The steam-powered threshing-machines had arrived to harvest the grain. This was always a community effort, the prairie farmers joined forces, to work each farm in turn. The Fordson tractor came into its own now, but the Shire horses and wagons still had an important role to play in carting the grain from the fields.
Mattie took a couple of days off from the trading post to help Anna and Treesa feed the workers. Ollie presented her with a practical outfit to wear: blue denim dungarees and what Griff dubbed a lumberjack shirt.
‘Wear these, then the men won’t get any funny ideas, my dear! They get through a lot of home-made root beer at the end of the day.’
Not only that, as Mattie discovered, as she rolled great mounds of lardy pastry to cover pie-dishes full of diced mutton, onions, carrots and lashings of good gravy. When these were cooked, into the oven went more pies, plump with last autumn’s canning of plums, with sugar to caramelise on each well-egged top crust.
During the day there were elevenses and fourses – the bread and cheese wrapped in clean cloths, and the bottles of cold tea to be taken out to the men labouring in the heat of the day, to keep them ‘well oiled’ as Anna put it. When the weary, hungry workforce filed indoors at dusk there was plenty of hot water in a basin in the kitchen sink, a big bar of soap for them to wash their hands, with a decent towel to dry them on. The women were red-faced and perspiring from the heat of the stove, but welcomed the neighbours to the harvest supper.
Later, there was a sing-song, and Mattie shared the big rocking chair with Griff. He whispered, as his arm tightened round her shoulders: ‘At least I know what you’re concealing under your lumberjack clothes!’
‘Has it been a good harvest after all?’ she asked.
‘Charlie seems satisfied. If we can hang out here for another couple of years or so, he says, why don’t we apply to go as a family unit to North Dakota? I’ll get a job in town in the winter months. What d’you think?’
‘It seems a good idea to me,’ Mattie said.
But that was before the snows came, and winter would seem unending before suddenly it was another spring.
PART TWO
FIFTEEN
NORTH DAKOTA – CHRISTMAS 1925
They arrived in North Dakota – where the gopher that small, burrowing rodent with chisel-like teeth, and cheek pouches, had given the state the sobriquet ‘Flickertail’ – in late spring, after planning the route the preceding winter. They jolted along gravelled highways in Tin Lizzie, piled high with luggage and rattling alarmingly. They stopped off at country schools to use the outdoor facilities, and patched blown tyres on the roadside. Griff said getting the inner tube back was like wrestling a snake.
Mattie’s first impression of the prairie homestead over the border was that it was an enchanted place. This was a small, scattered community, with a couple of stores, a church and one-room school, some thirty miles from the urban sprawl of Minot. Here, wildlife was abundant, with grouse, prairie chicken, geese, ducks and swans, good hunting in season; the climate was dry, cool and invigorating. As spring gave way to summer, the temperature rose without the air becoming humid. Nights were always cooler.
Their nest-egg was no more after the down payment on their small holding, which the original owners had built from scratch. To prove their claim these pioneers had been required to erect a house, fence their land, dig a well (aided by dynamite) and irrigation ditches. Twenty years on, Griff and Mattie took on the thriving herd of dairy cows, a wagon with a pair of sturdy cobs and an established milk-round. Some of the acreage was leased to a neighbour, which provided a modest income. However, Griff continued to work part-time, in the office of a local garage.
Anna and Charlie travelled on to the Red River of the North, a fertile area, to join their son in a new venture, backed by the sale of the farm at Moose Jaw. They were now part of the Bonanza Farming Community, growing a profitable commodity: sugar beet.
All summer, Mattie worked on her first garden. They’d been left a legacy of soft fruit bushes; these yielded pounds of delicious berries which she canned by the open kettle method, for the hard weather ahead, while Griff ploughed ground for vegetables. Flowers bordered the paths, and a yellow rose reminded Mattie of home. During the clement weather she decorated the rail of the front porch with potted plants.
Until recently, she’d assisted Griff with the milking and accompanied him on deliveries. Anna and Charlie’s grandson Bert was driving his grandparents over to spend Christmas with Mattie and Griff. In January, Bert would stay with them for a few months to help out generally before going on to college.
