Fields of Gold Beneath Prairie Skies Page 8

  The room fell silent except for the sounds of her sobs.

  “I’m sorry,” said Cécile. “I really miss them…It’s just not the same.”

  Madame Gilbert was the first to speak. “I know. We all miss your brothers.” She picked up her napkin from her lap and wiped her eyes.

  “And I hate the big city. There are too many people,” Cécile continued, her voice bitter.

  “Then why don’t you come home?” Mr. Gilbert asked. “Planting season will start soon and we could use as much help as possible. We could pay you the same as we do the others.”

  “I don’t know.” Cécile wiped her nose. “You see, there’s a man.”

  “Oh?” Madame Gilbert’s eyebrows arched.

  “It’s nothing, Maman. It’s been over for quite some time, but I...” She erupted into sobs again.

  “You hope he’ll come back to you?” asked Lea.

  Cécile nodded.

  Lea regarded the young woman with tenderness. “You know, Cécile, I miss my family…and my country too, but the whole world has changed, and we have to change along with it. I met a girl on the ship coming over. She lost most of her family and saw things too horrible to describe, but even so, she and I made a pact that we’d move forward. There’s simply no other place to go. You could join our pact.”

  Cécile’s eyes met Lea’s. “Well, maybe.”

  “Not maybe,” Lea said. “Say yes.”

  “Well, all right, then. Yes!”

  “Then you’ll stay until at least after the harvest?” asked Mr. Gilbert.

  Madame Gilbert shot Cécile a hopeful look.

  “Okay. I could use a break from the city.” Cécile nodded.

  “Then that calls for a celebration!” Madame Gilbert rose and retrieved an angel food cake iced with whipped cream she’d kept hidden in the cellar.

  “Oh, you shouldn’t have,” said Lea.

  “But it’s Easter. Why not?” Madame Gilbert smiled as she dished out generous portions.

  Lea couldn’t get enough of the cake, devouring two pieces.

  After the dishes were cleared and washed, Cécile made her way to the piano and tested it out with two fingers. “Needs to be tuned after such a cold winter.”

  “I agree. We’ll send for the piano technician next month when he comes through Ponteix,” said Madame Gilbert.

  Cécile sat down and began her own rendition of “Plaisir d’Amour.”

  “That’s my favourite song!” said Lea, dropping her dishcloth and racing to Cécile’s side. Her heart was filled with loneliness for her family as she sang the words. She thought of her parents, Camille, François, Mathilde, and Palma and wondered what they were doing that very moment. The others joined in too, singing with passion.

  When the song ended, Lea glanced at Cécile. It appeared the evening had tremendously lifted the young woman’s spirits.

  ***

  At the end of April, the earth had warmed up enough that Napoleon and Mr. Gilbert hitched up the team of horses and attached the plow, spending days digging up the fields, then disking and harrowing them until only rich, brown soil showed itself in perfect rows. Then the seeding began.

  The summer weighed on Lea in her expectant state, the heat smothering her. But far worse were the millions of tiny mosquitoes that filled the air in the evening.

  “Look,” she said to Napoleon as she stared up in the sky. “They’re everywhere!”

  “I know,” said Nap, scratching the welts on his legs. “All we can do is be careful not to let them in the house.”

  But try as they might, they heard the high-pitched whine of the bloodsuckers hovering over their heads each night.

  Lea couldn’t wait until the yellow wheat shot up, finally able to witness the golden fields Napoleon had described to her. But more than anything else, she couldn’t wait until their child was born. It kicked continuously, often waking her. She’d already arranged the baby clothes Madame Gilbert had given her into the top drawer of the dresser and awaited Nap’s promised crib.

  “You seem mighty big for a woman who’s only been with child for five months,” commented Madame Gilbert, her lips turned up into a smile of amusement.

  “It’s all the good food. We lived with so little for so long. But it’s not just my stomach that’s grown. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say I’ve gotten taller too.”

  “I noticed that,” said Madame Gilbert.

  Cécile’s forehead creased as she regarded her. “But that’s impossible. You’re nearly twenty. I stopped growing at fourteen.”

