A Trail of Broken Dreams Read online

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Ledger

  Upper Fort Garry, Red River Settlement, 1862

  May 1862

  June 1862

  July 1862

  August 1862

  September 1862

  October 1862

  Epilogue

  Historical Note

  Images and Documents

  Credits

  Dedication

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Books in the Dear Canada Series

  Upper Fort Garry, Red River Settlement, 1862

  May 1862

  May 15, 1862

  Upper Fort Garry, Red River Settlement

  We buried Mama today.

  I didn’t mean to write those words. How can she be dead when I see her at this table, head bent, pen in hand, filling the pages of this account book from edge to gutter as was her way? There, now I have blurred the ink with a tear. I have no time to cry. I must return to Mama’s accounts. I need to know how we stand.

  May 15, 1862, evening

  I finally believe Mama is never coming back. I stood at the burying, not looking at Mama’s coffin. Nor at the small grave beside her, where baby Robert was buried six weeks before. He lived only a few weeks. I divided my gaze between searching the flat horizon for Father and glaring at Mrs. Owen.

  Reverend Mr. Corbett said his words hastily as dark clouds gathered on the horizon, and the wind swirled dust about our feet and into our faces. Dressed in their darkest clothes, the mourners looked like crows as they raised their hands again and again to protect their eyes from dust. I kept my arms still, and even welcomed the grit stinging my face. It was the first I’d felt anything since Mama died. Even before the last words were spoken over Mama, people turned and fled back to Fort Garry or their homes in the settlement. I lingered a moment, searching the prairie once again. Surely Father would know Mama was dead of childbed fever. Wouldn’t he feel it and come home? But I saw nothing.

  “Come along into the fort now, Harriet,” Mrs. Owen called to me, but I ignored her. I am stubborn like that. It is one of my faults. Then she began petting and cooing over Luella, and putting her arm around William. I rushed to catch up to them and took each of their hands in mine and pulled them from her grip. They belong to Mama, not Mrs. Owen. They belong to me.

  May 17, 1862

  Our situation is not good. We have spent all our money and more. Mama obviously thought Father would return from the gold fields with riches. Why else would she run up a large debt at the Owens’ store? I see from her figures that the bulk of money from the sale of Father’s mill went to pay for our train and stage journey from Canada West to the Red River Settlement. More went for Father’s share in a cart and ox so he could set off for British Columbia and the gold fields. We ate the rest over the winter months.

  It does not feel right to look at Mama’s cramped figures — money matters are private affairs — but I overheard Mrs. Owen telling the ladies in the fort that we were penniless and orphaned. My brain is in a burning turmoil. I do not know what to do.

  May 18, 1862

  I berate myself for continuing to waste ink and paper to keep a reckoning of my days in Mama’s account book, but I have no friends here and it makes me feel less lonely.

  I spent the day roaming the fort and asking after work. I put up my hair like Mama did hers, so I’d look older than my twelve years, brushed dust from my skirt and forced a pleasant smile on my face. I tried the residence of the Hudson Bay Company’s chief factor, and the officers’ residences, to offer my services as a maid or cook’s helper, but they had no use for me. I then tried the barracks, but one private laughed, saying I was too bony for work. I wanted to tell him that bony people work the hardest, but I didn’t have the heart.

  May 20, 1862

  I will it to be otherwise, dear diary, but I have no way to provide for Luella or William. We were told yesterday to vacate the rooms Father had taken for us. I had to throw myself upon the mercies of Mrs. Owen. Her eyes narrowed as they ran up and down my thin frame, but lit up when she saw Luella, and her husband gave William flour bags to stack. I assured her Father would be back soon with bags of gold and would pay them handsomely for their trouble. She told me to sweep the floor of the store. She scooped up Luella and took her off upstairs to their rooms.

