Scare the Light Away (12 page)

Chapter 22

The Diary of Janet McKenzie. March 15, 1947

I dreamed last night about Charlie Lombard. A man I met once only and don’t even remember. I dreamt that I had married him, not Bob. And that Charlie hadn’t died in Normandy but instead brought me to live in a beautiful house. A home with fine furnishings and lovely paintings on the walls. A home with big rooms and warm fireplaces. With a nanny for Shirley and a maid for me. A home like his parents have.

I woke up feeling overwhelmed with despair and longing. Because the dream forced me to understand that that it was in the Lombard home that I spent the last happy day of my life.

Yesterday I told Bob that we have to move. I can’t live with his parents any longer. His father insults me constantly (I’m too tall, my accent is funny, my cooking is horrible) and he watches me with a look I don’t like, one that reminds me of the time Jenny and I walked home alone after a dance and those two soldiers (Englishmen, I am ashamed to say!) stepped in front of us and said they would give us cigarettes if we would do horrid things with them.

Mrs. McKenzie tries to be kind but she is such an insipid, insignificant thing. She loves Shirley, which is about the only good thing I can say about this place or my new family. She plays with Shirley for hours on end, and Shirley loves her in return.

I told Bob that we have to move. And he said that he doesn’t have enough money saved up yet. I said I didn’t believe him, and we had the most dreadful row. It was the first fight we have had. I said that if he couldn’t find a home of our own for his family, then I would get a job and help out. Of course, he said that no wife of his would work and I said that if he was so proud why were we still living with his parents? That set him straight, sure enough. But I wasn’t proud of it. I had hurt him. Badly. A man needs to be the head of his household. But how can Bob? When we’re living here? We hardly even have marital relations any more. I just can’t. Not with Shirley in her crib at the end of our bed, and his parents the other side of a thin wall. I can hear his father snoring all the night long.

And now Bob is drinking more than I would like. He stays out late some times, more and more all the time, and he comes home hardly able to stand up straight. It’s my fault, because I won’t let him touch me. But I can’t. I just can’t.

April 3, 1947

Shirley was two years old yesterday. We had a little party for her. Mrs. McKenzie made a lovely cake, and decorated it so nicely, with pink icing and lovely red roses and two candles. Bob gave me a bit of money and drove me into North Ridge so that I could buy a present. I got her a dress, so pretty, all frills and ribbons. Like the dresses on the girls before the war. I bought her some books as well. She is so terribly smart. I love reading to her.

And I bought a new journal for me! This one only has a few pages remaining. I considered stopping my diary. Burning everything that I have written. But I couldn’t do it, and then I understood that I need it now more than ever. This book is my friend, my companion. I have need of a friend. I haven’t really made the acquaintance of any of the women around here. They live so far away, too far to walk for a visit. I miss the village so much. It seemed horrid and provincial when I lived there, but now I wish, more than anything, that I was living once again on a neat lane with houses and cottages close by, a pub at one end of the street, my father’s shop at the other. And the ancient stone church only steps beyond that.

Perhaps in the summer, when the snow is gone, Shirley and I can get out more. Bob and Mr. McKenzie never come to church. On Christmas Eve Bob put on his suit, the first time I’ve seen him wear it since the day he met my train at Union Station in Toronto. I almost wept, to see that he could be handsome, still. He’d had a few drinks in the afternoon but at least he came with us to the service. But not Mr. McKenzie. He was at a bar somewhere, no doubt drinking heartily to the birth of our Savior, and he came home after midnight roaring for Mrs. M. to get out of bed and fix him something to eat, before he fixed her good and proper. Bob got up to calm him down and soon she was banging pots around in the kitchen. Bang them over his head, would be a good deal more to my liking.

There’s a loose floorboard under the dresser in our bedroom. I found it when I reached for a ball Shirley dropped. It makes a nice hidey-hole for my diary. Never before have I felt the need to hide my diary. No decent person would ever dream of reading a woman’s private diary. But HE is no decent person and I don’t trust him.

I saw a robin this morning. It gave me some hope. Everything will be better, as soon as it is spring. Bob has been saving as much as he can of the money he is making at the plant. He doesn’t talk about it, but I’m sure he is putting it aside for a home of our own.

