Howard Norman - What Is Left the Daughter

"I suppose."

"Mom, when she's puzzled why something in nature's downright ugly, she makes holy excuses. Says on that day of Creation, God had a headache. Then I usually say, well, why didn't he correct his mistake once he invented headache powder?"

"Were you awake all night again?" I asked.

"I look a wreck, don't I? Plus, I'm just going on about nothing, aren't I?"

"No, you're going on, true, but it's got substance. I wish I could listen through another coffee, but I've got a sled to work on. It's my wages. Besides, Hans comes downstairs, sees us, I don't want him to get jealous."

"Would it do any good to say he likes you, Wyatt?"

"Tilda, get some sleep."

"Look in the mirror, eh?" she said. "The pot's just called the kettle black."

I finished my coffee and left the bakery. At home, I started for the shed, but when I got near and heard Donald yelling at the radio, I decided to go into the house instead. "Aunt Constance?" I said.

I found her standing in the dining room, her new wardrobe trunk open on the table, clothes stacked on three chairs nearby. "I leave tomorrow morning, you know," she said.

"I'd forgotten it was so soon," I said.

"My, my, my, look at these three pull-out drawers," she said. "There's so much room. Still, I want to be careful in my choices. Proper preparation helps make for proper travel—"

"'—and proper travel makes for peace of mind at one's destination,'" I said, quoting what she'd said many times before.

I kissed my aunt on the forehead and sat down in a chair opposite her clothes. "You know, whenever I pack a trunk," she said, "I think of Meticulous Spelling, who used to live in Upper Economy. Maiden name, Meticulous Bartlett. Married George Spelling. Anyway, she certainly contained opposites, Meticulous Spelling did, in that her housekeeping was sloppy as a drunk sparrow making a nest, and she couldn't spell worth a tiddly damn, and I know personally, because she used to drop by and ask how you'd spell this or that word, because she was writing a letter to her aunt Nadelle in Vancouver. Some people can't spell, some can, I suppose, but Meticulous Spelling was one who couldn't. And on the subject of not being meticulous, I witnessed that woman, in her own home, pack a trunk once. She was setting out to see the sights in Quebec City. I don't know why she bothered to iron her clothes in advance. The inside of that wardrobe trunk looked ransacked."

I smiled and said, "Oh, Aunt Constance, you're the cat's pajamas."

"Even those I'd fold nicely."

"I bet you would."

"Everything neat and clean and in its place."

My aunt concentrated on which dresses to pack, which blouses, which socks, which shoes, which everything. She'd neatly fill one drawer, remove the contents, replace them with a different combination. At one point, not looking up from the sweater she was folding, she said, "Donald's moved to the shed. Outwardly, I'm trying to be poised about it."

"How do you mean, moved to the shed?"

"I mean he's built a cot and has bedclothes out there. He's got the woodstove for heat."

"At least now you'll be able to turn off the radio when you want, Aunt Constance."

"I don't find that response in the least appropriate."

"I'm sorry."

"Apology only half accepted," she said. "You two may be on the outs, but don't forget he took you in and gave you a paying job, Wyatt."

"You yourself said he's not himself lately."

"Donald asked Leonard Marquette and a few other lobstermen, could he use their trawlers to try and ram a U-boat."

"Where would this take place?"

"Right, well, Leonard told Donald there's no U-boats in the Bay of Fundy. And apparently Donald said, 'Where you don't see any U-boats, that may be exactly where they're the thickest.'"

"In the shed two days ago, he accused me, right to my face, of being a coward because I hadn't signed up for the RCN. I didn't say I'd been thinking about doing just that. He wasn't in the mood to hear it."

"So you have been thinking of it, then," she said.

"Yes."

"Wyatt, don't sign up to prove you're not a coward. Sign up because of the deepest conviction of what you're fighting against. War's old as the Old Testament. However, there's an unusual amount of madness at work in this war. Though, as far as I know, you've never befriended a Jew, have you? Maybe you had a Jewish friend growing up in Halifax and you never mentioned it. Anyway, like Reverend Witt says, if there's even near the equivalent of a Christian hell on earth, the Hebrew race over in Europe is in it. They could use some help, eh? Zoe Fielding wrote in a letter that she'd seen a newsreel, made her sick. What the Nazis are doing to the Hebrew race. And she meant sick, right there in her seat. There's reasons to sign up. Those U-boats have gone to such great effort, haven't they? Come all the way across the Atlantic Ocean to bring war to Canada. Let alone marauding around inside Donald's head of late, eh? Who's to make those U-boats regret their efforts if not our Navy?"

"Maybe our government's about to conscript me anyway," I said. "That'd make my mind up."

"It's best to make up your own mind." She set the sweater in the wardrobe trunk.

I never made it out to the shed. The morning meandered to afternoon. I pretty much just sat with Constance, watching her pack, talking about this and that. She added a National Geographic and a Reader's Digest to the trunk. For some reason, I remember how she absent-mindedly ran her fingers over the ruffled silk pocket that spanned the side of the trunk that held the hangers and dowels. A silk pocket "thoughtfully secluded in back for underthings," as she put it. It struck me that my aunt was a little giddy about that pocket.

Close to eleven o'clock, Constance said, "Probably there's no perfect time to mention this, Wyatt, dear, but as I'm leaving tomorrow, let me get something off my chest. Tilda and Hans Mohring have set a wedding date."

"October tenth."

"Goodness."

"I met Tilda this morning at the bakery," I said. "She told me."

"My own mother used to say, anything other than in the local church or in your family house is eloping."

"You gave them your blessing, Tilda said."

"But I begged her, change the date. Because I can't postpone my visit to Zoe Fielding. It's her granddaughter's christening. It can't be helped. But it breaks my heart, really. I'll miss my own daughter's wedding. I'd already paid for my ferry tickets. You have to reserve rooms, since they get filled up with military and civilians alike. These days it's nearly impossible to book passage."

"It was a sudden announcement, Aunt Constance. Not your fault."

"Fine, but couldn't Tilda and Hans please, please put off the date? I asked, but no. Everything feels so urgent lately. And where will they live, I wonder. If Hans Mohring even hints at taking Tilda away from Nova Scotia, I'll speak up. Mark my words, I'll speak up."

"I'd like to take the bus to Halifax with you," I said.

"Thank you just the same," my aunt said. "Besides, knowing my wardrobe's packed so well, I'll probably sleep like a baby."

"No, I mean for my own reasons," I said. "I've made the decision to speak with the RCN recruiting office."

"Don't tell me my little speech already's had an effect."

"Like I said, I've been seriously considering it for some time now. I'm in good health. Of military age. When it comes down to it, what's my excuse not to sign up?"

"On the bus, once I've dozed off, you can find an empty seat and think things over," she said. "A bus ride's good for thinking, I've always found."

"There's always a vacancy at the Baptist Spa, so I'm not worried where to spend the night. I'll be back in plenty of time for the wedding. I'll represent the family. Tilda asked me to give her away."