PROFILES: My Grandmother’s Friends

Left to right:  Mrs. Zaharia, Margaret 'Toots' Ryan, Florence Godon, Esther Cleem (Florence and Esther were Thiefault sisters...), and Alberta 'Pat' Fitzpatrick Baudette, and in front, my grandmother, Elizabeth Fitzgerald Fitzpatrick in the wheelchair...

All the women in this picture (with the exception of my Aunt Pat who just happened to be home visiting that day...) were part of a group of friends who regularly hung out with one another, on an almost daily basis.  Growing up in St. Vincent, I saw many of them myself daily, as we all went about our business.  Most of the time, they were busy keeping house, looking after their families.  But as they went about their days, they would often run into one another at stores or church, in their yards or on the street, or stop by and visit.  Years ago, there was no common desire to avoid people and self-isolate as is common today; quite the contrary - most people sought out opportunities to socialize, to catch up.  

Names that still conjure up well-remembered faces and voices:

• Mrs. Zahara (a Ukrainian lady whose strong accent made me nod a lot without knowing a thing she was actually saying), 
• Matilda Cameron (a well-regarded seamstress whose second husband Wallace Cameron was a famous town constable), 
• Esther Cleem (who along with her husband were victims of a home invasion turned deadly), 
• Mrs. Gardiner (whose family tragedies rivaled my own Aunt Lena’s), 
• Florence Godon, whose husband Bill worked for many years with my Dad at the Noyes depot,
• Toots Ryan (good friend and neighbor-across-the-alley of my grandmother),
• Glenice Friebohle (good friend of my mother’s), 
• Ena Scobbie (wife of first pastor I remember of St. Vincent Evangelical Free Church), and 
• Cousins Hattie  Schwenzfeier, Annie Nordine, Mabel Steien, and Faye Lyberg.

They all loved to gab, to share news and gossip, and to have a good laugh.  In other words, they loved to visit!  They were never at a loss for words.  There were no awkward silences.  If anything, people spoke over top of one another at times, interjected at others, and at still other times, the room divided into two or three subgroups like modern-day ‘threads’, multiple simultaneous conversations, and later came back into one again.  

The one who was more often than not dropping by Grandma’s place, or she to her’s, was Toots Ryan.  Toots lived north of Grandma’s place, just out the back door, through the back yard, and across the alley.  As you’d approach Toot’s house, you would notice the steps were higher than most around town.  That’s because the house had been put up on a higher foundation, my guess to protect the home’s contents in case of flooding.  It was the only house like that in town, but I later thought that was pretty smart thinking.  But as a little girl, the time period I knew Toots well, it never crossed my mind - it was just the way it was.  Her steps were harder to get up than my Grandma’s, each one a bit taller than normal, so I’d have to lift my little legs especially higher and give an extra hrmph to lift myself up.  The top step was a length of railroad tie, then the highest step of all over the lintel into the house proper.  

The door led into the kitchen, which as I recalled had one length of counter along the west wall.  There was a sink like at home, but instead of a faucet and water turns for hot and cold, there was a hand pump, which brought up water up from a private well under the house.  I have a feeling there was probably more of these at one time, but to my knowledge it was the only one left in town by then, the early 1960s.  There was still a town hand pump just kitty-corner from the Ryan home, by the town pond and curling rink.  Knowing more now historically, I think the town pond and pump may have served multiple reasons - for watering animals, water for people, water for fighting fires.  Heck, Grandma would have me go fetch buckets of water for her, to water her garden during the summer, since drinking water for her cost her precious money; at that time, most of us had our water brought in by water trucks, costing x-amount much per 1,000 gallons, stored under the house in cisterns. Anyways, I always thought it was so interesting that Toots still pumped her water.  She had a big stove in her house, too, but I never noticed what kind it was.  

The only other room in the downstairs was her parlor.  The first time I saw the parlor was on a visit to Toots with my Mom; in the parlor were two chairs, and a piano.  I hadn’t started playing the piano yet, but we had one that I was always tinkling on at home, showing an interest in learning already.  So it wasn’t surprising at all that I headed straight for it the first time I saw hers.  It had a fascinating seat, not a bench like ours, but a stool.  I found out immediately that it could be adjusting in height, delightfully by spinning it to the right for up, or left for down.  The stool’s feet looked like the claws of an animal, and clutched within those claw were small, clear, crystal balls.  I opened the lid to the keys to see keys that had faint marbling and yellowing, which I later learned meant they were real ivory keys made from elephant tusks.  A few were missing, but most were still there.  The really cool part was when I began ‘playing’ the keys, I learned the piano was badly out-of-tune.  However, to me, that made is all the more special:  It reminded me of the pianos played in the old western movies on TV - in tune enough to make out familiar melodies, but enough out-of-tune to be an authentic saloon piano!  

Once I wore out my welcome on the piano, I jumped off to rejoin the women (my Mom and Toots, visiting…)  Toots was a shorter-than-average lady, who was almost as round as she was tall.  That day, I was probably about four years old.  I interjected into their conversation with the observation, “You’re really fat!”  There was sudden silence.  Then Toots erupted into what I can now only describe as jolly laughter.  My Mom directed a mortified, “Patricia Kaye!” Towards me.  Toots came to my rescue by saying, “Patricia Kaye, eh?  That used to be my favorite chewing gum!”  She got a kick out of my outburst.  I had no idea I had done anything wrong, stating the obvious.  Toots and I always got along famously after that early meeting - I would often run out my Grandma’s back door and run over to her house and into her house up those high stairs.  

But when Grandma had friends drop by, there was a lot of visiting…and always over tea and baked goods.  The visiting might start off slow and casual, and build up to stories filled with gales of laughter; or they might start out with an excited, “Have you heard…?”  Whether it was a neighbor, or a cousin coming from across the county, in those days, people would often just pop in, no call ahead - no one minded, in fact, it was an occasion to be excited about.  Out would come the teapots full of Red Rose tea, served up with bars, cookies, and sometimes even cake…but always plenty of tea!  If Mrs. Zahara was in attendance when I was there, I would avail her of her talents and beg her for a reading of the tea leaves. I wish I could recall at least one of those readings now…

Little Minnesota in WWII

I just got my copy of Jill Johnson's newest book, Little Minnesota in World War II:  The Stories Behind 140 Fallen Heroes from Minnesota's Littlest Towns.  As readers may know, Jill also wrote Little Minnesota:  A Nostalgic Look at Minnesota's Smallest Towns.  As in that book, so too does the newest book feature St. Vincent.  This time, in the form of two brothers who fought and died, one in each theater of the conflict...











The two entries about the Gooselaw brothers of St. Vincent, tell a fascinating and eventually sad story, all too common among many American families during World War II.  I can only share images of the entries in the book, but I encourage all readers to buy a copy, or borrow one from your library,and read these stories for yourself...


















"The Gooselaw family endured much tragedy during World War II. When Adele Gooselaw's husband died in 1942, she could not imagine that she would lose two sons in battle in World War II: Jerome in the New Georgia Campaign in 1942, and Arthur in the Battle for Metz, France, in 1944. Three other sons, Lewis, Edmund and Nazareth, also served in the army during World War II..."