  “That’s what I thought too until I noticed that Napoleon and I are closer to the same height. I used to be so much shorter than him. I’m wondering if maybe the lack of food during the war stunted my growth.”

  Madame Gilbert’s eyebrows rose. “I’ve never heard of such a thing, but it could be.”

  When the shafts of wheat were ripe and ready for harvest, Mr. Gilbert came back from town with a carload of young men whose raucous voices filled the yard. He unlocked the doors of the other cabins, assigning six men to a room. Lea was surprised to see that the other dwellings only contained a woodstove and bunks in sharp contrast to the love nest she and Napoleon had made for themselves.

  With the men’s arrival came long days of cooking and cleaning as it was the women’s job to feed the hungry workers. Beginning with baking bread at sunrise, then making breakfast—frying three dozen eggs and three pounds of bacon—they then made a couple dozen sandwiches. After that, they prepared supper, making pies, cooking a large roast, and boiling fifteen potatoes each night. Of course, that didn’t include all the dishwashing. By the end of the day, Lea was completely spent.

  It was on one such night, as she lay exhausted in bed, she heard Cécile giggling outside their cabin. A man’s voice mumbled. Lea sat up, unsure if what she was hearing was real. Sneaking to the window, she peeked out. The full moon lit up the night, casting long shadows from the nearby fruit trees. Lea strained her eyes in the direction of the voices. She spotted Cécile’s pink dress near one of the trees. Who was she with? A red ember glowed from a cigarette next to her. Lea just barely made out the outline of a man. He leaned in and kissed Cécile. Lea gasped and tiptoed back to her bed. Waking Napoleon, she whispered, “Cécile has a beau!”

  “You mean you didn’t know?” A smile tinged his voice despite being heavy with sleep.

  “No. She never said anything. Who is he?”

  Napoleon rolled over. “His name’s Claude. He’s been talking about her for weeks.”

  “Claude?” She curled her lip. Lea knew exactly who Nap was talking about. He was the most dashing of all the workers with a sweep of jet black hair, a crooked smile, and a brash sense of humour, but Lea had been shocked at his coarseness. She’d once overheard him using profanities while talking with the men, but at least he’d had the decency to clean up his language immediately when he’d noticed her presence.

  “What’s he been saying about her?”

  Nap paused before answering. “It’s just guy talk. You don’t want to know.”

  Lea’s lips tightened. “What’s he like?”

  “Well, he’s not the most upstanding guy, but he’s thinking of getting a homestead.”

  “I suppose that’s a good sign,” Lea said despite her misgivings. She felt uneasy. Perhaps he wasn’t the sort of man she’d want, but who was she to judge? Maybe he was just what Cécile needed.

  Indeed, Cécile’s mood had changed considerably. She seemed more animated, laughing easily at jokes, not minding the hard work, and making an extra effort to cook up special things she imagined the men would enjoy.

  When September arrived, the men turned their attention to harvesting the apples and pears. The women were kept busy peeling, canning, and storing until jars of fruit lined the shelves of the basement. Then the workers began digging up potatoes, carrots, and beets, leaving bushels near the cellar door to be carried in. Lea had grown so large, she could no longer bend over to li
ft the baskets so that Madame Gilbert and Cécile had to take over.

  The night before the men were scheduled to leave, Cécile accompanied Claude to town for dinner. When they returned, several hours later, they woke everyone up with boisterous shouts. Lea and Napoleon dressed and hurried to the house.

  As Lea suspected, Cécile stretched out her hand, showing off a ring. “We’re married!” she squealed.

  “Married?” Mr. Gilbert’s expression was the epitome of astonishment.

  “Yes!” said Cécile. “We wanted to surprise everyone. We figured the less fuss, the better.”

  Madame Gilbert stared at her blankly, then quickly added, “Well, congratulations!”

  “Where will you live?” asked Mr. Gilbert. “Are you going back to Regina?”

  “We were hoping we could stay on here in one of the cabins,” said Cécile.

  “Oh, forget the cabins,” said Madame Gilbert. “You can stay in the main house. Claude can move in tomorrow.”

