As the ferry docked, the sailors lowered the gangplank while a crowd of people waited to disembark. When the walkway landed on the wharf, Lea took a deep breath and followed them on the wobbly footbridge until she reached solid ground. With excitement in her step, she looked for the signs that led to immigration.
“Passport, please?” said a man in uniform, his hand outstretched when she arrived.
Lea noted the similarity between the French and English words and handed him the document Napoleon had sent her.
“Leopoldine Sylvie Decorte?”
She nodded.
“How long are you planning on staying in England?” he asked, scrutinizing her face and comparing it to the photo in the document.
“I go to Liverpool and then to Halifax. I marry Joseph Napoleon de Montigny.”
The man closed the passport, the corners of his mouth drawn up in amusement. “My own sister did the same—married a soldier she met during the war.”
His words rushed past her, foreign gibberish. Lea opened her mouth to say, “I’m sorry. No speak English,” but before she had the chance, he tipped his head toward the gate and allowed her through.
Leaving the terminal, she took tentative steps forward, and then paused. Where do I catch the train? She glanced about, searching for someone to help her who wasn’t male.
A woman walked past her, gripping a child’s hand.
“Excusez-moi, Madame. The train to Liverpool, please.”
The woman’s eyes were kind. “Yes, it’s over there,” she said, pointing. “Come, I’ll show you.”
Lea picked up her bag and followed her to another building.
“This is it.” The woman pulled the door open. “See that sign that says Liverpool? Line up there.”
“Thank you,” said Lea.
It was a slow queue. Her stomach rumbling, Lea checked her watch. When was the last time she had eaten? If only she had the lunch Maman had packed for her, she might nibble on it. The line seemed barely to crawl. Her stomach growled continuously. After twenty minutes, she reached the ticket agent. Taking out her money, she handed it to the man.
“No, I’m sorry,” he said, pushing it away. “We don’t take Belgian francs here. You need pounds.”
Lea’s mouth dropped. Her eyes scanned the room for a place to exchange money. Seeing none, panic rose within her. Could her trip be over already?
“But I…need go Liverpool.” Her voice quivered.
“I’m sorry ma’am. You need to get some money changed. This is England.”
“But…”
“Is there a problem here?” asked a loud, boisterous voice.
It was the woman with the child.
“She’s trying to pay with Belgian francs and we don’t take ’em,” said the man.
“Well, how much is the ticket?” The woman asked, indignation creasing her forehead.
He named his price.
“Then I’ll pay for her. Here.” She shoved the English pounds forward. “Imagine that, giving immigrants such a difficult time. Have you no heart?”
The man mumbled something incoherent, then produced the necessary ticket.
“I pay you back,” Lea said, her voice filled with gratitude.
“Not a problem,” said the woman. “Are you hungry?”
Lea gave her a blank stare.
“Hungry.” The woman raised her hand to her mouth, pretending to eat.
Lea nodded.
“Well then, let’s have lunch, and then I can take you to the bank.”
Finding a bench, the woman settled her child first, then sat down. “Here,” she said, pulling small pasties from a paper bag and breaking one of them in half. “You can share this with me.”
Lea sunk her teeth into the tender crust of the beef pie, desperate to fill her empty stomach.
“My name is Elizabeth,” said the woman, pointing to herself. “And this is my son, Henry.”
“I am Leopoldine.”
“Leopoldine. That’s a very Belgian name. It’s the feminine of Leopold, right?”
Lea stared at the woman, her lips slightly apart, confused.
“Leopoldine—for woman.” Her hands traced a female form in the air. “Leopold—for man?”
Lea gave an enthusiastic nod.
They ate their fare, using gestures to communicate, giggling at mistakes, and mutually admiring the boy. After they finished lunch, the woman led Lea to a bank where they exchanged a portion of her francs to pounds.
“Here you go,” said Elizabeth. “That should get you to Canada.”
“Thank you,” said Lea. “You good person.”
