Fields of Gold Beneath Prairie Skies Read online

  “Like my sister?”

  “Afraid so.”

  “Well, we’ll have to change her name. Let’s see now.” She put a finger to her lip. “How about Blacky?”

  “Blacky,” said Pol, sneering. “No way. I know. How about Tar?”

  “Tar! But tar’s sticky and smells bad,” said Lea.

  “How about Rose?” suggested Lilian.

  “Rose? That’s a nice name.” Lea placed her hand between the slats of the stall to pet the new cow. “Hello, Rose.”

  It bolted backward in revolt.

  “See? She doesn’t like that name,” said Pol.

  “Guess it’ll take a while to get used to us, right girl?” Lea said.

  And a while it took. Milking that night was quite the challenge. It took the efforts of both Nap and Lea to tether the cow and hobble her hind legs before they were able to calm her enough to extract the milk.

  “Whoa, there, girl,” said Nap, knotting the animal’s rope to a slat of wood in the stall.

  The cow tugged at the cord, letting out a fierce moo.

  “It’s okay,” said Lea. “Here, Nap. I’ll slip behind her and tie her hoof while you distract her with a carrot.” She moved past the cow and slowly lifted its hock into the loop of the hobble, but before she could tighten it, the animal kicked her.

  “Ow!” Lea cried, falling back in the straw.

  “Here, let me try.”

  They changed places.

  Lea gave the cow a small piece of carrot while Nap grabbed her hind hoof and pushed it into the noose, pulling it taught before she had time to react.

  “Ha! Gotcha!”

  The young cow mooed in protest while Nap hobbled her other leg.

  “She’s ready now,” he said.

  Lea pulled out the stool and pail and began milking the new cow. She managed to fill the canister enough for their dinner that night, but dreaded repeating the routine again in the morning.

  She awoke to extreme cold, the next day, her breath steaming from beneath the warm covers. Nudging Napoleon, she whispered, “I think it snowed. I’m freezing.”

  In response, Nap rose and lit the fire he had prepared the night before, piling dried thistles on paper, followed by cow pies. After he replaced the cast iron lid on the stove, he walked outside to get more manure, a chilly draft blowing through the door as he retrieved it. But instead of closing the door as swiftly as he’d opened it, he stopped, his eyes growing twice their size. “Oh, my gosh!” he said

  “What is it?” asked Lea. “Snow?”

  Nap gave his head a slow turn, his lips breaking into an astonished smile as their eyes met.

  “What?”

  Nap clapped his hands. “Kids, get up! Come and see!”

  The children scrambled from their warm beds, rubbing their eyes as they ran to the door. Lea picked up Claire and followed.

  “What? Did Bonhomme Noël come early?” asked Lilian.

  “No. This is better,” said Nap.

  Lea peered outside and let out a cry.

  The Jersey stood by the barn door, patiently waiting to be milked.

  “She walked all the way home!” Lea exclaimed.

  Grabbing their coats and boots, they ran outside to greet the cow.

  “Jersey!” said Lilian as she threw her arms around its neck.

  “Told you you should have never traded her,” said Pol.

  Napoleon shrugged. “But I was only thinking of Claire.”

  “Yeah, but Jersey loves us. This is her home,” said Pol, petting the animal’s muzzle.

  “What are we going to do?” Lea whispered in Nap’s ear as the children showered the cow with attention.

  “I guess I’ll have to take her back,” he answered, his voice equally low, “and explain what happened.”

  “You’re going to make her travel all that distance?” asked Lea. “She was up all night walking. She’ll be too tired. She’s old, you know.”

  “I know. Maybe I should go see McGraw on my own.”

  It turned out to be unnecessary as McGraw himself arrived soon afterward.

  Napoleon met him at the door, looking rather sheepish.

  “That darned cow broke out yesterday,” said McGraw, his face in a scowl. “Can’t find her anywhere. Have you seen her?”

  Napoleon nodded, tipping his head toward the barn. “She’s here. She came home last night.”

