The thrill of the storm was short-lived as the earth dried up once again, leaving deep cracks in the hardened earth and swallowing up the promise of life. Lea did what she could to save the garden, but the line of canned goods that normally filled her with pride was sparser this year, the potatoes fewer, and the carrots smaller. At least they managed to save a portion of the wheat crop they stored in the barn.
“I’ll see if I can find some work in another town,” said Nap, upon observing the sorry cache in the basement.
Lea felt her heart drop; it was now or never. “Why don’t we go see the Red Cross? Cécile told me they were giving away food and clothing.”
“No!” Napoleon’s eyes flashed. “We’re not that poor. I told you I’d find work elsewhere.”
“Yes, but everyone’s looking for work! And there’s none to be had because there are no crops, and no one can afford to hire anyone!”
Napoleon tsked, eyeing her as though he’d been betrayed. “What? You don’t think I can support my family?”
“No, that’s not what I’m saying.” She raised her voice.
“Then what?” His eyes narrowed.
“I’m saying these are tough times and sometimes you have to accept charity.”
“No!” Nap clenched his teeth. “Never!” He turned and left, giving the door a firm slam.
Finding employment proved futile since many hobos rode the rails searching for any job large or small. Lea had seen them in Ponteix, young men, dirty, desperate, huddled around fires, scrounging whatever they could to eat. Nap traveled from town to town, but no one could afford to hire anyone. There was nothing to be had anywhere. The day arrived when he came home with bad news.
Lea watched as he shuffled to the house, his head bent.
She ran to meet him at the door, her heart beating hard in her chest. “What’s wrong?”
Napoleon gave a nonchalant smile, but Lea detected the hidden worry in his eyes. “Nothing.” He shrugged.
“Napoleon, don’t you lie to me. I know when something’s bothering you. Now, out with it!”
His smile faded, replaced by an expression of discouragement. “We can’t buy the wood we need for winter this year.”
Lea’s breath caught, his words suspended in mid-air, a life sentence. “Then what will we do? We can’t just freeze.”
“Well….” He hesitated. “We can do like the Indians—burn cow and horse dung.”
“Cow and horse dung?” Lea crossed her arms over her chest. “I will not have dung in my house!”
“You don’t have to have it in the house. We’ll make a pile along the wall outside. Once it freezes, it’ll be odourless.”
Lea digested his words. It was true that manure lost its stench if left alone. It was only when one stepped on it that the smell re-emerged, besieging one’s nose like a full-on attack of mustard gas, but she understood they had no choice. “All right,” she said, the hostility in her voice melting away. “We’ll get started today…before the snow arrives.”
After feeding the children a humble lunch, she took them into the pasture, balancing a large basket on one hip, Claire on the other. “Okay, kids,” she said. “We’re going to try something new today.”
“What?” asked Pol.
“We’re going to pick up manure to burn in the stove.”
“But I don’t wanna pick up poop,” Lilian whined.
“You’re not picking up poop. It’s manure. It’s different.”
“But it stinks,” said Lilian.
“Only if it’s soft,” said Lea. “We’ll only pick the hard ones and leave the fresh stuff on the ground, okay?”
“No!” Lilian stamped a foot.
“But we need to if you want to stay warm this winter,” said Lea, her frustration mounting.
Pol bent over and scooped one up. “It’s not so bad. They’re nice and hard. Kind of like bricks. Just don’t mush them up. See?” He flung the dung toward the basket. It landed neatly inside. “And look, it flies if you throw it just right.”
Lilian broke into a smile. “Let me try.” She picked up one of the cow pies and threw it straight into the basket.
“It’s a goal!” cried Pol.
Lilian laughed and tried again. This time the manure missed its mark, landing on the ground close by. Undiscouraged, she ran to find another.
“Let’s see who can get the most points,” said Pol, hurrying after her.
They gathered all they could in the pasture, and when that was done, they wandered into the fields and collected more.
It was truly an event that night when they tried out the dung. The children took turns, placing the pies in the fire and watching them burn with fascination.
But Lea had more worries on her mind than the scent of the fuel in the stove. She knew the food from their garden wouldn’t last the winter and was losing hope that Nap would find work. Without consulting him, she took the matter into her own hands. Thus, one morning when he had left for the day, his shoulders slumped, his brows knitted with worry, she hitched up the wagon and made a secret journey to Val Marie where the Red Cross was distributing goods.
A lineup of people trailed outside the church basement, tracing the sidewalk for a whole block. Lea scanned the crowd, curious, catching glimpses of familiar faces from Sunday mass and the church socials—many of their farmer friends. How thin they looked. How ragged. Searching farther, she saw strangers with dirty faces and clothes—hobos passing through.
It took an hour before Lea got inside, but when she did, she took two large bags of apples, several jars of canned peaches and pears, as well as pickled beets. She savoured the thought of the Quebecois beets since their own crop had barely produced anything. But when the volunteer handed her salted cod, she hesitated, remembering Nap’s words. He’d know for sure she’d been to the Red Cross if she brought this home. She could hide the canned goods in the cellar, but cod? No one ate that kind of fish around here. Stubbornness welling up inside her, she took several packages anyway. They had to eat, didn’t they? And besides, he’d probably like a good fish stew for a change.
