It was the first of many nights Annie was to sit with her brother and help him through the night terrors. Shell Shock, Della confirmed when Annie met her in the village to collect the mail one bright sunny January morning. Her sister was home from France for some secret reason Della wouldn’t, or couldn’t, share. It seemed a good idea for Frances to come and sit with Evan for part of the day. Annie observed them curiously. It was like they belonged to some secret club that anyone who hadn’t been overseas could be part of. In a way she envied them that comfort.
Would it be like that when George came home? A part of him he couldn’t share with her, a distance she would be at sixes and sevens over how to bridge. The thought disturbed Annie more than she cared to admit. Just let him come home. Soon. And Peter, and Steve. Why haven’t we heard anything about Steve? Surely if he were dead they’d have figured that out by now.
* * *
Annie straightened and propped a forearm on the top of the handle of the hoe. The June sun burned bright in the brilliant blue of the sky that contrasted so sharply with the dark spruce and pine surrounding small patch of cleared fields. She wiped the trickle of sweat from her cheek with the corner of her apron and bent back to the task of ridding the beans from weeds.
The back breaking but mindless work provided time to sort through her thoughts. She bent to pry a rock out of the turned earth and pitched into the basket two rows over already half full of stones.
There were visitors last night, and not the usual kind. Annie sighed. There was always a steady stream of people coming up the long lane from the lake. Finlanders from Dean’s cottages on Doe Lake; logging was hard and dangerous work, natives occasionally, and other preachers, all coming to confer with Father. She disliked the preachers the most, they always set Father off on a tirade of fire and brimstone and eternal damnation.
She snorted and dug the blade of hoe into the earth with more force than was necessary. With the sun beating down on her back, the biting flies rising from the turned soil and the humidity sticking the clothes to her body Annie figured she was already in Hell. She stopped short at the blasphemy of that thought and glanced around, guilt swirling in her gut. Surely Father couldn’t read her mind? Although, there was no telling with him, he seemed to know more than was humanly possible about what went on around the homestead and in the small village of Sprucedale that lay nearby.
Her gaze rested on Evan carefully sowing rows of carrots and beets in the already turned part of the garden. Once the benighted stones were out of this part of the garden there were hills of potatoes and squash to plant. Bushel baskets of seed onions and coarse burlap bags of seed potatoes waited in the shade of the large maple by the gate. Bending back to her task, she chopped at the sandy soil and turned up yet another batch of rocks.
“Annie!” She straightened at the sound of her name and squinted against the glare of the sun.
“Della! How nice!” She swiped the back of her hand across her hot face and gathered her dusty skirts in one hand stepping over the turned earth.
Evan joined her, pushing the sling holding the seeds around to his back. Annie hid a smile at the realization Frances was with Della. She snuck a look at Evan out of the corner of her eye, relieved to see Frances’ happiness reflected in his expression. He reached out his left arm to help Annie step over the low fence supporting the trellis for the red runner beans. For once his shirt sleeves were rolled up, even the one he usually wore pinned closed over the stump. His skin was a healthy brown from the hours spent in the sun and there was a tattoo on his forearm she’d never noticed before.
“What brings you here?” Annie plunked down in the grass under a maple.
“Father has some business with Mister Baldwin, so we thought we’d hitch a ride,” Della replied settling beside her. “My stars, it’s a scorcher today. Listen to the heat bugs sing.”
“Come join us, Frances. Would you like a cup of water?” Evan held out the tin cup he lifted dripping from the oak bucket.
“What’s that on your arm?” Frances sounded faint, her face pale in the dappled shade.
“My arm?” Evan looked down stupidly. “What’s wrong with my arm?”
Annie thought it was an improvement her brother didn’t assume the woman was asking about his missing limb. Evan dropped the cup into the bucket and reached out to steady Frances who backed up a step out of range. “What’s the mark on your forearm?”
“Oh, that.” A smile crossed his face. “Steve and I got them in London before we shipped out. A lot of the lads got them, some shop near Waterloo, man by the name of George Burchett. Why?”
