Chapter Two: Story Telling

It was only days after Fanny had arrived that Canada declared war on Germany. Suddenly, the feeling of anxiety that had previously been concealed was more apparent than ever, and there was a sense of nervous excitement across the city. Young men were lining up everywhere with brave faces and dreams of heroicism. Young men who were certain their participation would stop the war before it started, convinced that their optimism and united strength could conquer anything.

Tom, the oldest Bertram sibling, had returned home from University with plans to enlist. He had always been the adventurer, and was thankful for any excuse to leave the sedentary academic life he was obligated to. He had a powerful confidence about him, and Fanny was intimidated by his size, his self-assurance, and his boisterous laugh. His sisters adored him, both fascinated and envious of his stories of parties and gambling and reckless behaviour. They teased him about matchmaking them with his many friends and he teased them about their vanity and their shallow teenage lives.

Edward easily fell into his brother's shadow, happy to pass on his family's attention. He had started medical college at the University that year, and threw himself into his studies, carefully avoiding his siblings romanticized conversations about bloodshed and war. He was a history buff, and knew the repercussions of the first war from his extensive readings and from the veiled anxiety on the faces of his parent's generation.

The excitement of the war meant that Fanny was not enable to enroll in school until a week after classes had already started. This did nothing to diminish the fact that she would already have troubles fitting in at the neighbourhood's posh private girls school. Aunt Nora had taken her shopping as soon as she realized the poor quality and variety of Fanny's limited wardrobe, although Fanny soon realized that this moment of generosity was more to ease Aunt Nora's embarrassment rather than her own. But new clothes did little to earn her any respect with the girls at school. She was forced to wear a uniform that was both unflattering and uncomfortable and her aunt, after severely overestimating Fanny's size, had purchased the blouse and jumper two sizes to large. It now hung on her small frame in a mass of itchy grey wool, making the look of sloppiness inevitable.

Her awkward appearance only perpetuated the rumours that Marie and Julia had already managed to distribute to all of their classmates. Their exaggerated stories of Fanny's humble beginnings brought them a wanted attention, and by the time Fanny arrived at school there was little chance of reversing the damage that had already been done.

After her first day of school, she waited by the front doors for Marie and Julia on her aunt's instruction. Regardless of how much Fanny protested, her aunt still insisted that she still tried to fit in with the Bertram girls.

"If the other girls at school see you walking home with such lovely girls as Marie and Julia, then you should have absolutely no trouble fitting in," Aunt Nora had stated. "Honesty, Fanny, if you are unpopular it is simply due to lack of effort."

So Fanny had waited, patiently, as the Bertrams stayed back to chat with their friends. They gabbed loudly about new dresses and makeup and parties with boys. Fanny had never heard such one-dimensional conversation in all her life, but she still strained her ear to listen, desperate to understand the life she was expected to assume. Eventually, after thirty minutes of gossiping, the girls disbanded and started their walks home. As they passed by Fanny waiting on the front steps of the school, Marie made sure to look at her before turning away to start a discussion with her sister. Unaffected by Marie's usual audacity, Fanny hurried down the steps after them, eventually catching up to the pair, and slowing down a few steps behind them.

Sensing Fanny behind them, Marie turned around to face her. "We are actually not walking that way today," she lied.

"Which way?" asked Fanny, confused.

"What ever way you're going," Marie replied plainly, not even trying to hide the cruelty in her statement.

While Fanny had come to expect cutting comments like this from Marie, she was still embarrassed by the exclusion and, not wanting to walk in awkward silence behind the girls, slowly turned to retreat back towards the school.

It was a warm day, for mid-September, and Fanny decided that she would be content on the school steps a while longer, giving her time to contemplate the day and avoid, for the moment, her aunt's constant questioning and disapproving looks.

She had just closed her eyes, enjoying as the late afternoon sun warmed her face, when she felt the light blocked by a shadow in front of her.

"So how was it?"

Fanny looked up, shading her eyes, and was surprised to see Edward standing on the lowest step. She shrugged in response, not even knowing where to begin. "It was as expected, I guess."

"I didn't know if you'd still be around," he started, "I was just on my way home from class and I was hoping I'd catch you. Weren't you going to walk home with my sisters?" he asked. Fanny replied with a pointed look as she got up from her place on the steps. "Right," he said, making the correct assumptions of his sisters' behaviour. "They leave without you?"

Fanny grinned. "Something like that."

Edward offered her his arm. "Well then, allow me the honour instead. Besides I have lots of disgusting medical stories for you today. One involves a human liver sliding around on the classroom floor." She laughed as she took his arm.

They fell into an easy banter as they walked, Edward never leaving out the gory details of his daily adventures at medical college and Fanny imitating her classmates to his great amusement. Sometimes they walked in silence, content just to have the company.

It was a ritual that they soon grew accustomed to. They were both in desperate need of companionship, and they had found it in each other. Walking through the leafy streets of Rosedale, Fanny felt safe, sheltered. It was as if the towering homes with their gates and trees and gardens shut out the evils of the world around her. Sometimes they talked about the war, but more often they avoided it. Fanny was still ashamed of the fear she still felt, and certainly didn't want to expose her childish worries to Edward.

And Edward felt guilty. Even months after the declaration of war, he still had not enlisted like his brother and his comrades. He had convinced himself that he would be more useful here, working at the medical college, educating himself so that his contribution to the war effort would be a noble, intellectual one, instead of the reckless, physical exploits of the uniformed men. But he knew these were empty excuses for his timidity and he thought himself a coward, but was too ashamed to admit it aloud, even to Fanny. Especially to Fanny.

His feeling of guilt only grew when Fanny spoke of her parents, her friends, and her little house in East London. Her memories were so vividly expressed that Edward was certain that they would all exist forever. Fanny had a gift for story telling. And not the exaggerated, gossipy stories like his sisters told, but sincere, vibrant, earnest narratives that made her eyes light up and her hands wave with excitement.

Every week Fanny wrote two versions of one story to send to her parents. Version one was the comedic version, finding the light and laughter in every anecdote. The second version was the dramatic one that uncovered the reality of the situation and exposed her feelings of loneliness, doubt and concern. She would only ever send the comedy.

The dramas were tucked safely away in a box under the bed, pushing them out of sight and into the darkness. Weeks went by, and then months, and one box turned into two, and then five and Fanny began to think that her dramas were becoming monotonous, almost boring.

And then the Crawfords arrived. And they had drama written all over them.