by Adrien Leduc
“Reckon we’ll be done by today, Henri?” asked the barrel-chested man whose name Godfrey had learned was Clyde.
Henri shrugged as he tore off a piece of bread from the loaf at the centre of the table and stuck it into his pea soup.
“Maybe...but I doubt it. Raising a barn is a two day job in my books.”
There were murmurs of agreement around the table - except from Leo.
“First year, when Isaac and I were out here - back in seventeen - we did ours in a day.”
“That was because we had nowhere to live,” Isaac countered. “We needed that barn for the horses sure, but we also needed that barn to sleep in.”
Leo shrugged and stared his brother down. “So? Don’t see no difference. Barn up in a day.”
As he said this, he popped an enormous chunk of steak into his mouth and washed it down with a glass of milk.
“It was smaller than this one,” Isaac challenged, taking his time mashing the potatoes on his plate. “Barely half the size.”
“’Tis a big barn we’re building,” Clyde agreed through a mouthful of food.
“Peas?”
Godfrey glanced up. It was Antoinette and she was standing beside him, a bowl of peas in one hand and a large metal spoon in the other. He hadn’t seen her approach.
His voice caught in his throat. “Ah...er...yes...please.”
He looked at her and she smiled. “Good. Peas are good for you.”
Her arm brushed against his as she spooned a generous portion of peas onto his plate causing his heart to skip a beat. The perfume she wore - it was...it was nice. And the way the sunlight caught her hair...and her eyes...keen and curious.
“Hey!”
Godfrey looked around the table, searching for the source of the angry voice - the angry voice that was surely directed at him, the angry voice he’d missed the first time because he’d been too busy gawking at Antoinette - and saw Leo glaring at him.
“You talk to Campbell about that truck yet?”
Godfrey shook his head. “No...but I will.”
Leo scowled and Henri cast him another suspicious stare.
“Tomorrow. I’ll be in town tomorrow to pick up some more kalsomite...I’ll swing by the garage and speak to him then.”
“Anyone else for peas?” asked Antoinette. “There’s no room on the table so I’m taking them back inside unless anyone wants some...”
She spoke in French, presumably because, as Godfrey had noticed, her English was poor.
“What’d she say?” asked Clyde, sizing up the petite Antoinette.
Godfrey didn’t like the way the giant of a man laid his eyes on her.
“She asked if anyone wants peas.”
Clyde nodded. “Sure, I’ll have some of that tasty stuff.”
And Godfrey definitely didn’t like the way he looked at her now. He held his composure though - Henri had already bristled at the remark and it was Henri who’d have words with Clyde if he said anything more of the kind. But there was no more from him - nor from the others - the men content with the food on their plates and on their forks, and Antoinette disappeared inside after a minute as talk turned to the price of wheat.
“What are they saying this year, for a bushel?” Isaac asked, wiping the corner of hi smouth with his handkerchief.
“Two eighteen,” answered Norman, another man whose name Godfrey had learned earlier that morning.
“Steady on compared to last year.”
Norman smiled. “Yep. Ten more years like this and I can retire. Sell the farm and move to the city.”
“Why ever would you want to trade this,” asked Henri, motioning toward the sky and the sun-baked fields surrounding the house, “for a little dung hole in town?”
“I don’t mean Wainwright,” Norman replied. “Edmonton. Jasper Avenue. Somewhere with some hustle and bustle.”
“Oh...”
There were murmurs all around.
“I’ll open up a little shop or a restaurant or something,” Norman continued. “Maybe a little gambling spot. Something to carry into old age.”
“I’ve had that idea myself,” said Robert, another man seated at the table.
“Not me,” said Leo adamantly, banging the butt of his fork on the table. “Born in the country, raised in the country, going to die in the country. It’s the farmer’s life for me.”
“And the wife?” asked Clyde.
“There isn’t one,” Isaac interjected.
Clyde’s expression was dramatic. “Leo’s not got a wife? By, golly! A farmer needs a wife. How else can he survive?”