“Did you and your brother get the exact same image?”
Della scrambled to her feet to support her sister. “What is it, Frances? What’s wrong?”
Frances ignored her and kept her gaze fixed on Evan.
“Yeah, we did. A maple leaf and the words For King and Country. Brothers forever and our initials.”
“Oh dear.” Frances’ eyes filled with tears. “Oh dear me.”
Annie leaped up and gripped her arm. “Have you seen one like it? Did you see Steve in hospital in France?” Her heart thundered in anticipation. Steve was alive somewhere, she knew it. Frances saw him, maybe spoke to him. She must know where he was.
“Where did you see this tattoo?” Evan moved closer to Frances.
“I need to sit.” Frances plopped down on the rough bench beneath the tree. “Give me a minute and I’ll tell you.”
“You saw Steve. He’s alive, oh I can’t wait to tell Mother and Father. And Ivan.” Annie fairly danced in place.
Tears filled Frances’ eyes and she looked imploringly up at Evan. Something passed between them Annie couldn’t fathom. Evan sank down on the bench beside her and placed a hand on Frances’ arm.
“Tell us what you know, please,” he said gently.
She nodded and swallowed hard. “It was in France, the Somme.” She paused and closed her eyes. Annie noted her brother squeezed the woman’s hand. “We set up a CCS near the attack on High Wood.”
“What’s a CCS?” Annie interrupted.
“What, oh?” Frances blinked and refocused her attention as if returning from some place far removed from the sunny June garden in the Ontario bush. “Casualty Clearing Station. They bring the men in by stretcher or ambulance, if there’s roads that are passable. Sometimes the lads would show up carrying their mates over their shoulders.” She shuddered.
Evan got up abruptly and stalked to the edge of the garden, back to the girls. “Go on,” he said, voice flat and emotionless.
“One PBI I’ll never forget, Lord I can’t get that boy out of my mind.” She scrubbed her hands over her face. “Tall fellow, came staggering in with his mate over his shoulders. Walked right up to me as if he knew me or had been looking for me and set his burden down at my feet. ‘Fix him,’ he said. ‘I know you can help him. He’s a wife at home expecting a baby. Fix him.’ The poor thing didn’t look old enough to be married, let alone a daddy. He was barely more than a child himself. I tended to him, but there was nothing I could do. Nothing any of us could do. A whiz bang, that’s a shell used by the German seventy-seven millimetre guns that moved so fast the PBI had no time to even duck, it took both his legs. The poor bugger bled out under my hands. I didn’t realize the soldier who brought him in was wounded at first. He just stood there swaying and insisting I fix his mate. When I tried to get him to come in out of the rain, he was plastered with mud from head to toe, that was part of the reason I didn’t see the blood at first, he just crumpled up at my feet. We got him inside and stripped off his wet things.” She stopped and gulped, pressing a hand to her stomach. “He had a gut wound, his intestines were poking out. How he ever managed to walk so far carrying his gear and his mate…well…I don’t know…it shouldn’t have been possible. Somewhere, he’d lost his ID tags, maybe when the shells hit. I don’t know. After he collapsed he didn’t speak at all, except to mumble a name when I asked. It sounded like Steve, but I had no way of knowing if it was his name or the poor boy he carried in. I sat with him until…until it was over. He had a tattoo just like that on his left arm.”
“What did he look like,” Annie whispered, holding Della’s hand so hard her fingers hurt.
“Tall, like I said. Blue-grey eyes, blond hair. He had a scar running down his right thigh…”
Annie’s heart shattered like thin ice on a fall morning. Though her heart refused to accept the fact the unknown soldier was Steve, her head knew it was so. Sobs shook her and twisted her guts. “Oh Steve,” she whispered.
“What happened to the body?” Evan’s voice held a sharp edge. He strode back into the shade and sat on the bench.