  They broke open a bottle of wine to celebrate. Lea refused a glass, her pregnancy making the taste repulsive. Claude gladly took her share.

  Later, as she lay in Napoleon’s arm, she asked, “Do you think they’ll be okay?”

  Napoleon hesitated before answering. “I sure hope so.

  Chapter Eleven

  The Butchering

  Lea’s heart skipped the day Nap came from Ponteix with a letter in his hand.

  “It’s been forwarded from Wide View. It’s from your sister, Palma.”

  “Palma?” With a bounce in her step, Lea took the letter from his hand and tore it open. She began reading.

  Dear Lea,

  I am so happy to hear you are expecting your first child. Do you hope for a boy or a girl?

  Things have changed a great deal here in Chatlineau since the armistice. I’ve gotten a job at the boulangerie making bread. It’s difficult since I’m required to be there at four in the morning to start the dough. But I suppose it’s better than staying at home listening to Papa rant and rave.

  He’s in such terrible humour these days. Maman says it’s because his back aches from working in the mine. He has insisted that Camille take over his job until he is well enough again. Camille has obliged, but spends far too much time in the tavern after work. In the meantime, Papa has gone back to repairing shoes, and he’s training François as well since a shoe is small enough for François to hold with his damaged hand while he sews with the other.

  Lea, I’m terrified! Papa has threatened to arrange marriages for both Mathilde and me. He says we cost too much to keep and that he has no intention of supporting two old maids. He told me he has found an Italian man quite suitable for me, but I’ve seen him, and he’s old. Papa says I can’t be too choosy since the war has taken away so many of our sons. Oh, Lea, you must help me! I’m beside myself. I’m thinking of running away to Canada, but I haven’t saved up enough money with my new job yet. Would you and Napoleon have dollars to spare that you could send me? I’m desperate. I can’t bear to be married to such an old man.

  Palma

  Lea folded the letter.

  “I can’t believe it,” she said to Napoleon. “Papa wants to arrange marriages for Palma and Mathilde.”

  Napoleon’s eyes bulged at the news. “Arrange marriages?”

  “Yes. Palma says he’s found an older man for her. Apparently, there aren’t many young men left since the war.”

  “Well, we have plenty here. Perhaps she could immigrate to Canada.”

  “But how? She says she has a job, but she can’t possibly raise that kind of money in that amount of time. Couldn’t we help her?”

  Nap sighed. “But we have to save all we can for the homestead, and with the baby coming…and besides, there’s the paperwork.”

  “Oh, poor Palma.” Lea wrung her hands. “How could Papa do this to her?”

  “We wouldn’t have enough room for her anyway with that big tummy of yours always in the way.” His eyes twinkled. “She wouldn’t be able to get past you to go to her room.”

  Lea laughed. It was true. Her stomach had grown the size of a pumpkin, just in time for Halloween and that new tradition in town where children disguised themselves in costumes, knocking on doors and demanding candy.

  “Perhaps I should draw a jack-o-lantern face on my tummy. That would certainly make tongues wag.”

  Nap let out a chuckle. “Yes, it would. By the way, Mr. Gilbert says we’re doing the butchering of the pig tomorrow.”

  “Oh, no,” said Lea, feeling every aching bone in her pregnant body. She’d been dreading the day, but knew it was coming since the cellars were full, and the men had all left for the winter, save Claude. And that meant the harvest was over and it was time.

  “Madame Gilbert wants your help making boudin.”

  For a moment, Lea forgot her fatigue and licked her lips in anticipation. It had been a while since she’d tasted blood pudding.

  “She says she’ll teach you how to make it.”

  “Well, all right then. It’ll be fun to spend the day with Madame Gilbert and Cécile puttering about in the kitchen.”

  When Lea arrived at the main house, the next morning, she was put to work chopping onions and bits of apple while Cécile mixed cloves, nutmeg, cinnamon, and salt in a large pot.

  “So how’s our bride doing today?” asked Lea.

  “Oh, fine.” Cécile sighed.

  “I heard Claude come in late last night.”

  “Yes, he does that sometime.”

  “He was drunk.” Madame Gilbert flashed a sour look as she separated the cream from the milk.

