Trial by Winter

by Anne Patton

  “Victor cut a strip of wire as long as his arm. I could start with one.”

  “Nonsense,” said Frank, snipping lengths from his coil. “Here are six. You don’t want to make a trip to the woods to check only one snare.”

  Holding the wires, Dorothy lumbered among the trees. Lydia’s boots felt like giant feet that wouldn’t do her bidding. She had no idea where to set her traps. I’ll have to find rabbit tracks first. She coiled her wires and dropped them into her pockets.

  Dorothy loved walking in the woods, sheltered from the force of the wind. She listened for sounds of living things, wondering how many creatures lived in this woods. She heard only the creaking of branches in the breeze. After a while she stopped, uncertain where she was.

  Then she heard the faint thud of an axe against cold wood. She hurried toward the sound until she spied a glint of metal slicing through the air. A tree swayed and crashed to the ground.

  Frank trimmed the side branches. “Good timing, Dodie. It will take both of us to carry this one to the sleigh. Take the thin end and follow me.”

  The trunk was easily fourteen feet long. Dorothy wrapped both arms under her end and stumbled forward, trying to maintain her brother’s pace.

  Frank thrust the pole into the wagon box. “You’re a great help, little sister.”

  Dorothy tingled with pride. She felt useful and appreciated.

  “Remember that blizzard from three weeks ago?” Frank asked.

  “I surely do. I was caught in it and my feet almost froze.”

  “Well, that storm blew down a couple of trees. If you help me get them, it will save me chopping fresh ones. Just follow in my footsteps.”

  Dorothy stretched to drop her front foot into the hollow Frank’s boot formed in the snow. Her first dozen steps succeeded. Then she had to reach just a bit farther. She found herself splayed in the snow, with only woollen knickers between her skin and the icy cold.

  “FRANK!” she hollered.

  He turned around and pulled her upright. “Sorry, Dodie. I’ll take smaller steps.”

  She brushed off her clothes but now she felt freezing cold. Shivering, she followed Frank to two fallen trees, ripped jaggedly from the base of their trunks. One lay atop the other. Frank quickly hacked off the side branches of the uppermost tree and Dorothy picked up her end. By the time they reached the wagon, her teeth were chattering.

  “You look frozzed,” said Frank.

  Dorothy clutched her arms tight to her body. “There’s snow inside my drawers.”

  “Get up on the wagon seat, put the blanket around yourself and shake out your underclothes. I’ll get the branches from that fallen tree and build a fire.” Frank strode back up the trail he had just broken through the snow.

  Dorothy knew why Frank was in such a hurry, besides worrying about her, of course. He was afraid of the tongue lashing he’d get from Mam, if he brought his little sister back half frozen.

  Soon a fire crackled in a cavity scooped into the snow. Frank made tea on the camp stove from his survival kit. Dorothy watched a potful of snow melt down to a scant two inches of boiling water. After steaming black tea and two venison sandwiches she felt ready to work again.

  Despite her protests, Frank made her stay in the wagon, take off Lydia’s boots, and wrap her feet in the blanket. He held the boots close to the fire and returned them as warm as toast. “Baptiste Parenteau should bring your moccasins shortly.”

  Dorothy laced up Lydia’s boots. “I can hardly wait.” She eyed Frank’s footwear enviously as she followed him to collect the second wind-fallen tree.

  Dorothy warmed her hands at the fire while Frank chopped several nearby trees. Around her the woodland was dotted with stumps from trees previously harvested. When Frank called her to help lug the poles she asked, “How long do trees take to grow?”

  “I don’t know. Why do you ask?”

  “Look how many we have already cut. We’re going to run out in a couple more years. What will we do for firewood then?”

  Stroking his chin, Frank looked at her oddly. “That’s something to think about.” They toted the freshly-chopped trunks to the wagon. Frank counted the stash. “Fifteen. Enough for today.”

  He smothered the remnants of the fire with snow. Then they rode home, where Mam had venison-cabbage soup waiting.

  “Did you get chilled, Dodie?” Mam asked.