Of course, with Shirley being two it made me realize that she should have a brother or sister soon. But Mrs. McKenzie is NEVER out of the house! I do mean NEVER! Oh, she goes shopping on Saturday morning and to church on Sunday but I am expected to go with her and Bob has to drive us. Sometimes on the weekends when he is home and his mother is working in the kitchen or sewing in her bedroom, and Shirley is having a nap, Bob will give me a look and nod toward the bedroom, but I would simply DIE before I would take my husband and sneak off to our bedroom in the middle of the day. With his MOTHER in the house.

It has been a long time since Bob has given me that nod.

She doesn’t seem to have any friends, except for the women she talks to after church. And she never goes out. Of course HE is out more than he is in. And we’re all the better for it. He’s rude and rough. He pays no attention to his granddaughter; a few times I have been almost afraid that he was about to strike her. But instead he says something mean and walks away. He mocks his son and I don’t know why Bob puts up with it. He pretends that he hasn’t heard and pours himself another drink.

But my husband loves his mother. I have heard that that is a good sign: A boy who loves his mother will make a good husband. They were wrong. About that as about so many things.

If only I had a friend. Someone to talk to. I have received a few nice letters from the brides I met on the ship. Their letters are full of exciting news about a home overlooking the ocean in Vancouver, a husband going to university in Montreal to study for a lawyer, a baby on the way, large and welcoming new families.

I don’t write back any more. What can I say?

Chapter 23

Immediately after breakfast the next morning, Sampson and I set off up the hill to the big house. I didn’t know what sort of hours Jimmy kept, but I hadn’t heard his truck pulling away yet. If they weren’t in, I would leave a note asking him or Aileen to call me.

My brother and his wife were sitting on the front porch finishing breakfast. It was sunny, but the air still held the sharp bite of early spring, and they were dressed in thick, colorful, hand-knitted sweaters. Aileen greeted me as if I were truly welcome. Nice of her after my considerable rudeness, which had served to mark the end of the funeral reception.

“Coffee, Rebecca?” She held up the carafe. “You’ll need something to keep your hands warm.”

“Thank you.”

“You sit right here and I’ll get another cup. Have you eaten? I’d be happy to bring out more.”

“I’m fine, thanks.”

She patted Sampson’s huge head with much enthusiasm and went into the house to get the cup. Unasked, the big dog followed, tail wagging. She was never one to turn down an offer of breakfast.

This deck gave them a spectacular view of the lake and the hills beyond. The house sat just short of the crest of the hill. The road running in front of the house ended at the driveway, as there was nothing beyond but bush and swamp. A natural garden of trees, brush, and stone ran downhill to the rocks lining the shore of the lake. Closer to the house a scattering of flower beds, lined with neatly placed red bricks, had recently been turned over, made ready for the planting of colorful annuals.

“Morning, Jimmy.”

“Morning.” He picked up his newspaper.

“Any more news about Jennifer Taylor?”

“No.”

How long did it take Aileen to get one coffee cup?

“Look, Jimmy. I’m sorry about what I said the other night. It was uncalled for, and I’m truly sorry.”

“That’s okay.”

“It’s not okay, not really. But I am sorry.”

“Forget it.” He looked up from his paper. “I was a jerk when I was younger. Actually I was pretty much of a jerk when I was older, too. I don’t blame you for not liking me.”

“Maybe we can start over.” I myself didn’t wholly believe what I was saying. After all these years the pain that this man caused still had the power to cut me like a knife. But I needed an ally in my search for arrangements for Dad, and I would be gone in a few days. I could fake forgiveness.

The edges of his eyes crinkled in a tiny smile. “I’m willing.”

Aileen slipped back into her chair. “I brought some leftover toast for Sampson. Do you mind?”

“Don’t mind at all.”

“So, what brings you two out this lovely morning?” Aileen poured the coffee. “Going for a walk?”

“No. I came with a purpose. We need to talk about Dad. About what he’s going to do now that Mom isn’t around.”

“Good,” Aileen said, rolling up the sleeves of her sweater. It was a beauty in good wool all the shades of an autumn forest—rust, yellow, and brown—with long, wide sleeves and a rolled neck. “Jim and I want to talk to you as well.”

I let out a laugh of relief. “That’s a better reception than I got yesterday from Shirley. She doesn’t want to think about it at all.”

“Shirley’s an angry woman,” Aileen said thoughtfully. “I feel sorry for her. She’s had a hard life.”

“No harder than a lot of people,” Jimmy said.

