Fields of Gold Beneath Prairie Skies

by de Montigny, Suzanne;

  By September, Lea’s garden was ready for harvest. She dug up the potatoes, splaying her legs as she bent to avoid pushing up against her growing belly. More often than not, she’d sink back onto the wooden bench Nap had built her, wiping the sweat from her face or filling her hat with water she’d dump over herself. Pol helped, but Lea knew she’d be working alone before long since school began in a few days. Her son was nearly eight, and he’d never attended school. Most kids began at six. They couldn’t put it off any longer.

  The day after Labour Day, she prepared Pol’s first packed lunch, slicing two thick pieces of bread and filling them with scrambled eggs. She wrapped the sandwich in a cloth and placed it in a five-pound lard can, adding an apple and some cookies. Then she searched through the wardrobe until she found the one Eaton’s outfit that still fit him. After dressing him, she brushed his hair and washed his face.

  “I don’t want to go, Maman,” whined Pol. “I want to stay here and play in the garden with Lilian.”

  “Non, Pol,” said Lea, “You must go. You need an education.”

  “Non!”

  The jingling sound of reins interrupted his cries as Napoleon brought the horses alongside the house. Lea gave a resentful glance at the wagon, wishing they still had the Maxwell. How much quicker it would be to get to school.

  “Come on, now, Pol.” Nap jumped down from the wagon and took him by the hand while Lea picked up Lilian and climbed into place.

  “Non, Papa.”

  Ignoring the boys cries, he hoisted the child up on the seat beside his mother.

  Lea grabbed the reins and gave them a good shake. Old Dick and Belle broke into a trot and headed off to Masefield, two-and-a-half miles away.

  “I don’t want to get an education.” Pol’s complaints grew louder. “I want to be a farmer like Papa.”

  “But you have to go,” she said. “Besides, there’ll be many other children there for you to play with.”

  “But I can play with Lilian.”

  “Pol…” Lea tipped her head and gave him a warning glare.

  When they arrived in Masefield, she led him to the new building she knew housed grades one to four.

  A young woman with dark hair and warm, brown eyes greeted her as she entered. “Hello, I’m Miss Moiny,” she said as she laid a piece of paper on each desk. “And who might this young man be?”

  Lea searched her memory for the words. If only she’d kept up her self-taught English studies, she wouldn’t feel so stupid. “I bring Pol for school,” she said, feeling her face grow hot. “He eight years old. No speak English.”

  Expecting Miss Moiny to roll her eyes at her ignorance, or at least grow impatient, Lea was taken aback when the woman replied, “Ah, vous êtes de la Belgique!”

  Lea gasped upon hearing her country’s name. “Oui!”

  “Ma mère aussi!”

  The two women broke into excited chatter, their voices animated as they shared stories of their Belgian roots until the children began to trickle into the classroom. Then Lea turned to Pol and said, “I’ll come and pick you up at the end of the day.”

  “Non, Maman,” pleaded the boy.

  “Oui.” She pointed a stern finger at the child.

  “Maman,” cried Pol, looking after her, his eyes desperate.

  Lea grabbed Lilian’s hand and walked away with brisk steps, climbed into the wagon and shook the reins. When she was out of view, hot tears rolled down her face.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Baby Claire

  Three days before Christmas, Lea’s contractions began. Not wanting to make the long, uncomfortable journey to Ponteix in the snow, she’d insisted in advance that they employ a midwife, a Madame Carlier, a woman from France. She knew a midwife couldn’t possibly be as good as a doctor, but Dr. Lupien was too far away, and Madame Carlier was reported to have a great deal of experience. Nap had balked at the idea of a midwife, but she’d retorted that Europe was far more sophisticated in their knowledge of medicine than the simple prairie folk. Nap had acquiesced.

  Gripped by a vigorous contraction, she sent a telling look toward her husband. “It’s time.”

  Nap jumped to his feet and grabbed the children’s packed bags from the wardrobe while Lea bundled them in their warmest clothing.

  “Where are we going, Maman?” asked Lilian.

  “You’ll be staying with the Bourlons for a few days,” she told them as she wrapped scarves around their necks.

