Outcasts of River Falls

by Jacqueline Guest

  Withdrawing a formal induction form from her drawer, Miss Weaver slid it across the desk. “You’ll need to fill this out and,” she squinted over the narrow spectacles, “there will be the matter of the fees.”

  Kathryn thought of her practically non-existent inheritance. “That won’t be an issue,” she assured the Headmistress, relegating this to the category of tomorrow’s headaches.

  “In that case, I’m sure you will have no problem being accepted. Your entrance exam was, to be truthful, extremely well done. You will be placed with our higher achieving students.” She relaxed a fraction and Kathryn thought it a very good sign. “Since you are only fourteen, I will, of course, need your parents’ consent.”

  At this, Kathryn remembered Aunt Belle and a flash of guilt hit her. She’d forgotten her aunt who was probably sitting on that hard wooden bench in the hallway. “Actually, my aunt is my guardian and I believe she is waiting outside.”

  “Wonderful. We always like to meet the family of new students.” The stern instructor rose from her desk and moved toward the door. “I find you remind me of my niece. Once you’re settled in, I’ll make the introductions, as I think you two young ladies have a lot in common.”

  When Miss Weaver stepped into the hallway, she halted so abruptly that Kathryn almost ran into her.

  “This is your aunt!” Her words were an accusation.

  “Why...ah, yes. This is Miss Belle Tourond.”

  The Headmistress glared at Aunt Belle, with her long black braids and dark skin, then grimaced as though a large rat sat on the bench. “She’s a half breed.” The teacher made no attempt to hide her disgust.

  The insulting words were a stinging slap but Kathryn tried to keep her voice reasonable. “It is I that am applying to your school and you assured me there was no problem!”

  The temperature in the room dropped to freezing. “Your application is rejected. We are not accepting new students at this time.”

  “I can get a transcript of my marks from Our Lady of Mercy and if it’s about the money, I said I could pay the fees...” Kathryn hurriedly tried to cover all the objections, knowing there was nothing she could do about the obvious one.

  “I said there is no room. You and your aunt must leave immediately.” The woman retreated to her office, slamming the door with a resounding bang.

  Kathryn now understood why poisoned apples were so popular in fairy tales.

  “Nellie’s foot is fine and I had a nice rest waiting.” Belle said quietly, and then added sympathetically, “Don’t worry, Katy. I’ll help with your studies at home. We’ll find the books you need and maybe the Sisters at the convent school will let you write the tests and send them back in the mail.”

  Kathryn couldn’t hide her distress. She didn’t know whether to scream in outrage or weep in disappointment.

  “Oh, my dear girl,” Aunt Belle moved to Kathryn, giving her a comforting hug. “This is the way it is for us. Out here, we are so few, with no one to champion our cause. Life on the road allowances is not ideal, far from it, but we have to accept it and make the best life we can for our families.”

  Kathryn was so angry she could spit. She stared at the Headmistress’s closed door and wanted to march back in and demand the bigoted woman see reason. “This is so unfair! What kind of place is this?” She fired the question at the indifferent portal rather hoping her words would be heard through the barricade, then turned to her aunt, still raging. “The law of the land is for everyone except the Métis? You have no justice or protection and no safe haven. Worse, your tarpaper existence can be burned out from under you at any time. This is not the Canada I was raised in. What is happening to the Ditch People is, is...nothing short of criminal!”

  Her aunt, ever patient, listened to her tirade and agreed tiredly. “Yes, ma chère, it is unfair and yet we must survive. We who live in the road allowances discovered the hard way that raising our head for attention will only get it shot off.”

  “I agree, the Métis must survive,” Kathryn said in as reasonable a tone as she could muster, “but at such a price? This school is the perfect example of everything that’s wrong with your system. I passed that ridiculous test with flying colours and there was no question of my being accepted – no question until my race was revealed.” She felt tears, hot and bitter, stinging and wanted to hit something before they spilled over and completely humiliated her. She saw the futility of it all written in the resignation on her aunt’s face. Impossible!

