Trial by Winter

by Anne Patton

  Mr. Parenteau set down Mam’s double pallet. “H’is dis a good place, Missus?”

  Mam nodded, watching Mr. Parenteau and the other men spread the bedding in the space freed up by other families crowding together.

  Dorothy didn’t know any of these people but they must have been in the camp in Saskatoon. The only person she recognized was Mr. Pinder, but he had disappeared. She guided Lydia to a chair close to the fire. They both warmed their hands.

  Dorothy glanced back at Mam, who stood in a trance following Mr. Parenteau’s every move. After hauling in the crates of food and dishes, he stopped in front of Mam, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot. “I go now an’ tell Mr. Herbert yous h’is safe in dah marquee.”

  Dorothy gaped as Mam clasped Mr. Parenteau’s hand between both of hers. “You are a fine man, Mr. Parenteau. Thank you for saving us.”

  Mr. Parenteau seemed equally surprised. “We allus help each odder in dah west,” he said shyly.

  Dorothy stared dumbfounded as her mother accompanied Mr. Parenteau to the door of the marquee. “I hope I can be of service to you sometime. Please pass on my best wishes to your wife.”

  Then Mam hustled to the stove to warm up and introduce herself to the women gathered there. In a few minutes they were all bustling around the table, assembling chairs and preparing tea. The women clucked with sympathy at Lydia’s injury. Soon they were swapping stories of the dangers that had brought each of them to seek shelter in the government tent.

  Mam’s fancy teapot held the place of honour on the table.

  Dorothy felt overwhelmed by the intensity of the chatter swirling around her. She wanted desperately to escape. “Mam, I’m going to visit Mr. Herbert.”

  “What? You can’t go outside in this cold.”

  “His store is just down the street. I want to thank him for sending Mr. Parenteau to get us.” And ask him to send someone to check on the Suttons, she added to herself.

  Dorothy wrapped her muffler around her face and pulled heavy mitts over her gloves. She knew Mam wouldn’t try to stop her. She had proven her good judgment on the homestead.

  In fact Mam called out, “Find Dr. Amos for Lydia.”

  “I will, Mam.” Dorothy parted the door flap and stepped into the sparkling white landscape of the fledgling town. The sun had burned through the ice fog and every building was in sharp focus. It felt like a fresh new world.

  16

  A Fresh New World

  The marquee stood at the end of the trail. Many footsteps had packed the snow into a firm path that connected the tent to the village. Dorothy looked the other way, onto a flat field of fresh snow that stretched into the distance. Here and there stands of bare poplar trees poked the skyline.

  Feeling an urge to leave her mark, she zigzagged a crazy circle in the pristine white carpet. Her ears noticed a strange sound: the snow squeaked with every step. The surface had a tough crust so her feet did not sink in. This frozen world was full of wonders!

  Dorothy remembered she was on a mission to visit Mr. Herbert. She followed the footprints from the marquee to the huddle of buildings. At the general store the familiar tinkle of the bell above the door welcomed her.

  Mr. Herbert emerged from his private quarters. “Dorothy Bolton, I’m glad to see you’re well. Mr. Parenteau just informed me that your sister is injured. He went to look for Dr. Amos.”

  Dorothy loosened her muffler and sat on a crate beside the small table. The blue nightgown peeked out below her coat, but Mr. Herbert didn’t seem to notice. “The injury isn’t as bad as it looks,” she said. “Mam disinfected it with whisky and I pressed on the wound until it stopped bleeding.”

  Mr. Herbert looked impressed. “You sound just like a doctor.”

  Dorothy smiled shyly. “Actually, I’m hoping to become a doctor. Do you think it’s possible?”

  Mr. Herbert stroked his moustache. “Why not? It takes years of study but you’re clever enough.” He nipped into his private room and returned with a thick maroon volume embossed with gold designs. He laid the book on the table in front of Dorothy.

  Reading the title on the spine, she looked up questioningly. “Ana...tomy, Descrip...tive and Surg..ical?”

  “The best medical text ever written. It’s full of illustrations of different parts of the human body. My father was a doctor. I brought several of his reference books from England. Any time the store is open, you’re welcome to look through the book.”