“Oh, I’m not much different than anyone else, really. War just brings out the kindness in folk. We have to help each other out.” She paused, her eyes meeting Lea’s. “So where are you going after Liverpool?”
Lea nodded at the familiar word where. “Canada. My fiancé…soldier. We live on homestead.”
“A homestead?” said Elizabeth. “You’re so lucky.” Her eyes grew wistful. “My husband died in the war.” Her finger pointed at her chest to indicate a soldier being shot.
“I am sorry,” Lea replied.
“It’s okay. I still have my Henry.” She drew the child close and rested a gentle arm around his shoulder. “At least I have something to show for it. Now,” Elizabeth said, gathering up her things and motioning Lea to follow. “Let me walk you to the train.”
Lea was glad to have female company. Elizabeth reminded her of Palma, the same self-assured personality. When they arrived at the appropriate platform, the woman waved good-bye. For a moment, Lea felt a twinge of fear at being alone again, but hardened her resolve. After all, in ten days, she’d be with her beloved once again.
Her thoughts drifted to the day when he made an unexpected appearance at the door, his chin thrust forward with determination.
When Papa had answered the door, there was fire in Napoleon’s eyes. “Monsieur Decorte,” he announced, “I wish to take your daughter for a walk.” Before Papa could give his usual smirk and teasing comment, Napoleon added, “To the boulangerie…ah…to buy a cake.”
“A cake?” Making a slow turn, he nodded to his daughter. “Napoleon wants to buy a cake. Do you like cake?”
Lea’s heart pounded. Could this be it? Time was running out. Napoleon would be headed home soon.
“Oui!” Lea responded, her voice eager.
She pulled her coat off the hook, slipped on her shoes, and stepped outside, taking Napoleon’s arm. “What’s the occasion?” she asked as they hurried along the brick road toward the bakery.
“Er, I thought we’d have that picnic we’d talked about.”
“But a cake—that’s expensive, isn’t it? And it’s not anyone’s birthday.”
“Ah…”
Their footsteps echoed off the narrow façades of Chatlineau’s tidy brick houses as they sauntered past.
“I…ah…”
“You what?” asked Lea, her voice encouraging.
“I…ah…” He twisted his body to face her, his eyes filled with passion. Then he caught his foot on a paving stone and hurtled backward, landing on his behind.
“Napoleon!” she cried, stifling a laugh. “Are you okay?”
His face clouded with frustration and burned a deep red. “No!” he snapped. “I’m not okay.” He pushed himself up to kneeling position. “And I won’t be until you agree to be my wife!”
“Your wife?” Lea pretended to be surprised.
“Yes. I want us to be married before I leave. We could see the priest—tonight!”
Lea reeled. “Married tonight? Are you sure?”
Napoleon rose to his feet, rubbed the dust off his hands, and then took her into his arms. “I couldn’t be more sure of anything in my life.”
“But tonight?” She led him to a bench and they sat down.
“Yes. I leave in a week’s time. It’s the only chance we’ll get.”
Lea gazed at her suitor, remembering Mathild
e’s words. “Napoleon, I love you with all my heart. But I don’t want to be a furlough bride.”
The fire in his eyes gave way to desperation. “But…the homestead…we could be...”
Lea took his hand in hers. “My dear Napoleon, I will marry you, but not tonight. Go home to Canada and think on it. You may feel very differently in your own country. You may even forget me.”
He gave his head a fervent shake. “I could never forget you,” he said, his eyes pleading.
“But you don’t know. Go home, and if you still love me after six months, send for me…and then I’ll come.”
The wind taken out of his sails, Napoleon lowered his head for a moment. Then his eyes met hers, his determination renewed. “So then, can we consider ourselves engaged?”
A small squeak escaped Lea’s lips as she threw herself into his arms. “Yes, oh yes!”
Napoleon held her close and kissed her. The kiss was long and passionate and Lea wished they could spend the afternoon in each other’s arms—but not until they were properly wed.
