Landmark Roses Read online

  Landmark Roses

  Canadian Historical Brides

  Book 7 Manitoba

  By Marie Rafter

  with Margaret Kyle

  Digital ISBNs

  EPUB 9781772998467

  Kindle 9781772998474

  WEB 9781772998481

  Print ISBN 9781772998498

  Amazon Print ISBN 978-1-77362-592-8

  Copyright 2017 Marie Rafter and Margaret Kyle

  Series Copyright 2017 Books We Love Ltd.

  Cover art Michelle Lee

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book.

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  Rafter, Marie, author

  Landmark roses / by Marie Rafter with Margaret Kyle.

  (Canadian historical brides ; book 7)

  Issued in print and electronic formats.

  ISBN 978-1-77299-849-8 (softcover).--ISBN 978-1-77299-846-7 (EPUB).--

  ISBN 978-1-77299-847-4 (Kindle).--ISBN 978-1-77299-848-1 (PDF)

  I. Kyle, Margaret, 1961-, author II. Title. III. Series: Canadian

  historical brides ; bk. 7

  PS8603.E4494L36 2017 C813'.6 C2017-905691-3

  C2017-905692-1

  Dedication

  Books We Love Ltd. dedicates the Canadian Historical Brides series to the immigrants, male and female who left their homes and families, crossed oceans and endured unimaginable hardships in order to settle the Canadian wilderness and build new lives in a rough and untamed country.

  Acknowledgement

  Books We Love acknowledges the Government of Canada and the Canada Book Fund for its financial support in creating the Canadian Historical Brides series.

  Chapter One

  Silberfeld, Manitoba

  Fall, 1946

  Dust danced in the golden light slanting across the yard, falling warm on Elsie Neufeld’s shoulders. Her fingers continued to shuck the pods from the sweet green peas in the bowl cradled on her lap. Bees droned in the rose bushes crowded against the south end of the wide roofed porch, almost drowned out by the shrieks of the kjinja playing hide and seek among the out buildings. It was nice to hear the young voices of her grandchildren playing with their cousins.

  Porch boards creaked in time with the squeak of her old rocker. From the open window above, the voices of the young women working on quilting and sewing rose and fell with the rhythm of their conversation. Saturday afternoons were a constant source of pleasure for Elsie with preparations for the following day of rest being taken care of in anticipation of family and friends gathering to enjoy each other’s company after Church on Sunday afternoon.

  Dropping the last pea pod into the Rogers Golden Syrup pail at her side, she shook the large bowl of shelled peas, bending her head to survey the small round orbs, looking for any bits that might have fallen among them by mistake. Finding none, Elsie set the bowl on the small table by her side.

  The tall figure of Ike Neufeld threw long shadows across the dusty yard as he skirted the galloping kjinja, playing and squealing with laughter, and made his way to her side. Heavy work boots shed chaff and bits of hay when he mounted the shallow steps and sank into the empty rocking chair on the opposite side of the small table.

  “Warm day,” Elsie said rising to step inside and fetch a glass of cold lemonade for her husband.

  The screen door slapped shut behind her and she paused at the bottom of the stairs to listen to the laughter of the girls. Things hadn’t changed much since she was a girl. There was something very comforting in that thought. Elsie continued into the big kitchen at the back of the house and took the jug of lemonade from the oak icebox. Before she set the glass on a tray along with some pickles and cheese for Ike, Elsie gave the huge vat of borscht a stir.

  “Here you are, Ike. Could you move the peas, please?” Elsie pushed the screen door open with her hip and placed the refreshments on the small table, now emptied of the bowl of peas.

  Ike straightened from placing the bowl by his feet, popping a handful of peas into his mouth as he did so.

  “Ike!” Elsie scolded her husband good-naturedly. “Those are for supper.”

  He grinned at her, chewed and swallowed. “Now Elsie, nobody’s going to miss a few peas.” He took the water beaded glass of lemonade she handed him.

  She settled back in her chair, smoothing her apron over the skirts of her dress. Never one to sit idle for long, Elsie pulled the sweater she was working on out of the basket under the small table. Forehead furrowed in thought, she worked the stitches of the intricate pattern, one foot pushing the rocker.

  “What’s troubling you, Elsie?” Ike chewed on a stalk of timothy hay he pulled from the long grass poking up through the rose bushes.

  “Who says anything’s troubling me?” She rocked a bit harder, needles flashing in the afternoon sun.”

  “We’ve been married more years than I have fingers and toes. I think by now I know when you’re upset.”

  “It’s little Anna. She came home from school on Friday in tears. The kjinja at school were teasing her again.” Elsie’s needles stilled in hands.

  “That’s Agnes and Walter’s trouble to deal with, not ours. Did she tell them?”

  “She didn’t want to. Agnes says the child just needs to be the bigger person and ignore them. Walter believes it’s just kids being kids and dot woret aule woare, it will all work out. Poor little thing feels all alone.”

  “What’s it all about? They’re not hurting her, are they?” Ike quit rocking.

  Elsie shook her head. “Just name calling, at least that’s all Anna told me about.”

