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Trial by Winter Page 5
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Dorothy escaped to the stable where she kissed each horse goodbye and patted their velvet muzzles. She longed to snuggle up with Dad like she used to do, but part of her balked. Crushed by the ache in her heart, she collapsed in the hay pile. She lay there listening to the shuffling and nickering of the horses, until Lydia called her for dinner.
In the afternoon Mam insisted Dad bathe, since it might be a long time before he had another opportunity. Mam shooed Dorothy and Lydia from the house to give Dad privacy.
Lydia snatched an empty lard tin from the shelf. “We’ll look for rosehips in the coulee.” As they walked away from the house she said, “Dodie, you know all the paths around here. What’s the fastest way to Frank and Patrick’s soddie?”
“I thought we were picking rosehips.”
“No,” snapped Lydia. “I want you to pick rosehips and say I was with you.” Her voice softened. “Please, Dodie, it’s my last chance to say goodbye to Patrick.”
With a huff, Dorothy walked over the crest of their hill. The snow on the open slope had melted away and dry grass crunched underfoot. Just before the coulee tumbled downward to the west, she pointed north across a flat stretch of prairie. “This is how Frank usually comes, to avoid walking through the woods. Their house is on the far side of that little rise of land.”
“Thanks Dodie, I’ll meet you back here in a couple of hours.”
When Dorothy guessed two hours had elapsed, she returned to the spot with the tin half-full of shrivelled rosehips. She stretched out on the grass and waited. And waited. She stood up and studied the field leading north.
Finally Lydia and Patrick emerged over the ripple of land. They hugged tightly, then Lydia bounced forward on the vaguely defined path. She waved when she spied Dorothy. The glow on Lydia’s face sent Dorothy into a spasm of envy.
That evening Dorothy went to bed seething with anger. Dad had spent his last evening at home stalking a deer in the coulee. He didn’t return until after Dorothy was in her bunk. Feigning sleep, she listened to the news Dad related to Mam and Lydia.
He had waited quietly in a thicket until a deer finally came into sight. After he shot and gutted the deer, he dragged the carcass back to the stable. The whole process took hours. Dorothy knew they needed meat but still, Dad had spent their last evening away from his family and that rankled her.
Dorothy awoke several times from a fitful sleep. Finally morning arrived. She brushed off Dad’s attempts at cheeriness and wouldn’t meet his eyes. Dad harnessed the team and stopped the wagon at the house for the final goodbyes. Mam handed him provisions for the three-day journey to the woodlot, maybe four if the trail was rougher than expected.
Dorothy kept herself rigid when Dad hugged her good-bye. She felt too bitter to return his hug. Mam and Lydia were stiff in their farewells too. Dad seemed distracted, in a hurry to pick up Patrick and get started on the journey.
The grey sky hung heavily over the plain as the family watched Dad’s wagon roll away, pressing tracks into the thin snow. Suddenly Dorothy bolted after the wagon, running like the dickens until she had to bend over, gasping for breath.
“Goodbye Dad!” she cried.
There was no way the driver would hear her over the creaking wheels and clopping hooves. But, no, the wagon stopped. Either Dad had heard or he just knew what she needed. Dad walked back to Dorothy, standing forlornly in the wagon tracks. He unbuttoned his coat and wrapped it around her.
“Ah, my pet, you cannot follow me all the way to Edmonton.”
Dorothy snuggled against his chest, hugging him tight. There was so much she wanted to say but her tongue was frozen. “I…I…shall miss you so much.”
“My precious girl, this hug will keep me warm all winter.”
Dorothy pressed so tight against Dad’s chest she could feel his heartbeat. What she really wanted to say burst from her mouth: “I love you, Dad.”
“These words will stay in my heart, Dodie. I promise I will work my hardest for the family.” Dad pushed Dorothy out to arms’ length. He knelt in the snow and peered into her eyes. “And your job is to stay hopeful. Help your mam look for the bright side.” With a kiss on her forehead Dad walked away and climbed onto his wagon. He didn’t look back again.
