It was a cold November day when a visitor wandered onto their property. Frost lay thick on the ground, and the air had a bite to it.
“We have company,” said Pol, staring out the window.
“Who?” asked Lea, stirring a pot of hot oatmeal.
“The neighbour’s bull—the really mean one.”
“Oh, no.” Lea pushed the porridge to the back burner and hurried to the window. She knew how dangerous males of the species could be, charging humans who dared pass through their territory, even when it wasn’t theirs. “Maybe he’s just hanging out hoping to have a rendez-vous with Rose. Perhaps he wants to take her dancing in town.”
Lilian giggled from her place at the table.
“Nap, go chase him away,” Lea said.
“Sure, as soon as I have my oatmeal.” He ladled some of the mush into a bowl.
“No, go now. The kids need to go to school soon, and we can’t go out there with that bull hanging around.”
Nap glanced at the clock on the shelf. “There’s plenty of time,” he said. “Let me eat my breakfast first.”
Lea and the children stared out the window, watching as the bull wandered near the barn. He let out a loud moo. When Rose didn’t respond, he mooed again, impatient.
“You won’t get a date acting like that,” said Lea. “Try being a little more subtle.”
The children laughed.
The bull lifted his head and sniffed the air, then bellowed some more.
“Rose doesn’t seem too interested,” said Pol.
“She’s always been picky,” said Lea.
Spying the outhouse, the bull wandered over, sniffed the air, and circled it.
“Guess he smelled what’s down the hole,” said Pol.
“Or maybe he needs to go to the bathroom,” said Lilian.
“I hope not,” said Pol. “There aren’t enough pages left in the catalogue for his big behind.”
They broke into another fit of laughter.
“It may be he’s just curious,” said Lea. “He wants to know what that little barn is.”
Without warning, the bull turned his backside to the outhouse and began rubbing it.
“Hey, look,” said Lilian, pointing a finger, “he’s scratching his butt.”
Nap jumped up, leaving his unfinished oatmeal on the table. “That’s not a good thing. I’d better get out there.” He threw on his boots and coat and flung the door open.
“Quick!” screeched Lea.
Nap raced outside, waving frantic arms as he ran. “Get out of here, you stupid animal!”
Startled, the bull turned and faced him.
“I said, get out of here.” Nap picked up a rock and threw it, striking the bull in the ribs.
A ferocious roar ripped from its throat.
Nap threw another rock, striking its chest.
Screaming with rage, the animal backed away—right into the outhouse. The small structure collapsed, toppling onto the ground.
“No!” screamed Nap.
Furious, the bull lowered his head and pawed the ground.
Nap flung another rock.
When the stone struck its chest again, the animal aimed its horns and charged.
“Help!” Nap turned on his heels and raced to the corral, the bull in hot pursuit.
“Go, Papa!” shouted Pol.
“Quick!” Lea screamed.
Grabbing the top rung of the fence, Nap hurled himself into the corral just in time. “Ha! You missed me!” he shouted.
The bull huffed at Nap, enraged. They stood, regarding each other, man and beast. Then the bull turned and wandered away as though a human wasn’t worth his while. Nap waited until it had moved farther down the road before simpering back to the barn, glancing over his shoulder to be sure he hadn’t been followed. When he came out again, Lea saw the hated bucket dangling from his fingers.
“Oh, no!” Lilian pinched her nose.
“I’m not emptying it,” said Pol.
“Guess we’ll be living with this until the ground thaws again,” Nap said when he came in.
“Oh, well,” said Lea. “We’ve been living with it all these years. What’s one more?”
But as the nights grew longer and the days shorter with fewer trips to the barn, Lea wasn’t so sure she could handle the bucket until the spring. Longing for their old cabin at the Gilberts’ and its convenient outhouse, she thought of Cécile. She knew her friend was due in December, but she hadn’t seen her in church for a while. She must be too uncomfortable to ride in their Bennett Buggy.
Christmas was approaching and with it, the preparations. Lea snuck out to the barn with Nap each night to help him build toys for the children. She’d hold the wood while he sanded it, always fascinated by his vision and how a toy could arise from a barrel slat. When they’d finished working on the gifts for the evening, they’d bury them under some straw until the next time they were able to steal away.
