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It was late June, and Victoria had just been down at the river’s edge looking at the stones scattered along the sloping banks and others that she could see under the water on the silt below. She was planning a rock garden in the backyard and was determined that, if sufficient stones were collected in the summer, she would begin it the following spring. The telephone was ringing insistently on the hall table as she entered the living room through the French doors. Rushing into the hallway, Victoria picked up the receiver, breathless and winded from the mad dash to the telephone table.

Before she could say hello, the raspy cigarette-affected voice at the other end exclaimed, «Have you heard yet? You know that young teacher who works at the one-room country school outside town? They found her body in the river, not far from the school, this afternoon. Hello? Are you still there?» Victoria sat heavily on the cushioned chair beside the telephone table, then pressed downward on the telephone receiver to cut off the words and shut out what she had just heard. Victoria was unsure if she uttered the following words or had just imagined them, an oft-repeated refrain: she got what she deserved and then clasped her face in her hands to shut out the vision of that river and that young woman.

…………………

At a young age, Victoria discovered that being aloof often drew others to her; to appear distant could bring people closer. Her childhood was solitary. She had studied psychology at the University of Toronto shortly after World War II ended, when few women were doing post-secondary studies in Canada. An only and pampered child, Victoria had been raised in a large and comfortable brick home in Toronto, in the affluent Rosedale area. The England family had a charmed life, living well and travelling often, and had a cottage in the Muskoka region west of Algonquin Provincial Park. Although it had been a favoured lifestyle, that was the case only until her parents divorced after Victoria’s mother discovered her husband was having an affair with his secretary. Then Victoria and her mother moved to an apartment near the corner of Bloor and Church Street, where her mother had worked in a bank.

Victoria’s father married his secretary and started a second family; Victoria had two stepsisters and a stepbrother, who were years younger than she was, and whom she had only seen in photos. A year after her marriage, Victoria had to deal with the sudden death of her mother and returned to Toronto for the funeral and to settle her mother’s estate and belongings. Miles had broken his leg skiing that winter and could not go with his wife. When she first received the news about her mother’s unexpected death, Victoria explained to Miles that it had been a fatal heart attack. It seemed better to tell him a little white lie than the truth, to let sleeping dogs lie.

After her parents divorced, Victoria’s father paid alimony and ensured his daughter could attend university. At that point, her life looked bleak to Victoria, at least until she met her first real boyfriend and future husband, Miles Davenport, known as the ‘dreamboat’ to Victoria and her university friends. Victoria often wondered how she had landed this tall, dark, and handsome Adonis; all the other girls at university were pea-green with envy. Miles looked perfect but had one defect (at least in his own eyes): flat feet, which meant he did not have to fight in the war. The advantage was that he finished his university education without interruption.

One little drawback to the marriage was that Victoria’s initials also changed when she changed her surname. Previously, they had been VE (which she particularly enjoyed at the end of WWII when VE Day – Victory in Europe – had been declared); however, after her marriage, Victoria’s initials became VD, something her group of women friends in the small town where she lived sometimes ribbed her about. Her married-lady friends also made fun of her insistence on being called Victoria; they sometimes called her Vicky, which she loathed. Even more irritating, they made fun of her preference for reading as a pastime and her deep love of literature, particularly her interest in Virginia Woolf’s novels.

Eventually, when at the hairdressing salon in the small town where she lived, Victoria would furtively read novels within copies of women’s magazines, usually old, well-thumbed copies of Chatelaine, because other women in the salon would not be asking her for them when she was finished reading. These women in her town circle did not seem to realise that their jokes were insensitive. As a result, Victoria felt even more unsure of herself, leading her to question the nature of their friendship. At the same time, Victoria wondered whether she was just too sensitive by nature and wished she had thicker skin.

Miles was a few years older than Victoria. He graduated with a degree in accounting from the University of Toronto in 1948. Victoria never finished her psychology degree: when Miles proposed to her the year before, he suggested she leave university and concentrate on the wedding the year ahead. Victoria’s friends told her that it made the most sense: as they said, now that Victoria would have her MRS, why would she need any university degree? Victoria’s mother agreed as well, but her father was upset that the funds he had invested in Victoria’s university education would be for nothing. Victoria promised her father that she would eventually finish her psychology degree, but in her heart, she knew it was a little white lie. Victoria was glad that Miles, her knight in shining armour, had rescued her from needing to continue her university education.

Miles was hired by an accounting firm in Cornersville, a town in southwestern Ontario, and the newlyweds moved there immediately after a honeymoon at Niagara Falls. Victoria was secretly pleased never to have to work outside the home. She envisioned a charmed life as a married woman, with status as one of the white-collar, upper-income couples in the little town where they had settled, with babies coming in due course and the attendant baby showers and accolades from her other married women friends. However, that did not happen, at least the part of her dream about babies. After several years of attempts and false alarms, Victoria and her husband discovered that she could not have children. When the doctor informed Victoria of this sad fact, she was reminded of novels she had read about barren women whose inability to conceive and bear children had led to barren lives and loveless marriages.

Victoria was ashamed, and despite Miles’s attempts to allay her fears, his fawning and unfailing kindness only made it worse. Miles had suggested they consider adoption, but Victoria was not sure if she wanted another woman’s child. Resignedly, Victoria concluded that she was a failure: she had not finished her university education, she could not have children, she had gained quite a bit of weight, and despite trying hard to imitate them, she failed to look as ‘put together’ as the other ladies in her circle. Those women looked immaculate when playing bridge, over cocktails with the other couples in their circle, or when they kissed their husbands at the front door and sent them off to work for the day. Like Victoria and Miles, some of the other couples lived on the ‘best street’ in Cornersville: the street sign indicated ‘Mansfield Mews,’ but the locals referred to it as ‘Rich Man’s Row,’ an enclave for the most affluent, professional couples and their families in the small town.

As a concession to her own failures as a woman and wife, Victoria had taken to being her husband’s ardent supporter. She echoed his views and opinions and knew she was fortunate to have such a handsome, successful husband. What would she do without him? When the town’s plumber kicked his wife out of the house for having an affair, coupled with the woman’s heavy drinking, Miles had said to Victoria over their morning coffee at the breakfast table: «She got what she deserved.» Then, after taking a thoughtful and generous gulp of his coffee, he continued, «To add insult to injury, she was having an affair with the plumber over at Seaforth, her husband’s direct competition!»

