by Anne Patton
“Good eyes, Dodie!” Victor said gleefully. “Let’s set a trap here.”
He followed the tracks backwards through scattered bushes. “If a hare is in there now, I don’t want him to watch us build the snare.” Behind the bushes Victor and Dorothy knelt in the snow.
Victor curled the end of his wire into a tiny loop. “It’s important to twist this loop tight so it doesn’t come apart when the animal struggles.” He threaded the wire through the loop to make a circle a bit bigger than his fist. “Hold this while I find a branch.”
Dorothy stared at the circle in her hand – a noose designed to strangle. She felt torn by emotions. It was one thing to skin and butcher a dead animal, quite another to engineer its death. She swallowed hard. Stop thinking like this, she lectured herself. The wilderness is no place for sissies.
Victor returned with a branch about five feet long and one inch thick. He threaded the branch sideways through the bushes, about two feet above ground. Winding the straight end of the wire around the pole, he dropped the circle into position, right above the animal tracks. Then he scavenged a small stick from inside the bush and stuck it upright close to the circle.
“Find more like this. We have to make a little fence to funnel the animal through the snare.”
Reluctantly Dorothy gathered sticks and fanned them out on both sides of the noose. “It seems rather unfair to trick the poor rabbit like this.”
Victor squinted at her. “Are you going soft on me?”
Dorothy bit her lip.
“Listen Dodie, Reverend Lloyd said the first law of nature is ‘eat or be eaten’. He was quoting some famous Englishman. You ought to attend church more often.”
Dorothy looked at him dubiously. “Whenever I went to church, Mr. Lloyd went on and on about our duty to England.”
“Exactly. We can’t do our duty to England if we’re dead. We have a natural right to kill animals for food.”
“I guess so…” Dorothy furrowed her brows trying to process these deep thoughts.
“Oh yeah, it’s also our duty to have fun whenever we can.” Victor threw a handful of snow at Dorothy and she chased after him. He ducked behind a tall bush and shook snow over her head. Dorothy unwound her scarf, flicking it in Victor’s face.
“You’re a sport, Dodie.” Victor patted her shoulder. “Let’s check my other traps.”
After finding several empty snares, they spied a fresh trail in the snow: two big feet, two small feet repeated over and over. “This is a popular run,” said Victor. “It goes to the bottom of the coulee where there’s lots of brush to hide in.”
They followed the tracks. Each time the paw prints passed between bushes, Dorothy’s heart skittered. “For heaven’s sake, where did you lay the snare?” She felt a need to whisper as if she were attending a funeral.
“In those bushes just ahead,” Victor whispered back.
In three more steps Dorothy inhaled sharply. A small body lay collapsed in the snow, the black tips of its ears contrasted against the white fur. Tentatively she touched the furry back. “It’s still warm.” An ache of sadness surged through her.
“Must have happened within the hour.” Victor loosened the wire around its neck. He held the hare up by its hind legs that still held patches of brown fur. “He’s a biggie, at least two meals in him.”
Dorothy remembered why they had to snare rabbits. “Your mum will make a tasty stew with that much meat.” She smiled at Victor and the sadness passed.
Swinging his prize, Victor tramped on to check his other snares. Tagging behind, Dorothy lost track of time. When they entered the aspen woods, they startled a herd of white-tailed deer. As the deer scrabbled up the steep slope to the skyline, Dorothy noticed the sky for the first time since she left the Suttons’ soddie. Dark clouds had spread overhead and an ominous mass was building in the west.
“Victor, we’d best get home!” She tugged him out from the trees. Away from the sheltered bluff, wind gusted up the coulee, hurling snow into Dorothy’s face. Her cheeks burned and her eyes watered.
Turning her back to the wind, she gasped, “How could the weather change so fast?”
Victor tugged his hat lower and pulled his collar up. He put his arm around Dorothy’s shoulder. For a few minutes they stumbled through the swirling snow.
“This looks bad. I’ll see you home.”
