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The corn stalks, almost shoulder height, would be ready in a month or so. Camille was down by the river picking berries. Down the road from the house, climbing the hill, a horse and buggy, the distant sound of the wheels and then the sight of the dust. Camille raced up through the field towards the house.

Coming through the kitchen, screen door banging behind her, she called out to her mama, breathlessly, “Was that Mr. Kennedy with the mail?”

“You know it was. And yes, there’s a letter for you.” Mama said somewhat sternly, continuing to peel potatoes.

Camille raced to the table and quickly identified which of the three were for her. Recognizing the handwriting, she jumped up and down, clutching it to her chest.

Her mama called out, “No need to get so excited!” She smiled though, as she watched her daughter run out to the barn.

Camille only slowed down when she got to the door. She didn’t want to spook the oxen or the pigs.

It was dark and cool inside. Looking at the empty horse stalls, Camille remembered the day the army men had come to requisition them. She missed the comforting whinny of her own horse, Templeton, more than she wanted to admit. They were all sorely missed on the farm and she hoped they were being well cared for in France.

The sergeant upon seeing John had sized him up and asked him when he was going to enlist. It was then that her older brother had got it in his head to go too. Mama had been so upset. With Papa dead, two years before, John, at twenty, who was strong, good-natured, and responsible had taken on his father’s role. He could fix anything on the farm and he was patient with his siblings and well-loved by everyone. He was also the apple of Mama’s eye. The row he and Mama had that night, with John defending his responsibility to fight for King and country and go over with all the other lads he knew. How could he be the only one staying home, a coward? Besides, Albert had said he would enlist as well. They would both join the cavalry. Mama had looked at Camille, concerned, by the look on her face, her fiancé hadn’t yet told her he would enlist.

Having completed his inventory, the sergeant had arranged for John to bring the horses into town the following day. Mama gave up and helped him pack a bag with extra clothing. In the morning, Camille and her younger siblings had tacked up the horses. Before leaving, John had turned to Martin, who at twelve years old was the second oldest son, and told him that he’d be man of the house until he could come home. Martin had stood proudly, next to Lucien and Emily. When it came time to say goodbye to Camille, he gave her a knowing smile and had told her she and Mama would manage just fine.

And that was that. The family had stood in front of the farmhouse watching John disappear over the hill with the family’s five horses. Mama held her head high and Camille’s siblings were quiet and stared after him until he had disappeared. Mama had then shooed everyone off to do their chores. She wouldn’t have any crying or standing about. There was too much to do.

John and Albert had come home on leave once before sailing to England, but it had only been a short visit. They were both so handsome in their uniforms, tall and proud. Even Mama thought so. It was hard not to be excited right along with them, heading off to far off places. But letters would be as close as Camille got to seeing any excitement.

Camille skipped down the earthen floor of the barn, over to the oxen, excited again. “Look, Betsy, a letter from Albert!” She stroked the ox’s nose fondly and scampered up the ladder to the loft.

She found her nook, under the window and threw herself down on a bale of hay, away from her siblings’ prying eyes and opened the letter.

Dear Camille,

I hope this letter finds you well. We are still here in England. More specifically, on the Salisbury Plain. I’d only ever heard of Stonehenge. It’s quite magnificent really. When the rain stops long enough for the sun to come out you can see the ring of stones. They are bigger than I thought they would be. We make a pretty miserable lot most of the time, marching up and down in the mud. Hopefully, the weather will be better in France. I think we should be shipping out soon. With any luck, I’ll be sending you letters from Paris in no time.

Tell your mother that John is fine and well. He’s just a little wet around the ears, and just about everywhere else too. He’s never been keen on writing, I will keep trying to get him to write to you though.

This war can’t last forever. I’ll come home soon and we will be married.

Love,

Albert

Camille pictured herself with Albert when he had been on leave. Holding hands as they walked through the orchard, they had talked about getting married. They had known each other their entire lives, nothing seemed more perfect. Stopping beneath a pear tree, he had kissed her then. She thought about how it had felt, remembering Albert’s warmth.

***

The corn now stood well above Camille’s shoulders, the light glowing green through the blades from the sun. The silk was milky; it was nearing time to harvest the corn. She would tell Mama. The neighbouring farms, the McClellans and the Davies would help with the harvesting and they would go in exchange to help with their wheat. With the men gone, everyone chipped in to bring in the harvest.

Emily came running up, out of breath. “Camille! Mr. Kennedy was just here. I think there’s a letter for you.”