“Oh, pooh.” Aileen laughed, light-hearted and full of warmth. “Like you’re so hard done by. Sitting out on this beautiful deck on this perfect morning while your dutiful wife caters to your every whim.”

He flashed her a grin of such unadulterated adoration it was almost embarrassing to witness.

Sampson snapped in canine irritation and we laughed. Aileen had forgotten to offer the leftover toast.

“I’m worried,” I said, “about Dad living on his own.”

“We are as well,” Aileen said. “We asked him to move up here, into the big house with us, but he refused.”

“Point blank,” Jimmy said. “He told us that he has lived in that house his entire life and doesn’t see any reason to move now. He doesn’t want to be, in his words, ‘beholden to anyone.’”

“Old men,” I sighed. “He was happy to be beholden to Mom all these years, but that probably doesn’t count.”

Aileen grinned and reached across the table for Jimmy’s hand.

He lifted her hand, touched it to his lips, and checked the watch on his other arm. “We need to talk about this, for sure, but I’ve gotta be on the road before much longer. A load of lumber’s being delivered to the site at nine and I have to be there to sign for it.”

“Site?” I asked.

“A cottage I’m working on, going up on Lake Ramsey.”

“It’s a massive place,” Aileen said. “What they’re calling a vacation home now because it’s too big to be called a cottage. Jimmy’s doing the carpentry. Built-in kitchen cabinets, shelving in the library—can you imagine a cottage having a library?—hardwood floors, a deck. Woodwork in the guest rooms over the boathouse. They even want hand-crafted Muskoka and lounge chairs. The works.” She smiled at her husband, pride shining in her eyes.

“And they want to start using the main building this summer. So I’ve got my work cut out for me. But Dad…”

“Would he accept a housekeeper, do you think?” I asked. “Not a live in, but someone to come over every day and clean up and fix his meals?”

“I think he’d agree to that.” Aileen glanced at Jimmy and he nodded.

“That’s going to cost a lot,” I said.

“Dad never talks about money, you know that,” Jimmy said.

“Well this time he’s going to have to,” Aileen said. “He can afford it. He and Janet never spent a penny they didn’t have to, and the business has been doing extremely well the last few years.”

“And you know, if anyone does,” Jimmy replied.

“Back up a minute, here.” I was getting confused. “What business are you talking about? I can see that there’s been money spent on the house. I assumed that they were getting some help from old-age security.”

Jimmy finished his coffee in a gulp and pushed his chair away from the table. “I’ll leave Aileen to fill you in on all that. Time for me to be on my way. Someone has to bring home the bacon.”

Sampson barked her agreement. Aileen rubbed the dog’s head.

“This business of theirs? Is that what Dad meant by a store? He said that Mom’s quilts had all gone to the store. I assumed he meant the church bazaar.”

Aileen smiled. “Your parents have done very well for themselves over the last few years.”

Jimmy bent over and kissed the top of Aileen’s head. “Thanks to my dear wife,” he told me. “She’s a marvel, this one.” Then he went into the house in search of the keys to his truck.

I looked at her, full of questions.

“Perhaps later I can show you what we’ve done,” she said. “But I also have to be off to work soon. I’ll get a piece of paper and we can start jotting down some ideas for Bob’s housekeeper. There are lots of elderly widows in this area who would be more than happy to take care of your father. But I fear that as soon as they find out that marriage and taking possession of the house are not part of the deal they won’t prove too reliable.”

“That might be the best option of all.”

“But not something we can count on.”

Jimmy emerged from the house waving his keys and kissed his wife once more before bounding off the deck and rounding the path to the garage at the back of the house. Sampson trotted off at his heels, hoping for a car ride. I called her back.

A huge flock of Canada geese flew low overheard, heading for open water, their loud honks full of delight at the return of spring. The battered old pickup he used for his business roared to life and tires crunched on gravel. Jimmy reached the road as another car climbed the hill. It was a white sedan with the colors and emblem of the Ontario Provincial Police. The police car flicked its lights and gave one blast of the siren at the sight of Jimmy about to pull away.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake! Not now.” Aileen dashed down the steps and ran across the lawn. Her feet were bare and her colorful skirt flowed in a soft river around her ankles. Sampson, always happy for a good romp, took off after her. I yelled, but she paid no attention.

The police and my brother. Some things never do change. But if they were headed for a confrontation, I didn’t want my dog in the middle of it.