"Godfrey?"
The young man turned to face the owner of the voice and was greeted by the smiling faces of Henry and Diana Lapalme.
"Hey."
"How are you? What's new?"
"I'm good. Not too much. Just headed to the post office."
Diana nodded, her hands gripping several shopping bags.
"How's your brother?"
"He's doing better. He'll live."
"Is he still in hospital?" asked Henry.
"Yes, but he's getting out in a few days."
Diana looked concerned. "I do hope he's alright. He's too young to be getting struck by such ailments."
"I agree," said Godfrey, glancing up and down the boardwalk at the assortment of people out conducting their weekend errands.
"How's the crop coming along?" asked Henry.
"Not bad. Great, actually. A little better than I expected. Leo too. He said I've got beginner's luck."
Godfrey said this with a smirk.
"He would say that, wouldn't he?" came Diana's reply.
She was well aware of Leo's personality.
"So this means you'll stay?" asked Henry, stepping a few inches to the side to allow several people to pass.
Godfrey was confused. "Stay?"
"Yeah. Stay. Stay out here and farm."
"Of course."
Henry smiled. "Good. Because a lot of young guys who've come out just couldn't hack it. Either bad luck or ran out of money or just didn't want to put the work in."
Godfrey shook his head. "Well that's not me. I'm here to stay. Besides, what's left back in Québec for me? There's no more land to parcel up on my dad's property. What little remains, Arthur and Jules can inherit. It's all tapped out. There's nothing left."
Diana nodded in agreement. "Well, we're happy things seem to be working out for you."
He felt the same warmth he'd felt coming from her when he'd first met the Lapalmes after church all those months ago.
"I'm happy too."
The conversation seemed to halt for a minute as all three took in the sights and sounds of Main Street. Honking motor cars. The clop-clop of a dozen horses. The loud promises of snake oil salesmen. The more humble promises of produce sellers.
"We were just headed for a bite to eat," said Henry, gesturing towards the Wainwright Hotel. "Would you care to join us?"
"I already ate lunch," he began, however seeing the dejected looks on their faces he quickly added, "but I can come for a coffee. Sure."
Diana smiled smartly. "Swell. And you can tell us more about your adventures out here so far."
"Of course."
"I do hope Isaac gets better soon."
"So do I."
The harvest. It had finally arrived. At long last. After all this waiting. Of course, he'd have to help Leo collect his crop first - and that was after they'd finished bringing in Isaac's crop as he was hardly fit to work having recently been released from hospital.
"My God, this is going to be a good year," said Leopold, biting into a slice of bread as he stared out at Isaac's mature field.
Godfrey murmured in agreement and glanced at the other four men seated around the table, wondering whether they agreed. There was Edmond Grenier - a Québec transplant who'd been in the Wainwright area since nineteen-oh-three. There was Frederick Skinner and Harold Clipston and Ross Valleau. These men all farmed in the area and had come to help when they learned that Isaac was unable to work.
"It's going to be a long day," mused Valleau, cutting a slice of ham from the roast. "This is a full crop. Biggest I've seen in years."
Leo murmured something in agreement. "We should by done by tomorrow, though."
He slurped his coffee while the other men ate hungrily.
"Bloody, big job," said Skinner after a minute, turning in his chair to take in Isaac's crop. " It's thick like I've never seen it before. The weather was perfect this year."
"Lord knows we needed that good weather this year though with the money we're losing now that there's no Wheat Board..." Leo added, biting into another piece of bread.
"Too right you are, Leo," said Grenier.
Godfrey looked at the man. Gentle blue eyes. A perpetual smile.
"If I didn't know any better, I'd say Isaac planned the whole thing to skip out of work," Valleau teased. "Biggest crop in years and he's laid up in bed."
"Now don't be talking about my brother that way," said Leo severely as he dollopped a second helping onto his plate.
"Do you boys need anything more?" asked Antonia, suddenly appearing on the balcony where they'd set up the table.
"No, ma'am. We're good. Thank you. It's a great meal."
"Don't even mention it, Mr. Skinner. It was the least we could do - seeing as you're working in my husband's stead and all."
