Godfrey: Book Two

by Adrien Leduc

GODFREY: BOOK TWO

  Adrien Leduc

  (Leduc, Adrien 1987- )

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form than that in which it is published.

  SYNOPSIS

  Officially a Western farmer with his very own quarter section, in this second book of the Godfrey series, twenty-one year old Godfrey Leduc must endure the many trials and tribulations of starting life in a new land. Learning English. Getting to know the members of the community. Surviving the harsh winters. A poignant and heartfelt, semi-biographical work, Godfrey: Book Two allows readers to experience, first hand, the ins-and-outs and ups-and-downs of daily life in early twentieth-century, rural Alberta.

  DEDICATION

  For my great-grandmother, Antoinette Alice Lapalme (1899 - 1935);

  and

  To all the early, French-Canadian settlers of the Wainwright area.

  AUTHOR'S NOTE

  Without mincing words, I'd like to say something: I'm guilty of romanticizing the past. Certain folks have referred to this calamity as "Golden Age Syndrome" - most notably in the movie, Midnight in Paris, a fun, family-friendly film in which Owen Wilson stars as a modern-day, Los Angeles screenwriter that fantasizes about life in nineteen twenties Paris.

  In a similar vein, I idealize life in early twentieth century Alberta. In particular, life on the farm. Rural life. Speaking French and living amongst the expat Quebecer community in and around Wainwright. Church on Sunday mornings and picnics at the lake on Sunday afternoons. Getting together for weddings, baptisms, and other important events.

  Growing up in such a fragmented society - a.k.a. twenty-first century, urban Canada - I've often longed for a greater sense of family and community. Inevitably, and perhaps, not surprisingly, I have turned to my ancestral past as a way to acquire that sense of belonging. Nostalgic and deluded as it may be, I feel very much at home in the setting depicted in my Godfrey series. When I read (and indeed, when I write) these chapters, I almost believe that I'm there. I can envision my great-grandfather's frustrations at being unable to communicate effectively in English. I can see myself sitting in Blessed Sacrament Roman Catholic Church, surrounded by all the other French-Canadians of Wainwright, the hard wooden pews making my bum quite uncomfortable. I can picture myself seated at the dinner table with my relations, gabbing in French as mashed potatoes and tourtière are passed around. And, in the end, isn't that what reading and writing fiction are all about? It's escapism. It's medication. And I love it.

  As my lovely fiancée noted the other day, as long as I believe it, it's real. Moreover, I'd like to think that Godfrey sparks your imagination and helps you develop your own sense of what life was like for your ancestors in similar settings. So I hope you'll join me on this little adventure that I've embarked upon. Happy reading.

  Chapter One

  March 19, 1921

  Dear Francine,

  I am writing you at long last and ask your forgiveness for not writing sooner. I've been housebound the entire winter and couldn't even make it to the post office. You wouldn't believe how bad it was. Extremely cold. The wind would howl for days on end. There were blizzards at least twice a week. My little stove would go out during the middle of the night - this happened at least a dozen times - and every time I awoke, shivering, and feeling a fine frost on my face. It suppose it would help to have an oil stove. I've only got a wood stove see - Leo's got an oil one - but he damn near set his house on fire one night when it exploded the oil canister because he'd left it too close. So the wood one is good for me. For now.

  Francine, if you could see how I've been living these past eight months, you'd be sad for me. And I don't mean to complain - I'm only telling you because I can't report my hardships to my mother. She'd worry too much - and she's got enough to worry about. But I've made a temporary home in an old grain elevator about a half mile from my farm. It's not got much - a desk made of apple crates, a chair, a stove and a little cot. A few mice too - that I had to kill - unfortunately. Owing to the sicknesses that they carry and all. Otherwise I would have kept them for some company. All in all, pretty sad, but at least it's a roof over my head. Leo's promised to help me build a house this summer and hopefully it'll be ready for next winter. I don't fancy spending another winter in this grain elevator.

