Fields of Gold Beneath Prairie Skies

  Fields of Gold Beneath Prairie Skies

  Canadian Historical Brides

  Book 6 - Saskatchewan

  By Suzanne de Montigny

  Digital ISBNs

  EPUB 978-1-77362-528-7

  Kindle 978-1-77362-529-4

  WEB 978-1-77362-530-0

  Print ISBN 978-1-77362-531-7

  Amazon Print ISBN 978-1-77362-532-4

  Copyright 2017 by Suzanne de Montigny

  Series Copyright 2017 by Books We Love Ltd.

  Cover Art by Michelle Lee

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book.

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  De Montigny, Suzanne, 1960-, author

  Fields of gold beneath prairie skies / by Suzanne de Montigny.

  (Canadian historical brides ; book 6)

  Issued in print and electronic formats.

  ISBN 978-1-77362-531-7 (softcover).--ISBN 978-1-77362-530-0 (PDF).

  --ISBN 978-1-77362-528-7 (EPUB).--ISBN 978-1-77362-529-4 (Kindle)

  I. Title. II. Series: Canadian historical brides; bk. 6

  PS8607.E2356F54 2017 C813'.6 C2017-905281-0

  C2017-905282-9

  Dedication

  Books We Love dedicates the Canadian Historical Brides series to the immigrants, male and female, who left their homes and families, crossed oceans, and endured unimaginable hardships in order to settle the Canadian wilderness and build new lives in a rough and untamed country.

  Acknowledgements

  A huge thank you to the following people: To my father, Pol de Montigny for writing his memoirs from which much of my story was taken. To Tim Novak of the Regina archives for aiding me in locating the old homestead near Masefield, Saskatchewan. To Sheila Corneillie and Debbie Simpson for their help in finding my baby aunts’ grave. To Yolande Chambers, Georgette Evans, Denis de Montigny, Lilian Ring, George de Montigny, and Lucille Leray for sharing their stories of growing up on the prairies during the Great Depression. To Louise Lupien and Guy Ferland for the information on Dr. Onil Lupien and for their help in finding my great grandfather’s home in Ponteix via Face Time. Also to Suzanne Lupien, Onil’s daughter for sharing photos with me on a spontaneous visit to her retirement home while in Ponteix. To my writer’s group for their endless patience, catching all those little mistakes—Kathleen Schmitt, Rod Baker, Edye Hanen, Douglas Aitken, and Ceil De Young. And to my Beta readers—Stuart West, Madeleine McLaughlin, Joan Donaldson-Yarmey, Darlene Foster, and Louise de Montigny. And finally, to my editor—Kathy Fischer-Brown—for her numerous suggestions that helped me make the book the best it could be.

  Part I – The Journey

  Chapter One

  The Soldiers

  The shrill whistle blasted, startling Lea. She threw an anxious glance at the train she would board in a few moments, the train that would take her to Canada, thousands of miles from the painful memories that haunted her of the Great War. How could she remain in Belgium after all that had happened, after what she’d seen—so much death and destruction. She wanted a new life, far, far away.

  She faced her family for the last time. Tears streamed from Maman’s eyes.

  “I’ll never see you again.” Maman’s words were barely audible through her sobs.

  Lea forced down the lump in her throat. “I promise I’ll come back to Belgium. It’s not the last time.”

  “But you’ll be so far away across an entire ocean. And what if there are still Germans waiting in their U-boats? Your ship could be sunk.” She burst into a fresh round of tears.

  “Non, Maman. The armistice has been signed. It’s safe now. Besides, I have to go. Napoleon’s waiting for me.”

  “But you haven’t known him very long, and you’re only eighteen.”

  Uncertainty at her mother’s words threatened her resolve. It was true, the courtship had been short, but hadn’t there been many furlough brides, their faces glowing with bliss as they devoted their lives to men they’d only known for a few weeks? At least she’d given him time to make his decision.

  Lea’s sisters clutched handkerchiefs in their hands while her brothers stared at the ground. Mathilde blew her nose and wiped wet, teary eyes. “Do you really have to go?” she sobbed as they hugged.

  Lea nodded. “You know I do. But I promise I’ll write.”

  “As will I.”

  “And you’ll let me know when you find a beau, won’t you?” asked Lea.

  “If there are any left after the Great War.” Mathilde let out a sad laugh.

  Lea reached a hand to one of her brothers and kissed both his cheeks. “Good-bye, François.”

  “Take care,” he said, his voice rasping as he attempted to squeeze her fingers with his hand permanently damaged in the war.

  “And Camille.” She turned to her other brother.

  Camille’s eyes blinked rapidly. “Keep safe.”

  “I will.”

  Then Lea turned to Palma whose eyes blazed with conviction.

  “Be strong,” Palma whispered in her ear. “I’d come too if I could. I so envy you.”

  Lea flinched with surprise at her sister’s spirit. “Then perhaps you could join us in the new country someday.”

  Palma’s eyes grew distant as though she imagined the possibilities. “You never know. I just may.”

  The whistle gave its final warning.

  Lea lifted the leather suitcase and the bagged lunch Maman had packed and hurried to the locomotive that would take her away from all she’d ever known.

