Two days later, Lea and Nap boarded the train west, waving good-bye to Nap’s friend who’d shown them the sites around Regina. Lea had been impressed by the rotunda in the legislative buildings that had recently been built and was mesmerized by the grand hotel, Chateau Qu’Appelle, still under construction. But after a brief time in the modern city, she was ready to begin her new life in the prairies.
The train stopped at various villages until they arrived in a town called Ponteix.
Napoleon stood up and grabbed their bags from the rack. “This is it,” he said, wearing a wide grin. “There is where we’ll live.”
Lea looked with dismay at the dilapidated buildings with peeling paint near the station. Small children with smudged faces peered through frosted windows. “Which house?” she asked, her tone guarded lest she hurt her new husband’s feelings.
Napoleon flashed an impish smile. “Not here, silly! We’ll be staying on the Gilberts’ farm, but you’ll like Ponteix. Look, over there through the branches. See that church?”
“Yes,” said Lea, admiring the brown brick building.
“It’s called Notre Dame d’Auvergne. It’s fairly new. Most of this town is. As a matter of fact, Ponteix is only eight years old.”
“Eight years old?”
“Yes. It was begun by Père Royer, the parish priest. You see, Saskatchewan’s such a new province that the government is busy opening up land and incorporating new towns for homesteaders. There’s even a hospital and a convent here.”
A relieved sigh escaped Lea despite her desire to hide her misgivings. “But what language do they speak?”
“French, of course.”
Thank goodness.
He took her hand and led her down the stairs of the train, lifting her off the final step to where an older couple waited. Lea hugged herself and trembled. She’d never felt this cold before.
“Mr. Gilbert,” said Napoleon, speaking in his native French, his arm resting on his bride’s shoulders, “This is Leopoldine, my wife.” He looked as though he’d burst with pride.
Mr. Gilbert tipped his hat, then squeezed Lea’s hand. “My goodness, what a beautiful woman you’ve married.”
“Thank you.”
Mr. Gilbert turned to the woman standing behind him. She was tall and robust, her hair pulled back in a tight bun, and her forehead grooved with consternation. “Oh, and this is Madame Gilbert,” he said as though it were an afterthought.
“Enchanté.” Lea bent forward to exchange kisses as was the tradition in Belgium, but the woman stood as cold and stiff as a statue, tolerating the peck on each cheek.
“I’m pleased to make your acquaintance,” she replied, her voice icy as she glowered at her husband.
Mr. Gilbert squirmed under her stare and grabbed the suitcases, clearing his throat. They walked hastily to where a sleigh and two horses waited. Lea admired the black geldings attached to the harness. But as they drew near, Mr. Gilbert surprised her by hurrying past them to a vehicle.
“You have an automobile?” asked Lea, thrilled at the wealth mere farmers could attain in the new country. Certainly, she and Napoleon would have one too before long.
“Yes, but it’s difficult to drive in the winter,” said Mr. Gilbert still angling his head away from his wife’s murderous glances. “We nearly had to take the cutter.”
“The cutter?” Lea entwined her gloved fingers with Nap’s.
“It’s a sleigh,” Napoleon explained.
“Why is that?” Lea asked Mr. Gilbert.
“Because it’s quite an ordeal to get the car to run in winter.”
“How so?” asked Lea.
“Well, first we have to boil water to put in the radiator, and then we have to throw a blanket over the hood and run the car until it warms up. Otherwise it’ll keep on stalling. Not to mention that if the snow is too deep, we’ll get stuck, our tires spinning and spinning. More often than not, the only way to travel in winter is by cutter. But I thought since we’re having a cold snap and you’re a Belgian bride that you’d be more comfortable in the automobile.”
“Thank you. I appreciate it,” she said.
They passed through Ponteix where tidy businesses lined the streets and a single gas station stood on a corner, a promise of prosperity to come. Row upon row of houses gave the place a homey atmosphere. Lea eyed the general store, imagining the things she’d one day buy, but when they passed the cemetery, a feeling of foreboding overtook her. Would they one day be buried there?
After leaving the town, they forged through miles of snowy roads, surrounded by flat, white fields that stretched to the horizon. The occasional farmhouse caught her eye—a soddy, surrounded by a few extra sheds and a barn. She’d heard of these dwellings where people on the prairie oftentimes lived until a real house could be built, how they piled up layer after layer of sod broken from the earth to form walls, making holes wide and long enough to fit the precious glass windows and doors they’d brought from Regina. Lea shuddered at the thought of her children walking on a cold, dirt floor in the winter.
