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  Chapter 3

  Etta and Owen

  Etta was the true Canadian version of the Victorian era, which explained her many social nuances, behaviours, and discernments. Her well-to-do family home in the east end of Sault Ste. Marie. In its time, it had an air of propriety and distinction. The need for absolute adherence to the British monarchy’s code of conduct was the expectation of her parents, grandparents, and their preferred company. This boiled down to one simple thing: all issues were seemingly categorized as either acceptable or foreign. You were white and of English descent—Anglican—or not, well-heeled or not. The ‘not’ part of anything was sternly and strictly avoided.

  Etta met Owen right after WWI. Owen courted Etta’s older sister Elizabeth for a short period until he realized it was Etta for whom he truly felt love and a need to cherish. In 1925, after a fitly chaperoned courtship, they were married. The wedding was beautifully appointed, befitting a royal princess bride, and the accoutrements were exquisite. She had (of course) the traditional virgin white gown—an ankle-length gown, primly designed with a high Victorian neckline and long lace sleeves. The satin bodice and skirt of the dress had an overlay of lace to match the sleeves. The bridal accessories included white lace gloves and a fine pair of white leather tie-up boots with a small heel to elevate her petite five-foot frame. Her lace veil featured a delicate white satin tied bonnet that caressed her shoulders and flowed into a cathedral train behind her. Etta’s traditional English bride bouquet consisted of a cascade of red roses and English ivy. She was truly a beautiful bride, entrancing Owen as she walked down the aisle of St. Luke’s Anglican Church. Etta could tell she had made her parents proud with her choice in a husband. In her mind, she felt like she was a perfect princess bride as she held her father’s arm. She proceeded with naïve confidence to meet her groom to the tune of the traditional Mendelssohn’s “Wedding March” played by the old, crusty church organist.

  Etta had attended many weddings with her parents over the years of her impressionable life, but her true model for a crowning marriage was her parents’. Her father didn’t display overt affection for anyone. His purpose in life was to provide the necessities of a typical upper-middle-class family with discipline and good order for all those under his roof. Her mother rarely demonstrated endearment for her husband, as if it was distasteful or below her station to kiss and hug him, let alone her children. To Etta, daily marital relations between a husband and wife looked like pleasantries. “Good morning, Dear,” while eating breakfast, followed by “Thank you, Dear. I trust you will have a lovely day,” ending with “Good night, my Dear,” as each of them retired to their separate bedrooms. The whole idea of actually doing “the deed” didn’t titillate Etta in the least.

  It was only a few days before the wedding when her mother gave her the Victorian version of how to do the sexual act necessary to consummate the marriage. In doing so, she conveyed the act of intercourse with the opaqueness of a wedding veil. Etta’s take away from the teaching was that marital sex was something to submit to on the wedding night and as infrequently as possible thereafter. It was on this premise that she managed her matrimonial obligations.

  Being one of the few privileged married ladies of that steel town, Etta had a multitude of beautiful dresses and a closet to rival any English-influenced woman in Canada. Her favourite dress shop was Sandy’s on Gore Street. Every new season, Etta would bring home two new dresses to try on and keep them for a week to determine if she wanted to have both, one, or none. The store only offered this practice to the few high society ladies. The alchemy of attractiveness was in how Etta could stylize each outfit. Her high-heeled pumps always matched her handbag, as did her kid leather gloves. For this industrial municipality, she was the “cherry on top,” and it was Owen’s true delight as Etta’s husband to gift her with all he could.

  Owen loved to be playful with Etta. In response, she would scold him for his rogue behaviour, as if it was a nuisance to her. Despite her reaction, his favourite flirtatious display was to peek down her brassiere on the premise that he was checking to see if his fifty-dollar bill was still there. If not, he would have a replacement to tuck into her garment after a bounteous visual delight.

  As emulated by her parents, Etta’s indoctrinated belief was sex had only one purpose: to dutifully make her body available for a husband and wife encounter for the strict intention to impregnate. Therefore, her marital sleeping accommodations entailed separate bedrooms and remained this way throughout their union. Once Etta was with child, she had fulfilled her marital duty and chose never to endure such bodily displeasure again.

