by Larry Stuart
news leaked out about a new section of the route, men would rush to stake claims on any land they believed to be adjacent to the route. These lots then began to change hands at ever increasing prices, making a number of people very rich indeed. Nearly every other building along Main Street now accommodated a real estate agent; and the general consensus was that the property boom would go on forever.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
By the end of the following week, Cameron had solved the question of the C.P.R.’s inventory. All that was now required was Mr Stickney’s approval; and the small matter of hiring and training four people for his department.
It was early Sunday morning as Cameron strolled down Anderson Avenue. According to Mrs Baker, this street had been named after the first bishop to be consecrated in what was Western Canada’s only cathedral, and if he remained on this road he would pass it on his way down towards the river.
On crossing Main Street, the bells began to peel scattering the crows from the bare branches of the nearby trees, whilst up ahead, carriages could be seen momentarily halting at the steps of the cathedral to drop off their well-heeled believers.
At that moment, Cameron’s eyes were drawn to a flash of reddish-brown hair showing beneath the cream-coloured bonnet of a woman stepping down from a shiny, black carriage. Realising it was Catherine his pulse quickened. But then to his dismay, she turned to help a young, dark-haired girl and smartly dressed boy alight from the carriage. His illusions were dashed, and he immediately increased his walking pace in a bid to get by without being noticed.
‘Oh hello, Cameron! How nice to see you. Are you coming to church as well?’
Halted in his tracks, he now struggled to respond.
‘Oh…Good Morning, Catherine…Ah…yes…yes, I am.’
‘Well then…would you like to sit with us?’
Now he was totally confused.
While he pondered his dilemma, and before he could reply, a landau pulled up behind Catherine’s carriage.
‘Wait a minute…I’ll be right back,’
Cameron’s bewilderment then increased further, when Catherine took both children’s hands and walked over to greet the landau’s occupants.
With undisguised discomfort Cameron waited beside the carriage, his hands clasping and unclasping before returning to his sides.
Catherine spoke quietly to the couple from the carriage, and then they and the children proceeded towards the main doors of the cathedral.
‘Come on then, Cameron. The service is about to start.’
Once inside, Cameron followed Catherine into the pew behind the two people with the children; after which followed one of the longest hours of Cameron’s life.
From the start, he tried his best not to appear totally out of place – although Catherine’s occasional grins from behind her raised hand dispelled any ideas he might have had that he was fitting in. But when his solemn ‘Amens’ began to crop up in the
strangest of places, she squeezed his hand, which he took as a suggestion that it might be time for him to just be quiet.
The service finally ended. Cameron joined the procession of worshippers leaving the building, his thoughts focusing on how to escape from his current situation. And when he slipped away from behind the throng milling about outside the church, for a moment he’d actually thought he’d gotten away with it.
‘Ah…there you are, Cameron. We began to think you might have stayed behind to pray for a bit more guidance,’ chuckled Catherine. ‘Anyway, I’d like to introduce you to Mr and Mrs Sifton and their two children, Amelia and John Junior.’
‘Pleased to meet you, Cameron. My name’s John and this is Diane… We’ve been hearing a lot about you lately. It seems we owe you a great deal of gratitude for saving the life of our dear Catherine.’
‘Oh…it was nothing really.’
‘All the same, if there’s ever anything we can do for you please let us know. In the meantime, I’m sure you two would like to go off somewhere, so we’ll take the children home with us.’
What had started out as a quick cup of tea at the Winnipeg Hotel, turned into an all day outing. After leaving the cathedral, they had wandered along the riverbank watching the colourfully dressed skaters taking advantage of the frozen waterway. Then as they began to feel a bit chilled, they ducked into a small café near the ferry dock for a warming cup of coffee. Both felt quite at ease with each other, so before long, Catherine began to tell Cameron about her employment as a tutor and nanny to the Sifton’s children. She giggled when Cameron confessed his initial suspicions that she was married and the two Sifton children were her own, and then laughed when he recalled their initial meeting, and suggested that maybe they should have taken a bow in response to the applause from the onlookers.
Catherine accepted his invitation to lunch and, having been asked her opinion on a suitable venue, informed Cameron that the Queens Hotel was by all accounts the place to be “seen” in Winnipeg.
Their leisurely stroll continued after lunch, but as late afternoon approached the temperature plummeted. The day ended with another risky crossing of Main Street, but this time there was no danger of another crisis as Catherine’s arm was held firmly in the crook of Cameron’s elbow. A few minutes later, they entered the offices of the local transport company, and were soon on their way to where Catherine lived, on the northern outskirts of the city.
‘Wow…is this where you live? You must be rich,’ teased Cameron
‘Don’t be silly,’ chuckled Catherine. ‘This is the Sifton’s house, and my room is that one… right at the top of the house.’
Cameron got out first, offering his hand to steady her as she stepped from the rig, and again, seemingly unintentionally, was a little slow at releasing her hand.
