Helena
Unwavering Courage
By
Sylvia Melvin
Copyright © 2011 Sylvia Melvin
All rights reserved
Smashwords Edition
This is a true story. None of the names have been changed and all of the events happened as related to the author by members of the family.
This book is dedicated to my grandmother, Helena Maude Matthews. Her courage, faith and devotion to her five children was an inspiration to succeeding generations.
Acknowledgments
The author may plant the seed of a manuscript, but experience has taught me before it becomes a finished book there are special folks along the way who’ve contributed to its development. Helena: Unwavering Courage is no exception. A heartfelt thank you to:
My husband Al- Your support and patience went above and beyond.
Myra Shofner- Your exceptional editing skills motivated me to get the job done.
Tommie Lyn Blackburn- Your assistance in preparing a manuscript for online publishing was essential.
Emily Podlogar- Your determination to find the correct computer program resulted in a great looking cover.
Margie Baldwin- Your assistance in converting files was so important.
Bill Walton- Your willingness to supply me with photos of the Kawigamog was truly appreciated.
David Noran- Your expert knowledge of antique automobiles resulted in finding me the exact auto wagon drawing.
The Panhandle Writers Group- Your support was amazing.
Thank you, one and all.
Sylvia
Chapter One
Helena Matthews woke from a restless night’s sleep with a queasy feeling in her stomach. At first she thought it was the familiar morning sickness she’d experienced at the first signs of her fifth pregnancy, but she was well into her ninth month. This was different. Intermittent jittery waves of emotion washed over her leaving a residue of physical and emotional anxiety. Her legs slid slowly over to her husband’s side of the bed searching for the familiar touch of his body. Empty. The coolness of the sheets sent little chills through her limbs and she remembered James speaking to her sometime after sunrise.
“Don’t get up, Helena. You must have been uncomfortable last night. Tossed and turned a good bit and I’m sure you’re tired. I’m going down to the lake to check on my boat. If the children hear me they’ll want to come ride in the auto wagon. I shouldn’t be long. Tell them we’ll take a ride up to Bain’s farm this afternoon.”
Drowsily, Helena responded, “Uh-huh. Be careful, dear.”
The feather-like brush of James’s mustache on her lips was the last thing Helena remembered as she slipped back into an uneasy slumber.
By eight o’clock the familiar sounds of children jumping out of bed, energized and ready to tackle a new day, brought Helena to her feet. Breakfast was first on her agenda and as she stirred the oatmeal and prepared the coffee to perk, she kept an ear out for the return of the auto wagon. Hmm, James should have come home by now. He never goes without his breakfast.
Helena wiped the dripping water from the last of the meal’s bowls, glancing up at the kitchen clock every few minutes. Where was he? Trying to put her concern aside, Helena finished baking a strawberry pie and was thinking of what to prepare for her family’s lunch when she heard a knock at the door.
“Ruby, go see who’s at the door, please. I need to finish slicing this ham.” Out of the corner of her eye she glimpsed her daughter scurrying toward the front entrance. As Helena cleaned the grease off the knife’s blade and carefully placed it back in its rack, familiar voices grew louder as they followed Ruby back into the kitchen.
The smile on Helena’s face faded and without warning another round of the uneasy feeling she’d felt earlier gripped her stomach as her eyes took in Reverend Malcolm and two other men, their faces downcast and shoulders slumped. Sensing that something was amiss, Helena felt her legs weaken and her mouth became so dry she could barely tell Ruby, “Go play with your brothers and sisters.” Turning to her visitors, Helena went on, “Good morning. I’m afraid James isn’t here. Took his auto wagon down to the lake but I expect him home anytime. Should be getting hungry about now; he didn’t stop for breakfast this morning.”
Each of the men, with their hats in their hands, looked at Helena nervously. One shuffled from foot to foot, another cleared his throat a couple of times as though he wanted to say something but finally the Reverend broke the uneasy silence. “Helena,” he pulled out a chair and suggested, “you need to sit down. I have some bad news to tell you.”
Helena’s hand grasped her chest. “Something has happened to one of the children?”
“No, it’s not the children.”