Lea rummaged through the used clothing, choosing thick coats that would keep Pol and Lilian warm for the winter. Claire would have to wear Lilian’s hand-me-downs, and Lea would need to knit all scarves, sweaters, and toques in the evenings from the bits of yarn she had left over.
When she got home, she stored the edible goods in the cellar, then set about preparing the fish stew to surprise Nap. Chopping an onion, she fried up the cod, then added water, carrots, and potatoes.
“Not bad,” she said to herself when the aroma wafted to her nostrils as it simmered on the stove, certain Nap would forgive her for accepting charity once he tasted her culinary expertise.
When he came through the door, he wrinkled his nose. “What is that?”
Lea thought of concocting a lie, but decided to come clean. She hardened her resolve. “I went to the Red Cross today and got a few things. I figured it couldn’t hurt.”
“What?” He hurled his coat down on the floor. “I thought I told you not to go there!”
The children stopped playing, their eyes glued to the drama that played out before them.
“Nap, we won’t make it through the winter with what we have.”
“I told you—I’ll find work! We’re not hobos!”
“And what if you don’t?” She dug her hands into her hips.
“You think I’m no good? Some kind of poor farmer?”
“That’s not what I said,” she shouted.
“Then what?”
Lea let out a huff of air. “Nap, it’s not just us. There were lots of other farmers there too. They’re not doing well either.”
Nap turned his back to her. “You don’t have faith in me.”
Lea rushed forward. “Yes, I do.” She placed an arm over his shoulder. “But these are hard times. We have to do the best we can. And if that means accepting a small amount of charity, then that’s what we’ll have to do.”
Napoleon’s hard stance melted. He turned and faced her, then placed his hands around her waist. “All right, then, but just this once.”
“I promise,” she said, wrapping her arms around him and placing a kiss on his cheek. “Now, let’s try this cod stew I made.”
The family seated themselves at the table. Nap lifted Claire into her high chair while Lea dished out the hot food. She watched as her husband blew on a spoonful, then tasted the recipe.
“Mmm, not bad,” he said, dipping in for a second taste. Then his eyes popped open and he snatched his glass of water. “Oh, my gosh, this is so salty.”
“It is?” asked Lea. She sampled a spoonful and choked. “Ugh! You’re right! It’s awful!”
“I think it’s pretty good,” said Pol.
“Yuck!” said Lilian as she spit it into her napkin.
Lea grabbed all the bowls and dumped the stew back in the pot, determined to remedy the problem. After all, they couldn’t afford to waste food. “All this needs is a bit of milk to water it down. Nap, can you get me some from the well, please?”
Nap gladly went, returning a few minutes later with the canister.
Lea poured the entire contents of the container into the stew. She waited until the mixture had heated to boiling and added flour to thicken it. “There. It’s more like a soup now—a chowder.”
She filled the bowls again and set them down on the table. The family ate the dinner very slowly, drinking lots of water between mouthfuls.
“Perhaps what you need,” suggested Nap after the table was cleared, “is to soak it first, and then cook it up.”
“Humph!” Lea glowered at her husband. Taking the remainder of the stew, she carried it out to the barn where she fed it to the pig.
For the rest of the evening, the family made several trips to the water bucket, taking long drinks from the dipper.
By the next morning, things had simmered down until Pol went to the barn to hitch up Old Dick and Belle before going to school.
Lea heard a scream, then saw her son racing back, his face a mess of tears.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, her voice frantic.
“Old Dick’s dead!” He blubbered.
“What?”
“He’s dead—in his stall!” Pol wailed.
“Oh, don’t tell me he ate that stew!” Nap cried.
Lea shot him an angry glare, then hurried out without her coat, Nap close behind. Lilian picked up Claire and raced after them.
When they got to the barn, they found their faithful horse lying on his side in the stall, his body rigid.
“Get up!” ordered Nap, digging his toe into the animal’s hide. When the horse didn’t rise, he shouted louder. “Get up, Dick! Get up!”
“Papa, he’s dead,” cried Pol. “He’s already stiff.”
“Get up!” shouted Napoleon again, this time swinging his leg harder, stopping in mid-air when his son’s words registered. Sharing a despondent look with Lea, he crumpled down beside the horse, his eyes blinking rapidly.
“I guess he just couldn’t handle the hunger,” said Lea. “Oh, poor Old Dick.” She stooped down and rubbed her hand against the cold emaciated flesh of the animal.
Lilian and Claire began crying too. Tears rolled down their faces.
“He was the best horse in the world,” sobbed Lilian.
“Yes, he was,” agreed Nap.
They mourned together, stroking their old friend, saying their goodbyes.
Then Lea rose and clapped her hands. “It’s time you went to school, Pol and Lilian. Go get your things. We all loved Old Dick, but life goes on.” She strode to the next stall and prepared Belle. “Sorry, girl. Your partner’s gone. You’ll have to work it alone today.”
