be taken to Kenora. The Ministry would care for them until spring. It was too difficult and too expensive to keep horses through the winter, since feed had to be shipped in and stored. David could not delay if he wanted to visit all the tribes before the onset of winter. It was up to her to see that the equipment was returned to Kenora.

She saw David off at the foot of the jetty. It was a crude, but sturdy, vessel that he stepped into, much more practical than a canoe, especially in open water. The wind would take it swiftly along and, if becalmed, it could be rowed. White Hand was at the tiller, while Strong Bow ran up the sail. Matthew, spokesman for David, was seated in the bow, while David sat in the stern. Pushing away from the jetty, David smiled and waved. If the weather held, he would be gone for two weeks.

Leaving Hanholie to care for the lodge, she and Mongu left for Kenora. Driving the third wagon was a lad of about sixteen — Isaac Good. Isaac was to stay in Kenora for the winter to attend school. His father, a chief, realized the advantages of learning about both worlds. In the summer, Isaac was instructed in the ways of his people, and in the winter he went to school to learn the white mans books and numbers. Someday he would explain all he learned.

She knew little of Canadian history; only what she gleaned from books the girls brought home from school. There were many Indian Reservations stretched across the vast country and most had schools provided by the government. Lake of the Woods was unique. There was no central meeting place. Each tribe was its own entity and were scattered among the islands with a few on the main land. They were located in villages, each governed by the Tribal Chief. This made it difficult to educate the children. Isaac Good was one of the lucky ones.

The road to Kenora was relatively smooth. The route was easily identified by the median of grass between the brown ruts. With no load, the horses had an easy climb of it, and they covered the fifty kilometers before sundown. Kenora was a frontier town, a little larger than Fort Francis. It struck her, as they pulled into the main stream of traffic, that it was possible Homer had traveled the same road on his way to Alberta. "How strange," she thought, "that circumstances made wanderers of them all."

After signing in the equipment at the Provincial Office, she headed for the Post Office to mail the letters she had written and to pick up any that might be waiting. The Postmaster handed her three; two for her and one for David. She was surprised to learn that mail was one of the better services this wilderness had to offer — it came by rail.

Leaving her letters for later, she headed for the general store. She had a list of items that had not been included in the supplies. Browsing the counters, she picked up a few books and five pounds of hard candy. She thought, by careful rationing, it would see them through the winter. She picked out a pipe and a tin of tobacco as a Christmas gift for David. She got some extra yarn in bright colors for a shawl for Hanholie and a scarf for Matthew. She selected a ten pound bag of hickory nuts that would be tasty in cakes and penuche. Every boy from six to sixty had a sweet tooth. The last thing she picked up was a chess set.

She didn't know if David played or not. She had never learned. Oh well, if he didn't play they could always use it for checkers. These items she paid for, but the regular staples she had billed to the Provincial Office. There was corn meal, oat meal, lard, baking soda and powder, ten sides of bacon, four smoked hams, two gallons of vinegar, a bushel of Macintosh apples, yeast starter, a case of baked beans, one hundred pounds of potatoes, fifty pounds each of carrots and onions and twenty-four dozen eggs. These last four items would not take them through the winter but would be eaten before they spoiled. The lodge had no root cellar. Perhaps next year she could persuade the Ministry to fund one. She left instructions that everything should be boxed or sacked, labeled Tupper, and sent to the dock where the Lake boat would take them to Fort Francis.

Heading for the hotel and a much needed bath, she passed the Indian Agent Office. Out of curiosity, she stepped inside. It served as trading post, as well as the Office of Indian Affairs. She found herself looking at some of the most beautiful hand-made items she had ever seen. There were blankets made of horse hair, decorative crockery, snow shoes, deer skin jackets, pants as soft as new fallen snow, and exquisite wood carvings of the animals that shared this country with the two-legged interlopers. There were baskets, hampers and boxes dyed and woven from the reeds that grew plentifully along the banks of the lakes. Two bear skin rugs, with the heads still attached, were nailed to the wall of the building where they would be fully appreciated along with bear robes and heavy bed coverings like those Matthew and Hanholie had provided them.

Two items struck her fancy: the first was an inlayed cribbage board, made of light and dark maple, with intricately carved light and dark pegs; the second was a pair of identical cane backed and seated rocking chairs, something their living quarters could use. The Indian agent assured her the chairs would be delivered to the dock; the cribbage board, along with two decks of cards, she took with her.

When she arrived at the hotel and registered, her request for a bath was immediately taken care of. Luxuriating in the tub of hot water, she enjoyed it to the fullest. Her baths from now on would be in the Lake in the summer, and in the winter, scrunched over in a wash tub in the kitchen, with her knees touching her chin.

She saved her letters until bedtime. Will's letter brought no surprises; he and Nellie wished her well. Adam and Jean were expecting in the spring. Campbelltown had started to grow. Four new houses had been built and an Anglican church was being erected just down the road from the school.

Will would oversee the construction. Campbelltown was going to find itself a place on the map after all.

Jane sent a picture post card from Charlotte which was a picture of Niagara Falls and an address where Charlotte could be reached. George and Adam had been working on the farm. George would move to the States when Emily was old enough to travel. The children all managed to eat, sleep and get into mischief.

The supplies were loaded when she arrived at the dock. Mongu helped her on board. The boat was much like the bateaux the French trappers used one hundred years ago, plying the fur routes. It was larger than a bateaux and, in addition to sails, it had a steam boiler to propel when the wind did not. There were six men and two women fellow travelers. They spoke a patois of Indian, French and English. She was able to converse with the women. Her school French helped her. They told her they were going to Fort Francis. Two of the men were getting off on the great island. They had spent the summer in the logging camps north of Kenora; now they returned to their village. The trip to Tupper’s jetty took three hours. "How much faster water travel is," she thought. "On the other hand, the road was always there where steam-propelled boats were not."

iv.

Hanholie was waiting. The captain and mate helped unload. In a few minutes, she was waving goodbye, as the boat puffed its way back into the deep water. They had a long way to go to reach Fort Francis before dark. It was almost noon before the three of them had carted all the supplies to the lodge. Once again the clinic looked like a warehouse. Mongu left, and she and Hanholie spent the rest of the day sorting and storing.

That evening she pulled one of the rockers to the fireplace, drained the last of the tea from the pot, picked up one of the books she had bought and began reading. She was content.

v.

David would be gone about ten days so she asked Mongu to show her the nearby land. Once away from the road it was easy to get lost. Mongu's first advice was to always carry a knife. A notched tree would show her the way back. He pointed out the different species of ground plants and their uses, some which might even be of help for treating ailments. The old People who knew these things were dying. Mongu could not understand why the young men left this paradise to work for colored paper. Neither could she.

Mongu also gave her lessons in the art of handling a canoe. In spite of its sea-worthiness, she was intimidated by its fragility and the difficulty of keeping it upright. Paddling close to shore, it was almost two days before she got the feel of it, but from then on she and Mongu ventured farther out in the Lake, stopping on deserted islands. Acting as teacher and passenger, Mongu taught her how to control the small craft. It was an exhilarating experience.

vi.

She stayed so busy, she hardly missed David, although his return came none too soon. Ice had begun forming along the edge of the lake during the night and melting during the day with the heat of the sun.

The Lake was icy cold when Matthew, Strong Bow, Mongu and White Hand pulled the jetty onto the bank. If ice began to form and thicken when the jetty was still in the water it would be destroyed. She had tubs of hot water for their feet and bowls of hot soup to warm them.

For two days, David talked incessantly of his experiences. David was now sure this was what he wanted to do. He had been politely accepted by the chiefs and in two cases he had shown his ability, once lancing a boil on the backside of a chief, and another extracting an abscessed tooth. The chief whose tooth he had extracted insisted on paying for the service. Since their salary was paid by the Province, David could not accept, but knowing it was an insult to refuse their offers, David showed interest in the reed mats that adorned the floor of the Chief's lodge and mentioned that his lodge would be enhanced by such a mat.

Within a few days three gorgeous reed rugs were delivered to Tupper's Jetty by the Chief himself and one of his sons. She suspected that the Chief knew the size of the rooms for one covered the kitchen and living area. The other two were smaller. They fit nicely at the sides of their beds. Stepping out during the night to use the chamber pot would now be more comfortable. She invited the chief and his son to the lodge for a cup of hot coffee and a piece of fresh baked bread and jam before they made the trip back.

The son did most of the talking. The old gentleman, nodded from time to time. She thanked him for the gifts that would make their lodge beautiful. The old man stood and patted her hand gently in a gesture of understanding.

vii.

It began snowing the last week in November. The green pines and the stark black poles of now barren trees were the only contrast of color to the sea of white that was visible wherever you looked. White Hand and Strong Bow instructed them in the proper use of snow shoes. Instead of sinking in the soft white powder the shoes kept the traveler on the surface. The Lake when frozen could be traveled by foot. There were two or three tribes who had huskies and sleds for winter traveling. Runners could reach these tribes in an emergency.

Through December there were no emergencies. The lodge was quiet. In an effort not to get on David's nerves, Elizabeth would go out on hunting expeditions with one of the three lads. Even though she cringed at killing those noble deer, her practical side knew that without the hunting they would have no table meat. As Christmas approached. Strong Bow concentrated on trapping or shooting the snow partridge — the closest thing to a Christmas goose. The Canadian Honkers had long since left the area for warmer climates.

viii.

Christmas Day was overcast. There was going to be more snow. Not deterred, and with snow shoes fastened firmly in place, she and David made their way to Standing Bear's lodge. It was small but very pleasant. Matthew and Hanholie clung to the old ways and indeed every nook and cranny contained Indian lore. She was pleased that Hanholie had included the three boys to share in the holiday meal. Over an open fire six partridge were pinioned on a spit, which Hanholie turned from time to time.

When they sat down to eat it was not at the table but on bear rugs in an arc facing the fireplace. Matthew explained in the old days the family would sit around the fire to eat. The food was close at hand and the heat welcome. One thing the white man brought to these parts was his ability to build strong lodges which kept out the cold. The tribes were not long in following the white man's example of a good shelter. The winters here were cruel and many times in the old days a family would be found frozen to death in their teepee because some member of the family had not fed the fire.

As they sat on the rugs facing the fire, Hanholie brought out wooden bowls and gave one to each person. Ladle size wooden spoons were placed next to each bowl. While Hanholie stripped the partridges from the spit and adeptly split them, she placed mounds of cooked pumpkin seasoned with salt, pepper and sage and corn meal cooked to the consistency of mashed potatoes which contained dried mushrooms-black, thick and tasty into the waiting bowls. To offset the bland food, there was a mashed red berry, similar to the cranberry, slightly sweetened but with enough tartness to sharpen the appetite.

When everyone had been served, Matthew raised his head and chanted a thanksgiving to the Great Spirit. While eating, no words were spoken, a reminder that what the Great Spirit provided should be eaten with silent honor. It wasn't until all hands covered their bowls that talk resumed.

Outside, the wind was rising and common sense told the visitors that it was time to return to the clinic. She gave Matthew and Hanholie the scarf and shawl and to the lads the penuche all wrapped in paper and tied with string and dyed to look festive. Hanholie, Matthew and the lads were touched. In thanks, the household knelt and joined hands. Matthew and the lads sang an old song in tribal dialect while Hanholie translated in English. Matthew was thanking the Great Spirit for the gift of fire. It was the fire that brought friends together to share the bowl. The Great Spirit provided, the People gave thanks. She and David sang one verse of "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen.”

i.

By carefully checking every date on the calendar, she kept track of the days. Daylight hours were occupied with household chores. Evenings, when there were no storms, the brilliant moon and stars gave off an incandescent glow that made the night seem as bright as a well-progressed dawn. From the windows, each form stood out against the horizon. There were times when she could have sworn she saw a tree or bush move.

It was early February when David was called upon to see a patient. It was a young boy in a village on the far side of the big island. The symptoms pointed to appendicitis. David gathered the necessary supplies and they were driven by sled over the frozen lake to the lodge of Comash.

A young boy lay delirious with a high fever. Examination proved David's tentative diagnosis. "Beth, get some snow from outside and pack it around the abdomen. This lad is about to rupture."

With the boy packed in ice, the two of them planned their strategy. The boy, Hokie, would never withstand the ride back to the clinic. David would have to operate here. Two hours later, David knotted the final suture.

They spent the night in Comash's lodge. The next morning Hokie's fever was down and he was lucid and alert. The incision looked healthy with no redness or swelling. David asked that he be brought to the clinic in ten days to have the sutures removed.

Hokie’s operation had broken the ice. People began to come to the Clinic. Most were minor cuts and bruises, but there were broken bones and intestinal disorders. Children were given a hard candy from her dwindling stock, while the men had to be satisfied with a cigar that David was now forced to cut into equal parts. Magnanimity was now the exception. Fresh supplies were desperately needed.

ii.

By early May, most of the lake ice had melted and David and the lads returned the jetty to the water. The shifting tides and wind left on the bank deposits of boulder size blocks of ice that grew smaller with each passing day. She could hardly wait for her first trek into the bush. The sun was warm, but the trees, in full foliage, blotted out most of the sun's warmth, so she wore warm clothing.

There was nothing lovelier than Lake of the Woods in Springtime. The forest floor abounded with crocus’s and jonquil; the blossoms barely open above the crust of the earth. Ferns and violets grew so thick they created a carpet. The presence of animal droppings gave her a sense of security. There was other life here, sharing the same air. Deer came at dawn or dusk to drink from the lake. The elk migrated farther north as did the brown bear. The tree cover prevented her from seeing them, but she could hear the Honkers heading north and east toward the great Hudson Bay, an annual pilgrimage of thousands of kilometers. The next week or so would bring an army of airborne sentinels in their traditional V shape; the General in front, responsible for his army. White Hand told her that once the army had stopped on their way to the big Lake. The chiefs forbade killing — except the ones too weak to fly.

She was startled when a pair of chipmunks skittered across her path, nearly on the toes of her boots. She watched them as they played up and down a beechnut. A pair of jays scolded the two fun loving rascals for coming too close to their nest. Out-weighed and out-maneuvered, the chipmunks yielded and scurried off.

Strong Bow brought news that the Lake boat would be leaving Port Francis in three days which left them barely enough time to make out supply orders. She would travel and David would remain at the clinic. The practice was busy enough that one or the other needed to be available at all times. She would bring back the supplies with a wagon and team. Mongu would travel with her.

She didn’t realize how much she missed the bustle of people until she stepped onto the dock at Kenora. One drawback was the wagon and horse traffic on the gravel road running through the center of town. It produced a gray, powdered dust that clung to everything.

It was late afternoon before her errands were completed. Leaving Kenora now would mean a night in the bush. Thinking about a luxurious bath, she decided to spend the night and get an early start. Street noises were foreign to her ears after so many months of quiet tranquility Trying to distinguish the individual sounds emanating from the street below, she fell asleep.

The sun was beginning its westward journey when she and Mongu finished breakfast. The wagon was loaded to capacity. Four horses were in harness to pull it. Overflow supplies were sent to the jetty to go by boat. She gave Isaac Good, returning from school, a dollar and passage, to ride with the supplies and unload.

The sky was dusky purple when they halted the team at the front door of the lodge. Matthew threw a tarpaulin over the cargo and fastened it down. There would be time to unload in the morning.

Hanholie suggested that she and Doctor Tupper get some laying hens. Matthew would build a small coop for nests and the chickens could scratch and eat table scraps. In winter they would butcher the fowl. There was nothing better than chicken soup or a chicken stewed and topped with dumplings. How well she remembered. The next spring they would start over. Tobias Carrytwo was the supplier to see — it was his business and he lived just six kilometers from the clinic. When Matthew had the coop completed, she and Hanholie bought twelve beautiful hens.

David procured smallpox vaccine and planned to inoculate as many of the People as he could. It would take most of the summer. She wanted to go along, but it was not to be, as the clinic could not be left unattended. So far she had seen only a small sample of this beautiful country. Perhaps next year she would be able to visit the outlying villages.

iii.

In the spring, the lads turned over a plot of ground at the back of the lodge, using a horse from the wagon team and a borrowed plow from Tobias Carrytwo. She planted the seeds that Cora and Silas had given her. The virgin soil produced an abundance of beans, peas, carrots, beets, tomatoes, onions, cucumbers and stalks of succulent sweet corn.

Each week was composed of a new adventure designed to remind the People of the Great Spirit's blessings. Mid-June brought tiny, delicious, wild strawberries which they mashed and placed in the sun, covered with a sprinkling of sugar. Three days later Hanholie put them into jars and sealed the top with bees wax. A heavy rain followed by a warm cloudy day would bring mushrooms to the surface. They too were split and dried in the sun to crackling black, to be enjoyed later when the Great Spirit could no longer provide.

In July, marshy ground around the inland lakes provided huckleberries, a fruit unfamiliar to her. Moisture played a great role in their size. An early warm rainy season could produce a berry the size of a pea, otherwise they were minuscule. The low branches were stripped, as though milking a cow. One danger that made the berries difficult to gather was the rattlesnake and the occasional bear. Summer heat brought the snake closer to the cool damp of the marsh, and the bear came because of his insatiable sweet tooth. It was wise, when picking huckleberries, that one person strips the bushes while the other keeps an eye and ear out for danger, trading places to ease the back.

In late summer, when the vegetables were overgrown and tough, Hanholie showed her how to dry the beans and peas. They would make excellent soup in the winter when smoked ham bones were available. The vegetable seeds were carefully shaken into papers then folded and labeled for next years planting.

Between cleaning and gardening she continued to perfect her canoeing skills. Within sight of the lodge she and Mongu would paddle out to the different islands; pick black currants or blackberries, look for honey in the hollow trees. An angry nest of bees would have to be smoked out at dusk. Few things intimidated her and by using common sense she had faired well. One thing she did not have was the temerity for bee keeping. An angry buzz would always find her moving out of harms way. Mongu had an affinity for them. The bees would swarm and hover about him but never sting. The honey was a treat, but it was the wax that was dear. It had a myriad of uses and could be reused.

iv.

There were callers during the summer. Primarily they were People of the Lake who were curious or just wanted to get acquainted. From May on she dispensed hospitality in some form of refreshment. On one occasion, her visitor was a man who came to have the stitches removed from a leg wound. David had sewn up the injury and told the man to come to the clinic for removal of the sutures.

She washed the healing wound and as she removed the stitches, she asked, "When did this happen?"

"About two weeks ago."

"It looks deep, how did it happen?"

"I was chopping a log. It splintered and the axe struck my leg."

"You were lucky that it stopped short of the bone. In that case you might be missing a leg."

"Dr. Tupper told me the same thing."

She got a small jar of petroleum jelly and handed it to the man.

"If you rub a little of this over the wound each day it will keep the skin soft and the scar will be less noticeable."

Instead of taking the jar, the man grasped her wrist and held her firmly. She was about to call out when the man released her, turned and left, leaving her clutching the jar.

Mongu stopped as the man passed him and watched until the man was well away from land.

"Lady, what was he doing here?"

"He had an accident. Dr. Tupper sewed him up. Dr. Tupper told him to come here to get the stitches removed.”

"Nothing happened?"

"No, except he forgot to take the ointment. Is something wrong, Mongu?"

"Only that we call him Outsider. Trouble follows him as the eagle follows the rabbit. Sooner or later the eagle will catch the rabbit."

Nothing more was said and she forgot the incident. When David pulled up to the jetty six weeks later she barely recognized him. He was as brown as his companions and he had grown a beard. David was more than glad to return to a permanent residence, especially to a bed that was off the ground and had no lumps.

David had inoculated all the children and most of the adults. Some of the older members would not submit to being scratched. David did not insist. They were a hearty people and he would not force them. The children were his main concern. He had many tales to tell, some funny and some sad, but he had nothing but admiration for these People who agreed to live confined to a specific area. The government may have disagreed, but it was captivity.

v.

They arrived too late last year to attend the Gathering. Each year a different village hosted the Tribal Assembly. It was held over four days. Games, contests, dancing and food would abound. The Chief from Comash's village extended an invitation. It was a crowded boat that left Tupper's Jetty that September morning. The boat held seven passengers, food, clothing and blankets. Hanholie, Matthew and the lads would sleep in the lodges of relatives. She and David would sleep on the boat. She grimaced at the thought but it wasn't the first time, and certainly not the last, that comfort would take second place to duty or pleasure.

Before they sailed around the point of the big island, smoke could be seen curling skyward. As they neared their destination, other boats joined them, shouting greetings to one another. Positioned on nearly a quarter mile of beach were the various vessels used to travel the Lake. The larger vessels were anchored off-shore and in close proximity to one another, so you could hop from boat to boat until you reached dry ground. It was either that or wade. She preferred dry feet and tried the precarious method of boat hopping, relieved when she finally stood on the damp gravel. She marveled as she watched the lads move easily from boat to boat while they carryed Hanholie's bundles.

David knew just about everyone. As they made their way to the village they stopped and he introduced her to each Chief and his family. She recognized the Chief with the abscessed tooth. She stopped to shake his hand and express her pleasure at being here. He grinned and patted her hand. When they reached the clearing the scene before them was a virtual sea of teepees. The markings on the leather that surrounded the poles were unique. Each tribe boasted its heroes and brave deeds. The illustrations were burned or painted into the leather. In front of each teepee a tripod over a glowing fire supported an iron cooking pot. Time and tide may have changed the course of the lives of the People but they would not abandon tradition. The old ways were still a part of them, even if only celebrated once a year.

The first day was taken up with greeting one another. After the evening meal the tribes began the dances. Each tribe of the mighty Sioux nation would perform in traditional dress and relive old glories; the old ones teaching the children the words, meanings and movements.

In spite of the bare boards beneath her, she slept soundly, enjoying the gentle rhythmic slap of water against the side of the boat. The following day was dedicated to the young braves. There were races, games and feats of prowess, each tribe cheering on their own. That night another group of dancers performed. Against the bright light of the bonfire the dancers in perfect rhythm wove their story. Her eyes wandered about the crush of people engrossed in the dancing. For an instant she thought she saw Outsider staring at her, but retracing the scene there was no sign of him and she returned her attention to the dancers.

The third day was dedicated to archery. There were many who still hunted in the old way. A warrior acquired the skill to use the bow and arrow. It was late afternoon and the women were busy getting ready for the evening meal when a growl arose from the male spectators who encircled the archery range. Standing boldly in front of the host Chief, Outsider was demanding his turn at the target. She watched the advisors try to vote down Outsider's request. It seemed to be the general consensus that Outsider had no business being there. The Chief made his decision. Outsider could compete. Outsider was a man of the People; he had no village but he lived among the tribes, it was his right. There was a grumbling among the men but Outsider stepped up to the line with his bow and took his stance.

He was an excellent marksman but as it turned out he was not the best. A man from a side village out-drew him. Outsider was second. He walked away with the laughs and cat calls echoing long after he was out of sight.

She did not stay for the dancing. The drums reverberated in her ears was beginning to bother her, the left ear particularly. She told David that she was leaving. White Hand escorted her out of the village and when she was settled on the boat he returned to his friends. Looking at the star studded sky she sighed contentedly. From here the drums had only a dull beat that did not pierce her ears. The glow in the sky over the village was caused by the huge fire. She pulled the blanket up around her shoulders and was almost asleep when she someone jumping across the boats.

"David is that you? You're early."

A hand covered her mouth and she was forced back into the bottom of the boat.

"Please be quiet. I wish you no harm."

As soon as the words were spoken she knew it was Outsider. She relaxed and he took his hand away.

"How dare you."

"I wish to talk."

"I dare say that you could have asked me like a civilized human being, instead of scaring me half to death."

You do not understand.

"I understand that you do not understand the proper way to speak to a lady" She immediately realized how ridiculous she sounded. "All right, what do you wish to talk about?"

"First, my name is Paolo."

"Very well Paolo, what did you want to talk about?"

"You are married to Dr. Tupper?"

"For goodness sake, where did you get that idea?"

"You share his lodge and you share his boat."

"That's true, but I do not share his bed. He is my nephew. I am here with him because I've medical training and he needs an assistant."

"You are a beautiful woman." With that he was gone. It took no more than moment or two for her to realize the drums were silent and the glow in the sky lowering. Paolo had to leave or risk being discovered.

The fourth morning the tribes dismantled their teepees and prepared to break camp. When the sun was at its zenith, the Chiefs, in full array, sat before the host's lodge and smoked the pipe of peace. As it passed from hand to hand each tribe called upon the Great Spirit for protection and wisdom. It was a poignant farewell.

It was a quiet trip back. Reminisces are sweeter when they aren't shared.

vi.

David made the last trip to Kenora before the snow and ice isolated them once more. He brought several letters. She opened Jane's letter first. It was dated August 20,1891.

She folded the letter and returned it to the envelope. She closed her eyes and began rocking. She had heard the saying that in the moments before a person dies, his life flashes before him. At this moment, she was experiencing that, as a spectator, watching the events march across her memory. She was the last of a proud family. Her father was dead and she couldn't remember the names of her half-brothers. God only knew what had become of her mother. Her children were scattered. She shuddered and for a moment she wished she too were dead. It was a knocking at the door of the clinic that roused her from the sudden depression. Standing there was Paolo.

"What are you doing here?"

"I've come to talk."

"I can't talk now, come back later."

"You are alone. I've watched."

"Paolo, please, not today. I'm sorry."

"Elizabeth, may I call you that?" he asked.

She nodded.

"You are sad. Perhaps you should talk."

Tears welled up and she could not suppress them. It seemed natural that she should find herself in Paolo's arms with her head resting against his shoulder. Embarrassed, she pulled away. "I'm sorry Paolo. It's only that today I received a letter from home with sad news. Perhaps we can talk some other time."

"Walk with me Elizabeth. It will do you good."

"I can't leave here Paolo. Someone might need help."

"We won't go far from the lodge."

She sensed it was easier to go along with his suggestion than to argue. She pulled on her heavy boots and fur jacket and they started walking through the trees along the Lake shore. The leaves crackled beneath her feet. The snow wouldn't be long in coming.

"You are a strange man, Paolo."

Paolo gripped her arm. "Never say that again; I am not crazy."

"God's glove, Paolo, I didn't mean you are crazy. I meant that you are different from the other men of the People. It is difficult for me to understand you or know what you are thinking or the reasons for your actions; like today. Why did you come?"

"I said I wanted to talk."

"Yes, but what about?"

"I wanted to talk about you Elizabeth. I see today is not a good day; we walk instead." They walked in silence until they came upon Paolo's canoe, hidden from sight but close enough to allow a quick departure.

She began to feel uneasy, thinking that her good intentions might be misconstrued. "Paolo? You said earlier that you knew I was alone because you watched. Do you watch often?"

"Oh yes, many times. I watch that no harm comes."

"Why do you do that? It's like spying."

"You are a beautiful woman. I first saw you in Fort Francis. I followed until you came to the lodge."

She thought her safest course of action was to retreat, so she said, "I'm going back to the lodge now Paolo. I need some time alone to think."

"Will you walk with me tomorrow Elizabeth?"

"No, that would not be wise."

"Then I shall come to the lodge and call out for you."

"Please Paolo, why are you doing this?"

"Soon the snow will come and I shall leave until once more the leaves come. Tomorrow, you walk toward the little lake where the huckleberries grow. I will meet you there and we can talk."

It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him he was insane, but instead she turned away from him without speaking and walked back toward the lodge.

The next day, silently scolding herself, she wondered why she always seemed to be on the horns of a dilemma. One would think as a person grew older they would be endowed with at least a modicum of common sense. Not more than fifteen minutes ago she had deliberately lied to David. He had offered to walk with her but she told him she wanted to be alone to think. Well, the thinking part was correct but her thoughts brought no comfort. First and foremost, something was going to have to be done about Paolo. Perhaps today would settle the matter. She never heard Paolo approach. He was beside her before she even sensed he was there.

"How are you today, Elizabeth?"

"I'm feeling much better, thank you."

'Today we can talk?"

"By all means, then that is going to be the end of it."

"What do you mean, the end of it?"

"It means that I shall not meet you again and your spying on me must stop."

"That will not be."

"Please Paolo, I don't wish to quarrel with you. You said you wanted to talk. Let's talk and perhaps we will understand each other better."

"I said I watched you Elizabeth. I did. I see you in your garden, I see you picking fruit and curing it. I see you handle a canoe as well as any man I know. I see your hands heal the sick, I see you on snow shoes and I've smelled the aroma that escapes from the lodge. At first it puzzled me why a white woman would come here; then, as time went by, I understood. I was jealous of Dr. Tupper. Many times I had the chance to end his life and no one would know. Remember the first time we came face to face? You took the threads from my leg. When I grabbed you my thought was to force you to come away with me, but then I saw Mongu coming up the path and I had to run away like a coward. I wanted to win with the bow at the Gathering to impress you, but I lost. That night at the boat I could not stand it any longer. You were alone. I had to talk to you. Yesterday when I held you in my arms I knew you would be my wife."

"Paolo, that will never be, never."

"It will be Elizabeth."

"I don't even know you. I'll certainly not marry you," and she turned to walk away.

Paolo pulled her down to a fallen log. "You say you don't know me. What is it you wish to know? I will tell you."

"For goodness sake Paolo, I don't know. This has upset me, I can't think."

"Think Elizabeth, we have time."

He would not be placated.

"Why do the tribes call you Outsider?"

"I am not Sioux. My father was Apache; my mother was a Mexican girl taken in a raid on a village. When I was eight our village was attacked by a tribe of Kiowa's looking for horses. My parents were killed and I was taken north as a captive. When I was fourteen I escaped and made my way to Canada. I lived off the land and on what I could steal. That first winter I almost died. An old white man found me nearly frozen. He took me to his cabin. I was with him six years. He taught me to speak English, but he couldn't teach me to read or write. One morning when I woke up, he was dead. I took the money he had; a horse; and, headed east. It was early summer when I first saw the Lake. It is so beautiful. At a village on the long land I found a family without sons. I, pretended that I am starving; they fed me and I stayed with them. I worked and helped the old man. I was always a hunter, he showed me how to trap. He made me his son."

She would not allow herself to dwell on his story. She had another question to ask. "I've heard that trouble follows you. Why is that?"

"You hear much, Elizabeth."

"You said you would tell me anything I wanted to know."

Paolo got up from the log and began pacing back and forth in front of her as he resumed talking. "The old couple, they had a daughter. Not beautiful like you." He paused before continuing, "I lay with her and she is with child. The old man wants a marriage, I do not. Everyone knows this. Two weeks later the lodge burns down and the three of them die and I am driven from the village by the men of the tribe. They did not believe me when I told them that night I had been with the Chief's son. Because I am Sioux now by adoption they cannot banish me from the reservation."

"What did you do then?"

"I went to Kenora and worked in the lumber camps. To get even with the tribe I would rob their traps and take the furs to Fort Francis. Old Konki, my adopted father, was a good teacher. He showed me how so I wouldn't get caught. They suspect, but they cannot prove."

"That's very dishonest Paolo."

"Remember, Elizabeth, you are the only one who knows."

"Why else would trouble follow you?"

"Once there was a hunting accident. I drove my arrow into the neck of my friend. He lived, but he is unable to speak. You should know that many times I have spent the night in jail. Drunk and disorderly, the police call it. It's against the law to sell liquor to the Indians and I think because of that, I insist on being equal with the white man. I am as good as they are."

"Paolo, do you realize that I'm old enough to be your mother?"

Paolo laughed, "My older sister perhaps, but never my mother."

"Oh, you make me so angry. Paolo, is there no way I can convince you that what you are proposing is out of the question. We are from different worlds. I deeply admire your culture, but I could never become a part of it. Besides, how would we live; by stealing from my friends?"

"Ah, Elizabeth, that's what I wanted you to ask. Remember the money I said I took from the old man? Well, in Manitoba I found a beautiful valley with heavy grasslands. I bought some of it with the money. Last winter I went back and started to build a lodge. In a few days I'm going back to finish it. Beef cattle is what is needed in this country and a more beautiful spot for it you've never seen."

"Paolo, that was stolen money."

"Elizabeth, the old man had no relatives. Was I supposed to let a stranger come in and strip him on his death bed?"

"It makes no difference Paolo. The money wasn't yours."

"Why can you not understand?"

"Because your values and mine are different. This is what I mean by saying we could never be together. It simply wouldn't work."

"You do not wish to live with me?"

"In fairness and honesty Paolo, no I don't."

"But you let me hold you in my arms."

"That was a gesture of friendship. I was unhappy and as a friend you were giving me comfort. Something any friend would do."

"I will come back in the spring. You will feel different then."

i.

Their second winter was easier since they were knowledgeable in the ways of the land and the People trusted them. She maintained a cheerful exterior but lying just below that was the dread of what might happen when Paolo returned in the spring. She was drawn to Paolo. Given enough time and persuasion she had no doubt Paolo could wear her down. Each night she prayed to God for His intervention — to show her the way in a hopeless situation. By Mid-June Paolo had not returned. She didn't know whether she should be concerned or relieved. The summer passed into autumn and still no Paolo.

It was the end of October when one of the People came to the clinic to have a broken hand set that she got news of Paolo. In an effort to distract the man as he was setting the fracture, David talked about the Gathering; how much he and Elizabeth enjoyed it.

"This year, we didn't have the Outsider. The bearer of news told us he was no longer on our land. The bearer did not know for sure, but voices repeated that Outsider had been put in the iron cage for stealing a man's wagon. Next year at our Gathering, the Chiefs are going to talk on what to do. Many Chiefs want him put off the reservation. That is good I think"

After the man left the clinic, David turned to her and said, "Beth, something about this fellow is bothering you. Don't deny it, even Mongu tells me something is wrong. I've seen it ever since a year ago at the Gathering. Tell me what's wrong.”

She was relieved to be able to tell David about all that had taken place between her and Paolo.

"My God, Beth, the man is mad."

"Not mad David, confused perhaps, and misguided, but not mad. I feel that I'm to blame. Had I not given him an opportunity to talk at last years Gathering, this could have been avoided."

"Nonsense; he's too undisciplined. He will be stopped if he ever comes to the Lake again."

"Please David, I don't want any trouble."

"Then what exactly do you plan to do?"

"I don't know David, I don't know."

Late February brought news that Outsider was again on the reservation. No one knew where he stayed but he had been seen several times, once not far from the clinic. They were clearing the table for a game of chess when Mongu came into the shed, stomping the wet snow from his boots. He was excited and hardly able to contain himself.

"What's happened Mongu, that would bring you out after dark?" David inquired.

"I was at Isaac Good's village when the news bearer came to tell us that Outsider has been caught stealing from Mano's traps. In two days the Chiefs will gather at Mano's village and Outsider will be punished by the People."

"How do they know Outsider is guilty?"

"Lady, he had his hand in the trap. He was caught like the snow fox — he was trying to steal."

"My God Mongu, was he hurt?"

"I can only voice the news bearer Lady. If the hand of Outsider is injured, I do not know."

"David, we shall have to go to Mano's at once."

"Lady, this concerns only the tribes. You would not be welcome."

"But Mongu, what if he is injured?"

"The Chiefs will decide Lady."

"Are you going to the Chiefs meeting Mongu?"

"I am not a Chief, but I shall go to watch. I cannot speak in the presence of the Chiefs."

"Will you let us know what happens?" David asked.

"I shall come back on the third day."

"Thank you Mongu. Elizabeth and I would appreciate that."

ii.

Mongu didn't get back until mid-afternoon on the fourth day. He was cold and tired. To revive his spirits she poured him a mug of coffee and although it was illegal, she laced it with brandy from David's dwindling supply. When he had rested a moment, she could wait no longer. "What happened to Outsider?"

"Sit down Lady and I shall tell what I saw and heard. Outsider was tried before the Chiefs' council. He was guilty of stealing from Mano's traps and has been banished from the reservation. He was punished by being stripped and tied to a tree, then he was beaten with birch branches by the women and children of Mano's village. This is a very bad thing for a man. He loses his self respect. This too will make his banishment complete. No man will stay after such a beating."

"What about his hand, Mongu?"

"I did not see Lady, a bloody bandage covered it. I talked to Michael, Mano's son, who was with his father when Outsider was taken. He said two fingers of Outsider's right hand were nearly severed, the knuckles broken and bleeding where the steel clamps had bitten into the flesh."

"My God Mongu, didn't the chiefs even try to aid him?"

"No Lady, that too is part of his punishment; he must heal himself."

"Surely there is something we can do David."

"My dear, if we wish to stay here to support these People we must abide by their laws. Any breach of mores could embarrass the Provincial Office, but it might be many years before the People trusted us again."

Mongu nodded his agreement at David's words.

"Oh David, I wish I had never come here."

"Hush, Beth. I couldn't have made it without you. Outsider will be all right, you'll see. It's only a matter of you overcoming this feeling of guilt. Just remember, whatever happens to him is his own doing."

iii,

Four days after Mongu brought them the news, David was in the kitchen sterilizing some of his instruments. She walked over to Hanholie's to borrow some herbs to dress up an otherwise bland meal. Whistling between his teeth as he worked over the stove, David thought he had heard a sound outside the front door of the clinic. He dried his hands on a towel then proceeded through the clinic and the door.

"I want to see Elizabeth!"

"Good God man, what are you doing here? Elizabeth is not here and you shouldn't be either."

"Need to see Elizabeth."

With that Paolo slumped forward and came to rest just inside the doorway. There was nothing David could do but pull him into the clinic.

"Can you walk if I help? Let's get you over to the bed where I can examine you."

David removed Paolo's outer garments and was appalled at what he saw. Outsider was a desperately ill man. Beside his hand which was showing signs of gangrene, his exposure to the weather these past five days had taken their toll. His feet were swollen and ghostly white from frost bite, and only God knew when he had eaten last. His face was gray, except for the redness of both cheeks indicating a high fever. His breathing was labored. David didn't know where to start first. He wished to God Beth would come soon, he needed her help. David raised Outsider's head and forced down a tote of brandy. Starting at the top David washed his patient carefully. Outsider's back was probably the only thing that didn't give David concern. The birch switches had left many welts but they were already starting to turn yellow. The skin was broken in a few places, apparently caused by sharp prongs on some of the switches. When he was clean David put him into a night shirt cut off at the knees, covered him with a blanket and started working on the hand. The bandage was putrefied and David took it out to the kitchen and threw it into the firebox. Two fingers required amputation. Further examination indicated that Outsider might lose the entire hand. The knuckles were suppurating and exuding the unmistakable odor of gangrene. Red streaks, indicating blood poisoning, were already past the elbow.

"Outsider, can you hear me?"

"I hear you. My name is Paolo."

"Paolo, I have to take those two fingers from your hand. They cannot be saved. Do you understand?"

Paolo nodded.

"As soon as Beth comes we’ll do the operation."

"I must see Elizabeth,"

"Please, Paolo, lie still. She should be back before long."

While he waited for Beth's return, David put his time to good use preparing the necessary instruments.

"David we are going to have a wonderful dinner tonight."

He waited until Elizabeth had taken off her boots and walked into the kitchen before he spoke.

"Beth please; I have something to tell you and for God's sake stay calm. I'm going to need your help."

"Paolo?"

"Yes, he's here and he's very sick. He wants to see you."

"Is he in the clinic?"

David nodded. "Beth, wait; there's more."

"What more?"

"Beth, I think he's dying. I've told him I am going to amputate his fingers, but the whole hand is involved. He could very well lose his arm also. His feet are frostbitten and I'm sure he is already in the first stages of pneumonia."

"Sweet Jesus. Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

"I must see him."

"All right. I'll give you a couple of minutes, but we must start as soon as possible if we are to have any hope of saving him."

The man she saw lying on the hospital cot was not the vital, vibrant man she had talked to over a year ago. "Paolo?"

"Ah, Elizabeth, you are still a beautiful woman."

"Now stop that nonsense, Paolo. I'm sorry about what has happened. How are you?"

"I have much to say, but I cannot talk now. What you said to me — can we talk later?"

"Of course — it’s a good idea. David and I will take care of you. Lie still, Paolo. All will be well."

All was not well. She tried to explain to Paolo that they must take his arm off at the elbow if he wanted to live.

Paolo refused. A finger or two he could live without, but an arm, never.

By massaging the feet and toes, she was able to bring life back into Paolo's feet, but as they conquered one issue another took over. It was becoming more difficult for Paolo to breathe. The croup kettle eased his breathing but there was no denying that his lungs were filling with fluid. Each hour brought debilitating weakness to Paolo's body. The gangrene was not treatable. It was all that David could do to keep the odor under control. On the ninth day, David was called out to see a patient and would need to spend the night in the village. It was nine o'clock. Paolo was resting easy. She had lain down to catch a few hours sleep.

"Elizabeth?"

In a second she was by his bed. "Yes, Paolo."

"We talk now."

"No Paolo, you need to rest."

"We talk now."

"Very well, lay back and we'll talk."

"I do not like lying here like the fox in the trap."

"You should have thought of that before you tried to steal it — I’m sorry Paolo, I shouldn't have said that."

"It's no matter, Elizabeth. You speak the truth."

"Oh Paolo, I wish you would stop talking and rest."

"The People know when they are being called by the Great Spirit. He is calling me. Let me speak now before his wings cover me."

"That's nonsense. You'll be fine. All you need is rest."

"Elizabeth, many times you have angered me, but never have you lied. Do not lie now."

"Oh Paolo, what can I say to you?"

"You were right Elizabeth. We could never be together. I knew that, but I didn't want to believe. It is well that it is over."

"Sweet Jesus, Paolo, get well and I'll marry you."

"No Elizabeth, this time I am right. In my pocket is a paper. I had it made when I went to Manitoba that second winter. It is yours. Keep it." Paolo sighed and closed his eyes.

"Paolo, come back, come back."

Without opening his eyes he whispered, "Do not cry Elizabeth, for then you are not a beautiful woman."

It was over — the eagle had caught the rabbit.

i.

It had taken all the trust that David had built with the Chiefs to convince them that what he had done was not against the People but an act of humanity he had long ago sworn to uphold. He did not go to Paolo, Paolo came to him. The man was dying. Should he have left him on the steps of the lodge? He, David would not have been worthy to practice medicine if he had. The People must understand what being a doctor meant. He could not deny Paolo anymore than he could deny Hoki.

The Chiefs accepted his judgment, but insisted that Paolo be buried quietly without ceremony and without a stone to mark his grave.

The paper that Paolo left was a deed to his property in Manitoba. She would have liked to take him there to be buried but the Chiefs made that impossible. Instead he lay buried not far from the huckleberry bushes where they had talked. She never again picked berries from those bushes.

ii.

The following spring, she made the trip to the Provincial Office in Kenora, to discuss the use of Paolo's land in Manitoba. It would need to cleared by the authorities in Ottawa and Winnipeg but there was general agreement that the land would remain in its natural state and as a protected area for wild life. It would be known as Paolo White Park.

iii.

When her five years contract was ended she was eager to leave. David was just as eager to stay. He loved the People and nothing would please him more than dying among them.

She stayed while David took his hiatus East to locate a replacement. To her surprise, David returned in early September with a wife. Valerie Quist was a lovely girl and a registered nurse. Time would tell how she would adjust to the lonely life that lay ahead of her.

There was not enough time to get acquainted with Valerie. The winter would soon be on them and she decided to take the steamer south before the lakes were closed to shipping. Her first stop was Detroit, to visit Jane, George, Paddy, Charlie and the newest Collins, Jewell Marie, a granddaughter she had never seen, and one that did not carry the Portman name. She spent the winter with Jane and George. Not accustomed to having little ones underfoot, it took a while for her to adjust. The tranquility of Tupper's Jetty was a thing of the past.

In the spring of 1896, she crossed back into to Canada. That summer she roamed about Ontario like a gypsy, visiting all her friends. She stayed with Silas and Cora; with Will and Nellie; the Van Hoest's; and, spent several weeks with Joshua and Clara. Her last stop was Charlotte.

iv.

It seemed incredible that Charlotte, the joy of her life, was a stranger. Jane was abandoned for years and their kinship grew as the years passed. With Charlotte it was the opposite. Charlotte's self-imposed exile had widened the gap between mother and daughter. She wondered if she had done the right thing in taking Charlotte to Joshua's. Her time with them in Hamilton was awkward. Charlotte's main concern was the breeding of pit-bulls.

She took two days to visit Peter and his family in Halton. As luck would have it, coming unannounced she found herself in the midst of a birth. One of Peter's daughter's was in labor. Like an old war horse looking forward to another battle, she pitched in and assisted the doctor. After the delivery, she introduced herself, and the doctor inquired about her credentials. Her list of accomplishments impressed him and he asked if she had plans for the future. Before she left Peter's to return to Hamilton, she and Dr. Walgreen made an agreement that she would settle in Kitchener to assist in his obstetrics service. When she said goodbye to Charlotte and Toby, the one thing that consoled her was Charlotte and Toby's marriage. It was not a love affair, but they were comfortable with each other, much like old shoes on sore feet.

v.

She bought a small house on the outskirts of Kitchener and hung out her shingle. She kept a small garden. Confinement cases occupied her and in the winter she was glad to be close to the stove to read and rest.

When Queen Victoria died in 1901, it felt like the end of an era. No longer would that stout majestic lady rule Britain with the strict moral standards she insisted upon. Edward, from all she had heard and read, would begin a new reign.

The years passed and she was satisfied that her life was still useful. The rewarding cry of a newborn baby more than compensated for the increasing pain and incessant buzz in her left ear.

The first four chapters of this book were typed on a WWII era typewriter. The remainder was handwritten with footnotes, edits, cross-outs and arrows pointing to inserts, “see paragraph such and such,” margin notes—horizontal and vertical, etc. The writing was done between February 1970 and February 1980. It was Eleanor’s project for that decade.

The paper had yellowed and faded after sitting in a box for thirty years—and it was difficult to recognize parts of Eleanor’s handwriting and the many squiggles indicating changes and additions, etc., but I am confident of the results. In our editing, we were careful to correct spelling and grammar errors without changing meaning or without interfering with Eleanor’s intent.

Eleanor did not write the stories to deal with historical events but to deal with her characters in the context of history. The events and settings in the stories are accurate; and remember, Eleanor did not have the internet!

The recollection of characters and the anecdotes and events are those of the main character in the final book — the fictitiously named Emily — the real Irene Cockerline. Knowing that, it is a matter of looking at Irene’s family tree to identify the characters in these stories.

There is in each book an overlap of generations, events, and stories. The stories are told from each character’s point of view, and it is critical to read the books in sequence.

Eleanor described this book as: “Book Three. More fact than fiction—again just a little salt to the stew.”

This book is told from the perspective of Jane, Elizabeth’s daughter (Katherine’s granddaughter). Jane was raised under the influence of her Great-Aunt Maybelle, a prudish, religiously zealous Englishwoman, the daughter of Great Uncle George Soames who married Jane’s grandfather’s sister, Hannah Portman.

It is important that the books be read in sequence, so you need to have read Books 1 and 2.

Each book is a memoir of the women protagonist__Book One: Katherine; Book Two her daughter Elizabeth; Book Three, Elizabeth’s daughter Jane, granddaughter of Katherine; and, Book Four, Emily, Jane’s daughter, great-granddaughter of Katherine, and granddaughter of Elizabeth — thus the title; “On My Mother’s Side.”

Katherine’s story is based on limited facts; Elizabeth’s story is based on better information; Jane’s story more accurate, more details; until the final book, where Emily’s memoir is, in Eleanore’s words — gospel.

The editing was done by William F. Stratton and Karen S. Schneider (Eleanor’s niece).

Edited by William F. Stratton and Karen S. Schneider (Eleanor’s niece).

“Say goodbye to your Mama and little sister Jane, they are going on a long journey and you won’t see them for a very long time.”

She remembered that Mama hugged her and promised she’d be back as soon as she could. Another lady kept insisting that Mama needed to hurry or the train would leave without them. Her last memory was Mama rushing toward the train.

Maybelle redecorated a bedroom for her but wouldn’t let her see it until it was finished so Jane spent a great deal of time in the kitchen talking to Emma. Emma told her that she was a young girl when she first started working for Mr. and Mrs. Wooster and now she was cook and housekeeper—a fine position in an important London family.

