Trial by Winter Read online

“An egg?” Frank grinned. “Is that one of the beauty secrets of the gentle sex?”

  Lydia kicked him. “Don’t say anything to Patrick or you’ll find out how gentle I am!”

  Frank rolled his eyes. “Oh, I’m terrified. I’ll never divulge your secrets to your intended.”

  Dorothy stared at her brother, his lanky form sprawled over a chair. With his warm brown eyes and dark curly hair he was looking more and more like Dad.

  “When is Dad coming back?” she asked.

  Frank sat up straight. “That’s why I’m here, to tell you the plan Dad and Patrick and I worked out. But we need our mam. I’ll go look for her.”

  “Wait, Frank!” said Lydia. “Can you pull the tub into Mam’s bedroom? She wants to wash some things later.”

  Dorothy held the curtain aside while Frank lugged the half-full washtub into the small space between the bed and the wall. After Frank left, she finished grooming Lydia’s hair. She held the silver hand mirror while Lydia pinned her hair into a bun.

  “I can hardly wait until I’m sixteen so I can put my hair up.”

  “Don’t be in such a hurry to grow up,” laughed Lydia, replacing the mirror on the high shelf where they kept precious things from England.

  I want to grow up, Dorothy thought. I hate being called a child. She gazed out the window. “They’re coming and Mam has something in her arms.”

  When Mam came in, her cheeks were rosy. “I ought to go walking more often,” she said cheerily. “I picked some sprigs of rosehips. The red berries looked so vivid against the snow. They were on the hill where your dad and I stood last June, when he talked me into staying.”

  In a flash her expression was downcast, as if she had just remembered their predicament. At any rate the predicament now weighed on Dorothy’s mind. “Frank, are you going to tell us your plan?”

  Suddenly serious, Frank invited them to the table. “We know we have insufficient funds to get through the winter,” he began. “Dad and I and Patrick discussed it last night. We know only one enterprise hiring men this winter and that’s the large woodlot east of Edmonton.”

  In the chair beside Dorothy, Mam muffled a cry. Her hands tightened into fists in her lap.

  “Yes I know, Mam,” acknowledged Frank. “Here’s what we decided: Dad and Patrick will go and take Dad’s team. I will stay here to manage the three homesteads.”

  “Your dad is drinking again.” Mam’s voice was hard as steel. “He won’t be able to fulfill any commitments.”

  How does Mam know? thought Dorothy. Of course, she smelled it on Dad’s breath, too.

  Frank cleared his throat. “We talked about that as well, Mam. Dad feels terrible about letting everyone down and he promised to lay off the booze.”

  “The pledge!” Dorothy interjected. “He can take the pledge again, just a private one for our family like Victor’s dad did.”

  “How do you know about the pledge?” snapped Mam.

  Lydia jumped in. “I told her what I remembered from years ago. She’s not a child now.”

  “And you discussed our problems with Victor?” Mam’s glare bored right through Dorothy.

  “Just a little bit,” Dorothy said in a tiny voice.

  Jolting off her chair, Mam paced around the tiny cabin space. “Dorothy Jean, how could you air our dirty linen in public?”

  Dorothy bent her head and stared at the floor.

  With a profound sigh Frank eased Mam into his chair beside Lydia. “I know you’re upset, Mam. Everyone’s nerves are frayed.” He patted his mother’s shoulder. “Dodie tried to help and the Suttons are very understanding people. They’ll keep our affairs confidential.”

  “On a more practical level, Frank, how will we buy provisions?” asked Lydia. “I mean, Dad won’t be back with money until winter’s over.”

  Frank sat beside Dorothy and checked his pocket watch. “Dad and Patrick should be here soon. They drove to Lloydminster to arrange for provisions.”

  Dorothy leaned closer. “You have your own watch?”

  “It’s just the Eaton Dollar Watch, made with nickel.” Frank squirmed sheepishly. “Mr. Herbert had one that somebody had traded him. It’s an extravagance, but I need a watch if I’m to get occasional work as a freighter.”

