Idyllwild
Struan,
Glen St Mary,
April, 1937
John,
A truly awful Easter. You knew Miri was on holiday with the Janies again. Allison's idea, apparently, but the boys drove the car, so Nan and Jerry didn't mind. They're pleased the girls have friends besides each other. And lately, Mick Challow and Mandy make a formidable dyad.
I guess they thought it was natural for Miri to want a friend and a place where she wouldn't play gooseberry.
I wish it wasn't these friends, but there it is. Mandy was quiet all holiday. She's a funny little thing – I chalked it up to the Eating God business of years ago. It made an impression. I mean, she still talks about it. And she's vegetarian these days. Apparently all she needed there was time.
It turned out her quietude had nothing to do with God consumption. Anne winkled it out over Mandy's watercolours. You know how good they are. All right, I'm biased, but it's true. Anne wanted Mandy to apply for that Montreal arts college, you know, the one where that local Islander lad wound up teaching?
He and Jerry know each other slightly, and Anne was sure Mandy was in with a chance. Mandy wouldn't hear of applying. She was as intractable as I've ever seen her. Not that that fazed Anne. She's used to moving mountains. We both are.
Eventually, Mandy snapped. She said, exasperated, 'I can't go, because Miri might come back while I'm gone! She says she won't, but people fall in and out of love all the time, don't they? So, it could happen.'
That got our attention, you can imagine. The last we heard, this holiday with Allison Janie was just an Easter excursion. That's not the version Mandy got. She was extremely reluctant to break sisterly confidence, but she had to make Anne understand why she wasn't going to Montreal. So, she reached into her skirt pocket and produced a letter so battered it could have been prehistoric.
It's dated 1937, and it opens with By the time you read this…It goes on, but the gist is that Miri isn't coming home. Struan is no place for people who don't fit its exacting norms. Almost nowhere is. But Allison Janie – Miri calls her Allison – knows somewhere more accepting. She doesn't say where in case Mandy shows the letter to anyone. Alarmingly circumspect.
Jerry blames their nomadic lifestyle; Miri always enjoyed the moves more than Mandy. Nan just wrings her hands and says, 'She could have talked to us. We could have looked after her.'
What she means is that they'd have kept Miri safe. Oddly, I don't think she means from the awful Allison, but in general. From me, John, and from you. That's what Nan means. She didn't say it, but she looked it. The thought that I would hurt her - that anyone thought I would hurt Miri - would even consider it...Oh, I don't suppose I'll ever approve or agree. But she was Nan's child to parent. I thought that was it wasn't, then I have failed them. Completely.
I wanted to send out a search party. Jerry said no, Miri had to come back to them in her own time. She had to know they wouldn't throw her into outer darkness, and she'd never believe that if their first move was to haul her back in ignominy. I don't agree, needless to say, but much as I hate it, I'm not the parent. Jerry thinks it's a positive sign Miri still writes to Mandy. Maybe it is. She's going to enclose a letter from Nan with her next missive. Maybe it will make a difference. Maybe it will bring her home. I hope so. I wish you were here. We want your advice badly.
Love ever,
Gil
Idyllwild,
Struan,
May, 1937
Jo,
I went out to Struan on Gil's heels. I suppose he told you all about this flit of Miri's?
Her parents are beside themselves. Mandy's worse. She feels terrible – for sharing Miri's secret and because she doubts Miri will come back. Gil says she was inconsolable after the news broke. She still is.
She's very affectionate with the little girls. She calls Beatrice 'Rabbit' (Beatrice objects to 'Bea') and twists Hattie's hair into all kinds of styles. Other times she disappears for hours and comes back on the Challow boy's arm. He's devoted to her. Gil twinkled once and said sheepdogs came to mind.
She has this ritual – every night before bed she shows the babies Miri's picture and tells them a memory of her. She told me she wants them to remember Miri. It's as if someone has died. They climb into bed with Mandy when they can't sleep, and she sings to them until they drift off. She takes them down to the ponds and indoctrinates them – Jerry's word – into the ways of all the surrounding wildlife.
It's wonderful and awful to watch.
How are you? I know Jake has at least one child still in Spain. How's he? Tell me everything, even the ordinary things. You can write to me at the usual address. I'm only in Struan on a church swap with a friend.
Love and blessings,
J.M.
Ingleside,
Glen St Mary,
July 1937
Jo,
Miss Abby grows ever more proficient with her riding. Good thing too, because Meg has a new trick. She trots off the path and heads deliberately for the low branches to see if she can displace Abby. Miss Abby thinks it's a wonderful game. She alternates between steering Meg away and ducking.
The other day, on our way back from the Upper Glen, Meg evolved the game. A goat came out of the bracken and stood where no goat should be. It was a friendly goat, very curious about ponies. Thought they could be the best of friends. It was obviously enjoying its liberty and bleating volubly on the subject.