Emma told her about the Woosters, Portmans, Martins and Soames’, but it was too much to take in and not that interesting. She would rather make gingerbread men. Emma allowed her to place the raisins that made the eyes, nose, and mouth on the thick, soft, brown dough. Sometimes she pushed too hard, making a lopsided head. Emma always saw to it that the first gingerbread man was hers. She always ate from the feet up, saving the rich, chewy raisins for last.

After much falderal Maybelle finally allowed her into her new bedroom. It looked like any other bedroom except for the canopy bed. The canopy and dust ruffle were gleaming white linen punctured with hundreds of tiny eyelets. A pale yellow spread covered the mattress and pillows.

“Now isn’t this a pretty room, Jane? And it’s your very own.”

“Can I get on the bed Maybelle?”

“No dear, you’ll wrinkle the spread. When you go to bed at night I’ll help you fold it properly to keep it looking nice.”

After Aunt Hannah died, Uncle George drove his own buggy, hiring a stable boy to care for the stalls and two remaining horses. When Maybelle needed the carriage or buggy, she would inform Uncle George and he would send someone from the firm to act as escort and driver. Maybelle considered this too much of a bother so she became a walker and soon learned that to get anywhere, legs were the best means of transportation. At first Maybelle maintained a slower pace with shorter distances but gradually Jane’s stamina grew and, although she couldn’t walk as fast as Maybelle, she could hold her own in distance.

In summer, a bonnet was worn, with long sleeved shirtwaists to shield the arms from tanning, and gloves to cover the hands. One always carried a parasol which protected the face from the sun’s rays but also discouraged advancements from men. One need only lower the eyes and tip the parasol slightly forward to obliterate unsolicited stares.

It was on these jaunts that she learned something of her heritage. On one excursion, they encountered the Royal Coach. Maybelle could hardly contain her excitement. “Look, look Jane, there’s the Queen. Isn’t she a handsome woman?”

“She’s fat, Maybelle.”

“Jane, never let me hear you say such a thing again. Queen Victoria is your Monarch. She is always to be respected and revered.”

“Why?”

Maybelle pulled her away from the crowd.

“That woman knighted your grandfather.”

“Where’s Grandfather now?”

“I’ll explain later. Come now, we still have to go to Fortnum & Mason to get smoked salmon. It’s Papa’s favorite.”

Another time Maybelle requested the carriage to call on Mrs. Overton. The old lady was feeling poorly and Maybelle, in her unending quest to gain a foothold on God’s ladder to heaven, felt it her duty to sit by the poor soul and read passages from the Bible.

Years later she concluded that what Maybelle called “Christian duty” was a beating over the head with platitudes, whether the recipient wanted it or not.

She was glad when they finally left Mrs. Overton’s house, with its odors of old age and illness. It was a lovely day and since it was still fairly early Maybelle instructed the driver to take them down Tottenham Court Road.

“There you are Jane, that was the home of your grandfather, Sir Hubert Portman. It has changed a little over the years, but it was a handsome abode.”

“Why did Grandfather move away, Maybelle?”

“It’s a long story Jane. I’ll tell you someday.”

One sunny afternoon, with Maybelle and Emma in the kitchen, she opened the door to Uncle George’s bedroom and stepped inside. Without speaking she sat in the chair beside his bed watching the frail old man. Uncle George opened his eyes. “Well now Jane, how good of you to sit and keep me company.”

“What’s the matter with you?”

“I guess you could say I’m getting old. When you live a long time the heart grows tired and needs a rest.”

“Does it hurt?”

“No, not now.”

“I’m glad. Uncle George?”

“Yes, Love, what is it?”

“What happens when your heart gets too tired?”

“Then my dear, you die.”

“Are you going to die?”

“Jane, all of us die. Some of us live long lives and others are called home to God when they are young. As for me, I’m ready to face my Maker, and perhaps it would be a blessing if God saw fit to call me now instead of later.”

“I don’t want you to be called, Uncle George.”

“Ah Jane, Love, I’ll stay as long, as I can. That’s a promise.”

Maybelle came into the room with a tray of tea and toast and scolded her. “You should not be here. Papa needs his rest.”

Uncle George waved his right hand weakly. “Nonsense; Jane and I were having a very enlightening conversation. Much better in fact than the long faces I’ve been getting from you and the rest of the family. I’d like to talk to Jane again. She’s a refreshing breeze in a stagnant household”

After that, for a few minutes each afternoon, she would visit with her Great Uncle, exploring the meaning of life and death. The reasoning was simplistic, but it was something she never forgot. There were times too when her Mother’s name was brought into the conversation. Uncle George loved her mother. He told her of her mother’s work at St. Giles Hospital; how she had managed when Jane’s Aunt Amelia was lost at sea; her love of horses; her conviction that the love of Jane’s father meant more to her than the family name; her struggle to survive after Jane’s father’s death. They even talked about her grandfather moving to Cornwall and the disappearance of her grandmother. Most of what Uncle George told her about her parents she could understand, but even his glowing remarks about her mother could not dispel her resentment. She still remembered being left behind while her baby sister went with her mother. Maybelle had replaced her mother. Blood ties were thin, but the cord of dependency made it apparent that they were entwined like yarn on knitting needles.

Uncle George recovered but, because Christopher was running Portman Imports, Uncle George spent a good deal of time in her company. They would drive around London and he would point out historical places: The Tower; Parliament; Westminster Abbey; St Paul’s; Hyde Park; Kensington Gardens — where her mother rode her horse— and, Buckingham Palace — where her mother and Aunt Amelia had been presented to the Queen.

“Uncle George, tell me about my mother.”

“Jane love, I’ve told you about your mother.”

“What was she like when she was little?”

“Oh, I’d be fair right if I were to say she was a lot like you. She had compassion as a child, and a stubbornness as well.”

“Was Mama born in the house on Tottenham Court Road?”

“Yes she was, but why do you ask?”

“It’s a nice house, but it looks so sad.”

“Jane, as I’ve told you before, each day brings a new dawn. Days pass and things happen that change our lives.”

“Why did Grandfather move from his house?”

George paused — “Jane, I don’t know that you’ll understand, but I’ll tell you what I know and then I think it best if the subject of your family is put to rest. Reliving the past is not good; it aggravates old sores that won’t heal when picked at. Do you know what I mean?”

She nodded.

“Very well. Your mother, is the kindest, most honest person I have ever known. Your Grandfather thought your mother married beneath her station when she married your father — a stable-hand. Your Grandmother thought your mother did the right thing. After your mother left, I believe that your grandmother did not feel there was anything for her at Tottenham Court Road. A few months later, she disappeared. We’ve neither seen nor heard from her since. Your Grandfather didn’t like living alone. He had interests in Cornwall, so he sold his law practice and the house, and moved there. We seldom see him. He is content in his new life.

Do you understand?”

“Yes, Uncle George.”

“Jane, high born or not; you have nothing to be ashamed of. Always stand proud, for you are to be envied.”

The next morning, Maybelle found him. He had peacefully slept his way into death.

Jane saw her Grandfather for the first and only time on the day of the funeral. He arrived before Uncle George’s body was moved to the church. He was at the open casket; paused; then turned. That’s when his eyes contacted hers. She had never seen such eyes before. They were black and hard. She couldn’t look away. Since you don’t speak until spoken to, she said nothing. Neither did her grandfather. He turned away and offered condolences; shaking hands with the men and brushing his lips to the cheeks of the women.

Following the service, close friends and relatives were invited back to the house for a buffet. He didn’t come. Maybelle, eyes red-rimmed from weeping, scurried about trying to make sure everyone had a proper meal. She wanted to go to Maybelle and hold her hand and tell her how sorry she was, but she could not. Propriety did not permit it.

That evening, when preparing for bed, it seemed as though every creak and groan she had heard a hundred times over and ignored were magnified. Alone and frightened, she hurried into bed and pulled the covers over her head. When her heart stopped its rapid beating, she found herself thinking about how much she wished Uncle George had been her Grandfather and not Sir Hubert Portman. She cried; the first tears since Uncle George died.

Emma opened the front door to admit Christopher and a stranger. “Emma, this is Mr. Timothy Colburn, father’s solicitor. Will you call Maybelle and have her meet us in father’s study? There are matters we must discuss.”

“Right away, Mr. Chris.”

“Take the hats, Jane, while I get Miss Maybelle.”

There was something vaguely familiar about Mr. Colburn, or at least about his clothes. He was quite dapper. She wished she could remember why he looked so familiar.

Timothy Colburn’s eyes widened when he saw the child. Katherine’s granddaughter was a handsome girl. A trifle thin and tall for her age, but there was no denying she would grow into a beautiful woman.

“Here’s my hat Miss Jane. May I say you are a very lovely young lady?”

She felt the blood rushing to her face. “Thank you Sir.”

Christopher interrupted, “Here’s Maybelle; follow me Tim, the study is here, just down the hall.”

The three entered the study and closed the door. When they emerged an hour, Maybelle looked a little weepy.

Mr. Colburn adjusted his hat; bent over and kissed her on the forehead. She fled to her room, not knowing what to think of such an open display of affection.

Isabel Montague called on Maybelle a few days later. Isabel was the only person Maybelle called a good friend. They both worked at St. Dunstan’s on various committees, always with the purpose of bringing the heathen to the feet of Jesus and to serve their Lord in shepherding His sheep.

“Maybelle, have you heard that Reverend Tisle brought a missionary from South Africa to speak to us on Thursday evening?”

“I heard something to that effect, I haven’t been to chapel for the last two Sundays.”

“I think we ought to go.”

“I cannot go Isabel. I’m in mourning.”

“For goodness sake Maybelle, you aren’t going to a dance, you are going to church. Think what an opportunity this would be to learn of what our brave people are doing for the pagans in a far away country.”

Maybelle conceded, with the understanding that Jane would also attend.

She wished she had been left at home. Reverend Simons was a wisp of a man, practically bald with mouthful of large yellow teeth. His lecture droned on. It was the tea and biscuits that got her attention — the reward of sugary confections — tonight a raspberry meringue.

Next day, Reverend Simons called on Maybelle. He expressed his regret at Maybelle’s recent loss. She thought him a bit pompous, but Maybelle was smitten. Within two weeks it was common to find Reverend Simons dining at their table. After an intimate dinner for two, Maybelle knocked on her door and entered.

“Jane, I must talk to you.”

“Yes, Maybelle?”

“Reverend Simons and I have become very close. He has asked me to be his wife. We are to be married before his leave expires in June. I have accepted his offer.”

Marriage was not what Jane expected.

“Will I be going with you?”

“No, my dear, that would not be wise. Africa is an unsettled country. Besides, your mother would be upset if you did not join her in Canada.”

“I don’t want to leave here Maybelle. This is my home. I want to stay here.”

“Jane, I have talked to your cousin Martin and he knows of a family leaving soon for America. You know from her letters that you mother is anxious for you to join her. It is the best solution to a situation that neither of us anticipated.”

“Maybelle, please let me stay. Emma will look after me.”

“Jane, all of us make compromises. I shall miss you more than I can say, but don’t you see that Reverend Simons has a righteous undertaking.— to bring the word of God to the unbelievers. How could you ask me to refuse?”

She accepted her fate.

She occupied her time with reading and trailing Emma with incessant questions. Cousin Martin had her for dinner where she met the Holcomb’s — the family that would escort her to the United States. They were kind and pleasant, but the fact remained — she didn’t want to go and didn’t want to talk about it.

She recalled Maybelle’s goodbye: “Jane — remember how much you mean to me. Remember too, that you are a lady; always act accordingly. Manners and proper behavior will be a blessing you’ll be thankful for. Remember your God; pray to him each night, and pray for Malcolm and I, for we are going soon to a place where the name of Our Father is infrequently heard, much less understood. Stay well, and I shall write, as I expect you to write me. Have a safe journey and God Bless You.”

The trip across the North Atlantic was unpleasant. The sea was rough and the winds blew constantly. She and Mrs. Holcomb spent most of the trip in their bunks. Mr. Holcomb looked after them. Among the passengers, he seemed to be the only real sailor.

Weak and unsteady, both determined to stand at the rail as they entered New York Harbor. Mr. Holcomb took a suite at a downtown hotel until they regained their land legs. By the second day, she and Mrs. Holcomb had started taking nourishment. By the third day they were walking along 5th Avenue, window shopping and sightseeing.

Mr. Holcomb sent a telegram to Elizabeth advising her of their arrival in Buffalo. That was tomorrow, and tomorrow would be the beginning of a new life. After the train screeched to a halt, it took a few minutes to gather their luggage.

She grasped Mrs. Holcomb’s hand.

“Don’t be afraid Jane,” Mrs. Holcomb assured her. “How wonderful it must be to see your mother again.”

She wasn’t so sure and held on even tighter. There were many people hurrying about. She soon spied a woman running toward them. A man was limping behind her.

“Jane, oh Jane, Love, how I’ve longed for this moment.”

Her mother knelt in the soot of the platform and took her in her arms.

She felt nothing — the woman embracing her was a stranger. Her mother straightened up and introduced herself.

“I can’t tell you how grateful I am to you for bringing Jane to me.”

By this time the limping man was at her mother’s side.

“I’m so sorry, please let me introduce you to my husband, Kevin Cooper.”

She thought she must have heard wrong, for never in any of the letters was mention made of a husband. Why hadn’t Mama written about a husband? She closed her eyes to remove the image of this outsider. The next thing she recalled was being led to a closed cab and being driven over a bridge. She was aware of a loud, rushing sound, but it was so dark that only an occasional street lamp and window light could be seen. She remembered transferring to another cab and driving away from the rushing noise. Then, she must have dropped off to sleep.

The next morning she took in her surroundings. A girl lay sleeping across the room. That must be her sister Charlotte. On the other side of the closed door the rattle of pots and pans could be heard. She lay quietly until her mother came into the room.

“Come on girls, it’s time to get up. This is a school day.”

As they were eating breakfast, her mother asked them to listen closely. “Charlotte, Jane already knows, but you do not. Kevin and I were married Friday before we went to Buffalo to get Jane. He is your new father.”

Charlotte’s smiled! “Is he going to live with us, Mama?”

“Yes, indeed. While you are in school, we’ll make proper sleeping arrangements. Hurry now, finish eating. I’ll walk you to school and enroll Jane. You must look after her Charlotte — for awhile school will be a little difficult for her. It’s very different from England.”

Walking to school, Charlotte found some of her friends and skipped off to tell them about her sister and new father.

She was reduced a grade, but she was determined to show these Colonials that she was superior to them in every subject.

When school let out for summer holiday, Mrs. Morgan watched over them while Mama and Kevin worked. She never knew what Kevin did for a living. She only knew it couldn’t be very much, for she had seen Mama giving him money. She saw no particular reason to dislike Kevin Cooper, but she felt an aversion she didn’t understand. He was kind to her; but his crudeness — his lack of gentility — offended her.

Her tenth birthday brought gifts and a birthday cake. It also brought news that they would be leaving St. Catherine’s and moving to Kevin’s farm, far to the West. For the third time she was uprooted and replanted on strange soil.

She had to admit that the trip to Huron County was an adventure. She loved living like gypsies. In her imagination, she, Mama, Charlotte and Kevin, were trail blazing a new frontier. It was the only time since coming to Canada she was happy.

The adventure was brought to an abrupt end when Kevin reined in the horses in front of a hideous, hovel of a house. Peeking over the rail of the wagon all she could see was children and a very old woman hobbling out to greet them. Kevin introduced them as Molly, his mother, and his children — Maggie, Homer, Barney, Marcie and Carrie. She could not remember ever meeting such an outrageous group. She was determined that, come what may, she would not be reduced to their level. She had her pride — she was a Portman.

The few belongings of Mama’s had been put away and the bunk bed installed in the miserable clapboard addition that was to be home. That evening, preparing for bed, Maggie came over to her and said, “I’m going to sleep in that bunk.”

“That is my bed.”

“Get out of my way Jane, or I’ll flatten you,” Maggie threatened.

“You just try it and you’ll see what happens,” she answered, with much bravado and little physical strength to back it up. She might hate the state of affairs over which she had no control, but one thing was certain; no one was going to commandeer her bed.

Their loud voices brought Kevin into the room. He ordered them all to bed; to keep quiet and go to sleep. His final words to them were, “There will be no arguments in this house. You have your own bed, see that you sleep in it. If I find otherwise, I’ll take the strap to you.”

Jane looked on each day as a challenge. Mrs. Brophy, her teacher in Campbelltown, encouraged her.

The thing that annoyed her more than anything was lack of privacy. Accustomed to a large house and room of her own, she had to bite her tongue to keep from screaming at the crowded conditions.

Everyone had chores, which Kevin religiously enforced. It was the only way nine people living elbow to elbow in two rooms could exist and maintain their sanity. Her only means to escape the constant drone of voices was school and the Sunday afternoon visits with Cora Campbell.

Cora was proficient in knitting. Mama knew the basics, but it was Cora who showed her the intricate stitches that placed a craftsman above a two-needle knitter. There were no children at the Campbell’s. Only the click of the needles and an occasional word of advice from Cora broke the heavenly silence. Silas, however, would sometimes interrupt the quiet from his parlor chair. His only comment being a snort or snore; a compliment to Cora’s Sunday dinner.

She and Maggie never got along; but, only in the garden, where no one could hear them, were the insults exchanged. Maggie called her a bloody Englishman, whose nose was so high in the air that it was a wonder a bird didn’t nest in it. She accused Maggie of being so illiterate she couldn’t spell C A T if it was painted on her chest. Maggie was her only adversary. The other of Kevin’s four children she tolerated; largely ignored; although, there were times when Charlotte got on her nerves with her do-gooder attitude and her smiles.

She wasn’t surprised when Maggie ran away. In a perverse sort of way she envied Maggie. Her dream too was getting away from Campbelltown; but, not with a common drummer. If she left, it would be in style — like Lancelot sweeping Guinevere off her feet, no matter that Guinevere was the wife of King Arthur.

The following spring she met George Collins. At first she considered him another uncouth farmer. George and his father were building the new summer kitchen. She stayed away from them, while Charlotte was a pest, following George around like a trained seal.

It wasn’t until Mr. Collins fell off the roof and broke his arm that she had any idea of her mother’s nursing capability. For the first time, her animosity toward her mother diminished. Mama seemed to thrive on work; washing, cooking, gardening and sometimes going with Dr. Weston to care for sick people.

When the Von Hoest’s bought a large property across the road from the Holson’s, it was the talk of the County. George and his father were hired to build the barn and house. George and his father camped out in a make-shift shelter. It saved time and travel. Emile Von Hoest was anxious about getting all the buildings up before cold weather. Daylight hours were long and Will Collins took advantage of it. Only so much could be done in a day, and from to time George would come down to the house.

George was nineteen; already a skilled carpenter. He spent two years in high school in Goderich studying algebra and geometry. His father left the building plans to him. There was no disagreement when George said that stress applied at a certain joist or corner would not be suitable.

Jane was conscious of him, but Maybelle’s words stuck with her — never encourage attention. She remained aloof, while Charlotte hovered. She was embarrassed at Charlotte’s open infatuation. On the occasion that George would walk around the farm with Charlotte, her face would light up, accentuating the flush.

It was the Von Hoest’s house-warming that set in motion the changes in her life.

“Jane, will you dance with me?”

She accepted George’s hand as he led her to the dance area. They had a little difficulty getting into the tempo of the dance, mainly because they were both self-conscious. Eventually they were able to move around the floor with a minimum of awkwardness. “Lizzie’s a very good dancer,” George ventured. Realizing the implication of his remark he blushed and stumbled over her feet. “Oh, you’re a very good dancer too Jane.”

“Mama always liked to dance. She learned in England, you know. I never did. When I was young, dancing was considered frivolous and the handiwork of the devil.”

“Well, this is a good time to change your mind. Will you dance with me in the square dance?”

“What’s that?”

“There are four couples in a set. The caller tells you what to do.”

“I don’t think so George. I’d be embarrassed.”

“You’ll be just fine. We won’t be the lead couple so you’ll see how it goes”

Maybelle was wrong. Dancing was fun and not decadent at all.

When Emile called a temporary halt in the festivities, she and George were standing by the punch bowl with Marcie and Fredrik Von Hoest. Emile’s announcement of the forthcoming wedding of his son Hans to Inger Holson brought cheers and whistles. Homer was standing by the barn door not fifteen feet away from her. She could see him pale at the announcement; then leave the barn.

Poor Homer, one more disappointment in a life of backbreaking work. Sobered by the implications of what might happen to him, she lost her exuberance. God willing, the same thing would not happen to her. George asked if he had done something wrong.

“Of course not, George. I have a headache and shall be glad when this is over so I can go home and go to bed.”

The following morning, Homer announced that he was heading for Alberta. This brought an abusive rant from Kevin that terrified everyone. Kevin’s outburst had no affect on Homer — he left soon after. Kevin took solace at Dolan’s and Barney was left to shoulder the work.

In January, Barney brought Harriet Marquardt and her two boys to live with them. She gathered that Barney had gotten Harriet in trouble. At a point where the living arrangements were manageable, the thought of adding an adult and two children drove her to the depths of despair. She had to get away or lose her mind.

It was Hans and Inger’s marriage that led to her escape. No one else in the family was going, so George took her and Carrie. Maybelle’s influence was waning. It was a happy group who danced and reveled at Han’s and Inger’s good fortune. She was asked by all the young swains and even the old bachelors to share a turn or two around the floor.

She couldn’t believe time had passed so quickly, until she saw the musicians packing up their instruments. She and George looked for Carrie and found her sound asleep against Nellie Collins’ arm.

“Did you enjoy yourself Jane?”

“Mrs. Collins, I’ve never been happier. I hope that Hans and Inger always feel what I feel now.”

Before she left the buggy, George asked her to stay a moment. “Carrie, we’re home. Go inside and go to bed. I’ll be in soon.”

“All right Jane.”

“Is there something you want to say George?”

“Yes, there is. Will you marry me?”

She could think of nothing to say but as she looked into those pleading brown eyes she saw a way out of that awful place.

“Why do you want to marry me?”

“I love you. That’s the most important reason. I know how unhappy you are here Jane. Let me take you away from this place.”

“George, I do want to leave this miserable excuse of a house, and I like you very much, but I’ll have to think. It’s so sudden.”

“Take all the time you need; meanwhile, you can get to know me better.”

“I’ve got to go in, Mama is waiting.”

“Jane, may I kiss you?”

She had not anticipated this. Still, she had a natural curiosity about her body and really wanted to know what a kiss felt like, especially from someone younger than her Uncle George and Christopher.

“If you want.”

Expecting a kiss on the cheek or forehead, she was astonished when George leaned over and brushed his lips against hers. She found it quite pleasant.

After Harriet had her baby girl, life at the Cooper farm continued to disintegrate. There was so much bickering, even Mama could not keep peace. Kevin’s drinking made him quarrelsome and this added fuel to the fire. If only that man could learn to keep his mouth shut and refrain from offering opinions that no one wanted to hear.

George seemed to have a second sense for when he was needed. When she was at her wits end, she could expect to find George‘s buggy coming down the lane. She didn’t know whether it was love, but she was grateful.

She would pack a picnic lunch, take a bottle of citronella to keep the mosquitos away, and they would head for the Marsden River. George spread out a blanket; they rubbed the citronella on their faces and ankles; and, washed their hands in the stream. It was a blissful time. After eating they would lie side by side on the blanket and talk, with nothing to disturb them but the birds and the sound of the water slipping over the rocks in the river. The first two or three outings were strained, but they became accustomed to each other’s manners and moods. Eventually, it was as if she had known George all her life. They talked of George’s ambition and his desire to be the best builder in Huron County. He told her about his ancestors and how they got to Canada.

His Great-grandmother Henrietta Collins was widowed,with eight sons and a daughter. The older boys worked in the coal mines. For two years they got by, but when Robert started coughing, she decided they needed an alternative. As a single woman she was not allowed to own property, but Anthony, who was twenty-three, was eligible to apply for homesteading land in western Ontario. Great Britain was offering émigrés forty acres and enough supplies and grain to see them through. If they stayed on the land for 10 years it was theirs. It wasn’t easy — bad weather; lack of proper equipment; and, the deaths of Robert and Annie the second year dampened their spirits, but their perseverance never waned. Anything was better than living like a mole. Man was meant to live where the sun shone and the rain fell. They knew that forty acres would not sustain them. They scattered to the four winds with only the name of Collins to bind them together. George’s grandfather took up land in Ontario — the sight of their present farm. He married and they had two children, both boys — William and Anthony. George had two sisters. The oldest was married to a railroader on the Sudbury to Northlay run and the other was living with her husband in Moose Jaw. He was a minister who had accepted the call to that remote stretch of Canadian wilderness. It seemed that, in George’s family, the girls were more adventurous. He and Adam had never really wanted to be anyplace other than where they were. Adam, a farmer at heart, worked the land while Will and George continued to build. They were diligent and hard working people. Uncle George had been right. High or lowborn, she came from good stock, and George’s ancestry was something to be proud of. She would marry George.

Mama wasn’t pleased when she told her.

“Jane, you’re so young. You have plenty of time to get married. For goodness sakes Love, you have a lifetime ahead of you.”

“Mama, how old were you when you married Papa?”

Mama blushed and admited she was the same age.

“Well, there you are. I’m my mothers daughter, and I’m almost 17.”

“Jane, is there a reason that you have to get married?”

“No, of course not.”

“Escape is not a good reason to marry. You could very well be sorry.”

“Mama, that’s the best part; I love George and he loves me.”

There wasn’t much preparation necessary—her wedding would be family; in George’s home. She couldn’t tell her mother how embarrassed she would feel asking anyone to attend a wedding at their place. Kevin was put out, but she didn’t care. She didn’t even care whether he attended the ceremony. His drinking was impossible. How her mother ever put up with him, she would never understand.

There was one thing she would remember her mother for; the quiet talk they had the day before the wedding. Sitting alone, on the porch of the summer kitchen, her mother explained what happened in the marriage bed. Living on a farm, she was not ignorant of copulation, but she had not consciously made that association. She realized how naive she was. Her mother’s parting words were, “Jane, listen to me carefully. If you love George, intimacy is something to be enjoyed. If you hesitate, it could ruin your lives. Don’t let your head rule your heart.”

They were married the second Sunday in July, 1882. George suggested they spend their wedding night in a hotel in Goderich; and drive, the next day, to Grand Bend, a lovely community on the shores of Lake Huron. It was quiet, secluded and not well known to tourists.

Goderich was a disappointment. She found that George was as inept at making love as she was. It wasn’t until their second night in Grand Bend that their marriage was consummated. She was of two minds on the subject. She loved the kissing and fondling that preceded the act of intercourse, but she found the penetration distasteful. Mama’s words always came to the surface. “The heart—not the head.”

Their house in Heron was not large, but it was comfortable. It was the first time since leaving England she enjoyed a staircase, even if it was closed off by a door. Upstairs, were two bedrooms, each with a window; one facing south, overlooking the street, and the other facing north, overlooking a small backyard and the privy. She wasn’t amused by George’s statement that the human offal would keep the grass green.

She was busy those first weeks furnishing the house. Nellie gave her George’s bed and dresser. There was nothing at the farm she could consider her own. The only thing in good taste was the apple wood sideboard and hutch and that was Kevin’s. She made curtains and Nellie helped her make rag rugs. George and Will fashioned a kitchen table with six chairs. It was not the caliber of Kevin’s woodworking but she would die before asking him for any favors.

George was ecstatic when she told him she thought she was pregnant. George could not keep the secret and burst out with the news while they were having dinner at the farm. Charlotte paled, dropped her fork, excused herself, and left the house. The rest of the family congratulated them on their good fortune. The Cooper men made ribald remarks — ladies and children at the table had no effect. Driving back to Heron late that afternoon she was still fuming.

“Calm down, Jane. They meant no harm.”

“No harm? It was disgusting. When Harriet laughed at Barney’s snide reference to taking us so long, it was all I could do not to say: ‘well, at least I didn’t have to come knocking on the door looking for the father of my child.’”

George laughed. “I’m glad of that, Love, for it could have led Barney to fight me for Harriet’s honor.”

“What honor, for goodness sake?”

By the time they reached home, she settled down and nothing more was said. Lying side by side in bed, George suddenly began laughing.

“What’s so funny George?”

“Oh, I was just thinking of Harriet’s honor.”

She giggled.

Jane wasn’t surprised when Mama announced she was taking Charlotte to Fillmore for high school. If she hadn’t been so happy, she would have resented that. If anyone had the right to advanced education, it was her; besides, it wasn’t schooling that Charlotte needed, it was a change of scenery. She supposed Mama felt, “Out of sight, out of mind.”

While Mama was gone, she and George stopped at the farm every other Sunday after church. Harriet considered herself put upon by Mama’s leaving, and, as usual, Kevin did little to ease the situation. Marcie and Carrie bore the brunt of Harriet’s abuse.

Mama sent a telegram to ask if George could meet the train in Goderich on her return.

That Sunday they stopped at the farm to inform Kevin of Mama’s plans. It was curious that everything was so quiet when they drove down the lane. Usually Harriet’s two boys would be playing in the yard, with Barney supervising their activities. They were almost to the porch when Marcie and Carrie came running out.

“Jane, oh Jane,” Marcie cried, “something terrible has happened.”

“Calm down, Marcie.”

Carrie, blurted out, “Papa and Barney had a fight and Barney, Harriet and the kids left. I don’t think they’re coming back.”

“Where’s Kevin?” George asked.

“Papa’s been drinking George. He’s out in the shed. He’s been there since yesterday afternoon.”

Jane herded the girls into the house and put the kettle on for tea. Waiting for the water to boil gave them time to calm down and collect their thoughts. When the tea had been poured, she spoke, “Now tell me exactly what happened. One at a time, and for goodness sake Carrie, don’t cry; it’s not your fault.”

Marcie started, with Carrie filling in details. The crux was that Barney wanted to visit Harriet’s family and Kevin said no. Harriet insisted on leaving and Barney agreed. Kevin, feeling disrespected, ordered them off the farm. Barney took him at his word.

When George came in from the shed he merely shrugged his shoulders and said, “I’ve taken care of the stock. Marcie, can you and Carrie take care of things until I get back tomorrow?”

They both nodded.

“Good. Jane, did you tell them Lizzie will be back tomorrow afternoon?”

“My goodness, George, with all that has happened I completely forgot.”

Relief shown on their faces. If anyone could control Kevin, Lizzie could.

In bed that night, she asked, “What’s going to happen George?”

“I don’t know, Love.”

“George, how I wish Mama had never married that man, I didn’t like him from the first time I set eyes on him. He’s so crude and ill mannered. I’ll never understand what Mama sees in him.”

“Don’t be so quick to judge. Lizzie knows Kevin’s qualities better than we do. He wasn’t always this way. He can change.”

“Maybe so, but deep in my bones I feel that Barney’s leaving is not the end of it.”

George leaned over to kiss her goodnight. “Go to sleep love, we’ve got a long day ahead of us.”

It seemed forever waiting for the train. Patience was not something she was blessed with. She was tired and hated the thought of having to tell Mama what had happened. Mama looked happy when she stepped down from the train.

“What a pity,” she thought, “that her happiness is going to be so short lived.”

She wondered; if her life at the farm had been so miserable, what had it been for her mother, who had no means to escape. She felt ashamed that she and Charlotte had gotten out. Her remorse was deeper when she thought of what lay ahead for Mama. The long drive to Heron brought out everything. After a few questions, Mama was silent. Pulling into Heron at dusk, she was thankful that Mama and George insisted she stay home.

George helped her down from the buggy and saw her into the house while Mama waited outside. “Jane, I don’t know how long I’ll be. I’ll get back as soon as I can. It will depend on what we find.”

“George, I’m worried.”

“Don’t be, Love, nothing is going to happen.”

“I pray not.”

George kissed her and returned to Mama and the waiting buggy.

“What happened last night George?”

Biting into a piece of toast George replied, “Nothing.”

“George, put down that toast and talk to me.”

George complied. “Now, what do you want to know?”

“How were things at the farm?”

“Well, Kevin managed to get to the bedroom before passing out. He was there when we arrived. I did the chores for Lizzie and then came home. Now, may I finish my breakfast?”

“Are you keeping anything from me?”

“For heaven’s sake Jane, give your imagination a rest. Granted, if Kevin had been on his feet it might have been different, but he wasn’t.”

“I’m worried about Mama. Suppose something happened to her when Kevin woke up.”

“Jane, if you don’t stop talking about what-ifs and let me finish eating, it will be time for lunch.”

Winter came out of the Northwest like the wrath of God. The dry white powder formed drifts across the land. Communication was at a standstill. To use the privy meant stringing up a rope between the buildings. The cold was so intense that if you strayed too far from cover it could mean death.

She had George bring the mattress downstairs and they slept on the parlor floor for six weeks. Covering the grates in the bedrooms kept most of the heat confined to the kitchen and parlor. George remarked that if there were to be a January thaw, January wasn’t notified. He tried in his own way to ease the growing tension. Her pregnancy was in the sixth month. No news from the farm disturbed her.

Soon after the wind and snow had let up enough to allow limited travel, Dr. Weston came to see them with the news that Carrie was in the advanced stages of tuberculosis and did not believe she would live more than a few months. He told them he had advised Elizabeth to find a place for Marcie. Elizabeth suggested Jane and George, and Dr. Weston was here to ask them if they could oblige.

Having Marcie at the house was a blessing. Marcie was cheerful and insisted on helping with the house work. She tried to show Marcie how to knit, but it was a lost cause. Marcie was determined, but she couldn’t get the knack. When Marcie showed her some of the other things she had been working on, it was clear she was excellent with a needle and thread.

“Looks like you are working on a hope chest, Marcie.”

“Oh Jane, maybe someday.”

“Well my goodness, Fredrik has been calling on you every week. I should think that is pretty serious.”

“We’re just friends.”

“I don’t believe that. I think Fredrik is just shy. Perhaps you should help him along a little bit?”

She couldn’t believe what she had just said.

“Is something the matter Jane, you look funny?”

“I’m fine. I just remembered something that was said to me years ago. I’d forgotten a cardinal rule.”

“What rule is that?”

“It doesn’t matter. Guess we should start peeling potatoes for dinner.”

Carrie died the first week of April, and, after the burial, Kevin went back to the bottle and Marcie went back to the farm.

“I’m going to miss you Jane. I loved being here.”

“Believe me Marcie, you don’t know how I’ll miss you. Without you to button up my shoes every morning I’ll have to wear slippers.”

Marcie laughed. The crisis had brought them close.

The baby wasn’t expected for another three or four days so Jane had no misgivings when George and his father left for Goderich to pick up a load of lumber at the depot. They left Heron before six to allow plenty of time to take care of business and be back in time for dinner. They hadn’t been gone more than eight hours when the first pain struck. Grasping the sink for support she hung on and waited for the pain to pass. Mama, bless her, had told her what to expect. She was sure she had plenty of time to get across the back yard to Mrs. Pemberton’s. Wrapping a shawl over her robe and nightdress, she set out. Her unwieldiness slowed her down but her fear kept her keep going. She hoped Mrs. Pemberton would be up, for it still wasn’t full light and not yet seven o’clock. Approaching the back door she could see through a window that a lamp was lit. Thank goodness. She knocked loudly and called out, “Mrs. Pemberton, are you there?”

The door opened. “For goodness sake Jane, what are you doing here at this hour?”

“Mrs. Pemberton, I need your help. The baby is on the way. Would you fetch Dr. Weston for me?”

“Of course I shall love, but first I’m going to get you safely home and in your own bed.”

Mrs. Pemberton held her about the waist and they started back. Halfway there another pain hit. “Stop a minute and grip my hand, the pain will pass in a moment. Having had six of my own I know about these things,” Mrs. Pemberton comforted.

She was safely in her own bed and Mrs. Pemberton on the way to Dr. Weston’s before she had another contraction. How she wished Mama were here. She had two more contractions before she heard the kitchen door open and Mrs. Pemberton calling out. “It’s me Jane. I’ll fix a nice cup of hot tea and be right up.”

Dr. Weston arrived shortly before eleven and her contractions were now about five minutes apart.

“Well Jane, it looks like you and I are going to oversee this miracle by ourselves. I’m sorry I couldn’t get a-hold of Lizzie, but my calls were on the other side of the County. I didn’t want to delay any longer. Lizzie is going to be madder than a wet hen. I know how much this first grandchild means to her.”

Still talking, he examined her. “A remarkable woman, your mother. Can’t say I’ve ever known anyone, man or woman with such a grip on reality and the common sense to deal with it. You’re a lucky girl, Jane. Do you know that?”

“I didn’t always think so, Doctor.”

“You’re pulling my leg, Jane Collins.”

“No.”

Between contractions, she told Dr. Weston much of her early life and the resentment she felt toward her mother at being left behind. It had taken many years before she was able to accept her mother for what she was. Talking to Dr. Weston was like talking to Uncle George, he did not agree or condemn.

“Jane, we’re almost there. This next pain, bear down and we will find out if you are going to be the mother of a son or daughter.”

Portman Alexander was born at 3:15 on the afternoon of April 30, 1883.

Mama’s arrival two days later was a surprise. She looked like a drowned rat, driving the wagon up to the house. Running upstairs, Mama called out, “I’m so sorry, Love, you don’t know how much I wanted to be here.”

“It’s all right Mama. Look in the cradle. There’s your first grandson. Isn’t he a handsome boy?”

She insist that Lizzie stay as long as the rain continued, and they had long talks. Mama’s presence allowed Nellie and Mrs. Pemberton to get on with their own household chores.

“Mama, really, how are things at the farm?”

“We’ve been working like slaves.”

“I can see that Mama, just look at your hands. They are chapped and blistered.”

“Jane, my hands express honest labor. If we can get in the crops, we’ll have a chance to stay on our feet.”

“What about you Mama? Don’t you sometimes wish you had never come here?”

“Jane, listen to me. I’m committed to Kevin. He’s my husband. I love him. It’s true we have problems, but he’s under a great deal of stress, what with Homer, Barney, and now Carrie.”

“That may be Mama, but he started drinking long before any of that happened.”

“Don’t be so quick to judge Jane, until you’ve been there. You’ve not experienced Kevin’s turmoil.”

Jane changed the subject. “How’s Marcie? I haven’t seen her in a long time.”

Mama’s smile portrayed at least some happiness. “I think Marcie and Fredrik are not far from the altar. As soon as you are up and about they are planning a visit.”

“I’ll look forward to it. You know Mama, I would never thought it possible for Marcie and me to become friends. The two months she was here, she was so different from when she was at the farm.”

“I think Fredrik had a lot to do with it. He’s a good lad, a bit stodgy perhaps, but with a kind heart. Something Marcie needs. Her life hasn’t been easy. I sometimes think Kevin and I expect too much from her; even now. If she weren’t there we couldn’t work the farm.”

Mama was able to stay two days, thanks to the rain. By the end of the week she was doing some of the light work. The third Sunday in May, Marcie and Fredrik drove into Heron to visit. While she and Marcie gossiped in the parlor, George took Fredrik out to the porch swing.

“Tell me honestly Fredrik, how are things at the Cooper’s? Do you know?”

“Mr. Cooper is trying George, but he drinks too much, Lizzie is wearing herself out. No woman should have to work that hard,”

“You helped out last year Fredrik, are you going to this year?”

“If he asks. He’s a funny man, that Kevin Cooper. Too proud to ask for help and too stubborn to be smart.”

“I know Fredrik. There was a time when he was a happy man. I can’t understand how he could have changed like that.”

“Even Marcie cannot understand.”

“Well now, what about you and Marcie?”

“What do you mean George?”

“Come now Fredrik, it looks pretty serious to me.”

 “Well, it’s about time. I was beginning to think I was barking up the wrong tree.”

They had driven down to the Collins farm to visit with Will and Nellie and were discussing Marcie’s engagement.

“I always liked that girl. I’m glad she’s getting out of that hell hole.”

“Will,” Nellie admonished, “that’s not a very kind thing to say.”

“Well, the truth isn’t always kind.”

“Mama said Kevin wasn’t pleased. I just wish Mama wasn’t there alone with him.”

“Jane, whatever Lizzie decides to do is her business, not ours. It’s best we keep our noses out of it.”

Marcie and Fredrik were married in early April, after Lent and before spring plowing. They asked Jane and George to stand with them at the ceremony. Hans and Inger would act as witnesses. It had something to do with Lutheran dogma. Only a Lutheran could act as a witness. It didn’t matter, for after being at Hans’ wedding, she didn’t agree with the pastor’s service anyway.

Emile and Greta showed no partiality between their sons—both were married with all the trimmings. Even Kevin, with Marcie on his arm, was on his good behavior. He had a new suit and Mama had trimmed his hair. Except for the bloodshot eyes and the frown, he was a handsome man. The newly wed couple left for Montreal, but by no means did it put a damper on the dancing and imbibing.

It came as a shock to learn a few days later that Kevin had given up farming and that he had gotten himself a job working for old Matt Jones. Jane was glad, now her mother could get on with her nursing. She also had another reason to be glad, since she was pretty sure she was pregnant.

She and Portman were having lunch in the kitchen when Matt Jones came to the door. “Is George here?”

“No, Mr. Jones, he’s at the Von Hoest’s. Is something wrong?”

“Nothing that getting rid of that drunken Kevin Cooper won’t cure.”

“Kevin is drunk?”

“As three sheets on a two masted vessel. If I don’t catch up with George, you tell him I’d like to see him right away.”

“Of course.”

Matt Jones fired Kevin and George was asked to start at Matt’s the next morning.

“Is that wise George?” Jane asked. “Kevin is going to be very angry.”

“Angry or no, we have to live too. In some ways I’m ashamed of myself for taking this job, but if I don’t, someone else will. I’ve just about given up hope on Kevin. It’s up to God now. Even Lizzie cannot turn that man around.”

The next morning before seven George was off. Matt’s house was only two blocks away so she suggested he come home for lunch, at least this first time.

The kettle was sizzling with hot water for tea and the fried potatoes were done. She was slicing cold roast pork when she heard a noise on the front porch. She put down the knife and went to investigate. When she opened the door she could see Kevin through the screen, hanging on to the porch post, obviously very drunk.

“What are you doing here, Kevin?”

“As if you didn’t know, Miss high and mighty.”

“No, I don’t know. You are drunk, why don’t you go home?”

“Drunk am I?” and he let go of the post and moved closer to the door.

“Just look at you Kevin, you are a disgrace. Your clothes are soiled and I can smell you from here.”

“Don’t you look down your nose at me Miss. I’ve come to have it out with George.”

“George isn’t here, he’s working,” she answered.

She tried to hook the screen door without success. Stepping back she was about to close the front door when Kevin pushed hard on the door. The doorknob struck her in the pit of the stomach. She screamed and dropped to the floor and then everything was black. When she opened her eyes, Dr. Weston was bending over her. There was pain but also an emptiness that hadn’t been there before.

She asked weakly, “The baby?”

“I’m sorry Jane. I couldn’t save it.”

“Where’s George?”

“He found you just a little while ago. He called for me and then went to get Lizzie.”

She closed her eyes. She would never forgive Kevin Cooper, never. Waiting for the sedative to take affect she tried to think of some way to make Kevin pay for his transgression.

Before sleep engulfed her, she had decided. She would say nothing. Only she and Kevin knew what had taken place. Her silence placed Kevin in her debt and if he didn’t want the repercussions that would surely surface, never again would he be able to harm her or her mother.

Within two months she was pregnant again and determined that Kevin Cooper would have no opportunity to harm this baby. After he was fired by Matt Jones, Kevin had done little. It was Mama who kept body and soul together. At the farm one Sunday, she and George learned that Kevin had decided to sell the farm. She felt relieved. Kevin was not completely sober but subdued as he usually was in her presence. She felt a triumph of sorts. After all, who had a better reason to squeeze a little pleasure out of Kevin’s discomfort?

To get Mama and Kevin off the farm before the weather broke, George was able to find a small house just three doors down from them. It wasn’t much to look at but George and Will could fix it up to make it livable. She, Mama and Marcie spent a day cleaning. Mrs. Pemberton, bless her, had them over for lunch so the three of them didn’t have to take time to cook. It was during their second cup of tea that she learned Marcie was pregnant.

“Oh Marcy, that’s wonderful. When are you expecting?”

“In June”

“What are you hoping for?” “

“I think I’d like a little girl first, but I’m pretty sure Frederick would like a boy.”

Mrs. Pemberton interrupted. “You take what comes, and pray God they are healthy.”

“Amen,” Mama sighed.

“Have you started knitting anything?”

Marcy giggled. “Oh Jane, you’re pulling my leg. You know how I knit.”

“Yes, indeed I do. Stay with needle and thread Marcy, and leave the knitting to me. I’ll see if I can get a sweater, bonnet and blanket done by June.”

“Oh Jane, would you?”

“Of course, I can’t have my niece or nephew wearing a garment that unravels the minute it is worn.”

They all laughed.

The winter was miserable but nothing like the previous one. George had a few inside jobs and often he would steer Kevin into something.

Portman, at two, was a bright child, and Christmas was a delight. He was old enough to understand Santa Claus and what being a bad boy meant. Grandpa Will, as the holiday approached, kept reminding Portman that if he didn’t behave all he would get was a stick in his stocking. The afternoon of Christmas, while Portman was down for his nap, George brought in the tree and they decorated it and carefully placed the dozen candles. Just after supper there was a knock on the door. George, with Portman in tow, answered. Portman grabbed George’s leg and attempted to get behind his father. Standing in the doorway was a man dressed in red with a big white beard.

“Is this the Collins residence and do you have a young lad named Portman?”

“We sure do Santa,” George replied, “won’t you come in.”

“If Portman has been a good boy I’ve got some toys here in my pack.”

George turned and looked down at Portman. “Were you a good boy Portman?”

Portman could only nod his head.

“Well,” said Santa, “I’m glad of that, I should hate to have to take all these toys back to the North Pole. Now Portman, you understand that I’m going to leave these gifts under the tree and you must not open them until tomorrow morning. Will you do that?”

Portman nodded.

After Santa put the packages under the tree George saw Santa to the door. “Thanks Adam. Haven’t had this much fun since Pa pulled that on us.”

Adam grinned, “Hope Portman didn’t see the moth holes. I’ve got to go George. I have three more stops to make. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

It seemed that Jane had hardly closed her eyes when Portman shook her awake. “What’s the matter love?” she asked.

“It’s morning Mama. Come with me.”

Lighting the lamp on the table she saw that the clock read five-thirty.

“Goodness Portman it’s so early. Go back to bed.”

“Santa said morning. It’s morning.”

“All right Love.” She leaned over to George and shook him awake. “Wake up George. Portman says it’s morning and he wants to go downstairs to see what Santa left.”

George groaned, but she whispered in his ear, “Come on sleepyhead. You wouldn’t have this problem if you hadn’t insisted Santa pay a call.”

It was inconvenient when Charles Hubert made his appearance. He decided to be born at four-thirty in the morning on March 12, 1886. Dr. Weston was out on another case, so it was just Mama. It was an easy birth but having Mama there made it even easier. Dr. Weston was right, she was lucky to have a mother who cared. Mama was in and out of the house while she recuperated.

It began to look as though Mama and Kevin were going to make a go of it. Mama was working most of the time and Kevin seemed to be taking a new interest in life. The house of cards fell in June when Marcie died, giving birth to twins.

“It’s ironic,” she thought, “both Marcie and Frederick had their wish.”

Marcie’s funeral was one of the saddest days in her life. She tried not to feel guilty about her own good fortune.

Mama looked as though she had aged ten years and Kevin was drunk. Only Mama’s firm grip kept him upright. The Von Hoest’s were trying to control their grief. Frederick weeped. Each mourner had a flower to drop on the casket. It was the only time she saw her mother so bereft.

Kevin retreated into the bottle. He had no contact with the outside world. The fact that he had two grandchildren had no effect. A week after Marcie was laid to rest Mama came to see her. “Jane, I want to talk to you.”

“Of course Mama, what is it?”

“Frederick has asked me to come out to Van Hoest’s to care for the babies.”

“That’s good Mama.”

“Maybe so, but I cannot leave here, without making sure Kevin is cared for.”

She bit her tongue as her mother continued.

“The twins are tiny and need a lot of care. Frederick wants me to stay until they are out of danger.”

“I think you should Mama. Greta has her hands full with the farm and all. You really are needed.”