Immediately and automatically, Victoria nodded and said, «Yes, she got what she deserved.» Miles smiled, placed his large, strong hand over hers, and said, «My loyal little wife.» Victoria stared in consternation at the coffee before her, but saw her reflection and her life staring back at her. She thought I might well be loyal, but I am certainly not little, as she looked down at her waist, which seemed to expand exponentially with her widening worries.

When talking on the telephone to her friend, Jo, later that morning (in her mind, the best friend she had in town), the other woman said, «Fortunately, there are no children. That is a blessing.» When Victoria repeated to Jo what Miles had said, that the cheating woman got what she deserved, her friend retorted: «Got what she deserved? Why, if the husband had been cheating and the wife kicked him out, would anyone say he got what he deserved?»

Later, during dinner, Victoria repeated to her husband what Jo had said to her. With disgust, Miles exclaimed, «Don’t listen to that old switch-hitter, and don’t be friends with that boozy, old broad.» This was a common thread in their marriage: Miles’s displeasure at her friendship with Jo and his belief that she was a lesbian. Victoria no longer said, «But she’s married!» because that did not hold water with Miles, who would say dismissively, «In any case, her husband’s an old poof!» Victoria knew she could not win any battle with her husband; agreeing or remaining silent was better. When she did that, he was his charming, affable self. Victoria knew she was fortunate to have Miles. She did not want to lose him. She did not want history to repeat itself.

In any case, Jo was not part of their group of friends. Victoria had met Jo at the library shortly after moving to Cornersville, and they had bonded over a love of books. Although Victoria read novels for her continual edification, she loved mysteries for pure enjoyment. That day in the library, she had been leafing through a copy of Agatha Christie’s Death Comes as the End when she looked at the woman nearby holding a copy of Christie’s Evil Under the Sun. Both women locked eyes simultaneously and then, laughing, held up their respective Christie books. «Have you read it already?» Jo asked Victoria, holding up the book. «Yes, and it is a must-read if you are a Christie fan,» the woman exclaimed. That was the start of their uncomplicated, immediate friendship, which seemed simpler and more enjoyable than with most of the women in her circle.

Jo did not fuss about her appearance: she had short grey hair and was somewhat stocky, but her height offset it. She had a no-nonsense manner, was a heavy smoker who enjoyed afternoon cocktails, and often wore slacks instead of dresses. Like Victoria, Jo had no children (a personal choice she had made known to her). Jo had studied business at the University of Western Ontario. She had worked for several years in London at an insurance company, and her husband was a professor at the university where they both had studied. Jo was in her late forties and had returned to Cornersville during the war to care for her ageing, ailing parents. After their deaths, she decided to remain in the family home she had inherited. Jo’s husband stayed in London but would dutifully come to Cornersville for one weekend every month. Even Victoria admitted it was an odd marriage, but it seemed to work. Victoria sometimes wondered if Jo’s marriage was more successful than hers, and she was bemused by the thought.

…………………

It was an extremely hot July evening, with the heat and humidity as oppressive as the feelings Victoria was experiencing, reasons unbeknownst to her. Victoria did not want to go to the movies that evening, but Miles insisted. There was a new hit comedy at the local movie theatre, The Seven Year Itch. Miles had arranged for their closest friends, Mike and his wife, Madge, to accompany them. Of all the women in their circle, Victoria liked Madge best, but not as much as she enjoyed Jo’s company, who was outside that close-knit group. Madge was naturally upbeat and proactive, with stylish golden-red hair, though she often tied it back in a ponytail. Madge had an interesting and intelligent face and an attractive figure. What Victoria liked most about Madge was that, although she had two young children, she did not constantly talk about them, unlike the other women in their circle, whose lives seemed entirely focused on their offspring.

After the movie, they went to the town’s favourite coffee shop to discuss the film. «I didn’t think the movie was that funny,» Victoria said. The other three looked at her incredulously. «Are you serious, Victoria? It was hilarious!» Madge exclaimed. Miles gave Victoria a knowing look that irked her. «She’s just jealous,» he said to the other couple, «because she would like to look like Marilyn Monroe.» Victoria knew that with her dark hair, features, and extra padding, she would never look like that actress. «I am not jealous of her,» Victoria retorted. «In any case, she doesn’t look like any woman we know…she is so unreal, all made up.» Victoria had not yet taken a sip of her coffee, nor had she started eating the double portion banana split that Miles had ordered, despite her insistence that she was not hungry.

Mike winked at Miles and said, «That new secretary of yours could give that Marilyn Monroe a run for her money. Wow, but she is a looker!» Miles clapped Mike on the back, both men laughing at the joke. Victoria stirred her coffee vigorously, knowing Madge was staring at her, a look of concern on her face.

«What is your new secretary’s name?» Madge asked Miles, but her eyes were still on her friend.

«Mimi Merriweather,» Miles replied.

«Mimi, that’s an interesting name,» Madge responded, looking at Victoria, who was staring at her coffee as if waiting for it to pick itself up and help her drink it. Madge appeared to want to change the subject on her friend’s behalf because she said suddenly, «It is so sad about that young teacher they found in the river last week. They say it was suicide. Where was she from anyway?»

«She was from North Bay,» Miles replied. «She had no family around these parts.»

Victoria came out of her reverie. «She was from Thunder Bay, not North Bay,» she cried.

The other three looked at Victoria in surprise due to the intensity of her outburst. «North Bay, Thunder Bay,» Miles blurted, «Who cares?» Then, both he and Mike laughed.

«I care,» Victoria said quietly. «She was a person, and now she is dead. It is so sad she took her own life.» Victoria did not say so to the others. Still, it reminded her of how Virginia Woolf had committed suicide by drowning in the early years of World War II, by putting rocks in the pockets of her coat until she became weighed down and sank under the awaiting waters of the river near her home in the Sussex area of England. At the library earlier that week, Victoria had borrowed Woolf’s Between the Acts and was trying to get her head around it, with limited success for reasons she could not quite piece together.