  The farmer shook his head, dumbfounded and followed Nap into the barn. When they came out again, they talked for a while longer, then shook hands, the farmer leaving without the Jersey.

  “What happened?” asked Lea.

  “He says to keep her, that we can pay him back later on when the crop comes through. He says there’s no sense in forcing her to stay on their farm since she’ll only break out again.”

  “So we get to keep Jersey?” asked Lilian.

  “Yes,” said Nap. “She’s our cow for the rest of her life.”

  “Yay!” Pol cheered.

  A few weeks later, Nap’s words came to fruition when they found their dear beloved Jersey lying on her side in the pasture. Lea stared at their pet with pity. Could it be the animal had known her time was near and had come home to die?

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The Plague

  Dear Lea, Napoleon, and children,

  How quickly the time passes. Lilian, Roberto, Luigi, and Fernando have grown so much. My Lilian is twelve now and is the star pupil in her class. She’s so talented in piano. I wish you could hear her play. Last week, she performed a difficult sonata at the conservatory to loud applause. I was so proud. However, I’m very worried about the boys even though they’re only six, eight, and ten.

  I daresay you must have heard by now that Adolf Hitler was appointed chancellor in Germany. He says terrible things that make me nervous. He calls for complete obedience of his people saying he’ll restore a great nation. And with our country right next door, I pray this doesn’t mean war. I couldn’t bear to have my own boys called to fight when they’re older. What use is it to put children in uniform just to be mown down when the Germans come through on their way to France? This man isn’t right in the head. He blames the Jews for all the problems of the country. Is he not aware that the entire world is in a depression? I don’t want to be engaged in war again. It’s only been fifteen years. I don’t think I could ever be ready even if an entire lifetime had passed. You were so right to have moved to Canada, though things are tough there too. I still regret not having followed you.

  I’m so happy to hear that you are with child again. Don’t worry, the drought will end and soon you’ll be living the lives of rich farmers now that you own the land. Perhaps that’s when Dino and I might think of emigrating to Canada.

  Mathilde is well and sends her love. Her little girl, Charlotte, is doing well. I’m glad you changed your cow’s name to Rose, though Mathilde laughed and laughed when she read your letter. Too bad about the Jersey, but think of it this way, you won’t have to worry about the ‘other woman’ anymore.

  Camille has recently been diagnosed with cirrhosis of the liver. Too much alcohol. It’s not like we didn’t try to warn him. His poor wife. Nothing has changed with François. He’s still repairing shoes.

  Your sister,

  Palma

  Lea laid down the letter, feeling dread in the pit of her stomach. She turned to Nap. “This new chancellor in Germany has me worried,” she said.

  Nap lowered his newspaper. “Me too. I suspect he may become a dictator the way he’s talking. He’s so full of empty promises—and so much anger!”

  “I’m scared for my family back home. They could be caught in the middle of a war. Germany could rise again the same way it did in the Great War.”

  They shared a long, intense look, the silence in the air magnifying their fears.

  “We’ll just have to pray for their safety,” Nap finally said.

  When the end of April drew closer, Nap kept his earlier promise of taking Lea to Ponte
ix for the delivery of their fourth child. Loading up the family, they spent the weekend with the uncles, aunts, and cousins, their usual party of music, good food, and dancing. Lea was again presented with gifts of clothing from the relatives. When Sunday afternoon arrived, she waved goodbye to Nap and the kids.

  “I knew Maman was going to have another baby,” she heard Pol say as they walked toward the wagon. “Because she’s really fat just like before Claire was born.”

  “Yes.” Nap gave his son a pat on the head. “She is. But don’t tell her that, okay? You might not survive to live another day.”

  “She’s going to have another girl, right, Papa?” asked Lilian. “And we can name her Gladiola.”

  “Gladiola!” Pol’s nose wrinkled almost up to his brow. “No, Maman has to have a boy to make things even.”

  “I’m afraid the good Lord will have to decide that,” said Nap, as they drove away.

