Outcasts of River Falls (3 page)

Kathryn glanced down at her beautiful dress, then at the stone fireplace. “You want me to light the fire? I’m not really attired for it.”

Her aunt appraised her niece’s fine clothes, then went to one of the kitchen cupboards and opened the door. Hanging on the back was a long pinafore apron which she held out to Kathryn. “That should help. I would suggest you put away that frilly rig and find yourself something more practical.”

With a supreme effort, Kathryn held her tongue as she yanked the ugly apron down over her head before stomping to the fireplace. Her aunt was proving somewhat of a trial.

Lighting the kindling soon turned into a challenge. At first, Kathryn stood back and threw lit matches at the wood. This didn’t work at all. The matches simply went out. Edging closer, she held the tiny flame to the broken branches, which resulted in smoke and burnt fingers. She decided something more combustible was needed, something that would catch fire immediately.

Eyeing the tidy room, Kathryn spied a newspaper on the table between the chairs. She grabbed it and scanned the date: over a week old. Perfect! Balling it up, she stuffed the newspaper under the wood. Holding a match to the paper, she was rewarded as it caught with a whoosh.

Smiling, she watched the bright flames curl fiery fingers around the twigs which finally gave in and flared to life. By the time her aunt brought the tea, there was a cheery blaze in the hearth and Kathryn felt quite pleased with herself.

“Here we are. Have a seat, Katy.” Her aunt set the tray down on the table between the chairs, then turned about as though seeking something. “Did you see my newspaper?”

Kathryn slumped into the chair. Lighting wood was hard work. “Yes, I used it to start the fire.”

Her aunt stopped. “You what?”

“The ridiculous kindling wouldn’t burn. I needed something that would. The paper was a week old anyway.” She fanned her sweaty brow.

Slowly and thoughtfully, her aunt reached out to pour the tea. “I think we should have that talk now as things in River Falls are quite different from what you are used to. First, that paper may have been a week old to some, but it was brand new to me. I acquired it when one of the ladies I sew for was going to throw it out. I know back in Toronto, newspapers are common. Out
here
, they’re a special treat.”

The way she emphasized the word
here
, made Kathryn wonder what was so special about this shanty town she’d landed in. From what she’d seen, they were truly backwoods and rustic. For goodness sake – these people used
outhouses!

“Katy, your father was a very good and reasonable man, except he wanted more than he could have at home. While
he was growing up, his dream was to become rich, get no
ticed. The problem was something stopped him, something he had no control over.” She picked up her cup. “He was born Métis.”

There was that word again. Kathryn raised her chin,
rather bravely, she thought. “I don’t believe that. My fa
ther wasn’t like you. His skin was light and his hair blonde, like mine.”

Her aunt took a deep breath. “The Métis are a mixed-blood people. We are part Indian and part European. In our family’s case, we have French roots which go back to your great-great-grandfather who came to Canada in search of furs. He sold these valuable pelts to the North West Company and then the Hudson’s Bay. As time went on, he fell in love with an Indian woman and they married. Their children were the first Métis in our family. What this means is that we can have either Indian or European characteristics or a mix of both. Patrice had French roots, true, but he was only half French; the other half was Cree and that meant many doors were closed to him. He couldn’t stand this and so he ‘passed’ for full-blooded white.”

All of this was news to Kathryn, a revelation, one she didn’t want to be true. Her former friends at school thought there was something tainted about being of mixed blood. She’d read
Uncle Tom’s Cabin
, clandestinely with certain other novels and penny dreadfuls not approved of by the nuns, and she’d heard how the Negroes and mulattos of the United States were treated. It was terrible and that wasn’t for her. She liked being white, completely white. And she had enough grief in her life, so much, in fact, that she could be the lead character in a Greek play. In all decency and humanity, her aunt should stop talking this nonsense – but there was a detail unanswered that piqued Kathryn’s curiosity.

“Thank you for the history lesson, Aunt Belle, but you haven’t explained how the Métis ended up, well, where they are now.”

“You mean living in the fringes of society – unwashed and unwanted?” Her aunt’s eyebrow rose rather wryly. “After the loss at Batoche, we were branded renegades. The Métis had no choice, my dear. With no place to call home, they were forced to live on the road allowances, the land adjacent to the roads which is owned by the government. Kathryn, we are known as the
Road Allowance People
.”

Kathryn felt the earth tilt on its axis. “You’re
outcasts!
You live in the ditches? Impossible!” She thought of her life at the private boarding school and of her large home with Mrs. Maples, the cook, and their gardener, Old Sam,
who tended the lawns and flower beds. She missed her fa
ther terribly and wished with all her heart he were here with her. If only she could fall into a deep sleep to be awakened at some future time when a prince’s kiss would save her from all this.

“Sadly, this is true.” Her aunt went on. “We have lived on the road allowances for years, and I believe we will continue to live on them for many more. We have families that must be raised and it is preferable to moving around in tents and wagons like gypsies.”

Faced with this latest blow, Kathryn was appalled...again. “But I’m not like you. I’m not one of you, you...
Ditch People
.” Her voice rose. This wasn’t happening to her, it couldn’t be. “I’m no vagabond squatter. There must be a mistake.”

“No, my dearest. There is no mistake. You will stay with me and I will do my very best to provide a decent life. I will care for you, as though you were my own daughter.” Her lips quivered a tiny bit. “It is all I have to offer, and yet it also everything I have to give.”

