Belle of Batoche (5 page)

Belle cringed as she saw the tangle of threads and loose ends adorning the back of her cloth. Sarah's was as neat on the back as it was decorative on the front. Belle had no idea that side of the cloth would be looked at. She groaned inwardly.

The two judges conferred. Then Father Moulin faced the congregation. “Both cloths are truly remarkable. We would be honored to use either on the altar at St. Antoine de Padoue and we hope both cloths will be donated to the church.” He turned to the choir where Belle and Sarah waited. “We have decided to award the honor of bell ringer to … ”

Belle held her breath.

“ … Miss Sarah Johnson!”

The congregation murmured and a couple of loud grumbles of disagreement could be heard from friends of the Tourond family. The Johnsons clapped loudly, but no one else joined in. Clearly, Sarah was not the crowd favorite.

Sarah walked to the table, the pink feather in her hat bobbing gaily as she went. The newspaper reporter waited at the front of the church with his cumbersome equipment. The cloth-draped camera box was supported on a tripod, and the gentleman held a flashpan high over his head. He would ignite this to produce light for Sarah's all-important picture.

Belle watched the production in stunned silence. She gulped, trying not to show her disappointment. It was going to be hard to walk to church now. To her, Marie-Antoinette's clear silvery voice would sound sad.

7
Suspicious Kindness

“The government troops have a nine-pound cannon and a new type of gun that shoots many rounds per minute. It's called a Gatling gun, and we have nothing to match it.” Patrice reached for more tea, but the pot was empty. Belle's mother whisked the teapot off to the kitchen.

It was Wednesday evening and there was another meeting at Belle's house. She couldn't help but overhear the adults' conversation as she busily mended her papa's shirt. Now that she was such an experienced needle worker, her mother said she should not let her skills get rusty. Mending the family's clothes was one way to stay sharp.

Sitting quietly in the corner, Belle tried not to worry at every new revelation she heard.

“We've sent word to Poundmaker, Big Bear and the Blackfoot to join with us.” Belle's father lit his old pipe, puffing until the smoke curled up around his head.

Belle loved the smell of her father's pipe tobacco. The sweet smoky scent meant home to her. By listening quietly, she had found out the reason there were so many meetings at her house: Monsieur Riel had appointed her father to his provisional government. This council would oversee the running of the new country, should the Metis have to break away from Canada.

Gabriel Dumont ran his hand through his long brown hair. “One thing is for certain: If we have to fight, we will need more ammunition.”

Belle's mother returned with fresh tea. She set the teapot down and looked at it thoughtfully. “The women can help with that. We store our tea in lead chests. We will melt the tea chests down and make bullets.”

Monsieur Dumont smiled at Belle's mother. “Tres bien, Madame Tourond. Make no mistake, it will come to that.”

Belle thought of her mother's tea chest. It had been in her family for generations. The offer to melt it down meant only one thing. The Metis would fight with everything they had to defend themselves and their way of life.

At school Thursday, Belle was surprised at how few of her classmates mentioned seeing Sarah's picture in the newspaper. Bertha, of course, had a copy of the paper and pinned Sarah's picture up on the classroom wall. Sarah stood beside it as though it was the most important thing in the world.

In the playground after school, the children's talk was all about what they had heard from their parents concerning “the troubles.” It seemed they were all a little frightened about what they had heard.

“My parents are thinking of sending me and my sister to stay with relatives in Winnipeg,” Andrew Taggert said, nudging a stone with the toe of his boot.

“And mine are stocking up on provisions, in case the government troops attack,” Jenny Dumphrey added as she kicked her legs out to make the swing she was perched on go higher.

“My papa thinks the Metis of Batoche are being silly,” Sarah said, pinning one of her golden ringlets back into place. “My papa says they are just a bunch of blowhards and should listen to what Prime Minister Macdonald tells them. My papa says all this blustering makes the Metis look like hotheads and spoilt children who don't know when they've got it good.”

Belle, who hadn't said anything up until now, decided enough was enough. “Sarah, I'm glad your papa has done such a thorough job of investigating why everyone is up in arms! I guess he's not worried about losing his land when the government re-surveys it and chops it up into square blocks for the new settlers from the east because that's what will happen, even if you aren't Metis!” She'd heard her brother speak of this and knew
it was one of the real concerns Monsieur Riel had taken to the prime minister.

Sarah stopped for a minute, then her brow furrowed. “We already have access to the river, so what do we care!”

Keeping their river frontage was vital to the Metis because they had always used the rivers to move goods around. If they couldn't get to the rivers, with so few roads available, the Metis would not be able to take their furs to the Hudson's Bay trading post.

Bertha came to stand beside Sarah, her wild orange hair contrasting sharply with Sarah's perfect golden curls. “Come on, Sarah. I'll push you on the swings.”

