She encountered a bedraggled Simon Tremayne, who was mopping his forehead with his linen handkerchief. “Simon Tremayne,” Hetty said authoritatively. “Whatever is the matter?”
“What is the matter? What is the matter? Oh, Hetty, these renovations are driving me to distraction,” he said, his Scottish brogue thickening under the strain.
“Oh, I know,” Hetty said sympathetically. To alleviate some of his troubles, she began mopping his forehead with her handkerchief.
“And I’m stretched for staff,” Simon continued. “I’ve just had three of my best waiters go off to Charlottetown and enlist.”
“Oh, I know it, I know it,” she comforted. “What about Pierre LaPierre? Is he finally satisfied with that kitchen? And what about the new stove?”
“Ahh! Pierre! If only a day could go by without my having to think about Pierre! ‘I want zees, I want zhat.’” He paused a moment. “Hetty, what am I going to do?!”
“Well, ya can start by ceasing to behave like a blithering idiot, Simon Tremayne. Do think that it makes good business sense for ya to just fall apart right here in the lobby…or what’s left of it? No, no, no. That simply will not do. You’ve got to pull yourself together, Simon. Now, what are we going to do about the staff? Have ya put an advertisement in the Carmody paper?”
“Hetty, I’ve advertised in every paper on this side of the Island.”
“Well, Charlottetown’s then.”
“Charlottetown?! Hetty, you know the Gazette only takes advertisements that are delivered in person. You know very well I can’t get to Charlottetown. And who would I send? Everyone has triple duties!”
“There’s no need to get yourself all in a dither, Simon Tremayne. I happen to be going there in a few days myself, with Janet. I have a few errands to run, and I’d be happy to stop off at the Gazette’s office.”
Simon’s face brightened. “Oh, Hetty. I always knew the angels sent you.” He took her hand and kissed it. Hetty abruptly pulled away.
“Oh, nonsense. I’ll write up an advertisement right now, asking for some good, hearty Island girls who want to make a contribution to the war effort by working here while the men are away. It’ll be the White Sands’s show of support, ya see.” Hetty pulled a sheet of paper and a pen out of her writing folder and triumphantly marched off to the front desk that was in the process of being carried off by two workmen. The formidable Hetty King stopped them, and forced them to hold the desk upright while she wrote the advertisement.
Simon Tremayne looked as though he had had a load of bricks recently removed from his chest. This moment of relief quickly passed, however, as he heard a loud boom and the clattering of pots and pans coming from the direction of the kitchen that was beginning to emit a profuse amount of smoke. A round of French cursing followed and three members of the staff came scurrying out of the kitchen door, looking as though the devil were after them. Pierre LaPierre himself soon appeared, holding a piece of the offending stove in his hand, and began directing his Trois Rivieres ire at Simon.
* * *
“It is my firm belief that Cecily King is going to be an old maid,” Clara Potts was informing those who gathered in the Avonlea General Store for the morning’s gossip. “She’s exactly like Felicity. Vain as a peacock. Strings the men along and then cuts them loose without so much as a tear. Girls like that seldom marry. It’s a miracle Gus Pike took her after all she led him through.”
“It was always my opinion that it was the other way around, Mrs. Potts,” Mabel Sloane said.
“A pretty girl like Felicity trapped with a blind man like Gus,” Clara continued and shook her head. “It’s an all-around shame. When she could have had Stuart McRae.”
“I think that the King family has no call to act so high and mighty,” Mabel Sloane said.
“I couldn’t agree more,” agreed Clara. “I believe Felix King was the real reason the Pettibones moved to Halifax. Kingsport Ladies’ College, my auntie. Mr. Pettibone was probably bound and determined to keep his Izzy away from Felix. Anyway, when all’s said and done, it’s a pity,” Clara continued. “I always thought Cecily the nicer of the King girls, but what’s bred in the bone….”
“Is sure to appear in the form of spiteful chatter.” Clara turned. Hetty King had entered the store with her shopping basket in hand.