She looked into Reverend Malcolm’s tear filled eyes. Her body quivered as a cold numbness took possession of her senses and she struggled to say, “J…J…James?”
The Reverend nodded as he took her hand and it was Jake Brown’s turn to explain. “Some of us fellers was headin’ down the hill to work on a log boom when we looked back and seen him comin’. Figured he was going to check on his boat. He was no sooner past us when one of those big rubber tires hit a rock stickin’ out of the grass and over she went. We all yelled, ‘Jump, Jim, jump.’ But it was too late.”
Helena’s face froze in fear. One part of her wanted to yell, “Stop! No more!” but another part begged for details.
Jake hesitated, unsure of what to do.
“Please,” Helena sobbed, “go on; tell me everything.”
Jake produced a red-checked handkerchief from one of his overall pockets and handed it to Helena before continuing, “We hauled his body out from under that darn wagon and someone told the Stephens kid to go fetch the Doc. But Jim was gone; crushed his skull. I’m so sorry, ma’am.”
Helena stared at her messenger in disbelief then collapsed in convulsive sobs. After a few moments, gasping for breath, she managed to say, “The children—I’ve got to tell them. And my family.”
“That’s already been taken care of Helena.” The Reverend continued, “One of the Simms boys volunteered to ride over to Restoule a half hour ago. My wife should be here soon with women from the church to help out ‘til your mother gets here. Listen, I can stay and break the news to Edith and Ruby if you like. Billy may have trouble understanding. Harry’s too young.”
Helena’s response was swift. “No, I want to tell them—before they hear it from their friends. But if you could stay, it might make it easier.”
“Of course.”
Putting their hats back on, Jake and his son volunteered, “We’ll send them over; saw them playing with the Stephen’s girls. Anything we can do to help, you let us know.”
“Thank you, Jake.” The tears of the wounded woman continued to flow.
***
Exhausted from the events of the day, but determined to keep the children’s usual bedtime routine, Helena’s feet felt like bricks as she trudged up the stairs to tuck her offspring under their sheets. One peek into Billy and Harry’s room showed her that both boys were asleep. The sound of whimpering from the room across the hall caught Helena’s attention. She went into the girls’ room and sat down on the edge of the bed.
“Mama,” Edith reached for her mother’s hand and began stroking it. “I’m so sad; now when I wake up Papa won’t be sitting at the kitchen table with you drinking his coffee. He’ll never be there. He used to tug at my braids and tease me about my freckles. Told me a cow sneezed bran in my face.”
“I miss the stories he told us at bedtime,” recalled Ruby. “Remember the one about chasing the bear? Was that true, Mama?”
“One never knew with your father, girls. Seems he wasn’t afraid of anything. Wouldn’t surprise me.”
“I don’t ever want to see that ugly auto wagon again.” Edith’s resolute expression prompted Helena to explain.
“You won’t have to, dear; Grandpa Campbell tells me men from the Masonic Lodge are coming to the funeral and will take it to North Bay. That’s over seventy miles away. Listen to me, girls. It’s o.k. to cry. I’ve cried all day and I expect I will all night. And to tell you the truth, I’m a little angry, too. Not at you children. It wasn’t your fault, but maybe a little at your father for buying that contraption.”
“Mrs. Malcolm told us at church that if someone hurts you God expects you to forgive, Mama.” Edith continued, “Do you think you can forgive Papa? You still love him, don’t you?”
Helena reached out to gather her girls in her arms. “Always and forever; without him, I wouldn’t have you precious children.” Tucking her daughters under the quilt, Helena gave each a kiss then walked into her empty room. Tonight no husband would lay by her side; tonight she was alone with her faith. Lord, help me; please help me.
Chapter Two
Helena lifted trembling hands to part the delicate lace curtains. She pressed her face against the bedroom window, and watched through eyes stinging with tears as the mourners in the somber, black funeral procession accompanied her husband’s body to the village cemetery that would harbor his remains.
