La $a$katchewan [Saskatchewan}

By Lionel Lizee

Attracted by the lure of wealth and the encouragement of Priest to populate the west for Christ, led many French Canadians to the west. Families were torn by the decisions made. Lust encouraged some to leave Quebec, even with the thought of murder in their hearts, while Eusebe and Alphonsine left because Eusebe wanted to become wealthy enough to build her the house of her dreams. Alphonsine had given up on the house, but Eusebe never did. They argued, they fought, they worked side by side, all the while Eusebe counted the money in hidden bank accounts, and schemed to raise crops in the good years off of 'free' unhomesteaded lands. Eusebe, at times, could be generous, which created tension in his relationship, but a friendship grew with a simple man, Jerome, who with time became his right hand man - until his untimely death during the most fruitful of harvests. His quest for riches never left him, and he postponed the construction of the dream home again and again, while he drove an expensive Pierce-Arrow about the country. Alphonsine was a tireless worker who at first despised Deirdre, Jerome's wife, because she considered her a freeloader, came to appreciate the woman's love for Jerome, and, he willingness to be so helpful. The relationships unravel with Alphonsine's death, when Eusebe begins to realize the solution to the mystery of life. Based on the times in which it takes place, a fairly clear picture emerges along with the story of how the settlors managed in their assaults on themselves and the elements.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lionel Lizee
• Release date: Jan 15, 2013
• ISBN: 9780988167421

Lionel Lizee

Born in Saskatchewan of French Canadian parents, Lionel became first a school teacher, then a lawyer, a college instructor, and, a financial advisor. Always interested in the power of words, he discovered his ancestry, but without any understanding of what brought them to where he was. An active imagination helped to fill in the blanks left between birth, marriage and death from the elements in motion in their lives. Canadian historical novels garnered his interest and devotion.

Book preview

La $a$katchewan

Saskatchewan

a novel

by

Lionel Lizee

Published by Lionel Lizee at Smashwords

copyright 2012 Lionel Lizee

ISBN 978-0-9881674-2-1

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author

www.lionlizee.com

gtl10n.wordpress.com

Dedication

I dedicate this book to my ancestors , the central characters, Eusebe Lizée and Alphonsine Lagassé who were known to me only by a few rudimentary fact of their lives, and the land they homesteaded. When I first met them, I wanted to know what environment they survived in, and the reasons for their actions. What they told me, or, what I conjured was at once more satisfying and interesting than the bland statements found in the notations of history. I so enjoyed meeting them and listening to their stories that I had to share the parts of their lives that no one could substantiate.

Disclaimer

This is a book of fiction based on some elements of the past. Many of the names of the characters in this book do not represent in any fashion the ancestors of any present day living persons. Some characters are historically significant, but again, whether their involvement as described here occurred is a matter of my conjecture. What is meant by this work is to describe with a good plot the kind of things that could have occurred, and the reasons for it. It is meant to make the past enjoyable and pleasant reading.

Particular Appreciation

There are many sources of inspiration, and many individuals who have assisted in the development of this novel. In particular I would single out Barbara Floyd who has expended considerable energy to edit and suggest improvements to the work. And my wife, Claire Lacasse, who made room in our joint lives for me to spend countless hours tapping away at the keyboard. As well there are a number of Websites that have provided valuable information, and while the list is not exhaustive of the information or sites relied upon, among them are: http://www.saskhomesteads.com; https://www.geosask.ca; http://www.ancestry.ca;

lionlizee.com [e-mail]

