A bright eye, trust and round as a rowan berry, looked straight into mine. My heart gave a jump of delight

The boys woke up as daylight crept through the window.

Soon sunlight flooded the cabin. I looked out on an enchanted land of white snow.

Here and there the dark contrast of vertical spruce trees broke the horizontal whiteness. Above, the sky was speedwell blue.

Lost in a greater light than theirs, the burning flames, so brilliant a few hours ago, were now almost invisible. lt was impossible to be downhearted.

The children couldn’t wait to get outside. I was cautious.

lt was cosy in the house but I knew how cold it was beyond the wooden door.

I wrapped them up as warmly as I could and pushed open the screen door leading into the porch.

On the ledge that ran above us round the porch something moved and caught the corner of my eye.

I looked more closely and a bright eye, trusting and round as a rowan berry, looked straight into mine. My heart gave a jump of delight. “Look boys,” I said, pointing upwards. The creature moved quickly and with agility to the farthest dark corner. It took the boys a moment or two before they saw it.

“Mummy, Mummy, what is it?” Richard said in an excited voice.

“It’s a squirrel of some kind,” I said in a sort of hushed awe anxious not to scare it away.

“Isn’t it pretty?” It was a handsome creature, rather like the Scottish squirrel but larger. It had a glossy coat and a gloriously bushy tail. It didn’t seem to be at all in awe of us and not a bit frightened.

It became one of our very few friends in this, our first Canadian home. I went out with the boys into the sunlight. We walked up the narrow trail and heard hammering sounds among the spruce trees – the busy beaks of woodpeckers searching for food.

From the top of the trail one could see for a long way. I stretched my eyesight to the outer limits looking for another dwelling.

Apart from the Muller’s log cabin, there was nothing – absolutely nothing. I wondered if our nearest neighbours lived in the reserve which, Muller had mentioned, started several miles away.

“There are two reserves near here,” he had said while driving us to Redwoods.

Quick lunch

At noon Ronald came in for a quick lunch.

Muller had said he could have an hour off at midday but Ronald thought he had better not take so long, as there was still a lot to do in the dairy. I didn’t see him again until eight that evening. On the second evening at Redwoods, it wasn’t until after we had our picnic tea from a cloth spread on the bare boards of the kitchen floor and the boys were tucked up for the night, that Ronald and I had time to take stock of our position.

Looking on the bright side, we both agreed that at least we had shelter, were warm and had enough to eat.

When Maud Muller had delivered the mattresses, the previous evening, she had said to me, before rushing off into the night, “I go into Red Deer every morning with the milk at 7am. On Tuesdays I get groceries from the store as soon as it opens.

“On that day you can come with me and get what you need.” Then she had disappeared like a wraith. Maud Muller was a small woman and gave the impression of fragility which must have been erroneous. Her quick movements reminded me of nothing so much as an over-anxious bantam.

Beneath this exterior I sensed a kindness that she had to keep cooped up.

Ronald now settled down more comfortably into the couch.

“How are you going to get to a doctor or a dentist?” he asked anxiously.

“Don’t worry about that,” I told him, “I’ll mention it to Mrs Muller on Tuesday.” Ronald, looking on the bright side, remarked, “The kids seem happy enough.” “Yes they are,” I said.

“They really are. They enjoyed themselves today. They like the novelty of picnics on the floor and sleeping on mattresses. Kids are versatile. They don’t need much to be happy. As long as we don’t make too much fuss about things, they’ll accept almost anything and, of course, as long as we love them.”

Ronald agreed with this piece of unexpected philosophy. We turned our discussion to our new home. “It’s remarkably warm,” Ronald said. “I’ve discovered one of the reasons,” I said. “Look,” I pointed to the small square curtainless window. “A touch of class here – pink toilet paper!” All round the frame of the window, where it had been fitted into the wall, tissue had been stuffed into the cracks.

Ronald laughed.

Insulation

In fact, everywhere we looked – wherever there was the slightest crack or cranny, toilet paper had been neatly squeezed in to act as insulation. No finger of frost could poke its way in anywhere.

“There’s no running water or plumbing,” Ronald continued.

“I suppose we might have expected that but there’s no table or chairs and we were promised a furnished house.”

“When our boxes come, the large one can be used as a table, the two smaller ones as benches,” I suggested, “until we get something better.”

Ronald’s eye now fell on the stove that was crackling away merrily in spite of green logs. “That sure is some stove,” he said. “The only time I have seen anything like it before was in a Western.” “And it works!” I said. “These big thin steel pipes throw out the heat and boy, are they ever hot! Fortunately they’re above the reach of the children.

“And that long hob would take a lot of pots if we had a lot of pots to put on it and the water compartment at the end of the stove heats really quickly.

“Look at the size of the bread oven. You could bake enough for an army in it.”

( More tomorrow.)