Paint by Jennifer Dance

Author:Jennifer Dance
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dundurn Press
Published: 2015-01-12T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

By the time they reached town, Albert had planned the sodhouse in his head. He knew exactly what he needed to buy to make it a reality. He hitched Paint to the rail outside the hardware store and went inside.

“It’s your lucky day, my friend,” the storekeeper said. “I’m expanding the store! I just knocked down a storage shed out back to make room. I’ll be re-using the good timber, but there are some pieces you can have for free, plus some sheets of tin roofing. They’re rusted, but they still have a few years left in them. Come out back and see what you can use.”

A small window caught Albert’s eye. It was lying in the middle of the floor with smashed glass all around, but Albert knew how to fix it.

“You can take that door, too,” the man said. “It’s cracked right through, but you can have it if you want. And take all those small scraps of wood. You’ll be needing something to burn to get you through the winter.”

That reminded Albert about the wood stove in the abandoned sodhouse.

“Do you know who owns the vacant place, the one at the end of the road, right before mine?” Albert asked.

“Smitty’s place? They left a while back.”

“Will they come back?”

“Not a chance in hell!”

“So what happens to the land?”

“It will go to someone else, I guess. The homesteader act says you have to live on the land in order to get the title deed.”

“What about the family’s possessions?”

“Such as?”

“There’s a wood stove I could use.”

“Take it! If it helps you get through the winter. I’m sure old Smitty would be happy for you.”

“Maybe I’ll leave a note in case he comes back, telling him I’ve just borrowed it.”

The man shrugged. “As you like, but there’s no need. Believe me, he ain’t coming back! Are there any trees on your land?”

“Along the creek,” Albert replied, “but nothing too big.”

“Don’t cut them down. The roots hold the soil, stop it blowing when there’s a gale. Stop it from washing away in a flood, too. Homesteaders have been cutting them. Big mistake! I understand that you all need wood and most of you can’t afford to buy it. But once the trees are gone, it’s damn near impossible to get them growing again, not with the winds we have around here. We’ve got to protect the trees! At least that’s my humble opinion. Not that anyone takes any notice of me!”

Albert looked crestfallen.

“If I were you, I’d start collecting manure from that horse of yours.”

Both men looked at Paint, who was sleeping in the traces of the wagon. Her bottom lip was flapping, her hip bones stuck out, and her ribs protruded. She looked as if she was well past doing a hard day’s work.

“Making manure is probably the best thing that horse can do for you,” he said with a chuckle.

Albert sighed. “We’re saving manure already. For the vegetable garden.”

“I don’t mean that! I mean save it to burn! You folk from England have no idea how cold it gets here.

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