by Anne Patton
Dorothy pushed the door and it slammed shut. Her face flushed as she stared at the floor.
“Not like that! Don’t you Brits have any manners?”
Stung by the tongue lashing, Dorothy swung around and came face-to-face with a tall stocky man dressed to the nines in a brown tweed suit, vest and bow tie.
“Uh, I’m sorry…I was just excited.”
“Humph,” said the man, retreating behind the counter again. “This is a public office so you have the right to enter. Please do so with courtesy next time.”
“Yes, sir.” With a lump swelling in her throat, Dorothy backed away.
Mam stood, placing a protective hand on Dorothy’s shoulder. “We will be leaving now. Thank you for your hospitality,” she said haughtily.
Before Dorothy could extend Mr. Herbert’s invitation, Mam swept her out of the government office onto the frozen walkway. “We shall go to Mr. Herbert’s store,” said Mam. “I’m sure he will be more hospitable.”
“Oh, he will,” Dorothy agreed. Her head was spinning with this turn of events. Her mother was now striding down the street to the very building she had refused to enter fifteen minutes ago.
Dorothy checked behind to make sure Lydia was following. “Who was that?”
“The Land Titles agent,” said Lydia, “apparently not happy being posted to Lloydminster.”
Our dad would do a much better job than that, Dorothy thought indignantly.
Inside the general store, Mr. Herbert had spread a cloth over a small table surrounded by wooden crates. When Mam entered, he seated her on a crate. “My dear Mrs. Bolton, thank you for indulging my whim. I so seldom get to enjoy tea with a proper lady.” He motioned for Lydia and Dorothy to join them. “And two lovely young ladies as well.”
Dorothy waited for Mam’s reaction. Mam didn’t appear to be suspicious of the shop owner’s charm. In fact she was lapping it up. Her eyes swept across the store. “How wonderful to enjoy a bit of civilization, Mr. Herbert. You appear to be well provisioned.”
“Alas, we were lacking in woollen socks. Thanks to you, we are stocked for a few days.” Mr. Herbert opened a door to the rear of the store. “Excuse me, while I fetch the tea from my living quarters.”
Dorothy was dying to peek into Mr. Herbert’s private space but Mam’s scrutiny kept her glued to her chair. In a minute Mr. Herbert called from the back room, “Dorothy, come help me carry something.” This was indeed her lucky day!
She hustled through the door into a small bed-sitting room with a potbellied stove. She just had time to notice one more thing: a bookshelf stuffed with books. Mr. Herbert handed her a box of sugar cubes and a tin of Eagle Brand evaporated milk. He carried a tray holding a fine china teapot and four cups and saucers, a bit chipped, but better than the tin mugs at home.
“I apologize for the state of my china, but the tea is excellent quality.” He presented Mam with a steaming cup. Mam poured a small quantity of milk into her cup.
“Do take more than that, Madam. I have ample milk here.”
Mam looked flustered so Lydia explained, “We’ve been, uh, cutting back on milk at home, Mr. Herbert, to make our supplies last until, uh, Dad comes back.”
Mr. Herbert poured the other cups of tea. “I’ve been thinking. I owe you $2.00 for the socks but I could reimburse you with stock instead of cash.” Dorothy tried to process the implication of this offer. Mam and Lydia looked equally puzzled. “Your money will go twice as far if I trade you the wholesale value of some food item…such as evaporated milk.”
Mam sat up straight. “Absolutely not. I wish to apply any monies we earn against our debt.”
Mr. Herbert hadn’t finished laying on the charm. “Please allow me to do a small kindness. I am so lonely, having left my family in England.” He scuttled into the back room and returned with a small sepia-toned portrait. When he handed it to Mam, Dorothy craned her neck to look. An attractive young woman and two children looked out from the silver frame.
“You must miss them very much,” said Mam.
Mr. Herbert nodded as he refilled Mam’s cup. “I wish I had a biscuit to accompany the tea but no one in Lloydminster has such baking skills. Cookies,” he corrected himself, “they’re called cookies in Canada.”
