Janette Oke

by Laurel Oke Logan

  Chapter Five

  Church

  Amy tried hard to get involved with the local church, but her only means of transportation was the team of horses. Since hitching them often seemed more trouble than it was worth, she frequently walked to church. And because the young children would not be able to keep pace on the two-mile walk each way, she sometimes went alone.

  On one particular Sunday morning, when Janette was still small enough to be anxious about her mother leaving for even a short time, she became suspicious that something was in the wind. Amy had pinned her hat in place and pulled her fine black shawl over her best black dress, and it was evident she was going out.

  Little Janette hung close to her throughout the preparations, but somehow Amy managed to sneak out the front door and start down the dusty country road. Finding herself outwitted, Janette ran howling after her mother.

  The tired woman turned around and walked the short distance back to the yard, stooping to wipe the runny nose on her clean white hankie and muttering that since it was so hard to get to church she had a notion just to stay home. Though the small girl could not fully understand why, there was a momentary feeling of triumph. She was more important than “church”—whatever that was.

  The feeling was short-lived. After seeing Janette settled back inside the house, Amy set off again, this time successfully.

  The small Hoadley church had been started a few years before the Steeves family arrived in the area. Miss Pearl Reist, an “Approved Ministering Sister,” was largely responsible for its beginning. The building, purchased in 1934, was a former pool hall and not much by today’s standards, but able to supply a “meeting place” for the little community congregation.

  The front of the building was used as the church, and the rear held a small parsonage. There was an outside entry porch at the back leading to a tiny kitchen and an equally small living room with a little bedroom off to the side. The church had wooden floors and was rather bare except for the small pulpit at the front, a pump organ to the side, and rows of roughly made wooden benches. There were no padded seats or shaped backs, just boards that quickly became uncomfortable.

  By the time the Steeves moved into the area, Miss Reist had married a local farmer named Nels Lemont and had turned the pastoral duties over to Reverend Raymond Shantz and his wife, Esma.

  To farm children in the midst of the Great Depression, they were people from another world. Dainty and petite, Mrs. Shantz was well groomed and soft-spoken. Reverend Shantz was always dressed in a suit and had a warm smile and courteous manner. They drove a team hitched to a buggy with big wheels and a cover to protect from the hot sun or falling rain. Janette had never seen anything so grand and was certain they were quite different from ordinary people. Soon, though, her awe turned to deep feelings of love and respect.

  One day the Shantzes were invited to dinner. Being a preschooler at the time, Janette usually tried hard to mind her manners, but during the saying of grace she embarrassed herself by burping loudly enough to be heard by everyone at the table.

  For a moment Janette wrestled with what would be proper to do. She had been taught not to speak during prayer—but she also knew she was to ask pardon if a burp should slip out. At last she said a quiet but audible, “Excuse me.”

  When the prayer ended, adults at the table exchanged glances and then gentle laughter rippled around the group. Janette was still uncertain if she had handled the situation correctly, but she was not scolded for it afterward.

  Mrs. Shantz taught a Sunday school class for the younger children. It was held in the back quarters of the church where a small, backless bench had been placed. Since there were not many in the younger age group, this bench held everyone.

  Amy’s children attended regularly as they grew older, and though Fred preferred to stay at home, he saw to it that the youngsters arrived in church on the occasions when Amy was away.

  Mrs. Lemont was also still busily engaged in the church. She led the adult Sunday school a good deal of the time, standing at the front and reading from the register in a clear voice, “Preschoolers present: five. Primary department present: six. Juniors present: eight. Adults present: fifteen. Teachers present: four.” And though Janette waited from week to week for the “presents” to be revealed, she saw none. It took quite some time for her to conclude that it was all a hoax to keep people coming to Sunday school. Later she learned the truth: Mrs. Lemont was simply keeping a record of attendance.

  Mrs. Lemont was a big woman, with a stern look for misbehaving children. She wore stylish hats and lovely dark dresses trimmed with bits of fancy lace at collar and cuffs. She often carried white lacy handkerchiefs tucked at her wrist, and though Janette admired her, she was a little frightened of her as well.

  Since she was one of Amy’s best friends, the family often saw her other than at church services, though the couple had no children to play with. Her husband, Nels, was an interesting character, having more stories to tell about his horses and dogs than anyone else Janette had seen. In fact, some of his stories sounded so farfetched it took a patient man to stand politely and listen to the tales.

  Nels would often tell of the time that he harnessed another man’s team and claimed that, since he was unfamiliar with their particular equipment, the horses had chosen the proper pieces from the selection of complicated harnesses. Nels said he held a piece up to them and that the horses would whinny and nod, or shake their heads and neigh. No one was certain whether or not to believe what he claimed so insistently, but what could they say? The horses truly had been wearing all the proper pieces.

  Nels was quite outspoken about the quality of his animals. Whenever he passed the Steeves’ house, dust flew from the dry roads and whirled around the lively hooves and fancy buggy wheels. Perhaps they were an excellent team, but most of the community believed he likely whipped up the horses just before passing a neighbor’s farm.

