Outcasts of River Falls (4 page)

Chapter 3

Through
the
Looking
Glass

The next morning, Kathryn’s nose was assaulted by the most delicious smells – fresh biscuits, bacon and... She inhaled deeply. Was that hot maple syrup? And where there was maple syrup, there were pancakes. She positively adored pancakes. Sitting up, she felt disoriented and it took her a second to remember where she was and then, with a terrible rush, she remembered
what
she was.

She was Métis.

She was one of the Road Allowance People, one of the outcasts.

Kathryn flopped back down and pulled the feather quilt over her head, shutting out the light, shutting out the world.

“Katy, time to get up,
ma chère
, breakfast is nearly ready.”

Her aunt’s voice was annoyingly happy. Kathryn dragged herself out of bed, and, pulling on her coat against the early morning chill, headed for the dreaded pine privy. What was there to be so chipper about?

Washed and dressed in her least pretty skirt and blouse, Kathryn sat at the table and reached for the sturdy teapot.

“Good morning, dear. Did you sleep well?” Her aunt asked, placing a plate on the table. It held two meagre rashers of bacon.

“Umm, yes, I guess so.” Kathryn searched for the pancakes.

“That’s good, now eat up because we have work to do and you’ll need your strength.”

She passed Kathryn a basket of strange-looking bread.

“
Li gallette
... bannock... It’s like biscuits, Katy, and quite nice with a cup of tea.”

Kathryn squinted at a bottle marked
Li Siiroo di Pisaandlii
.

“That’s dandelion syrup.” Her aunt answered before Kathryn could ask.

“Ah, I thought I smelled maple...” Kathryn prompted.

Her aunt laughed. “Why, yes you did, and of course, we need something to pour the syrup over.”

She went to the stove and returned with a plate containing the thinnest pancakes Kathryn had ever seen. They were pitiful. You could practically see through them!

“What kind of pancakes are those?” she asked with a hint of disdain. How sad. This new aunt of hers couldn’t even cook pancakes correctly!

“Not pancakes, no, nothing so ordinary. These, Katy,” Aunt Belle went on, “are my famous
crêpes du matin
and we have fresh cream and preserves to stuff them with.”

Kathryn watched as her aunt took one of the paper-thin
pastries, ladled in wild strawberry jam and a liberal slathering of thick cream, and then rolled the whole thing up into a cornucopia of divine delights. Over this, she sloshed the warm maple syrup.

“Impossible!” Kathryn’s mouth watered as she reached for the crepes.

Full to bursting after what had to be the most delicious breakfast of all time, Kathryn was eyeing the fireside chairs for a comfortable haven in which to read, when her aunt stood in front of her brandishing the dreaded apron again.

“You wash up while I prepare the clay.”

Kathryn couldn’t comprehend the meaning of the outstretched apron. “Wash up? I washed before coming to breakfast.”

Aunt Belle shook the apron. “The dishes, Katydid, the dishes! I’m assuming you know how to clean a kitchen?”

Kathryn felt insulted. “Of course, Aunt Belle. I’m sure a young lady with my education should have no problem with simple domestic duties.” She took the apron and surveyed
the kitchen. Making crepes with fixings had produced a gi
gantic mess. The bacon grease had congealed and the plates were a goopy petrified mess. At her home, the cook did the dishes and at school, they ate in the dining hall with a staff that took over when the students were finished. However, she was not about to let Aunt Belle know any of this. She wanted to appear capable and utterly competent, even
at this type of drudgery. Pushing up the sleeves on her taste
ful white eyelet blouse, she set to work.

The wood stove had a reservoir out of which Kathryn dipped steaming water, pouring it into the dishpan cradled in the dry sink. Adding soap, she scrubbed and rubbed the
grimy plates, pots and pans, and then dried the dishes, re
placing them in the china cabinet when she discovered they were the only ones in the cabin, and not the Sunday best she’d assumed. When she checked the back of the plates, she was surprised to see they were in fact, quality bone china from a well-known English manufacturer.

