Читать книгу Matrons and Madams - Sharon Johnston - Страница 6

Knockholt Cemetery, England, 1919

“I don’t want to visit any dead people,” Ivy protested as Clara coaxed her through the creaky gate of the Knockholt Cemetery. Ivy had become saucy, spending most of her time with the Drakes, who spoiled her. Schools had been closed because of the flu pandemic and Clara considered herself fortunate to have Ivy so well cared for. She had been terrified that Ivy, like Billy, might catch the flu. The Drakes provided a safe way of keeping Ivy isolated. Today, Ivy had not wanted to leave the farm.

“Ivy, we must put flowers on your brother’s and your father’s graves,” Clara said softly. “It could be a very long time before we return. Canada is far from England.” She stopped on the gravel path to put her arms around her daughter. Clara had struggled to make ends meet since her husband had died, selling her engagement ring to meet a mortgage payment. She was relieved that she had been offered the well-paying position of lady superintendent of the Galt Hospital. I’m doing what Dr. Newbury suggested: setting my sail anew. But I’m only accepting the job in Lethbridge for Ivy’s sake.

A sudden clang of church bells was an abrupt reminder that the war had ended a year ago that day. Visitors to the cemetery looked up at St. Katherine’s Church tower as the bells pealed out the eleventh hour. Knockholt Cemetery was crowded with families looking for their loved ones’ graves.

“Over here!” someone shouted. “I’ve found Chester!” A group hurried past, scuffling the pebbles as they rushed to join the discoverer of Chester’s tombstone.

Like war, peacetime is to be shared, Clara thought as she listened to three women talking to one another about the slow emergence of fresh food on the market.

“We’re expected at the pub in less than an hour,” Clara said, taking Ivy’s hand as they wound along the pathway. Clara looked up at the cloudless blue November sky. “Ivy, let’s be positive! Pretend we’re explorers to the New World. We’re going to see cowboys, Indians, galloping horses, enormous lakes, towering mountains, pristine snow, and year-round sunshine. Aren’t you breathless with excitement?” She kissed Ivy’s wispy blond head and continued to hold her. She could feel the wetness of her daughter’s tears through her dress. Both of them remained motionless, wrapped in each other’s arms.

Clara’s mind drifted to the grim day she had spent in the Knockholt Cemetery only a year before. Mourners had lined up where she now stood with Ivy. The influenza pandemic had spread so rapidly throughout England that it had put immense pressure on the burial system.

At the time, a horse-drawn hearse was the only vehicle available to transport Billy. The back doors of the hearse, hand-carved in the form of draperies, were held closed by huge brass springs. Clara swallowed hard, remembering the sharp clack of the doors as they were shut — dealing a note of finality — and the shocking words of the driver. Knocking one of the springs with his fist, he’d said, “These will ensure no indignity will occur while I’m driving.”

Clara had driven to the cemetery in the hearse, while Miff and Addy had followed in their car with Di Shaw, Clara’s friend since her nursing school days. Clara’s parents had contributed well beyond their means for the purchase of a magnificent gravestone that would honour George, and now Billy. Only a modest stone had been laid on George’s grave in the midst of war. Clara received loving notes from her siblings from as far away as Gallipoli. Even from a distance, she felt their grief.

Light drizzle had begun to fall on that sad day of the funeral as Clara arrived at the cemetery with Billy in his small coffin. The horses’ backs glistened in the rain. The driver, forced to wait on the High Road outside the graveyard and fearful that the horses might bolt if a car passed, had stood beside the carriage with a tight hold on the reins. It was an hour’s wait before they were handed a piece of paper with the plot number and permission to proceed. Two men stepped up to unload the coffin and carry it to the designated spot behind St. Katherine’s Church. The young vicar was waiting for them at the grave. He looked haggard and dishevelled in his damp suit and soiled clerical collar. For a young man, his face was heavily lined. He had already performed six burials that day, but Billy was the first child.

Billy’s casket was lowered onto his father’s. Clara shivered, recalling the dug-out rat-infested trenches George had crawled through to repair communication lines. Everything became blurry around her.

