by Ruth Glover
Allison and Georgina stood face-to-face, hands joined, laughing, weeping, as they savored the moment, tried to believe the moment.
Allison could understand her own tears—a mix of fears fading, relief swelling in her heart, a knowledge of prayers answered. But Georgina? Why would she weep? For there was no pretense about Georgina’s reaction; it was sincere.
Georgina’s words were answer enough. “You’ll never know the burden of prayer the Lord put on me for you! I declare, Allie, I believe I accompanied you across the continent, step-by-step, mile-by-mile, in prayer. No, don’t thank me—I don’t deserve any credit; it’s what God laid on my heart, and I could only be obedient.”
“I’m sure He put an extra burden on you the day this happened,” Allison said as she lifted a tress of hair, revealing the still raw wound.
“So that was it,” Georgina murmured with a note of awe, marveling at the all-seeing eye and the everlasting love.
“And it’s what delayed me,” Allison explained. “I was with these good people for several days, getting my strength back—
I’d lost a lot of blood, they said. It took time to heal. You see, Georgie—”
“Come, Allie, and sit down. And then we can talk. Davie, would you build up the fire before you leave? I know you are anxious to get to work. I’ll be sure and tell you all about our conversation.”
David gave each girl a pat on the shoulder and, after a stop at the woodpile for an armload of wood, disappeared into the dugout, reappearing a few moments later and heading off across the clearing with a cheery wave.
In the shade of the poplars were several chairs, a table, some boxes—a comfortable camp arrangement—and it was here Georgina directed Allison.
Allison sank into a chair, surprised to note she was trembling, whether from physical weakness or the relief of the moment, she didn’t know. Both, probably.
“You don’t live in the . . . dugout?” Allison managed the unfamiliar word with hesitation, not certain it was a kind word to use. Perhaps “house” would have been less belittling.
“Oh, I couldn’t!” Georgina said with a small shiver. “There’s a very sad story about the lady who lived there before we came. And besides, it’s as dark as midnight in there, unless the door is open. No, we stay out of there most of the time. We store things in there, and I cook in there. The Mikovics, poor things, left everything, desperate to get away and doing it in the middle of winter, and by cutter—a small conveyance with no room for household belongings. I feel dreadfully sorry for them, and someday we’ll pay them for all the things they left—if we ever hear from them. In the meantime, it’s given us a wonderful boost, supplying us with the things we need. There’s the stove, a bed, kitchen utensils, some farm equipment, and of course a makeshift barn, and so on. It’s like moving into a furnished place, in a way, except that it’s so dreadful in the dugout. I can’t imagine what it was like in the dead of winter; they must have crept around like moles. And think of the kerosene it would take to keep a lamp burning all the time!
“Mr. Mikovic,” Georgina continued, “in the time he was here, managed to get logs cut and ready for a house—”
“Oh, Georgie, your own house!”
“And we need to get it up before winter. If we don’t, it’ll be the dugout for us. But David is digging the cellar, hauling the logs, assembling nails and shingles, and things like that. Soon now, we’ll have a bee—”
“Bee—I’ve heard of quilting bees. Quaint idea, I always thought.”
“Sensible idea! The men of the district, we’re told, can put the house up in a day, probably get it roofed, windows in, floor down. We’ve already been to church and met some of them; others have come by to introduce themselves. Great people.
“But, oh, Allie,” Georgina said, turning to her friend’s story, “what are we doing talking about houses and bees and such when you are here, amazingly here, in the backwoods of Canada . . . in a tiny corner of the world called Bliss! Such a remote place, such a remote possibility. How did you find us?”
“You gave me the name before you and David disappeared, that day on the dock. I never forgot it—Bliss! Such an unusual name; more like a description than a location. Perhaps a portent of things to come, do you think?”
“I believe,” Georgina explained, “it was named for the first settler. Still, I have no trouble with the thought that it might be a pledge of things to come. David and I consider it God’s chosen place for us—our Canaan land, so to speak. Our Beulah land.”
