As the neighbours drifted away, Joe thanked the pastor and saw him and his family to his buggy. He returned to the house to find a sea of family faces aimed in his direction. He threw up his hands. “I know. Something has to be decided. I’m just not sure what.”
His father gave him a sympathetic look. “There are lots of helping hands here, son. Don’t lose your patience, just listen to what is said and give us your opinion.”
“Fine.” He scooped his two-year-old from the floor and passed him a bun from the table. Within seconds the little boy was chewing on it and a few minutes later, he snoozed on his father’s chest. Betsy came over to lean against him and he wrapped an arm around her as he fell back into the chair.
“I’m ready,” he muttered.
“There’s school,” said Jane. “The four oldest could come into town for the week and then home at the weekend.”
“The little ones need care, don’t they,” Emily said. “I can take them to our place. Or I could come to your house, Joe, but it would be easier to see to them at home.”
Shane looked at her. “You won’t have the same energy for long,” he said. “Our own little one is due in a few months.”
Dad gave a choking sound and wept into his handkerchief. The men froze, but Jane rose and knelt beside his chair. “I’m so sorry, Dad,” she said. “So sorry.” She rubbed his back.
The others looked around uncertainly.
Emily spoke. “I think we only need to sort things out for a week, don’t we. Then we can gather and talk about how it’s worked and what needs to be done differently.”
Thom grinned. “Are you a schoolmarm?” he said. “You sound like one.”
Shane laughed and Joe gave a rusty chuckle. Dad took a breath and looked at his sons. “Emily’s right. If we can just sort out one week…”
“I’ll do your chores, Dad,” Thom said. “My farm is closest and you aren’t up to it right now. So, I’ll look after my animals and yours.” Thom had a large herd of cattle on his farm.
Shane looked at Lewis. “Can you take five kids? We’re new at this, and two babies might be all we can manage for a week.”
“What about me? Why don’t I get any of my kids?” Joe sounded belligerent.
Emily’s dark eyes were sympathetic. “It’s only for a week, Joe. And the older children need their schooling. Maybe you should stay with your father during that time, help him to get back on his feet.”
It was decided. Shane and Emily took the two youngest children with them in the wagon, trailing Dad’s cow and calf. They’d need the milk for the little ones. Joe went home to get some clothes and move in with Dad for a few days. Lewis and Jane took the five oldest children, packed bags and school books, and set off for town.
The family was scattered like chaff in the wind.
CHAPTER 10~JAKE
Shane came into the house, quietly setting the milk pail on the counter. He poked another piece of wood into the firebox and stood at the kitchen window, watching the rain.
At this rate, the snow would soon be gone. The temperature had risen a few degrees each day, and it was close to thaw. Shortly the grass would be pushing up through the soil, and not long after that it would be dry enough to start ploughing. The horses were ready, and he had two teams now which should speed things up.
He turned at the sound of a small cry and watched Emily rise awkwardly from the bed to lift Annie’s baby out of the crib. Joanie was cute, with her wide blue eyes and blonde curls. His wife rocked the baby in her arms for a moment and glanced up to meet his gaze.
He smiled. She looked very contented caring for the little one. Oliver still slept, sprawled on the single bed in the corner. He was a sturdy little fellow, almost three, with a hearty appetite and lots of energy. Now and then he cried for his mummy but for the most part seemed happy living with them.
Shane filled a pot half-full of water and placed it on the stove. He added a healthy pinch of salt and began to dump in oatmeal, stirring occasionally. Porridge was the usual start to the day, and gave Emily a chance to get her feet under her before things got really busy.
She was well rounded now, the baby due in a couple of weeks. He would sometimes put his hand on her stomach when they lay in bed together. Very often that little creature was amazingly active. He didn’t know how his wife got any sleep, the way he tumbled and somersaulted around.
His heart jerked in his chest. His own child, any day now. There was a jumble of emotions in his head—loss of his mother, and beautiful Annie, Joe sinking in sorrow. Jake was off in Europe somewhere, but injured according to his letter. And a new life about to arrive. How much could a man handle?
