Fields of Gold Beneath Prairie Skies

by de Montigny, Suzanne;

“Hey, look,” said Lilian, pointing a finger, “he’s scratching his butt.”

  Nap jumped up, leaving his unfinished oatmeal on the table. “That’s not a good thing. I’d better get out there.” He threw on his boots and coat and flung the door open.

  “Quick!” screeched Lea.

  Nap raced outside, waving frantic arms as he ran. “Get out of here, you stupid animal!”

  Startled, the bull turned and faced him.

  “I said, get out of here.” Nap picked up a rock and threw it, striking the bull in the ribs.

  A ferocious roar ripped from its throat.

  Nap threw another rock, striking its chest.

  Screaming with rage, the animal backed away—right into the outhouse. The small structure collapsed, toppling onto the ground.

  “No!” screamed Nap.

  Furious, the bull lowered his head and pawed the ground.

  Nap flung another rock.

  When the stone struck its chest again, the animal aimed its horns and charged.

  “Help!” Nap turned on his heels and raced to the corral, the bull in hot pursuit.

  “Go, Papa!” shouted Pol.

  “Quick!” Lea screamed.

  Grabbing the top rung of the fence, Nap hurled himself into the corral just in time. “Ha! You missed me!” he shouted.

  The bull huffed at Nap, enraged. They stood, regarding each other, man and beast. Then the bull turned and wandered away as though a human wasn’t worth his while. Nap waited until it had moved farther down the road before simpering back to the barn, glancing over his shoulder to be sure he hadn’t been followed. When he came out again, Lea saw the hated bucket dangling from his fingers.

  “Oh, no!” Lilian pinched her nose.

  “I’m not emptying it,” said Pol.

  “Guess we’ll be living with this until the ground thaws again,” Nap said when he came in.

  “Oh, well,” said Lea. “We’ve been living with it all these years. What’s one more?”

  But as the nights grew longer and the days shorter with fewer trips to the barn, Lea wasn’t so sure she could handle the bucket until the spring. Longing for their old cabin at the Gilberts’ and its convenient outhouse, she thought of Cécile. She knew her friend was due in December, but she hadn’t seen her in church for a while. She must be too uncomfortable to ride in their Bennett Buggy.

  Christmas was approaching and with it, the preparations. Lea snuck out to the barn with Nap each night to help him build toys for the children. She’d hold the wood while he sanded it, always fascinated by his vision and how a toy could arise from a barrel slat. When they’d finished working on the gifts for the evening, they’d bury them under some straw until the next time they were able to steal away.

  Baby Denis seemed to grow at an alarming rate—so different from Claire. While she had been so fragile, he was robust.

  “Only a few more months,” Lea said, “and you’ll be walking everywhere. Then what’ll we do with you?”

  Denis gurgled back in what seemed defiance. He was nearly eight months old and as strong as an ox.

  One day, as she prepared the bread dough, she turned to find her son standing in the crib. Startled, she cried, “Already?”

  “Good boy!” said Lilian. She reached into his bed, lifted him up, and put him down on the ground. “I’m going to give him a walking lesson.” Taking his hands, she held him in an upright position, pushing one foot forward, then the next.

  “Breakfast!” Lea called a few minutes later.

  “Coming,” Lilian said, dropping Denis’ hands and skipping to the table.

  Lea gasped when she saw Lilian let go. The image of the boy falling backward and hitting his head flashed in her mind. But instead, her eyes rounded and her mouth dropped open. Denis hadn’t even so much as landed on his bottom. Instead, he took three unexpected steps forward.

  “Denis can walk!” shouted Pol.

  “But he’s only eight months old!” Lea said.

  “Papa!” shouted Lilian. “Come and see.”

  Nap dashed from the bedroom and stopped, a grin stretched across his face. He scooped up the baby, laughing. “Why, you’re just a wonder boy!”

  Within days, Denis was toddling about as well as any one-year-old, getting his hands into everything, including the stove.

