Janette Oke (4 page)

Chapter Four

Moving North

When it came time for Amy Steeves to register her kids for school in the fall of 1938, the county school inspector sent a note asking the number of students who would be attending from the Steeves' household. Amy wrote back, “If we can find a place up north, none.”

Inspector McCullough, who himself was from the north, quickly replied with an offer for Fred to work on the northern farm that the inspector and his father owned. Fred went first—alone. When he was certain that he liked what he found, he sent word for his family to join him near the little town of Hoadley, Alberta.

After loading a boxcar at government expense with household goods, six horses, four cows, and Fred's younger brother Ralph as supervisor, they bid tearful good-bye to their prairie family, packed themselves into Grandpa Ruggles' truck, and headed north. Grandma and Grandpa, Amy, six children, the girl who helped Amy with the children, and Inspector McCullough's wife and small son all made the trip together.

Because the Steeves children were still recovering from whooping cough, it was necessary to separate them from the others. Ronny McCullough rode in the cab of the truck and Amy's children rode in the back, under a hand-built protective covering. It was a long drive, lasting until well after dark.

One-quarter mile away from their destination, their truck became stuck in the mud so they were forced to abandon the vehicle and walk the rest of the way. The children were amazed at the mud—since the prairie had been dry for so long they could not recall what it was like.

Because of their whooping cough, the Steeves children were not allowed to go inside the farmhouse, so they waited outside until they were shown where they would sleep. Meantime, they played in the yard, running up and down the slanted wooden door of the root cellar in the darkness and having a wonderful time.

Amy was very disappointed to discover that they would not be with Fred immediately. He was working at another farm, and the family was to stay on in a bunkhouse at McCulloughs' place. After being away from her husband so long and traveling so far, the news was difficult to bear. The next morning, Amy's father took her over to the field where Fred was haying, and she was grateful to be able to see her husband at last.

The entire family together again, they began adjusting to their new lifestyle and a measure of routine returned. It was the time of year for wild blueberries, and Amy and the girls spent many hours in the berry patches. On one such excursion she and the older children picked while some of the younger ones baby-sat Margie, not yet two, who was still having spells of coughing whenever something provoked it.

As the morning wore on, Margie became hungry. They had brought a simple lunch with them to the berry patch, and Margie had decided that it was time to eat and that she wanted the fried liver from the sandwiches. The baby-sitters had learned that crying would send their little sister into a bout of coughing and did all they could to keep it from happening. So they complied, and when the toddler had finished her piece of meat and decided that she wanted more, they obliged, taking it from the other sandwiches. By the time the berry pickers came for their lunch, there was nothing left but bread and butter.

On a trip to the Hoadley Post Office to mail some blueberries back to their family on the prairie, Fred and Amy spotted a farm that had apparently been for sale for a while. With hopeful hearts they considered the possibility of making the purchase and decided it could be done. Fred stopped to see the man, and arrangements were soon made.

Amy was thrilled. The home on the new farm was a real house, and “almost new” in her thinking. While many neighboring families were living in simpler accommodations, her new house seemed so spacious, and she thanked God many times for providing it.

Fred purchased both the adjoining Hoggarth and Robakowskie quarters. Later he purchased another quarter of land, which he logged and then resold, and then a quarter known to the family as the Nelson quarter, across the road from the Hoggarth place. It was unbroken land and used for running cattle and horses.

The farm purchase took some time to be worked through, so the family unloaded their household belongings at the much smaller Robakowskie house while waiting to take possession of the Hoggarth farm. The family was forced to crowd themselves in, sharing beds with rows of children and often feeling they were stumbling over one another. For some of the children, there was also the eerie feel of dark shadows thrown against the windows by the trees and the sound of wind passing through the branches at night. On the prairie there had been none of these sensations.

Soon the time came for the move to the Hoggarth farm, and the house hummed with activity. Amy called out directions to the older children and Ruth, the family's hired girl, about what to pack and whom to chase out of the way. Finally they were ready to leave.

