MEG WAS TOO YOUNG to be invited to city parties. But she found her own way of meeting the interesting newcomer.
“Dare me to sell some eggs to Mr. Oliphant?” she said to her brother Stew one Saturday after they finished delivering eggs in Halifax. “I’ve saved a dozen in this basket.”
“You’re joking. You wouldn’t.”
“Dare me.”
“Done!” Stew struck the horse with the reins and soon they were bumping along up the road to Mr. Oliphant’s. Poley, sitting in the back of the wagon, gave a woof at being so jostled then lay down to steady himself.
“And now I probably have half a dozen!” Meg held the basket of eggs as steady as she could on her lap while gripping the handrail of the wagon seat. She checked when they stopped at Oliphant’s gate. “The top layer looks all right.” She turned to Poley. “Poley, I want you to stay here with Stew. Stay!”
Poley sat up, looking sadly disappointed at this command, but stayed. As she walked along the stone path to the front steps, Meg looked up and saw someone quickly close the lace curtain across an upstairs bedroom. Whoever it was must have seen her. No chickening out now. She drew in her breath and proceeded to the front door knocker. She knocked once. No one came. Twice. Still no one. Meg looked back at Stew. He shook his head negatively and mouthed, “He doesn’t want to see you.”
Meg knocked a third and loudest time. Another wait. Meg turned to depart. She trudged down the steps. Then the front door opened.
“Hello there. You are quite a determined young miss, aren’t you? I’m sorry but I do not take callers on Saturdays. I am busy with bookkeeping.”
“I sell eggs, sir.” Meg was surprised at his appearance. He was known to be a dandy, a dapper Dan, with velvet jackets, brocade waistcoats, the works. But he stepped onto the verandah in his shirtsleeves and trousers, not even a tie. There was interest in his eyes as he regarded Meg. She had dressed with meeting him in mind. Her dark blue school skirt and freshly washed white blouse, her Sunday jacket. She found hats a nuisance and had no money for a stylish one but she had tied her brown hair back with an expensive new red plaid ribbon. She hoped her face didn’t look beet red as she felt herself blushing at her own boldness in disturbing this gentleman who was older than all her brothers, yet not the age of her father.
“Let us have a look at your eggs then, Miss … ?” His eyebrows were raised and his smile welcoming as he invited her to introduce herself
“Wilkinson. Margaret, Meg Wilkinson, sir.”
“Herbert Wilkinson’s daughter? Well now, isn’t this a pleasure! Perhaps you know I am Randolph Oliphant.” He bowed. “I would take your hand but first you must be relieved of the burden of your egg basket. Won’t you step inside? And your driver and his companion? Would they too like to come in while we conduct our business?”
“That’s my dog, Poley. And my brother Stew. Stewart. He has to stay with the wagon.” She saw Stew’s wide-eyed look as Randolph took the basket and gestured for her to come inside. “But he is dying to see your electricity, Mr. Oliphant.”
“Well then, he had better tie up the horses and come inside. Would your dog, Poley, care to join us?”
“You don’t mind? A dog in the house? He wouldn’t damage anything. He’s very well trained. He just likes to be near me.”
“Perfectly understandable.” Randolph beckoned Stew and Poley to join them inside.
They were invited into the salon, like guests, rather than vendors. Poley seated himself on the floor beside Meg’s chair. Although three of the eggs had broken en route, Randolph insisted on paying for an entire dozen, scooping out the broken ones, gooey straw and all. He put them into a separate bowl, saying Mrs. Rivers, his housekeeper, would find use for them. He showed Meg and company round the ground floor, turning on the lights which worked better now that more houses in Halifax were hooked up to electricity. Meg was curious to see the dead wife’s room but Randolph did not show them upstairs.
Meg was enthralled with his library. More books than they ever had at school. Leather wingback chairs. She was invited to sit in Randolph’s desk chair which swivelled around. She put her hands on the edge of his large mahogany desk, looked at the open book of ledgers, the glass inkwell, the gold-trimmed ink pen, and informed him, “I’m good at arithmetic. My teacher said I should go to university.”
“And will you?”
Meg looked away. “It’s not affordable. Not even for my brothers. Right, Stew?”
Stew scowled at her. She was making their family sound poor. “Me and my brothers never wanted to go to any university. When I’m finished on the farm I’m going to be a fireman on the train. And then I might become the engineer.”