  Terrified, Lea kept him in the crib for his own safety, taking him out only when there was someone to watch him. She couldn’t wait to show Cécile how strong her boy was, wishing they had a telephone, but she’d have to wait until Sunday when, hopefully, she’d see her in church.

  It was particularly cold the week before Christmas. The temperature dropped to minus forty, and the winds blew with great ferocity. But Lea wouldn’t miss Christmas Eve mass for the world, so happy she was to share her news about her boy with Cécile. After bundling up the children, she placed the younger ones in the bottom of the cutter where the heated rocks lay, holding Denis between her legs to protect him from burning his hands. Then she covered them up with the blanket.

  When Pol climbed aboard, heading to his usual spot, Nap grabbed his arm and handed him the reins. “Here,” he said, “you’re going on twelve. How about if you drive us to church today?”

  Pol smiled with pride as he took the straps, sitting high on the seat, despite the extreme cold. His voice filled with confidence, he began conversing as though he were an adult. “It’s hard to believe tomorrow’s Christmas! I wonder what Bonhomme Noël will bring the children.” He threw Nap a knowing look.

  “I guess we’ll have to wait and see,” Nap replied, returning the gesture with a sidelong glance.

  Suddenly, Lea was filled with Christmas spirit. Her heart soaring, she broke into song.

  Les anges dans nos campagnes

  Ont entonné l’hymne des cieux;

  Et l’écho de nos montagnes

  Redit ce chant mélodieux.

  The children joined in too. When they got to the Gloria, Lea sang the harmony line, her voice rising higher than the others. When they’d finished that song, they sang another and another until they reached the church.

  Lea descended from the cutter with Denis in her arms while Pol led the horses to the post where he tied them under Nap’s directions. Lilian followed Lea, holding Claire’s hand.

  When they stepped inside the church, Lea knew there was something wrong despite the cheerful Christmas decorations—the large wreath with its four candles displayed near the front of the church and the crèche that awaited the Baby Jesus. The Christmas spirit she’d reveled in only a few moments before disappeared. Heads were bowed and expressions grave. Someone was sobbing. Searching the nave, her heart nearly stopped when she saw Mr. and Madame Gilbert seated in the front row, their heads bent and shoulders shaking.

  “Stay here!” she ordered her children as she rushed to the front pew.

  “But Maman,” called Lilian.

  “Just do as I say.”

  She hurried as fast as her legs could carry her, Denis bouncing in her arms. When she reached the Gilberts, she squeezed into their seat. “What happened?”

  Madame Gilbert raised her eyes. Her face was soaked with tears. “She died.” She broke into a fresh fit of sobbing.

  “Who? Cécile’s baby?” asked Lea, breaking into a cold sweat.

  Mr. Gilbert shook his head. “Both. They couldn’t get the baby out. There was no doctor. And now we’ve lost all our children.” He laid his arm over Madame Gilbert’s shoulders, and together they cried bitter tears.

  Lea felt a wave of nausea overcome her. Retching, her hand flew to her mouth. Cécile was dead? But how could that be? She’d been so healthy. “Where’s Claude?” she asked.

  “He didn’t come. He’s beside himself with grief,” said Mr. Gilbert.

  A hand rested on Lea’s shoulder. It was Nap’s. His face dropped when he heard the news.

  The rest of the mass was a blur. Lea sat with her four children, numb, as she listened to the priest describe what a terrible loss C
écile’s life was to the community, and how she and the baby girl she had carried had surely gone to Heaven.

  The trip home was quiet, the sound of the cutter gliding through the snow to the padded clip clop of the horse’s hooves and an occasional cough erupting from one of the children.

  The next morning, Lea and Nap went through the motions of Christmas, giving forced smiles and uttering false words of joy as the children marveled at the wooden toys and food Bonhomme Noël had brought. When Nap loaded up the cutter, his face long, they set out to celebrate Christmas with the relatives in Ponteix. But Lea went only in body.

