Belle of Batoche

by Jacqueline Guest

  Glancing around the store, Belle was surprised to see an old woman with a black shawl around her head standing at the front counter paying for her purchases.

  Madame Coteau was as old as sod and had a reputation as being a shaman or wise woman. Most of the children called her a witch and no one dared to go near her house. She had treated many sick people and healed those whom the travelling doctor couldn’t help. But some said that healing wasn’t all she did. It was whispered that perfectly healthy people became ill after running afoul of Madame Coteau. She lived alone on the far side of the river and Belle had not seen her since last fall, before the snows.

  Old Madame Coteau wasn’t the only person standing at the counter. Sarah Johnson was also there with a basket full of potatoes and onions. Belle walked up to the counter and stood waiting. Monsieur Letendre kept the butter papers on the shelf behind the till, so she would have to ask him for them. Madame Coteau paid for her purchases and left as Sarah pushed her basket of vegetables toward the shopkeeper. “Charge these to my parents’ bill.”

  Monsieur Letendre glanced up and saw Belle waiting. “I’ll be with you in a moment, Belle.” Then a twinkle came into his eye. “Say, aren’t you both in the contest over at the church? How’s that coming along, ladies?”

  “My cloth is finished and it’s absolutely marvelous!” Sarah gushed, not giving Belle time to speak. “I can hardly wait for Sunday! It will be such an honor to have my altar cloth chosen.” She looked at Belle out of the corner of her eye. “And to be the only one who will get to ring Marie-Antoinette every Sunday morning!” She emphasized “the only one,” in case Belle hadn’t figured that part out.

  Monsieur Letendre put the potatoes in the scale, walked to the end of the counter and cut a generous slice of cheese, which he handed to Belle. “And how is yours coming along, ma petite?” He cut a smaller sliver and offered it to Sarah before going back to the weigh scale.

  Belle smiled. “My cloth is also finished, and it has turned out very nicely. Thank you for asking.” This wasn’t completely true, but it was close enough that Belle didn’t think of it as even a little white lie. She took a big bite of her cheese slice, relishing the crumbly texture and strong flavor of the aged cheddar.

  “You children are too young to remember, but that elderly woman who was just in here could have taught you both a thing or two about needlework. Why, Agnes Coteau could sew circles around any gal in the territory. She won more prizes at the annual fair than you could shake a stick at.” He handed Sarah a paper sack with her vegetables and jotted down an amount in his accounts ledger. “The only lady who even came close was your own mother, Belle. Your ma could take a plain coat and turn it into a work of art, and as for weaving, well, half the Metis in Batoche are wearing sashes your mother made.”

  Belle knew her mother was very good at sewing, but she didn’t realize that her weaving skills were so well known. She was teaching Belle how to make the colorful Red River or L’Assumption sash which was the traditional woven belt that Metis wore around their waists. Belle’s smile widened as she felt a surge of pride for her mother and a new interest in her own weaving. Sarah ignored the flowery compliments. She tilted her face up until she was looking down her nose at Belle and the shop- keeper. “My own family simply purchases any items they need. It has always been felt that a real lady shouldn’t bother herself with such boring tasks as sewing.” And with that, she spun around and flounced out of the store.

  “That girl has a lot of growing up to do, I reckon.” Monsieur Letendre shook his head and turned back to Belle. “Now, young lady, what can I do for you?”

  Belle was still thinking about what Sarah had said. She felt a little wave of self-doubt when she remembered how confident Sarah had sounded. What if Sarah’s cloth was better? What if Belle wasn’t the one who released Marie-Antoinette’s silvery voice every Sunday morning? Everyone knew it was Belle’s mother who was famous for her needlework, not Belle. Her mother had been very firm about not sewing one stitch on the precious cloth. She’d said it wouldn’t be fair if she did more than show Belle how to do the stitches. It must be Belle who did all the embroidery.

  Belle’s eye fell on a bright blue box sitting on the shelf behind Monsieur Letendre. It read, “Snow White Soap Flakes, Clothes so snowy white, your neighbors will talk!”

  “I’ll take the box of Snow White Soap Flakes, please.” She laid the money for the butter papers on the counter. Belle was sure her mother would understand when she saw the box of washing powder. After all, what mother wouldn’t want her daughter to have an altar cloth so snowy white that people talked!

  6

  Judgement Day

  Belle had to do some very inventive talking when she arrived home without the butter papers, but in the end, her mother understood.

  “I suppose I would have done the same thing,” she said. “I think you should finish the cloth so we can try out your new soap powder. I wouldn’t want to keep all the neighbors waiting.”

  Belle hugged her mother. “Thank you, Mama. I promise, I will do extra chores to pay for the soap.”

  Her mother laughed. “I would settle for you doing your regular chores on time!”

  Belle worked hard on finishing her beautiful cloth, checking to make sure every flower was exactly right when seen from what she thought was an appropriate distance. She would stand across the room and pretend she was sitting in the front pew of the church. Then she would peer at her cloth as though seeing it for the first time. It looked perfect. She smiled to herself. In fact, it looked even more perfect the farther away you were!

  Satisfied, Belle decided her first embroidery project was done and just in time. Tomorrow, at mass, the winner would be announced.

  “Look, Mama, it’s done! What do you think?” Belle said as she held the cloth up for her mother’s inspection. “I can wash it now”

  Her mother viewed the cloth with a critical eye. “No one would know this is your first time embroidering. It’s lovely, Belle. You did a wonderful job!”

  Belle glowed under her mother’s praise. “I’ll heat the water to give it a bath.” She giggled. “I mean a bubble bath!”

  Not sure how much of the Snowy White Soap Flakes to put in the water, Belle poured a generous portion into the steaming tub. Swirling the water around to melt the flakes, she was amazed at how the lather first expanded, then overflowed the washtub. There were soapsuds everywhere! Belle washed the cloth carefully, making sure all her dirty fingerprints were scrubbed away.

  When it came time to rinse the cloth, getting rid of the excess bubbles proved a tougher job than Belle would have expected. The more she sloshed the water around to rinse them away, the more suds formed. It took her longer to get rid of all the lather than it had to go to the store and buy the soap powder in the first place!

  Finally, all the bubbles were gone and the cloth rinsed. Carefully, she hung the gleaming white work of art to dry. Tomorrow she would have to get up early to light the stove so the flat iron needed to press the cloth could be heated. She didn’t want one wrinkle to detract from the pretty pattern of flowers and grass.

  Early the next morning, Belle dressed in her best outfit. She even mended the small tear in her scarf that she wore to mass. Her family laughed at how nervous she was.

  “You would think the queen of England was coming today. All this fuss, mon Dieu!” Patrice teased Belle, but he put on a clean shirt and slicked his hair down neatly anyway.

  At church, Belle placed her cloth next to Sarah’s on the table at the front then took her place with the rest of the choir. The other children spread out in the pew so that Sarah was forced to sit beside Windy Caron again. This time Sarah built a protective wall of hymnals between her and her fragrant choir mate.

  When Father Moulin entered, the children stood and began to sing. Sarah, who had attended only one practice since joining the choir, fumbled with her hymnbook trying to find the right song.

  “Come over here and you can use my book,�
�� Windy Caron offered with a toothy grin. “We had cabbage rolls for supper last night!”

  Sarah glared at him and began pretending to sing, while still frantically looking for the right page in her book.

  Belle could hardly sit through the sermon. The winner would be announced at the end of mass. She kept looking over at the two embroidered cloths. She had to admit Sarah’s did look nice. The design was a cleverly worked dove holding an olive branch in its mouth as it soared in a pale blue sky. The stitching around the edge was a complicated pattern that showed off Sarah’s obvious needle skills. Belle tried not to be jealous. Hers was still beautiful with all the carefully worked flowers, but it wasn’t as showy as Sarah’s intricate pattern.