“Oh Jane, if only for Marcie’s sake, I’d take the job, but there is Kevin. As a favor to me would you see to his meals? I’ll be home one day a week, on Sunday, to pick up and clean.”

There was nothing she could do but accept her mother’s request. “What do you want me to do?”

“See that Kevin has enough to eat. It needn’t be every day, for he is well acquainted with leftovers.”

She nodded.

That summer she made the trip three times a week, resenting Kevin every time she entered. Sometimes he wasn’t about and she left the food on the table. More often than not, he was sitting in his rocker with glass in hand and a jug of illegal spirits at his feet.

“Brought your dinner Kevin. Do you want me to dish it up?”

“No need. I’m not hungry yet.”

Indian summer was over. The daylight hours had shortened so it was dark when George got back from taking Mama out to the Von Hoest’s farm on Sunday afternoons. This Sunday evening was no different. Both boys were sleeping and she was in the parlor knitting a pair of mittens.

“I’m home.” George called out as he came through the back door.

She went to the kitchen to pour George a cup of coffee while he took off his Mackintosh.

“How was Mama? I didn’t see her today.”

“Something’s going on Jane.”

“What do you mean, going on?”

“When I picked up Lizzie this afternoon she had the makings of a black-eye and she was limping.”

“What happened?”

“She said she turned her ankle and bumped her cheek on the corner of the table.”

“Do you believe her?”

“I have to take Lizzie’s word for it.”

The next time down to Kevin’s with his food, she noticed the sideboard and hutch were gone.

“What happened to Mama’s cabinet?” she asked.

“It’s none of your damn business and it wasn’t Lizzie’s cabinet, it was mine.”

She said no more, knowing sooner or later she would find out what had happened to it.

The weather was bitter cold but the snow seemed to have spared them. It was on a fine, cold, sunny, Saturday afternoon that Hans Von Hoest knocked on their door. George answered the knock. “My good man Hans, what brings you out in such weather?”

“Can we talk George?”

“Of course, come in.”

Hans wanted to talk at the kitchen table, which made it easier for Jane to pour him a cup of coffee and George to put a bit of brandy in it.

“I’ve just come from your Pa George. I told him what I’m going to tell you. He said if you agreed he would work with you.”

“This sounds mighty mysterious. What exactly do you want of me?”

“It’s going to be known soon enough so I want you to know that I’ve bought the Cooper farm.”

“How was that possible?”

“It’s a long story George, but to keep it short I heard Hemsley was in over his head. He needed the cash to get out from under. It was that or go to jail.”

“That’s unbelievable.”

“Maybe so, but it’s the truth.”

“But I don’t understand what this has to do with me.”

“I want you and your father to build a house for me on the Cooper farm. I love Inger but I’ll tell you honestly if I don’t get away from Elsa I’m going to lose my mind.”

“I can see your point, but this is no time to build. It’s cold.”

“I understand that George, I just want a contract so that as soon as the weather breaks you can get started.”

“What do you think Jane?”

“It’s a wonderful offer George, but do you realize what could happen when Kevin finds out. Hans, I’m sure you know the animosity Kevin holds for you and your family. I don’t care about Kevin, but I do care about my mother and she is the one who will have to deal with it.”

“That’s true Jane, but Kevin’s hatred will be there regardless of who builds the house. I want George and Will; they’re the best in the County.”

There was nothing she could add that would change the course of events. Hans would transfer funds to a building account so George and Will could begin ordering necessary materials.

“How did it go?” she asked when George returned from his meeting with Hans at the bank.

“You’d better sit down Jane.”

“What happened, is it Mama?”

“Yes, but everything is all right.”

“Please tell me George.”

“On Monday your mother miscarried.”

“That’s impossible; she wasn’t pregnant.”

“Hans told me today that Lizzie was feeling better. Like the slow oaf I am, I didn’t comprehend. Hans then told me that Elsa was at the Von Hoest’s when Lizzie took a fall from a chair. Greta took care of her.”

“Oh my God, will this nightmare never end?”

“I don’t know Love; all I know is that Lizzie insists on coming into town on Sunday. She wants to tell Kevin herself what happened.”

“Why wouldn’t Mama tell me she was pregnant?”

“She had her reasons, but my theory is that it started with the black-eye and sprained ankle. Perhaps we’ll never know but I think it wise not to question her. In her own time Lizzie will explain; and Jane, when you go over tomorrow just tell Kevin that Lizzie had an accident. We owe her the chance to tell Kevin what happened herself.”

Taking the kettle of corned beef and cabbage to Kevin that Saturday morning was one of the hardest things she ever had to do. Kevin had been drinking, evident by his glazed eyes and slurred speech.

“Kevin, can you understand?”

“Understand what,” he answered.

“I just heard that Mama had an accident on Monday.”

Sitting bolt upright he hoarsely asked, “What kind of accident? Is she all right?”

“Keep calm Kevin. As near as I know she is all right. Matter of fact she insists on coming to see you tomorrow.”

“What happened? Tell me what happened.”

“I don’t really know Kevin, I’m sure she’ll tell you all about it tomorrow. Only thing I know is she had a fall. It can’t be too serious if she is coming into town.”

“If you hear anything else will you let me know?”

“Of course I will.” It was the only time in her life that she actually pitied her stepfather.

Spring of 1887 was a joy. It was sunny with just enough rain. George and Will started work on the farm. Hans wanted to keep the summer kitchen. Hans had hired extra men to saw the logs for the main house and others to haul in the stones that George wanted to use for a fireplace in the parlor.

She was sure that no one had informed Kevin. Mama had waited too long with the news, not that the outcome would have been any different. On Sunday, she thought she’d go down to Kevin’s and get dinner started so Mama wouldn’t be pressed for time. She was surprised to see Mama’s horse tethered to the tree in front of the house. Even before she got to the door she could hear Kevin cursing and Mama crying out in pain. She burst into the house to see Kevin striking Mama. Her scream stopped Kevin.

“Come with me Mama, let’s get out of this place.”

“Jane, Elizabeth murmured, go get George. I’ll be all right.”

She started shouting before she reached the porch. George came running to the door. “My God Jane, what happened?”

“It’s Mama George, she’s in terrible trouble.”

“You stay here with the boys.”

It was almost twenty minutes before she saw George coming back with Mama. “Let’s get her to bed. She’s really a mess, although it looks worse than it actually is.”

“I’m going to get the doctor.”

“She doesn’t want a doctor Jane.”

“I don’t care what she wants, she needs a doctor.”

Knowing it was useless to argue he acquiesced. “You take care of Lizzie, I’ll go get him.”

Dr. Weston gave Mama a sedative and she dropped off to sleep. While Mama slept, they talked. “What are you going to do George?”

“I don’t know Jane, but I do know this. Lizzie is not going back to that house and neither are you. For the first time in my life I struck a man with such hatred that I could have killed him. I’m ashamed to say that I cannot extend to Kevin Cooper anymore Christian charity.”

“Thank God George, at last you and I are seeing eye to eye.”

Kevin had been gone one year—a year of peace and serenity. Hans’ and Inger’s house was finished and it was a tribute to George and Will’s ingenuity. Ilse wasn’t pleased with Inger leaving, but Inger was delighted and proud to be mistress of her own home. Hans told George that a mile down the road still wasn’t far enough from Ilse. It would only slow her down a little, and these new telephones being installed would shorten that distance.

She, George and Will got together to encourage Mama to seek legal separation or divorce. If Kevin did return he could no longer lay claim to anything Mama had saved. The first time the subject was brought up Mama gave a flat no. She thought Mama had the impression there was going to be a large Scarlet ‘D’ emblazoned on her chest, which would make her a marked woman. True, there were a few in Heron who looked down on divorce regardless of the reason, but this could not be helped. Those who knew her had only sympathy for her. She supposed that Will and Nellie and the Van Hoest’s were responsible for softening Mamas resistance. After all, if these strait-laced pillars of the community could see the need, the rest would soon follow suit.

Mama was finally convinced. Thomas Parker represented her. He took depositions from everyone who had direct knowledge of Kevin’s actions. The petition for divorce was presented in court in Goodrich. Jane and George were there for the proceedings along with Parker and Mama. The judge cleared his throat, looked down from the bench, and spoke: “Mrs. Cooper, Mr. Parker on your behalf has petitioned this Court for a bill of divorce from Kevin Ronald Cooper on the grounds of cruelty and desertion. Is this correct?”

Parker stood and answered. “It is Your Honor.”

“Very well, I shall read aloud the depositions that have a direct bearing on this case.”

When he was through, he asked Mama to take the stand. “Mrs. Cooper, do you understand that you are under oath to tell the truth?”

“Yes, of course.”

“You have heard the depositions just read. Are they, to the best of your knowledge true?”

“Yes sir, they are”

“Now then, when was the last time you saw Kevin Cooper?”

“That was fourteen months ago, May 10, 1887.”

“What were the circumstances?”

“I brought him some distressing news.”

“What news was that Mrs. Cooper?”

“Our farm had been sold to a man Kevin did not like.”

“Was he angry?”

“Yes sir; he held me responsible.”

“Can you tell me what happened?”

Mama took a long time before answering. It was something she wanted to forget, but to get through this ordeal she would have to answer. “He struck me. Beat me to the point where I needed medical help.”

“Had Kevin Cooper ever struck you before?”

“Yes sir.”

“What other occasions please.”

“Once when I accused him of being a fool and another time when I accused him of being a thief.”

“Were these accusations true?”

“They most certainly were.”

“Mrs. Cooper, which of you or Mr. Cooper had the larger income?”

“At first it was me, but during the time we were farming Kevin and his sons made a respectable living. It wasn’t until Kevin stopped farming and the farm was sold that I returned to nursing and again had the larger income.”

“During this time was Kevin Cooper gainfully employed?”

“He did work occasional odd jobs.”

“You are saying you supported him?”

“Yes sir.”

“That will be all Mrs. Cooper, you may step down.”

The judge resumed, “Mr. Parker, I did not read publicly some portions of the depositions. Those portions would be inadmissible in any court. However, they did produce information that indicated that Kevin Ronald Cooper was last seen in Huron County on May 22, 1887. As for the rest of the information provided, it is supposition and I did not take those into account.”

“Mrs. Cooper, Mr. Parker, will you stand please. Mrs. Cooper, I have taken the evidence into consideration including your testimony. It is my decision that a divorce shall be granted, however, to allow Kevin Ronald Cooper time to oppose your petition, I will defer final decree for one year from this date. If Kevin Ronald Cooper fails to appear before this court, an unconditional decree shall be issued to you. Divorce papers for Kevin Ronald Cooper will be held in abeyance in this court. I hold the court adjourned.”

“Oh Mama, aren’t you glad it’s over?”

“No, I’m not. It was the most humiliating thing I have been subjected to. To get up there and publicly air my dirty linen did not make me feel glad.”

“But Mama it was true.”

“True or not, I have put Kevin in a position where he would be a fool to come forward. It would not take long for what the judge called hear-say to become fact. Do you realize Kevin could be put in jail?”

“It certainly wouldn’t be the first time.”

The minute the words were out of her mouth she regretted them.

“I’m sorry Mama, I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Indeed you shouldn’t have. You know Jane, there are times I see a little of your grandfather in you.”

“Lizzie, Jane,” George interrupted, “that’s enough now, it’s over and done. In time this all will be forgotten. I propose to take you two charming ladies to the hotel for lunch.”

After a year had passed, Mr. Parker delivered the final papers to Mama. Kevin had not been seen in the County nor was it likely he would ever return.

Over the past months she could see a subtle change coming over George. He had withdrawn. Normally at night, with the boys sound asleep, they would talk or make love as the mood suited. Now the talking was almost nonexistent in spite of her effort to draw him out. The lovemaking had produced another pregnancy. The new year of 1889 approached and she insisted on an explanation. “George if you don’t tell me what’s bothering you, I swear I’m going to pack up the boys and leave you, and don’t tell me nothing is the matter. I know better.”

Gathering her in his arms he said, “I guess Love, it’s time to tell you. I’ve been thinking about leaving Canada and going to the States.”

“You aren’t serious?”

“Indeed I am.”

“Where would you get such an idea?”

“I’ve had a couple of letters from Tim McClary. He’s in Michigan and doing a land office business. He thinks there would be a place for me if I wanted to come over.”

“But why George?”

“Jane, how many more houses like Hans’s or barns like Emile’s am I going to be able to build here? Huron is a sleepy little town that isn’t going to grow much larger, at least not in my lifetime. Huron County has been settled for two generations. The farms are built and my work is finished. We cannot continue to exist on piecework. Staying here would mean taking up farming. “

“Wouldn’t that be better than leaving? Your family is here George. What are they going to think?”

“They’ll understand Jane. Pa knows that construction is down. He’s able to handle the farm alone. I think Adam is the lucky one. He has the Murchison farm to work, and he’s good at it. Someday he and Jean will own it.”

“You could do as well George.”

“Yes, I suppose I could, but I don’t want to. Farming is not a challenge to me, it’s a gamble. All things being equal, you’re lucky if you can subsist and sometimes make a little money.”

“That is true. Even Kevin had his good years.”

“Let’s go to sleep Love. We aren’t leaving in the morning .”

George kissed her good night.

“George?”

“Yes, Love, what is it?”

“I’ll do whatever you think best.”

“Love, thank you for that.”

Waiting for the new baby, Jane had plenty of time to think about George’s desire to leave Canada. Her feelings were mixed; a desire to leave this backwater of cultural stagnancy, against the dread of leaving the safe life and stepping into the unknown. It would mean leaving, not only George’s family, but Mama. As the years passed, love for her mother had grown. Her mother was a symbol of strength. It occurred to her that she would never be like her mother. Recalling Mama’s remark about her being like her grandfather, she knew Mama was right. The only difference between herself and her grandfather was her ability to recognize it, yet unable to do anything about it. She would never be one to forgive and forget.

Mama was leaving the Van Hoest’s and going back into general nursing. She was glad of the move—the new baby wouldn’t be long in coming and she wanted her mother there. What was more, Charlotte was going to be married in August. She felt a sense of relief at the possibility that tension might be lightened between her and her sister.

Mama took a room at Mrs. Pemberton’s. She would have liked Mama to stay with them but it was impossible. The two boys took up one bedroom while she and George had the other one. The only alternative was to buy a cot and put it up in the parlor. This, Mama refused to go along with. Young people needed their privacy.

On May 3, 1889, with Mama and Dr. Weston in attendance, Emily Hanna was born, a perfect little girl. Brown eyed like her father and bald as an egg.

When Charlotte’s formal wedding invitation came in June, she and George discussed the trip to Fillmore.

“Do want to go Jane?”

“If Emily weren’t so young George, I’d say yes. Do you know I’ve not been farther than Goderich since we moved here? Looking at something different would certainly be a pleasure.”

“Well, we can go.”

“No, I think not. Emily’s age is not the only problem. I’m sure Uncle Joshua would be able to pick us up, but like the farm there’d be no privacy. He has a large family and even if Mama says the house is very grand, we’d be sleeping all over the place.”

“Come now Jane, that’s a pretty poor excuse. Tell me what’s bothering you?”

“Dam George. You will live to be a hundred and not understand!”

“Understand what?”

“George, it’s Charlotte. I don’t think we ought to be there.”

“For heaven’s sake, why not?”

“Oh George, the reason Mama took Charlotte to Uncle Joshua’s in the first place was because of us.”

“That’s not true. She wanted Charlotte to further her education.”

“George, will you please listen. From the time that you and your father built the summer kitchen Charlotte has been in love with you!”

“You must be mistaken.”

“Oh God that I were, George.”

“I never encouraged Charlotte. She was always a child that I liked but that was the extent of it.”

“I know that, Mama and Kevin knew that, but Charlotte did not. I can assume some responsibility, for if I had been open with you instead of turning you away perhaps the situation would not have become out of hand.”

“Is that the real reason for not wanting to make the trip to Fillmore?”

“Yes, Love it is. I have a deep down suspicion that our presence at Charlotte’s wedding would bring back old memories and yearnings. It wouldn’t be fair to Toby to have to fight old ghosts when there is no need for it. I’d say it’s best if we just let the matter rest.”

Mama left for Fillmore in the first week in July. She insisted on giving Josh and Clara as much help as she could. George received another letter from Tim McClary. Tim was urging that they make the move. He needed expert help and George was that help.

It was decided that if Tim McClary could wait until the next summer then they would emigrate to the States. That was where the situation stood when Mama returned from Fillmore the last week in August. It was at the first sit down dinner at Jane’s with Will and Nellie in attendance that Mama broadcast her future plans.

“Love’s, I’m glad we are all together, for I’m going to tell you something I’m so excited about that I can hardly sit still.”

“Lizzie,” said Will, “you haven’t sat still in all the years I’ve known you. What’s got you so steamed up now?”

Looking around the table at her family and good friends Elizabeth spoke. “I’m leaving September fifteenth for Lake of the Woods Indian Reservation.”

“Where in God’s name is Lake of the Woods?” George asked.

Mama smiled and said, “Well, it’s a long way from here I’m afraid. It is on the border between Minnesota and Manitoba.”

“Mama, what would possess you to go there?”

Mama explained that David Tupper was going to accept a medical post on the reservation and he wanted her to go with him as an assistant. After the wedding she spent a week in Toronto with David going over lists of supplies and equipment and taking a crash course on Indian life. She described the type of work they would be doing and what was expected of them. They would be sailing on the fifteenth but she had to get to Toronto by the tenth for last-minute instructions and to make sure all of the items she planned to take with her were properly packed and crated. It wasn’t going to leave her much time in Huron to wind up her affairs, and say goodbye to everyone. “Well, what do you think?”

Will asked the one question that Mama either forgot or avoided. “How long will you be gone Lizzie?”

“I’ll be committed for five years, Will.”

“My God, Mama that’s sheer madness. You can’t go.”

“Can’t go? Well now Missy, I’m well over the age of consent.”

“I’m sorry Mama, but that’s just the point. You aren’t young any longer. It’s going to be a hard life in the wilderness.”

“It couldn’t be any harder than the life I have lived here. In many ways it will be easier. I thought all of you would be pleased at my news, but I see more distress than pleasure.”

George finally broke the silence, “Lizzie, if it is what you want, of course we are happy for you. I think what we feel now is selfishness. We don’t want you to go because we will miss you so much.”

“For goodness sakes loves, I’m coming back. This move isn’t forever.”

Seeing Mama’s exuberance soon caught up with Will, Nelly and George. Only Jane remained reserved.

“I think Heron is due for a going away party, don’t you think so Nellie?” Will asked.

“Yes, indeed I do,” Nellie agreed, “and Lizzie will have a chance to say goodbye to everyone.”

“My goodness Will, we didn’t even ask if Lizzy wanted a party.”

Mama started laughing, “When did you ever see me not want a party. I would love it.”

Nellie smiled. “It’s all settled then. We’ll get the word around and have it next Saturday afternoon with a potluck in our yard. How does that sound?”

“It sounds just wonderful Nellie, thank you.”

“Gosh, we haven’t had a good shindig since Adam got married. You are just the excuse we needed,” said Will.

George went over to the sideboard and took out a bottle of wine and five glasses. “I think this calls for a toast.”

When the glasses were filled George passed them out. “Now then, I want to propose a toast to Lizzie Cooper.” He raised his glass, “Here’s to a wonderful woman and a damn fine mother-in-law. May she have a safe journey and her new adventure in life be one of satisfaction and fulfillment.”

George leaned over to her and whispered “Drink up Jane, I meant every word of it.”

She did as George asked, but it was the last thing she wanted to drink to.

When Mama had a chance to speak, she said, “George Collins, I may have to call off this trip in order to keep washing your mouth out with soap. Your language is becoming very salty indeed.”

Everyone laughed.

She was relieved when Emily began to cry. It gave her an excuse to leave the table, so they wouldn’t see her tears.

The party was a huge success. Just about everyone from Heron and Campbelltown was there. Besides all the food, Will had gotten a half barrel of beer and had put up a crude wood planking for dancing outside. As soon as the meal was over Mama opened up the going away presents. Looking at all the winter clothing that most of them brought made Jane realize what her mother was heading into. It was nearly midnight before they gathered up the children and headed for home.

“I’m sorry you didn’t have a good time Jane. I wish you could have put up a braver front for Lizzie. She takes your disapproval very hard.”

“Apparently not hard enough to change her mind.”

“Do you remember the toast I make to Lizzie last week?”

“Of course I do.”

“Well, tonight Lizzie told me that she had thought it proper, she would have toasted us exactly the same way. She knew instinctively we were planning on leaving. I didn’t deny it. Now then suppose your mother stayed to please you and we left, what then? Jane, before your mother leaves make sure to make your peace with her. Give her all the support you can. She needs your understanding. Will you do it please? I know you’ll never be sorry.”

“All right George. I guess I am a bit of a stick, but I don’t care. I’m going to worry all the time she’s gone.”

“Then worry Love, just don’t tell her. Do you promise?”

“I promise.”

Mama’s trunk that had seen half a lifetime of travel was full to the brim and George had made two extra crates to hold all the things Mama wanted to take with her. It was quite an entourage that followed over the road to Goderich where Mama would board the train. In back of them were Will and Nellie; Adam and Joan; and in back of them were the Von Hoest’s including Fredrik and his new bride. For once Amiel had taken a day off from work other than a Sunday. She thought Greta might have had something to do with that. There was lots of singing and calling back and forth between the wagon and buggies.

On the platform the group became quieter and as departure time came closer everyone was more somber. Mama began to hug and kiss everyone goodbye and soon there were tears. Not so much in sorrow but an expression of how much she was going to be missed. She and George were the last to be embraced, George swallowing repeatedly to keep his emotions under control.

Holding her mother tight in her arms, Jane whispered, “I love you Mama.”

Mama looked into her eyes. “I love you too. Remember that.”

Struggling not to cry, she finally was able to say, “I wish you well Mama, I really do. Have a safe journey and come back to us.”

“Oh I shall Love, I shall.”

Without Mama, the house was quiet. She had no time for regret, caring for her three children. Portman and Charlie were constantly in hot water. Emily was quiet and reserved. It seemed her only smiles were for George. George spoiled her shamefully. Often short-tempered with the boys, that temper never showed with Emily.

Some of the pressure was alleviated when Portman started school that fall. Charlie, lost without his brother, was constantly underfoot. He seemed to take delight in teasing his sister and many times she had to smack him on the bottom to show him the error of his ways. Charlie rarely cried. He accepted his punishment stoically, with the promise not to do it again, a promise that would last for three or four days. At three o’clock each day, Charlie would be on the porch waiting for Portman. Dropping his books on the kitchen table, Portman would change into his overalls and the two of them would leave the house and not be seen until suppertime. She could count on their return—they never missed a meal. When questioned about where they had been, the common answer was—walking around.

It was by accident that she found out the destination of her sons.

“Jane, do you have a moment?” Mrs. Pemberton called out.

Mrs. Pemberton was hanging out her wash and she was picking the last of the snap beans and tomatoes before frost. “Of course Mrs. Pemberton, I’m finished here, come over for a cup of tea.”

“I’d like that Jane.”

She scurried about the kitchen getting out cups and saucers and cut two pieces of the apple cake she’d made that morning.

“God knows it’s not my business Jane, and I could be mistaken, but do you have any idea what Paddy and Charlie are up to?”

With knife raised in midair, she turned to Mrs. Pemberton. “What do you mean?”

“Those two rapscallion’s came to me yesterday afternoon and asked if I wanted to buy some eggs. You don’t keep chickens do you?”

“No of course not. We get our eggs from Will and Nellie.”

“Where do you suppose those boys could get eggs?”

“I can assure you Muriel, I intend to find out. Thank you for telling me.”

She rarely called Mrs. Pemberton by her given name. “Just give me time to sort it all out.”

At dinner, George asked if anything was wrong. Portman and Charlie sensed that something was amiss. Worried glances between the two of them strengthened the evidence of probable misbehavior. She told George that night of her suspicions. He was furious and it was all she could do to keep him from getting up and taking his belt to them. Neither slept well that night.

George had almost finished his breakfast before the boys came down the next morning. She placed bowls of porridge in front of them.

“Eat up. It is food God has provided. Don’t waste it. It is food your father worked hard for. It wasn’t stolen.”

At the word stolen Portman squirmed in his chair but Charlie continued eating, oblivious to the insinuation.

George cleared his throat. “What do you and Charlie do afternoons after school Paddy?”

“We just walk around Pa.”

George’s fist crashing onto the table made the dishes rattle. “I asked, Paddy, what do you do?”

Frightened, Charlie offered, “We pick up eggs.”

“And where do you pick up these eggs, may I ask?”

“Mostly at Grandpa’s. Paddy says they have more chickens than anybody else.”

“Where else Paddy?”

“Sometimes at Houreshoms and Lockharns and Mrs. Coates. We only take a few at a time Pa. They was never missed.”

George rose and grasped Portman by the scruff of the neck and pulled him away from the table. “You are a thief. I shall go down to the station this morning and report this affair to the Constable. It may well be young man that you and your brother shall end up in jail. Just think about that. Now get your books and go to school and I expect to see you here at three o’clock promptly. Do you understand?”

Portman nodded.

Charlie, who could be spanked and never shed a tear, was crying.

A few minutes later she followed George out to the wagon with his lunch pail. “George, are you really going to the Constable?”

“Of course not, but I had to put the fear of God into them some way. Besides, I could not trust my self to punish them now. I’m still too angry. Today will give them time to mull over what they have done. A little remorse never hurt anybody.”

The house was silent when George entered through the kitchen that afternoon. “Where are the boys?”

“Upstairs in their room.”

George walked to the stairwell. “Portman, Charlie, come down here.”

Not eager to face their father’s wrath the boys slowly made their way downstairs.

“Here boys, take a seat at the table.”

They sat, eyes locked on their father.

George, pacing between the stove and the table, began to speak. “I spoke to Constable Garson this morning. When I explained what you two had been doing he had some suggestions that might keep you out of jail. If you follow these suggestions there is a possibility that you might not be prosecuted. Constable Garson said that you must first make restitution to the people you stole from.”

“What’s restitution Pa?”

“Well, Paddy, that means you must repay and admit your guilt to the people you stole from. Are you able to pay back what you stole?”

“We don’t have the eggs no more Pa,” Paddy said.

“What happened to them?”

“We sold them.”

“Where’s the money?”

“Upstairs in a box. Me and Charlie was going to buy a bike.”

“Go upstairs and bring down what you have put aside.”

“Yes sir.”

George turned to Charlie. “Charlie, I’m ashamed of you. Why would you steal?”

“We wanted a bike Papa. Paddy said it was a good way to save up for one.”

“Do you still agree?”

“No sir.” He began crying. “Papa, I don’t want to go to jail.”

“Well, I’ll do my best to keep you out of that rat infested hell-hole, but you must promise never to steal again, no matter what.”

“I promise.”

“Good boy.”

Portman came down with a small cardboard box.

“Dump out what you have Paddy and let’s see what you have saved toward the bike.”

The box held thirty-six cents.

“This is all you have saved up after your life of crime? Constable Garson will not be pleased with that.”

“Papa, we had to sell cheaper than the stores.”

“For heavens sake, tell me why?”

“We would try and sell where there were no chickens, and people would buy ‘cause they needed eggs.”

“Get your slate Paddy, and bring chalk. I want to show you something.”

Paddy came back with slate and chalk and handed it to his father.

“How much did you sell the eggs for?”

“Three for a penny Papa.”

“And what are eggs selling for at the store now?”

“Eleven cents a dozen.”

“How many in a dozen Paddy?”

“Twelve.”

“At three for a penny you are selling your eggs for four cents a dozen. Am I correct?”

Portman nodded.

George drew a line down the slate to separate his figures from the next. “Now we have here thirty-six cents which is your income from the stealing. That means you sold nine dozen eggs at four cents per dozen and that equals thirty-six cents.”

George handed the slate to Portman. “Now then Paddy, in the other column write the number 11. Put another 11 under that and add until you have 11 in the column 9 times.”

George showed him how to add the double digits.

It didn’t take long this time for Paddy to come up with an answer of 99. He was beaming at his ability to do sums.

“Very good. That 99 represents 99 cents, which is the total that those eggs would have cost in the store. It also represents what Constable Garson considers restitution to the people you stole from.”

“We don’t have ninety-nine cents.”

“No, but you have thirty-six cents.”

“I’m not sure you will understand this so you’ll have to take my word for it. You owe 99 cents and you have 36 cents. If you take away 36 from 99 you’ll owe the people you stole from the remainder—sixty-three cents.”

“But Pa we don’t have sixty-three cents.”

“Do you have any money?”

The two boys managed another sixteen cents between them.

“Well, it looks like all we need is another forty-seven cents to keep you boys out of jail, but how are we going to accomplish that? Any suggestions?”

“Could you pay Pa? Me and Charlie would work it off.”

“Well now, that’s a thought. Just give me a minute to consider it.”

The boys nervously watched their father at the table with his eyes closed contemplating their fate. George finally opened his eyes. “Very well, I will advance you the forty-seven cents. For that, Paddy will wash and Charlie will dry the supper dishes for three months. Every Saturday you will take turns scrubbing out the privy. Agreed?”

Both boys speedily agreed.

“Tomorrow, you will accompany me to the people you stole from. You will pay them what is owed and ask for their forgiveness. No crime is committed without punishment. When you have made restitution to the community then I shall extract four lashes on your backsides with my belt as a reminder that I did not raise my sons to be thieves.”

“Oh George that was wonderful. If it had been me, I’d have skinned them alive first and then asked questions.”

“I needed time to think. I only pray that what I’ve done will help to instill in them the desire to be honest.”

“How do you know those people will forgive and forget?”

“I stopped by before coming home. I told them the situation and they all agreed. Only Lockhart was a bit agitated, but when I told him he would be repaid he calmed down. Matter of fact by the time Lockhart gets through upbraiding those two they’ll probably wish they had never heard of a bicycle.”

“What about Will?”

“That disturbs me a little, Jane. All my life Pa has been as honest as the day is long but he just laughed. He never missed the eggs. In fact he was sure I was mistaken but if I wasn’t it did Paddy proud to put one over on him. Thank heaven Ma took my side. She will make sure Pa chastises the boys properly.”

The outcome of the boys business enterprise ended as George predicted. It was humiliating to have to admit their guilt and the belt further reinforced the statement that crime did not pay.

It was many years later that Charlie confessed to George that all the eggs had not been accounted for. He had broken four eggs one time when he slipped and fell running from Lockhart’s. Charlie’s children thought the incident was funny and laughed. She supposed now it could be considered an amusing anecdote, but she stressed that at the time it wasn’t funny at all.

It was a cold spring. March and April seemed to have agreed to make life as miserable as possible. Being confined to the house gave them time to make plans. The sun came out for Emily’s first birthday. She was toddling about now on unsteady legs; a very independent child with a mind of her own.

“Takes after you, Love,” George teased.

“Maybe so but you are the one she is all smiles for. You cater to her every whim George. I’m the one who slaps her bottom when she misbehaves.”

“She’s only a baby Jane. How could I not love her?”

“I’m not talking about love, I’m talking about spoiling her.”

“How for goodness sake can I spoil her. She’s so small.”

“Very easily George. She already knows how to get around you. An inborn trait that all women have, to get what they want.”

“Is that how you got me Love?”

“Oh you,” she said, smiling inwardly, as she stomped her foot.

It had come very close to an argument.

“Come sit down Jane, I want to tell you something.”

She poured them both a cup of coffee before seating herself at the table.

“As God is my witness Jane, I love you. I love my children too. I know you carry the biggest share of their upbringing and I’m sorry about that, but it is something that can’t be helped. I’m grateful that the children have a mother who loves and cares for them. I see myself in the boys. In Emily I see you, a beautiful baby who will someday grow to be you. An image of someone I care very deeply about. Tell me honestly, how can I not give her my affection, knowing she is an extension of you?”

Tears welling up in her eyes, she answered, “Oh George you make me so ashamed.”

“Don’t be Love. There’ll be plenty of time for spankings when Emily is old enough to understand, but for now I just want to love her and let her know how I feel. Unbend a little Jane. Give yourself a chance to appreciate what you have here. A family whose strength lies in being together and in understanding the meaning of closeness and love for one another.”

“I’ll try George. I’ll try.”

George leaned over and kissed her.

Shortly after Emily’s birthday, George made the trip to Detroit to apply for citizenship. He borrowed one of Will’s riding mares and was gone for two weeks. Jane was so glad to see him riding up the drive she didn’t wait for him to come into the house, but rushed outside to greet him. She could hardly wait for him to dismount. One foot was still in the stirrup when she threw her arms around him. Kissing in public was not acceptable, but she hung on for dear life.

“Well girl, I guess I could say you’re glad that I’m home eh?”

“Oh George, I missed you so much.”

“Glad of that, but don’t you think we should go in the house where I can appreciate you properly? Just let me get my valise.”

Once in the kitchen the valise was dropped and forgotten.

“Now, Love, let’s have a kiss.”

She didn’t have to be asked twice.

“Let’s go upstairs,” George murmured into her ear.

“We can’t. I’ve got to start supper, and besides, the boys could come in any time.”

“They won’t bother with the door shut.”

“I said no, George.”

George sighed and pulled away from her. She could see George’s disappointment and she felt guilty but she was also embarrassed. Never had they made love in the daylight. Even at night she didn’t fully undress in front of him, instead she would pull her night dress over her undergarments and then work her way out of them in a grotesque dance that never ceased to make George smile.

“If there’s any hot water, I guess I better clean myself up a bit. I have three days of road dust on me.”

At supper George looked around the table at his family. Even Emily, now in a highchair, was eating everything that she prepared.

“Well, I’ve got some news for you.”

“You were gone long enough to see the Queen; did you?” asked Paddy.

“No son, I didn’t, but I did go down to Detroit and I started proceedings so that we can move to the United States.”

Assuming the worst, Charlie’s chin quivered as he spoke, “Papa, Paddy and me don’t steal no more like we promised. Is Constable Garson still mad at us?”

“Good Lord boys, no. We are moving because we are adventurers.”

“What’s adventurer Pa?” asked Paddy.

“People who go out into the unknown and start a new life. When you are older I’ll explain to you what I really mean but in the meantime, what do you think about moving to Michigan, to a nice little town about the size of Heron.”

“When are we leaving Pa?” asked Paddy.

“That depends on immigration authorities Paddy. Probably not until late summer.”

As soon as the meal was over, the boys were excused from the table and they went outside to carry the news to their friends.

Pouring another cup of coffee, Jane started with her questions. “Tell me what happened George.”

George leaned back in his seat and reached for his pipe tobacco.

“Not in the house George, you know I hate the smell.”

Rebuked, George put the pouch back in his pocket.

“Well, when I got to Detroit, and oh my what a big city that is, I went to the federal building. It was only a short distance from where I got off the ferry. Mercy me, the questions those people ask. Where I plan to live; what I do for a living; how old I am; how many children; and, would I be able to support them in the United States as well as I did in Canada; how much money was I bringing into the States to support us until we’re settled. About the only thing they didn’t ask was how many hairs I had in my nose. I told them everything as honestly as I could and added that I’d be going into business with Tim McClary. That seemed to settle them down some. Of course they’ll contact him for verification.”

“Did you ask how long it would take?”

“Sure did. They figured it would be about three months. That brings us up to August, which is good, for we’ll need that much time to get things settled here.”

“Oh George, I sometimes wonder if we’re doing the right thing.”

“Don’t quit on me now lass. Wait until you’ve heard the rest of it. After I signed all the papers I left and walked around downtown Detroit. It’s a grand place. There are theaters, restaurants, stores, big and small, shops, small parks with benches, and the City and County buildings look like castles on the Rhine. There are trolley cars that go off in all directions. And so many people.”

“I know about people George, I spent three days in New York City remember?”

“Yes, of course I’d forgotten. But Jane, Detroit is no farther from Birmingham than we are from Goderich. Think of that!”

“Yes, and tell me, just how often do we get to Goderich?”

“It’s different there, Jane. They have what they call interurban trains that run from Detroit to Pontiac and right to the village of Birmingham. We’ll be able to go back and forth quite easily.”

“Tell me about Birmingham, George.”

“Well, I spent the night in a hotel and the next morning I followed Woodward Avenue out into the country. Somewhere after leaving the outskirts of Detroit, I left Wayne County and entered Oakland County. There were farms, and then a town called Royal Oak. I stopped and had a cup of coffee and a bowl of soup. Talking to the man next to me he told me the town was a commerce center for the farmers in the area. Produce was brought in on Saturday and sold at open stalls. I was a little disappointed when he mentioned that Birmingham was not much to speak of. According to him the big landowners out there want to keep progress out. They like it just the way it is.”

“Get on with it George, what about Birmingham?”

“Patience Love. I’m coming to it. After leaving Royal Oak the land began to change. Small swells of hills and valleys and lots of trees. Birmingham sits on a flat expanse of ground. It’s not much bigger than Heron, but oh Jane, what a village. They have three churches—Episcopal, Congregational, and Methodist. There is a Masonic Temple and a school. Almost all of the shops and livery are on Woodward and the streets branch off it. Small tree-lined street with neatly kept houses. The main road crossing Woodward is called Maple. Maple connects with towns east and west of Woodward. Jane you’ll love it.”

“Did you see Tim?”

“He and Maureen put me up for four days. Tim took me out to a job he was working on and I pitched in with a borrowed hammer and saw. On Sunday, I went to St. Andrews Episcopal Church and after dinner Tim and Maureen drove me all over the countryside.”

“Did you tell him you had given his name at the immigration office?”

“Oh yes. He’s anxious for the papers to go through, the sooner the better.”

“Did you find a place to live?”

“No, and that might be a problem. It will mean I have to make another trip. Tim said not to worry, if nothing shows up we can stay with them. They have a big house.”

“George, I’ll not step foot in another woman’s kitchen.”

“Calm down Jane. We have plenty of time, and before I left, Tim had a lead on a great possibility. We’ll just have to wait until we hear from him.”

That night in bed there was no talking.

June and July dragged by and the wait seemed interminable. There had been no word from Tim about a house but a letter came from immigration stating that the application was being considered.

The uncertainty raised havoc with their nerves. Tempers were short with frustration occasionally taking the place of common-sense. George wanted to sell some of the items they wouldn’t be taking with them. Jane refused; no sale until they had a place to live. Suddenly Portman came running into the house with two letters grasped firmly in his hand. “Mama, Mama they’re here, the letters are here.”

Portman, after the first letter from immigration, had haunted the post office. Only Mama’s letters from her exile up north brought any news. This day there were two letters, both postmarked from the States, and both addressed to George. Sending Portman outside, she opened the first letter from Tim McClary. He had found a five room house in the village that would be available on August first. The owner had no objection to waiting a week, however, George must come over as soon as possible to make arrangements. Tim thought the house adequate and in a pleasant neighborhood.

The letter from the authorities in the States was thick and heavy. She hesitated only a moment before opening it, rationalizing that she had as big a stake in this adventure as George did. There were several forms to be filled out but the letter enclosed contained what she needed to know. They had been accepted as prospective citizens to the United States. There was also a visa which entitled George and his family to reside in the United States for three years. By the time she had finished reading she was trembling. The die had been cast. From here on there was no turning back.

George left for the States two days after receiving the letter from Tim. Now that they had been accepted the next step was a roof over their heads. This time however he wouldn’t be gone so long. The other letter was from Maybelle.

She felt some pride in her grandfather’s title but no remorse at his death. She would have to inform her mother.

They started for Port Huron, their port of entry, on September 6. Will had given George his largest wagon, which allowed them to take more than they had originally planned. Will and George fashioned a canvas cover for the wagon that protected them and their worldly goods against the elements. George purchased an additional team. A four horse span would make the trip much easier and safer. With careful packing they managed to take most of their household items. George’s tools were crated or stored beneath the barrels. Extra blankets were rolled and stuffed between items to keep them from rattling and for protection. Her prize lamps were dismantled, drained and packed in bed linen. Lanterns were attached on nails to the side of the wagon, along with a water reservoir and a cache of kerosene.

Clothing was boxed and stowed wherever there was a niche. The love-seat and chair, along with the icebox and spindle table had been sold. They would use the proceeds for replacements in Birmingham.

Jane diligently beat the rugs to within an inch of unraveling. Free of dust, they were placed on the mattresses. For the next week, this is where they would place their weary heads; crowded like sardines in a can.

When the sun reached its zenith, George pulled off the side of the road to eat lunch and to rest the horses.

“All right lads, start gathering firewood. Your mum and I need a cup of tea. Get going, hear? This afternoon while Emily naps we are going to take the wagon down the road.”

Just as the sun was disappearing beyond Lake Huron they pulled into a farm. George went to the house to speak to the owner.

“Mr. Shipp says we can use his hip barn for the night, and Mrs. Shipp, God love her soul, will have breakfast for us in the morning.”

George and the boys started a fire. As soon as the water was bubbling, she laid out a large pan of homemade beans with slices of salt pork, swirling in a tomato and molasses gravy, along with some big chunks of bread. As far as the boys were concerned, not even Christmas goose tasted this good.

The next day they lunched at a small park in Grand Bend. She permitted the boys to remove their shoes and stockings and romp around knee-deep in the low waves of Lake Huron. Getting rid of their pent up energies would ensure a reasonably calm and quiet afternoon. While she cleared the dishes and the boys played at the waters edge, George leaned his back to the wagon wheel and smoked his pipe.

“Brings back memories, eh Love?”

“Yes, it doesn’t seem possible that so many years have passed.”

“Not so many. We sure were a pair of know-nothings.”

“George, I won’t have that kind of talk.”

“Look at it this way lass, we finally got the hang of it and over there is what we have to show for it,” pointing to the boys.

“That’s enough, George.”

At dusk, another farmer put them up in his barn. If all went well, they would be in Sarnia the day after tomorrow.

On the crossing of the St. Clair River, they stood at the bow of the ferry as it slowly made its way to the West Bank. To the South was a narrow river that emptied into Lake St. Clair. To the North the river opened like a tulip on a stem into Lake Huron. It was hard to believe that such a mighty Lake could reduce itself to such a small passageway and find its way to the Atlantic Ocean.

By the time customs in Port Huron had gone through their belongings, and they had repacked, it was too late to travel further. They found a boarding house on the main road with a barn large enough to accommodate their wagon. After dinner, George stepped outside to light his pipe and relax. She and the boys went up to their room.

A man from the boarding house showed them to their room. They watched him turn a knob on a fixture mounted to the wall, that appeared to be a kerosene lamp with no fuel fount, then strike a match and ignite a flame that transformed the dark room into eerie light and shadows.

“Take it you folks never seen a gaslight before? Well, there’s lots of gas wells around here and the Mrs. and me decided to pipe it in. It sure beats having to buy kerosene and clean lamps. When you’re ready for bed you turn this knob and that shuts off the gas. Make sure it’s tight cause you don’t want to wake up dead.”

The man chuckled and left.

“Mama?”

“Yes Portman, what is it?”

“Can we spend one night sleeping out like you told us you did?”

“We’ll see.”

Their route took them southwest on the road connecting Port Huron to Mt. Clemens. Portman got his wish when they camped out for the night at a crossroad called Muttonville, almost a Campbelltown. Here the saloon was open for business and covert sales took place behind the livery.

Jane pulled a rug out for the boys to sleep on and laid it out under the wagon. She and George and Emily would sleep inside the wagon.

The next afternoon, approaching Mt. Clemens, the winds brought hints of an odor not unfamiliar to a farmer—rotten eggs. With no alternate route available, they continued into the County seat of Macomb County. It was a large town with an abundance of hotels and rooming houses. The East side of town faced the Clinton River. Bridges spanned the river, allowing access to St. Clair. It didn’t take long for them to learn that Mt. Clemens was built above sulfur springs. Hotels and rooming houses catered to tourists who came from all over the County to luxuriate in the healing power of the hot water baths.

The family stayed upwind of the springs, at a small hotel on the South side of town. George and the boys went down to the tanks and soaked. She would have enjoyed a bath after five days on the road, but her sense of propriety prevented that, even though there were accommodations for women.

The following day, three miles south of Mount Clemens, they turned due west at 15 Mile Road, which would take them to Birmingham. It was nine-thirty when they started to experience abdominal pains, with the exception of Charlie, who weathered the change of water with aplomb. They had no choice but to stop until the Mt. Clemens water cleared their bodies. George pulled into a grove of trees and dug a pit. After one of many trips behind the trees George moaned. “I’ll say one thing Jane, Ma’s sulfur and molasses never acted this way. She always said it was a spring tonic. I say this is an avenging angel making sure we come into the United States, if not clean of heart, at least pure of body.”

“Hush George, the children will hear you.”

Charlie was bored—with no particular destination, he started down 15 Mile Road. George was the first to notice he was missing. “Paddy, have you seen Charlie?”

“No Pa, he was here a little while ago.”

“Don’t say anything to your mother, she and Emily are resting. I will look for him. You wait here. Understood?”

“Yes Pa.”

George took a chance and headed down 15 mile road. Walking slowly he searched both sides of the road, calling out Charlie’s name. He had traveled about half a mile when he saw a man on a horse. George tried to hasten his stride toward the man, but he was weaker than he thought and had to stop and wait. As soon as the two were within earshot George called out, “Have you seen a young lad five years old wondering about?”

“That’s what I came to tell you. The boy is safe at the house. Told us you were sick and I came down to see how I can help.”

“Thank God, by now his mother will be frantic.”

“Take it easy Mister, you look plumb tuckered out.”

“Guess I am at that.”

“Hop up and we’ll see about fixing your problem.”

Herman Koenig, their knight on a dark bay plow horse, took charge. George filled the pit while Herman harnessed the team. Herman helped Jane, Emily and Portman into the wagon. George followed on Herman’s horse. George didn’t have the strength to handle the team.

By late afternoon, the worst seemed to be over, and she thanked God, for Emily had no more clean clothes. The remainder of that day, and the next, they spent at Koenig’s farm. Herman and his wife Maria had seven children and there wasn’t room in the house for four more. but their barn was ample, and Maria made up pallets for them.

Maria brought out beef broth, with a mix of vegetables floating on top, and homemade bread, fresh from the oven. A few minutes after eating, the children were asleep. The four adults talked and watched the sunset from the barn door.

Herman smiled. “Looks like you don’t get along with Mt. Clemens water.”

“I don’t think Jane or I will be spending any time in this area. Too hard on the suspenders and knees.”

Except for her, they laughed.

“George, for goodness sake, be still,” she admonished.

“Only the truth love, only the truth.”

“Where you going to settle George?” Herman asked.

“In Oakland County, town called Birmingham. Do you know it?”

“Can’t say as I do. Never had the need to travel west. Out here we stick pretty close with our own.”

“You have a German name Herman, yet you don’t have an accent.”

“I’m second-generation. I can speak it, but I prefer to use English. Most of Macomb County is German and Belgian. We get along; the Germans tend toward dairy and grain, while the Belgians lean to gardening. They make their livings hauling produce into Mt. Clemens and Detroit and the surrounding towns. They’re experimenting with a new type of rhubarb. When it turns out right, the stalks are as pink as a baby’s bottom; forgive me ladies. Not so tart, neither, as the green garden variety. I’ve had some, and believe me, it’s good eating. There’s nothing like the rhubarb pie that Maria takes out of the oven.”

“Herman,” Maria interrupted, “you are talking yourself up to a bedtime snack? For once forget about food and let’s say good night. These people need some rest.”

The men shook hands, and the women nodded, as the Koenig’s made their way to the house. George and Jane sank back into the pallets and quickly fell asleep.

The next day, weak, but feeling better, Jane asked Maria to use her washtub. Emily’s poor little bottom was as red as a radish. Maria applied cornstarch. It soothed her bottom and allowed her to sleep. Portman and Charlie, with the three youngest of the Koenig brood, went off looking for critters. Carl, the oldest of the three, carried a shotgun. Jane made it clear to Carl that under no circumstances were Portman or Charlie to handle that gun. She needn’t have worried. It was only this summer that Carl had been allowed to hunt, and he wasn’t about to relinquish his prized possession to kids who didn’t know the difference between the barrel and the stock.

In order to compensate the Koenigs for their hospitality, for which they would not take money, George helped shingle the corn crib.

“You sure are handy with your hands George.”

“That’s the way I earn my money Herman.”

“You a carpenter?”

