Godfrey: Book Three, Page 2

  "It's hardly a secret," Isaac continued, though Antonia was giving him devil eyes now, "that men were born to work in the field and bring home the bacon while women were intended to stay at home and mind the children and keep a clean house."

  "Women can vote now, you know, Isaac," Diana cut in, smiling widely as she added peas to her husband's plate.

  Leo slapped his forehead.

  "Don't even get me started on that one. Whose ever hair-brained idea that was ought to - "

  He stopped himself when he saw the expressions of the others.

  "Ought to what?" Isaac asked curiously.

  "It's time to say grace," Diana interrupted, trying to steer the conversation to calmer waters. "Let's say grace. Godfrey, are you not eating?"

  "In a minute, thanks, Diana," he answered politely, still feeling guilty for his dumb remark and hoping to make up for it by dishing up last. He sure hadn't intended to put a damper the Sunday meal.

  "Leo. Grace before you eat," Antonia snapped, clearly still annoyed with her brother-in-law for his objections to women's suffrage.

  "Oh, leave him alone," Isaac chided, "the poor bugger'll be lucky to make it to purgatory...and saying grace before he eats sure ain't going to save him."

  He grinned and Leo shot him a dirty look as Diana lead them with her sing song voice.

  "Blessed us oh Lord and these thy gifts which we are about to receive..."

  Chapter Four

  Godfrey is helping Leo nurse an injury on one of Leo's foals.

  "How about you don't ask so many questions and just do what I tell ya?"

  At twenty four, Godfrey felt too old to be taking flack from his older brother. But then again, Leo was much more experienced. Talking back wouldn't do any good as it would only start an argument.

  "Alright," said Godfrey begrudgingly, "I'm listening."

  Leo issued a grunt of approval. "Hand me that bucket of water."

  Godfrey took up the bucket and pressed the handle into his brother's outstretched hand.

  Leo took the bucket, dipped his handkerchief into it, and made himself a damp cloth by squeezing out the excess water.

  "You see, when a foal gets this kind of an infection," he said, pressing the damp handkerchief to the festering sore on the foal's hind leg, "you've got to clean it two times daily. Else it'll spread and she'll get gangrene."

  The young horse snorted and bent its head to see what Leo was doing.

  "Hold her down, will ya?"

  Godfrey slid to the other side of the pen and knelt down beside the sand coloured animal, his knees sinking into the thick straw bed.

  "It's okay, girl," he said gently.

  Leo tipped some white powder from a yellow can onto the handkerchief.

  "Apply a bit of sulfanilamide..."

  The horse whinnied and kicked as Leo pressed and held the handkerchief once more to the site of the wound. Godfrey wrapped both arms around her neck and held her firmly.

  "And voila."

  Leo stood up and took a step back. Godfrey released the foal and she rose quickly to her feet, shaking her hind leg as though it were soaking wet.

  "That's it?" Godfrey asked, eyeing the animal with a measure of uncertainty.

  "That's it."

  "Can of this stuff from Atlas Lumber will set you back about two dollars. And it's worth every penny."

  "I should get some of that."

  Leo grunted. "Every farmer should have a good supply. It works on humans too, you know."

  Godfrey smiled. "So I'll just come to you then next time I cut myself or get a burn."

  "Why not?" Leo grinned, flashing a full set of pearly whites.

  Chapter Five

  Chère maman,

  How are you? How are the kids?

  I miss you all.

  It's nearing November now. Everyone's getting ready for winter. Stocking up on wood. Preparing their sleighs. Checking to make sure their houses are going to survive. (The Telford's had their roof collapse last December due to a heavy snowfall.) It's serious business out here. I feel like a seasoned veteran now that it's my fifth winter out here.

  How's your health? Isaac said you were having some troubles when he and Antonia made their visit. Do you need more money for medicine? Anything you need, maman. Just ask. I've got money. I'm doing well. Write me back. Say hello to papa.

  Godfrey

  Chapter Six

  Father McGrane wasn't lying when he said Fall was beautiful in the Wainwright area. Not that Godfrey doubted him - he'd been out here for more than four years now - but every year, come October, he was reminded of just how beautiful the season could be.