After wiping the table and stove, Kathryn lugged the heavy dishpan outside and emptied it onto the road. She polished the table with the beeswax until it gleamed and then swept the floor of every crumb.

By the time she’d finished, she was sweating and her hair had come loose from the stylish chignon she’d fashioned that morning. In truth, she was ready to go back to bed. Instead, she collapsed into one of the wing chairs, sure she’d completely impress her aunt with the speed and skill she’d shown. And as a reward, for the rest of the day, she’d stay curled up in a chair and read her current book. She was at a particularly exciting part where her hero, Sir Giles, whose chivalry was known throughout the pages of her novel, was competing in a joust for his fair maiden’s favour.

“Don’t feel badly, Katy, with a little more practice, you’ll get much faster.”

Kathryn sat up with a jolt. Her aunt stood silhouetted in the doorway and her words were like being dowsed with a bucket of cold water. Faster? FASTER!

Impossible! She had practically flown through those nasty chores.

Aunt Belle appraised Kathryn with a critical eye. “You should change into rougher clothes. We wouldn’t want to ruin your lovely outfit. Working with clay is dirty work.”

It was then that Kathryn remembered the mysterious reference to “getting the clay ready.” What clay and why did her aunt have to get it ready? Somehow she didn’t think she was going to like whatever was coming next.

“These
are
my rough clothes,” she said with apprehension.

“Well then, let me find you something more suitable.” Her aunt went to the steep stairs that led to her loft bedroom and scampered up them like a woman half her age, only to return with the ugliest pair of worn denim dungarees and threadbare flannel shirt that Kathryn had ever seen.

She recoiled in horror at the rags. Surely, Aunt Belle didn’t expect her to wear them! But her aunt mutely held out the ridiculous outfit, and, as Kathryn accepted it, Sir Giles rode away without her.

“This has to do with the arrangement that made me late to pick you up. The friends I spoke of have offered to help today, and so I jumped at the opportunity.
He who hesitates is lost.
” Aunt Belle marched to Kathryn’s makeshift bedroom and pulled the bed from the wall, shoving it against the back of the sofa. At that moment, there was a knock on the cabin door.

“Heavens! They’re early. Could you get that, Katy?” Aunt Belle asked as she continued clearing out the sleeping area.

Kathryn didn’t know what was coming; what she did know was that there was no way she’d leave her beloved books in harm’s way. Hastily retrieving the precious cargo, she carefully stowed the novels in her trunk before going to answer the summons.

She opened the door...and screamed. The head of a deer stared balefully down at her, complete with pointy antlers and a lolling pink tongue!

The deer whirled around and it was then that Kathryn saw it had been slung over the back of a man who would have been given the part of the giant in any fairytale. The formidable visitor had wild black hair accented by a grey streak at the temples and a huge bushy beard that could have used a trim four months ago. He looked very Indian, but remembering Aunt Belle’s talk yesterday, she decided he was probably a Métis.

“
Tansi, Mademoiselle
. Belle, she is home?”

“Aunt Belle, there’s a deer at the door!” Kathryn called, still mesmerized by the dead animal. “I mean a gentleman wishes to speak with you.”

Her aunt, a dirt smudge on her face, came over to join her niece. “Why, if it isn’t Claude Remy, returned from your trap line in the bush. Wherever that hidden camp of yours is, you should think about finding the nearest barber before coming back to civilization.”

The big woodsman took no offence. “
Ma
Belle, you are
magnifique.
First ting I do, I bring you a yearling jumper, fresh killed dis morning.” A broad grin split the dark beard. “I gut it out back.
Oui?”

His accent was strange, and Kathryn decided it was sort of French and sort of something else, mixed in.

“
Merci
, Claude. I’ll be sure to share the meat with everyone in River Falls. Oh, and we’ve had a bear through so please, when you’re done dressing the buck, don’t leave any tasty morsels lying about.”