The fifteen men, all wearing the apron of the Masonic Lodge, walked in order of rank ahead of the horse drawn wagon. One of their brothers, John James Matthews, a thirty-second degree Mason, had met his fate and they were paying him the tribute he deserved. Behind the wagon came the familiar faces of friends and neighbors; men, uncomfortable in hot dark suits, women dressed in long dresses and carrying parasols, and children in their Sunday best. They endured the July noonday heat as they paid their last respects to James Matthews, devoted father, entrepreneur and a man who never met a stranger. He was part of this remote northern Ontario community and they felt the void of his passing.
Helena longed to leave the room in which she was confined, run after the wagon and touch the pine box — a last physical contact with James. She watched as their friends moved out of sight leaving behind lingering particles of dust in the air, stirred up from the horse’s hooves and the creaking wagon wheels.
Helena turned from the window and before she took another breath, a contraction sent fiery spasms into the small of her back. She winced and fell back into the pillows on her feather bed, unable to tell which hurt worse -- natural pain of childbirth or the emotional torment of losing a loved one. The first one had been nine months in preparation, the other was instant. She rolled her rotund body from side to side in an effort to squelch the discomfort but the effort intensified her distress. Grief, accented with pain, forced her to cry out, “James is gone, Mama. Gone. What am I going to do?”
Her mother’s soothing fingers pushed back the shining, straight black hair that fell across Helena’s forehead. It was the familiar touch she’d known since childhood when the softness of her mother’s skin had calmed her fears. Today’s adversity strengthened that bond of love again.
“Dear, you’ll always have a part of him with you.” Her mother fought for composure. “Remember the children. Any hour now, you’ll have a new baby. Another reminder of James’s love.” Helena’s mother squeezed her daughter’s hand, “I know your heart is crushed but you’re not alone. Your father and I, along with your brothers and sisters, will help you. That’s what families do. You think for one minute I could ever neglect my precious grandchildren? Lean on your faith, Helena. It will not let you down.”
“Oh, Mama, you’ve always been strong, but you had to be. You were one of the first women to come up from the south and settle here. James was like you --so capable; so confident. I felt protected and secure. He was my mighty oak; I’m just a wispy willow.”
“Have you forgotten,” Her mother brushed a stray strand of hair from Helena’s forehead, “that the willow’s strength lies in its roots. It might get tossed about, but, it still bends. And when the storm is over, those branches are still there. You’ll be strong too; I know you. Try to rest now. Your baby’s going to need all your help.”
Calmed by her mother’s presence, Helena settled quietly into an uncomfortable rest as the hours ticked on, minute by minute, second by second. Three hours later, the contractions became more frequent, more intense and Helena sobbed in anguish until finally, with the assistance of a mid-wife, her mother placed a fragile baby girl in her arms.
“Annie”, Helena whispered, as she looked into the face of the little girl who had breathed her first breath of life two days after her father took his last. Her lips pressed against her daughter’s forehead and she breathed a fervent prayer, “Lord, how will I ever raise five children alone? Please help me.”
And with that Helena Maude Matthews fell into an exhausted sleep.
The funeral procession, led by the Masonic Order, filed past the white Matthews homestead where Helena, in labor, watched as her husband, James, is taken to the village cemetery.
The Masonic Order and friends walked to the cemetery.
Chapter Three
For the next three days, Helena remembered little except the constant pressure on her breast as Annie sought nourishment. Her sleep was deep and for most of the day her body craved its healing restoration while her mind kept slipping into the past, back to the homestead at Restoule, another small village twenty miles from her present home, where she was raised with her brothers and sisters. The log house with its large two-story structure had been built to serve two purposes-- one, to house a family, and the other, to accommodate men going into the lumber camps at Loring. The half-way house was filled with hearty laughter, activity, and the anticipation of meeting new faces.
Andrew Hill, a widower from Sault St. Marie, Ontario, walked through those doors one day. He stole Helena’s young heart and they became engaged. Helena thrashed about in her bed as this painful memory flashed by. Death had stolen her first love, too, when fourteen days before their wedding, her fiancé died of typhoid fever leaving her crushed. She held on to fragments of faith until self-pity turned to fortitude and a sense of maturity.
