Fields of Gold Beneath Prairie Skies Page 10

  It was a small house, not much larger than their own cabin, but well-built. It was obvious Nap’s father was a fine carpenter. The door flew open before they had the chance to knock.

  “Napoleon!” cried a bald-headed man with a round belly, holding his pipe in hand. “Finally we get to meet this bride of yours. And your two baby girls!”

  “Papa, this is Leopoldine.” Nap beamed with pride.

  Levi grabbed Lea by the shoulders, planting a kiss on either cheek. “I thought you said she was ugly.”

  “I never said that!” Napoleon protested.

  A figure with short, grey hair wearing a colourful apron came from behind Levi—Napoleon’s mother, Emma.

  “Bonjour! I’m so pleased to meet you, Leopoldine. Now where’s the little girl who was named for me?”

  “Right here, Maman.” Nap handed her the correct baby.

  “Why she’s so beautiful!”

  “And this is Palma,” said Lea.

  “Oh, my. They’re as identical as can be!” exclaimed Emma.

  “I know. I intend to dress them the same when they’re older.”

  “Oh, won’t that be fun!” Emma said. “I just love twins.”

  The sound of a fiddle caught Lea’s attention.

  “Come in. They’re just tuning up the instruments!” Emma took Lea’s coat and hung it in the closet.

  “Go ahead,” said Nap. “I’ll put the horses in the barn.”

  “All right.”

  When Lea entered the room, excitement exploded from every direction.

  “Everyone,” declared Emma, “this is Napoleon’s beautiful Belgian bride, Leopoldine, and their new baby daughters, Emma and Palma.”

  Several exuberant hellos shot out.

  “And Leopoldine, these are our sons—Levi, Hector, and Euclide, and my daughters Maria, Bibianne, and Lumina.”

  Lea did her best to memorize their names but had soon forgotten them, particularly after Emma named all their spouses and children.

  “It’s okay,” Emma said. “You’ll get to know us quickly enough. I’m certain you’ll remember all these names by the time you leave.”

  When Lea had been given a seat, the aunties passed the new babies around while children bounced about trying to glimpse them.

  Uncle Emory picked up his fiddle and began a quadrille accompanied by Euclid on banjo. Soon, the other brothers joined in on their fiddles too.

  “You never told me you had such a musical family!” Lea told Nap when he came in from the barn.

  “I wanted it to be a surprise.” He bowed to her. “Would you like to dance, Madame de Montigny?”

  Her hands free of the little ones, Lea jumped up. Napoleon’s feet skipped from left to right. When Lea got the hang of the steps, he twirled her around so fast, she felt dizzy. She squealed with laughter. Levi tapped Nap’s soldier. It was his turn. One by one, each of the brothers asked her to dance. By the time the music had ended, Lea had danced with every man in the room.

  When it was nearing midnight, Levi stood up and made an announcement. “It’s time to go to church.”

  With his words, everyone rose and headed to the door where they dressed themselves in their warmest attire. Lea followed suit, bundling up the twins and herself. They rode in cutters to Wide View where the church lay nestled in the snow. Tiny flakes fell from the sky, small feathers dusting their clothing.

  They crowded into the nave, taking up three pews in total. Candles lit the apse near the altar, filling the air with the smell of paraffin. An advent wreath stood close to where altar boys knelt in red and white cassocks.

  The congregation sang Christmas carols in between the priest’s sermon and the saying of the mass. Lea’s heart soared when she recognized the traditional Christmas songs they sang back home. Her voice rose above the others. “Il est né le divin enfant. Jouez hautbois, résonnez musettes.”

  Levi turned and stared at her, astonished. “Why you have an amazing voice!”

  Lea felt her face warm. “Really? Why thank you.”

  “No, I mean it. You must sing for us the next time we play music.”

  “Do you think so?”

  “Yes.”

  When the service was over, the family climbed back into the cutters and returned to the farm, caroling the whole way.

  Levi sat beside Lea in the sleigh. “It must be quite a thing, moving all the way from Belgium to such a lonely place as Saskatchewan.”

