“He isn’t like anyone I’ve ever known,” she said to Ethel. “He’s had lots of different jobs and his stories are interesting.”
“What sort of stories?”
“He saved a man’s life once by breaking up a fight and he’s seen waves on Lake Erie as tall as the Bank of Hamilton Building. Have you ever been to Hamilton?”
“No, the farthest I’ve been is Stratford,” she replied wistfully. Mary had been there too but never said a thing. “Anyone can make up stories. How do you know they’re true?” she asked suspiciously.
“I don’t,” Mary shrugged, “but there’s something about him … something different. You act like you’re my big sister.”
“I am three years older. Just be careful, I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
Mary started seeing Jim more often. They took evening strolls along Light Street, walks in the park, or wandered down Dundas. Mary loved going downtown at night when possible, usually a couple of nights a week when Mrs. Heppleton didn’t need her. People hurried down the street to the Market Square while horses, tied to steel-wrapped wooden hydro poles, waited patiently in front of the Opera House (now Capitol Theatre). The new electric streetlights cast a warm, romantic glow on the young couple walking hand in hand, occasionally stopping to glance in a shop window.
If Mary admired a pair of wool gloves or a scarf, Jim would insist on buying them. She knew that she shouldn’t accept gifts, but store-bought things were so beautiful and sometimes the temptation was too great to resist. Her petal-pink cashmere scarf was one of those gifts. Each time she wore it, she remembered the night that Jim had bought it. He’d wrapped it around her neck, then turned to the salesclerk and said, “Don’t bother putting it in a box, my favourite girl will wear it home.”
Sometimes they sat in Harvey Pendleton’s restaurant sipping cold sodas or they headed to Long & Co. for a homemade ice-cream cone. Occasionally, Jim would take her to the theatre. The shows lasted about an hour and cost five cents, the price of a cigar. On Saturday nights, weather permitting, a travelling salesman set up his stall in the northwest corner of the town hall square.
“Let’s head over to the square and see if doc’s out tonight,” Jim would say, grabbing her hand.
Woodstock was fortunate in having a Pitchman in permanent residence who saved many from an early grave. He was a little man with a scraggly beard and wore square lenses in his spectacles. Dr. Kinsella, better known as “doc,” would stand on a soap box and expound the wonders of his products. The Doc was of Irish extraction and was possessed with a knack of delivering an endless spiel of Irish wit, while educating the crowd on the wonders of Dr. Kinsella’s Elixir of Life Compound and Dr. Kinsella’s Corn Cure.[3]
It didn’t take long before Doc would be well into his “platform of promises” as if he was a messenger sent from God. With his hands outstretched, he claimed that his elixir of life compound, a concoction of herbs that tasted like root beer, could cure anything if taken regularly. (Doc had a ready audience until a law, passed five years later, prevented him from selling “his wares” on the street.) If the weather was bad and he didn’t show up, Mary and Jim could always count on a show over at the Perry Street fire hall. The bell rang at 9:00 p.m. sharp, the horses came out of their stalls, raced around the premises, backed themselves into their places, and waited to be harnessed by the firemen who slid down the pole. Any other time the tower bell in the fire hall rang, it signified fires, curfews, or lost children.
Occasionally they went to Fairmont Park for a picnic. Mary would buy nippy old cheese, an apple, a pear, and even splurge on white-flour buns at Poole & Co., a family-run grocery store. Jim would meet her at the corner of Dundas and Vansittart, take the picnic basket from her, and they’d grab a ride on Estelle, the streetcar.
The youth of the day considered the trip down Dundas St. hill a source of entertainment as it was always a question, “Would Estelle make the curve?” Just in case she would make the curve at Mill and Dundas some brave young buck would run up behind the car and pull the trolley off the overhead line and leave Estelle at the mercy of the foot brakes, which required sand to help stop her progress. As a result she quite frequently left the rail. There was always the problem of climbing the hill on the return trip. On different occasions passengers had been asked to disembark and walk up the hill in order for Estelle to make the grade.[4]
On their first trip out of town Jim pointed out his boarding house and the Canadian Furniture Manufacturing Company, the factory where he worked. It took up twenty-five acres along the river. After the streetcar crossed the tracks, it turned on to Park Row, heading for Ingersoll Road and finally Fairmont Park. Estelle went as far as Ingersoll, stopping en route at Beachville, but most folks got off at the park. Band concerts and weekly dances were held in the pavilion built in a grove of trees and a small theatrical stock company put on three performances a week in July and August.
The more time Mary spent with Jim, the less she saw of Ethel. One afternoon the girls decided to meet downtown for a soda. Ethel started in with her usual concerns. “What do you really know about him? Does he ever talk about his family?”
“I know his birthday is March 18th and he’s twenty-one. He’s from Bright, which is near Innerkip where I was sent to …” she stopped, remembering that she’d never told Ethel about being a home child and working as a servant, “where I lived as a child.”
“That’s it, that’s all you know about him.”
“He said he’d had a sister named Minnie and some cousins that live in Hamilton.”
“What happened to his sister?”
“He pushed her down the well one day after they’d had a little disagreement,” she said sarcastically. The look on Ethel’s face made Mary feel badly. “She died from acute appendicitis last year just before Christmas. Jim had already left home and was living in a boarding house on Dundas Street. He’s still there.”
“You’ve been to his room?” she asked, in shock.
“Of course not. All I did was walk past,” she replied innocently.
Ethel laughed. “So what else do you know about the man who’s stolen your heart?”
Mary’s face was flushed as she continued to defend Jim. “He use to work for Bain Wagon Company and now he’s at the Canada Furniture Manufacturing Company over by the river.”
“That’s Mill Race Creek you’re talking about. What’s he do?”
“He’s a trucker, whatever that means.”
“It means he moves furniture around.”
“He said it was temporary until he finds work painting,” Mary let out a big sigh. She had no intention of telling her friend about his dream to have his own decorating business someday or that some of his money had been won playing cards.
“He hasn’t said much about himself,” Ethel persisted.
“I think he’s a private person and I’m not going to pry. He doesn’t ask me personal questions either.”
“You mean he doesn’t know that your parents died from typhoid fever,” she paused. “And you and your brothers and sisters were sent to live with different relatives.”
Mary shrugged. “Of course he knows. I told him what I told you.” She didn’t like making things up, but justified it if it meant hiding the fact that she’d been a home child. What harm could come from pretending to be related to the Jacques instead of being their domestic servant? At least her last comment to Ethel was the truth. She had told Jim exactly what she’d told her. “Why can’t you just be happy for me?”
“I am, but I can’t help but worry a little.”
Mary could not remember a time when she’d been happier. As May turned into June and the cherry blossom trees came out in full, she fell