  May 22, 1862

  I heard Mr. and Mrs. Owen talking last night. They are making plans to return to Toronto next year. Mrs. Owen complained that she did not like all the openness of the land, and thinking about it, I cannot recall seeing her much outside the fort. When forced to leave, she hugs the walls and scurries back in at the first opportunity. But the worst is that I heard Mrs. Owen say that she wanted to take Luella with her! Luella reminds her of her baby girl who died some years back. Mr. Owen said he’d like to take William also, as he is a stout lad and, at ten, a good age to be a help. Then there was a silence. “What about Harriet?” Mrs. Owen finally asked. Her voice becomes hard when she talks of me.

  Mr. Owen said he thought he could find me a position as a maid to people named Schubert, who own the tavern across the river. I cannot believe the Owens would leave me here, and take Luella and William! “That would be good,” Mrs. Owen said. “She is just another mouth to feed and not an attractive one at that.”

  I hate her, but as I write this, I know part of what Mrs. Owen says to be true. If you put Luella and me side by side, you would never guess we were sisters, she with her blond curls and large blue eyes, and me with my limp brown hair and pasty face with red freckles that even a washing with a liberal dose of lemon juice would not remove, and eyes so contrary they don’t know whether to be green or grey. So her words are true — but still they hurt.

  I have lost Mama and a new brother. I will not lose Luella and William. I will think of something.

  May 24, 1862

  Today is the Queen’s birthday. A volley of gunfire started the day and the soldiers marched on the small parade ground, then drink was taken liberally.

  May 25, 1862

  How I wish Father would come back. Between the pages of Mama’s account book, I found the letter he sent to us from Fort Edmonton. He said he was well and would soon be at the gold fields. I remember when we got the letter, how Mama cried and cried. I thought to send a letter back to him telling him of Mama’s death, but I don’t know where to send it.

  May 26, 1862

  I overheard Mrs. Owen speaking of me to the captain’s wife. “She does not grieve for her mother,” Mrs. Owen said. “She’s an unnatural child.” I was stung to the bottom of my soul! I have not had time for grief. My thoughts are occupied with how to keep Luella and William. I hate Mrs. Owen! Mama would scold me for thinking so, but I can’t help it. I hate her! Even if I have to help Mrs. Sinclair do laundry for the soldiers, I will, if it means I can get away from that woman.

  May 27, 1862

  I left the fort this morning at dawn. I needed to escape and think without Mrs. Owen’s voice rattling in my ears. I know that I should be grateful that she took us in — as Mrs. Owen reminds me a dozen times a day — but I’m not. At breakfast I told Luella that Father would be home soon. Mrs. Owen pursed her lips.

  “You cannot count on that, girl,” she said to me.

  “He will come home,” I told her.

  “More men die out there than make it back alive,” she said. “He should never have gone and left his family to fend on their own.”

  I had no answer to that, as it is with shame I admit I have had similar criticisms of Father in my heart. He shouldn’t have left us.

  I saw Mrs. Sinclair tending the breakfast fire in front of her
tent. With her English name and Indian face, she moves freely among both the Indian population and the white folk. The white women mostly ignore her, though Mama would nod and speak with her. There is a large encampment of Indians outside the fort. I used to fear them, but realize now they mean no harm. It angered me greatly to hear Mrs. Owen tell the ladies of the fort how she nursed Mama, when in reality it was Mrs. Sinclair with her potions and cool cloths who helped. I thought to ask her about laundry work, but a deep weariness steered my feet towards the river instead.

  The morning air was clear, but with a chill. It is barren here, the land around the settlement stripped of its trees, but still it holds a particular beauty that satisfies me. As ducks rose from the river to take flight against the pink-gold morning sky, my fingers suddenly remembered charcoal and paper. I had done many sketches back home in Canada West, but have no spare paper to use here. It was just a passing fancy, gone as soon as the ducks vanished from sight.

  May 29, 1862

  I was frightened nearly out of my wits today as a volley was fired from every rifle in the fort and was soon answered from the river. I thought perhaps we were under attack, but it was the steamship International arriving, on her maiden voyage. Indians ran along the riverbank firing rifles in welcome. The boat was filled with men hoping to seek their fortunes in the Cariboo gold fields. More arrived this past week by stagecoach and cart. Gold! Gold and more gold — that is all they talk about! It is like a sickness with them. One that Father caught.