“Really, ladies,” she continued. “Ya’d think that the fact that Mother Britain is at war would be enough to prompt ya to keep your tongues in check. Good morning, Eunice.” Eunice Faulkner smiled graciously, grateful for the fact that someone had put a stop to the often spiteful gossip that occurred in her father’s store. Her sister Anna stood meekly beside her. “Hello, Anna.”
“How are you this morning, Miss King?” Anna asked.
“I haven’t any complaints. Oh, Eunice,” she said, looking into the box that her order was in. “I specifically ordered three boxes of porridge.”
“I’m sorry, Miss King,” Eunice said sympathetically. “We’re short again. The war, you know.”
“Oh, yes. Of course. Anyway, it’s not really necessary. Dora will be home soon, but she never liked porridge to begin with. And it’s all for our boys abroad. Good day, Eunice, Anna. Tell your mother I’ll send Daniel right over with those preserves I promised her.” She picked up her purchase and turned to the gossips near the stove. “Ladies,” she nodded and swept out of the store with the dignity that was a quintessential part of Hetty King.
“Well, I don’t care what Hetty King says,” Clara said after Hetty had left. “Cecily is a King and there’s no escaping the fact that she’s stuck-up and proud, just like the whole tribe of them.”
Gwendolen Hammond was in the general store that morning witnessing the entire scene. She was a very pretty girl, with rich dark brown hair and eyes to match. Her family had moved to Avonlea shortly before the Pettibones had left and she hadn’t made much of an impression on Cecily King or Izzy Pettibone. She had thought that Cecily’s sweetness was nothing more than an act and that Izzy gave herself airs because she went around with Felix King. She was just stopping in the general store on her way to that morning’s meeting of the Avonlea Junior Red Cross, of which she was president. Cecily had been asked to be the president, but it was not something she wished to do. Feeling rather slighted that she had not been asked first, Gwendolen assumed the position and Cecily decided that she would rather be vice-president. This meant that the two girls often squared off against one another, just as they had done at the previous meeting. It was often said that Gwendolen had an eye for Philip Long and that her jealousy had been causing all the problems in the Junior Red Cross.
At that moment, Ada Hubble and her niece Hannah Lester entered the store. Hannah was carrying her daughter Emily in her arms. “What are you all harping on Sis King for?” Ada asked as she came in, hearing the last bits of what Clara had said.
The ladies in the store said nothing and continued to talk to each other in muted tones about Hannah Lester and how she had run off to Charlottetown with Donny.
The door opened again and the much abused Cecily entered. “Hello, Cecily,” Hannah said quietly. Hannah was a year older than Cecily and they had never been friends, particularly because of the rumour that she and Donny Lester had spread about Izzy and Felix. But in the months that she had been living in Avonlea with her aunt, Cecily had found her very much changed.
“Hello, Hannah,” Cecily replied. “How’s Emily this morning?”
Emily gave Cecily a huge smile. “That’s my little one,” Hannah replied. “She’s growing like you wouldn’t believe.”
Gwendolen waltzed over to Cecily on her way out the door. “Good morning, Cecily,” she said. “I guess I’ll be seeing you at the meeting this morning.” She gave a saccharine smile to Hannah and glided out the door.
“What meeting is that, Cecily?” Hannah asked.
“The Junior Red Cross. I really don’t know why I bother to go to the meetings. Gwendolen does whatever she takes into her head.”
“Well, it sounds to me like you young ladies need an advisor, Cecily,” Ada said.
“We do,” she agreed heartily. “I’d ask Aunt Hetty but...” Cecily needn’t continue. Hetty’s recovery from back surgery had not prevented her from fully throwing herself into her community activities and she was very busy. She had even begun teaching school again in April.
“Your aunt is the finest lady on the Island, Miss Cecily,” Gourney MacDonald said.
“Thank you.”
“Well, Cecily,” Hannah ventured. “I might be able to help you out. I’m not much with a needle, but I do know how to handle people like Miss Gwendolen Hammond.”
“You’d do that for us?”
“I sure would.”