  The incredible array of oranges, yellows, and reds of the trees.

  The thousands of geese and other migratory birds, flocking together in fallow fields, planning their trip to warmer climates.

  The clear skies at night - every star perfectly visible.

  And this wasn't to say Fall on the prairies didn't have its shortcomings.

  Au contraire.

  There were the dwindling daylight hours. Frosts, killing off hopeful, second crops of spuds and other garden vegetables. Powerful winds that could blow a man off his feet...

  Godfrey shuddered and wrapped himself more tightly in his heavy, woollen blanket. As long as he had some blankets and that stove - and a good quantity of wood - he could survive any winter. Though, surviving sometimes came down to how to occupy all the hours spent cooped up inside as a sparsely furnished, single room house provided little in the way of entertainment.

  It was even worse when a blizzard hit. Snow for hours and sometimes days. Giant snow drifts that made even getting the door open impossible. Stuck inside one's cramped little abode. The roads impassable and everyone else cooped up inside their homes and no one to help you should some unfortunate accident befall you - a burn, a cut, or other injurious mishap.

  This fear gnawed at him from December through March and only abated when the mercury returned to the forties and fifties. Leo and Isaac were good about checking on him after a storm - and he'd be missed if no one heard from him for more than a day or two - but it was little consolation. Little consolation to a young man on the prairies in the dead of winter with nothing to keep him alive but some blankets and a little stove.

  No, the only way to gain some true measure of comfort and to lessen his anxiety about the winter and being trapped and helpless and bored with nothing to do was to get a pair of snowshoes.

  Back in Quebec, at least in St. Timothée, every family had a pair. Or two. Or three. In January, when he and his friends would go ice fishing, they'd strap on their snowshoes and head to the lake. In February, their snowshoes took them to the trap line where they'd check for any small game their lines might have caught. And in late March, when farmers went to check their maple trees to see how the syrup was flowing, they'd head into the bush with big tureens of beans and molasses and pork and pea soup, stopping to lean their snowshoes against trees and eat when they were tired from walking.

  Snowshoes gave a man mobility in winter. Gave a man a degree of independence.

  He was plenty strong and could easily walk five miles in the snow with a good pair of raquettes. Ten if he had to. It was great exercise and if ever he felt cooped up inside his small house this winter, bored and feeling lonesome, he'd strap on his snowshoes and go for a jaunt.

  Sighing wearily and with his mind made up, Godfrey reached for the lantern beside the bed, extinguished the flame, and was soon fast asleep.

  Chapter Seven

 

  Monday. 2:11 p.m. Telford & Sons' Barbers. Godfrey is seated in one of three brown, vinyl barber chairs, facing the mirror. Only Noah Telford, one of the "Sons" is on the clock. He's standing behind Godfrey, snipping away. Along the wall, immediately adjacent to the door, is a row of chairs for those next up to wait in. A small table butts into the wall opposite, upon which sits a stack of newspapers and magazines. Henri Lapalme enters, causing the bells on the door to jingl
e loudly.

 

  "Hey, Henri."

  "Hello, Godfrey."

  "Ca va bien?"

  Henri slid into one of the chairs along the wall and picked up a newspaper. "Pas pire, toi?"

  Godfrey gave a non-committal shrug. "Can't complain. Haircut for you as well?

  "That's why you come here, isn't it?" Noah Telford cut in, grinning as he stepped back to admire his handiwork.

  Henri acknowledged the barber's quip with a friendly smile.

  "I've got a train to catch tomorrow," he answered, returning his attention to Godfrey. "Heading home to see the old man. Antoinette - my younger sister - she said he's not doing so well."

  "I'm sorry to hear that," said Godfrey automatically.

  Henri shrugged and shook the newspaper open in his hands. "That's life..."

  A minute followed where no one spoke, the gentle snip-snipping of Noah's scissors being the only sounds in the small barbershop.

  "I can still remember when I lost my old man," the thirty-something barber said eventually.

  Snip, snip, snip.

  "John - my brother - took it hard. He was only sixteen, see."

  Snip, snip.

