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It was one of those August mornings that refused to be rushed. Fat with sunshine, it sprawled across the road and leaned against the blackberry bushes trailing alongside. So I squelched my impatience and ate my way to Annie’s house, one berry at a time.

      I had rented a cottage on Saturna Island for the summer. Annie lived up the road, on the top of a monster hill, and I’d stumbled across her during one of my walks. She was a quaint old bird with a life’s worth of stories and no one to tell them to. I was a writer in need of inspiration.

      But Annie was like the morning – she too refused to be rushed – and like a miser, she doled out savory morsels of her life. It was never enough to satisfy me though and, day after day, I’d scale the beastly hill between her home and mine, hungry for more.

      The odd thing was that after nearly two months of vignettes, I still had no real sense of Annie’s life. Her stories zigzagged across the years, leaving huge unexplained gaps. I kept hoping she would fill those holes, but so far she hadn’t.

      Most of Annie’s stories focused on her childhood. Born in 1910, she had grown up on the Prairies, in one of those little Saskatchewan communities no one has heard of. But as the only daughter of a wealthy farmer, she had enjoyed a pampered life nevertheless. At some point, she had made her way to British Columbia. That’s where the stories of her family stopped, replaced with remembrances of a career in horticulture and her retirement years on Saturna. All Annie’s stories were fascinating, but I found myself growing increasingly impatient to discover the missing pieces.

      As usual, Annie was in her garden. She was a tiny woman, trim and amazingly agile for her age. She reminded me of a hummingbird, flitting randomly from one blossom to the next. When she heard the gate creak on its hinges, she looked up and smiled, dragging the back of a gloved hand across her forehead. Her cheeks were flushed. She looked tired. But her voice crackled with energy.

      “It’s going to be a hot one, Sharon,” she said, squinting at the sun.

      “Yes, thank goodness,” I agreed. “There can’t be too many more hot ones left. The summer is nearly over.”

      Annie smiled again – a distant smile, and sighed. “You’re right. It’s almost over.” And then, “It was just about this time of year when I met Joe.”

      I was shocked into silence. Who was Joe?

      Annie was standing on the threshold of a story, and I silently prayed she’d share it with me. But it was unlikely. Annie never steamrolled into a story. She had to be coaxed, cajoled, primed with chit-chat about the weather, my writing, her garden. Only then – and still it was only a maybe – Annie might open one of her memory doors a crack and let me peek inside.

      For what seemed a very long time, she stared at me.

      Then finally she looked away. Actually, she never moved, not even her head. She simply stopped staring at me. One second she was looking at me, and the next she was looking past me, so intently that I was sure someone or something had come into the garden behind me. Then she began to speak, and I realized she was looking at a memory.

      “Summer’s end is different on the Prairies, you know,” she said. “Here it’s like a feather fluttering to the ground. The heat leaks out of the days, and the blue sky gives way to grey, but there’s no struggle.” She shrugged and then hugged herself fiercely. “Not so on the Prairies. There August digs in its heels, and the days cling golden to every tree, every blade of grass – even the air itself.”

She paused, and her eyes sparkled.

      “That’s what it was like the day I first set eyes on Joe. It was one of those hot, dry, amber days. I remember it yet.

      “It was the first day of harvest. Even with six sons, my father always took on extra hands at harvest time, and the bulk of them had dribbled in the day before. They’re a strange breed – migratory workers. Mostly quiet. They keep to themselves. They don’t even talk to each other much. But they know how to work.” Annie chuckled. “And they sure know how to eat.

      “So harvest was as big a job for my mother as it was for my father – because she had to feed everyone. If you expected a full day’s work from a man, you had to feed him proper, Papa would say. That meant three huge meals a day. The men had breakfast and supper at the house, of course, but the noon meal was taken to a rest station in the fields. Mama had lots of help, but that didn’t matter. She still ran the show herself. And she made sure I did my share too. Papa’s princess or not, I lived on a farm, and that meant I had to work like everyone else.

      “Anyway – like I told you – it was the first day, and we were more or less ready. The cook wagon was still churning out inviting aromas, but the bulk of the food was on the long tables – mountains of potatoes, sliced beef, vegetables, and bread heaped in one enamel roasting pan after another. Milk urns brimming with steaming black coffee were staggered between the tables.

      “The only thing missing was the men. I remember gazing toward the fields, worrying that the food would get cold. I guess I should have known better than to doubt Mama’s timing, because there they were, rising out of the sea of wheat, as golden as the grain itself. They were spread out in a thread across the horizon, tawny silhouettes distorted by the heat so that they fluttered like paper men in the sweet chaff dust haze.