In the past year or two, Victoria had read all of Virginia Woolf’s novels, although not in chronological order: for example, she read The Years (Woolf’s penultimate novel) the previous winter and had most recently finished The Waves before returning it to the library. The same day she returned that novel, she had borrowed Woof’s last book, Between the Acts, which had been published posthumously. For some inexplicable reason, it seemed fitting to Victoria that she was now reading Woolf’s final novel, albeit it was a labour due to the complexity of the work and the difficulty she had focusing on the words on each page, because they often seemed to swim before her tired eyes.

«I heard tell that she was pregnant, that young woman,» said Mike, looking knowingly at the others, shrugging his shoulders as if that explained everything. «Apparently, the autopsy confirmed it.»

«I wonder if it is the reason that she killed herself?» Madge pondered, temporarily distracted from her cup of coffee and doughnut. «Did she have a boyfriend? Any idea about the man involved?»

Miles stated in a matter-of-fact voice that Victoria knew meant the end of further discussion: «She got what she deserved.» Then he looked over at Victoria, who was staring at him but seeing something entirely different before her, a yawning expanse of time and thought.

Once again, Madge tried to change the flow of the conversation and steer it back to a safe place for her friend. «It is so sad, and I feel so bad about those country children who have lost their teacher,» she reflected, but then, ever optimistic and able to see the bright light in any dark event, Madge continued. «Anyway, I am so glad it was not one of our children’s teachers at the school here in town.» Madge nodded knowingly: everyone knew about the vast divide between the country and town; neither adults nor children from the two communities did much intermixing, except perhaps the high school students to a limited degree. Everyone knew their boundaries: it was a comforting reality, accepted by one and all without question, and an abiding faith in the lay of the land.

However, Victoria was not really listening to her friend. For a fleeting moment, she thought of the river in which the young teacher’s body had been found, less than a mile from the schoolhouse where she had taught, on the late afternoon after the final day of the school year; the same river that ran in a crooked but determined path from that place of death to the riverbanks outside Victoria’s home, her place of solace. «Yes,» Victoria murmured resignedly, «She got what she deserved.»

…………………

The hot, dry days of July rolled over into August’s hotter, drier days. The death of the young teacher at the end of June had become ‘old news’ by early August, and other dramas had taken over and buried that incident in the past. Farley’s Notions Store had been robbed late one night, and all the townspeople were sure it was some delinquents from a nearby town or some young country boys wanting money for liquor. As it turned out, Fred Farley Senior discovered it was Fred Farley Junior, his 17-year-old son and the boy’s best friend, who had stolen funds from the store.

In another, much more exciting piece of news, the younger second wife of the town’s dentist had apparently been having a months-long, torrid affair with a young, single Dutch farmer who had emigrated from Holland and settled on a farm outside Cornersville. The dentist’s first wife had died of cancer before the war, and by that time, the children from his first marriage were ‘feathered and flown.’ Doc Cockerly was decades older than his younger second wife; when they married, some men in town wondered what the eventual outcome would be.

Referring to the second Mrs Cockerly, Miles emphatically told Victoria, «She got what she deserved.» They were sitting on the flagstone patio outside the open French doors leading to their spacious, well-appointed living room. «Jo said Mrs Cockerly left the husband of her own choice to be with that young farmer,»

Victoria said quietly. «Maybe she really did get what she deserved…and perhaps she is happier.» Miles looked up from the copy of the latest weekly Cornersville Cryer, the local newspaper he was reading, and stared at Victoria with a look of disbelief, as if his wife had suddenly sprouted a second head, or an entirely new Victoria had inhabited his wife’s bulky body.

…………………

When Miles was on a fishing trip with his buddies in August, Victoria made the most of the opportunity by visiting Jo as much as possible. Victoria enjoyed being with Jo. She knew her friend smoked and drank too much and could occasionally swear up a storm as good as any man. Victoria enjoyed Jo’s company because she was astute and a lot of fun. Moreover, Victoria knew Jo had a good heart and was a true friend.

Sitting in Jo’s cluttered but cosy living room, waiting for her friend to bring in chilled martinis, Victoria thought back seven years to when she attempted to bring her husband and new friend together. Jo had suggested they come for dinner, to be on her turf, as she said, rather than for her having to go to the Davenport home. The cocktails had been delicious (Miles nursed his Manhattan, Victoria, and Jo sipped their Martini); the conversation had been interesting, with Jo matching Miles on any subject he raised (politics, the polio epidemic, the Cold War, even sports!); the dinner had been tasty followed by a spectacular dessert (Baked Alaska); finally, coffee and liqueurs ended what had seemed a perfect evening. However, the entire time, Victoria knew something was not right, that something was off. Miles exploded as soon as they walked in the front door of their house on Mansfield Mews. «I do not want you to be with that old dyke! Can’t you see she wants you, the way she looks at you?»

Victoria had been so surprised by the unexpected outburst, its intensity, and the words and what they conveyed that she dropped her purse on the floor, and its contents tumbled out across the hardwood floors and the blood-red, patterned Aubusson runner that ran along the entire length of the long, wide hallway. Looking directly at Miles but over his shoulder, seeing her reflection in the large gilt mirror on the opposite wall, Victoria declared in a quiet but firm voice, «She is my friend, and I will continue to see her. Anyway, you are wrong about Jo.» Victoria then stepped over her purse and the various articles that had fallen out of it, walked toward the stairs, and walked up to her bedroom.

«Then you will never bring her here,» Miles called after her, «You can see the queer old bitch wherever you want, but not in my home!»

That had been seven years earlier. So much water had been under the bridge since then; so much sand had fallen through the proverbial hourglass. Brought out of her relentless reverie and multiple memories, Victoria saw Jo come from the kitchen with a pitcher of chilled Martini and two frosted martini glasses. «Martini time,» Jo exclaimed, «and a penny for your thoughts!» Victoria tried to smile but was still plagued by memories and thoughts.