“I haven’t got the time for one,” Leo growled, stuffing the rest of his steak into his mouth.
Isaac and Godfrey and some of the other men around the table exchanged humourous glances.
“Well, you’d better get one!” Norman exclaimed, he and Clyde sharing a chuckle.
Norman’s tone was incredulous, but Godfrey could tell it was all for effect. Leo muttered something through his food and no more was said about the subject as talk turned to politics. An hour later, once coffee had been drank and tobacco had been smoked, the men returned to work.
Chapter Two
“And now the lovely Mrs. Gamache will read chapter one from the Gospel of Luke.”
Father McGrane smiled and beckoned the plum faced Mrs. Gamache to the altar.
She nodded and from his pew, Godfrey could hear her utter a “thank you” to the pastor.
Reaching the altar, she cleared her throat and began to read.
“The Gospel of Luke. Chapter One. Seeing that many others have undertaken to draw up accounts of the events...”
Godfrey couldn’t concentrate and his eyes began to wander. He scanned the pews. There were Mr. and Mrs. Benoit. Mr. Benoit looked disinterested. Mrs. Benoit, as usual, was all ears. Behind them were Mr. and Mrs. Lyon. They’d moved to Wainwright just a year before from Vegreville - or so he’d been told. Mr. Lyon had a rather comical amount of white hair sprouting from his ears. Altar boys today were...Joseph Legendre, Peter somebody and Alphonse Chabot. Pierre Martin was acting as deacon today in the absence of John Azzano who had recently moved his family to Edmonton. Above, sun shone in through the stained glass windows, flecking the white walls with a dazzling display of colours.
“According to the custom of the priest’s office, his lot was to burn incense when he went into the temple of the Lord.”
Snooze.
He glanced at Isaac and Antonia. They held hands and Antonia read along to the words of Mrs. Gamache from her Bible.
“And there appeared unto him an angle of the Lord...”
How much longer?
He was restless. Too restless for his own good. But it was a beautiful summer’s day and here he was, sat in an uncomfortable pew, listening to a reading from a book he was fully capable of reading himself. Leo hadn’t come to church. Leo never came to church anymore. He was getting things done.
Not like me...stuck here...counting the seconds...
“And Zacharias said unto the angel...”
I’m not going to come next Sunday. I’ll take a week off.
But what would Isaac and Antonia say?
He glanced at them once more, this time through the corner of his eye. It’s not as though they’d shun him if he stopped coming...but it wouldn’t be good. Two pews ahead, Diana and Henri sat said by side, listening attentively.
Henri and Diana...
They wouldn’t like it either if I stopped coming...
It was expected of a young man to attend Mass on Sunday - well - a respectable young man anyway. And if he wanted to remain a respected member of the community, he’d have to continue attending Mass.
Sigh.
“And it came to pass, that, as soon as the days of his ministration were accomplished, he departed to his own house.”
I’d like to depart to my house right about now...
“Thus hath the Lord dealt with me in the days wherein he looked on me, to
take away my reproach among men.”
Godfrey stifled a groan and leaned back against the wooden pew, half sleeping and half hearing the rest of Mrs. Gamache’s reading. When the woman finished, Godfrey followed the others up for Communion and thirty minutes later, as they stepped outside into the sunny, Sunday morning, he was glad to be clear of the place. He stood on the sidewalk as he waited for Antonia and Isaac to say their goodbyes, and his eyes gradually wandered across Sixth Avenue where he saw the garage door half open at Campbell & Sons Garage. He wondered how Joe was getting on - it had been more than a month since he’d last seen him...
He crossed the street. The driveway leading into the garage had been given a fresh coat of asphalt and Godfrey avoided it as best he could by sticking to the grass.
“Joe?” he called, knocking on the exposed part of the metal door as he ducked under it and stepped inside the garage.
“Godfrey!”
“Hey.”
“How are ya?”
“Not bad.”
“Just getting out of church?”
Godfrey nodded. “Yeah. I haven’t seen you in awhile. You’re not coming to Mass anymore?”
