The train to Liverpool was crowded and damp. The stench of wet clothing and mold hung in the air. Lea looked around until she found the one available seat in the midst of a large family. It was between two children whose noses ran and whose coughs rumbled deep in their chests. She hesitated before sitting down, making one last sweep with her eyes in case someone had given up their spot, but no one had.
The train chugged from town to town, past small villages whose chimneys pumped out black smoke while people huddled inside battling the cold February air. Trees stood bare, their branches stretching into the bleak, grey sky awaiting the warmth of spring.
It wasn’t long before the train slowed and snaked its way through London.
London! Again, Lea wished she had a camera so she could send photographs home to her family. Instead, she’d have to compromise by mailing postcards.
The resplendent city she’d always dreamed of was anything but beautiful. Sure, the parliament buildings were majestic, as was the large cathedral that stood close by, its tall clock tower hammering out the time. But the narrow streets were lined with small houses and thin, haggard children bundled up to play in the streets. How difficult it must have been to feed one’s family here during the war. Lea shook her head in sympathy, glad of her decision to leave Europe for the pristine but wild Canada.
She reached into her suitcase and pulled out the stack of letters Napoleon had sent. Finding the one she’d marked with a heart, she unfolded it, and began to read.
My dearest Lea,
It’s been several months now since I returned to Canada, and it turns out you were right. I did meet another girl. She’s not as pretty as you, though, weighing in at a few hundred pounds, and her hair is reddish-brown, but she adores me and follows me everywhere. Unfortunately, she doesn’t speak French or English which makes it hard to talk. All she knows is one word—moo! She moos when she wants to be milked and moos when she wants to go out to pasture. And her milk makes the best cheese I’ve ever tasted. But alas, she doesn’t hold a flame to you, Lea.
As you requested, I’ve taken the time to think things over and have come to the conclusion there is no other woman for me. I still want you for my wife. And the good news is, I’ve been working on a ranch for several months as a cowboy and have now saved enough money for your safe passage to our country. If you still want to come, then please write to me and I’ll fill out the immigration forms to get your passport. Papa and Maman are very excited to meet you. I eagerly await your response.
Love,
Nap
Lea recalled how she’d wiped the sweat from her brow when she’d reached the bottom of the letter, totally taken in by his joke. When she read it to the family, they’d all laughed too.
Later, Lea had found Maman hiding behind the kitchen door, wiping her eyes and blowing her nose into her handkerchief.
“What’s wrong?”
Her mother took a deep breath and replied, “I’m losing a daughter to the war.”
“What do you mean?” Lea asked, laying her arm over her mother’s shoulder. How odd their roles had reversed—Lea now mother, Maman now child.
“I was blessed not to have lost a son in battle, nor to the Spanish Influenza, but now I’m losing you to a soldier.”
Lea’s eyes filled with tears. She blinked them away as best she could. “But Maman, I’ll write often. And maybe someday you can come to Canada.”
“You know we can’t afford that,” Maman whimpered through a sob. “Not on a miner’s salary.”
“But perhaps we’ll pay your way. We have a bright future in the new country. We might even get rich.”
Her words seemed to soothe her mother who wiped her eyes and offered a brave smile. “That would be very exciting.”
Lea gave Maman a warm hug. “Now, let’s get these dishes done, all right?”
Her mother nodded and together they washed away the remains of the supper, making small talk as they worked.
A week later, Maman led Lea to her room and shut the door. “I have something for you,” she said, handing her daughter a pink box. “Since you won’t have a real wedding gown.”
Lea thought of the dress she’d chosen to wear the day she would be joined in matrimony with Napoleon. It was her best one—navy blue with small, embroidered flowers.
“What is it?” She sat down and lifted the cover. Lea let out a small gasp. “It’s beautiful!” Pulling out a cream-coloured nightgown, she fingered the intricate Belgian lace around the collar.
“It’s for your wedding night,” Maman said. “I made it for you. Wear your old nighties on the boat and train, but save this one. Then when you get to Regina, wear it. You only have one wedding night, and I want it to be special for you and Napoleon.”
“I will,” Lea said, throwing her arms around her mother.
The train’s rumbling drew Lea from her reverie. She took the letter, and lovingly folded it, placing it back into its envelope, its surface smooth on her fingers. Funny how even just an object Nap had touched could fill her with such a depth of feelings. She reached down and carefully returned it to its place in the stack.
Peering out the window, she watched the landscape glide by—lazy brown hills untouched by war, patches of half-melted snow, forests that reminded her of things to come. How scenic the English countryside was, though winter held fast. She imagined the green foliage and flowers that spring would bring. Too bad she wouldn’t be there to see it.
“Would you be likin’ a sandwich?” The woman who sat opposite her asked.
Lea observed the meagre offering in the lady’s hand, two pieces of bread torn from its loaf, and a rough-cut piece of cheese between. She noted each of the children nibbled on their own sandwich, contented, though one boy coughed through a full mouth, portions of his food spattering on the floor. Her hunger overcoming her fear of consuming a possibly infected lunch, she gave a polite nod. “Yes, thank you.” After all, she’d been breathing the same air as the children. What difference would it make? Taking a bite, she was surprised at how delicious it was.
“Where you be from?” asked the woman.
Lea paused as she struggled to understand the English words tinged with an Irish accent. “Chatlineau,” she answered. “I go to Canada…get married.”
“Ah, to a soldier, no doubt.”