Dorothy watched until the wagon turned onto the road allowance leading north. She dragged her feet back to the house. Dad’s departure cast a pall over the household. All evidence of him was gone: his greatcoat, his boots, his heavy jumper, even the thick socks Mam had just finished knitting.
It seemed as final as death.
5
A Business Deal
The next morning Dorothy tried to find the bright side but the weather didn’t co-operate. With wind rattling the window panes, she couldn’t think of any reason to get up.
Suddenly she thought she heard wagon wheels squeal in the yard. She sat upright, almost hitting her head on a rafter. Has Dad come back?
Feet thumped on the stoop and the door swung open.
Dorothy held her breath.
“Is everyone yet abed?” chortled Frank, peering over the top bunk.
“Oh, hello Frank.” Dorothy slumped back under her covers.
“What, no cheerful morning welcome?”
Dorothy smiled weakly. “I’m sorry Frank. For a moment I hoped you were Dad.”
“Ah, little sister, I know how much you miss him. I brought someone to cheer you up.” Cracking the door open, Frank whistled loudly. Soon barks and scratches sounded on the far side of the thick planks. Frank opened the door enough to let a sleek black shape slip inside. “Sit.”
“Chap!” Dorothy scampered down the ladder. Hopping from foot to foot on the cold floor, she pulled her boots from under the bed and tugged them on. With the laces dangling, she bent to hug the frisky retriever. Chap put his paws on her shoulders and licked her face.
“Why are you here so early?” grumbled Lydia. She dragged herself from bed and wrapped a shawl around her shoulders.
“Come to skin the deer Dad killed.” Frank rooted through the wood box. “I’ll fire up your stove first.” Clutching a handful of kindling, he opened the firebox. “My Lord, the fire’s almost out.”
Dorothy peered over his shoulder. “There are hot coals in there.”
“Barely.” Frank pushed the thin sticks into the opening. “Blow on them until they catch.”
Dorothy squatted so she could puff into the open firebox.
Frank pulled the hatchet from behind the wood box and plunked it on the table. “You can’t let the fire die out in the night, Lydia. Chop some more kindling for Dodie.”
Lydia glared at him. “Did you come to give me a lecture?”
“No, I came to skin the deer,” Frank grunted. “But seriously, Lydia, the weather will get much colder. You must stoke the fire through the night, else the house will freeze by morning.”
Lydia and Frank glowered at each other.
“Stop bickering,” Dorothy cried. “I’ll chop the kind-ling.” She snatched the hatchet, tapped it into a narrow chunk of wood and pounded it on the floor until it split in half. Soon she had several thin sticks to feed the tiny flames in the stove.
Lydia mobilized herself to fill the kettle. Frank took the hatchet to chop more wood and Mam emerged fully clothed from behind her curtain. In turn, Lydia and Dorothy disappeared behind the curtain to get dressed. A few minutes later they sat together for hot tea and cold scones left from last night’s supper. Chap nuzzled beside Dorothy and she slipped him bits of biscuit.
When Frank asked for help skinning the deer, Lydia and Mam looked horrified.
“I’ll come.” Dorothy quickly donned her outer wear. She climbed into the wagon and drove with Frank and Chap to the stable. The wind had died down but light snow still fell.
At the stable Frank reached for a battered tin washtub in the wagon box. Beside the washtub Chap wagged his tail hopefully. “Stay,” ordered Frank.
Dorothy sighed in disappointment.
Frank laughed.
“Not you, the dog. You hustle out and unlatch the door.”
Chap whimpered as Dorothy jumped down into the snowy grass and opened the stable door. Inside she stopped in her tracks. “Goodness, I didn’t expect the deer to look like that.”
She stared at the animal hanging from the rafter by its hind legs, the underbelly sliced open. The antlers almost touched the ground. Avoiding the deer’s glazed eyes, Dorothy studied its insides: red meat and greyish bone. In an awe-filled voice she asked, “Is this what people look like inside?”