“Oh, I still go. Just not on Sundays. Too many stares, if you know what I mean.”
Godfrey grimaced. He knew what Joe meant. There was still plenty of gossip amongst the congregation about Joe’s drinking. Though, he wasn’t sure how much of it was true.
Joe toweled the grease from his hands and crossed the floor of the garage.
“It’s good to see ya,” he said, extending an oil-stained hand.
Godfrey shook it.
“Likewise.”
“Been sober two months now,” said the mechanic proudly, stepping back and resting his hands on his hips.
“Wow. That’s great. How’s the wife? How’s the baby?”
Joe nodded as though he appreciated Godfrey’s inquiring after his family. “Mary’s doing well. At home with Thomas - and there’s another one on the way.”
“Wow.”
Joe’s almost bored expression conveyed that it was simply routine by now.
“Another mouth to feed.”
Godfrey nodded. “Indeed.”
“Which is why I’m selling my truck.”
Now Godfrey felt bad. If Joe was just selling his truck to raise money to provide for his family...
“Oh yeah?”
The mechanic nodded. “Three hundred. Know anyone might be interested?”
Of course he did. But he wasn’t too keen about his brother buying it - especially if Joe was raising the money to support his family. Because Leo drove a hard bargain.
“Hmm...I know my brother was looking to buy a new truck.”
Joe looked surprised. “Oh? Isaac?”
“Leo.”
Godfrey could tell Joe would have preferred if it was Isaac.
“He say when he want it by?”
“As soon as possible was the impression I got from him,” Godfrey answered.
Joe removed his hands from his hips and folded his arms across his chest, letting out a little sigh as he did so. Godfrey got the impression he’d not expected that the truck might sell so soon...and now that it was...he’d have to part with it...
Godfrey watched him for a minute, unsure what to say.
“Tell him to come by tomorrow,” said Joe finally, his expression stoic.
Godfrey nodded. “Sure. I’ll let him know.”
“And I’m not taking a penny under three hundred,” Joe added, his tone defiant.
Godfrey raised his hands in defense. “I wouldn’t want you to.”
“You wouldn’t...but that brother of yours...he’s got a reputation. I don’t mean any offense by that,” the mechanic added quickly. “But you know what I mean. The man’s a tough buyer.”
Godfrey shrugged. “I can’t speak for him...but if you’re asking three hundred, I’m sure he’ll have no problem paying that.”
Isaac looked skeptical. “We’ll see come tomorrow. I paid three sixty for that truck last year. And there’s hardly a scratch on her. So it’s definitely worth three hundred.”
“Stick to your guns, Joe Campbell.”
The mechanic grunted. “I will.”
Chapter Three
June 12, 1926
Dear Godfrey,
It’s been awhile since I’ve heard from you. How are things? How’s the farm? I’ll assume no news means good news.
Tell Leo thank you for the money - though it’s really not necessary. We really don’t need it - and your father’s too proud to accept it - but we appreciate the gesture. I’ll write him and tell him myself.
Your brothers and sisters are anxious to see you three. I told them when they’re older and can raise their own train fare that they can go and visit you, Leo, and Isaac. I hope that’s alright. Arthur will be turning nineteen next month. Can you believe it? He’ll be about the same age you were when you headed out West. I’m not sure he shares your passion for farming. He’s been talking about going to work for the newspaper. Clement Bourguignon is editor now - you remember the Bourguignon’s? They go to our church. Well, anyways, we were speaking with his wife after Mass last weekend and she told us they occasionally take on new employees to help with printing and delivery and what not and she said she’d put in a good word for our Arthur. He’s mentioned several times over the past few months how he’d like to be a newspaper reporter. So this might be a good opportunity for him.
In other news, I’m not sure whether you heard, but Elizabeth Alain has passed. No one’s sure what she died of. Monsieur Alain said one minute he was talking with her and the next she just hit the floor, and that was it. Your father and I attended her funeral. It was a sad occasion. Lots of tears. She really did touch a lot of lives in Saint Timothée.