Ever ready to cheer up her younger friend, Jo recited in a deep sing-song voice: «I love a martini/But two at the most/Three, I’m under the table/Four, I’m under the host!» Then Jo gave a great guffaw, took a long slurp of her Martini, a trickle of which ran down her chin (Victoria wondered if Jo had been drinking them before her arrival that afternoon), and finally ended up in a coughing fit. «You have to love that Dorothy Parker,» Jo chortled, «What a wit!»

Victoria smiled tightly and then commented, «Didn’t she die penniless? Or am I thinking of someone else?» Jo shrugged as she continued to take generous sips of her Martini. «As far as I am aware, Our Miss Parker is still alive and living in New York City,» Jo said with a smile, «and no doubt, as we speak, she is swilling down her fourth martini!» Reflecting, she exclaimed, «I think her writing career took a nosedive after being investigated for possible Communist affiliations, the poor soul.»

«Oh well,» Victoria intoned without emotion, «Then she got what she deserved.»

Jo stared over her martini glass at Victoria. «Are you in another dark funk?» she asked, now turning serious. She set down her martini glass and reached for the silver cigarette box that was the centrepiece of her marble coffee table. Lighting a King-size Philip Morris cigarette, Jo inhaled deeply and then, a few moments later, let the smoke come out of their nose and mouth simultaneously. Sometimes, Jo blew little circles when she smoked to amuse Victoria, but today, she seemed to know that would not change her friend’s mood.

«I often wonder why Miles married me; he could have had his pick of much prettier and slimmer women at the university,» Victoria pondered, more to herself than to her friend, «It certainly wasn’t for my money.»

Jo set her martini glass down and stated, «The first time you visited me seven years ago, you asked that same question. Do you remember my response?» The older woman asked, her face taking a no-nonsense look. Not waiting for a response (knowing one would probably not be forthcoming because Victoria was lost in thought, with her still-full Martini in her left hand), Jo responded to her own question. «He married you for your name. Even if the flow of funds had dried up considerably by the time you were married, everyone knows the England family from Toronto’s affluent Rosedale area. It is a name one just knows, maybe not as well as the Labatt family name, for instance, but England is a well-known name!»

Victoria had not responded. She seemed reflective, staring across from where she sat at the antique clock, which was in pride of place atop the fireplace mantel. She began taking long sips of her Martini.

«I have a book that I think you should read,» Jo said matter-of-factly. She got up and went to the large bookcase that dominated the wall at the far end of her living room. Jo returned to the sofa and placed a book on the coffee table in front of the wing chair, which Victoria had always preferred to sit on. Victoria looked down at the book titled The Second Sex by Simone de Beauvoir. «I doubt you have read this book, but have you heard of it?»

Victoria picked up the book and read the inside flap. «Yes, of course, I have heard of it, but no, I have not read it. I am not sure if I want to read it.»

Jo snorted, «Every woman should read it. Times are changing, and Simone de Beauvoir has important ideas. We need to stick together, all women.» Jo had just finished a cigarette and was about to pour herself another martini when she continued. «Especially women like us.»

Victoria thudded the book down on the coffee table. «What do you mean, ‘women like us?» she asked.

Instead of answering the question she had been asked, Jo replied, «Let me top up your Martini, dear. That will pick you up out of your doldrums.» She rose from the sofa and went to the side table where the martini pitcher sat to top up Victoria’s glass. Afterwards, instead of walking directly back to the wing chair where Victoria sat, the older woman took a circuitous route around the living room to the side of it. Bending down over Victoria to set the martini glass on the coffee table, Jo’s face brushed the side of Victoria’s cheek, and then she softly kissed it.

Victoria arose so abruptly from her seat that her knees hit the coffee table, and her martini glass fell over and crashed to the floor. Shards of glass circled Victoria’s feet, and the spilt Martini splashed on her favourite summer dress, made of linen and with geometric patterns in shades of blue, black, and grey.

Victoria, swaying slightly, began to walk out of her friend’s living room, calling over her shoulder, «Maybe Miles was right,» she shouted, «If so, you are barking up the wrong tree.» Victoria slammed the hall door behind her as she went down the brick walkway to the new black Buick sedan Miles had given her the week before as a going-away present before his fishing trip. As she sat behind the steering wheel and before turning on the ignition, Victoria thought back to what Madge had said: that the big, black sedan looked like the town’s hearse sitting in the Davenport driveway. Suddenly, Victoria started to laugh hysterically at that wry statement. After starting the car and backing out of Jo’s driveway, the tears of laughter became sobs as she drove down the street on her way home.

When Miles returned from his fishing trip the following week, he was in a jovial mood, and his step was light; it seemed that the time away with his buddies had done wonders for him. He brought Victoria a massive bouquet of colourful summer flowers. However, Miles knew something was wrong with his wife. She was even more sombre and quiet than usual. Prodding his wife to tell him what was wrong, Victoria only said they had argued. Telling her husband what she considered a little white lie, Victoria disclosed that Jo had wanted her to read a book called The Second Sex. However, when she refused because of its overall strident theme, Jo was distraught with her.

Miles responded with a knowing and satisfied sigh, «Honey, you should not be so trusting of that old drunk; you are too trusting of people; it is one of your greatest failings.» Then he kissed her on the cheek, and Victoria realised it was the exact spot where Jo’s lips had touched her face. Victoria turned away from Miles with distaste and thought back to that other kiss.

…………………

Victoria had not told Miles about her visit to the accounting office where he worked during his fishing trip. She rarely went to his office; Victoria knew her husband preferred that she not enter his ‘other world .’However, a nagging thought in Victoria’s mind made her go to her husband’s office one morning when he was away on his ‘buddy time’ holiday. She wanted the opportunity to get to know his new secretary, Mimi; she had only heard about her so far.

When Victoria entered the ‘Tri-County Accounting Bureau,’ she was surprised to see that the secretary’s desk outside her husband’s office was empty, with no papers or semblance of anyone having worked there that day. The office receptionist, an older, well-groomed, and attired woman, looked rather startled at Victoria’s appearance, having rarely seen her in that office.