Dorothy snapped to attention. “Oh! My sister bakes the best oatmeal cookies.”
“Dodie!” Lydia looked embarrassed. “We live far too frugally to indulge in frivolous desserts.”
“She knows how to bake the best cookies,” Dorothy clarified.
“Hmm,” said Mr. Herbert, stroking his moustache, “you have a good head for business, young Dorothy. Perhaps you can broker another arrangement, this time with your sister for cookies.”
Dorothy looked eagerly at Lydia, who squinted ice daggers at her.
Lydia turned to Mr. Herbert. “I’m not a professional baker –”
“There are no professional bakers in Lloydminster, Miss Lydia, but many lonely bachelors who would be comforted by an oatmeal biscuit that reminds them of their mother’s baking.”
This is such a good idea, thought Dorothy. Why is Lydia reluctant to try it? She wanted to give her sister a shake.
“Perhaps we should allow Lydia time to consider this offer, Mr. Herbert.” Mam set down her empty tea cup. “Thank you for the tea and company.” She stood and buttoned her coat.
“Of course,” said Mr. Herbert, smiling at Lydia. “The offer remains open.”
He scurried behind his shelves and returned with a carton of Eagle Brand evaporated milk. “My cost is 25 cents each, including transportation. I could offer you eight tins for the socks.”
Mam looked longingly at the milk. “Perhaps we could take one dollar in merchandise and apply the other dollar to our bill.”
“Done,” said Mr. Herbert. Packing four tins into the drawstring bag, he handed it to Mam. “I do hope you continue knitting for all those bachelors who have cold feet as well as lonely hearts.”
He opened the door for Mam and Lydia. When Dorothy followed he thrust something into her coat pocket. Outside on the boardwalk she checked. It was a stick of licorice. Thank you, she thought. I might need to bribe Lydia with this if she’s frightfully angry.
But Lydia’s mind was on another worry. “I’ve no idea where Frank is and I’m freezing.” She drew her shawl tight around her face and stamped her feet.
Dorothy looked up and down both sides of the street.
Frank was nowhere to be seen.
10
Freezing in the Woods
“There’s Frank crouched beside the sleigh!” Dorothy dashed down the boardwalk.
“Slow down Dodie! You’ll slip again.” Mam’s voice rang sharply in the cold air.
Dorothy slowed to a trot. She took care not to look at the grouchy agent watching through the window in the Land Titles office. At the sleigh, she plopped on all fours beside her brother.
“What are you doing?”
Frank pointed at the vertical metal strips that attached the runners to the wagon box. “Tightening the bolts.” Crawling forward, he fitted a wrench around a bolt and gave it a full turn. “All done. I have to return this wrench to the hardware store. Be back in a minute.”
Dorothy sat on the crate in the back of the sleigh. She hugged her legs to keep the frigid air from seeping up inside her dress. She pulled the stick of licorice from her pocket. It was so cold it snapped cleanly in half. She sucked on a piece, comforted by the familiar bitter tang.
Her mother and sister approached on the boardwalk. As Frank passed, Lydia seized his coat sleeve and engaged in an animated conversation. Dorothy sighed. Complaining about my new business deal, no doubt. With a laugh Frank patted Lydia’s arm and hurried into the hardware store.
He returned in time to help Mam to her seat. Yanking the blankets off the horses, he tossed one to Lydia as she climbed into the back.
Dorothy offered half the licorice to Lydia, who smiled and popped it into her mouth. She’s not angry! Dorothy though
t with relief. As the horses trotted along, she held tight to her sister beneath the blanket wrapped around their shoulders.
At their soddie Mam got out to prepare supper. Lydia asked Frank to bucksaw some wood, so the three young people drove on to the stable. In the dim light Frank eyed the remnants of their woodpile.
“Holy Mackerel! You’re very low on firewood. Why didn’t you tell me sooner, Lydia?”
“I’m telling you now,” Lydia said testily. “You haven’t exactly been here lately.”
A few long poles lay along a wall. While Frank positioned one across the sawhorse, Lydia stacked Dorothy’s arms with split wood from the dwindling pile.