“Yes, and I’d like to think I’m a damn good one.”

“I have to agree; I don’t think you have to travel any farther, you’ll find more work than you can manage right here.”

“Can’t do that Herman. Already have a house rented and a partner waiting for me in Birmingham.”

Saying goodbye to the Koenigs was like saying goodbye to dear friends, even though they had only known each other a little over thirty-six hours.

The horses, after almost two days rest, were eager, so George let them have their heads with only sixteen miles to go. There were crossroads and farms aplenty, but settlements were sparse, mostly small clusters of houses with an occasional church and schoolhouse. It was not too different from Canada, yet there was a different air here—that sense of being a stranger in a strange land. She wondered if Americans traveling to Canada felt the same way. They lunched in a churchyard and George figured they still had about eleven miles to cover. “What do you say Jane, want to take a lazy afternoon, or push on? If we have no problems we’ll get to Birmingham before dark.”

“Oh George we’d still have the wagon to unload. Let’s stay out one more night and get into Birmingham in the morning.”

“Please Pa, let’s stay one more night. Charlie and me will sleep outside.” They slept under the stars that night, five miles from Birmingham.

“By God George, thought you’d lost your way,” Tim McClary shouted.

“Sorry Tim, we had a bit of trouble. Suppose you and a couple men could follow us down and help unload?”

“Not until you and the Misses step down for a spot of tea and a biscuit. Maureen is looking forward to meeting you.”

Meeting Maureen McClary was a shock. Maureen was an older version of Marcie—red hair and freckles with the same button nose and blue eyes, but that is where the similarities ended. Maureen had a raucous personality, a hearty laugh, and a fondness for coarse language. She was going to take a bit of getting used to. One thing for sure, Jane was not going to expose her children to such coarseness. Unfortunately, Maureen took to the children like a bee on a blossom; fawned over them with questions and jokes. The boys were spellbound. Even Emily was grinning and playing patty cake before she had been in the house ten minutes.

Maureen was an excellent cook. The roast beef with baked potatoes was mouthwatering and the corn pudding was light and fluffy. There was a cabbage salad, fresh sliced tomatoes and pickles and relishes. One relish she had never tasted before was a horseradish sauce. It was much too hot for her palate but George enjoyed it. For dessert—a three layer chocolate cake.

The coffee poured, Maureen turned to Portman and Charlie, “Well lads, how would you like to go outside and exercise a bit and maybe when you come back you will have enough room for another piece of cake?”

The boys did not have to be asked twice. They wiped their mouths on, what Americans called napkins, and started for the door. She smiled, wondering how many Americans knew that in Canada, napkins were diapers. “You’re not to leave the block. Stay close to the house.”

“We will Mama,” Portman replied.

She got up and started to clear the table, but Maureen stopped her.

“For God’s sake Jane, you’re our guest; sit down and have a brandy. You’ll have plenty of time to wash dishes.”

“I do not indulge in strong drink.”

Maureen raised her eyebrows and exclaimed “Haven’t I always said Tim, that the bloody English are as independent as a hog on ice.”

Her expression of annoyance did not go unnoticed, for Tim quickly spoke, “Love, what must George and Jane think of us? Forgive us Jane, it’s just that Maureen wanted to make your first day here as pleasant as possible, to relax and enjoy yourself. You can understand that can’t you?”

She swallowed, and although still angry at the slur, and the curse that even few men used, she nodded.

“Good, lass, good.”

“Would you like a glass of sherry, Jane?”

She really didn’t want the wine, but she agreed, “That would be fine.”

The rest of the evening was spent in awkward spurts of talk and silence. As soon it was politely acceptable, Jane insisted they go home, with the excuse that it was the children’s bedtime. George carried Emily, while the boys ran up and down the tree-lined street, not ready for bed at all. George said nothing.

Their new home on Brown Street was one of many similar-style houses. Built close together, privacy was nil. On one side, your neighbors could look into your windows, and on the other was a small drive that dead ended into a shed that accommodated a buggy and one horse.

She was satisfied with what Tim had found, except for the rent. She thought $15 a month was high.

Jane was on a small stepladder, washing out the kitchen cupboards, when she heard a knock at the door. Drying her hands on her apron, she could see through the window that it was Maureen. “I’ve come to apologize Jane. I’m sorry about last night. It was a disaster wasn’t it?”

“Come in Maureen. We need to have a talk.”

“May I sit down?”

“Yes, of course.”

“You know Jane, that my mouth is my own worst enemy, and for that I’m sorry, but as a leopard can’t change its spots, neither can I change the way I am. I speak my mind.”

“Last night was a good example of that Maureen. I was never so insulted in my life.”

“And I apologize for it.”

“It doesn’t alter the fact that you and I are poles apart and I think that the best possible solution is that it remain that way.”

“That won’t be easy, with Tim and George working together.”

“I’m not stupid Maureen. I realize that George is indebted to Tim for many things and I shall not do anything to jeopardize their relationship. It is you and I that are at odds. What George and Tim don’t know won’t hurt them.”

“What makes you think I won’t tell Tim?”

“George has brought a good deal of money into the partnership and the money hasn’t been transferred yet. Think it over before you do anything foolish. You need us.”

“You’re a self-righteous woman Jane. In many ways I pity you, but I pity George even more.”

“Get out of here Maureen.”

“As you wish, but this is going to be a long, bitter war, and for that I’m truly sorry.”

When the door closed behind Maureen, she sat down and wept. Once more she had placed herself in an uncompromising position.

The weeks passed and Jane made friends with many of her neighbors. The boys were enrolled in school and doing well. Each Sunday the family attended St. Andrews, and in the afternoon they would walk; taking a different direction each time to acquaint themselves with the town.

As winter slowly made its presence known, walking was abandoned and family games in the parlor were the accepted recreation on a Sunday afternoon. She didn’t approve of card games, especially on Sunday, but the boys took a special interest in double solitaire and 500 Rummy. More often than not, she and Emily would lie down and nap while the men in her life engaged in a rapport with the devil.

The cellar of their home held a central heating system with a coal burning furnace and a cistern. That was the purpose of the two taps on the sink. One tap pulled cold water—in the winter drawing water through pipes heated by the furnace; the other tap provided hot water. Water from the pump was for drinking and cooking. Jane was amazed at such conveniences. It was almost a dream come true; even the toilet was serviced by the cistern. All things considered, she began to think that perhaps fifteen dollars a month was a fair price to pay for such conveniences.

The stairway that led to the upper loft had never been finished and the loft was used for storage. She could see the possibility of living quarters in the loft for the boys; allowing the second bedroom for Emily.

Mama wrote that her boat would be docking in Detroit in two weeks and asked that we meet her.

“Oh George I’m so happy”

“I know love, I’m looking forward to it too.”

“We’ll have to make room. We can put Jewell in our room and Mama can have a room all to herself.”

“Jewell can share a room with Emily.”

“Oh no George, she’s still a very fragile child. I couldn’t trust Emily to watch over her.”

“That’s nonsense Jane and you know it. She sleeps alone now. It won’t hurt her or Emily to share!”

“George, she almost died. You can’t have forgotten!”

“Of course not, but that was two years ago. Jewell is a healthy, normal child.”

“Emily’s room is farthest from us. I wouldn’t be able to bear it if anything should happen.”

Rather than argue George sighed and gave in as he did so often these days.

Jane could hardly wait for the freighter to pull up to the dock. She could see her mother on the railing waving frantically and calling out but it was so noisy she couldn’t distinguish the words. Mama finally came down the gangplank and from there directly into customs. It was another 30 minutes before Mama finally emerged from the inspection shed.

“Mama, oh Mama, I love you.”

“Jane love, it’s good to be back in civilization and with my family.”

“You look younger than you did five years ago Lizzie,” George said as he gathered Elizabeth into his arms.

“You always were a sweet talker George. God love you.”

They all laughed and headed toward the trolley that would take them up Woodward Avenue. She thought Mama’s head would unscrew as she swiveled right and left taking in the sights of the big city. “My Lord Loves,” she said, “I’ve lived so long in the bush I find this hard to comprehend.”

“You haven’t seen everything yet Lizzie, just wait until we get a little farther out. You’ll see where all the swells live.”

The trolley jolted through innumerable stops before they reached the city limits of Detroit and were able to transfer to the interurban.

“How are those babes?” Mama asked.

“Not babes Lizzie, young boys. twelve and nine. I can’t think of anything that would thrill them more than hearing firsthand your exciting life!”

“Of course George. What about Emily and Jewell?”

“Mama, Jewell is just fine. I had a terrible time bringing that precious angel into the world. You don’t know how I prayed that you could have been there. It was horrible, and Jewell will never be the normal active child that the rest of my children are.”

Mama had brought several mementos. George got a cribbage board and pegs and she a reed and beaded jewel box. The two boys whooped in delight at the feathered headdress that had been allotted to them. Two Indian dolls made of straw and dressed in the softest of deerskin were given to the girls. Emily lovingly hugged hers to her breast, but Jewell put hers down and toddled away.

The first two weeks after Mama’s arrival the boys hung about their grandmother like flies to a honey jar. Eventually the novelty of having a grandmother who lived with Indians wore off and the household more or less got back to normal. George was in Rochester hoping to finish work on a silo and barn before snowfall. It left Mama and her a lot of time to catch up on the news. Five years took a bit of catching up.

The Village of Birmingham was going to build a new school. Bids were solicited in five categories: foundation; frame; brick mason; plumbing; electrical; and finish. George picked up a copy of the architectural plans at the village hall and spent evenings for the next three weeks working over estimates.

“I’m afraid I won’t even get close Jane. There are too many companies now who specialize in everything. Even if they don’t, they can subcontract.”

“I’m sure Birmingham will stick with their own.”

“Keep your fingers crossed love.”

George was awarded the foundation, frame and brick masonry. It was a day of celebration. George took them to Mooney’s drugstore for an ice cream soda. That evening George insisted that she have a glass of wine with him and, on this special occasion, he would smoke his pipe in the parlor and not in the cellar.

She had never seen George more enthusiastic in his work. During that time George made no demands on her. That summer, George had Portman and Charlie work with him. Although their scope of responsibility was minimal George felt busy hands kept them out of trouble. With the money they earned perhaps they could buy that bicycle they always wanted.

As for Emily and Jewell, sibling rivalry was running rampant and there were many times when she would have to remind Emily to be considerate of Jewell’s delicate condition. George would often find himself in the evening with Emily in his lap and Jewell clinging to her mother.

The Frederick school was dedicated on January 12, 1899. The Mayor and Village Council, along with honored guests and the contractors who were responsible for building the two-story edifice, were all on the podium. Sitting in the second row with the children she looked about the room in awe. Imagine, a gymnasium!

She was proud of George. He looked proper; in fact, he looked nattier than the mayor. One regret, was an argument they had that morning. Portman was eligible to enter the new high school the following year but he wanted to quit school. George wanted to allow him to do so, citing that his marks were abominable except in mathematics. If he failed to make his grades he would be held back. She disagreed; with proper tutoring Portman could catch up. She wanted her children to graduate from high school.

After George completed the contract for the school he built a new house for them on Pierce Street. She was not averse to moving back to town but did not like being on the outskirts, although she did appreciate the proximity to schools and stores. George’s star was on the rise and it glowed during 1901 and 1902. He had more work than he could handle. The village of Birmingham was expanding. There was a new fire station, library, town-hall, a Catholic Church, built on the outskirts of the village, and houses being built faster than mushrooms growing in manure. Detroit money was moving to the suburbs.

Duryea and Oldsmobile dominated the automobile market and George dismissed them both as being a flash in the pan.

Time did stand still. Portman worked day jobs around the country side picking up what work he could. When he was 21, George brought him into the Masonic Lodge. It was a move Jane disagreed with, even though George had been a member for 25 years. She believed that anything secret was the devil’s business.

Charlie quit school after the ninth grade and worked with George. He was a good worker and had a vivid imagination. In Charlie’s case it seemed that experience was the best teacher.

Emily was going to be the diamond in her crown. At thirteen Emily was one year into high school and an excellent student with a mathematical mind who put her brothers to shame.

Jewell at nine was still a delicate child who needed a great deal of attention. She tried to keep Jewell’s grades up by tutoring her at home, but Jewell’s natural abilities seem to be homemaking.

The letter that arrived in February 1902 was a shock.

Her first thought was of Maybelle’s premonition of her death. It was three or four days before she could accept Maybelle’s death. Looking back on her childhood, she knew that if anyone deserved God’s love it was Maybelle. If good intentions meant anything, Maybelle had a place in heaven.

Emily’s graduation was today and she still wasn’t prepared for the reception. Mama came down from Kitchener for the occasion.

“I’ll stay home and get things ready,” Jewell volunteered.

“Absolutely not. This family is all going to be present when Emily receives her diploma. If you want to be of help, Emily’s dress needs to be hemmed.”

“Abbott, Armbruster, Babich, Ballantine, Castle, Childers, Collin’s” the superintendent of the school called out as he presented each graduate the magical paper that transformed them into adults. As each name was called, polite applause accompanied the presentation. Emily’s name was called and, after clapping until her gloved hands were smarting, she lost interest in the rest of the ceremony. Her child had a high school diploma. She was the proudest person in the gymnasium. The graduates marched down the aisle to the recessional and outside to the receiving line. What a happy and confident group of youngsters they were. All the optimism in the world. The boys, most of whom were from wealthy families, would no doubt go into business with their fathers. The girls pinned their hopes on capturing the hearts of the boys.

Jane accepted compliments from the reception guests. Little did they know she had sweat blood to make this day one that not only Emily but she too would remember.

George invited Dr. Morse and his wife to the party. George was sure Lizzie would enjoy renewing her acquaintance with the doctor. When she was in the kitchen she overhear Dr. Morse and Mama on the back porch talking.

“You aren’t looking well Elizabeth. How are you feeling?”

“There’s no cure for old age Joe”

“Don’t be coy with me Elizabeth. You’ve got a problem, what is it?”

“Mr. Nosy, if you must know, for many years I’ve had pain in my left ear, which in turn has given me headaches.”

“My God Elizabeth, why don’t you get help?”

“I have love,” Mama’s voice dropped to almost a whisper and she moved closer to the door to hear what her mother was saying. “I’ve got a tumor Joe. It’s inoperable. It’s not malignant but gradually growing and eventually it’s going to kill me. It has already affected the sight in my left eye. Many days my vision is blurred.”

Jane could hear the pain in Dr. Morse’s voice when he answered, “My dear Elizabeth, I’m so sorry. Are you quite sure?”

“Oh yes. I’ve lived a very happy life and quite possibly with more love and excitement than one person has a right to expect. I have few regrets. One is that I have not told my children about this. I ask you to keep silent.”

“Of course I shall.”

“Thank you Love, now let’s get back to this party!”

She raced toward the door of the dining room with another pitcher of punch, just ahead of Mama and Dr. Morris. George knew instantly that something had happened. He rushed over and grabbed her arm. “What’s the matter Jane?”

“Not now Love, not now. Please tell our guests I’ve taken ill and apologize for my absence. George, do this for me.”

“Of course I shall. Go upstairs and lie down. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Thank you.”

By six o’clock the last of the guests had left. Emily was extolling over the gifts.

George entered their bedroom. “For God sake Jane, what’s the matter?” George implored.

“Where’s Mama?”

“She came up an hour ago complaining about a headache.”

George’s words brought more tears and she clung to him, sobbing uncontrollably.

“Love, what’s this all about?”

“I didn’t mean to George, I really didn’t mean to.”

Shaking her and pushing her away from him he looked into her eyes and spoke firmly, “You didn’t mean to, what?”

She was finally able to tell George what she had overheard. “What are we going to do George? My God what are we going to do?”

George was shaken to the marrow. Lizzie was the anchor he had clung to when he found himself in troubled waters. Clearing his throat, he repeated, “Lizzie told Dr. Morse she didn’t want us to know?”

“That is what she said George.”

“Then we shall honor that wish.”

“My God George, I can’t pretend that nothing’s happened.”

“Yes you can love. You go into the bedroom and wash your face with cold water. You can say that you are coming down with a cold and feel sick to your stomach. I don’t think it will fool her, but she won’t know the reason.”

Mama had just boarded the ferry for her return to Kitchener when Charlie dropped a bombshell. He had a serious commitment to a girl from Warren, a farm girl no less. She was angry that Charlie would even consider marrying beneath himself. There were too many fine girls right here in Birmingham. “Where did you meet this girl Charlie?”

“She works in the general store in the village.”

“How did you meet her?”

“Ma, you know very well the boys and I stay every evening after work for a beer. The store’s next to the saloon, so I went into the store to get some shaving soap and there she was.”

“Just like that?”

“That’s right, Ma just like that.”

“What’s her name?”

“Rose Hastings”

“Thank God for small favors. At least she isn’t Irish.”

George, who had been listening quietly, spoke up, “That’s cruel Jane, and has nothing whatever to do with Charlie and Rose.”

“I’ll take it George, you’ve seen this girl that Charlie is supposedly in love with?”

“As a matter of fact I have. A quiet, shy, slip of a girl who just happens to be very beautiful.”

“No need to worry Mama, Mr. Hastings told me in no uncertain terms that until Rose is twenty there will be no marriage.”

“Is that so, he doesn’t feel you are good enough for her?”

“Of course not Mama, but until Steinberg’s barn is finished, I won’t have much time to get over to Warren. Mr. Hastings says we need time to get acquainted.”

“Well, in that respect Mr. Hastings is right. Marry in haste, repent in leisure,” I think the old saying goes.

“Mama, set your mind to it, sooner or later Rose and I will be married.”

Bad luck had dogged their heels ever since Emily’s graduation from high school, or it so it seemed. Nothing was going right.

1907-’08 brought another recession. Not as bad as the panic of 1893 but bad enough to slow construction. George was home more than he was working. Feeding the family and paying their taxes was eating away at their reserves.

Portman and Charlie had signed up with the Erie steamship lines as deckhands sailing the Great Lakes from Chicago to Buffalo, hauling iron ore taken from the mines on the upper Peninsula. They were on different ships, but from time to time did get to see each other. Remembering her crossing of the Atlantic, she did not envy them. She prayed that they had a stronger stomach than she did. One good thing that came out of it was Charlie’s unavailability to Rose.

Emily had struck out on her own. She wanted to attend business school, but with finances so precarious it was impossible to help her. She took a job as tutor and part-time maid to a wealthy family in Detroit. She was saving her money, determined to conquer the business world.

With only Jewell left at home, the house seemed empty and desolate. Actually it was too large for them now, but silence did have its compensations.

When the economy picked up late in 1908, George started accepting smaller jobs; mostly specialized cabinetmaking, where he could work alone. His large scale operations were no more.

Charlie signed off the Erie line in 1910. He married Rose Hastings in a Lutheran ceremony. Apparently, out of sight did not mean out of mind. That, or Rose had convinced her father she was responsible and madly in love. Jane would never understand it.

Rose and Charlie had a daughter, now a year old, and Rose was pregnant again. Charlie had rented a house not far from them. He became a volunteer fireman for the village of Birmingham, but his love was being home. To supplement his income, he would take on a barn now and then. When Charlie was away Rose withdrew, seemingly afraid to breathe lest she offend someone. She had little sympathy for such a rabbit. Rose would never be the driving force behind her husband.

The telegram read:

If it hadn’t been for Emily she didn’t know what she would have done. George was devastated and was of no help. She knew that Mama would have been flabbergasted at their reactions.

Uncle Joshua Tupper, well past seventy, was there alone since Aunt Clara had died some years before. Uncle Pete was there with his family. Will and Nellie Collins, frail but able, were there. Adam and Jean had insisted Will and Nellie should not travel the distance alone, so they were there. Emile and Gerta, with Frederik and the twins standing solemnly by their side, added their degree of dignity to the sorrowful event. Emily, knowing Portman’s sailing schedule, had sent a telegram to the Buffalo Maritime Association and Portman was there to receive it. She was a little disappointed that he didn’t arrive in Fillmore until the day of the funeral, looking a bit seedy at that. Still she was glad he had made this effort to pay his respects. The only close family members who weren’t there were Charlie and Rose.

After the last eulogy, Uncle Joshua announced that everyone was invited to his house for refreshments. Will Collins, whispering loud enough for the mourners to hear said, “Lizzie always did like a good party!”

It was a poignant gathering that converged on Uncle Joshua’s house. Mama’s life and times where relived once again. It was a tribute to the person who had meant so much to them all. It was also the last time Mama’s family and friends would get together.

It was late. Uncle Joshua lit up his pipe and George and Toby followed suit. It was not something she could object to, but she and Charlotte retreated to the kitchen.

Charlotte started the conversation, “I didn’t say anything before because I felt it didn’t concern anyone else. I saw Kevin Cooper. He came to the house two weeks ago. Toby was on duty at the station and I was alone.”

“What did he want for goodness sake?”

“He wanted to know about Mama. He also asked if I had a little extra money.”

“I suppose you gave him some.”

“Jane if you say one more word, I’ll not tell you anything else.”

“I’m sorry Charlotte. How was he?”

“I would not have known him except for the curly hair, which is gray now, and the blue eyes that still sparkle.”

“Was he sober?”

“Yes, he said he hasn’t had anything to drink, but on occasional beer, in nine years.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“I would be inclined to agree with you but his skin tone and agility belie the fact that he was a drunkard.”

“Did he tell you what he had been doing all these years?”

“He said he had traveled all the provinces trying to track down Homer, but he didn’t find anyone that had heard the name. Kevin thinks Homer is dead.”

“What about Barney, did he mention him?”

“I think he knows where he is, but was not willing to share it with me. Even after all these many years, and sober at that, Kevin still holds animosity toward Barney.”

“You still have an affinity for him don’t you Charlotte?”

“Yes, I do.”

“That’s where you and I part company. You weren’t there during all Mama’s trouble with Kevin. Perhaps he has changed. I hope he has. Someday he will meet his Maker and he may even have enough stars in his crown to get into heaven. I still take exception to all Mama’s suffering, knowing full well that I am to be condemned for my judgment.”

“Jane I’m sorry for you. You hang on to your hatred with the tenacity of a robin pulling on a worm. Give it up, for your own sake.”

“What about you, do you still hate me?”

“Not anymore. I found that by turning away from hatred I now have the energy to live my life with no regrets.”

“I wish I had your outlook.”

On the way home she told George about her conversation with Charlotte.“I’m glad you two have made it up. Life’s too short for enemies, especially in families.”

“I wonder if Kevin will go back to see Charlotte?”

“I suppose he will, since he knows Charlotte accepts him.”

“I’m just glad he didn’t come to the funeral.”

“He might not even know Lizzie is dead.”

“I’m glad about that too.”

“I’m not. He missed seeing Marcie’s children and what fine young people they are. He must be very lonely old man.”

“He brought it all on himself George.”

Hard on the heels of Mama’s death came another telegram. This one from the Erie steamship line. Opening the sealed envelope she read:

She fainted.

By a quirk of fate, Rose was there to ask her advice on what to do to stop Evelyn from sucking her thumb. The next thing she remembered was the aroma of ammonia and Rose calling out to her, “Mother Collins, are you all right, Mother Collins, please answer me.”

She had Rose help her to the nearest chair.

“What’s wrong Mother Collins, what’s wrong?”

“Portman is dead; didn’t you read the telegram?”

“Of course not, Mother Collins.”

“You’re a fool.”

Struck by her mother-in-law’s cruel words and the news of Portman’s death, Rose began to cry.

“For God’s sake Rose, go get Charlie and George.”

She watched Rose gather herself and leave the house. She knew she had been unkind once more. When will she ever learn to harness her tongue?

She fainted again six weeks later when a skinny, scruffy Portman walked through the door and called out, “I’m home Ma.”

It took several days of recuperation before he could tell them of his experience. When the Summerville began breaking up, the captain transmitted SOS messages with their position. Lifeboats were lowered but the storm was so bad, most capsized as soon as they reached the water. Portman managed to get into a boat that held six men and that stayed afloat. They were well off the starboard bow when the Summerville snapped in half and sank. In the dark it was difficult to see if any other boats had gotten away. Pitching and tossing, the men were rowing air. They used their boots to bail water in an effort to keep from floundering. A large wave raised the boat and dumped them. Fighting his way up for air, he finally surfaced, only to be pushed down by another wave. The second time he surfaced, he was not more than fifty feet from the lifeboat, and it was upright. Using the last of his strength he managed to pull himself into the boat. He looked around, but did not see any survivors. If he should capsize again, so be it. He lacked the will or the energy to resist.

He opened his eyes to a sky that was gray and overcast. Sitting up he saw that the swell’s were considerable, but the lifeboat was riding them well. He spent the day looking for some sign of another boat. Water was no problem but he was hungry. The survival rations were gone. Even the oars were gone. Toward dusk, the sky began to clear, and the stars came out, but the clearing brought falling temperatures. He was so cold that he was beginning to think he would have been better off if he had not found the lifeboat.

He woke the second morning coughing and with difficulty breathing. Curled up into a ball trying to keep warm he did not even attempt to see if anything was sailing within eyesight of the lifeboat. He was ill and had decided that if any help was coming it would be up to God. He vaguely remembered being handled by men and jostled about and finally covered by a blanket, a blessed blanket. The next thing he remembered was opening his eyes to a sea of white walls and white furniture, and a woman walking about in a white dress.

A tall man in a white coat entered the room and came over to where he was lying, “Well now, you’ve certainly taken your time coming around?”

“Where am I?”

“St. Elmo’s hospital, the patron saint of all derelicts who sail the seas.”

“What city?”

“Chicago of course. Surely you know that.”

“Right now I don’t even know my own name.”

“That is the reason I’m here. We must have an identity. Who are you?”

Taking an instant dislike to the doctor, he refused to speak to him. The nurse provided him with the information he needed. He had been picked up by the freighter St. Sebastian carrying iron ore to Gary. Knowing he was close to death, they put him off in Chicago. He was somewhere between life and death for almost two weeks, and that did not include the six days he had spent aboard the St. Sebastian.

It was two weeks before he was well enough to leave St. Elmo’s. The Maritime Association took care of his hospital bill, but he did not have a dime. His money and his identification had gone down with the Summerville.

The only place he had to turn to was the Salvation Army. They gave him shelter and a change of clean, ill-fitting clothes. They also bought his ticket to Detroit and gave him two dollars for car fare with the understanding that he would repay the transportation expenses.

He decided that commonsense was the better part of valor. He never sailed again.

There was war on in Europe involving Austria-Hungary and the German Empire against the rest of Europe, Russia, the British Isles and twenty other countries. Canada was sending their finest young men to support the mother country. For the sake of her own family, Jane was glad that President Woodrow Wilson had publicly told the nation that the United States was maintaining strict neutrality.

When the Lusitania was sunk on May 7, 1915, with 128 Americans on board, attitudes began to change. There were many more pros than cons and Wilson was allowing the private sector to help finance Britain and France’s struggle against the Hun. On Sunday dinners with the whole family present, war in Europe and President Wilson dominated the conversations.

“Wish I was back in Canada, I’d go in a minute,” Charlie said, barely missing the rhythm of his fork between his plate and his mouth.

“Then you’d be a damned fool,” Portman said.

“Portman!”

“Sorry Ma, but it’s the truth. Only a fool would be mixed up in that mess.”

“Ah, but Paddy, think of all those lovely Mademoiselles waiting in gay Paree.”

“Paris hell—sorry Ma—you’ll find yourself ass deep in mud in a trench if you’re lucky. The alternative is having your head shot off ,if you’re stupid enough to stick it up over the sand bags!”

“I’ll have no more of this. I’m tired to death of talk about war. It will stop now, is that understood?”

She still had the power to control her family.

With all heads nodding, an uneasy truce was established, and they finished eating in silence. One thing did bother her. If the US was stupid enough to get into the conflict it would be Portman, who didn’t want to go, who would be called up. Charlie, with two children, would not be obligated. If it was the last thing she did on earth, she would see to it that he didn’t volunteer.

Wilson was reelected in 1916 with the slogan “He kept us out of war.” Most of the nation was questioning: “For how long?” Military buildup, from personnel recruitment to naval rearmament, was stepped up. If the States were not at war, it was beginning to look like they were preparing for it. It would only be a matter of time.

Jane finally accepted Portman’s marriage. There was nothing she could do. “What would possess that boy to do such a stupid thing? At least with Charlie I knew what was going to happen.”

“Paddy’s hardly a boy Jane, he’s old enough to know his own mind. As for Charlie, he got the better part of that bargain. I pray to God he’ll soon realize it.”

“What rot George; Rose will always be a country bumpkin.”

“Stop right now Jane or you and I are going to say things we’ll regret.”

Washing up the breakfast dishes her thoughts were still churning with anger at her son. How could Portman elope with Maria Oloski Partridge, an illiterate Pole, who spoke little English. Not only that, she was a widow and at least six years older than her son. To Rose’s credit, she could at least read, write and be understood.

The small farm that Maria had inherited, and where Portman and Maria lived, was several miles from Birmingham, and it made her feel better that she didn’t have to come in contact with her new daughter-in-law very often.

Wiping her hands on the dish towel and feeling sorry for herself she wondered what had happened to her happy family. Her sons were a disappointment. Emily was also a disappointment with her independence and liberal point of view. Only Jewell, her pride and joy, still depended on her. It gave her comfort.

War: the festering had come to a head and erupted in an outflowing of pus, but the core of the ball was still lodged in the flesh of the American people. Short of lancing, nothing would remove the pain and infection, and that meant total victory. Portman and Charlie were two of the lucky ones. Neither were called to don the uniform of their country. Married men with children were exempt, and married men would be deferred until needed. She watched the beautiful young men march off in cadence to the high school band to defend their country. As elsewhere, Birmingham had its share of tombs. To her it seemed like a terrible waste.

German prejudice was high, and it wasn’t uncommon to read that some poor soul, even though born in this country, had been subjected to harassment or castigation. Predominantly English and Dutch, Birmingham had little bigotry.

After a year and a half, America, on November 11, 1918, forced Germany to sign an armistice. Had that been the end of it, it would have been a godsend. Unfortunately, the healthy or seemingly so, brought back a virus—the Spanish Flu. It swept through the country like a tornado that had no sense of direction. It touched down only once and spread the virus throughout the land. Birmingham was not immune. Rose was expecting her third child. It was coming early, much too early, and influenza plus the natural distress of child bearing placed Rose in a precarious position.

Another son, Arthur was born February 13, 1919. Arthur was even smaller than Jewell at birth. To keep the influenza from spreading and to give Rose her best chance for recovery, she was isolated. Feeding the baby was a problem. The isolation had dried Rose’s milk, but a saving factor was that Arthur could tolerate cows milk. Jane had kept her baby bottles from Jewell; all they needed were the nipples, which the drugstore provided. She took care of Charlie’s family and lived in the house with them. Evelyn, James and Charlie were only allowed to talk to Rose through the closed bedroom door. Each time she left the bedroom after seeing to Rose’s needs she washed her hands thoroughly before touching anything and especially the baby. Mama had instilled in her the need for sanitary conditions. Mama had told her infection caused more deaths than disease.

It was a grueling two weeks, but Evelyn was a help to her. Even at seven, she could peel potatoes, set the table and see that James was properly dressed before setting off for school each morning. Due to her good nursing habits, or God’s will, Rose recovered and none of the others came down with the flu. The rest of village wasn’t as lucky. Dr. Morse had more than his share of patients. Since Dr. Savage died in 1900, he was the only physician left to care for the community.

School was suspended in March. Those who did not have the disease refused to open their doors. Those who had the disease begged for help. The cruel fact was that the influenza was most deadly to the very young and very old. By the end of April, the disease seemed to have run its course, at least in their area, and the town was breathing easier. Jane also breathed a sigh of relief, for she had forbidden Jewell to go any farther than the backyard. All the vegetables were washed and dry staples such as flour, sugar, salt and the like were sterilized in the oven for an hour and a half. Her chores were cut in half when the epidemic was over.

The epidemic was not all that was over. Portman had left Maria. She said nothing, but was pleased. After the divorce, Portman took to the road. He worked odd jobs when he needed money, otherwise he traveled around Michigan, often going to Canada to try to recapture his childhood.

iv

Introduced by a constitutional amendment in 1920, prohibition brought a new way of life. Serious drinkers always found a way to obtain alcohol. Speakeasies sprang up all over the country. For those who couldn’t afford the bathtub gin, or the exorbitant price of good whiskey smuggled across the border from Canada, it became the era of home-brew. This was legal if you made your own and did not intend to sell it. Charlie was one of the first to buy equipment to make his own. At least, Rose had Charlie home, most evenings anyway.

George told her that he didn’t know why Charlie had gone to the expense of buying bottles. It was seldom that Charlie allowed his beer to age long enough to be bottled. As soon as it was ripe, there was bound to be a card game on a Saturday night. The dipper would plunge directly into the crocs, not bothering to siphon the impurities out of the golden liquid that was consumed.

v

Times were changing and she was’t sure she could change with them. The United States was riding high on an expanding economy. There was money to spend and almost everyone was taking advantage of it. Women’s skirts were getting shorter, along with their hair, and men’s clothes were atrocious. Automobiles were everywhere. The dirt and gravel roads were quickly giving way to pavement. Most major arteries were now cement.

Courtesy, politeness, concern for your neighbor, faith, pride in one’s work and ultimately pride in oneself, were all losing ground. It was becoming a nation of every man for himself. Organized crime was on the upswing and the feeling seemed to be if you couldn’t afford to buy it, steal it. She hadn’t locked the door in years, but the times had made her cautious.

Jewell was sitting in the parlor staring out the window.

“What are you thinking about love?”

“Mama I don’t want to live here anymore.”

“For heaven sakes why not?”

“I don’t like it here.”

“Where do you propose to move to?”

“Let’s move into Detroit. There’s more to do there.”

“There’s a lot to do here love, besides we go in to Detroit often.”

“I don’t care, I don’t like it here. Why can’t we go someplace else?”

“Jewell love, your father works here.”

“He can work in Detroit just as well.”

“Well, I think not.”

“Then I’m going by myself.”

“You can’t mean that. What would you do, how would you live?”

Jewell’s voice rose a pitch, “I’ll find something. I’m not stupid you know.”

“No one said you were Love. It’s only that you’ve taken me by surprise.”

“Emily is in Detroit, she left and you didn’t say anything about that.”

“Emily has a vocation and she’s working.”

“I can do the same as she did.”

Taking Jewell in her arms she tried to soothe her and bring her back to reality. “Jewell, listen to me. You’ve been sickly all your life. It’s not your fault, but you can’t compete in Emily’s world.”

“It’s all your fault. I could have been as good as Emily. You’ve always found excuses to keep me home from school. I was lucky to finish eighth grade, and I was fifteen before that could happen. Mama, I hate you.”

At this point Jane could hear her mother’s words coming home to roost. Why had she been so bullheaded? Even George had warned her. “Oh Love, I’m so sorry. I am only doing what I think is best for you. Your health always came before anything else. You almost died, and I did too. I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize your health.”

Pushing her away, Jewell stood and looked her straight in the eye and said, “Bullshit.” With that she stomped out of the room.

Crushed, she still had the maternal instinct that Jewell’s welfare came before anything else. Jewell was determined and she was twenty years old. There was no way she could stop her. They would move. She would need to convince George. It was hardly a conflict of wills, for George had no objection to moving. In some respect he was a lot like Portman. He took the path of least resistance. George’s apathy stemmed from Mama’s death. After her passing, George lost much of his ardor and zeal. She thought that after ten years, he surely would have overcome his grief.

They spent two weeks looking at real estate in Detroit and settled on a two-story flat in Highland Park. Valerie Lane was a lovely street lined with elms that was convenient to transportation, just one block from Woodward Avenue. One feature that she was not happy with, was the similarity of architecture, but the price was right and the best feature was the upper flat. It could be rented as a source of income, as it would take George a while to establish himself in their new environment.

She shed a few tears as she went through all the contents of the house trying to discard those things that were impractical to move. They had lived there almost twenty-five years. Accumulations of a life together were hard to part with. Opening Mama’s old trunk, she found the Indian bonnets Mama had brought back for the boys thirty years ago. How the boys had enjoyed them. Now moth-eaten and in such a state of disrepair she could do nothing else but leave them behind. Laying beside the bonnets was Jewell’s Indian doll. The deerskin was fetid and fragile but the doll itself was still intact. She decided to keep it. Emily’s doll had disintegrated by the time she was ten, from too much handling.

Oh how many memories this house contained. There was a point when she almost told Jewell to go her own way, but she knew that was impossible. How true the old saying: blood is thicker than water.

Charlie helped them move. Emily too was on hand at the new house, cleaning cupboards and washing dishes as they brought in the boxes of China and pots and pans. When the carpet was down and the furniture in place, she knew she was home. She had no idea what lay ahead for them, she only prayed that this would be her last move.

She had not realized how hard it was going to be for George to find work. George was sixty years old. Time had slipped past them all. He finally found a job at Emerson Hospital as a maintenance man. Although not an occupation that held prestige, it came with a paycheck twice a month. He did everything from changing light bulbs to building covers for storage.

She knew that Portman was dying. For the past year his health had been deteriorating. Weight-loss, cough and general listlessness. Stubborn, like all on her side of the family, he refused to seek medical help. When his condition became so bad that he had no say in the matter, he was diagnosed with lung cancer. Refusing to accept the inevitable, she had Portman transported by ambulance to the University of Michigan Hospital at Ann Arbor. It was renowned for its diagnostic skills and success with experimental treatments. They kept him there for almost a month and twice a week she would take the train and then a taxi to the hospital to visit.

The tests imposed on him only weakened him further. She hired another ambulance to bring him home. Portman lingered at death’s door until early November. His pain was so excruciating that he prayed for death. When Portman closed his eyes for the last time she was bereft. George merely said very calmly “Thank God.”

Even though they should have been prepared, funeral arrangements and interment had not been given a thought. It was Emily who decided that Portman would be buried in Birmingham. Highland Park held no deep affection for Paddy, in fact, except for a few close neighbors, no one knew him.

Carlton mortuary would handle the arrangements, and Greenwood cemetery would be his final resting place. During the three days of visitation she, George and Jewell spent with Charlie and Rose. Emily had an automobile and she drove back and forth from Detroit.

Shrouded by her family, Jane wept quietly at the grave, as their minister from St. Andrews read the last comforting words. At the final amen, she glanced up toward the fringes of the crowd and saw Maria.

“Get that woman out of here!” she screamed.

The assembly was totally unprepared for such an outburst and stood numbly silent, only turning their heads and wondering who it was she was shouting at. George and Charlie both grabbed an arm.

“For God’s sake Jane control yourself.” George admonished.

“She shouldn’t be here, she shouldn’t be here.”

“Who shouldn’t be here Ma?” Charlie asked.

“Maria, that Pollack.”

“Jane I beg you not to make a scene. Please calm down, you’re making a spectacle of yourself.” George implored.

She said no more, and allowed George and Charlie to lead her back to the car.

The incident at the cemetery had put all those invited back to Charlie’s house ill at ease. A funeral should have been an affair of mutual sorrow. As soon as practical they left, leaving only the family.

“How dare that woman invade my grief!”

“Maria was merely paying her respects.”

“George you are a fool. She doesn’t have any regret. She came to gloat over Portman’s death.” She hadn’t been this angry since the boys had stolen the eggs. It frightened her.

“I want you to stop it this instant. You are not thinking clearly Jane. I won’t have you making these kinds of accusations particularly when you know they are not true. My God, I grieve for Paddy but he, most of all, would abhor what you are doing.”

“I’m sorry all. Please forgive me. I am striking out at anything that will ease my pain. God knows this is one of the hardest things I’ve had to bear.”

The tension was alleviated and the cleanup discouraged further discussion on the matter.

A milestone had occurred. Robert Collins was born January 8, 1924, at St. Joseph Hospital in Pontiac Michigan, the first child in their family to have the distinction of not being born in the bed where he was conceived. She hoped that Robert would be the last. Rose wasn’t getting any younger, and childbearing took a toll on the body. In spite of the pique she often felt toward Rose, one thing she could not fault her on was her ability as a mother. Her children were very well behaved.

By 1927 it seemed that almost everyone was investing in stocks and bonds. Three years before, Charlie had borrowed heavily from the bank and began building houses as investments. Charlie figured every third house would be clear profit. The premise seemed to make sense at the time with money flowing, but the population was not investing in real estate. They were buying stocks on margin, visualizing themselves as millionaires. His first two houses went well, but the following six were on the block, and with the bank demanding payment, Charlie was strapped. Even his own home was mortgaged. In the spring of 1927, the bank foreclosed on his properties, and Charlie was destitute.

“How in this land of prosperity could such a thing happen,” she thought.

Charlie didn’t know what he was going to do. It was Rose who came to the rescue. Some second cousin or other had a small farm in the city that he was willing to rent. Rent would be minimal, for he really wanted a caretaker. He had a contract with the Detroit Parks Department for care of the Belle Isle ponies over the winter. What Charlie knew about farming could be put on the head of a pin, but Rose was finally in her element.

The house was quiet. Jewell was down the street visiting a girlfriend and George was in the basement smoking his pipe and playing solitaire. She was knitting while listening to Amos and Andy. After the program was over, she turned the radio off and went to the basement. Waving the offending smoke away, she spoke “George, I want you to buy a car.”

George’s mouth dropped open and the pipe fell from his teeth, clattering to the table, landing on a red Queen that was followed by black jack and red 10. He picked up his pipe and looked at her “What do you need a car for?”

“Well, we’ll be able to go out to see Charlie and the children.”

“A fat lot of good that will do, you can’t drive.”

“Emily can teach me.”

George started chuckling “The blind leading the blind. You know how Emily drives. I’d walk before I’d ride with her.”

“You’re prejudiced. Just because you never learned to drive, you think women shouldn’t be driving either. In fact you said automobiles were just a passing fancy.”

“We don’t need a car. We have the trolley and the interurban just a block away and they get us where we want to go.”

“They don’t get us to Imlay City.”

“True, but Charlie and Rose come here when they can, and that takes us out occasionally.”

“It’s not the same thing George.”

“Have you considered you are sixty years old? You don’t even know if you would be given a license to drive.”

“I can get a license all right.”

“Yes, I expect you could.”

They bought an Essex and much to George’s relief, it was Klaus Hammerschmidt, their next-door neighbor, who taught Jane how to drive, not Emily.

Driving back from their first Sunday spent at Imlay City, George said, “Jane, after all these years, you still have the capacity to amaze me.”

She was so proud she almost drove off the road.

The economy had fallen to speculation and greed. It was a full month before the impact of that fateful Tuesday in October of 1929 finally filtered down to the common man. No production meant no work. No work meant no money, and no money drove men to desperate measures. There was a pall over the nation as bread lines began to form. There were still the rich of course, and the money speculators wise enough to see it coming and diversifying their holdings prior to the fall of the stock market.

George was one of the lucky ones. The hospital still cared for the sick, and doctors and nurses were not expected to change light bulbs. It meant a reduction in salary, but they managed.

Charlie wasn’t so lucky. Rose’s cousin lost the farm and they had to move. They rented a small bungalow in Centerline, a town just north of Detroit in Macomb County. Rose’s family were all within a three mile area.

The nation voted Franklin Delano Roosevelt into the highest office in the land. His campaign promise was ‘an end to despair.’ He was elected by a landslide. It was 1934 before Roosevelt’s programs had much effect. The WPA and CCC camps were beginning to flourish. The government was providing work for those who wanted it. It was actually government sponsored welfare, but the recipients were expected to spend eight hours a day working on a public project. She admired those who clawed and fought for any type of legitimate work. On occasion she was appalled at the shovel leaners, as opposed to the ditch diggers. It became a moot point in March 1934.

The boiler that provided heat for the West Wing of the hospital was acting up. George had advised the administrator that they needed a new one. They would change over in July, when the boiler was shut down. George would simply have to make do until then. Meanwhile cold winds and snow on the ground belied the fact that it was spring.

When George entered the boiler room, Moses Williams had left for lunch. The gauges were normal except for the steam pressure—it was dangerously high. Some steam would need to be released. George grasped the valve handle and began to turn it, intending to open the valve that allowed steam to escape through vents in the roof. Suddenly the pipe, holding the valve, broke and steam, under enormous pressure, and at a temperature above boiling, enveloped George’s hands, head and upper torso. Mercifully, he lost consciousness.

In the waiting room with Jewell, waiting for the doctor to come out of emergency, Jane twisted her handkerchief into knots and then she unwound it and twisted it in the opposite direction. She knew she looked ridiculous but it was that or lose control and start screaming. After almost two hours Dr. Vandenberg came out.

“How is he doctor?”

“Come let’s sit down and I’ll explain what has happened.”

Dr. Vandenberg took her hands in his. “The injuries are significant. George’s condition is critical and he may not survive.”

“George is a strong, healthy man.”

“Yes, but the injuries are so severe, even a young man would have little chance of surviving.”

The gist was that George had lost both eyes and his face and right hand had sustained third degree burns. Even his ears were gone. They wouldn’t know until he regained consciousness, if he did, whether his hearing would be impaired. His right hand would have to be amputated to increase his chances of survival. There were third-degree burns to the neck and chest.

“I want to see him.”

“Not yet Mrs. Collins. He is still being bandaged. I’ll be back to get you in a few minutes.”

Weeping into the twisted handkerchief she turned and looked at Jewell. Jewell had heard it all and not said a word. She sat in the chair like a zombie.

“Jewell, are you all right?”

“Yes; what’s going to happen now?”

“We’re going to pray that your father recovers.”

“He’s better off dead.”

For the first time in Jewell’s forty-one years Jane laid a hand on her daughter. She slapped her sharply across the face. “You won’t say that ever again, do you understand?”

“Yes Mama.”

It was several more minutes before the doctor came for them.

“You must realize that your husband is unconscious. He is covered in bandages. You can only stay a moment. When the nurse asks you to leave, you must leave, understood?”

She nodded then turned a Jewell, “You wait here.”

“I want to come Mama.”

“No you don’t Miss Collins,” the doctor said, “It would be better if you waited.”

Opening the door she found herself staring at a mummy with tubes running into his arms. “Oh my God!”

The nurse placed a chair on the left side of the bed so she could hold George’s left hand. The nurse cautioned her to be careful not to disturb the tubing. They were restoring lost body fluid.

“George, can you hear me? Please answer me. Get well, please get well. We need you.”

“Mrs. Collins you need to leave now.”

“When can I see him again?”

“It’s doubtful he will regain consciousness today. Why don’t you come back tomorrow and if he does come around before that I’ll call you.”

Once more Carlton mortuary handled the arrangements. When the body had been released, she followed in the Essex. Before the embalming she asked to see George once more without the bandages.

Bill Carlton refused. “Jane, you and I have known each other for a long time, and God knows I’ll do almost anything for you. Remember George how he was, loving husband and father. If you insist on seeing him you’ll have to find another mortician and I still won’t let you view the body until it is removed from my premises.”

“That is cruel Bill.”

“No Jane. In the long run I’m being kind.”

“How can you say that?”

“Because it’s true. Keep your memories Jane. The body that lies in my receiving room is just a shell of a very gentle man who loved his family very much. Remember that.”

Defeated, she left.

“Mother,” Emily said, “the Masons would like to conduct a memorial service tomorrow at the funeral home.”

“Absolutely not. All that mumbo-jumbo is the devils work. I won’t have it.”

“What do you have against the Masons?” Emily asked.

“Anything that is secret is suspect. For all I know they could be in cahoots with the Ku Klux Klan.”

“For heaven sake mother, that’s ridiculous and you know it.”

“I don’t know anything of the kind.”

“You think Papa and Paddy would join any organization that acted like that. Why Paddy even sponsored me into the Eastern Star.”

“Yes, and that’s a pity. I said no, and I mean it.”

Emily sighed, accepting what she could not change.

The service for George was dignified. Those who knew him turned out in force to honor him.

The hospital bill had been assumed by Emerson and the workman’s insurance gave her five hundred dollars. There was also one-thousand dollars from life insurance. Fifteen hundred dollars wasn’t going to go very far. Desperate for money, Jane rented the upper flat to a family named Haggerty. They were very erratic in paying the rent. Ed Haggerty was not driven to overextend himself. He had grown children who seemed to be of the same persuasion as he. They roosted there like lost birds in the nest.

