Outcasts of River Falls (13 page)

A noise roused her and Kathryn rolled over, her groggy mind trying to determine if the sound originated in her dream world or the real one. She dismissed it and was about to try to recapture sleep when she was startled by a strange illumination flooding the narrow crack beneath her bedroom door. She tried to make sense of what she was seeing. A lantern was yellow, but this light was crimson. How strange! Kathryn wondered what was going on.

Dragging herself out of her soft bed, she stumbled half asleep to her bedroom door in time to see her aunt silently leaving. It was only a glimpse as the cabin door closed, but it seemed the lantern she held did glow an unearthly red colour. Kathryn immediately thought of Aladdin and his wondrous Lamp which held a magic genie within.

Her aunt had mentioned there’d been a bear around. Perhaps the strange red light didn’t attract the animal or better still, scared it away. Kathryn massaged her still-throbbing temples. “Well, if we have to use that accursed latrine for night visits, Aunt Belle could have warned me to use the special lamp.” Yawning, she vowed not to make any more midnight trips before speaking to her aunt about tonight’s discovery and gratefully, she returned to her warm bed.

Chapter 9

Red
Riding
Hood Finds
the
Holy
Grail

When Aunt Belle asked her to pick raspberries the next morning, Kathryn hesitated. This would be another new experience which, she’d discovered with the mud and straw lesson, could be nasty indeed.

The problem with refusing was that her aunt may come up with some other odious chore, like scrubbing the floors or dusting for spider webs. Berry picking may be the least of today’s evils.

“Thanks for doing this, Katy. I have to finish an important sewing project or I’d go with you. One question: are you sure you’re up to it?” Her aunt handed her an empty bucket.

Kathryn snorted derisively. “Please, Aunt Belle. It’s only picking berries! How hard could it be?” And with that, she waltzed out of the cabin, swinging the pail and feeling like Little Red Riding Hood on her way to grandma’s house.

The berry patch her aunt sent her to turned out to be as impenetrable as any castle guarded by fire-belching dragons.

Cursing, Kathryn pushed her way through the thorny brambles, batting at the prickly branches. There weren’t many berries to be had, still she persisted and managed to pluck the occasional dark red prize. The price was steep. He arms were scratched and sweat ran down her back as she thrust at a particularly nasty bush. The apron she’d slid over her dress was torn in several places and she doubted her shoes would ever be the same.

“O-o-o-w-w-w!” Shrieking, Kathryn snatched at her hair which had become entangled with a twig and was being viciously yanked from her scalp. She fought to free herself, but the harder she pulled, the tighter the tenacious branch bound her.

She was truly caught, snared, doomed. They would find her bleached bones, hanging from the bramble’s deadly thorns. This would never have happened if she were back in Toronto. She could send the maid or the kitchen staff to fetch a berry if she really needed one.

Frantically, Kathryn jiggled the barbed bush, to no avail. She twisted her neck to see if she could untie the knotted hair, but it only wound her closer.

She needed Sir Giles to ride in and chop the vines away, freeing her from this peril. It struck her that perhaps there was someone else picking berries on the other side of this horrid patch. They could save her. “Hello, anyone out there?”

Silence. The only sound was that of the warm breeze, laughing softly at her as it rippled through the tall prairie grass.

Kathryn remembered the bear lurking about. And what did bears eat? Why, juicy red raspberries, of course. And would Mr. Bear be angry at her for invading his lunch box? Why, yes he would!

She could be in serious danger.

“Help!” She screamed this time. “I need help!”

“You’ve really got yourself in a peck of trouble.”

Startled, Kathryn twisted trying to see who’d spoken, allowing the thorn she’d been avoiding to bite into her cheek and she winced. She remembered feeling like Little Red Riding Hood when she’d left this morning and hoped this wasn’t the Big Bad Wolf.

There was the sound of bushes being cut and branches snapping; then the gleam of a knife blade flashed, slicing down close to her head!

She almost fainted, sure that the end had come at last.

And then the branch that had captured her fell away and she was free. She backed out of the berry patch, the twig still dangling from her bedraggled hair. Her face was bleeding, the apron torn and sweat ran down her face. Once away from the savage bushes, she gratefully turned to meet her Sir Galahad.

Gratitude became mortification as Kathryn stared into the grey eyes of the young man she’d seen while in the Phaeton. It all came back to her in excruciating detail – her coquettish simpering, his interest in a vehicle over her. Her life was a series of disasters since coming to this God-forsaken prairie. Frustrated, she smacked at the branch, still hanging limply from its hair noose.

Her rescuer moved a little closer. “Here, let me help you.”

Awkwardly, he worked her hair free. It took several
minutes and a lot of teeth gritting on both their parts. Fi
nally, the offending shrubbery was disentangled.

“There you go, Miss. You might think about wearing a big ol’ hat next time.” He presented her with the branch, then started to walk away.

A hat! What an impertinent thing to say! She snapped the offensive stick in two and flung it into the berry patch. “Stupid, stupid,
stupid!”
she cursed.

He stopped, turning back to her. “You talking to me?”

“No, no, not you. Please wait.” Kathryn hurried over to him. “I’m sorry. We keep meeting in, well, peculiar circumstances.” She held out her hand. “I’m Kathryn, not Katy, Katydid or Kate, just plain Kathryn.”

“From what I see, there’s nothing plain about you.” He smiled and instantly, her heart melted like a crystal snowflake in the sun. “My name’s Mark.”