“Hustle to the house so Mam will have enough wood to heat the stew.”
“Aww,” sighed Dorothy. “I would rather help Frank.”
“We are low on wood at the house,” hissed Lydia. “Go now, obstinate child.”
Dorothy’s blood boiled all the way up the hill. I am not an obstinate child. I’m a frontier business lady. At the soddie Mam was so grateful for the wood that Dorothy’s blood rate returned to normal. She peered into the almost empty wood-box and saw that Lydia was right.
“I’ll go for another load, Mam.”
The sun hung just above the western horizon. An elongated blue shadow streamed sideways across the snow as Dorothy ran down the hill.
The stable door was open. In this feeble shaft of light Frank pulled the awkward-looking bucksaw back and forth. Every time he bucked off a chunk, Lydia repositioned the long log. It looked like hard work. Dorothy was grateful nobody expected her to help.
When he finished sawing the log, Frank picked up the axe. “I’ll split these rounds now. You can chop them smaller at the house.” In a few minutes the bucked-off chunks were all divided in half. Frank arched his back and shook out his arms. “I’ve got to get home. Chap will be starving.”
The three of them gathered the split wood and squeezed together on the wagon seat. They brought the large axe along too. Mam was dismayed that Frank wasn’t stopping for supper. She ladled a bowl of stew and brought it to the sleigh, while Dorothy and Lydia unloaded the wood.
“It’s not properly simmered yet,” Mam apologized.
“At least it’s hot,” said Frank, wolfing it down. “You’re shivering, Mam. Get back inside.” He handed her the bowl and spoon. “I’ll return in the morning to fell more trees in the woods.”
Dorothy watched from the stoop as Frank’s sleigh glided to the eastern edge of their homestead. When Frank turned north, the canvas top glowed pink against the deep purple skyline. As soon as he disappeared, Dorothy went inside for supper.
After a fortnight of candlelight, the coal oil lamp felt like a luxury. Dorothy could actually see the soiled supper dishes in the dishpan instead of pulling things randomly from the murky water. She could even see the calendar on the wall.
“The calendar!” she cried. “I haven’t marked it for so long, I don’t remember what day it is.”
“I do.” Mam took a plate from Dorothy to dry. “I stared at the calendar in the Land Titles office to avoid acknowledging that wretched official. It is November 22.”
“I’ll mark it straightaway,” said Dorothy, wiping her dripping hands on her skirt.
“Finish the dishes first!”
Too late, Dorothy was already launched on her mission. She pencilled nine x’s to bring their record up to date. “Look, Mam, I added a tiny note that we sold four pairs of socks today.”
Mam’s expression softened. “I’m pleased you made that arrangement, Dodie. Mr. Herbert convinced me that knitting socks is a service to the community. Like the war effort a couple of years ago. Catherine and I spent many afternoons knitting socks for our soldiers fighting the Boers…” Mam’s voice drifted off to a whisper.
Dorothy recalled how much Mam and Aunt Catherine had enjoyed each other’s company. She stared at the photograph on the calendar, wondering if they had bickered as children like she and Lydia did. In spite of the friction, Dorothy didn’t care to imagine her life without Lydia in it. Even the thought triggered an empty ache inside her.
By the time Dorothy returned to the dishpan, Lydia had stepped in and finished the job. Mam was now discussing Mr. Herbert’s latest suggestion for community service.
“…and I appreciate the comfort your biscuits would bring all those lonely young men.”
Avoiding eye contact, Dorothy scooped up the clean dishes to return them to their shelf. Lydia huffed as she scrubbed the stew pot. “It means extra work –”
“I’ll help!” interrupted Dorothy, in spite of her intention to stay out of the conversation.
“We’ll need more firewood if we bake that often –”
“Frank will come whenever we need more trees from the woods.”
“You’re very generous with other people’s time, Dodie.” Lydia’s voice had a sarcastic edge that warned Dorothy to hold her tongue.
In fact Dorothy was weary of looking for the bright side. She got ready for bed and retreated to her cocoon under the rafters.
