I stumbled upon a bunch of old photos from the Edwardian period on Instagram and this story came about.
Hope everyone enjoys it and a break from my usual characters.
Tina
Memories in Sepia
The news came through a telegram from her father. She had just gotten to her room when it was passed along with other mail.
Jem—Wounded and Missing. Still hope. Monday is calm.
Monday….of all things to give her hope, all of them hope apparently was that Dog Monday in his canine senses hadn't howled yet as he had Walter.
Faith still falls beside her bed, tears and prayers as she wants to scream at God for allowing this war. Wasn't there enough death and misfortune? She sees it every day as she does her nursing duties.
Jem was supposed to be safe, he was supposed to come back, he wasn't supposed memories that only survived in photographs.
She looks at the small board, pictures of them together, his Redmond graduation, Queens…long before they admitted anything. An old snapshot of childhood playing in the valley, sun tan and running wild, and then an old sepia-toned photo of the curly-haired toddler, with a little grin on his face, his knobby knees on display in little britches and a frilly sort of a blouse. Her darling beau, long before they had met. Mrs. Blythe had given her the photo before she left for England.
It was still fresh in her mind.
It was overtly warm, but it was summer Faith thought as she pulled the back of her blouse off her neck. God only knew how was Jem fairing, was I this warm at the front?
Jem, it was his birthday coming up, he used to spend it in Avonlea growing up he told her one afternoon. Marilla fussed over him and made him things, she did the same with Little Rilla's Birthday being so close together but Jem was the one who mourned Aunt Marilla the most, something had tethered them together but he never knew why. She loved all of the children of Ingleside, and never admitted to favourites, but Jem was special to her, and he knew it.
"Faith, did Rosemary send you over?" Mrs. Blythe calls out from the veranda.
"I?" Faith says frowning. What was she doing over here?
"Missing him are you?" Mrs. Blythe says with a sad smile. Faith can only nod her head. Rilla was playing with her war baby as Mrs. Blythe pulled her into the living, going towards the bookcase. She pulls out a leather-bound book before putting it on the table.
The first page holds two small photographs.
"That was Joyce, Leslie West thought of taking them for me and I will never…be able to thank her enough for such a thing. My wee white lady, she only lived a few hours, but in those hours she was mine and devastated as I was I could see her grow weaker until her breath went away." Mrs. Blythe says quietly. "This was Jem, ten pounds even and had lungs like I never heard of despite being chunky, all the trouble I had with Joy was gone and he came in a few short hours. He was such a cheery baby, always smiling at me, and kicking his feet around. He cried, of course, but only when he was lonely. When his curls came in, I was so glad for them of course gladder when they never went away. Marilla would visit any chance she got, I never pictured her with an infant but she cherished all the little ones, and so did Dr. Blythe's mother of course. She came with Marilla when we moved here. More room for visitors, they saw Jem as a baby of course small flying visits here and there, Cora Blythe was besotted with Walter, she adored him, and then the twins, oh those girls were her dream. Where Jem and Marilla had their special relationship, the twins had their grandmother well until she passed away not long rather suddenly when Shirley was about a year old. She was already Ill when Shirley was born, but she came to help us anyway. Then Rilla was born, Marilla could travel as much but when I saw her at Mr Blythe's funeral and visit I told her I planned on Marilla for a name if the baby was a girl. She scolded me for travelling so close to lying in, but she was so. Proud when Gilbert brought me the phone so I could relay the news to her. I'm sorry I ran away with the photos" Anne laughs softly, before sighing.
Another page is Jem in his layettes, frilled with lace and ribbons from a portrait studio, another with Dr and Mrs. Blythe.
"Oh, I remember this photo session. I had cried that morning trying to find something to wear. I had to let out all my dresses, pulling my corset tightly as I could manage it for that hour." Mrs. Blythe recalls with a shake of her head. "There is one of a Marilla and Jem, she was secretly pleased to have it done."
"Jem still talks about Marilla in a way that makes you believe she is alive," Faith tells the older woman.
"She worshipped him, and he returned it," Mrs. Blythe says with a knowing smile. "Oh this is when Walter was a few months old, but Jem stole the show."
Faith looks at the mischievous toddler whose curls were haywire, in his father's arms with tears down his face. On the next page was a slightly more adorable photo before the tears but had the same frilled collars and cuffs, and tiny pleated skirt that was popular back in the day for baby boys.
Each year of Jem's life was in these albums, by age three he was in little britches and blouses, looking, at Walter in his little skeleton suit next to a bassinet with the twins who were a few months old in official portraits. As the children grew, the family grew with Shirley and Rilla, the fashions changed slightly from year to year. Faith didn't realize that the Blythe took photos like this whenever they could. Soon they were at the photo of thirteen-year-old Jem, all arms and legs, tall and gangly between a boy and a man. Sixteen-year-old Jem, sporting a thin moustache and wild curls as he was graduating Queens, then Redmond which was only a few years before.
This was the Jem she knew, the one she had seen grow broad-shouldered and tall, the one who pulled her among the trees and kissed her in the maple groove.
Soon there were candids with Jem and Marilla, photos taken by children, and children in the yard and a place that could only be Green Gables.
"Marilla left Jem Green Gables, Dora and her husband keep watch over the house for us," Mrs. Blythe says sighing at the photos from Green Gables.
"This one is adorable," Faith says as the page flips, another version of earlier portraits but smaller and slightly different in pose, and wild curls, "That little grin."
"Take it," Mrs. Blythe says pulling it from the album carefully.
"I can't," Faith says shaking he head.
"You can, you'll need something for England, you can show it to him when you see him." Ms. Blythe says matter of fact.
"There are no promises," Faith reminds her.
"If he knows you're there he can go back for leave. He'll be there every chance he will get, he's too much like his father not to." Mrs. Blythe shakes her head. "You'll both come back, you'll both make it through. He has Marilla looking over him, and if anyone could frighten the enemy, it could be Marilla." She jokes wistfully.
Faith can only smile.
"What are we looking at?" The good doctor comes into the room, his curls greying more than ever, but he leans to press a kiss on his wife's hair. "Baby photos of Jem is it, I remember taking those. How long it feels now, but also it's also yesterday."
"He was a sweet baby," Faith says looking at them one more.
"He was, and I have those books for you Faith. I hope they help you, I know Di is angry with me, but please don't think I didn't want you to have company…I couldn't…" The doctor says apologetically. "Your father is stronger than I am it appears."
"I know," Faith says quietly.
Wounded and missing.
It runs through her mind every minute and hour of the day. The matrons see her daze, and they sympathize, but how many men have been lost to such words,
Days pass, and the news is easier to swallow, weeks pass and her knowledge of nursing kicks in. Hope is negligent, being wounded can mean many things even the smallest wounds can be infected easily and the Axis hated the Canadians. But Jem had some medical training, that had to count for something.
The little curly-haired boy had to be alive though, deep in her heart he would always be alive but something in the toothy grin and while hair told her he wouldn't go down without a fight. He didn't either, showing up in one of the hospitals and VAD nurses ran to each other, passing words between each other until it reached her ears.
She ran, losing her cap to the wind, but it didn't matter. She went by the matrons who tutted her hurried explanations and excuses.
He is on a cot, worse than wear, but Alive! With messy ruddy curls that were uneven and tangled and greying. It would be shaved soon enough. He watches her stop abruptly, lips curling upwards, his one leg is heavily bandaged and the bottoms he wore cut off on the one leg.
"There is my Faith." He says as if the past three to four months hadn't happened.
She doesn't care at this point, and no one else does either as she gathers his face in her hands and kisses him soundly.
