Fields of Gold Beneath Prairie Skies

by de Montigny, Suzanne;

  “You mean quintuplets?” asked Lea, throwing another glance again at Père Fortier.

  “Yes. It’s never happened before anywhere in the world!”

  The organ began playing a hymn while the congregation joined in song.

  “Where did you hear this?” asked Lea.

  “I saw it in the paper,” said Madame Bourlon.

  “That’s amaz—”

  The priest passed by, flashing them a disapproving glare.

  “I’ll show you a picture of them after mass,” whispered Madame Bourlon.

  “Okay.”

  When the priest had ended the service and completed the recessional, several women crowded around Madame Bourlon as she pulled out the newspaper clipping.

  “Here they are,” she said.

  The women buzzed with excitement.

  “They’re so identical!” exclaimed Lea.

  “Aren’t they, though? And look, their names are—Annette, Emilie, Yvonne, Cécile, and Marie.”

  “The poor mother,” groaned a woman who had twelve children. “I wonder how she’ll fare with all those crying babies.”

  “I don’t know,” said Madame Bourlon, “but I heard she has five older children too.”

  “Perhaps the government will step in to help them,” said another lady. “After all, this is the Depression, right?”

  “I’d sure want help if I had that many kids,” said Madame Bourlon.

  The ladies broke into laughter.

  Lea began saving clippings of the quintuplets for Lilian, certain her oldest daughter would be captivated by the story too. News such as this almost erased the report they’d read in January about how Hitler had banned Jews from becoming members of the German Labor Front making it impossible for them to find work in the private sector. What kind of man was he—such anger and hatred? Her muscles tensed at the thought of Germany declaring war and how it would affect her family in Belgium.

  ***

  Lea was relieved when Nap loaded the family into the wagon for the three-hour trip to Ponteix at the end of the school year. She was certain Pol’s misbehavior would diminish with his homecoming and that her worries were soon to be over.

  She saw Pol and Lilian waiting on the porch as they drove up to the house. Lilian bounced up and down, her hands gripping the railing while Pol feigned boredom

  How he’s grown!

  When they pulled up, Lilian ran to greet them. “Maman!” she cried, throwing herself in Lea’s arms.

  Lea held her daughter, Claire and Denis close behind.

  “Wow! Look how big Denis has gotten!” exclaimed Lilian, letting go of Lea to pick up her brother. “He’s got so much hair now too.”

  “That’s right,” said Nap. “He’s not bald like he used to be.”

  “Papa!” Lilian wrapped her arms around his waist.

  “My little girl. You’re nine years old now. I can’t believe it.”

  “And you weren’t here for my birthday. But Memère made a cake and said we’d celebrate it today.”

  “A cake? Oh, boy! I can’t wait. I’ll do anything for a piece of her cake. Can I have yours too?”

  “No!” Lilian giggled.

  Lea approached Pol at the bottom of the stairs. When he said hello, his voice was scratchy and had dropped an octave. His face had lengthened and grown angular. She gave an inward smile at the mustache that now graced his upper lip.

  Opening her arms, she expected him to fall into an embrace as he’d always done, but instead, he stood limp, his hands dangling by his sides as she engulfed him. “Too old for hugs now, are we?” she asked, letting go.

  Pol scowled.

  “What? You’ve outgrown your Maman?”

  Pol gave an impatient sigh, reached out, and gave her a grudging squeeze.

  After a meal and a visit with the cousins, Nap hauled out Pol and Lilian’s belongings and loaded them onto the wagon. Pol remained quiet, ignoring the younger children, but most of all his parents.

  “He’ll be fine,” whispered Nap. “We’ll have our old boy back when we get home.”

  But it wasn’t to be. Pol had changed, not only on the outside, but also on the inside.

  “I hate it here!” he complained, throwing himself on the couch, a week later. “There’s nothing to do, and it’s so hot!”

  Lea felt her jaw tighten and a headache beginning. “Why don’t you go pull up weeds in the garden?”