      “‘For goodness’ sake, Annie, stop gawking.’ It was my mother. ‘There’s work to be done. We’re going to need more bread cut. Much more. Well, don’t just stand there, girl. Move!’

      “I didn’t need to be told twice.

      “I spent the entire meal dashing between the cook wagon and the tables, refilling empty platters and drained cups. I didn’t know where all that food was going, but it was disappearing faster than we could set it out. And then, suddenly dinner was over – almost like someone had flipped a switch – and the men stood up and headed back to the fields.

      “I was on my way to the tables with another platter of food as they started to leave, so – naturally, I got stuck right in the middle. I hopped to my left to keep from being trampled by one worker, only to step smack-dab in front of another one. Well, I’m not very big, and it wouldn’t take much to knock me off my feet at the best of times. Juggling a plate of potatoes, I had no chance.”

Annie’s eyes sparkled again, and for a split second I saw the girl she must have been.

      “He caught you, didn’t he?” I grinned.

      Annie smiled and nodded. “Ah, yes. He caught me all right. Mind you, the potatoes didn’t fare quite so well.”

      We both laughed.

      “Did you see him again after that?” I asked, though I was fairly certain of the answer.

      Annie’s Mona Lisa smile told me everything and nothing, and I wondered how much of her secret she intended to share. Then her eyes glittered with mischief. “Let’s just say that during the rest of harvest, my mother couldn’t have asked for a more willing serving maid.

      “Every mealtime, a swarm of bees would begin buzzing in my stomach even before the men showed up for their food. Oh, I acted like I was caught up in my work, but no matter what I was doing I always managed to keep one eye on Joe. And he knew it too – cheeky devil. He’d look up from his plate, straight at me, laughing with those blue eyes of his – and then he’d wink! Of course, I’d get all flustered and look away, usually spilling something or bumping someone in the process. But the next thing I knew, my eyes would be right back on him. If my mother had known what I was up to, she would have skinned me alive.”

      Annie allowed herself another chortle before continuing.

      “At the end of every harvest, before the workers collected their pay and moved on, there would be a dance. I always looked forward to those harvest dances, even when I was a little girl. I guess it was because they were such a change from the usual nose-to-the-grindstone life of the farm – my parents and our neighbors, their children, and all the hired help stomping the floor boards of the old barn, and laughing and carrying on like you wouldn’t believe. I’m sure Mama’s cider had as much to do with that as anything. But back then, all I knew was that there was an electricity in the air that made my whole body tingle.

      “After supper, we’d sweep the loft and set out plates of sandwiches, cakes and cookies on bales of hay. Mama would fill a huge tub with lemonade and haul out bottomless urns of strong, hot coffee. The music arrived with the guests. Mr. Hawes would bring his fiddle, and Charlie Dobbs his concertina. I loved that little concertina, decorated with hand-painted blue flowers and iridescent abalone shell – very exotic – at least that’s what I thought at the time. Of course, there was always someone with a guitar, and as the evening wore on, Papa could usually be coaxed into playing the spoons.

      “Those were wonderful dances.” Annie sighed. “But that last time was the best of all.”

She stopped speaking and gazed off into the distance, and I wondered if the story was over. Surely she wasn’t going to leave me hanging. Then, as if reading my thoughts, Annie cocked her head and studied my face. I began to squirm inside my skin, but outwardly I remained perfectly still. I don’t think I even drew breath. This was some sort of test – I was sure – and I wanted to pass it.

      “Do something for me, dear?” she finally said, and I began to breathe again.

      “Certainly, Annie. What would you like?”

      “Something from the house – something in my bedroom closet.”

      I nodded and rose from the bench I’d been sitting on. I was a bit surprised by Annie’s request, since I’d never been in her house before.

      “There’s just the one bedroom,” Annie said, “so it shouldn’t be too hard to find. On the top shelf of the closet – quite far to the back, I think – you’ll see an old brown box wrapped ’round with elastic. Bring it to me.”

      I found the box straight away – at least what was left of it – and resisting the temptation to peek inside or snoop at the photographs and trinkets scattered throughout the house, I returned promptly to the garden. But Annie wasn’t where I’d left her. In fact, I couldn’t see her anywhere.

      “Over here, Sharon.”

      Peering around, I spotted an Adirondak chair deep in the shadows of a giant willow. Submerged in its depths, looking for all the world like an ancient gnome, sat Annie. I ducked under the swaying yellow fronds to join her. Instantly, the heat of the morning vanished, and goose flesh erupted on my arms. I shivered and inhaled the sweet, fresh scent of damp earth and moss.

