Godfrey: Book Three, Page 3

  "Come on, Joe," said Godfrey gruffly, growing impatient. "Let's go."

  "LEAD THE WAY, CAPTAIN!"

  He nearly toppled over and Godfrey took him by the arm before leading the drunken man along the boardwalk to his wagon.

  The Campbell's lived in a small, draughty house at the top of a low hill just six miles from Godfrey's farm. Joe had inherited the house and the land from his father, Arthur Campbell, one of the first men to settle in the Wainwright area. When Arthur died in 1919, Joe inherited his father's farm and his father's business in town - Campbell's Garage. Joe's wife, Mary, was born Mary Graham and hailed from Lloydminster.

  "You ever to think to cut these down a bit?" asked Godfrey, gesturing towards the thick shrubs that flanked the Campbell's narrow driveway. Joe waved a drunken, floppy hand as he rested his chin on his chest.

  "Ahh, I canh wih howt a ber aks."

  "What?"

  Still half asleep (he'd fallen asleep five minutes after climbing into the wagon), Joe's drunken speech was even more slurred than it had been an hour earlier.

  "I seh, I canh wih howt a ber aks."

  "You can't without...?"

  "A ber aks."

  "A bir axe?"

  "A better aks."

  Godfrey's face donned a look of comprehension. "A better axe?"

  Joe nodded. "The one I gah, it ain't no gooh..."

  "Maybe all it needs is a good sharpening."

  "No, I neeh a nooh one."

  They reached the yard and Godfrey pulled on the horses' reins, bringing them to a standstill just as the front door of the house banged open.

  Mary Campbell appeared on the front step, a baby in her arms.

  "Joe? Joe!"

  She rushed towards them and arrived at the wagon as Joe climbed down, letting out a loud burp and tipping slightly as his feet touched the ground.

  "Joe! Where've you been? I've been worried sick!"

  "It's alright, sweetheart," he hiccupped.

  "No it's not, Joe!"

  She looked from her drunken husband to Godfrey who had remained in the wagon, the reins still in his hands.

  "Where did you find him?"

  "He was in town."

  "In town?"

  Godfrey nodded and watched as Joe staggered towards his wife, his arms outstretched.

  "Oh...well," she said, looking relieved as Joe wrapped his arms around her and their young son, "thank you so very much for bringing him home."

  "It was no trouble."

  "EE'S A REEL GENTEELMAN THAT GODFREY, AIN'T HE, DARLING?"

  Mary nodded enthusiastically, pushing on her husband as he leaned against her and burped loudly.

  "Ehm...won't you come in and have some tea?"

  She smiled as Joe began kissing her neck, his lips working their way across her collarbone and up to her ear lobe.

  Godfrey couldn't help but return her smile. "No, I've got to get home. I still have some wood to chop today...figured I'd get it done while was nice out. But thank you. Next time for sure."

  The young mother managed a small smile as her husband turned around, his arm draped over her shoulders, and waved.

  "GOODBYE, GODFREY! T'ANK YOU! YOU'RE A REEL GENTEELMAN!"

  Joe's disposition had changed in the time since they'd arrived and he was now as awake and jovial as he had been on Main Street an hour earlier - even if his speech was still a little slurred.

  Godfrey issued a parting nod and he turned the wagon around.

  "That Godfrey sure is a real gent, ain't he, sweetheart?" he heard Joe say.

  This caused the young man to smile and he waved once more as he made his way back down the hill, Joe's alcohol-induced hiccups serenading him loudly as he went.

  "People are starting to talk, Godfrey."

  Leo only ever used his name when he was annoyed or angry about something.

  "About what?"

  "About your God damned pal, Joe Campbell!"

  "Ah, Leo, he ain't a pal of mine. He's just - "

  "Whatever. I don't want to hear it. Just know that people are starting to talk."

  Godfrey sighed and relaxed his shoulders. "I know...well, actually, I didn't know - but I can see why. Joe Campbell got us an audience in town the other day. He was thrown out of Stockton's - "

  Leo rounded on him. "The tavern? Is that stupid man still going to those places?"