“No.” Dorothy wiggled loose from his arm. “You have to go home straightaway, else your mother will die of worry.”
“Will you be all right?”
“Your way is worse. You have to walk into the wind.” Dorothy pushed Victor in the right direction and watched anxiously as he headed into the buffeting wind.
She fought her way through the swirling snow, ploughing along the valley bottom through knee-high snowdrifts. She felt the ground rising underfoot. This assured her she was headed the right way.
She trudged up the narrowing coulee until the banks pressed into a sharp vee. This was the hard part, climbing over the ridge to the open slope. She knew their soddie sat about two hundred feet further on. At the crest of the ridge, the wind almost bowled her over. Bare of trees, the land was open to the sweep of wind for hundreds of miles.
Gasping for breath, Dorothy slunk back into the dip of the coulee that shielded her from the full force of the wind. Sheltering behind a small bush, she pulled her knees tight to her chest. The weight in her rucksack reminded her of Mrs. Sutton’s bread.
Dorothy desperately longed to be back in Mrs. Sutton’s warm embrace, inhaling the fresh-bread smell from her apron. But she wasn’t safe in Mrs. Sutton’s arms. She was alone in the white fury of a snowstorm, and she was scared.
Her fingers were freezing, so she pulled Mam’s bright red mittens over her gloves. Her feet throbbed in her tight-fitting English boots. Snow wedged inside the boots stung her skin through her long woollen underwear. Her body quivered in spasms of shivering.
I can’t stay here. This was the bitter truth.
Dorothy knew she had to leave before she was too cold to move. On hands and knees she clawed her way over the crest onto the open slope leading to her house. Fierce gusts beat on her back and she thought of poor Victor fighting head-first into the wind. Victor was so tough she knew he would make it home safely.
“If Victor can find his way home, SO CAN I!”
Startled, Dorothy realized she had just hollered out loud. She peered through half-closed eyelids for any recognizable shape in the white swirling mass. Snow flew in all directions. The wild wind hurled down fresh snow from the sky and whipped up yesterday’s snow from the ground.
Dorothy struggled to a stand. She couldn’t see anything past her red mittens. She moved forward, one foot at a time, in the direction she hoped her house would be.
8
A Beacon in the Storm
Dorothy held one hand above her eyes and squinted into the white whirlwind. Shadowy shapes formed and faded but she could make no sense of them. Another step and she tripped over something – a stunted shrub of some sort. She sprawled on the frozen ground and howled.
Nobody can hear you, yelled a fierce voice in her head. Get up and move!
Dorothy pushed herself upright. The wind whipped crystalline snow into her face. She pulled her muffler higher until only her eyes showed. Her ears burned but she gave up trying to cover them; her stinging fingers were too awkward under two layers of wool. She jammed her hands into her pockets and shuffled forward.
Panic consumed her. She had no idea how to find her house. She took a step, wracking her brain to evoke the landscape of their hill.
There’s only scrawny shrubs on our hill, nothing big to direct me to the house.
Another step.
And if I miss that bump of sod bricks, I could walk for miles without finding help.
Dorothy stifled a sob. She dragged a foot forward.
I’ll freeze in a snowdrift and nobody will find me until spring.
In despair, she buckled onto the ground.
Then a spark of hope flickered. But wait – look for the fireguard!
The wide band of ploughed land around the house made a bigger target than just the soddie itself. Dorothy pushed herself up. But now the rough furrows were covered with snow. Will I even notice when I step on them?
The snow isn’t deep here on the open hill, she lectured herself. Pay attention to the ground.
She scuffed forward, feeling the texture of the grass beneath the snow. The icy wind billowed her skirt and stung her legs. Her bare ears throbbed.
Suddenly a ragged shape loomed before her. It was the wolf willow thicket behind the stable. She was too far downhill. Reassured by a familiar landmark, Dorothy felt a surge of energy. She had walked between the house and stable every day for four months. Surely she could do it now.
She wondered what time it was. The whiteness overhead was still bright; that meant the sun still shone above the thick clouds. Somehow that thought comforted her.
