Sometime in early March a wind that Jack said was a Chinook, woke Bert in the middle of the night and when he looked outside in the morning, the snow was gone, and spring had sprung. It seemed like a miracle to Bert, and he would never forget it. Because he had agreed to stay on at the ranch over Christmas so the others could take time off, Bert was allowed to join Curly in his quest for a wife. They decided to wait until May, but before they left, Bert asked Roland if he could use Thor. Except for a few notable scars, the horse’s wounds were completely healed, and he was able to be ridden.
“He’s your horse, Bert,” Roland replied. “What do you intend to do with him when you leave us for good? I would buy him, but he’s pretty old, and I really don’t need any more horses.”
“You don’t have to buy him, Boss. I was thinking of giving him to Curly’s wife. That is if he finds one. If not, you can have him. I know he shall have a good home either way.”
Bert and Curly left for the reservation before sunrise one morning and as they rode out of the corral, Bert experienced a delightful heady feeling: he was going off on an adventure riding alongside a seasoned plainsman with rifles and bedrolls tied to the backs of their saddles. Bert let his imagination run away with him and he was the Iroquois he had seen carved on the base of the monument in Montreal. To add even more colour to the adventure, they stopped at a horse ranch and Curly bought two young horses to use in bargaining for a bride.
Curly taught Bert many things on that trip; how to track and snare a rabbit and how to shoot the head off a wild goose. Bert also learned how to build a fire, make a spit and cook his catch. These were the things he had dreamt about since he was a child, and now he was living his dream. It would have been perfect, but he hadn’t brought a razor along because Curly had said that if he really wanted to live like a true outdoors man, he should let his beard and hair grow while they were gone.
His face felt dirty no matter how many times he washed in the creeks, and he loathed having to sit over a log to relieve himself, but even worse, was having to wipe his bottom with moss or leaves. It was giving him a rash that bothered him when he rode. Curly had said he would bring the food they needed so he couldn’t complain when he drank the coffee that was brewed over the fire and left grounds in the bottom of his tin cup, but how he longed for a good cup of tea with cream and sugar.
He was happy when they finally came to the reservation and was pleasantly surprised when he saw there were more log buildings than tepees. He was tired of sleeping on the hard ground and looked forward to sleeping on a soft bed again. Unfortunately, Curly’s Chippewa parents were among a handful that still preferred to live in a tepee. Their children had all married and were now living in log houses. During the winter, their parents moved in with them, but now it was spring and Curly and Bert were invited to stay in the tepee instead of a cabin. At least Bert was given a buffalo rug to sleep on, so that helped a little.
Bert was disappointed to find that almost all the people on the reservation were wearing clothing similar to his. They just looked like ordinary folks except both the men and the women wore their beautiful, shiny black hair long and in braids. Curly had brought along presents for the chief and all his family, and Bert had brought the chief a good supply of tobacco, which was gratefully accepted.
They stayed at the reservation for two weeks, and during that time they were entertained by men, women and children performing many of their tribal dances while dressed in colourful beaded costumes adorned with feathers. Bert was delighted; it was every bit as exciting as he had imagined. He was also fascinated with the crafts the women made and he purchased a beaded buckskin shirt that was as soft as a baby’s skin. When he wasn’t wearing it, he would sleep with it beside him, so he could appreciate its rich smell.
One day, a week after their arrival, Curly began the process of choosing a wife. There were some very attractive girls among the tribe, and a few of their fathers were talking to Curly while their daughters stood watching. The men were speaking Anishinabe so Bert couldn’t understand what they were saying, but every once in a while, Curly would point to one girl, and although she didn’t smile, you could tell she was pleased. Some of the men were trying to get him to pay attention to their daughters, but Curly would shake his head and continue to point at the same girl and then to the two horses he had brought with him.
The young lady Curly was pointing to had spent three years working as a maid for a white family in the city. She hadn’t been treated with much respect while she was there, and when the man of the house became too friendly, she packed up her few belongings and returned to the reservation. She remembered when Curly had come back to live at the reservation and she had liked him even then. Now he was grown up and very handsome. She was also convinced he was an honourable man who would never try to break the bond between her and her family, whom she loved dearly. Besides, she heard him tell her father that he had a proper home ready for his bride. She didn’t like the city people she worked for, but she had enjoyed living in their house.
Actually, Curly was the answer to more than one of her father’s problems; he would make his daughter a good husband, he probably wouldn’t beat her, and he had brought along two strong young horses to bargain with—his old mare was always lame with hoof problems. Also, his daughter had mentioned that she liked Curly and if her father allowed them to marry, she would give him the money she had earned in the city so he could hire someone to build a log house. She knew that during the past winter his old bones had indicated that they were tired of living in the old way.
