Belle of Batoche Read online

  Belle of Batoche

  Jacqueline Guest

  Copyright © 2004 Jacqueline Guest

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  National Library of Canada Cataloguing in Publication Data:

  Guest, Jacqueline

  Belle of Batoche / Jacqueline Guest.

  (Orca young readers)

  Electronic Monograph

  Issued also in print format.

  ISBN 9781551434544(pdf) -- ISBN 9781554695751 (epub)

  1. Batoche (Sask.), Battle of, 1885--Juvenile fiction. I. Title. II. Series.

  PS8563.U365B44 2004 jC813’.54 C2004-905172-5

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2004112452

  Summary: Belle must put aside her struggle to become the church bell ringer when those she loves are threatened during the battle of Batoche, part of the Riel Rebellion.

  Free teachers’ guide available.

  Orca Book Publishers gratefully acknowledges the support for its publishing programs provided by the following agencies: the Government of Canada through the Department of Canadian Heritage’s Book Publishing Industry Development Program (BPIDP), the Canada Council for the Arts, and the British Columbia Arts Council.

  Cover design and typesetting by Lynn O’Rourke

  Cover & interior illustrations by June Lawrason

  In Canada:

  Orca Book Publishers

  PO Box 5626, Station B

  Victoria, BC Canada

  V8R 6S4

  In the United States:

  Orca Book Publishers

  PO Box 468

  Custer, WA USA

  98240-0468

  www.orcabook.com

  07 06 05 04 • 6 5 4 3 2 1

  For the grade three and four Time Twisters

  of Louis Riel Elementary School, Calgary:

  students who really did make history come alive!

  And for their extraordinary teachers,

  Sandy Langford, Tim Shoults and Jane Spratt.

  A real class act!

  Spring 2004.

  I would like to acknowledge the Canada Council for the Arts and the Alberta Foundation for the Arts for their support while I was writing this book.

  Village of Batoche

  Table of Contents

  1 Unexpected Competition

  2 Stepping in It

  3 Beautiful Bells and Stinky Smells

  4 Perfect Stitches and Hidden Ditches

  5 Butter Papers and Soapsuds

  6 Judgement Day

  7 Suspicious Kindness

  8 Setting a Trap to Catch the Truth

  9 Belle’s Plan

  10 Secrets Uncovered!

  11 Attack on Batoche!

  12 Hide Out!

  13 Belle Takes Charge

  14 Living in a Gopher Hole

  15 Battle’s End and a Friendship Begun

  Author’s Note

  1

  Unexpected Competition

  Belle emerged from the warm blackness of the old chicken coop into the blinding April sunshine.

  “Belle Tourond, where are you, mafille?”

  Belle had stopped to watch an early robin busily building a nest in a poplar tree and now she was late again. Spring was very late coming this year, and Belle felt sorry for the birds trying to make nests in the leafless trees.

  Sighing, she blew a puff of air up into her straight black hair and watched as a feather came loose, drifting down onto the frosty early morning ground. Time had a way of slipping away from Belle; at least that’s what her mama always said.

  Grown-ups had a different idea of how time should be spent, Belle thought. Instead of stopping to enjoy the first crocus of the year or to watch a fish jump in the river, adults were always rushing here and there with chores.

  Today, Belle had spent a short time, she was sure it had been only a very short time, spying on a sweet little robin building a nest. What harm could there be in that?

  She set the basket of eggs she’d been gathering onto a fence post where it teetered while she wiped her grimy hands on the apron of her long dress. “Coming Mama!” she called, grabbing the basket just in time.

  Belle lived in the small town of Batoche in the area of the North West Territories called Saskatchewan. The town was on the Carlton Trail, the main trade route between Fort Garry and Fort Edmonton.

  She glanced up at the wide-open prairie sky. It was like looking into a vast blue ocean, or at least what she imagined an ocean would look like. She had never seen anything bigger than the South Saskatchewan River, which she thought was very impressive, especially during spring run off. Batoche was built on the banks of the South Saskatchewan and boasted a real ferryboat that took people and freight from bank to bank.