Not long afterward, James, foreman for the Ontario Lumber Company in Loring, began taking refuge at the half-way house on a regular basis and noticed Helena’s strength of character. As the pain of losing Andrew became easier to bear, Helena at age twenty-nine, quiet and serene, found herself anticipating the visits made by this man with the penetrating soft, green eyes, neatly trimmed mustache and strong facial features that bore a determined look.
“Marry me Helena,” James persisted. “I want to be the one to make you smile again. I can give you a good life. We’ve just turned a new century and northern Ontario is the place to be. There are so many opportunities with the demand for our virgin stands of hemlock and pine. The loggers can’t cut the trees fast enough and the sawmills are turning out lumber and shipping it south every day. I see the future, my dear, and I want us to be part of it.”
Helena gave her heart to James and six months later, July 10, 1905, they were married. She stepped up into their carriage, her stomach fluttering with the excitement of beginning a new life with her husband in a fledgling village where she knew no one. Waving good-bye to her family, she tried to keep her composure but the glistening moisture on her cheeks caught James’s attention and he reached over, squeezed her hand and said, “I believe the Good Book puts it this way: ‘And a man shall leave father and mother, and shall cleave to his wife: and the twain shall be one flesh.’ Right?”
Helena took out a snow-white linen handkerchief, wiped her cheeks clean and smiled at her husband. “How could I forget; I’ll miss them but you’re the most important part of my life now.” James returned her smile and squeezed her hand again. Helena continued, “I can’t wait to make our home as comforting as the one I was raised in. The walls of that house have heard it all- laughter, cries of excitement, sobbing. Just the everyday chatter of my brothers and sisters was enough to raise the roof.”
“That’s the part I want, Helena. Children. I know you’re going to be a great mother. Being the eldest, my guess is you’ve had plenty of experience helping your mama and there should be no doubt in your mind I’ll be a good provider.”
“I’ve never doubted that for a second; what with all your ideas and visions for our future you keep my head spinning.”
“It’s a wonderful time to be alive, Helena. The turn of the century has brought so many new inventions and the opportunities are endless. But it takes determination and the courage to take risks. Are you with me?”
Eyeing the gold band on her left hand, Helena replied, “’Til death do us part.”
Lulled by the motion of the bouncing buggy and the exhaustion of the wedding festivities, Helena leaned her head against her husband’s shoulder and soon fell asleep. The warmth of the sun caressed her skin adding to the sheer pleasure of the ride. After a while she sensed that they were no longer moving. She forced her lids open. The journey was over; she was home.
“James,” Helena gazed at her house and gasped, “You mean this is ours? I never dreamed you’d build a home like this. Two stories. A bow window extending from the parlor and a covered full length porch!”
“Now you know why I insisted you wait until we were married before you saw it. It’s my wedding gift to the woman I love.”
“Thank you.” She threw her arms about his neck and showered him with kisses. “I’ve known from the beginning there was something that set you apart from other men.”
Lifting his wife down from the carriage, James instructed, “Walk up to the door, Helena. There’s one more surprise.”
Helena skipped up the front steps and as she reached the last one her eye caught the glint of ruby red, brilliant blue and sparkling yellow panes of stained glass surrounding the oak door.
“Well?” urged her husband as she tried to find the appropriate words.
“It’s …so elegant, James. Where did you ever find the glass around here?”
“Had it shipped from Toronto. Came up by train to the depot in Trout Creek, then Matt Stevens brought it in on his wagon. I could imagine a box full of nothing but shattered glass after traveling over thirty miles of ruts and bumps.”
“It came over two-hundred miles!”
“Why be satisfied with the ordinary, my love?” Helena’s delight amused James. “Reach beyond. Be different. We walk through life only once and I intend to live it to the fullest—to give it my all. It’s going to be an exciting ride, Helena. Hang on. I hope you’re ready.”
The Matthews homestead housed Helena and her five children
Chapter Four
Life with James the first year of marriage was everything he told her to expect. Never having met a stranger, often James would arrive home at mealtime with one or two new acquaintances eager to sample Helena’s cooking. After a number of these unexpected guests appeared on their doorstep, Helena caught on and peeled two or three extra potatoes to throw into the pot. Stimulating conversation over a second cup of coffee often centered around politics or some entrepreneurial scheme. At the same time, James, always eager to get ahead, was working seven days a week.