“Hannah’s been anxious to get back to being a part of the community,” Ada said, with a glance over at the gossips by the stove.
“Well, I’ll bring it up at today’s meeting, then.” Cecily then walked over to the counter and spoke with Eunice and Anna for a bit before picking up some things for her mother. She said a cheerful good day to everyone in the store and then headed out to the Hammonds’ for the Junior Red Cross meeting.
* * *
The Hammonds lived in a well-furnished house just on the outskirts of the village, not far from King Farm. Her father was Avonlea’s new banker and her mother was from New Brunswick. They had lived in a small town on the mainland before moving to PEI and they were used to being a focal point in the community. They received a shock when they moved to Avonlea, when they discovered that the Kings were, had been, and most likely would always be the most respected family in the town. Mrs. Hammond and her daughter were therefore extremely disgruntled and bore a grudge against anyone even remotely associated with the Kings.
Mrs. Hammond nonetheless welcomed Cecily graciously when she arrived and escorted her into the parlour, thinking that the Kings needn’t be so extravagant with young Cecily’s clothing when there was a war on. Mrs. Hammond had no idea that the coat and frock Cecily wore had been sent from Paris nearly two years before.
Cecily sat on the sofa, her usual place, next to Gwendolen. Gwendolen sat at the front of the room in a large chair to which she gave the pretentious air of a throne. “Now that Cecily has arrived, oh do have some tea and cake, Cecily dear, I hereby call this meeting of the Avonlea Junior Red Cross to order. Is there any old business to discuss?”
The young ladies in the Junior Red Cross went through their usual round of business and Cecily paid very little attention to it. She didn’t mean to be rude, but the Junior Red Cross had begun to feel like more of a chore than usual. Even after all of Hetty’s coaxing and instruction, Cecily still wasn’t much with a needle. She was usually in charge of arranging benefit concerts, soliciting donations and settling quarrels between irate members. Cecily essentially did Gwendolen’s job while that young lady took the credit.
Cecily waited for Gwendolen to announce new business and she spoke up. “It has come to my attention that-well, I think it would be best if our chapter had an advisor.”
“Yes,” Gwendolen agreed. “We’ve spoken of this before.”
“Gwennie, what about your mother?” Prillie Davis asked.
“Mother? You must be dreaming. All mother does is play with her pug and then she teases Father to buy her things.” The other girls in the room giggled. Certainly Cecily had never heard another girl her age speak of her mother in such a fashion. Gwendolen noticed the expression on Cecily’s face and decided to squash her pride. “What about your Mother, Cecily?” Everyone in the room was silent. Gwendolen knew perfectly well that her mother was a pacifist.
“I don’t believe my mother is able to help us at this time,” was all Cecily said. “But I do know someone who is.” Even Gwendolen looked interested. “Hannah Lester.” The room became very silent.
Finally, Gwendolen spoke up. “Hannah-Lester?”
“Yes.”
“Cecily,” Gwendolen’s tone turned very condescending. “Certainly you’re joking.”
“No, I’m not.”
“We appreciate the suggestion, Cecily but-” Catherine Rogers began.
“But,” Gwendolen continued. “As I’m sure you’re aware, Hannah Lester ran off with some boy.” Cecily rolled her eyes to think that people were still harping on that. “It’s true that he married her, but really, surely you must see that having her as our advisor would be less than proper.”
“No, I don’t see.” Cecily stood up, ready to leave.
“Cecily-” Gwendolen started. She didn’t really care if Cecily King left or not, but she felt that she had to preserve order.
“There is a war going on. People are getting killed. And all you’re concerned about is Hannah Lester’s reputation. Well, if she isn’t good enough for the Junior Red Cross, then maybe I’m not either.”
“Cecily!” The only reply Gwendolen got was the sound of the front door shutting.
* * *
Cecily did not want to go home, although King Farm was just a short walk. They would ask why she was home. She would have to explain to them. She would have to listen to her aunt Hetty express her disappointment at what she felt was another bad choice. Her mother would worry. She decided she would rather take a walk and blow off some steam at Gwendolen. She found herself back in Avonlea, and remembered that she had some more errands to run and thought that she might as well do them while she was there.
