Farmerettes Read online

  “Did you notice a piano downstairs, Helene?” asked the red-hatted girl as she fluffed the pillow on her hastily made bed. “As soon as you’re finished, let’s find it.”

  Binxie looked in her bags, deciding what could stay in them. There were no closets here, only the orange crates and a row of hooks along the wall.

  “Gee, I thought Helene packed neatly, but your suitcase looks military!” exclaimed the girl behind her.

  Binxie turned around, paused, and regarded her coolly. “It’s organized. Organized people never waste time searching for things.”

  The girl laughed—another hearty bray. “That sure isn’t me.”

  She stuck out her hand. “Hi. I’m Peggy Pigeon, and that’s my friend, Helene Miller. I’m glad to be surrounded by two such tidy people. Maybe it’ll rub off on me.”

  “I doubt it.” Helene smiled and waved shyly at Binxie.

  “Binxie Rutherford. Pleased to meet you both,” she replied stiffly.

  “What is she doing?” Peggy pointed at the cot against the wall across from them. The blonde girl who had wanted water in line had arranged a flowery quilt and matching cushions on her cot, a rag rug on the floor. A pink scarf already covered her orange crate. She pulled a gold-framed photo from her purse, stood gazing at it, and stood it tenderly on the nightstand. Next she pulled a stuffed white teddy bear from her bag and placed it on the cushions.

  Oh, lucky me, thought Binxie, slapping a comb onto her crate. I’m rooming with a witch, a mouse, a donkey, and a princess. This could be a long summer.

  Peggy

  Peggy ran her fingers along the keys, played the first few notes of “Chopsticks,” and remarked that the piano needed tuning.

  “We’re lucky to have one at all,” said Miss Stoakley. She turned to the other girls. “Those shelves to the left hold cards, games, and writing paper.”

  “Hey! We can play that new card game—Canasta,” said Peggy. She noticed Binxie frowning at her in disapproval. “Wanna join us, Binxie?”

  Binxie shook her head, and Miss Stoakley continued the tour of their home for the next three months. They stood on the first floor of the converted barn, in a large room made cozy with comfortable chintz couches and chairs, yellow curtains, several small tables, shelves of games, and, of course, the piano in the corner.

  “Is there a record player?” asked a short wiry girl.

  “It’ll arrive soon,” answered Miss Stoakley.

  “Will they send records too? I brought a few, but we may get tired of them.” Peggy loved this room, and was excited about the fun they would have here. “We can dance in the evenings too.”

  Several girls nodded, but Binxie rolled her eyes.

  “Who knows how to jitterbug?” Peggy did a few fast steps, wiggled her hips, pecked her head, and swirled around.

  Miss Stoakley and pointed to a door tucked under the stairs on the right. “There’s my office. I share it with the Labour Secretary. You met her at the registration desk today. Every Friday after dinner, you may pick up your paychecks and pay your board there. My door is open whenever you need me. I have a telephone, which you may use for emergencies. Please ask me first, and be prepared to pay for the call when you use it.”

  “I hope she considers phoning my boyfriend an emergency,” whispered a pretty girl in a green dress.

  Peggy laughed out loud. “Not an emergency—a necessity.”

  Looking annoyed, Binxie muttered, “Must you comment on everything?”

  “Do you have something against being happy?” Peggy whispered back.

  “I’m very happy, thank you, but I don’t have to advertise it to the world.”

  “Well, I like to spread the cheer.” Peggy smiled, then followed Miss Stoakley and the others through another door to the back half of the barn. They crossed a hall to a wide arch that opened to a large area lined with wooden tables. “This is the dining room. You’ll enjoy nutritious meals here twice a day. Lunches are usually eaten in the fields.”

  Along the left wall stood two serving tables, and beside them a swinging double door to the kitchen. Peggy could see two large stoves inside, and rubbed her stomach. “Is anyone else as hungry as I am?”

  Several girls nodded.

  “Our cook will set out sandwiches and lemonade for you when this tour is over,” said the camp mother. “The kitchen is off-limits to everyone but staff. We must ration and account for all our food. You may never help yourself.”