Jane had not paid real estate taxes for the past three years and in 1939 she received notice that the house would be sold for back taxes unless the owner, within ninety days, presented the sum of one thousand twelve dollars and sixteen cents to the city treasurer.

Emily came to the rescue but with stipulations. She agreed to pay the back taxes if the deed were transferred to her. Emily assured them that they would have a roof over their heads for as long as they lived. The rest of that year and the next was like living on a battlefield. Emily and Jewell were at sword point with each other and Jane was caught between them.

Emily provided their daily bread and Jewell provided the means of getting it on the table. Jewell was the queen of her kitchen, a domain that allowed no visitors. Any offer of help was scoffed at. Even at family dinners before George died, when there were likely to be two or more people present, Jewell would plan the menus and cook. Jewell also had great prowess as a seamstress, which bought in money from alterations to creating suits and dresses for those living in the high rent district over on Boston and Chicago Roads.

Jane was no slouch at the needle and thread either, but her true love was knitting and she too made extra money by taking special orders for sweaters, stockings and even gloves. They earned enough between them to buy their personal items and ease the stress on Emily’s pocketbook.

After George died, she lost interest in driving. She was seventy years old and so many more cars were crowding the streets now that they made her nervous. She reached a point where she would drive only places she could get to with right turns. It often necessitated intricate planning to map out a route to get where she wanted to go and then get back. Arthur became a godsend. Every two weeks he would come over and take her grocery shopping. She didn’t have money to pay him but she could promise him a lunch of his choice. It was a family joke that his choice never varied. It was always pigs in a blanket. Jewell would prepare the dough while they were gone and when the pork sausage links were delivered she would wrap them up and bake them.

Arthur could always make her laugh. He had the biggest brown eyes and a smile that could charm the pants off a nun. She was shocked at her own analogy. It must be modern times. Taking the chain lock off the wheel and throwing it on the back floorboard, Arthur said as they climbed into the car, “You know grandmother you could eliminate this if you would park in the garage.”

“It’s more convenient out front Arthur”

“Oh grandmother, admit it, you can’t back up in the alley without hitting old man Corbett’s garbage cans.”

“Watch the road Arthur. That’s one thing your aunt Emily and I have in common. We always go forward and never look back.”

“Why don’t you get rid of this heap? You hardly ever drive it, besides, its old enough to vote”

“You know Arthur I’ve been a tyrant in my time, and in many ways I still am, but I bought this old Essex to prove to myself that I could accept change. It gave me a sense of moving into the times. I would miss this old car. Seeing this setting at the curb gives me the pleasure of remembering what once was.”

“That’s it grandmother? You’ll always have the pleasure of knowing what you had? For crying out loud, memories are cheaper than license plates and car insurance.”

“What’s car insurance?”

Arthur pulled to the curb and slammed on the brakes “This car isn’t insured?”

She laughed, “Of course it is Arthur. I was only joshing.”

“You know grandmother, you are a tyrant. I knew that from the first time you made me spit out the gum I was chewing.”

“A horrible habit. You all look like cows chewing a cud. Now let’s get on the road shall we?”

Dr. Brandenberg diagnosed her condition as cancer of the pancreas. The only thing that helped ease the pain was that Emily and Jewell had reached a truce during her illness. While she was still thinking clearly, she tried to instill in them the need to look out for one another. Neither were married, Emily by choice and Jewell by circumstance. They could be a comfort to each other. The months passed, and the pain became more severe. One day she asked that Arthur stop by.

”All right Mama, he’ll be here tonight”

Arthur entered her bedroom that evening.

“Arthur, is that you?”

“Yes Grandmother.”

“Come here by the bed and let’s talk.”

“You shouldn’t be talking grandmother, you should be resting.”

“Tish Tosh. I’ll be resting for eternity. I want to see you for a specific reason.”

“What’s that Grandmother?”

“There, at the foot of my bed, is your great grandmother’s trunk. It contains all that is left of my life. A good one, don’t you doubt that for a moment, but scant in worldly goods. I want you to take out anything you like, as something to remember me by.”

“I’ll always remember you Grandmother. You’re a pretty hard person to forget.”

Arthur rummaged through the chest and finally came up with an article.

“What did you select Arthur?”

“It’s a silver sugar spoon, that has your name engraved on it.”

“That’s a good choice Arthur. That was given to me by your grandfather on my twenty-fifth birthday, along with a crystal sugar bowl and creamer, which I am sorry to say, is long since broken.”

“It doesn’t matter Grandmother.”

“No, I suppose it doesn’t. What matters are the good thoughts remembered. All of us want to be remembered for something we have accomplished in this life. We strive to do our best, but many times we don’t take advantage of our opportunities. By the way Arthur, have you a girlfriend?”

Grinning through his tears, Arthur looked at her and said, “Grandmother, you’re doing it to me again.”

“I have the right, now get out of here. I need to get some sleep.”

This is the fourth and final book in the chronicle, “On My Mother’s Side.” The entire book was handwritten after 1977. It was dictated from those hand written sheets and edited by William F. Stratton and Karen S. Schneider (Eleanor's niece).

Eleanor described this book as: "Book 4. Gospel as far as I know. Emily did experience the story. I did take the liberty of changing the names, hoping I haven't stepped on anyone's toes in the writing of this chronicle.”

In Book 4, we have Emily’s memoirs. Emily, as you recall, is the source of the anecdotes and facts that make up the first three books in the chronicle. In Book 4, she tells her own story, with her memories of the Collins’, Tuppers’, Portmans’ and Coopers’ family sagas.

Remember, these are stories about real characters who lived real lives as related to Eleanor by Irene, whose identity she thinly veiled under the name—Emily.

PROLOGUE—February 3, 1970

“I am a very old woman now, shrunken in mind and body, sitting here in my wheelchair. I'm staring out the window watching automobiles traveling north and south along Maple Road. They resemble colorful ants rushing to get home before the storm breaks. After a time this preoccupation becomes dull and I ring for an aide to put me back to bed. It will be a while yet before dinner is served; no matter, I'm not hungry. Lying here, I wonder why the past is so vivid in my memory when yesterday escapes me?”

I disliked Jewell from the first time I saw her lying in a cane wash-basket, lined with pillows and a quilt, there on the ground next to Mama. She looked like an opossum without a tail. It didn't help to have Mama tell me, “Don’t get too close. Jewell is a very delicate baby.” In the years that followed, if I heard that phrase once I heard it a thousand times and it was often reinforced with a spanking.

Don't misunderstand me. I love my mother. She's a hard-working, moral woman who holds the family together and sees to our needs. She is opinionated, but that gives her strength.

My deepest love is for my father. A quiet, gentle, unassuming man, who listens before expressing an opinion.

In spite of Jewell, we were a happy family through the good times and the bad. Paddy, Charlie and I were almost always together. In the summer we climbed trees and went down to Overton Pond to look for tadpoles and ran as fast as we could to Mooney's Drug Store to spend the five cents Papa gave to each of us, whenever he could afford it.

When school began, Mama instituted the regimen of a sturdy breakfast. We had a mile-and-a-half walk to school, and Mama insisted that a solid breakfast would nourish our minds. Mama didn't know the carrying on we did behind her back. Charlie was the only one who liked Mama's hot meals, but he liked anything he could put in his mouth. Paddy and I would eat as much as we could tolerate, then put some in Charlie's bowl and the rest in the dog's dish, that Paddy had put under the table. I often wondered why Mama never caught on, since, when Paddy and I finished, Charlie was still eating. I guess she thought we were fast eaters. We were thankful she didn't put an extra helping on our plates, thinking we were still hungry.

The winters were best. We didn't have to include Jewell, because Mama would never expose her to the cold weather, although Paddy and Charlie didn't seemed to mind when she tagged along.

We made snowmen, skated on the pond and sledded. I still have my clamp-ons. Why I kept them, I'll never know, Detroit isn't very keen on ice skating. There was the downhill on Maple Road that was a sledder's delight. There were’t many automobiles, so all we had to watch for were horses and wagons. On Saturdays, Maple was filled with sledders.

Papa made our sled. It had wooden runners so we had to push pretty hard to get started. When you reached the bottom of the hill the road narrowed into a one lane bridge that crossed Overton Creek. More than one on the sled could mean going through the ice on the creek or, worse, hitting the bridge abutments.

I remember one time, as my turn came up, one of the bigger boys tried to push in ahead of me. Paddy punched him in the nose and sent him home crying. When we got home for supper, Papa was waiting for Paddy. I was sent to my room, so I don't know what was said, but I do remember Paddy couldn't sled for two weeks.

As we got older, we were invited on sleigh rides and hayrides. All the farmers had sleighs, and those with young teens in their family could usually persuade a hired hand to take us out. We always wound up at someone's farm for hot cider, laced with cinnamon sticks. I can still taste it.

When my body began showing signs of maturing, Mama put the kibosh on further hayrides unless Paddy or Charlie accompanied me. No amount of begging could change her mind. Paddy and Charlie were never eager to go, but as a rule, one or the other would take pity on me.

During the good years, Papa would take time off in the summer and we would take the train to visit relatives in Canada, either to Kitchener to see Grandma Elizabeth, or Huron to visit Grandma and Grandpa Collins and Uncle Adam. Grandma Elizabeth would visit us to from time to time. Sometimes Uncle Adam and Aunt Grace would spend a few days with us, but Grandma and Grandpa Collins never came. Grandpa Will said he was getting too old, but Papa said he was just too set in his ways and didn't like to travel all that much.

From the time I was twelve, Mama and Papa allowed me to travel on the train alone. I visited Grandma Elizabeth and even went to Fillmore in Saskatchewan, and to Halston to meet some of Mama's relatives. Once, I went to Hamilton to see Aunt Charlotte. I liked Uncle Toby, but Aunt Charlotte was so absorbed with her dogs she had no time for me. To be honest, I didn't enjoy finding dog hairs in my food. I knew Mama and Aunt Charlotte were not close, and I had hoped that my visiting would somehow bring them closer. Even at fourteen, I was smart enough to realize that even bare tolerance was better than hatred.

I was big for my age, and looked more like eighteen then twelve. On the train, I was treated like a lady instead of a child. We had all made these trips several times, so I knew where I was going. When Huron got a spur line, I went to visit Uncle Adam and Aunt Grace. I loved Uncle Adam, he was a lot like Papa. He was always quick to laugh, and could tell a good story that would have us all giggling.

Uncle Adam was waiting for me when I stepped off the train. It had taken almost ten hours from Windsor.

"Where are your bags?"

"I think they put them in the baggage car, Uncle Adam."

In ten minutes ,we were on the way home. Uncle Adam's farm was about three miles from Huron, and while the horses plodded along the gravel road, Uncle Adam kept up the conversation.

“How are your mother and father, Emily?"

"Just fine, Uncle Adam. Papa has been real busy since he built the new school."

“What about your mother?"

"Just getting settled in the new house. When I left she was making curtains."

"How about the boys and Jewell?"

"Paddy and Charlie are working with Papa. They both quit school you know."

"Now that's a shame. No-one can ever have too much education. And Jewell?"

"Just as spoiled as ever."

"Whoa there Emily, that's not kind."

"I'm sorry Uncle Adam, it just slipped out."

"How long do you plan on staying, Emily?"

"Well, Mama said I could stay a month, if I'm not any bother."

"You're no bother lass. The reason I asked was, how would you like to go up to North Bay with us?"

"Oh Uncle Adam, could I?"

"Absolutely, time you met one of your other aunts."

Uncle Adam had two children, a boy and girl; Richard, almost fifteen, and Kate, almost ten, two years younger than me. Kate was big for her age, and we always got along. We were more like sisters than cousins, and I liked Richard a lot.

I thought that the trip from Windsor to Huron was long, but the trip to North Bay seemed an eternity. Richard and Kate were my salvation. We managed to run up and down the aisles, until either Uncle Adam or the conductor put a stop to it. When the train made the station stops, we got off to stretch our legs and buy food from the vendors, who were always there on the platform.

At last, North Bay, a sprawling town on the edge Lake Nipissing. Lumber was the main industry there, and that's what the train carried out to all points, east and south.

Aunt Jean was short and stocky with a no-nonsense air about her. Uncle Mike, only slightly taller, sported a full beard that once had been fiery red, but was now well-sprinkled with gray.

"This is Emily, Jean, George's daughter. Come up with us all the way from Detroit. Hope it won't put you out any?"

"Lord no Adam, like stacked cord wood, there’s always room for one more. I haven't heard hide nor hair from George for months, you have to tell me all about him Emily."

I could only nod.

"Come on now, and get your arses up in the wagon, we still have two miles to go," Uncle Mike scolded.

Their house was a large ramshackle place, set on ten acres outside North Bay. When Uncle Mike retired from the railroad, he planned to fix it up.

There were seven kids: Ernestine, the oldest, meant to be a boy; then there was Hattie, Martha, John, Mabel, Francis and James. It took the afternoon for the girls and me to get acquainted. Kate had the advantage over me, she already knew them. With the girls out numbering the boys, it was only plausible that the girls would have the largest room in the house. It was up under the eaves, but it was large enough to take two double beds and a single. Mabel slept alone, for she was inclined to wet the bed. While Kate and I were there, it meant sleeping three to a bed. The first night I wasn't able to do much more than climb in and fall asleep.

I was surprised to learn that every family had a Jewell. Francis was a bonafide tattletale, constantly running to Uncle Mike or Aunt Jean with the latest reports of wrong doing. Lucky for us, Uncle Mike and Aunt Jean were aware of everyones' shortcomings and ignored her complaints.

The second night, Uncle Mike treated us to homemade root beer. It doesn't take a genius to imagine the consequences of taking in copious amounts of liquid. In less than an hour the chamber pot was full, with no volunteers to empty it. Hattie opened the window, picked up the pot and looked at Mabel, who nodded, then emptied the pot out the window.

It wasn't all that hilarious the following morning. Aunt Jean, with arms crossed, said, "You got to get a longer swing Hattie, with more force behind it, the side of the house is stained. John put up the ladder. Oldest at the top, you will each take turns and scrub clean the side of the house.”

Kate and I were exempted but, since I had used the chamber pot as much as the rest, I insisted on taking my turn. Ernestine was first, and was perched quite high; then came Hattie, who was also an astounding distance from the ground; then me. By not looking down, I was able to clean my section without incident.

It was two weeks of glorious fun; there were picnics along the lake shore, where we would pull off our shoes and stockings and wade around in the icy water to look for seashells. Uncle Mike had an old concertina, and evenings after dinner we would sing until we were hoarse. I think, at that particular time, I was happier than I had ever been.

I liked school and I got good grades, and, more than anything, I wanted to go on to business college after I graduated. I could never picture myself as a wife or a mother. Mama had a hard life, and I didn't envision the same thing happening to me. Besides, what would I do if I had a child like Jewell?

As is often the case, things didn't happen according to plan. When I graduated from High School, money was scarce, so college was out. I spent that summer moping about, bemoaning my fate. I had a friend whose family was rolling in money and who were good friends with the governor. Apparently, the governor had a friend in Detroit who was looking for a tutor for his son. During the course of one conversation, my name came up. Two days later my friend told me the governor had called, and Mr. and Mrs. Martingale would be pleased to grant me an interview on Friday afternoon at two o'clock.

Friday morning I had changed dresses three times , so when it was too late to change again I went with what I had on. When I reached the foot of Woodward Avenue, I changed to another trolley. The conductor was kind enough to tell me when I should get off.

All along Jefferson, the houses were palatial. When I arrived, the maid answered and I gave her my name. I stepped into a receiving hall that seemed right out of Buckingham palace. I began to pray that Mr. and Mrs. Martingale wouldn't shake my hand, for my palms were beginning to sweat, and I was afraid the perspiration would seep through my gloves.

Straight ahead was an elegant staircase. My heart was pounding when I heard a door open and a man emerged from behind the staircase. He was short, portly and partially bald. As he came closer, I saw he was wearing a monocle. Just as I feared, he extended his hand.

"How do you do Miss Collins. I'm Grant Martingale."

"Honored to meet you sir."

"Won't you come with me? Mrs. Martingale will be with us shortly."

While we waited in the study, for what seemed an eternity, Mr. Martingale asked me where I lived; about my family; and, what Papa did for a living. At last Mrs. Martingale entered the room.

"Sorry I'm late Miss Collins. It couldn't be helped."

"It's perfectly all right Mrs. Martingale."

"Well then Grant, have you questioned Miss Collins about her qualifications?"

"No my dear, I thought I'd leave that to you."

"Have you done any tutoring before?” Mrs. Martingale asked.

"No ma'am."

"What makes you think you can tutor?"

"To be honest with you, I don't know that I can. I think that is up to your son. I do know that I was an A student. I excelled in math and algebra. I plan to attend business college."

"How old are you Miss Collins?"

"I was eighteen in May ma'am."

"My son is twelve, and mathematics is his deficiency. His other studies are up to standard. Will you wait in the hall while Mr. Martingale and I discuss this?"

"Of course.”

It was the longest twenty minutes I ever waited.

"Sit down Miss Collins."

"Thank you sir."

"Your intelligence and our need gives us a common denominator; however, there are a few particulars.”

"What are they, Mr. Martingale?"

"Your home is quite a distance away. Would you consider staying here with us and, in addition to tutoring Jonathan, work as a part-time maid. You would be expected to work as a maid on Fridays and Saturdays. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday evenings would be your own after lessons. Jonathan will be in school during the day, and you must tutor from four p.m. to six p.m."

"What about during the morning on those days? Would you allow me to take classes at college?"

"I would have no objections, Miss Collins."

"May I ask what my salary will be?"

"Room, board and five dollars a week."

"I accept your offer Mr. Martingale. It will take me two days to pack and move. Would it be acceptable to start on Monday?"

“That will be satisfactory, Miss Collins. We look forward to your addition to our household. Now, Nora will show you your room."

I enjoyed my time with the Martingale's. They were strict, but fair, and additional demands on my time were minimal. I got to know a lot of the wealthy people in Detroit—well not exactly know, but I did rub elbows with them, when serving canapés and cocktails before dinner, and picking up dirty dishes after each course during dinner. Oh, and what parties they were. The Fords; Buhl’s; Webber’s; Hudson’s; Fisher’s; Mr. Edison, when he was in town; Durrant's, and many more.

I settled on Detroit Business Academy, where I took bookkeeping and business administration. I wanted to take a shorthand course, the new Gregg method, and typing, but each would have cost an additional five dollars a semester, and twenty dollars was all I could afford. I would get by as a hunt and peck typist. Besides, figures were always my first love.

Jonathan was a lad after my own heart. A devil to be sure, but not at all like Jewell. What he didn't like, he didn't apply himself to, and he didn't like mathematics. I was just six years older than him, so it was touch and go for the first week and I was beginning to worry that I may not have a job before the start of the second week.

Jonathan especially loved English literature and military history. Military history is what saved my neck. I explained to him the use and importance of numbers in warfare. I was in over my head, but the bluff worked, and he settled down and became astute with figures.

When Jonathan turned fourteen, the Martingales sent him to a boarding school, and I was out of a job.

Thanks to Mr. Martingale's influence, I was offered a position with the Ford Motor Car Company. As a woman bookkeeper, I stuck out like a sore thumb. There were women typists, women stenographers, women file clerks and the like, but bookkeeping was another department, and I was the only woman in a room with three men. I was uncomfortable, and stayed less than a year.

While I was there I made a lifelong friend. His name was Viktor Vizek. I met him by accident; we literally bumped into each other. It was at the beginning of a thirty minute lunch break. I had intended to eat my lunch outside the factory, and Viktor had the same idea. The impact was enough to dislodge my lunch bag.

"I'm sorry Miss, forgive me."

He spoke with an accent but I couldn't place it.

"My fault, I should have looked where I was going."

"No, no, I insist, it is all my fault."

By the time we were done apologizing to each other, our lunch break was almost over. The next day we met again, this time under more favorable circumstances.

Viktor was originally from Slovakia. He was married to a Canadian girl from Parkhill. Her name, Anna Turnbull, did not register with me but I didn't know many people outside my relatives in Canada. I only know I felt an immediate affinity toward Anna, and the years ahead brought us very close.

When I left Ford Motor Company, I had no plans. I had enough money to pay the rent on my flat for a few months, but feeding and clothing myself was something else again. In a nation where women were expected to be home raising a family, I was looked upon as something of a freak.

I finally managed to find a job, as a jack of all trades, with Schwartz & Bauer, a pharmaceutical firm, whose main products were iodine, mercurochrome and gauze bandages.

I never saw Mr. Swartz, and I assumed he was a silent partner. It wasn't long before Mr. Bauer made me head bookkeeper. I was in seventh heaven. Twenty-two years old and practically my own boss.

Grandma Elizabeth came for a visit, and as a treat I got tickets for all of us to see Harry Lauder's performance at the Schubert-Lafayette Theater. The seats were excellent, thanks to Mr. Bauer, third row center aisle. Harry's Scottish brogue, along with some rather risqué lyrics, brought the house down. Grandma laughed hysterically at his antics, and I'll always remember her joy. It wasn't long after that, Mama got the telegram from Aunt Charlotte, saying that Grandma had died.

When I arrived at the house, Mama told me Papa had retreated to the cellar to smoke his pipe. I didn't say anything, but I was furious that Jewell could smoke her cigarettes in her room and Papa was relegated to the cellar.

I was unprepared for what I found. Papa had laid out a hand of solitaire, but wasn't playing. His pipe lay cold in the ashtray beside his cards. From where I stood, I could hear gulps of anguish.

"Papa, are you all right?"

The sound of my voice seemed to release the dam. Papa dropped his head into his arms and began sobbing.

"Papa, it's all right. Please don't cry."

"Oh Sis, I'm glad I can mourn. Lizzie was like a mistress to me."

"Papa, what are you saying?"

“No Sis, not like that. Never like that."

"Would you like to talk about Grandma?"

"Will you listen and share the secret with me?"

"Of course I will Papa."

He took a handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose. "Sis, never for one minute do I want you to think I don't love your mother. I have always loved her and always will, but Lizzie was different. She wasn't much older than me and it was probably more idol worship than love. I can still feel the slap she gave me to bring me to my senses when Pa fell off the roof and broke his arm. There was never a day that I didn't think of her at least once. We shared the good and bad together, both hers and mine. If she had any enemies, I don't know them. She had a temper all right, but it was always for good reason. When she came back from Lake of the Woods, she had changed. The smile wasn't as quick, and she was more contemplative. She told me a bit about an experience she had while she was up there. An Indian lad wanted to marry her. It was an impossible situation, and the lad took ill and died. Except for the dying part, I envy that lad. He had asked for something that I wanted or thought I did at the time. Isn't that nonsense? I was sure when she came back that she would settle in the States, so I had another disappointment when she returned to Canada."

"Did Grandma Elizabeth know how you felt?"

"I'm sure she did, but never once was anything said. We were friends without being lovers. It was as if we were bound together. Do you understand what I'm saying Sis?"

“I think I do Papa. Thank you for telling me."

"Let's go up to your mother. She needs comforting too."

I was saddened by Grandma's death, mainly because I really didn't get to know her. I could only recall a few incidents. I remember an Indian doll, and my graduation from high school. My visits to Kitchener were always short. She told me next to nothing about her youth and her life in England. She always told me to ask my mother.

It was mid-year, 1915, that I found out something new about the operations of Swartz & Bauer. At the time the United States wasn't at war, but the rest of the world was.

Mr. Bauer called me into his office. "Miss Collins, I want you to go to Toronto and leave orders with our subsidiary for two thousand bottles of iodine to be delivered by the fifteenth of July."

"Pardon me Mr. Bauer, I didn’t know we had a subsidiary in Canada."

"We operate independently."

"Wouldn't it be easier to make a telephone call sir?"

"Perhaps, but with all this war talk, and garbled phone lines, it is much easier to communicate directly, so there is no chance for errors. I'd like you to leave tomorrow morning."

"Very well Mr. Bauer. Tell me where I need to go."

It would be an overnight stay, and I could see no reason why I should spend it alone, so I called Uncle Pete's grandson, Matthew, to ask him to meet me in Toronto.

“Sure Em, do you mind if I bring a friend?"

"Of course not. I'll have the evening off. I only have to leave an order and then I'm free."

"That's great Em, we'll meet you in the lobby of the York, at seven."

It was almost five o'clock when the train pulled into the Toronto station. When I got to the address, I asked the cabbie to wait. The building was nondescript but I could see there was no manufacturing attached. I headed up the stairs to a door marked “S & B Enterprises.” A wizened old man looked up from his ledger. "Miss Collins?"

"Yes sir, I have an order to relay to you."

"I'll take it Miss Collins, and see that it is filled."

"Thank you. Is there anything else Mr⁠—“

"No, I think not. Have a pleasant evening Miss Collins."

It was after six by the time I got to the York, but I had time to freshen up before meeting Matthew and his friend. The lobby was crowded as I stepped out of the elevator. Khaki and brown serge seemed to be the colors of the day. There were so many young men in uniform. Suddenly it dawned on me that Canada was at war.

"Over here, Em!"

I spotted Matt, and jostled my way to his side. "Heavens Matt, I didn't realize that there were so many men in service."

"Aye, a good many of them will be shipping out soon. They're billeted here, waiting for orders."

He led me a few feet away to meet his friend. "Emily, this is Michael Francis O'Herlihy, a born rascal from the auld sod."

Standing in front of me, with his hand extended, was a man at least six feet three inches tall. I fell totally in love.

"Ah cut the comic will you Matt. What's Miss Collins going to think? I'm happy to make your acquaintance, Miss Collins."

"Have you eaten yet, Em?"

It took me a second to realize that Matt was speaking to me. "I had a sandwich about three o'clock."

"Then I say let's go get some dinner. We'll never get a table here, what say we go over to Yonge Street and eat Italian?"

"Whatever you say Matt."

At this stage I was incapable of thinking. I hated Italian food. Italians seem to have an undying love affair with garlic, definitely not my favorite flavoring. It really didn't matter, since my confused state prevented me from eating much, and whatever garlic I consumed I didn't remember. The wine I did remember, for the three of us consumed an entire bottle. It was after nine when we left the restaurant, and Matt and Michael had a ten-thirty train to catch.

"It's been good seeing you again, Em. Planning anymore trips up here?"

"It depends on my boss, but I'm sure I can make it up for a weekend sometime."

"I insist Miss Collins, that you come again very soon."

"I'll see, now good night. All that wine has made me sleepy." With that I pecked Matt on the cheek and shook Michael's hand. I had lied. I wasn't a bit sleepy, and in fact, spent the night in a fantasy dreamworld.

Holding the Saturday Eccentric, Paddy quoted from a new item on the front page. Canadian troop ships torpedoed by German U-boats.

Papa said, "I don't understand how they know when the poor boys are sailing. It's sad, very sad."

In May 1916, when the ice began breaking up, Mr. Bauer sent me to Toronto with an order for three thousand corn plasters to be delivered to Halifax by the second of June. It meant a chance to see Michael again.

I had spent the weekend before Christmas with Uncle Peter and his family, but Michael wasn't there. I wondered if Michael would even remember me. When I called to tell Matt I would be at the York on the weekend of May sixteen he swore, "Damn Em, we're right in the middle of spring plowing. We've got to keep at it as long as the weather holds. Tell you what, if it rains I'll be there, if it doesn’t, I'll send Michael to keep you company."

"That's fine Matt, I'll see you soon.” I hung up the phone praying for fair weather on the sixteenth.

Michael met me at the York that evening and I was as tongue tied then as I had been the first time I met him.

"Miss Collins, what do you say we drop the Mister and Miss. Call me Michael. May I call you Emily?"

"Yes, please."

"Good, now, if you'll take my arm, let's stroll about the town to work up an appetite. Seems to me the last time we met you hardly touched your plate."

"I don't care for Italian food."

"For heaven sake, why did you not say so?"

Blushing, and not about to admit my loss of appetite was due to him, I merely said, "I thought Italian was Matt's favorite food."

"Well, we will correct that tonight. What would you like to eat?"

"I'm not very well acquainted with Toronto, why don't you choose."

"Very well. What do you think about French onion soup?"

I could feel my stomach churn. Onions were right next to garlic on my list of dislikes. "It sounds wonderful Michael, onion soup it is.” I had this strange feeling that it certainly must be love, for twice in a row I was forcing my stomach to accept something that reviled me.

It wasn't that bad. Thick slices of French bread dripping in butter were a perfect match for the soup. I drained off the broth leaving most of the onions in the bottom of the bowl.

After the waiter had picked up the dishes and headed for the kitchen Michael spoke."You disappoint me Emily."

"Why do you say that?"

"You don't like onion soup any better than you like Italian food do you?"

"Well, really, no."

"I have a lot of talents but mind reading isn't one of them."

"I thought it would please you Michael."

"Joseph, Mary and Jesus, Emily, you are a twit."

I could feel my romance coming to an abrupt end and felt the tears mounting.

"Now don't be bawling on me, for crying out loud."

"I'm sorry Michael."

"And damn well you should be. Stand up for your rights. Say what you feel."

"You won't believe it, but I generally do."

I made two more trips to Toronto that year; one in August with an order for Montréal and again in November with an order for Halifax.

In November, I could sense a feeling of apprehension and this was reinforced when Mr. Bauer said, "I think this will be your last trip Miss Collins. Our distributors are having difficulty filling orders. Seems the war effort is more than iodine and bandages and we are losing money."

"We are financially sound Mr. Bauer."

"Here yes, there no."

I don't know whether Mr. Bauers' comments, or my second sense, had anything to do with it, but I had the feeling that I was being watched. All the way to the train in Windsor I could feel the hair raise on the back of my neck. I looked about, but saw nothing out of the ordinary.

When the order had been delivered to Mr. Sprechjohn—I finally learned his name on my August trip—I went to the York to meet Michael and Matt. If this were to be my last business trip, I hoped perhaps Michael and I could spend some time alone.

I was totally unprepared for what I saw when I arrived. Grinning from ear to ear were Matt, Michael and my younger cousin, Paul, in the drab brown uniform of the Canadian Expeditionary Forces. Standing beside Paul, was his girlfriend Margie.

"Surprised you eh Em?" Matt was quick to say.

"I don't believe this."

"Believe it Em. It was only a matter of time, so we decided to take the bull by the horns and enlist."

"You too Michael?"

"Me too Emily; from here we go to Halifax for two weeks for final training, and then over to England."

"Can't wait to set my sights on the bloody Hun,” said Paul.

"You're all fools, bloody fools."

The grins disappeared. and all three faces showed an expression of determination that no American was going to dislodge.

"Let's drop it eh Emily? Didn't know it was going to hit you this hard," said Matt.

I almost turned away and ran. Margie must have sensed my thoughts, because she took my arm, "Easy Emily. You've got to realize that so far the United States isn't involved, so it isn't your war. Should England fall, Canada will fall with her. I don't like Paul going off to fight people he doesn't know, but I'm proud that he considered our motherland something to fight for. We are a proud people Emily. I'm sure if the circumstances were reversed, you would feel the same way."

It was the longest speech I ever heard Margie make, and by the time she was finished, all of us had more or less rationalized the situation. Who was I to interfere with patriotism, even if it meant I could lose my one and only love.

"I say we all go over to the Joker for a drink and then decide what we're going to do," said Matt.

Trying my best to seem nonchalant, I replied with, ”All right, as long as I don't have to eat Italian food or French onion soup."

Everyone was laughing as we tripped off. As a final fling before Paul left for Halifax, he and Margie took off to do the town. Matt had found an amiable companion at the Joker, and he too disappeared. It left Michael and me alone.

"Another glass of wine Emily?"

"No, I don't want anymore."

"Let's go back to the hotel, I want to talk to you."

"What about?"

"Why do you have this propensity to ask questions?"

"I'm remembering what you told me. Always speak my mind. Isn't that what you said?"

"Sometimes I think I gave you a wrong bit of advice."

The lobby of the York was just as congested as when we had left.

"We can't talk here Emily. Let's go to your room."

"I can't have you in my room. What would people think?"

"Good God, look around you; do you see anyone you know or are likely to see again?"

I shook my head.

I turned the key in the lock and the door swung open. I snapped on the light and left the door open.

"I don't think you trust me Emily."

"I'll be perfectly honest with you Michael, I am uncomfortable."

"Believe it or not, I can be trusted."

"I don't question that, it's only that I was properly brought up, and having a strange man in my room would be frowned upon."

"A strange man Emily? Surely, I am more to you than that?"

I could only nod.

Michael sat in the chair, while I gingerly settled myself at the foot of bed.

"Emily? I want you to wait for me. This war isn't going to last forever."

"Oh Michael, of course I shall."

"I'm talking marriage Emily, but not until I get back."

"Why not? I love you Michael."

"I love you too, but until this war is settled, I will not subject you to my problems."

"What problems Michael?"

"Foremost is my mother."

"What about her?"

"I don't mean to short your sensibilities Emily, but I was a change of life baby, my mother is seventy-four years old. I'm responsible for her. My father is dead. I cannot expect you to assume responsibility for something you are no party to."

"What is she going to do while you are away?"

"She has a cousin in Detroit, who has agreed to take care of her. It would mean a good deal to me if you'd look in on her from time to time."

"Of course I shall Michael. Does your mother know about me?"

"She knows you as an American friend of mine. I think right now, it would be best if it stayed that way."

"Are you ashamed of me?"

"Of course I'm not ashamed of you. It's only that Ma's old and not well. I want to spare her additional worries."

"I'm a worry?"

"For God sake Emily, be reasonable. I'm all Ma has."

"What about me?"

"We'll have our time."

"When, like now in a hotel room? A clandestine meeting when we feel no one is looking?"

"Emily, I truly don't want to be upset with you. You are something new in my life. I want to care for and protect you. Please, will you try to see my side?” He rose from the chair and pulled me to my feet and kissed me. I clung to him as tenaciously as he clung to me. We swayed together for a few moments, then his hands began to explore my body. I pushed him away.

"No, Michael, I can't."

"Please, Emily, please."

"Be sensible Michael. You don't want a commitment until the war is over. I could become pregnant, and then where would your commitment be? And me, with a child who has no father, I'd be ostracized.”

"You probably won't become pregnant Emily."

"Probably is not good enough. From past history, women on my mother's side conceive easily, and there is nothing to lead me to believe I will be any different."

I could see his disappointment, but I was adamant. Had he not stood before me in a uniform, I know my heart would have taken over my head.

"Do you have to go back tomorrow morning, Emily?"

"No, I don't have to."

"Would you stay? Our passes don't expire until five tomorrow. We could spend most of the day together. Margie would stay, except she doesn't have a room. Would you share yours? Then we can all be together tomorrow."

"I suppose that would be all right.”

I wasn't going to enjoy having Margie with me since I had so much to think about, but I couldn't refuse.

”Then I guess I'd better get going and try to head them up. I'll have Margie come up when she gets here. Is that all right?"

"That's fine Michael. What time shall we meet tomorrow?"

"Lets have breakfast together. Sunday morning shouldn't be a problem in the dining room. Eight o’clock?" He gave me a lingering kiss at the door and was gone.

It was almost one a.m. when Margie knocked on the door.

"I'm sorry Emily that I'm so late, but we were having such a good time, I didn't want to leave."

"It's all right Margie, I wasn't asleep."

"I really appreciate your taking me in tonight, otherwise I'd have had to take the train home, and I want to spend as much time with Paul as I can. He thinks they are leaving for Halifax Monday morning."

"Did Paul tell you that?"

"No, it was Michael. He thinks because their passes expire at five, it means traveling orders the following morning. Oh, by the way, we're all going our separate ways tomorrow morning, meet at Benson's at one for dinner, then see the boys off."

Margie slept in her chemise, since she had no nightdress. We were lucky that both of us were thin, so we managed to rest. At least we weren't forcing each other out of bed when we turned during the night. I was restless, so at six I got up and took a bath, hoping the hot water would soothe me.

Margie had taken over the bed. Paul didn't get to bed any earlier than she did, so I didn't see any point in wakening her. I left a note for her that I was meeting Michael, and would see them at Benson's.

I was early getting to the dining room. Michael was right, the dining room was almost deserted. Apparently, Saturday night revelries were not conducive to early Sunday morning eating. I ordered a cup of coffee while I waited. The only other person occupying a table, was a man who had his head buried in the morning paper. It wasn't long before Michael showed up. "How are you this morning Emily?"

"Tell the truth, I'm rather weary. After our talk last night I didn't sleep very well, besides, have you ever tried to sleep two in a single bed?"

"Look at it this way Emily, you were performing an act of mercy."

"I certainly hope so. I'd hate to think that these bags under my eyes count for nothing."

"You are beautiful Emily. You always will be."

I couldn't help but blush.

After we had eaten, we bundled up and walked hand-in-hand around Toronto. We talked, but left the intimacies of the night before alone.

It was a tearful farewell when we put the boys on the train to their camp just outside of Toronto. Michael was fairly certain that they would ship the next day to Halifax.

I was still dejected when I stepped off the ferry in Detroit and I didn't notice that three men were following me until I was through the customs gate.

"Miss Collins?"

"Yes, what do you want?"

"We would like to talk to you."

"I think not, I don't know you."

The three men reached into their coat pockets and produced badges that showed they were federal agents.

"What do you want?"

"Just some information, Miss Collins."

"How can I help you?"

"You work for Swartz & Bauer?"

"Yes, for about five years."

"Are you familiar with their products?"

"Of course I am. It's a small pharmaceutical company that manufactures astringents and adhesive bandages."

"Why were you in Toronto?"

"I left an order with our Canadian subsidiary. I also visited with some friends."

"You've left more than one of these orders, Miss Collins?"

“Yes, I have. Mr. Bauer worried that the telephone and telegraph were unstable, and for the best results, personal contact was necessary."

"Do you know why you have been ordering in Canada Miss Collins?"

"Of course I do. The subsidiary fills Canadian orders. It’s easier to pass through customs if the products are manufactured in Canada, rather than in the United States."

"When did you start ordering through Canada?"

"A little over a year ago."

"You have been the only one to place these orders?"

"To my knowledge, yes."

“Do you know what you were ordering in Canada?"

"I just told you. Don't you listen? The company supplies astringents and adhesive bandages."

"I'm sure that's what Mr. Bauer wanted you to think."

"I don't understand."

"Miss Collins, you have been carrying Canadian troop movements to German agents."

"That's impossible, I don't know anything about troop movements."

"I don't think you do, however the orders you carried gave the Germans all the information they needed. Inspector Jensen here has followed you the last three trips you've made."

Now I could account for my sense of being watched. The man who stood before me was the same man behind the newspaper in the York dining room this morning.

"Are you sure that you aren't mistaken?"

"No, Miss Collins we are not mistaken. We need you to come with us downtown for a statement, and for a positive identification of Mr. Bauer as the person who issued the orders.”

We rode the few short blocks in an open Model T touring car. I was glad the ride wasn't any longer. I was cold, and I was sure the chill in my heart would never leave me. What had I done?

I was escorted to the District Attorney's office, where a stenographer took down everything I said. When I signed the statement I asked, "Am I going to prison?"

"No, I don't think so."

"Are you sure?"

"Mr. Bauer has confessed, and he does not implicate you in any way. He only stated that, at your age, you are either very naïve or very stupid. I don't think you're stupid."

"I still do not understand how you would know, from the orders, what was going on."

"Very simple Miss Collins, the destination of the orders were ports of departure. The day of delivery was the sailing date. The quantity represented Canadian troops on board."

"Oh my God, Mr. Bailey, I just left an order with Mr. Sprechjohn. You've got to stop it."

"We already have. We've had you under surveillance for quite some time."

I started crying, something I seldom did.

"What's the matter Miss Collins?"

"I'm responsible for the firing on those ships Mr. Bailey. God, how many fine young men have sent I sent to their deaths?"

"Miss Collins, don't distress yourself. We managed to get a counterintelligence agent into the spy ring and he substituted incorrect departure days."

"I suppose that was the reason Mr. Bauer told me that this past weekend would probably be my last."

"That's likely, Miss Collins; I think Mr. Bauer could see the handwriting on the wall and wanted to get out."

"If you knew about all this, why did you wait so long?"

"We needed all the ring, not just Sprechjohn and Bauer, and that took time. Now I'll have an officer see you downstairs to identify Bauer, and then you are free to leave; however, please remain in the city. There might be more questions."

I really didn't want to see Mr. Bauer, but there was no way out. When I approached his cell, he stood up."Well, Miss Collins, it seems that we have come to the parting of the ways, and I'm truly sorry."

"Are you really Mr. Bauer? Do you know what you have put me through? You've made me a traitor to my country."

"Nonsense, you were only an innocent bystander, a tool who served a useful purpose."

Before I could respond, the officer asked, "Is this the man who gave you orders to carry to Canada Miss Collins?"

"Of course he is."

"Then you may leave."

I would have liked to vent my anger further, but the officer had me by the arm, pulling me away. Mr. Bauer merely shrugged as I left.

The next day I went over to Swartz & Bauer to clean out my desk and pick up a few personal items. The building was locked and sealed with a notice: “Trespassers will be prosecuted.”

There was very little in the papers regarding the espionage ring. I read two articles in the Free Press, well off the front page. One said that Carl Bauer was being confined in Federal Prison as an undesirable alien, and would be deported as soon as feasible. The other article on page ten was only a sentence:

There were no names.

I wept, not only for those men, but for myself, and the part I played in that terrible crime.

I lived in near seclusion from November 1916 until war against Germany was declared on April 6, 1917. I had saved enough money so that I did not need to work. I saw few people, other than my family, and Viktor and Anna Vizek. I told no one of my part in the spy ring.

I wrote faithfully to Michael, Matt and Paul. They had stayed together until they were shipped to France. Michael was in a supply company, while Matt and Paul were assigned to a cavalry company. Care and feeding of the horses and asses, Matt wrote.

In early 1918, I went to the federal building in Detroit to volunteer my services in the Marinettes, a slang term for the small group of women, enlisted into the US Marine Corps, to serve stateside, allowing male Marines to fight in Europe. I had picked that service because most of the women in the Army were nurses, but there were clerical jobs for Marinettes.

I was crushed to find out that my part in the spy ring was a matter of record, and my services were not welcomed. I went to see Agent Bailey hoping he could help with my enlistment.

"I'm sorry Miss Collins. I know this is hard for you. Believe me, if it were up to me, I'd take you in a minute and be glad for it, but your association with Bauer is on public record and there will always be doubts regarding your integrity."

"Mr. Bailey, that's not fair."

"Of course it isn't Miss Collins, but that's the way the government looks at the record."

"Is this stigma going to follow me into the private workforce?"

"I don't see why it should."

"Thank you for your time Mr. Bailey."

"Thank you Miss Collins for your patriotism. I'm truly sorry."

My heart was heavy but I was determined to help the war effort, despite the roadblocks.

Viktor and Anna had me over for dinner a few days later. It was a different dinner from the many others. There was an air about it. Anna and I were having coffee and Viktor had a brandy in his hand when he spoke, "Emily, I would like you to come and stay with Anna while I'm gone. It will ease my mind."

"Where are you going?"

"I've enlisted in the Army."

"You can't be serious. It’s unlikely you’ll be called up, you're married."

"Possibly not, but the Germans are overrunning my country and I want to help stop them."

"This is your country now Viktor. You'd be foolish to give up your good job."

"Mr. Ford himself told me yesterday that my job will be waiting, besides, can I do less than defend my adopted country which has given me so many opportunities."

I could see I was not going to change his mind.

Anna and I got along famously. She worked in the alteration department at Crowley's downtown, and I soon found a job as bookkeeper downtown, with the firm of Montrose & Carstairs. The name sounded more regal than the actual working conditions warranted. Montrose & Carstairs were in the bag business. They imported sisal, burlap, cotton, wool, canvas and even rayon if they had an order for it. Bags were custom cut and sewn to size, for anything from coal sacks to flour sacks. Even though I worked on the second floor, each morning meant dusting my desk and chair before I could sit down. The third floor was not as bad but it was used only for storage. There were at least twenty years of orders, invoices and the like, packed in boxes and forgotten. The environment was not comfortable but Mr. Montrose and Mr. Carstairs trusted me, treated me well, and paid me handsomely.

The most recent letter from Michael sounded depressing. He was worried about his mother and wondered if I had had a chance to look in on her. I felt guilty, for I hadn't. My problems with Schwartz & Bauer had left me unsettled, and I didn't feel up to socializing, but I knew I'd have to make the effort.

Mrs. O'Herlihy and her cousin, Mamie, lived on Sheridan, on the East side of Detroit. Since leaving the Martingale's home, I had become a west side girl and the East side was as foreign to me as Japan. The shortest route was to take the Claremont Cross-Town, and after three transfers I'd wind up at Sheridan and Gratiot. The other route was longer, but simpler. I could take the Grand River car downtown, transfer to the Gratiot and ride it out to Sheridan.

Before spending an hour and a half on the trollies I called Mrs. O'Herlihy to ask if she were going to be home on Sunday afternoon. A fragile voice told me that they would be pleased to receive me for tea at five o'clock.

I was fifteen minutes late, for I hadn't realized that I would have to walk six blocks from Gratiot. It was only a moment after I twisted the bell until a woman with flaming red hair and a mouth full of false teeth answered the door.

"Good afternoon, I'm Emily Collins. Mrs. O'Herlihy is expecting me."

"You're late, come in."

"I'm sorry, it took me longer than I anticipated."

"Give me your coat and gloves and go into the parlor. Deirdre is waiting for you."

“What a lovely name,” I thought. I still think Deirdre is a beautiful name but it certainly didn't fit Michael's mother. Sitting in a straight-back chair dressed in black she looked more to me like a Mona. I tried to maintain my composure, after all this was Michael's mother.

"So you're Michael's friend?"

"Yes, I am. We met through mutual friends in Canada—second cousins, on my mother's side."

"What do you hear from Michael?"

"I had a letter just last week. He was concerned about you."

"Well, I only write the truth. I'm not feeling well. If one thing doesn't go wrong, then another does."

"Is there any way I can help you?"

"No, it's up to our Lord Jesus to care for me."

As we talked, I glanced about the room. It was a shrine to Catholicism. Palm leaves, poked behind religious pictures, once vibrant green had turned gray; Mary, the mother of Christ, was holding her babe in arms; the Sacred Heart of Jesus (which I always found loathsome) hung bleeding against a glass framed with angels and cherubim floating unperturbed while my Savior slowly bled to death.

I was jolted from my musing when Deirdre shouted, "Any time now Mamie, we would appreciate a cup of tea."

"Keep your shirt on Deirdre. I'll be there when I get there."

I think Deirdre knew that Michael and I were more than friends and she was just waiting for me to admit it. I was not about to give her the satisfaction.

"Do you embrace the Catholic faith Miss Collins?"

"No, when I attend I go to the Episcopal."

"May God have mercy on your soul."

"That's not necessary Mrs. O'Herlihy; I'm sure God watches over me, the same way he watches over you."

"That's blasphemy, Miss Collins."

"Only in your eyes, Mrs. O'Herlihy.”

I was angry and I had decided that if Mamie didn't show up with tea in the next two minutes I was going to leave, which I'm sure Deirdre would enjoy. She'd have quite a letter to write to Michael.

Just in time, Mamie entered the room pushing an elegant tea cart. She stopped in front of Deirdre's chair.

"You pouring or should I?"

"I'll pour. You sit down and try to act like a lady."

Mamie had prepared strawberry jam sandwiches and three small pieces of pound cake. I only took tea. Watching Mamie and Deirdre devour the food made me glad that I declined, they certainly had good appetites, feeling poorly or not.

Composing a letter to Michael that evening was difficult. I felt Deirdre would give him all the details of our conversation, so I merely said that his mother seemed well, if a little frail, and worried about her son and wished he was home. I thought I would give him my impression of Mamie when she opened the door.

"That hair of hers looked like a carrot that exploded above ground. Ha ha!"

The rest of the letter was about how much I missed him.

Three weeks later that I received an answer to my letter.

After I got over being mad, I became infuriated. How dare he assume I was in the wrong. Not only did he lack a sense of humor, but he was a Mama's boy as well. I knew I was probably overreacting, but it angered me nonetheless.

Mama called me and insisted I spend the coming Sunday with them and that I be on time for dinner. I could sense that Mama had something on her mind but I had no idea what it could be.