Across the Alley: The Ryan Siblings

Andy and Toots Ryan (Andrew and Margaret Ryan, to be exact) were brother and sister.  They lived together in a small, tidy house in the middle of St. Vincent, across an alley just north of my grandparents' home.  Toots and Grandma were friends...

Andy worked for the Great Northern Railway; Toots kept house for her brother.

I remember often going over to visit at Toots' home with my grandma.  Sometimes I'd come on up our road to visit Grandma and if she wasn't home, I'd run across the alley, across the Ryan lawn, and up Toots' high, large steps.  Their house was on a very high foundation, probably made that way to avoid flood waters.  Their steps did not match what that foundation needed, and despite the high steps, the last one into the house was a doozy in itself, especially for a little girl.

I remember the inside of Toots' house very well, as well as I remembered Grandpa and Grandma's. When you went through their door, you were immediately in a small kitchen.  It had a stove and small old fridge one-step-above an icebox.  The sink and counters were on the west side of the kitchen, with a window over it.  The sink did not have a faucet, but rather had a hand pump that drew up the cistern water when you hand-pumped it.  The floors - like my grandmother's house - were covered with old-fashioned linoleum.

The door into the next room was on the far right (east) of the north wall.  That led into a parlor where there was a big chair in the northeast corner, that sat on a large, old, threadbare oriental rug.  When Toots wasn't in the kitchen, she would hold court in the living room, sitting in the chair, while Grandma would sit in a rocker nearby.  Her feet sometimes didn't reach the floor, because she was a small woman.  I remember her as seeming as round as she was tall, and having white hair.  She called me "PK", because my first and middle names' initials (Patricia Kaye) reminded her of PK Gum.

When I was very little, I remember being at Toots' house with both Grandma and Mom.  They were visiting as usual, and I think they were laughing over something.  I began to stare at Toots and really take her in.  It wasn't like I hadn't noticed her before, but something about the situation, the light coming in from the nearby window shining on her...I don't know...but I suddenly REALLY saw her. Her hair was fluffy white around her face, she was missing a tooth or two.  As she laughed her face lit up and made me smile, too even though I had no clue what the grownups were talking about.  She had a dress on, with a full apron, and as she laughed her whole body shook including her large belly.  She felt my eyes on her, and looked my way.  I suddenly blurted out, "YOU'RE FAT!"

The room went silent, and for a moment or two, you could hear a pin drop.  Then Toots began laughing, and said, "PK, so I am!"  I had no sense of it being wrong, but my Mom soon told me different.  I apologized, but Toots and Grandma both continued to find much amusement out of the situation.

There was also a very old piano in the northwest corner of the room, with a round stool that you could spin around to adjust the height of. Its four legs ended with cast iron claws that clutched glass balls. As you might imagine, I had a lot of fun sitting on it and spinning!

The piano was a dark walnut, and some of the keys were missing. But of the many keys that were still covered, they were covered with real ivory, and were so beautiful compared to the keys of modern pianos.  The seat was worn very smooth, evidence of many people who had sat upon the stool over the years.  One can imagine the many songs that were played, maybe even sung to, at that piano. Evenings where the piano brought music and joy into the Ryan home. Now, however, despite its beauty and history, it was a shadow of its former self, including the tuning. It sounded like a piano in an old western saloon, so out of tune, it had a sort of tune all its own.  As a little girl, the sound delighted me, and I loved playing little ditties I knew by heart.

My nickname's inspiration

The kitchen and parlor were the only rooms in the downstairs. However, in the southwest corner of the parlor were stairs that came out of the wall and projected into the living room.  There was a curtain that closed the opening where the stairs met the wall, but beyond that was open stairs, upon which were stacked books, and a plant or two.  There was just enough room to allow a person to get up the stairs. I never did get upstairs, although I was always curious.  I was too timid to just go up without asking, and never felt brave enough to ask.

There came a time, after my Grandma got more ill from her diabetes, that her friendship with Toots waned and we saw her less.  She was friends with the Friebohle family, through St. Anne's, who took her under their wing and helped her out to get to the store, or to the doctor.  I'm not sure what happened to Toots, except that she outlived her brother Andy, who has forever lived in my memory as a stout man in striped overalls and a trainman's hat, as he appeared every so often upon return home once upon a time.

Ephraim Clow: Professional Pedestrian

I have been one acquainted with the night.

I have walked out in rain — and back in rain.

I have outwalked the furthest city light.... 

~Robert Frost

Ephraim Clow was a cousin of mine on my grandmother's maternal line.  Family oral history said he was a long distance runner and had run in the Boston Marathon and won.  I had to find out if this was true or not.

I first found out that the Boston Marathon began in 1897.  Ephraim was born in 1854.  In 1897, he would have been 43.  Above-average age to be doing a marathon.  So I wondered, could this be a situation where the family oral history had a nugget of truth, but it wasn't quite how it was remembered?  In fact, it was.

First, I checked to see if Ephraim had ever been in Boston.  I found that he had.

Ambrose Clow, and his brothers, Charles, George, and Ephraim, went to Boston to seek their fortune. Around 1878-1880, he received word that land was available in Minnesota. Charles was sent to check out the territory. What he saw (in Kittson County) pleased him so he advised his brothers to join him in this new venture. Ambrose brought his new wife, Mathilda Crewye, who was also born on Prince Edward Island. Ambrose had a house built in Humboldt where he and his wife lived the rest of their lives. They had a son, George Victor, who was born 19 Nov 1880.  

 - From George Clow family lineage on Red River Valley website. 

A racing Pedestrian, being avidly
observed by spectators mid-race

I found out that during the early 1880s, Ephraim was a competitor in pedestrian  races, or "go-as-you-please" races. I've found him mentioned in newspaper articles during the right time period, and in Boston.  I had found my cousin.  And I had confirmed that the family oral history was true - just a bit wrong in the details!

To find out more about what race walking was like in its 'Golden Age', check out this podcast that features the author of the book - Pedestrianism: When Watching People Walk Was America's Favorite Spectator Sport – Matthew Algeo.

A passage from the book mentions Ephraim, alleges a possible scandal he may have been part of:

Early on the morning of the final day of the race, the Boston Globe reported, “...an utterly unexpected and exciting incident occurred...” - Ephraim Clow of Boston, who had been backed heavily to secure second place, and who stood third on the score-sheet, with every prospect in his favor, as he was undoubtedly the freshest man on the track, suddenly left the track and went to his room. Inquiries were at once made as to the reason for his action. He gave various excuses, all of a flimsy character.  

I could find nothing else about the matter, or how it was resolved.

Ephraim eventually came to Kittson County as his brothers had done. He and his family settled in the Humboldt, Minnesota area, where Ephraim farmed for some years.  By the time of the 1910 and 1920 censuses, the family is living in St. Vincent. Evidently they moved there from their farm, in their later years.

This article mentions Ephraim Clow in the middle of the final paragraph; he is
included among those with the best records in the O'Leary International Belt,
held in the old Madison Square Garden in New York City, in January 1881...
[Source:  New York Tribune, May 23, 1881 - chroniclingamerica.loc.gov]

Another Tragic Family Saga Continues: Fire

Interior of Gardiner garage, still showing signs of accident to this day
[Photo Courtesy:  Kris Baldwin Ohmann]

This from a witness of the accident, Ron Cleem:

"I was nearby when it happened and rushed over when it started burning. 

