The Sister's Tale by Beth Powning (e reader for manga .txt) 📕

“Come,” she urged. “I’ll show you the way.”

—

Flora found a mason and a carpenter who were willing to transform Mr. Dougan’s tack room (as they called it, now, never Mr. Tuck’s workshop) for a steady supply of bread, eggs, preserves, socks, and pickles.

Work began in November, just as the first snowflakes wavered into view.

Ellen and Flora made forays to the attic. They brought down chairs in need of scrubbing, paint or upholstery; found abandoned paintings, moth-eaten blankets, a frayed braided rug. After supper, in the early darkness, they stitched or scrubbed or painted. They carried the finished articles to the back shed and covered them with sheets—surveyed the growing pile, pleased.

“Now if only Mr. Dougan were here to see this.”

Miss Harvey and Mr. Sprague announced their engagement, but stated their intention to wait a year before marriage.

Josephine was invited to join a newly formed reading club. Members took turns choosing a program of readings and invited other members to stand at the front of the room and read aloud their given selections. The club rotated from month to month, house to house. Dress was formal—black tie, gowns. Husband and wife were not allowed to sit next to one another, and seating rotated after each segment of the evening.

“Harland and Permelia Fairweather are members,” Josephine told them, over supper.

“Are you going to join, Mother?”

“It means I will have to host, you know. We will have to serve wine and spirits and use my marriage tea set and polish the silver.”

Her voice quivered, very slightly, and she picked a thread from her sleeve, not meeting anyone’s eye.

—

December 4, 1889

Dear Mother,

And Maudie, Flora, Enid and Ellen, for I know Mother reads my letters aloud! I have been continuing my studies of Blackstone’s Commentaries and I have conceived the desire to become a lawyer. How I will do this I do not know for my wages are barely enough to pay for food and you should see how thin I have become but never fear, I am filled with the energy of conviction! The petition has now been circulated over the entire province and Carrie and I continue to travel on Sundays to speak about it. We will bring a copy to you with the latest wording. It states: “Your petitioners therefore humbly pray your honourable body to enact a law providing that full parliamentary suffrage be conferred on the women of New Brunswick, upon the same terms and under the same conditions as that now accorded to men…” Isn’t it fine!? I am SO EXCITED. There are a few men in the legislature who we are quite certain will support the petition. One of them recently stated that a law that debars one-half of society from the franchise is “unjust”; another man said it was his “fixed principle” that women should have equal rights with men in “every walk of life.” Mother, I’m sure that when a few men have the courage to state such things, they are speaking for other men less bold. It is a sign of the times, I’m sure of it.

As for my work, it continues to be hot and difficult. I have been having dizzy spells from not eating enough. I fell the other day and have a bruise on my temple. I don’t know how I could keep going at this if it were not for my dreams of how I might organize the other women. I am not doing this, yet. I don’t know how I could do it without being fired. I am always a little set apart from myself, as if I’m hovering overhead and seeing this slave labour for what it is. Don’t worry, Mother. I realize I will not last long here. I will either become too weak to work or will have to admit that I can’t exist on such wages. Although other women do! Thus, so should I. I will try, since what I will do next I do not know.

Josephine’s hand gripped her mouth. She drew a long breath, shaking her head.

Come home, my darling, she thought. You can always come home.

I know that my life will change once we receive the franchise. I feel that I will be the happiest I have ever been on that glorious day and that I will be freed of the weight of injustice.

My hand tires, as does the wick of my lamp, so I will send you all my love.

Your,

Lucy

—

Editorials appeared in the papers citing police incompetence and the rush to convict in the case of the man hanged for the crime of murdering Mrs. Elsa Cavanaugh. In parlours, barbershops and railway carriages all across Canada, Mr. Jasper Tuck was indicted.

Jasper Tuck vanished.

Flora told Enid a story to put her mind at rest. “This is what I think happened, Enid. He was walking in the dark and he saw a carriage coming along the road. He bolted into the woods, to hide, and there he…”

They sat in their flannel nightgowns, hair in braids, feet in socks. Flora lifted her hands, shaping the story, and shadows rose and fell on the wallpaper.

“…tumbled down a steep hillside that he couldn’t see. He broke his leg. He…”

“…tried to crawl…”

“…and then he lay back, played out, and just then…”

“…a pack of wolves.”

They listened to the spatter of icy snow on the window, the fluting moan of wind.

“Most likely he was too far from a farmhouse and he starved to death,” Flora said. “His body is being covered with snow right now. In the spring someone will find his skeleton with nothing but boots and a belt.”

—

Josephine warned George as soon as he arrived.

“The boarders have finished their own Christmas dinner. We’re just resetting the table.” Her voice was slightly breathless. She held his hat as he shrugged from his wool coat. “Today, we are using the dining room.”

“Don’t you alw—”

Lucy and Maud ran into the hall. They patted George on the back.

“Merry Christmas, George!”

They