  “Come, Aunt Belle,” she said stiffly. “I smell something rotten in here.” And with that, Kathryn strode out of the school with her head held high and her spine poker straight.

  Chapter 7

  Magic and Masked Men

  After a fitful sleep, disturbed by bumps in the night, Kathryn awoke very early and decided to put the sour school experience behind her. She was now even more determined to get home to Toronto; however, after some realistic thinking and brutal calculations on not only the train fare, but necessities like clothing and tuition, Kathryn had accepted the hard fact that she would need a substantial amount of money to fund her escape. How she would come up with this money was a mystery she didn’t yet know, but she would find a way.

  And speaking of mysteries...Her thoughts returned once again to the Highwayman, the only truly intriguing thing about River Falls. He seemed to occupy her mind an inordinate amount of the day and sometimes the night too, when an unknown hero, tall, dark and mercilessly handsome, would come riding into her dreams.

  When she became a member of the Law Society of Upper Canada, it would be her full-time job to uncover the truth. So, why not start now by uncovering who this Robin Hood of the wild west was? It would help pass the hours and develop her skills. What a coup for her to discover what no one else had been able to – the identity of the River Falls Highwayman!

  Where to start? The best way to do this was to talk to her new, albeit temporary, neighbours. She would subtly question them, gleaning every bit of information she could; then, using her superior powers of deduction, put all the clues together to discover her man’s identity.

  Kathryn dressed quickly and tidied her small room, carefully straightening her precious books, then went to set her plan in motion. Opening the doors on the tall cupboards in the kitchen, she inspected the bottles, bags and boxes.

  “What on earth are you up to, Katydid?” her aunt asked, bustling into the cabin.

  Startled, Kathryn whirled around, feeling oddly off kilter. She thought she was the only one up, yet here was her aunt completely dressed, including high-laced boots wet with dew and hair neatly braided. How peculiar.

  “Aunt Belle! You may as well shoot me as scare me to death!” She patted the spot over her fluttering heart for emphasis. “I thought I would get an early start on the day. I’m going to make delicious muffins for the neighbours.” She turned back to the cupboard and peered at a box marked bicarbonate of soda. “As a thank you for the wonderful party we had.”

  Distracted, Aunt Belle moved to the peg holding her capote, a waist length coat fashioned from a Hudson’s Bay blanket, grabbed it and turned for the door once more. “How thoughtful. If you wait until I get back, I can help.”

  It was then that Kathryn noticed she was holding a paper sack. “Get back?” The sun was barely up. “Where are you going at this hour? It can’t be much past six o’clock.”

  “I have to take this medicine over to Mrs. Jones. I pray it will make the difference.” Without waiting, Aunt Belle hurried out the door, leaving Kathryn filled with more questions than answers.

  Grabbing her sweater off the back of a chair, Kathryn raced to catch up.

  Aunt Belle hastily pulled a very sleepy horse out of the lean-to and, slipping her Métis sash around Nellie’s neck to act as a makeshift bridle, jumped onto the horse’s back, then reached down for Kathryn.

  “If you’re coming, then come on, girl. There’s not a minute to waste.”

  Kathryn tentatively took the outstret
ched hand. She clambered awkwardly up and after much squirming and huffing, managed to seat herself behind her aunt.

  “Hold on!” Belle touched her heels to the horse’s sides and they were off.

  At first the jostling and fast gait caused Kathryn to cling rather childishly for dear life to her aunt. Adjusting herself to a more natural position on the horse’s broad back, she decided as transport, Nellie was actually rather nice, like straddling a wide carpeted log. The ride was quite comfortable, once you grew used to the movement of the strong muscles under the warm flesh.

  The early morning air was crisp and clean, with an intoxicating scent of tangy pine. In fact, if it weren’t for the sense of urgency, this whole excursion would have been very enjoyable. They cut across green fields and forded the river, eventually arriving at a quaint white clapboard house with a fence around the yard and sweet peas climbing a trellis over the gate.

  Kathryn immediately knew this was no road allowance shanty. Sliding off Nellie, her aunt didn’t wait as she rushed to the front door of the tidy house.