The reason for this was that Mattie was heavily pregnant. The baby was due during Christmas week. Anna was keeping her promise to be with her, even though they were no longer in Moose Jaw with Doc Pedersen on hand.
‘I’m a lady of leisure,’ Mattie sighed, but she determined to do her bit towards the festive fare. The laying hens they’d invested in soon after their arrival were now clucking in the barn and enjoying time off too, so she took four precious eggs from the brown pottery crock in the pantry, studied the cookery book which Hilda had given them as a wedding present back in Plymouth and, with some trepidation, stirred up her first Christmas cake. The dried fruit was soaked first in marrow brandy to plump it up. Griff remarked appreciatively that you could get tipsy inhaling the fumes from the mixing bowl.
*
‘Put on your boots,’ Griff said on Christmas Eve. ‘Something to see outside . . .’
Mattie was reluctant to leave the blazing log fire. Her stockinged feet rested on a footstool, her mending basket was to hand. The living room was the hub of the single-storey wooden house. She’d garlanded the room earlier with home-made paperchains, and a branch or two of Douglas fir. There were two bedrooms off this room. The kitchen was tacked on at the back of the house, under a tin roof. No space was wasted. A ladder led to a spare bedroom in the loft. This would accommodate Bert. There was not much headroom, but there was a comfortable bunk. The privy was adjacent to the wash-house with its own wood-burning copper. Tin tubs were housed here, together with the mangle.
‘You’ve spotted them coming?’ she queried.
‘No sign of them yet . . .’
Griff slid the heavy boots on her feet, laced them up. He held out a warm blanket. ‘Put this round your shoulders.’
She stood up and allowed him to tuck the folds around her. ‘I don’t want to be outside too long – it’s freezing,’ she said.
The drift of snow in the yard crunched underfoot. ‘Look!’ Griff told her.
Mattie caught her breath in wonder. She was witnessing her first prairie winter sunset. A dark tangle of undergrowth was poking through a powdering of white, the fence poles silhouetted against a spectacular sky heavy with snow clouds. Beyond lay the prairie and a ribbon of glorious crimson on the horizon streamed from the sinking sun. Mattie wished she could see the creek reflecting this, but it was too far off.
She must have swayed on her feet, for Griff’s arms were instantly round her, holding her close to his chest. ‘Are you all right? Not too cold?’
‘I’m all right,’ she said. ‘Turn me round, so I can take it all in, again.’
As she leaned back against him, she whispered. ‘Feel the baby kicking, Griff – he’s aware something important is about to happen . . .’
‘Being born, you mean? Mattie darling, it might be a girl, you know . . .’
‘I’m not due for another four days – nothing must happen until Anna is here!’
‘Well, listen, isn’t that the sound of a motor in the distance?’
‘Now I can relax,’ Mattie said, ‘He can come as soon as he likes!’
They sat around the big table, warmed by the crackling fire, eating the simple supper Mattie and Griff had prepared earlier – thick slices of gammon, a pile of buttery mashed potato, crusty new bread and more yellow butter. Mattie proudly offered sauerkraut, made by a German neighbour, and her own pickled oni
ons.
‘Like ping-pong balls!’ Bert said, spearing a couple with his fork to eat with relish. He was not very tall, but thick-set and obviously had a good appetite.
‘How are you, my dear’?’ Anna asked Mattie. She’d noted the flickering of discomfort on Mattie’s face, the biting of her bottom lip.
‘Weary,’ was all Mattie would admit. She’d eaten little herself. Her hands strayed to her middle, rested on her bump. The baby was quiet now.
‘We can clear up here,’ Anna said. ‘Why not go to bed, rest up for tomorrow?’
Griff helped her to her feet. ‘Anna is right, you need to lie down, Mattie.’
‘You must come back to entertain the family, then,’ she insisted.
‘I will,’ he assured her.
Mattie was restless. She flung the feather-filled ticking back, tried to sort out the tangle of sheets. Griff heaved a gentle sigh, swung his legs out of bed, and turned up the oil lamp. They used these to conserve electricity from the generator. He squinted at the clock on the bedside table. He was used to rising early. Christmas morning would be no exception, he thought wryly, with the cows to be milked. No doubt Bert and Charlie would help him and Anna would see to breakfast, the traditional ham and eggs.