“I believe he was taken to Heily Station and buried there. We had to move the CCS quickly and I…I…I’m sorry, I lost track of him in the chaos. I remember the Nursing Sister in charge saying the severely wounded were evacuated to Heily Station. She told me she sent ‘my PBI’ with that lot, just in case.” Frances held up a hand to stop Annie’s outburst. “He’s gone. I was with him when he took his last breath. I’m sure. Now I see it, he looked like you Evan, only a bit rougher.”
“That would be Steve.” A pained smile crossed his face. He straightened his shoulders. “I’ll go inform Father. It is a comfort to know at last what happened to my brother.”
Frances stood and put her hand on his good arm, tipping her head back to look into his face. “He died a hero, Evan. If that’s any comfort to you. He was a very brave man.”
“It will most likely be of some comfort to Mother, she sets a great store by such things. Me, I’d rather he was a coward and had come home to us.” His mouth twisted bitterly.
Annie listened to the exchange as if from a great distance. Nothing seemed real, not the bright sun in the brilliant blue sky or the breeze shaking the green leaves overhead. Her thoughts cast in restless circles much like a hound searching for a scent. Frances’ words painted vivid pictures in her mind. Images the sepia newspaper photographs failed to evoke. The hell on earth George and the others were living in was suddenly all too real. Annie fought to keep from spilling her stomach into the springy grass.
“I’m so sorry.” Frances enveloped her in a hug, stroking her hair. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t help him.”
She wanted to scream and rage. Why Steve, others made it out. Other men got wounded and survived. God was unfair. Steve was a good man, a good brother, good son. What sense did it make to take someone like him when there were all those cowards hiding safe at home. Annie clenched her fists and beat on her thighs. Della put her arms around her from the other side and the three women rocked in shared grief in the shade of the old maple.
* * *
Annie pressed the precious letter to her breast. George’s bold letters scrawled across the front brought him somehow closer to her. He’s alive. He’s alive. Surely the war will be over soon. It’s been going on so long now. The summer of 1918 was drawing to a close. The loft was full of hay, the fields of wheat and oats waved ripening heads of gold in the August sun. The fifth August of the war to end all wars as the papers were calling the bloody conflict. She leaned against the back of the wood shed, stealing a few private moments to read George’s letter and dream of him coming home to her.
My Dear Annie,
Hoping this finds you as it leaves me. Thank you for your last parcel. The socks are very welcome. I don’t think my feet will ever be dry again. I was sorry to hear the news about Steve, so many good men have lost their lives in the conflict it hardly bears thinking about. Please give my condolences to your parents, and of course to Evan and Ivan and your sisters. It eases my heart to know one of your brothers made it back home. Even without an arm, he is well out of this mess. The fighting has been bloody and fierce and the damnable rain just won’t quit. Mud in my face, mud in my shoes, I swear there’s mud in my tea. I had news of Pete, the poor sod was gassed again at <censor blacked out> he was at <blacked out> Convalescent House in <censor blacked out> but is now back going about his duties. He tells me he was awarded a Good Conduct Badge, though I’m not sure for what. He promises to write to you himself, but you know how Pete hates to put pen to paper.
I miss you very much and hope God sees his way to let us be together in the near future. Our company is on the move again, heading to the <censor blacked out but Annie thought she could make out the word Somme — the censor must have been tired or careless>. The tide seems to be turning in our favour, but that may just be wishful thinking on my part. I often wonder at the wisdom of the higher ups. I suppose I shouldn’t say such things here but I confess I am frustrated. Last night the moon was so bright (the rain finally having let up for a bit) my mates and I were reading the latest newspaper from England. Many weeks out of date, I might add. At any rate, we were gathered together seeing what was what and then the orders came to be ready to hop the bags. We were all flabbergasted to say the least. But orders are orders and over the top we went. Some of the lads didn’t make it back, I’m afraid. But all things considered the casualties could have been far worse.