  It was immediately opened by a young woman, worry lines aging her ashen face.

  “I have medicine for Louisa,” Aunt Belle stated without preamble.

  The woman motioned for them to enter. “I’m so frightened, Belle. Her fever won’t break and she’s very weak.”

  The distressed mother crossed the room and knelt before a wooden cradle in which Kathryn glimpsed a tiny baby lying unnaturally still except for the jerky rise and fall of her chest as she struggled to take in a raspy breath.

  “She’s been sick for days. We’re about out of our heads with worry.”

  This remark came from a rake-thin man who was dressed in a rather stuffy suit. He appeared awkward and out of place, like he was on his way to work at the bank, but had forgotten to go in. Kathryn decided he must be the baby’s father and watched as he placed a shaky arm around his wife’s shoulders.

  Aunt Belle put the paper bag on the table and withdrew a bottle filled with white powder. “Alice, you must mix this with warm water and give it to Louisa to drink. It tastes bitter; still, we must get it into the child.”

  The young woman’s fear etched her face. “I tried an infusion of willow bark like you said, and have been sponging her down, but nothing’s working. She’s going to die, isn’t she, Belle, like my little Billy two years ago.” She contorted in anguish as fresh tears streamed down her cheeks.

  Belle put the bottle on the table and took the woman’s hands in hers. “No, my dear, we must not think like that. Right now, Louisa needs us to be strong. We will give her the help she needs to get well. Together we can do this, Alice. This is a new medicine which is going to fix that baby of yours up fine. Now, get me some water and a clean cloth.” Her voice was gentle, and yet there was no hint of weakness or doubt. Even Kathryn believed there was going to be a miracle.

  With new vigour, Alice retrieved the necessary items as Aunt Belle picked the child up and laid her on the kitchen table. The baby didn’t stir, behaving rather like a limp rag doll.

  Aunt Belle took the vial of powder and mixed some into the cup of water, then dipped the cloth into the slurry and put the end into the child’s mouth. Patiently, she dripped the medicine into the baby as the anxious parents hovered nearby.

  When she was satisfied the infant had ingested enough of the draught, Aunt Belle wrapped baby Louisa in a blanket and returned her to the cradle. She then went to the stove and proceeded to make tea.

  Kathryn was starting to think of this beverage as Métis chicken soup. All it took was the slightest problem, and out came the teapot.

  They sat silently drinking the strong brew as Kathryn endlessly refilled their cups from a bottomless pot. The only noise that of the grandfather clock ticking loudly as the long minutes marched slowly by dragging the hours with them.

  Without warning, the baby mewled; then Kathryn saw a pink fist thrust upward from the cradle.

  The young mother rushed to her child, picking the babe up and holding her close. Then she raised her tear-stained face, wonderment replacing despair. “The fever, Belle, the fever, it’s broken! She’s cool to the touch and her colour is much better. God bless you!”

  Belle went to examine the infant as the father stood mute witness, apparently not believing what was happening. Then everyone was laughing and hugging as the reality of the unexpected recovery became real.

  Kathryn’s mind swirled with questions. What was this medicine? Where had it come from?

  The bottle lay forgotten on the table and Kathryn picked it up. Printed clearly on the label was one word: Aspirin. She’d heard about this new discovery and knew it was available only from a doctor. She also knew it was very, very expensive. How could Aunt Belle have come by this wonder drug?

  Then she remembered the noises in her dreams, and her disturbed sleep. Had the Highwayman made a midnight delivery last night, a delivery of much needed, rare medicine? If so, this was a fairytale ending to a story that could have been heart-wrenchingly tragic. Kathryn couldn’t have written a more wonderful epic: drama, fear and then, thanks to a magic elixir delivered by an unknown hero in a black mask, the baby princess saved and the kingdom rejoicing.

  By the time Kathryn and Aunt Belle left, the baby had eaten, wet her diaper and was kicking and cooing like any other happy child. They bade the relieved young couple good-bye and rode back toward River Falls.

