by Rita Feutl
“Well, if that don’t beat all! I missed her!” a rough, angry voice shouted out. “Who was that idiot?”
A younger voice, right above Janey, scolded in whispers into her ear. “Crazy! You are crazy! You shouldn’t be here.” Janey couldn’t agree more, but the words wouldn’t come out. Winded from the fall, she was being squashed against the ground by a solid weight. She groaned and the weight moved. Janey rolled over and her cap spilled off.
“But...you’re a girl!” said the owner of the young voice, a small, nut-brown child of about seven who examined Janey with dark, puzzled eyes. Janey grabbed her cap.
“Louisa! Louisa! Come here!” From across the clearing, another voice, female, sounded both anxious and annoyed.
“Uh, yes, Mama. One minute!” the little girl called over her shoulder. She grabbed a startled Janey by the hand and yanked her into the brush.
“Louisa!” repeated the voice. Another explosion went off, slightly further away.
“Yes, Mama!” Louisa called again, then turned sharply to a bewildered Janey.“Everyone knows not to get in the way of the hunters! Are you crazy?You can’t be from here.Who are you? Where are you from?”
Ears ringing from the explosions and the persistent questions, Janey could hardly frame a response. “I, uh, you’re right. I’m sorry, I didn’t know...”
The vague, bewildered answers didn’t satisfy the girl. She stared closely at Janey, stuck her finger in her mouth, then rubbed it on Janey’s cheek.
“Eww.Yuck! Don’t rub your...”
“But...you are white – like my father!” said Louisa, awestruck. “You are a girl and you are white like, like, the belly of a fish!”
Oh sure, thought Janey. I listen to my mother and slather on the sunscreen and what do I get for it? Fish belly skin. “Look,” she said, sighing, “I’m not from here; I’m from the East...”
“Louisa! Come. Now!” demanded the irritated voice in the distance.
“We’d better go to Mama,” said Louisa. “She’ll know what to do with you.” Motioning Janey to follow, she scooted through the brush that circled the open field. Another explosion urged Janey to keep close to Louisa’s heels. When they’d gone halfway around, the child called out softly: “Mama! I’m here! Come see!”
A short, round figure carrying a large basket came toward the little girl. The woman wore a long black skirt and a loose cotton blouse, brightened by an intricately beaded leather belt at the waist and a red kerchief around the neck.
“When I call you, Louisa, you must come! It is foolish to wander those fields when the men are out hunting. Martin is furious that he missed that doe,” scolded the woman, her heavy black braids swaying as she walked toward them.
“But Mama, look what I’ve found,” said the girl, skipping to the side to let her mother take in Janey.
The woman stopped and stared.Then she reached forward and grabbed Janey’s face, turning her chin from one side to another. She, too, rubbed at some of the tunnel dirt from Janey’s cheeks.
“Ow!” said Janey, shoving the woman’s hands away. “Get your hands off me.”
“She is from the East, Mama. And she is a girl.”
“She is trouble,” said the woman, taking a step back from Janey.
“I don’t want to be any trouble,” said Janey hastily. “I’m looking for a girl called Anna. She lives with her family in a tent along the riverbank, below where the town is. Actually, her tent might have burned down during the summer. But if you’ll just point me in the right direction, I’ll leave you here...”
Louisa frowned and shook her head. “No girls with English names live in tents this year.And none of the tents have burned down.” She grabbed Janey’s hand. “We don’t live in a tent. We live at Edmonton House. My Papa, Mr. Fisher, gave me my name, and my Grandpapa, Mr. King, who died a terrible, terrible death, gave my...”
“Louisa! That tongue in your head flaps like a tent opening on a windy day! It is nothing but trouble. Be still!” Mrs. Fisher turned to Janey. “And you. You are even bigger trouble. Why are you here? There are no white women at Edmonton House...”
“I’m not really sure why I’m here. Well, yes, I am...well, partly. I need to make it up to Anna, but I think I’m supposed to do something else, stop something...terrible...” Janey’s voice petered out as the woman’s eyes bore into her, studying her.
“Mama has magical powers,” said Louisa, sidling up to Janey again. “She can see with her dreams...”