Kathryn shook her head defiantly. “I won’t stay. I don’t belong here. I must return to Toronto as soon as possible.”

First she’d lost her only living parent, her beloved papa, which was almost too much to bear; then she discovered she was not what she had been raised to believe she was, the daughter of an English mother and a father... Well, now that she thought about it, her papa had been rather vague about his roots. She was a mixed-blood Métis and she had to face the prospect of being one of these Ditch People, these outcasts!

And the tragedies didn’t stop at that. There was the en
velope she had wrested from Sister Bernadette’s hand – Kathryn knew what it contained: a few crumpled bills, her entire inheritance. The lawyers had made sure she wasn’t burdened with any debt; unfortunately, there had been virtually nothing left after the dust settled. Life was so unfair. To have
all this dropped on her frail and delicate shoulders....

Slumping under the unjust weigh of her misfortunes, she closed her eyes and imagined her future, filled with dirt and despair. If it would do any good, she would have fallen to weeping.

A bright and radiant image of her idol, Clara Brett Martin, shone in her mind.

Clara Brett Martin would not simply sit and let misfortune overtake her, no, she would fight back! Setting her cup down so firmly that it rattled in the pretty flowered saucer, Kathryn cleared her throat. “This is all unacceptable. I want to go home now.” She covered her eyes with the back of her hand to dramatically emphasise her point. “This is a nightmare I shan’t bear!”

Her aunt sipped her tea and then calmly put down the china cup and stood. “You’re tired after your long day. You should sleep and we’ll talk more in the morning.”

After all her aunt’s brutal revelations, the mention of sleep immediately flooded Kathryn with exhaustion. It had been an arduous four-day trip and she’d been on the train since early that morning, not to mention how her bones ached from the savage cart ride and hauling that back breaking trunk. Sleep, deep and numbing, erasing all her cares, would be wonderful.

“My room is up there,” her aunt pointed and it was then that Kathryn saw what she had taken for the shadowed ceiling of the kitchen was actually the floor of a small loft. It faced out over the living room and was open except for a log rail across the front edge. Tucked away at the back of the tiny open room, she saw a bed and dresser, a chair and a washstand.

“Then, where do I...”

Kathryn’s words trailed off as Aunt Belle motioned across the room, toward a darkened corner near the fireplace. “It’s not built yet, but soon you’ll have a bedroom of your very own right over here.” She stood and moved behind the ornate, high-backed sofa.

Kathryn followed and saw a narrow white iron bedstead in an intricate butterfly pattern, a tiny side table with a lamp and a low chiffonier, all of which she had failed to notice before.

“You can put your things in the dresser and the beautiful bed has a real mattress. Everything’s new from the Eaton’s catalogue.” Her aunt smoothed the patchwork spread. “I made the quilt myself. I hope you like the pattern – double wedding ring, an old favourite of mine.”

Kathryn felt her spirits sink even lower. “I’m going to sleep in the middle of the room?”

Aunt Belle’s forehead furrowed. “It’s hardly the middle of the room, dear, and I’ve arranged for work to be done. You must realise it’s not easy, Katy. My friends, who will help for free and donate the materials needed at no charge, must feed their families first and make a living before they take time from their very long day to build you a private room.”

Her aunt’s tone was chastising; then she rubbed the back of her neck as though in pain. “I’m sorry. All this must be a shock for you and we’re both tired.” She shared a small smile. “I’ll see what I can do about speeding up your room. Until then, we’ll have to make do.”

Together they dragged the heavy trunk over near the wall of the imaginary room and while Kathryn sat de
spondently on the bed, her aunt brought a glass of warm
milk before kissing her on the cheek. “Good night, Katydid.
I’m very glad you’ve come to stay.”

Kathryn fumed. First Katy and now Katydid! She was being addressed as a stick insect! How could this be happening? She felt like she’d sinned and this was her penance. Sister Bernadette must be laughing all the way back to Toronto!

Her gaze alighted on the steamer trunk. There was no way she would unpack her things. She wasn’t going to stay that long. This was not her home and never would be. Somehow she had to find the forty-two dollars to pay her passage back to her old life, her real life.

Setting the glass down on the small bedside table, Kathryn threw open the trunk lid, and lovingly lifted out her most precious possessions – her wonderful books. With great care, she arranged them neatly side by side on the plank floor; their spines aligned like a row of colourful soldiers. She knew a magical secret about books. They could free you from the darkest dungeon. While she was imprisoned here, she would escape into their pages and live in a kingdom of dreams.

There were wondrous stories of knights who slew dragons for fair maidens, and heroes who vanquished monsters to save damsels in distress. These tales of chivalry were Kathryn’s favourite and she loved the idea of a brave knight riding in to the rescue. That’s what she needed, a white knight who could carry her away from this hovel to a castle with turrets and fancy dress balls and...

But that was only in fairy stories. You couldn’t hire a white knight like you could a cook or a gardener.

Kathryn grabbed her nightdress and then remembered that the bathroom was somewhere out there, in the dark. She groaned. “Aunt Belle, I need to use the... lavatory. Where exactly is it?” She could hear the trepidation in her
voice, then reasoned that who in their right mind wouldn’t
be fearful of the unknown horrors that waited in the dark of the outhouse.

Her aunt pointed out the window. “Down the path through the pines. You should take a lantern, Katy. We wouldn’t want you falling in, now would we?”

Kathryn peered into the stygian blackness and swallowed. “Impossible!”