Janette Oke (10 page)

They returned home by train, anxious to tell their mother of their decision—but still burdened for their daddy. It would be many, many years before the fervent prayers for him would be answered.

Chapter Fourteen

Changes

Betty, the oldest, was the first to leave home. She was nudged into independence early because the family needed all the breadwinners possible. Though still in her teens, her wages were counted on to help out.

She took summer jobs keeping house and caring for children while their mothers worked outside the home. It was hard work for a young girl and meant a good deal of responsibility. But Betty was already familiar with caring for children and working hard.

One of her jobs was at the nearby town of Winfield. After being gone for a while, a short visit home became possible. And when she arrived, bringing gifts for the younger siblings, the family felt complete again.

All too soon it was time for Betty to return to her duties. But it turned out there was no one to take her back, and she was expected to be at work the next morning. In the end, she had to walk several miles along the railroad tracks, through heavy forest at night. When the dim lights of the farmhouse windows faded behind her, she was alone in the blackness.

Towering spruce crowded in closely to the thin ribbon of train track through an area where timber wolves, lynx, and cougars often had been sighted. Janette observed her mother's tenseness and knew that she was concerned about her oldest daughter. It was a puzzle to young Janette. Why did Betty have to go back—especially so late at night? And why did she have to walk in the dark? Surely she could have waited until there was a ride or at least until it was morning. But her anxious thoughts could not make the long miles any shorter for Betty, and her big sister did survive the rather frightening experience.

Betty was a good student, and after two years of working she returned to the local school. Since Harmonien only offered up to ninth grade, she then went to Rimbey for further education. Rimbey was not particularly far from home, and she found her stay fairly easy to endure because sister Jean went along and shared her accommodations.

One weekend, Janette and Margie were allowed to take the short train ride for a visit with their two older sisters in Rimbey. As they boarded in Hoadley, they were given their few cents of fare money with the explanation that the conductor would be around shortly to collect the coins.

The train lurched and then, slowly, the rhythmic chugging came faster and faster, and the girls watched familiar trees and landscape fall behind. Sitting firmly against the seat, Janette and Margie waited impatiently as the conductor made his way down the aisle, stopping to collect the fares from the few passengers who had boarded at the small whistle stop. He was a cheery man, and as he walked the shifting aisle he nodded his special hat this way and that. After a glance toward the girls he moved on, and Janette was left with her money getting warm and sticky in her clenched fist.

There was a stop at the town of Bluffton where passengers and freight were exchanged. Then the chugging began again until the train drew up alongside the water tower and the boiler was refilled with a great deal of accompanying hissing steam. Again they were off. The next stop was Rimbey, and the man with the hat had not yet taken their money.

Janette was older, so the burden of responsibility rested heavily upon her. Visions of her and Margie spending the rest of their lives in jail flashed through her mind. Her eyes darted around the railcar in search of a way out of the awkward situation.

When the train pulled into Rimbey, they both looked at the money still resting in Janette's hand and then into the other's eyes. What should they do? Should they just stay on the train until the fare had been collected? Did they dare to get off?

At last Janette took the fateful plunge. Gathering up the few belongings, she took Margie's hand and they made a run for it. Glancing back, they were surprised to find no one in hot pursuit.

But immediately the pair had another problem. The directions they had been given did not seem to work out. Perhaps they had gotten off the train on the wrong side, but whatever the reason, they walked first in one direction and then back again.

A man with a team and wagon pulled up beside them and asked where they were heading. They told him the name of the man at whose farm Jean and Betty made their little home, and he invited them to climb aboard. Soon they arrived in the proper place and, grateful for the stranger's help, were much relieved to find their sisters waiting in the small building they rented together.

Later they learned that children were often allowed to travel the rails free. But the dreadful worry they had experienced was difficult to put behind nonetheless.

Because of illness, Jean found the schooling situation in Rimbey too difficult, so she soon dropped out and went to work. Even though she was so young, her paycheck helped to supply necessities for the family.

However, Betty, after her stay for schooling in Rimbey, went on to Prairie Bible Institute, which seemed very far from the family home. Then she went to work at the creamery in Bluffton.

It was there she met George Cox, and they were married on Christmas Eve, 1945, when she was nineteen. Then she and Jean both spent some time working in nearby Bluffton.