“And what will you do, Miss Wilkinson?”
“I want to be a vet, a veterinarian.”
“A horse doctor,” said Stew with impatience, rolling his eyes to the ceiling.
“A doctor of animals,” said Meg. “My mother calls it ‘pie in the sky.’ Completely impractical.” She turned from Randolph to the ledgers on his desk. “But I could learn how to do these books.” “Meg!” Stew reprimanded her. “It’s time to go.”
“I keep the books for my egg business,” said Meg. “In fact I can do all the farm accounts.”
“I’m sure you can, with utmost competence.” Randolph stood with one arm across his chest, the other reaching up to prop his chin as he scrutinized Meg. “When might you be delivering again?”
“Every Saturday, Mr. Oliphant. Do you want a dozen?”
“Plus conversation, please. I must learn more about this vet business.”
“Please, sir. Do not encourage her.” Stew pulled at Meg’s arm. “Next she’ll be on about the wolves.”
Next Saturday afternoon. Randolph answered the door immediately, dressed nattily in pinstripe trousers, wine-coloured waistcoat, shirt and bow tie. But only Meg and Poley were at the door.
“My brother will be here soon,” she spoke nervously. “He’s having a pint at the Pig and Poke.”
“Ah!” said Randolph. “Our conversation failed to interest him. And I have boned up on the subject of vets! And my good Mrs. Rivers has laid out a frothy lemon meringue pie plus quite a substantial pound cake, all concocted with your excellent eggs.”
“He’ll be here soon. He promised.”
“Indeed he must, since a pretty young lady should not go about without a chaperone. And an old gentleman like myself must see that she is not compromised.”
“You’re not old, Mr. Oliphant, are you?”
“I’ve hit forty, my dear, forty!”
“Oh.” Meg was surprised and thought, that is old. “I’m nearly seventeen. I’ll be seventeen in August.”
“I thought you were eighteen, ready for university entrance.”
“My brother is eighteen. I’m …” Meg looked down at her basket of eggs, feeling suddenly inadequate. “I’m still studying, on my own, for the entrance exams.”
“Come in, Miss Wilkinson.” He put his hand on her shoulder encouragingly and led her into the salon. “I’ll make a pot of tea. Come along. You put the eggs into a bowl in the kitchen while I put the kettle on. Yes. What we’ll do is have our refreshments on the verandah, in plain view of all nosey people, while we await your brother. I want to hear all about your wolves. And where would you like to go to veterinary college? Toronto or Montreal? You see, I have done my homework. Oh yes I have. It’s quite easy these days, with a telephone. I simply phoned the operator and had her find their locations for me. This is quite a new profession you have chosen. These vet colleges are almost as young as you are.”
Meg began to smile, and laugh, and talk, as she had never done before. But she choked as she told Randolph what had happened to her wolves.
“After the death of Ma Wolf, the mother, I kept going to the rock pile, at least once a week, in the early evening when the wolves are on the prowl. I would howl, as much like them as I could, and they would answer. Yes they did! I kid you not.”
Randolph who had looked mock sceptical, leaned across and put a wisp of her hair back in place. “I believe you, my dear. Believe me I do. I’ve read a bit about wolves myself, though I’ve never had the privilege of meeting one. Do carry on.”
Seeing that he was genuinely interested, she continued. “The young wolves answered. I knew their sound. There was also the howl of the two older wolves. They often came to the edge of the woods and stared at me. When I walked away, they came out and ate the bit of food I left. I never left much because I wanted them to depend on their own hunting, not on me.”
“Wise,” said Randolph, pointing his finger approvingly. “Most considerate. And important. Wolves are not dogs.”
Meg looked quizzically at him.
“The rest of your story,” said Randolph, sitting up stiffly in anticipation. “Don’t keep me in suspense.”
“Then we got new neighbours. The MacDonald family. They bought the property on the other side of the woods. We visited them, brought them eggs, a chicken, welcoming gifts, and told them about our wolves in the woods. Mr. MacDonald scowled. Told us wolves will eat livestock, poultry, kill your dog, your children, everything that moves.
“Nothing my father or I said could convince him otherwise. My father is a forceful speaker and gets along with most people, but he ended up saying, ‘Mr. MacDonald, I must warn you, sir, that the wolves live on our property. They are our property. It is against the law to do harm or damage to someone else’s property.’ Then …” Meg choked.
