Treesa and Lee had not been to work for the past four days. Anna guessed that the baby had arrived. Charlie grumbled a bit, saying Lee could have turned up on his own, that he was surprised that Treesa’s grandmother had not given him a push in that direction.
‘Luckily,’ Charlie said to Griff, ‘I had you, boy, to help me out. You done wonders with the Fordson tractor. I wanted one of those, you know, ever since I heard how useful they’ve proved to be, back home. The first ones were shipped out to Great Britain to get things going again after the war, when there was a shortage of horses and wagons as well as men. At last, we can catch up, over here!
‘We were able to make the most of the fine weather, eh? We’ll go into town after milking, to see a motor which has come up for sale. I need your advice. If I buy it, you can drive it back while I foller in the buggy.’
After the men departed Lee and Treesa appeared. Treesa carried her precious papoose on her back, leaving both hands free. Anna and Mattie ushered the new mother into the cosy kitchen for a cup of tea. Lee was despatched to the cowshed, clutching his mug. He didn’t mind. ‘Women talk,’ he muttered, but with a grin.
‘I have to go to work, too,’ Mattie said regretfully. She was enjoying her new job, but wouldn’t have minded the morning off to become acquainted with little Mai – named for Doc Pedersen’s Swedish wife, who’d provided comforts for mother and baby.
‘Holda baby first,’ Treesa looked up shyly at Mattie. She’d laid the papoose on the table while she quaffed her tea. She lifted the baby out of her snug hollow and handed her to Mattie.
There was a strange fluttering in Mattie’s chest. Mai didn’t resemble the babies she’d had limited dealings with, like her plump nephew Robbie, or fretful, pink Lydia, Grace’s child. Mai had peachy-gold skin, with dark eyes which seemed to follow any movement Mattie made. She gently kissed the baby’s forehead.
‘She’s beautiful,’ she managed, aware Treesa was awaiting her reaction.
Anna smiled knowingly. ‘Pass Mai to me now, or you’ll be late and Ollie will be wondering where you are.’
‘Yes, I must go,’ Mattie agreed reluctantly. She buttoned her jacket, and left.
The men had cut plenty of wood for the stove, and the water in the reservoir tank alongside was bubbling merrily. Treesa fetched the laundry basket. ‘We do washing? I get tub? Turn mangle? Good wind for drying, Missus.’
‘No scrubbing on the washboard for you today, Treesa. Did you get to lie in at all after having the baby?’ Anna wondered.
‘Women must work,’ Treesa said reprovingly.
‘And men must be allowed to admire a Model T Ford or two,’ Anna said wryly.
The trading post owed none of its success to window-dressing, for goods were piled so high on the shelves that they covered over the small panes of glass. The interior was lit by hanging kerosene lamps. The overriding odour was of the oil, mingling with that of serviceable clothes, stiff with dressing; rubber boots, sacks of animal feed, a cartwheel of strong cheese wrapped in muslin, and the side of hickory-smoked ham suspended on a stout hook, from the low beam. Fly swats were kept at the ready.
It was one of Mattie’s tasks to lift the ham down on to the counter on request, to ease back an inch or so of the rind with a sharp knife kept specially for this purpose, then to slice thinly before weighing portions on the brass scales. The top slice was always greyish, and this was put aside to be made into sandwiches later for Mattie’s and Ollie’s lunch. This ham was mainly sold to the bachelor farmers, as those with womenfolk, whether wives, mothers or sisters, ate their own home-produced bacon.
The local self-sufficiency meant that Ollie did not stock staples, such as bread, milk and perishable foods. Most homesteads, however humble, had their ice boxes: the men cut blocks of ice from the lake when it froze in winter, dragged their loads home on sleds and stored the ice in an ice-hut outside, insulated with straw, or in a dug-out cellar. Ice-carts might deliver to townsfolk, but this service must be paid for. The rich had refrigerators, but most of the community had never even seen one of these.
The drought that had begun in 1919 continued in 1922. Old Wives Lake, south of Moose Jaw, was almost devoid of water. There were high winds and already it was predicted that this could be one of the driest years on record.
However, Ollie’s store had everything needed for preserving produce, as Mattie discovered, including isinglass for buckets of eggs, as well as canning and bottling equipment.
It was a fairly slack morning, so they set the dented old coffee pot to boil on the primus stove ‘out back’ in the tiny kitchen area. It was Mattie’s job to grind the coffee beans. If customers came, they announced their presence by ringing the handbell on the counter. They’d have time to look through the pile of old-fashioned sun bonnets which Ollie had on offer, now that it was summer.
Mattie and Ollie sat on three-legged stools which had price tags attached, so might be sold at any time. They sipped the scalding black coffee; nowadays Mattie could drink it without a grimace.
‘How long have you lived here?’ Mattie asked. It was difficult to judge Ollie’s age, as well as her gender, she thought.
‘Must be forty years. I didn’t grow up in these parts; my father was a fur-trapper for the Hudson’s Bay Company. He was not often at home; my mother said that was why I was an only child. She was the local teacher, so I got to go to school.’
‘What was it like in that part of Canada?’
‘You’ll think it cold here when winter strikes again, but there – you had to be tough to survive. My father deserted us when I was ten. I believe he went to California, had a new family, but I don’t know. Mother decided we’d pack up and find a more hospitable place. I was sixteen then. She thought I might have more chance to find a man and get married on the prairie. But I had no inclination in that respect. We set up in the trading post, and four years later Mother died. I’m still here, as you can see. I think she would have been pleased.… More coffee, Mattie?’
