Ticket to Curlew (10 page)

ON MONDAY PA
rode off on Rabbit to organize people to bring the horses in.

“You children will just have to miss a day of school,” he said. “It's a pity but I don't see any help for it.”

Mama did not seem sorry that they would all be home for the day. She had a gleam in her eye.

“This is our chance to do a big washing,” she said. “All winter I've just kept us decent but not properly clean. I'm going to wash all the quilts as well as the sheets and clothes. There's a good drying wind blowing. I'll need all of you to help.”

Sam pumped pail after pail of water and lugged it up to the house. Matt grated the bar soap and dissolved it in warm water. Josie stood on a chair and stirred the washing in the big wash boiler while it heated on the stove. Mama used a stick to lift the wet clothes from the steaming water into the washtub. Then she and Sam took turns scrubbing them on the washboard.

They put the smaller things through the hand-cranked wringer, but the quilts were too thick to go through so the two of them had to twist the heavy fabric between them.

Clotheslines full of wet laundry stretched from the house to the barn by lunch time. Sheets and towels, quilts and pillowcases, shirts and dresses all flapped in the brisk spring wind.

Mama looked at the sky. “Most things will dry by dark,” she said. “The quilts can stay out overnight if necessary. It's not going to rain tonight.”

They had bread and cheese and canned tomatoes for lunch. They didn't expect Pa home till later, so they just sat down and ate. They all felt that they had done a good morning's work.

Sam was just going to ask Matt if he wanted to walk up to the little valley when he heard the sound of the gate.

“That must be Pa,” he said. Then he heard it again. “No, it's somebody having trouble with the latch. I'll see who it is.” He jumped up and opened the door.

Beyond the bright rows of laundry he could see the farm gate. And at the gate stood King. He was reaching his head over the gate and pushing with his chest to make the latch rattle.

Pa has brought King home, thought Sam. He looked beyond King and there were Goldie and Pete. No Pa.

Sam felt swamped with joy. He wanted to shout but his voice was stuck in his throat.

King, however, was not speechless. He lifted his head and whinnied. Then he pushed against the gate again.

“Look, everyone,” said Sam finally. “King has decided to come home.”

They all came to the door. “Don't rush out,” said Sam. “Pa said to take it easy. They might act kind of wild. But we can welcome them. Mama, is there any apple butter left?”

Mama spread bread thickly with apple butter. Sam took a piece and walked slowly down to the gate. He was going to take it very easy. He would not be disappointed if King wasn't friendly right away.

But King was leaning farther over the gate, reaching out with his lips, ready to nuzzle up the treat Sam was holding.

Sam laughed. “Oh, King,” he said. “I'm glad you're back. Do you mind being King? It's your new name.”

King pushed against the gate again and looked straight at him.

“I guess it's all right with you,” said Sam.

Goldie and Pete came over wanting a treat, too, and Josie and Matt were ready with more bread and apple butter. Mama came to rub the noses of all the horses.

“It does seem right to have them back,” she said. “We'll let them in but we'll have to tie them to the fence until the laundry is dry. You children can bring them some oats. They must be hungry.”

Josie and Matt brought oats in pails and Sam got the curry comb. King looked a bit thin, but he was still sturdy. His coat was thick and rough, almost shaggy. A coat for a prairie winter. Sam worked for a long time combing out the tangles and burrs.

Mama came out to check the laundry. “I wonder why he came home now,” she said.

“I think he saw the laundry,” said Matt. “It's like flags. Maybe it reminded him of us.”

“I think he got to remembering home after he saw Sam and Pa,” said Josie. “What do you think, Sam?”

Sam looked at King standing there so calmly. He remembered this horse racing across the prairie leading the herd with his mane flying.

“I think he wanted to come home when he decided to come. He didn't want to be brought. Did you, King?”

King nickered a little and nuzzled Sam's shoulder.

“He seems to like his new name,” said Josie. “It's kind of funny how easy it was to change to King.”

“That's because it's the right name,” said Sam. “Mama, could I go for a ride?”

Mama hesitated. Then she smiled. “Yes,” she said. “But don't go far. Remember, King has to get used to our ways again.”

Sam knew she, too, was thinking of a wild horse galloping across the prairie. But King seemed perfectly happy to canter gently along. As they went west along the wagon track, Sam thought of all the places they could go. All the places they would go. The pond, the buffalo wallow, the little valley, Gregor's house. And town. And school. Maybe he would find more buffalo skulls or something even better. There was no telling.

Sam looked at the blue sky and at the newly green prairie grass. Suddenly he saw that the grass was so thick with tiny purple flowers that it seemed to reflect the sky.

“Oh, King,” said Sam. “If we rode straight on maybe the earth would just melt into the sky.”

But instead of heading for the sky, Sam and King turned around and headed home.

TICKET TO CURLEW
was inspired by stories my father, Roger Barker, told me about his early years in Alberta. His father, Guy Barker, had bought land south of Provost when it was opened up by the railroad, and in 1915 the family went to live and farm on that land. My father was a very good storyteller and his tales of finding buffalo skulls out on the prairie, of helping his father build a house for the family to live in and, especially, the stories of his horse stayed in the back of my mind as I grew up.

These stories were awakened when I lived in Regina, Saskatchewan, under the prairie sky, as Writer in Residence at the Regina Public Library, and I decided that they would be a good basis for a novel. The town of Curlew is based on Provost but it is a fictional town, named after a bird that lives in the prairie grasses. Similarly, the family is somewhat like my father's family but the Ferriers come out of my imagination. The horse, however, is as true to my father's real horse as I could make him.

In gathering more material for the novel I especially benefited from reading the early issues of the
Provost Star
(now the
Provost News
), from my mother's memories of more of my father's stories and from the horse expertise of my friend, Taryn de Vos.

Celia Barker Lottridge
2007

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