Cecily was walking down the street in Avonlea, headed toward the post office, when she happened upon her old school chum Em Frewen. “Cecily!” Em said and held out her hands to her.
“Em!” she said in surprise. “I haven’t seen you in so long. I wonder how we ever accomplished that in Avonlea.”
Em laughed. “It’s good to see you again, too, Cecily. I’ve been so busy planning for nursing school. Mother and Father have promised that I can go nurse in Charlottetown soon. I wish you could come along.”
An awkward silence followed. They both knew the reason Cecily wasn’t allowed to be a nurse, though no one really wanted to say it out loud.
“So you’re going to the May dance in Charlottetown, then?” Cecily asked, wanting to break the uncomfortable lull in the conversation.
“Yes. Will Fraser’s asked me. I wasn’t sure if I should say yes or not. I’m not entirely certain he’s quite over you, Cecily,” Em replied, referring to the crush Will had on Cecily during public school.
Cecily took her friends’ hands in hers. “I’m sure Will likes you very much, Em,” she assured her. “He wouldn’t have asked you otherwise.”
Em smiled. “I’m determined that he shall have a good time before he goes off to France. You should see the dress Mother and I have been making,” she said excitedly. “It’s peach silk with this gorgeous overlay of lace. You can’t buy silk now, of course, but Mother is helping me make over one of her old ball gowns. I’ll tell you all about the dance, Cecily. I promise.”
“You won’t have to tell me at all,” Cecily replied, grinning. “I’ll be there too.”
Em looked shocked. “You will?”
“I’m going with Mother and Father.”
“Oh, Cecily,” Em’s face became grave. “Everyone in Charlottetown knows you broke off with Philip Long. You couldn’t go to a dance there, or anywhere in fact, so soon. It’s scandalous.”
Cecily smirked. Em had been obsessively conscious of what others thought for as long as she had known her. She also had a tendency to be rather melodramatic, and thought she was, as usual, exaggerating the situation. “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with me going.”
“Well, if you’re so insistent, Cecily. Oh, just promise me you won’t dance with anyone. You don’t want to get a reputation for being fickle.”
Cecily groaned inwardly. She bid a smiling goodbye to Em. She decided to walk out to the cliffs near the lighthouse and read her book. At least no one would disturb her there.
When Cecily finally arrived home, the King kitchen was abuzz with activity as Janet, Abigail McEwan, Eliza and Chloe Halloway industriously cooked and baked for the upcoming Avonlea Presbyterian Ladies’ Aide Bazaar, the proceeds of which were to benefit the nascent tuberculosis research wing of the Charlottetown Hospital. Felicity was there as well, comfortably seated in the rocking chair by the fireplace. Alec and Daniel entered from the summer kitchen. Daniel’s eyes widened with delight when he saw all of the goodies that were on the table in the summer kitchen. “May I have a cookie, Mother?”
“Daniel!” his mother exclaimed. “Why are you home from school so early?”
“I’ve been in the barn with Father for two hours. It’s five o’clock, Mother.”
“Five o’clock! Heavens!” Janet exclaimed. Her anxiety was clearly visible. “Chloe, get those tarts out of the oven! Quick, quick, quick!” Chloe ran to the stove, potholder in hand. She removed the bubbling tarts from the oven, not a minute too soon. “I don’t know why I volunteered to make all of this food for the ladies’ bazaar,” she lamented.
“You were always one to give up so easily, Janet,” her older sister Abigail commented authoritatively. “You bite off more than you can chew.”
“Mother, may I help?”
“Daniel, I think your father needs more help than I do, with that sick old mare. It’s sweet of you to offer though, dear.”
Daniel gave his mother a toothy grin and headed toward the coat rack, followed by his father. When the women weren’t looking, Alec and Daniel swiped several cookies and headed outside.
Janet brushed off her sister’s remark with a smile. “Oh, I’ve got along just fine,” she replied cheerfully.