  “It’s certainly been an adventure,” she said. “But it’s not so lonely. The people we live with are more than just employers. They’ve become friends.”

  “I’m glad to hear that. Emma’s found it trying at times. When you come from a place like Quebec, it can be hard to adjust to the solitude, but it helped once the rest of the family moved out here.”

  “I’m glad.”

  “You know we’re thinking of giving up the farm and moving to Ponteix.”

  “Why?” asked Lea, her brows raised.

  “Well, you know, I’m not getting any younger. I came out here more for my sons than anything else, to help them get started. It’s not every day you can get a big chunk of land for next to nothing from the government. Has Nap applied for his homestead yet?”

  “No, not yet.”

  “Tell him to hurry up. All that work he’s doing for the Gilberts could be put toward your own land.”

  “That’s true.”

  When they got home, the ladies laid out the food on the table for the reveillon—tortière, creton, tarte au sucre, paté, and ham. Lea savoured a slice of tortière that melted in her mouth, then refilled her plate with a piece of sugar pie. Then they opened their gifts.

  Her eyes lit up at the pile of presents presented to her and Nap. She took her time opening each one, carefully undoing the ribbons that held them together and folding the paper afterward. Each time she unwrapped a gift, the aunts oohed and ahhed at the twin baby clothes each one contained. Lea smiled. She wouldn’t be wanting for anything now.

  “We’ve all been busy knitting sweaters and booties of different sizes for you,” said Emma. “And Lumina made you plenty of nighties.”

  “Thank you, everyone,” said Lea, admiring the fine embroidery on one of the sweaters. “It’s all so beautiful.”

  “Wait. There’s one more,” said Levi. He handed Lea a large package.

  Lea undid the wrapping, then opened the box. Her eyes rounded. It contained two of the prettiest baptismal dresses she’d ever seen.

  “And there’s more,” said Emma. “We’ve arranged for the twins to be baptized tomorrow morning at the church.”

  “You have?” Lea exclaimed. “Napoleon, did you hear that?”

  Her husband grinned from ear to ear. “Surprise again!”

  Beds were found for everyone. After reclaiming her babies, Lea laid them to sleep in their basket, then climbed under the covers, cherishing each moment of the evening. For the first time since she arrived in Canada, she hadn’t even thought of her family. It seemed she had found a new one in Saskatchewan. She hoped it was true that Levi was planning on moving to Ponteix. How nice it would be to have them so close.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The Theft

  A weak moan roused Lea from a deep sleep several nights later in the Gilbert’s cabin, a tiny, helpless sound that tore at her soul. Groping around in the dark, she made her way to the crib, her fingers searching until she found Emma. Shock ran through her at the searing heat that emanated from the tiny baby’s body.

  “Nap,” she cried. “Wake up. I need light. Emma’s sick.”

  Nap fumbled for the matches. “What’s happening?”

  “She’s burning up!”

  Nap broke off a match, then struck it, a glow lighting the room.

  Lea pulled off the child’s mittens and examined her. “Her hands are freezing. Quick, go build the fire. We need to keep it burning all night.”

  Napoleon rushed to the stove and laid the kindling inside. Soon, heat radiated in the
cabin, but the baby still made the soft, pitiful sounds.

  “Why don’t you try feeding her?” he asked.

  Lea lifted her nighty, and positioned the baby, but Emma wouldn’t latch on. Instead, she arched her back, let out a feeble cry, and vomited.

  “Oh, no!” Napoleon reached for fresh rags to clean her up.

  Lea’s heart raced. What’s wrong? She searched her memory. What would Maman have done back home in Belgium? If only she had listened when other women talked about their children’s ailments. She paced around the room, jiggling Emma. Then she remembered what the doctor had said on the ship when she’d been sick. “We need cold compresses to keep the fever down.”

  “I’ll get one.” Napoleon took another clean rag, dipped it into the half-thawed snow on the stove, and handed it to Lea.

  Lea covered the baby’s head with the cloth. Emma gave a pathetic cry, then burst into a fit of trembling.