  “No midnight pantry raids,” Helene whispered to Peggy.

  “It’ll make them more challenging.”

  “Where are the washrooms?” asked the blonde girl who bunked across from them. She looked worried.

  Peggy hoped it wasn’t an outhouse.

  “Just for you.” Miss Stoakley opened a door at the end of the hall. “Here it is.” She pointed into a large airy room.

  Several girls released sighs of relief.

  “This was once a storage shed attached to the barn. We installed several toilets, those sinks, and three showers for you. There are hooks to hang your clothes and a shelf nearby for your toiletries.” Miss Stoakley was obviously proud.

  “No curtains? We have to shower in front of everyone?” the blonde girl gasped.

  “You all have the same parts. There’s no need to hide them.”

  “Where will our laundry be done?” asked Binxie.

  “You will wash your clothes in those two wringer washers by the back wall. Two large tubs for rinsing are outside. The clothesline is nearby and there are two irons in the recreation room.”

  Peggy had to smile at the expression on Binxie’s face. Obviously the girl had never washed her own clothes before. Come to think of it, she thought, neither have I. Mum did that. Did Miss Stoakley really say she’d wake us at five-thirty so we can make our beds and wash before breakfast? This summer might be tougher than I expected.

  Jean

  “In this field we grow our own food.” Jean pointed to a stretch of land to the left of the gray stone farmhouse. The house was fronted by a low rose hedge about three hundred yards away from the girls’ quarters. “Everything is sprouting well. If this warm weather continues, we’ll have early crops this summer.”

  The girls gazed dutifully at the rows of seedlings as Jean named them. “Beans and corn here, cabbages, beets, onions, turnips, tomatoes, peas…”

  “They all look the same to me,” the red-hatted girl—her friend called her Peggy—joked. “They could be poison ivy for all I know.”

  “Remind me not to eat any vegetables you pick,” said a tall girl with her brown hair held back by a blue scarf. The name on her application said Beatrice, but she introduced herself as Binxie.

  Jean wished she owned a stylish scarf like that. Most of these girls wore fashionable clothes. What must their city life be like? In her nineteen years, she had visited the city of Hamilton a few times. On her sixteenth birthday, Mum took her to Toronto for a weekend. What a noisy, busy place! The buildings were so tall she got dizzy looking up. The fancy stores overwhelmed her. Gigantic windows displayed beautiful dresses, coats, and accessories—not practical for farm life, and therefore nothing Jean’s mother would ever sew.

  And the elegant Imperial Theatre. The magnificent gold leaf and marble pillars, deep carpets, velvet seats, and machines you could actually buy candy from were impressive enough—but then she watched the movie. Pride and Prejudice was her favorite book at the time. To see the Bennet family come to life on that huge screen was thrilling. Greer Garson and Laurence Olivier were wonderful as Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy.

  Was that how these city girls lived all the time? It seemed glamorous, but also crowded. They lived right beside, and even on top of, total strangers. In Winona, she knew everyone, but there was at least half a mile between neighbors, the way it should be.

  “Your dog is so cute.” Pegg
y reached down to pat the golden animal that followed Jean everywhere.

  “Dickens,” Jean answered and continued toward the barn.

  “As in Charles Dickens?” Peggy’s thin, pale friend asked.

  Jean nodded. “One of my favorite authors.”

  The pale girl smiled at her. “Mine too. I’m Helene.”

  As Jean nodded at Helene, she noticed Binxie’s raised eyebrow. Did she think farmers didn’t read?

  “Ew. What’s that horrible smell?” A pretty blonde pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and brought it to her nose. She had changed from a navy traveling suit to a white dress with yellow flowers and matching sun hat.

  Good Lord, thought Jean. Does she expect a tea party tonight?

  Someone pointed to an odoriferous pile of manure beside the barn.

  “We muck out the barn floor every morning—straw and everything the animals drop during the night. It’s good fertilizer.” Jean loved telling the city girls, “It’ll make your vegetables especially tasty.”

  The girls wrinkled their faces in disgust. Only Binxie looked straight at her and laughed.