  Dorothy opened the text as if it were a coffer of jewels. She studied a drawing of the muscles of the hand and held her own hand up to compare. She had perused several pages before she remembered the purpose of her visit. When she glanced up, Mr. Herbert was still watching her.

  “Oh, Mr. Herbert, I came to thank you for sending Mr. Parenteau to check on us.”

  He patted her shoulder. “Baptiste told me your house was too cold to live in. He said, uh…there was a mistake in the construction.”

  Dorothy hesitated. “My dad didn’t build the house right.” She felt like she was betraying her father by this admission, even though it was the truth. “But he’s really good at running an office,” she added to salvage his reputation. “You know that man at the Land Titles building. He was quite rude to my mother when she sat there. My dad would do a far better job than that.”

  “Hmm,” said Mr. Herbert. “That’s an interesting thought.”

  “There’s another thing, Mr. Herbert. Can you send someone to check the Sutton homestead?”

  “They’re fine, Dorothy. The men just returned from building the telegraph line. Mr. Sutton came in for supplies yesterday.”

  Dorothy leaned back on the crate and breathed out a long sigh. “I feel much better now.” She closed the book carefully and handed it to Mr. Herbert. “Thank you for everything.” Rewrapping her muffler, she ran back to her new home.

  Inside the marquee Lydia was mixing dough at the table, resting her injured leg on a bench. She formed small balls, then flattened them on a baking tray. A woman slipped the tray into the oven of the large stove. Another woman stirred a large pot of soup.

  Mam also sat at the communal table, serving tea from her elegant teapot. Dorothy found an empty chair. Across from her a blond, curly-haired child banged a spoon on the table. The child stared at her with round blue eyes.

  Dorothy’s eyebrows jumped. “Rose Thorpe?” she gasped. It didn’t seem possible. Rose had travelled with them all the way from England, but her family had settled in Saskatoon.

  Lydia said, “I thought it was Rose at first glance, too. Meet Philip Drabble. He’s four years old, just like Rose. That’s his mum over there baking the scones.”

  Dorothy blinked several times. This child looked so like Rose that it brought back the tenderness she’d felt in her role as big sister. Parting from Rose had left a hole in her life.

  She leaned forward. “Hi, Philip. Do you like to draw?” His eyes grew even rounder and he nodded silently. “Good,” said Dorothy. “Now I just need to find us some paper.”

  When the soup and scones were ready, more women and children squeezed in at the long table. Including the Boltons, there were eight families living in the marquee. Dorothy learned that Mr. Drabble had brought his family here before taking a job overseeing cattle for a rancher near Battleford. “Just until planting time in the spring,” Mrs. Dabble explained. The other families had similar stories of men leaving the homestead to find paying work.

  Dorothy was surprised at how much she missed being part of a community. The homestead was beautiful but very isolated. It dawned in her mind how lonely Mam must have been. She knew her mother brightened up in the company of others. By the next day Mam was supervising the preparation of communal meals for all twenty-four residents of the marquee.

  It was two days before Dr. Amos appeared to check Lydia’s leg. He had been away at a homestead attending a birth. He plunked his black satchel on the table and sat down.

  “Is the newborn in good health?” Mam asked, glancing
toward Mrs. Drabble. Dorothy recalled how Mam had gone to comfort Mrs. Drabble last summer, after learning that her own baby had died in Saskatoon.

  “A robust child at the moment. But so many things can affect a child’s health.” Dr Amos emitted a heavy breath. He looked exhausted.

  Dorothy sympathized. “You need another doctor to help with your rounds.”

  Dr. Amos laughed. “I just heard from Mr. Herbert that you’re planning to be that person. Why not? There’s already a lady doctor at Onion Lake. I’ll take you to meet her in the spring when the road north is passable.”

  Dr. Amos looked around. “Is there a private place to examine Lydia’s leg?”

  “No need for that.” Lydia stretched her leg out on the bench and pulled up her skirt and petticoat. “Everyone has seen the wound each time Mam changed the dressing.”