  Many have come from Canada West, even some from the London area, near where we used to live, including two brothers, Joe and Henry Morgan. I asked if they remembered us, or our mill. Joe — the younger, I guess him to be about eighteen years of age — screwed up his face, rolled his eyes and gave every appearance of painful deep thought. Henry, the elder, shook his head impatiently at his brother, and growled that they didn’t know my family.

  The men are encamped outside the fort and number well over a hundred. One wandered about the settlement with a sketchbook in hand. I asked a soldier who he was. He said the man was a gentleman named William George Richardson Hind — and he is an artist! A real artist! I followed him as he walked a little distance, then stood and stared out over the prairie, chomping on a pipe, and drawing with quick strokes on paper. He looks a bit of a dandy with a balding head, eyeglasses and a short beard. Unfortunately, as I was sneaking up to catch a glimpse of his drawing, he turned his stare from the prairie to me! I quickly fled.

  May 30, 1862

  I heard Luella call Mrs. Owen Mama today. I shook her hard and told her she was never to call Mrs. Owen that again. Luella began to cry and said Mrs. Owen had told her to call her that. I felt sorry for my anger, and pulled Luella onto my lap, reminding myself it is not her fault. After all, she is only four.

  May 31, 1862

  I have a plan! Mama would not approve, but I positioned myself to overhear the men talking of the gold fields. Mrs. Sinclair was also there, collecting clothes for washing, but I believe she listened also. The men spoke of the cost of provisions, the route to follow, and the merits of a guide to lead them to Fort Edmonton. These discussions go on without end and I think they’d better decide soon or they will spend all summer talking about it. Or worse, I might lose the courage to follow my plan!

  June 1862

  June 2, 1862, evening

  I cannot believe my daring. Though worn out from fear and excitement, I am wide awake, wrapped in a blanket under a star-strewn sky on the prairie! On my way to Cariboo! How is that for a dramatic start, dear diary? I have decided to bring you along to record my adventures for William and Luella. I can just see myself sitting with them, snug by a warm hearth while a winter wind howls outside, their eyes huge with astonishment at my tales. But that is for later.

  My plan was to ask to go with the company to Cariboo to find Father, and bring him back to William and Luella. But that plan changed when I heard one man say no “petticoats” were to go on the journey. (Though Mrs. Schubert — definitely a petticoat — is travelling with her husband and three children, but that is yet another story for later.)

  What was I to do? My brain was in a burning turmoil, when I came up with an even better plan. And only two days to prepare! I shortened a pair of Father’s old pants, turned up the cuffs of an old woollen shirt I found in Mama’s rag bag, and these, with a hat and stout boots of William’s, turned me into a boy! I found two old packs amongst Mama’s belongings from our trip west. Here is what I put into them:

  a pot, a skillet, a water pouch, a plate, a cup, a fork, a skinning knife, needle and thread, a change of underclothing, an extra shirt (also rescued from the rag bag, with holes in the elbows) a ten-pound sack of flour, beans and dried apples from the store (which I plan to repay back twice over their price to Mrs. Owen when I return with Father and gold), a pound of baking soda (our own), some ink and a pen wrapped in a waterproof cloth, and of course you, dear diary. I fastened two blankets to the bottom of the pack for sleeping. It is heavy, my pack, but bearable. I have no choice anyway, because I have no cart (which with oxen costs $40.00!) to carry my things. At least I do not need miners’ tools like picks and shovels as the rest of the travellers do. I wish I had pemmican, but had no money to buy some from the pemmican store. I spent a long time trying to decide whether or not to take Mama’s wedding ring and watch. They are the only items of value I possess. Finally I sewed the ring into the waistband of my pants and buried Mama’s watch in the bottom of the bag. I will use them only if necessary.

