Fields of Gold Beneath Prairie Skies Read online

  “I brought supper,” he said, handing her a headless chicken, feathers and all.

  Lea eyed the carcass. She’d never plucked a chicken before, nor had she ever been handed one complete with claws and neck. But this was the new life she’d chosen, so she reached over and accepted it, offering a tentative smile. She tugged at the feathers as best she could, but when she pulled a large one from the wing, the chicken flew over her head and smacked against the wall.

  Napoleon burst into laughter.

  “What’s so funny?” Lea cried, seizing the chicken from the floor.

  “That’s not how you do it.”

  “Well, I don’t know!” She slammed the carcass on the table. “In Belgium they come from the boucherie already cleaned and plucked.

  Nap bit his lip, the occasional pfft slipping out. “Here, let me show you.”

  Lea thrust the bird at him and crossed her arms, waiting for her husband to reveal a special tool that would render the job simple, but instead he added more wood to the stove. When it grew so hot that the snow in the pot had melted and begun to steam, he added more snow. When that had melted, he added more again and waited. He repeated the procedure until the pot was two thirds full of hot water. Then he turned and smiled. “Now watch.” He took the chicken from her and, grasping it by the feet, immersed it in the water.

  Lea stared in fascination.

  “The first thing you need to do is loosen the feathers.” He dipped the chicken in several times and swished it around. “Once you’ve done that, they’ll come out easily.” He peeled back the down with his fingertips, then yanked out the larger feathers. Taking the butcher knife, he removed the feet and neck. Setting them aside, he reached inside and removed the organs.

  “But what do we do with the feet and the innards?”

  “The pigs will enjoy them,” replied Nap. “They eat anything.”

  Lea took what remained of the chicken and prepared it as Maman had taught her. She salted and peppered the meat and placed it inside the newly washed pot, creating a temporary oven. She added the onions, potatoes, and carrots. Making another trip to the cellar, she came back with lard and herbs. Within the hour, the aroma of roast chicken filled the cabin. When Nap returned later on, they ate their first homemade meal together by coal oil lamplight, while gazing into each other’s eyes. Once the dishes were cleaned, they retired for the night, neither of them feeling the slightest bit sleepy.

  ***

  A few weeks later, Lea didn’t feel well. Napoleon had woken early as usual to build the fire in the stove that would heat their small home, but when she rose, instead of greeting him with his morning kiss, she ran for the door, and threw up in the melting snow.

  “Are you okay?” asked Napoleon, holding a frying pan filled with bacon in mid-air. “Breakfast is nearly ready.”

  “No thanks. I’m going back to bed.”

  She returned to their room and slept away the morning, but by lunchtime she felt much better. Slipping down to the cellar, she retrieved the hearty soup she’d prepared the day before, and heated it on the stove. She devoured three bowlfuls. She’d missed the bread-making, but didn’t mind the day old bread one tiny bit. They shared their lunch, pleased the nausea had spent itself so quickly and that a doctor hadn’t been needed.

  The next day, the whole thing began again, and the day after that. Lea broke into a soft smile when she understood what was happening.

  She waited until Nap left for the day, then baked a special chocolate cake, icing it with whipped cream. Taking candles, she counted the number of months she had left before the baby would arrive and placed the appropriate number on top.

  When Nap arrived, he eyed the cake. “What’s this? Is it someone’s birthday?”

  “It will be,” she replied, “in about seven months.”

  Nap’s eyes shot open and his mouth hung. “Really?”

  “Mm-hm.”

  “We’re going to have a baby?”

  “Yes.” Lea laughed.

  Nap picked her up and twirled her around. “I can’t wait to tell the family in Wide View. They’ll be so thrilled. Let’s see, I’ll build a crib, and a high chair, and a little dresser.”