  As for my brothers, they're doing well. Isaac married a nice French girl and her dad's given them quite a bit of money so he's living pretty high on the horse. Leo's lot hasn't improved much since moving out here. He's just got the little shack that he and Isaac used to share before Isaac married and got his own farm. (Their farm is just three miles north of mine.)

  I was surprised when I first saw Leo's humble shack and he told me that's what he and Isaac lived in the first few years they were out here. It was kind of funny actually - I thought he was joking at first. Because they sure painted a different picture of their circumstances in the letters they sent home. Made it seem as though they were living better than we were. Though, I can't really preach as here I am doing the same. When I write mom I tell her I've got a nice little one room house.

  It's March now and planting's not far off. Leo and Isaac aren't old fashioned like dad and they're not shy about using all the latest farming machinery. Isaac's got his own tractor and Leo rents one from in town unless Isaac can lend him his. I'm told it makes the job a lot easier and I can't wait to try one out in a few more weeks.

  I'd like to come home for a visit, but I think I shall have to come in winter because I don't have the time now - there's so much to do. Maybe I'll even spend the whole winter back home. I don't see why I shouldn't as there's nothing for me to do here except stare at the walls and look out at the snow-covered fields. Sounds pretty depressing, doesn' t it?

  Anyway. Enough about me and my complaints. How've you been? How's Charles? Is he still as energetic as ever? How's your mom? I hope you're all doing well. Don't hesitate to write me. I got the letter you sent me at Christmas - that really kept me going during some of my darker days. Can't wait to hear from you.

  Godfrey

  Plodding slowly across the partially thawed field, Godfrey determined that the most immediate challenge he faced was learning English. It was a complication he hadn't foreseen when trying to decide, late last August, whether or not to move to Alberta and take up farming alongside his two older brothers. But here he was. Eight months later. Some four thousand miles from Saint Timothée, Québec. A real Western farmer with his own quarter section. While he could avoid the English and speaking their language back home, here on the prairies he had no choice; surrounded by Ukrainians, Poles, and Germans, English was the language of exchange. From purchasing seed to hiring a plow hand, one needed to be adept at reading, writing, and speaking the language of Shakespeare. And thus, even if there were a few dozen Francophone families in the area and speaking French was enough to get by, he needed to improve his English if he truly hoped to prosper.

  Sighing at the thought of the tremendous amount of time and effort he would have dedicate to learning English, the young man stopped and gazed out at the barren landscape, the wind cold and biting. Spring was on the horizon and the snow was nearly gone now - save for a few lingering mounds here and there. Melting day by day, the ice on the Battle River had nearly disappeared as well and soon the ferry would start again. Not that it really mattered as the new bridge was set to be completed by the Fall.

  The sun, high about him, indicated that it was nearly noon and Godfrey inhaled deeply, the crisp, cool air numbing his nostrils and cooling his lungs. Then, resolving to make a more concerted effort to learn English, Go
dfrey took one last look at the semi-frozen landscape before turning and heading back towards the grain elevator.

  Chapter Two

  "And then," said Leopold, nearing tears now as he recounted what had to be the most bizarre story Godfrey had ever heard his brother tell, "the lad runs over and yells for me to get to the pasture. Quickly. Because the stallion's after the colt like he's trying to kill him. At least that's what he says."

  The broad shouldered man with his perfectly round head and massive hands paused while he sipped his coffee.

  "So I grab my bullwhip and I'm off to the pasture and, well," Leo continued, a sly smile playing across his lips, "I get there and it turns out the stallion wasn't trying to kill the colt...he was trying to do to the poor little guy what he'd just done to the mare! As Joe Touchette put it - because he was here when the whole thing happened - that stallion wasn't sure when his stud services ended!"

  Godfrey acknowledged his older brother's joke with a small laugh. Isaac, meanwhile, seated against the wall of Leo's small, single-room dwelling, barely managed a smile. It seemed, to Godfrey at least, that his mind was elsewhere.

  "Isaac! Come on!" Leo protested. "You've been a sour puss all day. What's the matter?"

