Her chin came to a tiny peak, and her ears were pointed. She looked a bit like a pixie or a wood elf, especially when her eyes got a dreamy look in them.” Grandpa chuckled to himself as he spooned up the last of his fruit.
“Why are you laughing?” asked Laura.
“I’m remembering again how spirited Maud could be when her temper got the better of her.”
Laura leaned forward, smiling eagerly. “What did she do?”
“Well, we had the custom of bringing little bottles of milk to school to drink with our lunch. Of course there were no refrigerators in those days to keep the milk cold, so we placed our bottles in the little brook that ran alongside the school. The running stream kept the milk cool. Then at lunchtime we’d all go whooping down to the brook to collect our bottles of milk and go off and enjoy our lunch. But poor Maud wasn’t allowed to stay at school for lunch. For some reason she had to go home to eat. And was she angry about that! She so badly wanted to have a milk bottle to put in the brook and share the lunch hour with the rest of us.”
As Grandpa spoke, Laura’s mind started to wander. She pictured the little milk bottles with their thick bodies, narrow necks and wide openings nestled in the rocks with a fast flowing stream running over them. But in her daydream the milk wasn’t white in colour, it was brown. Chocolate milk. She remembered— how long ago was it? Two years ago when they were ten?—a school trip to a milk factory. The class had seen the milk being poured from huge vats into regular-sized bottles, like the ones they drank from at home. Then they watched as the bottles moved like toy soldiers in an assembly line toward the arm of a big machine that clamped lids on them. And then, at the end of the tour the children had been given samples of chocolate milk in the kind of small bottles that she imagined lay in the Cavendish brook.
After they drank the chocolate milk, the boys had held a contest with the empty bottles, lining them up on fence posts and throwing pebbles into them. Peter got the highest number of pebbles in his bottle.
What fun they could have had in Toronto together, going to movies and riding the streetcar! The only problem was, Peter was—. She leaned her head on her elbow and stared at the shiny dark wood of the tabletop.
“Shortly after my time in Cavendish, Maud went out west to live with her father,” Grandpa was saying. “She was sixteen, I remember. But her stay out there was short-lived, only a year. She didn’t get along with the father’s new wife, so I heard. But look here, what’s happening to you, my Laura? Are you falling asleep on me?”
Laura felt her eyes closing in spite of herself.
“That’s enough for today,” said Grandpa. “The train trip has tired you out. We’ll do the dishes and then it’s bedtime.”
Chapter Three
The next morning, Laura awoke to the sun flooding in her window. She blinked quickly, then closed her eyes again, trying to hold onto her dream.
Grandpa had been in the dream; she was with him on a harvester out west, riding high through the wheat fields. Then, when she turned to look at him, Grandpa had become Peter. She heard him saying in a clear voice, “Long ago, Laura, it was long ago,” and as he spoke the two of them jumped down from the tractor into a vast expanse of water. The swirling foam had risen to her neck; everywhere she looked there was nothing but water. Again she heard Grandpa’s voice: “The water is fine, but oh, the red soil of the Island is finer. Back home is where my heart is.”
Then Grandpa’s voice became Peter’s again, although she could no longer see him in the waves. He went on and on about the seaweed smell of the sea and the yarns that people told when they gathered in the village store or on front verandahs. He talked about the fun on sleigh rides and the fiddle music that filled farmhouses on Saturday nights and how they would push back the furniture and dance the night away. She was struggling to get out of the water.
One eye opened and then the other. As she lay looking at the gleaming white curtains, she wondered why Peter and Grandpa merged in her dream..
It was no use. Her dream had vanished. She reached for her book on the bedside table, began to leaf through it, and then turned to the last page. Reading the last page was something she often did when she was in the middle of a book. This sometimes spoiled the story, but it felt soothing to read the end of this book, because in the final sentences the author talked about how everyone looked forward to the coming of spring.
She heard voices in the hall downstairs.
“I’m glad she’s sleeping late, but I would have liked to at least say good morning to her,” she heard her grandfather say. “I can’t wait any longer. On my way to the hospital I’ll drop by the West Toronto station and send her mother a telegram to let her know Laura arrived safely. Tell Laura I’ll see her this afternoon.”
Then she heard Bobbie’s voice. “Don’t worry, Dr. Campbell. You go off before you’re late. Laura and I will get on just fine.”
Laura stared at the ceiling for a moment. Then, reluctantly, she pushed aside the bedclothes and swung herself out of bed.
Downstairs, Bobbie was dusting the living room furniture with a brown feather duster. A green bandana covered her hair, and she wore a faded apron over her dress. She still wore bright lipstick and her fingernails looked newly polished. She held the duster gingerly. Her diamond ring sparkled. “Well, hello, lazy-bones,” she said in a cheery voice when she saw Laura at the door. “Did you have sweet dreams?”
Laura nodded. “I dreamt about Grandpa,” she said, hesitating, “when he was young.”
“I’ll bet your grandpa was a handsome man when he was young, just like my fiancé.” She wriggled her diamond ring finger in front of Laura. “He enlisted a few months ago. He’s called a private. They’ll be sending him any day now to England. Just like your dad, so your grandpa says. It scares me to think of it.” She lay down the duster and wiped her hands on her apron. “But I shouldn’t worry! I really am proud of him, it’s just that....” She put her arm around Laura’s shoulders. “But come on into the kitchen now. I’ll make you some toast.”
“Why did Grandpa leave so early?” asked Laura when she was seated in the kitchen nook.
“Nine o’clock, my dear girl, is not early. “At nine o’clock some people have been up for hours.”
Laura said nothing as Bobbie served her toast and peanut butter. She wondered what she would do to pass the day.
“He’s usually up and out of here by eight. He stayed later today, but he didn’t want to wake you and he couldn’t wait any longer.” She poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down across from Laura. “I told your grandfather that you’d be welcome to help me clean house....” She smiled broadly. “I hope you know I’m teasing. Anyway, just help me do up these dishes and then you can amuse yourself anyway you like.”
After they had finished doing the dishes and Bobbie returned to her dusting, Laura put on a jacket and went outside. She walked around the house, picking her way through a tangle of garden hose, and then sat on the front doorstep. A crisp morning wind cut through the sunshine, and she pulled her jacket tightly around her. She drew her feet up under her so that the skirt of her dress covered most of her legs. Sam bounded over to her and she stroked his ears. His tail wagged as he settled himself beside her.
Across the street, a woman was drawing a rake through the
