Godfrey: Book Three

GODFREY: BOOK THREE

  Adrien Leduc

  (Leduc, Adrien 1987- )

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form than that in which it is published.

  SYNOPSIS

  It's 1925 and Godfrey Leduc has been making great headway as an Albertan farmer. His crops have done well and he's got a sturdy one-room house. He's got a wagon, a horse, and some chickens. He's made some good friends and people know his name around town. But trouble brews...

  Joe Campbell, local mechanic and owner of Campbell and Sons Garage, has become the town drunk in the years since we last visited Wainwright and Godfrey's attempts to assist the Campbell family creates some tension.

  Far worse than a family feud however, is the blizzard Godfrey finds himself caught in during winter. Losing energy and struggling to breathe, will Godfrey make it out alive?

  Ripe with the humdrum of small town life - gossip, church, Sunday dinners, and talk at the barbershop - Godfrey: Book Three is an entertaining read from start to finish that can be enjoyed by readers of all ages.

  DEDICATION

  For all those hardworking, tough-as-nails, early settlers that made the Canadian prairie the breadbasket of the world.

  Chapter One

  A dimly lit bar.

  "Joe?"

  "You know this man?"

  Godfrey stepped closer and looked from the man lying on the floor to the Ukrainian tough.

  "Yeah. His name's Joe Campbell. He owns the garage over on Sixth Avenue."

  "Well, take him out of here. We don't want to see him here anymore."

  His eyes were menacing. His face, unshaven. His sleeves, rolled up past his elbows. The two Slavic-looking men standing on either side of him were nearly identical.

  Godfrey nodded, glancing at the bartender who stood behind the counter, toweling off glasses and pretending he wasn’t listening.

  "He keeps making trouble here. Saying things. Bad things. About Ukraine."

  Godfrey looked down at Joe. The mechanic was semi-conscious and he moaned, clutching his stomach.

  He was sure whatever he'd said couldn't have deserved that vicious of a beating.

  "Alright. I just have to grab my brother so that we can carry him."

  Before the three toughs could reply, he turned and headed back outside where Leo sat smoking his pipe.

  "Leo."

  Godfrey's older brother looked up.

  "That was fast. Did you pay the bill? Them Ukies didn't try to stiff ya, did they? Because we could have thrown that little shindig for Isaac and Antonia somewhere else. In fact - "

  "No. It's nothing like that. And I didn't even get to pay the bill. I was going to, but as soon as I walked in I saw a man lying on the floor and three guys standing astride of him."

  "Who's the guy? Do we know him."

  "It's Joe Campbell."

  Leo sighed heavily and shook his head in exasperation. "That god damned drunk."

  Godfrey watched as his older brother took a long dreg from his pipe. Neither spoke for a minute.

  "Seems like that man can't stay out of trouble. He's always after the drink and then he starts running his mouth."

  Godfrey scuffed the toe of his boot on the wooden planks of the boardwalk, unsure of what to say.

  "And let me guess," Leo continued, still shaking his head, "you want to help him."

  "Well, that is the right thing to do."

  Leo released a lungful of smoke and stared off into space.

  "You know this isn't the first time this has happened to him - and it probably won't be the last either."

  Godfrey scratched his chin. Getting Leo to help him with Joe was proving to be a tough sell.

  "Yeah, but we have to help him. Help him get home or to the garage or something."

  Leo snorted and shook his head. "And when it happens again a week from now?"

  Godfrey shrugged a second time. "I don't know. Hopefully someone's around to help him."

  "Tabernouche..."

  "It's a ten minute job, Leo. We just load him onto the wagon and drop him off at the garage. He can sleep it off there."

  Leo rose to his feet and brushed the dust from the seat of his pants. He took a long dreg from his pipe and then tipped what little tobacco remained onto the dirt road before pocketing the instrument.

  "I've got to get up early tomorrow to sort through an acre's worth of hay. So if we're going to do this," he said, staring squarely at his younger brother, "let's do it now and get it done."