  Godfrey nodded, ignoring his brother's angry stare. "Stockton's. The tavern. Yeah. He was making a scene and - "

  "I know what happened, Godfrey. When I took that sow over to the Olfert's yesterday, Susan Olfert told me all about it. She was there and she saw the whole thing. She didn't tell me he'd come from the tavern...though I guess with that fool I should have just assumed it."

  Leo gave a grunt as he pushed the branding iron deeper into the embers, moving it around so that the metal rod was enveloped by only the hottest spots.

  "So what do you want me to do about it? I can't help it if people gossip."

  "I think you should stay away from that man - and his family. That stunt you pulled last month - paying for his wife's groceries - "

  "That was a good thing I did," Godfrey replied angrily. "And you know damn well that was a good thing too."

  Leo said nothing, but instead stared at the branding iron as it began to glow a bright orange.

  Godfrey sighed a second time. "I'll try and keep away from Joe when he's been drinking. But I'm not making any promises. If he or Mary need help, then I plan to help them."

  "It's up to you," said Leo, removing the metal rod from the embers. In one swift move he approached the immobile cow and pressed it against the animals' side.

  Manning the tool that kept the cow's head in place, Godfrey had to pull hard to keep the animal from kicking and bucking too much.

  "There's a good girl."

  After half a minute the animal quieted and grew still and Godfrey was able to release it.

  "And that's how you brand a cow," said Leo smartly, removing the gloves from his hands and clapping them together so that a cloud of dust blew towards Godfrey.

  Chapter Eleven

  Dear Godfrey,

  Got your letter. Thank you. Kids are well. Your dad is thinking of taking the train out to visit you and your brothers. Maybe in January or February. I told him it will be cold out there at that time, but he didn't want to listen to me. You know how he is. So he may come or he may not.

  Your aunt Pauline and Martin are doing well. They came down for a visit in October. Martin's got himself a new job working for Shell and so he's moving them to Montreal. I guess I'll have somewhere to stay now when I go to the city.

  I hope Leo is keeping well. Did he receive the carton of maple syrup I sent you three?

  It was a good year this year and we've paid off our debts. Your father is very happy with things at the moment. He was considering selling - not sure if I told you - and moving us to Longueil. But he's decided that we'll stay here in St. Timothée - it's probably for the best. My cough has been acting up again and I'm not sure I have it in me to pack up an entire house and move to Longueil.

  We love you and miss you and all the kids say hello. Take care of yourself, my son. And I hope you'll come for a visit this summer.

  With love,

  Maman

  Chapter Twelve

  Wainwright, Main Street. Wednesday afternoon. A small parade rides through town. There's a Ford tractor, followed by a 1924 Ford Model T. Two men sit in the back of a 1922 Ford truck holding signs that read: "UFA and UFWA Constituency Association Annual Convention. Elite Theatre. Saturday. November 20." Four women walk alongside another truck carrying six sheep, each animal wearing a pink or blue sash - pink for the ewes and blue for the rams. The four women, one pair on each side of the truck, each carry a sign: "The Honourable George Headley, Minister of Agriculture, will be in attendance."

  "Should we go?" asked Godfrey as he and Leo watched the procession amble slowly by.

  The older of the two Leduc's shr
ugged. "Don't see the point. Don't like to waste my time with politics."

  He moved on, sucking on the candied apple he'd bought several minutes earlier at Billings' Bakery. Godfrey stood and watched until the last vehicle in the small convoy had disappeared behind a wall of wagons, animals, and harried farmers.

  Maybe he'd go, he thought as he resumed walking. Politics here in Alberta was much more grassroots than in Quebec. It was a new land. A clean slate. The rules were just being drawn up. Quebec was run by the Church. Three centuries of uninterrupted domination. Here he had the opportunity to do something. To get involved. And this pleased him.

  Chapter Thirteen

  "Snowshoes? What do you want them for? You planning on become an Injun? Is that it?"

  The man behind the register barked and wiped his runny nose. Tall and big-boned, with a double chin and thick glasses, Godfrey eyed the man with annoyance.

  "No, we use them in Quebec. You know Quebec?"

  The pudgy man folded his arms across his chest.

  "Sure, I know Quebec. That's where all you Frenchmen come from."