“Louisa! Go and get your basket. Do NOT get in the way of the hunters and do NOT say a word about this.” Another explosion crackled in the distance. The woman nodded at Janey. “You must go back. There is nothing for you here.There is no town, no girl called Anna. No towns for many, many days.You are in the wrong place.There is only Edmonton House.”
Janey’s heart sank. “Just one house?”
“It is not just a house. It is the fort – the Hudson’s Bay Company fort. It is very big.”
Janey was puzzled. She was sure she’d seen more than that when she’d crossed the river with Anna. There’d been stores and shops and sidewalks... A suspicion snuck up on her. “Is this 1907?”
“What do you mean?”
“Is this the year, I mean...what year are we in?”
A spark of pity flashed across Mrs. Fisher’s face.
“Reverend Rundle starts many of his sermons with ‘In this year of our Lord, 1846.’” She watched the girl’s smudged face crumple.
“I’ve come back to the wrong time...” whispered Janey, almost to herself.
“Then turn around. Go back,” said Mrs. Fisher sharply.
A male figure stomped down the path toward them.“Mrs. Fisher, if you can’t tell your brat not to get in my way and prattle on with foolish tales, I’ll whop her so hard her tongue’ll roll right out of her head.”
Before Janey could quite figure out what was happening, the woman whipped her kerchief from her neck and tied it, pirate-style, around Janey’s head.
“Here boy, you lazy creature!” said Mrs. Fisher loudly, staring at Janey with a mixture of belligerence and warning.“No rosehips grow here. Stop hiding and do some real work.”
“And who’s this now, Mrs. Fisher?” The boy, a pimple-faced sixteen-year-old with greasy brown hair covered in a kerchief like Janey’s, peered around Mrs. Fisher’s stout form.
“He is with that party from Rocky Mountain House. They are waiting for the York boats to come in.”
“I don’t remember no boy,” said the other suspiciously. “What’s your name then?”
“Ja...James. Friends call me Jamey,” said Janey, taking her cues from Mrs. Fisher. Being a boy was obviously the better choice at the moment.
“Enough of all this talking and wasting time,” said Mrs. Fisher, brushing past the other boy. “Have you two nothing better to do than stand here and talk? You’re both as bad as my Louisa.”
“Now, Mrs. Fisher, I just came over to ask you to help me with this doe I took down.”
Mrs. Fisher nodded in Janey’s direction. “Well, Martin, here are idle hands begging for work.”
JANEY HAD NEVER BEEN the wild woodswoman type. She preferred to do her hunting in the sales racks of cosmetic shops and clothing stores. And any raw meat she’d ever dealt with had come wrapped in plastic and Styrofoam from a grocery store.
So when she saw the caramel-coloured deer lying in the yellow stubble near a stand of firs across the field, she looked away again quickly. Maybe she could find the tunnel she’d just used. If she was quick, she could just slip off and try another. But where had she come up?
“Did you hide in that tunnel to shoot the deer?” asked Janey in what she hoped was a casual tone. Hoping to appear more boyish, she shoved her hands in her pockets. It occurred to her that the money she’d tucked in there to buy Anna a new doll had disappeared. Great, thought Janey, rooting through each hidey-hole on her overalls.
“What tunnel?” Martin was looking at her as if she’d los
t her mind.
“You know, a deep hole that seems to go on forever,” said Janey, giving up on the money and studying the terrain around her.
“I been livin’ here for a year now and I ain’t seen no tunnel on this field to hide in.” They reached the deer and Janey could feel her stomach pitch. “Leastways, there’s nothin’ here that would hide the size of you if you were tryin’ to avoid the work God gave ya.”
The deer was a crumpled mass of fur and hoofs and unseeing, glassy eyes staring into the fall sky. Janey didn’t know whether the cold that gripped her was from the sight of the dead doe, or from the creeping afternoon shadows spreading across the field. Martin pulled out the knife at his waist and drew the blade across the animal’s throat. Blood gushed from the wound and Janey forced a scream back down her own throat.
“Well, don’t just stand there,” said Martin. “Help me get her onto that slope.” Janey touched the slender hind legs, still warm in the autumn sunshine. Martin was already dragging the body toward an incline, the head hanging at an odd angle as blood pulsed from the gash beneath it.
