Outcasts of River Falls (7 page)

“Much like us!” Kokum cackled in that odd way she had.

“Well, it’s quite rude to speak a foreign tongue in front of those who can’t understand.” Kathryn felt insulted, and a little left out. She suspected that they had been talking about her.

Kokum looked thoughtful and then the old woman stamped her cane on the floor to get everyone’s attention. “In honour of our newest community member, we will speak only
Anglais
so that she can join in with her new neighbours.”

The crowd murmured agreement and those who had been speaking Michif immediately switched to English. Kathryn felt her face flush at the furor she’d caused; however, it made things much easier when well-wishers stopped to welcome her.

“Belle,
ma chère
, come now. John, he plays da Red River Jig next.”

At the interruption, her aunt stopped talking to Kokum and they all looked up.

Claude Remy’s appearance was much improved since Kathryn had seen him that morning. The man-mountain had trimmed his beard and slicked back his hair with some kind of grease that shone in the lamplight.

Kathryn sniffed, then whipped out her handkerchief and held the scented lace to her nose. What on earth was that reek?

She coughed politely to cover her reaction, hoping no one noticed, then sniffed again. Mr. Remy – actually, his
coat
– smelled horrible!

The trapper wore a buckskin jacket emblazoned with an ornate and quite stunning flower beadwork pattern. Memorable as this may be, it was the overpowering odour wafting toward her that Kathryn would remember most. Her eyes were practically watering.

“I’m talking to Rose Marie right now, Claude,” Aunt
Belle said in a controlled voice. “I’ll be with you in a
moment.” She went back to her conversation with the elder.

The big man stepped closer.
“Non!
Dis is dat favourite fiddle music of mine.”

Belle straightened her spine stiffly, a gesture Kathryn had made herself many times in the past. Claude took a step back.

Before Belle could say a word, the scene was interrupted by a young man wearing a bright red hat with a feather tucked in the side. It was the Prairie Puss-in-Boots.

“Care to dance, Mademoiselle?” he asked in a soft voice as he doffed the flamboyant fedora.

Kathryn waited to see what her aunt would do in the face of this latest bid for her attention.

Her aunt had an unmistakable twinkle of mischief in her eye. “Well, Katy? Do you want to dance?”

“Me?” Kathryn was taken aback at the unexpected in
vitation. “Dance? Lord, no! Ah, I mean, no, thank you.”

“Another time, then.” The boy bowed politely and melted back into the crowd. Flustered, Kathryn knew she’d been rather rude to the young man. How could she explain she’d refused simply because she didn’t know how to do this wild, outrageous dancing? There were not a lot of dances back at the Academy for Young Ladies, and even when there were, her dance card had never been what you would call full.

Kokum waved dismissively. “There’s all night to talk. Belle, you are twenty-six now, people will gossip if they don’t see you dancing. They say it’s time for you to move on and let the dead rest.” A weak smile struggled at the corners of her mouth. “Why don’t you show our Kathryn how a toe tappin’ jig should be done so she’ll know for the next time a young man asks her to join him.”

The flash of impatience that crossed her aunt’s face was noticed only by Kathryn as Aunt Belle laid her shawl aside and moved gracefully to the centre of the floor with Claude.

It was then Kathryn saw her aunt also had one of the red sashes draped from her shoulder and tied off at the
waist. She and her partner slipped effortlessly into the in
tricate dance, keeping perfect time to the music. The crowd cheered when the fiddler picked up the tempo; the ladies skirts flared and the men’s sashes flew. Kathryn marvelled at what she was later told was the Reel of Eight and then the Broom Dance, which was performed with an actual broom. She thought that one most ingenious.

As the excitement rose, Kathryn found herself clapping along with the other bystanders. This was like nothing she’d
seen back in Toronto and, truth be told, she was enjoying
it immensely. It was as though everyone in the house be
longed to one huge family. The main object of the dance seemed to be simply to have fun and laugh. Here you were allowed to stamp and clap, holler and whistle, which was an inexcusable breach of etiquette back home.

