Fields of Gold Beneath Prairie Skies

by de Montigny, Suzanne;

  “I wonder if Claude will bother to come in and eat,” said Cécile, craning her neck as she searched the crowd.

  Lea’s jaw tightened. “I don’t know.”

  Napoleon joined them at the table, his plate overflowing.

  “Hey, Nap, make sure you leave some for everyone else, eh,” called a man from across the room.

  Napoleon opened his mouth to object, but before he could, the man shouted, “Hey, you guys, Nap’s here. Quick, get your food before it’s all gone.”

  Laughter burst from the surrounding tables.

  “But there’s plenty left,” Napoleon protested, wearing a stupefied grin.

  “Quick, quick! Before he gets more.”

  “Hey, who ate all the galettes? I didn’t get any,” complained another man sitting nearby. “Naaaapppp!”

  Napoleon shook his head. “Not me. Look. They were all gone when I got there. I took some of Madame Segouin’s cookies.”

  Lea hid a smile, knowing full well Madame Segouin was not well-known for her baking expertise.

  “Mmm, Madame Segouin’s cookies. Heck, I’ll just grab a pile of those,” said the man.

  Madame Segouin, a bulky woman who clearly enjoyed her own baking, giggled with glee along with anyone within hearing range of the banter.

  After they’d all had seconds and leaned back in chairs, hands pressed against full stomachs, Madame Segouin stood up.

  “Bonsoir, everyone.”

  “Bonsoir!” Several voices shouted back.

  “Before we begin the card match, Mr. and Madame Gilbert will perform a little skit about the joys of marriage on a Saskatchewan farm.”

  The audience applauded as the couple marched up to the front of the hall, Madame Gilbert wearing a large apron with a deep pocket, Mr. Gilbert sporting his most worn out overalls.

  As they reached the small stage, Mr. Gilbert began staggering. “I’m home, dear,” he said, slurring his words and hiccupping.

  Madame Gilbert’s eyes grew wide and her mouth flew open. “Why, you’re drunk! How dare you!” She pulled a rolling pin from her pocket and chased him about the hall while Mr. Gilbert scurried away, covering his head.

  Peals of laughter ripped the air.

  When they returned to the front, Madame Gilbert turned her back to the audience and bent down, fishing for something else in her pocket.

  Mr. Gilbert took hesitant steps toward her and slipped on a night cap. “I guess it’s safe now. I’ll just climb into bed. She won’t remember a thing in the morning.” He placed his hands under his right cheek and pretended to drift off. Within seconds, he faked loud snoring.

  Madame Gilbert turned around again, wearing a hairnet full of rollers. A cigarette butt hung from her mouth. The audience laughed.

  Mr. Gilbert feigned waking up, stretching his arms out as he yawned, and faced her. His eyes popped out, and he shrieked in terror at the ugly woman staring him down before running away, his arms and legs pumping as he fled.

  The audience roared for a full minute. When they’d quieted again, the couple continued.

  “Mr. Gilbert,” she called, still wearing the hairnet.

  “Oui.” Mr. Gilbert simpered back.

  “I need to go to the general store today. Could you give me some money?”

  “Okay.” He took out his wallet and leafed through several bills. “Let’s see, how’s this much?” He pulled out a five.

  “Perfect.” She grabbed his wallet and promptly left, throwing a wicked laugh over her shoulder.

  “Hey!” shouted Mr. Gilbert.

  The audience laughed hysterically, breaking into applause as the couple returned to their seats.

  Madame Segouin rose again. “And now, I’d like to call upon Napoleon and Leopoldine to perform a song for us.

  Lea made her way to the front of the hall to thunderous applause, Napoleon following close behind, his fiddle in hand. When they arrived, she gave him a nod.

  The audience grew quiet.

  Napoleon’s bow drew softly at first, chugging on double stops.