This may not be the correct time to speak of this, but my heart dictates otherwise. Darling Annie, it is my dearest wish that as soon as I return to you I wish us to be married with all possible haste. Since we’ve been apart I feel I’ve been marking time and wasted years of our lives by being parted. If this suits you as well as it suits me, please reply with all haste, (well as hasty as the army mail service will allow ha ha ). I look forward to your return post with hopeful heart.
The CO is shouting so I will close now.
With all good wishes
Pte George Richardson
Canadian Infantry (Eastern Ontario Regiment)
21st Btn
Annie refolded the smudged pages and tucked them into her bodice, close to her heart. She’d write to him this very evening after chores. If only she could snap her fingers and have George at her side. She would broach the idea of an early wedding once the war was over. She suspected Father would be in agreement, and Mother would be grateful her youngest daughter wouldn’t disgrace her by dying an old maid. Annie giggled. And she must write to Peter, there had been a very short note from him. Nothing the censors even deemed necessary to black out. She grinned; the younger Richardson boy was truly a man of few words. With a happy heart she skipped down the beaten path to bring the cows in to be milked. It was the first time she’d felt truly happy since the news of Steve’s death. The pain was less fresh than it had been, but still a painful spike to her heart, striking at the most inopportune times. To her annoyance, she was prone to break into tears at the singing of certain songs, or hearing a turn of phrase that reminded her sharply of her brother. Nonsense, Annie. Steve wouldn’t want you to brood over it. Let yourself be happy. She twirled in a circle, skirts floating around her. George wants to be married as much as I do. Annie hugged herself in glee before leaning on the pole gate and calling for the cows down in the meadow. In the distance the clack of the reaper in the wheat field carried on the evening air where the patient horses plodded back and forth across the grain field. Evan and Ivan followed behind stooking the long stalks to dry. Once the grain dried, Annie would be busy gathering wood and water for the steam powered threshing machine which would separate the grain from the chaff. Hauling the straw into the storage area of the large barn was Annie’s job as well as Ivan’s. Della and some others from the village promised to come and help. Della claimed it was a good excuse for a party, once the grain and straw was stored. Annie figured Frances would come as well, although nothing was official, she suspected her brother had more than a passing interest in the ex-nursing sister.
She called the cows again to hurry them as they meandered their way toward her. While she waited her thoughts turned to the war effort. The German offensives of the past spring had failed miserably which was, she supposed, a good thing. The newspapers reported the tide was swinging in the Allied’s favour. Someplace called Amiens seemed to have been a major battle ground. She’d overheard Father speaking with some friends about the possibility of the Allieds mounting a counter-attack sometime soon to push the Germans back. I hope George and Peter are well away from that. Poor Peter, how many times did this make it that he’d been exposed to the mustard gas? Annie shook her head and opened the gate to let the cows into the barn yard and followed them into the barn where they filed into their stanchions.
Hooking the milking stool with one foot she settled herself and washed the first cow’s udder with warm water and soap. She’d brought the pails down earlier before calling the cows. Drying the swollen udder she set a clean pail under it and set about filling the pail. Creamy hot milk pinged off the bottom of the bucket quickly turning to white froth as the level rose. Annie leaned her head on the Sue’s brindled flank, her fingers automatically loosening to allow the teat to fill with fluid before closing thumb and forefinger to block the top of the teat then closing her fingers to flush the milk from the teat and begin the process all over again until all four teats were stripped and the udder was slack once more.
The full pail was covered with a clean cloth and set up on the shelf nearby. Giving Sue a pat on the side, Annie tossed her another fork of hay and moved on to the next animal. Sara regarded her with a sideways glance from her huge brown eye. The Jersey was Mother’s pride and joy for the rich milk she produced. While Annie had to admit the creature was certainly lovely to look at with the fawn coloured coat and delicate dished face with the large liquid eyes, the cow was temperamental on the best of days. Righting the stool the beast had kicked over, Annie replaced it and turned to set a clean bucket underneath her. A well-aimed hoof sent the bucket in an arc to smack against the feed room.