To give the devil her due, Jewell could cook. After a delicious meal, Jewell cleaned up, insisting that we weren't needed. At that point I still didn't know what Mama had on her mind but I knew she wouldn't say anything in front of Jewell. I excused myself and went down to the cellar to kibitz Papa's game of solitaire. He motioned me to a chair.

"Sit down Sis, how's everything with you?"

"Except for this damnable war it couldn't be better."

"Understand you got a boyfriend?"

I knew now what Mama wanted to talk about.

"Who told you that?"

"It wasn't a little bird, but more likely a little letter from Canada."

"The Tuppers?"

"Aye, the Tuppers."

“Damn, I didn't want Mama to know, at least not yet."

"What's the harm, Sis?"

"Well Papa, I think there are going to be complications."

"You mean Catholic and Irish?"

"Oh Papa, this is such a mess."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"I don't know if I can."

"You've got to talk to someone. I'm a good listener and I don't talk unless I have something to say that's constructive."

"Well, I met Michael—Michael Francis O'Herlihy—when I was carrying orders over to Canada for Swartz & Bauer.” I shuddered when I thought about my trips to Canada.

"Something the matter, Sis?"

"No Papa, not now, perhaps someday I'll tell you about that. Anyway, from the first time we met there seemed to be a magnetic force that drew us together."

"Like your mother and me."

"Yes, oh Papa, he's so handsome and tall. He's kind and compassionate, or at least I thought he was. Since he's been in the service he's changed."

"Sis, war changes all men."

"I know Papa, but this is different."

"How different?"

"He wants me to convert to the Roman Church."

"Are you going to, or more to the point, do you want to?"

"No, and that's the stumbling block. I cannot change my religion, and Mrs. Deirdre O'Herlihy, a devout Irish Catholic, cannot accept mine, or even meet me halfway."

"What are you going to do, Sis?"

"I don't know yet Papa. I haven't answered Michael's last letter. I'm still too angry, and I need time to think."

"Take your time Sis. Remember your mother's old saying, "Marry in haste and repent in leisure?""

We both began giggling. Papa held me for a moment.

"Thanks for listening, Papa."

"Thanks for letting me, Sis."

It was reminiscent of our conversation when Grandma Elizabeth died.

I knew the worst was yet to come. Mama didn't have Papa's patience or understanding. I knew I was going to come under a verbal shelling that would be just as loud as those our boys were receiving in Europe. Jewell had finished up in the kitchen and was upstairs in her room with the door closed. Mama motioned me to a chair in the parlor and said, "Emily, I am ashamed of you."

"What ever for Mama?"

"Don't play innocent Missy. Who's this Michael O'Herlihy and what does he mean to you?"

"He's Michael Francis O'Herlihy, a Canadian soldier serving in France. We are in love and plan to marry when he gets home."

"You're insane, absolutely insane. I can't believe this."

"It's true Mama."

"Why are you doing this?"

"It just happened Mama."

"With a name like O'Herlihy, I can reasonably assume he's Irish."

"That's right Mama."

"Being Irish I can also assume he's Catholic?"

"That's true Mama."

"God in heaven, where is your common sense? You're certainly old enough to know better."

"What do you have against Irish Catholics Mama?"

"Nothing, as long as they don't touch on our lives. They are callow, self-righteous heathens who have no sense of responsibility and are usually found in a saloon, blind drunk."

"Mama, you aren't being fair."

"Fair or not, it's the truth. I can tell you about the Irish from first-hand experience if you want."

"No Mama, I've heard it all before."

"Are you going to become a papist?"

"No Mama, I'm not."

"Thank God for small favors."

It was ironic. Deirdre O'Herlihy and Jane Collins were as alike as two peas in a pod, except for being on opposite ends of the pod.

"How does this O'Herlihy intend to support you? Where will you live? What about children?"

"I don't know Mama. We haven't discussed it."

"You haven't discussed it? What in God's name have you discussed? How he'll love and cherish you; how he'll take care of you; how love conquers all? What if he comes home maimed? For God's sake Emily, think."

“Mama, I'm 28 years old. If mistakes are to be made, they will be mine."

"I want what's best for you Emily, and this isn't it, believe me."

"You don't know that Mama, you haven't even met Michael."

"When you've met one Irish Catholic, you've met them all."

"Mama, I don't want to hear any more of this."

Papa came up from the cellar. "You'd best keep your voices down or the whole village will know our business, if they don't already."

"George, do something. Talk some sense into Emily."

"Leave it be Jane Love. Sis will make the right decision."

I didn't sleep well. My mind whirled in all directions at once. I couldn't concentrate on anything that Deirdre had said, or anything Michael had written, or anything Papa and Mama had said. It was still dark but the birds were chirping before I fell asleep.

I waited a week before I answered Michael's letter. The anger had become hurt and disappointment. I would have to be very careful to write what was in my heart and still leave Michael some shred of self respect.

I sealed the envelope and took it straight to the letterbox before I could change my mind. There was one more thing I had to do to end this heartbreaking affair.

Thanksgiving was the following week, and I didn’t want my visit to Deirdre with this hanging over my head like the Sword of Damocles. I phoned for permission to call on Deirdre and she agreed. The streetcar ride was as long as the first time except the weather was quite cold. With no snow, walking the six blocks was easy.

"How are you today Mrs. O'Herlihy?"

"Only tolerable; well, sit down girl. As you can see Mamie and me didn't wait for you. We've already had our tea, but there's enough in the pot for a cup if you'd like one."

I sat down, but declined the tea. I suppose she was offended by that too. Tea was never one of my favorites and the thought of lukewarm tea was unpleasant. Mamie set in a chair under the Sacred Heart of Jesus and waited. She had missed Deirdre's and my conversation last time by being in the kitchen. This time she intended to take it all in. No doubt they had their tea earlier so that I could accommodate her.

"I came over Mrs. O'Herlihy, to apologize to you for being rude. I'm sorry. It will never happen again."

"I should think not young lady, but I think you should apologize to Mamie too."

"Whatever for?"

"For what you wrote about her to Michael."

Never was I so glad that I had written and mailed that letter to Michael. It was unpardonable of Michael to share with anyone what I considered personal and private. It was the final straw, and for the first time, I felt a lightness of heart.

"Mamie, I'm sorry I said your hair looked like an exploded carrot.” I started to giggle. "But Mamie the truth shouldn't hurt."

"Well, I never," Mamie sniffed.

"I'm sorry, I really must leave. It will be dark before I get home."

"One moment Miss, just what do you and Michael plan to do?"

"Oh Mrs. O'Herlihy, I'm sure Michael will tell you when he's ready."

Anna went with me to Birmingham for Thanksgiving. Thank goodness it was a houseful. Mama had no time to question me about what I had decided.

With dinner over and Papa in need of a smoke, he challenged Anna to a game of cribbage. She accepted gratefully, for she was certainly in the enemy camp as far as religion was concerned. Looking about the parlor it was a panorama of what I suppose could be described as the typical family. Rose was trying to talk with Maria, without much success. I always felt sorry for Rose. She always seemed at odds with herself, but a kinder or more considerate person I never met. Mama was upbraiding Charlie for some minor infraction, and that left only Paddy and me.

"What say we walk off a little of that turkey Sis?"

"I heartily agree."

Taking Evelyn and James with us, we walked the familiar streets of the village. The children were like dogs off the leash. They ran in every direction, coming back to home base from time to time to make sure we were still there. Paddy and I were silent, both of us deep in private thoughts.

"Sis, Ma's waiting for your answer."

"I know she is Paddy. She's going to be happy, even if I am not."

"Then you are not going to marry O'Herlihy when he returns?"

"No, and Paddy, it has nothing to do with Mama."

"I understand Sis, I've been through it too."

"You mean Maria?"

"Yes. Would it shock you to know that I married Maria, not out of love, but out of convenience."

"I can't be shocked if I don't understand."

"Maria is my ticket to staying out of the Army."

"Oh Paddy, you aren't serious?"

"Yes, I am, and I confess I took advantage of her."

"How?"

"She doesn't know even now why I married her. For her it was love, for me it was salvation."

"Paddy you don't have to tell me this."

"No, I suppose I don’t, since you aren't any kinder to Maria than the others. Can't you try to give Maria some semblance of belonging. After all it's not her fault, it's mine."

"I'm truly sorry Paddy. I'll try to do better, but for the life of me why Maria?"

"She was vulnerable and asked no questions."

"My God Paddy, that's cruel."

"I know it is, but at the time I saw no alternative. Short of suicide there was no other way to escape the war."

"You contemplated suicide?"

"Oh yes Sis, and without fear."

"Paddy, what you must have gone through."

"No more than what you are facing now Sis."

"Oh but Paddy, I had a choice."

"Perhaps you're right Sis, perhaps you're right."

Before we knew it Christmas was upon us. There had been no word from Michael and I had expected none. Anna had taken two extra days after the holidays to go to Parkhill to visit her relatives.

It was obligation that brought me to Birmingham. I would have been content to spend the days alone, but Mama had a way of making me feel guilty. To ensure a full table the excuse was that this could be Jewell's last year with us.

Poor Rose, I wished she would stand up for herself or at least I hoped that Charlie would take the bull by the horns and tell Mama just once that he and his family were spending the day with Rose's relatives. Charlie always insisted that Mama's needs come first. Actually, as far as Charlie was concerned, Mama's word was law.

The only pleasure I had that day was in the opening of the presents. All of us received more than we delivered, but it was Evelyn's incredibly wide eyes that had all of us appreciating the wonder of the day. Papa, Mama and Jewell had given Evelyn a doll. Mama and Jewell had fashioned a wardrobe for the doll and Papa had built a trunk to accommodate all the paraphernalia. Evelyn's excitement infected us all. For once I was glad we were all together.

Charlie drove me to the trolley line.

"You going to be okay Sis?"

"I'll be fine."

"Mind if I wait with you till the trolley comes?"

"Of course not Charlie, glad for your company."

"Sis?"

"Yes, Charlie"

"Can we talk a minute?"

"I thought that's what we were doing."

"Stop being so damn smart, I'm serious."

"I'm sorry Charlie, what do you want to talk about?"

"Sis, I’m thinking about enlisting in the Army."

"Whatever for, and you better have a good reason."

"Damn Sis, you sound just like Ma."

"I'm glad I do. You are an absolute idiot Charlie. You can't go off to fight a war. You have responsibilities here. What about Rose and the children? Who is going to take care of them while you are gone? Or, for that matter, if you don’t come get back?"

"Sis, you sound like the Angel of Doom."

"I pray to God I do Charlie. Who are you thinking of, yourself or your family? I've had lots of letters from France and believe me Charlie, it is an abomination that only a man not in his right mind could even conceivably find acceptable. Don't be a fool Charlie. Count your blessings."

I could see Charlie bristling, but I couldn't help it. I would have said the same thing to anyone, whether or not they were in Charlie's position. I could not tell him of Paddy's dilemma, for I was sure Paddy had told me in confidence. Arrival of the trolley saved further discussion.

The new year of 1918 did not start out badly, for me anyway. The company had more work than it could handle. I had little time to think of Michael and that helped. Sunday, my only day off, Anna and I would take the trolley downtown and have dinner at a restaurant and take in a vaudeville matinee, if there was one playing, or we would walk Woodward Avenue, window-shopping.

The rare Sunday trips I made to Birmingham, brought no further news of Charlie enlisting. I'm sure it was Papa who took Charlie to task and clipped his wings. When he wanted to, Papa could be a forceful man.

I had a letter from Matt Tupper in March that was very depressing. Things were not going well for the Allied forces and there was heavy loss of life. The Germans had started using mustard and chlorine gas to reduce the enemy manpower. It was standard policy that everyone wore gas masks at the front. An awkward device that inhibited clear visual contact with the enemy, but could save your life.

He wrote that he and Paul had spent Christmas Day at division headquarters with Michael. Matt did not elaborate on anything else. Possibly out of kindness on his part or perhaps Michael had asked him not to.

In April I received a small package, along with a letter from Paul.

I was shaking uncontrollably. Michael, Michael was dead. It couldn't be true. What kind of God would take him from this world?

The small package was wrapped in brown paper and addressed to me. I barely had the strength to slip the fine cords over the edge of the box. There was a folded paper wrapped around the box and this I carefully extricated. Unfolding it I read:

Flipping the top of the box open I found, nestled in red velvet, a wide gold ring set with four rubies and four tiny opals with scrolled work between the settings. It was lovely. I took it out of the box and slipped it on my left third finger. It fit perfectly. I don't know how long I cried. I'm sure I distressed Anna, for nothing she said registered.

Anna contacted Mr. Carstairs and told him I would not be in for two weeks. I thought that excessive, but she realized that I had obligations to take care of. Delaying would not make it any easier. My first stop was on Sheridan to see Deirdre. I was appalled at how much she had deteriorated in the few months since I'd seen her.

"Mrs. O'Herlihy I want to tell you how sorry I am about Michael's death. I loved him too and I am going to miss him dearly."

"It's no matter now girl. I'm not long for this world and I'm looking forward to seeing him on the other side."

Further conversation was impossible. Deirdre was wrapped up in her own world and that did not include me.

I spent the next week in Canada, and that too was a wrenching experience. Matt was in a hospital in Halifax and Paul had been sent back to active duty. I wouldn't have time to get to Halifax, but my next priority in travel would be to visit him.

On the way home, I stopped in Huron to see Uncle Adam and Aunt Grace, along with Richard and Kate. Kate had married and her husband was farming Grandpa Will's old place. Richard too married and spent his time between Uncle Adam's and Kate's.

It was refreshing for me to spend two days with them. It was like breathing fresh air where the wind of war was nonexistent. If they had concerns, they were discreet enough not to involve me in a byplay of war strategy.

November 4, 1918, brought the armistice; the war was over. That was bittersweet, for I got a call from Mamie that Deirdre had died in her sleep on November twelfth. Mamie said she died of a broken heart, and knowing Deirdre's attachment to her son, I was sure Mamie was correct.

When Arthur, Rose's third child, was born, the country was in a state of panic. Influenza had broken out. Rose had contracted it at the time of her delivery but Mama seemed able to cope and the best any of us could do was keep away and trust that isolation was the solution.

Arthur was almost two months old before I saw him. He was all eyes and legs. Rose was slowly recovering and with Mama there she didn't dare do otherwise.

It was during this time that I began to realize how much family meant. Of the four children in our family, only Charlie was prolific. The rest of us were indifferent. Paddy was being sued for divorce and as near as I could tell had no intention of remarrying. I was thirty years old, and without prospects. As for Jewell, I doubted whether she had the desire to leave the haven that catered to her every whim. It was a sad commentary and no one was sadder than me.

The pain of Michael's death gradually ceased and I put the ring away. I certainly did not have the right to wear it on my left hand, and on my right hand it was only a constant reminder of what would never be.

Viktor didn't get home until March 1919. I was a third thumb in their home and made plans to leave. They insisted on my staying but I couldn't be so insensitive as to accept.

I took a small flat on Grandmont, and spent the next several months trying to teach myself how to cook. Jewell had the advantage, but then she couldn't count over ten, so I guess you might say we were even.

I joined the Eastern Star, a women's auxiliary of the Masons. Paddy sponsored me, over Mama's objection. I attended meetings faithfully and met a lot of women. Some became friends and some I couldn't stand, but the sisterhood melded us together.

After the war, Montrose & Carstairs' contracts dropped off. The Army was no longer interested in tents and tarpaulins, but we managed to make a profit by going to one shift and laying off the additional men we'd hired during the war. I suppose this action contributed to the recession that followed. So many boys were returning home, unable to find employment.

At Montrose and Carstairs, I was the timekeeper and paymaster. Each Friday morning I would go to the bank on Griswold and withdraw cash to cover the pay envelopes. I didn't like riding the streetcars with so much cash on my person but there had never been any incidents and gradually I relaxed and it became a normal operation. I didn't give it a second thought until the first time a young man snatched my purse as I left the bank. I screamed but there were no policemen to give chase. After that, I became as cagey as the purse snatcher. I carried my purse over my wrist and under my other arm I had a rolled up magazine that contained the payroll. Twice more I was accosted, and each time the thief got away. The last thief walked up to me and faced me and asked if I could give him some money for a bowl of soup. I said no, and attempted to walk around him. He reached for my purse and since I didn't see any weapon I kicked him in the shins. Startled, he let go of my arm, and I gave him a wallop over the head with my weighted purse. It proved to be almost as effective as a gun, as he dropped immediately to the ground. This attack involved going to court to press charges. I was lucky enough to have witnesses as to what had occurred, for the thief claimed I had accosted him.

After that experience, I insisted that Montrose & Carstairs change their method of payroll. Checks would be issued, and drawn against Montrose & Carstairs’ bank account. We paid our bills like that, why not our employees? It was either that, or have someone else risk life and limb withdrawing cash to make payroll. There were no arguments, and now I went downtown only to make deposits. I breathed much easier.

I didn't like living alone. I was used to people being around me, so when Fiona McGregor, a lodge sister, said she had a cousin who was looking for a border, I was eager to apply. Marion DeLord and her husband Sherman had a two-bedroom apartment on Dexter, which wasn't too far from my work. Sherman was a chiropractor who had an office on Grand River. They seemed very nice and my room was lovely, bright, with windows that faced south. It seemed I had a permanent home.

"Emily, come in here.”

"Yes sir?"

"Take a seat. I have a proposition to make to you."

I was aware of the implication the word proposition had, and it made me somewhat uncomfortable.

"Emily, how would you like to buy a car?"

"Whatever for, I can't drive."

"You're not stupid are you?"

"Of course not."

"Then I have a proposition for you. My sister has a Hupmobile coupe that she wants to sell. This coupe would be just the thing for you. No more streetcars or worrying about taking money to the bank, you'll be free to operate on your own."

"But I don't know how to drive."

"You can learn."

"Mr. Carstairs, I can't buy a car just like that. Besides the expense, I'd still have to learn how to handle it."

"Irma will take payments, and I've got Aaron Hatch lined up to teach you to drive."

"Mr. Carstairs, you don't leave me much choice. Will you at least give me a day or two to think about it?"

"No hurry Emily, although you won’t have a chance like this again. Don't wait too long."

It is amazing what transpires in one's mind when imagination is allowed to run rampant. I could see myself driving up Pikes Peak; driving across the Mojave; observing from the car windows the rocky coast of Maine; and, endless trips to Canada that no longer needed a change of trains.

I bought the car for eight hundred dollars, and Aaron Hatch proceeded to teach me the meaning of; retard the spark, advance the clutch, apply the gas and depress the brake.

I don't think anything was ever more confusing to me. I was sure I could have gone through three years of Greek taught by Plato with less difficulty. It was three months before I was ready to attempt driving alone. I'm sure no one was more relieved than Aaron Hatch. What should have been his fingernails were nothing but bleeding stubs.

"Emily, are you sure you want to drive?" Aaron asked me one day.

"Heavenly days, Aaron, I have eight hundred dollars tied up in this metal casket. I can't quit now"

"I'll give you seven hundred dollars for it right now."

"Aaron, be patient, I'll learn, really I will"

"For my sake I hope you do."

My first solo drive was to Birmingham. As I pulled up in front of the house on Pierce Street, Papa and Jewell rushed to the road to make sure they were seeing correctly.

"What have you here, Sis?"

"Bought a car Papa, isn't it a beauty? Come on, I'll give you a ride."

"How long have you been driving Sis?"

"Almost a week; I'm a good driver, believe me."

"Tell you what; in six months time, I'll consent to ride with you."

"I'll ride with you Em,” said Jewell.

"No thanks. Some other time maybe."

Jewell's lip rolled downward, and she went back into the house.

"You didn't have to do that Sis. You could have taken her."

I was thoroughly fed up with what Jewell wanted or Jewell needed. All my life I'd been subjected to Jewell's needs and frailties. I was sick of being the third child in a family of four that only had one child. Mama was obsessed with her last born and it looked to me now that Papa no longer resisted.

"Papa, maybe later we could go for a ride."

"Not me old girl, I'll wait awhile. Your mother and Jewell are the daredevils."

It was during dinner that I learned that Mama and Papa were going to move to Detroit.

"What brought all this on? I was sure you were happy here. Jewell, why on earth would Mama and Papa want to move?"

"If you must know nosy, Mama thinks I'll be happier there than here."

"Mama thinks, or you think?"

"It's none of your business."

"Thank God it isn't, for if it were I'd put a stop to it immediately."

Papa, seeing an argument, pushed away from the table and headed for the cellar.

"George, stay here.”

"Not on your life Jane, you ladies can handle it alone. I don't intend to have my digestion ruined."

"Now see what you've done," Mama scolded, as Papa shut the cellar door after him.

"What I've done? What have you done Mama? This move is sheer nonsense. Papa works here, what is he going to do in Detroit?"

"He's a very talented man Emily, he'll find work."

"But what kind? Papa is known and respected here. How can you ask him to leave a place where he gained a reputation for himself; it's madness."

"No more Emily, no more. It's done and it will work out all right. You'll see."

I was thirty-five and a virgin. To Mama, sex was a dirty word—worse then damn or hell; not to mention shit and bloody, an English epitaph; considered an obscenity in England, and never used by a respectable person. I always wished Grandma Elizabeth had been alive to give me the facts. She was a liberated woman whose medical knowledge gave her more information, especially where intercourse was concerned. I never had the opportunity to ask questions; or, perhaps I did have the opportunity, but like Mama, was too embarrassed to bring up the subject.

Everyone has skeletons, and I had mine. Sherman DeLord and I had become what might have been called an item, except that it was a well-kept secret. I would go over to his office an evening or two a week, to work on his financial records. He would sit at his desk going over correspondence and new chiropractic techniques. If I asked a question, he would come up behind me, place his hand on my shoulder and answer my question. Gradually the hand began slipping further down until it reached my right breast. It was a sensation that I found pleasant. The first time it happened it startled me and I pulled away. Sherman immediately apologized.

It is hard to describe what I felt about Sherman. He was a nice man, and I liked him, but there was no love there. I felt that I was missing out; cheated, if you understand what I mean. I wanted the total experience of love. I was pretty sure that Marion did not give him the satisfaction he needed. In any case, I allowed the affair to happen.

After the first encounter, we graduated from my desk chair, to the patient treatment table. Not very comfortable, but adequate. I’m sure my virginity surprised him. His surprise was my pain, and his first climax was on my legs. After that, he used a condom, and both of us were more relaxed, and were able to enjoy the, dare I say it, sex.

Marion never suspected anything, but I ended the relationship after one incident brought home to me what a dangerous game we were playing. Marion had gone south to Tennessee to visit her mother and I brought Evelyn down for a weekend. Evelyn and I had gone downtown to the Fox for a movie and stage show. Afterward, we stopped at Saunders, for ice cream sodas. It was fairly late when we got home and I hustled her off to bed. Sherman and I spent a few minutes talking and then I retired. One thing I would not do, was have sex in Marion's house, even if she wasn't there. My conscience forced me to draw a line someplace.

Early in the morning Sherman came into the bedroom and kissed me awake. I stirred and rolled over on my back. Evelyn was still sleeping. Sherman reached under my pajama tops (I was very sophisticated—pajamas were the latest thing out) and began fondling my breasts while continuing to kiss me.

"What's Dr. DeLord doing here?”

"Oh, nothing sweetie, he's just giving me a chiropractic treatment. Go back to sleep, it's much too early for you to be up."

Evelyn turned over and went back to sleep.

Wide-awake, I put on my robe and went out to the kitchen. Sherman had a pot of coffee going.

"This is the end Sherman; no more."

"You can't do this to me, Em."

"Yes I can Sherman, and that's the way it's going to be."

“Why? We weren't doing anything wrong."

"Strictly speaking no, but you were certainly working on it, and more's the pity, I am just as much to blame as you are."

"Don't do anything you're going to be sorry for Em."

"I'm already sorry that I let this affair begin."

"How can you say that? We love each other."

"Love Sherman? Not love; lust. Love would have driven you to divorce Marion. Are you prepared to divorce her Sherman?"

"You know I couldn't do that Em."

"I rest my case."

That afternoon, I took Evelyn over to Mama's and Papa's. Charlie, Rose and the boys were coming to pick Evelyn up, and were staying for dinner. Rose was pregnant again, and seemed delighted. Charlie was proud of his accomplishment, and took all the credit. It wasn't an especially happy time, for Paddy was quite ill. He sat in his rocker, coughing into his handkerchief. Stubborn like Mama, he would not see a doctor. Jewell stayed in the kitchen the whole time.

I was a pack of nerves, waiting for Evelyn to blurt out that she had seen Dr. DeLord giving me a treatment that morning. I really shouldn't have been nervous, for there seemed to be an unwritten law in this household, that children did not speak unless spoken to. Mama could have allowed them to go outside and play. But one did not play on Sunday—not at Mama's.

I'm sure Charlie and Rose questioned Evelyn on the way home to see if she had a good time. I prayed that whatever she saw would remain a dream, for if this miserable business ever reached the ears of my family, I was lost. Divorce was grudgingly accepted, adultery was not.

After giving up the relationship with Sherman, I was primed for plucking, and it happened the moment he walked through the door. He was carrying a sample case—a traveling salesman.

"Hello there, sweetheart, are the bosses in?"

"Just Mr. Montrose."

"I must see him my dear. I've got something here that Mr. Montrose cannot possibly refuse."

Somehow I had enough presence of a mind to inquire what he was selling.

"The best line of thread and spools your company could hope to find."

"If you'll give me your name, I'll see if Mr. Montrose will see you."

"I'm Floyd Parks, and I represent Westphalia Textile Company."

I got up and walked over to Mr. Montroses' door and knocked.

"Yes Emily, what is it?"

"There's a Mr. Floyd Parks to see you."

"What is he selling?"

"Threads and spools."

"Are they any good?"

"I wouldn't know that Mr. Montrose."

"All right Emily, send him in."

While he was in the office with Mr. Montrose, the numbers in my ledger were merely squibs, and I couldn't have told you right then whether two plus two made four. It was twenty minutes before Floyd came out. By the expression on his face, I knew he had not made a sale.

He smiled and said, "Well it looks like Mr. Montrose does not make a decision without Mr. Carstairs. I have to come back."

"Did he tell you when?"

"Yes, tomorrow afternoon."

"Don't worry, Mr. Carstairs is the practical partner."

"I don't know whether that's good or bad."

"It's good. If your threads and spools are any good, Mr. Carstairs will buy."

"Tell me my dear, what's your name?"

"Emily Collins, sir."

"My dear Emily, don't sir me. I'm Floyd, Floyd Parks."

"Yes, I know, you've told me."

"So I did Emily. May I call you Emily? Emily, would you honor me by having dinner with me tonight?"

Any novice could have seen through the blarney Floyd Parks was handing out, but in this case, flattery from the right person could open innumerable doors.

"Oh I think not Mr. Parks, I hardly know you."

"Then I think Emily, it's time we get better acquainted."

The delightful grin melted my doubts.

"Very well Mr. Parks, where would you like to dine?"

"I'm a stranger here Emily, passing through, so to speak."

"Do you like Chinese food?"

"Don't know, I've never tried it, but I'm willing to gamble."

"I think you'll like it; meet me at Ho Lings, at seven o'clock."

“Where is Ho Lings, and how do I get there?"

"Where are you staying Mr. Parks?"

"Floyd, please call me Floyd; the Fuller, downtown."

"You're in luck; it's only a stone's throw away; it's on Clifford, just north of Adams."

"I'd like to call for you."

"There's no need. I have my car."

"You drive?"

"Yes, of course."

"Emily, you amaze me."

"I amaze most people Floyd."

"Aren't you the one though."

I have a fetish of being on time, in fact, nine times out of ten I am early. Tonight was no exception. Mr. Ho sat me at a table covered with a brilliant white cloth with napkins to match. While I waited for Floyd, Mr. Ho brought me a pot of tea and one of those cups with no handle that I found so delicate and charming. Ho Lings wasn't a fancy place, but the food was good. Anna and I had found it during the war, while wandering around downtown, one Sunday.

"Thought you said it was a stone's throw away."

"It is if you do it right."

"Then I guess I won't ask that old man outside my hotel for any other directions."

Mr. Ho brought menus, and Floyd asked me to order.

"Good Lord Emily, I thought Chinese washed shirts."

"Don't be silly. The Chinese are very cultured people and the food is prepared like no other. I hope you like it."

"If you like it dear, I'm sure I will.”

Dinner included a gentle push to get me to assure Mr. Carstairs that Floyd's product was the best on the market. Our egg rolls and moo goo gai pan conversation encompassed the business workings and my influence.

I was busy working out the time cards when Mr. Carstairs arrived.

"Good morning Emily, did anything happen while I was gone?"

I despised myself for my duplicity; nevertheless, I answered, "A Floyd Parks was here with a line of thread and spools that look promising. Mr. Montrose will talk it over with you."

"I'll see him in a while. Any other messages?"

I read off his phone messages, and he went into his office and closed the door. When Floyd came into the office at three o'clock, he leaned over and kissed me on the cheek.

"How did it go sweetie?"

I pulled away immediately.

"Don't be that way sweetie, you're the light of my life."

"How could you say that? I hardly know you."

"It isn't the time sweetie, it's the heart, and don't tell me you and I aren't getting along together."

"That isn't the point, I don't like to be rushed, besides, what if Mr. Montrose or Mr. Carstairs had seen us."

"So? They would have seen us."

"Yes, and after my putting in a good word for you, that would have created quite an impression wouldn't it?"

"You actually said something Emily?"

"Of course I did, but I don't know what the outcome will be, I only work here."

"Ah, but they value your wisdom do they not?"

"I suppose they do, but only in financial affairs. I don’t know what goes on downstairs."

"Well, then I guess we'll have to hope for the best."

I was uneasy. I hoped that Floyd's merchandise was as good as he said it was; if not, I could be in trouble for making assumptions.

Mr. Carstairs door opened, and he and Floyd were shaking hands, so something must have happened.

"We got it sweetie, we did it."

"You got the order?"

"Well, not exactly. They are going to use the thread and spools for a month, and if it works out, I'll be back."

"What are you going to do now?"

"I have a trip to Chicago; then St. Louis; then Indianapolis. That will take about a month, and on my way home, I'll stop back to pick up a full order; then, you and I are going to get married."

"You're out of your mind."

"Don't you believe it, it's going to happen."

It happened all right, but not exactly as Floyd suggested, certainly not how I had envisioned. When he returned to Detroit three and a-half weeks later, Montrose & Carstairs placed a sizable order.

"Come on Emily, grab your coat, let's go."

"You mean right now?"

"Right now, that's what eloping means."

"I'm writing up the payroll."

Like a zombie, I finished the work that needed to be done, knocked on Mr. Carstairs door, and told him there was a crisis at home, and that I was taking three days off. My actions must have conveyed that something was wrong, for he did not question my decision. I went home; threw a few things in my suitcase; and, left a note for Marion, telling her I was going out of town for three days. I did not call Papa and Mama. The less they knew, the better, besides, had I called I would have been bombarded with questions I couldn't answer.

It was almost three thirty when I drove up to the entrance of the Fuller. Floyd had checked out and was waiting for me in the lobby. He came out, opened the driver's side, scooted me over, and got behind the wheel. In half an hour we were on Telegraph Road, heading toward Toledo. Floyd exceeded the speed limit. in his rush to get to Bowling Green. He said he wanted to get there before all the JP’s went to bed.

It was late, when we found a justice of the peace. After a clinical wedding, we went back to the center of town, and registered at a hotel.

"Well sweetie, now comes the good part."

Watching him remove his shoes and socks, I realized that the man sitting on the edge of the bed was a total stranger.

"Come on sweetie, get a move on. We've got a lot of catching up to do."

I started to open my suitcase to take out my nightclothes, but he interrupted me."Don't bother sweetie, they'll only come off anyway."

You've heard the expression blushing bride? I think I invented it. I knew we were legally married, and I was going to have to share my life with him, but I sure felt like a virgin. I think I was waiting, hoping, to wake up and find this was all an illusion.

"Need any help, sweetie?"

"Good God," I thought, "I need help with lots of things, especially to get out from under this. What, in God's name, have I done?”

"No, I'm all right.” I turned my back and undressed.

Floyd was forceful, and not easily sated. By the time he had climaxed for the second time, I was exhausted. All I wanted was to go to sleep and pray that I would wake up in my own bed on Dexter Avenue. The last thing I heard was Floyd saying, "I'm going down to the lobby to get a pack of smokes.”

I could have cared less.

In the morning, Floyd was not in the room, and his side of the bed was stone cold. Alarmed, and naked as a jay-bird, I rushed about the room looking for some evidence of Floyd. My car keys were on the bureau, but his sample case and valise were gone. Surely there was an explanation. I took a hot bath, dressed and waited. Noon came; he had not returned. I was famished, so I left a note saying that I had left to have lunch in the dining room.

When I opened my purse to pay my bill, I found I had no money. I had a hundred dollars when I left Detroit, and had not opened my purse until just this minute. The waiter asked me to follow him into the manager's office to explain my situation.

"Mrs. Parks, I'm sorry but I cannot extend you any credit.”

"I'm sorry but, I too am a victim. My husband has deserted me and taken my money. You will get the money you are owed, but I need some time. I will arrange for friends to wire the money but cannot reach them until this evening. I'll place my call then, agreed?"

"I'm taking you at your word Mrs. Parks, and I hope my trust is well-founded."

"You needn't worry Mr. Gamble, without a dime to my name, I cannot get out of Bowling Green."

I went to where Floyd had parked the car. For a fleeting moment, I thought about jumping in and running for home. That notion was dispelled, when I considered that action would result in consequences that far exceeded the embarrassment of settling this here and now. I got in; sat behind the wheel, and cried. I didn't cry because I had been deserted, but because I felt the fool; and, that feeling is devastating.

It's hard to believe; hearing myself telling this, seems incredulous; but, I was married; experienced rough sex; and deserted. within the course of three hours.

Bowling Green is not a large town, so I walked over to the train depot and described Floyd Parks to the ticket agent, who remembered him, and recalled that he had purchased a ticket on the ten forty-five to Cleveland. That ended my investigation—I was on my own.

As I waited for six o'clock, when I was pretty sure I could reach Viktor or Anna, I reviewed my male relationships. "Emily old girl," I thought, "you've had your three strikes. It's time to quit the game or take up coaching."

A tap on my door brought me out of my reverie.

"What is it?"

"It's the bellhop ma'am. Mr. Gamble says it is six o'clock; time to make your call."

Mr. Gamble was a prudent man, and insisted that he be present during my conversation. I gave the operator the number; and, after a long delay, I heard ringing. After the second ring, I heard the Detroit operator announcing a collect call for Viktor or Anna Vizek.

"I'm Anna Vizek."

"One moment please, your party is on the line."

"Anna, can you hear me?"

"Who is this? I can hardly hear you."

"It's Emily; I'm stranded in Bowling Green, Ohio. Can you please send me thirty dollars?"

"Emily, what are you doing down there?"

"Not now Anna; can you help me?"

I was shouting. I'm sure every one from Bowling Green to Detroit heard what I was saying.

"Of course, how much do you need again?"

"Thirty dollars Anna, thirty dollars."

"Viktor will send it immediately, but I still don't understand what's wrong?"

"I'll tell you when I get home. Please Anna, the money as soon as you can."

"We'll send it Emily."

"It seems you do indeed have good friends, Mrs. Parks."

"The best, Mr. Gamble, the best."

I was back in Detroit in three days as I promised, sadder and certainly no wiser, but much the worse for wear.

I spun myself into a cocoon, realizing that I would never be a butterfly or a moth—one with the ability to recreate while fluttering about the blossoms; the other destined to hover about a flame until death. My biggest problem was to spin a credible lie to explain my presence in Bowling Green, Ohio; not exactly an everyday destination.

"Whatever were you doing in Bowling Green, Em?"

“I was headed for Findlay to pick up a replacement part for one of the machines in the shop."

"Couldn't Mr. Carstairs have ordered it up?"

"I suppose so, but I could get it sooner, and I enjoy driving and getting away from the dust and lint. Two days away was a welcome pleasure."

"How did you end up stuck in Bowling Green?"

"I stopped to eat in, what looked like a nice restaurant. It was busy, lots of people going in and out, and when I went to pay, I could not find my purse. The only bright side was that my car keys weren't in my purse, otherwise I might have lost my car too."

"How did you recover your purse?"

"It sounds complicated, Viktor, but it isn't. By the time I finished with the police and promised to pay for the food, the police arranged for my stay in a hotel. I called you because the shop was closed until Monday morning. About nine o'clock that evenin, the police came to my room and returned my purse. It had been found with only the cash missing."

"What about Findlay and the machine part?"

"I was able to get through a call to Mr. Carstairs at his home, and he insisted I come home immediately. By the way, please don't say anything to Mama or Papa. After the payroll theft, they have worried about me,and something like this, so far from home, would just create more worry."

"Oh what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive,” I thought. Walter Scott was so right. Hopefully my deceit would not be discovered, and Bowling Green would be only a bad memory. The legal ramifications were another matter on my mind. I had a problem, and I was going to need help dealing with it.

Sometime during the course of one of my weekly trips to the bank I had met an attorney—Jonas MacDonald—who had offices on the third floor of the bank building. I thought he might be able to help me, or at least advise me of someone who could. We set an appointment for later that week.

"Now Miss Collins, how can I be of help?"

"I am afraid I have committed an indiscretion which I am unable to extricate myself from."

"Why don't you tell me about this indiscretion, starting from the top?”

I told him the story, omitting the gory details.

"You've heard nothing from Mr. Parks since that night?"

"Nothing."

"Well Miss Collins, you do have a problem. I am assuming that you want this marriage annulled, is that correct?"

"Yes."

"Was the marriage consummated?"

"Yes."

"That makes the license legal and binding."

"What can I do? Can you help me?"

"For now you must protect any assets you have. Can you tell me what your current assets are?"

"I have about five hundred dollars in the bank, and my car."

"Does Mr. Parks' name appear on your account at the bank, or on the title to your car?"

"Neither."

"That's good; your assets are clear. I suggest that you draft a will distributing your assets, that way your husband has no claim on them. The petition for annulment cannot be filed until two years after desertion."

"Two years?"

“That’s correct, unless we can determine the whereabouts of Mr. Parks, which could speed up the process.”

I was on the phone with a supplier, when a gentleman came into the office. He waited until I was completed with my call, and introduced himself as Samuel Jorgensen, sales representative for Westphalia Textile Company. For a second I felt as though I might faint.

"Are you all right ma'am?"

"Just a headache, who did you say you represented again, Mr. Jorgensen?"

"Westphalia Textile, ma'am; I'm here to see if Montrose & Carstairs are ready to reorder. It has been over seven months since the last order."

"Yes, I remember. The representative at that time was another man."

"You are referring to Floyd, ma'am."

"Yes, I believe that was his name. He was unable to return?"

"He is no longer with our Company ma'am. His private life was interfering with business and the Company asked him to leave."

Emily's expression must have triggered something in Jorgensen who in what amounted to a whisper said, "Seems as though the Company got tired of hearing from his wives; old Floyd was a pistol, married every woman in sight that could do him a bit of good."

"Oh my, how awful."

"Isn't that the truth. With the authorities looking for him, I suspect Floyd has crawled into a hole and is practicing celibacy—sorry ma'am, I meant no disrespect."

"It's all right Mr. Jorgensen. If you'll have a seat I'll tell Mr. Carstairs that you're here."

As soon as Mr. Jorgensen was in Mr. Carstairs' office, I called Jason MacDonald and related what I had just been told. I could hear the excitement in his voice as he told me that it was likely I was out of the woods. He would make some discreet inquiries and get back to me.

Two weeks later Mr. MacDonald called me.

"Miss Collins, it seems that your Mr. Parks is a bigamist. As near as I can figure, he has five other wives."

"Does that mean I'm no longer married?"

"In a sense yes, but you will have to file, stating that you had no prior knowledge of his actions, and ask for an annulment or for release from the marriage contract. The release is the cleanest, and least complicated, so I advise that as your best course of action."

"Do I still need the will?"

"Keep it Miss Collins. These things have a way of coming back on us and it's sometimes best to be prepared for the worst."

Paddy’s death left all of us contemplating our mortality. Age had little to do with our life on earth. Paddy was just forty-one years old; in his prime, many would say. I would miss him dearly, for I was closer to him than to Charlie, but I could not grieve. The last eight months of agony for him, were eight months of agony for me too. I grieved then.

Mama was distraught; he was her first born, and even though she didn't play favorites, until Jewell, the miracle of bearing that first life is never forgotten.

All his life, Paddy had drifted like dandelion fluff. Wherever the wind blew, he flowed, never taking root. He made no claims on life, nor did he expect any. He now rested, alone, in Greenwood Cemetery, on a plot of ground that Papa, Charlie and I purchased. It would receive us all; in due time, Paddy would have company.

The Country was going crazy. Prohibition helped create social change. Organized criminals had taken a big interest in illegal liquor, imported and home-brewed. Murder and mayhem was rampant in the cities, almost an accepted condition of life. The do-gooders had wreaked havoc, without real reform.

The stock market was wild. Anybody with fifty cents in his pocket could buy stock on margin, hoping to sell at a profit. It was Russian Roulette, without the gun. A wrong guess dissipated a lifetime of savings. Things seemed to be going the way of the risk takers, but I wondered how long the upswing could last. I still believed that; what goes up, must come down.

Charlie, as much as anyone, felt the presence of a crazy world. His business was in disarray. Who was going to invest in real estate, when you could double your money on the stock market in forty-eight hours? Charlie lost it all, but was lucky enough to get a place to live in Imlay City. It was a small farm, but it was big enough to provide his family with fresh fruit and vegetables; and, with a few livestock, they had meat on the table. He had a contract to house and care for a few ponies over the winter, and that income would be enough to buy the staples.

The last thing in the world I envisioned, was Mama buying a car. Thank God, Mr. Hammerschmidt gave her driving instructions, because even after driving for five years, it was all I could do to remember how to engage the automobile. Papa wanted nothing to do with the horseless carriage, so Mama was on her own. She conquered that old Essex, and before long she was humming about Highland Park and Detroit like a pro. I always wanted to ask Papa whether he prayed as hard when riding with Mama, as he did when riding with me.

1929 was a roller coaster year. For some of the year. there was prosperity, when everyone was making money, and if they weren’t, they only had themselves to blame. In October, the balloon burst, and the economy fell like a failed soufflé.

Montrose & Carstairs was feeling the pinch, like the rest of the Country. We only worked when we had orders. Mr. Montrose wanted to sell, even at a loss, but Mr. Carstairs was sure that Roosevelt could pull the Country through once his reforms were in full swing. The company was losing money, and each month put a further drain on operating funds. In 1932, at Mr. Montroses' urging, Mr. Carstairs asked me to audit the accounts.

Mr. Carstairs had only one question: “how was the fifteen hundred dollar annual premium paid on the two hundred thousand dollar fire insurance policy?”

"I received the premium notice and automatically paid it. I was sure that it was legitimate, for everyone has coverage of some type or another on their business."

"Who signed the check?"

"Mr. Montrose."

"Dammit all Emily, why wasn't I informed?"

"I thought you were, Sir. I had no way of knowing you had no knowledge of the policy. Mr. Montrose told me when the policy was taken out that he would sign the checks."

"And you didn't find that strange?"

"Mr. Carstairs, I take orders and do as I'm told."

"Of course Emily, I'm sorry. It's only that I'm puzzled why Monty would take out the policy in the first place and not say anything."

At this point I was beginning to have my suspicions, but did not voice them. If what I was thinking was true, it would jeopardize my position with the company, and 1932 was no time to be looking for work.

Nothing more was said, and business, what there was of it, went on as usual, only from time to time I could hear Mr. Carstairs and Mr. Montrose arguing.

September 24 was much like any other day. There was a skeleton crew downstairs cutting bags. I was working on the ledgers when I heard: “Fire! Fire!

I gathered the ledgers and shoved them into the safe, closed it and rotated the dial. I opened the door, but the stairwell was a sheet of flames. There was one window to the North that overlooked a shed. I didn’t see any smoke or fire there, so I climbed out the window, onto the roof of the shed. I could hear the sirens, but I knew the fire department wouldn't be here in time to help me. It was an 8-foot drop. Most of the workers were gathered below, and with their urging, I took the leap. Two men helped to break my fall, and I found myself safe on the ground with only an ankle sprain.

It was a suspected case of arson. The insurance company was not about to pay off until an investigation had occurred. The safe was recovered. It had fallen through, to the basement. It was only slightly damaged, so the contents were recovered, paper singed and curled around the edges, but still legible. The records ended up in the District Attorney's Office.

It seemed to take ages for a trial date and jury selection. It didn't surprise me that they were tried together, but it did surprise me that Mr. Carstairs had hired his own attorney. The prosecution case was worthy, but circumstantial. Their best hope for a conviction was with my testimony.

The prosecution called its witnesses. The captain in charge of the hook and ladder company, and some employees of Montrose and Carstairs had theories as to what had happened. Testimony had not shown any clear evidence, until the name Horace Maypole surfaced. One of the employees said Horace Maypole had been employed by Mr. Montrose, three days before the fire, and hadn't been seen since. This was news to me, for I was sure that I had no Horace Maypole in employment records. Court adjourned for the day at 4 PM.

I don't know why, but that day I did not go back to Marion's. I drove out to Highland Park, and asked if I could spend the night. Mama asked me to the movies, but I was weary and declined. Papa was going to his weekly meeting at the Masonic Lodge, and they would all be home by 10 P.M. After supper, Papa and I had coffee on the back porch, and talked for a while before he left for his meeting.

It was so comfortable on the porch, that I decided to stay there and read. I seldom nap, but I was tired and must have dozed off. I awoke with a start, disoriented but with a sense that something was wrong. As I started to stand, I was jerked back into the chair, and a pillow pulled over my face. My attacker was very strong; I couldn’t move; and, and, I felt myself losing consciousness.

Suddenly I could breathe, and the pillow was gone. I heard a crash from inside the house just as Mama and Jewell opened the screen door. They both stared at me in disbelief, I was gasping for air; still sitting in the chair.

Papa came just a minute or two later. After I related what had happened and we had settled ourselves, Papa called the police. They investigated, but did not find much. One of the living room lamps had been knocked over and the front door was wide open. None of the neighbors heard or saw anything. My attacker had disappeared without a trace.

I was sure the attack was linked to the trial, and particularly to Mr. Montrose. My testimony could help the prosecution show motive, and that was the only thing that would tie together, what was otherwise circumstantial evidence.

I was concerned about Mr. Carstairs. If there was any way to clear him of the charges, I would do my best, even if it meant that Mr. Montrose would also be found not guilty.

I was sworn as a hostile witness. I had information vital to the prosecution's case, but I was a long-time employee of the company, owned by the accused. The city attorney showed me two ledgers. "Miss Collins, do you recognize these ledgers?"

"Yes sir, those are the ledgers I kept for Montrose & Carstairs."

"Look closely and determine whether the entries are in your handwriting?"

"Yes sir, these are my entries."

"Will you read to the court what you have written here?"

"Fifteen hundred dollars paid to Continental Fire Insurance Company."

"Why was this paid to the insurance company?"

"It was the annual premium on a policy Mr. Montrose had taken out."

"Are you familiar with the contents of this envelope Miss Collins?"

“Yes.”

"And what is that Ms. Collins?"

"It contains the fire insurance policy."

"Issued to whom Miss Collins?"

"Montrose & Carstairs Bag Company."

"What is the value of the policy?"

"Two hundred thousand dollars."

"How long have you been employed with Montrose & Carstairs?"

"Fifteen years."

"Then you're acquainted with the operations of the company?"

"Only the accounts. I couldn't cut or sew a bag if my life depended on it.”

There was a twitter of laughter in the courtroom.

"That's very amusing Miss Collins—the point I am trying make is, you are in a position to know when profit and loss occurs. Is that correct?"

"Yes sir"

"Would you mind telling the court the company's financial position in fiscal years 1929, 1930 and 1931?"

"I need to consult the statements."

"Surely you can hazard a guess Miss Collins."

"I would not assume that responsibility without corroboration."

"You are aware Ms. Collins, that with the exception of these two ledgers, all other documents in the building were destroyed by the fire?"

"I shall take your word for that, Sir."

"Miss Collins, had Montrose & Carstairs shown a profit in the last two years?"