Table of Contents

Chapter One Canadian Pacific Railway

Chapter Two All Aboard

Chapter Three Prairie Arrival

Chapter Four Gravelbourg

Chapter Five Uncle Joseph’s Place

Chapter Six Proving Up the Homestead

Chapter Seven Moving Day to the Homestead

Chapter Eight Spring 1905

Chapter Nine July 1905

Chapter Ten Harvest 1906

Chapter Eleven Seven Years Later

Chapter Twelve Eighth of August 1940

Chapter Thirteen 1945

The Truth is

La $a$katchewan

Chapter One Canadian Pacific Railway

May 1904

The Colonel, as he was referred to by most, sat most tall and erect behind the huge flat dark desk straightening a paper here, gazing at another, and as if sorting it, placed it on one of four or five piles. Outside, big billowing clouds of white smoke moved cautiously past the grimy window to his right. The windows rattled from the vibrations caused by the chug-chugging of the steam locomotive passing back and forth beneath the window of the fourth story office. Nothing he could say over the noise would be heard. His eyes rolled towards the ceiling in an exasperated opinion that the train should have lumbered down the track to Vancouver much earlier. The departure of the train was scheduled for 9:30 each morning. Yet, it was continuously shunting railways cars into order, something which should have been done much earlier this morning. The ‘settlement’ trains were always a nuisance. They were never put together until the number of paid passengers exceeded one hundred twenty. When the number had been reached, the regular run was cancelled, and the settlement train took its place. Any regular run passengers could embark on the settlement train after being shown the card that detailed that the settlement train could take longer because it would stop almost on command when it reached the northwest territories.

The two men who sat in front of him had been summoned by him for a meeting at ten o’clock. It was approaching eleven when they had dared to knock gently at the door, while the settlement train was waltzing back and forth under his window. Everyone knew that he would not have heard it. They had waited outside the door for the Colonel’s gruff command to ‘come in’. They had rapped with more force several times, before the command could be heard. Now, the acrid smell of burning coal pervaded the office, almost choking the three of them.

The other two sat watching him, taking little notice of the darkly stained wood paneling on the lower half of the wall or of the rare but obvious bubbles in the plain wallpaper above it. No one could speak over the sound.

One, an unshaven grisly face beneath an oil stained cap, stared at the fingers of his two hands which were playing with each other in a slow, cautious game of hide and seek. His clothing was tattered with tear marks and obvious stitching mending larger tears. His rumpled dark blue cap lay upon his head, a mite askew, while its shadow gave contrast to the whites of his eyes. His lips pursed and relaxed themselves continuously in a rhythm of its own, sometimes allegro and sometimes almost at a stop.

The other, a shorter, neatly processed individual, wore a flecked grey suit coat with dark grey pants. His white shirt accentuated his azure blue tie which rose and fell with each breath, exposing the stress the buttons were under in keeping itself shut. His pepper and salt hair was neatly corded to show a distinct line of skull. He sat with one knee crossed over the other, a fedora resting on its kneecap..

The Colonel, C.W. Spencer, whose name was set out on a wooden prism shaped desk nametag, was a veteran of the Boer war. An Englishman in French Canadian Montreal, he was the General Superintendent of the Eastern Division of the Canadian Pacific Railway. His officious nature was an acquisition of stature he had always wished to portray. Most everything he did, he did in a fashion of right, privilege and superiority. He would do all that was necessary to ensure nothing untoward would happen during his watch in the Eastern Division of the Canadian Pacific Railway, and if he could spread his attention and authority to other sectors of the Canadian Pacific Railway, it could enhance his prospects for promotion into the executive suite. As he shuffled the papers about his desk, he licked his lips in preparation for the discussion he would orchestrate with the two men in front of him. As the noise and the smoke began receding in the distance, he glanced at his pocket watch he had withdrawn from his vest pocket. He felt confident that the opportunity had arisen to bring his capabilities to the awareness of his superiors. His fervor and loyalty to the Company would impress them.

Gentleman, he said with a superior lisp as if he were addressing the upper house of the Houses of Parliament. I have asked you here because of information that has come to my attention. The Company’s reputation is in jeopardy, and we must. at all cost, forestall the developments of which I have become aware of. This gentleman has heard some disconcerting conversations. He will tell us in his own words. The station agent advised me of the situation. Luckily, we have time to deal with it. The forthcoming emigration train to the west is not expected to leave for several days. The daily express to Vancouver does not include those we are interested in, he said, nodding to the well-dressed individual, whose hat rested eloquently on his knee. Breathing noticeably and slowly through his nostrils, he continued, We are able to delay its departure for a few days. More of these emigrants are needed to make it a paying proposition. In the meantime we may be able to forestall the development of the problem we face.

The well-dress gentleman, Pougé Monbeton, leaned forward, showing his intrigue and subservience to the Colonel. He anxiously awaited the description of the problem. To get to the point would be impolite. There were few people in the Dominion with any experience in crime detection. What little experience Pougé had was to his credit. The Canadian Pacific Railway had not developed a force to contend with problems, relying for the most part, on its team of conductors to maintain order, decorum NS profitability on its railways. The references from about the Dominion were that he conducted a fair and honest investigation. His erudite interrogations and successful discoveries had made him legendary in his field, primarily because there was no one else in the field. Intelligent, decisive, hard-working, he came well recommended to the Colonel, Charles Wadsworth Spencer. Pougé’s large lips protruded almost past the tip of his nose, as he licked them in anticipation of the problem. Waiting was difficult for him, and before he could control himself, he blurted out, much to the astonishment of the Colonel, The problem, sir, is . . .

The Colonel’s facial expression completely dominated Pougé into silence. The problem is the discovery of a potentially damaging discovery - damaging to the image of Company - perhaps devastating to His Majesty, King Edward the Seventh’s, wishes to populate the western lands of this colony, er, country. He stressed the monarchical reference with the movement of his eyebrows.

The crumpled, dirty attire of the other gentleman stiffened, as it appeared he had an important part to play in the drama unfolding in these fourth floor offices of the Superintendent of the Eastern Division, situated in the Canadian Pacific Railway’s Windsor Street Station, Montreal. He propped one fisted hand onto his hip while the other steadied his stature by grappling with his knee. Todney Stuckwold did not look up to his superior, but cocked his capped ear to the man. His lips worked themselves easily as his missing teeth showed occasionally. His grisly, un-shaven features, his gray-black hair protruding from under a crumpled cap, his gnarled hands, black with toil, all indicated his combat ability. Todney looked at the top of the desk from under his crooked cap.

Pougé straightened as he assumed he would have to hear the colonel out, to the very end, almost daydreaming, he was startled at hearing the introduction to Todney Stuckwold, the person next to him.

Todney straightened, slowly turned the peak of his cap to align with his nose, glanced at both the Colonel and Pougé, undecided as to which he should direct his remarks. He, too, wished to assume some pre-eminence. It had been some time since anyone had regarded him as important, or, listened to what he had to say with full attention. In the brew pubs, he was accustomed to having his lips read by his tablemates, often without being looked at. This atmosphere was conducive to appropriate pronunciation and enunciation. Todney surveyed his desk mate, mouth open and ready, verifying momentarily that this person would indeed listen to him, as the Colonel had done a few hours earlier when his information first seemed to attract attention.

Turning towards the Colonel, he began to describe what he knew in a low, base voice with overtones of an English accent, clearing his smoke clogged throat occasionally for emphasis. I was in the next room. Downstairs, mind you, in this here Windsor Street Station. Minding my own business. The walls, excuse me, Mister the Colonel, are paper thin. If you looks carefully you can find a spot or two where you might, with good lighting, see what it is that is going on the next room. Not the room I was in. The one adjoining it. The next room, as I say.

The Colonel had leaned back in his chair, quietly, dropping his fingers one by one on the desk top, over and over again.

Todney stopped talking as he assumed a more upright posture. Well, I should begin a little earlier in the evening. Last evening. Yesterday evening. Just last night, as you might say. This couple came up to the station with their horse-drawn wagon. He, the man, he showed me their ticket to take the emigration train to the west. The wagon was chuck full of baggage. He looks at me like I was to help him. I said to him to put his luggage in the baggage room, the next room. Put it in that space, there. I showed him where it went. The room already had a lot of baggage in it. Piled high. One on top of another. Steamer trunks. Wooden boxes. This couple had two, I think, two steamer trunks. And he had one of those, too. A big trunk with a dome of a top on it, like Westminster Cathedral. I seen him take this trunk off the wagon, by himself. I had seen it sitting high on the wagon. I told him to put his stuff in the room, all in one place. When the train was ready, he would have to load it on the box car. I left it to him to get his stuff in there. I told him to make sure his luggage was properly tagged with his name and destination.

He stopped to catch his breath. C.W. Spencer nodded, saying, Go on. This is taking far too much of my time. It is not within my jurisdiction to deal with matters of this sort. Were it not for this matter possibly affecting the company’s good name and reputation, I would not involve myself. Go on, then.

Todney was suddenly tired. Having begun to disclose his story to the esteemed company he was in brought him an anxiety that could only be quenched with a tall brew. The stress of being in the presence on the upper echelons was appearing on his face and his posture. He perspired. He licked his lips, a subconscious desire for a mug of the potent stuff with a promise to himself of the reward of the same, strengthened his ability to take up the challenge. Well, like I say to everybody who comes after the station agent has closed his wicket, I told them, or rather him. His wife never spoke. Well, come to think of it, she was his woman, not his wife, as I discovered later in the evening. She did not appear happy with what they were doing. She just glared at everything. I told him to keep in touch with the station agent in the morning for when the emigration train would leave. Well, then, I continues with my duties about the station, until later, much later that night, I don’t recall the exact time, I heard voices coming from the other room, the room next to the one where I keep myself when I am not doing the rounds, checking the doors, the landing. I don’t rubber on people’s conversations. Not me. But what I thought I heard made me take notice. Usually, I don’t rubber on folks, but their voices were not normal. Like a lot of country folks, they gotta check their luggage many times. They were in there checking on their baggage. Folks do that. Don’t trust anyone. Folks will come back two or three times the first night to check on their luggage. Well, too, you must know, the door to the baggage isn’t locked because there is so much coming in at all hours. Especially them folk what’s going to take up homesteads in the west.

Tell Pougé what you heard. This is what has me concerned. Go ahead, tell him. The Colonel was insistent.

Todney cocks his hat to permit his eyes to look at the Colonel. I hear her saying in her womanly voice, Todney upscales his voice to sound like the woman, You think I am going to spend my time in that trunk. How long do you think I will last in there without food, water and a place to relieve myself? I would like to have a ticket like everyone else. Todney lowers his voice to that of a male. He answers something like, they had agreed she would begin the voyage on the train in a trunk. This trunk, he said pointing to it. We talked about it. I told you how I would put air holes all around it, and I have. He said they wouldn’t put a padlock on it. Todney stopped talking, his eyes searching the floor for courage to continue. His Adam’s apple seemed to rise to choke him. He said that when she is done away with, his wife he meant, she, this other woman, would replace her in the travelling car. He said that would be done on the first day. I guess he figured no one would suspect or know that anything had happened to anybody. He told her he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her, the woman. He then said to her that they had to get used to using ‘Marie’ as her name. She would have to answer to the name. They would call her Marie from then on. It was his wife’s name. He said it to her two or three times, like when you tell a child to tell a lie. You have to answer to Marie, you understand?

Pougé cleared his throat, causing Todney to become silent. Did he use her real name?

Scratching his thinning hair with the fingers of his hand that held his cap. Well, I don’t . . . I would suppose he did . . .. He may have. Let me think on it.

Authoritatively, Pougé leaned towards the night watchman, Do you know what her name is?

Well I remember she weren’t too happy about being Marie. I know that. She screeches back at him that she is no Marie, doesn’t want to be Marie.

Yes, and her name?

I think he muttered it sweetly, like men do. Then, he corrected himself, calling her Marie. She said something like she was baptized. His forehead crumpled up as he attempted to conjure the name. Alphonsine? No, no, no, I recall it sounded more English. Elaine, maybe, Lenore, or Eleanor. Something sounding like that. Then she went into this fit about how long would it take him to do away with her? and how? she asked. I hear some shuffling about. I am curious. I know where the cracks in the wall are, and I can see - well I can’t see everything - the cracks are not that big. I can see from their knees down -- when they are standing. Which they were. She was standing close to him with one knee bent. You know what that means, and I know what that means. After a few moments, he says something like there was some sections of the railroad over or near cliffs, over fast flowing rivers, through gorges, and it would be there she would disappear and their lives together could begin. But she was still not happy. She keeps bringing things up like how will she go to the bathroom in the trunk, what will she eat, when will she eat, where is the dress he was going to buy her that looks like hers, but in her size? And she stamped her foot when she told him she would not wear one stitch of his wife’s clothes. Not one.

So, concludes Pougé, We don’t know his name, and there is some lack of clarity about hers. I don’t know what I am to do with so little to go on.

