Belle of Batoche
Page 4
Belle frowned. “It does look like that.” She watched as the old woman put the money in her bag, then shuffled off down the alley.
Sarah skipped away without a backward glance.
Belle waved good-bye to the shopkeeper and started for home. She thought about what she’d seen. Maybe she had misjudged Sarah. Belle took another slow lick of the sweet barley candy. Perhaps Stuck-Up Sarah did have a little streak of kindness after all. But she didn’t think so.
8
Setting a Trap to Catch the Truth
All the way home Belle puzzled over seeing Sarah and Madame Coteau together. It was very strange.
“Bonjour, Mama!” Belle called as she banged open the back door, but no one answered. A note told her to gather the eggs from the henhouse and peel a large pot of potatoes for supper. Belle blew on her sticky barley candy to dry it off. Then she put it into the paper bag with the second stick and tucked the bag in the cupboard.
Gathering eggs and peeling potatoes! She remembered her dream of singing in the big opera houses of Montreal and hummed as she headed out to the chicken coop.
As Belle rummaged around in the nest boxes, she thought about Sarah’s odd act of kindness. “And for Miss Sarah, any act of kindness would be odd!” she told a hen as she pushed her off her nest to retrieve the warm prize.
Once she’d gathered the eggs, she sat down for a rest on the three-legged stool by the door to the henhouse. A hawk soared high above the brown prairie grass. The graceful bird circled, hovered and dove for an unfortunate field mouse. Again, Belle thought about the strange meeting she’d witnessed.
Madame Coteau had always been a mystery to the children of Batoche. She lived across the river in a broken down house that could only be described as spooky. No children ever went over there, at least none that returned to tell the tale!
Belle shivered in the waning afternoon sun. Although it was the first week of May, it was still unseasonably cool.
The back door slammed. There was her mother with her hands on her hips. The potatoes!
Belle jumped to her feet, grabbed the basket of eggs and raced for the house.
Her mother scolded her once again about having her head in the clouds.
“I’m sorry, Mama. I …”
But her mother didn’t stop to hear Belle’s latest excuse. Instead, she went to the potato bin and began pulling the vegetables out. “Never mind, never mind. I shouldn’t have expected you to handle two chores in a row without supervision! One day, you will have no choice, Belle. People will be counting on you.”
Usually Belle didn’t pay much attention to her mother when she was scolded, but this time, the words her mother said stayed in her mind. A wave of guilt washed over her.
Belle hurried to wash the eggs so she could help her mother with the potatoes. As she finished peeling, she told her mama about the strange occurrence between Madame Coteau and Sarah.
“Perhaps she really has turned over a new leaf. Being the new bell ringer, maybe she decided to do a charitable act.” Her mother always could see the good side to everything.
“I think it’s strange. Even if she is the new bell ringer, I don’t think Sarah would turn over anything.” As Belle worked on her potato, she noticed it shrank a lot as she sliced off large pieces of peel. An idea skittered around in her head, but it wouldn’t sit still so she could get a good grasp on it.
They finished the peeling and Belle went to set the table. She was just getting the plates out of the sideboard when it hit her. She stopped halfway to the table with the dishes. Sarah was always talking about how she didn’t do menial tasks like cleaning or cooking or sewing!
Here was a girl who didn’t know how to thread a needle one week and won an embroidery contest the next! Belle supposed it could happen, but … She remembered Monsieur Letendre talking about what wonderful embroidery Madame Coteau used to do. Sarah was rich enough to hire someone to do anything she wanted — like embroider an altar cloth for the church!
What if Sarah had been paying Madame Coteau for embroidering the cloth for her? If Belle was right, Sarah would be disqualified and Belle would win the contest by default!
This was big news! But she had no proof. If she told Father Moulin or her mother what she suspected, they would think she was making the whole thing up out of jealousy.
No, she had to confront Sarah and find out if her suspicions were correct.
Friday morning began bright and sunny. Belle could hardly wait for class to be over for the day. She was going to corner Sarah and ask her who really sewed the cloth. The best place would be where there were witnesses, that way Belle would have others to back up her story.
When Sarah headed over to the teeter-totter, Belle knew her moment had come. Before Bertha could climb onto the empty side of the old painted board, Belle jumped on and moved as far out to the end as she could. She was heavier than Sarah and her sitting at the end made it sink to the ground. Sarah was suspended high in the air.
“What do you think you’re doing, Belle? Let me down this minute!” Sarah kicked her feet and tried to bounce the board to the ground, but Belle hunkered down with all her weight.
“I’ve got a couple of questions for you, Sarah. Once you’ve answered them, I’ll let you down, no problem.” She squinted up at Sarah. The afternoon sun was directly behind her so that Belle couldn’t see her face clearly.
“I saw you giving money to Madame Coteau. I think you were paying her for doing a favor for you, a very important favor.” Belle waited for Sarah to deny paying the old lady. Then she’d have her. Belle had a witness; Monsieur Letendre had seen the whole thing too.
Sarah stopped thrashing her legs and peered down at Belle. “What do you mean, you saw me paying Madame Coteau yesterday?”
Others were gathering around now, sensing a potential fight.