  Dr. Amos washed his hands at the communal washbasin. He directed Dorothy to scrub her hands too, so she could assist.

  “Scissors,” he said, pointing to his satchel. Dorothy snapped the bag open and saw an array of tools in little pockets on each side. Trying to contain her swell of pride, she handed him the scissors. He cut through the gauze and gave the bandage to Dorothy to dispose of. There was just a trace of discolouring, not like the first few times when the gauze had been caked with dark red blood. She tossed the gauze into the fire.

  The wound still looked red and sore. When Dr. Amos touched the raw scar, Lydia winced. “It’s normal to be tender three days after a wound like this, but there’s no infection, thanks to the excellent care you received. Does it still throb?”

  “Not as much as before, but it still hurts.”

  “Look in my satchel for a jar of white powder, Dorothy. And get a half cup of warm water and a spoon.”

  After Dorothy assembled these items, Dr Amos unscrewed the lid and filled a tiny scoop that was stored inside the jar with the powder. He dropped the measured amount into the warm water. While he stirred he said, “This is a new miracle drug from Germany, made with extracts from plants. Numbs pain. I brought a supply from England.” He handed the cup to Lydia. “Drink it all.”

  As Dorothy put the jar back into the satchel, she read the label – As..pir..in.

  “I’ll bring you another dose tonight.” Dr. Amos buttoned his coat and Mam accompanied him to the door flap. As he walked out, a gust of frigid air shivered Dorothy’s arms. Mam carefully tied the double layer of canvas shut again.

  Mam spent the rest of the morning knitting, while Dorothy made a batch of oatmeal cookies under Lydia’s supervision. When the cookies were baking she asked, “Did that new miracle drug take your pain away?”

  “About the same as Mr. Parenteau’s drink, I’d say.” Lydia furrowed her brows. “I didn’t tell Dr. Amos about the bark tea in case he objected. A native concoction, not at all scientific, you know.” Lydia affected a snobby, upper-class English accent. “But both medicines are made from plants. Maybe they use the same plants.”

  After dinner Dorothy and Mam wrapped themselves warmly and walked to the general store. They delivered the finished socks and two dozen fresh cookies to Mr. Herbert.

  “Ah, Mrs. Bolton you’ve brought me another pair,” Mr. Herbert said. “I’ve a long list of men waiting for these warm homemade socks. And Miss Lydia’s cookies. It’s most unfortunate that she hurt her leg.”

  “Unfortunate for me,” said Dorothy. “I had to bake the cookies.”

  “I’m glad to hear you can cook too, Dorothy.” Mr. Herbert looked at Mam. “I have a business proposition for the Bolton family.” He motioned for them to sit on the crates beside the stove.

  “As I mentioned before, I have built a small house so I can bring my family from England. The place is ready and I’ve just moved in.” Dorothy wondered what he was leading up to and Mam looked equally puzzled.

  Mr. Herbert pointed to his living quarters at the back of the store. “This is just the right size for a tea room. It already has a cooking stove. At the moment there is nowhere for visitors to eat when they’re in town on business. Mrs. Bolton, would you consider opening a modest eating establishment?”

  Mam gaped at Mr. Herbert. Then she stood and walked calmly into the back room. When she returned, her eyes sparkled and her cheeks were flushed. Still, she seated herself sedately. “I believe that is a possibility.”

  “Why don’t you talk it over with the girls, and Frank, when he returns.”

  “When do you expect Frank, Mr. Herbert?” asked Dorothy.

  “I heard from colonists at the eastern edge of Britannia that the trail was completely obliterated by that last blizzard. Waist-deep snowdrifts in places. I’m sure Frank is doing his best to dig his way through. It’s been a week since weather improved, so I expect him any time.”

  “Good,” said Dorothy. “Mam is out of wool and Frank promised her another carton.”

  When Mam prepared to leave, Mr. Herbert asked, “Dorothy, would you mind staying to clean the floor for me?” Dorothy caught his quick wink as she picked up the wide bristle broom.

  Nodding her approval, Mam floated out the door.