  “Keep the rest of her body warm,” said Napoleon.

  “That’s what I’m trying to do.”

  To add to their troubles, Palma’s cry erupted from the crib.

  “Here, give me Emma so you can feed Palma,” he said, reaching for the sick baby.

  Lea handed him the child and took the other twin into her arms, relieved Palma showed no signs of fever. When she’d finished nursing her, she changed both girls. Emma’s nappy was dry.

  “I’m going for Dr. Lupien!” said Napoleon.

  “We should all go together.”

  “No. It’ll take too long to prepare the sleigh. I’ll go with the mare.”

  “Hurry, then!”

  Napoleon dressed quickly and left the house. Lea heard his feet crunch through the snow and the barn door slide open. A few minutes later, she listened as the sound of the mare’s hooves broke from a trot to a canter. Looking out the window, she saw Napoleon gallop away. He hadn’t even saddled his mount.

  The wait was torturous as Emma grew weaker and fussier. By the time daylight crept in, Nap and the doctor hadn’t arrived yet, nor had Emma’s fever diminished. Lea applied more compresses with little effect. She tried to hold the baby closer, but Emma fought back, her angry fists clenched.

  “Please, God,” Lea prayed, “make them come soon.”

  As the skies brightened, Lea’s desperation grew as she held Emma in her arms while Palma slept in her basket by the stove. The thudding of horse hooves in the snow announced Nap’s arrival. Peering outside, she was dismayed to see he was alone. Lea hurried to the door and flung it open. A cold, biting wind assaulted her, tiny pinpricks that stung her face.

  “What happened?” she cried. “Where’s Dr. Lupien?”

  “He’s out delivering a baby. Madame Lupien invited me to stay inside until he returned, but when it started to get light out, I told her I had to leave. I figured you’d need me home. She says she’ll send him our way as soon as he’s done.”

  “Oh, Nap!” Her voice trembled. “Emma’s not getting better. I’m afraid she may die.” She looked to him for reassurance, but when their eyes met, she saw the same cold, helpless fear reflected back at her.

  “You mustn’t think that way,” he said, turning away.

  “But I can’t help it.”

  Napoleon tsked. After an uncomfortable silence, he glanced at the main house. “I’ll go and see if the Gilberts can help.”

  “All right. Hurry!” Lea watched as he disappeared into the barn to put away the mare, then plodded through the snow to the older couple’s home.

  Madame Gilbert came immediately, carrying her own bottles of remedies. When she laid eyes on Emma, her face fell. “How long has she been throwing up?”

  “Since the middle of the night.”

  Madame Gilbert glanced about, then flew into action. “We have to get some fluids in her.” She grabbed a clean rag, soaked it in water, and wrung it out. She coaxed the corner of Emma’s mouth with it.

  Emma whimpered and turned her head.

  “She’s been refusing milk too,” said Lea.

  “Let’s try again.”

  She took the corner of the cloth and gently coaxed another spot on the child’s lips, but Emma merely fussed all the more and vomited again.

  The women hurried to clean her up while Napoleon stood back, clutching Palma in his protective arms.

  It was just after three o’clock when Dr. Lupien arrived, his eyes sunken as though he’d been up all night. Napoleon ran to the door, relieved.

  “I came as soon as I could,” said Dr. Lupien. “Where’s the baby?”

  “Over here.” Lea handed him the hot little bundle.

  Dr. Lupien’s face turned to ash when he saw her.

  “What is it?” asked Lea.

  Sitting down, the doctor carefully removed her little hat. When his eyes met Lea’s, his expression was grave.

  “What?” asked Lea again.

  “Your daughter has meningitis.”

  “What’s that?” asked Napoleon, his voice weak.

  “It’s inflammation of the brain. See, look. You see the fontanelle?”

  “Yes,” replied Nap.

  “It’s bulging. That means, her brain is swelling.”

  “Well, what can we do for her?” Nap asked. “Give us the medicine we need. We don’t care about the cost. She’s our baby girl!” His voice cracked on the last two words.