Speaking of your father, he’s been saying he wants to go out your way for a visit. I told him he’s welcome to. He’s thinking to go in September, right after the harvest. Would he be able to stay with you? Or at Isaac’s? I don’t imagine Leo’s is a place fit for guests. Hasn’t he got himself a housekeeper yet? He always was a messy one!
I’ll write again soon. Off to Anne’s to get our tickets for the St. Jean Baptiste supper. I’m feeling much better these days. My health has been good.
Take care, mon fils. And write your mother back - she misses you!
Maman
June 28, 1926
Dear maman,
All is well. Sorry I’ve not written in so long. I’ve been busy and I met -
He ceased writing and scribbled out the words “I met”. He wanted to tell her about Antoinette, but thought better of it. If word got back to Isaac or Antonia (Antonia had a habit of reading Isaac’s mail), it would most certainly reach Henri and he was fairly sure he’d be angry if he heard that he was trying to get cozy with his sister.
I’ve been busy -- running the farm. I’ve got sixteen hens and Cheval to mind. I’ve got the house which always seems to be in wont for something. Isaac and Antonia have Leo and I over every second Sunday, after Mass, for brunch, and if we’re not there, we’re at the Lapalme’s. (That’s Henri and his wife, Diana. They’re good friends of Isaac and Antonia’s. Good people. From St. Dominique - it’s near St. Hyacinthe.)
How’s papa doing? Are Arthur and Jules doing their fair share around the farm?
I spoke to Isaac yesterday about the possibility of papa coming out to visit and he said that papa could stay with them.
I’m glad to hear you’re keeping well, maman. Don’t forget to take care of yourself too - you’re so concerned with looking after yourself that I worry you might not be giving yourself enough consideration.
Give my love to everyone.
Godfrey
Chapter Four
Leo rolls up in his new burgundy coloured 1926 Model T Ford Truck. Isaac and Godfrey are unloading Isaac’s wagon and moving bags of chicken and horse feed to the barn.
“So? What do you think?” asks Leo, climbing o
ut of the driver’s side door.
“Tabernouche...she’s a beaut!” Isaac exclaimed, setting down the bag he and Godfrey were holding.
“Ain’t she?” Leo replied, beaming.
“Where’d ya get her?”
“Joe Campbell. Godfrey’s friend,” he added, flicking his head toward his younger brother.
“He’s not my friend,” said Godfrey stiffly.
Leo waved a hand in Godfrey’s direction as though it didn’t matter whether Joe Campbell was his friend or not.
“How much?” asked Isaac as Godfrey stood glaring at his older brother, standing beside his truck and looking pleased as punch.
Leo’s expression changed. “You think I’d tell you that!?”
Isaac grinned. “Nah. But if you wanted to, I’d like to know. Because I’m thinking of getting one myself.”
Godfrey knew how much he’d paid for the truck. Or at least he hoped he did. There was a good chance Leo managed to bargain Joe down.
Leopold turned and climbed back into his truck. “Anyway, what are you worried about the price for? Antonia’s old man will buy you one!”
Leo’s remark was sure to offend Isaac and Godfrey glanced at his oldest brother to see his reaction. The strapping man in his early thirties folded his arms across his chest. His jaw flinched and he exhaled through his nose. But that was all.
Leo waved and then Isaac and Godfrey stood, side by side, watching as he started the engine, circled them, and headed back down the driveway.
“What an arse,” Isaac muttered.
And Godfrey couldn’t disagree.
Chapter Five
The following Saturday afternoon. Isaac and Godfrey are at Telford & Son’s Barbershop waiting for their turn for a haircut and a shave when Henri walks in.
“Hey fellas.”
“Hey, Henri,” Isaac and Godfrey replied, glancing up simultaneously.
“How’s it goin’?”
“Hi ya, Henri,” Noah Telford called from across the floor.
Sat in front of Noah Telford, in the barber’s chair, was an old man with a thick head of grey hair.