‘Would you like to go out again next Sunday?’
‘I’d really like that, Cameron, but I’m afraid I won’t be able to as Mr and Mrs Sifton have already mentioned they’re going to be away all day.’
‘Oh well, how about Saturday afternoon?’
‘I’m so sorry…I have to take the children to a party then.’
Cameron now felt that perhaps he was pushing too hard.
‘Well, never mind. Anyway, I really enjoyed today and maybe we’ll see each other again around town.’
‘I don’t know if you’d be interested,’ said Catherine. ‘But I just remembered… there’s a concert in aid of the new General Hospital at the City Hall Theatre next Saturday night. It’s already sold out…but the Siftons have two tickets, which they offered to me because they have dinner guests that night. Would you like to go?’
By Monday afternoon, Cameron’s new system had been approved, and by Thursday, he’d hired the required four extra staff. It took two weeks to train them to a level with which he was happy, and once done, it allowed him to concentrate on the more pressing need of sourcing and contracting the ever increasing demand for materials.
Within a month the snow had melted and track building had recommenced, and by the end of the following week, Cameron’s system was proving to be eminently capable of maintaining control over the railway’s supply chain. In fact, his new procedures were working so well that the construction crews were having trouble using up the inventory quickly enough, as it arrived at the head of the line.
The steel road moved west at a rate of about two miles a day. To some this sounded good. However, the building season was short, and at this rate it would take seven years to cross the prairies. Something had to give, and it wasn’t long before it did.
Cameron arrived at work to find the whole office buzzing. The Company had just announced the “retirement” of Mr Stickney, and rumour had it that an American called Cornelius Van Horne was replacing him.
To most people’s concern, Van Horne came with a reputation: a reputation of being a man of great physical and mental strength, who did not tolerate drunkenness, slackers, slowpokes or labour organizers; and as a consequence, even before he’d arrived, most
office staff suddenly seemed to prefer their lunch at their desks!
Within three weeks of him starting work, the daily westward march of steel increased to three and a half miles, and by the end of the first week of August a one-day record of five miles had been attained.
Cameron’s system easily handled the increased productivity, and by autumn the railway’s relentless push had already spawned two new towns – Portage La Prairie and Brandon. The new General Manager had achieved what was thought to be impossible by doubling the daily mileage within three months of his arrival.
The summer of 1881 also proved memorable for reasons other than the expansion of the C.P.R. Cameron and Catherine’s evening at the concert had ended with a quick kiss on the cheek and his promise to contact her during the following week. But with a new boss had come increased pressure, and Cameron realised that for the time being his job must take preference over his social life. He did get a message to Catherine, but for the next three weeks was forced to work through the weekends.
It was a beautiful summer’s day as Cameron stepped out the front door of the office on his way to the nearby café, and as he did almost fell over Catherine.
‘Oh…hello…Cameron,’ stammered Catherine.
This time it was Catherine who had begun to suspect their relationship was not to be.
‘Catherine…How are you? I’m sorry I haven’t gotten in touch with you. Things have been crazy around here since we got the new manager.’
Looking into her downcast eyes, Cameron’s resolve to put work ahead of everything else dissolved.
‘Can I see you on Sunday, Catherine?’
‘Well…I…’
‘Tell you what…I’m supposed to go up to Brandon to check up on a small problem we’ve been having with our distribution. So how would you like to come along? I’m sure I can get you a pass for the train…and then when we get back, we could have supper at the Queens Hotel.’
Sunday was a revelation for Catherine. When Cameron had mentioned passes, it had never crossed her mind that he meant in first class, with lunch served at their seats by a waiter in a white jacket. And because there were no other passengers in the whole of the first class carriage, it was almost as if they were in their own intimate dining room, in their own grand house.
Once the problems at the depot had been dealt with, they wandered about Brandon and by the end of the day, they had both come to the same conclusion.
For the time being, Brandon had very little to offer. Most of its inhabitants lived in soiled tents alongside muddy, pot-holed roads. Construction was beginning to gather pace, but for the moment all that had been erected were a few partly-built frame structures scattered haphazardly up and down the main street.
On their arrival back in Winnipeg, Catherine was pleasantly surprised to find that Cameron had booked a table in a dimly lit alcove in the restaurant at the Queens Hotel – hardly the act of a man who was not very interested, she decided. And later that night, as she lay in her bed with her mind going over the special moments of the day, what stood out the most to her was their long goodnight kiss, and his promise to see her again in the next few days.
During the following week Cameron’s thoughts were in turmoil. Much as he tried to concentrate on his work, it was proving almost impossible. He was captivated by Catherine.
On a warm Sunday afternoon in mid August, they picnicked on a blanket laid on the banks of the Assiniboine River. The sun was perched high in a cloudless sky, and the mixed fragrances of the nearby swathes of wild flowers filled the air. While Cameron talked about the progress of the railway, Catherine feigned interest, while at the same time laughing as their fingers turned blue from picking the bugs and bits of leaves off the wild blueberries. And then later, like the petals of a lily opening when a new day dawns, Catherine’s life unfolded.