  The news traveled fast. One morning as Lea stared out the window at the grey patches of snow that still lingered over the muddy ground, she saw Madame Gilbert making her way to their cabin. It was spring and it’d only be a few weeks before Nap and Mr. Gilbert would begin plowing and seeding the fields. Lea’s muscles tensed as she wondered what the woman wanted. Their relationship had always been cold since Mr. Gilbert had made the mistake of telling Nap he’d married a beautiful woman.

  Lea cautiously opened the door. “Good morning.”

  “And a good morning to you,” Madame Gilbert replied, a warm smile replacing her previous coldness.

  Lea was taken aback at the sudden change in the older woman’s attitude. “So what can I do for you?”

  “I heard you were with child,” she said, her opened lips revealing less-than-straight teeth.

  “Why, yes, I am.”

  “Then we must prepare. Why don’t you come to the house? I have some old clothes left over from when our children were small. Perhaps you can use some of it.”

  “That would be lovely,” said Lea, relieved the ice between them seemed to have melted, at least for the time being.

  “Besides, I need help churning the butter. My shoulder’s bothering me today.”

  “I’d be glad to help,” said Lea, having no idea how butter was made since it was always brought to the house in Chatlineau by the deliveryman, but this was a chance to learn a new skill and befriend the employer’s wife.

  When they entered the main house, Lea was awed. The kitchen was large with a full stove, complete with oven. A water pump emptied into a sink that could be stopped to wash dishes. Next to the kitchen, a room full of fashionable furniture surrounded a stone fireplace; a piano was tucked in the corner. Lea could see doors that led into at least four bedrooms, but was careful not to stare for too long in case Madame Gilbert found her nosy.

  “Here’s the container we’ve been collecting the cream in,” the older woman said, unscrewing the cover.

  Lea’s nose wrinkled at the smell. She had seen Nap lowering the canister of milk into the well every day to separate the milk from the cream, raising it up and taking it to the main house. Oftentimes, they were given cream for their tea too.

  “I think it’s gone bad,” she said, bile threatening to rise in her throat. She pinched her nose and breathed through her mouth.

  Madame Gilbert smiled, revealing her anything-but-straight teeth again. “It’s supposed to go bad. That’s what the churning’s all about.” She ladled the sour cream into the wooden cask, tightened the lid, and began turning the handle with both hands until she was grimacing with pain.

  “Here, let me do it for you.” Lea took the wooden dowel from her, still breathing through her mouth. She wound it round and round. After a time, she began to sweat, but dared not complain lest Madame Gilbert find her spoiled and resume her cold attitude toward her.

  A half hour later, when Lea felt she could handle it no more, Madame Gilbert signaled her to stop and undid the cover.

  Lea looked inside to find a large glob of yellow butter surrounded by a cloudy liquid.

  “It’s ready now,” said Madame Gilbert.

  “But what do we do with the watery stuff?”

  “The buttermilk? We’ll give it to the pigs. They’ll eat anything.”

  Lea laughed, pleased she’d finished the laborious job and that now she could resume breathing through her nose once the pigs had been fed. She waited for Madame Gilbert to lead her to one of the bedrooms to show her the baby clothes, but instead, the older woman poured another batch of sour cream into the churn. Lea gave an inward groan.

  Three hours later, the job was done and Lea could once again breathe normally.

  Madame Gilbert boiled hot water to make tea and cut a generous portion
of cake for Lea. She wolfed it down.

  Afterward, she took Lea to what had once been a girl’s room and opened the wardrobe. Two old boxes covered in dust rested inside. Madame Gilbert hauled them out, pulling out tiny nighties of varying sizes.

  “They’re lovely!” Lea made a mental note to sort them out later.

  “They belonged to my three children—Thomas, Eric, and Cécile,” she said, her gaze traveling far away. “And I have more for when your little one gets bigger.”

  Lea admired the clothing as they sorted through the next box. “So where are your children now?”

  Madame Gilbert didn’t answer for a time, then said. “Thomas and Eric have gone to Heaven.”

  Lea’s chin dropped. “What happened?”