•••
As promised, Frank came the next morning, bringing
Chap for company. Lydia refused to spend a day tramping through snow, so he accepted Dorothy’s offer to help.
“No!” said Mam. “Dodie almost froze when she walked home through the blizzard.”
Frank exhaled in exasperation. “I need help carrying the logs back to the sleigh.”
“Your dad did it alone.”
“The snow wasn’t nearly as deep and it wasn’t nearly as cold.”
“Exactly,” said Mam. “The conditions are worse now and Dodie is still a child.”
Not the child excuse again! Dorothy wanted to explode, but she knew she had to stay calm to convince Mam. “It was only my feet that got cold, because my boots were too tight. I could borrow Lydia’s boots and wear extra socks.” She smiled sweetly at Lydia. “Could you wear your slippers all day, just this once?”
It was clear from Lydia’s face that lending her boots was a more acceptable option than assisting Frank. So it was settled.
Dorothy was delighted. What could be better than tramping through the woods with her big brother and his frisky dog? Mam supervised Dorothy’s layers of woollen clothing, including a muffler wrapped over her frost-nipped ears. Lydia made four sandwiches of scones filled with slabs of venison.
As they left Frank assured Mam, “There’s plenty of dead brush in the woods. I’ll build a fire if Dodie gets cold.”
When the sleigh glided away, Frank turned to Dorothy. “The crate you and Lydia sat on is packed with survival gear: my camping stove, a pot, tea, pemmican –”
“What’s pemmican?”
“It’s dried meat and fruit, pounded into fine pieces and mixed with melted fat.”
“Ugh.”
“It may not sound tasty, but it’s not bad simmered awhile with water. Sort of like a stew. Mr. Parenteau swears by it.” Frank steered the horses off the trail and into the snow-swept field. White drifts flowed out from bushes like long fingers.
Ebony hesitated, shaking his head.
“Keep walking, Ebony,” Frank urged. “You too, Midnight.” He stopped the team at the edge of the woods. “Dad cleared a path into the woodland but I’m not sure if this is the right place. I’ll walk ahead to make sure there’s nothing treacherous hiding under the snow.”
“Treacherous?” Dorothy wrinkled her forehead.
Frank laughed. “Nothing that bites. I mean a fallen log that could trip the horses.” He handed her the reins. “You hold the team steady.” Whistling for Chap, Frank tramped into the woods until he faded behind the white aspen trees.
Just as Dorothy was thinking a long time had passed, she heard distant barking, then a rush of snapping branches. A dozen deer burst from the trees onto the very path Frank had just trampled down. They stampeded past the sleigh into the open field.
Startled from their reverie, the horses reared and snorted. Dorothy
had to rein them in hard. “Down Ebony! Down Midnight!” Her pounding heart nearly burst from her body. She was as startled as the horses.
When the team settled, Dorothy gaped at the deer bounding over bushes and snowdrifts. The ball-and-socket joints she had seen with her own eyes let them stretch their legs in long powerful leaps.
Frank raced back to her. “Good work, Dodie. You kept calm when the horses panicked.”
Dorothy nodded. She didn’t bother telling Frank her heart was still thumping.
“This is the path Dad cleared and he left some felled trees a hundred feet in.” Jumping aboard, Frank took the reins while Chap cavorted in the snow. “Chap is distracted by anything on legs. He was chasing something when he startled that herd of deer.”
“Was it a snowshoe hare? If I had some wire I could fix up a snare.”
“I’ve got wire in my survival kit.”
Frank stopped beside a pile of long logs covered with snow. “Help me stow these in the wagon box, then you can set snares while I chop some more trees.”
When Dorothy stepped off the sleigh her feet sank into deep snow. She had to lift each foot high to move ahead. Every step was slow and cumbersome. Thankfully she didn’t have to walk far.
Frank kicked the top pole to dislodge it. Dorothy seized one end and stumbled behind her brother to the sleigh. They repeated this exercise six times. Frank pushed each pole into the wagon box with the extra length sticking out. “Nice of Dad to save me some work. I’ll get the wire now. How many pieces, and how long?”