"Frank was welding in the garage when the accident happened.  He tried to save the garage by running out of the building with a pan of oil or fuel that had caught fire.  He ended up being severely burned doing it, and died as a result of his burns. His wife Helen just died this last year I think, and she always hated seeing that building which bought up tragic memories. Frank lost a brother in 1954 when the drunk driver hit a group of kids in St. Vincent, and a sister who was in high school,  in a car accident in 1955. So much tragedy, like Lena Paul Fitzpatrick Nordstrom experienced, so much heartache for his mother..." 

Obituary:  Frank Willard Gardiner, Noyes, Minn., passed away at the Emerson, Manitoba hospital Tuesday, March 5, 1957, following an accident when a gasoline tank he was working on exploded, showering him with burning gasoline. He was 30 years, 5 months and 4 days of age.

The accident occurred shortly after 4 P.M. Monday, March 4 to the rear of his father's home at St. Vincent in a garage. He died the following day at 2:15 P.M.

Deceased was born September 29,1926 at Neche, N.D. He attended Grade School at St. Vincent and also the Pembina, N.D. High School, Pembina being located just across the Red River from St. Vincent.

He was married April 26,1947 to Miss Helen Louise Graves, at Auburn, Washington. To this union two children were born, Frank Willard, Jr., age 4 years and Robyn Kathryn, age 3 years.

He is survived by his wife and children and parents. Six sisters, one brother: Mrs Lorraine Hosch of Noyes; Mrs. Leonard Jerome,Hallock; Mrs. Glen Davis, Greenville, SC; Mrs. Wayne Copeland, Harian, Iowa; Mrs. George Dennis, Humboldt; Jacquelyn at home; Arnold at Great Lakes Naval Training Station, Illinois.

He was preceded in death by a brother and sister, Gloria and Martin, both of whom figured in accidents which took their lives. One, in the McGovern accident a few years ago at St. Vincent, and the other in connection with the Slator hit-and-run driving accident at St. Vincent, also.
Mr. Gardiner lived in Seattle, Wash., from 1947 to 1948, returning to St. Vincent in 1949, remained there until 1950. He traveled two years through Southern states with Anderson Bros. Pipe Line Company. He also spent six months in Montana and then moved to Noyes, this county where he purchased the Border Café¹ and operated the same until his death. He also did some commercial trucking.

Kittson County Poor Farm

Aerial Photo of the Kittson County Poor Farm

In the early 20th century, if you had nowhere to go, the choices were few. One of them was the "poor farm".
The Hallock Poor Farm was constructed in the early 1900s to meet the needs of just such individuals. Its construction and rules of operation were guided by state law, through each county’s board of commissioners.

It was built and began operations in 1909, and closed in 1937¹. Kittson County's Poor Farm had a capacity for 12 at a time, as of December 1913. The farm's land and buildings were valued at $7,900.00.²
To be more specific, the county poor farm provided a home for the homeless, needy, and sick, young or old. It was on an 80-acre tract located northwest of Hallock along the north side of the Two River. Mr. and Mrs. Erick Norland were the first managers. The residents of the farm who were able to work had a job or chore to do. The farm tried to be self-sufficient. Chores were plentiful as there were gardens, animals, and grain fields to be cared for, housework and cooking to be done, firewood to gather, and nursing care for the bedridden. Other managers were the Mons Andersons, Carl Carlsons, and Theodore Bengtsons.³

My own cousins lived there during the 1920s.  My cousin Jackie (Jones) Mananga-Zimmer is the daughter of one of them.  She recently shared with me about that difficult time for her family...

FOUND! Jerome Family Portrait

A lost family portrait is found!

Recently, Ed Merck posted an intriguing entry on the Kittson County Historical Society website:

A kind lady contacted me about a picture she found in a California antique mall. Fortunately, she found my website about the Jerome Family and offered me the picture for her cost. It is in excellent condition. What a find! Based on the apparent size of my Uncle Julius, the boy in the photo, I estimate the picture was taken around 1904-5. 

There are comments on the backside written by an unknown descendant of the Smith-Jerome families. I include them here:

Back Row:  Elizabeth Smith Burk (mom's sister), Anna Smith Irwin (Mother) 14 yrs., Angeline Jerome Parenteau (mom's aunt)(sitting), Marie (Mae) Smith (Panshab, Whiteside ) (Mom's sister), Roger Jerome (mom's uncle), James H Smith (mom's father) ((Hiram – Elizabeth Smith) mom's grandparents)(sitting), Martin Jerome (mom's uncle)

Front Row: Andre Jerome (mom's grandfather), Julius Jerome (Napoleon's son), Margaret Gooselaw (orig. spelling: Goselin) Jerome (mom's grandmother) (Her mother McKay King), Napoleon Jerome (mom's uncle) (his wife was Elizabeth Renville), Margaret Jerome Smith (Mrs. James Smith) (mom's mother)

This is the only picture I have of my grandfather Napoleon in his younger years. It shows him with the athletic appearance I pictured him having. I had heard stories when I was a kid about how he and his brothers raced across the Red River, swimming with their hands tied behind them. Andre had a homestead on each side of the Two Rivers where it joins the Red River, so I imagine that is where those races were held when they were young. Grandpa was a great 'buddy' to me when I was a kid when he would spend a few months a year in our home at Ada and Argyle. Unfortunately, I never knew Grandma.

Andre lived just North of Emerson on land given him by Hudson Bay Company, near the fort. In early census listings they were included in U. S. census because of confusion over border. That was before he was arrested and tried for treason against the Queen following the Fenian raid. Stories say he, and his brothers or sons were in the dray business and carried supplies for the raiders. He was imprisoned by the British in the 'Stone Fort' at Winnipeg; the trial ended in a hung jury so he was returned to prison for the winter, then tried again, and once again it ended with a hung jury. Following release, he moved to a homestead west of Hallock. 

At one time, Napoleon bought and lived on what had been Fort Pembina, which they called the 'fort farm' and my mother spent several of her younger years there. Amos (Napoleon's son) and his family lived in Pembina and some of his family lived in St. Vincent at one time or another...Joe Rolette's wife was Angelique Jerome, but I think they lived in Pembina (I'm not sure of that because Pembina County included much of what is now Kittson County...) Angeline Parenteau was a Jerome. Her son Mark became a noted artist. I accidentally met him when I was going through flying training in the Rio Grande Valley in 1957, so we became friends and I have a portrait he painted of me at that time. He spent winters there with his sister. I remember visiting him and his mother in St. Vincent when I was very young. At that time he was a teenager and I was impressed with the soap carvings he had whittled.

I just checked the 1857 census for St. Vincent, Pembina County, Minnesota. It lists several Jerome families including Andre, his father Martin, and some of Andre's brothers as well as Joe Rollette.

Guest Essay: Harvest Memories

Alfred "Rusty" Rustad with the family's 'new' combine 
[Photo Courtesy:  Rustad Family Collection]

By Michael Rustad

As a child growing up in Northwest Minnesota, I remember that all of the town's activities centered around the harvest in late August, early September. Football practice often had to be scheduled in the wee hours of the morning to accommodate harvest season. My grandfather, Alfred Hagbart Sr. and my father, Rustee, farmed our quarter section and rented another quarter section of land from Bob Shantz. We were a rather primitive operation. Attempt the impossible. Achieve the possible. And, that was not easy in Minnesota.