  Flynn was born to Etta and Owen in March 1926. His childhood, by any other Sault Ste Marie comparison, was privileged, overly-protected, and indulged. Etta was resistant to Flynn meeting traditional forms of child development. For example, Flynn failed kindergarten twice because Etta only allowed periodic attendance, given that he would be susceptible to germs and likely the distasteful influence of poorly behaved children. The real reason for Flynn’s absences was because she missed him too much to allow him to attend school. Despite all the hovering from his mother, Flynn became a tall, handsome, athletic, well-humoured, carefree man with every opportunity life could offer. His life was top shelf, which included a car at sixteen, a fast boat, and a camp on Squirrel Island. As fathers did at the time, Owen acquired work for his son in the same occupation as himself. Owen was a foreman at Algoma Steel, and when Flynn came of age at sixteen, he worked in his father’s department.

  At seventeen, Flynn enlisted into the Royal Canadian Navy and went to serve in WWII. Owen hid his need to shelter his son from his unforgettable experiences of the mud and blood survival in the trenches in WWI. Owen was relieved it was the Navy and not the Army that Flynn was pursuing. It was there, Flynn developed his life-long passion for sailing. His sailor experience was full of mischievous adventures, some of them being more serious, like going MIA and being put in the hull for not returning to the ship on time in Montreal. French girls were at the core of all of his naval misdemeanours, and, oh, how things changed, especially for Etta, when Flynn discovered French kissing.

  Chapter 4

  Monique

  Monique never fit the Gagne mould. It was a constant internal conflict for her to fit in while discovering her own aspirations and some degree of contentment. Monique, unlike her mother, Adele, lived with a “glass half full” mindset. As a result, Monique kept her imaginary world well-guarded within her reality.

  Life on the farm compromised Monique physically, emotionally, and spiritually. She was a sickly child; it was a small wonder she didn’t perish trying to fight off her many bouts of pneumonia attributed to the damp, cold, and draughtiness of the old farmhouse.

  Having a life’s purpose of growing cash crops was definitely not the path Monique wanted. Her interests were more abstract than the concrete essence of her mother’s. Books, not shovels, were her tools. Doing her required daily chores on the farm, which consisted of hoeing, weeding, and picking, was a dreaded daily penance.

  Despite her health issues, Monique was at the top of her class in her early academic life. At school, she found her niche: mathematics, biology, physics, and geography. Academia became her enlivened calling. She felt the mundanity of her simple life unbearably self-limiting. From an early age, Monique yearned for a more global reality. The farm and her mother were her unendurable anchors. Ironically, it was the diagnosis of asthma that released her from her bondage. Following the doctor’s recommendation to move her from the farm environment, she was handed off to her father’s spinster sister in Massey. There, Monique’s academic life was encouraged and praised. She discovered new freedoms, and the barn door of her previous life was flung wide open; she was the beautiful black filly exploring greener pastures.

  In Massey, following her secondary education, Monique’s options and desires for continued academia were limited. Finances were the defining factor. Adele would only agree to Nursing School. Jacqu
e and her grand-pere wanted her to go to McGill University in Montreal to continue feeding her passion for biology. Predictably, Adele put her heavy foot down, and so nursing it was. At least Monique didn’t have to return to the farm. By continuing her education in Sault Ste. Marie, she had the intriguing experience of the somewhat “naughty life” of a nursing student’s residential lifestyle. It didn’t take long for Monique to established a duality to herself; by day, she fostered diligence to the sterility of the teachings of the Sisters of St. Joseph (the Order for Caring for the Sick). This was juxtaposed with the shenanigans of a revered nursing student delighting in evening impish escapades. Monique was the most beautiful and the most daring of her classmates, flaunting her exquisite beauty and innate French attributes and sensuality. She wasn’t that shadow of a girl from the farm anymore; she was the “diva of the steel town” living up to and redefining the naughty nurse delight of many young men’s imaginations.