‘Not even three o’clock,’ he said aloud. ‘You awake, Mattie? Happy Christmas.’
‘Of course I’m awake!’ She sounded truculent. No return of his greeting.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked anxiously, feeling her forehead.
She thrust his hand aside. ‘I haven’t got a temperature! I’m having a baby, Griff!’
‘You mean—?’
‘Yes! Don’t get back into bed – fetch Anna!’
Anna, wearing a flannel wrap and with her hair hanging in long grey plaits down her back, took it all in her stride. Charlie and Bert, she said, would see to the milking; Griff had his fatherly duties to perform. These included resurrecting the fire, boiling water, making tea and rubbing his wife’s back when called upon to do so.
Mattie wasn’t behaving as he’d naïvely thought she would. She was in agony, and she didn’t care who knew it. After one piercing shriek, when Griff murmured, ‘Never mind!’ she replied, through gritted teeth, ‘Only a man would say that!’
Three hours later, Anna, concerned that the second stage of labour was delayed, passed a note to Griff, not wishing to alarm Mattie. Time to fetch the doctor.
It was freezing outside, so the motor took some time to start. Griff gave it a kick up the backside in exasperation. Tin Lizzie coughed irritably, then obliged. The doctor’s house was in the main street. Griff banged so vigorously on the door that lights went on in several upstairs windows in nearby properties.
Doc appeared in his nightshirt and slippers. ‘Come in,’ he said laconically. ‘Give me five minutes.’
Griff waited by the Christmas tree in the hall. From behind a closed door emanated excited voices. Doc’s children were unwrapping their Christmas gifts. His wife emerged, yawning, with a paper crown on her head, to present the doctor with a warm woollen muffler. ‘Your present from your mother, dear – she told me what it was, so I unwrapped it for you. Put it on! Good luck with the delivery,’ she added, to Griff.
When they arrived back at the homestead, they found Mattie sitting on the edge of the bed. She had an announcement to make. ‘I’ve decided not to have it today!’ she said firmly. Anna’s eyebrows twitched expressively.
Doc sat down heavily beside her. He still wore the scarf, powdered with snow. ‘Is that so? The pains have subsided? Time to get you on your feet, my dear. Griff, hold her firmly and help her to walk round the room . . . back and forth, that’s it . . .’
‘Ouch!’ Mattie exclaimed, leaning on her husband and panting at the exertion.
‘The force of gravity; it often does the trick,’ Doc said.
‘I want . . . I want to—’ Mattie gasped, before she doubled up with a contraction.
Between them they got her back on to the bed. Griff gripped her hand.
‘You wish to stay?’ Doc asked, discarding the scarf and rolling up his sleeves. Griff nodded. ‘First, fetch me hot water, soap and towels. Anna, ease her into position. Now, young Mattie, no more yelling, save your energy for giving birth.’
The pain swamped her, receded, then returned. At its height, a cloth soaked in ether and pressed to her nostrils afforded blessed relief. Mattie made one last desperate effort. She was unaware of the drama about to take place as Anna, guiding the infant into the world, exclaimed: ‘Quick! The cord’s tight round the baby’s neck!’ Doc was leaning over Mattie, checking her pulse, so it was Griff who responded instinctively. Then Mattie heard cries, which grew louder by the minute.
‘Darling, you’ve done it!’ Griff was sobbing; she didn’t understand it. A little bundle, wrapped in a warm towel, was placed in the crook of her arm.
Mattie was suddenly wide awake, trembling at the magnitude of what had just happened. She looked down at her baby’s puckered, red face. The protesting ceased.
‘Hello, baby,’ she whispered. The small head was still greasy with vernix as the baby had not yet been bathed.
‘Well?’ asked a jubilant Anna, ‘have you chosen a name?’
Griff said quickly, ‘Mattie was sure the baby would be a boy . . . ’
Mattie smiled tremulously. ‘You’re trying to tell me it’s a girl, aren’t you? I really don’t mind – so long as she’s all right. You choose, Griff.’
‘Would you mind, Mattie, if we called her after my mother? Megan Myfanwy.’