One day Betty and Jean called home with a sad story. The woman who ran the local hotel had been hospitalized, and there were seven children in the family, the oldest only eleven.

Janette did not overhear the conversation when the decision was made, but when the girls came home they brought three children with them—Ronny, Teddy, and Patsy, the baby. This had not been the first time that Amy took in children, for one reason or another.

Ronny and Teddy did not stay long as other arrangements were made for them, but Patsy did. The family watched her celebrate her first birthday, learn to walk, and begin to talk. She became a “little sister,” and they all loved her dearly.

But the day inevitably came when things would change. It was both a good day and a bad day, for Patsy's mother finally was able to care for her little girl again, and yet it also meant that the Steeves family needed to give her up. And it was like losing a member of the family. Patsy did not even know her real mother, and cried as she was taken away, holding out her arms to Amy, calling, “Mama! Mama!”

It nearly broke Janette's heart. She retreated to the upstairs bedroom to cry, where a little sweater left behind just added to her grief. She wept for the little girl who had been like family and then had to be uprooted from their home.

They did not even dare visit Patsy until they were certain she had had time to adjust to her own home. At last the day was announced that they would call, and everyone went along for the visit.

Patsy may have adjusted, but she had not forgotten. Janette took her small hand and led her away to play together. Soon the little one's pleas brought tears to her eyes and pain to her heart when Patsy said clearly, “Bike, 'Nette. Home.” She wanted Janette to take her home on the bike. So the Steeves decided it was best for Patsy—and for their own adjustment—if they did not visit again.

One of Jean's jobs took her to Red Deer where she lived and worked at the Provincial Training School. There she made acquaintance with several girls. One good friend, Bernice Budd, had come from Rimbey.

It was during the time that Jean spent in Red Deer that the wonderful news burst across the radio waves and into every newspaper: The war was finally over and the boys were coming home.

Families gathered at railroad stations across the country, anxiously searching the crowds for the first glimpse of their own returning soldiers. Arms stretched wide to receive them; men pounding their backs in strong hugs, and women weeping with joy against their soldiers' weary shoulders.

Among them was Orville, Bernice's older brother, who had been one of the first to enlist and had served overseas in Communications. Bernice took Jean home for a visit, and while she was there, Jean met Orville. There was immediate mutual interest. At least, that was how the family perceived it when Jean then brought Orville to meet her own family.

The warm smile and quick wit of Jean's dashing young man made him easy to like, and he quickly earned approval. The couple had met near the first of the year in 1946 and was married on June 23.

Even though these two older sisters had not been around much for a number of years, their weddings following each other in such quick succession meant they had homes of their own and would no longer be coming “home” as often. And when they did, they would not come alone.

Christmas, too, showed changes, and though there was often company, there came a year when the Steeves found themselves alone and their numbers diminishing. Perhaps Amy looked forward to a less eventful Christmas, though her love for company made that doubtful, but Janette felt it was a strange celebration with the house so quiet.

The saving events were the annual Christmas programs that could be counted on as part of the season year after year. The local church usually had a special program, and the schools always put on a pageant. There were recitations, small plays, songs, and skits. Everyone in the school was involved in the presentation, and if ever one was to have a new outfit of clothes, it would be for the school program. Janette often found herself reveling in the feel of a new dress that night.

During Janette's earlier school years, the family had traveled by team and sleigh to those events. Everyone in the area did. Fred would spread straw on the bottom of the sleigh, and Amy would load the blankets. Then the family bundled up and snuggled down on the straw.

As they rode, they sang songs and told stories and watched the dark skies for shooting stars or Northern Lights. And there were little spats about who had the most covers, who was taking the most room, or who was smothering someone else by crowding.

The trip to the program usually could be managed without too much ado, but the trip home was sometimes less than a scene from Currier and Ives. By the time the horses pulled in at the front gate, some kids would be crying from cold and exhaustion, and Amy would be vowing she would never again make the mistake of dragging all the offspring out into the December cold for the sake of a community concert. But she always did.

At the school there were pre-Christmas fundraisers, so each student would receive a small gift and all children attending would be given a bag of candy. To the accompaniment of much merrymaking and laughter, Santa was always there to distribute the goodies and tease blushing young girls by coaxing for a kiss on his whiskered cheek before he would hand over their booty.