  The horizontal black velvet ribbon gracing her nursing caps’ top rim signified her achievement of becoming a Registered Nurse. The highlight of her career was when she became an operating room nurse. Monique wasn’t shy about being proud of her work. She felt dignified by the status of her qualifications.

  Adele never told her daughter she was proud of her accomplishments. In truth, Adele was disappointed her eldest daughter didn’t become a nun, as she secretly hoped that would be her hall pass to heaven.

  Monique readily understood the science of nursing; it was the practical caring for the patients that was incongruous with her vocational path. Sputum, puke, and excrement were not her forte. It was her training rotation in the operating room that fascinated her. The sterilizing process of the surgical instruments was perfectly mastered. Her OR nursing technique was envied by her peers and praised by her teachers. Being an OR nurse, she didn’t have to be skilled in bedside manner as her patients were anaesthetized. The surgeons would toss dice to win the OR suite Monique would be working in for the day.

  She was a sight to behold. Even with her surgical mask on, her brown eyes radiated throughout the room. Monique seized her bewitching power over the surgeons. She knew her vivaciousness was like a drug to them.

  Chapter 5

  Monique Finds Her Sailor

  It was on one of the few hot and humid Saturday nights in Sault Ste. Marie when Monique and her nursing friend, Natalie, went to a dance at the Royal Canadian Legion. It was there that Monique unexpectedly met an unbelievably captivating sailor. She shocked even herself at how attracted she was to that healthy male specimen. Undoubtedly, he was the pin-up poster for a returned-from-war Canadian sailor-turned-steel worker. From Monique’s perspective, he was certainly a person of interest on her Romeo radar.

  Her dance card was already full, yet she knew the copulating frenzy of the jazz music fuelling the energy in the dance hall couldn’t preclude her need to take action and clear some slots on her dance card. The subject of her gaze hadn’t noticed her yet. Instead, a sleazy, bottled-blonde with a ridiculous ponytail was occupying his attention. Monique instinctually employed her sensual prowess by swaying to the music, which successfully gained his attention.

  Monique had always been more intrigued by the sailors at Legion dances than the Army or Air Force guys. For that matter, they piqued her interest even more than the doctors from the hospital where she worked. She continued to sway with the music. Flynn turned around and leaned his back into the bar. Monique found his full-frontal gaze, and time stopped (but not the music). Her tall, exquisitely formed body was now of prime interest to this sailor. Flynn was clearly on her sea and sailing into a memorable Saturday night delight.

  As if pulling in his mainsail, Flynn drew Monique into his mast-like frame before engaging in their first dance, the jitterbug. In the mood and groove, they danced until the end of the evening, much to the disappointment of the Army guys on her dance card, which was forgotten in her purse alongside her tube of red lipstick. They didn’t stand a chance, as Flynn wasn’t looking to surrender his captivating acquisition. Being a seasoned woman-seeker in different ports, Flynn felt this situation was different, fresh, and enticing.

  A Sunday picnic at Harmony Bay followed the dance. The beach blanket emulated the dance floor; however, the posturing was horizontal on the beach. It was such a thrilling time for Monique; nothing seemed forbidden or conforming. Her free spirit sailed with her sailor’s. Flynn’s mainsail was taunting to catch the waves into Monique’s heart. Without question, he desired the French woman. Her allure was unrelenting. Laughter and frolicking behaviour propelled her to feel ready to embrace her own satisfaction, being that sexy seductress who could so easily hook any stud she desired. Any hints of her farm-girl life were far removed.

  The summer of 1952 embodied party after party, dance after dance, picnic after picnic, beach after beach, and their romance flourished. Despite her comfort with her sensual ooze, Monique hadn’t been intimate with a man before. On the other hand, Flynn had had multiple sexual encounters throughout his naval life but never had truly made love to a woman. Monique was his first “special” sexual experience. She held nothing back from his warm arms and hungry kisses. Without hesitation, Flynn was a “man overboard” and found himself swimming to Monique’s shoreline with abandonment.

  Over the summer, the two lovers traveled many robust seas, each more gratifying than the last. Flynn was consumed by his French woman, despite what his mother might think, and he wanted to seal her in his vault; a proposal transpired.

