Chapter 23.
Toothache is always a trial, and when night after night you are awakened from sleep by it, after a busy and tiring day, you begin to feel that out the tooth must come at any price. This had been my experience off and on for weeks, and when a young man, Mitchell by name, appeared on the scene, who said he was a competent dentist and would be glad to remove the offending member, I was only too pleased to accept his offer. But his dental instruments were at Norquay, a town in the making, ten miles away, and I had to wait for a good opportunity to get there.
At last Graham said he had business at that place and would take me with him the next day, which happened to be June 21, 1881. How many years ago, and yet every circumstance of that day is as plainly before me as if it were yesterday. We set off at an early hour, on the two ponies. We were obliged to ford the river and it was in flood and pretty deep. Graham dismounted and led both ponies across, while I curled up like a cat on the back of little white Jack. After that all was plain sailing and we trotted cheerfully on to Norquay. Our ponies were not swift and it was noon when we arrived. The “town” so far consisted of a good sized “stopping house” and a saw mill. We found a number of men at dinner in the house, Mr. Mitchell amongst them. We were hungry enough and soon were “sitting in”, partaking of the pork and potatoes, good bread and raisin pie. When dinner was over, my dentist produced his forceps, and seating me on a wooden chair, with his coat behind me for a cushion, attacked the tooth. He was not long about it, but it hurt me frightfully, and I just was able to say, “you have taken out the wrong tooth,” and fainted. He picked me up, I was only a little thing, and carried me to the door, and as soon as I came to, he commanded, “Open your mouth”. I did so and he put the tooth promptly in its place again. That it was painful I am free to confess, and for weeks I could hardly bear to touch it with my tongue, but eventually it grew firmly in again, and for over forty years did me excellent service. A year ago I parted with it with some regret. Another strange thing was that I never had another twinge of toothache.
When this was all over, Graham said that as this was not a fit place for me to remain in, and as he would not be ready for some time, I had better ride on and wait for him at Mrs. Burch’s house, which was distant about three miles. It was a lovely day, the sun shining but not too hot, and I rode quietly along on Dick, the Gray pony, feeling in spite of my sore mouth that it was good to be alive. Mrs. Burch welcomed me warmly. “Lady visitors” were rare and always received a true welcome. But we were puzzled to know what to do with the pony. We could not leave him to wander about the garden at his own sweet will, and she had no rope to tie him. “We will sit on the step in the sunshine,” she said at last, and then you can hold the bridle. I do not know how long we sat there, but finally Mr. Burch, or Alf, as he was generally called, opened the little garden gate and came in. Whether the pony was asleep, or what scared him in this simple action I do not know, he was usually as quiet as a lamb, but he tossed up his head and made a wild dash. My hand was on the bridle, and as he broke away it caught in some way on my middle finger. I just remember, “Oh, my finger is broken,” and I knew no more. When I came to, I was lying on the floor in the house and they were dashing water over me. I looked up at the beams over my head and the roof above, and wondered vaguely where I had got to. I was aroused by Graham’s voice and sat up, much to the relief of my young friend. She would have had me lie down, and my own inclination would have seconded her proposal, but Graham said we must go on or we should never get over that dangerous river by daylight. I have suffered a good deal of pain in my life, of one kind or another, but seldom any which surpassed the agony of that six miles ride. We went slowly, but every step jolted my hand and arm, till I felt it was beyond bearing. But the river had to be crossed, and on we went. As soon as it was passed, I slipped off my steed, and asking Graham to take it home, I made my way to my kind friends the Wrights. Great was the love and sympathy my sad tale drew out. Even the silent Charley spoke up and ordered Louie to make me bread and milk. Dr. Wright was always a crank; he would not even look at my hand, though his wife pressed him to do so. “Put it in a sling,” he said, “it will be all right.” But it was not all right and weeks passed before I could use it easily, and after the swelling and discoloration disappeared from the hand, my arm still was weak.