«Yes, Mrs Davenport, can I help you?» she asked. Victoria was momentarily at a loss for words. The receptionist continued, «I hope you enjoy your time alone while your husband is on his fishing trip.» Victoria continued staring at the desk where her husband’s secretary typically sat. Finally, she brought herself out of her reverie and said, «Thank you, Mildred, and my apologies for dropping by; I was just…» Then her words tailed off into silence.

«Muriel,» the receptionist said, «Mrs Davenport, my name is Muriel. » She repeated kindly, looking not in Victoria’s eyes but at her dress. You were so kind to me when my elderly mother passed away last year. I am still enjoying the prune preserves you gave me; you were so generous to give me a dozen jars.»

Victoria was thinking about what to say next, but wondered why the receptionist kept staring at her dress. She looked down and saw her slip hanging a good inch below her belted black summer dress. She was embarrassed beyond words, but would not be distracted from her mission. «That’s nice,» she replied. Where is my husband’s secretary, Miss…» It came to Victoria then that she had forgotten the name of her new secretary.

«Miss Merriweather,» the receptionist responded, her eyes now peering intently at the younger woman, but with a look of kindness – or was it pity? Victoria wondered. «Miss Mimi Merriweather. She is on holiday. Mimi went to visit her family in Wiarton for a week.» The receptionist hesitated but then continued. «It seemed logical for Mimi to take her holiday since your husband is on his fishing trip.» Muriel stood up and walked towards Victoria. Putting her hand gently on the younger woman’s arm, she asked, «Is there anything I can do for you?»

Victoria shrugged off the older woman’s hand and, standing erect, said, «I just wanted to say hello to my husband’s secretary to get acquainted.» Victoria turned and walked toward the outer door, then over her shoulder as she was about to exit the accounting office. Victoria said as brightly as she could muster, «Thank you, Mildred. You are a dear,» and walked out into the harsh sun of that August day. Muriel walked back to her desk, shaking her head slightly, and thought that when the other girls returned from their coffee break, she had an interesting story to tell them.

…………………

During Miles’s fishing trip with the buddies from the couple’s circle of friends, Madge arranged a bridge party for the ‘fishing widows’ as she referred to herself and her friends. When at her best, Victoria was a decent bridge player; when she could not concentrate, like today, she was dismal. No one wanted Victoria as a bridge partner on days like this one, even if they would not admit it. As usual, on those days, Madge was Victoria’s bridge partner (the two were East-West, with Grace and Hortense being North-South; Isobel and Jeannie were partners at the other bridge table, opposite Jane and Doris). After the bridge party, Madge served cocktails and snacks and told the other women that she had an announcement.

Standing up, Madge said, «Ladies, you know how our men have the Canucks Club, involving curling in the winter, baseball in the summer, and fun events like the fishing trip they are now enjoying?» She looked around at the other women sitting on the sofas and padded armchairs in her spacious living room. Everyone nodded in agreement and waited for what Madge would say next, except for Victoria, who was staring down into her gin and tonic glass as if it were a crystal ball.

Madge decided to ignore Victoria and continue with her little speech; years before, she had been a cheerleader at the Cornersville Secondary School, and that experience still held her in good standing. «Do we want our women’s group for sports and fun?» Madge shouted, smiling broadly. «Yes, yes!» all the other women responded, even Victoria, who had now focused more on what was being said. «Great! Then I propose we establish a sister group to the Canucks and call ourselves the Canettes!» Madge exclaimed. «After all, we need to have fun and be active, too,» she shouted to the cheers of the other women in her expansive living room, laughter in her voice and a rosy glow in her cheeks. «Our lives should not only be about our husbands and kids!»

After further animated discussion about the group, the decision was made that the following summer, the eight women would also take a trip (provided their mothers, mothers-in-law, or other female relatives would babysit for them). It was agreed that a trip to the Muskoka region or Algonquin Provincial Park, with an emphasis on canoeing, swimming, and water sports, would be the plan. «As well as a lot of smoking and drinking and talking about men!» Madge cried out to the laughter of all the women assembled.

Victoria was reminded of her childhood and summer visits to the family cottage in the Muskoka region, not far from Algonquin Provincial Park. She had such pleasant memories of those days and her childhood, which now seemed uncomplicated compared to her current life. If Victoria had been able, she would have liked to turn back time, return to the past, regress, retreat, and flee rather than fight a losing battle.

…………………

The next day after the bridge party, Victoria asked Madge for a cup of coffee. Madge’s children were at her mother’s house near the town’s park, where they could play. The two women took their coffee cups to the flagstone terrace outside the living room. Madge took a pack of cigarettes out of her purse and lit two simultaneously, then offered Victoria one cigarette. «I saw that trick in an old Bette Davis movie,» Madge chuckled. 

Victoria occasionally smoked because most of the other women did (and all their husbands); however, as a health precaution, she never inhaled deeply, instead kept the smoke in her windpipe briefly before blowing it out through her mouth (never from her nose, as Jo liked to do).

«Okay, Virginia Woolf,» Madge said spritely but with a downbeat grin, «What gives? What’s the problem now? Yesterday, you looked like you had the world’s weight on your shoulders.»

«First of all, Madge, level with me,» Victoria said, speaking evenly and carefully. «Do you think that I have let myself go?» Victoria gave a faint but discouraged smile. «When I see myself in the mirror, I look closer to forty than thirty…I look like a middle-aged frump.»

«Just think what you would look like if you had kids!» Madge exclaimed. Then, seeing the sorrowful look in her friend’s eyes, Madge continued, «I am so sorry, honey. I wasn’t thinking.» Madge sipped her coffee and dragged a few drags on her cigarette. «Are you going to tell me or is this story not for kids?» she wisecracked.

Victoria laughed despite herself. Madge and Jo could occasionally make Victoria laugh, helping her see the bright side of life.

«Can I change the topic?» Madge asked. Or rather, can I give you more time to decide if you want to open up to me or not?» Victoria nodded in agreement. Her friend continued, «I heard from Mrs Cleaver at the meat market that a new teacher from the city has been found for the one-room country school outside town.»

«That’s nice,» Victoria responded faintly, imagining the young female teacher in the swirling waters of the river where she had met her demise. She knew that in Cornersville and the area, «from the city» meant London, a one-hour drive to the south.