  “But why?” asked Pol. “It’s nearly Christmas. Bonhomme Noël won’t find us there. And I’ve been a good boy. Remember, Miss Moiny put me in grade two already after only a month.”

  “Don’t worry. I promise you your gifts will be waiting for you when you get back. Bonhomme Noël has his ways,” Lea said as she ushered them through the door.

  They’d only gotten a few steps away when Pol hesitated, then asked. “Maman?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why are you so fat?”

  Lea laughed. “It’s Bonhomme Noël’s fault. He said that if I ate a little extra each day that he’d bring a special surprise for the family.”

  “Maybe he’ll bring me another dolly,” said Lilian, her face lighting up.

  Lea cast a furtive smile at Nap. “You never know.”

  Closing the door, Lea watched Old Dick and Belle lead the cutter away. Then she set about preparing for the birth, taking old newspapers Nap had brought from town and spreading them under the sheets of their bed. She took out the bag of clean rags she’d washed ahead of time and placed them next to her pillow. Slipping on her coat and boots, she went outside to gather snow and put it on the stove to melt. She added more wood to the fire and waited.

  The contractions came and went, each one more painful than the last. She groaned as they wracked her body. Watching the hands on the clock make their slow journey, she waited, impatient for Nap to return with Madame Carlier. When her water broke, she filled the bucket and cleaned the floor, all the while clutching her stomach.

  It was past midnight when Nap finally arrived with the midwife. Lea’s contractions had gotten so close she feared the baby would arrive before they did.

  “What took you so long?” she asked between gritted teeth.

  “Well, you know Madame Carlier lives far away. I had to travel close to thirty miles in total,” he said, sounding injured.

  “Well, then you should have galloped!” Lea snarled.

  “I went as fast as I could.”

  The midwife’s gaze swept around the room. She took charge. “All right, let’s move you to the bed.”

  Lea did as she was told, relieved to have an expert in her home to care for her instead of that clodhopper of a farmer, her husband. She sent another scowl his way. The newspapers rustled beneath her as she lay down.

  “I see you’ve already lined the mattress,” said Madame Carlier.

  Lea nodded between breaths. “I was trying to pass the time away until my husband….” She shot him another angry glare. “Came home.”

  “All right. Enough of that. Now.” Madame Carlier tapped Lea’s knees with a well-practiced hand. “Let’s see how dilated you are.”

  Lea gladly obeyed.

  The midwife examined her. “Excellent!” she said. “You’re fully dilated. You can start pushing.”

  Pleased at the woman’s expertise, Lea strained her stomach muscles, her fingers gripping the railings of the headboard as she did. With each spasm, the baby advanced a little more.

  After an hour had passed, Napoleon shouted. “I think I see the head!”

  “Yes, you’re right. Time to pull out my baseball mitt.” Madame Carlier let out an artificial laugh at her obviously much-repeated joke.

  Lea let out a strained chuckle and continued to push.

  “One more!” the midwife cried.

  Lea thrust with all her might.

  “Another.”

  She pushed again.

  A feeble cry rang out into the night.

  “
It’s a girl!” said Madame Carlier. “A beautiful little red-headed girl!”

  “A red-head?” exclaimed Lea.

  “What’s wrong with red-heads?” asked Nap, all smiles despite their earlier quarrel. “There are quite a few of them in my family.”

  The midwife cut the cord, wrapped the baby in a blanket, and handed her to Lea while Napoleon moved to Lea’s side to admire his new daughter.

  “Actually, it’s more like auburn,” he said.

  “Try feeding her,” suggested the midwife.

  Lea lifted her nighty and latched the baby on. The tiny child sucked, her little rosebud lips like small suction cups. “She’s hungry!”

  “Look at her go!” Napoleon laughed.

  “What a feeder!” said the midwife.

  Lea’s face winced with pain.

  “Here comes the afterbirth! Give it a good push,” said Madame Carlier, redirecting her eyes to Lea’s lower half.

  Though she had no strength left, Lea thrust one more time.

  “Good!” said Madame Carlier. “I’ve got it.” She frowned, her mouth slightly open. “Wait a minute.” She raised her head, her easygoing expression replaced by a look of sheer terror.

  “What is it?” asked Nap.