As Kathryn watched Aunt Belle being whirled around the floor, she thought of the old woman’s words and wondered if there had been a tragic romance in her aunt’s past.

“Kokum, you said that Aunt Belle should ‘let the dead rest.’ Did someone close to her pass away?”

The elder lowered her head.
“Oui, c’est tellement triste
. Poor Claude has been pursuing our Belle for a long while now, but Belle was in love with my son, Gabriel, and turned him down. Belle and Gabe, so much love...” Her eyes grew misty. “They were to be married, then sadly there was some bad business and my boy had to run or be lynched.”

This shocked Kathryn. She’d heard of lynching Negroes
in the United States, but surely there was never anything so terrible in Canada. “Was it vigilantes?” she asked breathlessly.

Kokum hesitated, weighing her words, as though to judge whether this young girl would be allowed to know something very dark indeed. Kathryn sat up ramrod straight, her hand gently pressed to the side of her cheek, trying for an air of composed maturity. She wished she’d
brought long gloves, preferably ivory lace, to help with the
overall effect. Her attempt at a mature demeanour ap
peared to satisfy Kokum as she cleared her throat and continued with the story.

“It was a little over a year ago it happened. That despicable Constable Cyrus Blake stopped a young River Falls girl walking home alone after a dance one night.”

Caught off guard at hearing the man’s name again so soon, Kathryn inhaled sharply. “We had a run-in with him on the road this evening. I was so...” She was going to say terrified, then thought that made her sound like a frightened little girl, afraid of the bogey man. “
Startled
when he came across us on that deserted road. Fortunately, Aunt Belle resolved things nicely.”

Kokum’s head bobbed knowingly. “I bet she did. Belle’s no coward; she’s no fool either. She knows how hard to push and when.” She twisted her ancient gold wedding band. “Now, where was I? Oh yes. What happened that night was terrible. That animal Blake, he was...
hurting
our little girl when Gabriel showed up and fought him off. The constable pulled a knife and they wrestled. Somehow, the knife got turned around and Blake sliced off his own ear! Gabriel knew he would be killed for this. He had no choice, so my son ran. The constable vowed to get revenge; wanted to string Gabe up and let the vultures have him. Somehow, Blake found out my son was hiding in Medicine Hat. He tracked Gabe down and shot him in the back. Belle can’t
get past Gabriel’s death and remains a spinster.”

“How terrible,” Kathryn whispered reverently. Constable Blake was the very definition of a Black Knight with a heart of pure evil.

Despite the undeniable tragedy of the tale, she felt an in
explicable thrill. This was like something she would read in a dime novel. How
tragique
. How exciting. How wild-west!

Then she saw the devastating grief etched on the face of the old woman and immediately, Kathryn felt remorse and wished she hadn’t brought it up. She quickly changed subjects. “I heard Aunt Belle call you Rose Marie, but you have asked me to call you Kokum. Is Kokum also your name?”

“No, no, girl!” The elder spoke as though Kathryn was being silly – again. “Kokum is grandmother in Cree. You are to live with us, and will naturally be one of my honorary grandchildren.” She made a contented sound. “As is everyone in River Falls. Much easier that way – I don’t have to remember who is and isn’t related and if you ever need a grandmother,
voilà
, I am always available.”

There was something about this that touched Kathryn. She resisted the feeling. She wasn’t going to live here for long and she had no grandmother. She wanted her old life back, with her father alive and her studies at the convent school and walking along the paved streets with Miss Hocking, and, and... A powerful wave of homesickness hit her. She desperately wanted to be back in Toronto where she belonged.

The truth was, she couldn’t bear the thought of a life here, with these primitive conditions and backward ways. Today’s mud-wall torture gave her a glimpse of what lay ahead. In
fact, the only thing that had interested her at all since she’d ar
rived had been the conversation with Pierre and Joseph about the Highwayman. Now, that was something.