‘Better not,’ Mattie said, as the bell clanged. ‘I’ll go, shall I?’
The Tin Lizzie was in good condition and Charlie seemed impressed as he circled it a few times, while the garage owner extolled its virtues. When he learned that Griff was an experienced motorist, he said: ‘I can leave it to you then, boy, to show old Charlie how to handle her – she’s a bit temperamental, like all women. I gotta customer honking his horn for gas. Take your time. Go for a little drive, if you want.’
‘He ain’t usually that obliging,’ Charlie said suspiciously.
‘I’ll tell you why,’ Griff told him. ‘These motors are the very devil to get started.’
Charlie took his time, as the garage man suggested. ‘Magneto ignition – you say, this here lever is to do with the spark?’
‘Shove that up – that’s it. Now, look right and pull that lever down – cautiously, mind – that’s the gas – next, turn on the ignition while I put the gear into neutral.’
‘Is that it?’ Charlie asked hopefully.
‘Not quite,’ Griff admitted. He wondered how he could explain the dangers of cranking up the car, after blocking a front wheel to prevent the Tin Lizzie creeping forward when it throbbed into life. There was a great deal more to tell, including the possibility of an electric shock. Charlie couldn’t be taught to drive in one easy lesson.
‘Still here then?’ The man was back. ‘Decided to buy her?’
‘You get her started, ready to drive off, and Griff’ll hop in. A dollar deposit now and if he arrives safely, we’ll come back tomorrow and pay you in full. All right?’
They shook hands on it.
The journey back to the farm, cruising at around fifteen miles an hour, was without incident until the car began to bump along the dirt track. The old horse, of course, knew every pothole along the way, as did Charlie; the buggy overtook into the lead when the Tin Lizzie hit a hole and tipped sideways, with Griff clinging on grimly to the steering wheel. It was fortunately only a half-somersault, as the car bounced off the stock fence, righted itself and Griff scrambled out, mercifully unscathed.
Lee appeared as if from nowhere; he’d actually been having a smoke under a tree. ‘You all right?’ he asked, as Charlie reined in the horse, jumped out and walked back.
‘I am, but I don’t know about the motor.’ Griff inspected the car. ‘A couple of scratches, no dents, thank goodness.’
‘We’ve got some black paint, don’t worry. So long as she still goes,’ Charlie said. ‘Leave her where she is for now. You’ve had a shock. Damn motor can go back to the garage tomorrow – chap didn’t warn us this might happen.’
‘It was my fault. I haven’t driven on this sort of surface before. Look, if you feel you’d rather not buy it, why don’t I? I’ve learned my lesson, after all!’
‘Can you afford it? I’m sorry I can’t pay you for what you do, but—’
‘I don’t expect you to – I’m just glad to earn our keep, Charlie! You’ve helped me realize that this is not the right time for us to chance setting up on our own. However, the car will be an investment; we’ll need transport when we move on….’
‘Not going yet, boy, I hope. We’ve got used to having you around,’ Charlie said.
During the summer, the church ladies’ sewing-circle met on Friday evenings at the farm. They sat out on the veranda and chatted while they sewed. At 8.30 they folded their work: garments for the missionary box and layettes for babies of needy parents in the parish. Then Charlie would appear, beaming, with a tray of glasses, a big jug of home-made, iced lemonade and oatcakes.
When Mattie was asked to join the working party, she hesitated. ‘I’m not very skilled at sewing, Anna.’
‘Look, my dear, we use the simplest, free materials. We save our flour sacks and boil them white. You’d be surprised what we can make from ’em! Pillowslips, petticoats and underwear, children’s nightdresses, tea towels, and hankies, from the scraps. It’s the embroidery that makes them special. You can do daisy-stitch and a french knot or two, surely? And you must have learned to hem!’
‘Not without sore, pricked fingers,’ Mattie admitted ruefully.
‘Persevere with a thimble! Making do and mend is what we learned to do in the old pioneering days. They say times will be as tough again, so best be prepared! You’ll meet a few neighbours; you’d like that.’
So Mattie joined the group. She actually enjoyed sewing the soft cotton and making the garments pretty with embroidery.
Her first success was a tiny gown for Mai. With much encouragement from Anna she edged the cuffs and neckline with fine lace. One of the older ladies had hands twisted with arthritis. She couldn’t sew because ‘my fingers are too stiff’, but she collected scraps of lace and pieces to appliqué to share among her friends as her contribution to their efforts.
Mattie wrote to tell her family of her prowess. Evie wrote back:
This will all come in very handy when you have a baby of your own to dress! Robbie is running about and talking now. There is a lot of whispering between Mother and Fanny – so I think there will be an announcement shortly.
Ronnie is busy studying at nights to better himself. The station master retires in a couple of years’ time and Ronnie is the right age for promotion.
In September I’ll be on course for matriculation! We have to work really hard at the grammar school.
I am sorry to be the bearer of bad news. Christabel’s mother is very ill. She is in hospital, but there is not much hope.…
Mattie read the letter out to Griff, omitting the bit about ‘a baby of your own’. She knew he was keen to start a family, but they were still considering their future. If they stayed over winter here, Griff said he would have to get a job in town, or their savings would dwindle rapidly. They had to adapt to their circumstances. There was more chance of succeeding if they bought land and by a miracle struck oil. They were heading for a world-wide recession: the papers were full of gloom and doom.
‘Christabel must miss you, Mattie,’ he said quietly. ‘You were good friends.’
‘We still are, but you were her friend before me,’ Mattie reminded him gently.
‘Will you write to her from both of us?’ he asked.
She nodded, not trusting herself to say more, in case she cried.