Helena was not reluctant to voice her displeasure.
“Ever since you started this farm implement business, James, Sunday’s become just another work day to you. I sit in church by myself. No husband by my side. Everyone stares at me and asks questions. Where’s James today? Busy again? Can’t you rest one day a week?”
“Helena, you know logging timber is a winter job and many of our men turn to farming in the spring.” James was not to be persuaded to change his ways. “They depend on me to supply the tools. Having plows and scythes here in the village saves them time. Time is money to them. Can’t you see it’s my way of helping out?”
Exasperated, Helena gave a long sigh, turned and almost collided with the local reverend as he poked his head in the shed.
“Couldn’t help overhearing as I walked up, folks. Must admit I agree with Helena. Shouldn’t be working on Sunday, James. I notice you’ve been doing that a lot lately. Why don’t you stop unpacking those crates and come with me?”
James walked up to Reverend Malcolm, looked him in the eye and said, “Tell you what Reverend, I’ll make you a deal; I’ll come to church today if you’ll show up here Monday morning and help me set up these implements.”
“The Lord willing I’ll be here by sun up, James.”
With a twinkle in his eye, James replied, “I’ll be counting on you both, Reverend.”
Helena smiled from ear to ear as she walked into the ten o’clock service on her husband’s arm.
***
The highlight of the first year of marriage came when James announced he was taking Helena on a train ride to Toronto two-hundred miles away. For a week she was transported into another world. Instead of horses, they rode on trolley cars, instead of cooking, she ate food prepared and served by others and even their room was cleaned by a maid. James spared no expense when his wife gasped at the sight of a fashionable hat in a millenary shop.
“No, James,” she protested. “Where would I wear it in Loring?”
“Around the house if you choose too, my dear. Some day I intend to take you places you have never been and you’ll need a fancy hat.”
The seven days spent exploring the city came to an end and the couple once again boarded the north bound train. They made one stop in Orillia, James’s hometown, as a recent letter from his family indicated that his brother was ill and wished to see him. Although pleased to meet the Matthews family, Helena felt uneasy around the sick man. His constant coughing and pale color indicated a serious disease. Her suspicion was confirmed a month later; James’s brother was laid to rest—cause of death— tuberculosis.
For the next several months, at the least sign of a cold or a cough, Helena worried that James might have contacted the contagious virus. In his usual way, he scoffed at her concern.
“Stop worrying. I’m healthy and strong.”
“But there’s a weakness in your family. Your mother told me.”
“That doesn’t mean T.B. is going to take me, Helena. I refuse to live in fear.”
Finally, after many laundry washings, Helena stopped looking for signs of blood in his handkerchiefs, a major indicator of the terrible disease that ravaged the body and killed so many.
Helena knew no other man with such a passion for life. She recalled the day James came bounding into the kitchen carrying a newspaper and exclaiming, “Look, Helena! Here is the airplane I saw at the Toronto Exhibition where men called Barnstormers were taking folks up for a ride.”
“And I suppose you were itching to go, too, James Matthews.”
“I paid my money and was all set when it started thunderin’ and lightning; they cancelled the flight. Sure was disappointed; can’t think of anything more exciting than flying.”
Helena gave a sigh and looked upward. “Thank you for sending the storm, Lord. Maybe He was trying to tell you something, James. If men were supposed to fly they’d sprout wings.”
“Don’t be surprised if one day I fly one of those machines, Helena. You know I love a challenge.” Those words continued to echo in Helena’s ears days after her husband’s death. Yes, but this time you paid the supreme price.
The knot in Helena’s stomach grew tighter and she tossed from one side of the bed to the other as she recalled the day that monstrous machine arrived in Loring. It was the talk of the town for weeks. Anticipation grew and Helena tired of answering the same question everywhere she went.
“When’s James bringing that contraption home?” coupled with the hushed whispers of those who clung to the old ways. “Dang fool, if you ask me. Waste of money. This part of the country ain’t ready for somethin’ that belongs in the city. Thought James had more sense.”