“Shall we go back home and tell everyone the news?” asked Napoleon when the kiss had ended.
“Yes, but what about the cake?”
“What cake?”
They shared a laugh.
“Oh, that cake,” said Napoleon.
They rose from the bench and walked the final block to the boulangerie. As they entered, Napoleon seemed to grow a few inches taller, a proud man to contend with. “We’d like your fanciest cake, please, to celebrate…our engagement!”
The boulanger’s face lit up. “Engagement! Congratulations! When’s the big day?”
“Not for a time,” replied Lea. “He’s going to return to Canada first to make preparations.”
“That’s wonderful news,” said the boulanger, sauntering over to a line of patisseries. “Now, let’s see, our fanciest cake. Aha! This one is fit for such an occasion.” He pulled it from the shelf and laid it on the counter before them.
Lea eyed the cake. It was two layers thick decorated with white frosting and pink marzipan roses.
“It has strawberry jam in the middle,” said the boulanger.
“What do you think?” Napoleon asked Lea.
“It’s perfect! How much?”
When the boulanger named his price, Napoleon nearly choked.
“But for our Lea and her husband to be, it’s half-price. After all, it is near the end of the day.”
Napoleon gave a relieved smile and reached into his pocket for the coins.
When they arrived at the house carrying the fancy box, they were met with expectant stares.
“What’s the cake for?” asked Papa, a brow raised.
“We’re engaged!” Lea announced, clapping her hands together.
“Engaged?” Maman rushed forward and hugged the couple while Papa shook Napoleon’s hand and the others offered their congratulations.
“When is the big day?” asked Papa.
Lea explained the plan. When she was done, both parents nodded in agreement.
“You’re very wise,” Papa said to Napoleon. “And I thank you for taking my daughter’s needs into consideration. We’re pleased to welcome you into the family.”
Supper that night was a thick soup followed by the most delicious cake Lea had ever tasted.
Chapter Five
Liverpool
The train to Liverpool was crowded and damp. The stench of wet clothing and mold hung in the air. Lea looked around until she found the one available seat in the midst of a large family. It was between two children whose noses ran and whose coughs rumbled deep in their chests. She hesitated before sitting down, making one last sweep with her eyes in case someone had given up their spot, but no one had.
The train chugged from town to town, past small villages whose chimneys pumped out black smoke while people huddled inside battling the cold February air. Trees stood bare, their branches stretching into the bleak, grey sky awaiting the warmth of spring.
It wasn’t long before the train slowed and snaked its way through London.
London! Again, Lea wished she had a camera so she could send photographs home to her family. Instead, she’d have to compromise by mailing postcards.
The resplendent city she’d always dreamed of was anything but beautiful. Sure, the parliament buildings were majestic, as was the large cathedral that stood close by, its tall clock tower hammering out the time. But the narrow streets were lined with small houses and thin, haggard children bundled up to play in the streets. How difficult it must have been to feed one’s family here during the war. Lea shook her head in sympathy, glad of her decision to leave Europe for the pristine but wild Canada.
She reached into her suitcase and pulled out the stack of letters Napoleon had sent. Finding the one she’d marked with a heart, she unfolded it, and began to read.
My dearest Lea,
It’s been several months now since I returned to Canada, and it turns out you were right. I did meet another girl. She’s not as pretty as you, though, weighing in at a few hundred pounds, and her hair is reddish-brown, but she adores me and follows me everywhere. Unfortunately, she doesn’t speak French or English which makes it hard to talk. All she knows is one word—moo! She moos when she wants to be milked and moos when she wants to go out to pasture. And her milk makes the best cheese I’ve ever tasted. But alas, she doesn’t hold a flame to you, Lea.