  A minute later Mr. Herbert added, “After you sweep, you may study the drawings in Gray’s Anatomy again.” Dorothy grinned as she pushed the broom across the dirty wooden floor. An hour later she sat at the small table, intently scrutinizing the illustration ‘muscles of the leg’ to pinpoint the exact muscle she had seen beneath Lydia’s gash.

  The door crashed open. A frantic voice cried, “Oh my Lord, you’re here!”

  Dorothy’s jaw dropped.

  Frank stood at the entrance, his face contorted with emotion. Mr. Herbert guided him inside and closed the door. Frank yanked off his hat and mitts and sank onto the crate beside Dorothy. “Dear Lord! I went to the homestead on my way into Lloyd. What a fright I had when I couldn’t find you. You were all…gone!” Frank clasped his hand to his mouth.

  Dorothy was stunned. It never occurred to her to leave Frank a note at the soddie.

  Mr. Herbert explained, “I sent Baptiste Parenteau to check on your family. They were in a bad state so he brought them to stay in the marquee.” He patted Frank on the shoulder. “Everyone is fine.” Frank breathed heavily and brushed something from his eyes.

  “Dorothy,” said Mr. Herbert, “go in the back room and set the kettle to boil.”

  When Dorothy returned from her chore, Frank had composed himself and was telling Mr. Herbert about his strenuous journey back to Lloydminster. “The runners kept the sleigh atop the snow, but the horses floundered in every deep drift. I had to dig them out a dozen times. One night I slept in a snowdrift. I curled up with my blankets inside the groundsheet. Chap kept me warm.”

  Frank jumped up. “Chap is still in the wagon!” Opening the door, he whistled and the black retriever raced inside and nuzzled up to Frank. His usually sleek hair was matted and dirty. Frank looked at Mr. Herbert. “The horses are exhausted and half frozen, too.”

  “Stow the wagon at the stables,” Mr. Herbert said. “We’ll unload it tomorrow. Ask Mr. Pinder to take care of the horses and hurry back. You can stay here overnight.”

  “Get your mother, Dorothy.” Mr. Herbert grinned. “We’ll have a family reunion at the store.”

  Dorothy ran so fast her pulse was thundering when she reached the marquee. Two women wrapped in winter wear stepped out through the flap and Dorothy brushed past without even a nod.

  “Mam, get your coat. Frank’s at the store!”

  Mam dropped her wooden spoon on the table, snatched her coat and hat, and hustled to the door. “Frank? Is he well?”

  “He’s fine. Hurry, Mr. Herbert is making tea right now.”

  Mam glanced back hesitantly. “Lydia is having a nap.”

  “Let’s go,” Dorothy said impatiently. “We’ll tell Lydia everything when we come back.”

  With that, Mam dashed out the door and started running along the packed-down path. Dorothy had never seen her mother move so fast. After she stopped to tie the doo
r flaps, Dorothy had to race to catch up. Together they tramped into the general store. Frank stood up to greet them.

  Mam seized Frank’s shoulders. “Praise the Lord! You’re back safely from Battleford.”

  Frank wrapped his arms around Mam. “And you’re safe, too. I was mad with worry when I was stuck in Battleford all those days. The telegraph from Fort Pitt to Lloyd wasn’t finished yet, so there was no way to contact anyone here.”

  Mr. Herbert poured three cups of tea, then retreated to the back room to give the family privacy. Dorothy, Mam and Frank sat around the table, while he recounted his arduous trip from Battleford. Dorothy described Lydia’s injury and how she helped manage the wound. Mam related how Mr. Parenteau answered her prayer and saved them from freezing.

  Finally Frank reached into his coat pocket and drew out some letters. “They’re from Dad. I’ve read mine several times. It reassured me about our future.”

  Dorothy’s heart drummed as she tore the end of her envelope. Holding her breath, she unfolded the white paper, blotched with smoky fingerprints. Yes, it was definitely Dad’s messy handwriting. She moved to the window to catch the rays of the afternoon sun and squinted to decipher Dad’s scrawl.

  “Dearest Dodie,” it started. Then the letter got all blurry. Dorothy wiped her eyes on her dress sleeve and began again: