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© Jacqueline Guest, 2012
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This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Edited by Laura Peetoom
Cover designed by Jamie Olson
Typeset by Susan Buck
Printed and bound in Canada
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Guest, Jacqueline
Outcasts of River Falls : sequel to Belle of Batoche / Jacqueline Guest.
For ages 8-12.
ISBN 978-1-55050-480-4
I. Title.
PS8563.U365O88 2012 jC813'.54 C2012-900428-6
Library of Congress Control Number 2012932997
Available in Canada from: Coteau Books – 2517 Victoria Avenue, Regina SK Canada S4P 0T2 www.coteaubooks.com
Publishers Group Canada, 2440 Viking Way, Richmond, BC Canada V6V 1N2
Available in the US from: Orca Book Publishers, www.orcabook.com • 1-800-210-5277
Coteau Books gratefully acknowledges the financial support of its publishing program by: the Saskatchewan Arts Board, the Canada Council for the Arts, the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund, the Government of Saskatchewan through the Creative Economy Entrepreneurial Fund, the Association for the Export of Canadian Books and the City of Regina Arts Commission.
To the unsung Métis heroes of generations past who had the foresight to recognise that with hard work, fortitude and the unwillingness to be defeated, a brighter future could be won for their children.
Chapter 1
Secrets from the Grave
Hopeful Train Station, Alberta, April 1901
The ground shook and the wooden boards beneath Kathryn Tourond’s feet groaned. She cringed as the sound of a thousand hissing dragons surrounded her and the world disappeared in a swirling fog of gauzy white mist.
As the roaring quieted and the choking steam that cloaked the train platform cleared, Kathryn saw a figure hurrying toward her. “About time,” she grumbled, hefting her bulky carpet bag.
“Whew! I’m so sorry for my tardiness,” the burnished skinned woman apologized as she patted down the strands of glossy black hair flying loose from her long braid. “I had some arrangements to make and then decided not to bring my usual transportation as it would be too small which meant hitching Nellie to the old Red River cart and that stubborn horse simply wasn’t in the mood to cooperate. I’d hoped to be here long before you arrived.” She paused long enough to smile. “It’s indeed as Burns wrote, the best laid schemes o’ mice an’ men...”
The literary reference coming from someone obviously of the less fortunate classes surprised Kathryn. She eyed the homespun dress dubiously. It was clean and the cut impeccable, and yet so faded the blue flower print was barely there.
Kathryn smoothed the folds on her own fashionable frock, the deep burgundy taffeta deliberately chosen to show off her delicate coloring. Picking a miniscule piece of lint from her beautiful dress, she flicked it onto the worn wood beneath her feet. The plan was to look particularly perfect when she met her aunt, Miss Belle Tourond, for the first time and, modesty aside, she’d succeeded spectacularly.
The woman waited expectantly and it occurred to Kathryn that Aunt Belle must have sent an Indian maid to rescue her from this horrid station in the middle of the bald Alberta prairie. Of course, that would make sense. Someone as important as her aunt would have domestics for errands like fetching visitors from the train.
At that moment, the nun who had accompanied Kathryn on the four-day train ride from her home in Toronto came out of the station office and strode up to them.
“I’m Sister Bernadette, from Our Lady of Mercy Academy for Young Ladies.” Her thunderous voice boomed out across the rolling grassland as she vigorously shook the maid’s hand. “And this is Miss Kathryn Tourond. First, let me say how sorry I am for your loss... tsk, tsk, tsk.”
Kathryn flinched. That disapproving sound had annoyed her for the entire trip as she’d endured reprimands for the many minor sins committed on the journey. Everyone at school knew that nuns didn’t approve of much, but during this adventure, it had become apparent that Sister Bernadette had taken that line of attack to the extreme. The stern Sister would make a wonderful Wicked Witch and Kathryn had always suspected there was a broomstick hidden somewhere beneath those voluminous robes.