  “A freighter,” breathed Dorothy. “Just like Mr. Parenteau.” She admired the Métis man who had rescued them after the prairie fire last June.

  “Sh,” said Frank. Too late, Mam had heard.

  “Freighter?” she echoed. “Isn’t that class of employment for mixed-bloods and savages?”

  “The Métis are employed as freighters,” agreed Frank. “Full-blooded Indians rarely, because they have all been relegated to reserves. They’re not allowed off even for work.”

  Mam looked dubious. “How do you know all this?”

  “I’ve picked up information here and there, especially at Onion Lake.”

  Mam looked ready to argue, but the cabin door creaked open. Dad stood there, twisting his hat. “Hello, everyone, I have news for you. Patrick will be along shortly. He went to stable the horses.”

  Dorothy stared at Dad. He didn’t appear drunk, but he looked right uncomfortable. His eyes flitted from one to another, then down to the floor.

  For a long minute nobody spoke. Finally Lydia stood. “Have my chair, Dad. I’ll make tea.”

  Dad sat across from Dorothy. She wanted to welcome him but she didn’t trust him. Roiling with turmoil, she rubbed her hand over a gouge in the the plank table.

  “Nice to see you, Dodie,” Dad said tentatively, laying his hand over hers.

  Dorothy jerked her hand away.

  Anger spewed up her throat.

  “The pledge!” she cried. “I want you to take the pledge like Victor’s pop!”

  The T. Eaton Company catalogue of 1901 advertised a pocket watch for one dollar, alongside their ornate gold and silver watches for up to 50 dollars. Made from nickel, this cheap watch did not contain jewels as bearings in the mechanism. Although it wore out eventually, it made a timepiece available to the ordinary working man.

  4

  Making Amends

  Frozen in their spots, everyone gaped at Dorothy.

  Finally Frank shifted, squeaking his chair. “Mr. Sutton didn’t take the formal pledge in England, but he made a private pledge to his family.”

  “Please, Dad,” said Dorothy. “Just a private one.”

  Dad cast his eyes to the ceiling. “Ah ‘ate meself fer what ah done.”

  Dorothy knew she had to stand her ground; their future depended on it. “The pledge, Dad,” she asserted through clenched teeth.

  Dad cleared his throat. “I’m sorry for bringing you here, Aggie and Lydia. I know it weren’t your choice. It’s much harder than I expected, but I will earn money to see us through the winter. Things will get better, you’ll see.” He smiled uncertainly.

  Lydia laid the teapot and mugs on the table.“It’s much harder than any of us expected, Dad.”

  “The pledge,” repeated Dorothy. “For our homestead.”

  Dad brought his stare down from the ceiling and his dark brown eyes caught hers.

  “Yes, Dodie, for our homestead and our family.” He held her gaze and said solemnly, “I promise I’ll not drink any alcohol this winter. Will you shake on my pledge?” He extended his hand across the table.

  Dorothy searched his eyes, wanting to believe him. She slowly reached forward and clasped his hand. It felt warm.

  “What are the details of the plan, Willy?” Mam’s voice had a guarded undertone.

  Dorothy recognized her mother’s cautious support. She felt the same way, prepared to give Dad another chance, but not with the total trust she once felt. For the first time, Dorothy sympathized with her mother’s point of view.

  Dad squirmed, not quite able to meet Mam’s gaze. “What’s keeping Patrick?” he wondered. “He knows the employment details better than I.”

  I know what’s keeping Patrick, thought Dorothy. He’s av
oiding the family row.

  Frank scraped back his chair. “I’ll go get him.”

  Uneasily, Dad shifted to face Mam. “Aggie, we’ve arranged a credit at Mr. Herbert’s store for necessaries. Out in the wagon now, we’ve got sacks of navy beans, cabbages and flour, a large can of baking powder, half a case of tinned milk and a bag of sugar.”

  As he spoke Dad’s voice regained confidence. “Mr. Herbert was out of coal oil, but he promised a barrel when stocks come in. Frank will pick it up. You and the girls will be safe over the winter and I promise things will be better next year.”

  Mam studied Dad with pursed lips. “Will we be ahead after we pay off the winter credit, or will we be in the same predicament next year?”