  Isaac waved his hand dismissively as though he didn't want to discuss it.. "It's Antonia."

  Leopold's face registered a look of concern. "What about her?"

  "She's bugging me to move us to that half section at Irma," he answered reluctantly.

  "Where's Irma?" Godfrey interrupted.

  "About eighteen miles west of town," said Leo.

  "Why does she want to move out there?"

  Isaac looked at his younger brother. "She's got friends out there - and her cousin and her husband live out there as well."

  Godfrey couldn't help but smile. "And so what she says, goes?"

  Isaac's eyes narrowed. "No, little brother. But I've got pressure from her old man to do better."

  Leo balked at this. "Ridiculous. That Hermenegilde Messier was born with dollar signs in his eyes. It's never enough for him. Is he willing to front you the money?"

  Isaac nodded, much to their surprise. "Yes, he is actually. That's what really puts the pressure on."

  Leopold gave his brother a sympathetic glance and drained the rest of his mug. "What can you do then, eh? If that's what ol' Hermenegilde wants,” he said, pausing as he wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his shirt. “You know what it is, right?"

  Godfrey and Isaac looked at their brother, equally confused.

  "He wants his daughter to live as high as she can. Being the wife of a farmer with a quarter section just isn’t enough. No, Sir. Man’s gotta have a half section at least. You just wait. Another few years and he’ll be pushing you to go and buy commercial properties in Edmonton.”

  Isaac frowned and stared into space.

  "That what it is..." Leo repeated slowly, brushing a few errant crumbs from the table top.

  Silence followed. Finally, after several minutes in which each man was left to stew in his own thoughts, Leo groaned and rose from his chair. "Well, boys. Let's get to fixing that barn door - ‘cause it sure ain't gonna fix itself."

  There followed a series of yawns and stretches, the sound of chairs scraping against the wooden floor. And then the three brothers made their way out into the blustery, March air.

  His pencil needed sharpening. Three full pages of the Wainwright Star. That’s how much he’d copied already and now the lead at the end of the writing utensil was barely visible. Using his pen knife, Godfrey carefully peeled at the brittle wood until a new length of lead had been uncovered. When this was finished, he moved to page four and resumed copying. Letter by letter. Word by word. House. Require. Business. Patent. Solemn. Foreclosure. Words he’d already known and words he had yet to learn. This is how he would learn English. This is how he would become successful.

  April. The last gasps of winter. The final days of freezing. Green sprouts appearing here and there as brown grass and leafless trees returned to life once more. The last of the snow. The remaining river ice, melted at long last. People coming out of hibernation. Wainwright’s Main Street busy and bustling. Wagons and motor cars on the roads of Greenshields. Farmers champing at the bit to get their fields plowed and ready for planting.

  Chapter Three

  I haven’t got a date.”

  Isaac looked stunned. “You haven’t got a date?”

  Godfrey shook his head, swallowing nervously as he endured Antonia’s and her sister’s staring.

  “Well, the Easter Feaster is in two days - so find one.”

  Godfrey nodded. “I’ll try.”

  “Why not ask one of the Touchette girls?” asked Antonia.

  He mulled this over as he glanced at the two women on the couch. Corine, the younger of the two Messier sisters, hadn’t taken her eyes off him since he’d sat down. Her gaze was searching. Probing. She was interested in him. It was obvious. He could ask her to the Easter Feaster, but as far as he knew Corine Messier was spoken for - and he wasn’t about to go meddling with another man’s love interest.

  “I guess I could ask one of them. Sure.”

  “You’ve got quite the selection to choose from,” Antonia said, giggling, as she turned towards her husband. “Hey, Isaac? There’s Olivia and Fréderique and Marie-Ève. Oh, and Yvette - though she’s a bit young, mind you.”

  Isaac made a sound and stared off into space, as though he wanted no further part in the discussion. “Yes, my dear, there are quite a few ladies around that still need dates.”