Randolph moved to sit beside her on the settee. He put his hand on her shoulder. Poley stirred then relaxed his head back down upon his front paws when he saw that Meg was not displeased with the hand upon her shoulder.
“You must tell me the rest,” said Randolph.
“After that, sometime after that, when I called the wolves, they didn’t answer. For two evenings they did not answer. Then my father agreed to get in the buggy and drive straight to the MacDonalds.
All the wolves were there, hauled into his barn, dead. He was skinning them.
He said they had come onto his property and were threatening his livestock, so he had the right to kill them. While he kept talking with my father, I examined their bodies. They each had only one bullet wound, perfectly placed. How could that happen? I know. I know he had poisoned them. Lured them onto his property with poisoned meat. They suffered a horrible death. And then he shot them, to make it look like he was defending his …”
Randolph put his arm fully around Meg and squeezed her shoulder.
“I know that’s what he did. That’s how he used my telling him how friendly they are and how I sometimes fed them.” Meg wiped her eyes then folded her arms firmly across her chest. “I’ll never trust,” she said, “never again, in the goodness of people.”
“A sensible conclusion,” Randolph conceded, putting his finger to the corner of his eyes and began to discuss the issue with her. “One should believe in goodness. But as for people … ah, such complex creatures …”
When Stew came stumbling through the gate, Randolph was sitting with his arm around Meg. He stood up at Stew’s approach. “Hello Master Stewart. You have come upon us in tears. I have just heard the sad story of Meg’s wolves.”
Stew hiccoughed.
Bumping along the dirt road back to the farm, Meg had much time to think. Stew had let her take the reins since there was no one around to see that he was not in the driver’s seat. He was sprawled out on the wagon floor, snoring off the effects of pints of strong ale, while Poley was forced to sit up for lack of space amidst the empty egg baskets and town purchases. During the last hour of the ride, Stew woke and climbed over the seat to take the reins so that he would be seen driving up the lane in sober posture.
“You don’t tell on me and I won’t tell on you,” he said.
“I have nothing to hide,” said Meg.
“Oh, yeah? Practically sitting on old Oliphant’s lap, on the front porch! What if that gets back to Mom and Dad?’
“He was just comforting me. He is the kindest man I’ve ever met. I’ve never found anyone so interesting and easy to talk to. We talked about everything. Animals, ideas, schooling, upbringing, ambition. He sees nothing wrong with girls having as much ambition as boys, women wanting to do jobs normally done by men. And he says that in the best of all possible worlds, everyone would have as much education as they want. He himself was educated at Oxford and he said it was the best time of his life. He thinks it truly unfortunate that everyone doesn’t have similar opportunity…”
“Oh knock it off, Meg!” Stew snapped the reins. “That’s all just easy talk from a rich man. Doesn’t do a whit of good for me and thee, as our Mom would say.”
“Mr. Oliphant wants to help me with my education. He says he could tutor me to pass the university entrance exams. And he will ask Mom and Dad’s permission.”
“Tutor you? What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Lessons. If I had weekly lessons throughout the summer, I could probably pass the entrance exams, get into university and eventually vet college.”
“As if our parents would let you do that! Even if there was money for it, which there ain’t.”
“I could pay for the lessons by keeping Mr. Oliphant’s accounts for him. If I got into university, I could pay it all back once I started working.”
“Meg, you are dreaming. You have no sense of practicalities. There are no women vets and there never will be.”
Meg fell silent. What a difference between talking to a stranger like Oliphant and talking to her family. With Oliphant she could let her thoughts and hopes and plans soar. But her family was like an anchor, dragging her down, keeping her in the one position they were familiar with. If she wanted to get anywhere different, she’d have to break free.
“I’m not saying you’re not good with animals, Meg,” said Stew. “Your chickens come running to you like puppy dogs. And there’s no denying you had those wolves dang well tamed. But horse doctoring is different. You have to be strong as a man to handle a horse. Or a cow. Or an old sow. That’s what horse doctoring is all about. And I haven’t even mentioned shooting horses. You have to, if they break a leg or anything. You know that. You wouldn’t want to have to do that, would you?”
Meg refused to answer. She felt like crying. But damned if she would.
“I have an idea,” said Stew as they turned into the lane of Wolf Woods Farm. “You know what you should do, being as you’re so good with animals, taming them and all?” Stew turned to her, bright eyed with his own inventiveness.