  “Not at all. Frank took good care of me.” Dorothy would never complain about her big brother. She wanted to share more wilderness adventures with him.

  After supper Dorothy had to relinquish Lydia’s loose-fitting boots, because her sister was needed outside. Wearing her own tight-fitting boots, Dorothy helped Frank and Lydia stack the long slender poles in a tipi shape behind the outhouse. “Mr. Snow said it’s time to collect a large wood supply next to the house,” said Frank. “Winter lasts a long time and it will get much colder than this.”

  Stomping to keep warm in her thin leather boots, Dorothy prayed for Mr. Parenteau’s winter moccasins to arrive soon.

  High-topped, wraparound moccasins traditionally worn by Indigenous people.

  11

  Warm Feet at Last

  Thud! Thud! Thud!

  The rhythmic thumping collided with Dorothy’s early morning dream. Yanking the comforter off her head, she peered over her bunk. Lydia had wedged the axe into a block of wood and was pounding it on the dirt floor. When that piece split, she picked up the next chunk. Soon she had a pile of quartered firewood.

  “Why are you chopping so much wood, Lydia?”

  “I’m baking biscuits for Mr. Herbert. You offered to help, so get down here.”

  Dorothy almost rolled headfirst off the bed. She braced her hand on the ladder and pushed herself back atop the mattress.

  “Not that fast! I can wait while you climb down.”

  Dorothy scrambled down the ladder and pulled on her boots. “Biscuits?”

  “Don’t look so surprised! It was your idea.”

  “But…you seemed so set against it?”

  “Mam and I discussed the idea while you were in the woods. I’ll make a batch and calculate how much the ingredients cost and what I’ll need to charge per bis…uh, cookie.” Lydia handed Dorothy a pencil and the blank side of a month torn from the calendar. “Write down everything I tell you.”

  Lydia opened a well-worn notebook where Mam recorded observations about her new Canadian life. “Back at Saskatoon, Mr. Thorpe gave Mam a cookie recipe from that bakery where he got a job. Remember, he sold the cookies for five cents each. I’m dividing his recipe into one fourth for my first batch.”

  “Can’t you make them the same way you did for Patrick?”

  “No. I just threw those together. I have to know the exact quantities, if I’m to make a profit.” Lydia rolled her eyes. “Good business practice, you know.”

  Dorothy picked up the pencil.

  “One cup lard,” Lydia read aloud. “One cup sugar…two cups fine oatmeal…one teaspoon soda dissolved in one cup boiling water…two cups flour…one cup raisins.”

  Dorothy scribbled frantically. “What’s a cup?” Back in England they weighed cooking ingredients on a little scale.

  “Over here they measure by volume.” Lydia held up a tin mug. “I’m using this.”

  Mam made porridge while the girls mixed the cookie dough. While they ate breakfast they were tormented by the sweet aroma wafting from the oven. “Mr. Thorpe made the best cookies,” said Dorothy. They all reminisced about how much they missed the Thorpe family, especially little Rose.

  “I wish the Thorpes had come to the colony with us,” Dorothy said.

  “To a miserable soddie like this?” Mam scoffed. “They’re much better off in Saskatoon.”

  •••

  Just as Lydia took the tray from the oven, Frank arrived. “Bless me! I’ve come to the right place for tea!”

  “Don’t think for a minute you can eat these cookies. They’re for Mr. Herbert’s store.”
r />   Frank’s eyebrows jumped. “Uh, what a good idea. They’ll be popular in town.”

  After tea Frank announced, “Mr. Snow said each homestead needs a hundred poles stacked by the house and we’ve only got fifteen. I want to chop another fifteen today. They’ll take a while to fell so I’ll come for you later, Dodie, to help drag them to the sleigh.”

  “May I come now, Frank? I’ll work on my snares until you need me.” After some negotiation, Dorothy borrowed Lydia’s boots again and Mam dressed her extra warmly.

  Frank followed yesterday’s trail to the edge of the woods. Stopping the sleigh he asked, “Where will you set your snares?”