Edging upward, Dorothy scrutinized the ground. Here and there clumps of grass protruded through the snow. How will I know when I’ve reached the fireguard? With her mind so focussed, she hardly felt the bite of the wind through her clothes.
Is this it? Dorothy felt a ridge underfoot and dropped to the ground. She crawled forward, tangling her legs in her skirt. “Bloody ’ell!” she cursed, just like Dad did when he was really peeved. She yanked her skirt up above her knees. Pushing forward, she felt another furrow and a third.
Yes! This is the fireguard! Dorothy scrambled to her feet.
In a lull of wind she saw a faint glow through the surging snow. Laughing and sobbing in a delirium of relief, Dorothy ran toward it. Another gust and the light disappeared, but Dorothy knew it was the beacon to guide her home.
A dozen steps and the light in the window flashed again. In a minute the low contour of the soddie appeared as a misty shape. Dorothy banged on the door and collapsed on the stoop.
“Dear God, our prayers are answered!” Voices sobbed and arms tugged her inside.
Dorothy felt herself being eased into a chair and her boots pulled off. Warm hands enclosed her stinging feet. Other hands unwrapped her scarf and patted her face dry with a towel. A voice expressed dismay about the white tips on Dorothy’s ears and puffed warm breath on them.
Dorothy shivered uncontrollably. She tried to speak but her tongue wouldn’t work.
“Shush, don’t talk. We must warm you up.” Puffs of breath continued to bathe her ears.
Voices swirled around Dorothy, but she was too befuddled to follow what they said.
Soon a spoon came to her lips and Dorothy swallowed. Soup trickled down her throat and warmed her insides. She focussed her eyes on the person behind the spoon. It was Mam.
“Mam, I’m so sorry…I don’t know…where that blizzard came from.” Dorothy struggled to organize her thoughts. “We were in the coulee –”
“Take another sip.” Mam held the spoon to her mouth again and again.
Lydia pulled another chair close and lifted Dorothy’s legs onto her lap. “Your feet are ice cold.” She tucked Dorothy’s feet inside her woollen jumper, tight against her own body.
“That makes them throb even more!” cried Dorothy.
Mam removed Dorothy’s outer clothes and wrapped her in a quilt. Then she brought a basin of water to soak her feet. She tested the water with her finger. “Lukewarm.”
Dorothy immersed her feet. “That stings!” she shrieked and yanked them out.
“I know it stings, Dodie, but you have to warm your feet back to their normal temperature.” Mam handed Lydia a towel. “Keep them in the water for a minute, then Lydia can dry them. When you’re ready you can soak them again.”
With gritted teeth, Dorothy sank her feet into the tepid water. Sharp pinpricks pierced every inch of flesh. “Is a minute up yet?”
“Not yet,” said Lydia, squeezing Dorothy’s hand.
Dorothy bit her lip and squeezed back.
“All right, take them out,” said Mam, her face etched with concern. This was the first time Dorothy had seen such love on her mother’s face since…well, since Mam thought Dorothy had scarlet fever back in Saskatoon.
Mam brought mugs of freshly brewed tea for Dorothy and Lydia. As they sipped, Dorothy managed to smile at her sister.
Lydia smiled back. “Your boots are too thin to be outside for so long.”
“Too thin and too tight. Mr. Parenteau is bringing me a pair of moosehide moccasins big enough to wear thick socks inside.”
Mam turned sharply to Dorothy. “You saw Mr. Parenteau?”
“Oops,” said Dorothy.
“Did you meet him in Lloydminster?”
“Yes, Mam. I should have told you, but you seem so dead set against him.”
Mam tested the water in the basin. “Put your feet in. They won’t hurt so much this time.”
Dorothy dunked her feet again. Her mother was right; now they barely tingled.
“Tell me about meeting Mr. Parenteau.” Mam’s voice seemed softer now.