Today:  The '35 Chevy truck awaits restoration 
[Photo Courtesy:  Rustad Family Collection]

Our farming operation did not have air-conditioned cabs and stereo systems incorporated in the combines. We had a 1935 Chevy truck that was started with a crank. It was an extremely difficult gear shift and several of the gears were stripped or in bad condition. The truck ran well because of my Dad's ability to over-haul the ancient engine. Our combine was a 1942 left-handed Allis-Chalmers combine. I could never get a clear understanding of why the combine was left-handed. One of the consequences was that the initial rows of fallen grain had to be moved by hand to enter the field. What idiot invented a left-handed combine? We had the only left-handed combine. This required my brother and I to move the rows, so the combine would not run over the fallen wheat and lost! This was my job. My grandmother Rustad often drove the truck and I often kept her company.

It was during the harvest that I developed severe breathing problems from the intense dust. The truck front-side windows were both broken so they would not roll up all the way. There was no way to prevent a cloud of dust from entering the truck. It was quite an unpleasant experience. I later learned that farmer's lung, the equivalent of asbestosis, killed many farmers. By the way, the grim reapers (as the lawyers called them), were dangerous too. There were unprotected and unguarded moving machinery ready to take off your favorite arm or leg. My friend, John Hunt, fell from a tractor and a plow shear created an injury. He plowed up a nest of hornets and fell off while fending off the hornets. He recovered but nearly lost his life. My next door neighbor Diane was also run over by a tractor and fortunately was not seriously harmed.

The truck loads of grain were generally augured into the grainery directly. I did not comprehend how dangerous these unguarded augers were until reading accounts of farm accidents later while studying product liability law. There were no warnings of the dangers of unguarded augers. The farmers of that area presumed that any damn fool did not go near the auger. Yet, year after year, the toll of farm accidents marched on.

I did not enjoy the harvest period very much as it was a period of high tension and excruciating long hours of work which largely fell on my Dad's shoulders. He would work a full day at the Post Office and rush home to work in the fields. I was not a gifted farm boy when it came to mechanics, machinery repair etc. I remember trying to help my Dad get the combine in shape for an upcoming harvest and negligently left a wrench inside. When the combine started the wrench broke every slat and caused us to lose a few day's time, which is precious during harvest. My Father was infinitely patient but was not pleased with me. But, he never again asked me to crawl into the inner bowels of the combine.

One of the family's old tractors is slowly being grown over now
[Photo Courtesy:  Rustad Family Collection]

Lunches in the field had to be grabbed on the run. I remember my Dad eating corn on the cob while driving the combine. He somehow managed to eat a half dozen ears of corn in the course of a lunch in the field and he simultaneously continued to operate the combine. He had a rotary motion when he ate the corn and never dropped an ear.

Gallons of coffee were consumed by the harvesting crew. My grandfather Rustad was a legendary coffee drinker and I remember him draining near a 1/2 gallon of coffee out of the jar in the field. That amount of coffee would have stopped the heart of most Americans, but he was a Norwegian-American.

I was always relieved by the end of harvest. I cannot recall many good harvests. It seemed like something came to ruin the harvest every year. There was "rust" that infected the wheat, hail, or too much or too little rain. My experience with farming convinced me to pay attention to my studies so I would never again choke from harvest dust.

I often wondered why some of the smaller farmers continued to farm long after it was [not that] profitable. I think that I finally understand why decades later. I believe that there must be something inherently satisfying about being your own boss and looking forward to a better crop next year.It is like being a Red Sox fan. Maybe, next year the Red Sox will win the World Series. However, there is always some natural disaster preventing success in the next year. In the days before corporate farming, there were many farms like the Rustad family farm. This meant that the towns of the Red River Valley were populated by young families with dreams of a better harvest next year. Today our land is out of the family and owned by one of the "big" operators. I knew from an early age that I needed an escape plan from the Great Northwest. When I left that area, I thought it looked best in the rear view mirror. Decades later, I seldom go back to the Great Northwest, Minnesota. Nevertheless, I acknowledge that it helped me develop my character and personality---and work ethic.

The combine in later years...
[Photo Courtesy:  Rustad Family Collection]

Back to School, 1903

St. Vincent Classroom, circa 1903: My great uncle Charlie is the boy
against the window shade in the far back, on right; my great aunt
Hannah is to his left - our right - in front of him, hair in bun...

I recently posted about the St. Vincent School.

After that post, a cousin of mine discovered this interior shot of the school that her Grandmother - my great aunt - had in her personal collection.

Amongst the room full of children, are two relatives of mine - my great uncle Charlie Fitzpatrick, and my great aunt Hannah Fitzpatrick.

When Hannah graduated high school, she went on to attend teacher's
college, which at that time was the state normal school in Moorhead, MN
 (now known as Minnesota State University Moorhead) - Class of 1913...
[Click to enlarge]

Letter to Rusty

The letter below was received by Alfred "Rusty" Rustad while he was in the service during WWII. It was written by a local representative of the Red Cross; the introduction is from an article that featured the letter, which appeared in the Kittson County Enterprise a few years ago. It paints a unique picture of his hometown area around Humboldt, capturing the people and events of that time...

Another View

by Rev. Hugh Bell

It's been almost one year since my last "View" so when I received a copy of this enclosed letter I thought it a most opportune time to catch up on correspondence in the Enterprise.

The enclosed letter was sent to Alfred Rustad, Jr. "Rusty" 60 years ago this month. For those of us old enough to remember WWII, we remember a time when just about everyone was in the same boat. It was a time of sacrifice and unbelievable hardship. It was also a time of great family support and great national support. Something that perhaps is lacking in the most recent of our wars including the present day battle in Iraq and Afghanistan. WWII was a time when the whole country pulled together for a common good. Today it seems as tho more energy is put into political rhetoric and profit seeking than into freedom in the Middle East. If we could just stop blaming others for our problems, wouldn't it be a wonderful world. Enough sermon, now to Rusty's letter.

Aunt Lena, R.I.P.

Lena Paul Fitzpatrick Nordstrom  
1914 - 2011

Lena was the last living link to a tragedy that touched many lives in my hometown area, a life-time ago.  That link was broken on Thursday, January 27, 2011 when Lena passed away.

Lena was my aunt.  She was my aunt because in 1932, she married my mother's brother, Uncle John Fitzpatrick.

They met at a dance in St. Vincent.  John was recently home from college, now helping run the family farm.  They married later that same year.  A few years later,  the girls came along.  Life was as good as it could be. Sadly, that was not to last.

Lena Returns Home

I finally made it up to Hallock to visit my Aunt Lena yesterday.

It was a cold day, but bright and clear with an intense sunlight.  After about an hour's drive, Bill and I arrived  around 1:00pm at the Kittson Healthcare Center where Lena now lives.