Belle held on tight. She wasn’t going to let Sarah off.
“I saw you giving her money and I think you were paying Madame Coteau for her embroidery skills. I think you had her sew that altar cloth and then you said it was your work!”
Sarah jerked her legs, trying to get her end of the board closer to the ground so she could jump off. “You’re crazy, Belle Tourond! Yes, I saw the poor old lady yesterday. I felt so badly for her that I gave her my allowance to buy food.” She made sure all their classmates gathered around heard her. “How could you accuse me of cheating on the contest? You’re a poor loser and are making up lies about me! Now, let me down!”
Belle knew she wasn’t the one who was lying, but she hadn’t expected Sarah to come up with such a good excuse for giving the old woman money. This girl was tricky! “Not until you admit you hired the old lady to embroider the cloth!” Belle thought about sliding off her end and letting Sarah drop to the ground, but decided that would be a little too much persuasion.
“I said let me down!” Sarah was screeching now, and the rest of the children on the playground were becoming excited.
“You’d better let my friend down if you know what’s good for you!” Bertha Lange loomed over Belle. Her fists were balled up tight. She looked like a dog ready to bite!
Belle glanced up at Bertha, then back at Sarah, who was making pitiful sobbing noises. It was the phoniest crying Belle had ever heard. She looked back at Bertha. The girl’s face was beet red and her eyeballs were bulging out of her head as if she were ready to explode.
Sliding forward, Belle lowered the protesting girl to the ground. Just before the teeter-totter touched down, she leapt off, making Sarah’s landing a little harder than it might have been.
Sarah bumped to the ground and rolled off the painted plank. She struggled indignantly to her feet, readjusting her dress, which had flown up over her head with the impact of her abrupt stop.
“You’ll be sorry for this, Belle Tourond. Just you wait! You’re jealous because you lost the contest. Well, I won and I’m the new bell ringer and there’s nothing you can do about it!” She spun around and stalked off, her pal
e blue dress a froth of ruffles and lace.
Belle thought she was walking a little stiffly, but a bump on the behind will do that to a person.
9
Belle’s Plan
As she trudged home, Belle couldn’t stop thinking about Sarah. She was sure she had cheated on the embroidery. Sarah hated anything to do with sewing; she only wanted to be the bell ringer to get her picture in the paper and maybe to show off her fancy hat.
Belle stopped to watch two men piling brush in front of one of the cleverly hidden rifle pits that now surrounded the town. For the last couple of days, all the adults had been rushing about doing grown-up things.
Perhaps Sarah had wanted to win just to show Belle, which would have been fine if Sarah had done it fairly. But Belle was sure she hadn’t and to make matters worse, Sarah had lied in front of their classmates, making Belle look like a sore loser.
Sore loser, indeed! Belle had to get proof now. Her own reputation was at stake! But how could she do it? If Sarah had denied giving Madame Coteau money, Belle could have asked Monsieur Letendre to vouch for her story, but Sarah had been clever.
There was only one way to straighten the whole thing out. Belle would have to get proof. She would have to go to Madame Coteau!
Belle thought of the scary old woman. Stories of witches and evil shamans swirled in her mind. She put them out of her head. She had to go. It was the only way.
She hurried home. If she left right away, she could catch the last ferry over and back across the river.
“Mama, I need to go out for a while. I might not get back until after supper, but it’s real important and I promise I’ll do my chores when I get back.” She hoped her mother wouldn’t ask for more detail.
“No, my child. You can’t go out. In fact, you must stay in the house for the rest of the day.” Her mother was bustling around the kitchen gathering preserves and dried meat.
This was unexpected. “But Mama, I will only be gone for a short time …” This was almost the truth, if you took out the time for the ferry crossings. After all, Belle had no control over how long the boat ride would take, so she shouldn’t be held responsible for accounting for that time.
“You can’t leave the house tonight!” Her mother’s voice sounded worried.
“Mama, what has happened?” Then Belle saw the lead tea chest standing empty on the table. “Oh Mama! Are the Metis people going to war?” She was alarmed now.
Her mother stopped her rushing about and gave her daughter a hug. “Monsieur Riel says everything will be all right. We have God on our side. Do not worry, little one. Now, you must cook the meal tonight for your papa and brother. I am taking these provisions to the church and will be back later.” She gathered the preserves and meat and placed them in an old sugar sack.
Then with a reassuring smile for Belle, she left for the church.
She also took the empty tea chest.
Everyone was unusually quiet as they ate the reheated stew and bannock Belle had prepared. She also made a big pot of tea and poured it when she served the Saskatoon berry pie she’d found in the pantry. Belle knew the adults were worried about the troubles, but Belle had troubles of her own.
After the dishes had been washed, Belle went up to her room. The more she thought about what she suspected Sarah had done, the more unfair it seemed. Cheating was wrong and so was lying!
Belle had an idea. If she got up very early tomorrow, she could take their canoe across the river, talk to Madame Coteau and be back before breakfast. She was good with a canoe. Her brother Patrice often said she would have made a great voyageur. Coming from Patrice, this was a high compliment indeed! The voyageurs were hearty Metis who used the rivers to explore vast tracks of unexplored land as they hunted for furs. Their canoeing skills were legendary.