Emilie had returned home a few days before, but when Alfred drove me to the Sunday School with his oxen on the following Sunday, her mother was quite willing for her to come back with us, and a great comfort she was. July passed and August, and with the crisp September days came the potato picking and garden produce to be housed. Emilie and I helped a great deal in this. How can I describe the potatoes, sometimes a painful to one hill, and such wonders for size and flavor. Then carrots and beets found their way to our cellar, and we felt well set up for winter. The long rows of onions were pulled, and lying drying on the warm earth, when one afternoon I went up as usual to the post office. I was on my way back, about five o’clock, when I met a boy who worked for the Wrights, driving home their cattle. “The Indians are in your house,” he shouted as he passed by, and you may be sure I hurried home, as my little girl was alone. She was a plucky little thing; she kept those three Indian lads all the afternoon from stealing anything. Finding her alone, they had tried to make off with Graham’s watch and various other things, but as soon as they picked anything up, she took it from them or ordered them to lay it down. When they attempted to go up the ladder, she stood on the first step. Indians are curious folk; while confirmed thieves, they will not steal if you are looking on, and if you are firm they are easily reduced to obedience.
I had arranged to go to the cranberry swamp to pick the “low cranberries”, which grew on the deep moss there in abundance, the next day, but seeing what troublesome neighbors were camped near us, I decided to remain at home and just let Emilie go, with Mrs. Wright and Louie. They started after a very early dinner, and before many minutes had elapsed my three friends of the previous day appeared. They were well grown lads, perhaps eighteen or nineteen, dressed in the usual blankets and moccasins, their long coarse black hair plaited up loosely or hanging wildly round their faces. All day they kept me company. I watched every turn they took, knowing they were waiting for me to be off my guard to help themselves liberally. Backwards and forwards they went, to the stable, to the garden, into the house, and I trailed after them. At last they settled in the garden so, not wishing to waste time, I got a basket and began to carry in the many onions lying drying on the earth. This pleased my gentlemen and they immediately began to help, and before long all those bushels of onions were safely housed. That they helped themselves as they went along, I am sure, but we had plenty and did not grudge them a few. As evening drew on I brought in various things that were drying outside on the line, and feeling everything safe I went in and my new friends out. In a few moments there was a knock. I opened the door. There stood one of the lads and solemnly offered me an onion stalk. The humor of his action was exquisite. He inferred I had made everything safe; had I neglected this stalk? I have often chuckled over it since, his expression was so absurd.
Our cranberry pickers got a good many quarts for winter. The high bush cranberries grew in great abundance, but they have large stones and are not much use for anything but jelly. In the wood at the back of our house were several trees simply loaded. I counted on these to make my jelly. One morning one of the Indians arrived bringing a fine pail full, which he changed for flour. Half an hour afterwards, I found it was my own trees he had stripped.
The frost comes early in our great Northwest. Some little time before this a lovely warm day was followed by a clear, cold, frosty night. The moon was shining brightly as Graham and I looked out before retiring. “It will freeze hard tonight,” he said, “and we shall lose all our tomatoes.” “Suppose we pick them,” I suggested. He agreed and we went out and picked the washing tub full of green tomatoes. Some we baked, some ripened on the windows, a few I pickled, having learned to make vinegar. The woods had an abundance of wild hops, and of these too we laid in a supply for yeast.
I had raised a number of chickens, but towards autumn they began to disappear. Night after night one was carried off, and my store became small. We tried our best to put them in the stable at sunset, but they were wild and it was hard to coax them in. Just at that time a hen I had missed for some time appeared leading thirteen little chickens. Graham made me a coop and we planted them just in front of the house. A few nights afterwards I heard a hen cry out in the night. “The skunk is at it again,” I said, as I turned over and went to sleep. In the morning Emilie went as usual to feed the hen and chickens. In a moment I heard a wild shriek and the child rushed back. “There is a horrible creature in the coop and no hen,” she said. We were soon at the coop. There sat a skunk glowering at us. He had squeezed through the bars, but after dispatching the hen and eleven chicks, could not get out again. A gun soon sealed his fate. The two remaining chicks we bestowed on Mr. Harvey, who had a hen with a family, but both fell down the well soon afterwards. Perhaps these seem very trifling incidents to record, but life is made up of small details and they were all matters of great interest to us at the time.