  “I don’t know. She’s bleeding…really hard!” Madame Carlier’s voice had lost its confidence and risen to a frantic pitch. She grabbed a rag and pressed it against Lea’s bottom.

  “Let me see!” said Napoleon.

  “No, no! You musn’t be in the way!”

  Blackness engulfed Lea’s vision, and the noises of the room drifted far, far away. She floated in oblivion, lost, as though she’d been there for an eternity, gliding like wood on the waves of the ocean, no land in sight, only water. When she came to, all was quiet except for the sound of creaking wood. Lea opened her eyes. A woman sat before her, facing away, rocking and sewing. Who was she? Lea squinted in the dim candlelight. This surely couldn’t be Madame Carlier. Was it Cécile? Or perhaps Madame Bourlon? Where was Nap…and the baby?

  “Who are you?” Lea asked.

  The woman didn’t answer.

  “Excuse me.” Lea spoke louder. “Who are you and what are you doing here?”

  Startled, the woman sat up on the edge of the rocker, listening. She rose, tiptoed to the window, and parted the curtains with gnarled fingers. Certain no one was there, she returned to her chair, shaking her head, and resumed her work.

  Frowning, Lea tried again. “Excuse me!” she demanded. “I asked you a question!”

  The woman flinched, then made a slow turn, her wide eyes searching in Lea’s direction, unseeing.

  Lea’s hand flew to her mouth. “Maman!”

  She reeled as she recognized the house in Chatlineau—the table the family gathered around during mealtimes, the clock Papa wound each night, the couch where she’d sat holding Napoleon’s hand, the cabinet where they kept the silverware. She was home in Belgium. But how?

  The woman’s eyes darted back and forth, searching.

  “Maman, c’est moi, Leopoldine!”

  The woman gasped. Her hand shot up to her heart.

  Lea heard Napoleon’s voice shout far in the distance.

  “Napoleon?” Her ears pricked. “Where are you?”

  He spoke again, closer now. “I thought you said you were an experienced midwife!”

  “I am.”

  His words yanked her back into reality, spiraling downward through an endless tunnel, an intense pain gripping her stomach.

  “Mr. de Montigny, I’ve delivered many babies. This is the first time this has ever happened!”

  “Well, she might have died!”

  As Lea regained consciousness, she opened her eyes to find her husband at her knees, one hand pushed hard against her abdomen.

  “What happened?” she asked, her voice groggy.

  “You bled out,” said Napoleon. “And it’s a good thing I was here or you would have died!”

  “It’s like I say, I’ve never seen such a thing.” Madame Carlier was near tears.

  “Well, now you have. And I hope you’ve learned from this!”

  “But Monsieur.”

  “Don’t you dare monsieur me. Take your things and leave!”

  The midwife packed up her belongings and backed out the door, harrumphing as she left.

  When she’d gone, Napoleon drew his attention back to Lea.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  He shook his head, his voice quivering. “You started bleeding really badly, and she went into a panic. She had no idea what to do. So I moved in and saved you.”

  “How?” asked Lea.

  “It’s something I learned a long time ago working as a cowboy before you came to Canada. I was helping a vet with a cow that was having a hard time delivering. When he finally pulled the calf out, the mother hemorrhaged. So he stuck his entire fist up the cow’s birth canal and pressed down on her belly. It stopped the bleeding. Thank God I was there to see that so I knew what to do.” He clenched his teeth. “Stupid midwife. I could have lost both of you!”

  “I’m sorry, Nap,” said Lea. “I’d heard she was very good.”

  “Well, not good enough. The next time, we’re not taking any chances. I’ll bring you to Ponteix a few weeks before you’re due so Dr. Lupien can deliver the baby.”

  “That’s a good idea.” She paused a moment, then grew serious, her voice cautious. “You know, Nap…I saw Maman.”

  “Pardon?” His brow furrowed.

  “When I passed out, I saw Maman back in Chatlineau. She was sewing.”

  Napoleon’s eyes grew wide at the implication. He listened as she related her experience, then did a quick sign of the cross.

  “So it turns out I did go home after all—in a way.”

  “Yes, well let’s make sure you never visit her again…at least not in spirit.”