"All I can say, for a fact, is that the day of the fire ,we had a crew working, and I thank God, for they saved my life."

"I have no further questions."

I was inches away from perjury, but I would have done that for Mr. Carstairs. After my testimony, the trial wound down rather quickly. The defendants did not take the stand. The jury was back in less than thirty minutes with a verdict—not guilty.

Unemployed, I moved home to Highland Park. Mr. Carstairs offered to write a letter of recommendation to any company desiring my services. I appreciated his thoughtfulness, and thanked him, but I hardly thought his letter of reference would be of much help given the company's adverse publicity. Anyone who had worked there would be suspect.

The business and financial world was becoming more sophisticated, and I didn't intend to be left behind when the economy picked up. 1933 brought laws that established new methods of bookkeeping, and I was determined to stay abreast of the times. I went back to school, and in three months time I had passed the bookkeeping examinations, and was the proud owner of a certificate verifying that.

Unfortunately, the certificate didn’t do anything to help me find employment. There was glut of bookkeepers, and no one was hiring. The best I could do was either social work, with no compensation, or return to work as a household menial.

When Mama told me that Aunt Charlotte was coming to visit I was surprised; when Mama added that she was bringing a dog to enter in the American kennel club competition, I doubled over laughing.

"This is not funny Em, we're going to have problems"

"I'll say you are. Jewell is going to have to get rid of her cat or that monster will have it for breakfast."

"I don't mean that, I want to give your room to your aunt while she's here."

"I guess I can share Jewell's room for a few days."

"I don't think that would be a very good idea. Jewell needs her privacy."

"What about me?"

"I'm sure Anna and Victor wouldn't mind putting you up."

"Surely Jewell must have some friends she could stay with, then Aunt Charlotte could use her room."

"That wouldn't be practical either, besides, I've already called Anna and she agreed."

I was no longer laughing.

I hadn't seen Aunt Charlotte since Matt Tupper's funeral in 1920; thirteen years ago. Matt never recovered from the gassing he received in France. The official cause of death was pneumonia, but his lungs were so damaged that he had no means of fighting the infection.

Aunt Charlotte hadn't changed that much. Her hair was a little grayer, and she was forty pounds heavier. She was wheezing from carrying Montague Grand Baron from the car and up the six steps to our front door. Mama and Papa carried her bags.

Baron was wheezing too. I had to pinch my upper lip to keep from laughing; "like mother, like son."

There was no way I could envision the dog winning anything. To be fair to Aunt Charlotte, she merely bred the pit bulls. It was the buyers and trainers who turned them from an ugly dog into a vicious, ugly dog.

I knew after listening to Mama and Aunt Charlotte, that my place was with the Vizek's. Two nights later I was laughing so hard, I could hardly tell Anna and Victor what was happening.

"Would you believe that the first night Aunt Charlotte allowed Baron the run of the house. His first act was to do his duty on the kitchen floor and Jewell, unsuspecting, stepped in it the next morning."

"I imagine that caused problems."

"Oh yes indeed, Jewell was livid; she hates dogs; and, Mama was furious. She told Aunt Charlotte she'd have to relegate Baron to the basement, at which point Papa objected; no dog was going to invade his only haven of privacy, even for a few days. Aunt Charlotte's feathers were ruffled, she couldn't understand what all the fuss was about.—‘Baron is a normal dog.’—imagine—a normal dog.

"What was normal for Baron, was disaster for Jewell."

We had another hearty laugh.

"That wasn't the last of it. Baron picked up the scent of Fluffy, Jewell's cat, and he scratched at Jewell's door constantly. Once, thinking that Aunt Charlotte had taken Baron out for a walk, Jewell let Fluffy out for a little exercise. Wrong move; Aunt Charlotte and Baron were only resting in my bedroom. The next thing, bedlam. Fluffy was faster and smaller, but Baron was fast too. He chased Fluffy through the living room, dining room, kitchen and Mama's and Papa's bedroom. The second time around Fluffy jumped up on the dining room table. I have to give Baron his due, he ducked under and gained a few feet, and all this took place with Mama shouting, Jewell screaming, and Aunt Charlotte trying stop Baron's. My objective was to stay out of the way and let the race run its course."

"What happened?"

"Well, after about ten minutes, Fluffy managed to duck into Jewell's bedroom. Jewell had the presence of mind to shut the door, right under Baron's nose."

"Guess you could say, Fluffy got her exercise."

Mama was incensed at Aunt Charlotte's lack of consideration. Jewell was hysterical at the trauma her cat had suffered, and Aunt Charlotte was outraged at Mama's lack of understanding. Papa, as usual, retired to the basement. Instead of becoming closer to each other, a cat and dog had succeeded in driving the two sisters further apart.

The upshot was that Aunt Charlotte rented kennel space, and found a place to stay close-by. The situation resolved some, when Baron got honorable mention in his class. Aunt Charlotte was so excited that she called Mama to gloat about Baron. Mama insisted Charlotte come for dinner, and bring Baron, as long as he stayed in his cage. It was a compromise of sorts.

I was desperate for a job, and applied for a position as companion to a disabled woman living in Dearborn. The home was lovely, set back from the street, with green lawns that swept to the curb. I rang the bell, and the door was opened by a woman in a uniform.

"I'm Emily Collins, I'm inquiring about a possible opening for a female companion."

"Come in and wait here please, I'll get Mr. Egon."

Standing in the vestibule, I could not help but recall that I was right back where I started so many years ago at Martingale's.

The maid returned, and showed me to a room down the hall.

"Miss Collins?"

"Yes sir."

"Would you sit down please? Miss Collins, have you done this type of work before?"

"No Mr. Egon, but like everyone else these days, I'm desperate for employment."

"What is your vocation Miss Collins?"

"I'm a certified bookkeeper."

"I see. Are you aware of what this job constitutes?"

"Not exactly, but I assume that I would personally care for a woman who is disabled.”

"That's right, my wife. She has crippling arthritis, both knees and hands. It means you would feed her, see to her hygiene needs, read to her, write letters, and wheel her about the house. Do you think you can do that?"

"I'm a strong woman, Mr. Egon, and with some degree of intelligence. Once I know the routine, I can manage."

"Well put, Miss Collins. I'll give you consideration, but you must understand that I have more applicants to interview. If you'll leave a number where you can be reached, I shall call you."

"Mr. Egon, don't waste my time or yours. Either I'm competent or I'm not, say which please."

"Miss Collins, that is rude."

"I need a job, and if you cannot supply one, I don't appreciate being dangled at the end of a rope hoping to be pulled up. The time I spend anticipating your decision, I could be out looking for other employment."

"Miss Collins, I've never met anyone like you before."

"I'm forty-four years old, and I've been on my own since 1908. The job you are offering is a means of keeping my head above water. I need to work, and all I'm asking is, yes or no."

After an extended pause, he replied, "Miss Collins, you pique my curiosity and I have decided to offer you the position, however, it is not my decision alone. You will have to satisfy Roberta, my wife. Let me warn you, that you shall be discharged if you fail to do anything that my wife asks of you."

"You certainly don't mean murder, Mr. Egon?”

"Miss Collins, you are a pip. Come tomorrow. Roberta's mornings are best, can you come at ten?"

"I should be honored, Mr. Egon."

Roberta's frailty enhanced her beauty. Whatever she suffered, gave her a glow that even Leonardo da Vinci would have found exceptional.

"Miss Collins, Max tells me you are an unusual woman."

"I'm sure Mr. Egon hopes I'm one-of-a-kind."

"Max, I love this woman, if you haven't hired her already, do so now."

That was the beginning of a friendship that lasted a lifetime.

Roberta was easy to work for. Her energy was greatest in the morning, so she always had breakfast with her husband.

It was a chore for me and Annie to lift her from her chair into a shower stall. A marble bench in the shower allowed her to sit. The water was controlled by valves on the wall adjacent to the bench. Roberta operated them with her elbows, as Annie and I were not allowed to observe. She did what she could herself, and was not happy when she needed help dressing or undressing. I had no idea how she managed the shower alone, but when the water was turned off, she was scrupulously clean.

After her shower, Roberta would don a robe and receive guests. It was known by her friends, and she had many, that she was at her best before noon. They kept her abreast of the comings and goings and I know that Roberta lived for those times. Except for Max, Annie and me, they were her contacts with the outside world.

By eleven thirty, strain would begin to show. When the pain was too much, she would excuse yourself, and I would take her back to her room. She had a pain pill washed down by glass of warm milk for lunch, then rested until dinner, which was served in her room with Maxwell. By six-thirty I was free to leave.

It is difficult for me to describe my relationship with Roberta. More than a companion, I became a friend, confidante and confessor. In the afternoons, when she was up to it, we’d talk or I'd read to her, take letters or just sit with her while she struggled with the pain.

Maxwell was a design engineer with the Ford Motor Company. It was an excellent job—Henry was fond of him; and Maxwell was far ahead of his peers in his design concepts.

I talked to her about my background and my growing up in Birmingham.

"Goodness Emily, I hear that's where all the swells are settling. It's very high-tone I understand."

"That may be, but all we have there now is a good plot at Greenwood Cemetery."

"Then it looks like you'll rest with the best of them."

I stayed on at Anna and Viktor’s. My job with the Egons kept me out of Mama's way, and eliminated clashes between Jewell and me. I'm sure Papa appreciated the serenity.

I was reading Oliver Twist to Roberta Egon when I heard the phone ring. A minute or so later, Annie entered. "It's for you Emily, it sounds urgent."

"Go ahead Emily."

I felt an instant foreboding for I never had phone calls at the Egons.

"Hello."

"Em, come quick, Papa has been in an awful accident at work."

"Is that you Jewell?"

"For God's sake Em, stop being so damn proper. Papa is next death. Mama is with him now, but the doctor holds no hope."

"Emerson Hospital?"

"Yes."

"I'll be there as soon as I can."

"My God, Emily, what's happened?"

"It's my father. There's been a terrible accident."

"Then you must go immediately. Annie will look after me. She'll call Max and he'll take care of things."

I didn't have the courtesy to thank Roberta, I was already out the door. To this day, I'll never know how I got to the hospital. I only remember paying attention to whether the light was red or green, and that I exceeded the speed limit.

By the time I arrived at the hospital, Papa had died. In the waiting room, Jewell sat in a trance, and Mama was weeping. I needed my own time to grieve, but I could see it would have to wait. The two women before me were abject creatures, unable to cope. I jostled Jewell until she finally responded.

"Did you call Charlie?"

Jewell shook her head.

"Mama, did you call anyone?”

"How could this happen? George was such a good man."

I called Charlie. I told him we would have to carry this funeral. Mama was in no condition to make the arrangements. I could hear him choking on his own tears, but he agreed to meet me at Mama's.

The next three days were a living hell. Bill Carlton, the undertaker, said he and Mama had some confrontation about Papa's body, but the rest was a blur in my mind. The only thing that I distinctly recall was the Masons. They were there to give gave Papa last rites. For that, I was grateful.

It was five days before I returned to work. The first few days back were not easy. On the fourth day she said, "Emily, how lucky you are to have had a father who loved you. I never knew mine. I was raised in an orphanage."

The dam burst, and I began crying. I hadn't cried like that since I learned Michael had been killed. Her twisted hand on my head was almost like being anointed by the Almighty. I wasn't sure what I was crying for; my father, Roberta or myself. I mumbled, "I'm sorry Roberta, I didn't intend that to happen."

"Nonsense, we all need to cry. It cleanses the soul."

"But I shouldn't be putting my burdens on you."

"You know Emily, that's the problem in the world today. Everyone is so afraid of becoming dependent that we lose sight of compassion."

Mama wanted me to move back home, but I declined. I did make it a point to go over to the house each night to spend some time with Mama.

Mama refused to dispense with any of Papa's clothing. Each night she would bring out something of Papa's and, crying, tell me how he acquired it. I did not intend to deny Mama her grief, but after two months, something had to be done. I decided that only Charlie and I could bring this situation under control.

Charlie, Rose and I got to Mama's house at about same time. Believe me when I say it wasn't an easy chore to separate Papa's belongings from Mama. She fought tooth and nail. Charlie and I both tried our best to convince her how the poor could use Papa's clothes. Mama was adamant. Finally Rose interrupted, "I think Charlie's right mother Collins. It would be..."

"Shut up Rose, you never had a thought in your head in your whole life."

Charlie lost his temper.

"That's enough Ma, I'm telling you that Papa's things are going, and if I have to tie you to a chair while we do it, I will."

Hooray for Charlie.

Mama literally collapsed in a chair in the living room and Charlie and I got on with the business at hand. Actually Papa didn't have all that much. He was a frugal man, who never bought new until the old wore out.

Jewell wasn't much help. She sat beside Mama and sobbed even louder than Mama while Charlie and I filled up two cardboard boxes and hauled them outside.

The only thing I kept out was Papa's Masons' ring and his gold watch. I took them out to Mama, and asked what she wanted to do with them.

"Do what you like, you've taken everything else."

I felt like a thief, and in a way I was. Charlie took Papa's watch and I took the ring. Charlie had never joined the Masons and I felt I had more right to it than Jewell. It took a few weeks before I got back in Mama's good graces.

I was never one to believe in the old wive's tale that death comes in threes. Anyone who thinks that, is a peddler of the occult. Still, three deaths in the family had occurred. Papa first; then Aunt Charlotte; and, a few months later, Paul Tupper. I was able to rationalize each death.

That following year Viktor Vizek died of a heart attack; Mr. Montrose committed suicide; and, Marion DeLord died of pneumonia.

After Viktor died, Anna was lost. There were no children, she was alone. Anna's family was in Florida and Viktor had no family in the States. Anna begged me to stay with her and I said yes.

Mama seemed to take a new lease on life. It was never more evident, than when she invited me to a cottage she had rented on Lake Charlevoix—an upscale area in lower Michigan. Mama took Jewell and two of Jewell's friends.

It was early evening when I found the cottage. It wasn’t a cottage—it was a summer home. "My goodness Mama, this must have cost a fortune."

"Oh no Em, it's only one hundred dollars a week."

“Mama, that is three hundred dollars for rent and God only knows how much for food for five people with Jewell doing the cooking. How can you afford this?”

“That is enough Emily. Jewell needs this time, and so do I.”

I knew any more questions would spoil the vacation, and with that much money already committed, I let the matter drop.

By early spring of 1937, Roberta's condition had worsened. The inflammation had spread to her hips, and she was unable to sit up. Roberta needed a higher level of care, but twenty-four hour nursing care was expensive, and Maxwell had to face the facts.

I don't know who had the deeper regret, Max or me, when he called me into the library and told me my services were no longer required. He was placing Roberta into a nursing home in Bloomfield Township.

With my secondhand copy of Oliver Twist under my arm, I visited Roberta and spent late morning and early afternoon gossiping and reading to her the adventures of the young boy who, to her way of thinking, was in worse straits that she was. For some reason or other we never finished the book. When Roberta died, she was just 39.

It was Anna who found what sounded like a possibility. "Em here's one that says, 'Anyone with a knowledge of avoirdupois should call TE9976.'"

"Oh for goodness sake Anna, avoirdupois is Old-French for liquid equal to weight."

"If you don't inquire, I will.” Anna was secure in her job at Crowley’s, so she grinned as she said this. "Come on, what do you have to lose?"

"Nothing, I’ll call.”

"This is Hoffleman, what is it?"

"I'm calling regarding an ad you placed in the Detroit Times."

"No one is here now, call back tomorrow."

"What time shall I call?"

"Who knows what this crazy man is doing? Just call."

If anything had piqued my curiosity it was that exchange with Hoffleman. I was going to find out what was going on at TE9976.

"This is Hoffleman, what is it?"

"I'm calling about the ad in the Times."

"Yes, what's your name?"

"Emily Collins."

"Hang on to your hat, I'll see if Mr. Goodrich will talk to you."

I waited a few minutes before the line was picked up.

"Goodrich here."

"Mr. Goodrich, this is Emily Collins, and I'm calling about the ad in yesterday's paper."

"What do you know about cows?"

"Only that they give milk, Mr. Goodrich."

"Precisely, come see me today."

"Where? I have no address."

"I'm on the Northwest corner of Schaefer and Midland. Look for Good Tool & Die. If you're driving, park in the back."

I felt I had nothing to lose, so I dressed and drove over to Good Tool & Die. The company was typical of the times. It encompassed about a quarter-block. The front faced Schaefer Highway, with the shop in the back. I entered the building and walked to the office area, which held three desks, all empty. The noise in the shop indicated something going on out back. I took a seat against the wall and awaited. Perhaps fifteen minutes passed before the shop door opened and a gnome of a man came into the office.

"Who are you?"

"I'm Emily Collins, Mr. Goodrich asked me to see him today."

"He's out back, I'll go get him."

A man came in from the shop,”You want to see me?"

"No, Mr. Goodrich, you wanted to see me. I called you this morning."

"Yes, yes of course, what is it you wanted?"

"I want a job Mr. Goodrich. I understand that you are looking for someone with a working knowledge of avoirdupois."

"Of course, you're the woman who said cows give milk, am I right?"

"Exactly."

"Sit down Miss⁠—?”

"Collins."

"Yes, I remember now, Miss Collins. I have a farm in Metamora. I stock Holsteins—prize Holsteins—and I need someone to keep an accurate record of milk output in volume, to output in pounds. Also, there is a breeding manual that must to be kept up-to-date. You understand; cows, bulls and calves?"

"Is that all?"

"What do you mean, all? Isn't that enough?"

"Am I expected to live on this farm?"

"Of course not. You'd only have to go there on Fridays."

"I'm sorry Mr. Goodrich but I cannot live on a one-day-a-week job."

"For goodness sake, what did you expect?"

"Something that would earn me a living."

"And what earns you a living, Miss Collins?"

"I'm a bookkeeper. I was hoping this job would give me that opportunity."

"You're a bookkeeper?"

"And a good one."

"Come over here Miss Collins," as he extracted a ledger from the bottom drawer, "What do you make of this?"

"It's a tragedy."

"I keep these books."

"Then I suggest you get someone who has more knowledge in that area than you do."

"You're telling me you could do better?"

"Without a doubt."

Mr. Goodrich threw his head back and laughed uproariously. Finally he said, "Miss Collins, you're hired."

"Keeping books or weighing milk?"

Laughing, he replied, "Both."

Working for Cecil Goodrich was never dull, and the job was one I was fully qualified to do. Mr. Goodrich's bark was worse than his bite. He was outspoken, but not averse to listening to logic; stubborn, but able to recognize a divergent point of view; outraged one moment, and laughing the next; usually about his outrage. He was, above all, a dairy farmer. He had come from Yorkshire, England. Reared on a farm that raised Guernsey's, he never outgrew his need to walk through the shit as he indelicately put it. I was required to go to Metamora each Friday and record readings on the milk output; which cow gave the most milk, which cows were freshening, those that were going dry—that kind of thing.

The lineage of his herd was important to him. Mr. Goodrich did not believe in inbreeding so he traveled the state looking for good bulls. I had the lineage charts to prove it.

Anna and I were clearing the table when the phone rang. "It's for you Em, it's your mother."

"Yes Mama?"

"Em can you come over tonight, we've got to talk."

"Is it important Mama?"

"I wouldn't have called you if it wasn't."

It was just getting dark when I arrived at the house on Louise. Mama was sitting, and I could see she was nervous. Jewell was already in her room—no doubt because I had arrived.

"Well Mama, what's so important?"

Mama went into the dining room and picked up some envelopes from the buffet. She handed them to me and said, "I don't know what to do."

There were five envelopes, each dated one year apart, except the last. That one was dated the day before. The return address was City Treasurer's Office. I got a sinking feeling, I knew what they were. I didn't bother with the first four, but opened the one dated yesterday. It was a notification that the property on Louise would be sold for back-taxes, unless the owner paid within ninety days, the sum of one thousand twelve dollars and sixteen cents.

"Oh Mama, how did you let this happen?"

"Em, when the taxes were due, I never had the money."

“That may have had something to do with three hundred dollar vacations."

"Now Em, don't start."

"You're right Mama, it won't solve a thing."

"Can we do anything?"

"I don't know. Tell me what you have in liquid assets?"

"I'm no lawyer, what's liquid assets?"

"How much cash you have?"

"About four hundred dollars."

"Where did all the money go?"

"Jewell needed a new bedroom outfit, and I bought a new stove and refrigerator. I had to have the steps replaced on the back stairs, and the banks were closed."

"That was four years ago, they're open now.”

I went on before Mama could reply.

"Look Mama, I need to take these statements with me—I’ll see what I can do; all right?"

I called Jason MacDonald the next morning; the only time he could see me was Friday afternoon. I knew this would cause problems with Mr. Goodrich, but I told Jason I would see him at one forty-five on Friday.

"What do you mean you can't go to Metamora on Friday? You always go."

"Not this time Mr. Goodrich. I have to take care of a legal matter."

"Do it some other day."

"It's the only time the attorney can see me."

"You can't tell me, with the world going to hell in a hand basket, that some two bit lawyer can't see you at some other time. Get another lawyer."

"Mr. Goodrich, my mother is in danger of losing her home. If that happens, she will be put out on the street. Surely you don't want that to happen."

"Ah dammit, go on."

"I can go on Thursday.”

"We won't get an accurate comparison for that week."

"Everything averages out. Do you want me to go on Thursday?"

"How about Saturday?”

“Emily, I see way out. They don't have the money and from what you told me, their expenditures don't add up.”

"I think it would Jason, if you knew that Jewell was preparing a strawberry dessert in January, that required fresh strawberries. Jewell is a gourmet cook, but she doesn't have the sense God gave green apples."

“Isn’t that a little harsh?"

"I suppose. Jewell and I don't get along, but that doesn't change the truth."

"No, I suppose not. What about Charlie, can he contribute?"

"I'm afraid not, Charlie took a fall. He landed on his feet, which was the worst possible thing he could have done. The landing injured his hips. He recovered enough to walk, with the aid of a cane, but is limited in the work he can do. He has all he can do to support his family."

"Then it's up to you."

"Why should it be up to me?"

"Do you want to support your mother and Jewell for the rest of their lives?"

"Mama yes, Jewell no."

"Don't be so hasty Emily, think about it."

"Think about what?"

"What if you bought the house for back-taxes?”

"You're not serious. I don't have a hundred dollars, let alone one thousand."

"You're working aren't you?"

"Yes, but I bought a new car last year, and that drained me."

"Honest now Emily, what do you have?"

"Roughly, seven hundred dollars."

"You can borrow the rest."

"Borrow money? I've never been in debt in my life. No, that's not true, Papa loaned me twenty-five dollars one time."

"What did your car cost, and is it paid for?"

"The car was one thousand four-hundred and fifty dollars, and yes, it's paid for."

"Then use your car as collateral."

"Where would I go?"

"Right downstairs. Your accounts have been there for years. You have an edge in that respect."

"You think so?"

"You won't know until you try. You can make inquiries, but don't take the loan now. You'll have to wait until after ninety days; if your mother has not raised the money, let me know so that I can petition your case. It normally takes two months for the public notification to be circulated in all the papers. In this case, you would have first choice because of the last letter; and Emily, what your mother doesn't know won't hurt her, do you understand what I'm saying?"

"It's very clear, Jason."

"Good, you won't have to contact me unless something comes up."

I stopped at the bank and made inquiries about a loan. The loan manager assured me there would be no problem, as I had a car, and seven hundred dollars in his bank. When I walked into the sunshine toward where I had parked my car, I felt relieved, but also guilty.

"I've been waiting all day for you Em, I called Anna and she said you were out at Goodrich's farm for the weekend. A fine thing when my home is about to be devoured by the City of Highland Park."

"I could use a cup of coffee Mama. I haven't eaten since lunch."

"I'll fix you something."

"Don't bother Mama, just the coffee."

"Now, what have you done about our problem?"

"I saw Jason MacDonald on Friday."

"Who's Jason MacDonald? I don't want my trouble broadcast to the world."

"He's an attorney I know; he told me that unless you can come up with the thousand dollars there is nothing that can be done."

"You paid an attorney to tell you that? For God's sake Em, you knew that before you went to see him."

"I know Mama, but Mr. MacDonald seems to feel it would be better if we wait."

"Wait for what?"

"Mama you'll just have to trust me, I can't say anything else."

"Well, at least tell me if this Mr. MacDonald has a glimmer of hope for us."

"There is a possibility that you won't lose the house."

"What possibility?"

"I can't say right now Mama, we'll simply have to wait."

I called Jason MacDonald in late October, and told him there was no change. He asked that I come to his office.

"Emily I've seen the Commissioner. He is eager to sell the house. I don't think there will be any problem, but to keep your home out of the public records I'm going to suggest you let me buy the property in my name. Then I will sell it to you with a quit claim deed."

"Is that necessary, Jason?"

"No, but for your own protection, and ease of mind, it's something to be considered."

"How so?"

"Your mother wouldn't have to know how you acquired the property."

"She knows who you are Jason, and believe me, when I say she isn't a fool. It wouldn't take her two minutes to figure out what I have done. I think it best if we just carry on with the original plan."

"As you wish Emily. Have you contacted the bank regarding a loan?"

"Yes, there is no problem."

"Good, then I suggest you go ahead and take the loan. Have the check made out to: Treasurer of Highland Park."

It was all so simple; I stated my name to the clerk, gave the check to the treasurer, and was informed that the transaction would be filed in sixty days, allowing for the current owner to be notified of the sale of the property and transferring the deed and title to my name.

Now came the hard part—Mama. That Tuesday afternoon, I went over to the house. Mama was listening to Ma Perkins and knitting a sweater for a woman on Chicago Boulevard.

"Hello Mama."

"Goodness Em, what are you doing here at this time of day?"

"We've got to talk. Where's Jewell?"

"In her room."

I went to Jewell's room and knocked.

"Jewell, come in here please, I want to talk to you and Mama."

"Go away, I don't want to talk to you."

"Very well, you'll be surprised to know you're going to have to vacate the premises."

That did it, I could hear her moving about, and she opened the door.

"What do you mean, vacate the premises?"

"I'm not going to tell it twice. Come in to the living room, so I can explain it to you and Mama at the same time."

Mama turned off the radio and laid her knitting aside.

"My God Em, I heard part of that. Is it true we are going to have to move?"

"It's not as bad as all that, I only said that to get Miss Goody to pay attention."

"Well Miss High and Mighty, I'm listening. Say what you have to say."

"Well Em, don't keep us in suspense. What's happened?"

"I bought the house. When I first called Jason MacDonald, he advised me to buy the house for the taxes, that way you would be protected."

"Protected from what?" Jewell asked.

"Protected from a stranger buying it, and requiring you to pay rent, which you can't afford, or having to move, which you also can’t afford."

"What you mean Em, is that you took advantage of Mama's situation."

"I took an opportunity to provide you and Mama with a roof over your heads. Jewell, if you have eleven hundred dollars, I'll sell it to you tomorrow."

"You know we don't have that kind of money."

"Precisely; I had to borrow that money, putting up my car and all the savings I have, as collateral. That means if I default on the loan, they can take my car and attach my savings."

"That doesn't seem fair Em."

"I don't think so either Mama, but that's the way things are done in the financial world. In business, everyone wants their pound of flesh."

"And what do we have to do to become the benefactors of your largess?” Jewell asked.

"Common courtesy would be a start, but then I guess that would be asking too much. There are going to have to be some ground rules. I'm moving back here. I can't afford two places. I shall pay the taxes, utilities, and provide you with a food allowance, which will not include oysters Rockefeller, or fresh fruit out of season."

"I don't cook like that."

"Then I suggest you learn, or move out."

"Jewell Love, you can't leave. Your health wouldn't stand it, besides that, think of all the experimentation you can do. It would be a challenge."

I could sense Jewell backing off, after all, what could she do, or where, for that matter, could she go?

"Mama, this will always be your home. I would never take advantage of you. As long as you live, you'll have me to look after you."

"And Jewell?"

"Jewel too," I said, hating the very thought, "Oh, one more thing, I will expect you both to provide your own toothpaste, face powder, movie tickets and clothing. I know both of you can support yourselves in these areas. Agreed?"

Mama and Jewell both nodded. The die had been cast; for better or worse, I was a landowner.

It is surprising how little I had accumulated over the years. Clothes, a few books, old postcards from Paddy and Charlie when they were sailing the Lakes, and my private treasure of letters. I laid the clothes on the backseat of the Chevy, and the rest of the items fit neatly into the trunk. All my worldly goods could be moved in one trip, by automobile.

I waited until I had the deed before proceeding against Haggerty. Where Mama had accepted, I excepted. I climbed the back stairs, prepared to have it out. I knocked, and Mrs. Haggerty answered.

"Mrs. Haggerty, is your husband at home?"

"Eddie, Miss Collins, from downstairs, is here to see you."

"What the hell does she want?"

"Don't know, but you better come."

"Shit, I'm listening to the hockey game."

"Shit or not," I called out, "you'd best talk to me right this minute, Mr. Haggerty."

"Bring her in Fay."

Ed Haggerty was sitting in his chair listening to the Red Wings game, against the Chicago Blackhawks.

"Can you turn that down Mr. Haggerty?"

"What did you say, Miss?"

"I said turn it down, or I will."

"Don't get your knickers in a knot. Just say what it is you want."

"With pleasure Mr. Haggerty. I now own this house. You are four hundred and sixty-five dollars in arrears with your rent. You shall be obliged to pay that amount, plus thirty-five dollars due the first of the month, or after that you have ten days to leave the premises."

"You're crazy."

"If you think so Mr. Haggerty, I will see you in court."

"Just a minute now Miss Collins, we can work something out."

"I'm a businesswoman, Mr. Haggerty. You either come up with five hundred dollars by the first, or I'm going to have you removed from the premises. That or take you to court where, I'm sure, your ninety days in jail will ease my conscience."

It was a bluff, but I thought I had the winning hand.

"Your mother always took what I gave her."

"My mother keeps meticulous records of what was paid and when. For four years, you have lived off her like a maggot on dead flesh. I want you to know that I no longer ascribe to your method of payment.”

Once more I was bluffing, for mother had nothing in writing.

"We'll just see about this."

"Indeed, we shall Mr. Haggerty. Five hundred dollars or out; it's up to you."

The Haggerty's left before the first of the month, but not before they had damaged the kitchen cupboards, blocked the toilet and overrun the bathtub,;damaging the ceiling plaster downstairs. I was angry enough to prosecute but Jason advised against it. He said it would create more problems than the one hundred and fifty dollars it would cost for repairs.

"I suppose you're right, but now I've got to come up with the money to fix it up."

"How about a personal loan, no interest."

"I can't do that, I'm already up to my eyeballs in debt, adding more isn't going to solve the problem."

"Yes it will, let me loan you two hundred dollars to fix up the flat, and you raise your rent to forty-five dollars a month."

"Who's going to pay that kind of money?"

"You'd be surprised, you're in a very good area, a Highland Park address has a very nice ring to it."

"I wish I had your optimism."

“Emily, trust me. Before long this country is going to be in a world war. Hitler intends to conquer all of Europe. The United States isn't going to let that happen. A sad commentary on the times is that we prosper during a war."

I accepted his personal check for two hundred dollars, and proceeded to get my property in shape.

Jason was right. The first family I interviewed were the Westfall's, a couple with two daughters. They didn't have any qualms about forty-five dollars a month, in fact, I had the distinct impression that they thought they were getting a bargain.

Marshall and Eva Westfall were a pleasant couple. The two girls, Ynez and Carry, ages 8 and 9, were polite, especially to Mama, which put them first in her book. Marshall had a job at Burroughs Adding Machine Company on West Grand Boulevard, not too far from where we lived.

Since I worked, I didn't have all that much time to spend with them. They were private people but on occasion, in the summer, we would build a charcoal fire in our backyard and roast hot dogs and corn.

Except for Jewell, who was a constant thorn in my side with her complaining, it was a pleasant two years. I was able to pay off my debts. I felt free at long last.

Jason was right; Hitler assumed control of Austria in 1938; the Czechoslovak Republic in early 1939; and, on September 1, 1939, invaded Poland, starting World War II in Europe. On September 3, 1939, England and France declared war on Germany. Roosevelt, who I didn't trust worth spit, was playing it cozy. He was keeping us out of the war, but the United States had increased its production of vital food and arms to ship to Britain, using their merchant marine vessels. Using our vessels would have engaged us much sooner. Bundles for Britain became the rallying cry.

About this time, I began noticing a change in Mama. Once in a while, I could see an expression of pain cross her face. She was pale, and much slower to spring to Jewell's defense.

"Mama, is something wrong?”

"Why would you ask that?"

"You don't look well."

"For goodness sake Em, old-age has its privileges, and there is no doubt that I'm getting old."

"Have you seen a doctor?"

"Whatever for?"

"For whatever is giving you pain."

"I don't have any pain."

"Mama, please, something is causing you stress. I see it sometimes on your face."

"I wish, Emily, that you wouldn't hover over me, watching like The Shadow."

"It isn't funny Mama, I want you to see a doctor."

"Very well, I'll see a doctor, if it will keep you from arguing with me."

Mama had cancer of the pancreas; inoperable. Mama begged me to spare Jewell the news. I agreed, only because I knew eventually Jewell would have to notice Mama's condition, and start asking questions. Mama was spending more time in bed, which was so unlike her, that finally Jewell had to ask.

"What's wrong with Mama Emily?"

"She's very sick, Jewell."

"What do you mean sick?"

"Just that."

"How come you know she's sick and I don't."

"Mama didn't want to worry you."

"Well, damn it all, what's wrong with her?"

"She has cancer."

"Are you sure?"

“Yes.”

"How long?"

"I don't know, and the doctor doesn't know either."

"She isn't going to get better?"

"It's getting worse, much worse."

"Well, I suppose I'll be indebted to you for the rest of my life."

"For God's sake Jewell, the kindest thing we can do right now is give Mama some peace of mind. For both our sakes let's try, that's not too much to ask is it?"

I knew she resented it, but she did agree to declare a truce.

I had my work, which was becoming more demanding. We were at war's door, and every company was gearing up to do battle. Good Tool & Die was no exception, and even Charlie had a burst of good fortune. Houses were being built in Warren and he was building them. Jewell was left to take care of Mama, and rightly so, I thought. All her life she'd been a taker, now it was time she tried out being a giver. Mama knew what awaited her, and as time went by, she looked forward to the time when her pain would be no more. I remember Dr. Brandenberg's last trip to the house. He wanted to hospitalize her, but stubborn to the end, she refused. She was determined to die in her own bed. I wasn't surprised when Jewell called me at work on a Tuesday morning to tell me Mama had died.

It was a slow and painful death. Mama's courage was an example for us all. Seldom did I hear her moan, and then, under her breath.

Carlton mortuary hadn't changed. The owner had retired, and his two sons were running the business. Most of Mama's peers had passed away, and there were few in Birmingham who remembered the old days, but those who did, came to pay their respects.

I don't think I'll live to be a hundred, but even if I do, I don't think I'll forget the day of Mama's funeral. Jewell had abandoned the Episcopal church, flitted by Christian Science. and finally wound up a Catholic, fanatically sure she would be the only one to get out of purgatory and the rest of us were going to hell. I had drifted too. I found some solace in the local Presbyterian Church. Mama had clung to the Anglican, but I contacted Reverend Grofewin from St. Andrews Episcopal in Birmingham, and asked if he would read the service. There would be no problem.

The morning of the funeral, Jewell was rattling pots and pans in the kitchen when I entered.

"I want Father Noble to give the service today."

"You're out of your mind."

"Mama told me she wanted to be buried a Catholic."

"Mama—a Catholic? Perhaps you're right Jewell, that service will raise Mama right out of her casket and we'll have her back."

"Damn you to hell Em, damn you to hell."

She picked up my coffee cup that was steaming hot and threw it at me. The truce was over.

If I thought the worst was over, I was merely deluding myself, for I heard Jewell on the phone speaking to Father Noble.

"Yes Father," Jewell was weeping silently, "If you think that's best. Yes father, I'll do what you say. Yes Father, she wanted to be buried in the faith. No father, there would be too many opposed to it. Yes father," and she hung up.

We had to be ready to leave for Birmingham in less than a half-hour, and I disregarded what I had heard.

I thought the service dignified, and that Mama would have approved. Reverend Grofewin finished his eulogy and said, "Shall we pray," when Jewell sprung from her chair in the first row, and threw her body over the open casket sobbing, "Mama, Mama, take the host of his holy body."

I was frozen like an ice cube and just as cold. Struggling on two canes, Charlie raised himself from his pew. He slowly proceeded to the casket and without a thought to the solemnity or propriety of the occasion said in a voice loud enough for everyone to hear.

"Get away from her you bitch, you've done all you can do. Let her rest in peace."

Looking like a tiger being separated from her cubs, Jewell raised up to answer her brother, "You miserable ass, what have you ever done for Mama?"

"I didn't bleed her dry like a leech on live flesh."

Jewell was purple with rage, and Charlie was no better. I forced myself to move. This had to be stopped; right now. Reverend Grofewin had stepped back from the lectern, and was wiping the perspiration from his face. I am sure he had never encountered such a scene.

"For God sake Charlie," I gasped, "this is Mama's funeral. Remember where you are."

Turning to Jewell, I admonished, "Either you return to your seat or I shall have you physically removed from here."

The hate in Jewel's eyes was something I can still picture.

Jewell did not hide her animosity toward me, and in all fairness I was equally vindictive when the opportunity arose. Without Mama, I don't know how Jewell spent her days. I know that I had my hands full. Good Tool & Die was bulging at the seams and Cecil Goodrich was talking about expanding. It meant that I spent longer hours at the plant, while Mr. Goodrich devised a means of getting a bigger piece of the defense pie. Who could blame him. War was coming soon, and Goodrich was going to be at the head of the line to take advantage.

Jewel and I had developed a system of silence. It was nerve-racking but it was better than constantly fighting.

The war was in full swing, and the United States focus on Europe had ignored the obvious—Japan—a tiny nation that had been growing militarily over the years; waiting for the right moment to strike. And she did, December 7, 1941, at Pearl Harbor, in the US Territory of Hawaii. Japanese forces managed to destroy or damage a major portion of our Pacific Fleet, hoping that the United States could not maintain a defense on two fronts and would be brought to her knees.

It's amazing what a unified country can do against great odds. 1942 was indeed a dark time and we were losing ground in the Pacific. Our defeats were accepted stoically, for we didn't have the ships or men to compete against the Japanese forces. Whatever happened, each and every one of us was determined to see it through to the end. There was no thought of surrendering. I could look objectively at the war, and know that eventually we were going to win. It was my personal life that made me uneasy.

Aunt Grace’s death meant a trip to Huron. With gas rationing this was no simple feat. Mr. Goodrich came to my rescue. The company had its own gas pump and he filled me up the day I left—enough to see me through to my destination. How I was to get home was another matter. I would worry about that when the time came.

Uncle Mike and Aunt Jean had died during the 30s, but some of their offspring were there; Ernestine, Mabel, Francis and John. Good old Francis looked down her nose at me for being an old maid, but I smugly held the thought; "If only you knew."

Standing away from the crowd, I asked Ernestine, "Hattie still throwing the pee out the window?"

We both laughed, and although we got stern stares, I'm sure Aunt Grace would not have minded. I spent the night before the funeral with Kate and her family. Kate had six children now, four strapping boys, and the last two, girls.

"What's Uncle Adam going to do?"

"He wants us to move in with him. He wants to sell Grandpa's farm and let Richard use the money to do what he likes"

"Do you agree?"

"Why not? It's only fair."

"I don't like Richard's wife much, she seems greedy and a snob."

"I can't say Em, I only know Richard is happy."

"Can't help it Kate, I still don't like her."

"Don't pull your reins in too tight Em, you might find yourself backing down."

"You mean you like snobbish women?"

"Like her or not, she is my sister-in-law. I live here, you don't. We get along reasonably well, and if Richard is happy, who am I to judge."

On my return, I stopped at farms with gas pumps and was able to secure enough gasoline to see me to Port Huron. where my gas coupons took over.

I got home to find most of the furniture gone. Jewell's room was stripped clean. Mama's room had been ransacked and the contents of her chest were gone. Nothing was missing from my room, or from the kitchen. I went upstairs to the Westfalls. I knocked and Marshall came to the front door.

"My God Emily, you're white as a ghost. What happened?"

"The flat has been ransacked. Did you see anything?"

"Jewell had a truck here Friday, and loaded up some things."

Jewell had flown the coop, and I can't say I was sorry, although I was mad as hell at her for taking the furniture.

As if that weren't enough, two weeks later, Charlie called and said that Rose had had a stroke. She was in St. Joseph's Hospital in Mount Clemens, and it did not look good. I didn't get to St. Joseph's until early evening the next day. Charlie and Robert were sitting in the waiting room.

"How is she?"

"Not good; Evelyn's with her now, trying to feed her."

"Where are the nurses?"

"They showed Evelyn how to do it, and then left."

"What did the doctor say Charlie?"

"It's affected both sides and her speech."

"Can she understand when you talk to her?"

"I think so."

It was three weeks before Rose came home, and then it was by ambulance. There had been little improvement, but the hospital said that they couldn't do any more for her than we could at home.

Evelyn was providing most of the care, with a visiting nurse coming in once a week. She was able to manage, but it was taking its toll on her private life. Charlie was no help. The two boys helped as much as they could, but it was Evelyn who took the brunt. Between James, his wife and me, we managed to give Evelyn at least one day a week, respite. On Sunday, Mason would drive out and pick her up and they would spend some time together. Evelyn's loving care finally began to show results. It was slow at first but Rose's eyes begin to follow Evelyn's movements, then some guttural noise in an effort to speak and then her toes and fingers began to twitch. By the time Arthur was called up to serve, Rose was able to sit in a chair and feed herself. Robert would not be drafted for he was eligible for a hardship exemption as the youngest and sole remaining son.

When Evelyn's daughter was born in March 1943, Mason had enlisted in the Navy. A special pass from the Great Lakes training Center allowed him to be present at the birth. On his return he was shipped out to the South Pacific. Arthur was in North Africa training for the move into the boot of southern Italy.

Rose had recuperated to the point where she was able to walk, although there was a definite weakening on her left side. Even at that it was a miracle.

Robert enlisted in the Navy in 1944, leaving Charlie and Rose to fend for themselves. I don't blame him, he was about the only young male left in Warren who was able-bodied and remarks were being made by parents who had sacrificed their sons and who resented his exemption.

His decision did create a problem, for Rose and Charlie could not be left alone. Rose could hardly care for herself, let alone cook, wash and clean and there was no money to hire help. Arthur's allotment barely kept them in food.

I had no hand in the arrangements that were made and perhaps it was just as well. With Arthur gone and Robert leaving in two weeks, it was up to Evelyn and James to decide what was to be done. Evelyn took Rose with her and James took Charlie. Deep in my heart I knew that never again would they be together as husband and wife. Charlie was happiest, for he was staying in his old stomping grounds, able to play cards with his old cronies, while Rose would be uprooted once more into an environment that was completely foreign to her. Her one consolation was that she would have a baby to love every day.

Good Tool & Die was going full swing. The men were working twelve hour shifts, seven days a week. I worked ten hours a day and eight on Saturday. Sunday, it was all I could do to pick up the house and do my hand washing. I paid Eva Westfall to do my laundry. Most Sundays I was too tired to take Anna downtown like we did in that time so long ago.

By late 1944, the tide had turned; the United States was finally overriding her enemies. God willing the slaughter would not last much longer.

Mr. Goodrich closed down the shop at noon on Christmas Eve, 1944, to allow the men to spend some time with their families. He and Hoffleman stayed behind to crate up a few orders that were ready to be shipped the day after Christmas. Mr. Goodrich said goodbye to Hoffleman and headed for his car while Hoffleman checked on the lights and made sure all the doors were locked. Hoffleman heard a horn blowing incessantly in the parking lot and walked out to find Mr. Goodrich slumped over the steering wheel of his car. Hoffleman rushed back to the office and called an ambulance and then waited in the car with Mr. Goodrich cradled in his arms. Cecil Goodrich died early Christmas afternoon.

I didn't learn of the circumstances until I got home from Evelyn's where I had Christmas dinner with her and Rose. We had such a lovely day. Sally was growing so fast and she was hardly a baby anymore. She toddled about talking to herself in a language only she understood. When I got home the phone was ringing off the hook; it was Hoffleman. My heart sank. It was unbelievable that robust Cecil Goodrich would have a heart attack. He had always struck me as being invincible. Hoffleman told me that Mrs. Goodrich wanted me to call her as soon as I could.

"This is Emily Collins from the shop. I hate to disturb Mrs. Goodrich but she requested that I contact her as soon as possible."

"Yes, just a moment please."

"Emily is that you?"

"Yes Germaine; I'm terribly sorry about Cecil and I didn't want to disturb you, but Hoffleman said it was urgent."

"Emily, we have a small crisis on our hands. The men are due back to work on the early shift tomorrow and I'd appreciate it if you could contact them at home and tell them the shop will be closed until the day after the funeral. Able will help you."

"I'll be glad to. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"That's the most important thing right now. I'll keep in touch."

"Germaine? Do you have the arrangements made?"

"Yes."

She gave me the name of the funeral home on Grand River and the time of the funeral.

Closing the plant for five days would present some problems, for we had a backlog of orders that needed to be filled. I ceased to worry about that since the war wasn't going to end in five days whether we worked or not. We'd catch up somehow.

With Hoffleman holding the reins until someone could take over, the shop managed to produce. The men resented Hoffleman to a certain degree for he was an employee like themselves, regardless of the years of seniority he had accumulated; besides, he didn't have the technical knowledge that they did. Everyone gave a sigh of relief when Cameron Hughes walked through the front door and announced he was the new general manager of Good Tool & Die. I quickly decided I didn't like the man but I couldn't fault him either for he did have Mrs. Goodrich's interests at heart. He was there to see that the shop made money. Within two weeks the shop was running like a clock. The problem was that sometimes the clock would get out of sync, and this I knew was due to the resentment toward a man who ran roughshod over his employees.

My job didn't change but it wasn't the same. With the exception of Germaine and Hoffleman, I think I missed Cecil Goodrich more than anyone. My trips to Metamora ceased, so I missed that too. Time was creeping up on me and, although I tried not to project too far into the future, I did from time to time speculate on what was going to happen to me when the war was over. I didn't look forward to working with Mr. Hughes. It seemed that all my working life when I thought I was secure, events had a way of taking that security away, although in this instance it would be by my own choosing.

In April 1945, the United States and her allies ended the war in Europe, but Japan was still hanging tenaciously to the few footholds she had left in the Pacific and that tenacity was taking a terrible toll on our young men. It was reported that the Americans who had served in Europe would be given leave, then shipped to the Pacific area. Thank God Arthur was safe, at least for now, and we all prayed for Mason. Mason was somewhere aboard ship and Robert as near as we knew was still in San Diego, waiting orders. That was a situation when Evelyn called me at work just as I was getting ready to leave for the day. She was crying in the phone, "Aunt Em, Mama just died."

By the time I got to the apartment Rose's body had been removed.

"Tell me what happened."

"Mama got a letter from Arthur yesterday and Aunt Em she was so happy. Arthur said he would be home soon and what a celebration we were going to have. He was going to take Mama dancing. Is that silly, Mama dancing; she hardly got around by herself."

"What happened today Evelyn?"

"Nothing really; Mama was listening to the radio and I was in the kitchen getting dinner ready. We talked back and forth and then I asked her something or other and when she didn't answer so I went in to see if she had heard me. Aunt Em, she was slumped in the couch with Arthur's letter still her hand."

Many tears were shed that night. I tried to steer the conversation toward the immediate steps that had to be taken. Arrangements would be through Sullivan Mortuary in Center Line.

I knew Mr. Egon had contacts with the Navy Department and with his help and help from the Red Cross, I managed to get word to Robert, who was in San Diego, waiting to ship out to the Pacific. He was able to get back in time for the funeral.

I did not want to talk to Jewell but I knew I needed to let her know about Rose's death and about the funeral arrangements. I called Fiona MacGregor who I knew could get in touch with Jewell or would know someone would could. I gave her the information and she assured me that the message would be passed along. My conscience was clear and I returned to the business at hand.