  “Aunt Belle, that couple, they aren’t Métis, are they?” she asked, balancing herself on Nellie’s broad back. She had been trying to puzzle this out.

  “No, Katydid, they aren’t.”

  “Then why did you help them? A nice white couple like them: they could have brought the doctor out from Hopeful. ”

  Her aunt stiffened. “I’ll thank you not to talk like that, young lady. When folks are in need, the shade of their skin is the last thing to worry about. That child was extremely ill and the old drunk they call a doctor couldn’t heal anything more than a blister or a boil. Could you live with yourself if we let that baby die and kept the medicine for only our own? Katy, it doesn’t matter who it is, we work together out here.”

  Kathryn supposed she should be quiet, but after her experience at the school, she fairly bristled. “And you can bet the doctor wouldn’t make any house calls to River Falls if one of the Métis children was sick.”

  “And two wrongs make a right? No, ma chère, we must lead by example. That innocent angel didn’t care what colour the person was who saved her. Maybe in the future, she will grow to an adult who will see the wisdom of being colour blind. The Métis will be here for a long time and so will the white man. We must plant the seeds and wait for the harvest.”

  Kathryn had nothing to say to this. Aunt Belle was right, of course. And she had been amazing during the whole ordeal, so calm and in charge, truly a pillar of strength.

  In this savage land, where the rules of civilized society proved tenuous at best, it was easy to forget the ideals one had been raised to believe in. Kathryn felt ashamed of her racist remarks; she hadn’t meant them.

  How easy to slip into that trap.

  She thought of her father. He would have been so proud of his sister; more proud of her than of his daughter.

  There was still one mystery. “Aunt Belle, where did you get the Aspirin? I read about it back east, but as far as I know, it’s a special thing indeed.”

  Casually swatting at a horsefly, her aunt dismissed the question. “Where it came from is not important, Katydid, what matters is that we had it in time. Sometimes Providence steps in and delivers what we need.”

  Providence, or a masked stranger who procured it gratis from a hospital somewhere, Kathryn thought as they rode on in the warm noonday sun.

  Chapter 8

  A Lord, a Lady and Aladdin’s Lamp

  Once they arrived back at the cabin, Aunt Belle busied herself as though nothing unusual had happened.

  “What kind are you going to make?” she asked, slipping her
apron on, then pulling bags marked flour and sugar from the tall cupboard and placing them on the table.

  “Kind?” Kathryn needed a second to catch up.

  “Yes, kind of muffins.”

  Kathryn noted the growing pile of what she guessed would be needed ingredients, none of which she had the faintest idea how to use. She didn’t want her aunt to know she’d used up all her culinary talents when she’d made tea and re-heated the bannock. “Ah, I’m not sure. What would you suggest?”

  Her aunt thought for a moment. “Hmm, as far as ingredients go, muffins take a lot, and you won’t end up with a large number to share. How about thimble cookies instead? The same amount of basics will go a lot further and I have several jars of raspberry jam you can use.”

  “That sounds perfect.” Kathryn hadn’t a clue what came next.

  “What would you like me to do?” Her aunt indicated the stove. “I could fire up the oven.”

  “Good thinking. We certainly will need a fiery oven.” Kathryn removed her sweater, hanging it on a peg next to Aunt Belle’s shawl and tried to imagine how one made a thimble cookie. “And I guess we’ll need a, a...”

  Aunt Belle waited expectantly.

  “A...a thimble!” Kathryn blurted triumphantly.

  Her aunt gave her a knowing smile. “You haven’t any idea how to make cookies, do you?”

  “Actually, cookie cooking has a pretty low rung on my academic ladder. I don’t plan on being a pastry chef.” Kathryn didn’t want to say what she truly dreamed of being, as it invariably brought snickers. Her classmates equated aspiring to become a barrister with wanting to be Queen of the British Empire or Czarina of all the Russias.

  “You do know how to do the basics like bake bread?” Aunt Belle asked cautiously.

  Kathryn shook her head.

  “How about cook a moose pot roast and make gravy?”