Ann's Pond
A Short Story Substack experiment.
As an experiment, I’m posting one of my short stories to my substack to gauge reactions to this type of content. I’m also working on experimenting with Kindle and Kobo e-readers and learning digital publishing tools. Please feel free to enjoy and pass on if you think it’s worthy—and, of course, please feel free to comment.
Ann's Pond
A passing breath of wind shimmered the heat rising from the road. This light breeze, not quite enough to cool the air, only stirred the curtains of Ann's room as she blinked out to the bright day. She had slept late, and it was midday when she rose. It had been a restless night, with the previous day's heat not abating until midnight. The Valley outside her farmhouse window had turned golden brown, with all the green burned away by the sun.
Looking out the window of her house on the Teacherage, she felt a soft ache of loneliness. She had tried to explain why she would not take the long wagon ride to the railhead with him to see him off on the train.
The enforced closeness of the winter and the small cool days of the beginning of their marriage together had worn on her, and she had felt the need to be freer.
She worked hard at the house, baking and sewing as she should have, trying to use the work to suppress the feelings inside her.
How could she explain that the closeness had drained her, making her chafe for the first time?
Their marriage was a happy one, and he was a good husband. Her family and his had danced all night at the wedding dance, and the quilting bee to furnish her bridal bed had been the biggest the county had seen.
Her friends from the school had giggled about her husband-to-be, and the old farm wives had come forward with tales and free advice about the husband she had been so lucky to catch. They had all said she would be happy.
They had married in the dying days of August when her parents had planned it, as the last of the summer heat started to give way to cool fall evenings. They had their bridal night at the secondary school residence, where he was the second teacher in the boys' school.
Their first year together had been a happy, close time. After the first night together – they rarely made love. He did not want to start a family too soon. When the school committee told Ann's husband about a school in Landis where he could teach all grades, she was proud of him for being given such a reasonable job at such a young age.
It also meant that, for the first time, she had the opportunity to begin building her own house, home, and pantry away from the comfort of her family and friends—and to have a baby.
Once the excitement of setting up the house had passed, they settled into the comfortable routine of being husband and wife. Now that she had her place, she looked forward to having a baby. However, the enthusiasm that had spurred their lovemaking cooled with the weather as winter approached. He was an awkward and nervous lover, and his lack of skill made him shy.
The winter had been harsh and cruel, and the first spring breezes had stirred uneasiness that she didn't recognize. It had been small at first, almost unnoticed, but the pain had built through the spring until now; it weighed upon her. They had been unable to conceive, and his blundering attempts had frustrated her.
Her uneasiness stirred as she remembered he had to go to Saskatoon to write his comprehensive exam at the teacher's convention in October. Her sister had decided to visit a musician friend in Calgary and asked her to accompany her while he was away.
When the time came for him to go to the teachers' convention, she was almost relieved to have him go. However, she felt guilty for not wanting to go with him to Saskatoon.
She had not wanted to go because she knew the trip to Saskatoon would intensify her anxiety. If she had gone to the station, she might have run after the train, jumped aboard, and ridden it far, far away in another direction. So, she agreed to accompany her sister on her trip.
She had felt very light and happy on the trip to Calgary, as the beautiful Indian summer had kept the weather mild.
She had marvelled at the long Prairies of Saskatchewan that had given way to the rolling hills of Alberta Foothills. It was her first trip from the flat farmland where she had been born.
The two of them had travelled on the excellent puffing steam train. They stayed in the new Palliser Hotel, walking up and down the sidewalks of Stephen Avenue, gawking in the shops along the way as streetcars and carriages clattered by on the cobblestone streets.
It was the fall of the year, and she had walked along the Elbow River with the golden, yellow, and red leaves falling in clumps around her. The air had been so calm and sweet, and he...
/2
Ann gazed out to the parched landscape at the sink of the Kitchen in the Teacherage and shook her head as if to empty it of all such thoughts.
The landscape seemed burnt and dead. There was no movement outside as if such movement would intensify the heat. Slowly, the windmill creaked in the yard.
She remembered a calm pond nearby, where trees sheltered the sun. They had picnicked there before, and she had brought a blanket, hoping they could make love by the pond. However, in his starched collar and frockcoat, her husband had felt such things were too frivolous for a schoolteacher. Well, he was not here now, and she could indulge herself.
Refreshed, she turned to the kitchen and packed a small basket with lunch and a blanket. Finding her straw sunbonnet, she stepped out on the warm summer day.
The bright sun hurt her eyes, and she squinted against it. As she moved through the yard, the heat rose from the ground to meet her. Turning onto the road, her sandals kicked up little dust whirls as she walked along.
Walking quickly and smoothly, enjoying the flowing motion of her body as she moved along the road. She sighed against the heat of August and quickened her pace a little. She began to sweat slightly under the warm air of the road, and her dress began to stick against the small of her back.
The road crossed sun-parched fields of poor wheat and Canola, rising and falling with the gentle curve of the land. In a small valley between two fields, a small cache of birch had been planted years ago. The land dipped quickly into the Valley, making it useless for the plough. This had spared the stream and the small pond from being turned to wheat. A Beaver Dam and Lodge had held back the water from the small creek in the area, the beaver having left long ago. The Beaver Dam and Lodge remained, making a light swimming pond six or seven feet deep. It was a small sanctuary in the dry Prairie surrounded by woods shading the pond.
The road to the pond fell across the stream at a small rough bridge, and the other end climbed up to town. It was not a well-used road, so seeing no one as she approached the bridge was not unusual. There, she left the road, walking up the left side of the stream towards the band of trees to a small clearing.
She walked under the umbrella of the birches, and the air changed from a stifling brick oven wall to a soft, extraordinary, green wine. The light softened on her eyes, and she sighed, breathing deeply the cool air of the trees.