The entertainment itself was unsophisticated but enjoyable. Especially when little unplanned and unforeseen incidents spiced up the show a bit. Little occurrences such as someone stepping off the make-shift stage, or tripping over a cord, or catching a foot on the sheets that served as curtains would be remembered well after the choice of songs was forgotten.

All the children did their little parts, gave the bow or curtsy as they had been taught, and scurried off the stage, glad to have it over but pleased with themselves as well.

At one such program it was Janette's turn to recite “The Twins.” Her teacher had been impressed with her performance during practice and could hardly wait for the recitation, expecting the crowd to enjoy it. Since the poem was written from a male perspective, Janette was dressed as a man and had practiced changing her voice in appropriate fashion. It would be fun to ham it up a little.

After the proper introduction fanfare, Janette began quoting the poem, which went well enough. Then to her horror, her mind went blank! She scrambled and floundered and the poor teacher coached, but the whole recitation became a miserable flop. Janette was only too glad to escape from the stage.

After the night's applause had faded and people were clustering to give their congratulations and comments of the evening, the teacher searched out Janette and asked what had happened. There was little she could answer. Stage fright? Nerves? The poem had simply left her—and it never returned in later years in its entirety, though she mentally groped for it and even refreshed her memory by reviewing it. It stubbornly refused to be relearned and only snatches of it ever come back to mind, just as it was on that awful night.

After the Christmas concert, lunch was served. All the mothers brought sandwiches or cake, and coffee was made in a big boiler on the potbellied school stove. The blaze heated not only the coffee but the entire room as well, especially when the small schoolhouse was packed tightly on concert night. Still, on such cold winter nights no one complained.

Chapter Fifteen

Striking Out Alone

Shortly after the marriage of Jean and Orville, eleven-year-old Janette was asked to move in with the newlyweds, as Jean found herself quite lonely and suffering from morning sickness. Janette attended seventh grade that year at Monte Vista, another small country school. From then on, she lived at home only on and off. For one reason or another, she found herself staying with someone in her extended family—often for reasons having to do with school. Because of this she missed much of young Joyce's growing-up years. It was also during this time that the last Steeves' daughter, Sharon, was added to the family. Since Betty, the first daughter, already had a small son, the baby girl was born an auntie.

Sharon arrived while Janette was still staying with Jean and Orville. The plump, dark-haired baby was a change from the previous Steeves children. The others had arrived with not much hair at all, whereas this new family member had lots of it. Then, a few days after Sharon arrived, Jean gave birth to her first baby, a boy. So Steve and Sharon grew up more like cousins than aunt and nephew.

After spending the following year with Jean and Orville, Janette was back in the Harmonien school, surrounded by past friends. It was wonderful to be home again.

One of these childhood friends who became special to her in this period of time was Helen Eliason. She was a few years older than Janette and an only child. To a young girl in the middle of a pack of eight, Janette thought Helen had gotten all the breaks. At the same time, she realized that she would not have enjoyed being all alone in the family.

Helen's father had wanted a boy, and Helen seemed to share his feelings. She didn't care for skirts and hardly ever wore dresses. There had been one dress, a dainty yellow one with beautiful frills, row after row, but Helen wore the dress only for very special—and rare—occasions, and Janette felt her friend never fully appreciated how lovely it was. The rest of the time Helen wore pants. Once jeans came into fashion for farm kids, she rarely wore anything else.

Helen had a pony that she rode wherever she went, and it seemed she was on the road a great deal of the time, running errands for her mother and father and visiting friends.

Since she preferred working outside, Helen was not required to do many household chores. But that was no problem, for her mother managed just fine without her, keeping a spotlessly clean house and cooking the best of Scandinavian food.

Janette loved to visit the home, and it helped that Mrs. Eliason was openly fond of her. Every time she was invited for dinner, the kind woman cooked Janette's favorite dishes: Swedish meatballs and tiny potatoes steamed in their jackets, pastries and fat blueberries smothered in rich farm cream.

Mrs. Eliason was a plump, cheerful woman who told stories of her younger years with a flare that made them fascinating. She always wore a kerchief tied over her thin gray hair and a big bib apron, clean and crisp, pinned to the bodice of her housedress and neatly tied in the back. Janette loved her so dearly that later if there was one person from her youth to whom Janette would have loved to show her first published story, it was Mrs. Eliason.