Sister Bernadette wagged her head, making the long black veil on her habit sway ponderously back and forth. “The illness was tragic. For this young girl, only fourteen years old, to be left orphaned. I’m not sure if you were aware that her mother died when Kathryn was quite young – and now, her dear father, who did the right thing by sending the girl to us for her education, to be taken by consumption.... He made his wishes known to Mother Superior that if anything happened to him, she was to be sent to you. The entire thing is truly lamentable.”
Kathryn was prepared to tolerate Sister’s sharp tongue most of the time, however bringing up the circumstances of both her parents’ deaths in front of this servant was unpardonable. It made that suffocating lump close Kathryn’s throat and the tears that waited, hiding behind her self-control, threatened to spill over once again.
Biting her lip, she refused to give in to the grief. Her so-called friends at the academy had all watched, whispering behind her back, as they waited for her to make a spectacle of herself. Those petty tongue-waggers knew she was without resources, which always meant money, and had to leave the private school. When Kathryn heard the snickering, she’d resolved that the earth could crack open and swallow her whole before she’d let that pack of high-society hyenas see her cry.
Straightening her spine in a way that always made her feel in command of the situation, Kathryn hoped she appeared the very picture of the well-bred young lady she was as she threw a silencing dagger-glare at the talkative nun. Unfortunately, it missed its mark and the sister continued on relentlessly.
“We were so glad to discover our orphan girl had an aunt to take her in. We’d worried she would become a ward of the province. Thanks be to God and you, she now has a bright future with her family. I’m afraid there were some debts, large debts,” the nun sniffed reprovingly. “Then the legal expenses and exorbitant train fare out here, forty-two dollars...” Here, her tone was filled with indignation at being charged such a scandalous amount. “All of which hasn’t left much money for our poor, poor Kathryn.”
Kathryn cringed at the word poor and her name being linked in the same sentence. And was the second ‘poor’ really necessary?
“The remaining money and the legal documents are in here.” The nun held an envelope out to the native woman.
Kathryn’s patience was at an end and her temper flared. What business was it of this maid’s what her circumstances were? “Those documents, Sister, are for my aunt.” She could feel her teeth clench as she attempted to wrestle the letter from the claw-like grip of the nun. “This servant...need not...bother...with them!” She pulled hard, yanking the envelope free.
Both women turned to Kathryn in surprise and Sister Bernadette’s mouth actually dropped open in a very unattractive way.
“I thought you knew...” The nun’s tone was full of pity, laced with what Kathryn could have
sworn was a dash of smug satisfaction. “... This is your aunt.”
“My aunt! Impossible!” The snort of derision slipped out before Kathryn had a chance to stop it. “Do I look like I could possibly be related to this woman? If you will notice, my hair is very blonde and I have a lovely pale pink complexion.” She appraised the dark-skinned servant. “We could hardly be more dissimilar if we tried and besides, Aunt Belle is wealthy with a large, prosperous ranch and many head of cattle. My father told me this himself. She’s a pillar of the community. Tell me Sister, could this woman be that aunt? She’s a, a...” Kathryn fumbled for the right word.
The maid raised her chin and her dark eyes, so different from Kathryn’s own green-flecked hazel, flashed a warning.
“The word you are searching for is Métis, and yes, I am your aunt. Your father obviously forgot to mention his ancestry while he was working for that high-priced company in Toronto and as to my social status – that too, was, shall we say, exaggerated.”
Now it was Kathryn’s turn to gape.
Chapter 2
White Knight Needed Apply Within
After a jostling, bumping, bruising eternity, the noisy wooden cart crested a hill and spread out below Kathryn was a lush valley with tall trees and a wide river. The evening shadows spread sinuous purple fingers toward a scattering of dilapidated cabins edging the sides of the road. She shuddered. This must be where hobos and the down-and-out huddled in their tarpaper shanties. She turned about, expecting to see the gas streetlights of the town of Hopeful, Alberta, the town to which she had been banished.