  “What kind of names?” Ike’s knuckles whitened on the rocking chair arms.

  “The same as always. Saying she’s thin as a rail, she’s so ugly no boy is ever going to want to marry her. She’s such a sweet child, it breaks my heart to see her so upset. I wish they’d pay more attention to what goes on in the school yard.”

  “I suppose they try, but the teacher can’t be everywhere at once and those older children should know better.” Ike’s face darkened.

  “I told her not to take it to heart. God loves all His children. We’re all beautiful in His eyes. I’m not too sure it was much comfort to her.”

  Ike got to his feet. “I’ll just go have a word with Walter. This has been going on for far too long. He needs to speak to the school board. No point in talking to the parents, we already tried that.”

  “Wait ’til tomorrow, Ike. No need to spoil a lovely afternoon with such unpleasantness.” She halted him with a hand on his arm.

  “I suppose you’re right. It can wait ’til Monday.” He drained the last of his lemonade and sauntered off toward the men gathered by the threshing machine smoking and yarning.

  Elsie tucked the sweater back into the basket, sticking the needles into the skein of bright wool. She pulled out the pattern for the pretty nightgown made of unbleached linen she was planning as part of her contribution to the hope chest for Leina’s daughter, Sadie. When she was finished with a bit of intricate embroidery, she folded the garment and returned it to the basket. In passing, her fingers caressed the soft folds of the baby nightie she was knitting for Nettie’s baby which was due in early December. Smiling, she pushed the pattern back inside, closed the lid and got to her feet.

  Elsie carried the lemonade tray through the living room and into the kitchen. Sarah and Helena were already there, along with Ed’s wife Betty and Hank’s wife Frieda
. She wound her way through the various preparations for the following day and set the tray on the immaculate side board, careful to be sure there was a runner under it.

  “The peas are shelled, I’ll just fetch them from the porch,” she announced to the room in general.

  “Danksheen, Mutti,” Helena replied, busy setting out an array of pickles and Bothwell cheese on shiny plates. It would be time for supper soon enough.

  Elsie sidestepped Frieda who was preparing dough for the buns. She paused in the living room to savour the laughter floating down the stairs from the rooms above. Unless she missed her guess there might be more than one wedding in the coming year. The youngest Hildebrand boy had been noted to be interested in Ed and Betty’s third daughter, Ella.

  In the stillness of the sunlit room, Elsie rested a hand on the crocheted pineapple antimacassar on the back of the sofa. Where did the years go? It feels like only yesterday I was going to dances and spending Sunday afternoons playing cards with my friends and casting secret glances at Ike. That was so long ago, now. A brilliant smile lit her features.

  * * *

  On an afternoon in September, much like this one, she’d been dancing with girlfriends to polkas on the windup gramophone. Oh, the fun they used to have. Her cousin, Anamarie teasing her about Henry Penner, saying how he was planning to ask her out. Elsie had snorted through her nose at the thought. Henry was nice enough, she supposed, but to go out with him…? Now if it was Ike Neufeld who was doing the asking…that was another story. He was tall and handsome with a shock of dark hair that persisted in hanging over his forehead. His broad shoulders and narrow hips struck a chord deep within her that Elsie hadn’t fully understood at the time.

  Her fingers stroked the top of the back of the sofa absently brushing off a speck of dust. She let her gaze roam over the polished mantle-piece where a small clock ticked off the time.

  It was later that same long ago day, after they’d worn themselves thin dancing and laughing that Ike approached her. Elsie and Liz were gathering up the faspa remains and taking them to the kitchen. Ike held the door to the summer kitchen and to her surprise followed the two girls inside. She’d been further nonplused when he’d shooed Liz away to get the rest of the dishes.

  Elsie pressed a hand to her breast in memory of the tumult that exploded in her chest that long ago day. She closed her eyes to better remember the deep timbre of his voice.

  “Elsie, I’ve been thinking…” he’d paused and his ears had flamed red.

  “Yes, Ike? What are you thinking?” Her pulse had thundered in her ears and she’d had to bury her hands in her apron to hide the trembling. Even her knees had gone weak.

  “I was wondering if you’d like to go with me to the dance next Saturday. I mean, it’s okay if you’ve got plans already…” his voice trailed off and his big booted feet shuffled on the clean-swept floor boards.

  “Well, aren’t we all going together? Fred’s borrowing a car from a friend in Landmark and we can take the buggy…Why wouldn’t you come with us?”

  Ike blushed deeper and shoved his large hands into his trouser pockets, dropping his head so she couldn’t see his face. “We always go together. But I didn’t mean like that…I meant would you go with me, like just you and me, just the two of us? If you’d rather not, I understand. It’s okay.” He turned to leave as Liz returned with a basketful of table clothes and napkins, topped by the last of the dishes.

  “Oh, you’re still here, Ike?” She’d halted in the doorway, her gaze darting to Elsie’s face.

  Elsie had tried to shoo her away, but she must have misunderstood as she stepped past Ike and began to fill the enameled washbowl with water heated in a copper tub on the stove.

  “I was just leaving.” Ike stepped over the threshold into the bright evening sunlight.