Baby Denis seemed to grow at an alarming rate—so different from Claire. While she had been so fragile, he was robust.
“Only a few more months,” Lea said, “and you’ll be walking everywhere. Then what’ll we do with you?”
Denis gurgled back in what seemed defiance. He was nearly eight months old and as strong as an ox.
One day, as she prepared the bread dough, she turned to find her son standing in the crib. Startled, she cried, “Already?”
“Good boy!” said Lilian. She reached into his bed, lifted him up, and put him down on the ground. “I’m going to give him a walking lesson.” Taking his hands, she held him in an upright position, pushing one foot forward, then the next.
“Breakfast!” Lea called a few minutes later.
“Coming,” Lilian said, dropping Denis’ hands and skipping to the table.
Lea gasped when she saw Lilian let go. The image of the boy falling backward and hitting his head flashed in her mind. But instead, her eyes rounded and her mouth dropped open. Denis hadn’t even so much as landed on his bottom. Instead, he took three unexpected steps forward.
“Denis can walk!” shouted Pol.
“But he’s only eight months old!” Lea said.
“Papa!” shouted Lilian. “Come and see.”
Nap dashed from the bedroom and stopped, a grin stretched across his face. He scooped up the baby, laughing. “Why, you’re just a wonder boy!”
Within days, Denis was toddling about as well as any one-year-old, getting his hands into everything, including the stove.
Terrified, Lea kept him in the crib for his own safety, taking him out only when there was someone to watch him. She couldn’t wait to show Cécile how strong her boy was, wishing they had a telephone, but she’d have to wait until Sunday when, hopefully, she’d see her in church.
It was particularly cold the week before Christmas. The temperature dropped to minus forty, and the winds blew with great ferocity. But Lea wouldn’t miss Christmas Eve mass for the world, so happy she was to share her news about her boy with Cécile. After bundling up the children, she placed the younger ones in the bottom of the cutter where the heated rocks lay, holding Denis between her legs to protect him from burning his hands. Then she covered them up with the blanket.
When Pol climbed aboard, heading to his usual spot, Nap grabbed his arm and handed him the reins. “Here,” he said, “you’re going on twelve. How about if you drive us to church today?”
Pol smiled with pride as he took the straps, sitting high on the seat, despite the extreme cold. His voice filled with confidence, he began conversing as though he were an adult. “It’s hard to believe tomorrow’s Christmas! I wonder what Bonhomme Noël will bring the children.” He threw Nap a knowing look.
“I guess we’ll have to wait and see,” Nap replied, returning the gesture with a sidelong glance.
Suddenly, Lea was filled with Christmas spirit. Her heart soaring, she broke into song.
Les anges dans nos campagnes
Ont entonné l’hymne des cieux;
Et l’écho de nos montagnes
Redit ce chant mélodieux.
The children joined in too. When they got to the Gloria, Lea sang the harmony line, her voice rising higher than the others. When they’d finished that song, they sang another and another until they reached the church.
Lea descended from the cutter with Denis in her arms while Pol led the horses to the post where he tied them under Nap’s directions. Lilian followed Lea, holding Claire’s hand.
When they stepped inside the church, Lea knew there was something wrong despite the cheerful Christmas decorations—the large wreath with its four candles displayed near the front of the church and the crèche that awaited the Baby Jesus. The Christmas spirit she’d reveled in only a few moments before disappeared. Heads were bowed and expressions grave. Someone was sobbing. Searching the nave, her heart nearly stopped when she saw Mr. and Madame Gilbert seated in the front row, their heads bent and shoulders shaking.
“Stay here!” she ordered her children as she rushed to the front pew.
“But Maman,” called Lilian.
“Just do as I say.”
She hurried as fast as her legs could carry her, Denis bouncing in her arms. When she reached the Gilberts, she squeezed into their seat. “What happened?”
Madame Gilbert raised her eyes. Her face was soaked with tears. “She died.” She broke into a fresh fit of sobbing.
“Who? Cécile’s baby?” asked Lea, breaking into a cold sweat.
Mr. Gilbert shook his head. “Both. They couldn’t get the baby out. There was no doctor. And now we’ve lost all our children.” He laid his arm over Madame Gilbert’s shoulders, and together they cried bitter tears.