  “I don’t know. I have to look for rabbit tracks.”

  Frank pointed to some tangled bushes. “Try over there. The hares need thick brush to hide in and they need twigs and berries to eat.”

  “I’ll find you later.” Dorothy jumped out and stepped gingerly off the sleigh track. Just as she thought, the snow went over the tops of Lydia’s boots. Knowing Frank was watching, she ploughed on as if the drifts offered no resistance at all. Soon she was out of breath and her legs were smarting with cold. By this time Frank’s sleigh had glided deeper into the woods.

  Dorothy scooped out most of the snow wedged in the boots. She lifted each leg high to place her next step until she arrived at the bushes. They were full of small white berries. On close inspection she saw no berries close to the ground, but lots of broken-off twigs. Hares had definitely eaten here.

  Dorothy studied the thicket. The drifts were higher toward the open prairie. She navigated through the snow to the side facing the woods. That looks like a tunnel at the base of the thicket.

  A few feet back, two saplings grew close together. Dorothy laced a dead branch through the baby trees. Pulling a wire coil from her pocket, she made a noose and hung it as Victor had shown her. Then she made a twig fence to funnel the hare toward the noose. She stood back to inspect her work. This trap is so obvious. Will any hare be foolish enough to run into it?

  She was already cold and she had set only one snare. She trudged back to the sleigh track, then hurried along the compressed trail looking for Frank. She found the spot where Frank had trimmed the wind-fallen trees yesterday. The scattered branches gave Dorothy an idea.

  She dragged the limbs into a pile and stuffed smaller branches inside to make a dense tangle. She wondered if her footprints trampled in the snow would set off alarm bells. Do animals notice things like that? She engineered another noose and another stick fence to funnel a rabbit to its doom.

  Now Dorothy was freezing. She found Frank and he brewed tea to wash down the sandwiches Lydia had packed. “How many snares did you set, Dodie?”

  “Only two. I was too cold to keep going.”

  “If at first you don’t succeed…” said Frank, pouring her tea.

  “Yeah, I know – try and try again. Mrs. Sutton said that when she was teaching Lydia how to bake bread.” Dorothy clutched her warm tin mug. “I’ll try again after I get warm moccasins.”

  Dorothy huddled under a blanket in the sleigh while Frank kept warm chopping trees. When he needed her, she tromped through the snow to drag poles to the sleigh. By the time they returned to the soddie, the sun was low in the sky. After swelling the tipi with fifteen more logs, the Bolton family looked somewhat prepared for winter.

  “Mr. Herbert wants me to fetch another shipment from Battleford,” said Frank at supper. “I feel better about going now you have sufficient wood for a while.”

  “Oh Frank,” said Lydia, “can’t you take me to Lloyd first? I have two dozen cookies ready.”

  “And I wish to ask Mr. Herbert to order more wool,” said Mam. “I can keep knitting all winter.”

  “All right, I’ll collect you right after sunrise tomorrow. Then I’ll get Mr. Herbert’s order and the mailbag and set out in the afternoon. I have to get home now. Chap will be hungry.”

  Dorothy walked with Frank to the sleigh. “Why didn’t you bring Chap along?”

  “I’ve seen weasel tracks around my soddie, so sometimes I leave him as a watch dog. I’m hoping his bark will frighten it away.”

  “Weasel?”

  “It’s your competition, little sister. Weasels hunt snowshoe hares.” As he climbed aboard the sleigh, Frank pointed towards the wood. A large white bird circled over the field and returned to perch in a tall tree. “There’s another competitor. A snowy owl.”

  The sleigh glided off into the dusk. Dorothy stood on the stoop, wondering how animals managed to survive the long frigid winter without even a soddie for warmth.

  The next morning Frank arrived early. When she climbed into the wagon box, Chap greeted Dorothy with a kiss. “Why is there a pile of hay in here?” she asked.

  “I need fodder for the horses,” Frank explained. “It’s also a warm place for Chap to sleep.”