The Colonel knocks on the desk with the knuckles of his right hand. Both invitees turn to face him. Mr. Monbeton, I am hiring you to make certain that that murder does not occur on or near the property of the Canadian Pacific Railway. In order to accomplish this, you are, under my hand, appointed to be the Conductor on the emigration train when it leaves in three days. I have already cleared it the Superintendent of the western division, and the mountain division. You will be required to maintain your conductor status to Vancouver and back here.

With eyes looking like the eight ball on a billiard table, Pougé edges forward, calmly stating, Sir, Colonel Sir, I have never conducted a train in my life. I have no experience at all in crime prevention. My experience has always been in solving crimes. Why don’t you cancel their tickets?

Condescendingly, with an exasperated voice, C.W. responds, We would have done that if we knew who they were.

But, Mr. Superintendent, their names are on their luggage, begged Pougé.

What is your response to that Mr. Stuckwold?

Todney raised his hat with one hand, to scratch his head with its fingers. I wasn’t there to see them place their baggage. I don’t know which baggage belongs to them. I just happened to hear this stuff in the course of my duties.

Wouldn’t you recognize them if you saw them? Pougé asked.

Todney yanked his peaked cap low over his eyes, then squinted out from under it at Pougé. Sir, I see many people day and night. It was late at night when I come upon this. I couldn’t be certain who said what or what they looked like.

Did you attempt to lift the steamer trunks to find the one that is lighter than all the others? asked Pougé in a serious, accusing voice.

Sir, Todney’s Adams apple juggled up and down his red neck, I carry out my duties in the fashion in which the Canadian Pacific Railway has instructed me. I touch nothing belonging to the passengers without someone in higher authority telling me to do it. What I did do, was to inform the station agent the first thing this morning about it, and I was told to come to this office. To answer your question, No I didn’t attempt to lift any trunks.

Turning to the Colonel, Pougé cowered, I know nothing of the duties and responsibilities of a conductor. Would it not do for me to be an assistant?

An assistant on an emigration train? Would never consider it! Your powers of observation, and authority must be paramount. As conductor you have the authority to stop the train at any point, to direct it not to start until you give the signal. The only person who can countermand you is the engineer, and then, he would only do so for reasons of safety and preservation of the company’s property. Now, you have your assignment. Perhaps, If you wish, you can continue your interrogation of Mr. Stuckwold, and inform yourself of your powers and responsibilities as a conductor. There is an empty room at the end of the hallway where you can prepare yourself until the departure of the train. I will forestall the departure for another two days. Usually when we have a complement of sixty families we depart. I will attempt to ensure that the train is not elongated with more cars by reason of additions. With the flat cars for their wagons and open slatted box cars for their horses, we will attempt to keep the train short. I have already instructed the station agent on these matters.



The janitors haven’t been in this room for a while. The dust is lying all over. I dunno if you want to sit, while we talk, Todney said as he shuffled through the door, to sit on a chair that was clearly dust covered. Pougé, trailing him a bit, took out his enormous handkerchief and slapped the dust off the chair, and from between the rungs, and the spindles on the back, creating a cloud of dust that had difficulty determining which way was down.

Sure is dry in here. My throat is parched. Todney tugged lightly at the loose skin covering a pronounced Adam’s apple.

Pougé dropped onto the chair.

Could use a beer, he uttered as he tugged a curved flask from his back pocket, brought it to his lips, and tasted the liquor. Holding it up, almost as a toast, he exhaled noisily, Want a swig? Helps me get through the day.

Nope. he said as he examined the lines of dust left on the chair seat, Rarely do I drink. Need to review some things with you about this potential crime. How tall were they? Did either of them mention or use the other’s name?

Todney, looked skyward, grabbed the peak of his hat, and smoothing down what few hairs were on his head, said, Now, let me see. You understand, of course, that I see and hear a lot of things on my shift. Busy as I am. As I am trying to remember, I don’t seem to recall . . . He raised the mickey skyward, and brought it to his lips. Tall? Well they never struck me as being tall. Nor short. About their names. Yes, now I remember. I remember that neither of them used the other’s name except in low, lovey dovey whispers. Now, it is coming clearer to me. I remember him to say that they had to remember that her first name would henceforth be Marie. She said to him in reply that she was baptized a . . ..

Would that be Alphonsine?

I dunno, he muttered with a sloppy smile developing on his face. "Me thinks it sounded more like an ‘L’.

