Free Extensions by Myrna Dey

the morning’s haze, and Jane fills an enamelled basin with water now heated in the kettle. In the scullery off the kitchen, she slips quickly out of her robe and nightgown and washes her strong young body, gooseflesh rising from the cold air not insulated by the blanket curtain. Two freshly cured hams and a slab of bacon hang from the ceiling; Tommy gets their pork from a fellow miner — not from Henry Hargraves, to Jane’s relief. Back home, their father did the curing, and Mama kept chickens whose necks she wrung herself. That is all past.
    She pulls a shimmy over her head, then a white blouse, and steps into a petticoat and a grey woollen skirt, all warming in a bundle next to the stove. As she fastens her lisle stockings to her garter belt, she notes the grease tins are full. Time to make more soap. On the way home she will stop at the store for lye. She leaves the curtain open to insure warmth for Tommy’s bath, stuffs her feet into Gomer’s boots, and flings a cloak over her shoulders. She exits quietly, two empty pails in one hand, a chamber pot in the other. After a brief stop at the privy, she steps quickly down a lane to a pump shared by a cluster of dwellings.
    Tommy did well claiming this parcel of land. Lush with alder, poplar, maple, pine, and hawthorn trees, their large lot slopes gently down to the Chase River flowing through the bottom corner. Sometimes she thinks of the fugitive native murderer in his canoe, whose chase years ago by Hudson’s Bay Company scouts gave this sparkling stream its name.
    Tommy had rented a small shack on his own until just before his family arrived, when he purchased a larger one for $50 to move here from the declining Wellington mine. Mama contributed her small compensation from Wales for furniture and housekeeping. Many miners rent company cottages, partly due to the greed of the owners, but also because homes can become worthless if the mine dries up, unless they are moved to a new site. Tommy believes they are well located in Chase River. If his work at the No. 1 Nanaimo mine ceases, he can sell or move their home again. He learned the value of owning and maintaining property, no matter how modest, from their father. Even their outside cedar shingles are weathering evenly, in contrast to the unsightly bleeding wood on some of the smaller, shabbier cottages built or rented by others around them — mainly Finnish farmers and miners.
    Jane sees Gertie Salo turn into one of those cottages now with full pails. She is relieved to be spared stories of school at the pump from her former slow-moving classmate. Complaints about the studies she craves. The mine whistle jolts her into a quicker pace, still careful to keep the water from overflowing. Back in the warm house, she fills oil cans with water to boil for Tommy’s bath and scoops lard from a tin into a cast iron frying pan. Mama sneezes from the bedroom.
    â€œThomas home?” she calls in a weak voice.
    â€œNot yet,” Jane says, looking in on her mother propped up on pillows. She is a small woman whose curly black hair has turned a steely grey since her arrival in Canada and now matches her eyes. Her skin bears a hectic flush, but is surprisingly firm, especially on her arms and neck, considering she has not had the benefit of much fresh air and exercise. “I’ve started his meal. How are you feeling?”
    â€œCould be better. Water boiled yet?”
    â€œI’ll bring your tea just now.” Gomer coughs and shifts on the couch as Jane stops to pull the blankets over his shoulders.
    â€œHakie,” he mutters through a crusty nose and parched mouth.
    Jane takes a handkerchief from her skirt pocket, checking to see that it is clean before exchanging it for a wadded-up cloth, which she drops into a pail of cold water. She postpones the thought that in an hour or so she will be rinsing out Lance Cruikshank’s slimy handkerchiefs in a similar pail, then boiling them