      “It’s a whole different world under here,” I said, handing Annie the dilapidated box, and easing myself onto the ground.

      She didn’t acknowledge me. With her eyes fixed on the box, Annie resumed her story.

      “I was seventeen years old that harvest dance – a woman! – and I was determined to let everybody know it – especially Joe. It took me all afternoon to get ready. I must have tried on every dress in my closet – twice! Finally I settled on one I’d never worn before – a pretty royal blue frock with a circular skirt that swirled when I walked. It was cinched in at the waist with a rolled red belt, and the fitted bodice was topped with a white collar scalloped in lace and embroidered with tiny red roses.” Annie sighed wistfully. “It was lovely.”

      “How did you wear your hair?”

      Annie leaned forward and laid a cool hand on mine. “Funny you should ask,” she grinned, and suddenly I felt like a school girl, exchanging secrets with a friend. “I must have played with my hair for hours – pulled it back, braided it, curled it – I tried everything. Finally I decided to wear it up. That showed off my dress, and it made me look sophisticated. I needed combs to hold it in place though, and everything I had seemed wrong. But my mother had a set of beautiful gold combs I knew would be perfect. I also knew she would never let me use them, so – ” Annie put her hands to her cheeks and shook her head. “I really was a shameless girl. I sneaked into her jewel box and – borrowed them.”

      I laughed, and Annie shrugged sheepishly.

      Then her face took on a blissful glow. “I looked divine, even if I do say so myself. The dress, my hair, my mother’s combs – all gorgeous.” She paused, then patted the box in her lap. “And these were the finishing touch.”

      As Annie slipped off the elastic and removed the lid, I craned my neck to see what was inside. Whatever it was, was buried beneath a layer of crinkled, yellow tissue, and Annie made no move to push it aside. Instead, she continued with her story.

      “Earlier that summer, I had gone into Regina with my father. At seventeen, I was bored silly with farm life, and I was sure that everything interesting must be somewhere else. So when Papa said he was going into the city, I begged to go along. As I’ve said before, Papa didn’t often tell me, no.” Annie grinned, then tilted her head thoughtfully.

      “You know, I’m not sure Papa got around to any of his business that trip. I don’t see how he could have, what with the way I kept him running after me. Without my mother to keep me in line, I led him on a merry chase. Poor, poor Papa. I can just imagine what Mama must have said to him when we got home – especially for buying me these.”

      The tissue rustled as Annie pulled it back and reached into the box.

      “Oh, Annie!” I exclaimed. “They’re beautiful! Exactly like the ruby slippers in The Wizard of Oz.”   

      And they truly were – shiny red patent pumps with gold braid bows. In my mind, I could see Dorothy clicking her heels together, wishing herself back to Kansas.

      I glanced up at Annie, but I couldn’t read her face. It wasn’t that it was closed. Quite the contrary – it mirrored a plethora of emotions that she seemed unable to control. I sat quietly until she had dealt with them.

      “I wore these to the dance,” she said at last. “Mama saw me the second I walked in. I still don’t know if her raised eyebrow was for the combs in my hair or for the shoes. But I didn’t spend much time worrying about it. I had other things on my mind.”

      “Joe?”

      Annie smiled at me.

      “Joe,” she nodded. “I stayed away from the dance until I was sure everyone would be there. I wanted to make a grand entrance, you see.” She chuckled. “Judging from Mama’s reaction, I think I succeeded.” Her smile faded. “But Joe wasn’t there. I was crushed. The idea that he wouldn’t attend had never crossed my mind.”

      I could feel Annie’s disappointment. “What did you do?”

      “At first I kept looking around, hoping he was in a corner somewhere. But I was quite an expert at picking Joe out of a crowd by this time, and there wasn’t much chance that I’d missed him.. He wasn’t there. So I did what any self-respecting, seventeen year old at a barn dance would do. I picked my heart up off the floor and pretended I was having a wonderful time. In fact, I don’t think I sat out a single dance.”

      Annie stared at the shoe in her hand for a time and then started to speak again. “I spent most of the evening with Billy Cassleman. I didn’t particularly care for his company – he had bad acne and giggled like a girl – but he was a good dancer, so – ” Annie lifted her hands and then let them fall again. “Anyway, it was a waltz, and Billy was leading me around the floor – trying to hold me closer than I wanted to be held, as I recall – when there was a tap on his shoulder, and he stopped dancing.

      “So I looked up, smack dab into laughing blue eyes about six inches from my nose. It gave me such a jolt my knees buckled. I would have dropped to the floor like a sack of corn if Billy hadn’t been holding me up.