“If ya pick the creature up, we can be back before winter,” snapped Martin. She grasped the legs, and helped him heave the body up and over to the slope. Martin arranged it so the blood drained downhill and then stood back. “Biggest one yet this year,” he said, with a hint of pride in his voice.“It’ll feed a lot of the families.”
Janey looked everywhere but at the dead animal at her feet. How could you make small talk while this was happening right in front of you? How could she get out of here? Why hadn’t she thought about how she was supposed to get back before she pitched herself into the past?
“Now grab the legs again and put her on her back,” Martin ordered. She reached for them awkwardly, trying to see as little as possible. He was...oh yuck, thought Janey, he’s cutting the whole head off. She closed her eyes. This was just great. She’d gone back to try to find a new doll for a girl and ended up watching some bloodthirsty guy cut the head off a deer.This was so disgusting!
“Hold her still!” Martin commanded. She opened her eyes slightly. He’d cut away all the skin and now he was...oh, gross...oh, man, he was slitting open the animal’s stomach and now he was...
Janey let go and ran.
“Hey! You there! James! Come back here!” Martin stood up, his hands dripping red. “You bloody lazy fool! Get back here right now!”
Not a chance. Not all the tickets back to Toronto. Not having her mum come back from Turkey. No way was she going to turn around, she thought, as she plunged back onto the forested path where she’d left Mrs. Fisher and Louisa. They had to help her get out of here. Maybe Mrs. Fisher’s magic could help.
There was no sign of the woman and child, but as she hurried through the woods, she caught sight of a man-made building at the end of the path. Coming closer, she realized she was facing a massive wall, almost as tall as the one that ran along the side of her two-storey school back in Toronto. But this one was made of logs all stretching up to the darkening sky. How on earth did you get in?
She followed the wall around a corner, just as a small figure barrelled into her.
“Ooof. I’ve been watching for you,” said Louisa, rubbing her forehead as she grinned up at Janey.
“Watching doesn’t mean ramming me,” grumbled Janey, rubbing her ribcage.
“What did you do with Martin?”
“I left him back there. I couldn’t...I mean, I didn’t...”
“It stinks, doesn’t it?” said Louisa sympathetically. “I don’t like the smell either.” She grabbed Janey’s hand, pulling her along the wall. “But you should’ve smelled the ice house this year. We had to move it, it stank so bad. Mama said that was because the men like Martin didn’t want to climb down to the bottom to bring up the old meat and so it just started rotting.”
She stopped to look up at Janey, her eyes alight. “Can you imagine? If you climb to the top of this wall and look down, that’s how deep the pit in the icehouse is. And it’s really, really dark in there. And to get to the meat at the bottom, you have to climb all the way down, with the awful smell, and the maggots and the drips from the ice melting...” She shivered deliciously, then started walking again.“I can’t think about the ice house at night. It makes me feel too...too...tumbled in my stomach.”
Janey made a mental note not to eat any meat at the fort.
They reached a huge gate, with a small, more human-sized door cut into it. Louisa pulled it open and slipped through. Janey followed.
In the light of the waning afternoon, a large, rectangular dirt courtyard surrounded on all sides by wooden buildings lay sprawled before them. Men in trousers and tunics, belted with long, bright red or blue sashes, ambled between the buildings.
“That’s the Big House over there,” said Louisa solemnly, nodding to a three-storey building across the yard. “Those windows there are called glass, but some of the Indians who come here think our Chief Factor, Mr. Rowand, has his own magic powers and can stop ice from melting in the summer.”
“Too bad he couldn’t use it in the ice house,” said Janey.
Louisa giggled, but stopped abruptly as two figures, a Cree man and a boy Janey’s age, stepped from the building immediately on their left. The little girl drew herself up with as much dignity as a seven-year-old could muster. She stared resolutely away as the man and boy approached, arms laden with blankets. Janey and the boy exchanged curious glances, but not a word was said until the two walked past and out through the gate.
“That Black Bear. He thinks he’s so clever,” Louisa burst out as the door latched behind the pair.“Always boasting about how many furs he brings in. He says soon he’ll hunt as many as his own father. Don’t you think that’s boastful? And he says hunting is so much better than trading. My father is a trader.”