‘Megan Myfanwy – our Christmas Day baby,’ Mattie said softly. Tears of relief rolled unchecked down her cheeks. ‘I could do with a cup of tea . . .’
‘Couldn’t we all!’ said Anna, with feeling.
Christmas dinner was served late that afternoon. The turkey was dryish, with crispy skin, as Anna had been too preoccupied to baste it, but Charlie carved the best white meat for Mattie, and Griff plumped the pillows behind her, tucked a new flour-sack napkin embroidered with holly sprigs round her neck, then placed the tray carefully on her knees. ‘Christmas dinner in bed – we’re spoiling you today!’
‘Oh, does that mean I’ll be up and at the chores tomorrow?’ she joked.
‘Anna will decide how long you lie in,’ he said firmly. ‘You had a rough time.’
‘I don’t think I could go through that again in a hurry,’ she admitted.
‘Worth it, though, wasn’t it?’ He looked in at the baby, in the cradle.
‘Of course it was! You’ll send the family a cable as soon as you can, promise?’
‘Promise. I’ll ask your mother to let the rest know . . .’
‘They won’t be worrying too much with Christabel’s wedding on Boxing Day!’
‘Christabel and Walter have had a long courtship,’ Griff observed.
‘I’m so happy for them both,’ Mattie said. ‘I think Walter made his mind up to marry much quicker than she did, but I can’t imagine him being a romantic, like you! While she was in Suffolk after losing dear Dolly, back in Mitcham, he studied all the situations vacant in the papers – that’s how she got that good position in one of the best London stores! Aunt Mary took to her, and invited her to live with them!’
‘Evie is to be a bridesmaid again, eh?’
‘I guess she needed a new frock! She’s in her last year at school, and will be off to college to train as a teacher in September.’
‘See, despite the hard times, they are all doing well!’
‘Mmm, Ronnie and Fanny – three boys now! – moving into the station master’s house. Mother and Dad busy with bed-and-breakfast again, now that they get so many visitors touring round East Anglia by motor car . . .’
‘The only ones we haven’t heard from for a while are Sybil and Rufus,’ he said.
‘I hope everything’s all right there,’ Mattie said. She had a niggling feeling that something could have happened, but they were still on the farm
, as far as she knew. Rufus was now managing his in-laws’ affairs, and Sybil was involved with the local operatic society.
‘Shall I take the tray?’ Griff asked. Mattie nodded. ‘Then you have a nap, like Anna and Charlie intend to. Bert and I are going to tackle the washing-up before we go back to the cowshed!’ He paused at the door. ‘D’you know where my old sketch book might be? I’ve got an inspiring new subject – Megan!’
‘Try the bottom of the wedding trunk,’ said Mattie before she closed her eyes.
SIXTEEN
The exterior of the Amy Able Ladies’ College in Lincolnshire presented a somewhat grim appearance to the new intake of students about to pass through the portals. The majority, which included Evie, were in receipt of bursaries from various charitable trusts.
Evie had been interviewed at her school, in March. A formidable woman in a black gown, with a mortar board, sat alongside the headmistress in her study. The first remark she addressed to Evie was a disapproving comment on her appearance. ‘I see you follow fashion, with that shorn hair. Long hair, suitably restrained, is required by our young ladies.’
Evie had been warned by kind Miss Jackson, who still resided at the Plough, that she must refrain from answering back. She bit back the retort that with curly hair such as her own, the only solution to controlling it was to keep it short.
When she remained silent, the headmistress said, ‘Eveline will, of course, grow her hair from now on.’ She smiled reassuringly at Evie.
‘You are required to provide your own linen, two of everything. Clothes – no uniform as such, but you may continue to wear your gymslip, provided the hem reaches well below the knee,’ the college professor went on. ‘Stockings, at all times – and a hat whenever you are outside the college. You need a tunic or divided skirt, long socks and gym shoes for netball and hockey; physical exercise is essential for mental as well as bodily health.
If you are accepted, you will be given a list of books you must buy. There is no objection to your purchasing these second hand. We have an extensive library, thanks to our generous benefactors, and you should use that facility for extra study and research.
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