  Madame Gilbert let out a brave sigh. When she answered, the timbre of her voice had changed. “The war. Vimy Ridge. They were in the same platoon. They joined against my wishes.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Lea. “It must be so hard for you.”

  “It was for a while, and it didn’t help that my Cécile rarely comes home, but now you’re here, and you have a young one on the way. Life moves forward, non?”

  Lea regarded the old woman through misty eyes. No wonder Madame Gilbert had been cold to her. She must have been suffering terrible heartache. Lea’s arms encircled her.

  Madame Gilbert returned the hug and whispered, “I’m sorry I was rude to you at first. It’s been so hard living alone here on the prairie, especially in the winter. And I’m not young and pretty like you, but I am glad you’re here.”

  “I’m glad too,” said Lea.

  Chapter Ten

  The Mysterious Guest

  The snow had all but melted by the time Easter arrived. Chicks pecked about in the yard, and piglets trotted after their sow, hoping for a meal.

  Lea and Napoleon had been invited to the Gilberts’ after church for the leg of ham that had been saved over the winter for the occasion. Lea looked forward to it, particularly since she and Madame Gilbert had become such good friends, enjoying each other’s company daily. Of course, Monsieur Gilbert never made the mistake of commenting on Lea’s beauty ever again.

  “I’m going to milk the cows before church,” Napoleon said, throwing his arms around Lea’s shoulder and nuzzling her neck. “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m making bread for tonight. A very special loaf like at the boulangerie in Chatlineau—the really expensive type.”

  “Oh? What kind of bread will it be?”

  A smile touched her lips as she imagined the work of art she’d create. “It’s going to be braided.”

  Nap nodded in approval. “I’m sure it’ll be beautiful.” He drew her close and kissed her on the lips before slipping on his coat and boots and heading to the barn.

  Lea watched him through the window as she did every morning and then set about her task. She measured out the flour and sifted it into the large bowl she used for baking. Glancing back, she checked the consistency of the yeast she’d prepared earlier that morning.

  “Hmm,” she said. “Maybe I could make a sweet glaze to go on top.” She shook her head since Madame Gilbert had already claimed the privilege of making dessert and she didn’t want to ruffle any feathers. “I know. I’ll add some sugar so that it’ll taste a bit like a beigne. That’ll be really Belgian.”

  She picked up her measuring cup and stirred the sugar into the flour. Then she mixed in the yeast and kneaded it into a ball. Covering the bowl with a damp cloth, she set it aside.

  Wandering into the bedroom, she pulled out the same navy blue dress with embroidered flowers she’d worn for her wedding. Since it was the first time they’d be attending church in Ponteix, she wanted to look her best to meet the townsfolk. She placed her hand on her stomach and felt the bulge as the little life within her grew, glad she wasn’t showing too much yet.

  When the automobile was ready, they drove the few miles to town. Lea marveled at the broad sky that touched the horizon far away. Only on the prairies, where the land was flat, could such a thing of beauty exist. A myriad of castles where angels dwell.

  She gazed farther to the town where the green grain elevator rose in the distance. Bells rang from the church’s steeple announcing Easter mass. Buggies and horses surrounded the church, ladies and girls descending wearing white hats and dresses while men and boys followed in their best trousers and shirts.

  When mass began, Père Royer welcomed Lea personally, as well as other war brides, and commented on what a long winter it had been and how grand it was that so many people could make the Easter Sunday mass. He also bowed his head in memory of sons who had been lost.

  Lea enjoyed the sermon, grateful it was in French. It made her feel as though she were back in Belgium.

  After mass, the congregation moved to the hall where ladies brought out cookies and cakes of every type. Children ran about sampling the fares before leaping away in games of tag while grownups sipped tea. After spending time with such a pleasant crowd, Lea was reluctant to go back home where solitude would once again greet her.

  When they arrived at the farm, she opened the door to their cabin and went straight to the bowl to check her dough, but the bread had hardly risen.