  “It took me a little longer than usual today, Mama. I had to wrestle a couple of those hens before they’d give up their darned old eggs!” Belle said as she hustled into the back porch.

  “Oui, I think it took a little longer because you stopped to watch a tree growing leaves! I swear your head is so far in the clouds that one day you’ll be struck by lightning! You’re eleven now, Belle, and should be more responsible.” Her mother shook her head.

  “Actually, it was a bird in the tree,” Belle mumbled, looking down at her basket of eggs. “I’ll wash these right away.” She could feel her mother staring as she busied herself gently scrubbing the dirty eggs. This was the third time this week her mother had caught her daydreaming. If she didn’t concentrate on her chores, she was going to get into big trouble. She wished she could stop, but the warm sun and the chirping birds always put her in a mind to sing.

  She picked up an egg and inspected it. She loved to sing and she was good at it. A happy little tune she’d heard at school bubbled up through her brain. She began humming cheerfully as she worked.

  One day she would go to the big opera houses in Montreal and perform for thousands of people, who would clap and stamp their feet, yelling for more! She could see it all now. There would be loud cheering and … Crack! The egg she was washing broke and a splat of gooey yellow yolk slid into the sink.

  “Non, non, non, child!” her mother scolded. “What am I going to do with you? I need every one of those eggs. Monsieurs Louis Riel and Gabrielle Dumont are coming tonight and they will want to eat before the meeting.”

  “Another meeting! Oh Mama, that means the men will be up talking until very late.” Belle would get little sleep with all the noisy discussions about the troubles. The troubles, her brother Patrice said, had to do with the Canadian government trying to take their land away. The Metis people could not allow that.

  Belle and her family were Metis—a blend of European and First Nations’ people. Her great-grandfather, a white man, had come to this country from France and married her great-grandmother, a Cree lady. Their children were the first Metis in their family. Belle thought she was very Canadian because the Metis had begun here in Canada.

  Nearly all the people of Batoche were Metis and supported Monsieur Riel. In 1870, he’d won a battle with the Canadian government at the Red River settlement. Everyone was hoping he could do it again now in 1885 here in Batoche. Belle’s father and brother, who made their living hauling freight with the big, two-wheeled wooden Red River carts, were sure Monsieur Riel would make the Canadian government listen to the Metis people.

  “Do I have to candle them?” Belle asked, looking at the row of gleaming white eggs on the counter. She disliked that job as she often missed the telltale dark spot on the inside of t
he egg when she held it up to the candle’s light.

  “Non, I have an errand for you. I want you to take this note to Father Moulin.” Her mother handed Belle a slip of paper. “And try not to be too long.”

  Belle grinned. “Is this about who will be chosen as the new bell ringer at the church?” she asked, dancing from one foot to the other.

  “Oui, Father Moulin will appoint the bell ringer on Sunday. I have heard that only one young person has asked for the job and I want to assure him that you are still very interested.” She smiled at her daughter. “Am I wrong, ma petite fille?” Her mother tucked an errant strand of hair behind Belle’s ear.

  “Oh no, Mama!” Belle shook her head, releasing the strand of hair to fly free once more. “I still want to be the one to make Marie-Antoinette sing!” She stuffed the note into her apron pocket and raced out the door.

  Bishop Grandin had presented their new church, St. Antoine de Padoue, with the bell last year when construction had finished. It had cost twenty-five dollars and was made of real silver! The bell had been christened Marie-Antoinette. She had a beautiful voice. Early every Sunday morning, she could be heard calling everyone to mass. To be the bell ringer would be a very important job, so important the person appointed was to have their name and picture printed in the paper!

  Belle didn’t care about the paper; she wanted to be the one to set Marie-Antoinette’s voice free every Sunday. Her stomach fluttered. To be the bell ringer at St. Antoine de Padoue would be the most wonderful job in the world!