For a time, her father kept up with the charade that it was breaking his heart to lose such a beautiful daughter to insure Curly give him both horses and not just one. But then he became afraid that Curly might change his mind and chose one of the other brave’s daughters, so he nodded his head, took his daughter’s hand and placed it in Curly’s. Curly had chosen a wife
Bert thought that would be it, but he suddenly realized that the other braves and their daughters hadn’t moved. They had now shifted their attention to him. He was about to turn and run when one of the fathers walked over to him and in a hoarse and threatening voice, said, “You want wife?”
Bert had never seen such cold and piercing eyes before. He felt intimidated and almost said yes, but then he managed to hide his feelings and replied, “Sorry, old chap, but I have a wife. She is in England.”
The ones who couldn’t speak English looked at Curly and he told them what Bert had said. At first, they eyed Bert with suspicion, thinking he might be like a lot of white men who talked with forked tongues, but when Bert returned their gaze without blinking, grins broke out on their faces. The wedding took place two days later and the women prepared a huge feast. Bert was pleasantly surprised how tasty most of the food was. The one thing he didn’t like was a mixture of meat fat and fruit called pemmican. When he heard Curly tell his new wife to be sure to pack a lot of it for the trip back home, he knew that for the first time in his life, he was going to know what it was like to feel the pangs of hunger.
Bert had trouble pronouncing Curly’s wife’s name, so Curly told him, that in English, it meant ‘lovely like a fawn’s eye,’ and suggested Bert call her, Fawn. Fawn was nineteen, could speak some English, and had even learned how to read and write during the three years she had spent in the city, so Bert was afraid she might not be happy with her new home. However, Curly was confident she would love it. By the time they arrived at the Arnetts’ ranch, Bert could tell the newlyweds had fallen in love and that Fawn was going to be content to live anywhere as long as it was with Curly. On the trip back, she had made the fires and done the cooking, and she even brought along some tea and sugar for Bert. They made a handsome couple and Bert couldn’t help but envy them, which he admitted to Curly when they got back to Arnetts’.
“You can send for your wife soon, Bert, and I know you’ll be just as happy. How come you never told me you had a woman waiting for you?”
Bert answered without thinking. “Because I don’t. I only said that so I wouldn’t have to marry one of those girls.”
Shocked, Curly frowned, and replied, “I see. Yeah, Bert, thank God you didn’t have to marry an Indian!”
“That is not what I meant. You know very well what my plans are, Curly. I do not want to marry anyone for at least two or three years.”
Curly wanted to believe him. Bert was the only close friend he had ever had, but he had seen the truth on his face when he said those girls, and he was afraid that Bert was the same as all the other white men he knew. “Tell me honestly, if you fell in love with an Indian girl, would you marry her and take her back to England?”
“No, I wouldn’t. I…”
Curly cut him off, “That’s what I thought. You’re just as bad as those men that killed my mother just because she married a black man.”
“I say! That’s a dastardly thing to accuse me of and I resent it! You didn’t allow me to finish. I would marry any girl, if I loved her and she loved me, regardless of her race or colour, but I would not take her back to England even though my family would welcome her. I have no desire to return to England, and when I do get married, my wife and I shall reside here in Canada. I am really sorry you think so little of me. I thought our friendship was stronger than that.”
Curly said he was sorry and apologized, but he couldn’t ignore the look of disdain he had seen on Bert’s face, and as hard as he tried to ignore it, it left a scar on their relationship. Bert could sense it too, and he realized that although he said he was against any sort of class distinction, it was bred into him. The easy rapport he and Curly had was now replaced with an unnatural politeness and they were both relieved when Bea invited them in for tea before Curly and Fawn left to go home. Bea loaded Fawn down with home baking and told her that if she ever needed anything to be sure to come to her. Just before they left, Fawn gave Bert a hug and there were tears in her eyes as she thanked him for Thor.
Although Bert was anxious to go to Calgary to see Ernie and Ada, he kept putting off his trip out west. Then on August 4th, 1914, Britain declared war on Germany and Bert told Roland he was going to Regina and join the Canadian Army. Red, who had witnessed two of Bert’s fainting spells, heard about it, and said, “You may as well forget it, Bert. They sure as hell ain’t gonna let you take a bottle of liquor with you when you go to fight those Germans.”
Bert said he thought he could get away without them knowing, and he asked Roland if he would mind giving him a ride to the station.