  “In town this morning we talked to Mr. Snow. Many colonists are in the same bind. We got here too late to put in much of a garden or any crops. We’ll get an early start next spring.”

  Goodness, thought Dorothy, he’s discussing our situation with Mr. Snow?

  Mam had the same thought. “And listen to the farm instructor’s advice next time.”

  Dad ran his hand through his hair. “Well, there’s that too,” he admitted, looking embarrassed.

  Mam picked up the teapot and filled each mug. “Have some tea, Willy.”

  With that assurance, Dorothy’s mood lifted. The four people at the table sipped tea together.

  Soon Dorothy heard feet on the stoop, clearing snow off boots. Frank and Patrick entered, each carrying a canvas sack. Lydia opened a trapdoor behind the stove leading to their small root cellar. Frank scooted down the short ladder and Patrick handed him the navy beans and cabbages.

  Dorothy looked down into the space. About six feet deep, it extended past the door frame a bit on each side, five feet wide in all. She knew what was already stored on the shelves: two wooden boxes full of potatoes and one box each of onions and turnips, the only vegetables they had produced from their small garden, other than the peas and beans they had eaten fresh in the summer.

  While the men went to the wagon for more supplies, Lydia busied herself mixing something in a bowl. She was forming dough into small balls when they returned. “Put the tinned milk in the root cellar,” she said. “The rest can stay up here.” She nodded to a shelf that held odds and ends of food.

  Until now, a large sack of oatmeal was the only foodstuff they had in any quantity. Dorothy had prepared herself for a diet of bland oatmeal all winter. Now she could have milk with her porridge. And a spoonful of sugar if Mam wasn’t looking!

  When the men came to the table there weren’t enough chairs, so Dorothy curled up on Lydia’s bunk. Since Lydia was still working at the stove, Patrick took her seat. He perched stiffly on the edge of the chair. “Good day, Mrs. Bolton.”

  “It’s all right,” Frank assured him. “We’ve settled the other matter. Tell Mam about the job.”

  Patrick eased back into the chair. “Well, they hired me and said to find a partner. Frank and me were going, but now it’s Mr. Bolton and me. Ye needs yer own wagon. We’ll be driving into the bush and hauling logs back to the woodlot. The trail to Edmonton is quite rough so we won’t be back ’til winter’s over. The money’s good, a dollar a day plus keep. They have bunkhouses to live in.”

  “You’ll be outside all winter, Willy,” Mam said, touching his arm. “Will you not be cold?”

  “I’ll keep me eye on him, Mrs. Bolton. Make sure he’s dressed warm enough.”

  “And the other matter, Patrick. Will you keep an eye on that too?” Mam locked her sharp blue eyes on his. “That means you must make the same pledge not to touch the drink.”

  Dorothy held her breath while Patrick glanced over to Lydia at the stove. He returned his gaze to Mam. “I can promise that.”

  Dorothy exhaled. Her tense muscles relaxed for the first time in days.

  “And now,” said Dad, “there’s work to do. We men are going to cut another load of logs.”

  “Not without a meal,” Mam said. “I have a rabbit stew simmering on the stove.”

  While the men washed up, Mam served the stew. Dorothy dragged two wooden crates up to the table. Everyone crowded around and Lydia pulled her surprise from the oven: a tray of hot raisin scones. As the men voiced praise for the tasty meal, happiness bubbled inside Dorothy.

  After dinner the men left to fell another load of firewood. When Dorothy went for water, the air felt warmer. The snow had disappeared from the south-facing slope leading down to the lake. With the sun on her face Dorothy was in no hurry to return to their tiny dark house. The bright day had restored her hope for the future just like Gram always said.

  A flock of large white geese circled down and skidded to a landing in the middle of Button Lake. Dorothy had never seen wild geese like these before. She worried that Victor might be waiting with his shotgun ready. The white geese glowed crisply against the blue water. Squinting into the sun, she peered at the western edge of the lake. The Suttons’ dock was there someplace, but all she saw was a sweep of cattails, their dry bleached leaves interspersed with puffy brown seed-heads.