The minister offered his condolences and began his shortened service. The last thing Clara could remember was “earth to earth,” followed by thumping sounds as clumps of mud hit father and son’s boxes. Overwhelmed, she collapsed forward and toppled into the grave. Miff immediately stepped down onto the coffin, trying not to lose his footing in the slippery mud. The vicar reached down, and together they hauled Clara up into Addy’s arms. Di began to sob until Miff pulled her away. Overwhelmed with anguish, Clara leaned on the men for support. Streaks of clay mixed with blood smeared her face. Di climbed into the hearse beside her, and Clara was taken to hospital, where they cleaned the deep cut on her forehead.

A young man, balancing himself on crutches, stopped in front of Clara, “Are you all right, ma’am?” he asked. “You don’t look so good.”

“Oh, thank you for your concern. I suppose being in the graveyard has brought back some terrible memories. My husband and son are buried here.” Clara motioned to the plots not far from a giant yew tree.

“Was it the flu?” the man asked.

“For my son, yes.”

“My brother would be almost seven,” Ivy said, tears glistening on her eyelashes. “We’re moving to Canada now that my daddy is dead.”

Seeing the look of pain on Clara’s face, the man said quietly, “Death doesn’t mean the same to a child.” After a quiet moment, he asked, “And your husband?”

“Died in the service of his country.”

The man, not more than twenty years old, smiled as Ivy stared bug-eyed at his useless-looking legs.

“We all lose something to win a war,” the young man said, tapping his leg. “Want to see how fast I can go on these things?” He set out, swinging his legs through the crutches. “C’mon. I’ll race ya to that big tree.”

Ivy trotted beside him toward the enormous yew and Clara followed. The eight-hundred-year-old tree attracted visitors from miles around, and, according to the vicar, had even increased attendance at church.

“I must leave ya here,” the man said, turning along another path.

“Thank you for cheering us up,” Clara said.

“Good luck, ma’am. You have a pretty little daughter.”

Whistling, the man swung away in another direction. Clara began to walk on, then stopped abruptly and broke into a grin. Di Shaw was leaning back against the wide trunk of the old yew, reading a book. Ten years earlier, Clara had walked out of St. George’s Hospital with Di, both proudly holding their nursing diplomas. They had, however, followed different paths; Di married immediately upon graduating and soon had a family. How life’s circumstances change, she thought.

“You look elegant just sitting by a tree,” Clara said. Di jumped up and rushed over with her arms extended. She was wearing a grey wool coat, a beige silk head scarf, matching gloves, and fashionable stockings. Despite the war, she had retained her taste for fashion.

“I wasn’t expecting you,” Clara said, looking happy and surprised.

Ivy wrapped her arms around Di’s middle. “Can’t I live with Auntie Di?” she asked.

Clara covered her hurt with a smile. “Miff said you would meet us at the pub. Now that you’re here I can show you the headstone.”

They stomped through overgrown grass to the grave. Beyond the church hedge there was a meadow filled with late autumn flowers. “Such a peaceful place,” Di said, resting her hand on the granite. “This must have cost a fortune.”

“My parents helped me. It was the least we could do for Billy and George.”

“What is this black stuff?” Di asked as she traced the inscription with a finger.

“It’s molten lead. The village blacksmith did the lettering as a favour to my father. It will last several lifetimes.” Clara handed Di a handkerchief. “No more tears, Di. I’ve been asked so many times how I could still go to church after God dealt me such a sorrowful hand. He has his reasons. And if I’m lucky, the day will come when He will reveal them to me.”

“Sorry,” Di said as she sniffed and wiped her eyes. “I want to be a comfort.”

“You are.”

Ivy buried her head in Di’s chest. “Why do people have to die?”

“People are like trees,” Di said. “Some trees live for a long time and others die early. Billy and your daddy are like trees that died early, especially poor Billy, a mere sapling.” Di led Ivy away from the grave and back to the yew tree.

“Will I die like Billy?” Ivy asked.

“Don’t be silly. You’re going to live to be as old as this tree,” Di said.

Ivy grimaced, looking back at the grave.

“Canada won’t be at all like my gentle old England,” Clara said wistfully, glancing at the blooming meadow beyond the hedge.

