—1997—

 

The maple keys spin to the earth like tiny helicopters in the April wind. Crocus and daffodils are all but finished, and in their place, the buds of cherry and lilac trees are ready to burst forth. The magnolias are almost in full bloom and the scent of the recent rain and spring blossoms fills one’s nostrils.

Soon the bleeding heart will be in flower. It has always been one of my favourites, and it remains that way. Aunt Edie showed me the magical parts of this blossom as she did my children, many years later. As one separates the bloom pairs of rabbits, earrings, slippers, and the single bottle of champagne in the centre. Oh, those were wonderful memories.

From her chair, lost in thought, my mother gazes outside the window and identifies the birds on my sister’s feeder. Then, as if probed by an insistence to speak, her words tumbled and I was enwrapped in her memories.

 

 

It was 1915. I must have been about seven and as I skipped down the street, it still glistened with the morning rain. The house in which I now lived belonged to my paternal grandparents and was shared with my three maiden aunts. 

As the house came into my mind’s eye from pictures I had seen, she continued.  

Twenty-seven Saulter Street, a humble street, running south from Queen Street and ending one block later, where it abutted the railway yard.

Our house was a six-room cottage with three bedrooms on the second floor. I shared one of those rooms with Edith, my favourite and the eldest of the three aunts. My grandparents had the smallest room at  the back of the house. The two other aunts, Emma and Helen, or Nell as she was called, shared the largest. The house is long gone. Expropriated by the railroad. 

Your Aunt Edie was a dressmaker by trade and therefore in charge of the wardrobes for the women in the family. She was affectionate and likely the most motherly figure I could have envisioned. Her vocation meant the ladies of this modest household were always well-dressed. She used her talent making dresses for her family in what little spare time she had. 

As I skipped up the front walkway to the entrance of the house, I slipped on a wet paving stone, causing me to skin my knee on the step leading to the large wrap-around balcony. It stung, and I wanted to cry, but I held back because I knew Edie was not there to comfort me. It would be my grandmother I would encounter, so I must be brave. Gran did not like whiny children. 

As I entered the front door into the vestibule, I passed an oak hall tree, commonplace in Victorian front entrances. A place for setting wet umbrellas, coats, and hats. It had a central mirror convenient for checking one’s appearance before leaving or entering the house. As I passed, I paused, looked at myself in the glass and staged a face that I hoped would get me some sympathy when I encountered my grandmother. 

Before I stopped gazing, Gran called out to me. “Lilly. Stop looking at yourself in that glass. The Lord does not look favourably upon vanity.” 

I entered the inner hall. Straight ahead was the staircase, which led to the second floor. Just like the hall tree, the oak newel showcased detailed sculpting, a typical characteristic found in even modest houses built at the turn of the century. A brass gaslight atop the newel was the last thing my grandmother would tend to as she climbed the stairs to go to bed at night and the first thing she would do when she rose in the morning. It was to either light or extinguish the lamp. 

My knee had stopped stinging as I rounded the corner into the parlour. In front of me sat a large square piano and a parlour set. This set was my grandmother’s pride and joy. It had come all the way from Scotland when my grandparents had immigrated from Glasgow. 

The piano, used as a table when not in use, which was most of the time, took up a substantial portion of the room.

“There were six walnut chairs to the set and one was given to each of her five daughters. I don’t know what happened to the sixth one, but I have Aunt Edie’s,”   said in my direction.

On special occasions, someone played that piano, usually Em, but sometimes when all the family gathered, one of my uncles would tickle the keys. Chum played jaunty tunes which I loved, but more often it was played on a Sunday afternoon when someone might play a hymn or two, nothing that could suggest frivolity. Under no circumstance could the girls play popular songs of the day, which made me wonder how Chum got away with it. 

Behind the parlour on the northeast side of the house was the dining room. It contained a large three-seated couch, its rolled arms covered in the same material that covered the rest of the divan, but the nap worn off and the pattern grey and shiny. The couch itself was not comfortable and the two throw cushions were the only thing soft about it. Their size made them too small to be of any use. Whenever someone sat down, they would often move these cushions to the middle, unless someone had already taken that seat. There was also a dining table with six chairs.

I flopped down on the couch and looked across the dining room table at my grandmother. She sat next to a window, which looked out onto the yard at the back of the house. There she sat, rocking in her chair, her bible opened and displayed with pride, in her lap. 

“Gran. I skinned my knee and it stings,” mom said in a childlike voice.

Mom’s tone changed, and she continued, with a bit of a Scottish brogue. “Oh, child, if you would only behave in a more ladylike fashion and not run and skip, this would not happen. Go into the kitchen and get a clean, wet cloth so that I can clean the wound.” 

With that, it was back to her story.

The kitchen was on the southeast side of the house, next to the dining room. The floor was a painted as was the wainscoting that went midway up the walls. As I entered the kitchen, I looked at the colour and thought it looked like puke. It made me smile. My Gran would not like it if I said that, and I imagined what her reaction would be. The rest of the kitchen was otherwise plain and functional, with ample cupboards and counter space.