  Belle sang in the church choir and had been told she had the best voice of all the children. She had often sung the exact same note the bell was chiming as she walked to church. Why, she and Marie-Antoinette already sang together every Sunday. It made Belle feel very special.

  Belle rounded the corner of Monsieur Letendre’s dry goods store and ran smack into Sarah Johnson. Belle and Sarah had never seen eye to eye on anything.

  Sarah was Belle’s age. She had moved to Batoche earlier that year from Fort Carlton. Her family was not Metis. They were very wealthy and had built a large house near the ferry crossing.

  Sarah always wore beautiful clothes, all new and made by a factory in the east. She even had a petticoat that made her dress rustle when she walked! She was also very pretty, which she never let anyone forget. Even at school, she wore her pale blonde hair combed in an elaborate style and tiny gold earrings on her ears.

  When they’d first met, Belle had tried to be friends with her, but Sarah disliked getting dirty or playing with anyone she called “riff raff.” Belle had decided she must be riff raff, because Sarah never wanted to play with her. The other children at school said Sarah was so stuck-up that “her nose hid the sun.” Belle liked Sarah’s five-year-old brother Samuel who was not stuck-up at all. He was always smiling even when his mama dressed him in silly short pants.

  “Look out, you clumsy girl!” Sarah exclaimed, a frown creasing her pretty forehead. “You should watch where you’re going, Belle Tourond! You could have damaged my new hat!” She dusted off the bright blue hatbox she was carrying. “My mother ordered it for me all the way from Regina, and I don’t want it ruined before Sunday.”

  Ignoring Sarah’s rude comment, Belle stared at the box with new respect. A hat all the way from Regina! Unbelievable! “Can I see it?” she asked, her voice a reverent whisper. “I’ve never worn a real hat to mass before, just the scarf I got for Christmas three years ago.”

  Sarah hesitated, as though weighing whether or not Belle deserved the honor. Then she carefully lifted the lid off the round box. Inside, nestled in crisp white tissue paper, was the most beautiful hat Belle had ever seen. It was made of pale pink velvet and had an honest to goodness feather sticking out of the side. The feather exactly matched the velvet hat. What magical bird had produced such a feather?

  “It’s wonderful!” Belle breathed. She reached out a finger to stroke the delicate pink feather, but Sarah snatched the hatbox away.

  “Don’t touch!” she cried, replacing the lid. “You’ll get it dirty.” She grinned slyly at Belle. “I shall wear it to church on Sunday when Father Moulin announces that I will be the new bell ringer. I want to look good for my picture.”

  Belle’s mouth dropped open.

  2

  Stepping in It

  The next day at school, Belle was still thinking about Sarah’s announcement. The rude blonde girl had no business wanting the job of bell ringer! After all, Sarah and her family were new to Batoche. They had no roots here as Belle’s family did.

  “Did you hear?” Bertha Lange asked as soon as they’d taken their seats. Bertha sat in front of Belle and had masses of carrot-colored hair that stuck out from her head like an orange haystack. The unruly mop often blocked Belle’s view of the small blackboard at the front of the classroom.

  “Hear what?” Belle asked, already knowing the answer.

  “Sarah Johnson wants the job of bell ringer at the church!” Bertha’s face was red with excitement. Sarah was Bertha’s ideal of a perfect lady.

  Belle looked to where Sarah sat giggling as she showed two boys her new black patent leather shoes. They must have come in yesterday with the hat, Belle decided. She looked down at her own scuffed brown shoes. Although they were hand-me-downs from her cousin who’d never been careful with her things, they were still much more suitable for playing in than those glossy dancing slippers Sarah had on.

  Sarah looked over at Belle, made a face, then bent over and dusted off the shiny shoes before taking her seat.

  Miss Onesime Dorval, their teacher, who was also the choir director at church, tapped her ruler on the desk. She taught all the grades in their one-room school and was very old and very strict. “Today we’re going to read one of my favorite poems by a gentleman called Mr. William Wordsworth. It is entitled I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud. Bertha, please hand these out.” She pointed to a pile of papers with her ruler.