  “I hate pulling up weeds! It’s boring!”

  “Well, someone has to,” said Lea, shaking her dusting cloth with a little more vigour than usual. “Otherwise, how will we eat this winter?”

  “I don’t care because I’ll be in Ponteix!” he said, clenching his fists.

  “That is if we let you go back.”

  Pol’s eyes widened. “What do you mean if you let me go back?”

  “Living in Ponteix has made you rude. Do you seriously think we’ll let you continue in this way? Now go pick weeds.”

  Pol let out a rebellious huff. “Why does it always have to be me? Claire’s old enough now. She’s five. Besides, you already send me out to herd the animals every morning. That’s more than enough.”

  Lea’s jaws clenched tighter. “Pol, I can’t do it all alone. I already cook, clean, make butter, wash and mend clothes, haul water, heat it, milk the cow, and do the stooking! I’m only one person, and I need help!”

  “I don’t care! I’m not your slave!” He stormed out of the house, slamming the door behind him.

  Anger filled Lea, anger she couldn’t rid herself of. She spent the rest of the day harbouring feelings of hostility that grew by the hour. How could she reach him? Better yet, how could she force him to behave? Didn’t he understand the dire straits they were in?

  Day after day, Pol continued in the same manner, pushing Lea’s frustration deeper and deeper. Feeling exhausted and exasperated, she began making idle threats, repeating their previous warning that he’d surely end up in prison or on the gallows if he didn’t mend his ways, or worse yet, that he’d end up in Hell. But as her impatience grew, she added another threat—that they’d kick him out if he didn’t pull his own weight.

  Then, one very brutish day, hot enough to melt butter, the situation came to a head when she asked him to push the handle of the washing machine for twenty minutes.

  His face had turned a vibrant red, and he shouted, “Not again! I hate doing that! Get Lilian to do it!”

  “She’s not strong enough, Pol. It takes a young man to do this.”

  “But you’re not a man and you do it,” he said, his voice filled with sarcasm.

  Lea tried a different tactic. “But I’m a grownup. I’m much stronger. Besides, I have to milk the cow. Please, Pol.”

  “No!” He crossed his arms.

  Anger burned within her at her son’s impudence. How dare he? Did he not know that every cell in her body screamed fatigue and had been for years? Deep rage rose to the surface threatening to boil over. “Pol, do it now, or else!”

  “Or else what?” He taunted.

  “Just do it!” she ordered through gritted teeth.

  “No!”

  Lea lost control, her anger seething. “Then it’s high time you leave!”

  Pol’s eyes grew. “What?”

  “I said, leave…now!” She pointed a forceful finger in the direction of the door.

  Pol’s lip trembled. “But….”

  “Now!” She took two hard steps forward.

  “But where can I go?” he asked, his teenaged bravado melting into uncertainty.

  “You can join the men riding the rails for all I care.”

  “But I don’t want to.”

  “Go!” She grabbed him by the shoulders and shoved him out the door.

  A whimper escaped his throat as he was pushed. Falling to his hands and knees, he turned and looked back, his eyes imploring. “Please, Maman. Don’t send me away. I’ll do whatever you want. Please!”

  “No! I’ve had enough of you!”
/>
  “Maman, non!” said Lilian.

  “Pol!” Claire cried after her brother.

  “Where’s Papa?” Lilian asked Claire.

  “In the fields. I saw him go there this morning.”

  Lea watched the distance between Pol and her grow.

  “Maman!” wailed Denis.

  Lea fought hard between her rage and her feelings of futility as the figure of her son grew smaller, the distance between them increasing. She couldn’t lose control. She had to win. She had him exactly where she wanted. Then guilt descended on her. This was her son—her first surviving child. She’d already lost three babies. What was she doing sending him away? The image of the newborn boy she’d once held and cherished flashed in her mind.

  The children’s cries had grown more hysterical. Tears streamed down their faces.

  “All right!” she snapped. “You can come back!”

  Pol stopped in his tracks and turned. “What?” he shouted.