  Lea joined in, singing the opening words of a traditional Belgian song. Her voice began sweetly as she recounted the joyful meeting of a young girl and her lover. Nap added a soulful melody line at the end of the verse, then resorted back to the rhythmic chugging as she began the second. Her voice rose and fell with emotion as the story unfolded—about their courtship, and how her man had declared his love until the end of time. On the third verse, when the girl’s papa refused to acknowledge him, Nap’s melody line grew more intense. The passion of Lea’s voice deepened as she told of the anguish felt by the girl at her father’s rejection, especially since a child grew within her. When she revealed the upcoming baby to her father and her intent to marry her love, he banished her from home. Nap gave a poignant pause and Lea dropped her voice to sing the final words as the girl threw herself off a cliff.

  When Lea had finished to loud claps, she glanced over to Cécile and saw her sobbing quietly into her handkerchief. Other ladies dabbed their eyes too, while men looked away, blinking. Lea and Nap bowed and strode back to their seats.

  “Well done!” said Madame Gilbert as the couple reclaimed their seats. “That was beautiful.”

  “Thank you,” said Lea, shifting her eyes downward in modesty.

  “And now,” said Madame Segouin, “let’s start the card match. And remember, there will be no gambling.”

  Couples moved tables as they rearranged themselves while children were excused to play outside.

  Lea glanced to her left where she saw Claude enter and pick at what food remained on the table. She elbowed Cécile. “Look. Maybe he won’t play poker with the Proux after all.”

  Cécile gave a wistful gaze in Claude’s direction. Their eyes locked for a moment in a tense exchange. Then he left the hall to rejoin his cronies.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Lost

  Lea watched Napoleon’s silhouette as he left the farm on his way to break more land. A gopher poked its head out of the ground and scolded him as he passed by. She knew the field he was plowing was particularly long and that she wouldn’t see her husband for a whole hour until he returned to carve the next furrow. It was on days like this, she’d meet him on one of his returns to hand him his lunch and cigarettes. But today she had other plans.

  It was September, and the leaves were changing to russets and gold. That meant it was time to dig up the potatoes. She eyed Pol. He was old enough now—six years old—that he could meet Papa at midday while Lea took charge of other chores.

  She heated water on the stove in preparation for the children’s bath. Then she prepared the bread dough, covering it with a red checkered cloth, and placing it on the table to rise. Next, she poured the water into the metal bath and scrubbed the children.

  Lilian laughed and slapped the water with her tiny hands, splashing Lea.

  “Lilian, don’t,” Pol chastised. “You’re getting Maman all wet.”

  The little girl giggled.

  “It’s okay, Pol. She’s only three. You did the same when you were her age.”

  Mischief filled Pol’s eyes. “You mean like this?” He took a handful of water and tossed it in Lea’s face.

  “Pol!” Water dripped down from her dark hair, spotting her glasses.

  “Well, that’s what you said.” He grinned, revealing his two missing front teeth.

  Lea gave him a warning look, then finished up washing them, patting them down with a towel, and dressing them.

  “I have a job for you today, little monsieur,” she said when Pol had settled to play on the floor.

  Pol looked up with interest. “What?”

  “I want you to take Papa his lunch and his cigarettes today.”

  Pol’s eyes brightened. “Me? All by myself?”

  “Yes. I have to dig up the potatoes this morning. You can help me too if you want. Then you could meet him at the bottom of the hill at noon.”

  “Okay!”

  “Wonde
rful.” She stroked his head. “You’re such a big boy.”

  After kneading the dough, she took the children outside where the leaves of the potato plants had turned to yellow. “See, Pol, when the plants get droopy like that, that means the potatoes are ready. Watch.”

  She grabbed a pitchfork and turned up the roots, then sifted through the soil underneath with her fingers pulling up five golden nuggets.

  “Wow!” said Pol. “That’s a lot. Can I try?”

  “Sure. I’ll dig.”

  Pol wandered to where she stood, his boots sinking in the soil. Reaching down, he pulled up a plant, but reeled when a carrot came up instead. He scowled. “Hunh?”

  “Not that one.” She laughed. “Here. It’s these ones.”

  The boy tugged on the correct plant and felt around the soil with his small hands. “Look at this! It’s huge!” he exclaimed, holding up a giant potato with a triumphant grin.

  “That is a big one. Now put it over here in the bucket.”