The big man grunted, then walked toward the shed where Nellie was stabled.

Aunt Belle closed the door. “Hmm, I think this venison comes with strings attached,
n’est-ce pas?”
With a shake of her head, she went back to moving Kathryn’s belongings.

Kathryn didn’t know what her aunt meant by this and
before she could ask, another knock sounded through the
cabin.

“That will be them and I haven’t got the tea made. Katy, would you mind...”

“Curiouser and curiouser.” Feeling decidedly like Alice in Wonderland, Kathryn opened the door, wondering what she would find on the other side this time.

The man standing there reminded her of a stork – tall, extremely thin and oddly angular. He had several heavy boards slung over his shoulder and behind him was another fellow, short and stout, carrying a large saw and various other tools.

“Pierre, my favourite carpenter, please
entrez-vous
.” Aunt Belle shouted from the kitchen. “I was about to put the tea on.”

“
Salut
, Belle. You said your lovely niece needed a room of her own, so we came with our this and our that,” Pierre replied. “I brought the
this
,” he tapped the planks, “and Joseph brought the
that
.” Kathryn swung the door wide, stepping back as the two men tramped in.

“And this beautiful young lady must be Katy, Patrice’s girl. Welcome to River Falls,
Mademoiselle.”
Pierre paused in front of Kathryn, the boards teetering precariously on his bony shoulder as he touched the brim of an imaginary hat.

“Ah, actually, it’s Kathryn,” she corrected as he continued past her with the lumber. “And yes, I’m Patrick’s daughter. Won’t you come in...” she called to his retreating back.

“Bonjour! Bonjour!”
Pierre’s partner Joseph greeted her
cheerily as he scurried in, lugging his tools.
“Bonjour! Bon
jour!”

She immediately thought of Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum.

Before she could close the door, Kathryn spied a diminutive woman hobbling up the path toward the cabin. The white-haired matron used a silver-topped black cane carved with the most elaborate decoration and obviously of high quality. Trailing several steps behind was a boy carrying a wrapped bundle. It was her Prairie
Puss-in-Boots,
the
same boy she’d seen when they’d arrived in the sliver-in
fested cart. His large red hat was perched at a jaunty angle and the shiny black feather gleamed in the morning sun.

Kathryn stood at her post of doorkeep, waiting for these newest visitors to arrive. Her aunt had to have the busiest cabin in the west!

The wizened elder stopped at the door and motioned for the lad to give Kathryn the parcel. She took it from him, a tantalizing smell rising from what she hoped was a cake wrapped within.

“
Merci
, JP. Run along now.” The grandmotherly woman shooed the lad away with a wave of her cane.

He wiggled his eyebrows impishly at Kathryn, mouth ringed with cake crumbs and icing, no doubt his fee for carrying the delicious package. He was older than she’d first thought; perhaps her age. It was the ridiculous hat that made him seem like a child playing dress-up.

With a wink, he turned and whistling a lively tune, strode back down the path.

“
Mon Dieu
!” The old woman gasped. “That trail gets longer every time I come here.” She carefully stepped over the threshold, nodding at the parcel in Kathryn’s hands. “This gateau is for the tea I know Belle is making. My name is Madame Ducharme. You may call me Kokum.” Her voice was strong and clear.

Kathryn checked the path to see if there were any stragglers, then took the cake inside. She saw the men were already busily constructing two inside walls in the far corner where her room would be and from the framework, it would be a very small room indeed.

The old woman stabbed her cane in their direction. “She will need a proper door. Every young girl needs privacy.”

“Francis is bringing one later, Kokum. He’ll make sure it’s hung before tonight.” Joseph answered. “I would have done it myself except Giselle keeps me busy riding all over the countryside for the special herbs and spices she uses in her baking. Some weeks, I’m lucky to make it to Sunday mass.” He chuckled. “At the rate they’re ordering from us, the ladies of Hopeful will forget how to make a loaf of bread soon.”