The Dead Don't Get Out Much. Mary Jane Maffini
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her then.”
Alvin plunged right through the juniper. “We can't wait that long. Let's go.”
Easier said than done. As we pushed our way through the crowds and down the stairs, things got worse. People were lined ten deep around the edge of the street. I couldn't even see where the vets were.
Alvin zigged and zagged through the mass of milling people, using his elbows as weapons. “Get the lead out, Camilla.”
“For heaven's sake,” I puffed, “if you don't stop stressing yourself out, you'll need an ambulance.”
Most likely a lot of fuss about nothing, I told myself as I plunged through the crowd after him.
* * *
“Keep a cool head, Alvin. We don't want to ruin her moment,” I said half an hour later when we'd finally managed to cross Wellington Street and push our way into the green-roofed Chateau Laurier. The hotel was holding a luncheon for hundreds of vets, and the marble hallways were jammed. Excitement ran high. We shouldered our way through the sentimental crowd, everyone wanting to shake the hands of a vet and express their thanks.
Alvin paid no attention to me. He was still cheesed off that I hadn't leaped over the barricades to connect to the marchers. He craned his scrawny neck, ponytail flicking in anxiety, heading for the ballroom where the lunch was being held. A few people attempted to stop him. That was a mistake on their part. I spotted Mrs. P. outside the ballroom. I felt a flood of relief.
“There she is. Look. Now will you relax, Alvin?” I said, nudging a couple of people out of the way and pushing ahead of him.
Mrs. P. sat by herself, in her CWAC uniform, her cap in her hand. Maybe she was still recovering from the march, or maybe she needed a Benson & Hedges. Plus Bristol Cream might not have been on the lunch menu.
“Mrs. Parnell,” I called, galloping toward her.
She looked up blankly.
“Mrs. P.?”
She said nothing, staring beyond me.
I whirled to see who she was looking at. There was nothing but a blank wall behind me. I said, “It's Camilla.”
She blinked and shook her head. Her hair hung loose and straggly. Deep purple shadows ringed her eyes. Her skin was as grey and mottled as the marble floor.
I felt my heart begin to thud. Alvin was right. Where was the perky and upbeat Mrs. Parnell I'd expected? “Has something happened?”
Alvin pushed in like a leather-clad tornado. He screeched to a stop in front of her. “What's wrong, Violet?”
Mrs. Parnell seemed not to notice him, quite an achievement considering he was now on his leather knees.
I bent over and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Something wrong, Mrs. P.?”
Alvin blurted, “Violet, what's going on?”
She shook her head and blinked. “I'm terribly troubled by a dead man.”
“What?” I said.
“Whoa,” Alvin said. “How long has he been dead?”
“Too long.”
“That's amazing,” Alvin said.
Something flickered in Mrs. Parnell's eyes. “Precisely. You can imagine how it took me by surprise.”
Alvin's mouth hung open. Not a good look for him.
I said, “Obviously, something's upset you, but I think you must be mistaken. Easy to make a mistake in a crowd like this.”
“There's no mistake, Ms. MacPhee.”
“This is crazy,” I turned and whispered to Alvin.
“Like I wouldn't figure that out for myself?”
Mrs. P. scowled. “There's nothing wrong with my hearing. And, in this case, I would far prefer to be crazy than right.”
I was formulating a sensible response when Mrs. Parnell gasped. The gasp became a strangled gurgle. Her hands gripped her chest. As Alvin and I stood frozen, her eyes rolled back and she slid from her chair into a heap on the marble floor.
412 Dunbarton Street
Toronto, Ontario
October 6, 1941
Dear Violet,
I do hope you are able to receive letters. You are so far away, and you have chosen to take such risks. I know you are afraid of nothing, but I wonder if you have gone too far this time. The war is no place for a woman, and I think you should know that. It is bad enough that Perce has signed up and gone overseas. Now I have to worry about you as well as my brother. There is no one much to associate with in Chesterton, since Hazel is the only person from our crowd still around. She is sillier and more scatterbrained than ever. All she can think about is hats. I suppose she daydreams about men too. Mother says that's the one good thing about Perce going overseas. At least we don't have to worry about her, if you can read between the lines.
So many girls from Chesterton have married boys they hardly know, it is a scandal. These boys have signed up and shipped out, and now the girls are working in factories. Can you imagine that? What is the world coming to? I took your advice and decided not to postpone Normal School. I will be finished my education and back home in no time. Even so, I hated to leave Mother, as she is on her own, with just the maid, especially since it is so hard to get good help these days. She misses Perce terribly. How could the government take a man who is the emotional support of an ailing widow? That is truly appalling. Of course, Perce is so patriotic, he insisted on doing his duty. It is such a shame for a capable and ambitious boy like Perce (and Harry too, of course) to have to put his life on hold. As you like to say, we must all be brave. I remind myself that Perce has a lucky streak, although I realize that is just silly and superstitious.
I am beginning to settle in at the school. I have a nice furnished room with a very respectable family. Toronto is so large compared to sleepy little Chesterton. Some of the other girls are much too frivolous to spend time with. I cannot imagine how they think they'll make competent teachers. However, one or two seem quite solid. Time will tell if they will be worthy friends, as you have always been, Violet.
Yours truly,
Betty
Two
Lucky for us, there was no shortage of medical help at this particular gathering. Mrs. Parnell opened her eyes as the first paramedic approached. In a pre-emptive strike, she said, “There's nothing whatsoever wrong with me.”
“We'll just confirm that, ma'am,” the paramedic said briskly.
“I'll be the judge of how I am, young man.”
I was relieved to catch a glimpse of Mrs. P. in her normal mode, but I sided with the paramedic.
“You have to be seen by a doctor, just to be on the safe side. It shouldn't take long. Alvin and I will come along for the ride.”
“Ms. MacPhee, I do not need to see a doctor. The world will not stop because of a moment's lightheadedness and a bit of indigestion. I have things to do.” She turned to the paramedic. “That will be all, young man. I'll be on my way now.”
“You fainted, Violet,” Alvin said. “You can't just walk away.”
“Watch me,” she said.
By this time, we were ringed by observers, veterans and visitors alike. A hum of comment surrounded us.
“But…” Alvin said.
Mrs. P. struggled to her feet. “I'm leaving now. You two can decide whose side you're on.”
“What?” I said, not for the first or last time that day.
“We're on your side, Violet,” Alvin squeaked. He looked truly,