A few minutes later there was a knock on the door, and Shane waited till Emily got her housecoat on before he pulled it open.
Thom was on the doorstep. “Got some news, Shane. Hi Emily, how’s the little one?” He stood scratching his head as Oliver shuffled around on his cot, then slipped small bare feet to the floor.
“What is it?” Shane asked as he grabbed the little boy and herded him over to the chamber pot in the corner before he forgot himself and wet his pajamas.
Thom walked to the stove and stirred the oatmeal. “It’s Jake,” he said, setting the spoon aside. “He’s coming in on tomorrow’s train.”
~~*~~
The next day everyone rushed to town. Stopping at Lewis’s house, they found things in an uproar. The children had been to school, a half-day as usual. The news when they got home of Uncle Jake’s pending arrival on the train was joyously received. When Joe got there, they flew into a frenzy at the sight of him.
Emily climbed carefully from the wagon, with Shane’s help, and brought the younger children into the house. As she helped Oliver off with his coat and boots, she looked around. It was much less organized than when she first visited here last spring.
Glancing up, she met Jane’s gaze and they both laughed. “I know, don’t I?” Emily said. “Our house is a bit chaotic as well. I’m not as good a manager as Annie was.” Tears came to her eyes and she glanced away. She’d become weepy in the last few days.
They had a quick lunch and donned their coats once more to walk to the station. Joe’s children hung off his shoulders and attached themselves to each hand. He had a smile on his face, the first Emily had seen since Annie got sick.
The station was crowded. Apparently, another young man was arriving today and his family had also gathered to meet the train. They heard it approaching in the distance, the thrum of the engine and then the long wail of the whistle. It pulled into the station in a cloud of steam and everyone stepped back out of the way.
Then they watched. A few people climbed off, and the other family surged forward as their son came into view. Still the Narraways waited.
Finally, a pretty young woman with pale skin and dark hair up in a bun climbed down from the car and turned to lift a hand in aid of the next passenger. Shane stepped forward hesitantly, then ran for the car door. A tall lean young man with sandy red hair lurched down the first step. He had a walking cane in each hand supporting his weight. His piercing blue eyes searched the platform until they lit on his brother running toward him.
“Jake!” The family engulfed him in a clamour of greetings and hugs. As the tumult continued with exclamations and questions, Emily placed a hand on the arm of the young woman who was standing to the side watching. “Do you know him?” she asked. “Are you with Jake?”
The woman turned a confused face toward her. “Yes,” she said in a strong French accent, “I am heez wife.”
CHAPTER 11~LIFE RENEWED
“What was it like, Jake?” Shane leaned against the railing on Dad’s porch and braced a foot on the chair opposite. He took a sip of his coffee. His brother had wanted to visit here before going on to his own place to see how it fared. Shane hoped he wouldn’t be too disappointed. He’d called by the house every so often, setting mouse traps and removing birds’ nests from the eaves. Jake’s wife, Felice, had gone inside to
lie down for a nap and Dad was out at the barn feeding the chickens.
“Nothing you can imagine.” Jake’s face was drawn with fatigue. He’d reported that his stamina wasn’t back to normal yet, maybe never would be. But Shane doubted that. His brother was a very determined man—slow to anger, quick to offer help and dedicated to his work.
Joe’s jaw was tight. “It’s hard not to remember it, yet it’s the last thing I want to think about. I used to lie awake at night in the trenches and remember the land. How vast it is, and how it smelled in the spring with the snow melted. The threshing in the fall. The ducks flying over in huge flocks.”
He shook his head. “The war has changed me. But then,” he glanced at Shane, “you’ve changed too. Married? And a baby on the way? Fast work, buddy.”
Shane laughed. “Not so fast. I worked all damn summer on that house. Being the youngest son means you get the last building project.”
Jake nodded and grinned. “Yeah, I remember. Good thing I’m not the youngest, because I don’t think I could build anything right now.”
Shane put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “You wouldn’t have to. That’s the best part. We’d all pitch in. How is Felice with being here? Must be pretty different from back home.”
“Yeah.” Jake glanced toward the door. “She was my nurse when I was first injured in France. We’ve been together ever since. She was so excited to come to Canada. I hope it works out the way she imagines.”
“Don’t worry. Emily’s only been in Canada a little more than a year. The women seem to adapt, maybe better than we do.”
~~*~~
Emily woke him in the middle of the night. “Shane.” She shook his shoulder. “I think it’s started, I do.” She’d been awake for nearly an hour, her belly contracting with ever-increasing urgency. Now she was sure, and she was frightened. “You have to get some help. Ride to town for the doctor.”
Shane laid his hand on her belly and rubbed gently. “Oh, man. First I’ll find someone to bring over here. There’s no way I’m leaving you alone with the two babies.”
He threw on his shirt and lit the lamp, setting it on the bureau. “I’ll leave it there till I’m back,” he assured her.
He returned a long half hour later. She was sweating as the pain increased and the contractions came closer together. Jake and Felice walked in behind him. “Felice was a nurse in the war,” he said quietly. “She’ll help.”
“The men weren’t having babies, were they?” she muttered, and heard a low laugh.
“True, but she knows more than I do about this. Jake will be in the kitchen keeping the fire going and heating water. If the kids wake, he’ll take care of things. I’m going for the doctor now.” His breath came fast as he pressed a kiss to her damp temple. “Hang on, sweetheart. I’ll be back in a jiffy.” He ran for the door.
Felice laid a warm damp cloth on her forehead. “Take a deep breath,” she whispered. “Breathing is half ze battle.”
The night seemed endless. Emily heard Oliver stir and Jake murmured and patted the little boy’s back to lure him to sleep again. When the baby woke for her night feeding, she muttered instructions to Felice about the milk, and they left Jake to look after that, too. In spite of his injuries, he managed to feed and change Joanie and get her back into the crib.
Emily tried to keep her moans to a minimum, not to frighten the children. Then Shane rushed in, his face white, carrying the doctor’s bag. Things went very fast after that. She pushed and pushed again. The pain was overwhelming. Just as she wondered if she would be able to manage, and wouldn’t just faint to escape the agony, the baby was born.
The discomfort was immediately forgotten when she laid eyes on the little creature they placed carefully in her arms. He was beautiful, his skin red as a beet and little face screwed up into a scowl. He cried for a few minutes, and Joanie stirred. But then he settled against her breast and slept.
Shane crept close, placing the tip of a finger in the small soft palm. Tiny fingers curled trustingly around his, and his eyes shone with tears as he looked at her. “I love you,” he whispered. “I love you so much.”
She relaxed against the pillow and held her child, looking into her husband’s bright blue eyes. This was more than she’d ever hoped for.
~~*~~
Shane dropped the doctor off at his house in the village and turned the wagon for home. It was close to noon, and Emily had been sleeping when he left. Jake and Felice had promised to stay and take care of things till he got back.
He really needed a buggy, like the one Lewis had. It would be awkward taking his wife and child places in the wagon, and there was no protection from the weather on this contraption.
His stomach clenched and his heart seemed to lurch in his chest. He had a child. His wife and son were waiting for him. He clicked his tongue and shook the reins. He needed to get home.
As he drove, his mind roamed over the recent events—Jake was back, injured but mending, and married. Joe seemed to be managing, although things were tense there. Dad had risen out of his own sorrow to help support his eldest son. And he and Emily had a baby.
His gaze raked over the land ahead of him. The snow was almost gone. He noted the shadow of the deep ravine that crevassed across the fields, and the green already beginning to show at the sides of the dirt road. He squinted against the sun as a hawk screamed overhead, gliding on tilted wings to catch the breeze.
He loved the land, it was in his soul. This is where he belonged.
HISTORICAL FOOTNOTE
This story of pioneer life on the Canadian prairies is drawn from actual events in 1918 and 1919. It portrays the hardiness and inspiring spirit of the families in the face of the incredible hardships they endured.
ABOUT SYLVIE
Sylvie Grayson loves to write about suspense, romance and attempted murder, in both contemporary and science fiction/fantasy. She has lived most of her life in British Columbia, Canada in spots ranging from Vancouver Island on the west coast to the North Peace River country and the Kootenays in the beautiful interior. She spent a one year sojourn in Tokyo, Japan.
She has been an English language instructor, a nightclub manager, an auto shop bookkeeper and a lawyer. Now she works part time as the owner of a small company, and writes when she finds the time.
She is a wife and mother and still loves to travel, having recently completed a trip to Singapore, Thailand, Viet Nam and Hong Kong. She lives on the coast of the Pacific Ocean with her husband on a small patch of land near the sea that they call home.
Sylvie loves to hear from her readers. You can visit her website – www.sylviegrayson.com or find her on Facebook.
If you enjoyed this book, please consider giving a review where you purchased this book. Reviews are the lifeblood of an author’s life.
MORE SYLVIE GRAYSON
You can find Ms Grayson’s books on Amazon at amazon.com/author/sylviegrayson
as well as iTunes and Kobo
She writes contemporary romantic suspense –
Suspended Animation
Legal Obstruction
The Lies He Told Me
My Best Mistake
Moon Shine
She also writes sci fi/fantasy in The Last War series
Khandarken Rising, The Last War: Book 1
Son of the Emperor, The Last War: Book 2
Truth and Treachery, The Last War: Book 3
Weapon of Tyrants, The Last War: Book 4
You can reach her at her website –
or on Facebook -
WHEN THE BOYS CAME HOME
BY
ALICE VALDAL
WHEN THE BOYS CAME HOME
With a skirl of pipes and a flourish of flags, the Dominion Day Parade of 1920 got under way in Glencove, Ontario. Dot McGuire took her place behind the hardware store float. “Vote Progressive,” she shouted, hoisting one end of a banner above her head. After the dreary years of war, she felt proud and excited to be part of something new. The
coming election would be the first in Canada where women had the right to vote and she intended to be part of the campaign. She flashed a grin at her best friend, Winnie, holding the other end of their banner. Behind them marched several of her friends and a few middle-aged matrons.
As the parade turned a corner, she could see the remnants of the local regiment leading the procession. Pride and sorrow filled her heart. The men marched smartly, heads held high, the Union Jack and Red Ensign fluttering before them, but their ranks were sorely depleted. So many boys, like her fiancé, George Weston, hadn’t come home from the Great War. Those that had bore visible scars, like poor Archie Gill who’d lost an arm, or invisible scars like Bob Murphy, suffering from shell shock and making his family crazy with his drinking. She peered at the soldiers, wondering if Archie was among them.
She ducked as an over-ripe tomato sailed toward her. “You’re a disgrace!” someone yelled.
Dot glared into the crowd and shouted “Vote for Agnes MacPhail.” Her gaze searched the onlookers, seeking the miscreant with fruit missiles. Her glance skipped past a youngster with a battered bicycle and landed on a soldier, tall and heartbreakingly thin, leaning heavily on his companion. Her breath caught in her throat and she nearly dropped her end of the banner. She blinked and shook her head.
Not possible.
She closed her eyes again and took a deep breath. George had marched away to war just after his eighteenth birthday in 1915. After the battle of Passchendaele his mother had received a telegram. “Missing in action. Presumed dead.” In some ways the news was worse than a death notice. The wound couldn’t heal. Mrs. Weston still harboured hope in her heart, waiting and wishing every day. After months and months of no further word, Dot had accepted the inevitable. Any rational person would conclude that George was among the 11,000 Canadians “known unto God,” buried in the battlefields of Europe.
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