We asked staff where to find Lena, then proceeded to walk down the hall to the end where her room was. Her door had a warning sign on it about being contagious and to wash hands if in contact.   I asked staff what that meant, and was told she had an extremely antibiotic-resistant bacterial infection of the bladder, and that if any physical contact was made, it was important to wash your hands.  I made a note to avoid physical contact, which was disappointing because I would have loved to hug her and be able to be hugged by her, but for now, it wasn't possible.

Walking in, I could see immediately she had a private room.  It was decorated with many photos, nic-nacs, and other  memorabilia.  Lena lay on her bed, looking up towards the ceiling.  She looked much like I remembered her, her hair still brunette and cut the same, her skin showing age, but the dark eyes and small features unmistakably her.

Scene of a Tragedy

Map showing Fitzpatrick farm where 1954 tragedy occurred

[©Google Maps, USA Farm Service Agency]

When hearing the story of the tragic spring and summer of 1954, I often wondered where the scene of the second of the two tragedies - the drowning of my uncle and my two cousins - took place.  As strange as it may sound, not once did anyone offer to show me where it happened (on the other hand, it was a very painful memory for my mother, who was very close to her brother...)  I know it happened on my family's farm (at that time owned and run by my uncle, but once my grandparent's homestead), but where the farm itself was, I had no idea.

Guy Maddin & Me

Maddin's documentary is built on myths and memories

When Maddin agreed to make a film about his hometown...it became what he calls a “docu-fantasia,” a potent, highly personal blend of fact and fiction. My Winnipeg is a hypnotic vision of a dreamy burg trapped in eternal winter and heavy, hibernating passivity. Shot in gauzy black and white...

From Home Truths

I adore Guy Maddin.

His narration in My Winnipeg strongly resonates with me. It's how I feel about St. Vincent. He talks about the city haunting him in his dreams. How no matter where he is, Winnipeg is right there with him. Boy, do I relate...

Depot in Decline

Iconic sign still on depot roof...
Photo by Bill Reynolds

While up home for the Gamble Reunion, I stopped at Dad's old place of work, the Noyes, MN depot. There were several customs agents milling about outside as well as railway workers, waiting. I knew why¹...

I went into the 'waiting room', and the door to the work area was open. Two men were in there, leaning on the front desk area - the area where the telegraphs used to sit, and later the dispatch phones were. Many a time I saw my Dad with a pad, writing out train orders there. Not far in front was a table with a typewriter back then, one I typed more than one of my first stories on. Yes, even a writer then, although using the hunt-and-peck method (as did my father...)

I greeted the railroad worker, introduced myself explaining my Dad used to work here. I asked his name, and he said it was Zimmerman (but not related to the Darryl Zimmerman my Dad worked with) This guy was surprised he didn't recognize Dad's name since he started in 1979, before Dad retired, but he didn't.  However, he did recognize Steve Skjold's name, who worked with Dad for part of his career. I said it looks pretty bare in here - there was no sign people regularly worked here. He explained it's still used, for Conductors to stop in at and place calls or take calls, use the computer in the old computer room (the one that used to hold all the mainframe terminals and old punch card and ticker tape computer machines that Dad cut his teeth on when they brought in computers in the 1970's).  Everything is automated now, he said, so no need for full-time depot there anymore. "It's centralized out of Fort Worth and Kansas City," he explained. And so it goes...time marches on. The old, iconic NOYES sign is still there though.  One consistent standard that hasn't changed on the depot for many years.  It's comforting and disturbing at the same time to see it still there.  I think I'm gonna contact BNSF and see if I can get that sign if they ever demolish the building.  What would I do with it?  I'd put it on one of our out-buildings, maybe put up some old metal Great Northern signs on the outside siding to go with it.  It'll be part memorial to my father, part acknowledgment of the important role that railways have played in this region (and in my family in general²)
__________________________

¹ - A Canadian National Railways bigwig was about to come through on a private train. Bill and I had been following it ever since the Hill mansion in Northcote - we were just finishing up our exploration there when we heard the trains whistles as it came through various unguarded crossings. We jumped in the car and off we ran to catch it up, after initially watching it pass. I called out to Bill, that's gotta be a private coach, a special train of sorts. As we got on the highway and caught up, we slowed a bit to match the train speed to take a closer look. We could see a man in a suit in the rear of the passenger car, but weren't sure we saw anyone else in it.

² - Before my father, two maternal uncles (my great uncles - Uncle Dick and Uncle Charlie - brothers to my grandfather) worked for the Great Northern...

Remembrance: Doris Clow

Today I found out a former friend, neighbor, and yes, a sort of relative of mine, passed away.

Her name was Doris...Doris Clow. She was married to Roy Clow, a cousin of my family through my Grandmother (her mother was a Clow). Doris also attended the same church my family did. She was always there. She was one of many men and women who were. Their quiet presence, day in and week out, month and year after decade, made you think they would always be there.

Where our old church once stood, she and Roy eventually built a home in town. Right across the side-street from where my grandparents had lived 'uptown' as I called it. When I got married in 1978, that next summer I lived in that house, right by Doris and Roy. I had occasion more than once to cross the road and visit with her. Later, when I lived in Southern California, I would often hear my parents refer to Roy and Doris, then only Doris after Roy passed. It was comforting to know she was still there in the house, in my hometown.

Time passes so quickly. My grandmother used to recall those that were gone in her life with a wistfulness my then-young-mind couldn't possibly grasp. Later, my mother did the same, and by then it had a bit more meaning. Now, it hits harder. Father time has tapped my shoulder more than once. The undiscovered country has been sending travel brochures.

R.I.P., Doris. Maybe I'll see you on the other side...

A Sense of Place

From MINNESOTA GEOGRAPHIC NAMES: Their Origin and Historical Significance by Warren Upham (Minnesota Historical Society, 1920/1969)

Caribou township, organized January 8, 1908, had a few reindeer, of geographic limitation in the wooded and partly swampy region of northern Minnesota and Canada, named Rangifer caribou. The second word of the name is of Algonquin Indian origin, meaning a pawer or scratcher, in allusion to the habit of this animal in winter, pawing in the snow to eat the reindeer moss beneath.

Clow township commemorates several brothers of that name, early settlers there, who came from Prince Edward island. [NOTE: My great grandmother was Elizabeth Jane Clow, daughter of Samuel Clow, one of those brothers...]

Information has been gathered from "History of the Red River Valley," two volumes, 1909, the chapter for this county, by Edward Nelson, former register of deeds, being pages 923-966; and from interviews with Mr. Nelson and Axel Lindegard, a merchant in Hallock, the county seat, during a visit there in August 1909, and Edward A. Johnson, clerk of court, and gain with Mr. Lindegard, in a second visit there, September 1916.

Noyes, a station of the Great Northern and Soo railways adjoining the international boundary, was named in honor of J.A. Noyes, the U.S. customs collector there.

St. Vincent, organized March 19, 1880, is opposite to Pembina, N.D. Its name had been earlier given, before 1860, to a post of fur traders here, in honor of the renowned St. Vincent de Paul, founder of missions and hospitals in Paris, who died September 27, 1660, at the age of eighty years.

As Greg Breining says in his article A Sense of Place, "Good place names are like that--they may describe a place's shape or the animals that inhabit it. They may tell stories, of the people who settled it, who shaped it, and who fought for it."