“Canaan, I understand. But Beulah?”
“Beulah. From the Bible. If this place weren’t called Bliss, Beulah would be my choice. I’ll ask David to read it to us tonight—the one Scripture that mentions it.
“Now unless I’m mistaken, the kettle will be boiling, and we’ll have a cup of tea. Soon I’ll need to start dinner. In this part of the world, the big meal, the main meal, comes at noon. But sometimes,” Georgina said with an exaggerated sigh, “I think all meals are main meals with David.”
“You love it; I can tell,” Allison said, rising to follow Georgina. “You’re happy; I can tell that, too.”
Georgina’s laugh was indeed a happy one. “And happier than ever,” she said, “because you found us. Oh, Allie, I feel . . . I believe God has a plan and a purpose for you here.”
Hand in hand the girls crossed the yard. Entering the dugout, Allison was taken aback by the smell, as of damp dirt; by the dimness, as of night even though it was midday. It was small, so small. Three sides were earth, as were the floor and the ceiling, though some effort had been made to fasten up a canvas to keep dirt from falling onto anything and everything. How chilling the thought of actually living in here, being shut in here.
With the door open there was sufficient light for Georgina to locate the pot and make the tea and set out cups and saucers; Allison sat on a stump at the side of a worktable and watched, absorbed; it was all so strange, so unreal, so foreign to anything she had experienced or known. Far, far away—in memory as in actuality—the silver service, the sugar tongs, the dainty sandwiches, the posturing, the proper teatime decorum.
“I can’t believe it,” she murmured, shaking her head with unbelief.
“It’s unbelievable, that’s why,” Georgina said. “Hansel and Gretel wandering in a forest in the fairy tale was no harder to believe. But when you get bitten a few dozen times by mosquitoes, you’ll believe it!”
Picking up the teapot now cradled in a cozy, she said, “If you’ll bring the cups—”
Back under the tree, sipping tea, Georgina turned the conversation again to Allison. Why was Allison traveling this wild and lonesome land alone? Where was Theodora Figg?
Soberly Allison told of Theodora’s perfidy as she had absconded with the funds intended to support Allison until her remittances began to arrive. “She left me high and dry,” Allison said. “Absolutely alone in a strange land, and penniless, or almost so. She didn’t even wait to see that I was safely in the company of Maybelle Dickey . . . you remember me telling you about Maybelle Dickey. Theodora took off, disappeared like a whiff of smoke in a high wind.”
“This shocks me, truly shocks me! But she never did seem too concerned for your welfare, Allie. On the ship she went her way and let you go yours. But since it meant we could meet once in a while, I didn’t complain. So what happened with this Maybelle Dickey?”
“Not a sign of her, Georgie. I don’t know whether she never got my father’s letter, or didn’t care, or just what. I searched and waited and made inquiries, but it was a lost cause. I was absolutely desperate. Then, at the lowest point, who should appear but Binky—”
“Bertram Wallingford himself. And I imagine he extended an offer you couldn’t resist.”
“He meant it kindly. It was Gilly I was uncertain about.”
“Gilly made an offer that wasn’t . . . acceptable?”
“I could see it in his eyes. No thanks! So I went with them partway.”
“And whe
n did you make a change for points north?”
“I changed trains at Winnipeg, headed for Prince Albert . . . and Bliss.”
“I love the way you say that. Bliss. True bliss, it seems, Allie, accompanies peace that passes understanding . . . joy unspeakable . . . rivers of living water.”
Georgie hadn’t changed. She was still a witness, still had a testimony.
“Georgie,” Allie said, turning serious eyes on her friend, “more happened in Toronto than buying a ticket to Bliss, Saskatchewan. It was there, in a hotel room, alone and afraid and deserted, I started on my journey to the bliss you are talking about. The true bliss. In my despair I turned to the Lord—and Georgie, He was there! And,” tearfully, “He hasn’t forsaken me.”