That it had won this illegally became vastly apparent when a harried-looking Crawford lad came flying over a fence and gave chase to it. Meg absolutely would not budge until boy and goat were safely beyond our reach, the goat no doubt, traumatising whatever pasture it hared off into.
Abby took it extremely well. Since then, I've been encouraging her to ride ahead of me. For scouting, obviously. Nothing to do with my scheming to make her independent.
She's as clever as any Shirley ever was.
'Can't you do that?' she said. 'You're much more experienced, Grandad. I think you'd better.'
'I have Old Person eyes,' I said. 'Yours are far superior.'
Miss Abby thought on this. Finally, she conceded it would be sad for her mother and grandmother if we died because I failed to spot an oncoming vehicle or an over-friendly goat.
She gets around me by stopping and looking over her shoulder to check I'm still following. I'd know her anywhere for it.
The really funny thing is that my Dad did exactly that on his way out of the farm. He'd turn back every couple of paces and wave to me and Mum, until we couldn't see him any more. Isn't it a marvel how inheritances skip about?
Love ever,
Gil
Martyrs' Manse
Manse, Kingsport,
June, 1937
John,
Nathan Arnold and I finalized the arrangements for the little Arnolds' holidays. Actually, for the foreseeable future. By the time you read this, you'll know all about that. Such are the perils of village life.
Covering international news – China specifically – requires my daughter to go to Singapore. She doesn't like it, but thinks it's safer than going to the Mainland. Fred's going with her, because of several longstanding ACS commitments he wants to fulfil. I'd take exception, except, well, it's her calling, isn't it? The way ministering was mine. Naomi couldn't escape the work any more than I have. Besides, I always knew she'd go back. She wanted to go back for the Jubilee year. If she had, you would have just missed each other at Trinity House. But she decided not to when Phil and I moved temporarily to your manse. Phil's health was so precarious, Naomi said she didn't want to go away, just in case.
But then Una rang, which she virtually never does, with news of Chinese affairs and did Naomi need somewhere to stay if the paper sent her over. That was that.
Naomi knows I'm worried. We talked that all out over the phone too. My impression is she's equally worried, but needs must. She refuses to take the children abroad, which says everything. She and Fred will stay for about a year, and Nathan and I will look after the children. They'll holiday with me, and complete the usual school year in the Glen.
Joanie, being ever her mother's daughter and Phil's granddaughter, isn't a bit fazed. She's decided that all the shuttling about will be a tremendous adventure. Her brothers are less convinced and not as good at hiding it as they think they are.
That worries Naomi too, but I told her the Cricket Club would keep them right. They're a fantastic little clique, aren't they? I gather Di would go too, and the paper wishes she would, but it's too far a journey in her condition. Gil says she's furious about it.
Di still says (and I agree) that some of her best photographs came out of that year in Singapore. I will never forget those boats drifting down the flooded Middle Alley. Was it really ten years ago?
It must be. Gil was beside himself, and Nan's older girls (they were little then!) got into everything that summer. Specifically Mandy got into the piano and didn't believe Gilbert when he said he could play – tried to tell him only women could play the piano. I have the most vivid memory of his mangling some study or other, while she shrieked with glee and told him I told you so between fits of hysterical laughter. Not to be proven wrong, Gil hauled your Bruce over to the piano. Bruce was a great sport. Played Happy Birthday cross-hands, as a Bach Fugue, a Mozart sonata, and then with his back to the keys and his eyes closed. Weren't Mandy's eyes wide!
'Told you so,' said Gil just as Mandy had said seconds before. His eyes twinkled madly. 'Bet Bruce could teach you.'
He never did, because Miri hauled her twin away from the clutches of greedy relatives. It's strange to think of them apart. I can't fathom it. Do you think Miri will stick to it? It's a hard thing, leaving your family behind. And she's so young. Surely, she'll come back. I pray she does. But also – and this I can never tell Gil – I pray she's happy.
Be well, do good work, and keep in touch,
Jo
New Manse,
Glen St Mary,
July, 1937
Jo,
We saw your intrepid adventurers off today. Hugs all round, promises to keep in touch, and lots of handkerchief-waving. A few tears from the children, but that's to be expected. Many tears from the mothers – also excepted.
Naomi says they will be back soon. I think you can believe her this time, Jo. All that swapping of names and capitals in China alarms me, but it alarms her even more, because she understands it. Alice promised solemnly to spoil the children in the Young Arnolds' absence. Or at least to corrupt them into nursing. Bruce theorises she can do both at once, and I agree.
Speaking of Bruce, he said it was Chopin Gilbert mangled all those years ago. Rosemary says not only was Bruce right, but Mandy too; Gil couldn't play then and can't now.
Love and blessings,
J.M.