«Mrs Cleaver told me that a young man has been hired,» Madge proclaimed, «So you can be sure they don’t want any more trouble with a woman teacher out at that school.» Madge fingered her cigarette packet. «Apparently, this new teacher has a pompadour hairstyle and is quite a snappy dresser.» Madge extracted another cigarette from the packet and lit it with a match. She snorted and said, «That woman is such a hoot! You know how she talks. She is such a character with her gap-toothed smile.» Madge gave another loud guffaw. Imitating Mrs Cleaver, Madge said, «I have heard that there young feller who’ll be the new teacher at the country school, people say he plays the pianer really pretty, just like that there Liberace.» Madge was laughing so hard that tears ran from her eyes.

Victoria gave a brief laugh and said, «It is good they have found a suitable replacement for that young woman who…» The words faded away.

Madge gave Victoria a ‘cheer up’ look and continued. «As Mrs Cleaver told me, the young man wants to get involved in the community,» Madge stated, blowing smoke through her lips, «and in fact, wants to be a Boy Scout leader. Those lucky boys to have a new, young Boy Scout leader. Old Burt Bentley has wanted to leave the Boy Scout leadership for years.»

Abruptly, Victoria blurted out, «I am worried that Miles is having an affair.»

«Who with?» Madge asked, «Your friend, Jo?» Then, she began to cackle at her own joke.

«Very funny,» said Victoria. «No, with his new secretary, Mimi. I dropped by his office when Miles was on the fishing trip, and the receptionist told me that Mimi was also taking her summer holiday at the same time.

Madge looked at Victoria, a slight frown on her face, and then took another drag of her cigarette. «My friend, you have been reading too many books and overthinking.»

Victoria ignored  Madge’s declaration: «I want you to do something for me. Ask your husband something…ask Mike if Miles was on the fishing trip.»

Madge rolled her eyes. «And if he wasn’t, do you think Mike would tell me or any other husbands?» Madge butted out her cigarette and, leaning over to the other woman, said, «Honour amongst thieves.» Then, laughing, she exclaimed, «Hell, we don’t tell our husbands everything. You know the expression, ‘Don’t ask, don’t tell.»

«Please just ask him,» Victoria insisted. Madge shrugged her shoulders, her expression suggesting it would be a useless endeavour. «Okay, honey, I will ask Mike and see what he says.»

The following day, Madge called Victoria after breakfast when their husbands had left for work. «According to my husband, your husband caught the most fish, told the most and best jokes, and was usually the drunkest guy, and so in short, Miles was definitely on the fishing trip.»

«Do you believe him?» Victoria asked her friend.

«No,» Madge said. «But if it were my husband, I would not care, and you shouldn’t either. Take up a hobby, or furtively find a boyfriend,» she said with a chuckle. «What’s good for the goose is good for the gander.»

Victoria started crying, tears running down her face. Madge exclaimed over the telephone, «My dear friend, what is your problem?» «That’s just it,» Victoria sobbed, as her friend listened on the other end of the line, «That’s my problem: I just don’t know what my problem is…I just do not know.» Victoria wished that her friend were beside her so that she could wrap her arms around Madge and hang on to her friend as if she were life itself, for a rare moment to abandon herself to the trust and love of another.

…………………

In early September, Victoria had worked up sufficient resolve to make a return trip and drop-in visit to her husband’s office to get to know her husband’s new secretary. She had taken great care to put herself together, wearing a new purple summer dress, a shorter, new hairstyle after a visit to the hairdressing salon the day before, and a new girdle that did wonders for her figure. It was only after Victoria entered the accounting office that she wondered if lipstick was on her teeth; she had been so hasty that she had not checked in the hall mirror before leaving the house.

The receptionist looked up from her desk, and this time, the secretaries for all three accountants were at their desks. Victoria smiled at the receptionist and, reflecting on the previous visit, said to the older woman, «It is a pleasure to see you again, Muriel.» The receptionist smiled and returned to her work, as did the other two secretaries. Miles’ secretary, Mimi, stood up and smiled politely at Victoria. «Hello, Mrs Davenport. It is a pleasure to meet you. Is there anything that I can do for you?»

Victoria again wondered if she had lipstick on her front teeth. Furtively wiping them with her gloved right hand, she looked down and saw a smear of red on the white material of her gloves. Victoria breathed a sigh of relief that she had narrowly averted an embarrassment and walked up to the secretary’s desk. Standing across from her, the younger woman seemed quietly appraising Victoria, which considerably irked her.

«I dropped by to see my husband,» Victoria said firmly.

«He is in a meeting with the other accountants and informed me that he is not to be disturbed for any reason,» the secretary said politely but with a firm set of her shoulders.

«But this is important,» Victoria said, her voice faltering.

«Is it an emergency?» the secretary asked, raising her eyebrow.

«Well, not exactly an emergency,» Victoria replied. «I need to decide about a paint I saw at Biltmore’s, and I would like to purchase the paint today.»

The secretary blinked rather like a disbelieving owl. «After his meeting, I can send Mr Davenport to Biltmore’s, and they can show him the paint. Leave it to me.»

Victoria fumbled with her purse, readjusted her dress, and turned to leave the office. At the door, she turned and looked back. Her husband’s secretary was staring at Victoria, her brow wrinkled, and her lips pursed. It was a knowing look, Victoria thought to herself, slightly sympathetic but definitely dismissive. Then, looking at the others in the outer office, Victoria saw that the other three women were also staring at her: the receptionist had a concerned and kindly expression, whilst the two secretaries who sat at their desks near Mimi both had a look of disbelief on their faces – and perhaps, Victoria suspected slight sneers.

Victoria slammed the outer door of the accounting office behind her and walked several blocks, almost reaching the path that led up to the red brick library, before she remembered that her car was parked in the opposite direction. She made a hasty decision. She was only a block from Jo’s house on Rowntree Street, so Victoria walked as quickly as possible toward her destination. Although the two women had talked on the telephone since their ‘disagreement’ (as Victoria liked to think), she had not returned to Jo’s house. On this humiliating, hot day, the waves of summer heat seemed to drain all energy from her body and soul. Jo’s house seemed a beacon of light to Victoria, a veritable lighthouse on the rocky, treacherous shores of her life.