  That's far too young to be losing a parent. I was a little older. Twenty one. Still fairly young."

  The young barber wiped at the redness on Godfrey's neck and continued snipping.

  "But we had this place."

  Snip, snip.

  "Thank God. Don't know how mom would have put food on the table without it. And thankfully dad had been training me to cut hair. I'd only been working here four or five years when he passed mind you, but it was long enough to know the ins and outs of the business."

  "You do a great job," said Godfrey severely, not wanting to take away from the serious tone of Noah's report.

  Henri lowered his newspaper. "Yes, good stuff. Always happy when I leave," he added, running a hand through his thick brown hair.

  Noah shrugged. "Eh, well..."

  "I only come here," Godfrey added, hoping to levy the man's confidence.

  "Well, I appreciate your patronage. We've got competition in town now - so it's nice to know we've got our regulars like you and Henri."

  The conversation dwindled to nothing again.

  Snip, snip, snip.

  "So how long are you going for?" Godfrey asked when he could stand the silence no longer.

  "Who, me?" Henri asked, looking up from his newspaper.

  "No, the guy behind you," Godfrey retorted, grinning.

  "Just a week," Henri answered, smiling slightly. "Can't really stay away much longer. Diana needs me home - we're busy putting in new windows. Better windows. For the winter."

  "That's a big job," Noah remarked as he lathered a dollop of Brylcreem into his hands.

  "Yeah, but totally worth it."

  The barber nodded as he began sculpting Godfrey's hair.

  "I can help you guys with that," said Godfrey.

  Henri smiled appreciatively. "I won't say no. Thanks, Godfrey."

  "Not a problem."

  "There," said Noah triumphantly as he passed his hand one final time through Godfrey's hair. "What do you think?"

  "Looks good."

  "You're darn right it looks good," he said, toweling off his hands as Godfrey tilted his head to admire every angle.

  "That there's a Telford cut. The ladies'll be all over you now, Godfrey."

  "You think?"

  Henri grinned. "Sure. Until they realize you're nothing but a farmer."

  "And why's that a bad thing?"

  "Just a minute now," Noah interjected, seizing Godfrey by the shoulder as he attempted to climb down from the chair. "I've got to brush you off yet."

  "It's a bad thing," Henri began, folding up the newspaper and setting it on the table, "because women these days want the man with the cuff links and the cigars. They don't want some farmer who comes home everyday smelling like sheep's milk and pig's...you know. They want a well-heeled, gentile kind of man."

  "There ya go," said Noah after several passes of a scratchy brush, "you're done."

  He slapped Godfrey on the shoulder. Godfrey nodded and slid out of the chair.

  "I'm not sure what kind of women you've seen around, but there are plenty of good ones around these parts who want for nothing other than a hardworking man with enough money to keep the cellar stocked and a roof over their heads."

  "Maybe them Ukie girls," Noah joked as Godfrey reached inside his pocket and removed his money clip.

  He paid for the barber's joke with a small smile. Just enough to be polite. He had nothing against the Ukrainians.

  "How much do I owe ya this time?"

  "Dollar fifty. Same as last time."

  "Can't beat that," Henri remarked.

  Godfrey smiled and shook his head in agreement. "No. You sure can't."

  He removed two one-dollar bills from his money clip and handed them to Noah.

  "Keep the change."

  "Thanks."

  "Thank you."

  "Not a problem."

  Godfrey crossed the floor towards a waiting Henri while Noah began sweeping up the hair debris.

  "So how much is it costing you, if I can ask? The tickets, like. Back to Quebec. I'm thinking of taking a trip home sometime too."

  Henri had looped his thumbs through his suspender braces. At Godfrey's question, he removed them and folded his arms across his chest.

  "Thirty two dollars each way."

  "That's not bad - cheaper than in summer, anyway" said Godfrey as he took his coat from the coat rack.

  "It's very reasonable. Diana said I should have went with Pacific, but I opted for National instead. Only a few of Pacific's trains have sleeper cars - and I sure don't feel like sitting the whole way."

  Godfrey nodded and wiped a stray drop of Brylcreem from the side of his head.