Word spread quickly the day James arrived with his new purchase. Curious townsfolk crowded around the eighteen foot mass of wood, steel and glass, asking question after question. Could it really travel twenty miles an hour? What made the headlights glow in the dark? Why did a large chain extend from the underside of the wagon to the engine in front? How was it able to back up? And the one unasked question on everyone’s mind was what could possibly motivate a man to invest in such an uncommon piece of machinery?
Helena had asked herself that question a hundred times during the several weeks she and James discussed the advisability of such a move. It was the dominant topic of conversation in the Matthews’ household between husband and wife.
“But you’ve never driven anything but a team of horses, James.”
“They’ll teach me everything I need to know, dear. It can’t be that difficult. Other men are doing it, aren’t they?”
“Yes, but it must be different in the city; they aren’t driving on wagon roads with deep ruts, mud and boulders,” persisted Helena. “Besides, how will we ever afford such an expense?”
“That’s the beauty of it, Helena,” his voice grew in excitement. “The machine will pay for itself. Let me explain. How do we get our goods and supplies?”
“They’re brought up from the south by train to the station at Trout Creek. Somebody has to pick them up by horse and wagon,” replied Helena.
“And how long does it take to travel thirty-eight miles? A day and a half if the weather is good,” continued James as he answered his own question. “I can cut that time in half. Not only will I be able to deliver to the general merchants in the village, but the increasing number of lumbering operations on the lakes will welcome this service. I’ll transport their supplies from the motorized wagon into my inboard boat on Wilson Lake and continue my delivery by water. Think of it, Helena. I’d be the first in these parts to operate a gas driven wagon.”
“What if folks think we’re being uppity?” She didn’t want to dampen her husband’s enthusiasm, but always the realist, Helena continued her end of the debate. “You know, I’ve heard talk behind our backs. The Captain certainly won’t like it.”
“I don’t care if Captain Kelsey likes it or not.” James bristled. “You know he and I don’t always see eye to eye, especially since it’s been rumored I refused to sponsor him into the Lodge. We can’t let what others think influence a golden opportunity, Helena.”
Helena accepted the futility of arguing further. International Harvester had just sold a 1913 Auto Wagon.
International Harvester Auto Wagon
Chapter Five
If Helena was less than zealous about the motorized wagon, the children in the village made up for her, especially when they heard the huge rubber horn that protruded from the driver’s side.
“Please, Mr. Matthews,” they begged, “take us for a ride.”
Bodies bounced and frolicked in the back of the wagon while shouts of joy and screams of delight echoed over the bumpy pathways. The wind tousled their hair as the vehicle gained speed. Only one child, James’ own three-year-old Billy, clung to the fence and refused any part of the horseless contraption. He eyed it with suspicion and ran when he heard the rattle of its engine. Even his mother shied away from her husband’s offer of a ride.
“Come, now, Helena,” coaxed James, “it’s perfectly safe. You know I’d never put you in danger; especially with the baby coming. Please let me take you and the children up to Bain’s farm tomorrow.”
‘We’ll see what tomorrow brings, James. No promises.”
Chapter Six
Two weeks after the funeral, the soft light from the kerosene lamp flickered on the pages of Helena’s Bible which lay in her lap, opened to the book of Ecclesiastes. Each night she returned to the third chapter reading it over and over as the words put life into perspective for her.
“There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven: a time to be born and a time to die, a time to plant and a time to uproot, a time to kill and a time to heal…
“God,” she whispered, “I know you are in ultimate control of everything; and there’s nothing I can do to change that. It’s just that I feel so weak. Helpless. Afraid. You know I’m left with fatherless children. Lord, I need your strength to meet this challenge.” Helena paused to dab at a renegade tear that threatened to spill onto her Bible. “ Please help me be the strong woman James would want me to be.”
