by Jean Little
“We will too,” I told her. I had put Davy down for a moment and I bent to pick him up again. I thought of Olivia as I straightened. “Is there a piano?” I asked. “Olivia plays wonderfully.”
“A pedal organ,” Aunt Susan answered.
I knew Olivia could play one of those. She knows lots of songs too, which she can play by ear. We are worn out tonight, but by tomorrow I’m pretty sure Olivia will be happy to play and sing for them.
Saturday, July 19, 1902
I had no more time for writing yesterday. I suppose I was too tired anyway. But here is what happened the rest of the day.
Poor Olivia told me that the minute she had got changed, they led her to the kitchen and gave her an apron and a paring knife. Before she had even finished tying her apron strings, a big woman called Mrs. Mutton, who turned out to be the cook, had plunked a pan of potatoes down in front of her. I had to admire my sister. She wanted to burst into tears, she said, but she got right to work without giving a peep of protest. I know she was weary and yearning to go straight to bed, but she went to work instead. Mrs. Mutton must have guessed how she was feeling.
“Welcome to life at Four Winds,” she said and then she grinned and patted Olivia on her shoulder. “I am surely glad you are here, honey child. We’re really short-handed tonight and no mistake — your coming is a godsend.”
I heard this part. I think I am going to like Mrs. Mutton. Olivia did her best to smile, and slaved on.
Before long, a gong sounded in the hotel to say that the first seating for supper was ready.
After the Saturday-night Sing
I got Davy bathed and fed early. It was not full dark yet and there was a lot of noise, but he was tired enough that when I tucked him in, he went to sleep faster even than I hoped. Once the singing started, I planned to keep checking on him. I put a big chair up against the side of the bed in case he rolled, but he usually stays still when he first goes to sleep. I was out in the lounge by the time the crowd gathered. Aunt Susan welcomed everyone who had come. Then she said, “This is my niece, Olivia. I hear that she can play by ear. Let’s give her a chance. Mrs. Dewbury can have a rest.”
When I had warned Olivia this was going to happen, she had just scowled and not answered, so I held my breath. For a moment I thought she might refuse. But she does love making music, so I needn’t have worried. She stepped up, took her place and rippled her hands up and down the keyboard in a grand swoosh of notes.
Then somebody called out, “Do you know the song ‘Oh My Darlin’ Clementine,’ city miss?”
Everyone laughed, but of course she did, and next thing she had them all singing it.
I kept slipping out to check on Davy, until I found Mother snoozing in the chair by the bed. She opened her eyes and then told me she would stay with him.
“If he wakes up, I’ll be here,” she said. “Go and enjoy yourself.”
“Olivia is playing beautifully,” I said. “And she’s laughing.”
Mother smiled, put her hands together, looked up at the ceiling and said, “Thank you, God.”
Then I went back to the Sing. As Mark said, it was grand. Jeremiah was there, standing next to the organ. I overheard him say, “You sure can get music out of those old keys, Olivia.”
It took her a second to remember her manners, but she finally broke down and gave him a smile. Bravo, Olivia!
Monday, July 21, 1902
I am liking it here. The Hills are really nice to us. I feel as though I’ve known them forever. But it is so different living in a hotel. I keep having to stop and think about what comes next. And even though Davy seems happy most of the time, I have to watch him every minute to keep him from disturbing people. I’m too tired and too busy to write another word tonight.
Wednesday, July 23, 1902
I know. I’ve missed Tuesday. But we’ve been occupied getting our bearings — that’s what Mother calls it. But I’m here at last, pen in hand.
I took Davy outside this afternoon. I met up with Olivia as she was heading to her room. Her hair was all on end. Her face was flushed and damp with sweat and she looked as though, once she got to her room, she might never come back out. She gave a great sigh. Then she staggered off down the hallway.
I found Aunt Susan in the back garden picking lettuce. She looked tired and as though her back hurt. I put Davy down on a patch of grass and took her basket from her. She sank down on a wooden bench and sighed like Olivia.