The Cree boy’s name triggered something in Janey, but Louisa’s voice – did that girl ever stop talking? – continued. “But he can’t speak English, and Father can speak English and French and Cree. I speak Cree too, because of Mama. And Father hunts when he travels to Fort Garry andYork Factory.That’s where he is right now – Fort Garry, I mean. He’s looking for a home for us, he says.When his letter comes we’ll...” The wooden door burst open, interrupting the child. Scowling fiercely, Martin stepped through, with what looked like an oddly shaped crimson pillow draped over his shoulders. He slammed the door shut and continued forward until he saw Janey and Louisa.
“Well, if it isn’t His Highness Good-for-Nothin’ himself,” snarled Martin, coming up close enough to just about touch Janey’s nose with his. Overwhelmed by his bad breath, she realized too late what was slung about Martin’s shoulders. Beheaded, skinned, and pathetically naked, a part of the deer’s carcass was practically wrapped around Martin’s ears. Janey stepped backward, trying not to gag.
“What – ya gonna run away on me again? Go get the other half, you lazy son of a...”
“Martin. I need the boy,” a voice cut in from behind.“Give him what you’ve cut up so far, and he’ll bring it to our quarters.” Mrs. Fisher appeared in the shadows of a long, low building behind Janey. Disgusted, Martin flung the carcass on the ground at Janey’s feet. “You hunted well, Martin,” said Mrs. Fisher, before she disappeared into the building. Martin turned silently and left the fort.
“Come on then,” said Louisa cheerfully. She bent down to grab the carcass around its ribs, but it was much too heavy for her. She looked up at Janey, who seemed riveted to the ground.“It doesn’t smell so bad now. Really. And it will make fine meals for us. But I need your help.”
Louisa was right. It hardly smelled at all, but it felt clammy and squishy. Janey swore that when she returned to her real life – whenever that happened – she would never again complain about bringing the groceries in from the car. Between them, the girls hauled the slippery carcass through the door Mrs. Fisher had entered and plopped it onto a wooden table.
The shadowy room was crowded with cupb
oards, chairs, and beds covered in Hudson’s Bay Company blankets. Mrs. Fisher was by the fire, grilling squares of yellow bread over the flames. “Come here, boy.” Lowering her voice, she looked up at Janey. “Why are you still here?”
“I don’t know how to get back,” said Janey, exasperated.
“Hush, boy. The other families.” As her eyes grew accustomed to the dark, Janey realized that several youngsters were staring at her from behind one of the beds, while a woman nursed a baby in a dark corner.
“You live here? With others?” asked Janey. The room seemed small and cramped.
“The families of the traders live here, sharing work and space. It is a good place.” Mrs. Fisher handed Janey and Louisa the toasted squares. “Come, I will walk with you to the Big House. Martha needs Louisa in the kitchen.You too.”
“Cornbread!” said Louisa delightedly, skipping out the door. “Mama makes the best of all the...”
“Louisa, hush! I need to talk,” said her mother sternly. She turned to Janey. “My magic cannot help you. If you cannot go back the way you have come, then perhaps your home is not where you think it is.”
“Of course I know where my home is,” snapped Janey. Granny’s little white clapboard house and the brick duplex in Toronto sprang into her head at the same time. Confused, she continued,“Besides, I’m not here looking for a home; I’m supposed to stop a terrible thing.”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Fisher, sighing. They had reached the Big House. “Go with Louisa,” she said finally.The child had already ducked through the door and down the stairs. Janey followed, entering the large, lowceilinged kitchen dominated by a huge fireplace in its centre. A young woman chopping onions at the table greeted Louisa without even looking up.
“There you are, child. There’s no time to waste. Factor Rowand is in a terrible fury.The York boats are late and nothing pleases him. Even his wife is annoyed and wants dinner immediately. Who’s this now?” The woman had glanced up from her work.
“This is James, Martha. He’s from Rocky Mountain House. I think he’s waiting for the boats too. But he’s here to help,” said Louisa, grabbing a knife and heading toward the potatoes.