“Don’t be a dreamer,” Di said with the confidence of an old friend. “This class-bound country would be rough on a widow with limited funds. It takes money or extreme luck for a young girl to succeed socially in England.” She put her hands on Clara’s shoulders. “Clara, it was sheer good fortune that you got to nursing school. Do you want Ivy to be a tweenie?”

“I wasn’t a real tweenie,” Clara said. Her goal as a young woman had always been to avoid the fate of being a tweenie, a job that was higher than a scullery maid, but lower than a cook. “Whatever I was in the Pinks’ house,” she said defensively, “I received an excellent education as Harold Pink’s niece.” She regretted having told Di that her mother, Lydia Pink, had run off with the family blacksmith, Clara’s father, and had a daughter four months later, whom she named Amelia.

Lydia’s brother, Harold Pink, had visited when Clara was eight years old, and, admiring her brightness, invited her to live with his family. He had long since forgiven his sister for her indiscretion and wanted to help. He was impressed with Clara’s intelligence and industry as she scurried around organizing the messy cottage. He offered to provide her with a proper education. He gracefully made no comment on what he thought of the ne’er-do-well blacksmith, who called himself a gentleman farmer. Addy had been too young at the time to be of interest to Harold Pink and had stayed with her parents.

Di hugged Clara. “You’ve made the right decision to emigrate. Take a few minutes to reflect on your good fortune, and I’ll go ahead with Ivy.”

Clara leaned against the yew tree and waited for the calm to come. She let her mind drift into the little patch of garden Billy had so energetically cultivated. She could feel the sting of the nettles he had weeded from the beds. She imagined him holding up his muddy hands as he entered the house for her to wash them in the bucket by the back door. Many nights, it was the memory of Billy in the garden that helped her fall asleep.

Remembering her family’s circumstances when she was a child, Clara began to think again that she might try to find her older sister. A pharmacist can’t be hard to find, she thought. Feeling more relaxed and quite excited, she abandoned the tree and headed for the pub.

Clara caught up with Di and Ivy as she turned up Knockholt’s High Street. Stopping to catch her breath, she stood watching Mrs. Peck, the pub-owner’s wife, waddle underneath some rusty old scaffolding erected to give the Double Crown a much-needed facelift. She was picking up the debris left from the workmen’s lunches and throwing it in a dented bin. The newly painted white stucco stood out against the dark oak beams. Several patrons, who stood outside chatting, nodded approvingly at the changes.

“Nice job ya done, Missus Peck,” a man in uniform shouted through the scaffolds.

She stood up quickly, knocked her head on a board, cursed, and waved. “Glad you’ve lived to enjoy a pint, love,” she said, grinning. She crouched down and continued removing debris.

“This scaffolding is too much like a ladder,” Clara said as she stepped into the street to avoid walking under it.

Di laughed, shaking her head. “You are superstitious!”

“I need to be. I’ve had my share of bad luck.”

“I know you have.” Di reached out and squeezed her friend’s hand.“Let’s be happy,” Clara said. “For Ivy’s sake. It’s all so confusing. I’ve made the best decision, but I will always miss my homeland.” Di pressed her finger to Clara’s lips. They had already had this conversation.

A man dressed in a shapeless brown tweed suit stepped out of the pub and motioned for the incoming customers to stop. “You’ll need to wait in the entryway ’cause we got a full house. ’Bout ten minutes should do it. Judge a pub by its lineups,” he said, grinning, then scooted back inside.

“Phew! I can smell the musty beer from here,” Clara said, screwing up her nose in distaste.

“With prohibition you won’t have any damp pubs in Canada,” Di said, laughing.

“Ah, well, that’s why some Scotch whisky and brandy will be crossing the Atlantic in my steamer trunk.” Clara chuckled. “I remember returning to the hospital after purchasing my libation to find Dr. Newbury imitating Canadian temperance ladies marching in large feathered hats to seize all the medicinal beer in the Galt Hospital. The soldiers had been asking about his hometown, Lethbridge. They stopped laughing when they saw me, of course, but I pretended to be absorbed in reading a chart. But Dr. Newbury had his back to me and didn’t notice. ‘Lethbridge ladies of the night work in cozy brothels,’ he was saying. ‘In Montreal, they work on the street in the midst of danger and crime.’” Clara’s face became thoughtful. “Dr. Newbury is as wise as he is witty. I would never have made the decision to go where my sister was banished without his encouragement.”