“You devil! Keep it up and I’ll rip that leg off and beat you with the wet end,” she cursed. Glaring at the cow who blinked innocently at her, Annie stomped across the straw-strewn floor to retrieve the container. Sara moved restlessly when she approached and Annie gritted her teeth in resignation. Apparently it was going to be one of those days. The boys were all out in the fields so she’d have to manage this single-handedly. Setting the bucket down out of range of even the boldest cow kick, she took the sisal rope down from the hook on the feed room wall.
“There now you silly wench. Stand still now, just for a moment or I’ll roast you for dinner, just you wait and see, you evil creature,” Annie murmured in a soothing voice knowing the words didn’t matter to the cow just the tone. Cheerfully informing Sara of the dire consequences awaiting her Annie ran a hand over the cow’s back and neatly dropped the loop at the end of the rope where the animal would put a hind foot in it without realizing it. She leaned into the cow to encourage her to shift her weight and was rewarded by a hind hoof landing squarely where she intended. Drawing the loop tight she ran the end through the bell collar and wrapped it around a stout beam at the front of the stanchion. Throwing her weight into it, Annie tightened the tension until the rear leg was bent at the hock and the hoof off the ground. Knotting it securely with a quick release knot, she gave the cow a grim smile.
“Fine then, let’s see you kick me now.”
She pulled the stool up again and set a clean pail under the beast. Sara bellowed in frustration but there was no way to kick while standing on three legs. Annie went about the business of stripping the udder as quick as possible. She set the pail of thick creamy milk safely on the shelf before removing the hobble and throwing more hay into the manger.
“Not that you deserve it, you ungrateful creature.”
The other cows were mild mannered and posed no further excitement. It took three trips from barn to house to transport the heavy pails to the back of the milk house. After being sure the separator was clean and not harbouring mouse turds or other foreign material, Annie spent the next hour separating the cream from the milk. The milk went into the stoneware crocks which she carted to the root cellar come cold shed, the cream, except for a container for their personal use, went into the shiny metal containers with the Eaton company name on them. She took those to the cold shed as well and placed them with the others. Evan would take them into the village to the train in order to send them off to the Timothy Eaton Company in Toronto, and collect the empty containers which would be sent back to them. While in the root cellar she checked the squat round stoneware tubs holding the butter. She selected one to take to the house as the crock in the icebox was next to empty. Eyeing the remaining tub, she sighed and added making butter to tomorrow’s list of chores. It was pity she couldn’t send butter through the post to George, he did love freshly churned butter so.
Closing the door securely, she deposited the fresh stoneware tub of butter in the icebox in the back mud room and then went back to the barn to turn the cows out again.
* * *
Next morning found her riding into Sprucedale next to Evan. Early morning light spilled like gold through the pines and littered the sandy road with dappled light. Annie breathed in the piney air and glanced upward where the arching canopy of maple, birch and oak branches let the blue sky peek through. Tinges of yellow on the birches and fiery orange on the maples and oaks contrasted with the rich array of green. Even though it was still August the edge to the early morning air was like an excitement in the blood and bespoke the arrival of autumn. Not too soon, she hoped, although in the Almaguin Highlands of Ontario Mother Nature sometimes decided to skip autumn altogether and winter could arrive in October, before Thanksgiving. Her heart was light with the unexpected trip to the village. Father needed some medical supplies and Mother sent a list of household items for Annie to pick up. A small pouch sat heavy in the pocket of her skirt, harvest money to bring Father’s account up to date at Mulligan’s General Store. A tiny thrill of excitement sent shivers over her skin. For once she would be the first to see the mail, there would be a packet of Father’s newspapers, and maybe, just maybe, a letter from George. There had been nothing since the letter that arrived early in August. That wonderful missive where he’d declared himself. Annie hugged the memory to her. Nothing had been said to her parents yet, time enough for that once he was safe at home. They would tell her parents together and if they disagreed…well they’d cross that bridge when they came to it. A grim smile crossed her lips before she banished it. Mother was forever making comments to Hetty about despairing that Annie would ever have a man speak for her. Destined to die an old maid, Annie’d heard that old saw so often it was almost easy to ignore it now. Almost.
