Farmerettes by Gisela Sherman

country creatures dining, courting, glad to be alive.
    She had followed Jean this evening with awe and joy, taking in everything—the fresh green fields, the pink blossom-clad orchards, the pond full of ducks and geese, the vast blue sky tinged with evening shades of red. She was going to spend a whole summer in this paradise.
    When the girls followed Jean into the barn, Helene had stayed back. She turned toward the sun and gazed at the fields stretching to the horizon. Never had she seen so much open space, inhaled air so clean. She flung her arms wide, spun in a circle, and laughed out loud. Then she had slipped into the barn with the others.
    Now soft light glowed through the window across from her. How would everything look by moonlight? Helene slipped on shoes, stole to the door halfway down the length of the dorm, and quietly opened it. She tiptoed down the outside stairs, crossed the yard, and watched the moon reflect golden in the pond. She inhaled the scent of grass and newly turned earth. If only her family could enjoy this too.
    As she headed back to the stairs, she heard a soft sob over the night noises. Quietly she followed the sound to the back of the barn. There, hunched over a washtub, was her roommate Isabel, scrubbing at her yellow-flowered dress.
    Helene stepped forward, but then remembered how Isabel had slapped away the helping hand earlier. She turned, went upstairs, fetched her old white shirt, a bar of laundry soap and came back outside. She rubbed the shirt in the grass and joined Isabel at the washtubs.
    Helene nodded at Isabel as if it were quite normal to be washing clothes so late at night. She dampened her shirt and began soaping the grass stain on it.
    Ignoring the small glances from Isabel, Helene hummed and rubbed, rinsed, sighed, and scrubbed some more. “That’s a lovely dress,” she said.
    â€œThank you. But it’s ruined. I hadn’t expected a farm to be so filthy.”
    â€œEverything is always cleaner and easier in magazines, isn’t it?”
    Isabel laughed. “Well, look, your stain is gone. You’re not using the same soap I am, are you?” She held up her box of Rinso. “The ad said it would wash away stains just by soaking them for twelve minutes. It lied.”
    â€œWe make our own soap.” Helene blushed. Her family couldn’t afford Rinso.
    â€œA secret family ingredient?” Isabel said wistfully, dabbing at her dress again.
    â€œWould you like to try it?”
    Isabel hesitated, then took the bar of soap, lathered and rubbed it onto her dress, rinsed, and grinned widely at the clean garment she now held up. “Thank you.”
    â€œMy mother makes good soap.”
    Isabel nodded in agreement. “I’m Isabel Lynch, from Guelph.”
    â€œHelene Miller, Hamilton. Do you see a clothesline?”
    â€œRight there. And clothes-pegs!”
    The girls hung their things on the line. A warm breeze blew them softly.
    â€œIsn’t it wonderful here?” said Helene.
    â€œMaybe I’ll like it better tomorrow.”
    â€œLook up,” said Helene. “Have you ever seen so many stars shining as brightly? There’s the Milky Way. It’s so amazing.”
    Isabel gazed up at the magnificent celestial display and smiled. “There’s the Big Dipper. And Orion, the hunter. I’ve never seen Sirius so bright.”
    Helene was impressed. “How do you know so much?”
    â€œBilly used to show me the stars.” She spoke softly. “Before he left, he chose our star. Sirius. We find it every night before we go to sleep and think of each other. He could be watching it this very minute.”
    â€œBilly?” said Helene.
    â€œBilly Morrison, my fiancé. He’s stationed in England.” She sighed, and peered up longingly.
    Helene wished she missed someone that much. She thought of telling Isabel about the five boys she wrote to every week—she’d taken over