Lea felt a wave of nausea overcome her. Retching, her hand flew to her mouth. Cécile was dead? But how could that be? She’d been so healthy. “Where’s Claude?” she asked.
“He didn’t come. He’s beside himself with grief,” said Mr. Gilbert.
A hand rested on Lea’s shoulder. It was Nap’s. His face dropped when he heard the news.
The rest of the mass was a blur. Lea sat with her four children, numb, as she listened to the priest describe what a terrible loss Cécile’s life was to the community, and how she and the baby girl she had carried had surely gone to Heaven.
The trip home was quiet, the sound of the cutter gliding through the snow to the padded clip clop of the horse’s hooves and an occasional cough erupting from one of the children.
The next morning, Lea and Nap went through the motions of Christmas, giving forced smiles and uttering false words of joy as the children marveled at the wooden toys and food Bonhomme Noël had brought. When Nap loaded up the cutter, his face long, they set out to celebrate Christmas with the relatives in Ponteix. But Lea went only in body.
She felt hollow when they were welcomed into Levi and Emma’s home. She picked at the food that was given her and sat alone in the corner as the family danced to the music of the uncles’ fiddles and banjo.
After a time, she felt someone sit down beside her. It was Levi. “What’s the matter?” he asked.
“Oh, nothing.” Lea tried to feign enjoyment, but when Levi pushed her further, tears welled up in her eyes and she broke down, telling him about the death of her best friend.
“Come with me,” he said, his voice gentle.
Lea obediently followed her father-in-law to the back of the house where he took her in his arms as she cried.
“It’s so difficult, you know, living out there all alone, trapped inside the house, our family growing, no money.”
“I know.” Levi regarded her with compassion. “It’s difficult for us to watch you suffer too. None of us have ever known that kind of poverty.” He paused a moment before continuing. “But Lea, I think I have a solution for you.”
“A solution?”
“Yes, but you might not like it.”
“What?” Lea tilted her head. “I’m listening.”
“Perhaps what you need is fewer children.”
“Fewer children!” She thought out the possibilities, then gasped. “No orphanage is good enough for them.”
He let out a wry chuckle. “Not an orphanage, Lea. Why don’t you let Pol and Lilian live with us? We have plenty of room, and there’s a convent close by where they could go to school. They teach French. And there are a lot of things for them to do. There’s a skating rink, a ballpark, and they’d have so many cousins to play with.”
Lea digested his words before answering. “But I could never abandon my children.”
“You wouldn’t be abandoning them,” he said, his voice kind. “They’d just be…on loan… until you get back on your feet. You’ve been through a lot.”
Lea allowed the idea to take hold, but was immediately wracked with guilt. But how much easier life would be. Hadn’t she been the one to convince Nap there was no shame in accepting help? She let out a sigh. “Let me think on it.”
“All right,” said Levi, taking her arm and leading her back into the living room where jokes flew about to enthusiastic laughter.
When the music ended and they retired for the night, Lea brought up the idea to Napoleon.
She heard his breath catch in the dark before he answered. “Lea, I know you’re upset about Cécile’s death and all, but can you really give up your children like that even if it’s only for a few months?”
“Other people do it,” she said. “And if they stay on the farm over the winter, there’s a good chance they’ll miss a lot of school.”
“True,” said Nap.
“It’s not really like charity,” she said. “They’re family.”
“Well, let’s talk it over with the children first and see how they feel about it.”
A few days later, she announced the news to Pol and Lilian.
Lilian’s eyes rounded with fear, but Pol welcomed the news.
“Stay with Memère and Pepère? I’d love to!”
“Yes, but only until the summer,” she said. “And then we’ll come back and get you.”
“But I don’t want to stay here,” said Lilian. “I want to go home with you.”
“I know, Lilian, but—”
“Don’t worry. I’ll look after you,” said Pol, laying an arm over his sister’s shoulder. “And just think. We’ll get to play with all the cousins. And we’ll have real desks.” He eyed Nap apologetically. “It’ll be fun.”
“Well, okay,” said Lilian.
And so it was, that Napoleon and Lea returned home after the holidays, a family of four.