The men around the table grinned. Her remark was a timely one.
"Let me bring you another water pitcher - I see it's taken you no time to finish the other one. Excuse my reach, Mr. Grenier," said Antonia as she leaned across him to get the pitcher.
"I could have done that."
"Not a problem. I'll be right back," she said, surveying the rest of the items on the table and making sure that they were full and well-stocked.
"Thank you, Mrs. Leduc."
"Yes. Thank you. This is excellent."
The men watched her leave before returning to their conversation.
"I'm thinking of growing tobacco next year, Edmond."
Godfrey looked at Harold Clipston - the man who had spoken.
"Well, you're talkin' to the right guy," said Edmond cheerfully. "How much?"
"No more than you. Just a little plot behind the house. Don't want to alarm the wife, you know," Clipston added, chuckling softly.
"No. You don't want to do that."
Edmond's tone was serious. Godfrey wondered why Clipston wanted to go to the trouble of growing tobacco when he could simply buy it from Edmond.
"Would you like a plant or two to get started?
The stocky man seemed surprised by the offer. "Sure."
Edmond spread his hands as though the favour was no trouble. Godfrey wondered whether he stood to gain something in return.
"Next year then?"
"Next year."
There was little more talk as the men ate quickly, efficiently, wiping their plates clean. After the meal they packed their pipes and rolled their cigarettes with Edmond's tobacco. Stories were traded and tea was drank and the men headed out to the field to finish harvesting Isaac's crop.
Chapter Nine
"And I would like to remind our parishioners," Father McGrane began, his voice loud and stern, "that if we don't start seeing more gifts to God's work in the collection plate, Betty, our beloved treasurer," he smiled at her, "has agreed to post the names of all church members and report what everyone has given."
There were murmurs and grumblings from the congregation - and to Godfrey's surprise - even some hushed laughter. Had he not felt so put out by Father McGrane's remarks - most of which Antonia Messier had translated for him - he'd have joined the laughing ones. For the idea was ridiculous. Audacious. Completely un-Christian. Even Father Desmarais, back in Saint Timothée, wouldn't have come up with something so absurd.
"Anyway," Father McGrane continued, signaling to the choir, "now that's settled, let us close today's blessed Mass with Holy, Holy, Holy."
"What? This one?"
Godfrey shook his head and pointed to the bag of chicken feed his brother wanted.
"Markham's?"
"Yes."
The store clerk looked uncertainly at Godfrey as he pulled the heavy bag from the pallet. He brought the bag around the counter and placed it at Godfrey's feet.
"You need to learn English, my friend. You're difficult to understand. Where you from anyway? You don't look like one of them Slavs or Polaks - and you certainly aren't from the British Isles - unless that's a Welsh accent of some kind."
Godfrey glared at the man - wh
o he guessed to be in his early forties - waiting for him to finish speaking so he could answer.
"I'm from Québec."
The clerk's face split into a wide smile and slapped a hand on the counter. "Québec! A Frenchman!"
Godfrey nodded, unsure what to say.
"D'you have family out here? There are lots of ya's in this area. I know the Rajotte's and the Lecompte's and - "
"Leduc. My brothers have been out here since nineteen sixteen."
"Ah, Leduc. The name rings a bell. Leduc...Leduc...Isaac? Isaac Leduc?"
Godfrey was surprised. "Yes, he's my brother."
The man's face suddenly donned a look of comprehension and the look he now received from him was one of curious respect.
"I know your brother fairly well. He's here quite a bit. He's married to...that Messier girl...what's her name..."
"Antonia."
"Antonia! Yes! Yes..."
The man fell silent eventually. Godfrey didn't care to indulge the man in his who's-who game any longer and waited, his lips pressed together, for the clerk to charge him for the bag of feed.
"Joe Welch," said the man, seeming to ignore Godfrey's coldness. "I'm the owner here."
Godfrey shook his hand. "Godfrey Leduc."
"Well, now, that's two of ya's. There's another one of ya though..."
"Leopold. Leo."
"Ah, yes! Leo. Feisty fella."
Godfrey said nothing and Joe's smile slowly disappeared.
