families in the Bay, I ignored Aunt Fran’s scolding and held up the back of the pamphlet. “But it says right here, ‘A Mother’s Share costs twenty-five dollars for one year.’ That’s an awful lot of coffee beans.”
Aunt Fran snatched the pamphlet from my hand and whispered, “I won’t hear another word from you.”
Dr. Thomas interrupted. “No, she’s right, not every woman may be able to afford her own share, but that’s why I’ve brought you ladies here today. This is a wonderful chance for women’s organizations like the White Rose Temperance Society to help the ladies of their community. What price, I ask you, is greater than life?”
Although she was all politeness and smiles, when the tea was over, Aunt Fran was the first to head to the door, pulling me along and muttering under her breath as she went. “For heaven’s sake, my own niece. If I’ve told Lottie once, I’ve told her a thousand times, you’ve got to keep an eye on that girl. Keep her away from books and those boys.”
Dr. Thomas followed close behind. “Mrs. Jeffers, a word, if you please?”
She turned, forcing her angry grimace into a pleasant smile. “Certainly, Doctor, although we’ve already taken up so much of your time today.”
He took her hand in his. “I wanted to thank you for coming and for bringing your niece along with you. It’s a pleasure to see such thoughtfulness in a young lady, don’t you agree?”
Aunt Fran blushed. “Why, yes, how kind of you to say so. I’m always telling Dora that she needs to speak up more, open that dear mouth of hers on occasion.”
Dr. Thomas looked at me. “So good to see you, Miss Rare. Please give Miss Babineau my best, will you?”
I nodded. “Yes, I certainly will.”
Aunt Fran interrupted. “Dora, dear, you neglected to tell me that you had already made Dr. Thomas’s acquaintance.”
Before I could insist that we’d never met, Dr. Thomas looked at me and grinned. “I imagine that Miss Rare is hiding all sorts of surprises.”
6
M Y S ATURDAY VISIT with Miss Babineau the following week was spent at Mabel Thorpe’s place. Miss B. had her birthing bag packed and was ready to go as soon as I walked through the door. “Turn yourself around. Mabel’s bornin’ her third, so we’d best get over to the house and lend a hand.” I thought of Mrs. Ketch and of baby Darcy and how I held him until his breath was gone, his body cold. In the time that had passed since his birth, my nightmares had disappeared only to be replaced with the thought that perhaps I had caused his death, that Laird Jessup had been right to blame his calf’s misfortunes on me, that my presence at any birth somehow brought on ugliness—pale misshaped bodies, weak hearts and eventually death. “I don’t think I’d be much help. Maybe I should go back home.”
Miss B. took my hand, pulled me out of the house and started walking down the road. “It’s gonna be just fine. Don’t you worry.”
I should know by now, once Marie Babineau’s mind’s made up, there’s no saying no.
The walk was cold and long. By mid-December the trees are naked, the Bay has turned the colour of lead and the winds have changed, pushing the grass down, ignoring our lives as it cuts the breath short and shallow, forcing us to move from fire to fire. Mabel’s house sits along the main road where it branches off towards Cape Split, just after the shipyard and Hardy Tupper’s blacksmith shop. It’s no different than all the other Thorpe houses in the Bay, framed straight and square like a saltbox, with one chimney poking up through the middle of the roof. This is how the Thorpes are too, plain living and dependable, every last one.
Once inside, Miss B. was quick to push Mabel’s husband, Porter, and their two small children out the door and off to stay with his sister’s family down the road. “That wife of yours has to think on this baby now. The little ones won’t know why she’s not actin’ herself,
Aunt Fran snatched the pamphlet from my hand and whispered, “I won’t hear another word from you.”
Dr. Thomas interrupted. “No, she’s right, not every woman may be able to afford her own share, but that’s why I’ve brought you ladies here today. This is a wonderful chance for women’s organizations like the White Rose Temperance Society to help the ladies of their community. What price, I ask you, is greater than life?”
Although she was all politeness and smiles, when the tea was over, Aunt Fran was the first to head to the door, pulling me along and muttering under her breath as she went. “For heaven’s sake, my own niece. If I’ve told Lottie once, I’ve told her a thousand times, you’ve got to keep an eye on that girl. Keep her away from books and those boys.”
Dr. Thomas followed close behind. “Mrs. Jeffers, a word, if you please?”
She turned, forcing her angry grimace into a pleasant smile. “Certainly, Doctor, although we’ve already taken up so much of your time today.”
He took her hand in his. “I wanted to thank you for coming and for bringing your niece along with you. It’s a pleasure to see such thoughtfulness in a young lady, don’t you agree?”
Aunt Fran blushed. “Why, yes, how kind of you to say so. I’m always telling Dora that she needs to speak up more, open that dear mouth of hers on occasion.”
Dr. Thomas looked at me. “So good to see you, Miss Rare. Please give Miss Babineau my best, will you?”
I nodded. “Yes, I certainly will.”
Aunt Fran interrupted. “Dora, dear, you neglected to tell me that you had already made Dr. Thomas’s acquaintance.”
Before I could insist that we’d never met, Dr. Thomas looked at me and grinned. “I imagine that Miss Rare is hiding all sorts of surprises.”
6
M Y S ATURDAY VISIT with Miss Babineau the following week was spent at Mabel Thorpe’s place. Miss B. had her birthing bag packed and was ready to go as soon as I walked through the door. “Turn yourself around. Mabel’s bornin’ her third, so we’d best get over to the house and lend a hand.” I thought of Mrs. Ketch and of baby Darcy and how I held him until his breath was gone, his body cold. In the time that had passed since his birth, my nightmares had disappeared only to be replaced with the thought that perhaps I had caused his death, that Laird Jessup had been right to blame his calf’s misfortunes on me, that my presence at any birth somehow brought on ugliness—pale misshaped bodies, weak hearts and eventually death. “I don’t think I’d be much help. Maybe I should go back home.”
Miss B. took my hand, pulled me out of the house and started walking down the road. “It’s gonna be just fine. Don’t you worry.”
I should know by now, once Marie Babineau’s mind’s made up, there’s no saying no.
The walk was cold and long. By mid-December the trees are naked, the Bay has turned the colour of lead and the winds have changed, pushing the grass down, ignoring our lives as it cuts the breath short and shallow, forcing us to move from fire to fire. Mabel’s house sits along the main road where it branches off towards Cape Split, just after the shipyard and Hardy Tupper’s blacksmith shop. It’s no different than all the other Thorpe houses in the Bay, framed straight and square like a saltbox, with one chimney poking up through the middle of the roof. This is how the Thorpes are too, plain living and dependable, every last one.
Once inside, Miss B. was quick to push Mabel’s husband, Porter, and their two small children out the door and off to stay with his sister’s family down the road. “That wife of yours has to think on this baby now. The little ones won’t know why she’s not actin’ herself,
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