“Sort of,” said Frank. “Dad gutted the innards back in the coulee, so the internal organs are missing.” He removed his leather gloves and pulled the cavity further apart. “See how the ribs are attached to the backbone. Our ribs are attached much the same way.”
Dorothy leaned closer. “My heavens,” she breathed. She tried to find her own backbone but her coat was too heavy to feel through.
Frank took off his greatcoat and laid it in the straw. Pulling his hunting knife from his belt pouch, he walked around the carcass. “I talked to Mr. Parenteau in Lloydminster yesterday –”
“Mr. Parenteau is in Lloydminster?”interjected Dorothy, excited that one of her favourite people was nearby.
Frank nodded. “He just freighted a load for the general store. I promised him the deerskin.”
He poised his knife where the deer’s hind legs met the body. “Mr. Parenteau told me how to separate the hide from the body. If I do it right, the entire torso should peel off in one piece.” Beginning where Dad had split the belly open, Frank pierced the skin and carved sideways over the backside, severing the tailbone, until he met the cut from the other side. “Now comes the hard part. Bring that crate and stand on it here.”
Dorothy lugged a wooden crate from a dusty corner and climbed up.
Frank started to peel the skin away from the flesh. “Hold onto the hide. Your job is to pull it back as I cut the membrane that attaches it to the muscle.”
Dorothy stared at the skin two feet in front of her eyes – the sleek creamy fur of the deer’s soft belly. “Uh…you want me to touch that? Isn’t it bloody?”
“It’s been hanging for over a day. The blood has already gelled.”
Dorothy tentatively touched the hide with her fingertips.
“For Pete’s sake, Dodie!” Frank sounded exasperated. “You’re too tough to be squeamish.”
Dorothy blinked. I’m tough? She would certainly try to be tough to impress Frank. Grasping the top edge of the skin with both hands, she tugged gently. It came away easily as Frank sliced through the membrane. And it wasn’t bloody; the blood was held in the red muscle on the other side of the connective tissue.
Dorothy drew the tail forward as Frank worked around the deer’s back. “Is our skin attached to our body like this, Frank?”
“It must be, because our bodies aren’t that different from deer.” Frank gazed at her thoughtfully. “You have so many questions, Dodie, you ought to become a doctor when you grow up.”
“Me?” Dorothy’s eyebrows shot up. “Girls don’t become doctors.”
“Not so. I met a lady doctor at the Onion Lake Reserve. Her name is Dr. Elizabeth Matheson; her husband’s a missionary.” Frank smiled. “Things are different in the North-West. With hard work you can do most anything you want.”
Dorothy was quiet as Frank worked down the carcass. Her hands tugged the skin, while her mind processed the possibilities for her future. It was the first day of Dad’s absence and she had indeed found the bright side; so fresh and shiny she didn’t know what to make of it.
“Done for now.” Frank folded the deerskin and placed it on the straw. “I’ll come back tomorrow to butcher it.” He hacked off the deer’s head and front legs, dropped them into the washtub and laid the hide on top. “This is Mr. Parenteau’s tub. He offered to trade me these things for a pair of high-topped winter moccasins.”
Frank sliced off a thin piece of meat. “Distract Chap with this while I haul the tub out. Call him down to the ground and make him sit.”
Dorothy sucked in her lip. Touching the dry hide was one thing; holding a piece of slimy raw meat was quite another. She clasped the meat between thumb and middle finger and held it out at arm’s length. For Chap I can do this.
The instant she stepped out the door, Chap whined and scratched frantically inside the wagon box. “Chap!” she called. The dog bounded out, wildly whipping his tail.
“Sit!” Dorothy commanded. To her surprise he obeyed in a flash and extended a paw. He gulped the meat. Dorothy wiped her fingers clean in the snow and pulled her gloves from her coat pocket. She heard Frank behind her, latching the stable door.
After depositing the tub in back, Frank settled himself on the wagon seat and whistled for Chap to sit at his feet. “Hop up, Dodie. I’ll drop you at the house before I deliver these deer parts to Mr. Parenteau.”