…………………

In southwestern Ontario, September could alternate between hot, summer-like days and chilly, autumn-like weather. Some people said it was an early Indian summer, although that usually happened later in the fall. Since early summer, Victoria had been collecting stones from the river banks and the river’s waters that ran at the bottom of the sloping yard. In fact, Victoria knew she had become somewhat obsessed with collecting stones for the rock garden she planned to create the following spring. A large mound of stones sat imposingly along the brick wall of the back garden. To Victoria’s chagrin, Miles sometimes called it a burial mound.

It had taken her several attempts, stopping and starting over again, to finally finish Virginia Woolf’s Between the Acts, the author’s final novel, published shortly after her death. Victoria found the book dense and confusing, difficult to follow because of its lyrical style, and disturbing, but she did not quite understand why she felt that way. However, because she could not fully focus or give her mind over to the concentration a profound novel demands, Victoria knew that personal factors were affecting her reading progress. Victoria felt a sense of accomplishment when she came to the final page.

Victoria’s black moods had continued unabated, although some days were better than others. Occasionally, particularly when she was sitting having martinis and chatting with Jo in the afternoon at her home near the library or having coffee and a chat with Madge, Victoria almost felt her old self. One of the reasons for those good spells, she thought, was the pills that Hortense had helped to obtain. Hortense was perhaps her least favourite of the women in her circle: she was often bossy and opinionated. She could be extremely bubbly and happy one day, then critical and bitchy the next. However, Victoria had decided to confide in the other woman about her desire to find pills that could help her with the mood swings she was having. Hortense’s husband was a pharmacist, and Victoria suspected that Hortense was on medication. As it turned out, that was indeed the case.

Over coffee in Victoria’s kitchen, Hortense pontificated: «Say no more, Vicky, I have several bottles of ‘feel good pills’ at home and one in my purse.» Opening her purse, Hortense drew out a vial of pills and handed them to the other woman. «Just be careful not to overdo it, to take only one pill each morning.» However, sometimes Victoria did forget if she had taken a pill or not. She did not tell her husband or doctor about it, although Victoria confided in Jo and Madge. The two other women admonished her, but Victoria said the proof was in the pudding, and she was beginning to feel better.

Earlier in September, Madge’s two children had returned to school after the summer holidays, and she would drop by to see Victoria in the mornings during the week. Victoria would make coffee, and some days she even felt like her old self enough to make gingersnap cookies, which Madge loved to nibble on with her coffee. Victoria knew her friend was concerned about her, and she appreciated it. Still, it irritated her how Madge would sometimes look at her as if she were about to explode or discombobulate. On this particular day, just like clockwork, Madge showed up at the kitchen door when Victoria had just sat in the breakfast nook to drink coffee after washing the morning dishes.

«Can I pour myself a cup of caffeine?» Madge asked with a smile.

«Of course,» Victoria replied, «I made gingersnap cookies yesterday, help yourself.» She pushed the cookie jar before Madge, who had just sat in the breakfast nook.

«Did you see I Love Lucy last evening?» her friend asked. «It was so funny.»

«It is a good show, but I have lost interest in watching television.» Victoria took a sip of the strong coffee after adding sugar and cream. «I prefer listening to the radio, especially the CBC. Last evening, they had a special broadcast of Wagner’s music,» she continued. «Are you familiar with Wagner?»

Madge snorted and set her coffee cup down with a clink. «Yes, I am,» Madge stated with a grimace. «No doubt that light and gay music cheered up your flagging spirits!» she said, with a tone of sarcasm. Reaching across the breakfast nook table, Madge put a hand on one of Victoria’s and looked directly into her eyes. «Honey, you need to see a doctor…a psychiatrist. I am worried about you.»

Victoria started to withdraw her hand. «I will be fine,» she replied. I just need time.» Victoria began to get up, but the other woman grabbed her hand. «I read about this relatively new therapy for people who are overwhelmed with worry—people like you.»

Hearing what her friend had just said, Victoria felt disengaged from the conversation, and a steely resolve came over her. «I know exactly what you are referring to, Madge,» she glowered. «It is electroshock treatment, and I would not wish that on my worst enemy.» For a brief instant, Victoria recalled going to the movies with Miles shortly after marriage. She had insisted on seeing The Snake Pit because it starred one of her favourite actresses, Olivia de Havilland. Victoria had been distraught by the movie and its theme of mental illness. She squirmed while watching the film, twisting and turning in her seat. Miles leaned over and asked Victoria what was wrong. Victoria had whispered in his ear that she had abdominal pains and thought the curse was coming on her (she would never have said ‘period’ to him, unlike she would have to her female friends). Miles had offered to let them leave the movie theatre and go home; however, Victoria was determined to see the movie to the end, despite how much it disturbed her.

Madge brought Victoria out of her reverie by rising from the breakfast nook. Madge went to the kitchen counter and collected her purse. Turning, she looked back at where Victoria sat in the breakfast nook, her shoulders set defensively. Madge gave a sad sigh. «Don’t hesitate to let me know if there is anything I can do at any time,» she instructed before leaving the kitchen to return to her home down the street.

Victoria sat at the breakfast nook table, her hands clenched in front of her. She regretted not responding more positively to her friend’s attempts to help her. Madge, of course, knew about Victoria’s concerns about her marriage and the possibility of infidelity. Surely she, too, would have her mind in a muddle if she were in Victoria’s shoes? ‘No, she wouldn’t,’ Victoria thought to herself. ‘Like Jo, Madge is a survivor. She could overcome any obstacle in her personal life, any devastating episode in her marriage, and soldier on into whatever the future held.’