“Of course, we will, but we are going to hate to see you go. You know there’s a job here anytime you want it.” Bert thanked him adding that if he didn’t get into the army and he didn’t like the west coast, he would be back.
“You don’t have go you know, I can sign a document stating you are needed on the farm. I heard on the radio that even if they do want Canadians, some miners, loggers, fishermen and farmers can be exempt.”
“Maybe so, Roland, but I feel it’s my duty to join up, so as much as I appreciate your offer, I would like to go as soon as possible.”
Bea spoke up and said she would like to go to the train to see him off too, so a few days later they left the ranch. It was a sad parting. Although he wasn’t the most talented cowboy on the ranch, Bert was well liked by the Arnetts and the hired help. Bert had grown fond of all the men and the Arnetts had been a pleasure to work for.
Bert never became accustomed to wearing cowboy boots, but he couldn’t bring himself to part with them. He gave the rest of his cowboy outfit to one of the men who was about his size. Thinking the army would issue him a rifle, he decided to give his to Curly, that way he just had his suitcase and his violin case to carry. When he left the ranch, he was once more dressed in his suit and bowler hat, but he felt far less English than when he arrived. They stopped at Curly’s on the way to town and were pleased to see the couple were happily settled in. Bert managed to get Curly off by himself for a few minutes.
“Curly, you probably think I am a snobbish ass, and you may be right, but believe me, that is not who I want to be. I like you very much and I am proud to call you my friend. If there is one thing I do know, it’s that I am not one bit like those blighters who shot your parents. Now, I don’t know if we shall ever see each other again, but I’d like to think that if we do, it shall be a happy reunion.”
“Yeah, I’ve thought about it a lot too since I’ve been home, and I feel ashamed I said what I did. If it wasn’t for you, I’d never have finished the addition. You know, Bert, Fawn just loves the house. I owe you a lot, and I hate to see you go. We are expecting our first child and Fawn insists she is going to name it Bert if it’s a boy or a girl.”
“That is fantastic! Tell her I shall be honoured.”
“As far as I’m concerned, we’re still friends, and always will be.” They looked at each other for a second, but as much as they would like their words to be true, they could tell things could never be quite the same. Finally, Curly broke the silence, “Oh, what the hell,” he said, and held out his arms for a hug.
Bert would have preferred to go straight to Calgary, but his sense of duty prevailed and he bought a ticket to Regina. He didn’t have enough money for his passage to England anyway, and even if he had, he might not be accepted in the forces and then he might never get back to Canada. If they turned him down in Regina, he could continue working his way out west with a clear conscience. Just having a limited amount of money, he prayed the army would take him the day he arrived.
Once on the train, he struck up a conversation with a young mother who was travelling with her two small children. She said that she was going to Regina to visit her parents and her brother. “Peter has just turned eighteen and is determined to join up, so I thought I should come home and try to talk him out of it. He’s so very young I think he should wait a year.”
“Perhaps he will be assigned an office job. Would that suit him?”
“Peter? Goodness no, anything but. That’s the trouble, he says he can’t wait to get over there and shoot some Germans. Isn’t that awful?”
“At eighteen, it’s all a game I suppose, but it might all be over before he is sent to the front,” he said, trying to cheer her up, but she looked so worried and tired, he added, “Here, let me entertain the children while you have a rest.”
“I can’t do that.”
“I’ll take them over there in that empty seat and sing them a little song.”
She was too tired to refuse, so Bert took the children across the aisle and sang them some children’s songs until they both fell asleep. Before they arrived at Regina, Bert told the woman that he too was going to join the army, and she inquired if he knew his way around the city. When he admitted he didn’t, she insisted he come home with her so he could go to the enlistment office with her brother.
She also said that she knew her mother would be happy to look after his suitcase and violin until he returned. It was an offer he couldn’t refuse. The young boy was determined to join up, so he and Bert went to enlist early the next morning. They both passed the medical and were accepted. A week later, Bert fainted. It happened in the mess hall, and they had to carry him to sick bay so the doctor could revive him. He admitted he had had spells before and usually carried a flask of brandy so whoever was with him could use it to revive him. Then he added that perhaps he could wear a band around his wrist with instructions.
The doctor shook his head and said, “There is no way you will be allowed to carry a flask of liquor with you, and even if you could, if you’re at the front fighting Germans and faint, do you think the enemy will take the time to read what it says on a wrist band before running a bayonet through you? And how many German soldiers do you think know how to read English?”
“I could take potassium bromide pills instead of brandy,” Bert suggested.
“You could also pull the pin on a hand grenade then faint and blow you, and your buddies to hell and back! Sorry, my boy, but I will have to recommend you be discharged.”