Page 76 of Patio Lanterns

“I begged Rosalie not to marry him. Warned her that he would steal her youth. Her parents were furious that she was throwing away her future and threatened to disown her. But she was head over heels in love with the man and was determined to marry him. Nothing that I said, or that anyone could say, made one whiff of difference,” she said. “Rosalie never looked before she leaped. Just like someone else we know.”

Robin harumphed. “Please don’t leave me hanging. What happened to her?”

“Lake Whippoorwill was not all boat regattas and campfires back in those days. People were fighting to survive. This was the Canadian wilderness. Conditions were harsh and unforgiving, especially in winter. And it was years before some areas had electricity and running water.” Mrs. C shook her head. “Rosalie could’ve lived a pampered life of luxury, but by then, her family had completely cut her off. She threw everything away for the love of John Pelletier. And do you know what that man did?”

“Uh-uh.” Robin shook her head.

“He died.”

Oh.

“Rosalie was widowed at twenty nine. He left her all alone in that cabin with four children, and nothing but a few dollars to her name.” Mrs. C paused, tilting her head. “Are you telling me that you’ve never been told the story of your own family before?”

Robin shrugged. “I never really paid much attention to old stories except that our great-grandfather won land in Muskoka in a poker game that he built our cottage on.”

“Typical. History brushes aside the woman’s contributions to focus on the man,” she said. “But trust me, if that’s all you’ve ever known, then you really don’t know the best part.”

Robin pulled out a chair and sat down next to Mrs. C. Suddenly, she had nothing better to do than hear the rest of the story. “Tell me more.”

“The hardship Rosalie Pelletier faced only made her stronger and more resilient. She had no choice but to pick herself up for the sake and the survival of her young family,” she said. “Not only did she teach her children to read and write, but she also earned a certificate from the teacher’s college and opened a school right here in Lake Whippoorwill.”

“A school? Really?”

“Used to be right next to this very store and post office that my family owned,” Mrs. C said. “Rosalie was a schoolteacher, I was a shopkeeper. Between the two of us, we ran this town for years.” She laughed.

“I—I don’t know what to say,” Robin said, flabbergasted. “That’s amazing.”

“Your great-grandmother was nearly elected to public office too, did you know that?”

Robin shook her head. Just when she thought it couldn’t get any better.

“Rosalie was interested in politics, and as a schoolteacher, she had developed a commanding presence and a comfort with public speaking. She was a born leader, often the first to champion the rights of others and local causes. But when she put her name forward to serve as a member of the legislative assembly of Ontario, the big shots refused her nomination papers. Told her she was unqualified, and that she’d be better off turning her focus to family matters instead.”

A heavy sigh passed Robin’s lips. “Naturally.”

“People were outraged, and not just women, but men too. When election day came, hundreds wrote Rosalie Pelletier’s name down on their ballots. She was the candidate they wanted to represent this region,” she said. “She didn’t win, but she only lost by a slim margin of votes cast.”

An overwhelming sense of pride surged in Robin. What a remarkable and resilient woman her great-grandmother was—a true pioneer, a feminist, a breaker of barriers. Nevertheless, she persisted, Robin thought to herself. “Rosalie sounds like a gutsy broad.”

Mrs. C nodded. “You remind me of her.”

“Me?” Robin was embarrassed by the comparison. “Oh no, I’m nobody. And I’m certainly not like Rosalie—”

Mrs. C cuffed Robin’s hand beneath her own. “You come from good stock, don’t ever forget that. Rosalie would be very proud of you, and your mother and father would be proud of you too,” she said. “I’m proud of you.”

Robin’s eyes filled with tears. “You know, now I kinda wish you were my great-grandmother.”

“Well, I’m not.” Mrs. C shut that nonsense down once and for all.

“Then how about if I make you like, my great-fairy godmother or something?”

“Okay, I accept.” She nodded, smiling. “I have to say, Robin, I have really enjoyed our time together.”

“So have I,” Robin said. “You know, I don’t even know your first name.”

“It’s Vera,” she answered.

“Vera Crawley,” Robin repeated, smiling to herself. That was a good name. It suited her well and sounded so much nicer than Creepy Crawley. “May I call you Vera?”

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