Of Warren Upham, writer of the above-quoted book, Greg says, "Our sense of place is richly expressed in our names for places. In this regard, Minnesota was fortunate to have Warren Upham, geologist, archaeologist, librarian, and pack rat of obscure facts. It would be hard to imagine anyone better suited to the task of accounting for thousands of state place names."

Local History Video

An amazing film project put together by a guy with deep Fargo roots, it's the kind of 'local history' that I love, and would love to be able to put together about St. Vincent one of these days. Visually powerful, and deeply touching, it makes history come alive and become very personal...

BORDERTOWNS: Chapter 12

Maggy's pains began on the last Sunday in January, just after she had gone to bed. Patrick had taken off his shirt and was preparing to remove his shoes.

"Pat, put your shirt back on. It's my time."

He turned to see the grimace on her face, her fingers spread tensely over her abdomen.

"Ian is still up. I'll send him to St. Vincent for Susan's Mother. Susan said she would come, remember?"

"Of course I remember; it's what we planned. She'd be better than Mrs. Cowan. I can't depend upon Mary, she's too young. Besides, she has no experience. Let the children sleep." Her body stiffened and her fingers clenched tightly into fists. "Oh, Lordy! This one is lasting a long time." She gasped, "Get Ian on the way! The pains started an hour ago, but I though it was false labor. It's the real thing now; the pains are coming closer together and lasting longer."

When Patrick reached the bottom of the stairs, Ian saw the distressed look on his face. Instinctively, he sensed the problem. "Is the baby coming? Should I go for Annette?"

Patrick nodded as he grasped his coat. "Put the young team on the bobsled. I'll go out to help you harness up. Be sure you take robes for the woman's comfort. Its well below zero, but the wind seems to be down. You should be able to make it back within a couple of hours."

"I'll do a lot better than that!" Ian was tugging on his boots even as Patrick donned his buckle over shoes.

Within minutes the team was harnessed and backed to the sleigh. While Ian raised the tongue and hooked up the neck yoke, Patrick fastened the tugs. Climbing hurriedly into the sleigh-box, Ian urged the team into a fast trot.

Re-entering the house, Patrick added wood to the stove, then awoke Mary. "Your Mother is about to have the baby. Sit with her and keep her company. Ian has gone for Susan's Mother. They should be back soon."

Patrick had enough knowledge of birthing to lay out lye soap and heat a kettle of water. Rummaging through Maggy's prepared bag for the event, he found washcloths, clean sheets, diapers and baby clothing. Returning upstairs, Mary was sitting on the edge of the bed holding her mother's hand. Maggy was smiling at her daughter, apparently in an effort to reassure her.

"It's just a matter of two or three hours, darling. I'm fine, but I will have some temporary pain delivering the baby." She added, "It's not a new thing to me. After all, I carried you and your three brothers."

Mary's return smile was sickly; it was apparent she was apprehensive and unsure.

Ian returned with Susan's mother within an hour. After removing her coat, the woman banished Patrick from the bedroom, and then bade Mary fetch a washbowl of warm water, with washcloth and soap. She immediately bathed Maggy thoroughly, and then raised her hips to place a thick cotton pad beneath her pelvis and thighs. With a wad of cotton she then swabbed Maggy's stomach, thighs and genitals with a strong smelling liquid Mary suspected was alcohol. Finally she seemed satisfied, and, seating herself on the side of the bed opposite Mary, said softly, "Now we wait."

Maggy felt confident in her delivery now that Annette was present. She guessed her midwife to be nearly forty years of age, yet she had a smooth, clear face, without the sign of a wrinkle. She realized that this Metis woman must have been exceptionally attractive when she was young. In fact, she showed very little trace of Indian blood. Maggy judged she would still be quite attractive if she would devote a little more attention to her hair. She was satisfied with her appraisal of Annette, for it explained Susan's flawless complexion and delicate features. She wondered what Susan's father looked like.

Nearly a half hour elapsed before the Métis woman leaned forward to exclaim to Maggy, "You're beginning to show." She pointed out the pinkish discharge to Mary, who sat as if mesmerized.

It was nearly two hours later when a sudden gush of water came from the birth canal and the contractions came close upon each other. Maggy soon dilated sufficiently so that a portion of the baby's head finally became visible. When the final pains came, Maggy fiercely gripped the iron rungs of the headboard behind her. Beads of sweat stood out on her forehead; her hair seemed to cling to her temples, damp and lax. She was determined not to cry out as the intensity of the contractions increased, not wanting to frighten Mary. Each time that the pain became almost unbearable, she gritted her teeth to choke off any groan. Prior experience taught her to bear down strongly when Annette's voice and hands encouraged her. In moments the full head appeared and seconds later, the shoulders. Then, as Annette supported the babe's head, the body emerged as if pushed by a hidden force.

Even as Annette wiped the child's face, the small bundle began to writhe and snuffle. Then came a husky wail.

"It's a fine girl! A perfect girl!" Annette held up the child for Maggy's approval.

Maggy smiled weakly. "Her name will be Kathleen after Pat's mother, but I'll call her Kate. She's just what I wanted."

Annette lowered the baby and completed wiping it dry. Then she held it out to Mary. "Hold her while I cut the cord." Tying a string around the umbilical cord within inches of the infant's stomach, Annette severed the attachment, then quickly twisted a knot into the remaining end. She lifted her eyes to smile at Mary. "Now give the baby to your Mother."

For moments Mary continued to hold the baby, seemingly unable to part with her. The love that swelled from her for this tiny, but perfect body was total and instant. The crying she ignored. It was the occasional glimpse of the blue eyes as they opened, then clenched tightly shut, that charmed her. Little Kate's hair was coal black and surprisingly long for a newborn. The small, pink but wrinkled face that changed expression with every lusty howl fascinated Mary. Finally, as if realizing her reaction, she held out the child to her mother. The feeling came from her heart when she said, "Oh, Mother, she's beautiful!"

Maggy smiled at Mary as she raised the blanket from her bosom and guided the baby between her breasts. Almost instantly the small hands and mouth began groping.

"Oh Ma!" Mary exclaimed excitedly. "She's hungry already. I'll get Pa! He'll want to see her."

"Not yet; there is more to do." Annette was suddenly busy with the lining membranes. As the placenta came, she carefully rolled the discharge in the pad, effectively concealing it. Rising, she carried the bundle and the washbasin downstairs to the kitchen. Pausing momentarily beside Patrick, she smiled. "You have a lovely daughter. Your wife is fine; you can see them both in a few minutes.

Patrick and Ian exchanged smiles at the good news as Annette disposed of the pad in the kitchen stove. Then she dumped the soiled water from the basin, refilling it with fresh warm water. Returning upstairs she cleaned Maggy thoroughly. After drying her, she pulled the blanket up to Maggy's breast, partially covering the baby. Smiling at Mary, she said proudly, "Now you can call the men to come and look."

Patrick was the first up the stairs, closely followed by Ian. He leaned over to examine the child, and then he laughed aloud. "Thank the Lord she looks like you!" He tenderly pushed back the damp hair from Maggy's temple. "Good job, love! She's a big one!" He bent over to kiss Maggy's cheek, then, easing his weight beside her, took her hand in both of his. Looking into her eyes, he could see the warmness and tenderness. Her hair was spread in splendid disarray upon the pillow, emphasizing the proud look of accomplishment upon her face. More like a halo, he thought. The cost of bringing forth the child was etched on her features, yet her calm strength brought a feeling of pride to him. She was a woman and wife to be proud of!