"Anyway, you look like you have work to get done. I won't keep ya. Feed comes to three dollars, fifty cents."
Godfrey nodded and withdrew the five dollar bill Leo had given him for the purpose.
"You can put the rest of the money on Leo's tab," he said, pointing at the ledger that lay between them on the counter top.
"Of course. Of course," said Joe, taking the money and scrawling in his ledger. "Do you require a receipt?"
"Yes. Please."
The thin man nodded as though his job was suddenly very important and, digging in a drawer, withdrew a leather bound book.
"Give me a minute and I'll cut you a receipt."
Godfrey stepped back from the counter as another man approached, a rake and hoe resting on his shoulder.
"Hi ya, Clive. What's the good word?"
The grizzled looking man glanced at Godfrey and then back at the clerk. "Ah, not to much. Doin' some work in the garden. Got a whole swath of rhubarb to take in."
He looked at Godfrey again, the way old farmers do when they see another face in the store. His face was pockmarked and weather-beaten. His eyes were brown and intense. And he was missing two teeth - well two that Godfrey could see - he assumed there were probably a couple more missing - not that he cared to look at the man for long.
"Rhubarb, eh? Yeah Mary's got a good portion of that too in our garden. Good stuff. Makes a good pie."
The clerk turned to Godfrey. "Here you are son," he said, passing him the receipt. "And work on that English, eh?"
Godfrey frowned. Joe Welch thought he was funny and he wasn't. As for "Clive", the old farmer, he was staring at him again. His gaze was becoming increasingly annoying and what with the Joe berating him over his English, Godfrey had nothing polite to say nor smile to offer.
"See ya around, son."
Godfrey merely grunted, heaving the bag of feed over his shoulder and heading outside without so much as a glance back. Leo was waiting beside the wagon, picking at his teeth and watching the comings and goings of the people on Main Street.
"What took you so long?"
"Nothing. Let's go."
I’ll learn to speak English better than that dumb store clerk. Maudit anglais... Next time I go into Atlas Lumber I’ll have the talk of a lawyer, thought Godfrey, pulling open the latest edition of the Wainwright Star. He chewed on the end of his pencil for a minute as he scanned the front page. When he'd found an article to copy, he put pencil to paper and began writing.
Work is just fun when tradesmen hold farm bee. Owing to being on a sick bed with typhoid fever (from which he is recovering nicely) Mr Arthur Terry was sore beset to garner his harvest, but no sooner was this fact generally known than arrangements were made to attend to the work that Mr Terry was unable to accomplish.
Just like our Isaac. Except typhoid sounds a good shot worse than appendicitis...
Accordingly, on Friday last, auto loads of townsmen besieged the farm, and were soon “up to their eyes” in the harvest fields –
Up to their eyes? What an odd expression...
- and before leaving the place everything was cut and stooked, the following being the “Crimesters” –Messrs J. Bryant, Dr. Wallace (and son), W. Brown, R. Hunter, W. Mills, D. Hansen, J. Bisson –
Joseph Bisson? He said he didn’t have time to come and help at Isaac’s farm bee.
Godfrey sharpened his pencil and continued writing.
G. Johnson, P. Jones, Principal W. Suckling, S. Sorenson, C. Ham and J. Robinson. More power to their arm!
Chapter Ten
"A few more years like this and I'll be able to buy another quarter section," said Leo, gazing out at the seemingly endless, golden wheat field. "Catch up to dear Isaac."
Godfrey acknowledged his brother's comment and turned the crank on the Fordson Model F. Three rotations and the tractor roared to life. Leo nodded as though it was go time and placed his hat on his head.
"Here we go!" he shouted, his voice barely audible over the heavy machine. "Harvest nineteen twenty one."
Six thousand dollars.
Godfrey played the figure over in his head over and over again. After taxes, freight fees, the cost of seed and repaying half of the money his Uncle Benjamin had lent him, he'd cleared six thousand dollars. In just four and a half months. Of course, that money would have to last him the entire year - until next harvest - but it was more than enough to live comfortably. Even with the added costs of building and maintaining his new house, he, Godfrey Leduc, at the tender age of twenty one, had cleared six thousand dollars in his first year on his own farm.
The number rolled off his tongue. Bombarded his dreams. Permeated his quiet moments.
He'd be smart with the money. He wouldn't wind up like those poor saps in debt, forced to return home with their tails between their legs. He'd invest some in government bonds. He'd put away what he needed for next season, allotting for the cost of seed, fuel for Isaac's tractor, and other expenses.
Yes. He'd done well and had made the right decision coming out here.
Now, staring out across his freshly harvested quarter section, all one hundred sixty acres glimmering under the fading summer sun, he knew he'd make it.
THE END
FACT VERSUS FICTION
As with Godfrey: Book One, certain elements of this semi-autobiographical book have been fictionalized for the purposes of telling a good story. The reality is that, when writing about a man, my great-grandfather, who was born in 1900/1901 and passed away in 1987, certain details are hard to come by. That being said, I've made a concerted effort to stay as true as possible in writing this story as I do wish it to stand as a biography of Godfrey Leduc. In the spirit of fact, let me tell you that the following places, names, and events are true.
• Godfrey Leduc and his two brothers, Leopold and Isaac (Isaie), really did farm at Greenshields, Alberta from c. 1916 - 1950.
• Godfrey Leduc did spend his first winter in Greenshields living in an old grain elevator that he'd converted into something habitable
• The Wainwright Star is a real newspaper and has served the City of Wainwright and surrounding area since at least 1910.
• Godfrey Leduc did have to learn English as a second language and he learned it by copying out lines from newspapers and magazines, most notable, National Geographic.
• Isaac Leduc did marry one of the Messier girls (either Antonia or sister Corine) and their parents were Hermenegilde Messier and Rosana Tetreault of Ste. Madeleine, Quebec.
*An i
nteresting note to this is that Doug Messier, father of famed, Canadian hockey player, Mark Messier, was born and raised in Wainwright, Alberta. Digging through some rootsweb.ca threads, I learned that Doug Messier's father was one Edouard/Edward Messier who came from Quebec and settled in Alberta.
source: https://archiver.rootsweb.ancestry.com/th/read/MESSIER/2005-06/1119310961
There is a strong likelihood that Edouard/Edward Messier (Mark Messier's grandfather) was a relation of Hermenegilde Messier (Isaac Leduc's father-in-law).
• In addition to motion pictures, the Elite Theatre in Wainwright, built sometime around 1910, hosted numerous balls, ballets, operas, and theatrical performances.
• Henry and Diana Lapalme, married c. 1920, were real people and good friends of the Leduc's (more on that in Book Three)
• Blessed Sacrament Catholic Church is the Catholic parish in Wainwright, Alberta - though it wasn't completed until 1933.
• Father Joseph McGrane was pastor at Blessed Sacrament Catholic Church from c. 1933 - 1940. He presided over my great-grandmother's funeral in 1935 in addition to administering other religious rites to other relatives and family friends. (Thus the period described in this book pre-dates McGrane's time as pastor in Wainwright by ten years.) The Western Catholic Reporter did a wonderful write-up on Father McGrane in January, 2011 which can be read here: https://www.wcr.ab.ca/WCRThisWeek/Stories/tabid/61/entryid/501/Default.aspx
• The Wainwright Hotel really did exist. It was constructed c. 1910 but burned down in 1929. There are numerous pictures available on-line. It was one of the few places in town to get a decent meal. My great-grandfather, as well as my great-great uncles Leopold and Isaac would most certainly have stepped foot inside on at least one occasion as the hotel played host to countless banquets, dinners, and receptions.
• Edmond Grenier was a good family friend (of all three Leduc brothers) and was known, in part, for growing tobacco. He farmed at Greenshields, just a few miles from the Leduc brothers. According to one source I found, he was one of the first pupils of Heath School (which opened March 15, 1912).
• F. Skinner and H. Clipston and Ross Valleau were real people who lived in and around Wainwright/Greenshields during this period. No guess as to whether or not these men would have helped at Isaac's farm bee when he was laid up in bed recovering from an attack of the appendix (fictional).