Did either of them say anything about the name, ‘Alphonsine’?

I remember that I don’t recall that. What does drop into my mind, though, is that she wanted a new dress. And he replied something about having the dress his wife bought for herself that afternoon.

How did she get to the Station? Do you know?

In the wagon, I suppose. She was with him in the room. How she got there, I do not know.

Was she the same woman who was with him when they brought the luggage to the Station?

Well, that is a downright interesting proposition, now, isn’t it? If she were the same person, who bought the dress? and if she bought the dress, would it fit her, the other woman? That is intriguing. The flask was tipped vertically into his upturned mouth. It was empty.

Was her name Marie, then?

Whose name was Marie? he shrugged his shoulders.

"Alphonsine? Was her name Marie?

You have confused me.

What do you drink?

What every man drinks. Whiskey, beer for a chaser. Clears the head. You know, I work all night, every night. I’ll show you the baggage room and the room next to it, the room where I spend most of my nights.

Let’s go back to the first time the guy pulled his wagon up to the platform. Was it dark, then?

Well, it’s mostly dark when I work. Must have been between seven and nine, let’s say, to be clear. Yes, between seven and nine.

Could you see him clearly, could you see if he had hooked nose, or, a roman nose?

I could see he had a nose. Whether it was roman or French, who knows? He chuckled to himself. No it stayed on his face. Must have been a hooked nose, because it stayed hooked to his face.

Did you notice anything about the woman he was with? Was she buxom or small breasted? Or, did you notice the color of her hair?

When I look at a woman, I look into her eyes. The rest of her is distracting. I lose my sense of sight. It was too dark for me to see the color of her hair.

With the Colonel you said you noticed she was not happy. How did you come to that conclusion?

Well, the woman I saw on the platform was not happy. From a hundred yards you could tell she was not happy. The way she stood. Arms crossed. Her feet squared from the other. The way she breathed. The woman I saw through the cracks in the wall was happier, especially when her one leg lifted up behind her. I couldn’t see the rest of her.

Were the two women you saw wearing different shoes? Pougé was becoming agitated by the lack of information he was getting.

Might have. I remember that I can’t exactly recall. I don’t often look at people’s feet.

Who did you tell about what you saw last night?

I told you. I repeated it to the Colonel twice. Once when he first called me in this morning, and then when you were there. Before that, I mentioned it to the ticket agent, Darcel Mepuit. You know Darcel. Nice fellow. He is the one who told me I had to tell the Colonel.

Do you recall anything at all that you haven’t already told me?

Chapter Two - All Aboard

May 1904

Promenading back and forth on the wide, wooden platform, Pougé Monbéton scrutinized every male face for any sign of wickedness, and every female face for excessive discontent. At the same time, he attempted to keep his ears attuned for the sound of the names, Marie and names starting with an ‘L’ like Alphonsine. Whenever he heard either name, he would reduce his pace, to confirm who it was calling that name, and who that name was calling. His frustration increased each time Marie was a child or an adolescent. As for Alphonsine, he couldn`t admit to having heard it. Almost all of the women he looked at exhibited some level of discontent, if not frustration or exasperation. The visages of the males, too, showed various levels of wickedness as they hauled and pitched the baggage this way and that across the platform and into the baggage car. Pougé could hardly admit to himself that he had some suspects in view. For all the while, he kept reviewing in his mind, the duties of a conductor that he was to perform.

He was also distracted by his formal attire - that of a Conductor on the Canadian Pacific Railway. The hat fit tightly, giving him the appearance of having a headache. The suit coat sleeves too short, matching the pants which allowed everyone to see his white socks. The Colonel had no extra uniforms, none for him to select a proper size from. Instead, C.W. had sent a runner for the seven conductors to come to the station with their uniforms. Only four came. All were smaller than Pougé. The snug fit of his borrowed clothing made him feel not only awkward, but made it uncomfortable to move about. It was tight. The shirt buttons were hanging onto the button holes with a tenacity limited only by the strength of the threads, and the sleeves protruded from the sleeves of the deep blue jacket.. The jacket held his shoulders back as if they had a policeman’s hold on them, and the pants gave him the appearance of having one half of himself sitting precariously on the other half. The