A noise in the hall caused all heads to turn toward the doorway. Jerold entered the room, followed by a sleepy Mike who was rubbing his eyes. When the small youngster examined the now sleeping baby, he announced emphatically, "She's my new sister; I'm going to take care of her."

Jerold smiled at the youngster and put his arm around his shoulders. "You mean we're all going to take care of her."

Finally Annette shooed the family back to bed, then said aside to Patrick. "I'll stay the balance of the night. She is fine, but I think its best. Ian can take me home in the morning."

"Annette, we're grateful for your help. We've a lot to thank you for. If you stay up, I'll not sleep either. I'll make us coffee." Patrick was smiling.

She returned his smile. It was apparent she was tired. "That would be fine. It will shorten the night and help me stay awake."

Ian and his father remained in the kitchen long after the rest of the family had gone back to bed. They were discussing future work that had to be done before spring.

"Pa, I think we should begin cutting our oak firewood for next winter. My fur buying has slacked off to a trickle since the heavy snow. Then we should get the lumber hauled for the new house. We can clean the seed toward the end of March so it will be ready for spring." He reached for the coffee pot to refill his cup.

"It would ease things to have your help. I've pushed a lot on Jerold, although he never complains."

"He never will, Pa. Gosh, you two have worked all this winter to get the firewood, hay, and ice hauled. I haven't been any help. It doesn't seem fair that Jerold never has time to himself. He's not even had a chance to meet girls, at least not yet." Ian had to smile at the thought, remembering how bashful Jerold became in the presence of girls.

"None of us will have much time if we get next year’s firewood cut and haul the lumber for the house. I've made a deal with the lumberyard in St. Vincent to include the entire lot of lumber. Johannason, that Icelander from South Pembina, will be our carpenter. Says he'll build the house for $125 but he wants one of us to work full-time with him."

"Golly, with two stories and a front porch it's going to be huge. What'll we do for lining?"

"Nixon, at the lumber yard, recommends using both black paper and roll felt between the walls and siding. He also says dry peat moss works well over the ceiling joists in the attic. We can pick up some loads of it over east next summer after the swamps dry out.

Patrick arose from his chair to reach behind the wood box. Twisting the cork from a bottle hidden there, he poured a generous amount of whiskey into each of their coffee cups. "Mother won't object to our having one, even two." He smiled, "This is a night to remember."

By the end of February Maggy had lost most of the weight gained during her pregnancy and her figure became almost trim and taut again. She again began to attend church with Patrick, proud to display her new daughter. A Welshman named McGuire confronted her with a business proposition. He offered her $100 for her quarter of land located to the east, adjoining the border. She decided to accept the offer, and with the proceeds bought two cows that were to calve in July.

Patrick brought news of Charley McCune, a neighbor who had moved to Emerson from Orillia. "You knew he sold his holdings for $300. Well, since then, the fool has been drunk every day. That team of oxen he bought from the livery has died. Starved to death, no doubt; he kept them tied up day and night."

"He's our neighbor, Pat. Is there naught we can do to help?

"Not a bloody thing! You can't cure a drunk unless he wants to be cured. He's too far gone mentally and physically. The way he carries on, he'll not last long."

While walking to work early in March, Robert enjoyed the sudden break in the weather, a harbinger of the spring yet to come. Just as darkness had fallen the previous evening, the wind had shifted to the southwest, then gained in intensity throughout the night. Today it was a full blown Chinook, rapidly lowering the snow level. He noticed water beginning to form in the sleigh ruts as he crossed the Main Street of Winnipeg.

By mid-morning he was embroiled in a heated discussion with his superiors from Toronto. The argument was about the poor grading of the future rail line between Winnipeg Manitoba, and the United States border at Emerson. Robert stated his opinion that gravel ballast would be needed to support the steel and heavy loads anticipated. He found himself overruled, told in no uncertain terms that for economic reasons the road must be operational by late fall.

A clerk entered, and quietly whispered to Robert, “There is a young lady at the desk who wishes to speak with you.” He smiled conspiratorially, "She is a real beauty, too!"

Robert's first thought was that it must be Mary. Still, he was puzzled as he returned to the main office. Then a cold chill came over him as he caught sight of Annie standing by the counter. She had a whimsical smile, and before he could say a word, she grasped his shoulders and leaned forward to kiss him.

Instinctively he pulled back as her lips sought his. He whispered hoarsely, "What are you doing here?"

"I was frantic! I had to see you."

He turned to glare around the room at his fellow workers, who were obviously watching and listening. At his caustic glance they quickly pretended indifference. Taking Annie by the arm, he said, "Come along with me."

Entering the small cubicle apportioned for his use, he carefully closed the door. Turning to her, he asked,

"What's the occasion?"

Her facial expression changed and he sensed she was almost in tears.

"I'm pregnant! I couldn't face Mother any longer. I had to leave."

The word pregnant brought an unexpected shock to him. Long seconds passed as he absorbed the news. He suddenly felt nauseated.

"You mean from that night we spent together at the hotel?"

She nodded weakly, attempting to smile through the tears that were now streaming down her face.

He was completely flabbergasted and sat down heavily at his drawing table. Finally common sense dictated that he must get a grip on himself. "I'll beg off for the remainder of the day and we'll go to my hotel to talk. Wait here for a moment; I'll be right back." Passing through the door to the front desk, he made an excuse and picked up his coat. Returning to Annie, he found her wiping away the tears. As he took her arm and led her to the front door, he again felt all eyes upon him, as if he was running a gauntlet. No words were spoken until they crossed to the west side of the street. Stopping, he turned to her. "When did you arrive in Winnipeg?"

"Late last night on the stage. I didn't know where you lived and I was too ashamed to ask Mary. I did know you worked for the C.P.R. I'm sorry if I've caused you embarrassment, but what else could I do?" A contrite and timid look appeared as she wiped away the remaining tear tracks with the back of her glove.

"We've a lot of talking to do. What a mess!" Robert suddenly felt an involuntary shudder shake his body.

She studied his face apprehensively.

Finally he took her arm to resume their walk toward his hotel on Portage Avenue. Upon reaching his lodging, he escorted her to his room and helped her remove her coat. She sat on his bed and looked at him grimly.

"I've burned all my past bridges Robert. I'm two months overdue, and it's your child I'm carrying."

Remembering the stains on the bed sheet, Robert did not doubt her word. Yet, still hopeful, he asked again. "You're sure you are pregnant? There's absolutely no doubt?"

She looked up at him bitterly. “Do you think I'm lying to you?" she asked.

Looking into her eyes, he could see the truth. He also saw the look of uncertainty and fear of rejection on her face. For long moments he hesitated, but could see no way out. Seating himself beside her, he put his arm around her shoulders. "We'll get married this afternoon if it suits you."

Her look of relief was almost pathetic. "Oh,Robert! I'll be the best wife to you in the whole world. I've been in love with you since the first day I saw you. I guess you didn't want this baby, but we did get ourselves into this. It's happened to others before us. We'll work it out together, you'll see." She flung her arms around his neck with a wild abandon, kissing him fiercely, squeezing tightly to him. She felt her confidence returning. She knew she had broken all the rules, but she had won.