Camille and Emily raced back to the house, her little sister narrowly beating her to the door. She ran to the table and saw the post card. Her name and address clumsily written on the front, a red stamp, a profile of King George. She flipped it over quickly, seeing lines of print, some crossed out, and read the printed note:

NOTHING is to be written on this side except the date and signature of the sender. Sentences not required may be erased. If anything else is added the post card will be destroyed.

I am quite well.

I have been admitted into hospital. {sick } and am going on well. {wounded} and hope to be discharged soon.

I am being sent down to the base.

Letter follows at first opportunity.

{Signature only. } Albert Sinclair

Date: August 1

Camille fell into a chair at the dining room table. Her mama came in from the kitchen.

“What is it Camille? What does it say?”

“Not much of a letter. Albert’s in hospital. He says he’s going on well, but there was no way to say what else has happened.” She handed her the post card.

“Well, it says here that a letter will follow. Don’t fret, there’s nothing for it. You’ll just have to wait for more news.”

“Yes, Mama.” She held back her tears.

“Mama, the corn’s ready to come in.”

“All right, I’ll send Lucien and Martin over to the neighbours’. We’ll start getting the corn in tomorrow.

“You might as well come and help me with the potatoes. We’ll get dinner on the table while the boys are out.”

After supper Camille went up to her room to jot down a letter to Albert. The next morning, she bundled up the package she had been preparing for Albert and John, the socks that she and Emily had knit, tuques from Mama, chocolate and cigarettes. She tucked the letter to Albert inside and set it on the table to send in with Mr. Kennedy when he came.

***

The next letter didn’t come until the corn had been harvested and the wheat was almost ready, golden heads waving in the breeze.

This time, Camille was up at the house helping Martin fix the shutter. So she was there when Mr. Kennedy pulled up to the house.

Camille took the mail from Mr. Kennedy, pulled out the letter addressed to her and gave the rest of the mail to Martin to take inside. She thanked Mr. Kennedy and ran up to the barn loft.

It was a proper letter this time. She opened the envelope and pulled out a sheet marred by the censor’s pen.

My Dearest Camille,

I’m sorry for the delay in writing. I have been laid up in hospital, over in England for the last month. A ‘Blighty’ they call it. An injury bad enough to be sent out of France. In my case, it looks like I will be home soon enough. Don’t fret for me though, I’ll be all right.

I’m sorry I don’t have any news of John. I don’t know what they’ve told you, but he is still missing in action. We were fighting together in ——— and we were under heavy fire. We took heavy casualties near ———, my platoon lost ——— men. I didn’t think I was going to make it. I’m sorry Camille. I haven’t given up hope, tell your mother that I am still doing what I can to find him.

Love,

Albert

Camille held the letter in her hands and sat in quiet disbelief. How could it be that John was gone? Surely they would find him. He had to be somewhere. And a twinge of guilt pulled at her heart; at least Albert was safe. He would come home. But John. John had to come home too, for Mama, for all of them.

Slowly, heavily, she got up and walked up to the house to find Mama.

***

It was only a couple of weeks later when Camille found Mama sitting at the table in the kitchen. A telegram lay open in front of her. Her mama, who was normally stoic and self-possessed, looked pale and fragile in the faint winter light.

Carefully, “What is it Mama?”

Mama did not answer. She slid the telegram over to Camille.

Md Ottawa ONT Dec 20-1917

T Francis,

18 Stewart Rd,

ONTARIO.

Deeply regret inform you Lieut John Luke Francis Cavalry officially reported killed in action nineteen seventeen.

Dir Of Records.

Camille stood behind her mama and wrapped her arms around her, the familiar smell of talcum powder in her hair; Mama’s shoulders shook.

***

Camille appraised the verdant rows of squash, lettuce, and cucumber. The garden was coming along nicely. The beans were beginning their climb up the trellis, curling tendrils reaching up. Orange marigolds bordered the end closest to the house. The early June sun was a balm  after a long wet spring, and the earth felt warm under Camille’s hands. Standing up, she clapped her hands together to shake off the soil. The sun was in her eyes but she caught the glimpse of a shadow, something that wasn't there before. She held her hand up to shade her eyes, squinting to get a better look. Someone was standing by the road.

She ran up the path alongside the house.  

Holding out his arm, she rushed into his embrace. She held Albert tightly. Feeling the sleeve of his uniform was empty, she saw the cuff pinned to his side. Looking up, she saw concern on his face and longing in his eyes. Was he worried she wouldn’t accept him, that he wouldn’t be enough? Putting her hand on his neck, she pulled him to her tightly and kissed him intensely.

Camille took Albert’s hand and the two walked up to the house. Mama was waiting in the doorway, a tentative but familiar grin on her face.