  Godfrey nodded stiffly. He wouldn't be returning to Townsend's if he wasn't welcome. It was unfortunate they were the only place in town that sold snowshoes.

  "Yeah. I'm French."

  The man unfolded his meaty arms and leaned against the counter.

  "I can tell by your accent."

  Offended, Godfrey smiled and stepped back from the counter. He glanced at another customer standing several feet away. The woman averted her eyes and Godfrey returned his attention to the clerk.

  "Are you the owner?"

  "No. He's not in."

  Godfrey gave a knowing nod. "Well, when he does come in, you tell him Godfrey Leduc came to buy a pair of snowshoes and that he found the service so poor he left."

  "Whoa, just hold on a second. I'm sorry, son. I didn't mean to -"

  "Don't call me son."

  The man pursed his lips, seeming to bite his tongue.

  "I'm sorry. Look, I was just yankin' your chain. Know what I mean? I got nothing against you Frenchmen."

  Godfrey inhaled sharply and lifted his head several inches.

  "I respect you Frenchmen actually. Good people. Very family oriented."

  Godfrey waved a hand dismissively. He'd grown impatient with the man.

  "Do you have snowshoes or not?"

  The man nodded. He was obedient now.

  "Alright. And can I buy a pair or not?"

  He caught the woman's eye as he said this and she gave him an approving smile.

  "I...yes...we've got snowshoes, friend. Here...I'll just go and get them. We keep them in the back."

  Godfrey nodded and folded his hands over his stomach.

  "I'll wait right here."

  "Yes, of course. I'll just be a minute."

  He scampered off, surprisingly fast on his feet for such a big fellow, Godfrey thought, and when he'd gone the woman beside him spoke.

  "Harold's always giving people trouble. Good of you to stand up to him."

  Godfrey couldn't help but blush.

  "That was nothing."

  She shrugged. "It was something. I tell you, I've seen him send people out of here in tears before. Only reason he's polite with me is because his son's courting my niece. God help me if they ever decide to marry."

  She smiled and Godfrey returned her smile as Harold lumbered back into the room, a pair of wooden snowshoes resting on his shoulder.

  "Here y'are," he said gruffly, setting them down on the countertop.

  "Good. How much?"

  "I don't know...let's say five dollars."

  "Five dollars? I'll give you three."

  Godfrey stared the man down, his confidence fully ripened by the woman's words. For a minute it seemed as though he wouldn't go for it.

  "Fine," he sighed, exhaling deeply. "Three dollars. But next time you pay full price."

  Godfrey shrugged. There wouldn't be a next time.

  "Sure."

 

  Chapter Fourteen

  Sunday. Mass has just ended and the Messier's, Lapalme's, Leduc's, Rajotte's, and LaFrance's have stayed behind to exchange news.

  "Yeah..."

  Henri Lapalme sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

  "Were there a lot of people at the funeral?" asked Marguerite Lafrance.

  Henri nodded. "Yeah. A lot of family I hadn't seen in years. Funny that, isn't it?"

  The Lafrance matriarch threw him a curious glance.

  "Funny how?"

  "Funny how a funeral is often the best reunion."

  Marguerite Lafrance smiled as one of her five daughters came up beside her and burrowed her face into her dress, clearly impatient to leave.

  "Yes. That's very true. When Claude passed we had a lot of family out from Quebec for the funeral."

  "Yes, I remember that actually."

  The woman nodded.

  "Are you tired, ma petite?"

  The girl retreated from her mother.

  "Yes. And I'm hungry too."

  "Well, we're going soon. Go and get your things - and tell Isabelle to find her hat!"

  The girl nodded and took off running, nearly knocking into the deacon as she flew past the rows of pews.

  "Kids, eh? They grow up so fast."

  Diana swooped in and planted a kiss on her husband's cheek.

  "How are you, Mrs. Lafrance?"

  "I'm doing very well. My knee is much better."

  "What happened to your knee?"

  "I was kicked. By Mario's horse."

  Diana's hand flew to her mouth.

  "Ay! When?"

  "In the summer time. In August. It's only just healing now. I can finally walk properly - but it does creak a bit first thing in the morning. Especially since it's gotten colder."

  "Oh no. What awful luck."