Di put her arms around Clara and they held this embrace until Miff marched into the entryway and said: “Ladies, we’ve been waiting. I didn’t notice you’d arrived. The waiter has asked us to move to a smaller booth to make way for a larger party.”

“Hurry on in, mates,” the man in the rumpled suit urged. “We’re filled to the rafters.”

The atmosphere in the Double Crown was jovial, and lively conversations echoed through the smoke-filled room. Everyone seemed to be talking at once. Across the room, the offer “Want a Players?” resonated, suggesting rationing of cigarettes was slowly easing. Waiters wearing white shirts and black trousers wove through rows of heavy oak tables, holding up trays topped with jugs or glasses filled to the brim. They had towels draped over their shoulders, ready to mop up spilled beer. Several tables, pushed together to seat larger groups, made it difficult for the waiters to pass. A waiter’s swinging hip knocked one of the tables, causing a huge splash of beer and a clatter of broken glass as a jug tipped onto the floor. “If that happened at the club,” exclaimed Miff, “the waiter would lose his job.”

“Women aren’t allowed at your club, Miff, so don’t fuss about spilled beer,” Addy retorted.

Di interjected, pulling a box from under the table, “Your auntie and I have a present for you, Ivy, to keep you warm at the North Pole.”

“You know I’m not going to the North Pole,” Ivy said, putting her hands on her hips and smiling. “Can I try it on?” she asked, bouncing on her seat as she tore open the box and saw what it contained.

“Oh my, rabbit fur!” Clara said as she let Ivy slip out to try on the coat. There was a matching hat that she set on the table.

“Don’t that little miss look smart,” a man sitting opposite said to his companion.

Ivy blushed and refused to put on the hat, but she went around the table to give Di and her aunt each a big hug.

With Ivy momentarily out of earshot while she went to the washroom, Miff began questioning Clara. “What do you expect to be doing exactly at the hospital? Do you know anything about the Galt? With whom have you corresponded?” Miff looked concerned. He had attended to Clara’s finances and, finding them tight due to George’s poor planning, he had advanced her a hundred pound sterling “to be paid back at any time.”

Clara lowered her voice. “I’ve communicated with Dr. Orr, who is the medical officer of public health for Alberta. He wrote me that there’s a serious problem in that province with the rapid spread of venereal disease brought back by the soldiers. The highest incidence is in Lethbridge. He explained that it’s not surprising since the city had the highest enlistment for its population in all of the Dominion.”

“Well, that suggests great loyalty to our country,” Miff said, nodding approval.

“What about your living arrangement?” Di asked, joining the conversation. “We worry about you being so far away.”

“I’ll have a small flat in the nurses’ home. I was sent a photo, and it seems that the home is attached to the hospital. The nursing students, or what we call probationers, live there as well.”

“What’s this segregated area you’ve talked about, Clara?” Addy asked, frowning.

“It sounds very American,” Di interjected.

“No, it’s quite Canadian.” Clara laughed.

“But you’re a surgical nurse, not a social worker,” Addy added.

“Well, it looks as though I’ll be both. Lethbridge began as a mining town filled with amorous bachelors, so it tolerated prostitutes. The segregated area is a red-light district for brothels and some Chinese merchants that citizens refuse to have in the downtown area. Prohibition complicates things, according to Dr. Orr. He indicated that brothels are also a place to have a drink and as such most prosecutions are for liquor infractions. The ladies of the night themselves are rarely charged. I won’t know much more than that until I arrive.”

Ivy was now sitting down again beside her mother, and Addy gave Miff a censoring look.

“Dr. Orr covers the entire province. I’ll be working more closely with Dr. Morris Lafayette, the medical officer of health for Lethbridge.”

“What a strange combination of English and French,” Miff said.

“Dr. Newbury explained that Dr. Lafayette’s mother changed Maurice to Morris when her husband died to appease her Scottish family, who never approved of her marriage to a Frenchman.” Clara looked at her brother-in-law. “I’ll have my challenges, Miff. I know that.”

Miff put his arm around Clara. “We’re going to miss you both terribly.”