“At last,” the woman Kathryn now knew as Aunt Belle sighed, “journey’s end.”
Kathryn had a shiver of apprehension. “Journey’s end? Surely, you can’t mean those filthy shacks!”
“No, no, my dear.” Aunt Belle gave the reins a shake to encourage the horse forward.
“Whew!” Kathryn relaxed. “You had me worried for a moment.”
“My filthy shack is further back in the trees.”
Kathryn gawked at her aunt in stunned silence. Was she expected to live in one of those tumble-down hovels? “Impossible!”
“Not at all,” her aunt went on calmly. “Welcome to River Falls, Kathryn. We wanted the word ‘river’ in our name as rivers have always been important to the Métis. Here, we try to live close by each other so that we can help if needed. I’m a little further out, which isolates me somewhat, however, it means I have the added blessing of being near to the river and in winter, that’s wonderful indeed.”
Still reeling at the news about the dismally sub-standard housing, Kathryn had to ask. “Why would it matter if you live close to the river?”
Her aunt looked at her as though she were a very young child who knew nothing. “Hauling water is tough enough in the summer. Having to cut a hole in the ice and then drag the buckets to the house in a howling blizzard makes you pray the distance is short.”
Kathryn was still confused; then the horror of it dawned. “You mean we don’t have running water inside the house? How do you wash clothes? What about bathing and,” she felt her cheeks grow hot, “and other bodily needs?’
They were passing the shacks now, and her aunt waved cheerily to several people who were outside chopping wood or tending gardens. Although her aunt had said these were Métis, Kathryn was surprised at how different they all appeared. There was a tall man with very dark skin and hair like her aunt, while another woman was blonder than Ingrid Svenson back at school and Ingrid was practically an albino!
As they rumbled by one particular boy, Kathryn noticed the outrageous hat that he wore. It was bright red and several sizes too large, with a long black raven’s feather tucked roguishly into the band. As she stared, the impudent lad winked at her, then doffed the cap and made a sweeping bow. The gesture was so courtly she had the impulse to curtsey back. Ridiculously, he reminded her of the fairytale character Puss-in-Boots.
“I told you, dear,” her aunt went on, bringing Kathryn’s attention back to the dreadful conversation, “we haul water from the creek, and heat it for washing clothes or filling the bath. I keep the reservoir on the wood stove topped up for quick fixes.” She laughed gently. “And for those other bodily needs... we have an outhouse.”
“An outhouse! Kathryn Marie Tourond does not, not...” Kathryn’s flustered brain searched for the right expression. “Pee in a pit!”
Her aunt was unperturbed. “Well, Katy Tourond will have to! In fact, that name suits a young Métis girl from River Falls. Yes, indeed, ‘Katy’ will do nicely.”
“But, but...” Kathryn sputtered lamely. She was most certainly not a Katy, she was a Kathryn! She held her head up – Kathryn, regal and noble, like Catherine of Aragon, sad and courageous queen of Henry VIII. There were actually many similarities between her and the great queen – both exiled to a foreign land and having to live with – she shot her aunt a sidelong glance – unsuitable companions into whose alien world duty had thrust her.
A grasshopper landed on Kathryn’s cheek, its hard wings frantically whirring. With a startled shriek, she batted the loathsome bug away, accidentally smacking her face in the process. Resuming her royal pose, she proffered a cold shoulder to her oblivious aunt, or as cold as one could get crammed together in a rickety Red River cart.
After meandering slowly through a grove of towering evergreens, they finally stopped in front of a small log cabin encircled by a wide veranda.
“Be it ever so humble... ,” Aunt Belle sighed. “Katy, you need to unload your trunk and carpet bag before I unhitch Nellie, then while you’re taking everything into the house, I’ll feed the old girl and put her away.” She indicated a small lean-to near the cabin. Before Kathryn could correct her aunt on the insulting diminutive, Aunt Belle had climbed nimbly down, and was fussing with the tired nag – rubbing her wide muzzle, patting her corpulent flanks and cooing over the animal as though it were a particularly perfect specimen.