  Finally, the service ended. “I have an announcement!” Father Moulin called. “I wish to draw your attention to these fine examples of needlework by two of our young people.” He nodded to the choir mistress to leave her seat and approach the table. “Miss Dorval and myself will choose one of these cloths as the winner of our contest and that young lady will be our new bell ringer.”

  Belle held her breath as the two judges inspected the cloths. Sarah smiled smugly. Her confidence didn’t help Belle’s nervousness.

  Miss Dorval took out her spectacles and perched them on the bridge of her nose. She inspected each piece for a long time. Then, without warning, the choir mistress did an unexpected thing. She turned the cloths over and looked at the other side of the work!

  Belle cringed as she saw the tangle of threads and loose ends adorning the back of her cloth. Sarah’s was as neat on the back as it was decorative on the front. Belle had no idea that side of the cloth would be looked at. She groaned inwardly.

  The two judges conferred. Then Father Moulin faced the congregation. “Both cloths are truly remarkable. We would be honored to use either on the altar at St. Antoine de Padoue and we hope both cloths will be donated to the church.” He turned to the choir where Belle and Sarah waited. “We have decided to award the honor of bell ringer to … ”

  Belle held her breath.

  “ … Miss Sarah Johnson!”

  The congregation murmured and a couple of loud grumbles of disagreement could be heard from friends of the Tourond family. The Johnsons clapped loudly, but no one else joined in. Clearly, Sarah was not the crowd favorite.

  Sarah walked to the table, the pink feather in her hat bobbing gaily as she went. The newspaper reporter waited at the front of the church with his cumbersome equipment. The cloth-draped camera box was supported on a tripod, and the gentleman held a flashpan high over his head. He would ignite this to produce light for Sarah’s all-important picture.

  Belle watched the production in stunned silence. She gulped, trying not to show her disappointment. It was going to be hard to walk to church now. To her, Marie-Antoinette’s clear silvery voice would sound sad.

  7

  Suspicious Kindness

  “The government troops have a nine-pound cannon and a new type of gun that shoots many rounds per minute. It’s called a Gatling gun, and we have nothing to match it.” Patrice reached for more tea, but the pot was empty. Belle’s mother whisked the teapot off to the kitchen.

  It was Wednesday evening and there was another meeting at Belle’s house. She couldn’t help but overhear the adults’ conversation as she busily mended her papa’s shirt. Now that she was such an experienced needle worker, her mother said she should not let her skills get rusty. Mending the family’s clothes was one way to stay sharp.

  Sitting quietly in the corner, Belle tried not to worry at every new revelation she heard.

  “We’ve sent word to Poundmaker, Big Bear and the Blackfoot to join with us.” Belle’s father lit his old pipe, puffing until the smoke curled up around his head.

  Belle loved the smell of her father’s pipe tobacco. The sweet smoky scent meant home to her. By listening quietly, she had found out the reason there were so many meetings at her house: Monsieur Riel had appointed her father to his provisional government. This council would oversee the running of the new country, should the Metis have to break away from Canada.

  Gabriel Dumont ran his hand through his long brown hair. “One thing is for certain: If we have to fight, we will need more ammunition.”

  Belle’s mother returned with fresh tea. She set the teapot down and looked at it thoughtfully. “The women can help with that. We store our tea in lead chests. We will melt the tea chests down and make bullets.”

  Monsieur Dumont smiled at Belle’s mother. “Tres bien, Madame Tourond. Make no mistake, it will come to that.”

  Belle thought of her mother’s tea chest. It had been in her family for generations. The offer to melt it down meant only one thing. The Metis would fight with everything they had to defend themselves and their way of life.

  At school Thursday, Belle was surprised at how few of her classmates mentioned seeing Sarah’s picture in the newspaper. Bertha, of course, had a copy of the paper and pinned Sarah’s picture up on the classroom wall. Sarah stood beside it as though it was the most important thing in the world.

  In the playground after school, the children’s talk was all about what they had heard from their parents concerning “the troubles.” It seemed they were all a little frightened about what they had heard.