Her mother had said she couldn’t leave the house for the rest of today, but she had said nothing about tomorrow! Belle climbed into bed feeling better. Tomorrow she would prove that Sarah had cheated in the contest.
10
Secrets Uncovered!
The sun had not crested the horizon when Belle awoke. She dressed in the dark. As she crept downstairs, she was careful to skip the squeaky step. With her woolen sweater buttoned up against the early morning chill, Belle started toward the dock where her father and brother stored the canoe. It would have been easier if the ferry were running, but it was too early and Belle couldn’t wait.
Patrice had taught her how to handle the big canoe and use the j-stroke to propel it swiftly and silently. Thinking of Patrice reminded her that today, Saturday, the ninth of May 1885, was his eighteenth birthday. He’d long been waiting for today as he planned to travel with a group of voyageurs from Quebec, but Papa had forbidden him to go until he was eighteen.
She smiled. He was going to be so surprised when she gave him the leather pouch she’d made to carry his valuables in as he paddled across country. A lot of the men tucked articles like a knife or a pipe into the folds of their Metis sashes, but Belle had wanted to make her brother something special.
She pushed the canoe away from the dock, springing into the stern. The big river, high with spring run-off, snatched at the light craft. Belle concentrated on paddling at an angle to the current so that when she reached the other shore, she would still be within walking distance of Madame Coteau’s.
The weathered cabin looked run-down and uninviting. An owl flew overhead, its powerful wings beating the air, whoosh, whoosh, whoosh.
Belle shivered, remembering the stories about Madame Coteau being an evil witch and children disappearing when they went to her haunted house. She looked back toward the river where she’d beached the canoe. It wasn’t too late to forget all this nonsense and go back home.
Then she thought of Marie-Antoinette and how sad she’d sounded when Sarah had practiced ringing her after mass last week. Taking a deep breath, Belle drew herself up, walked to the door and knocked loudly.
Standing there waiting in the cold gray light of the coming dawn, she wished she’d gone to the outhouse before leaving home.
The door creaked open and Madame Coteau peered out at her.
“What on earth do you want at this hour, child?” She pulled the shawl she was wearing a little tighter around her thin shoulders as she swung the door wide. “Come in, come in before you catch your death. You can tell me your story over a hot cup of tea.” She glanced sideways at Belle. “And I’m sure there’s a story. Children do not eagerly visit my house.” She chuckled to herself as she ushered Belle to the hearth where a fire crackled.
Belle was astounded! This wasn’t what she had expected! The old woman seemed friendly and the raisin cake she handed Belle smelled delicious.
“I, I need to talk to you about a very important matter,” Belle stammered. She took the cup of steaming tea she was offered. “It concerns the embroidered cloth Sarah Johnson had.”
“Yes, yes, what about it?” the old woman asked, pouring herself a cup.
“I need to know if you helped Sarah embroider that cloth.” Belle waited.
“Me? Help her embroider the cloth?” She shook her head. “No, I didn’t help her.”
Belle’s spirits sank. Sarah had won fair and square and Belle had been wrong.
“I embroidered the entire thing my-self.”
“What?” Belle sat up straight.
“Yes, I did. Sarah asked me to embroider a birthday present for her aunt who is ailing. I was only too glad to help. I used to love to sew, but now …” She shrugged. “I have no reason. Was there a problem with the piece?”
Belle had no choice but to tell Madame Coteau what Sarah had really done with the cloth. “Actually, the embroidery was perfect. In fact, it was so perfect that Sarah won a contest with it. A contest where she said she had done the sewing herself.”
A frown creased the old woman’s already wrinkled forehead. “Oh dear! That will never do!” She shook her head. “No, that will not do at all! Tell me about this contest.”
A knowing look came into Madame Coteau’s sparkling brown eyes. “I’m guessing the other girl in the contest was you.” She glanced at Belle’s hands and chuckled. They were rough and callused and could have easily belonged to a boy. “And I’d say needlework is not your favorite thing to do.”
Belle blushed furiously. “I tried my best. My mother thought I had done a very good job considering I didn’t know the difference between a French knot and a satin stitch before this all began.”
“And now?” Madame Coteau refilled Belle’s cup.
“And now I know at least a dozen stitches, their names and how to use them properly to make my flowers come to life!” She grinned, realizing as she spoke how much she had enjoyed the project. “I’ve been thinking of trying my hand at a pillowcase to go with the new quilt my mama is making for my bed.” She heard the enthusiasm in her voice and suddenly felt a little shy.
“And this Sarah? Does she sew?” The gray-haired woman rose and went to the fire, adding another log to the blaze.
“Sarah doesn’t believe she should have to do menial tasks like cleaning and sewing. That’s what made me suspicious in the first place. She says she wouldn’t be caught dead grubbing around doing domestic chores, then she hands in a cloth so perfect that the angels could find no mistakes.”
“Thank you for the compliment, my child. I think what Sarah did was unfair. I will write you a note to take to Father Moulin explaining everything.” She went to an old wooden table and took out a pen and ink. In an elegant hand, she wrote a letter explaining what had happened.