“You’re awfully quiet this morning,” Evan broke into her thoughts.
“Just thinking,” she replied with a smile.
“I always think about Steve this time of year.” He sighed, his eyes fixed on the horse’s rump in front of him as the buckboard jolted over some washboard ruts. “Remember how he got so excited about bagging a moose? Or the time that old momma bear chased him?” Evan’s eyes crinkled at the corners in amusement.
Annie laid a hand on his knee. “I do. You always had his back, even when he got in some bad scrapes he could have avoided.”
“Except when it mattered. I didn’t have his back then.” He shook his head as if to clear it and then carried on as if he hadn’t spoken. “Mind you, you girls made a big fuss over those two cubs he brought home.”
“They were cute little things, but it was hard to enjoy bear steak with those two little beggars looking at me with those eyes.”
“You always did have a soft heart, Annie.”
“Oh, go on with you.” She slapped his thigh lightly. “Who was it raised those baby raccoons when their mother got caught in that snare.”
“Seemed the least I could after I killed their momma.” His expression sobered. “A man gets to thinking a lot when he’s laid up.” He gestured to his missing right arm. “Sometimes all I can see if the faces of those soldiers I shot. Some of ‘em didn’t look much older than Ivan, for God’s sake.”
“Evan,” Annie tried to soothe him, change the subject but it was like he didn’t hear her.
“You don’t know what it was like, Annie. And I’m right glad you don’t. But when they gave the order, we just went. Up over the top, slippin’ and slidin’ in the mud and the blood, runnin’ and shooting…It weren’t so bad when you couldn’t see their faces, just fire blind and hope nobody hit you. But God…” He tucked the lines under his thigh and rubbed his hand roughly over his face. “When they were right there, shooting at you and you knew it was them or you; kill or be killed, and their faces…scared as you were, but no more choice than us PBI…” Evan retrieved the reins from under his leg and clucked to the horse. “Get along there, you.”
“Evan, I’m sorry. If there’s anything I can do…”
“There isn’t anything anyone can do, Annie. I just wish I could get it out of my head.”
“Does it help to talk about it? I can listen if you want?” she offered.
He nudged her with his thigh. “Thanks, sis. I already said more than I should, unless you’ve experienced it you can’t begin to imagine what it was like. What it’s still like for those poor bastards still over there.”
“What about Frances, can you talk to her?”
“Aye, I can. And it helps, helps us both. I’ve had men die by my hand, but Frances…she’s had men die under her hand and nothing she could do to help them. Of the two of us, I think her burden is harder to bear than mine.”
“I’m glad you can talk to someone, then.”
“Here we are. You run along to Mulligans while I take care of the freight.” He halted the wagon at the station.
Annie jumped down from the buckboard, careful her skirts didn’t catch on the brake or the wheel hub. In no time she settled Father’s account and gathered the sundry items on her list. She saved the post for last, savouring the anticipation and staving off disappointment if there were no letters for her.
“Any post, Mrs. Mulligan?” She stowed the household items in the satchel she’d brought and carefully packed the medical supplies in another.
“I do believe there is, Annabelle. Just let me go look.” Mrs. Mulligan bustled away.
Annie tapped her foot and glanced out the window toward the train station. The buckboard was still pulled up to the platform so Evan must still be exchanging the full cream containers for the empties. Her gaze wandered over the dry goods and came to rest on a bolt of cream coloured linen. Now wouldn’t that make a nice wedding dress? She had no need of silk and lace, linen would do just fine. Practical and easy to alter so she could wear it again.
“Here we are, dear. Mister Baldwin’s newspapers all the way from Toronto and London. My stars, imagine where those papers have travelled and myself never going any further than North Bay.” She shook her head and placed the rolled up newspapers on the counter. “And some letters, I see. One from your sister down in Trenton and some others.”