Helen and Janette spent hour after hour “pretending” with their own versions of “cowboys and Indians”—they were “wild west nuts,” drawing most of their knowledge of the subject from western comics. Helen had the advantage of more spending money than Janette and amassed comic books by the score, removing the colorful covers and mounting them in scrapbooks.

Helen was even allowed to go to western movies on occasion and retold the entire plot to Janette as soon as the two could get together again. Then they lived the characters. Helen was always Roy Rogers, and Janette was allowed to be Gene Autry or Dale Evans, according to Helen's dictates. Janette always went along with whatever Helen said. After all, Helen was the authority. But the creative efforts were always enjoyable for Janette as their intricate plots unfolded.

Janette did manage to get a few of the comic books herself and, following Helen's lead, put the covers with the glorious pictures of smiling Roy and Dale into a scrapbook. Their big white hats and flashing outfits in blues, reds, or whites were bedecked with long fringes and sequins, and the girls often compared pictures and drooled over the finery.

Helen had elaborate plans of becoming a writer—of westerns, of course. Janette listened and smiled, never allowing herself to share her own private dreams of writing someday. At the time, the dream seemed far too remote and impossible.

But Helen was serious. She filled notebooks with her stories, with much encouragement from her parents.

Meanwhile, Janette contented herself with reading all the books she could get her hands on. Since the school had little in the way of a library, books were precious indeed. The students brought their own books from home, exchanging them with one another and faithfully returning them to the owners.

Westerns were popular, and when Janette borrowed a new one and brought it home, Fred and Amy would often manage to sneak enough time to read it too, before it was returned.

As much as Janette and Helen loved their make-believe world—the West—they did not realize at the time that the characters presented in the comics and books were phony—that the white-hatted, white-fringed, sequin- and satin-bedecked good guys fighting against grubby, cattle-stealing, black-hatted bad guys did not really exist. Neither in the Canadian West, nor in America either.

Janette loved her farm life. And one of the best parts of that life was the animals—especially the horses. Perhaps some would say that a farm wasn't very exciting—but country kids seem to generate their own excitement. And for Janette, it was enough to have family for games, cousins who visited, friends who dropped by on long summer evenings, and horses to ride whenever she pleased.

Of the horses kept at the Steeves farm, Trix was one of Janette's favorites, even though he could not entirely be trusted. He was black with white markings and had so much energy that he never walked, he always pranced. The family used Trix exclusively in harness for fieldwork, but there was a young neighbor man who had taken quite a fancy to him and wished to buy him for “showing off” on the road. When he came to the farm for a trial ride, it was the first that Janette had seen a rider on Trix. She expected the horse to buck—but instead he pranced around, throwing his head in an attempt to survey the rider and saddle, as if they were some strange new harness that had settled over him. His coat glistened in the summer sun as he sidestepped and danced on nimble feet. Convinced that Trix would make a good saddle horse, the young man made another offer—but Fred just shook his head. Trix was not for sale, and Janette was able to continue enjoying him herself.

The Steeves children were allowed to harness and drive Trix only after they had learned to handle horses well, but even then he sometimes got the best of them. They learned that if he was paired with a slower, steadier horse he could behave, but if he was teamed with the wrong mate, he did not need much of an excuse to run away.

One cold winter day, June and some of the others had taken the closed sleigh and set off into the crisp sunshine. Since the prickling cold air crept even under their blankets and through their clothing, some of the riders had pulled off their shoes to warm their feet by rubbing them. It was just then that Trix and his teammate, Nell, bolted. June lost control, the horses made a quick turn, and the sleigh lurched and spilled. The young people tumbled out into the snow with only their stockings to protect them from the icy drifts. Their shoes were still tucked inside the blankets of the sleigh as it was whisked along behind the runaway horses. In the end they bundled themselves as best they could and began the walk back home, arriving with feet bright red but thankfully with no permanent damage done.

Another of the horses that Janette and her siblings used often was Midnight, a half Shetland with a white star on his forehead. Used both to ride and in harness, Midnight was as smart as a whip, and ornery besides. He seemed particularly well suited for harness, though small, and could do his fair share of the work. If he were ridden, he was full of tricks, and often seemed to remember his riders much better than they knew their horse, reacting to each in a way that brought the most upset.