  “My parents are thinking of sending me and my sister to stay with relatives in Winnipeg,” Andrew Taggert said, nudging a stone with the toe of his boot.

  “And mine are stocking up on provisions, in case the government troops attack,” Jenny Dumphrey added as she kicked her legs out to make the swing she was perched on go higher.

  “My papa thinks the Metis of Batoche are being silly,” Sarah said, pinning one of her golden ringlets back into place. “My papa says they are just a bunch of blowhards and should listen to what Prime Minister Macdonald tells them. My papa says all this blustering makes the Metis look like hotheads and spoilt children who don’t know when they’ve got it good.”

  Belle, who hadn’t said anything up until now, decided enough was enough. “Sarah, I’m glad your papa has done such a thorough job of investigating why everyone is up in arms! I guess he’s not worried about losing his land when the government re-surveys it and chops it up into square blocks for the new settlers from the east because that’s what will happen, even if you aren’t Metis!” She’d heard her brother speak of this and knew it was one of the real concerns Monsieur Riel had taken to the prime minister.

  Sarah stopped for a minute, then her brow furrowed. “We already have access to the river, so what do we care!”

  Keeping their river frontage was vital to the Metis because they had always used the rivers to move goods around. If they couldn’t get to the rivers, with so few roads available, the Metis would not be able to take their furs to the Hudson’s Bay trading post.

  Bertha came to stand beside Sarah, her wild orange hair contrasting sharply with Sarah’s perfect golden curls. “Come on, Sarah. I’ll push you on the swings.”

  It would do no good to reason with Sarah. Belle shook her head, picked up her book bag and left. She was going to visit Monsieur Letendre’s store on her way home. Her mother had given her a penny to buy a stick of barley sugar candy as a reward for almost winning the contest.

  “Consider it a prize for second place,” she’d said, giving Belle the money. Her mother knew how hard Belle had worked and that it had hurt not to win.

  Belle had been thinking of the sweet candy all day. She walked a little faster, hoping Monsieur Letendre would let her pick her own piece. Some were just a little larger than others, and Belle had spotted a dandy the last time she’d been sent to the store.

  “I’m sorry you didn’t win the contest, Belle,” Monsieur Letendre said the moment she walked into the large store.

  “Me too!” she agreed, shrugging her shoulders. It was no use fussing about the decision. Sarah had beaten her fair and square. “Sarah did do a good job and who knew Father Moulin and Miss Dorval would look at the back of the
cloth! I never bothered about that side at all. No one sees it but God, and since he’s getting both cloths for free, I didn’t think he’d care if mine was a little messy!”

  Monsieur Letendre laughed out loud, a big jolly laugh that made Belle giggle.

  “I’d like to purchase a piece of your best barley sugar candy please.” She put the penny on the counter. “And if it’s all right with you, can I pick the piece I want?”

  She hoped the bigger than average stick was still waiting for her.

  The shopkeeper took the jar down from the shelf and put it on the counter in front of Belle. “Help yourself, mon amie!”

  Inspecting the shiny candy, Belle searched for the special piece. “That one, s’il vous plait!” She pointed to a stick that was a fraction longer than all the rest.

  Monsieur Letendre removed the piece of candy and handed it to Belle. Then he reached back into the jar and took out a second piece, tucking it into a small brown paper bag. “For later,” he said, smiling as he handed her the bag.

  Belle thanked him and took the extra treat. She smiled at the kind shopkeeper and was just about to leave when she happened to look across the street.

  There, in the narrow lane between two stores, she saw something she didn’t think she would ever see.

  Sarah Johnson was talking to Madame Coteau! Then, as Belle watched, another unbelievable thing happened. Sarah handed the old woman money!

  “Will you look at that!” Belle said in surprise. She knew that the old woman received help from the church’s poor box to buy food and supplies.

  Monsieur Letendre squinted as he peered across the street. “Maybe Miss Sarah’s winning the contest has made her realize that she should help others less fortunate than herself.”