Robert felt a sudden erotic response and attempted to repel it. Standing, he reached for their coats. "Let's eat a bite; then we'll go the municipal office." He turned to her worriedly, "Where did you stay last night? Where is your luggage?"

"I have only a small bag and it's at Emmerling's Hotel. We can pick it up after we eat." She looked at him timorously, "Or after we are married." A gradual smile began to appear on her face. He could see her self-assurance returning.

That afternoon they were married at the municipal office and returned to his room after picking up her valise. When the door was secured, she flung her arms around his neck, hugging him wildly. In spite of his reticence, he found himself responding. At the time he perceived it as a purely physical response, not love. Their union was rough, with no inhibitions. She seemed insatiable, taking the offensive, making every effort to please him.

During the late hours of that evening Robert rested uneasily beside Annie. She slept on her stomach, masses of auburn hair spread over her shoulders, one leg carelessly cast over his thigh. He felt as if his nerves were disintegrating; self-reproach was setting in. His feeling of depression was almost overpowering. He had wanted children eventually, but not now, and not with Annie. Why had he done such a stupid thing? Was it the rum he drank that night, or was it his own self-pity?

Thinking back, he realized his father and mother had been liberal with him -- perhaps too much so. He remembered a similar narrow escaped while attending McGill University. Fortunately for him, several other classmates had been involved with the same girl. Now the situation was identical, but with an ominous twist. He had been forced into this marriage, knowing that if he refused Annie, and she had gone to his superiors, he would have been instantly fired. His Scottish employers were firm on morality.

He would never be positive if she had intentionally trapped him or not. That night's contact with her seemed so coincidental, yet he was the one who went into the restaurant and drank the rum. He alone was responsible for his conduct.

How was he going to tell Mary? He would appear a gutless and cowardly man not to inform her. Instinctively, he knew she would abhor him and never accept his explanation. It was the end of their romance.

Morosely, he dug his hands into his hair. Perhaps his marriage with Annie would work out. She would probably insist on accompanying him to his workplace. He had to admit that she was attractive and pleasant; also she was obviously in love with him. He knew she lacked education and polish, but hopefully that would come with time. When he thought of what his father and mother would think if they were introduced to Annie now, he felt abashed. He knew they expected him to make a marriage that would live up to their respected name.

His thoughts brightened and he smiled to himself. I'll make things right. She is actually appealing and warm-hearted, even a bit on the wild side. Her eyes actually dance when she laughs and she is a good listener. She seems kind and has a sharp wit. He spent long moments looking at her as she lay sleeping: her petite figure, the smooth skin of her back, and her firm buttocks. He had to admit to himself that she was exquisite. The sight of her awoke a sudden urgency, and he reached out to caress her back. She awoke slowly, turning with a smile, and then sought his lips.

Patrick, Ian and Jerold worked feverishly during the month of February to get the lumber hauled and stacked at their lot in St. Vincent. The white pine had been cut and milled in Minnesota and had been hauled by rail to Crookston, then transported by steamboat to St. Vincent. Ian remarked on its fine quality. "Hardly a knot showing and soft enough so that it won't split when nailed."

They also managed to haul sixteen cords of oak firewood from their farm woodlot, storing it behind the location of their future home.

When the weather broke in March, they began cleaning their seed grain, using a hand-cranked fan mill purchased at Pembina. Ian and Jerold took turns at the crank, neither cherishing the boring job.

All the family spoiled baby Kate, so much so that Maggy finally refused to let anyone pick her up. She now weighed nearly eleven pounds and was an exceptionally healthy child. She had begun making throaty noises and followed every movement with her eyes. Maggy had worried about the delivery because of her advanced age, but was pleasantly surprised to find the birth not a difficult one. Her breasts had filled fully, and she found no problems nursing Kathleen.

Mary had received four desultory letters from Robert in the past weeks and had answered each in a philosophical mood. His messages all ended with the same 'I love you,' but the basic contents left much to be desired from her point of view. There was no warmth, indicating that he was either annoyed or disenchanted with her.

Not having seen Annie for some weeks, Mary dropped by the cafe to visit. She found Annie's mother working in the kitchen; and, as it was the slack time of the afternoon, she sat down to enjoy tea with Mary. Mrs. Gillis was a blunt woman with wide blue eyes and red hair that was already showing streaks of gray. She seemed a simple creature, but Mary knew her to have a sharp tongue and an even worse temper.

"Golly, I haven't seen Annie for weeks. Where is she keeping herself?"

Mrs. Gillis looked uneasy. "She left on March 9 for Winnipeg. There was a note on her dresser telling me not to worry. It's been days and I haven't had a word from her."

"Did she take her clothes, and did she have money?" Mary could see the worried expression on the woman's face.

"Oh, she had her wardrobe and earnings. They'll carry her for a while, at least long enough to either get a job or come back home. It's not like her to not let me know where she is. Still, she has always been secretive, even as a child." Disdainfully, she added, "Got it from her Father, I guess. He never left a clue when he deserted me years ago."

While at supper that evening, Mary mentioned to her family that Annie had left home.

"Heck, she knows how to take care of herself. I've seen her brush-off plenty of men." Ian seemed disinterested.

Patrick waved his fork. "Not much future for her in Emerson, outside of marriage. She's not the type to backslide like some of the women across the river." Patrick was subtly referring to the bawdy house situated along the road to West Lynne.

It was nearly suppertime the following evening when Ian entered the house and handed Mary a letter from Robert, her first letter in nearly a month. It was brief and meteoric. She could feel her heart thudding. Then came the sickening dismay.

March 12

Mary,

Forgive me! It would never work between us, due to my perverse nature. I never meant to hurt you, but I am now married to another. I was never good enough for you.

Robert

Tears came as Mary lowered her head to the table. Suddenly she arose and rushed wildly upstairs, amid loud sobbing and wailing. Her mother reached out to pick up the letter. One glance told Maggy all; she handed it to Patrick.

"What's the matter, Mother?" Ian, who had washed in preparation for supper, was just wiping his face.

"That bastard!" Patrick was furious. "I thought he was a man."

Maggy reached over and rested her hand on his shoulder. "She's young, Pat. She'll take it hard for a while, but she'll get over it. There will be more men in her life before she marries."

Ian refrained from picking up the letter now discarded by his father. From his parent's reaction he deduced the situation. "We'll have to step softly and use diplomacy with her," he mused. "She sounded heart-broken."

Maggy picked up the letter and read it aloud. "So cruel, Pat." She crumpled it up and approached the stove. Then, thinking better of it, she unrolled the crushed paper. "It's Mary's letter. I'll put it aside. She'll mull over it for a few days; then hopefully she'll accept the fact."

After Mary had moped for a day or so, Kirby's visits brought out her old self. They became firm friends, although she never allowed his emotions free rein. She regained her spirit and seemed more mature. Finally, she confided to her mother, "I'll never marry until I'm fully of age."

Her mother agreed. "Forget Robert, dear. He's not our kind, and we're not in the same social class of his family. You're growing up now and our families live in different worlds."