Knowing Elizabeth Neufeld

The next three houses weren't any more welcoming. They pretended they didn't hear when we knocked, at least I assumed they were home: considering their lights were on, their flashy model 33's parked in their side laneways, and smoke rose from their chimneys. Yet, no matter how hard I rang their visitor bells, or our fists tapped the wood, their doors stayed shut. Elizabeth wrote them each a personalized note and tucked it through the mail slot. I'd only known her a few short days, but I knew enough to realize she'd never give up on offering people the chance to step up for their neighbours. It's why she was the perfect one of us to be Headworker. I was looking forward to getting to know her more, and excited we were going to be roommates in CNH's women's residence.

Though we'd spend most of our waking hours over at Central Neighbourhood House, us women workers couldn't stay there because the top floor was occupied by two gentlemen and most people felt it wasn't proper for unwed ladies to live in the same residence as men. Thankfully the organization rented us a house. Myself and Elizabeth, along with Alice Chown, Misses Gertrude, C.M. Sanborn, Miss E. Kenny, Miss E.B. Orford, and the visiting Victorian Order nurse—who's name I'd forgotten to ask, and after spending the morning canvassing together, I was too embarrassed to—were to live at 193 McCaul St., a few blocks away from CNH. When I first learned we didn't have to board with church folk anymore and that our women's residence was big enough that some of us might even get our own room, it felt like I was being offered luxury. But after standing on someone's lush green lawn, I realized luxury means different things to different people.

We weren't even done canvassing the first street and I had sweat soaking under my puff sleeves and corset and was ready to go to my new bedroom and try out my own bed. Elizabeth on the other hand, nearly skipped toward the next house with the enthusiasm of someone who hadn't spent their entire morning being rejected.

The next house was lovely, maybe the nicest on the block, Victorian style with deep red paint and white gingerbread woodwork in its steeples. They had a scrolling metal fence to divide their lush garden from the street, where they'd piled a beautiful carved oak desk with a couple of chairs and a lamp in a mass next to sacs of garbage awaiting sanitation pick-up. It seemed like a haphazard way to leave such fine furniture, but closer inspection revealed cracked chair legs and a scuffed desk top and I realized the pile was part of their garbage. It felt a waste to trash the items instead of repairing them.

Elizabeth knocked on the door and we were all a little surprised when it actually opened, then again when a housemaid with long auburn hair smiled wide and pulled Elizabeth into a hug. "Lizzy Neufeld, what are you doing outside The Ward?" she asked, her Irish accent musically annunciating her words.

Elizabeth greeted the woman and the two chatted on for a moment about how the girl was liking her new position in this house. I don't know why I was surprised Elizabeth knew her, in the short time she'd been in Toronto, she seemed to know more people than me, and I was born here.

"Can we talk to the boss?" Elizabeth asked, adding a wink.

"I'll see what I can do." The girl disappeared down the long entrance hall, and we gathered around Elizabeth in the middle of the open door and peeked as far in as we could: it smelled of oranges and had burgundy wallpaper covered in various gilded portraits, intricately woven carpets, and a side table with a sterling silver peacock with its feathers spread wide. Fancier than any house I'd ever seen. I had a good feeling we'd find a benefactor for CNH here.

Soon a well-dressed elderly woman returned and Elizabeth greeted her and went into the spiel about the importance of settlement houses and how being a patron of Central Neighbourhood House would positively impact so many lives.

"That's nice, dear," the lady said. "But I'm afraid I have nothing to give."

"I don't believe that," I mumbled out, and Elizabeth nudged me in the side.