I started picking lettuce, but had to dive to grab Davy before he got into the raspberry canes. He smiled sweetly and ate the beetle he had just caught.
I winced.
Aunt Susan laughed. “I think he enjoyed it,” she said. “He’s a dear child, Abby,” she went on, “and he’s fitting in just fine. If you are anxious about this, there’s no need.”
She is so nice.
Thursday, July 24, 1902
This afternoon, while Mother and Olivia helped do mountains of dishes, I took Davy outside again to look about. Never have I seen such a tall sky. It is somehow a far deeper blue than our sky in Montreal. It looks so clean and the air smells so fresh. And your eyes are drawn up to the mountaintops.
Mark went with us. Finding I have a cousin is exciting. He’s really friendly. He showed me where to look to see Crowsnest Pass. You would think it was high and narrow, a slice between towering peaks, but it is not. It goes up gradually. But it is a distance away from Frank.
Turtle Mountain looms over the valley, but it does not tower up until the crest is hidden in clouds, like Mount Everest. The only mountains I had ever seen before we came west were pictures in books. Turtle Mountain and the other mountains we can see look much more solid than those pictures.
Davy gazed up at the mountain as though it had him under a spell. It frightened me a little, but I suppose it is just because I am not used to mountains — at least, not this close. It made me feel as though I had shrunk. It shuts off the sun long before sunset, shadowing the valley.
After a minute, Mark took Davy out of my arms. “This fellow is too heavy for you to lug about everywhere,” he said. “I’ll take him for a while.”
At home everyone, even Mother, takes it for granted that I am the one who carries Davy. I suppose it is because I started when he was tiny and I’ve never stopped. My arms felt empty and light as air when Mark lifted him away. I waved them up and down like wings. Thank goodness I have changed out of my serge dress. This muslin is so much cooler.
I was enjoying it when Uncle Martin appeared and called Mark to take over the telegraph for a while. I didn’t know what he meant, but I followed along as he headed for the boxcar which they are using for a station until they build a permanent one. Mark said to come and see him operate the telegraph. Inside the boxcar was a pot-bellied stove with seats where I could sit with Davy on my lap. Mark explained that telegraph messages keep arriving, and when my uncle has to do something else, Mark takes over sending and receiving them. He was proud of doing this and I didn’t blame him.
He set Davy on the floor and sat down at the machine. It is big and complicated looking. As I watched him getting set to work, I found myself longing to try it. I don’t know what gave me the courage, but when he finished tapping out a message to be sent, I actually astonished myself by asking Mark if he would teach me the Morse Code.
“Surely,” he said, as though I had asked him to pass the butter.
I wanted to know if he thought a girl could do what he was doing, but before I ask, I should learn the code. I might get so quick at it that I will impress him. I think I’ll have to surprise more than just Mark. It looks difficult. But I like puzzles.
I like Mark and Uncle Martin too. He is more easygoing than Father was. He laughs a lot. Father hardly ever laughed. But that does not mean Uncle Martin thinks girls are equal to boys. I think hardly any adults believe that, although Mother does. I asked her once and she said, “Of course.” She sounded surprised at my having to ask such a question.
While
we were talking, the telegraph began to click and clack and Mark took the message and sent an answer.
I will watch him every chance I get. I’m almost sure I could do it. Keeping an eye on Davy is the only problem. You can’t let your mind wander. He has begun to crawl. He moves like a clumsy lightning bug and can escape if you forget him.
August 1902
Friday, August 1, 1902, early
I want to write in here when interesting things happen. But now that we are in Frank, I am too busy. The days are so full of hotel guests needing things and my having to tend Davy and trying to find time to watch Mark or Uncle Martin so I can learn Morse Code in secret. I also help in the kitchen sometimes when Davy’s asleep.
After supper
This morning, while I was waiting for the train to come in, I worked on the Morse Code. I say it out loud and Davy laughs. He tries to copy the sounds I make. He is so funny.
“Da … da … do … dumda … dodee … daaa.”