As you requested, I’ve taken the time to think things over and have come to the conclusion there is no other woman for me. I still want you for my wife. And the good news is, I’ve been working on a ranch for several months as a cowboy and have now saved enough money for your safe passage to our country. If you still want to come, then please write to me and I’ll fill out the immigration forms to get your passport. Papa and Maman are very excited to meet you. I eagerly await your response.
Love,
Nap
Lea recalled how she’d wiped the sweat from her brow when she’d reached the bottom of the letter, totally taken in by his joke. When she read it to the family, they’d all laughed too.
Later, Lea had found Maman hiding behind the kitchen door, wiping her eyes and blowing her nose into her handkerchief.
“What’s wrong?”
Her mother took a deep breath and replied, “I’m losing a daughter to the war.”
“What do you mean?” Lea asked, laying her arm over her mother’s shoulder. How odd their roles had reversed—Lea now mother, Maman now child.
“I was blessed not to have lost a son in battle, nor to the Spanish Influenza, but now I’m losing you to a soldier.”
Lea’s eyes filled with tears. She blinked them away as best she could. “But Maman, I’ll write often. And maybe someday you can come to Canada.”
“You know we can’t afford that,” Maman whimpered through a sob. “Not on a miner’s salary.”
“But perhaps we’ll pay your way. We have a bright future in the new country. We might even get rich.”
Her words seemed to soothe her mother who wiped her eyes and offered a brave smile. “That would be very exciting.”
Lea gave Maman a warm hug. “Now, let’s get these dishes done, all right?”
Her mother nodded and together they washed away the remains of the supper, making small talk as they worked.
A week later, Maman led Lea to her room and shut the door. “I have something for you,” she said, handing her daughter a pink box. “Since you won’t have a real wedding gown.”
Lea thought of the dress she’d chosen to wear the day she would be joined in matrimony with Napoleon. It was her best one—navy blue with small, embroidered flowers.
“What is it?” She sat down and lifted the cover. Lea let out a small gasp. “It’s beautiful!” Pulling out a cream-coloured nightgown, she fingered the intricate Belgian lace around the collar.
“It’s for your wedding night,” Maman said. “I made it for you. Wear your old nighties on the boat and train, but save t
his one. Then when you get to Regina, wear it. You only have one wedding night, and I want it to be special for you and Napoleon.”
“I will,” Lea said, throwing her arms around her mother.
The train’s rumbling drew Lea from her reverie. She took the letter, and lovingly folded it, placing it back into its envelope, its surface smooth on her fingers. Funny how even just an object Nap had touched could fill her with such a depth of feelings. She reached down and carefully returned it to its place in the stack.
Peering out the window, she watched the landscape glide by—lazy brown hills untouched by war, patches of half-melted snow, forests that reminded her of things to come. How scenic the English countryside was, though winter held fast. She imagined the green foliage and flowers that spring would bring. Too bad she wouldn’t be there to see it.
“Would you be likin’ a sandwich?” The woman who sat opposite her asked.
Lea observed the meagre offering in the lady’s hand, two pieces of bread torn from its loaf, and a rough-cut piece of cheese between. She noted each of the children nibbled on their own sandwich, contented, though one boy coughed through a full mouth, portions of his food spattering on the floor. Her hunger overcoming her fear of consuming a possibly infected lunch, she gave a polite nod. “Yes, thank you.” After all, she’d been breathing the same air as the children. What difference would it make? Taking a bite, she was surprised at how delicious it was.
“Where you be from?” asked the woman.
Lea paused as she struggled to understand the English words tinged with an Irish accent. “Chatlineau,” she answered. “I go to Canada…get married.”
“Ah, to a soldier, no doubt.”
Recognizing the word soldier, Lea nodded. “Yes. We get homestead.”
“Ah, a homestead, you say. Me husband has gone and moved us all up to Liverpool since our own land in Ireland wasn’t providin’ the crops we need, us havin’ so many children and all.”
Lea shrugged and shook her head. The woman had spoken too fast.
Fields of Gold Beneath Prairie Skies Page 3