  They continued working, harvesting until the sun reached its highest point. Lea straightened herself and rubbed her back. Taking Lilian’s hand, she headed toward the house. Pol followed, his two steps to her one.

  When they got to the cabin, Lea reached for Nap’s lunch, and placed it in a paper bag. Picking up a pack of cigarettes and matches, she slipped them inside, rolled the top of the bag shut, and handed it to her son. “You’re sure you can do this?”

  “Yes!” Pol gave a vigorous nod.

  Lea watched as her little boy sauntered away up the knoll and out of sight. She smiled and shook her head. He was growing so fast.

  She pounded the bread dough for the last time and added wood to the fire. She’d make a special bread tonight for her big boy. Maybe even shape it like an animal.

  She peeled a few apples, cut them into pieces, and placed them in a saucepan on the stove. “Fresh apple sauce for my little girl,” she said, glancing at Lilian.

  “Mmm,” Lilian said. “I like apple sauce.”

  Picking up the child, Lea placed her in the wooden high chair Napoleon had built. “Oh, my! You’ve almost outgrown this chair.”

  “That’s ’cause I’m a big girl now.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  Lea cut pieces of cheese and placed them on Lilian’s tabletop with a handful of crackers.

  The little girl picked up a piece of cheese with her little hands and took a bite.

  When the apple sauce was ready, Lea added sugar and stirred it to cool it down. Turning to Lilian, she hesitated when she saw her staring off in the distance, her face contorted.

  “Smoke,” said Lilian, pointing to the window.

  “What is it?”

  “Smoke,” Lilian repeated.

  Lea swung around in the direction the child pointed. In the distance, a single plume of grey drifted up, then disappeared. She frowned. A minute later, it rose again only this time much thicker and darker.

  “Pol!” she whispered.

  Dropping the bowl of apple sauce onto the table, Lea ran out the door and up the hill. She heard a shriek. Then she saw Pol…and flames.

  “Pol!” She broke into a run. “I need water.” Racing back, she lowered the bucket into the well, dragged it up, and untied the knot. Hoisting it, she struggled back up the knoll. When she got to the top, the fire had grown to twice its size.

  “Maman!” Pol screamed.

  She picked up speed despite the weight of the bucket, then fell. Water spilled out all over the grass. Quickly righting it to save whatever water she could, she pushed herself up again. “Oh, please, God.”

  “Maman, sauve-moi!” Pol shouted as the flame he’d just extinguished leapt back to life and ripped across the field.

  “I’m coming!”

  And then a miracle happened.

  Nap appeared. Sweeping off his hat, he beat the flames, moving swiftly from left to right and back again. Lea pushed herself off the ground and ran to his aid, pouring what little water remained in the bucket onto the fire. When they’d finally extinguished it, they stood panting. Then Lea turned with a vengeance on Pol.

  “I told you to give the cigarettes and matches to Papa!” she shouted.

  Pol backed away. “But I just wanted to try and make a fire!” he whimpered.

  “Well, you could have burned down our entire farm! We could have lost everything, you stupid boy!”

  “But I didn’t know. I was trying to build it in that circle of rocks. It worked the first time, but the second time, it took off.”

  “Just wait until you get home,” shouted Nap. “You are going to get the biggest lickin’ of your life!”

  “But…” Pol burst into tears and raced away down the hill.

  Lea turned and faced her husband, still breathing heavily. “I’m sorry. I thought he was old enough. I should have known he would be curious.”

  “It’s okay,” he said, taking her in his arms. “It’s over now.”

  “I know, but we could have lost the house…the crop…Lilian ...” She gasped. “Lilian! I left Lilian in her high chair!”

  “Go, quick! I’ll get more water and make sure everything’s drenched in case there are any sparks left.”

  Lea hurried back down the trail to the house, fearing the worst. Her heart pounded as she neared the cabin. But when she flung the door open, her precious daughter was asleep in the chair, her tear-stained face resting on the tray. Lea let her arms drop to her sides, marveling at how beautiful—and safe—her little girl was.

  But where was Pol?