  The delivery went well with Dr. Lupien in charge. Lea shook her head in scorn when she thought back to Madame Carlier’s ineptitude and wondered if babies had died at her hands.

  When Nap returned to Levi and Emma’s weeks later with the three children, Lea motioned them over from her bed in the corner of the living room where she lay after her discharge from the small hospital in Ponteix.

  “Maman!” cried Lilian. “Did you have a girl?”

  Lea smiled, then shook her head. “I’m afraid not. It’s a boy.”

  “A boy? Hurray!” said Pol, throwing his arms into the air. “Now I’ll have someone more interesting to play with than just girls.”

  “What’s wrong with being a girl?” asked Lilian, pouting.

  “Nothing. It’s just that all you do is play with dolls.”

  “Do not!”

  “Yes, you do.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” said Lea. “Because I know you’re all going to love him. Come and see.”

  The children crept closer to view the newborn. A tiny, wrinkled head poked out from the blue blanket.

  “He looks like an old man,” said Pol.

  “All newborns do.” Lea gave him a patient smile.

  “He’s got red hair like Claire’s,” said Lilian.

  “Red like mine,” repeated Claire.

  “What are we gonna name him?” Pol asked. He pressed his lips together in thought. “Hmm. How about—?”

  “He’s already got a name,” said Lea. “It’s Denis. I named him after a martyr.”

  “What’s a martyr?” asked Pol.

  “It’s a saint who was killed because of his faith.”

  “He got killed because of his faith?” Lilian’s eyes widened.

  “Yes, but a really long time ago…hundreds and hundreds of years ago.”

  The children broke into relieved smiles.

  After a jovial lunch with the grandparents and several cousins, they prepared for the ride back before long shadows claimed the day, transforming it to night. Napoleon carried Lea’s bag to the waiting wagon while Pol took the gifts Denis had received. When they arrived home a short time after dusk, Lea picked up where she left off, reclaiming her role as mother by cooking and washing.

  Summer was brutal as it had been for years, the crops drying up, the slough turning to mud, but they continued as they had before, nursing their garden and thus assuring their lifeline of food.

  As usual, Nap insisted on making the buffalo berry wine again, filling Lea with apprehension. They argued until she finally gave in with the promise that he would serve it only to guests, never offering it for sale.

  Nap took the children to a choice spot by the Frenchman River where the berries were abundant. He instructed Lea and the children to grasp a sheet beneath the bush while he reached up with a hook, struck a branch, the ripe berries tumbling below. They transferred the red fruit to a large ten-gallon boiler. When the container was filled, they returned home where Lea added water and cooked the mixture until the leaves and other twigs floated to the top. Taking half the mixture, she made her usual tasty jam in half-quart jars while Nap bottled his portion into wine bottles he had gotten from the local bar, adding a teaspoon of sugar to each. They hid the illegal wine in the cellar behind a shelf, though the stench dominated the entire room. After a few weeks, popping sounds could be heard from below as the spirits fermented, blowing off corks.

  The wine made them a hit with other folk from Val Marie, and they soon began to have a great deal of company during the evening when all the chores had been done.

  Lea enjoyed the camaraderie, but worried the RCMP might get word and pay them a visit as they had to others in the town. Fortunately, they never came…or had they simply turned a blind eye because they liked Nap? She didn’t know, nor did it appease her anxiety.

  To detract attention from the RCMP, Lea became a model citizen, insisting that mass should never be missed. After all, she had to provide a good example to the children.

  “Come on, everyone,” she ordered one Sunday morning. “We want to get there early so we can get a front seat.”

  With groans and yawns, the children picked at their breakfast, then dressed in their Sunday best that Lea had laid out. She watched Pol climb into the wagon. How short his pants and shirt-sleeves were. He was growing so quickly. Already eleven, he would soon hit his growth spurt. Then how would she keep up with his clothing?

  The day promised to be a scorcher. “Too bad the weather’s turning hot again,” said Lea.

  “I know. It’s been so nice and cool,” said Nap.