Touching the side of her head, Kathryn casually felt for a bald spot, praying it wasn’t as bad as she thought. “I had no idea I’d have so much trouble with one little berry picking excursion.” She showed him her mostly empty pail and sighed loudly. “I guess my raspberry pie baking will have to wait.”

“It’s a might early for berries.” Mark held up a tin box. “I was going to have lunch down by the river. Would you like to share mine?”

“Your lunch?”

“My pie. It’s apple and my ma makes the best in the world.”

How could she refuse this Lancelot anything?

Kathryn had never spent such a pleasant afternoon. They sat on the riverbank under the shade of a spreading poplar and ate Mark’s sizable lunch, including a huge wedge of pie, which lived up to its billing. It was delicious.

Although he was several years older, they still found all
manner of things to talk about. Everything Mark said to
tally fascinated Kathryn and she listened mesmerized.
He liked pigs and planned on having the biggest hog op
eration this side of Winnipeg. He’d already won several ribbons at the county fair with his prize sow.

“How interesting!” Kathryn giggled. She hoped she sounded charming. “And what’s this prize piggy’s name, or do you give pigs names?”

“Oh, yeah, I name all my meals,” Mark guffawed.

They were stretched out on their stomachs, watching the languid green water drift past. He leaned in toward her, bringing with him his strong, male scent. “Actually, I did name one. I call her Fatsow. Get it, Fatsow, like Fatso on account of she’s such a big porker.”

Kathryn burst out laughing, snorting in a very unladylike manner, which made Mark laugh too.

“You know, that’s exactly what Fatsow sounds like when it’s feed time at the trough.”

Kathryn tried to stifle the porcine noise by covering her mouth. She had to get control before he thought her a complete buffoon, but as she wiped the drool from her chin, she wondered if that ship had sailed.

Instead of shying away, Mark reached out and pushed a lock of her snarled hair behind her ear. “I like you, Just Plain Kathryn. You’re funny.”

At that moment, movement downstream caught Kathryn’s eye. A horse and rider were flying along the old trail that led into the woods. Kathryn immediately recognised the cream-coloured
capote
, with its vibrant red, yellow, green and indigo stripes at the bottom. It was Aunt Belle galloping at breakneck speed on old Nellie. The startling thing was the rest of her aunt’s apparel. Under the open coat which flapped in the wind, Kathryn saw she had on a chambray shirt and denim dungarees. This, along with the shortened capote made her appear quite manly. Why would she need such insane haste simply to deliver the sewing she’d been working on?

“Someone’s hell-bent for leather.” Mark watched for a moment; then amazement filled his face. “Why, lookie there. It’s a gal and she can really ride. Who’d have thought a female could manage a horse like that.”

The last comment irked Kathryn. Were women somehow incapable of riding proficiently? Maybe Mark simply didn’t understand that women, given the chance and the training, could do anything and do it well.

Once they knew each other a little better, she’d have to enlighten him – substantially, but for now, she’d be as sweet and ladylike as possible. “My, that is entirely too hard for me,” she said demurely. “I’d rather use a buggy, so my skirts don’t get all horsey smelling.” She thought that sounded sufficiently feminine.

“You’re right, little lady. I think women should stay fo
cussed on something more suitable, something they can handle, like cooking and raising children.”

Kathryn tried biting her tongue to keep quiet, and then worried she’d have to clamp down so hard she’d take the end off. “Oh, I think women can
handle
a little more than baking pies and washing diapers. In fact, I think women are the equal of men and perhaps, if men weren’t so afraid of how capable women are, they’d let them into professions where they aren’t welcomed now!” She crossed her arms and watched Aunt Belle disappear into the woods. “And yes, that woman can ride
as well as any man
.”

Mark didn’t seem to get her point, patting her arm as though she were feeble-brained to have wild thoughts like those.

“Must be one of those road allowance half-breeds from down by the river. They been busy clearing all that land and planting crops. I figure that quarter section would make one swell place for my hog operation.” He sucked air in through his teeth. “Yes siree, mighty fine and the price is right.”

Kathryn wasn’t sure what he meant. Aunt Belle had told her the Métis didn’t own their land, so who was selling? There were dozens of families living in River Falls and she was pretty sure none of them would be willing to move to make room for a pig farm.

He stood and then, grabbing her hand, yanked her up in a less than gentlemanly fashion. She forgave him. Proper etiquette was something else she’d educate him on once they were, dare she say it, betrothed.

“I’d like to stay, problem is, I got chores I left undone. I’d best get to ’em.”

Kathryn saw from the angle of the sun that it was in
deed late. Where had the time gone?

He continued to hold her hand. “It’s been...right nice.”

She couldn’t agree more, although she didn’t know
exactly how to say this and still retain her ladylike demure
ness, or what was left of it. Instead, she bobbled her head up and down like some demented cuckoo clock. “Nice,” she echoed in agreement.

Walking home alone along the dusty road, Kathryn thought of her time with Mark. True, he had a few rough edges. That remark about woman being good only for cooking and raising children still steamed her, and some of his other comments were certainly disturbing, but he simply needed polishing and perhaps a good dose of educating. She’d help him see where he’d been wrong.

She was sure he liked her. He’d said so, hadn’t he? And yes, when she was a member of the Law Society, it would be a little unusual to introduce her husband, ‘the pig farmer,’ but what did it matter,
a rose by any other name
...