  When Dorothy returned to the house, Mam was sitting on the sunny stoop. Her knitting needles clicked briskly and a skein of thick grey wool bobbed beside her. Back in England Mam used to knit constantly when she wasn’t busy with housework, but Dorothy hadn’t seen those needles for over six months. She didn’t realize Mam had even brought them.

  “What are you making, Mam?”

  “A pair of socks for Willy to take.” Mam wiggled over so there was space for Dorothy to sit. “Isn’t it a beautiful day! If winter’s like this I shan’t worry about your dad getting chilled.”

  “Those socks will, uh…keep him warm,” agreed Dorothy, dubious about her mother’s winter forecast. She remembered Mr. Snow’s warnings about the forthcoming bitter cold.

  Mam started clicking again. “I must keep going if I’m to be done in two days. You could bring out your needlework sampler and work beside me.”

  My needlework! Dorothy was stunned. I left that horrid thing in England. She stood up and collected her buckets. “I’d best take these to Lydia.”

  “It’s good to be busy. The devil finds work for idle hands.”

  Dorothy groaned inwardly at the familiar lecture. “I’ll try to keep busy, Mam.”

  When she opened the door, a delectable smell hit her nostrils. This was indeed a day of surprises! Lydia lifted oatmeal raisin cookies from a baking tray and spread them on the table to cool. The scent wafting from the oven told Dorothy a second batch was baking.

  “Holy mackerel, how can we afford fancy cookies?”

  “Don’t use that crude expression, Dodie. Mam won’t like it.”

  “It’s a Canadian expression,” Dorothy retorted. “I learned it from Mr. Todd at Battleford. Anyway, Mam won’t care; she’s happy today.”

  “Quite so, Dodie, I shouldn’t lecture you. Now to answer your question: those biscuits are not for us. I’m baking a special treat for Patrick and Dad.”

  “Oh,” sighed Dorothy, licking her lips.

  “You’re breaking my heart,” laughed Lydia. “Here, have one.”

  Just as Dorothy plucked a cookie from the table, Lydia snatched it back. “Better still, wait until I brew a pot and we’ll have tea and biscuits on the royal balcony.”

  Lydia put the kettle to boil and took her second tray of cookies from the oven. Soon the girls carried mugs of tea and three warm cookies to the front stoop. Dorothy’s happiness was complete: a sunny day, Lydia in a playful mood and Mam working proudly on a knitting project.

  •••

  Dorothy was already in bed when the men returned with the firewood. Mam served bean-and-cabbage soup made thick and creamy with tinned milk. Dorothy was sure they each had a cookie for dessert, even though Lydia had been too stingy to offer her a second one.

  The adults debated what to take to Edmonton. In the end they declined the covered wagon because Frank would need it if he got any freighting jobs. Patrick and D
ad could shelter under a groundsheet if they got caught in a storm.

  On the other hand, Patrick argued strongly for taking at least one dog. “We’ll be workin’ in the forest and Irish will alert us to danger from bears and cougars.”

  “Will you be safe, Patrick?” Lydia sounded alarmed.

  “Bears and cougars!” echoed Mam. “You’ll be surrounded by vicious animals?”

  “There are few dangerous animals, ladies,” assured Dad, “but taking a dog is a wise precaution.” Mam and Lydia didn’t sound convinced and neither was Dorothy. Visions of Irish fending off fearsome creatures bombarded her. What does a cougar look like? She pulled the covers over her head to block images of monstrous fangs and claws.

  The next day Dad stacked firewood, chopped kindling and filled a large metal cylinder with water. Mr. Herbert had insisted he take it on credit, explaining that they needed several days drinking water inside the cabin for winter emergencies.

  “Only for blizzards,” Dad said, covering the barrel with a lid. “Most times you’ll be able to fetch water from the lake. Frank will keep a hole open through the ice.”

  The following day Dad packed his tent and bedroll in the wagon. He dismantled the canvas top, storing it in the stable for Frank to use. Mam knitted furiously until the socks were finished. Lydia packed a box of fresh scones and her precious cookies.