Far From the Rowan Tree Day24

We’re leaving here on Wednesday. You’ll have to do the packing. I’ll probably have to work up to the last minute

Our small beam of light would be shining from our square window on to snow and trees. From above we would appear an insignificant star, hardly noticed, lost in the the much greater light of the aurora borealis sweeping across the snow and the leaping burning brands coming from the land.

A hundred years ago, before the Province of Alberta existed, the immense expanse of Prince Rupert’s land was almost devoid of people.

Then only a few Indians and a handful of white men belonging to the Hudson Bay Company and calling themselves ‘A Company of Adventurers’, would ever pass this way.

Then the animals held dominion. Hordes of North American bison roamed and grazed here when the earth became green with the short curly grass that the first settlers christened prairie wool; here the bear lived almost unmolested; the wolves and coyotes hunted under the stars as they had done for thousands and thousands of years.

Touched basics

On Sunday our visitors left. We were sad to see them go. Their visit was like something out of time.

“Now remember,” Eileen said on leaving, “we have a basement flat. If you ever get into real difficulties you can have the flat for as long as you need it.”

Harold said: “I don’t know when I’ve enjoyed a break so much.” We could see he genuinely meant what he said.

Afterwards I tried to work out why this should be. I came up with the conclusion that perhaps it was because here with us, he had touched basics.

This was no weekend at the lakeside cabin with axe and matches. This was no pretending to be woodsman for a little while – this was ‘for real’ as the Canadians would say.

Things might have seemed tame to us after that weekend but something happened as unexpectedly as, I had been told, the warm chinook wind sometimes blows over the frozen prairie.

At lunch the next day Ronald came in with the news. “We’re leaving here on Wednesday. You’ll have to do the packing. I’ll probably have to work up to the last minute.

“Muller told me this morning that our sponsors had phoned to say they’re shifting us to a mixed farm the day after tomorrow – somewhere east of Edmonton.

“That’s all the information I got. Muller was not in a good mood.”

Two days later, at a quarter past ten in the morning, the children and I plus some of our luggage, were unceremoniously dumped by Muller at Red Deer station. He then drove off at speed barely saying goodbye.

At that time in the morning the station was empty of people. I walked over to the ticket booth. The clerk behind the desk rattled open the hatch.

I asked for tickets to Edmonton. As he handed them to me my eyes filled with tears. To my relief the ticket clerk took no notice. Perhaps he was too embarrassed to say anything, perhaps he was used to women’s tears and counted them of little worth.

Business

I didn’t want the children to see me crying so distracted their attention by getting them to look out the waiting room window.

“Keep looking,” I said, “and you’ll see the train coming.”

Then I sat down on the long bench and, taking out my handkerchief, repaired the damage as best I could.

Inwardly I looked for a reason for the tears. Was it because we were leaving Red Deer to travel again into the unknown? Perhaps it was because I was tired after the rush to get away? Or maybe because I was journeying without Ronald if only for a short time?

There must have been a real dust-up between Muller and our railway sponsors because Muller had been ordered to pay our fare back to Edmonton.

He couldn’t take all of us in his truck, plus all the luggage, but must have thought it cheaper to take Ronald and the bulk of luggage in his Dodge while we went by train.

Perhaps he had some business to do in Edmonton at the same time. He hadn’t given an explanation.

By the time the train drew up at the station I had gained control and was able to make sure our luggage got on the train.

Then I helped the boys up the steps into the railroad car dragging my ungainly pregnant body after them.

Once we were all aboard and seated I felt better. The boys were excited at the prospect of travelling again.

“It’s fun isn’t it, travelling on trains and going to live in different places,” I said, to keep my own and their spirits up. “I wonder what the new farm will be like?”

As on the journey here, which already seemed a long time ago, I looked out of the train window for houses that might be attached to farms. Again I was disappointed.

On most of the farms we passed there was just one frame house which often looked rather dilapidated. Where there was a second dwelling it looked little better than the one we had just left.

I gave up worrying about it. Perhaps things would be better in other parts of Alberta.

Luggage

On arriving at Edmonton we went for a meal in the station buffet to wait for Ronald. Afterwards the children ran around the warm enclosed station.

This time I was less frightened anything would happen to them. Ronald arrived at last. It was like the sun coming over the horizon.

“Muller took his time about leaving Redwoods,” he said, “and when we got here, he stood and watched me unload all the luggage from his truck.”

Then he added: “A passing railway worker told him to help the gentleman off with his baggage. Muller was mad!”

Ronald chuckled at the memory. “Well I must say I’m glad to see the back of him!”

Muller had handed Ronald, metaphorically speaking, over to the railway sponsors as though he were some unwanted property and left promptly.

Ronald was instructed by them to take the afternoon train going east and disembark (again just a few miles further on) at the township of Sandyhills, near to the border where Alberta and Saskatchewan meet. (More on Monday.)