  “Come to the barn and meet our animals,” Jean invited. “We keep six horses, four cows, and some pigs. The hens have their own coop by the orchard. Our horses work overtime, since tractor fuel is scarce and replacement parts hard to find.”

  “Don’t farmers get more gasoline rations than city people?” asked a tall girl.

  A stocky man in muddy blue overalls stepped from the barn. “Never enough gas at plowing and harvest time.”

  Jean introduced Gus, the foreman. “He’ll answer your questions and run the large machinery.”

  Gus grinned, showing large buckteeth. He grunted, “Hello,” and continued across the yard.

  All the girls except Helene followed Jean into the barn. Swatting the flies that buzzed at them, they looked around curiously. They crowded around a pen where baby piglets tugged at their mother’s teats. Some of the city girls blushed, but most oohed and aahed as the little creatures with curly tails and pink bodies tumbled over each other.

  A movement on the floor above made them look up.

  “A barn cat. They like the mice in here, but not the people,” explained Jean.

  “Mice!” someone gasped, and several girls squealed.

  Jean sighed. “We store hay for the livestock up there. Mouse food. They won’t bother you.”

  “Animals eat hay?” asked the blonde girl.

  Before Jean could think of a withering answer, a small explosion followed by an overpowering stench erupted from one of the stalls.

  Jean led the girls out the back door. “Don’t mind Oslo. The horse has digestive problems, especially after eating fresh grass.”

  Peggy gazed around the barnyard and pointed left. “Who lives in that cute little house?” Her hundredth question.

  “The chickens.” Where do they find these girls? wondered Jean. She wished she could fall into her bed, read a chapter, and sleep. But she still needed to feed the hens and tell Dad about the horse’s leg. London had favored his front left one this afternoon.

  Several hens and their young strutted around the yard, pecking at the ground. The girls gushed over the fuzzy chicks.

  “We keep enough chickens for you to have fresh eggs most mornings,” said Jean. “And when they stop laying eggs,” she couldn’t resist adding, “they make a tasty stew. Everyone on a farm has to be useful somehow.”

  Jean pointed far ahead to a field lined with rows of low green plants. “Tomorrow some of you will—”

  “Eeeeee!” A terrified screech interrupted her.

  She turned to see the blonde girl screaming as she backed away from the rooster. The bird had stretched his wings and puffed his feathers to double his size. With beady eyes glaring, sharp beak stabbing the air aggressively, he charged after her like a bull.

  Jean shook her head. Cracker loved to terrify people.

  Other girls scattered in all directions. The rooster hissed and pecked menacingly closer. The blonde girl ran, slipped, and landed in a moist lump of manure. Her fancy hat flew off. Cracker pounced and tore it apart.

  The farmerettes stood, shocked. Jean grabbed a pitchfork and chased him away. The blonde girl sat in the mess, flushed with mortification. Someone in a white blouse reached to help her up.

  The blonde girl pushed away the outstretched arm. “I can get up myself.” Awkwardly, she tried to rise without putting her hand on the ground—and slipped again. No one said a word. Finally she stood up. She held her head high, daring anyone to pity her. A clump of cow dung fell off her dress. Its brown stain remained.

  Jean turned and walked along a path to the fields. “Our strawberries are ripening early this year—you’ll see lots of them soon. You’ll pick them here and at neighboring farms. The farmers arrive tomorrow at seven-thirty sharp.”

  Some girls groaned, though most smiled eagerly, but Jean had focused their attention away from the girl with the ruined dress.

  “Our orchards stretch beyond the strawberry fields, right out to the road. We grow strawberries, market vegetables, cherries, and peaches, as well as the food for our own family.” Jean waved her arm to take it all in. “And that’s Highberry Farm. I hope you all sleep well. Goodnight.” She turned back toward the barn, and the girls headed for their dormitory.

  Jean yawned. She’d worked since dawn, helping her mother with the new chicks, doing the regular livestock chores, hoeing, and weeding. The questions the farmerettes asked while exploring the farm were almost as exhausting. At least her father had offered to do the five-o’clock milking. She worried about London’s leg. Maybe the last field was too hard on him, but the gasket on the tractor had blown again, and they were trying to find a new one. She also wanted to check on Tessie, a nervous young cow, expecting her first calf and overdue.