Dorothy climbed up beside him. “May I come? I would so love to see Mr. Parenteau.”
Frank pursed his lips. “Why not?” he said. “But you’ll have to get Mam’s permission.” He stopped the wagon at the house. “Best not to mention Mr. Parenteau.”
“Don’t worry, Frank. I know what to say.”
Dorothy stomped the snow from her feet and went inside. Her mother and sister were washing dishes. “Mam, Frank offered to take me to Lloydminster with him. You know, a little adventure to thank me for helping with the bloody job.”
Mam looked shocked. “Dorothy, don’t use such crude language.”
“I’m not swearing, Mam. It really was bloody,” Dorothy said cheerfully, enjoying her exaggeration. “It’s a good thing you didn’t have to help him.”
Mam opened the door and looked questioningly at Frank, sitting in the wagon.
Frank smiled. “I’ll have her back by supper time.”
Mam wrapped Dorothy’s muffler around her neck. “You’ve earned a bit of fun.” She stepped outside to wave goodbye, just like she had done for Dad yesterday.
As the horses trotted across the crisp snow, Dorothy remembered her own emptiness when Dad rode away. “It’s much better being the person leaving on an adventure,” she mused, reaching down to scratch Chap’s ears.
A smile flickered on Frank’s lips. “Quite so.”
They turned north onto the public trail, joining tracks made by homesteaders from farther south, whom Dorothy had never met.
“When were you last in Lloyd?” asked Frank
“In July when I helped Dad buy the glass windows.”
Frank grinned. “You’re in for a surprise.” Dorothy begged to know but Frank wouldn’t explain. “Just wait and see.”
Dorothy could scarcely believe she had travelled this trail before; everything looked newly created – a landscape of smooth white sculptures. The wind blew the fresh snow around, making the whole scene misty and mysterious.
Finally they turned onto the main road that led a short way west to Lloydminster or a long way east to Battleford. On this well-worn trail they trotted at a faster pace. Soon Dorothy spied a cluster of buildings, the bright tan boards shouting their newness. “Holy mackerel! When did these spring up? It was just a bunch of tents when I was here.”
They drove past a general store, a post office, and a half-dozen frame houses. More houses, both log and lumber, were under construction. Men were hammering as they passed.
“People have been nailing up a storm for the past three months, Dodie. The government offered a free lot in town to any colonist who started a house by November 1st.” He grinned at her. “That’s today.”
Dorothy stared at him. November 1st, our first day without Dad! She worried for Dad, wending his way through rough unsettled wilderness. Not like this, safe and civilized.
Frank stopped the team in front of a new building. “Yesterday Mr. Parenteau was at the livery, getting his horses reshod. I told him I’d meet him today around midday.” Frank checked his pocket watch. “It’s half past twelve now.”
Dorothy didn’
t wait for another word. Jumping down to the snowy street, she squeezed through the barely open stable door. “Mr. Parenteau! Mr. Parenteau!” A chorus of whinnies and nickers answered, but no human voice. The dimly-lit interior was heavy with horsey smells. At the far end of the stalls a door opened, revealing a shape silhouetted against bright light.
“I know dat voice.”
“Mr. Parenteau!” Dorothy scooted across the straw-covered floor and wrapped her arms around him. Nestling into the warm flannel of his shirt, she inhaled his smoky, sweaty smell.
Mr. Parenteau stepped back, looking embarrassed. “Ma p’chite. What ya doin’ here? I han’t seen ya since yous was stuck in dah slough.”
By this time Frank had caught up. “Goodness Dodie, show some dignity.” He directed an apologetic smile at Mr. Parenteau. “My little sister. She’s the one I want the moccasins for.”
Mr. Parenteau looked from one to the other. “I din’t know Dor’ty his yer sister.” He led them into a small room brightly lit with two windows. “Come into dah h’office an’ warm up.”
A middle-aged man smoking a pipe reached to shake Frank’s hand. “Joe Pinder, farrier and livery owner. Can I help you?” His accent pegged him as coming from the south of England.