“What?”
“Join the circus. Become an animal trainer. You’d be very good at that.”
Meg pictured herself in the circus posters she had seen in Halifax, dressed like a ballerina, standing on the back of a pony, balancing on one toe, riding round and round the circus ring. She burst out laughing. “Good plan, Stew. Good backup plan.”
She felt better, and better prepared to meet the opposition of her parents.
“What’d you bring me?” Alice called out as she ran to the gate, taking a ride on its cross-board as it swung open. “You’re in trouble, you two. You’re late! Mother is wringing her hands with worry. Father has had to help milk the cows. So guess how mad he is!”
Herbert came to the doorway. “Put the horses away and come to the table, straight away. You will explain yourselves after the meal.”
In the imposed silence of the meal, Meg was summoning up arguments, feeling nothing but opposition within her family, whereas when she had talked with the Atkins and now Mr. Oliphant, she felt encouraged, stimulated, and more clarified about what she could do with her life. Invited to a Saturday lunch at the Atkins, she heard inspiring concepts. “To ease, to cure, to prevent suffering,” Dr. Atkins had said. “That’s the basic calling.”
The first words permitted at this supper were her father’s saying, “Meg and Alice, you may clear up.”
“There’s rhubarb pie for dessert,” said Emma. “I’ll bring it in.”
“Dessert is for the deserving,” said Herbert when Emma sat down with the pie and a pitcher of cream. “Meg and Stew, explain yourselves. Why were you so late?”
“Mr. Oliphant invited us to come in for tea,” said Meg. “We talked a long time. He asked if I would accept the job of doing accounts for him on Saturdays throughout the summer. In exchange he will tutor me for college entrance exams.”
Emma gasped and put her hands over her mouth. “My other plan,” said Meg, “would be to join the circus.”
Emma put her hands over her entire face. There was a drawing in of breath around the table. Herbert slammed both hands onto the table. He stood up.
“Young lady!” He glared at Meg. “You will not make idle threats to your parents. And no daughter of mine will spend Saturdays, or any other day, or night, in the house of a man, un-chaperoned!” He leaned onto the table, lowering his head menacingly. “You will not accept Mr. Oliphant’s indecent proposal. I have spoken!” He stood up rigidly.
Meg stood up. “Father, I am almost seventeen. Mr. Oliphant is an honourable man. It was I who made the … the business proposal.” Meg’s face was red, her arms straight at her side, her fists clenched. “And I will honour it.”
Herbert recognized in Meg his own rebellion, negotiating skill, and tenacity. But he found himself responding initially just as his father had. “You will honour me. Or not darken my door again.”
There was nowhere to go in their small house in order to make a dramatic exit except to the bedroom. It was too early and undignified to go there. Herbert took his pipe and tobacco and stomped out onto the porch, yanking the door closed behind him. He sat on the squeaking rocking chair, hearing through the open window, lowered voices and the sound of dishes being done. He finished a pipeful of tobacco and batted at the insects beginning to swarm around him. He re-lit his pipe, wishing he could think of a way of retracting his ultimatum without losing face. He wished he had been able to visit his parents occasionally before they died. The prospect of not seeing his daughter again, the one he thought so like himself it was a wonder she hadn’t turned out a boy …
Emma opened the door and steered Meg onto the porch.
“Herbert, dear, Meg did not mean to appear disrespectful of you, or to be misleading in the recounting of events. She is sorry for that. And wants to ask something of you, as her father.” Emma stood beside Meg. “Carry on, Meg. Ask your father.” “Father,” said Meg tensely. “Would you please accompany mother and me to Mr. Oliphant’s? He does want to discuss acceptable … arrangements.”
Herbert emptied his pipe. “I will most certainly not allow the two of you to go alone.”
In the privacy of their bedroom, Emma explained to Herbert. “It’s the lesser of two evils. She would run off to the circus, or the theatre. It’s what rebellious girls like Meg do these days. Better she should work for Mr. Oliphant. She’s too headstrong, but not a foolish girl. No daughter of mine will let a man take advantage of her. Our Meg would run and hide in a haystack, if necessary.”
Emma put her arm around Herbert as he lay beside her, something she would never do while she was young enough to get pregnant.
A wagonload of Wilkinsons arrived at Oliphant’s gate the following Saturday. Stew and Dave were to go off to market. Alice, now fourteen, was not to be left behind. She had curled her golden-brown hair in rags for the occasion and wore her pink dress, the only one she had that was not a hand-me-down from Meg.
