Free A Place Called Bliss by Ruth Glover Page B

the rose of Sharon and the lily of the valley shed His sweet perfume through her life; to Angus it seemed that it should naturally be so, and it was a testimony to him and all who met her, in a manner beyond words. The One whom she acknowledged as the bright and morning star shone His light through her, and Angus warmed his own hungry heart at that flame. The Good Shepherd who had found Mary was, clearly, seeking another wandering lamb.
    “We’ll stay here a few days and rest,” he said now. “We’ll look over the available goods—everything, by the way, has had to come over the same trail we did, or by river. The Hudson’s Bay steamer, the Lily , made six trips to Edmonton from here this year, I’m told, carrying flour and other goods as well as passengers. So,” he said, more serious than teasing, “we’re not really locked in here.”
    “It surely can’t navigate in winter. And Edmonton, Angus—that’s the wrong direction.” She was, obviously, thinking of her Mam, back east.
    “Knowing Kezzie,” Angus said, and it was a comfort for the moment, “she’d make it if she had to snowshoe all the way.”
    “You’ve been looking over the store’s goods,” Mary judged. “Now, let’s go see these snowshoes.”
    Mary rounded up the children, straightened their clothes, and herded them down the street toward the Hudson’s Bay Trading Post.
    While Mary browsed through an interesting assortment of goods, Angus was engaged in conversation with a couple ofmen. To his surprise he learned that very little cash was available; his would be welcome, for sure.
    “Good country for cattle,” he was told. “Start a herd and it may bring you returns sooner than a crop, because you’ll have to clear your land and so on. Cattle are bought by the government and the Bay for their posts throughout the territories.”
    “It’s this first winter that concerns me most,” Angus said, his Scots accent fresh and strong but not strange; the Scots were well represented in the area.
    “You have a couple of months before it gets really bad. Though it could be sooner . . . never know. You won’t want to let any grass grow under your feet.”
    This reference to the grass that burgeoned so thickly around them caused considerable hilarity in the listeners, and when Angus responded with, “Well, if it does, I’ll cut it for hay,” he was slapped on the back and told, “You’ll do!”
    A plump, rosy woman not much older than Mary entered the building, bustled over to the newcomer, held out her hand, and said, “You must be the lady from Scotland. Well, I’m Sadie LeGare—French name, of course, my husband is part French . . . we’re a motley crew here, and I welcome you to our—” Here the flow of words faltered, and a sparkle of fun lit the kind eyes—“our city,” she finished.
    When Angus joined them and was introduced, the two were old friends, a mark of the camaraderie that flourished among the settlers, who needed each other so desperately. Unless he was mistaken, this Sadie LeGare was part Indian, a Métis, many of whom were being assimilated into the current society and way of life.
    “The constant need for food three times a day will challenge your imagination,” Sadie LeGare was saying, following Mary to the various sections of the store. “If you don’t have it already, you’ll need flour, of course, sugar, baking soda, salt—” Mary was pointing these items out to the clerk, and they were being assembled on the counter.
    “Tea . . . syrup . . . oatmeal; oh yes, oatmeal—some poor bachelors, I understand, exist on oatmeal and rabbit,” Sadie informed them. “Dried beans, rice, lard—though you can render your own from most any meat you butcher or hunt or trap. You do have a rifle, I guess?” And on and on the needs went. Mary was grateful, having felt dismayed at the prospect before her of being isolated for long periods of time, with travel impossible except, she supposed, on the