  This morning — was it really only this morning? — I changed my clothes in a grove of aspen and cut my hair to my shoulders. When I stepped out of the grove, I got such a shock as to nearly stop my heart! Mrs. Sinclair stood there. I thought she’d try to stop me, but instead she held out a hide sack. “Pemmican,” she said. “For your journey.” She saw my surprise, and explained that she’d heard of Mrs. Owen’s plans to take Luella and William, and seen me listening to the men. It seems Mrs. Sinclair doesn’t miss much. Then, from around her shoulders she took a buffalo skin and handed that to me also. I just remembered! In my surprise, I forgot to thank her!

  Next I found William at the store, and stole him right from under Mr. Owen’s nose! Mr. Owen didn’t know who I was in my hat and my boy’s clothes, though William soon realized. I told him my plan and made him cross his heart and promise not to tell anyone, not even Luella, where I had gone — she might accidentally tell Mrs. Owen — until one week had passed. I told him to say that I was helping Mrs. Schubert at the tavern. And William, being William, was more worried about getting his hat back, than about me! I am sorry to do this to Luella, but I’m doing it to keep her, so I hope one day she will forgive me.

  I joined the confusion of carts, oxen, horses, cattle and people, moving from group to group so no one would know that I didn’t belong to anyone. As we are so large a party — ninety-seven carts! — we have split into three groups. By afternoon the first line of carts was haphazardly fashioned, prayers were said over us, and our journey began. And here I am, on my way to Cariboo and Father.

  June 5, 1862

  Long Lake

  Mama’s watch tells me it is two o’clock in the morning, dear diary, and we have just now made camp. I am so weary I can barely hold my pen. We walked many miles today. My shoulders soon let me know my packs and blankets were far too heavy, so I sidled up to a cart, and when no one was looking, threw my buffalo skin and the heavier of the packs onto the back. I figure the oxen are much stronger than I. I had a bit of a scare when I lost track of the cart in the dark, but I soon found it again and retrieved my pack and my buffalo blanket. I’m grateful for it now, covering the hard ground beneath me.

  William’s boots rub the skin from my heels. They are so sore, I am not sure if I can go on. We travelled such a distance because we had no water. Our guide, Mr. Charles Rochette, assured us drinking water was but three miles ahead. Eight miles later we still had found none. Being unfamiliar with prairie
travel and believing our guide’s word that there was water just ahead, no one had thought to bring any along. By midday my tongue was so swollen with thirst it filled my mouth. Eleven hours we travelled without a drink. It was when we heard bullfrogs that we knew we were saved. I threw myself flat upon my stomach and drank my fill of the lake. Mr. Rochette might have come to us highly recommended, but I do not think much of this guide.

  Late morning

  Talk! Talk! And more Talk. That is all the men do — wrangle and bicker, while the day wears on. I can’t help but think that women would just have got on with the task at hand. How these men even got this far is a wonder to me! The first morning of our journey was one of great confusion. Oxen ran off with or without their drivers, carts overturned, goods spilled everywhere. It caused a great delay, but then I guess I have to remember that most of these men are clerks, school teachers, shopkeepers or dandies who had servants to take care of their needs.

  At last they have chosen a leader, Mr. Thomas McMicking. He is one of the few men here who is clean-shaven. He has very large, dark eyes and looks a bit thin and reedy. Not at all what I think a leader should look like. It is expected to take two months to reach the gold fields. Right now the men are writing down rules. One causes me some worry. Every man is to pay one dollar for the guide. I hope no one asks me to pay, as I do not have any money.

  I keep apart from the others, my head down. If I need to speak, it is with as few words as possible. I go from the head of the line to the middle and the back, picking a different cart each day on which to stow my buffalo skin and pack. So far no one has asked me where my father is. One boy has spoken to me a few times, but I don’t encourage him, though he seems friendly. The second day on the trail he and Joe Morgan milked a farmer’s cows that were alongside the trail and brought me a cup. I wonder what the farmer thought at evening milking to find his cows gone dry!