  Chapter 6

  Flynn, Adele, and Jacque

  The lightning rods on the top of the farmhouse were no defence for the storm-o-all-storms that was about to pass over Adele and Jacque’s farm. Monique was already trembling, and Flynn did the only thing he knew how to do—keep the sails taut and hold the course.

  Flynn’s car proceeded down Folk’s Road—a distinctive tall corridor of evergreens framed the driveway that led the way to the old farmhouse. Inside, Adele was vigorously rocking in her chair, and Jacque was inhaling deeply on his pipe. Monique’s brothers had long since headed for the barn to avoid the anticipated hailstones. Adele didn’t like surprises. All Jacque and Adele knew about Flynn was he was “different,” as conveyed by their second oldest daughter, who was already properly wedded. These were not comforting words to this bedrock couple.

  Monique opened the door into the kitchen with Flynn’s hand firmly in hers, giving a visual indication to her parents that this was her person of significance. “Mom, Dad, this is my fiancé, Flynn.” Her statement was followed by a long, draughty pause of pending anxiety for all. True to character, Adele immediately started to ask the direct questions.

  “Flynn; that’s a different name. Are you from town?”

  “Yes,” Flynn said.

  “What’s your last name?”

  “Kross.”

  That’s certainly not a French name, Adele thought. “Where do you live?”

  “On Simpson Avenue.”

  That must be a snobby east end address, definitely not in the farming area, she thought. “What are your parents’ names?”

  “Etta and Owen,” Flynn replied.

  Those aren’t French names either, Adele declared in her mind. “What does your father do?”

  “He is a foreman at the Algoma Steel Plant.”

  Hmm, don’t know anyone who works at the plant except Aunt Margaret’s neighbour, the Italian. “Where do you work?” Adele demanded.

  “I served in the Royal Canadian Navy, and now I work at the plant with my father.”

  Well, he’s handsome enough; Monique did well for herself there. He has a lean, muscular body; he’ll make a fine farmhand for haying, she thought, while sizing up the young man in front of her. “What Parish do you and your family belong to?”

  “Mrs. Gagne, my parents and I attend St. Luke’s.”

  That was the first nuclear crack. Monique’s quivering was becoming visually apparent.

  “Mom, I love Flynn, and we’
re going to be married,” Monique declared.

  “But Monique, he isn’t Catholic.”

  “Mom, Flynn is everything to me.”

  “Monique, he isn’t Catholic,” Adele repeated herself more forcefully.

  “Dad, help me,” Monique pleaded.

  Jacque only inhaled deeper on his pipe.

  “Monique, he isn’t Catholic; you’ll be committing a mortal sin. You must go to confession and beg for forgiveness, and you will need to do penance for your thoughts and actions.”

  “Mom, I am going to marry Flynn, and that is that,” Monique said emphatically.

  “Monique, the Commandments state you must honour your Mother and Father. Have you forgotten that? You will go to hell, and your children will be marred as retribution from God for your mortal sin.”

  “Dad, help me,” Monique begged following her mother’s emotional beating. The room was dense with pipe smoke and fury.

  Flynn looked panicked and confused. “Monique, let’s go. I want to go. Now. Goodbye, Mr. and Mrs. Gagne,” he said as they hurried out the back door.

  Flynn couldn’t wait to get them both in the car and steered westward. He didn’t care to ever return to the farm. He had never experienced such a family conflict. Flynn had a feeling their announcement wouldn’t be easy. His planned strategy to turn on his candour and charm had failed him.

  In the car, Monique’s tears transformed from drips to sea swells. “Oh Flynn, what are we going to do? I knew this was going to be hard. I knew my father wouldn’t intervene.” Her father’s silent anger etched a crater in her heart.

  Chapter 7

  Monique, Etta, and Owen

  “Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad. I would like you to meet my beautiful Monique,” Flynn said as he led his fiancée into the properly appointed English parlour.

  Owen held his cigarette in his left hand while extending his right hand to Monique. His grip was gentle, warm, and friendly. Monique felt calm, even if it was only for a few seconds.