The Birth House. Ami McKay

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      THREE TEAMS OF STURDY horses hitched to three beautiful new sleighs were waiting at the Seaside Centre. Courtesy of Dr. Thomas.

      Mother said I would have to take her place in representing the Rare family, since she had far too much work to do at home. I tried to convince Miss B. she should come along for the ride, but she refused, saying, “I ain’t been down North Mountain since the day I arrived. It’s been so long now, I guess I’d up and turn to dust if I set as much as one toe outside the Bay.”

      Aunt Fran told Mother not to worry. “I’m already going, in an official capacity as secretary of the White Rose Temperance Society, so it’s no trouble to watch over my dear young niece. I’ll see that she minds her p’s and q’s.” Precious had begged her mother to include her as well, but Aunt Fran put her off, explaining, “You know how you suffer in the cold. Who knows what state you’d be in after riding down the mountain and back?” She smoothed Precious’s hair and retied the bow at the end of her braid. “What do we always say?”

      Precious chimed in with a reluctant sigh. “Think of yourself, think of your health.”

      Aunt Fran smiled and popped a lemon drop in Precious’s mouth. “Well done, dear, well done.”

      Poor Precious waved us off and began to make her way home, but not before she made me promise to tell her “every little thing that happens.”

      Aunt Fran was dressed in her Sunday best. When Mrs. Trude Hutner made a fuss over Fran’s new rabbit fur muff, Aunt Fran insisted that Mrs. Hutner and Grace ride opposite so they could continue their conversation. She handed the muff to Mrs. Hutner for a proper inspection. “It arrived yesterday. Irwin said I should pick out an early Christmas gift from the Eaton’s catalogue. At first he suggested that I might like a new coat, but I told him ‘no,’ of course, what with the war on and all. This is all I need. I was going to wait until church tomorrow to use it for the first time, but this seemed like the perfect occasion.”

      Mrs. Hutner nodded as she stroked the soft white fur. “Like a little bit of heaven, I’d say … but practical too.” She slipped her hands inside the muff and grinned. “I think it’s time I had a new one myself. Perhaps I’ll give Grace my old one and mail in my order to Eaton’s this week.”

      Aunt Fran tried her best to fight the disapproving look from her face. The two women are friends, but only because they are both in the position of having much more than most women in the Bay. Evidently, it takes equally thin parts of kindness and sincerity to marry well. “There was a lovely one made from beaver, pictured right next to this one. You’d certainly look smart in such a dark colour, if I do say so myself.”

      Mrs. Hutner pouted and handed the muff back to Aunt Fran. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

      Most of Aunt Fran’s time (and much of Uncle Irwin’s family fortune) goes towards her need for having. Last Christmas it was Irish linens, after that, French lace table runners, and then it was figurines made from Italian porcelain … mostly birds, insects and fruit. These days, her fancy’s gone towards collecting spoons, hundreds of them, engraved with the faces of royalty and the great wonders of the world, the likes of which Aunt Fran would never dream of leaving her comfortable home in the Bay to see. She faithfully polishes them, singing hymns all the while, grinning as her reflection turns in the bowl, right side up, upside down, right side up, upside down. They line her parlour wall, each one a useless droplet of silver, but delicate enough not to offend God or any of the good Christian ladies of the Bay.

      Mother always smiles to herself whenever we visit Aunt Fran. “A woman’s got to have something to set her clocks by … Fran’s cuckoo sings somewhere between spouting off Bible verses and rubbing those spoons.” I’ve never heard her complain about Fran’s treasures or how little she has for herself. She spends day after day sweeping dust and dirt out the door, one mealtime running into the next, her heavy, tired feet shuffling in front of the hot cookstove. Her back aches from wringing clothes over the washtub and tugging milk from the Guernsey’s udders. She was the pretty one who married for love. Seven children later, I hope she holds tight to that thought, as she tucks our dreams safely under our pillows and kisses Father good night.

      I watched the trees go by, birch branches sparkling in the sun, spruces flocked white with fresh, wet snow from the night before. The horses kept a brisk pace, the sleigh cutting a clean path as we made our way down the mountain, winter-brisk air rushing past our faces. Fran shouted above the jangling of the sleigh bells. “I also got three new spoons … Buckingham Palace, the Pyramids of Giza and the Taj Mahal. You should come to tea next week and see them, they are glorious, simply glorious!”

      Mrs. Hutner paused and buttoned the collar of Grace’s coat to the very top. “Only if you’ll come and see my newest pretties …” Grace smacked her mother’s hand away and pulled the button loose again.

      Aunt СКАЧАТЬ