  “Au revoir,” she cried, waving one last time before gripping the railing and climbing the stairs.

  The train chugged a slow, rhythmic pulse, steam hissing into the air. The huffing grew faster, the stench of burning coal stinging her nostrils.

  Lea stepped into the crowded car, slipping past the other passengers as she dragged her bag to an empty seat.

  A man stood up and smiled. “May I help you with that?”

  Before she could answer, he hoisted her suitcase up into the rack overhead.

  “Merci, monsieur,” she mumbled, avoiding unnecessary eye contact as she sat down.

  The man nodded, then made himself comfortable on the seat opposite her.

  Lea ignored him. It wouldn’t be right to engage in conversation with a strange man when she’d soon be married.

  Her lips curved up in a private smile as she remembered how she met Napoleon.

  It had been a miserable week. The rain had inundated them every day, a ceaseless downpour of cold drops that drenched the streets. Lea had ventured into town a few blocks away, picking her way around large puddles to buy baguettes from the boulangerie. By the time she arrived in the shop fragrant with pastries and fresh bread, her wet feet squeaked inside her shoes

  “Terrible weather, isn’t it?” asked the boulanger.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen it rain so much.” Lea pulled the hood off her head, irritated the raindrops had spattered her glasses. She removed them, wiping the lenses with a corner of her dress.

  “What’ll it be today? The usual?”

  “Oui, s’il vous plaît.”

  The boulanger reached over and handed her the two baguettes that would feed her family that night.

  Lea gave him the Belgian francs and then hurried home. But by the time she got to the front door, the tips of both baguettes that p
oked from the collar of her coat were soggy and her shoes covered in mud. She was careful to slip them off since Maman would surely have a fit if even the tiniest bit of muck was trailed in. Ironically, the floor was already sullied. But by whom? Lea heard a familiar voice and groaned. Madame Gagnon, the town gossip had dropped by.

  “I couldn’t believe my eyes,” said Madame Gagnon. “Madame Lambert spent a whole half hour talking to Monsieur Duprés. It was outrageous! If his wife knew, she’d surely divorce him.”

  Maman let out a helpless breath. “It could be they were discussing business, or maybe even—”

  “But what would you expect from such a family?” Madame Gagnon continued as though Maman hadn’t spoken. “After all, their daughter ran off with a soldier that she’d only known for a week.”

  “But there have been many furlough brides. And what harm is there in giving a man something to hope for or to dream of? We have to—”

  “But so quickly after breaking it off with her old beau? I tell you, the women in that family are nothing but tramps.”

  Maman flashed Lea a desperate look.

  “I have a mind to tell her husband about their meeting.”

  “Oh, no, I wouldn’t do that if I were you—” Maman said.

  “After all, that’s what I’d expect if my Jean-Pierre were so unfaithful to me.”

  Maman’s eyes pleaded with Lea. “But they weren’t being unfaithful. They were just talk—”

  “Well, of course they were being unfaithful,” insisted Madame Gagnon.

  Lea stood up. “Well, would you look at that!” she said, her voice loud. “It’s stopped raining. Perhaps Madame Gagnon would like to take advantage of the change in weather and head home now before it starts again.”

  Madame Gagnon gave her a disparaging look as though she’d been truly insulted, then huffed. “Well, I suppose it’s time to prepare supper for my husband.”

  Maman jumped up from her chair and showed her to the door. “And I’m sure he’ll appreciate it. You have a good evening, all right?”

  “Yes, likewise.”

  As soon as the door closed, Maman heaved a sigh of relief. “That woman! She never stops talking. And look at the mud she’s brought in. As though I have time to be washing the floor every time she comes to toss her gossip at us. Lea, be a dear and clean it up for me while I start supper.”

  Lea gave a reluctant nod and fetched the bucket from the back room, filling it with warm water and soap. Grabbing a rag, she knelt on the floor and began wiping away the grime. She had nearly completed the task when a knock sounded at the door. Lea glanced up, pushing aside a lock of thick, dark hair from her face.

  “Who could that be now?” said Maman, her brows knitted with irritation. “I do hope it’s not Madame Duprés again. Mathilde, stir the onions while I answer the door.”

  “Oui, Maman,” Mathilde said as she took the wooden spoon from her mother.

  When Maman flung the door open, two young men stood in the doorway wearing khaki uniforms with knickers that trailed down to high knee socks. They held their helmets in hand, a show of respect.

  “Good evening,” said one of the men in a strong Québecois accent. “My name is Private Tremblay. I’m a Canadian soldier with the forty-sixth battalion.”

  “My goodness, you’re completely drenched,” said Maman. “Please come in.”

  The men stepped over the sill of the door, looking relieved.

  “Thank you,” Private Tremblay replied. “We apologize for the intrusion, but our camp is flooded, and our superiors have sent us to find other lodgings. Would it be possible to spare some beds for wet soldiers tonight?”

  Lea cast curious glances at the men. The larger of the two had black wet hair slicked back from his forehead—a handsome fellow, really. But it was the other who caught her fancy. A slight man, not much taller than her five feet two, he had dark hair and a little half-mustache—the kind that many men sported nowadays—and the kindest, brown eyes she’d ever seen. The mark of a good soul.