The Hoggarth house was built of sturdy logs and covered with siding. It had once been the Haverigg Post Office before being moved to its present farm site, and the front door still bore a letter-drop slot. The main floor consisted of five small rooms—a kitchen with eating area and pantry, a living room, and three bedrooms, plus a double porch known as the “shed” because of its slanting roof.

Around the yard young spruce trees had been planted, and a caragana hedge lined a path that led north from the front of the house to the road. There was a picket fence around the front yard and a gate at the front entrance. In the years that the family lived in the house, no one used either the gate or the front door. Family and guests alike entered through the farmyard and came directly to the back door in the shed.

The garden, toward the west, had a row of saskatoon bushes and red currants. For several years, the girls were sent out to pick the saskatoons for pies or canning and the currants for jelly. Unfortunately, the currants were known to be loved by worms as well, and finally Amy had the bushes pulled out. Perhaps it had something to do with Amy's brother Bob who, on one visit, helped himself to the lovely red berries. He enjoyed them tremendously until someone opened a berry and showed him the wiggly worm inside. Uncle Bob looked a little sick—and didn't touch the currants again.

The house also had a second story, an unfinished open room. It became the bedroom for some of the children, though it was not insulated. Summer days were hot and stuffy, while winter nights very cold. The stove chimney ran up through the middle of the room, bringing whatever warmth there was in the winter. But under the heavy quilts the warmth of the other bodies sharing one bed soon made the attic room cozy and secure. Even the dark shadows thrown across the open rafters where the roof hung low were not nearly as frightening when the soft breathing of sisters could be heard nearby.

In the mornings, the children had to slip from the warmth, scurry across the cold floor and rush down the stairs to stand by the heater to get dressed. Even the main floor got very cold at night in spite of the banked fires. Janette can remember her father warming socks and shoes over the stove before they were passed to her to put on.

There was one dormer window upstairs, looking north from the front of the house toward the road. Because the roof sloped away in every direction from the chimney, a very careful child could ease out through the window and onto the roof. Some of the more adventurous members of the house tried this test of skill, but it was discouraged by those who were older and wiser.

The kitchen was an odd narrow room with the cooking stove near the entrance to the living room and the table tucked in along the north wall. It was very crowded for such a large family, but they made do until changes could be made. Fred was busy farming two quarters of land and logging another. Home improvements would have to wait.

At the end of Fred's workday in the field, little Janette would often run to meet her daddy. He was tired, dusty, and hot from the beating sun, but her little legs still had difficulty keeping pace with him through the tall jungle-like grasses. He would hoist her up onto his shoulders and carry her back to the house.

For Janette, the sensations of this memory still live on—the gentle up and down motion with each step that her daddy took; the feeling of being high above all of the world, her small hands wrapped around his sweaty forehead; the heady feeling of being borne homeward by her big, powerful daddy.

When Fred arrived in the evening after a busy day of farm duties, he was met with enthusiasm. As soon as he lowered his tired body into his usual chair, his lap was considered available. There was only one condition: no wet pants. It was great motivation for the young family members to become potty trained. Janette never stopped to consider if he wanted her on his knee or not. She felt the place was rightfully hers and was never turned away.

When Fred's big arms wrapped solidly around Janette as she snuggled up against his chest, she felt loved and protected. He was a quiet man, but there was never a doubt in Janette's mind that her daddy loved her. Though he was stern and unyielding to any child who chose to disobey, he seldom raised his voice. He simply did not need to.

Chapter Five

Church

Amy tried hard to get involved with the local church, but her only means of transportation was the team of horses. Since hitching them often seemed more trouble than it was worth, she frequently walked to church. And because the young children would not be able to keep pace on the two-mile walk each way, she sometimes went alone.

On one particular Sunday morning, when Janette was still small enough to be anxious about her mother leaving for even a short time, she became suspicious that something was in the wind. Amy had pinned her hat in place and pulled her fine black shawl over her best black dress, and it was evident she was going out.

Little Janette hung close to her throughout the preparations, but somehow Amy managed to sneak out the front door and start down the dusty country road. Finding herself outwitted, Janette ran howling after her mother.

The tired woman turned around and walked the short distance back to the yard, stooping to wipe the runny nose on her clean white hankie and muttering that since it was so hard to get to church she had a notion just to stay home. Though the small girl could not fully understand why, there was a momentary feeling of triumph. She was more important than “church”—whatever that was.