“Thanks.” Annie gathered the bundle of letters and shoved them in with the papers. One of the envelopes peeking out was from overseas but who it was from wasn’t clear. Please, please, let it be from George. Please. She crossed her fingers inside her skirt pocket before taking the satchels from the counter and heading for the door.
“Oh, there you are. Almost done?” Evan appeared in the entryway, his expression guarded.
“Yes, I was just coming.” She took his arm and steered him out the door. “What’s wrong? You look awful.” She peered up at her brother.
“Nothing.” He shook his head.
“Doesn’t look like nothing.” Annie steered him over to the bench set against the wall by the door. “Is it Frances?”
“No…yes…but that’s…”
Annie stood up. “I’ll go find Della, she’ll know what’s going on.”
Evan caught her arm. “Don’t, Annie. Frances is sick in bed with malaria. Doc Lewen is looking after her. She’ll be fine once this bout passes.”
“Where in heaven’s name did she get malaria? I’ve heard Father mention it, but…”
“She nursed in Italy. A lot of the lads caught it there. They treat it with quinine, but it never goes away apparently. Just comes and goes.”
“That’s horrible. But if it isn’t Frances, then what is it, Evan?” She sank down beside him.
He leaned over, elbows resting on his knees and his face in his hands. “It’s hard to talk about it, Annie. Don’t you understand?”
“Sometimes talking about it helps, Evan,” she said, rubbing his back with a gentle hand.
He drew a quivering breath and raised his head a bit. “Not here, too many nosey parkers.” Evan rose and strode toward the waiting buckboard. Elsie, the pretty palomino Father bought to please Mother tossed her head with impatience and stamped at the flies plaguing her.
Her brother was silent until they passed out of the sunlight and entered the confines of the bush crowding both sides of the sandy road. Dust and flies danced in the sunbeams spearing through the canopy. The air in the thickest part of the bush always seemed to take on a greenish tint to Annie’s eyes. She waited for Evan to speak.
“The boys at the train were talkin’ about the war. Sounds like there was a big push the beginning of August. They’ve never been overseas, they have no idea what it’s like. Not all glory and pushing the dirty Huns back for King and Country. Oh no, it’s cold and wet and or hot and wet, poison gas and terrible food. It’s all so senseless, Annie. All the killing, I can’t get their faces out of my head.” He shuddered and closed his eyes. “It’s the ones you kill face to face that haunts you, not the faceless ones the shells blow to bits or the ones you never see. And then there’s your mates, splattered all over everything when a whiz bang hits. Just the whine and then no time to hide, if there was even a place to hide, which there isn’t. It’s going to sleep scared out of your mind and waking up the same. Those boys back there, they just don’t understand. They’ve never had to listen to their mates lying in mud and blood in no man’s land, caught in the wire, bleeding to death, calling for their mothers, crying for help and you stuck in the trench under orders not to go to them.”
“I’m sorry, Evan. I wish there was something I could do to help you.” Annie leaned against his shoulder. “You’re safe now, though. That’s a blessing.” It frightened her that he didn’t seem to realize he’d talked about the same things on the ride into the village.
“Is it?” He looked down at her desolation etched on his face. “It’s guilty I feel for not still being over there fighting with those poor buggers. PBI they called us, Poor Bloody Infantry, and by God that’s what we were.”
“You were injured, Evan. That’s not your fault,” Annie began.
“Not my fault, no. But to my dishonour I was almost glad when it happened. Either I’d die or I’d get to go to Blighty. Either way I was out of it, and those poor lads I left behind weren’t…” his voice trailed off.
Annie let him be alone with his thoughts, turning over his words in her mind. Her stomach roiled at the images his tale evoked in her mind. Was that how Steve died? The newspaper reports made it sound so cut and dried when reporting casualties. Somehow Annie always assumed getting killed involved getting shot and dropping dead. Not slowly bleeding to death crying for help that never came. She hugged her arms around her. Her George was still there, somehow still safe, and Peter too. She crossed fingers on both hands in the hope their luck still held.