“It’s not fair,” Alice had argued when they were doing the dishes the night before, “that Meg gets everything she wants and I have to stay on the farm.”
“I’m the one who’s had to stay on the farm, for over two years,” said Meg.
“And you’ve done nothing but study your stupid books!”
“If that were only true!” Meg gripped the dish pan.
“And now you’re calling me a liar. Mother, please. I’m too old to be babysat by my brothers. Why can’t I too meet Mr. Oliphant? I’ll sit quietly out of the way while you and father talk to him. Please, Momma.”
Meg cringed at what Mr. Oliphant would think when he saw the wagon full of her family arrive at his doorstep. But the boys quickly drove off with the goods for market and the door was not opened by Randolph Oliphant but by his housekeeper.
“Mr. Oliphant will see you in the library,” said Mrs. Rivers.
But he came into the hall to greet them. “Mr. and Mrs. Wilkinson! How good of you to come. And what have we here? Two Miss Wilkinsons! This must be your little sister?”
“Yes,” said Meg. “This is Alice.”
Alice smiled sweetly and curtsied slightly, offering her hand.
Randolph took it briefly, then spoke indulgently yet disinterestedly, as to a child. “You must want to see the electrics,” he said. “And perhaps the phone? Mrs. Rivers, would you kindly give this pretty child a tour of the house and whatever delights from the kitchen you have to offer, while we discuss our business in the library? Thank you, Mrs. Rivers. Oh, and morning coffee … you will have some won’t you, Mrs. Wilkinson, and Mr. and Miss Wilkinson?”
“Yes, please,” said Meg, never having been served coffee before.
“Bring it to the library please, if you will, Mrs. Rivers.” Randolph sat in the chair behind his desk. He was very polite and very business-like, indicating this was a meeting for which he was well prepared but there were others he must get on to.
“I spoke with your daughter’s former teacher, Mrs. Atkins,” Randolph addressed the parents. “And her husband, Dr. Atkins, who is also my physician. They have, as you know, entertained your daughter occasionally and loaned her books for further study. I have been assured that Miss Wilkinson will be a most competent bookkeeper. And Mrs. Atkins is confident that with weekly coaching Miss Wilkinson could pass university entrance exams. Also, she’s willing to fill in for me when I take a trip to New York or Boston, as I do from time to time. All of which makes this a mutually satisfactory arrangement. Do you agree?”
“Mr. Oliphant,” said Herbert, “I am concerned about propriety.”
“As indeed am I, sir. It is why I have asked Mrs. Rivers to be in attendance on Saturdays, for the duration. Fortunately, as you can see, she has agreed.” “Herbert,” said Emma, too intimidated to address Randolph directly, “we are concerned about Meg’s future. She must not be given false hopes. What is the good of passing university exams when she cannot afford to attend?”
“Mother … ,” said Meg.
“Hush, Meg,” Herbert interrupted her. “I guess we’ll have to cross that bridge when we come to it, Emma dear. Passing the entrance exams can’t help but be a feather in our daughter’s cap.”
“If I may say this,” Randolph lapsed momentarily out of business mode. “My dear Mrs. Wilkinson, how can there be false hopes when the future is so unpredictable? One thing leads to another in surprising ways. And it is a fact that there are scholarships. Benefactors have been known to appear out of thin air.” Randolph stood up. “I believe Mrs. Rivers has our coffee ready. I would like to say one thing in conclusion. You have here …” he looked at Meg, then at her parents. “ … an exceptional daughter.” Then he looked away. “Please excuse my sentimentality. But she is the daughter my Cecilia and I longed to have.”
“I like his house,” said Alice, as she closed the gate behind herself and her parents. “But I don’t like him. Nor his fat darkie servant! Why’d you leave me stuck with her for so long?”
“Alice!” Herbert and Emma turned on her simultaneously.
“Your grandmother would have your mouth washed out with soap for speaking like that,” said Herbert. “You apologize immediately and show respect for servants and Negroes henceforth, or … or else!”
Both Herbert and Emma stood their ground until Alice said, looking to the ground, “I’m sorry.”
But that night when Alice recorded the day’s events in her diary, she wrote: What I’m really sorry about is that it’s Meg who has all the luck and what’s left for me?