  “What on earth!” She kneaded it again just in case she hadn’t mixed the yeast in properly, then set it aside. A half-hour later, a hard lump of dough still sat on the bottom of the bowl.

  She shook her head. “Maybe I didn’t put in enough yeast.” Preparing more rising agent, she added it to the existing dough along with more flour. But the result was much the same—flat bread.

  “Ugh, what a flop! This isn’t good for anything.” Taking the entire mess outside, she threw the clump of wet dough on the ground, then slammed the door.

  With a sigh, she took the hot water from the back of the stove and made herself a cup of tea. “When things aren’t going well, it’s time for a break,” she muttered to herself. She sat for a time sipping the hot drink. On her second cup, the solution came to her.

  “It’s the sugar!” she exclaimed. “I’ve never put in that much before!”

  Her morale renewed, she tied her apron on again and remixed the flour and yeast. An hour later, it had risen into the puffy dough expected. She grinned with satisfaction, then broke off small clumps that she rolled into strands and braided, laying them in pretty patterns on top of the loaf. Then she added wood to the fire until she deemed the temperature hot enough. Placing her creation inside a cast iron pot, she clapped the lid on and let it cook. When she lifted the cover later on, a perfect, round, golden loaf met her gaze.

  She wiped her brow with relief. “Just in time for dinner.”

  As she turned the pot over to release the bread, a burst of laughter from outside startled her. She dashed to the window where she saw Napoleon and Mr. Gilbert slapping their knees and guffawing. Lea swung the door open to see what was so funny. Several small chicks flapped about, their feet stuck in her discarded bread dough.

  “Were you trying to catch a chick or two for the supper tonight?” asked Napoleon. “Madame Gilbert is cooking a ham, you know.”

  “No…I…the dough…it wouldn’t rise. I had to throw it out...”

  Her face burning, she grabbed a rag, then scrubbed all the chicks’ claws with slush while Nap and Mr. Gilbert shoveled up the remaining dough, tears still streaming from their eyes.

  “Next time,” said Mr. Gilbert, “feed it to the pigs.”

  “I know,” said Lea. “They’ll eat anything, right?”

  At dinner time, Lea brought the second loaf and handed it over to Madame Gilbert with pride, though the odd snicker still escaped the men.

  Madame Gilbert accepted the gift with a gracious bow as she welcomed them into the big house and led them to the kitchen. Lea grabbed an apron off the hook and tied it around her waist. When she turned, she noticed an extra guest—a young woman in her mid-twenties. She was an attractive girl with chestnut brown hair tied back in a ponytail, but her e
yes were sad. Lea glanced at Madame Gilbert, questioning.

  “Napoleon and Lea, I’d like to introduce you to my daughter, Cécile.”

  Lea stepped forward, a welcoming smile on her lips. “I’m so pleased to meet you.”

  The young woman eyed Lea resentfully for a moment before extending a reluctant hand. “Likewise.”

  They exchanged polite pecks on each cheek before Cécile shook Nap’s hand.

  “She came all the way from Regina to be with us today,” said Madame Gilbert, donning a fake smile.

  “Yes, it was a wonderful surprise,” Mr. Gilbert said, his voice a little too exuberant like he was trying to be nice.

  Cécile huffed without meeting their gaze and began setting the table as though they hadn’t spoken while the others exchanged uncomfortable glances.

  Lea helped Madame Gilbert with the finishing touches of the dinner, cutting the braided bread into thick slices and placing them into a neat row in the basket while Mr. Gilbert carved the ham.

  When all was ready, they sat down at the grand table as Lea and Madame Gilbert laid dish after dish before them.

  “How ever did you make such a tender bread?” asked Madame Gilbert.

  Napoleon turned his head, disguising a snicker as a cough.

  “The secret is in the amount of sugar,” said Lea, throwing her husband a warning glance. “This ham is delicious too. What do you think, Cécile?”

  “I haven’t had such excellent ham in a long time,” the young woman replied, taking her napkin and dabbing her mouth. Without warning, she burst into tears.