  Godfrey gave a solemn nod.

  "And," he said, wagging a finger as he stepped up onto the boardwalk, "this is the one and only time I am helping Joe Campbell out of a bar."

  Isaac and Antonia have Godfrey and Leopold over for Saturday brunch.

  "And what was the matter with him?"

  Godfrey swallowed the food in his mouth before answering. "He'd been beaten up by three Ukies."

  Antonia Leduc (née Messier) shook her head in disbelief. "That man can't keep out of trouble for five minutes."

  "Sure seems that way," said Isaac, helping himself to another slice of toast.

  Leo grunted. "We should have just left him. Serves him right for drinking like a fish."

  "Hasn't he got a wife at home?" asked Antonia, a look of concern etched on her face.

  Isaac nodded. "A wife and a baby."

  "Well, that certainly isn't very responsible behaviour. The man should be at home."

  Leo snorted as he buttered a muffin. "You can't talk sense into people like Joe. He's a drunk. He doesn't know what he's doing half the time."

  "All I know is that for the sake of that little baby - and whatever others might be on the way - he had better smarten up," said Isaac darkly.

  There wasn't much to do in the evenings. Godfrey lifted his tired feet and rested them on the apple crate. There were dances in town - but he had no one to go with. It was awkward - if not impossible - to ask the French girls to dinner or a dance because their community was so tight-knit. He couldn't very well ask Cécile Lafrance one week and Aline Beaudoin the next because he saw them - and their families - at church every Sunday.

  And now that he was considered a solid member of that community - having been in the Wainwright area for nearly five years - he had a reputation to uphold and nothing short of being the perfect gentleman would do.

  He glanced at the desk beside him where yesterday's Wainwright Star lay open to the commodity reports section.

  His English was coming along rather well. And each day he would copy a few lines or a page - whatever he had time for - from the newspaper. Word for word. He was comfortable now with the vocabulary used in everyday speech. And while the occasional zinger like "requisite" or "mitigate" still tripped him up, he was generally pleased with how far he'd come.

  He glanced at the window. The only one in his small, two room house.

  There was a fine frost on it. Not unusual for late October.

  Now he wondered whether the winter would be a difficult or an arduous one. There were no easy winters. Not in the country.

  At least in Montreal, even on the most frigid days in January, you could sometimes forget it was winter if you stayed indoors.

  But here, out here on the prairie, there was no escape from the cold. The wind. The ice. The snow. The freezing fog.

  Even in the house, he always knew when it was winter because his little wood stove burned constantly; to let the fire die would be foolish. And so all through December, January, and February, he would sleep beside the sturdy iron contraption, feeding its hungry, smoking bowels with logs and tinder
at regular intervals.

  Leo had done a good job with the insulation - mud and straw in every crack and crevice and a good layer pasted inside the walls. And so, with a good fire blazing and a blanket over top of him, the house felt plenty warm.

  The thought of his wood stove and the impending winter reminded him that he had better cut more wood. Lots more wood.

  Happy that he had a job to do tomorrow, Godfrey read a chapter of Treasure Island, made a cup of rosehip tea (Antonia advised he drink a cup every night in the winter for nutrition), and went to bed.

  Chapter Two

  In line at Thompson's Grocers. Joe Campbell's wife, Mary, is having trouble paying for her groceries. Godfrey is standing behind her.

  "It's been two months since you've made a payment, Mrs. Campbell," said the clerk uncomfortably. "I'm deeply sorry - but I just can't extend you anymore credit."

  Standing behind Mary Campbell - whose infant son watched him as he rested on her shoulder - Godfrey couldn't help but feel sorry for the woman.

  "Here," he said, stepping toward the register, "I'll pay."

  He laid a five dollar bill on the counter. "Will that about cover things?"

  The clerk, whom Godfrey had seen before, seemed surprised. Nonetheless, he nodded and slid the bill towards him.

  "You're Isaac's brother," said Mary Campbell slowly.