  As though he felt her gaze on him, he turned and stared at her. Lea blushed. She’d seen that look enough times though she was only seventeen—admiration. Shyness made her turn away.

  “Well,” Maman replied. “Perhaps my girls could give up their beds tonight for the men who are risking their lives to save Europe from the Germans.”

  “Oui,” Mathilde said, “we can certainly do our share to help the Allies. Lea?” She glanced down at her younger sister. “What do you think?”

  Lea regarded the man with the gentle eyes whose gaze was still fixed on her. “Yes, I think we can. We can sleep on the floor of Palma’s room.”

  “Then it’s done,” said Maman.

  The two men nodded, smiling. “Thank you, Mesdemoiselles. We’ll come back later after we’ve found places for the other members of our battalion.”

  “I wish you luck,” said Maman, “and if you get here soon enough, there’ll be a hot supper for you both.”

  “Thank you,” they each said in turn before trudging off into the streets.

  When they returned several hours later, Maman had saved a portion of the stew and biscuits for each soldier to warm his insides. They devoured the meal as though they’d been starved, then settled into comfortable chairs by the hearth where they recounted stories of their home.

  Lea listened with fascination as they spoke of their homeland—Canada, the land of promise, a country untouched by the Great War, a nation far from the threat of the Germans.

  “I’m from Quebec City,” said Jacques, the taller of the two men. “That’s where General Wolf beat Montcalm on the Plaines d’Abraham. But you’d never know there’d been a war between France and England because everyone there speaks French. It’s said the English may have won the battle, but they sure didn’t defeat the heart of our people.” He leaned back in his chair, his eyes dreamy. “It’s such a beautiful place, much like Bretagne, only wilder. I’m so looking forward to going back.”

  “And me,” said Napoleon. “I’m originally from Trois Rivières, a town farther up the St-Laurent but my father and I, and my two brothers moved out to the new province, Saskatchewan, to get a homestead.”

  “A homestead?” asked Lea, not recognizing the foreign word. “What’s that?”

  “It’s a plot of land the government gives away for nearly free—a hundred and sixty acres. All you have to do is pay ten dollars and apply. Then, if you clear it, cultivate it, and build a house and barn, it’s yours.”

  “Seems like a good deal to me,” said Lea’s father, smoking his pipe as he listened, relaxing after a day in the coalmine.

  “Mon père,” Napoleon explained, “already has his homestead and my brothers too, near a town called Wide View. I helped Papa clear most of the land, and it’s just a matter of time before I apply for mine after this war is over.”

  Lea found it charming the way Napoleon crowded his words together in the old style of French from the time of Louis XIV.

  “It’s a beautiful place, Saskatchewan,” continued Napoleon. “Miles and miles of flat land as far as the eye can see, and golden fields of wheat. And the skies are like scenes from Heaven—castles, cathedrals, angels, even animals. I’ve never seen skies like that except in the prairies.”

  Engrossed by his words, Lea imagined the images in her mind—like postcards she’d seen of France—gentle, rolling hills of pale yellow…or at least that’s how it was before the Great War.

  “The only thing you’ll need now,” said Lea’s father with a slight smirk, “is a wife.”

  Napoleon’s eyes darted to Lea.

  “Papa, really,” said Lea.

  “Well, it’s true. Every good farmer needs one.”

  Maman rose. “It’s getting late. I think it’s time we retired for the night.”

  Lea led the men up the stairs to her room. A small thrill filled her when Napoleon’s eyes met hers again.

  “Thank you for offering us your room,” he said, his admiring gaze u
nwavering.

  Lea felt her face warm. “Ce n’est pas de quoi.”

  “I do hope we’ll have time to speak some more in the morning.”

  Lea’s heart leapt. Offering a reticent smile and a nod, she hurried away, her stomach fluttering.

  Chapter Two

  The Unwelcome Visitors

  Lea had dozed off despite the jolting movement of the train. When she awoke, they were nearing the port town of Ostende where she’d board the boat to Dover, one step closer to her fiancé and her new life. She sat up straight, blinking through sleepy eyes, her brain still in a daze.

  The Flemish town had survived attacks by the Germans, with much of the Flemish architecture still standing. She eyed the structures with curiosity—tall thin buildings with false façades, a hook jutting out near the top, undoubtedly used for hoisting furniture from the streets below. So Dutch in flavour. But it wasn’t the architecture that fascinated her so much as the damage done to the port by the German bombing. Wreckages of ships still lay in the grey harbour of what had once been a beautiful resort town. How different from the postcards of the stunning beach and hotels her aunt had sent years before. Lea had dreamed of spending a holiday bathing in Ostend’s warm waters as waves lapped along the shore; yet here the town lay, grey and abysmal, a reminder of what the Germans had done. She looked away, only too glad to be leaving.

  When the train pulled into the station, the man who sat across from her stood up and lowered Lea’s suitcase for her, his smile a bit too friendly.

  “Merci,” she replied, then grabbed the handle and hoisted it up before he could offer her more assistance.