  Dr. Lupien turned away, his eyelids blinking rapidly as he bit down on his lip. He took a deep breath as though composing himself, then uttered the diagnosis Lea couldn’t bear to hear. “There’s nothing we can do. We just have to wait until God takes her.”

  “No!” cried Lea. “That’s impossible!” She bent her head toward Emma, hugging her tightly and sobbing.

  “Lea,” said Madame Gilbert, laying her arm around her shoulders. “Many of us lose little ones. I know it hurts, but there’ll be others.”

  “But they’re not my little Emma. I love her so much.” Her sobs were uncontrollable.

  “I know. But you still have Palma.”

  “But I want both my girls!” Lea shrieked.

  The hours were interminable as they waited for death to claim the baby girl. Her breathing grew more and more ragged. Lea whispered prayers as life slipped away from her child. Shortly before eight, Emma took a final breath and lay still. Napoleon handed Palma to Madame Gilbert and collapsed on the couch beside Lea. Together they shared destitute tears as they held the little lifeless body they’d soon bury in the cold ground.

  “I’ll send Mr. Gilbert to inform your family in Wide View as soon as we know the date of her burial,” said Madame Gilbert.

  “Okay,” replied Lea, her shoulders heaving. “But I don’t know what to do with her now.”

  “You’ll have to keep her in the cellar until the day of the funeral.”

  “But it’s too cold down there,” Lea cried.

  “You have no choice,” said Madame Gilbert.

  “But—”

  “Let’s prepare her first.” Napoleon rose, grabbing the tub from where it hung on the wall and filling it with water.

  When all was ready, they bathed Emma for the last time and dressed her in her baptismal dress, tying one of the new hats around her head, and placing crocheted mittens on her tiny hands. Lea placed the little girl in her basket, but instead of laying her by the stove as she usually did, she handed the baby back to Napoleon who carried her like his most cherished possession down the cellar stairs.

  “Good-bye, my sweet Emma,” said Lea, squeezing her tiny hand for the last time. “I’ll see you in the next life.”

  After they had closed the trap door, Nap disappeared into the barn, his face intent with purpose while Lea retired to their bedroom. She opened the drawer of the dresser and looked at all the beautiful baby clothes she’d received only a few days earlier, her eyes clouded with tears. Tracing the smooth satin ribbons in one of the sweaters, she hiccoughed. Then rage filled her. Grabbing the tiny, hand-knit garments, she tossed them about, sobbing bitterly.

&nbs
p; “God! You stole my child! You stole my baby girl! How dare you! You’re a thief! A common thief!” She threw open the closet that held her wedding dress, resolved to tear it to shreds, then stopped. Fingering the fabric, she examined the tiny flowers embroidered into the navy blue cloth. She knew what had to be done.

  Nap returned from the barn late that night and laid the small casket he’d built on the coffee table. Bending down, he reached for the handle of the trap door.

  “Wait,” Lea said.

  She returned to their room and came back with the dress and her sewing kit. She measured the box, then the fabric of the skirt. Within an hour, she’d made the perfect lining and a small pillow for Emma’s casket.

  When they laid the child inside, Lea said, “There, my sweet little girl. Now you’ll sleep more comfortably.”

  ***

  The funeral was set for three days later. But on the second day, Palma succumbed to the same ailment. The child was laid in the same casket as her sister, wearing her matching baptismal dress, and the two were buried in the churchyard to sad hymns sung by the very people with whom they’d just celebrated the girls’ christening.

  ***

  January cut cold and deep. Lea moved about her daily chores and routines, mindless, kneading dough to a rhythm without melody, cooking food to a poem without words. And when the bread was baked and the meals had been prepared, she sat before the window, staring at the snowflakes whipped by the wind, at the drifts forming, her thoughts empty save for the sadness of her daughters stolen by a merciless god and the absence of her family an entire world away in Belgium.

  Napoleon moved the crib and the baskets into the barn and boxed the tiny baby clothes so nothing would remind her of their loss, but still she noticed the empty spaces, and it made the void in her life all the larger. She’d lost her two greatest loves, and the people closest to her weren’t even there to console her.