  Godfrey nodded.

  "Well...I...I don't know what to say...thank you."

  She took up her things as the clerk deposited the money into the register, watching them both closely.

  A bag of sugar, a pound of lard, a bag of flour.

  She looked uncomfortable.

  "You're welcome, Mrs. Campbell."

  The clerk helped her bag the groceries and the woman took them with her free hand, the other still clamped around her infant.

  "I'll pay you back as soon as I can. Joe's good for the money."

  She looked nervously at the others in the line-up. They were watching her through narrowed eyes. Staring down their noses. Looks of contempt on their faces.

  Godfrey nodded and gave her a small smile, attempting to ease her discomfort. "I know, Mrs. Campbell."

  "I promise. By Christmas."

  "Not to worry, Mrs. Campbell."

  She turned and left then, her eyes fixed to the ground as she walked briskly past the line of onlookers.

  "Will that be all, Sir?"

  Godfrey turned around and faced the clerk. He glanced at the loaf of bread he'd placed on the counter.

  "Yes. That'll be all."

  "Very well. Twenty cents, please."

  Leo and Godfrey are having lunch at the Wainwright Hotel.

  "You paid for her groceries!?"

  "What else could I do?" asked Godfrey with a shrug.

  Leo's eyes bulged. "Not pay for them."

  "And let her leave empty-handed!? She was buying basic essentials. Flour, sugar, lard..."

  Leo groaned. "Well, just know that the Campbell's are always going to need charity so long as Joe keeps drinking like he does."

  Godfrey frowned, but said nothing as he cut into his steak.

  "And another thing - "

  A sudden commotion silenced Leo. Napkins being thrown to the table. Cutlery clattering against plates. Chairs being pushed back from tables. People jumping up and making excitedly for the exit which lead to the hotel lobby.

  "What do you think is going on?"

  Godfrey shrugged and dabbed at the grease on his chin with his napkin.

  "I don't know, but I intend to find out."

  He rose from his chair and Leo followed. They squeezed through the crowd and eventually made it to the lobby. A man was speaking to a crowd of newspaper reporters.

  Camera flashes. The smell of smoke from exploded flash bulbs. Three dozen people clamouring to catch a glimpse.

  "That's John Brownlee."

  "The UFA guy?"

  "Yeah."

  "What's he doing here?"

  "Announcing his leadership bid."

  "What about Greenfield?"

  "Don't know."

  The murmurs of the onlookers crammed into the hotel lobby gave Godfrey all the information he needed.

  "This guy's a big deal," he said, turning towards Leo as they jostled for a better position.

  Leo snorted, and waved a hand as he turned to leave. "Politics."

  Chapter Three

  Sunday mass. Communion is finished and Father McGrane is finishing up the day's sermon.

  "And so, this week, as you go about your business, please remember those glorious and humble lessons given us in the Book of Peter. 'For all humanity is grass, and all its beauty like the wild flower's - and as grass withers, the flower fades, but the Word of the Lord remains forever'. I wish you all the best until next Sunday. And one final note."

  He paused for effect.

  "Grass does wither, and flowers do fade at this time of year, this special time of year. Autumn. Fall."

  He paused again.

  "And I hope you'll all take a few minutes out of your day - no matter what you do - whether you're a laundress or an accountant - to appreciate the beautiful colours on display. Those beautiful colours gifted to us by God's paintbrush."

  There were several murmurs of approval from various members of the congregation.

  "There's a crispness to the air too. An invigorating crispness that awakens the soul and spurs a man to work hard and succeed. Take that with you. Carry that with you throughout the day as you go about your work. Take pride in what you do and do it well. As it says in the Colossians, chapter three, verse twenty three, 'whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord'."

  He paused, allowing his words to settle over the parishioners, tangible intangibles, floating from the pulpit and landing amongst the pews.

  "And, finally, Mrs. Gamache is taking names for ladies participating in our parish bake sale next weekend. So please go and see her after Mass if you're interested in donating some baked goods."