  “I’ll be right back, Liz.” Elsie dried her hands on her apron and hurried after him. “Ike. Wait.”

  The tall young man halted and half turned back toward her. “Yes?”

  Taking her courage in her hands, Elsie swallowed hard against the sudden dryness in her mouth. “Ike, I would like very much to go to the dance with you. Not as part of the group, but just you and me, going with the rest of them.” She laid a hand on his arm, the long muscles hard under her fingers.

  “Really?” Ike had tipped his head back. Elsie could still see him as if he stood in front of her. The sun picking out the strong contours of his features, his blue eyes bright and intense on her face.

  The memory still quickened her heart and brought a smile to her face.

  “Yes, really,” she’d answered him, a smile breaking across her face.

  “Good.” He cleared his throat. “That’s good, then. I’ll be by to meet you beforehand. Before Fred gets here with the car. I can hitch the wagon for you.”

  Elsie had laughed, she remembered. “I think I can harness Polly. I’ve done it a hundred times…” she’d faltered at the expression chasing across his face. “But, if you’d like to do it for me, I’d appreciate it. Save me from worrying about getting my dress dirty. Thank you, Ike.”

  “That’s set then. I…I…I gotta go.” He strode across the short grass by the house, eschewing the path beaten in the dirt. If he’d gone any faster the poor boy would have been running.

  * * *

  “Grossmama, are you all right? I just came in to see if help was needed with anything.” Sadie halted by her grossmama and studied her face.

  “Yes, I’m fine. Just thinking.” She shook her head to dispel the memories. “I was on my way to collect the peas from the front porch and got caught up in old memories.” Elsie moved toward the front door.

  “I’ll get them, why don’t you go back into the kitchen and supervise. I think the barley is roasted and just needs to be ground, the chicory is by the coffee grinder.” Sadie patted Elsie’s arm and skipped lightly out to get the bowl of peas, the screen door slapping closed behind her, before it opened again almost immediately and Sadie appeared with the bowl of peas tucked against her hip.

  She hooked her arm through Elsie’s when she caught up with her just outside the kitchen. Together, the two joined the rest of the women. Laughter and the warmth of family chatter didn’t slow the work of busy hands.

  * * *

  Elsie straightened the new scarf, arranging it neatly on her head and smiled at her reflection. For a woman of fifty-five years she looked very well. The years may have etched fine lines at the corners of her eyes and around her mouth though the diffuse light filtering through the curtains softened them into nonexistence. She ran her hands over her still narrow waist and hips, smoothing the material of her best Sunday dress.

  “Elsie, are you coming?” Ike’s voice echoed up the staircase. “I’ve got the buggy waiting by the porch steps.”

  “Coming!” With one last appraising glance at her reflection, Elsie crossed the bedroom her heels clicking on the wood floor. No one could ever say Elsie Neufeld looked less than her best on a Sunday morning. The old house was quiet as she descended the stairs. Running her hand down the polished bannister, she smiled. The sunlit peace would soon be broken once the family arrived when Church was over. Her steps slowed momentarily when she entered the living room, ticking off the items prepared and waiting in the kitchen.

  “Elsie…” Ike swung the screen door open and broke off abruptly when he caught sight of her standing in a golden beam of light.

  “I’m right here, Ike. Come along, we’re going to be late if we don’t hurry.”

  Her husband came to her side in two long strides and tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow. “Standing there all bright and golden you’re as beautiful as the day I married you.”

  “Thank you, Ike.” Elsie giggled like a young girl and gave him a coquettish glance. “Sometimes it seems like only yesterday, doesn’t it?”

  “Somedays,” he agreed moving toward the door and the waiting buggy.

  Elsie went down the wide porch steps with her head high, pleased t
he long slender fingers of her hand looked elegant resting on her husband’s arm. Her wrist peeking out from the sleeve of her dress was still thinner than her sister Agatha’s. She patted at the strand of shining hair the prairie wind teased from under her hat, tucking it back safely where it belonged.

  Ike handed her up into the buggy seat and waited until she was settled before going around to the driver’s side. He ran a hand over Polly’s hip as he passed and paused to straighten a strap on the bridle before joining his wife, the springs of the buggy squeaking in protest at the added weight.

  “Giddup, mare.” Ike slapped the lines lightly on the bay gelding’s rump. The horse agreeably moved forward and obeyed the signals that sent her out of the yard and unto the dusty road. The September morning was warm with a slight edge to the air that said without a doubt that summer was fading. The breeze carried the scent of sun-ripened grain and last roses of summer nodding along the roadside. How she loved the smell of the wild roses that ran rampant over the rolling prairie. Overhead a pair of hawks circled in the autumn blue sky, bright in contrast to the golden prairie sweeping to the horizon. The creak and rumble of the buggy accompanied by the jingle of harness and the sound of the mare’s hooves striking the soft surface of the road was comfortingly familiar. Elsie turned and smiled at her husband of thirty-five years. Time had been as kind to him as it had to her, she reflected.

  Ike tipped his head and caught her eye. “Penny for your thoughts?” He raised an eyebrow.