  Jean turned at the sound of a horse trotting up the laneway. A sandy-haired, muscular young man rode into the barnyard and slid off his horse. He led his animal past the girls who were still outside.

  As one, the girls sighed. He was very handsome and a bit older than they were—perfect.

  Jean smiled at him with welcome relief. Johnny Clifford could soothe an animal better than anyone, even his dad, who had been the local veterinarian forever.

  Johnny smiled back at her, an expression that made many girls in Winona dream of a future with him. “How’s Tessie?”

  “She seemed jittery at noon.”

  Johnny followed Jean into the barn. He leaned toward the cow, patting her, speaking calmly.

  Jean watched his mouth as he comforted Tessie with sweet nothings. She wondered what it would be like to kiss those lips. They were just good friends, but Jean was ready for more. Still, she’d never chase him like the other girls did.

  Once Tessie relaxed, Johnny prodded her belly. “Feels like the calf is turned the wrong way. No wonder she’s having trouble.” He rinsed his hands in a pail and pushed his right arm into her to confirm his diagnosis. Then carefully, firmly, Johnny reached in the other arm too and maneuvered the calf into position.

  “That should help,” he said, wiping the slime off his hands. “Hopefully tomorrow.”

  “Thanks.” Jean stifled a yawn.

  Johnny looked at her with concern. “It should get easier with the farmerettes here.”

  Jean rolled her eyes. “A few princesses signed in today. One wanted to know where she could take a bubble bath.”

  Johnny laughed. “She’s lucky you didn’t send her into the horse trough.”

  Jean laughed too. “Once they get used to things, they’ll be fine.”

  Johnny patted Tessie again and asked, “Any word from Rob?”

  “Finally. A field service postcard arrived Friday with one sentence written in German. I am a POW in German hands and am well. He’s in Stalag VIII-B. The Re
d Cross ladies promised to send him a food parcel.”

  “At least he’s alive, hopefully well,” he said. “I should get going. Early start tomorrow. Dick Pratt enlisted, and I promised to help him fix his barn roof before he leaves.”

  Jean couldn’t miss the longing in his voice. She knew how badly he wanted to go too. “You’re playing baseball Saturday?”

  He nodded. “See you there.” With a last pat on Tessie’s rump, he said goodnight and left.

  Jean watched him climb onto his horse and ride down the lane and noticed some farmerettes also eyeing him. She shook her head, yawned, and headed for the chicken coop.

  Isabel

  Isabel lay in the dark, wishing that the last group of girls would stop giggling and whispering. What could be so funny about these little cots still smelling of disinfectant? She missed her own comfortable bed and pretty room. Some creature was making a chirping racket outside, and the girl beside her snored.

  She was tired, but she lay rigid and sleepless. Every time her eyes closed, she saw that vicious rooster again. Why did anyone keep such beasts on a farm? And there was so much excrement here—piled behind the barn in a disgusting heap and lying around the barnyard for anyone to fall into.

  She had felt so humiliated, sitting in that reeking mess, everyone thinking she was a baby. She shouldn’t have pushed away the offer of help, but for a second, that girl had reminded her of Gloria, always so helpfully superior. Were Mom and her sisters right? Was she not strong enough for this?

  If only she could hug Billy, even for a moment, everything would feel better. Where was he now? In some cold, lumpy army cot, wanting her too? Or on a deadly mission, holding brave against the enemy? She had no excuse to feel sorry for herself.

  Was that a sob, she heard nearby? Could someone else feel as lonely as she did tonight? Somewhere outside a dog howled. Isabel pulled the covers around her and hugged her teddy bear as if it were Billy. But still sleep eluded her.

  X

  A few girls still whispered softly, and the spring peepers croaked lustily in the pond outside, but she knew she’d sleep well tonight. Tomorrow was a new start among friendly strangers. She would be normal like these other girls, get rid of her shameful sickness. She breathed in the smell of fresh sheets and clean country air, turned on her side, and fell into a peaceful sleep.