  "Eh. What can you do? Mario said I was lucky not to have been kicked in the ribs. That would have really done it."

  "That would have done it," said Henri. "I saw a guy last year who'd been kicked by a horse. Broke two ribs. He was in bed for six months."

  Marguerite looked horrified. "How would I look after the girls?"

  Diana shook her head in exasperation. "Well, thank the Lord you're alright."

  "Yes. Thank the Lord. Anyways, we should get going."

  She glanced over her shoulder as Isabelle and the girl who had been at her side earlier came up the aisle.

  "Have to get these two home and get dinner on."

  "Yes, us too," said Diana. "But we'll see you next Sunday I suppose."

  "Yes. Now that the farm's ready for winter, Mario can bring us every week."

  "He still doesn't want to come to Mass, eh?" Diana asked with a sly smile.

  "He'd be burned by the holy water. That man, I tell ya."

  Henri laughed.

  "He's not so bad, your husband there. He's a good guy. Hardworking fellow if you ask me."

  Marguerite scoffed as she wrapped an arm around her two girls.

  "Please! That's all he does is work!"

  "Who? Papa?"

  "Yes, ma petite."

  "There are worse habits for a man to have," Diana pointed out.

  She glanced at Henri.

  "Why are you looking at me!?" he demanded, his tone incredulous. "I don't have any bad habits."

  Diana raised her eyebrows. "No? How about your socks on the floor, your boots in the house, the - "

  "Alright, alright, alright. There's a few little things I do. But it ain't half as bad as others. Take Joe Campbell. The man spends more time drunk than sober."

  "Watch your tongue!" Diana hissed, waving an arm at the pews and the peaked ceiling above them.

  "Oops, sorry. Church."

  "I know what you mean though, Henri," said Marguerite as the two girls began pulling on her dress. "Arretes! Wow! You two are killing me today!"

  Diana threw the girls a maternal smile.

  "We'd better get going.
Mario's probably outside with the truck, anyway. We'll see you next Sunday."

  "Bye, Marguerite," said Diana warmly. "See you next Sunday."

  "My those girls can be a handful," she mused as they watched the Lafrance's leave the building.

  "Quite," said Antonia as she, Godfrey and Isaac came up beside them.

  "Poor woman. Five girls. And did you hear about her injury? She was kicked by a horse."

  "Kicked by a horse! Well I never!"

  "Yes. And Mario was telling her how she was lucky and all not to have been kicked in the ribs."

  "Kicked in the ribs? Could you imagine."

  Henri nodded. "Yeah, I was telling her about a guy I saw last year. He was kicked in the ribs. Spent six months in bed because of it."

  Antonia's eyes widened. "Six months in bed!? Goodness!"

  "Papa was kicked once," said Godfrey. "Remember, Isaac? Rodolphe damn near killed him."

  "That time when Benjamin was over and they were putting new horseshoes on him?"

  "That's right."

  "Yep. That horse got him pretty good. And these are Percherons we've got back home - none of these spindly prairie horses."

  Henri scoffed."Spindly prairie horses? How do ya mean? You ever see the horses them Bradley's got?"

  "No."

  "Well, let me tell you, they've got six kind of something. Must be Clydesdales - could be Belgians...whatever they are, they're the tallest horses you'll ever see."

  "Well, isn't that interesting," said Antonia, feigning interest, "but Diana and I would like to get going as we are famished. Goodness, Father McGrane's sermon dragged today, didn't it? No? It didn't? Is it just me?"

  Diana shook her head, smiling. "No, it's not just you. it was definitely longer than usual...my!" she exclaimed, glancing at the watch on her wrist, "it's nearly eleven."

  "We'd best get going then," said her husband mildly.

  "You're all coming to ours?" Diana asked, turning to face the others.

  "Yes - that's the plan, isn't it?"

  "Yes. Brunch at Chez Messier this week, brunch at ours next week."

  "Sounds good."

  Chapter Fifteen

  The first snowfall in the second week of December. It wasn't a lot - just a light dusting really - but it was enough to get Godfrey thinking about his snowshoes.

  By Christmas, I'll be able to take them out.

  And so he spent several days practicing putting them on and walking around the house, their wooden frames clapping loudly against the floor whenever he did so.