  She felt hollow when they were welcomed into Levi and Emma’s home. She picked at the food that was given her and sat alone in the corner as the family danced to the music of the uncles’ fiddles and banjo.

  After a time, she felt someone sit down beside her. It was Levi. “What’s the matter?” he asked.

  “Oh, nothing.” Lea tried to feign enjoyment, but when Levi pushed her further, tears welled up in her eyes and she broke down, telling him about the death of her best friend.

  “Come with me,” he said, his voice gentle.

  Lea obediently followed her father-in-law to the back of the house where he took her in his arms as she cried.

  “It’s so difficult, you know, living out there all alone, trapped inside the house, our family growing, no money.”

  “I know.” Levi regarded her with compassion. “It’s difficult for us to watch you suffer too. None of us have ever known that kind of poverty.” He paused a moment before continuing. “But Lea, I think I have a solution for you.”

  “A solution?”

  “Yes, but you might not like it.”

  “What?” Lea tilted her head. “I’m listening.”

  “Perhaps what you need is fewer children.”

  “Fewer children!” She thought out the possibilities, then gasped. “No orphanage is good enough for them.”

  He let out a wry chuckle. “Not an orphanage, Lea. Why don’t you let Pol and Lilian live with us? We have plenty of room, and there’s a convent close by where they could go to school. They teach French. And there are a lot of things for them to do. There’s a skating rink, a ballpark, and they’d have so many cousins to play with.”

  Lea digested his words before answering. “But I could never abandon my children.”

  “You wouldn’t be abandoning them,” he said, his voice kind. “They’d just be…on loan… until you get back on your feet. You’ve been through a lot.”

  Lea allowed the idea to take hold, but was immediately wracked with guilt. But how much easier life would be. Hadn’t she been the one to convince Nap there was no shame in accepting help? She let out a sigh. “Let me think on it.”

  “All right,” said Levi, taking her arm and leading her back into the living room where jokes flew about to enthusiastic laughter.

  When the music ended and they retired for the night, Lea brought up the idea to Napoleon.

  She heard his breath catch in the dark before he answered. “Lea, I know you’re upset about Cécile’s death and all, but can you really give up your children like that even if it’s only for a few months?”

  “Other people do it,” she said. “And if they stay on the farm over the winter, there’s a good chance they’ll miss a lot of school.”

  “True,” said Nap.

  “It’s not really like charity,” she said. “They’re family.”

  “Well, let’s talk it over with the children first and see how they feel about it.”

  A few days later, she announced the news to Pol and Lilian.

  Lilian’s eyes rounded with fear, but Pol welcomed the news.

  “Stay with Memère and Pepère? I’d love to!”

  “Yes, but only until the summer,” she said. “And then we’ll come back and get you.”

  “But I don’t want to stay here,” said Lilian. “I want to go home with you.”

  “I know, Lilian, but—”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll look after you,” said Pol, laying an arm over his sister’s shoulder. “And just think. We’ll get to play with all the cousins. And we’ll have real desks.” He eyed Nap apologetically. “It’ll be fun.”

  “Well, okay,” said Lilian.

  And so it was, that Napoleon and Lea returned home after the holidays, a family of four.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Pol Rebels

  Lea frowned when Napoleon handed her the letter from the convent in Ponteix. More than a year had passed since Pol and Lilian began attending the parochial school. A nervous tingle ran down her spine. Why would they be writing to her? She took the letter from her husband, tore it open, and began reading.

  Dear Madame de Montigny,

  It is with great concern that I write this letter to you regarding your son Pol. Though he is indeed an intelligent child, he is also very difficult. He spends much of his day disrupting the class by talking and passing notes to girls, and he never does his homework. So far, he hasn’t achieved grades higher than in the seventies. Not a good average for a boy who was the star student in his previous school.