“Well, you should be grateful to be any cooking at all, with a certain event not taking place.”
“If you are referring to Cecily and Philip Long, Abigail, just come right out and say what you mean.”
“Well then, I will. I don’t know what Cecily can be thinking. A fine young man like Philip Long. And after he haunted this place for five months like the King Family Ghost. I heard Philip put off enlisting because of Cecily. I must tell you it’s made quite a stir.”
“I must say, Abigail, after the initial disappointment of Cecily refusing Philip, I can’t say I’m very sorry. I always rather thought Cecily was too young to be thinking of marriage.”
“Too young? She’s nearly nineteen, Janet. I needn’t remind you that you were all but married by then. What if she falls ill again? Alec can’t run the farm forever, you know.”
“Cecily’s perfectly well, Abigail. And Daniel wants to help run the farm too, when he’s older. Besides, Philip Long isn’t exactly the kind of young man who would be content spending his life shovelling pig manure. I’m sure he’ll realise that too, sooner or later. He’s come to call again but Cecily won’t see him.”
“Well, Malcolm and I saw Alice Long at the Red Cross benefit in Charlottetown. She was as cold as an iceberg and twice as stiff. There are some people who are saying the consumption touched Cecily in the head.”
“Abigail McEwan! I do not want to hear any more spiteful gossip about Cecily from the mouths of Clara Potts or Mabel Sloane or-or-”
“Well, I’m just informing you of what people are saying, Janet. There’s no need to get huffy with me. I don’t want her to get a reputation for being proud. We all know what happens to the proud ones.”
“Yes, don’t we?”
“Janet King!”
Cecily had been about ready to enter the kitchen when she heard her aunt Abigail start talking about her. What was it that Felix used to call her? “Aunt Crabigail.” She thought it was a little mean when she had first heard him call her that. Now, she felt so angry that it was justified. Cecily silently entered the kitchen and deliberately poured herself a glass of water and drank it. No one spoke. She then walked over to the coat rack and removed her hat and coat. She put on an old tweed jacket of Felix’s. She opened the door of the summer kitchen.
“Cecily,” Felicity asked. “Where are you going?”
“For a ride,” she replied sullenly.
“There’s supposed to be a storm coming,” Felicity warned.
“I’ll be back before it starts.”
Cecily was already half out the door when she heard Abigail call to her. “The sun is going to be bright today, Cecily, so for heaven’s sakes, take your parasol!” Cecily knew her aunt would promptly go into odious detail about how Cecily didn’t take proper care of her complexion and that Cecily had numerous freckles on her face because of it and Cecily really needed to take more care of her appearance.
She was relieved to saddle up Prince and take him out for a ride. She had had to exercise him during Felix’s illness. Even now that he was no longer ill, her brother hadn’t taken much of an interest in him. She could tell Prince was sad and she talked to him as she brushed his coat. “Can you imagine me riding you while I held a parasol? I’d like to see myself. A grand lady in some big, fancy house in Charlottetown,” she mocked. “Exactly what Philip would have wanted me to be. Not able to go anywhere I wanted, do anything I wanted. I’d just be his little pet waiting for him to come home. I couldn’t live that life, Prince. I want to be free. I want someone who will let me be free.”
* * *
Excerpt of a letter from:
Miss Cecily V. King
King Farm
Avonlea, P.E.I.
CanadaTo:
Miss Isolde J. Pettibone
15 Willomere Avenue
Halifax, Nova Scotia
CanadaMay 10, 1915
So that was the long and short of my (hopefully) last encounter with Gwendolen Hammond, save for the obligatory cool nods that she and her mother give me when I meet one of them in town.
In other news, Anthony Bell proposed to me today in the back pasture. The conversation is detailed herein:
“Good day, Miss Cecily.”
I said hello.
“Miss Cecily, I was wondering if-if, well…that is…if you’d like to get married.”