  Plopping himself in his chair, Godfrey watched as his eldest brother removed a flattened pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket.

  “Oh, Isaac,” Antonia chided. “Must you smoke those things in here?”

  Isaac muttered something under his breath and returned the cigarettes to his pocket.

  “Would anyone like more coffee? Or tea, perhaps?” asked Antonia sweetly, trying to smooth the sudden tension in the room.

  "No, thanks," Godfrey answered, catching Corine's lustful gaze once more. "I think I'll be going, anyways."

  "So soon?" asked Antonia, surprised.

  Godfrey nodded. "Yeah. Leo's helping me build a house this summer and I've got to draw up the plans. I also need to study. English," he added, relieving their curious glances.

  "Drawing up plans for a house? Studying English? You're a busy, man, Godfrey Leduc."

  "It's good for him," said Isaac, a wide grin stretching across his face. "Keeps him out of trouble. Toughens him up."

  Godfrey nodded as though he agreed.

  The conversation grew stale once more - the way they tend to do on lazy, Sunday afternoons - and Antonia sighed as she looked at the near-full sandwich platter on the coffee table. "Well, take the rest of these sandwiches with you. You'll be hungry later and they can be your supper."

  "That's very generous of you," said Godfrey appreciatively. "Thanks."

  "Let me go and package them up," she said, rising to her feet.

  Godfrey hated that Corine's eyes were still on him. He wished she'd stop staring. And in that sort of way. A guy could only bear so much.

  "I'll come out with you," said Isaac quickly, getting up from his chair.

  Godfrey gave a nod and left the living room, not bothering to say goodbye to Corine for fear that acknowledging the girl would make her think he was equally interested in her.

  "So Saturday night at the Elite Theatre, then?" asked Isaac once they'd reached the front door.

  "Saturday night," Godfrey confirmed, pulling it open and stepping outside. "What time again?"

  "Six o'clock. And don't be tardy either. Otherwise we won't get a table."

  "I'll be there at a quarter to."

  Isaac seemed to find this acceptable. "Good."

  "Here we are," said Antonia, appearing suddenly beside her husband and handing Godfrey several sandwiches wrapped in wax paper. "Your supper tonight."

  "Thank you, Antonia. You'
re the best sister-in-law I guy could ask for. I really appreciate your hospitality. In fact, I don't know where I'd be without it."

  "Oh, fiddle sticks," said Antonia, waving her hand with an air of nonchalance. "You're always welcome. Any time. Whatever you need. Alright?"

  Her eyes were warm and Godfrey admitted to himself that, despite Isaac's complaints about her wanting them to move to Irma, the woman had few faults.

  "Thanks again," he said, turning away from the door. "I'll see you both next Saturday."

  "Yes. Less than a week to go," she said happily. "The Easter Feaster! You'll have a great time!"

  Isaac rolled his eyes at his wife's school-girl enthusiasm as Godfrey, with a final smile and a nod, turned and left them, headed to the corral to collect his horse, the sandwiches tucked neatly under one arm.

  "And in other happy, parish news," Father McGrane began, his thick British accent making it difficult for Godfrey to understand a word, "I am pleased to announce that Mr. and Mrs. Henry Lapalme have just celebrated their first wedding anniversary. I'm sure I speak on behalf of the congregation when I say congratulations and wish you both many more to come," he finished, throwing a smile towards the couple seated several pews from the front.

  "Are they the Lapalmes from Fabyan?" whispered Godfrey as he watched the two brunettes share a short kiss.

  Isaac nodded and cleared his throat. "Yes. Henry and Diana. Nice couple. They came to our wedding. I'm not sure if you met them."

  Antonia leaned across her husband, her expression lively. "Really nice couple. Very generous. Both of them. You should see Diana's garden. She's got just about every vegetable under the sun and she's never one hold out. I'll get some purple carrots from her in a month or two hopefully. Daddy loves purple carrots."

  Several people seated in the pew nearest them turned their heads, clearly irritated by their conversing, and Antonia fell silent.