Dorothy recounted the meeting at the stable. She left out the part about getting a penny from Mr. Pinder. “Frank traded the deer’s head and hide for a pair of moccasins that Mr. Parenteau’s wife will make. Like Frank’s moccasins, but the right size for me. They keep your feet warm outside all day.”
“The local people know how to dress to survive here,” Lydia agreed.
Mam gazed into the fire. Finally she nodded. “You’re right, we can learn from the natives.”
Dorothy tried to smile but instead she shivered. “I’m still cold all over.”
“Lydia, dry her feet and put fresh socks on,” Mam said. “Then I’ll tuck you both into your bunk. Dodie can cuddle against your warm body.”
In a minute Dorothy snuggled her back against Lydia under two eiderdowns. At their feet Mam buried three smooth rocks that had been stored beneath the stove. Closing her eyes, Dorothy pressed her stocking feet against the warm rocks. “That feels so good, Mam.”
Mam poured herself a cup of tea. “Finally,” she said, slumping into a chair. “A bit over-steeped, but still good.”
A minute later she leapt up. “Heavens! We’re almost out of coal oil!” She hustled to the window ledge and snuffed out the wick. “We have to save the last bit in case there is another emergency!” Her voice was shrill and anxious again.
“I’m glad we had enough for this emergency.” Lydia adjusted the comforters over Dorothy.
Snugged up to her sister beneath the puffy covers, Dorothy finally felt revived. She opened her eyes. The room had faded to dusky grey.
“I saw the lamp, Mam. That’s how I found the house.” Dorothy unpeeled Lydia’s arm from her tummy and sat up.
Mam perched on the edge of Lydia’s bunk and grasped Dorothy’s hands. “Dearest daughter, the Lord brought you back safely to me.”
Actually it was the lantern in the – Before Dorothy finished this thought, she found herself in a tight embrace against her mother’s bosom. The surprise took her breath away. She melted against her mother for several minutes. Finally she asked, “What time is it? I’m starving.”
“Daylight has faded,” said Mam. “Must be past six o’clock.”
Behind them, Lydia wiggled under the comforters. “Let me out, you lovebirds, so I can make supper.” Lydia thrust her feet into her slippers and shuffled to the stove. She fed fresh wood to the firebox, filled the kettle and placed the soup pot back on the burner.
Dorothy and Mam sat with linked arms. Dorothy watched her sister fuss at the stove, her silhouette tinged red by the flames in the firebox. The flickering light warmed Mam’s face beside her. Dorothy burned with love for both of them.
Just this morning she had felt pampered and loved in another house. “Lydia, Mrs. Sutton sent us a loaf of bread! I hope I didn’t squash it when I fell.”
Lydia pulled the loaf from the rucksack. “It’s rather flattened, but we won’t notice in the dark.” She sliced off severa
l pieces, served the soup and called everyone to the table.
Mrs. Sutton’s squashed bread is better than Lydia’s best effort, Dorothy thought as she chewed. She kept that observation to herself.
After supper there was nothing to do but go to bed. Dorothy felt so weary she could barely climb the ladder. Wrapped in her comforter, she worried about people she loved who might have been caught in the blizzard.
Did Victor get home safely? Of course, he did. He’s just as smart as I am.
What about Frank? He was going to Lloydminster this morning to ask about the coal oil. The blizzard probably hit while he was at the general store. Dorothy pictured Frank camping on the floor of the store.
Dad’s situation was the most worrisome because Dorothy couldn’t imagine his quarters or the forest where he worked. Dad has grit and common sense. He’ll find a way to protect himself. Then she remembered Patrick was with him. Patrick has grit but not much common sense. Dad had said so on the trek last spring.
Dorothy tossed and turned, fretting about this unlikely pair in the northern forest until utter exhaustion swept her off to sleep.
The next morning snow fell lightly with barely a breath of wind. The household needed water but Mam wouldn’t let Dorothy out of her sight. Lydia had to bundle up and make the trip to the dock. Watching out the window, Dorothy marvelled at the single line of footprints in the snow as if Lydia were the first person ever to walk down their hill.