Her eyes followed the fences that lined the crude road. “Are these fences surrounding the homesteads?”
“No,” said Nap. “They build them to stop the snow from drifting and to mark where the road is.”
“It snows that much here?” she asked.
“Yes, it does.”
Lea envisioned being trapped in an automobile during a blizzard. How could one get help? She’d heard that sometimes you couldn’t see more than two feet ahead.
The vehicle continued to crawl on the crude tracks. Lea spied a home in the distance that blended in with the ghostly landscape. It was dug right into the slope of the hill. Yet a merry spiral of smoke plumed from its chimney.
When they finally rolled onto the Gilbert homestead, Lea clutched Napoleon’s arm so hard her nails dug in wondering what awaited them. But as they approached the structures, she loosened her grip. A large farmhouse graced the land, flanked by a red barn and a small clutch of cabins nearby. Navigating through the various bumps of the road, they pulled up alongside of the main house.
Mr. Gilbert stopped the car and opened the trunk, pulling out the suitcases while Madame Gilbert stomped off in the other direction, her arms folded. Ignoring his wife, he tipped his chin toward the largest of the cabins, his breath steaming. “This will be where you’ll stay as long as you work for us.”
Lea gazed at the small house with the protruding stovepipe. From Belgium, to Dover, to Liverpool, to Halifax, to Regina, and now to our first home here in Ponteix, she thought as she followed Mr. Gilbert to the entrance, resisting the temptation to dance.
Mr. Gilbert opened the door. The snapping and popping of burning wood greeted them. She searched the room for the fireplace, but instead a black, cast iron stove graced the room. Lea smiled at the sight, glad she wouldn’t be cooking over an open hearth. Her eyes roved about. Pots and pans and a kettle sat neatly on a shelf. The largest of the pots had been placed on the stove, filled with thawing snow. Drinking water? A little farther away stood a table large enough to fit six people. In the middle of the room, an oval rag rug covered much of the wooden floor. Against the opposite wall, a green velvet camelback couch and a matching chair filled the space.
“I love it!” she exclaimed.
“I thought you would. But you haven’t seen the bedrooms yet. There are three of them!”
“Three? That’s as big as our house in Chatlineau!”
“Yes. One for the girls, one for the boys, and the best one for us.”
Lea giggled, then melted into his arms. He held her close, his cheek nestled against her forehead.
When he released his hold, he said, “Now, how about if you unpack. Our bedroom is through that door. I’ll go help Mr. Gilbert empty the radiator of the car so it won’t freeze.”
They exchanged another kiss, and Napoleon followed Mr. Gilbert, closing the door behind him.
Lea’s heart filled with joy as she wandered into the bedroom. A double bed was pushed up against a wall covered in a pretty quilt decorated with tulips. A low ceiling sloped up from the bed, an obvious addition after the original cabin had been built.
A lean-to.
Against the wall stood a dresser large enough to fit all their clothes. On either side of the bed were two matching night tables. A porcelain chamber pot with small rose patterns poked out from under the bed.
She took their suitcases to the bedroom and hoisted them onto the mattress, then opened the drawers of the dresser. Napoleon’s clothing already filled three of them. She took out his shirts and folded them before replacing them. Then she laid all of her things in the remaining drawers.
It had grown darker, so she fumbled about near the stove until she found matchbook. Lifting the glass chimney of the coal oil lamp, she struck a match and lit the burner. A soft radiance filled the room.
With the new light, Lea was able to explore the cabin more thoroughly. A broom and dustpan rested in one corner.
“This room could use a good sweep,” she muttered to herself as she grabbed the broom and began cleaning the floor. She worked her way from one end of the cabin to the next. When she reached the oval rag rug, she lifted it and discovered a trapdoor.
“Wonder what this is.” Bending down, she pulled the ring up to reveal hidden stairs.
Curious, Lea took the lamp from its hook and descended to the basement. When she reached the bottom, she held up the light and explored her surroundings. Against one wall rested a perfectly stacked line of firewood. On the opposite side, she found potatoes, carrots, beets, and onions. A bushel of apples stood close by. Dried corn hung in clumps from the ceiling as did herbs. She took the time to smell each cluster, identifying them as best she could. A large pail of lard stood on the floor with blocks of butter piled on it. She loaded various items in her skirt—an onion, a few potatoes, a couple of carrots—and carried them back up the stairs, careful not to lose her footing. When she got to the top, Napoleon was at the door, smiling.
“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.