      “’May I cut in,’ Joe said, and the next thing I knew, I was gliding around the floor in his arms, and Billy Cassleman was scratching his head, wondering what had happened.”

      I grinned and squeezed Annie’s knee.

      She smiled back and sighed. “I felt like Cinderella at the ball. We danced and danced, and danced some more, and when the music was finally over, we stole out behind the barn and swayed to our own music under the stars.”

      “Oh, Annie, that’s so romantic.”

      “Yes,” she agreed, “it was. Eventually, of course, my mother realized I was missing, and began bellowing my name like a contestant at a hog-calling competition. ‘Aaa-neeeee!’”

      I chuckled. Annie smiled.

      “I was afraid she’d come looking for me, so I started to leave. But Joe held me fast and kept dancing. ‘Just one more minute, Annie,’ he whispered in my ear, ‘and then I’ll waltz you home.’”

      “Oh, Annie,” I said again. “This is like a fairy tale. Did you ever see Joe after that?”

      Annie nodded. “That was just the beginning for Joe and me. Instead of moving on with the other harvesters, he found work in a nearby town, and we met whenever we could – on the sly, of course, because my parents didn’t approve. At first it was just potluck suppers, bake sales, bizarres, and the like. Then we got braver, sneaking away on walks and picnics, and then sitting together at church. I had hoped my parents would get used to the idea. But they didn’t. Instead, they told me I could never see Joe again. But it was too late. We were in love. Joe came out to the farm and tried to reason with Papa, but it didn’t do any good. When my father threw him out, I left too.” Annie paused and then added, “That was the last time I ever saw my family.”

      We sat quietly for several minutes, each of us caught up in our thoughts.

      Finally I asked, “Did you marry Joe?”

      My question seemed to amuse Annie. “Living together wasn’t respectable in those days,” she said. “Yes, we got married, and we stayed that way for thirty years.” Her eyes narrowed and she wagged a finger at me. “Don’t ever let anybody tell you there’s no such thing as love at first sight, because I’m living proof that there is.”

      I smiled and then sobered again. There was something I had to ask. “What happened to Joe?”

Annie had been leaning forward in her chair, but now she sat back. She looked very tired. “Cancer,” she said. “You know, Joe’s been gone longer than we were married, but when I think of him and all the times he waltzed me home, I can feel his arms around me as surely as if he was holding me this very second.”

      After a while, I left Annie in the shade of the willow with her memories, and wandered back down the hill.

      The next day was hotter than ever, and I couldn’t bring myself to make the climb to Annie’s house. But the following morning was considerably cooler, so I headed out right after breakfast.

      A middle-aged woman in a purple jogging suit peered at me from across the road as I puffed up the final few meters of the hill.

      “Good morning,” I panted and smiled, reaching for the latch on the gate.

      “She’s not there,” the woman announced curtly. “She’s dead.”

      I felt as if I’d just received a sledge hammer to the chest.

      “P-pardon me,” I stuttered stupidly. I had heard her, but the words weren’t registering – perhaps because I didn’t want them to be true.

      “The old lady who lives there – she’s dead. Sometime last night, I think. I’m not sure though.”

Irrational anger sprang up inside me, and I wanted to dash across the road and choke the woman until her face matched her jogging suit. All Annie was to her was gossip, and she couldn’t wait to spread the news.

      “Are you sure?” I snapped.

      Surprised, the woman pulled back. “Sure, I’m sure. It was my husband who found her. He left to go fishing first thing this morning, and there she was, lying in the middle of the road.”

      “What?” I stumbled against the fence. I had assumed Annie must have died in her sleep or in her garden. “What was she doing on the road?”

      “Now, how would I know that?” The woman seemed agitated by my failure to grasp the situation. “All I know is that Gordie – that’s my husband – found her on the road.”

      “Had she been hit by a car?”

      The woman shook her head. “The doctor said it was probably a heart attack. She must’ve gone out for a walk and – ” she snapped her fingers, “ – that was it. Mind you, I can’t figure where she’d have been going, way out here in the middle of the night, especially dressed like she was.”

      “What do you mean?” I asked. “How was she dressed?”

      “Well, according to Gordie, she was spiffed up like she was on her way to a party or something.        Fancy dress and her hair all curled up on her head. And you wouldn’t believe what she had on her feet. What an old wo …”

      I didn’t hear anymore. A gentle breeze had arisen, setting the wind chimes in Annie’s garden tinkling – sweet and melodic – and as I gave myself up to their music, a feeling of peace descended upon me.

      I gazed down the road and smiled.

 

 

THE END