out of my doorway.
“It’s only the stove,” I told him. He nodded and continued to lead his horses to one of the big prospect holes filled with rainwater. Breaking the light crust of ice in a few places, he left them to drink, then madehis way past me. In a few moments he had cleared the smoke from the house.
After he started a fire in the stove, he took me over to his store, a small log building about five cabins away.
The inside of the store was so crowded with things that except for a narrow path to the counter and some sitting space around an oil-drum heater there was hardly room to walk. Canvas parkas, snow shoes, animal traps and just about everything else hung from the ceiling. Odors were all over the place—of wool and cotton from a counter loaded with pants, overalls and long underwear, of furs and hanging slabs of bacon. In front of the heater a deep pan of yellow water gave off the rank smell of cigarette butts and tobacco juice.
Looking the shelves over, I felt a lot better. There was everything here, even tins of butter. Inside of a few minutes, Mr. Strong and I had loaded up two sacks with canned goods, cereal, flour, sugar and other staples. A little while later, after I’d rustled up some bacon, eggs and hot coffee for us on top of the potbellied stove, he paid me my first compliment. “It is heartening to know, madam, that there are still girls around who can make a proper breakfast.” He gave me the key to the store, something he said he’d never done with anyone else. I was to take what I wanted as I needed it, and we’d settle up once a month. In return I agreed that if anyone wanted anything while he was away I would give it out and keep a record of what was bought.
By mid-morning I had the furniture in my quarters arranged fairly nice. I was working in the schoolroom when I heard footsteps on the porch. It was Fred Purdy and what I thought at first were two younger sisters with him. Only one of them was his sister, though. The other was his mother. I doubted she weighed more than ninety pounds. She was even smaller than Granny Hobbs, and cute. She was Eskimo for sure—round dark face, wide mouth and strong uneven teeth. She just seemed to light up when she saw me and I liked her right off.
“Ah, the teasher,” she said. “I am so happy to meetyou. I am Mrs. Purdy, and this is my daughter, Isabelle.”
She put a hand out and it felt small and capable. “My son Frayd have tell me how pretty you are,” she said after I introduced myself. “Before he say only lynx is pretty. Now I see for myself. Indeed, you are very lovely.”
She was like a little queen, and she wasn’t putting it on. She was dressed beautifully too—in a cloth parka that looked like a Fifth Avenue design, and a soft fur hat.
When I invited them in she complimented me on how much I’d done with the cabin. We all sat down and had a cup of tea and talked for a while. Before I knew it I was telling them about the trip out on Blossom, but instead of it coming out the way it really was, it sounded funny, especially the part about my landing on my behind in the mud outside the post office. I never heard anybody laugh the way Fred did when I told the story—with so much fun and enjoyment that it made me laugh myself. By the time I told how I’d walked in here to find hardly a stick of furniture we were all doubled over.
“Indeed, Ahnne,” Mrs. Purdy said, wiping away tears, “there is mush work to do in this place.” She grew serious. “You cannot live here in sush … sush …”
Fred supplied the word. “Conditions.”
“Conditions, yes. Thank you, Frayd.”
“Do you really think it’s so bad?”
“It is not terreebul, yet it is not good. There are many things to do here.” She sent Isabelle out to play, then went around the room, shaking her head. “If you are to live here, you must have home that is comfortable, warm.” She pointed to the baseboard where light was coming in. “This must be
“It’s only the stove,” I told him. He nodded and continued to lead his horses to one of the big prospect holes filled with rainwater. Breaking the light crust of ice in a few places, he left them to drink, then madehis way past me. In a few moments he had cleared the smoke from the house.
After he started a fire in the stove, he took me over to his store, a small log building about five cabins away.
The inside of the store was so crowded with things that except for a narrow path to the counter and some sitting space around an oil-drum heater there was hardly room to walk. Canvas parkas, snow shoes, animal traps and just about everything else hung from the ceiling. Odors were all over the place—of wool and cotton from a counter loaded with pants, overalls and long underwear, of furs and hanging slabs of bacon. In front of the heater a deep pan of yellow water gave off the rank smell of cigarette butts and tobacco juice.
Looking the shelves over, I felt a lot better. There was everything here, even tins of butter. Inside of a few minutes, Mr. Strong and I had loaded up two sacks with canned goods, cereal, flour, sugar and other staples. A little while later, after I’d rustled up some bacon, eggs and hot coffee for us on top of the potbellied stove, he paid me my first compliment. “It is heartening to know, madam, that there are still girls around who can make a proper breakfast.” He gave me the key to the store, something he said he’d never done with anyone else. I was to take what I wanted as I needed it, and we’d settle up once a month. In return I agreed that if anyone wanted anything while he was away I would give it out and keep a record of what was bought.
By mid-morning I had the furniture in my quarters arranged fairly nice. I was working in the schoolroom when I heard footsteps on the porch. It was Fred Purdy and what I thought at first were two younger sisters with him. Only one of them was his sister, though. The other was his mother. I doubted she weighed more than ninety pounds. She was even smaller than Granny Hobbs, and cute. She was Eskimo for sure—round dark face, wide mouth and strong uneven teeth. She just seemed to light up when she saw me and I liked her right off.
“Ah, the teasher,” she said. “I am so happy to meetyou. I am Mrs. Purdy, and this is my daughter, Isabelle.”
She put a hand out and it felt small and capable. “My son Frayd have tell me how pretty you are,” she said after I introduced myself. “Before he say only lynx is pretty. Now I see for myself. Indeed, you are very lovely.”
She was like a little queen, and she wasn’t putting it on. She was dressed beautifully too—in a cloth parka that looked like a Fifth Avenue design, and a soft fur hat.
When I invited them in she complimented me on how much I’d done with the cabin. We all sat down and had a cup of tea and talked for a while. Before I knew it I was telling them about the trip out on Blossom, but instead of it coming out the way it really was, it sounded funny, especially the part about my landing on my behind in the mud outside the post office. I never heard anybody laugh the way Fred did when I told the story—with so much fun and enjoyment that it made me laugh myself. By the time I told how I’d walked in here to find hardly a stick of furniture we were all doubled over.
“Indeed, Ahnne,” Mrs. Purdy said, wiping away tears, “there is mush work to do in this place.” She grew serious. “You cannot live here in sush … sush …”
Fred supplied the word. “Conditions.”
“Conditions, yes. Thank you, Frayd.”
“Do you really think it’s so bad?”
“It is not terreebul, yet it is not good. There are many things to do here.” She sent Isabelle out to play, then went around the room, shaking her head. “If you are to live here, you must have home that is comfortable, warm.” She pointed to the baseboard where light was coming in. “This must be
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