  Dorothy discovered it was much warmer on the floor under the hay. “Sit down here, Lydia.”

  “No thanks,” said Lydia, perched primly on the crate. “I don’t wish to get hay on my skirt.”

  Lydia was wearing her best serge skirt and white blouse, as if she were going to church. In a flash Dorothy understood. This was Lydia’s business attire to negotiate with Mr. Herbert! Dorothy was sure Mr. Herbert didn’t care a whit how his baker was dressed. While Lydia tugged her shawl tighter, Dorothy burrowed into the hay beside Chap’s warm body.

  Frank left the family at the general store while he attended to some chores. Dorothy browsed the shelves full of goods, while Mam and Lydia talked business. They were enjoying tea with Mr. Herbert when Frank entered, followed by a man in a striped wool coat tied with a red sash. He had a short bristly black beard.

  “Look what the wind blew in,” chortled Mr. Herbert. “What can I do for you, Baptiste?”

  A familiar voice said, “I’m lookin’ fer –”

  “Mr. Parenteau!” Dorothy leapt off her crate and offered the seat to her friend. She didn’t acknowledge Mam’s scandalized face.

  “No tanks, Dor’ty. Ya need to stay seated to put dese on.”

  The Métis man pulled two pieces of rolled-up leather from his rucksack. Dorothy’s breath caught in her throat as she untied the leather laces and unfurled the moccasins.

  She rubbed her fingers across the intricate flower beadwork. She felt the thick, soft moosehide. She held one boot close to her nose and inhaled the smoky scent.

  “They’re beautiful,” she breathed, blinking back tears.

  “Put dem on, ma p’chite.”

  Dorothy unlaced the tight English boots that pinched her toes.

  Mr. Parenteau handed her two pairs of thick wool socks. “Ma wife made dese fer ya, too.”

  Dorothy tugged on both pairs. She slipped her woolly feet into the high-topped moccasins. Mr. Parenteau knelt and wrapped the flaps around her legs. He crisscrossed the long laces.

  “Now go out in dah snow an’ try dem out.”

  Prancing out the door, Dorothy jumped into a snowbank, powdering her face with a fine spray of snow. She danced across the street, curling her feet to grip the ruts. She loved the way her toes spread apart as if she were running barefoot.

  Dorothy wiggled her toes inside the socks Mrs. Parenteau had knitted for her. Her heart filled with love for Mrs. Parenteau, who most certainly must be a fine woman. Mam’s disapproval of native people rankled her. Purely because they live differently from the proper British way! Dorothy huffed indignantly.

  She tramped back to the store well pleased with her cosy wraparounds. Frank and Mr. Parenteau stood at the window, laughing at her antics. When she came inside, Mr. Parenteau brushed off her feet with a broom. “Don’t let snow melt on dem, Dor’ty. Dah leather takes long time to dry.”

  Dorothy beamed at him. “Please tell Mrs. Parenteau I love the moccasins.”

  “Such fine workmanship,” added Frank. “She must have spent hours on the beadwork.”

  Mr. Parenteau nodded. “Dat was special for Dor’ty.”
/>   “Thank you, Mr. Parenteau. You know,” she added shyly, “I didn’t recognize you at first because of the beard.”

  “Ah, yes, dah beard.” He rubbed his chin. “I allus grow dis to keep warm in winter.”

  With a wide grin, Dorothy returned to the table where Mam and Lydia were finishing their tea. She held her foot aloft for Mam to inspect. “Very pretty beadwork, Dodie,” Mam said politely, “but I can’t believe that soft leather will keep your feet warm.”

  “It will.” Dorothy had total confidence in Mrs. Parenteau’s handiwork. She looked around for her dark-skinned friend to thank him again, but he had disappeared from the store.

  Mr. Herbert poured a second cup of tea for Mam and Lydia. “The Parenteaus are fine people,” he commented. “They’ve been through some hard times. Several years back their son and his wife drowned, then the granddaughter they were raising died in the scarlet fever outbreak last spring. She was about your age, Dorothy.”