The mare looked back at Old Dick’s body and let out a low rumble, her head hanging.
“What’ll we do now? You’ve already let the horses free,” Lea asked Nap after the children had gone inside.
“I guess I’ll have to go find one of them, bring it back in to replace Old Dick.”
“No one can replace Old Dick.” Lea’s voice choked.
The ride to school was somber that morning, the sobs of the children accompanying the clip clopping rhythm of Belle’s hooves as the mare plodded along in the cold, autumn air led by Lea. When they got to school, Lea went inside and shared whispered words to Miss Moiny to explain Pol and Lilian’s morose mood.
Miss Moiny’s eyes enlarged. She gave an understanding nod.
Lea spent the rest of the morning helping Nap remove the horse from the barn. When she returned to pick up her children after school, Pol avoided her gaze.
Lea placed her arm around him. “It’s okay to be sad, you know.”
Her son didn’t answer, nor did his eyes meet hers.
Lilian came running from the school, out of breath, exclaiming, “Pol got into a fight!”
“What?”
“It’s true. One of the English boys punched him in the eye.”
Lea grabbed the boy’s chin and turned his face around. A black shiner stared back at her. “What happened?”
“It was one of the older boys. Told me I was a no good French farmer. Says his mother saw you lined up at the church the other day at the Red Cross.”
“What?”
“It’s okay, Maman. He picks on a lot of the kids. I usually stay out of it, but today, I just couldn’t take it, so I threw a punch at him. No one insults my Maman.” He clenched his fists. “And no one gets to run me down for being French.”
Incensed, Lea contemplated his words. “Perhaps you should tell him you’re Belgian.”
Pol turned and faced her. “I did, but he said it wasn’t any different.”
They traveled in silence until Lea couldn’t contain herself any longer. “So…how did he fare?”
Lilian piped up, her eyebrows raised, her voice sassy. “The other boy had a really bloody nose.”
Lea broke into a smile. “Good!” She emphasized the word with a downward thrust of her chin. As they neared home, Lea voiced a thought. “You know, maybe it’s time we switched schools. Would you like to go to school in Val Marie instead? It’s a little farther, but….”
Pol mulled the thought over before answering. “I don’t know.”
“You’d get to study French, and all your classmates would probably be French too.”
His eyes brightened at the idea. “Maybe.”
“We’ll discuss it with Papa tonight, okay?”
“Okay.”
When Nap came home that night, leading Prince, Lea’s heart fell at the gauntness of the gelding. “He’s so thin,” she said.
“That’s because there’s nothing to eat out there. You should have seen what it was like,” he said, blinking away tears. “So many dead animals—cattle, horses. It’s just awful.”
“Then maybe we should bring all the horses in for the winter. They’d have a better chance of survival.”
“I think I may have to.”
Lea encircled her arms around Nap’s chest. “You know, this drought will end. We just have to keep believing and doing our best.”
A few days later, the remaining four horses were housed in the barn. Nap fed them what he could, the Russian thistles, or the straw, wheat, and molasses mixture, but still they grew thinner each day.
At the beginning of the following week, Lea took the children to the school in Val Marie. The principal, Mr. MacMillan welcomed them, asking Pol and Lilian numerous questions. Then he took Lea aside. “Your children are most welcome here, but there’s a small problem,” he said.
“What’s that?”
“We have no desks for them. You’ll have to bring your own.”
“No desks?” Lea frowned, withholding the information that they couldn’t even afford the wood for the stove. “I’ll tell my husband,” she said, giving a curt nod. Making a quick turn, she motioned for the children to follow.
“Aren’t we staying?” asked Lilian.
“Not today,” replied Lea. “We have to find desks for you first.”
“Desks?” asked Pol.
“Yes. Apparently even the schools can’t afford the basics.”
The problem of the desks was resolved in an innovative way by Napoleon. Finding an old car door in an alleyway in town, he added legs to it and painted it orange from a variety of leftover paint he had. For Pol’s, he constructed a small table out of wooden crates, painting it the same ghastly colour as Lilian’s.
The first day they attended school in Val Marie, the makeshift tables stood in the classrooms, bright beacons surrounded by standard desks. Lea cringed at the sight of them, hoping the others might approve of their colour.
When she returned to pick the children up later that day, Pol’s head hung. “So how was your first day?” she asked.
Pol squeezed his lips together hard. “Everyone laughed at my desk,” he said. “They called it a Halloween desk.”
“And everyone laughed at mine too,” said Lilian. “They knew it was a car door, and they knew where Papa got it from. They called him the garbage man.”
“The garbage man?” Lea repeated.
Lilian gave a miserable nod.
Lea let out a frustrated sigh, then clenched her teeth with determination. “Well, just be glad you have desks at all,” she said. “These are hard times and we have to make do.”
“I know, Maman,” said Pol. “But it’s still tough.” He thought for a moment. “But at least no one called me a dirty French farmer.”
“Well, I’d say that’s a step in the right direction.”