She had been born on a storm-tossed ship in the Indian Ocean. Her father was a civil servant, and had been seconded to fill a post at the British Embassy in Bombay; while her mother was a teacher, sorely needed overseas in those burgeoning days of Victoria’s Commonwealth. Her childhood had been magical. Schooling had been provided in an English school, attended only by the colony’s principal families. And while living in a huge colonial home, she had been fed, washed and dressed by exotic nannies in colourful wrap-around saris.
At fourteen years of age it had all come to an end, when her father had been posted to the new commonwealth country of Canada.
The difference could not have been more profound. Her environment changed from one of cosseted, upper-class stuffiness to classless, do-it-yourself bourgeois. But somehow, she had been drawn to this way of life, which seemed to her to be honest and meaningful. Her parents, on the other hand, did not adjust to the frontier spirit. And when she got wind that they had applied to return home to England, she replied to an advertisement placed in the paper by the Sifton’s of Winnipeg.
Her parents duly returned to England, appalled at how their daughter could have betrayed them by staying in that country of ‘plebeians and savages’.
The following Sunday, Cameron and Catherine once more laid out their picnic beside the river, but this time it was Cameron who revealed a “carefully considered” history of himself and his family. He didn’t actually lie about his past, just failed to mention certain particulars – such as the fact that he had a son called Alex.
And when he eventually fell silent, he wrapped his arms around Catherine, kissing her with unrestrained longing and passion.
Indian summer blessed the day, when on the third Sunday in September, Cameron and Catherine were wed. The marriage took place at St John’s Cathedral. Of course, they were not so notable as to automatically deserve their marriage in such a magnificent place. But Mr and Mrs Sifton had arranged their wedding day, ostensibly in recognition of their fondness for Catherine. In truth, the reason was probably much more mundane. Good staff was almost impossible to find west of the major Canadian cities. So Catherine was pretty certain that, by providing her and Cameron with such a memorable day, they hoped she would look kindly on continuing in their employment. Proof of her suspicion was provided on their departure from the ceremony, when a key was pressed into her hand.
‘Please…use this cabin for as long as you like,’ whispered Diane Sifton. ‘You two deserve a place of your own. Besides…John and I never use it anymore.’
The normal background noise of muted conversations and shuffling paper was suddenly overwhelmed by Mr Van Horne’s raised voice.
‘What do you mean he’s quit? He can’t do that! We’re just approaching winter.
Who’s going to lay out the lines for next spring? Get out and find me another surveyor…and do it quickly!’
Major Tom Rosser, the chief engineer, stood in front of Cornelius Van Horne’s desk, nervously holding his hat in his trembling right hand.
‘I’m sorry, Mr Van Horne. I’ve been trying to do just that, but nobody seems to be available…or let me put it this way... nobody wants to be out on the prairies with the winter coming.’
‘Double the salary! Do whatever it takes! I must have that line surveyed for at least another hundred miles before we start next spring. Somebody must be willing to endure a bit of hardship for that amount of money?’
With his boss’s rants still ringing in his ears, the chief engineer hurried from the office, no doubt feeling dozens of pairs of eyes boring into his back as he retreated down the hallway. Once the room returned to its previous business-like environment, Cameron quietly pushed back his chair, and then purposefully strolled towards the General Manager’s office.
His initial knock at the door drew no response, but after a slightly louder rap, a curt ‘come in’ was heard.
Cornelius Van Horne stood behind his littered desk replacing a book on its shelf. As he turned back, he reminded Cameron of a bulldog. His head was low-browed and large, supported on huge, powerful shoulders by a short, thick neck. His nose was broad and nearly lost in the mass of wrinkled fles
h making up his cheeks, while his barrel-like chest was immense and completely failed to hide his rather extensive waistline.
‘Yes, what is it?’
‘Excuse me, Mr Van Horne. I’m sorry to bother you.’
‘Oh yes…Mr Stuart,’ said the General Manager. ‘Please come in and take a seat. Forgive me for not taking the time to see you before, but as I’m sure you’re aware, things have been rather hectic around here for the last few months. Anyway…I’m very impressed with your work. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen such a clever supply system. Well done…Now, what can I do for you?’ he said, as he settled back down behind his desk.
‘Well, sir… I couldn’t help but hear that you require a surveyor…and now that my new system is working, I’d like to apply for the job. I spent quite some time surveying for the railway in Scotland, and I’m sure laying out the line on a basically flat prairie shouldn’t pose much of a problem…not compared to our mountain routes back home, that is. As for the weather …well…we have plenty of cold and snow to contend with in Scotland, and I can’t imagine it can be much worse on the prairies than it was in the Highlands in a good blow.’