“What am I, the strong man from the circus?” Kathryn protested, to which the horse replied by noisily expelling a foul burst of noxious gas.
Choking, Kathryn hastily retreated to the back of the cart, offering her aunt some helpful advice. “I’m sure it would be a comfort to all in your River Falls if you took that flatulent beast to a veterinary surgeon!”
Aunt Belle paid little attention. “No money for that, Katy. Putting food on the table is enough of a battle.”
Sizing up her baggage, Kathryn’s anger was soon replaced with frustration. “How am I supposed to wrestle this into the house alone? There should be a porter to assist.”
This time, her aunt appeared not to hear at all as she went about the process of disconnecting the horse from the cart. Kathryn waited, hoping for a hired man or at least a passer-by to haul the heavy cases. When no one came to her rescue, she knew she had no choice. Once her aunt unhitched the horse, the unstable Red River cart would tip forward, making the process of unloading even more odious.
Muttering obscenities to rival a sailor, Kathryn dropped her carpet bag to the ground, clambered down and undid the gate at the back of the cart. She felt very much like poor Cinderella, one of her favourite fairy tale heroines with whom she empathized completely, as she heaved on the large trunk holding her belongings. Shoving it out of the cart was torture; tugging it up the cabin steps simply beyond her.
The veranda sported a hanging swing, made of logs and rope. Kathryn climbed the steps; then, spreading her skirt evenly on each side of her as she liked, she sat to catch her breath while assessing her nemesis squatting so obstinately in the dirt.
What had she packed that was so heavy?
Then her lips crooked up. Of course! She’d packed twelve of the most essential things in life; those that she could not live without. She’d brought...her books.
Well, that made all the difference. “Some rewards are worth the struggle,” she breathed, reciting her personal motto. Standing, she resolutely attacked the trunk once more.
Fi
nally, Kathryn manoeuvred the lumpish thing onto the covered porch. Opening the door, she dragged the cases and herself inside. Stretching her aching back, she surveyed the cabin. It was more spacious than it appeared from the outside; and, she admitted, far from being filthy, it was spotless.
Removing her bonnet, she laid it carefully on the trestle table to the right of the door. There were fresh wildflowers arranged in a chipped glass jar and she could smell the beeswax rubbed into the worn wood. Next to the table, a dressmaker’s dummy stood at attention as it guarded an ancient treadle sewing machine. Kathryn wrinkled her nose at another unmistakable odour – that of lye soap, probably used to scrub the floors.
Across the cabin on the opposite wall, a wood-burning cook stove, dry sink with wash basin and two tall cupboards made up the kitchen area. Drying herbs hung from the rafters, their pungent smell wafting pleasantly to her. At the other end of the single room, a large stone fireplace made a grand statement indeed. To the right of the fireplace were two cozy overstuffed armchairs with a round table between and opposite these, a small horsehair settee sat as primly as a spinster at a shivaree.
Against the wall behind the chairs, a lovely old china cabinet, made by a reputable builder if Kathryn was any judge, sat in pride of place. It held what she imagined was the Sunday-best dishes. No doubt a cherished and irreplaceable treasure to be admired, yet never touched, perhaps brought out on special occasions such as Christmas dinner. She smiled indulgently; these country rubes were so quaint.
Bright, multi-coloured rag rugs were everywhere, with a large oval version in front of the fireplace. She had to admit, the place was very homey and nothing like the Spartan boarding school she’d lived at for so many years.
Thinking of school brought a fond reminiscence to mind. With the constant pecking of the nuns, life would have been intolerable if it weren’t for her favourite teacher and friend, Miss Imogene Hocking. Imogene would take Kathryn out for lunch or to the theatre or boating on the lake.
Outcasts of River Falls Page 1