Naturally, I was shocked and more than a little amused. There I was shovelling mud, and up comes Mr. Anthony Bell asking me to marry him. I sat next to him all through public school, and the only time he paid me any mind at all was to pull one of braids when Aunt Hetty wasn’t looking. “You want to marry me?”
“Yes. I figured that since I was shipping out in two weeks, that I should get married.”
“That is indeed a wise idea,” I said. “But to what, may I ask, do I owe this honour?”
“Well,” said Mr. Bell. “You’re a King, and one of the nicest and prettiest girls in Avonlea, and since you just threw over Philip Long and are currently unattached, naturally you were my first choice.”
I pretended to give it a lot of consideration. I suppose Aunt Abigail would think that dreadful, and Em Frewen would warn me against getting a reputation for being cold, but Izzy, it was just so funny. I think if you’d been in my situation, that you would have reacted in the same way. “I appreciate the offer, Anthony, I really do. But I’m sorry, I won’t marry you.”
And then what do you think the detestable creature said to me? He said, “Well, Miss Cecily, I always thought you would make a fine wife.” I waited for him to astonish me with an elaboration on why this was so. “My father says never to marry a woman who will talk back to you. You were always so quiet, I figured you didn’t have much to say.”
“Oh, I had things to say, Mr. Bell. Just nothing you could be interested in or ever possibly hope to understand. Good day, Mr. Bell.”
Unsatisfied, he left. But I wouldn’t worry about the matrimonial prospects of Anthony Bell. Clarissa Drake has been mad about him since fourth form.
Mother had been sweeping off the porch and she’d witnessed the tableau in the pasture. “What did Anthony Bell want?”
“To marry me,” I replied flippantly. Mother then wore an expression of the most incredible shock. “I said no.”
It was all so very business-like. I think I should write Sara and ask her if there was anything romantic about it at all. I’m always horrible about picking up on romantic things. I’m never sure if something is romantic or not. I suppose it could have been romantic, but I think even Sara would find it dreadfully...sensible.
Or maybe I should ask Felicity if she still has that copy of The Family Guide and consult it to see what is the proper way to act when a young man proposes to you in the back pasture while you’re wearing your brother’s old knickers. Anyway, I’ve received two proposals in the past week and a half. At this rate, I am sure I will have surpassed Felicity’s record by the month’s end.
Your chum,
Cecily V. King
* * *
There was always a cool breeze that blew off Halifax Harbour during balmy days that kept the homes situated on Willowmere Avenue cool. In the backyard of the Pettibone home, Clive was trying to beat one of his sons at lawn tennis. He had played against both of them quite a few times and had thus far been unsuccessful. Arthur and Morgan had decided to let him win a game and retain his pride. It was currently Arthur’s turn. Arthur served the ball rather low and didn’t put much speed into it, thinking it would be easier for his father to hit. Clive returned his thoughtful gesture by giving the ball a good, hard whack as it crossed the net and it narrowly escaped hitting Arthur in the head. Arthur was caught off-guard and he missed it.
“You call that a serve, young man?” Arthur went to retrieve the ball. “I’m not ready for the glue factory yet.”
The gramophone in the house was playing “Play a Simple Melody,” by that one-hit wonder, Irving Berlin. Morgan, who could not carry a tune, was biding his time by singing along and his off-key voice could be heard through the open windows in the kitchen, where Muriel and Izzy were industriously cooking.
Arthur served the ball again, this time with full force. Clive ran backwards to hit it and suddenly doubled over in pain, holding his back. “Ahh!” he called out in pain.
Arthur ran to him. “Father!”
“I’m all right,” Clive assured him. “I don’t need medical attention. It’s just my lumbago. I’ll be fine. Ahhh!”
Muriel suddenly came flying out of the back door. “Clive, for heaven’s sakes,” she scolded as she led him into the house. “Like it or not, Clive Pettibone, you are no longer twenty-five.”
Muriel firmly ensconced Clive in the parlour with a hot water bottle and an edition of the Halifax Herald. He began calling out tidbits from the paper. He had to admit that his lumbago was troubling him, as had the fact that his sons were winning, and he was surprisingly content to stay inside. Arthur and Morgan continued to play against each other.