***
Like the bud of a tree in spring, slowly responding to the warmth of the sun, Helena began to emerge into reality for longer periods of time each day. At first, all she wanted to do was retreat from her daily routine; pull the covers around her like a cocoon and hibernate. But Annie’s cries of hunger demanded she get out of bed and tend to her infant daughter. Besides, she loved the way her baby cooed and wrapped her fingers around her thumb as the milk that flowed from her breast satisfied and filled Annie’s tiny stomach.
The urge to participate in familiar activities grew stronger and one afternoon she got up from the table, marched outside and picked up the hoe, exclaiming to her mother, “I won’t lose the garden, too. Look how the weeds are taking over the squash, and the cucumbers. Why, at this rate, I won’t have nary a one to make pickles and you know how J…James likes…” Her voice trailed to a whisper as she realized her mistake but immediately came back with, “the boys eat my dills.”
As the summer greenery silently changed to crimson, yellow, and orange then tumbled to the earth to offer protection against the forthcoming cold, sterile blanket of snow, Helena knew it was time to stand alone.
“We have to talk, Mama,” she began one evening after the children were bathed and tucked in for the night.
“From the tone of your voice, dear, this sounds serious. What is it?”
“I can’t continue leaning on you; if I’m ever going to stand on my own it has to be in these early months. I have to do it now. If I don’t, I’ll become more and more dependent on your strength.” Helena’s voice trembled but she was determined. “With winter coming on, Father needs you at the house in Restoule. You know travelers are soon going to demand your attention. After all,” she smiled, “you’re the best cook in northern Ontario.”
Grandma Campbell’s face reddened as she scoffed, “Oh, now, I’ve plenty of competition, but there’s some truth in what you’re saying. It takes several pairs of hands to keep up with all the work. But, dear, are you sure you’re ready?”
Helena reached for her mother’s hands and squeezed them as she continued, “The Lord has blessed me with a wonderful family and you’re only twenty miles away. If I need you one of the young lads in the village can ride over and fetch you. In fact, I’ll speak to one tomorrow about taking you back. How can I ever thank you enough for all you’ve done?”
“There’s nothing more important than family,” Grandma Campbell responded. “That was His plan from the beginning and it will never change. But, Helena, I have to confess; I’m going to miss the children.”
Helena, fighting back her own stinging tears, reached and wiped away the tear which
found its way out of a grandmother’s glistening eye and meandered down a soft, warm
cheek.
Chapter Seven
Sparks from the burning wood in the fireplace exploded and crackled as an evening stillness replaced the noisy activity heard earlier in the day. Billy and Ruby sat cross-legged on the parlor floor engaged in a challenging game of checkers. Edith, pretending to be the teacher, insisted on reading aloud a passage from one of her school books, and Harry, exhausted from all his boyish antics, was curled up on the rug asleep, storing up energy for the morning. Annie, lay nestled in her mother’s arms.
The chiming of the grandfather clock reminded the children that no matter how they begged for more time, it would do them no good. Their father had set the rule and Helena intended to keep it enforced. After kissing each one good-night, she returned to the parlor and picked up her knitting . One look at the diminishing ball of wool and she realized she needed more. Now where did I put that new skein I bought? Helena pondered a moment and then she remembered. In the drawer in the sideboard. As she reached inside for the wool, a familiar scent moistened her eyes. Pipe tobacco. Lying in a wooden box were three of James’s favorite pipes. Staring at the wooden bowels, her fingers caressed the finely carved stems and the opening where his lips had drawn in the pungent smoke. When did you last smoke from them, James?
The loneliness Helena felt at the moment was reminiscent of those nights her husband had left her with the children while he traveled to the nickel mines in Sudbury selling gold chains, watches, and valuable gemstones to the miners in the camps. It was another of his business ventures that had proven to be profitable. During the fall season, Goldsmiths Jewelry in Toronto, supplied James with three to five thousand dollars worth of merchandise and he earned a percentage of each sale. At first, accessibility to the miners was a problem since miles and miles of dense forest separated him from his customers. But, with his usual ingenuity, James found the solution. He traveled over the frozen terrain with a dogsled and a team of six brawling canines. This year the well traveled route would lie undisturbed holding a secret never to be revealed. Hidden somewhere between Loring and the Sudbury mines, a good sixty miles, James stashed a portion of his goods.