  Lea stared up at the clear, blue sky that showed no signs of change. How she missed the beautiful castles and images that had once filled her gaze before the drought. Endless blue means endless heat. Who could believe she’d learned to hate the cerulean colour she’d once loved?

  When they arrived at the church, the children jumped down from the wagon and were herded inside. Lea enjoyed the respite of the cool breeze as she entered. The caretaker had remembered to open all the windows ahead of time. Seeing Cécile sitting near the front of the church, Lea moved the children in beside her. But there was something different about her friend that day. She seemed a little prettier, a little cheerier…a little plumper.

  “Are you in a family way?” Lea whispered.

  Cécile cupped her hand to Lea’s ear. “Yes, I am!”

  “How’s Claude taking the news?”

  “I’ve never seen him more excited about anything.”

  “I’m so glad.”

  Père Fortier smiled as he welcomed the congregation. They sang hymns and recited the Kyrie and Gloria. After the readings, he began his sermon. His words gave them hope as he prayed for the drought to end and for the rains to return, asking the Lord to have mercy on His servants of the prairies.

  When they rose to accept communion, Lilian followed. How proud Lea was that her girl had received the holy sacrament. And soon it would be Claire’s turn. Well…in a few years, anyway. But didn’t time fly?

  After mass, they joined the congregation for a simple lunch in the hall across the street. The children gobbled down their sandwiches and cookies before playing while the adults took their time enjoying conversing with friends.

  “When are you due?” asked Lea.

  “In December,” Cécile replied. “It’s been really difficult with Claude’s gambling problem, but no one has money anymore, so he’s been staying home and building furniture in the barn.”

  “That sounds like the start of a good business,” said Lea.

  “I hope so.”

  “It’s so sad about all these hobos,” Lea said. “I heard one fell from the train and died last week. They buried his body in the churchyard. But no one knows who he was, so they can’t even send word to his family.”

  Cécile shook her head. “I know. Such poverty.”

  “Do you want the baby clothes your mother lent us?” Lea asked, a familiar pain jabbing her heart at the memory of the twins and Roger.

  “Sure!”

  “Good. I’ll drop by s
ome time during the week then.”

  “That would be great. Then we could have a good visit.”

  The crowd thinning, Lea caught Nap’s wave from the corner of her eye. She turned and gave Cécile a hug, then joined the family on their way home.

  They had only been on the road for about ten minutes when Pol pointed to the horizon in the distance. “What’s that?”

  “What?” Lea asked.

  “Over there.”

  A mysterious cloud moved toward them. Lea gasped. “Oh, no, not another dust storm. We’d better head back to the church. We’ll never make it home in time.” She’d had enough of the last one, digging up their garden to rescue what they could. But this was different. She squinted. “That’s not dust. What is it?”

  “I don’t know,” said Nap.

  It overtook them fast. Within minutes, insect bodies pounded them. Lea clutched Baby Denis to her bosom, covering his head as best she could with his blanket. Claire screamed and buried her head in Lea’s side.

  “Quick! Get down and cover your faces.”

  The children ducked into the wagon, their knees tucked in, and their arms covering their heads.

  “What are they?” shouted Lilian.

  “They’re grasshoppers!” said Pol. “Millions of them!”

  Frantic, the horses broke into a gallop, blinded by the insects.

  “Hold on,” said Nap.

  The horses stampeded, racing recklessly, unseeing.

  “Watch out! The horses are going off the road!” cried Lea.

  Nap gave the reins a sharp tug, steering them to the right. They followed his lead, turning a little too sharply. The wagon tipped to one side. Nap yanked the reins in the other direction, and the wagon landed back on an even keel with an abrupt thud.

  The horses continued to gallop out of control, their eyes slits, until the cloud grew thinner. They slowed to a canter, and then a trot, shaking their heads, their hides twitching and tails swatting at their rumps as they snorted over and over.

  Lea and the children slowly raised their heads.

  Then Lilian screamed and jumped onto the seat. “They’re everywhere in the wagon!”