  While the pages were being distributed, Miss Dorval scanned the room, a scowl creasing her already wrinkled forehead. Then her gaze fell on Sarah and one corner of her mouth twitched into what passed for a smile.

  Belle groaned inwardly. Sarah was Miss Dorval’s pet.

  The teacher nodded at her favorite student. “Sarah Johnson, please read the opening stanza.”

  Sarah, her blonde curls bouncing, stood and walked with exaggerated steps to the front of the room, drawing as much attention as possible to her new shoes.

  She cleared her throat loudly. “I wandered lonely as a cloud that floats on high o’er vales and hills. When all at once I saw a crowd, A host of golden daffodils … ”

  Belle glanced out the window and was surprised to see Daisy, Madame Carriere’s cow, eating the flowers out of the Garnot’s yard. What flavor would the milk be after the cow had eaten all the bright red tulips, she wondered.

  “Belle Tourond!” Miss Dorval’s stern voice made Belle jump.

  Sarah, enjoying the spotlight, had almost finished the poem before Miss Dorval got her stopped. “Thank you, Sarah. Beautifully done. You may take your seat,” she said, bestowing a warm smile on the beaming Sarah.

  She turned to Belle. “Since we were all paying attention and following along on our sheets, I know you will be able to finish reading the poem for the class.”

  Belle looked down at her paper. Her reading skills weren’t the best and she had no idea where Sarah had stopped. She swallowed as she scanned the poem trying to figure out where to start. Hadn’t she heard Sarah say something about money or … wealth! That was it, the second to last stanza talked about wealth.

  Belle took a deep breath and read the last verse of the poem. “And then my heart with pleasure fills, And dances with the daffodils.” She sat down. It really was an interesting poem. Sometimes words made pictures in your head and this poem, with its beautiful description of the bright yellow flowers, made wonderful images appear in Belle’s mind.

  “Sarah, would you please explain to the class what we
alth Mr. Wordsworth was talking about in this great poem.” Miss Dorval picked up her chalk and stood waiting beside the blackboard.

  Sarah shuffled through the pages several times as though looking for the answer hidden on one of them, then slowly stood. “Oh, well, of course, Miss Dorval. Mr. William Wordsworth was talking about flowers … daffodils.” She paused and swallowed. “And how he could pick them to sell at the local store to make money.”

  Belle snorted and Miss Dorval glared at her. “That’s not quite right, Sarah, but a wonderful try. Belle, what do you think the reference to wealth means?” The scowling teacher folded her arms and waited.

  Belle looked down at the paper. The other students giggled. “I think he’s saying he didn’t realize it when he was watching them down by the shore, but the best thing the flowers did for him was to make a picture in his head that he could conjure up anytime he wanted.”

  Miss Dorval stared at her for a moment. “Actually … actually, you’re correct.” She looked like she hated saying it. “The wealth the flowers gave him was the recurring pleasure the memory of the dancing daffodils was able to provide.”

  Sarah glared at Belle from her seat at the front of the room.

  Belle stuck her tongue out and crossed her eyes at Sarah. She might not be able to read as quickly as Miss Perfect Sarah, but somehow when she read the meaning of the words came into her head all the same. Belle liked books. Heck, reading one could take her an entire month! And her mother never interrupted her when she was doing important stuff like reading, which meant sometimes she could put off doing her chores for a little longer.

  When Belle left the classroom after school, all the kids were gathered around the steps of the schoolhouse listening to Sarah talk about being named the new bell ringer.

  “ … And as my family contributes so generously to the poor box, it is only fitting that I be named the official bell ringer on Sunday.” She looked at her crowd of admirers as though daring them to disagree.

  “Belle Tourond wants the job too, but her family can’t possibly give as much to the church as yours does, Sarah,” Bertha Lange gushed in a flowery voice that made Belle want to gag.