It would do no good to reason with Sarah. Belle shook her head, picked up her book bag and left. She was going to visit Monsieur Letendre's store on her way home. Her mother had given her a penny to buy a stick of barley sugar candy as a reward for almost winning the contest.

“Consider it a prize for second place,” she'd said, giving Belle the money. Her mother knew how hard Belle had worked and that it had hurt not to win.

Belle had been thinking of the sweet candy all day. She walked a little faster, hoping Monsieur Letendre would let her pick her own piece. Some were just a little larger than others, and Belle had spotted a dandy the last time she'd been sent to the store.

“I'm sorry you didn't win the contest, Belle,” Monsieur Letendre said the moment she walked into the large store.

“Me too!” she agreed, shrugging her shoulders. It was no use fussing about the decision. Sarah had beaten her fair and square. “Sarah did do a good job and who knew Father Moulin and Miss Dorval would look at the back of the cloth! I never bothered about that side at all. No one sees it but God, and since he's getting both cloths for free, I didn't think he'd care if mine was a little messy!”

Monsieur Letendre laughed out loud, a big jolly laugh that made Belle giggle.

“I'd like to purchase a piece of your best barley sugar candy please.” She put the penny on the counter. “And if it's all right with you, can I pick the piece I want?”

She hoped the bigger than average stick was still waiting for her.

The shopkeeper took the jar down from the shelf and put it on the counter in front of Belle. “Help yourself, mon amie!”

Inspecting the shiny candy, Belle searched for the special piece. “That one, s'il vous plait!” She pointed to a stick that was a fraction longer than all the rest.

Monsieur Letendre removed the piece of candy and handed it to Belle. Then he reached back into the jar and took out a second piece, tucking it into a small brown paper bag. “For later,” he said, smiling as he handed her the bag.

Belle thanked him and took the extra treat. She smiled at the kind shopkeeper and was just about to leave when she happened to look across the street.

There, in the narrow lane between two stores, she saw something she didn't think she would ever see.

Sarah Johnson was talking to Madame Coteau! Then, as Belle watched, another unbelievable thing happened. Sarah handed the old woman money!

“Will you look at that!” Belle said in surprise. She knew that the old woman received help from the church's poor box to buy food and supplies.

Monsieur Letendre squinted as he peered across the street. “Maybe Miss Sarah's winning the contest has made her realize that she should help others less fortunate than herself.”

Belle frowned. “It does look like that.” She watched as the old woman put the money in her bag, then shuffled off down the alley.

Sarah skipped away without a backward glance.

Belle waved good-bye to the shopkeeper and started for home. She thought about what she'd seen. Maybe she had misjudged Sarah. Belle took another slow lick of the sweet barley candy. Perhaps Stuck-Up Sarah did have a little streak of kindness after all. But she didn't think so.

8
Setting a Trap to Catch the Truth

All the way home Belle puzzled over seeing Sarah and Madame Coteau together. It was very strange.

“Bonjour, Mama!” Belle called as she banged open the back door, but no one answered. A note told her to gather the eggs from the henhouse and peel a large pot of potatoes for supper. Belle blew on her sticky barley candy to dry it off. Then she put it into the paper bag with the second stick and tucked the bag in the cupboard.

Gathering eggs and peeling potatoes! She remembered her dream of singing in the big opera houses of Montreal and hummed as she headed out to the chicken coop.

As Belle rummaged around in the nest boxes, she thought about Sarah's odd act of kindness. “And for Miss Sarah, any act of kindness would be odd!” she told a hen as she pushed her off her nest to retrieve the warm prize.

Once she'd gathered the eggs, she sat down for a rest on the three-legged stool by the door to the henhouse. A hawk soared high above the brown prairie grass. The graceful bird circled, hovered and dove for an unfortunate field mouse. Again, Belle thought about the strange meeting she'd witnessed.

Madame Coteau had always been a mystery to the children of Batoche. She lived across the river in a broken down house that could only be described as spooky. No children ever went over there, at least none that returned to tell the tale!

Belle shivered in the waning afternoon sun. Although it was the first week of May, it was still unseasonably cool.

The back door slammed. There was her mother with her hands on her hips. The potatoes!

Belle jumped to her feet, grabbed the basket of eggs and raced for the house.

Her mother scolded her once again about having her head in the clouds.

“I'm sorry, Mama. I …”

But her mother didn't stop to hear Belle's latest excuse. Instead, she went to the potato bin and began pulling the vegetables out. “Never mind, never mind. I shouldn't have expected you to handle two chores in a row without supervision! One day, you will have no choice, Belle. People will be counting on you.”

Usually Belle didn't pay much attention to her mother when she was scolded, but this time, the words her mother said stayed in her mind. A wave of guilt washed over her.