  Chapter Six

  Siblings

  Since brother Jack was four years older than Janette, she would play mostly with the younger Margie, who was a soft, plump, sparkling little girl. Whenever visitors would arrive at the house, Margie seemed to take the spotlight. She knew songs like “Jesus Loves Me” and “You Are My Sunshine,” and her baby voice could carry a tune quite well. John Mann, a sturdy little Scotsman from Mann’s store, enjoyed her especially, often singing songs back to her in his Scottish brogue.

  Margie seemed to thrive on attention, whereas Janette was shy and withdrawn. But as a small child, Janette was most familiar with Margie’s temper. Perhaps it was aided by the fact that, out of necessity, she had been allowed to have her way frequently during her bout with whooping cough. At any rate, Margie usually knew what she wanted, and she wasn’t above using fingernails, teeth, or anything else it took to get her way. And she could squeal! Her loud, piercing cry would bring Amy, and then Janette would be scolded for making Margie cry.

  Janette did not feel resentment toward Margie, since it seemed to her that this was just what babies did. And Margie’s “stage” did not last for long. Before she was even off to school, Margie had changed into a gentle, compassionate, sweet-tempered little girl, and the maker of many friends.

  Though the Steeves family was far from wealthy, it was accepted that a mother with a number of little ones would have a “girl” to help her. Ruth Chapman had come north with the family and stayed with them for a time, and Margie was Ruth’s pet.

  One day young Margie was standing on a chair beside the kitchen stove when Ruth walked by. Margie reached for her, lost her balance, and fell with one little hand on the hot surface of the stove, her other hand pressing her weight on top. There was a great deal of scampering and screaming, but the tiny hand was badly burned.

  For several weeks the burn was dressed and cared for by the family. Two people would work on it at a time—one holding Margie and trying to distract her with some kind of goodie while the other carefully clipped away dead or damaged skin with a pair of tiny
manicure scissors. Somehow she was spared infection but the scars remained, and though not at all her fault, they were an ugly reminder to Ruth of the terrible incident.

  Margie was given a puppy one Christmas and he was named Pal. A mixed breed of mostly collie, he was a cute, fluffy little thing that grew to be quite smart, and even though he had been given to Margie, all of the children claimed him.

  He joined Pooch, the family’s older black-and-white mutt that was anything but a watchdog. Pooch typically ran and hid if things looked at all dangerous, being especially afraid of thunder and lightning. Janette could not fault him for that, though. She shared his feelings completely.

  On the few occasions when Amy and Fred were away from home in the late evening, Pooch would sit and howl mournfully, sending shivers up Janette’s spine as she slid farther down beneath the covers. To her young imagination it sounded like a death call and always made her worry that Pooch might know something she did not. She would lie silently, holding her breath until the familiar sound of her parents’ return would reach her. Then, at last, she could drift off to sleep. Their howling prophet had been wrong again.

  Pooch had one thing in his favor. He could pull a small sled—although not without a great deal of coaxing. In fact, the youngsters really worked much harder than the dog, since someone had to lead the way, calling and urging and pleading with the animal. But he did give some fair rides, pulling against the simple homemade harness.

  Pooch lived to be quite old, and eventually the time came when it seemed wise to put him out of his misery. Fred preferred not to do the job himself, so he accepted the offer of help from one of the neighbors. Even though he was a bird dog by breed, Pooch was afraid of guns and the young man was forced to coax him away from the farm site. Fred had been very specific that the children be kept from learning of the incident. For all of the limitations of the silly old dog, the family had loved him.

  In 1940, when Janette was five, Amy was expecting again. The children were allowed to place their hands on their mother’s growing tummy and feel the baby kick. Amy told them that the baby was saying, “Let me out! Let me out!”

  For this birth, Amy returned to the Champion area to stay with her mother, Grandma Violet Ruggles, and, in exchange, Grandma Kathryn Steeves came from Calgary to stay with Fred and his six offspring. She was a full-figured woman, well dressed, well mannered, and very dignified.

  Grandma Steeves made no secret of the fact that Fred was a pretty special son in her thinking. While she was in his home, it was evident how much she loved him by the wonderful care she gave him and his family.

  Kathryn had not lost her sense of propriety, however, and would tolerate no misbehavior. Although Fred did not use swear words and the children heard little of it from others, it was discovered that her penalty for what she called “bad words” was for the culprit to have his or her mouth washed out with soap.

  After letting a word slip that she feared might fall into the “unsuitable” category, Janette stole quietly inside to get the soap and then hid at the end of the clothes cupboard, squeezing herself in the little space between the cupboard and the wall. Not realizing that it was unlikely Grandma heard of the incident at all, she scrubbed her mouth out with the ill-tasting foam, sure that if she did a proper job, it would be unnecessary for Grandma to do it.

  After what seemed like many weeks, word came that the new baby was another sister, and when the day arrived for Amy’s return, excitement filled the little home.

  Janette was playing in the trees of a nearby pasture. When she heard Mommy was home with the new sister, she ran as fast as her short legs could take her, the younger Margie right behind.

  After rushing to reach the family cluster, she was suddenly overcome by a sense of shyness. Mother had been gone for what seemed like such a long time and to see her with this new and strange baby felt awkward at first. When Janette finally brought herself to sneak a peek, she was surprised at how tiny the infant was.

  Then it was announced that the whole family was invited to submit names for the newest member, and both Margie and Janette were asked for their choice, too.

  It was easy for Janette to pick a name. A girl who went to their Sunday school class was Janette’s ideal of all that a girl should be—she always wore nice dresses and had her hair neatly combed. Janette may have even envied her a bit if she had been old enough to know those kinds of feelings, but as it was, she just admired her. So little Janette picked “Joyce” as her choice for a name.

  The choice was easy for Margie, too. She had not forgotten all the special attention she had received from the hired girl, so she chose “Ruth.”

  Each family member put a slip of paper into the container and two names were drawn out. The two youngest sisters were thrilled when they “won” and the new baby was named Joyce Ruth. Janette and Margie were sure that since they had chosen her name, she was even more “theirs.”

  Kathryn Steeves packed her bags and returned to Calgary shortly after Amy and baby Joyce were settled, and the children did not see her again. In the following year, 1941, word came that Grandma Kathryn was very sick. Fred and Amy left to visit her in a Calgary hospital. She soon died of cancer—the children’s first introduction to the dreaded disease.

  After the time spent with Grandma Steeves, Janette was better able to understand her own father. She had always been so proud of him. Even with clothes often dust-covered and smelling of sweat, the hard-working farmer remained a gentleman. He knew how to doff his cap when meeting a lady on the street, and how to rise to his feet when a woman entered the room. He was the first to offer his seat if it were needed, or his condolences with sincere feeling. And he always acknowledged the presence of friend or stranger. Janette would never forget the pride she felt as she walked down the street holding his hand, watching him nod his head slightly, touch his cap, and say “How’do” to those who passed them.

  Now she knew he was all those things because of her grandmother. Janette had a daddy to be proud of, and for that she would always be grateful to the older woman who, in a way, still seemed like a stranger in spite of kinship.

  Kathryn’s picture graced the living room wall during Janette’s growing-up years and was still there to see whenever she returned home. She always looked at it with admiration. Grandma had been a special woman.

  Four years later, Grandpa Robert Steeves also passed away.

  Joyce was still very new when Janette came into the big farm kitchen from playing outdoors and found her mother bathing the baby at the kitchen table. She was small, chubby, soft—and stark naked—and Janette thought that she was quite the cutest little thing she had ever seen. The sight of the tiny arms and legs waving wildly made Janette giggle, until Amy’s question caught her by surprise.

  “Do you want to hold her?”

  Janette was sent to stand by the opened oven door until all the chill had left her clothes and hands. Then the squirming baby was placed in her arms. She would never forget the wonderful sensation. Joyce was so little—so cute—and hers.

  For the first few months it was the older sisters who got to spoil baby Joyce, and they took full advantage of it. As soon as she would begin to awaken from a nap, Betty, Jean, and June would race to reach her first. But the older she grew, the more the sisters were expected to share her.

  Joyce turned into the family comic. Even as a little tot she was “full of ginger.” She was tiny and wiry and always climbing and getting into trouble. From Mother’s point of view, Amy felt it was a wonder that Joyce ever lived to grow up, but to Daddy, she was the household entertainer.

  Sometimes Joyce’s energy got her into trouble. Once she wrapped the roller towel around her neck and jumped off the kitchen chair where she had been standing. Another time she climbed out the upstairs window and onto the roof of the house. Then she proceeded to run down the sloped roof and jump off, yelling “Whee!” as she fell through the air. Her guardian angel must have been especially busy that day—she landed in a mu
d puddle instead of on the picket fence. Even so, the wind was knocked out of her.

  Little Joyce certainly helped to keep things lively as she grew, putting on her own little shows and coaxing others to join her. Laughter was common in the home, and it seemed to ease tired shoulders and wipe away furrowed brows.

  One of Janette’s favorite pastimes was making play “farms” and “roads” in the hardened dirt near the back door. The path was so well worn that the grass for several feet around the area was completely gone. The chickens would scratch there, and the children used it for play.

  All that Janette needed for her game was a few handfuls of her dad’s nails from his shop, a hammer, and some string. Then she would begin pounding nails into the ground a few inches apart, trying to keep them in a nice even line. String was stretched and wrapped from nail to nail until it had formed fence lines. Whole farms with fields and pastures and farmyards would take shape. Then roads would be added, the whole structure sometimes becoming quite elaborate. Her immediate siblings sometimes joined her. The older ones in the family didn’t seem to fuss about the construction sites as long as nails were pulled and returned and the hammer was put back in its proper place.

  In the hours when she preferred solitude, Janette spent time walking the farm alone and making up songs or stories. She secretly longed for a doll carriage that would give her an excuse for the private walks, but there was none—not even a wagon to pull.

  At times she sang some of her ditties to Margie while they were swinging together, but as hard as she tried she could never convince Margie that they were real songs. Margie would just dare Janette to sing the song again, and since it was never possible, Margie remained unimpressed.