  “He wasn’t drunk, Maman. He was just a little tipsy. You have to give him a chance. After all, he’s been single all this time. He has to get used to being married.”

  “Whatever you say.” Madame Gilbert shook her head. “How are those onions and apples coming along, Lea?”

  “They’re ready.”

  “And are you finished with the spices?” she asked Cécile.

  “Yes.”

  “Good, then. Let’s throw them all together.”

  The three women poured their mixtures into a large pot and carried it out to the barn.

  When they arrived, Mr. Gilbert tossed grain into the pig trough while Claude and Nap watched. “Come on, Charlie. This is your last supper.”

  The pig grunted, his cloven hooves scuffling as he made his way to the food and poked his greedy nose in.

  “I can’t stand to watch this.” Cécile covered her eyes with her hands. “It’s so cruel.”

  Lea instinctively turned away.

  A shot rang through the air, and Lea heard the pig drop.

  “Quickly, now,” said Madame Gilbert.

  When Lea looked down, she saw Mr. Gilbert make a gash in the pig’s throat. Madame Gilbert shoved the pot under the boar’s head where the blood flowed, stirring it in with the mixture of spices, salt, onions, apples, and cream.

  “You have to keep it moving so it won’t coagulate. Here, you take a turn now.”

  Lea grasped the wooden spoon and stirred until the pig’s blood had run dry. When Madame Gilbert deemed it to be the right consistency, they took the concoction back to the house and into the kitchen.

  “And now, we put it into the casings,” said Madame Gilbert.

  Lea eyed the long cow intestines that lay on the table, wondering how on earth they’d get the mixture inside them.

  She soon found out when Madame Gilbert swished around the intestines in a vat of water until they were clean and turned them inside out. Then she twisted one end while attaching the other to the meat grinder, pushing it up as far as it would go. She spooned a portion of the mixture into the machine and turned the handle. The casing slowly filled.

  Lea watched with fascination as the sausage took shape. When it was nearly full, Madame Gilbert detached it from the grinder, twisted the top, and coiled the sausage into a spiral.

  “Voilà! Now you try, Lea.”

 
; Lea attached the casing to the machine, took a spoonful of the boudin, and stuffed it in the main body, but when she rotated the handle, the pudding seeped out the other end of the intestine and onto the table.

  Cécile broke into a fit of giggling. “You forgot to seal it.”

  Lea reddened. “I’m sorry.”

  “Here, start again.” Madame Gilbert squeezed out the pudding and rewashed the casing.

  This time, it turned out near perfect. Lea admired her work, pleased she’d learned a new skill.

  When all the sausages were ready, they cooked them slowly until they oozed juices when pricked. Lea marveled at the delicate flavor.

  Stifling a yawn, she was about to excuse herself to take a nap when the door flew open and Mr. Gilbert trundled in, carrying a crock full of cut meat and another filled with lard. “Here you go. All ready for preserving.”

  Lea took a giant breath, then pushed down her fatigue yet again.

  “All right, now,” said Madame Gilbert. “You and Cécile are going to fry the meat while I melt the lard.”

  Madame Gilbert placed the fat in a large pot and added more wood to the stove.

  Lea watched as it melted, taking some of the lard and forking in as many chops as her pan could fit. The sizzle threw up flecks of fat as the aroma of pork chops filled the room making her stomach growl. When the meat was well-done, she turned to Madame Gilbert.

  “Now watch what we do,” said Cécile. “This is the important part.” Ladling some of the melted lard into a crock, she waited until it hardened, then filled the space with chops. Adding another layer of lard, again she waited until it turned white, then placed more meat on top.

  Lea and Cécile took turns cooking and preserving. A few hours later, they were done.

  “That should last us through the winter,” said Madame Gilbert, brushing off her hands with satisfaction.

  “But what about the rest of it?” Lea felt as though she couldn’t last another minute. “Where are the legs?”

  “The men are smoking them in the barn,” said Cécile. “And they’re storing the rest of the pig in brine until we need it. Later, we can make headcheese and creton with the edible parts of the head and the feet.”