Kathryn focused on the soft lantern light, letting her mind flow out to that man in Lincoln green, the pheasant feather in his jaunty hat swaying as he leapt from log to rock, deftly escaping the dastardly Sheriff of Nottingham who hunted him so relentlessly. She saw sturdy Little John and stout Friar Tuck, and, waiting for her hero to rescue her, beautiful and brave Maid Marian, dressed in a lovely dark rose dress with ivory lace collar and cuffs....

“Katy.... Katy....”

Kathryn blinked, then looked into the face of her aunt. Claude Remy stood close behind, preening as though he’d won the blue ribbon for the best heifer at the fair.

“I thought you two ladies needed some refreshments.” Belle set down a tray on which perched three cups of tea.

“Oh..., why thank you. The dancing was,” Kathryn hunted for the words to describe it. “spirited and,” she had to be honest, especially with herself, “quite wonderful.”

Belle laughed. “That wasn’t dancing, that was good old fashioned jigging, and darn fine jigging at that. Whew!” She puffed out her breath, blowing an errant strand of hair off her dewy face.

Claude shook his head. “Dat white man, he don’t know what he miss when he not Métis.” His laughter, deep and rumbling, was like thunder. “One day, God, he put dem all in dey’s place for how dey treats our people, especially that
cochon
Blake.”

The giant man spit noisily which offended Kathryn, and then she saw the spittoon tucked against the wall. He’d hit it dead centre. It was easy to read the hate on Claude’s face and there was something else too, something she couldn’t put her finger on. Kathryn suspected there was history between the creepy constable and Mr. Remy.

“Now, now, Claude. Let’s leave that talk outside.” Kokum admonished the big trapper. “Tonight, we welcome this young lady.”

He turned back to Belle. “Come,
ma chère
, we do some more jiggin’ now dat the fiddle she’s warmed up.”

Claude reached out to take Belle’s arm. In a deceptively quick sidestep, she avoided the grab and moved away. “I must be polite, Claude, and stay with my niece and Kokum. Please feel free to enjoy the party without me.” She motioned to a line of young women who had congregated near the far wall.

Mr. Remy’s countenance grew dark. He grunted something in Michif, then turned and swaggered over to the giggling mademoiselles.

“I think I’m getting too old for this nonsense,” Belle said, fussing with her skirt as she sat. “I’ll be glad when I can stop.”

Kathryn thought this an odd comment as her aunt had been excited to come to the dance. Perhaps their encounter with Constable Blake had bothered her more than she’d let on. No matter – right now, Kathryn had other things on her mind.

“Aunt Belle, I heard the most extraordinary bit of news today,” she said excitedly. “There’s this mysterious fellow called the Highwayman, and he’s like Robin Hood, he steals from the rich and gives to the poor. Have you heard of him? What can you tell me about this masked man?”

At first Aunt Belle appeared taken aback at the abrupt change of subject, then she pursed her lips in a gesture so similar to one Kathryn’s father used to make that, for a second, a lump closed Kathryn’s throat.

“My, you are inquisitive!” her aunt exclaimed. “Yes, the Highwayman is somewhat of a folk hero around these parts. Some months back, there were several incidents that left our neighbours cheated and this stranger stepped in to settle
things more fairly. Sadly, this is part of the life on the road al
lowances; there is no real justice and we must hope for the best when dealing with, well, anyone who is not Métis.”

“Why don’t the North West Mounted Police make sure everything is fair for the Ditch People?” Her aunt scowled at this label and Kathryn winced. It had slipped out before she’d had a chance to censor herself.

“Katy, the North West Mounted Police don’t interfere in business affairs – and anyway, it would come down to their word against ours. And in cases like this, it always ends up with the whites in the right.”

Kathryn thought this terrible. “They should vote in a law to ensure justice is done.”

“Except we don’t get to vote,
ma chère
.” Her aunt took a sip of her tea.