With Jean his trick was to rear up. He had done so once, and she had panicked, slipping his bridle and letting him go home on his own. Since it had worked then, he tried it again. From then on Jean rode Midnight only occasionally.

More often, Jack and Janette rode him to school, and there were a few occasions when they hit the ground rather unexpectedly. Once Janette even landed on her metal lunch kit. With the throb in her side, it was easy for Janette to harbor some ill feelings toward this horse.

On another school day, Janette was alone on Midnight. The snowplow had been through the area and had left a little pile of snow near a neighbor's gate. Midnight, who had been plugging right along up to that point, suddenly threw up his head and glared at the small heap of snow. He stopped, snorted, and refused to take one more step. Janette urged him, kicked him, and then slapped him with the reins, but he would take no more steps forward. Instead, he backed up step by step until he had retreated right into the ditch.

The farmhouse door opened, and a young neighbor fellow called out, “Do you need some help?”

At the sound of a voice Midnight's ears flicked forward. Then he looked directly at the neighbor, started forward, and walked right over the very pile of snow that he had been making such a fuss about. Janette, fully embarrassed, would have gladly sent him off to the meat packers on the spot had anyone offered.

There were other instances when Midnight showed a streak that was as stubborn as a mule. While Janette was riding him to Hoadley one day she met a cream truck coming toward her. A young man was driving, and Janette, a teenage girl, was tired of being placed in awkward positions by the stubborn horse. Again for some reason, Midnight stopped right in the middle of the road and stared at the truck, refusing to take one step out of its way.

Janette was mortified. The driver was forced to stop and wait, then to call and see if Janette needed any help with the horse. At last, Midnight decided that he'd had enough of the sport, and moved off to the side. Janette, a deep blush hot on her face, averted her eyes as the driver pulled past her and was finally on his way.

At the opposite extreme, Midnight also loved to run. If another horse were around he immediately assumed it was a race, though he was a notoriously poor sport. If he got ahead he would often cut in front of the other horse to slow him down. If he got behind he showed his displeasure by starting to buck. In fact, he had earned sufficient reputation locally that some of the neighborhood boys felt they might like to take on the challenge of riding him. Claude Estelle traveled a number of miles out of his way home from school one day just so he could try his horsemanship on Midnight. Shifting the saddle from his own horse onto Midnight's back, Jack and Janette were left to ride Claude's horse bareback. The skinny old nag had a sharp backbone and no plump padding to cushion the ride. They realized then that for as much as Midnight lacked in discipline, his rounded sides certainly beat Claude's horse for comfort.

Fred, too, would sometimes ride the little black horse. One winter day, some of the livestock had strayed and Fred needed to begin looking for them. Midnight was small and there were many drifts of snow across the roads, but Fred chose him and set off, though his legs hung low on either side, almost dragging on the crests of the drifted snow.

They had been out for quite a while and Fred began to feel sorry for the poor, tired little mount beneath him. He had been making it just as easy on the pony as he could, noticing that Midnight was trudging with his head low, his steps slow and laborious.

Suddenly, without warning, Midnight shied right out from under him, and Fred was astounded to find himself standing on his own two feet. So the once sympathetic rider decided that if Midnight still had enough life in him for such a bolt, the two could hurry just a bit faster on the way home.

During one summer's rush to bring in crops and hay, Janette was given the job of driving a team made up of Midnight and Trix, while Jack and Fred performed the more strenuous work on the stack. They were haying a field at a neighbor's farm where the train track ran right through the field. Since the Steeves lived some distance from the tracks, their horses were not at all accustomed to the sound of the train.

Janette was operating the rake, a rather dangerous implement if one happened to lose one's seating and take a tumble. Jack was up on the stack, and Fred was forking hay up to him. Just then along came the train with its clacking wheels and shrill whistle.

Trix and Midnight lurched, and Janette, who was just a young teen and not overly experienced, was sure she would be unable to restrain them. Instantly, her muscles tensed and she instinctively worked to hold in the horses. All action on the stack stopped as Fred and Jack both turned full attention to her plight, knowing they were too far away to be any assistance. As the clatter and racket continued, Trix and Midnight lurched and pranced, hooves dancing and ears twitching at the strange noise. Miraculously, Janette won the struggle and was soon able to settle them down. Later, Jack teased her about wanting to put on a show, but Janette was sure he'd been somewhat proud of her, even though he would probably not be willing to say so.