The Beleaguered. Lynne Golding

wed. We would be godmothers to each other’s children. We would spend our twilight years together, two otherwise lonely widows. As Elsa spoke, I had no similar premonition. From the moment she uttered her first words to us, I determined that I liked her little. With each passing day, I liked her less.

      In this it appeared I was not alone. As Elsa walked by my desk on her way to hers at the end of my row, Ricky Dyck, who sat next to me, turned to Allan King, who sat behind him. “Do you smell sauerkraut?” Ricky asked, fanning away the air in front of his face.

      “It’s revolting,” Allan replied, sniggering. It was a refrain and a gesture that they were to repeat on a near daily basis.

      Jane, full of empathy for the new student, felt otherwise. She sought Elsa out at both morning and afternoon recess breaks that first day. The three of us stood together in the large schoolyard behind the school while Elsa went on and on about her brother Wilfred, how he had stood in line at the barracks for three days waiting for the doors to be open to those wanting to enlist; how proud his parents were of him; what he looked like in his military uniform.

      When Elsa was not telling us what Wilfred did, she told us about what Wilfred said. “You have to serve your country, that’s what Wilfred says.” “One can’t show fear in the face of the unknown, that’s what Wilfred says.” “Activation without preparation is the surest means to defeat, that’s what Wilfred says.” I was hard pressed to think of someone I had never met that I found as irritating.

      I told my family about Elsa later that day. We were in the sitting room, Father and Grandpa each reading the afternoon newspapers, Mother knitting as she waited for our meal to finish cooking. Millie had just dropped by to pick up some cut-out fabric with which to assemble shirts. She came in “just for a minute” and sat down on the little sofa beside me. I was glad to see her. Ever since Jim went back to school in September, we had seen her less. The reason lay not just with the burden of his studies but with the part-time job he had commenced in September with Dr. Mahoney, a dentist in Weston, a town southeast of Brampton. Father thought the experience of working every Wednesday afternoon and all day Saturday would be beneficial to Jim’s future career as a dentist practicing in association with him.

      For as long as I could remember, Father had punctuated his sentences about his future dental practice as one that would be shared with Jim. There had been no need to hope for that matter. It was a fait accompli. Father’s hope with respect to the practice was that it would one day be an association of three: Father, Jim, and my cousin, John. On that front, some hope was required. Father was not able to exert his will upon his nephew in the same way he could his son.

      If the cost was not an object, Father might have sent Jim away to Philadelphia to obtain a further degree in dental studies, following his own educational trajectory. But cost was an object. Father had barely been able to afford the four years of tuition and board expended thus far on Jim. He could not afford a fifth year in the United States. Furthermore, it was well understood that every year Jim spent at university delayed the day that Ina could commence her university studies. As a young man, Father worked hard to put his three sisters through normal school, thus qualifying them to become teachers before they wed. He would offer his daughters no less.

      “But why can’t Jim just practice with Father?” I groused to Mother when I learned that the arrangement with Dr. Mahoney would deprive us of Jim’s company on Friday evenings and during the day Saturday. I did not consider asking the question of Father. Doing so might be construed as questioning his judgement. One did not question Father’s judgement.

      “Jim and your father are going to practice together for the next twenty years or more,” Mother said as we stood in the kitchen canning tomatoes. “Your father thinks it will be good for Jim to gain experience with someone else before they begin their practice together. It’s just for eight months. After Jim graduates next April, he will be living back home again—or at least,” she said, looking around to be sure that no one could hear our kitchen conversation “—at least he will be living in Brampton again.” As much as I wanted to see Jim every day, I actually hoped that he would not be living at home again. By that point, he and Millie would have been sweethearts for three years. Mother and I hoped they would become more than that when Jim completed his education.

      “I see you’ve been active with the council,” Father said to Millie, pulling his pipe from his mouth and dropping the newspaper.

      “Oh, yes. We know that the mayor and the council want us to increase our employment numbers. They also want us to employ more men on a full-time basis—provide them all with a living wage, as they say. We’re doing our best, but it’s hard to both increase the number of employees and increase the hours we give to all of them. The flower industry has been hit as hard by this economic downturn as many other factories and businesses.” The Canadian economy, which had been so strong in the first decade of the twentieth century, had begun to decline in the second. Although Brampton, with its growing manufacturing base, was less impacted than some communities, by 1914 it too was experiencing a downturn.

      “Maybe the war will help you out in this area,” Father said. “Nothing like a war to kick-start an economy.”

      “You may be right. We’re making a few other changes in light of the war.” Millie was very knowledgeable about the Dale Estate. In addition to being a member of the Dale family, she worked in its business offices.

      “I know you are,” I said proudly.

      “What do you know, Jessie?” Millie asked curiously.

      I then told Millie and the rest of my family what I knew about Elsa Strauss, her potato-growing father, and his new position at the Dale Estate.

      “I guess there are no secrets in this town!” Grandpa exclaimed.

      There are a few, I thought, looking at him.

      * * *

      Although I did not particularly like Elsa Strauss, she was soon to be one of my constant companions. On her second day of school in Brampton, Jane invited Elsa to walk home with us. Since the building Elsa lived in was situated at the very intersection where Jane joined and left Frances and me, she was with us the entire time Frances and I walked with Jane. Initially, as we walked along Main Street, Jane in the lead, Frances behind, I was able to maintain the coveted position beside Jane. Jane and I turned our heads while walking to hear Elsa tell us the latest news from Wilfred: how he had embarked on the SS Tyrolia at Quebec; how the ship had been escorted by cruisers throughout its voyage to England; how he had exercised two hours each day on the ship. “You have to be in shape to fight in France, that’s what Wilfred says,” Elsa intoned.

      But when the subject of our walks began to change, so did the order of our pairings. As we began to discuss not what was being done by those in the first contingent but rather what we at home could do to assist them, Elsa began to jostle me to a position behind her. For these discussions, she fully required Jane’s attention, and Jane fully desired to provide it.

      “We should do something to help the fighting men,” Elsa agreed when Jane raised the subject. “Wilfred and the men would so appreciate receiving a little something to comfort them. Perhaps we could take up a collection and buy some chocolate for them.”

      “Chocolate. That sounds nice,” Jane said, turning her head toward Elsa then walking behind me. “Much nicer than the cigarettes Jessie suggested.” The notion was greeted by gales of laughter from Elsa and Frances. I looked down at my walking feet.

      “I was thinking of something that would require a little more personal involvement,” Jane said. She had the avid attention of Elsa and Frances. “I was thinking that we should send the men scarves; scarves that we ourselves knit.”

      “That’s a great idea,” Elsa said, pushing her hair behind her ears as she moved ahead of me. “I know that Wilfred and the men would appreciate receiving scarves we make. We could make hundreds!”

      “Exactly,” Jane said, stopping and looking fully at Elsa then directly beside her. Frances, who nearly bumped into Jane, had the good sense to question the number.

      “How