  “Pol,” she called, her voice stern. Receiving no answer, she called again. “Pol?” Her voice echoed back at her. Shaking her head, she wandered out to the barn. “Pol!” The grunting of the pig met her ears. Perhaps he’s in the potato patch. She peered from the door of the barn, but there was no one in the garden. Lea frowned, then threw her hands up. “He’ll come home when he’s ready.”

  Returning to the house, she put the bread in the oven, and woke Lilian, giving her the promised bowl of apple sauce. Lilian devoured it, though much of it landed on the tray of her high chair. After she finished, Lea gathered her up and brought her back out to the field where she dug up more potatoes, only revisiting the house to remove the bread from the oven when it steamed golden brown.

  When her watch read four o’clock, she washed the potatoes in the slough and spread them out to dry. She’d bring them to the cellar later. She picked fresh vegetables from the garden and carried them into the house. Descending to their cache, she took some pork chops from one of the crocks, and brought them up.

  By five, her son hadn’t returned. Lea stood at the door and called again. The boy didn’t answer. “How far can he have gotten?”

  Napoleon arrived just short of six, brushing the dirt off his pants and leaving his muddy boots at the door.

  “Have you seen Pol?” she asked.

  “No. I thought he was here with you.”

  She shook her head. “No, he hasn’t come back yet,” she said, noting the lengthening shadows.

  Nap cupped his hands and called.

  “What if he’s lost on the prairie,” said Lea. “Those fields go on forever.”

  “I think he’s just hiding out until it gets dark.”

  “But the coyotes might get him…or a badger…or even a rattlesnake.” She clasped her hands, her eyes wide with fright. “What if he’s been bitten and is lying dead in one of the fields?” Hurrying to the door, she shouted again.

  They called over and over until Monsieur Bourlon, the blacksmith passed by on his horse from town. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “It’s Pol.” Lea’s voice quivered. “We can’t find him. You haven’t seen him, have you?”

  “No. Did you check the slough?”

  Lea’s heart quickened at the implication.

  She hurried to the water’s edge, her heart hammering in her chest. “Pol!”

  The chirping of the crickets was growing louder.

  She heard
Nap and Mr. Bourlon calling his name in the distance.

  By ten o’clock, they still hadn’t found him.

  “What’ll we do?” asked Lea.

  “Maybe we should start a search party in town to help,” said Mr. Bourlon.

  “We might have to,” said Nap, his expression grave.

  An idea struck Lea. “You know, we never checked under the couch. He’s hidden there before when he’s in trouble.” She ran back into the house, bent down, and looked underneath the sofa. A tear-stained face met her gaze.

  “He’s here!” she cried, her voice filled with relief. “Come out from under the couch! We’ve been so worried about you.”

  “No! Papa’s going to give me a lickin’.”

  “No, he won’t.” Tears of joy ran down her cheeks. “We’re just so happy to find you safe and sound.”

  Pol slid out from his hiding place, but hesitated when Papa entered with Mr. Bourlon.

  “It’s okay,” said Nap. “You’re not in trouble. But promise me you’ll never play with matches again, okay?”

  “I promise.”

  Nap lifted the boy into his arms and gave him the warmest hug ever.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The Crash

  In January, the cold bit deep. It created perpetually frozen patterns on the edges of the window and chilled the cabin despite the hot fire that burned in the stove. Lea watched Pol and Lilian play quietly with their toys, wearing thick sweaters and slippers, and hoped they were warm enough. Wondering what it was like back home in Belgium, she realized it had been a while since she’d written to her family. Taking out a sheet of paper and a pen, she sat down and composed a letter.

  Dear Maman, Papa, and family,

  I so miss all of you, especially now that it’s winter and we can’t go outside except to care for the livestock. It’s so cold we dare not even attend mass on Sundays and instead stay home to pray the rosary. How I miss the days when I could just wander over to the Gilbert’s house and spend the day puttering about with Madame Gilbert and Cécile. It’s not quite like the excitement of summer when we had that bumper crop and Napoleon decided I could finally travel to Belgium. I was so excited back then. Ah, but it’ll be so good to see you all when I go. Nap and I have cleared and broken another seventy acres, and when that crop comes in, that’s when I’ll board the train to come home.