Saturday, August 2, 1902
Olivia is so strange. I know working in the kitchen makes her feel tired and fretful a lot of the time. But this morning I offered to take over and let her sit down on the bench outside and rest for a bit. All she would have had to do was watch Davy playing on the grass.
She looked at me as though I had suggested she dance naked at dinner. Then she turned her back and walked off without a word.
I cannot understand her. I was trying to give her a break from working in the kitchen. I would far rather care for Davy than slave in there. It is not only hot, but incredibly noisy.
Mrs. Mutton also yells a lot. She has a temper the like of which I have never heard. Mother has warned us against copying her language. I would never use most of her expressions — although once in a while, she comes out with such a humdinger, I have to store it away to use in private.
Yesterday I sat down on the stairs for a moment’s rest with Davy on my knee. Mrs. Mutton saw us from the upstairs landing. She laughed and called down, “You can never tell, from where you sit, where the man in the gallery’s going to spit.” Then she positively whooped with laughter. And Davy and I joined in. Laughter is as catching as yawning.
Tomorrow a crowd is coming, sightseers on their way through the Rockies. If only they did not all need to eat so heartily during their rest stop! The stacks of dishes tower up like mountain peaks.
Yesterday, though, a woman stopped to smile at me and give Davy a pat on the cheek. “Take good care of him, dearie,” she said softly. “He’s one of God’s angels come down to visit.”
Davy had just kicked me in the shin, so I was not so sure about his being an angel. But it was nice of her.
Tuesday, August 5, 1902
I had a lesson in bread-making today from Mrs. Mutton. Davy kept pulling at my leg to make me stop, but she swept him up in her arms and went on teaching me. The loaves are in the oven as I write. I’ll take Davy out to look at his mountain while I wait. Oh, I do hope the bread does not come out heavy as lead.
I have got the Morse Code down pat and I am getting up my courage to try to send out a telegram with Mark’s help.
There is a bite to the wind now. It has never been really hot though because of the mountain breezes. Mark says snow will come by Thanksgiving, but I doubt it. I wonder if Davy remembers snow.
Sunday, August 10, 1902
I did it. I proved to Mark that I knew the Morse Code forwards and backwards. So today he let me receive a telegraphed message. It was a dull one.
BE THERE AT SEVEN STOP TWO ADULTS PLUS CHILD STOP NEED ONE NIGHTS LODGING STOP REGINALD CHART
Still, it was the most exciting thing I have ever done. Little did Mr. Chart know who was taking down his words. Clickety … clack. Dot … dot … dash.
Later a crowd arrived and asked for someone to guide them up through Crowsnest Pass. I wanted to go, but couldn’t. Mark says that one of these days he will arrange a trip that I can join. People go through it to get to the coast.
Monday, August 11, 1902
Davy and I spotted two eagles today. He hooted and whooped but I think he was scared when one spread its wings out wide and came coasting down to snatch up a rabbit. Or was I the one who was frightened?
I admit it. I think my heart stopped for a full minute. And my eyes stretched wide. Those eagles were as grand as the stag John and I saw from the train.
And the poor rabbit did not have time to think.
Thursday, August 14, 1902
Uncle Martin found out about my learning to send and record telegrams and he was pleased as punch. There is so much work to do here and now I can be more help. Davy comes along, of course, and plays at my feet. He has a homemade toy truck now. He adores it. He runs it back and forth and makes engine noises.
The air in the mountains is thinner than the air in Montreal so Davy gets out of breath more, but it does not seem to bother him. Doctor Malcolmson was at the hotel when Davy choked on a prune pit and he turned him upside down and made him cough it up quick as a wink. He says Davy’s shortness of breath is partly the altitude and partly because he has a damaged heart. This is often the way with such children. We were relieved when he told us it was nothing we need worry about.
Davy holds onto the ledge of the small window in our room and gazes out at the mountains with fascination. I wish he could tell me what he is thinking or maybe feeling. His eyes shine so.
“It’s called Turtle Mountain,” I told him. And I showed him a turtle in a book in the lounge bookshelf. He looked, but he did not know why he was looking. I’ll have to watch out for a real turtle so he can see it and maybe understand.