The feeling was short-lived. After seeing Janette settled back inside the house, Amy set off again, this time successfully.

The small Hoadley church had been started a few years before the Steeves family arrived in the area. Miss Pearl Reist, an “Approved Ministering Sister,” was largely responsible for its beginning. The building, purchased in 1934, was a former pool hall and not much by today's standards, but able to supply a “meeting place” for the little community congregation.

The front of the building was used as the church, and the rear held a small parsonage. There was an outside entry porch at the back leading to a tiny kitchen and an equally small living room with a little bedroom off to the side. The church had wooden floors and was rather bare except for the small pulpit at the front, a pump organ to the side, and rows of roughly made wooden benches. There were no padded seats or shaped backs, just boards that quickly became uncomfortable.

By the time the Steeves moved into the area, Miss Reist had married a local farmer named Nels Lemont and had turned the pastoral duties over to Reverend Raymond Shantz and his wife, Esma.

To farm children in the midst of the Great Depression, they were people from another world. Dainty and petite, Mrs. Shantz was well groomed and soft-spoken. Reverend Shantz was always dressed in a suit and had a warm smile and courteous manner. They drove a team hitched to a buggy with big wheels and a cover to protect from the hot sun or falling rain. Janette had never seen anything so grand and was certain they were quite different from ordinary people. Soon, though, her awe turned to deep feelings of love and respect.

One day the Shantzes were invited to dinner. Being a preschooler at the time, Janette usually tried hard to mind her manners, but during the saying of grace she embarrassed herself by burping loudly enough to be heard by everyone at the table.

For a moment Janette wrestled with what would be proper to do. She had been taught not to speak during prayer—but she also knew she was to ask pardon if a burp should slip out. At last she said a quiet but audible, “Excuse me.”

When the prayer ended, adults at the table exchanged glances and then gentle laughter rippled around the group. Janette was still uncertain if she had handled the situation correctly, but she was not scolded for it afterward.

Mrs. Shantz taught a Sunday school class for the younger children. It was held in the back quarters of the church where a small, backless bench had been placed. Since there were not many in the younger age group, this bench held everyone.

Amy's children attended regularly as they grew older, and though Fred preferred to stay at home, he saw to it that the youngsters arrived in church on the occasions when Amy was away.

Mrs. Lemont was also still busily engaged in the church. She led the adult Sunday school a good deal of the time, standing at the front and reading from the register in a clear voice, “Preschoolers present: five. Primary department present: six. Juniors present: eight. Adults present: fifteen. Teachers present: four.” And though Janette waited from week to week for the “presents” to be revealed, she saw none. It took quite some time for her to conclude that it was all a hoax to keep people coming to Sunday school. Later she learned the truth: Mrs. Lemont was simply keeping a record of attendance.

Mrs. Lemont was a big woman, with a stern look for misbehaving children. She wore stylish hats and lovely dark dresses trimmed with bits of fancy lace at collar and cuffs. She often carried white lacy handkerchiefs tucked at her wrist, and though Janette admired her, she was a little frightened of her as well.

Since she was one of Amy's best friends, the family often saw her other than at church services, though the couple had no children to play with. Her husband, Nels, was an interesting character, having more stories to tell about his horses and dogs than anyone else Janette had seen. In fact, some of his stories sounded so farfetched it took a patient man to stand politely and listen to the tales.

Nels would often tell of the time that he harnessed another man's team and claimed that, since he was unfamiliar with their particular equipment, the horses had chosen the proper pieces from the selection of complicated harnesses. Nels said he held a piece up to them and that the horses would whinny and nod, or shake their heads and neigh. No one was certain whether or not to believe what he claimed so insistently, but what could they say? The horses truly had been wearing all the proper pieces.

Nels was quite outspoken about the quality of his animals. Whenever he passed the Steeves' house, dust flew from the dry roads and whirled around the lively hooves and fancy buggy wheels. Perhaps they were an excellent team, but most of the community believed he likely whipped up the horses just before passing a neighbor's farm.