  "Definitely not."

  "All ready for ya, Henri," Noah called over, whipping open a clean apron like a matador his cape.

  Henri threw the barber a polite smile.

  "Right...well then."

  "Well then."

  "I'll see you around."

  "Sure thing, Godfrey."

  "Let me know when you need a hand with those windows. You can teach me how it's done so I can do mine next year."

  Henri nodded. "Sounds like a plan."

  "And say hello to Quebec for me."

  "Will do."

  They shook hands then and Godfrey left the barbershop, stepping out onto a dusty boardwalk teeming with Sunday shoppers, all sweating under the afternoon sun.

  Chapter Eight

  Godfrey is up on the roof of his house.

  Making sure he was properly balanced, Godfrey positioned the new slat over the hole and hammered it in.

  Four nails. One in each corner.

  That outta do it.

  The wind had tipped him off to the hole in his roof last night, causing it to whistle and whine and making it impossible to sleep.

  It had been windy all morning as well, constant and unyielding. Now, being up on the roof, he really felt it. Cold. Biting. Rushing in and out of his ears.

  With numb hands, Godfrey climbed down the ladder. He set it against the house - on its side so it wouldn't blow over - and hurried into the house.

  Once inside he was immediately welcomed by the warmth from his stove and after removing his boots, he pulled up a chair and took a seat beside it.

  He'd done enough work for one day.

  Chapter Nine

  "I'd hire someone to do this for me, but you just can't find good help these days. The guy that can do the work (Leo strained against the weight of a shovel full of manure as he carried it towards the crate) costs an arm and a leg (he tips the shovel into a crate in the back of Fred Holbrook's pick up, wipes his brow, takes a breath, and leans on his shovel) or he costs two dollars an hour and works as slow as molasses."

  Godfrey nodded and buried his shovel once more into the mound of
horse manure.

  "Guess it's best to do it yourself then."

  Leo grunted as he bent low to the ground and scooped up another shovel full.

  "You got that right."

  Chapter Ten

  "And don't come back!"

  Joe Campbell staggered into the middle of the sidewalk as two pairs of strong arms released him. "You're not welcome in here anymore, y'hear?"

  Godfrey stopped and watched the scene unfold.

  "Ah, good riddance. I'll take my business elsewhere. Can't keep me down. No sir!"

  The two men who had just thrown Joe into the street shook their heads in disgust and made their way back inside. Passersby dodged Joe as he staggered towards the railing of the boardwalk. He burped loudly and tipped his hat to two well-dressed women walking past.

  Jesus, Joe.

  Godfrey made his way toward the drunken man, careful to avoid passing buggies and motor cars as he crossed the street.

  "Joe!"

  He reached the other side.

  "Joe!"

  "Godfrey! What a surprise! What's the good word?"

  The young man held up the bag in his hand as he ducked under the railing and stepped up onto the boardwalk.

  "Just getting a few things."

  Well, come on," said Joe, wrapping an arm around him, "let's go to the Hotel and get a drink, shall we?"

  Godfrey pulled away from the man.

  "I think you've had enough to drink today, Joe. How about we get you home? I've got my wagon - I can give you a lift."

  "Well, ain't that generous!"

  The man patted his shoulder.

  "You're a real gent, Godfrey. Anybody ever tell you that?"

  Godfrey suddenly felt very uncomfortable due to the curious stares they were receiving from passersby.

  "Yeah. Sure. Anyway, come on. I'll take you home."

  "YOU SEE THIS YOUNG MAN HERE!" Joe yelled to no one in particular. "HE'S A GENTLEMAN! A REAL GENTLEMAN! HE AIN'T ONE OF THOSE FAKE ONES LIKE YOU," he raved, pointed to an elderly, grey-haired man wearing a fedora and holding a walking stick.

  "AND YOU!" he said to another man wearing a pair of well-worn overalls.

  Godfrey caught his elbow before he could stick his finger in the man's chest.

  "Goodness gracious," the attractive, and well-dressed woman hanging from the man's arm commented as they strode quickly past.

  She gave Godfrey a dirty look that seemed to say, "Can't you control that thing?"