It is hard to say whose face shone the most—the teller or the hearer. Needless to say there were more hugs, more tears, words of praise.
“This is glorious news!” Georgina said. “The best you could have brought me. David will be so glad to hear it, for he’s joined me in prayer for you.”
The subject of Allison’s salvation was not easily exhausted. Time flew by, and eventually Georgina decided, regretfully, it was time to fix dinner, the noon meal, and Allie accompanied her again to the dugout and had her first experience with paring potatoes. Scraping and scrubbing potatoes, actually, for these were new, generously shared from a neighbor’s garden.
Never had potatoes tasted so good as they did that summer day—chunky boiled potatoes slathered in butter, sprinkled with salt and pepper, served on simple crockery under a poplar tree. Never had bread been so light and fragrant; never had milk, brought from the depths of the well, been so cool and refreshing.
The fact that supper would probably consist of the same things made no difference; it was all accepted as part and parcel of the new life, and the thanks, spoken over it by one pair of lips and three hearts, was sincere.
David lingered, hearing Allison’s story. “Your injury,” he said. “You haven’t told us how you got that.”
“It happened on the train,” she began, and described, as best she could, the crowded conditions. “But you know all about that,” she recalled, and they nodded.
“There was something about this part of the trip,” she said thoughtfully, “something that got my attention, something I can’t forget nor fully remember. Amid all the misery in our car, there was one person, a man, who wasn’t too concerned with self to see to the welfare of others. A young man, I think, though he acted most maturely. Except for his grin . . .”
Allison paused, searching through her memory, remembering. Now, at last, the young, rugged, pleasant face smiled at her out of the fogginess that had surrounded the accident.
“A young man, with a grin, helping—” Georgina prompted.
“Yes, I remember quite clearly. He walked the aisle with crying babies, heated bottles on the stove at the end of the car, made tea and delivered it to elderly or ailing people.” In a rush now she described the part the unknown man had played in the drama of that day on the train. “He stopped to speak to people, bending over them, perhaps encouraging them . . . played games with the boys and girls. He gave up his seat to someone who didn’t have one. And he did it all with such good humor, with this—”
“Grin?”
“I guess smile would describe it. A sort of self-deprecating—”
“Grin.”
“A wry smile is a better way of saying it,” Allison found herself explaining, feeling that grin was too limiting, too boyish, not descriptive of the feeling the facial expression had conveyed. “Sort of ironic, as though he were making light of himself and what he was doing.”
David and Georgina glanced at one another, suspecting there was more to the story than Allison had told them.
“Was he an employee of the railway? Someone hired, perhaps, to see to the comfort of the passengers? If so, it would be his job; perhaps he was some sort of trained personnel.”
“No,” Allison said with conviction. “He was a passenger, heading, I don’t know where he was heading. I was just beginning to know him . . .”
Allison paused, gone from them once again, digging into her memory bank, bringing up dim pictures but clearer than they had been. Georgina and David nodded wisely to each other.
“And then?” Georgina asked quietly, feeling she was treading on personal, private ground.
Allison started. “And then . . . and then the train stopped far too abruptly. Everyone screamed. I remember the screaming
“The next thing I remember is being in the tar-paper shack of people by the name of Dabney, with a cut on my head that Ella, Mrs. Dabney, had sewed up.”
“This,” Georgina said gently, pulling back the abundant dark hair, showing it to David. “Had you fallen, Allie?”
“They told me that a wooden box fell from overhead, knocking me unconscious. The train stopped as soon as they came across a homestead with a woman on it. The man, the one I mentioned, carried me.”
“The smiler. The smiling servant. Would that be a good way to describe him?”
Allison’s face lit up. “Perfect!” she said. “He served and did it with a smile. I can’t help but wonder—did he know the Lord? I think so; I can’t help but think so. Well,” she said regretfully, “I may never know.” And she added, because her armor had fallen and she was truly among friends, “Though I’ve prayed . . .”
“His name, Allie? Do you remember his name?”