“There is to be a recital by Mrs. John Edward Blakely at the music hall on Saturday night,” Clive called. “She’s a fine pianist.”
“I’m sure Izzy would enjoy it,” Muriel replied. “Izzy, I think that we could start on the trifle now....Izzy!”
Izzy’s head shot up when she saw smoke coming out of the oven. She had been looking over her Dalhousie course guide, trying to decide which English literature class she would most like to sign up for. “Oh no!” she cried and ran to the stove. In a few moments she produced a very sorry looking excuse for a pudding “I ruined it.”
“Never mind that, Izzy. We have cake in the pantry.”
Her brothers entered from the side door. “What’s that smell?” Morgan asked.
“I’m afraid we had a slight accident with the pudding," Muriel replied.
“I had it from Mrs. Josiah Caldwell whose daughter is at Kingsport that Izzy plays the piano like an angel,” Clive called.
“Too bad she can’t cook like one,” Morgan observed, and his brother laughed. Tennis had become dull, and the boys seemed to decide that a much more interesting sport would be to tease Izzy.
“Oh, ha, ha, Morgan,” Izzy replied as she attempted to scrape the remains of the pudding of the pan. “You’re so funny. I think I might die of laughter.”
“Actually, did you know that it is physically impossible for someone to die of laughter?” Arthur said.
“Why don’t you tell that to someone who cares?” Izzy asked. Arthur pressed his index finger and thumb on either side of Izzy’s mouth and forced it up into a smile. He then took a cookie off the plate next to Izzy. She slapped his hand with a wooden spoon.
“Those are for the party,” she informed him.
“Oooh, those look good,” Morgan said, and took a cookie for himself.
“Morgan!” she yelled, although her eyes were smiling.
Arthur found an orange on the table and threw it to his brother. They started tossing it like a baseball over the heads of Izzy and Muriel.
“Boys,” Muriel said. “Boys, please.”
They stopped playing with the orange and stood together, looking innocent.
“Yes, please. Out of here, both of you. Right now,” Izzy said and shooed them away.
“Yes, ma’am,” Morgan said and saluted.
As they were walking out of the kitchen, Arthur swiped a cookie off the plate on the table and shoved it into his mouth, grinning wickedly at his sister.
“Arthur!” Izzy yelled. “Men,” she cursed after her brothers had exited the room in peals of laughter.
Kitchener then came running into the kitchen at top speed, leaving muddy footprints on the floor. “Oh, dear!” Muriel yelled “That dog! Keep him off the carpet!” She ran out of the room on pursuit of him. “Arthur, come get your dog!”
When she returned, she found Izzy sitting in a chair, the fingers of one hand pressed close to her mouth. She saw Izzy’s lips trembling and tears rolling down her cheeks. Muriel quickly went to her and put her arms around her shoulders. “My dear, whatever is the matter?” she asked, with concern mixed with confusion in her voice. She knew Morgan and Arthur often teased Izzy mercilessly, but she wasn’t so thin-skinned as to allow their harmless jokes to upset her. Izzy was also not the type to cry because she had burned the pudding.
“Oh, Muriel,” she said, burying her head in her stepmother’s shoulder. “I don’t want them to go. I know they don’t believe in it, but I’m always so afraid that they’ll enlist. I can’t lose them. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost them. I don’t care if I’m being selfish. I just-I just love them so much.
Muriel held Izzy close to her and felt her hot tears through the silk of her blouse. She gently kissed the top of her glossy brown head. She knew Izzy adored her brothers and looked up to them. Muriel loved them too, and thought of them as she would have her own sons. She knew that she could never replace their mother in their hearts. The three of them were the only children she’d ever had, aside from her pupils, whom she’d always thought of as her children. The thought of sending either of the boys off to war was unbearable to her. She remembered how reluctant Izzy had been at first to her joining their family. Gradually, they became closer. If the war had driven a wedge between Clive and his sons, it had also brought Muriel and Izzy closer together.
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