Some of you may recognize this story. But I guarantee you've never read it like this. It's been slashed to bloody and tattered ribbons by a crazed and blood-hungry editor. It is so, so much better as a result. I'm migrating it across to T'Other place, and just had to give you the new and improved version, too.
Alinya
Martyrs' Manse,
Kingsport,
June, 1923
Gil,
Hard to believe this time yesterday, you were here. It's been too long since you, John and I all sat together. Phil says it was 1920, and her maths is always right. But surely this time she's wrong. Have we really been so overrun with families and private life that we haven't even organized the traditional grouse shoot?
How does it feel to have your last chick flown? Any tips for this father? I'm painfully aware I haven't got forever with my girls.
Don't leave it so long next time. Faith and Phil are plotting christening details, so I feel confident saying we'll see you soon.
Be well, do good work, and keep in touch,
Jo
Ingleside,
Glen St Mary,
June, 1923,
Jo,
I was loathe to let Di go, I don't mind telling you. She hasn't lived at home in years, and hasn't been wholly mine at least as long. It's still a wrench. The house is truly very big the day. Highland Sandy knew what he was talking about. She and Alastair will settle in Charlottetown, and I know it's nearer than Kingsport, but it still feels too far away.
It was a lovely service, but weddings always make me a bit homesick for the children I can't be with. It's not just me, either. As we listened to Di recite her vows at a Baker-approved Presbyterian rite, Anne said, 'Doesn't Di look just the way you picture Joy would on her wedding day?'
She was right. I often picture our Joy out, but especially at these family dos. It's not that I go actively looking for her – nor does Anne – but Captain Jim was right; God hasn't let our girl be a stranger to us. I fancy Joy would love the Harrington novels Nan writes. She would be even more Nanlet's soul-twin than Jem is. She'd weave all kinds of fantasy worlds for her sisters. She'd be practical when Rilla needed an anchor and whimsical when Walter was sombre. And she would commiserate with Anne and Di over red hair. (Anne daydreams – I never said – that they dye one another's hair black.)
So, once Anne said it, I couldn't unsee it. Instead, I daydreamed a sweetheart up for my oldest. One of your boys maybe, so that we could be officially family, not that we need it.
Then I was back in the moment, ambushed as I always am, by the pleasure of seeing my children happy. It never gets old. It leaves an emptiness, though, or perhaps a hollowness, somewhere under the lung cavity. Rather irritatingly, I strongly suspect there is no prescription going for it. I shall await a Redfern solution and hope it's more effective than his others.
Until then, I have little Helen to take the sting out of my perceived loss. No surprise that Jem and Faith's child arrived in time for the festivities! Faith's relieved, and Anne sympathizes. Apparently, nothing combines worse than pregnancy and fancy frocks.
But don't get too complacent. It will be your turn, next. Anne's got out an apple leaf quilt specially for your daughter, but doesn't trust it to such venerable institutions as The Canadian Postal Service. We'll give it to Ruthie and Mark in person.
Love ever,
Gil
Martyrs' Manse,
Kingsport,
August 1923
Gil,
I don't know about you, but we are still humming I Bind Unto Myself Today. Phil blames her Aunt Hetta, of course. (Phil always blames poor Hetta where possible.) In fairness, Hetta did choose the wedding hymns. This explains why the happy couple were as lost as the rest of us when the hymnal made us switch from St Patrick's Breastplate to Christ Be With You after verse five. I found it later, should you be interested, as hymn 278, over 100 hymns later. Obviously. Who plans this stuff?! Ask Rosemary for me, next time you see her. She plays at so many weddings I consider her the definitive expert.
You now know why I leave such fine service details to other people. No one loves a committee so well as a Presbyterian, and I'm infinitely better at life's more prosaic acts of worship. (See further the mending of St Andrew's chancel roof. Hetta Gordon was scandalised, but the organist and choir very grateful they wouldn't be dripped on when it rains. Why in a parish like that no one had done it…)
Since you left, the manse has developed a strong likeness to a nursery. Anne would have words to do justice to the heady combination of roses, lilies, and nasturtiums; I don't. I wasn't aware we were possessed of (by?) nasturtiums until Phil vented her displeasure at their continued tenure here on last night's potatoes.
Ruthie's tremendously happy. Glowing. That's the important thing. I worried she wouldn't be when John's Una left us. They were close in the way only people that share a grief. Then Mark appeared in answer to prayer, and I haven't heard a word from either of them since they left on honeymoon, which is as it should be, if, as Phil says, decidedly unsatisfying.
I keep forgetting Ruthie's not here anymore. I get halfway to her room with a joke for her or a petition to help with the Friday Food Ministry at Martyrs', and then remember. Write and tell me you do the same, Gil. I don't mind the ribbing from Phil and Naomi, but I should like the reassurance that I'm not alone in my absentmindedness.
Be well, do good work and keep in touch,
Jo
New Manse,
Glen St. Mary,
July 1923
Jo,
We've just returned from Ingleside, where the mint is amok among Susan's beloved Calceolarias. It makes for a pleasant perfume – very evocative of that old favourite, over the hill where spices grow, though I doubt it holds a candle to your present circumstance. Anne and Gil told us all about the wedding between Susan's litany of botanical woes and my musings on the hymnody best suited thereto. I understand the festivities will go down in the annals of Blake history as an event unparalleled.
Gilbert also said you missed the children. It's not just you. Even with Bruce home, our house echoes and re-echoes with the childhood ghosts. Carl with his frogs, Faith chasing after Adam the rooster…One gets used to it with exposure, as one does to the noise of a waterfall.
Or perhaps it's the house that adapts, more than the person, do you think? I still go looking for Jerry to wrangle sermons with, even now, and Rosemary always makes the girls' beds 'just in case' something suddenly brings them home. I can't think what would bring Una home from your Yarmouth Mission School, but always hope something will.
The thing about children is that they never stop surprising us with joy. That's the wondrous thing. There was Faith's memorable marriage announcement – by telegram! – and Jerry's eleventh hour wedding. I've watched them build homes and held their children. Not forgetting cultivating acquaintances with Teddy and Kitty – they are as much my daughter's family as anyone these days.
Love and blessings,
J.M.
Martyrs' Manse,
Kingsport,
September 1923
John,
Ever since the war, the idea of anything – even the best things – taking my children away from me hurts. I'm relearning how to let go, I suppose. Phil blames the terrible scare Sam gave us at Passchendaele. I'm not sure I have even that excuse, though I certainly won't ever forget the grim days after that telegram came – severely wounded. Or after our Andrew – but I can't go there. No one should lose a child.
The grace of God brought San back, and I know it's a selfish is the sort of love that would keep one's children forever close. All Phil an I want for our children is the world. No small thing. It's humbling to watch Sam with his Ellie and know unequivocally that she does better by him than his parents. She knows his demons and the names they answer to, where I am but learning them. I fear I stand before him – indeed before all my children – as merely human. I suppose we all do. Sam will learn it someday, and Faith, even ebullient Jem. All we can hope is they weather it with better grace than you or I – and that is strangest of all.
More later; It's prayer meeting this evening, and Holy Trinity is hosting. I must bolt if I want to reshingle the Carter house and be on time to Waterford.
Be well, do good work, and keep in touch.
Jo