Off the kitchen was a summer kitchen, also rather plain yet utilitarian, painted in the same drab colour. This room led to yet another small room and attached to that was a shed. The summer kitchen and the other room were only half the width of the main kitchen and had windows along the south wall. Used three seasons of the year, they doubled as storage during the winter. One was also used to dry clothing during inclement weather.

On the outside wall of the kitchen was a coal stove, black and potbellied, which my grandmother polished weekly. It threw off a lot of heat, sometimes making the kitchen so hot we had to open a window. Gran hated it when this happened, complaining about how wasteful to let the heat just fly away. The stovepipes joined up with another stove in the parlour and went up through the ceiling and heated the central hall upstairs.

I took a cloth from the kitchen and poured some warm water from the kettle into the sink over the cloth. I then returned to the dining room and gave Gran the cloth. I sat still while my grandmother daubed my knee with the wet cloth. It stung a bit, but I was careful not to wince in front of Gran. 

Mom’s head nodded and her eyes closed, giving me time to do a few chores before she was back with me.

___

My grandmother, Janet Stephenson, was born February 18, 1844, in Glasgow, Scotland, and immigrated to Canada in 1849 at five. Her family settled in Toronto, and here she met her husband John McEwan. She was a Presbyterian in the strictest sense of the word and she ran her house in accordance. My most vivid recollections of her were seeing her seated in her rocking chair, reading her bible. Her once dark hair curled naturally and she pulled it back severely into a tight knot at the nape. She considered her curly hair to be a vanity if she were to acknowledge it. Several wisps near the front defied her efforts, kinking up close to her temples. My Gran was as tiny as her Papa was big. Her skin was pale and her curly hair had turned white at an early age, or so I was told. Her eyes were a watery blue. Janet’s clothing was as severe as her hairstyle. All her dresses were dark.

For a moment, mom came back to acknowledge my presence and said.

“I kept a picture of her in which she wore such a dress. It had a floral inset yoke and cuffs that matched. A small edge of lace adorned the high-necked collar and a band of black braid circled the cuffs. The billowing gathered sleeves, adorned with intricate pleats, draped elegantly from the bodice. Shirred tightly below the elbow, it created a snug fit that led to the long cuffs. A floral belt cinched the waist, and the skirt had one large pleat in front and three smaller ones on each side. The pleats sewn flat from the waist to the thigh, opening from there. On her feet, she wore black-buttoned shoes.”

Then pausing slightly mom continued.

“All of her dresses were handmade by Aunt Edie. On her hand, she wore a single gold wedding band. The only other piece of jewellery she wore was a cameo broach, a wedding present from your great grandfather. I found it strange she wore no other jewellery as Papa was a jeweller. But considering her faith, I imagine she would have considered jewellery vanity as well.”

Again she slipped back into the past, away from me.

In 1836, my great-grandfather, William McEwan, migrated from Ireland to Scotland with his wife, Mary Ann Brown. This is where John, (Papa) was born, on November 18, 1841. In 1846, they moved again, but this time from Scotland to Toronto, Canada, known as York back then. John grew up here and would become a jeweller.

Papa was much easier on himself regarding his lifestyle than Gran. Life was short and to be enjoyed and although he was a churchgoing man, he also enjoyed taking the odd whiskey and a smoke with friends at the tavern. His nature was calm and easygoing, and he had a gentle manner.

Mom directed the next sentence to me

“I think aunt Edie got that from him. Papa would often take me on walks when I was small. His large warm hand would envelope mine and I felt how much he loved me just from the way he held my hand in his.”

She left me again and began telling the story as if to herself.

Papa stood tall and was not stout, but broad in stature. He had almost black eyes and very high cheekbones. His skin was dark and weathered and he had ruddy cheeks. I cherished him.

At that point I think she saw him in front of her as the expression on her face was like she was greeting an old friend.

He bought the house on Saulter Street for Janet and they raised nine children there. The eldest was born in 1865 and the two youngest, Edward, born in 1886 and Alma in 1888. These three children died in infancy. My aunt Edie was the oldest girl born in 1872. My father, Benjamin, was born in 1879.

While John had a stable job as a jeweller and was skilled at his trade, there were many mouths to feed.

I often wondered before I lived, where all those children slept. Aunt Edie explained that they had set up the two rooms like dormitories. Girls in one, and boys in the other.

___

Once my gran had taken care of my knee, I was told to go upstairs and play quietly for a while. I climbed the stairs to the second floor with apprehension, as I was always afraid of the unknown.

The bedroom right above the kitchen belonged to my grandparents. The smallest of the three bedrooms, the bathroom was right next to it. It contained only a bed large enough for the two of them and a chest of drawers. A small closet contained the little clothing that they possessed. Unlike Edie’s sisters and myself, Gran only had a few dresses, each more drab than the next.

The bedroom I shared with Edie was above the dining room in the centre of the house on the north side. Our twin beds separated by a nightstand took up one wall and a large dresser we shared was on the other. Aunt Edie’s sewing area was in the corner, by the window.