“Even in the worst moments, in the dark and dizzy places, I remembered his name. Oh, yes, I remember his name—“Ebenezer.”
That night, before they went to sleep and while the light of the long northern evening lingered, David read, at Georgina’s request: “Thou shalt no more be termed Forsaken; neither shall thy land any more be termed Desolate: but thou shalt be called Hephzibah, and thy land Beulah: for the LORD delighteth in thee” (Isa. 62:4).
Although she refrained from saying so, Allison was taken aback by the size of the proposed log house. The small size.
But David explained, as he showed her the area marked out with the prepared logs lying nearby: “It’s small for good reason. First, because of the logs already cut by Stanislas Mikovic; second, because of the heating problem—a big house demands more heaters and more wood, not an insignificant consideration. A small house is so much easier to keep warm.”
“And third,” Georgina said, “we don’t have furnishings for a large house. As it is, we’ll have to make do.”
Make do. It was a term they all came to know and use. You made do when the butter ran out; bacon grease, or even cocoa thinned with a little milk, could be spread on bread. You made do when bread ran out and there was no more yeast; you made bannock. You made do when there were no clothespins; you spread the washing over the grass and low bushes. You made do when you didn’t own a churn; you put the cream in a sealer or canning jar and shook it—no matter how long it took or how weary the arms became—until butter formed. You made do when you ran out of tea and there wasn’t money for more—boiling water, poured into teacups with milk and sugar added to taste, gave you “Tea Kettle Tea.” That is, if you had milk and sugar. If the teakettle bottom was blackened from sitting over the fire, you made do by taking it to the edge of the garden or plowed ground and turning it around and around until the earth scoured off the soot.
Standing beside the hole that David had scooped out, Allison looked down and imagined lowering herself into it, no doubt holding a lamp aloft with one hand and gripping a ladder with the other; she thought she’d feel like a gopher. Such a small hole, to hold supplies for a year or until the garden produced once again.
“There will be bins for the garden stuff,” David explained, pointing here and there, “and shelves along the wall to hold the canning Georgie will do—”
Georgie took a deep breath and squared her shoulders in a gesture of pure bravado.
“I’ll help,” Allison said. “I plan to make other living arrangements for myself, but not too far aw
ay—probably in Prince Albert.”
“Oh, Allie,” Georgina answered, startled, “why in the world would you do that? You’ve just got here—”
“There will be a good boardinghouse in Prince Albert, I’m sure,” Allison said as positively as possible. “I’ll get along very well until money from home starts arriving. The first thing I must do is write my father. He has no idea where I am or where to send the . . . the remittance.”
She used the word reluctantly, even to Georgina, to whom she had made an explanation of sorts on the ship.
“That’s all behind you now,” Georgie said. “This is a new beginning for you as it is for me, for David, for most everyone here.”
“Yes, I know,” Allison said. “That is, I know it with my head—”
“But you still feel . . . how do you feel, Allie?”
“Sorry, embarrassed, ashamed.”
“As far as the east is from the west—listen to what the Bible says—so far has God removed our transgressions from us. That’s good news, Allie, good news!”
“Yes, good news.” Still, her foolish waywardness lay like an icicle in her heart.
“As for moving to P.A.—Allie, we want you to stay with us. Please stay here, at least this first winter!”
Allie blinked at the urgency in her friend’s voice.
“You see, Allie,” David put in, “I’m going to have to find work for the winter. We can’t live all winter on our small supply of money and have any left over for seed and things like that in the spring. I hope I’ll find work in P.A., perhaps at the grist mill or lumber mill, in which case I’ll get home from time to time. But I’ll not be the only man needing winter work, and I may end up going north to the woods. And that’ll leave Georgie alone here for weeks at a time. We’ve yet to spend a winter here, but we’ve heard how hard it is, how cold, how long. The thought of Georgie being alone, facing everything alone, is more than I can bear. And yet we haven’t known how to solve it. Until now, that is.”