Past the beaver dam, she walked around the side of the pond. Slipping off her sandals, she let her feet move through the long grass, scaring up little clouds of grasshoppers ahead of her. Finding a clear space, she laid down the basket and spread the blanket.
Moving to the pond's edge, she tested the water with her toe and drew back to the blanket. Looking around to see she was alone, she let the cotton dress, the shift, and the undergarments slide from her body.
She waded into the pond and dived in. Coming up, she began to swim firmly and smoothly.
The coolness refreshed her, and she swam to the other side and returned. Her lithe body moved well, and she was proud that she had never become the overstuffed pillow the fashion demanded. After a long winter of inactivity, the pleasure of feeling her arms and legs working against the water felt good.
The water caressed her body as she swam, cooling and refreshing her. She smiled as it moved over her when she swam, like a tremendous lover stroking her breasts and thighs.
Returning to the shore, she rose, streaming from the water. Spreading her dress on the blanket, she lay down on it to let the warm blanket of summer air dry her. Rolling onto her back, she shielded her eyes from the sun that peeked through the trees and dozed.
/3
A face came to her in the dream of someone she had met on her Calgary trip. A lovely face, not handsome, but nice. He was the tintype artist she'd seen at the Church back home. He had come out to do pictures of the congregation, seventy-five cents a family, including frame. She had helped him collect the nickels, dimes and quarters from the farmer-folk at the Church and had her tintype done in her favourite green dress.
They had talked, and he told her of working for a large tintype parlour in Calgary. She had found the parlour on Stephen Avenue, as he'd said it was, and had asked after him.
Accompanied by her sister, the three walked through Calgary, saw the shops, and went to the Gaiety Theatre to see melodrama. The Chautauqua was in town, and the tent was pitched to the west in the city.
They had watched the melodrama unfold under the lanterns of the Chautauqua tent. Black Bart, the Villain, had tried the honour of Felicity, and only by the intervention of Lance, the hero, had been saved from a fate worse than death. They booed the villain, cheered the hero, and laughed at it all.
Afterwards, her sister found the young musician with the show she knew and went to a dance at Oddfellow's Hall with him. She begged off, feeling tired, and the tintype artist showed her back to the hotel.
Lying in her room that night, she thought about the tintype artist, his smile, and how he had complimented her eyes.
The next day, he had a buggy to take her to Elbow Park, and they had walked along the riverbank.
Later that afternoon, they rode to a picnic ground high on a hill. They had kissed, and then the tintype artist had worked his hand into her blouse until he could cup her breast.
She had felt strange about this, as her head told her it was wrong, and yet some deep part of her savoured the sinfulness and the pleasure of his hand warm against her breast as it rose and fell with her breathing.
As the sun started to fall towards the horizon and they gathered the blanket, a surge of desire welled through her.
She made small talk at dinner, and he gazed into her eyes. Her sister had left to visit the musician, and he walked her back to the hotel. Sneaking past the front desk, they quietly slipped into the hotel room she shared with her sister. Impulsively, they made love, fearful of her sister discovering them. The fear added spice to the encounter, sharpening the climax.
He left her, promising to meet the next day. But she knew she was returning home tomorrow and slipped away without seeing him.
/4
The winter had closed around her at the Teacherage, and the guilt had kept her cool and distant. She felt guilty, but she didn't know why. Was it guilt for her husband or guilt for not saying goodbye?
The sun had caused a light sweat to break out over her body, and she felt dusty and sticky. Rising, she turned to the pool, waded in, and began to swim. The cool water against her body washed away her sins of the winter past.
As she swam, a bright glint caught her eye. A spark of light at the bottom of the pond glinted and danced in the sunlight, which penetrated the bottom.
Taking a deep breath, she dived and reached out her left hand to touch the sparkle.
SNAP! A rusty red leg trap, left from the previous year, bit cruelly into her hand. The shock of the bite was so sudden that she flinched back, tightening the jaws around her fingers and catching the teeth on her ring.
Thrashing against the pain, she began to panic, spilling some of the air in her lungs out, making her dizzy. She was gulping, trying to hold against the burning in her lungs.
After an eternity, she freed her fingers and shot to the surface, gasping and choking for air. She managed to kick to the side of the pond and lay choking and retching from the water.
Rolling on her back in the mud, she looked at her hand, torn and sliced by the steel of the trap. Blood was streaming from a large cut on the back of her hand, where a tooth had gouged a furrow down her finger from the knuckle, stopping at the wedding band. Blood flowed down her hand, cascading over the ring.
Taking a glob of the mud, she used it to staunch the flow. Grimacing as the cool mud stung against her wound, she lay on her back, cradling the hand to her breast, gasping for air.
For long moments, she lay there as images of him, her sister, her husband, and the Teacherage spun through her head. She closed her eyes against the bright sun.
Rising slowly, she examined the hand and crawled to the pond's edge to wash it off. The wound was not as severe as it first appeared and was bleeding only lightly.
Washing her hand in the pond, she realized she was covered in mud. Wading in, she bathed the mud from her body and returned to where her clothes lay.
Tearing a strip from her petticoat, she bound the wound. Gingerly working her ring away from the tear in the flesh of the finger, she bound it in the strip of the petticoat and wrapped her hand in another strip.
The day had become uncommonly clear after the haze she had walked to the pond in. Watching the makeshift bandage stain a bit near the knuckle joint, she realized she would always have a scar.
Looking at the bandage, she kissed it and knew what to do.
If she dressed and returned to the Teacherage, she could saddle old Mose and ride into town to see Doc Mason. He could fix her hand, and she might stay in town overnight at Mrs. Paulson's place.
In the morning, she could return to the Teacherage and pack, then decide when and where to go.
She didn't know where, but she knew she would decide.