Although she had continued to be concerned that Miles was having an affair with his secretary, Victoria knew it was best to be silent. She did not want her marriage to fail, in divorce. She did not want to experience what had happened to her mother: divorced and with limited financial means. Also, for some reason, she was fixated on the death of the young teacher earlier in the summer; although for others in her group, the young woman’s death had receded into the past, Victoria felt there was still unfinished business. Everyone had speculated at the time that the teacher had been having an affair with a married man, became pregnant, and then killed herself when he would not leave his wife and marry her. Victoria was plagued with thoughts about the nature of the young woman’s death, especially when she lay in bed at night, and could imagine in her mind’s eye the woman entering the river to end her life. There had never been any question of foul play; the authorities had determined it was death by suicide. Nonetheless, Victoria was somewhat obsessed with the young woman’s death, in much the same way that she was obsessing about the collection of stones for her rock garden.

…………………

«Do you want to come for a martini, a smoke, and a chat this afternoon?» Jo asked her friend over the telephone.

«Sorry, Jo, but I am not feeling myself today,» Victoria replied, and after a short chat, she ended the conversation. There was something that she had not told her friend. Victoria had discovered condoms hidden in a shoebox in her husband’s closet. Also, for the past few weeks, he had started working in the evenings; Miles said it was because he was so busy. When asked, he told his secretary she would also work with him in the evening because he needed her help. Victoria had been tempted one evening to walk to her husband’s office to see if she would discover Miles and Mimi doing more than working on accounts. However, she was too proud to do it, and perhaps too reticent to learn any bad news or to discover that her husband and his secretary were not even at the office. She had considered calling the office and hanging up, but decided it would be humiliating.

Victoria regretted not accepting Jo’s offer for martinis at her house, but felt despondent and listless. Victoria took another, unsure if she had taken her feel-good pill that morning. She either lay on the living room sofa for most of the afternoon or rested in her favourite wing chair that sat adjacent to the fireplace, not far from the open French doors. From there, Victoria could see outside to the flagstone patio, the brick wall of the garden with the mound of rocks in front of it, and down the gently sloping lawn to the churning waters of the river.

At some point, when sitting in the wing chair, Victoria fell into a deep sleep. She had a vivid dream: she was at the river, but not at her property, but on the same river near a bridge. In her dream, Victoria knew it was the place where the young teacher had killed herself. The dream was rather like watching a movie, but had a surreal quality. In her dream, Victoria was standing on the banks of the river, on the bridge in the nearby distance. Suddenly, she knew that she was not alone. Turning, Victoria gave a start when she saw a young woman right beside her. She had never met the young teacher who had taught at the one-room country school, but Victoria knew it was her. In the dream, the two women looked at each other. The other woman leaned toward Victoria as if to kiss her on the cheek; instead, she whispered in Victoria’s ear: «I did not kill myself; I was killed.»

The dream went dark. Victoria struggled to swim up from the depths of the dream to the realm of reality. It was as if she could not move, and that time had stopped. Suddenly, she broke free of the dream – no, nightmare, she decided – and opened her eyes. Looking around, Victoria realised that it was now early evening. She must have been sleeping for a long time, and the hours had passed with her asleep in the chair, having a terrible dream that all came back to her with clarity, playing over in her mind like a relentless reel of film.

Just then, Miles came into the living room. «You were having quite a sleep,» he said. «I did not want to disturb you.»

«I had a horrible dream,» Victoria murmured, thinking back.

«What about?» her husband asked.

Victoria did not want to tell her husband about the dream. She needed time to think, to process it, and to understand its meaning. «I forget,» she responded, «but I just recall that it was disturbing.»

«Did you collect any more stones today for your rock garden?»

«No,» Victoria replied. «I have been feeling out of sorts today, not myself.»

Miles stared at her from near the French doors. «You should go for a walk and get some exercise,» he said. Why not collect more stones for your rock garden while it is still light enough to see?»

Victoria nodded her head in agreement. «I need to clear the cobwebs,» she said. «Perhaps that will do it.»

«That’s my girl,» Miles said, grinning. «Although it was quite hot this afternoon, it is getting chilly this evening. I will get your favourite walking jacket from the hall closet.» He walked out of the room and returned in a moment with it. Victoria took the jacket from Miles, but he helped her put it on. Miles said, «I must go to work now; as you know, it’s a busy time of year. Good luck with finding the best rocks.»

Victoria put her hands into the jacket’s big pockets and clenched her fists. She felt angry that Miles was leaving, but she was still disturbed by her terrible dream. Miles was almost in the hallway when he turned and quickly returned to his wife. «I forgot something,» he said. Then, leaning down, Miles kissed Victoria on the nose, then on the left cheek, and whispered in her ear.

Victoria did not remember seeing Miles leave the house. She remained standing, rooted to the spot. Victoria was trying to focus on her thoughts about what Miles had whispered to her. Did she just imagine it? Was her mind playing tricks on her again? Victoria squeezed her eyes shut to shut out the light, trying to help her remember. Victoria’s hands were even more tightly clenched in the jacket’s vast pockets; her legs felt wooden, and her feet seemed encased in concrete. «Remember the words,» she whispered to herself, «remember the words.»

«You got what you deserved.»

Had her husband actually said those words, or had she only imagined it? Victoria opened her eyes, and from where she stood, she could see the flowing, foaming river in the distance; it seemed to beckon to her. Suddenly, the telephone started ringing insistently; Victoria turned her eyes toward the hallway, where it appeared poised to jump off the hall table, its volume growing ever louder. Victoria knew who it was: no one but Jo would be so persistent. In her mind’s eye, she imagined Jo with the telephone clutched in one hand, a martini and cigarette in the other. She knew it would not be long before her friend would hang up and jump in her car to visit Victoria’s house, which Jo rarely did.

Looking out again through the French doors to the turbulent river in the distance, Victoria thought of the water and the rocks, and how the entire scene seemed to be calling to her: to find solace in nature and peace in the past. Turning her head toward the sound of the telephone, which had momentarily stopped ringing but then started again with its persistent noise, it seemed to Victoria that the path to the hallway and the telephone table led to the future, but it was indeed uncharted, unknown territory.

Victoria knew she must move and make a decision, but her feet felt leaden, and her hands were like blocks of stone in the pockets of her jacket. Ahead or back? The future or the past? Victoria willed herself to move, to take a step. And then another step. And on and on and on. At long last, she was almost there…yes, almost home.