  “I said come back.”

  Pol hesitated as though in disbelief, then ran all the way to the house, throwing himself in his mother’s arms. “I’m sorry, Maman. Please forgive me.”

  “I forgive you. But you need to help around here, okay?”

  “I will, I promise.”

  When Nap returned home, Lilian raced out the door to meet him. His brow was knit with concern as he listened to his daughter’s words before coming in. Dinner was silent that night as they ate their cold ham and potato salad. Not a word was uttered other than to ask someone to pass this or that item. The evening was just as quiet.

  Nap waited until they’d retired to their room and extinguished the lantern before asking, “Lea, what’s wrong with you these days?”

  She burst into tears. “I don’t know. I’m just so unhappy. Cécile’s gone, and now Pol is so rebellious all the time. He doesn’t want to do anything to help around the house.”

  “But that’s part of growing up,” he said. “Remember how you were at that age?”

  Lea nodded, wiping her tears. “I know. But I’m so tired, and I don’t know why.”

  She heard a slight chuckle.

  “I think I know why,” Nap ventured.

  “Why?”

  “I’ve noticed you’ve put on a bit of weight lately. Could it be you’re with child?”

  Lea’s breath caught. Pregnant? Again? She did a quick calculation on her fingers to determine how many weeks had passed since her last cycle. It was true. She was overdue for her monthly visit.

  “And if I am?” she asked, gauging his reaction to her words. When he didn’t answer right away, her muscles tensed. “You’re not happy about it, are you?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “No, but you didn’t answer.”

  “If God wants to give us another child, then so be it.”

  ***

  The summer continued, its smothering heat scorching the earth. Even the shade provided little relief for the family. Nap set up a two-lid potbellied stove to cook outside, thereby keeping the house cooler. But the intensity of the heat at night was still unbearable, their night clothes clinging to their sweaty bodies, making it difficult to sleep. Lea often lay for hours before drifting off into fretful dreams only to awaken early when Nap rose to tend the livestock.

  The dust storms returned, clouds of dirt swirling and slamming against the windows, burying their crops and keeping them prisoners in their own home for days.

  After one of these storms, Lea and the children busied themselves cleaning everything in the house. Even Denis swirled a cloth about on the coffee table.

  “I’m helping,” he said with a wide grin as his rag fluffed up the dust.

  “Good boy, Denis,” said Lilian.

  Lea clucked her tongue with exasperation at how thick the grit that entered the house was and how it sifted through the tiny cracks in the window. She hated how it made them all cough for days afterward.

  “Here, let me show you how,” said Pol. “You have to press down hard.”

  “Like this?” asked Denis.

  “Yeah.”

  Lea flashed Pol an appreciative smile though Denis’ dusting was anything but adequate. At least Pol was trying.

  The clip clopping of horse hooves caught her attention.

  “Who could that be?” Lea asked.

  A tall man dismounted his horse, leading it by the reins to the house. Lea dropped her cloth and rushed out the door.

  It was Claude.

  Lea gasped at how thin he’d grown. He looked haggard, dark circles beneath his eyes. It was as though he’d aged twenty years. “Claude!” she said. “We haven’t seen you in church for so long. Where have you been?”

  He looked away for a moment before his hollow eyes met hers. “I haven’t been well.”

  “What’s happened?” she asked.

  His hands trembled as he spoke. “I can’t stand it anymore.” He shook his head disparagingly. “With Cécile gone…and my baby girl.” He clenched his fists and bowed his head in agony. “There’s nothing for me anymore. The farm…it was all for her…and now she’s gone.” He melted into shameless tears, falling into her arms like a child, his head resting on her shoulders.

  “Oh, Claude.” Lea wrapped her arms around his heaving body.

  “I treated her so bad.” His voice shook. “She was so good to me, and I kept leaving her every night to drink and gamble in town.”

  Lea listened to his words as she held the man who’d caused so much hurt to her friend. She forgave him that very moment. “Yes, but you’ve changed, Claude. You got the homestead and you turned over a new leaf.”