Mom’s eyes twinkled as she looked at me. “Many a night I would fall asleep to the sound of Edie’s foot moving up and down on the pedal of the machine. When I would awaken in the morning, what had been a piece of cloth was transformed into a beautiful garment, as if by magic.” 

“Our closet was larger than that of my grandparents, and most of the clothing in it belonged to me.”

“I walked past our bedroom and down the hall toward the bedroom at the front of the house. This was the room of Em and Nell. It was the prettiest room and had an oriel window facing the street. Window boxes hung on the outside in summer and contained scented geraniums. In the fall, clippings were taken and placed in water, which would serve as the plantings for the following year. The room was divided in a way to keep the two aunts’ belongings separate. Their beds, as well as their dressers, were on opposite sides of the room. Each had a clothes closet next to their nightstand. This created a sort of mirror image. Even the furniture was similar and the only thing that spoiled this image was that one of my aunts was tidier than the other.”

“I crept into the room and looked around. Em was the neater of the two aunts, so I was careful not to touch anything of hers. Nell’s side of the room was messy, and I thought that no harm would come if I snooped around.”

Mom’s voice became mischievous.

“Lying at the end of Nell’s bed was a fancy dress she had worn the night before. Since both aunts were at work and would not be home for some time, I tried on the elegant garment.”

“I pulled it over my clothing and then slipped on a pair of Nell’s fancy shoes from her cupboard where I also helped myself to a hat.” 

“The hat was too large for me, so I gathered up my long thick hair and stuffed it inside. Now wasn’t I the grand lady? I looked at myself in the mirror and made believe I was dressing for a fancy ball. I imagined myself as a princess soon to meet my Prince Charming, just like in the stories Edie would read to me.”

“On the bureau was some make-up. I opened the rouge and smeared two round spots on my cheeks. Then I picked up the powder puff and daubed my cheeks with powder. Lastly, I took some lipstick and coated my lips. I pranced in front of the mirror, admiring myself in the glass, and lived in my fantasy world.”

“The front door shut with a bang and brought me back to reality. Tearing off the hat and dress, and leaving them where I had found them, I stepped out of the shoes, putting them back in Nell’s closet. Then I tiptoed down the hall to the bathroom and with the washcloth I had used for my knee, I tried to remove the make-up. While I was there, I heard someone coming up the stairs.”

“Lilly.” The voice was that of Aunt Edie, and I felt a sigh of relief. 

“I am in the bathroom, Auntie. I will be out in a minute.”

“I scrubbed at my face, but the make-up would not come off. I then turned the doorknob, the cool metal pressing against my palm, and gently pushed the door open. The hinges creaked, filling the air with a faint, familiar sound. As I stepped into the dimly lit hallway. The scent of lavender wafted from a nearby vase, filling the air with its soothing fragrance. With each step, my heart pounded in my chest — the anticipation building as I made my way towards the bedroom. Finally, I reached the door, my hand trembling slightly as I turned the knob.”

Edie laughed when she saw me, but when she saw how upset I was, she stopped and told me not to worry. 

“We will take care of this. Bring me the cold cream on the dresser and hand me the cloth that you used in the bathroom,” she said

“I obeyed her and brought what she had asked for,” she said in my direction. 

Then she put the cream on my face and wiped it off with the cloth. When she was done, I went to look at myself in the mirror. Perhaps it was the stark contrast, but it appeared as if the cream had drained all colour from my cheeks. I had a pallid complexion, giving me an unhealthy and fragile appearance.

“Look at me. What will I tell Gran? She is bound to notice something is not right about my skin.”

Edie looked at me and then reassured me that my colour would come back soon enough.“Now change into something pretty. Your Grandfather is downstairs and has a surprise for you. I will go down ahead of you and let him know you are on your way. Be quick child. Don’t keep him waiting. He has to return to work shortly.”

I changed my dress and within several minutes was downstairs to greet my grandfather.

“Papa, why are you home at this time? Did you forget something?” 

He looked down at me and smiled. “Come over here a minute. I have something for you.”

As I approached him, I noticed a small box he was holding in his hand. As I came closer, he held out the box for me to take.

“Open it dear. It is something I made for you.”

Inside the box, nestled amongst soft velvet, glistened a breathtaking gold bracelet adorned with a captivating amethyst in its heart. Its petite and fragile nature evoked the innocence of a child’s bracelet. With a gentle touch, the adjustable band ensured a perfect fit for years to come. The intricate filigree setting, reminiscent of delicate flower petals, shimmered in the light, casting a mesmerising glow.

“Oh Papa! Thank-you. It’s beautiful.”

I approached him and held out the bracelet for him to place it on my wrist. Once the bracelet adorned my arm, I lowered my gaze and examined it with the utmost attention. The sparkle of the amethyst caught my eye, shimmering with the capture of the sunlight from the window. The gentle weight of the bracelet provided a comforting presence against my skin, while the faint scent of — was it lavender? lingered in the air.