Evan was silent the rest of the drive home, he halted Elsie by the house long enough for Annie to alight. Then he turned her toward the barn. “Please tell Mother I won’t be in for supper,” he called back over his shoulder.
Annie stood on the top step and watched him go toward the barn. He’d take care of the horse and then no doubt go on one of his solo rambles down to the shores of Doe Lake and into the bush. The flies were still fierce but Annie reckoned her brother would hardly notice them.
Giving him one last worried glance, she went into the house to deliver the mail to Father’s study. She kept out the letters addressed to her. Three of them, she realized with a thrill. One from Peter, she flipped through them, one from the middle Foley boy and, thank goodness, one from George. Annie slid them into her skirt pocket to read later. Mother’s summons drew her to the kitchen where she was kept too busy to do more than smile over her good fortune to receive three letters in one day.
* * *
Annie finished the milking by herself in jig time. Evan was still off on his wander and she didn’t begrudge him the time. It meant she could steal a few precious moments to read her letters in the privacy of the barn before lugging the milk and cream to the milk house. She tore open Ed Foley’s first. It was brief, thanking her for the package with thick socks and a tin of biscuits. She frowned in consternation at the x and o he’d contrived to add to his signature. While she was fond of Ed, that was as far as it went. She’d have to be sure he realized that, Annie had no intention of letting him have hope in that direction.
Peter’s next
July 16, 1918
Dear Annie,
Well, I’ve done ended up in a convalescent home again. I must have more lives than a cat. ha ha. We were setting up a field hospital near the front lines and wham Bertha (that’s a 1200 lb shell) hit some distance off. The concussion of its passing and impact however affect a much larger area. My mate and I were buried under the rubble for over 48 hours before our boys heard us hollering and dug us out. I’m a little banged up, but okay. Having trouble catching me breath ‘cause I got gassed again, but the docs say I’ll be right as rain soon.
Hoping you are keeping well. You can write to this address and if I’ve gone back they’ll forward it on to me.
Your Friend,
Sapper Peter Richardson
788629
9th Canadian Rail Troops
Annie folded the fragile sheet and tucked it between her leg and the milking stool she’d drawn up against the feed room wall. She glanced out the open double doors of the barn to judge the angle of the sun. Still time to read George’s at least once. She held the letter for moment, savouring the anticipation of learning the contents. Running a finger over the bold scrawl of her name brought a sense of comfort, almost as if she could touch him and feel him near.
With careful fingers she opened the thin sheet
August 2, 1918
Dearest Annie,
This must of necessity be short. The company is preparing to move, where I don’t know and of course I couldn’t tell you even if I did. But something big is in the offing. I can feel it. It may be some time before I can write to you again, but know you are ever in my thoughts and dreams. I have a favour I need to ask of you. If the unthinkable happens and I don’t come home for some reason, I need to know you’ll look after Peter for me. We’re the only family we have, and I can’t stand the thought of him being alone in the world. It eases my heart to know you’ll honour my wishes, even without hearing from you, I know this.
Knowing you wait for me is the only thing that keeps me from going crackers in the midst of this insanity. I have the token you sent me tucked in the Bible in my breast pocket over my heart, along with your lock of hair, so I feel you are ever nearby watching over me. I echo the sentiments of your last letter, that this war be over soon. From your lips to God’s ears.
I dare to sign myself
Your devoted servant
Pte George Richardson
Canadian Infantry (Eastern Ontario Regiment)
21st Btn
Annie held the crackling paper to her lips. It smelled of dried damp and musty, the page splotched with old water marks and perhaps mud. She hoped it was only mud. His letter seemed to bear out what Evan overheard at the train station and the brief glance she’d managed at the headlines of Father’s newspapers. Surely, the war must end soon; they couldn’t go on fighting forever, could they? His words stuck starkly in her mind. Of course she’d look out for Peter. Both of them would. When George came home. Standing, she tucked the letters into her pocket and began lugging the heavy milk pails to the milk shed to be separated.