  He looked at Mrs. Gamache - seated in the front pew alongside her husband, Albert. They exchanged a pleasant smile and he returned his attention to the congregation.

  "I hope Mrs. Traynor - wherever you - where are you..."

  Godfrey turned his head and saw the portly woman wave enthusiastically from the other side of the church.

  "Ah, there you are! Yes, I hope Mrs. Traynor plans on donating her famous apple crumble...and Mrs. Lapalme," his eyes darted to the pew in front of Godfrey where Diana and husband Henri were seated, "she'll surely not forget to donate her wonderful tourtiere."

  Godfrey watched Diana nod and smile politely.

  "And all of you other wonderful ladies, members of our congregation who are blessed with baking talents, we hope you'll donate something for the bake sale. It's a great fundraiser for our parish and, as many know, this divine bachelor and servant of God," he placed a hand on his belly, "always appreciates the leftovers!"

  There was a round of chuckles and Mass drew to a close.

  Lunch, following Mass, at Henri and Diana's.

  "And how's he doing? Any more news from your sister?"

  Antonia's face wore a concerned look. Henri Lapalme's father, Joseph, hadn't been doing well for quite some time.

  "Well," Henri began, leaning back as Diana marched in and set a casserole dish containing boiled, sliced beets on the table, "he's not doing so well. That's about as gently as I can put it. That's what Antoinette wrote anyway, in her last letter."

  Antonia nodded, her expression severe.

  "Would you like some help there, Diana?" she asked suddenly, glancing up at Henri's wife as she busied herself with organizing the sundry items on the table.

  "No! Heaven's no! I'm fine."

  She smiled.

  "You just sit back and relax."

  "No, really," Antonia objected, rising halfway out of her chair.

  "I don't mind."

  Diana looked as though she was going to refus
e Antonia's offer, but one more look at the woman and she relented.

  "Alright. You twisted my arm."

  Godfrey watched their exchange in awe. If women weren't trying like hell to outdo one aother, they were tripping over themselves to help one another.

  "Don't try and understand it," said Isaac, seeming to read Godfrey's thoughts. "They're impossible. Women. Just when you think you've figured 'em out, they'll go and do something completely contradictory and you'll be left scratching your head again."

  "He's right," Leo growled, his voice gruff.

  "My advice," Isaac continued, "is answer 'em when they talk to ya and otherwise, just ignore 'em."

  His half-smile suggested to Godfrey that he was being sarcastic - but he couldn't be certain.

  "Leo here," Isaac continued, "clapping the middle brother on the shoulder as he began to chow down on some cold cuts of ham, "is doing the smart thing. Playing bachelor."

  "It ain't so smart if you've got no one to cook or clean for you," Godfrey countered.

  "Oh?"

  Diana's tone was teasing as she and Antonia emerged from the kitchen laden with plates and cutlery and casserole dishes filled with sweet potatoes, peas, and gravy.

  "Is that all us women are good for?"

  "Among other things," Henri mused, coming to Godfrey's aid.

  If Diana's tone was teasing before, it was incredulous now.

  "Is that so, Henri Georges Lapalme?"

  "Well...not exactly," he spluttered sheepishly under the frowning stares of the two women.

  "Because us girls can take this food elsewhere - where it's more appreciated," she said, sitting down and draping a napkin over her lap before tucking her chair under the table.

  "Diana's right," said Antonia. "Plenty of single gents in the county who would love a good housekeeper," she said airily.

  "Oh, come off it," said Isaac.

  "Dig in, boys," Henri cut in, helping himself to a healthy spoonful of potatoes.

  Antonia looked miffed and stared wide-eyed at her husband. "Come off what? You know I'm right."

  "Yes, but do you have to be so dramatic?"

  Leo took another four slices of ham before setting upon the sweet potatoes.

  Godfrey, meanwhile, sat uncomfortably between Leo and Antonia, wishing he hadn't made the offending remark.