  “But it was too late. It’s my punishment. She was too good for me and now I’ve lost her.” He broke into a fresh round of sobs.

  “No, Claude. That’s not true,” she said, her voice tender.

  “Yes, it is.” His crying grew more hysterical. “It’s all my fault! She could have married a better man and had a better pregnancy. It was because she had to work so hard…because of me.”

  “But it’s not your fault the baby was breech. That could happen to anyone.”

  “No!” He released her and sank to the hot ground below, his crying worsening.

  Fear gripped her. She knew the man was in grave danger of a breakdown. “Claude,” she said, “there are other women out there. You can find a new girl…and start again.”

  “And what do I have to give? Barren fields that won’t grow crops? I tell you, I just can’t stand it anymore.”

  Lea knelt down beside him in the dirt. “We’re all in the same boat, you know. We just all need to hold on a while longer. I know I have days where I feel I can’t handle it anymore as well. You’re not the only one. The whole world is in the same plight.”

  The door of the house swung open.

  “Maman,” called Claire, poking her face out, her eyes wide with terror. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” she said, desperate to preserve her child’s innocence. “Mr. Claude hurt himself. That’s all. It’s just like you when you scraped your finger.” She turned to Claude, pasting a fake smile on her face. “Right?”

  Claude nodded, pulled out a hankie, and blew his nose. “Yes.”

  “Go back inside and wait for me, okay? Finish the dusting and then afterward we can make some cookies.”

  “Okay.” Claire reluctantly shut the door.

  Claude rose. “I’m sorry,” he said, tucking his handkerchief back in his pocket. “You need to get to your family. You’re so lucky to have one, you know.”

  “You’re right,” said Lea, relieved he seemed to have regained control of himself. “Come by again, okay? You’re always welcome here.”

  He nodded, wiped his eyes once more, mounted his horse, and rode away.

  Lea watched him leave, shaken, yet somehow stronger for the exchange. He was correct. She was lucky. Luckier than many folks in these parts—she wasn’t alone at all. She had her four children, an adoring husband, a farm, and a
family back in Belgium. Compared to many people, that was a lot.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Quintuplets and Twins

  In September, the family traveled back to Ponteix to deliver Pol and Lilian to their school. Pol’s behavior had improved, and he had promised to try harder if allowed to return to the convent. They’d acquiesced. Besides, it was the perfect opportunity for Lea to have Dr. Lupien examine her at the hospital.

  When the doctor saw her in the waiting room, his face brightened. “Ah, Leopoldine! How are you doing?” He swept his hand to one side, an invitation to enter. “I see you are expecting again.”

  “Yes.” She let out a deep sigh.

  “And how far along are you? Six months?”

  Lea blushed. “No. It’s only been four.”

  The line between his brows creased. “Perhaps you’re further along than you think. Let’s have a look. I’ll give you a few minutes to undress.” He left the room.

  Lea removed her clothes and folded them into a neat pile. She put on the blue gown and tied the knot.

  A few minutes later, Dr. Lupien gave a quick knock on the door, then entered. “Okay, let’s check your weight first.”

  Lea stepped on the scale while he adjusted it.

  “Oh, my, you have put on quite a bit of weight for only four months.”

  Lea gave an embarrassed smile. “I’ve been really hungry.”

  Leading her to the examining table, he held an arm out to assist her as she stepped up the stair. When she was sitting comfortably, he pulled out his sphygmomanometer, wrapped the cuff around her arm, and pumped in air, his eyes focused on the two dials. “Ninety over sixty!” he said, releasing the valve. “Not bad. Good, low pulse rate too.” Lowering her down onto her back, he measured her belly, then placed the tips of his stethoscope into his ears. “Let’s see if we can hear a heartbeat.” He shifted the diaphragm to various parts of her abdomen, listening, then shook his head. “No heartbeat yet which tells me you’re still in the early stages.”

  “So do you think I’m carrying twins?”

  “Well, you’ve had them before, so it’s possible.”