Friday, August 15, 1902
Today a new family arrived. They are staying overnight. There is a woman with three rowdy boys. When I came out onto the verandah with Davy, the biggest pulled up the corners of his eyes and called out, “Look at the retarded boy.”
Davy didn’t know what the boy meant, but I wanted to punch him. His mother actually laughed. “Ronnie’s such a card,” she said. “I can’t do a thing with him. But I guess boys will be boys.”
Everyone was there but none of us laughed. Even Olivia gave the woman a withering stare. But Mother astonished us. She smiled sweetly at the woman and said, “Perhaps his father will teach him some manners as he grows older.”
The woman flounced away and Aunt Susan clapped her hands. “Well said, Eleanor!” she remarked, loudly enough for everybody to hear.
I hope Davy never understands such nastiness.
After supper
I took Davy out for a walk today. I was carrying him when I stepped on a loose stone and fell flat. I did manage to hold him up, so he did not get hurt, but I could do nothing to save myself. I landed hard on my elbow and I felt my poor ankle sort of rip. It hurt so much that I could not get up.
When I let go of him, Davy crawled away. I tried to go after him but I couldn’t. He was frightened when he saw me start to cry and he would not come to me. I didn’t know what to do. We were out of sight of the hotel, hidden behind a clump of trees.
Then an Indian girl and her mother rode up on a pony. The mother — whose name is Mrs. Fairchild — went on to the hotel to get help and the girl — Nellie — stayed with me.
She was so kind. She did not say anything at first, but Davy crawled over to her and put his head down on her lap and this made us both laugh.
While we waited for her mother to bring help, the girl told me her true name means Bluebird. She said that the minister said it sounded heathen and changed it to Nellie.
I think Bluebird is beautiful, far nicer than Nellie. I said I would call her Bird and she nodded. Then her mother came back with Mark to help and they lifted me onto their pony and led her back to the hotel. Mark brought Davy.
Mrs. Fairchild has come to work at the hotel so she and Bird are staying in one of the staff rooms not far from me and Davy, which is nice.
I ended up with what Aunt Susan says is a humdinger of a sprain. She thought at first that I mi
ght have broken it, but Dr. Malcolmson stopped by and after wiggling it back and forth, he said it was not a break. He bandaged it tightly and I am supposed to keep it propped up on a chair. Mother gave me a little laudanum, but it still throbs. It is going to be awkward too, trying to mind Davy with a sprained ankle.
Saturday, August 16, 1902
Davy was staring out the window at Turtle Mountain again and Bird saw him. When I told her how he loves looking at it, she said he must never go there. She told me that her people call it “the mountain that walks.” She couldn’t explain why, but she was deadly serious.
I was talking to Mark later on and I told him what Bird had said. He just laughed. He said no mountain that size could go very far, however hard it rumbled. He says the rumbling comes from inside it.
When I looked scared, he thought it was funny. I suppose he is used to it, but I think it sounds frightening. Ominous — that’s the perfect word.
“The Indians are very superstitious,” Mark finished up.
I did not like the tone in his voice when he said this. It sounded as though he thought Bluebird and her people are not as smart as we are. He went on to tell me about a place called Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump. I think that was it. Buffalo used to go over a cliff there or something. Maybe they were driven over the cliff by hunters. I think it would be terrible to live in a town with such a name. It certainly sounds violent and cruel as well as a bit comical.
Sunday morning, August 17, 1902
The family went to church without me. Bird is keeping track of Davy since I am supposed to sit still and keep my foot propped up. It is tedious. Thank goodness I have a good book to read. When I don’t have a book, I feel lonely.
Monday, August 18, 1902
My ankle feels a lot better today.
I had to take a sad telegram message this morning. It was hard to deliver. It was to tell one of the guests that his mother had died. I hobbled around trying to find Mark or Uncle Martin to take it in to the man, but I couldn’t. So I had to go myself. The man had tears in his eyes when he thanked me, and he asked me to send an answer back for him. I was proud I knew how.