Recognizing the word soldier, Lea nodded. “Yes. We get homestead.”
“Ah, a homestead, you say. Me husband has gone and moved us all up to Liverpool since our own land in Ireland wasn’t providin’ the crops we need, us havin’ so many children and all.”
Lea shrugged and shook her head. The woman had spoken too fast.
She repeated her words, slower this time, accompanying them with hand gestures until Lea caught a word or two, filling in the blanks. Lea gave an exaggerated nod to show she’d understood.
“You know, you should be tryin’ to learn as much English as possible,” the woman said, leaning over to wipe a dirty nose. “You could learn by readin’ the paper. Here.” With the same hand she’d use to wipe the child’s nose, she dug into her bag and pulled out a wrinkled newspaper, tracing sentences with her finger. “Read a bit every day.” She pulled out a dictionary. “And look up the words you don’t know.”
Lea reluctantly took the newspaper and unfolded it, careful to position her fingers in places the woman hadn’t left germs. “Thank you.” Her eyes traveled over the page, completely stumped. How foreign! How overwhelming. But as her eyes scanned the newspaper, words jumped out at her—similar to French. Community…police…government. Lea’s mind raced at the possibilities. Perhaps if she applied herself, she could have a small mastery of the language before she arrived in Regina. Wouldn’t Nap be impressed?
When the train stopped in Liverpool, Lea disembarked, thanking the lady who led her large brood to the arms of her waiting husband, relieved to leave behind all the coughing and sneezing. Sauntering away, she searched a nearby street until she found a small book shop and entered, the bell on the door tinkling as she stepped over the threshold.
The shopkeeper gave a welcoming smile. “Good afternoon. Anythin’ I can help you with?”
Lea thought out her words carefully. “I want to buy dictionnaire.”
The man’s forehead wrinkled. “A what?”
“A dictionnaire,” she repeated, her face warming at her ineptitude.
“Ah! You mean a dictionary?”
Lea gave a frustrated nod. “Yes. Français et Anglais.”
“Ah, a French/English dictionary. Right this way.” He led her to a row of books and pulled out the biggest one on the shelf.
Lea smiled despite the hopeless feeling that threatened to devour her. She shook her head, then pointed to her suitcase. “Big voyage.”
The man’s brow furrowed again. Then his face lit up. “Ah, you need somethin’ smaller.” He rummaged on the shelf until he found a hand-held dictionary. “Here ya go.”
“Thank you,” Lea said, turning the book over to read the price. Her eyes rounded when she saw how expensive such a small item could be, but she decided it would be one of the best investments she’d ever make.
Her mind made up, she strolled to the counter where she picked a few postcards to add to her purchase. She pulled out her coins, examining each one to be sure she gave him the right amount. After she’d paid, she asked, “Which way to the port?”
“Where ya going?”
“Canada.”
“That’s a long way away.” He reached down and pulled out a sheet of paper and drew a map, scribbling down names of streets. “Go to dock seventeen. You’ll get the best rate there.” When he’d finished explaining the route and drawn arrows that traced it, his eyes grew solemn. “And be careful. A nice-looking girl like you could get herself in a lot of trouble.”
Lea nodded, pretending to understand, then wandered out into the cold, biting wind, following the crude map until she found the right wharf. Showing the official her papers, she purchased her ticket and boarded the ship.
The vessel smelled of coal and oil, and the seats were worn from the transportation of thousands of soldiers.
“Hey, pretty lady!” a dockhand called out, initiating a volley of hoots from his peers.
Feigning innocence, Lea stared straight ahead as though she hadn’t heard. When she found the correct hallway, she opened the door of her room to find two narrow bunk beds and a sink. The stench of bleach assaulted her nose. She wondered who she’d be sharing the room with. Laying claim to the bottom bunk, she squeezed the suitcase under the bed and wandered over to the small sink where she scrubbed her hands of the filth of Liverpool. She sat down on the bed and pulled out the newspaper and dictionary, scribbling definitions of words she found. After she’d written twenty-five, she began memorizing them until the door of her room swung open. Lea looked up to find a pretty, young woman with blond hair, carrying a battered suitcase.
“Allô.” She smiled. “I am Marie-Ève.”
Lea caught the inflections of her speech, her heart quickening. She answered in French. “Bonjour! You’re from France?”
“Oui,” said the young woman. “And you? From Belgium?”
“Oui!”
“Oh, I’m so glad,” said Marie-Ève, placing her hand on her heart. “I was so worried I’d be roomed with a cranky, old lady who only spoke English!”
“And who gave constant lectures about how lazy the youth of today are?” added Lea.
Marie-Ève let out a boisterous laugh. “Oui, exactly.”
Lea joined her, their girlish voices pitched high. When the laughter faded, she asked. “So where are you traveling to?”
“Quebec City…to get married!” replied Marie-Ève as she dragged her suitcase in and shut the door.
“You too? I’m going to the new province—Saskatchewan—to get married too.”
“Oh, my goodness. To a soldier?”
“Yes!”
“Me too!”
They burst into laughter again.
“Then I guess it’s providence that we were roomed together,” said Lea. “Here, let me help you unpack. When you’re done, you can squeeze your suitcase here beside mine under the bed.”
“All right,” said Marie-Ève.
Lea took her bag out too. Together, they hung their clothes off the various hooks around the room, sharing funny stories as they worked. By the time they were finished, they were solid friends.