Evelyn wanted to ride with me so James and his wife took Charlie in their car. Driving along 7 Mile Road toward Van Dyke I knew Evelyn had something she wanted to say.

"I can't read your mind Evelyn, what's the matter?"

"It's Dad, Aunt Em."

"What about Charlie?"

"James and Jackie are climbing the wall."

"I don't understand."

“He's becoming impossible to live with."

"Is that all? I've known that for years."

"It isn't funny Aunt Em, he's disrupting their whole household, besides Jackie is pregnant and she's very nervous about it."

"What do you want me to do?"

"James wondered whether you could take him, for a time anyway."

"And that would solve the problem?"

"I don't know Aunt Em, but it would certainly give them breathing space."

"And just how much breathing space do they need?"

"I'm sorry Aunt Em, I shouldn't have brought it up."

"All right Evelyn, from what I gather you'd like me to take Charlie, at least for the time being. Is that correct?"

"Yes, Aunt Em."

"Evelyn, did it ever occur to you that you have carried your family on your back for most of your life. It has to stop some time, and I can't think of better time than now."

"I can't do that Aunt Em, I love them, and they need me."

We were on Van Dyke, crossing 8 Mile Road before I trusted myself to speak.

"Very well, if you can get Charlie to agree I'll take him, but not if he thinks he's a charity case, much as it appears now. For starters, to break it to him gently, may I suggest that Charlie spend the night with me."

"Oh Aunt Em." Evelyn leaned across the car seek to hug me.

"Don't count your chickens girl, this isn't over yet."

When everyone had talked themselves into exhaustion, I said to Charlie, "How about spending the night with me Charlie? Robert will stay with Evelyn and I'd appreciate the company."

"I don't have my pajamas."

"Well, sleep in your underwear. It wouldn't be the first time I'm sure, and you'd be safe with me."

Charlie was still sleeping soundly when I was ready to leave for work the next morning. I left a note for him saying I would pick him up at twelve-thirty and we'd go out to Warren for a change of clothes and then down to Sullivan's for visitation. I wouldn't have to pick up Evelyn and Robert, for Gracie had volunteered her 1937 Plymouth for Robert to use. They would meet us at the funeral home. Driving out to Warren, I tried to steer Charlie around to making the move out of James' house.

"How do you get along with James and Jackie?"

"To be true Sis, it isn't all that great, and since Jackie is going to have a baby it's been hard on me."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, Jackie is very strict with me."

"Have you ever considered leaving?"

"Good God Sis, where would I go? The war is going to be over soon and Mason will be coming home so I surely can't ask Evelyn to take me in."

"Would you be happier at Evelyn's?"

"Don't know. But I do know she sure as hell took care of Rose."

"What about me?"

"What about you?"

"Ever considered that we might join forces and live together?"

"In Highland Park?"

"That's where I live."

"God's green apples, what would I do there?"

"The same thing you do at James' but without pressure."

I could see him turning the possibilities over in his mind and didn't speak anymore about it. I wanted to give him time to think.

Charlie made the move to Highland Park about a month after Rose was buried. I don't know what triggered his decision. He didn't volunteer nor did I inquire. His euchre games now consisted of an occasional game with Eva and Marshall Westfall with no money on the table and with fruit punch the strongest drink available.

He adjusted and in fact he was a godsend to me. Carpenter by trade; Charlie repaired, replaced or refurbished all the things that needed attention. He became an institution in the area for it didn't take long for him to establish himself as a handyman of excellence. Not only that but he was a better cook than me.

In August 1945, the United States dropped the first atomic bomb on Hiroshima followed a week later by one on Nagasaki. The back of Japan was broken and they unconditionally surrendered. The Collins family had not suffered any casualties. All of us were looking forward to the return of the conquering heroes.

Arthur came home first, looking like a ghost with a beard; his duffel bag slung over his shoulder; eyes riveted to the floor, hardly aware of his surroundings. It was odd that, after he made his way from the platform into the station, he looked around and said, "Even if I have to walk, I'll never take another train from here again."

It was a long time before I knew what he meant by that. His wife many years later said that the last time he saw his mother was at Michigan Central Station in a wheelchair crying and waving goodbye. It represented an omen to him.

I had written Arthur several weeks earlier and invited him to stay with me and his father. He accepted my invitation. He had hardly settled in when Mason came home. Another reunion—Evelyn could hardly contain her joy. Robert, last to enlist, was the last to be discharged.

Charlie was in seventh heaven. Evelyn and Mason had bought a small lot in Warren, and they wanted Charlie to build them a house. Charlie accepted the offer even before he realized he had no means of getting to the building site. He prevailed upon Arthur, who had bought a 1939 Packard, to take him back and forth and to work. It was a slow process, for even if the war was over green lumber was still being sold and Charlie would have none of it. There were many delays while Charlie searched for seasoned wood.

My life had not come to a standstill. Good Tool & Die continued to prosper, but after the Japanese surrender aboard the USS Missouri, it wouldn't be long before the company would be without military contracts. It was time to get back into the civilian sector. Cameron Hughes had been busy making die changes in anticipation of the government contract cancellations. We were ready, and private industry was eager to move toward a program of peace.

I remember the day well, it was my birthday and I was 57 years old. Anna and I had made plans to go out to dinner to celebrate. I pulled the mail from the box and leafed through it. There were several birthday cards and one business envelope. I bathed and dressed but still had about twenty minutes before leaving to pick up Anna. I appreciated my relatives and friends congratulating me on having lived so long but it was the business envelope that piqued my interest. I set the greetings aside and opened the business letter, which had no return address. The letter was from the Burroughs Adding Machine Company on West Grand Boulevard.

I could see Marshall Westfall's fine hand in this. I didn't have time for any further speculation for I had to meet Anna. Like reading a mystery novel and trying to guess whodunit I knew I would have to follow through. The initial appointment was set for ten A. M., May fourth.

Walking up to the Burroughs building, I began to have second thoughts on whether I was as smart as I thought I was. Still, my curiosity couldn't do much more than kill the cat. I gave the receptionist my name, and the name of the man who was to interview me. She told me to take a seat and he would be down directly. She pushed a button on the intercom and spoke to someone. It was hardly three minutes before a young man came into the lobby and walked toward me with his hand extended, "Are you are Miss Collins?"

"Yes I am."

"Good, come with me. Betty, get Miss Collins a clearance badge."

I followed the young man through a maze of halls until he stopped and opened the door to a small office. Except for a desk and chair it was barren, not even a picture on the wall.

"Sit down Miss Collins. In the top desk drawer you will find a questionnaire. You'll also find ample pencils and paper. By all means be as thorough as you can. When you have finished, push the button on the left side of the desk and I shall return."

I felt as though I was on a deserted island with no ship in sight. I filled out the questionnaire to the best of my ability. The questionnaire asked about the office machines I had worked with or had any knowledge of, by name and model, since high school. There was space to write any ideas of how each of those machines could have been improved to make them more efficient or easier to use. The final page was blank, and I was to write down any suggestions that might be pertinent to creating a better business machine.

When I finished, I was amazed to see that I had been at this for over four hours. I rang the bell and the young man came immediately. I wondered whether he had been waiting just outside the door the whole time.

"Thank you Miss Collins. We will review the questionnaire and get in touch regarding any future assistance. I would like to invite you to have lunch on Burroughs in our dining room. After lunch, please stop by and drop off your ID badge and pick up your check for today's work."

The corned beef sandwich was one of the best I had ever had, and the fifty dollar check was a surprise bonus. Fifty dollars, for filling out a questionnaire. Whatever Burroughs was picking my brain for I hoped they found it worth fifty dollars.

Two weeks later, I received a registered letter asking that I meet with a Mr. Halloway to discuss further services for Burroughs. I was instructed to use the utmost discretion and not to discuss this appointment with anyone. I told Mr. Hughes that I would be taking some time off over the next week.

When I walked into Burroughs, the receptionist had my ID badge ready and directed me to Mr. Halloway's office on the third floor.

"Ah, Miss Collins, how nice to meet you. Please sit down, there are a few things I want to discuss with you and I'm sure you must be wondering what this is all about."

"To say the least Mr. Holloway."

"Miss Collins, we went over the summary you filled out. Your experience is very impressive. What we want from you is an honest opinion about the progression of our business machines and those of our main competitors as well."

"I'd be happy to do that."

"I must tell you Miss Collins, we live in a very competitive society. All of us think our product is the best, and until it is ready for marketing, we protect it like a mother with a newborn child."

"I understand that."

"Then you must also understand Miss Collins before we go any further in this project you will be required to sign a nondisclosure statement."

"I've always felt my word was my bond."

"Perhaps in other matters Miss Collins, but not in this instance. The wording of the statement is not limitless."

I signed my name on the dotted line. He took the paper, unlocked his desk drawer, put the paper inside and locked the drawer.

"Now Miss Collins, let's get started shall we?"

We took the elevator to the basement level. When the door opened, we were greeted by a security guard. We soon reached a room that had no signs on it. I thought for a moment I was in Greenfield Village Museum. It was a large room, and on three walls were business machines of all types and all vintages. Starting at my extreme right, sat a typewriter that was long before my time.

"Mr. Holloway, this is incredible."

"I thought you might think so, how would you like to operate them?"

"Like Alice in Wonderland Mr. Holloway, this is getting curiouser and curiouser."

"By tomorrow Miss Collins, you'll have it all figured out."

"I surely hope so."

"These machines are placed in chronological order. I want you to use each machine and write down what you find wrong with them, and what, specifically, could be done to improve each."

"I'm familiar with most of these machines, but I don't have working experience with some of them."

"We realize that, just do the best you can. I shall pick you up at noon for lunch. If you have any problems, use the phone on the desk and dial 333, otherwise you're on your own."

Mr. Holloway was high enough in the hierarchy not to have to stand in the cafeteria line. A waiter presented us with menus. Our order was delivered immediately. I was hungry, and since talking with your mouthful was impolite, it wasn't until we had our coffee that Mr. Holloway continued the conversation.

"Well, Miss Collins, how did your morning go?"

"Fascinating, Mr. Holloway, I don't know whether I've been of any help to you, but it certainly has been an education for me."

"Do you think you'll be able to finish up this afternoon?"

"I think so."

"Good, tomorrow will be the supreme test."

"That sounds ominous Mr. Holloway."

"By no means, it only suggests that your commentaries will be evaluated and recommendations will be made."

"My commentaries are considered?"

"That's the whole point of you being here."

The rest of the afternoon was spent operating machines that became increasingly familiar, and the suggestions I made were some of the same ones that I fumed and fussed about when doing my work at Montrose & Carstairs and Good Tool & Die.

The next day, we returned to the basement, but to an entirely different area, where we entered a large room which contained twelve tables, on which sat twelve machines.

"Miss Collins, I would like you to meet John Weathers, design engineer; Cranston Hardstone who heads up our production department; and, Miss Garrity, who will take notes."

"Miss Collins, what you see in this room are proprietary machines the Company is working on. We want you to test each of them."

I found myself so engrossed with these wonders, that I hardly noticed that I was not alone. My comments were more like talking to myself than expressing an opinion. When I was finished, we went down the hall to another room. There were men and women working in white coats, at tasks that I couldn't have described if my life depended on it. It was more of a laboratory than a production plant. On one wall, stood a bank of machines covered by black plastic sheeting that Mr. Weathers pulled away. There sat three machines completely foreign to me. Even now, all I can say is that those machines were the forerunners of modern computers. I had no expertise with any of these machines, so I wondered why they would even reveal this operation to me. The only answer I could come up with, was that my comments on the other machines might have a bearing on what was transpiring in this room. I recall that I was most impressed with the clarity and clean functions that these machines produced. They operated both on a battery similar to a car and on direct electricity. There was no tape, and operations flashed on a screen above the keyboard.

"What do you think Miss Collins?"

"I hope I live long enough to see them operational."

"Oh I think you will, Miss Collins; it has been a pleasure meeting you. Betty, do you have Miss Collins' envelope?"

"Yes sir, right here."

"Then it seems we come to a parting of the ways. Good luck on your future endeavors."

"Thank you."

Never again would I earn three hundred fifty dollars for two and a half days work.

Arthur was going to build a house. Ever since Arthur had been discharged from the Army, Charlie had been after him to buy property in Warren. I know that Charlie wasn't happy in the City, and desperately wanted to get back to what he called home; if Arthur could be persuaded, then Charlie had one foot in the door. Their conversations always led to the topic of buying. As Arthur's interest grew, Charlie lowered the boom.

"We build a house and sell it, then build again and sell. The third house we build we keep and the cost is zero."

It sounded familiar. I think sometimes Charlie missed his calling, he was a mover and shaker of the first-order. As with all Charlie's highflown ideas, there was only the matter of money.

"Dad, after I buy the land, what do we use to build with?"

"You take out a VA loan."

"And what do I use for collateral?"

"You've got the land."

"Dad, you realize I don't have a job? A bank isn't going to give me money if they know I don't have any way of paying them back."

"Back off now, first things first. Let's see what we can come up with in the way of a lot."

The lot Arthur liked was in a new subdivision on the outskirts of the village. The one Charlie liked was in the village and cheaper. Arthur went with his father's advice and bought the cheaper lot. Charlie drew up a rough draft and took it to a friend of his, an architect, for the finishing touches.

Charlie figured they could do it for about ten thousand dollars. Arthur was working part-time driving a truck; Charlie was living hand to mouth; and, Robert in school could contribute nothing except some of his time. How the payments were going to be made from this motley crew would be the mystery of all time.

Arthur got the loan, and the construction commenced. It was about this time that Charlie began feeling me out about joining them in Warren. "There would be plenty of room."

I began to wonder what happened to the idea of building and selling, the same grandiose scheme that had put Charlie into bankruptcy back in the 20s.

"Charlie I thought you were building to sell."

"We are Sis."

"Then what is the purpose of moving into it?"

"Well, we've imposed on you long enough, time to even the score."

"You and the boys have always been welcome here."

"I know that Sis, but it just doesn't seem right somehow."

"You know Charlie, if I decide to come with you, I'll sell this place, but where will we live when the new house is sold?"

"We'll rent a house and keep on building."

"Charlie, this is your sister Emily you are trying to convince. You have no intention of ever moving out of that house."

"Arthur thinks it's a good idea."

"I wonder who put that in his head?"

"Now Sis, everything will work out, you'll see."

"Charlie, you're hopeless."

Two things had a direct bearing on my decision to move to Warren. First, Marshall Westfall deserted Eva and the two girls. He moved to Pennsylvania, and was seeking a divorce. Unable to pay the rent, Eva moved in with her sister in South Carolina. I now had an empty flat. Second, I was unhappy in my job. Too much had changed since Mr. Goodrich died, and Hoffleman had retired. It was time I got out as well. I would be sixty years old come May. I had worked all my adult life, and if I planned to take it easy, now was the time.

I wasn't so naïve that I thought that Charlie's and Arthur's invitation would mean anything other than my being the majordomo in this arrangement. I really didn't mind, for it had been a long time since I had had any household duties. It certainly would be a new challenge for me.

When the house sold, my financial position was going to be substantial. It was time I had a talk with Arthur. With Charlie and Robert about the house evenings, it wasn't easy to find time alone, so, using the excuse that Anna had clothes and dishes to donate to the Shrine annual rummage sale, I talked Arthur into helping me carry the articles to the Temple.

When we were in the car I said, "Arthur, Anna doesn't have anything to donate; I want to talk to you. Is there any place around here we can go?"

"Only a couple of bars and a bowling alley."

"The bowling alley is too noisy, let's go to a bar."

We drove to a small tavern on Woodward, not much more than a hole in the wall, but it was dark and secluded, with only a few regular customers sitting at the bar.

"What's this all about, Aunt Em?"

"It mainly concerns you Arthur, and what I'm about to tell you must be kept in utmost confidence. Arthur, you know I'm not exactly a poor woman, and if the house sells I'll be in an even better financial position. I have made out my will, making you administrator and executor, and the bulk of my estate is going to you."

"For God's sake, why?"

"Because, you're the only one in our family with a head on your shoulders."

"Now Aunt Em, that's not true."

"Don't argue Arthur, let me finish. What I've told you so far is neither here nor there. What I'm about to tell you is very important. In my will I have made two stipulations, and I expect you, as administrator, to carry them out to the letter."

"I don't understand."

"Outside of one dollar each, nothing of my estate will be granted to Jewell Collins or Floyd Parks."

"Who's Floyd Parks?"

"At one time he was my husband."

"I don't believe it."

"Believe it, it's true."

"You've never said anything about a husband."

"No one knows except Jason McDonald, my attorney, and now you."

"Why are you telling me all this now?"

"Because I've always felt that someday the ghosts may rise up to haunt me, and I'll deny them to my last breath and even after the grave."

"You aren't going to die Aunt Em."

"We all die Arthur, it's only that we don't know when. Like all mortals I'm happy for a few more good years, but still it's better to be prepared than trust to luck."

"Will you tell me about Floyd Parks?"

Sparing the gory details I told Arthur about my marriage to Floyd Parks.

"I don't know what to say Aunt Em."

"The kindest thing you can say Arthur, is nothing. My reputation bandied about the family is not something I would look forward to."

"Your secret is mine Aunt Em."

"Thank you Arthur."

Our conversation was never referred to again. I put my house up for sale and gave Good Tool & Die my thirty-day notice.

I had no friends in the village, no job, and was relegated to being a homebody. What I had envisioned as sweet repose was turning sour in my mouth. Charlie urged me to join the Rebekah’s, an auxiliary of the Odd Fellows. Needing something to do, I followed his advice. It wasn't a large lodge and like most fraternal organizations, attendance was sporadic, but it did allow me a couple of hours a month of pure enjoyment. It wasn't long before I had made a few new friends and had a few laughs as well. I kept in contact with the Shriners and Eastern Star but my attendance, like that of the Rebekah’s, was sporadic. The old timers like myself were dying off and the new members seemed to be out of touch with my generation. In the few meetings I attended I felt like an outsider and I was uncomfortable. I had nothing to offer, certainly not the dedication that was needed.

Everyone was elated when Arthur was hired as a firefighter in the Warren Township Fire Department. He finally had a steady job. His financial worries were over and no one breathed a larger sigh of relief than me.

It wasn't much later that Robert announced he was going to marry a girl he had known since high school. He had picked up the relationship after moving back to Warren.

Arthur was seeing a local girl. At this point I didn't know how serious it was, but he was on a here today, gone tomorrow basis. Charlie took on an old folks at home identity that I just hated. I was bored to the soles of my feet.

I'm not sure what prompted it, but Arthur bought a dog, a young pup that he spent a great deal of time training. Nine-tenths Doberman, and one-tenth German Shepherd; a dog that, by all rights, should have had some kind of psychosis, for he was a she that Arthur had named Rex. I don't think Arthur knew the sex until after she had been named. By then she was responding to Rex and it was too late to change. Perhaps she was conflicted; she was five years old before she came in-heat.

Rex, regardless of gender, had a bearing on my future. Arthur and Charlie had built a large running pen for the dog, and she stayed there until dark, when either Arthur or Charlie would put her in the basement for the night, under strict orders that she be fed only once a day, usually after our evening meal.

One evening, I decided there was no reason for Rex not to have her dinner in the house. Rex was jumping around in anticipation of being fed. I always put the leash on her, for I was afraid she would run off. Almost a year old, she was strong, and pulled on her leash in an effort to get to the house. It took almost all my strength to keep her in check, and I was succeeding until I stumbled over an old brick that was lying in the yard. I went down ass over tea kettle, landing on my left side. I gathered myself together but walking was extremely painful.

That evening, I was in pain, but I could get around with Charlie's canes. The next morning, I didn't think I could get out of bed. Arthur got home at eight-thirty and took me to the hospital for x-rays. It was a hairline fracture of the pelvic bone. The next four weeks I spent on the couch, using the stairs only at night. Thank God all the Collins' were readers. Without the books, I'd have had more than a hairline fracture. It also gave me time to think. Unless I wanted to lose my mind, I had to get a job. I would give myself until the first of the year to get my leg in proper working order, then start looking for employment. I subscribed to a number of magazines, all of which carried advertisements for Kelly Girls.

"Why not?" Temporary work would be just the thing. I wouldn't be confined to any one job and I'd have time for myself. As soon as I was able to get around comfortably I made a call to the local Kelly's office and set up an interview.

All the advertisements pictured Kelly Girls as sweet young things with brilliant teeth and long blonde hair. The woman sitting behind the desk was about my age, which right away gave me hope that age wouldn't be a factor in my getting employment.

I answered the usual questions, biostatistics, my job experience, and my machine comprehension. I was given a series of aptitude tests, which posed no problem, in fact, I did very well if I do say so myself. Kelly's was happy to have me, and I signed a contract. Any company I worked for paid Kelly, and Kelly paid me, less a fee.

I had not told Charlie or Arthur of my plans since failure was a possibility. I waited until we were all seated at the dining room table that evening, before springing my surprise.

"Guess what; I'm a Kelly girl."

"You can't be serious."

"Why not?"

"My God Sis, you're almost 63 years old, what are you thinking of?"

"I'm thinking I need something else to do around here besides cooking and washing dishes, besides, it's temporary work. I only go when they need a bookkeeper to fill in."

I could see that Arthur had something to say. "All right, Arthur, let's have your two cents worth."

"Aunt Em, you don't look like a Kelly girl."

"Well, I don't look like a giraffe either, but it doesn't mean I haven't got it all upstairs."

My first few jobs were fill-in's for vacationers, people who were ill, extra help at a crucial time and the like. It was Kelly's way of screening me to see if I could cut the mustard.

Passing muster, I was assigned jobs that lasted anywhere from six weeks to three months, some even longer. These were mostly bankruptcy cases, and general audits. I cannot imagine anyone in business being so ignorant as not to be able to balance a bank statement. It was true though, and they never called for help until their finances were in such a state as to be mind-boggling. I worked as many miracles as I could and loved every minute of it.

Arthur was getting married. Arthur wasn't a kid anymore. It was high time he settled down.

"Aunt Em, can I talk to you for a minute?"

"Of course Arthur, what's on your mind?"

"After Helen and I are married, we'll be living at her house."

"Does that bother you?"

"No, I like Helen's house, and Mr. Schmidt and me get along pretty good."

"Then what's the problem?"

"I'm wondering how you and Dad are going to manage alone."

"For goodness sake Arthur, we'll manage."

"Mr. Schmidt has bone cancer and is not expected to live much longer, and since Helen's mother died just recently she doesn't want to leave him alone."

"Oh Arthur, I'm so sorry."

"That's why Helen wants to be married now, so her father will know she's being taken care of and so that he will still be well enough to give her away at the wedding."

"Arthur, don't worry about your father and me. We've been together so long that when his bronchitis acts up, I have to cough."

"Thanks Aunt Em."

"You're welcome; and Arthur, after the wedding, I insist on paying rent."

"You don't have to do that."

"No, I suppose I don't, but since your father and I will be living in your house I think it fair that I at least pay on the mortgage."

It was in 1946, when Arthur first met Helen. Although Arthur was living in Highland Park, he had joined a bowling league that met each Tuesday evening in Center Line. Helen's father belonged to the same league. Helen had been in the service, and only recently discharged. She and her mother would come down to Center Line, go to the local theater, and meet Mr. Schmidt afterwards. Although Helen was born in Detroit, she was considered a native of Warren, for her roots were deeply embedded, from as far back as her great-grandfather.

I remember meeting Helen for the first time. Both Charlie and I were looking forward to meeting the girl Arthur had chosen to pursue. I liked her immediately, for her handshake was firm and sincere. It took a while for all of us to relax. Leave it to Arthur to liven up a stilted conversation. He began by teasing Helen. She reciprocated, giving Arthur as good as he gave. I think after fifteen minutes, Arthur wished he had never started the charade.

One other thing that struck me, was Helen lighting up a cigarette. Arthur smoked and Charlie was never without a cigar in his mouth. With her, it was an accepted fact, take it or leave it. Although I can't say I approved, I took it. At least she was more honest then Jewell.

I do not mean to denigrate Evelyn, James or Robert, it's only that of Charlie's four children, I grew to know Arthur best. James and Robert were loners. Evelyn was very dear to me, but after Rose's death and Mason's return from the Navy, it left me on the outside looking in.

As a child, Arthur was either running or giving Rose heart palpitations with his practical jokes and tomfoolery. He loved being the instigator of pranks that got someone else into hot water. He wasn't always successful, for there were times when his jokes backfired and he felt the sting of Rose's hairbrush on his backside. Charlie never felt the need to chastise any of his children when his roaring voice would do just as well. It was always Rose who doled out the punishment.

I don't mean to imply that Arthur was malicious, he wasn't; far from it. He had a sense of humor that was never very far from the surface; getting a laugh was his main objective. Arthur had one flaw that rarely presented itself, but when it did, it could be devastating; a trait that Arthur inherited from his great-great grandfather; a short temper. Any real or imagined indignity thrust upon him or his family was seldom, if ever, forgiven. This was one area where Helen would be invaluable; she was unflappable. She would be the steady force to keep Arthur on an even keel.

As his friends married, Arthur was usually the one who came up with an idea to make the wedding couple miserable or at least wary of what might happen next. Now it was his turn, and I know there must have been fifteen men waiting to get even. The day had been set, but secrecy was the order of the day. Arthur wasn't scheduled for a vacation, so the wedding would take place at noon on Saturday, with Arthur back to work on Tuesday, another thing Arthur thought might confound his enemies.

That Saturday in April was one of the most beautiful I had ever seen. The sky was a brilliant dark blue, with no clouds, and the temperature was hovering around seventy degrees.

Arthur planned his strategy well. After the wedding dinner, he would take my car. I had just bought a new Chevrolet coupe and he and Helen would drive that down to Kentucky and I would take his 1950 Ford to work on Monday.

The wedding was scheduled at noon, and at eleven-thirty Arthur still wasn't home. He had left the house about ten a. m., Charlie in a white shirt with coat and pants to match, and a boutonniere in his left lapel came downstairs."Where the hell is Arthur? Good God, you don't suppose he got cold feet?"

I heard the back door slam. It was Arthur. He raced upstairs calling out, "See you in church."

On the heels of Arthur's return, Robert and Janice drove up. Robert had a convertible, and the weather was gorgeous, so the top was down. Robert stuck his head in the door and called out, "Come on dad, we've got a couple of minutes, let's go for a ride."

Charlie was itching to do something, even if it was wrong.

I waited for Arthur; we would drive to the church together, leaving Arthur's car in the driveway as a decoy. We didn't have more than two minutes to spare when Arthur pulled into the parking lot beside the church.

"Aunt Em, Helen and I are going to go with Helen's brother right after the ceremony to have our pictures taken in Mount Clemens. You take Dad, and make sure that Mr. Schmidt and Gordon's wife and children have a ride to the restaurant. We'll meet you there okay?"

"That's fine, Arthur, don't worry."

It seemed almost intolerable that everything went off without a hitch. The ceremony was dignified and lovely.

Mr. Schmidt had made reservations for a Champagne dinner at a lovely restaurant in Mount Clemens, hopefully out of reach of those who couldn't wait to get their hands on Arthur. There was an open bar with Mr. Schmidt picking up the tab. Even the children had Shirley temples, making them feel part of the occasion. By the time the festivities were over and everyone had thrown rice at the lucky couple it was almost three o'clock.

We shared rides back to Warren but we were one car short. James' children, dying to ride in a convertible, went with Robert and that allowed Charlie and me to ride with James and Jackie. Gordon would take Mr. Schmidt. Everyone was in a good mood. We had finally gotten Arthur married. I wasn't paying much attention when we drove up to the house but all of a sudden I heard James shout, "My God I don't believe it."

"What's the matter James?"

"Someone has let the air out of all four tires on Arthur's car."

Sure enough, sitting on the rims was Arthur's Ford, all dressed up and unable to go. His friends had decorated the car with crêpe paper and on the windshield painted, "Going somewhere?"

When General Motors moved into our tight knit community, they brought with them changes of the highest order. They bought all the land between 12 Mile Road and Chicago Road from VanDyke to a half-mile west of Mound Road—almost a mile and a half square. Part of that land was the subdivision where Arthur had wanted to build. Charlie's powers of persuasion had hypothetically cost Arthur twenty-five thousand dollars, for GM was buying those homes for thirty-five thousand dollars. General Motors Technical Center was born and the old village of Warren began dying. Progress sometimes leaves much to be desired.

With the Technical Center taking shape, it didn't take a genius to figure out that future employees of GM would be needing homes and land developers were descending on the Village like locusts attacking a wheat field. Every available scrap of property was being bought up. All the lovely woods were being uprooted to make room for rows of tract houses whose façades, though different, still managed to look the same.

I wasn't affected by the change as much as Charlie and the children, for my first loyalty would always lie with Birmingham. I had always considered that my home; my memories were there. Thomas Wolfe's, You Can't Go Home Again brought that back to me when on my semiannual visit to the cemetery. I found the block where I grew up being razed to provide a municipal parking lot. It hurt for a long time but I got over it. Sometime later even the school Papa had helped build was torn down, considered by the town as outdated and inadequate. More's the pity that time does not stand still, at least long enough for us to recognize what we have and not what might be. So much is lost in the name of progress. I hope I don't live to see it but someday this great Country is going to have to stop and wonder what went wrong. Immorality, greed, indifference, suspicion, lack of trust and our inability to live together as neighbors have become ways of life.

Kelly's sent me out to work at Hamilton Motors. The general manager was doing the best he could but he couldn't keep up with the business tasks and run the shop at same time. I brought everything up to date and during my last week there, Mr. Grimsley, one of the owners, approached me.

"Miss Collins, how would you like to work for us permanently?"

"I can't do that Mr. Grimsley, I'm contracted to Kelly Services."

"I realize that Miss Collins. We would buy your contract from Kelly's, freeing you from all obligations."

I was taken aback for I had never suspected that the company was even considering such a step.

"Give me a day or two to think about it Mr. Grimsley and I'll call you."

"Of course Miss Collins, take all the time you need."

Two days later I had decided I would accept if Hamilton Motors could meet a couple of important conditions.

"Mr. Grimsley, I will accept your offer with certain stipulations."

"I don't understand Miss Collins."

"Mr. Grimsley I haven't seen a bookkeeping system like this since I took the course in high school in 1908. Accounting is no longer done using envelopes."

"What do you suggest?"

"A complete overhaul of your system and installing a couple of machines that will not only save time but cut down on errors."

"Well now, I really don't know Ms. Collins. I shall have to contact my partner to get his approval before I take a step like that."

"You do what you must Mr. Grimsley, I'm only telling you; your accounting system is fifty years behind the times."

"Do you have any idea what the machines are going to cost?"

“Off-hand I'd say in the neighborhood of three thousand dollars."

"That seems like a lot of money."

"Not for what it will save you in the long run Mr. Grimsley, and is the only way I'd come to work here."

"I'll call you with our decision tomorrow Miss Collins."

I had a new job with a new title—Office Manager and Bookkeeper. I also managed to persuade Mr. Grimsley to hire a clerk-typist to record incoming and outgoing invoices. After several interviews I settled on Monica, a patient girl who was eager to please and by far the most accurate. She worked four days a week—Monday through Thursday. We got along well together and more importantly I liked her.

Hamilton Motors employed twenty mechanics whose jobs were overhauling and rebuilding motors for everything from pickup trucks to wrecking ball cranes.

My arrival caused some dissension, especially since I had more or less usurped some of the general managers position. It was many months before I was accepted by the employees; the general manager, Mr. Brown, took longer. It was a duel between Brown and myself and I wasn't about to run to Mr. Grimsley to complain. If I was going to win this battle I would do it by myself.

Estimates as a rule did not cross my desk; my concerns were invoices and billing. Estimates were taken directly to Mr. Grimsley for his okay. I returned from lunch one day and laying on top of my desk was a manila folder marked, “Rosen Construction Estimate” Apparently someone from the shop had brought the folder into the office intending to give it to Mr. Grimsley but had plunked it down on my desk. Out of curiosity, I opened the folder and ran down the columns of figures. Rosen had requested quotes on three pieces of heavy equipment. The first two were, as near as I could tell, figured properly; but the third, a Caterpillar bulldozer with a cracked cylinder block, did not have the proper cost of labor. I waited until everyone had left, then went into the shop where Mr. Brown was working up job assignments for the next day.

"Mr. Brown, can I see you for moment?"

"If it's necessary"

"I don't honestly know, that's what I wanted to talk to you about."

"Very well."

I handed him the folder containing the Rosen estimate.

"What are you doing with that Ms. Collins? Mr. Grimsley should have approved it hours ago."

"It was laying on my desk when I got back from lunch. Out of curiosity I opened the folder and I'm sorry but I thought there might be a discrepancy in the last estimate. I noticed that the bulldozer was to be put on a rush order. Rush orders are usually figured on overtime basis. There is no overtime allowance."

"I can't believe it."

"Did I do the right thing?"

"Yes indeed, to the tune of almost six hundred dollars. I'll take this back and rework it."

Next morning Mr. Brown came into the office.

"Would you like to check this now Miss Collins?"

"No Mr. Brown, I'm sure it is in order."

"By the way Miss Collins, if you hadn't picked up the error it might have cost me a chewing out."

"Oh I'm sure it wouldn't have Mr. Brown."

"Call me Harold, perhaps it's time we get to know each other a little better."

"If you'll call me Emily, we'll consider the case closed."

Charlie wasn't feeling well; nothing he could put his finger on, just lethargy. He seldom left his chair, book and cigar. I suppose in a way he felt that he had outlived his usefulness. For a time he was the building inspector for the village, but after the transition to a City his services were no longer required.

His greatest source of enjoyment were his five grandchildren. Evelyn had two, James had two and Arthur had one. I enjoyed my family; after all, they were the only ones I had. I wasn't considered part of the inner circle but I was always included in the family gatherings which made me feel wanted.

Charlie had a summer cold during one of our warmest summers ever. I chided him that he must have gotten overheated at a euchre game at the local tavern and didn't know enough to tell the barkeep to turn the air conditioner down. I tried to get him to stop smoking those nasty cigars but that was like trying to steer the Titanic away from the iceberg. Charlie would merely puff and cough. It was the cough that bothered me; he had lived with his bronchitis for more than eleven years and, while I never before concerned myself with his breathing, now I was frightened. I took Charlie to the doctor who gave him a series of penicillin shots but the cough remained. In order to sleep, Charlie was propped up on four pillows and even then, at night, I could hear him coughing and gasping for breath.

It was the end of September and the weather was beautiful. The trees turning into red and gold with sun setting into a pink sky. Just think, I said to myself, we still have Indian summer to look forward to.

"Sis, I'm tired, call Arthur and have him come over and get me ready for bed."

It was a common procedure the past few weeks that Arthur, James or Mason would take care of Charlie for the night. His illness had debilitated him and he didn't have the strength to mount the stairs alone. Once in his bedroom he was too exhausted to undress and put on his pajamas.

Although Charlie and I were at the stage of our golden years, modesty was still protected in this household. He did not want me to care for him except for cooking and cleaning. He insisted on his privacy, which meant that only a male member of the family could see to his personal needs. I had no intention of enlightening him but I'm sure Charlie would have been astonished if he had known what I knew about the nude male body.

I called Arthur and within twenty minutes he was here. He got Charlie settled in bed and then we spent a few minutes gossiping. I don't think Arthur had been gone fifteen minutes before I heard a shout from Charlie's room.

"Sis, comes Sis, please come."

Because of my bad leg I could only climb the staircase one step at a time. I pushed the door open and went to his bed.

"Is that you Sis?"

"It's me Charlie, what's the matter?"

"I feel so funny.” And with that Charlie died.

I called Arthur and told him what happened. He said to hang up and he'd take care the rest. It wasn't five minutes before the rescue squad from the fire department arrived. They worked over Charlie quite some time to no avail. Meanwhile, Arthur, James, Evelyn and Mason arrived. It was futile. Even if Charlie had responded it was much too late now to escape severe brain damage. As they were packing up their equipment the doctor arrived. He pronounced Charlie dead.

The doctor gripped me by the elbow and said, "Come downstairs Miss Collins, I’ll need some information."

"Sit down Miss Collins. First off Miss Collins, I'm dreadfully sorry. Charlie was a good man, we'll all miss him."

"Charlie had cancer didn't he doctor?"

"No, and whatever gave you that idea?"

"My mother and another brother died of it."

"Miss Collins, Charlie's heart gave out; his heart could not stand the constant coughing. This last cold he had aggravated the bronchitis and the heart was tired and couldn't overcome it."

"You're just saying that to make me feel better."

"Very well Miss Collins; if you do not believe me, I'll order an autopsy."

"No."

"Then I suggest Miss Collins, you take me at my word."

There's no way that doctor could ever convince me that Charlie had died a natural death. I was going to die of that dreadful disease. An earlier physical examination had found a tumor the size of an orange in my lower abdomen. It seemed to be self-contained and benign but the doctor suggested that I have it removed. I am a firm believer in leaving well enough alone. Charlie's death had brought back all my worries about cancer.

It was agreed that Hempstead, the local funeral director, would handle the details. Arthur was a personal friend of his and he made the call. We were having coffee in the dining room when the hearse drove up and unloaded a stretcher. Getting Charlie down the stairs took a bit of doing, for as in most two-story houses, there was a turn to be made. As they made the last turn on the stairs and were heading for the front door, it occurred to me that Charlie's children had said their goodbyes upstairs while I was with the doctor. Now I felt compelled to have a quiet moment with Charlie alone.

I rose from my chair to see Charlie to the hearse. Arthur got up and blocked my path.

"Not now Aunt Em, let him go."

"But Arthur I want to say goodbye."

"There'll be time tomorrow, sit down and finish your coffee."

It is odd that in many ways I felt married to Charlie, not in any physical sense certainly, but we had been together for so long now that we had adapted to a way of life that made us closer to each other than a lot of married people. I had just lost my right arm and I didn't know how I was going to get along without it.

The rest of the evening was spent on the telephone calling everyone who should be notified. I called Kate in Huron and asked her to get in touch with as many Canadian relatives as she could. She reassured me that one of her sons would drive her down to the funeral and if I liked they would stay with me a few days. The other phone call I made was the next day to Jewell.

"Hello."

"Jewell, this is Emily."

"What do you want?"

"I called to tell you Charlie died. He is being buried at one o’clock on Thursday."

"What do you expect me to do about it?"

"I thought perhaps you might like to attend, after all he is your brother."

"Was my brother, and as far as I'm concerned you can all rot in hell."

It seemed to be the common consensus that Charlie was sitting on a huge estate. Nothing could have been further from the truth. The money he had earned as a builder and building inspector was long gone. Charlie's assets at the time of his death were two hundred forty-five dollars and sixty-seven cents. Rather than try to explain that Charlie was penniless, I made up the difference.

Charlie was laid to rest beside Rose in Greenwood Cemetery.

I stayed in Arthur's house about three months after Charlie died, but it was sheer nonsense to think that I needed all that room. It would be best if I found myself a small apartment. The opportunity arose when one of my Rebekah sisters said there was an apartment to be had in the 9 Mile Road-Van Dyke area. It was small but served by purpose. My biggest problem was getting rid of everything that I could not take with me. In some respects it was like cutting off parts of my anatomy when I had to force myself to let go of a cherished piece of furniture. I still had the old table that Papa and Grandpa Will had made; it was in the basement. Charlie had used it as a workbench. Old and scarred it was of no earthly value but the memories brought tears to my eyes.

Jason McDonald greeted me warmly when I walked into his office. "I'm sorry about your brother's death Emily. It must have come as quite a shock."

"Yes, it was Jason, it is going take a little time for me to get used to living alone again."

"What about family and friends?"

"They'll help, but I never considered sharing any of their homes."

"I suppose you're right Emily; it's the best way to ruin a good relationship. Sit down Emily. I pulled your will from my file and trust you brought your copy?"

"Yes, it's right here."

"Now what changes do you want made?"

"Charlie's no longer a factor nor is James. Robert seems to have grabbed the brass ring with his job in Arizona and I don't feel that he needs to be considered any longer. Also, I opened a burial account at Hempstead's funeral home.”

"I see, perhaps we can also eliminate Floyd Parks and Jewell from the will as well?"

"Not Jewell; I called her to tell her Charlie died; she hung up on me. She could cause a lot of trouble for Arthur."

"Very well, what about Parks? You've heard nothing from him?"

"Nothing at all."

"How long has it been?"

"Thirty-one years."

"How old are you Emily?"

"Sixty-eight."

"I'm sure we can erase Floyd Parks from your life."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

"Emily, Is there anyone other than Arthur that you feel comfortable with? I mean, someone you trust completely?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Your estate has grown considerably over the years and as long as you work it will continue to grow. There should be a counterbalance, a means of checks and balances."

"I don't understand."

"Make Arthur administrator and another person executor. That way Peter can't be accused of robbing Paul."

"I trust Arthur completely."

"I know you do, but you have relatives who may not feel the same. If there were any doubt, the will could be contested."

"Are you sure this is necessary?"

"I strongly suggest you consider it; could you name an executor?"

"What about you Jason?"

"That's very flattering, but Emily, we must face facts. I am no longer young. Should I die before you it would mean a lot of paperwork and court costs."

"Name Mason Parsons executor."

"That's Evelyn's husband?"

"That's correct."

"You trust him?"

"Absolutely."

"I'll draw up the new will and I'll need Arthur's signature again and also that of Mason."

I had been away from work almost two weeks and although the company managed to get along without me they still were glad to see me back. Soon after I returned to work Mr. Grimsley called me into his office.

"Emily, I want you to sit on the board of directors of this company."

"I'm sorry Mr. Grimsley, what did you say?"

"Come on Emily, you heard me."

"Yes, I guess I did, but I don't understand."

"It's not very difficult, as a board member you'll be required to attend all meetings, take notes and in the case of tie votes you will be the tie-breaker."

"I couldn't do that."

"For God's sake why not?"

"I would not know whether what I decided was right or not."

"How long have you worked here?"

"A little over four years."

"And I daresay in that time you know more about us than I do. So, what’s it going to be?"

"Very well Mr. Grimsley, I accept."

"Good and it's about time. Your salary as board member will be one-half percent of profits.”

The next two years were lonely times. I just thank God that I had my work and belonged to a canasta club formed among the girls in the neighborhood. When depression got the better of me I would drive over to Huron to visit with Kate. I always felt better after our conversations.

I was nearly 74 years old and in fairly good health. I wish I could have been as sure of my mental faculties. As a bona fide bookkeeper and rogue accountant you wouldn't have thought that being a senior citizen would have escaped my mind, but it did. It was during the course of a game of canasta that one of the girls brought up the subject of how I liked my cake and eating it too. Hearing that suddenly switched on the lightbulb, and I knew I had business to transact with the Social Security office.

The upshot was, after age 72, I was eligible to draw Social Security, regardless of income. I lost the first year, but the last two years were compensated by a check from the office of one thousand eight hundred dollars. I took Arthur and Helen out to dinner to celebrate.

It was nothing I could put my finger on; only a sixth sense, that something was not going right with the company. Being a Board member and the bookkeeper, I knew that profits were down. We simply didn't have the work load we had during the 50s, but the real rub was the stirrings among the newer members in the shop, grumbling about needing a union. I heard things like, "The days of slave labor are over." Slave labor! To borrow a well-worn phrase from Hoffleman, it was a "sack of shit." Our employees enjoyed three weeks vacation with pay; Christmas bonuses; and, no questions asked when they took time off. If they worked overtime they were paid overtime. It only took two or three agitators to start sowing the seeds of discontent among the regulars who had been with us all these years. At least once a week a Teamsters organizer would come during the lunch break and wax rhetorically on what a union could do for them. As soon as the whistle blew, Harold would escort him off the premises. What the proponents of the union envisioned was pie-in-the-sky with all the pie supplied by the company. What the proponents of the union did not envision was the tight line between profit and loss that Hamilton Motors operated on. Union demands would create an escalation of costs that would put Hamilton in debt, a notion every economist in the world should have no trouble understanding.

Each day that I entered my office became less pleasurable. Every time I went into the shop, I was no longer greeted with a smile and wave of the hand; instead, I was ignored or stared at with contempt. Being a member of the Board, I was now considered management and the enemy.

There were three old timers, over retirement age, that Hamilton kept on the payroll because they were able to do the work and the work they did was exceptional. These three were the holdouts. Late that summer Harold walked in from the shop with Harvey McCutchen in tow.

"You know McCutcheon, Emily?"

"He's one of our newer employees isn't he?"

"Yes, and I'm sorry to say he's just been elected shop steward."

"Cut the crap Brown, we're here to see Grimsley."

Harvey McCutchen was a big burly man who looked more like a prizefighter than a mechanic. The fact that he knew his business was the only reason Harold had kept him on. He had been a malcontent from the time he stepped over the threshold.

"You better come along Emily, and bring your notebook."

"She doesn't need to come."

"If she doesn't come, you're not coming either."

"Bill, this is Harvey McCutchen, newly elected shop steward for the union."

"McCutchen, we should have fired you the minute after you started work."

"Yeah, but you didn't, and it's too late now."

"What makes you think so?"

"I've got the men behind me and in ten days we're going to strike unless you meet our demands."

"Demand is a word I don't like McCutchen."

"You better get used to it Grimsley, because you ain't got a leg to stand on."

"You haven't got the men behind you one hundred percent."

"That's true, but the old geezers will be sorry if they step over the picket line; besides, they shouldn't even be working no more; they should be retired."

"And you'll see to the replacements?"

"Natch; we've got to make room for the young."

"McCutchen, you're a fool. We need those old geezers to teach the young. This company does highly specialized work; work that, if it isn't satisfactory, could put us out of business. Is that what you want?"

"It's what the men want. Like I said, we sit down and we talk or..."

"McCutchen I want you to defer the strike for one month."

"No way."

"Then I suggest all of you start thinking about standing in an unemployment line. Now get the hell out of here."

"Now just a second, you can't talk to me like that."

"Like hell I can't. If your union had sent me an intelligent man, I could have told him what has happened. As it is you're just going to have to wonder; oh, and McCutchen, don't be surprised if this is your first and last job as shop steward. Now get out."

"You're going to be sorry."

"No, I don't think so."

"What's happened Bill?"

"Ham's had a massive coronary; it doesn't look good. Dorothy wants me to come down."

"Jesus, what's going to happen to us?"

"That remains to be seen."

"Emily, get me on a flight to Tampa tonight; or, if not, then first thing in the morning."

"Yes, of course, Mr. Grimsley. How about a cup of coffee with a little of your favorite elixir?"

Returning from his trip to Florida Mr. Grimsley looked tired and haggard."Emily get Harold and come into my office please."

"Come on Bill, tell us what happened."

"Dorothy Hamilton wants out."

"She can't do that, she only has twenty-nine and a half shares; you have thirty-six."

"Yes she can; Ham left her his twenty-eight and a half shares."

"Good God, I can't believe it."

"We have options Harold; we can buy her shares, or we can close down and salvage what we can. She knows business has been declining."

"Let's do it; buy her out I mean."

"Harold, be realistic. Where could we borrow the hundred thousand dollars needed to buy her out?"

"We can do it Bill, we can do it."

"I'm getting too old to start all over and now with this union business it would be like riding a dead horse. Accept the facts, we aren't going to ride him again."

"Dammit all Bill, you give up too easy."

"Harold there's nothing in the bylaws that says you can't buy us both out."

"Now you're getting to it; you're bailing out and quitting, leaving me holding the bag."

I was appalled at the direction the conversation was taking and made a move to leave the room.

"Don't go Emily, this is going to affect you as well. Harold, I just spent six of the worst days of my life, not including a very bumpy ride on an airplane. I'm going home. We'll talk tomorrow.”

Closing down a business that had been operating for thirty years was not as easy as it sounds. Harold had decided it was impossible for him to take over the plant; Mr. Grimsley had simply given up the fight. As for myself, I was left with the paperwork. McCutchen was notified of the action of the board, and the union organizer had the common sense not to call a strike. Mr. Hamilton insisted all machinery and equipment was to be sold at auction. There were still a few competitors in Detroit that would be happy to take advantage of a bargain. The building and land would be sold separately since it was in a desirable location and quite possibly would bring top dollar.

My one-half percent did not apply in either the auction or land sale. Thanks to Kelly's, I had taken a temporary job with Hamilton Motor Company that had lasted 12 years.