  The other day, he was reprimanded for refusing to settle down and was sent to me for the strap. When I pulled it out, he burst into tears and begged me not to strike him, promising to improve his behavior. He seemed truly apologetic, so I allowed him to return to class. However, in the ensuing days, he has resumed his previous conduct. I strongly suggest you speak to your son or we shall have to expel him.

  Sincerely,

  Mother Superior

  Lea drew in a sharp breath. The nerve! Pol had always been the sort of boy a mother would be proud of, and his teachers had always spoken highly of him! She lay the letter down and began pacing.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Nap.

  Lea thrust the letter to him.

  His eyes narrowed, then rounded as he read. When he finished, he gave her an incredulous stare.

  “What’ll we do?” she asked, exasperated. “It takes three hours to travel to Ponteix, and I can’t just drop everything to run and discipline him.”

  Nap’s lips pressed into a thin line. “We’ll have to write to him immediately warning him to behave or else.”

  “But what if it’s the nuns?” she asked. “What if his teacher simply has no control over the class?”

  “The nuns?”

  “Yes. Or maybe even your parents. They’re probably letting him run wild.” Lea resumed her pacing.

  Napoleon shook his head. “I doubt it. And even so, school only lasts another couple of months. Once we get him home, we can straighten him out. In the meantime, I think we should send him a letter.”

  “Let’s!” With purpose, Lea stormed to the cabinet and took out paper and a pen, but as she thought out her words, a feeling of dread overcame her. Suppose he became so out of control, there was no turning back. Suppose the damage was irreparable? Her grip around the fountain pen tightened. She had to be firm, at least until she found out what was really going on.

  Dear Pol,

  We just received a letter from Mother Superior informing us that you’ve been misbehaving at school. She says you’ve been disruptive, have been passing notes to girls, and refuse to do your homework! Pol, I can’t begin to tell you how horrified I am! My son who was accelerated a grade and who has always been well-behaved?

  Lea’s distress increased as she wrote. He was so far away. How could she possibly make him see the error in his ways? Sweat formed on her brow as she stopped and contemplated her next sentence, tapping the fountain pen on the table. Maybe she needed to scare him. She gave the pen a shake and continued writing.

  If you don’t mend your ways, I fear you will end up like the men who ride the railways unable to find work—a bum, a hobo. Is that what you want? Or perhaps you’ll become a criminal and end up on the gallows.

  A tear rolled down her cheek, her own words frightening her.

  Pol, I insist you turn over a new leaf now before
it’s too late. You have two months left of school. Make them good ones.

  Maman

  She handed the letter to Nap to read. When he had finished, he added his own words.

  Pol,

  I can’t tell you how disappointed and worried I am for you, my son. If you don’t change, you could end up in Hell for eternity. Do you know how long eternity is? Well, let me tell you. You know how a diamond is the hardest thing in the universe? Now, imagine that every thousand years, an eagle rubs its wing on that diamond. Eventually it will wear out, right? Well, eternity is longer than that! So buckle down if you don’t want to end up shoveling coal in Hell!

  Papa

  He placed the letter in an envelope, sealed it, and laid it on the table. “I’ll take it tomorrow when I go to town.”

  For the rest of the day, Lea’s emotions ran high. Her feelings fluctuated between anger and fear, sometimes blaming, other times feeling guilt at having abandoned her son. But then she’d reassure herself it couldn’t possibly be as a result of her neglect because Lilian had remained true and they hadn’t received any letters regarding her behavior…at least not yet.

  Spring passed with the usual rituals of plowing and planting, Lea and Nap crossing their fingers that the drought had finally ended. Each day, she gazed out at the seedlings, saying a prayer for their survival.

  At the end of May, they were distracted from their worries when news rocked the town.

  “Did you hear?” Madame Bourlon leaned over and whispered in Lea’s ear just as mass was about to begin.

  “No, what?” Lea glanced back to see if Père Fortier and his acolytes were ready to begin the processional. They stood poised and ready.

  “There were five identical baby girls born this past week in Ontario. Five! Can you imagine? And they all survived!” Her whispers were so loud, several people turned and stared.