  Lea nodded. “Agreed.”

  ***

  On the twenty-ninth, Napoleon brought the children back home. “Come and see the surprise Bonhomme Noël left for the whole family,” he said.

  Lilian and Pol took off their boots and coats and sauntered over to Lea.

  “It’s your baby sister,” Lea said. “Her name’s Claire.”

  “A new baby sister?” Pol’s brow twisted with suspicion. He looked down at Lea’s stomach, then back at her face as though a great revelation had come to him.

  Lilian stood on her toes and kissed Claire’s cheek, then proceeded to the table where Bonhomme Noël had left her gifts. “Lookit! Bonhomme Noël brought me a high chair for the baby!” She grabbed a piece of fudge as she spoke.

  “I’m afraid this baby will be too big for that chair. You’ll have to use it for your baby,” said Nap, tipping his chin at the well-worn doll who lay in the toy crib.

  “Okay. Come here, baby.” Lilian picked up the doll with her sticky hands and placed it in her new high chair. “Here, you can have some fudge.” She smudged the doll’s face with the sweet.

  “Wow! Look what Bonhomme Noël brought me,” said Pol, holding up a wooden puppet and a flat paddle. He shoved the end of the board under his seat and bounced the figure up and down on top.

  “That’s not how you do it,” said Nap. “Watch.” He reached down and pressed the paddle in an even rhythm. The puppet began to tap dance on its own, its feet rattling with the movements of the board.

  “Very nice,” said Lea.

  After their belated Christmas, cold winds whistled through the house, battering the shiplap with driving snow, the temperature so low they were trapped inside. Lea cared for the family each day, cooking, washing, and hanging Claire’s nappies to dry. She loved her new baby, but worried she didn’t have enough milk for her.

  “I don’t understand what’s wrong,” she told Nap, her voice trembling. “I’ve never had problems feeding a baby before.”

  “It takes time,” said Nap as he laid more firewood in the stove. “It’s just been a while. You’ve forgotten what it’s li
ke.”

  “No, I can feel it. I can see it. There’s not enough for her.”

  “Then why don’t we just give her milk from the Jersey? After all, that’s why we have her.” He finished stoking the fire before replacing the lid.

  “I suppose I could, but I should be able to do this myself. Besides, didn’t you tell me the Jersey wasn’t producing much milk these days?”

  Nap sighed. “That’s because she doesn’t have the right kind of food. I’ve been trying to get her to eat the Russian thistles, but she doesn’t like them.”

  “What else can we feed her then?”

  “I heard in town that a good substitute for hay is a mixture of straw, wheat, and molasses.”

  “Straw, wheat, and molasses?” asked Lea. “Who ever heard of such a thing?”

  “Certainly not me, but what have we got to lose?”

  “Well then, let’s try it. We have lots of molasses in the cellar. And if the Jersey doesn’t like it, the pig will. She’ll eat anything.”

  Napoleon descended into the basement and came up again with a large crock of the sticky, brown liquid. Bundling himself, he carried it out to the barn under one arm, his other hand following the rope he’d tied from the front door, reassuring Lea he wouldn’t get lost in a storm.

  A half hour later, when he brought the milk canister into the house, Lea ladled the warm milk into Claire’s bottle.

  The baby fussed at the unfamiliar nipple and spat it out.

  “It’s okay, Claire,” said Lea. “I know you love Maman’s milk better, but you’ll get a lot more this way.”

  The tiny girl gagged, arching her back and throwing out her arms.

  Lea changed the angle of the bottle. “Here, try one more time.”

  After a few attempts, Claire got the hang of it, but an hour later, her frantic cries filled the small cabin.

  “She looks like she’s in such horrible pain,” said Lea, her voice trembling.

  “Here, let me take her,” said Nap. He hugged the baby close to his chest, but Claire still could not be consoled.

  The feeding and screaming continued day after day despite the Jersey’s milk. Lea spent much of her time trying to calm the tiny girl until one evening, a terrible thought invaded her mind. Suppose we lose this baby too. A sob escaped her. She couldn’t fathom the loss of another child. Oh, how she longed to talk to one of her women friends, or better yet Dr. Lupien.