the girls

Each morning as my gaze looks onto the yard, I’m reminded of the perennials that were planted the year we moved here. My elderly neighbor next door had what looked to be a maintenance free property, tucked in with wild roses, lilac and Heritage mock orange. Brushed up against the white clapboard were hundreds of wild fern. In summer, people often stopped their cars along the street to admire their effect on the ambience and history before them.

Taking an old box from the garage, Bill gifted me a dozen fern to plant in our own yard with a knowing smile that all would be well. In truthfulness, the ferns, the lilac and the mock orange have outlived my neighbor, who if not for him – there would be no ___we.

The day we took possession and no sooner had our key slid in the lock specific, simple treasures were found in cupboards, on the floor of closets, in the attic and even the garage. Barbara’s father worked for Canada Cottons, so ours was a Cotton Mill house. On some blueprint, perhaps at the Cornwall Community Museum was the President’s house, right on the corner where the Panoramic Condos sit.

I’ve heard tales of a 4 storey cinderblock home of the warmest yellow. Resting where the parking garage sits: a community plot loaded with people tending the fruit trees and vegetable garden. Recognizable by the wrought iron black railings, the Mill Houses ran up the street to the corner of First. The big house belonged to the President, and then came Barbara’s father Victor Bruneau who was the Vice President and so on, right up the street.

Moving in on Christmas Eve in 1954, the Bruneau’s paid $13,000 for the luxury of 4 bedrooms, two baths, a fireplace and a rather huge yard. In the closet that day in June, was a sold crystal paperweight for pens. It sat on my table for years as a pen cup until we learned its true use; for setting flower arrangements within a vase.
In the attic was Victor’s personal diary from the Mill, typed in bold black letters. From its contents, I would imagine him to be an overbearing taskmaster in the way he bullied his employees;, especially the women soon to be married or the drinkers – back from late nights out. I wondered how treatment like that, would fly in today’s workforce.

Of the tiniest treasures: a collection of toy soldiers tucked into cupboards, cabinets and heating vents. Lurking with guns raised, their paint chipped uniforms of cherry-red seemed to wave at us, their hello. We wonder if somewhere out there – the boy would remember, as we remembered him.

On the hottest day, the garage was cleaned out. A testament to its builder was a completely sound structure with poured cement floor and drainage pipes. A unit that could possibly survive a war and did- held within its arms, a solid granite 12 inch spire with a broken tip, resting in the back corner for god-knows how many years.
Weighing nearly 35 pounds, the stone was set upon the lawn, hosed down and cleaned up. As the letters dried, it became obvious- to be a headstone. On each side were the names, Lily, Eliza, Joy and Anna – but no last names which reasoned to being part of a larger structure or base. Below each name were the months and days of their lives. As the granite sparkled against the sunlight, I thought of who they could have been. Of sickness or malady, what became of their parents so long ago?

Placed against the outside of the garage, I pondered the logical thing to do? I asked Bill next door, who into his 8th decade had no inkling or suggestion but something would not allow me to place the stone back in the garage. Finding a cornered spot at the edge of the black walnut, we lugged the stone and set it down where it has rested these 16 years.

Surrounded by crocus, spring lilac, bleeding hearts and an overflowing bird feeder, the seasons have rounded out and blessed the yard. As simply as Bill’s garden healed me, I imagined what the girls thought of being out in the fresh air on their first day of open sky and although we’ll never know the answer, I hear them sometimes when the moon is full, and we are all tucked in for bed.