"Where are you going?" asked the plump, elderly lady, sitting across from me on the crowded train.
"Prince George, B.C." At her uncomprehending look I qualified, "British Columbia."
She thought for a while. "Vancouver?"
"No, Prince George. It's in the north."
She looked puzzled. Again she asked, "Where did you say?"
"Prince George, British Columbia."
"Ahh," she said, "Vancouver."
The conversation faltered. I couldn't convince her that there was more to B.C. than just Vancouver.
When the train stopped in Jasper, Alta. I got off for a six hour wait before boarding another train to get to Prince George. It wasn't due to arrive until the wee hours of themorning, around 3 o'clock. I hoped my father would meet me. I had written to him the week before to tell him my arrival time.
Jasper was an interesting place. A small town. I walked around for a bit but I was already tired, having travelled from Winnipeg, Manitoba. Soon I went back to the station where I could sit down. I was heavily pregnant and carried with me a birdcage with my canary, and a couple of small carry-on bags. It was September and although most of the day had been sunny, it had cooled off considerably by evening. I had looked forward to the trip from Jasper on but realized that I would be getting dark by the time I reached Willow River where I was to meet my father.
Willow River is a short stop before coming into the town of Prince George. My parents lived 20 miles from town and about 20 miles from Willow River.
After a bowl of soup and a cup of coffee in a nearby restaurant, I settled down to wait. I read my book but tiredness intervened and I dozed betwee pages. At last the train chuffed its way into Jasper. There was the usual hustle and bustle of people getting off, luggage being moved about but at last at dusk we were allowed to board the train. I had hoped to get a double seat but there were too many passengers. Slowly we left the terminal and the train soon rumbled into a steady clackety-clack, only to start slowing down again. It stopped at many places, sometimes only a small shack to demarcate the place, often a coule of people would be there to receive a bag with mail or other parcels. Sometimes at these places someone got off or got on the train. It seemed to take forever.
Never being one to sleep in a moving vehicle, I barely dozed between stops. I couldn't focus on my book and finally put it into my handbag. At last, the conductor called out, "Next stop Willow River". Hurriedly I checked my tings to make sure I had everything. I made ready to get off as soon as the train pulled to a stop. The conductor helped me off and promptly disappeared.
It was completely dark, much darker than I had expected. Trying to orient myself, I heard someone talking, then noticed a lantern swinging and the train began to move behind me. There was a man holding a lantern and he was lifting a large bag onto his shoulders.
"Eh, parden me," I said hesitantly. He seemed to be impatient and I was afraid to talk to him and even more afraid I would be left standing there alone. Gripping my bags and canary cage, I explained that I was expecting Alex Hubensky to be there. I had written to my dad the week before, giving him my time of arrival.
"Come," he said gruffly and turned to leave the platform. Unsure, I followed him, not knowing what I'd find. Growing up in Winnipeg I was taught never to speak to strangers. Following him clumsily, I wondered about where I'd find myself but soon I could make out a house here and there and then there was a light in the window. As we came to the door, I could see it was a store and felt reassured. We entered it and he turned into a small room which I assumed to be an office of some sort. He turned the sack over, dug around, and held up a letter triumphantly.
"Here it is," he said. "Your letter came in on tonight's mail, so Alex doesn't know about you."
By this time a woman came out into the store and finding out who I was, told me to put my things down.
"What's wrong with you John? Why'd you leave her standing in the middle of the floor?" And not waiting for a reply, she guided me into the back where the living quarters were. Sitting me down at the kitchen table, she busied herself around the stove, heating some water.
"I'm sure you'd like a hot cup of tea. It's such a long trip. John has the Post Office and he meets the train to pick up the mail. He'll come in a minute. He likes a cup of tea when he comes in."
Soon we were sitting at the table being served cups of tea and some sandwiches which were made while Mrs. Newsome chatted away as though we were old friends. She wanted to know when I was expecting my baby andhow were things in Winnipeg and was this my first visit to this area. Mr. Newsome told me that my father would be there in the morning.
"He's loading boxcars with birch logs. He took longer to load the last car because last week he fell off the top of the car. He got shook up pretty bad but I think he might be all right now. You're lucky because I think he will be finished today and then he doesn't come in to Willow until the weekend. Why didn't you write sooner?"
I didn't know that the mail only came in once a week and expected that I had written in plenty of time.
"We can talk more tomorrow," interrupted Mrs. Newsome. "You can stay here tonight. This is such a small place that there is no other place for you to stay. Don't worry about hurrying up in the morning. Your father won't be ready to leave until well after the noon hour." As she showed me into a small neet room, done up with a single bed made up with a pretty bedspread, a dresser and a chair. "I hope you will be comfortable here," she added as she turned back the covers. "Good-night now."
Although not given to headaches, I felt as though I should have one. My head felt heavy and my balance was not at par. I made sure the canary was okay in his cage, got my nightwear out and was soon huddled in the cool covers. They soon warmed up, and although I thought I might be wakeful, I was soon alseep.
The sun was high when I woke up. I looked out the window and could see a number of houses and off to the left was the railroad. I could see some men around a boxcar and assumed that my father was there. Excitedly, I dressed, and washed in the basin with cold water, grabbed the canary cage and my other things. Mrs. Newsome smiled at me as she turned away from the stove to face me.
"You don't need to hurry," she said. "They just got here. Come, you have lots of time for breakfast, then you can go surprise your father."
It was hard to wait. I had my breakfast, eggs, bacon, toast and jam and a couple of cups of coffee. Replete, I chatted a while with Mrs. Newsome but she had work to do and soon left me to myown devices. I decided to head for the boxercar.
The air was clear and cool but the sun shone brightly. It reminded me of the freshness of the country when I went to visit my grandparents on a Manitoba farm. A lovely September day! Some of the trees had already turned color and there was a beautiful mix of green, yellow, some apricot and a few dull red bushes but my eeyes were focused on the boxcar. Yes, there he was!
I left the store, trying not to hurry, and stepped out on the narrow, gravelled road whichI came on last night. A train track ran alongside the road, broken partway by a turn in the road which also turned left. That was the way to Prince George, I later learned. On the right were rows of modest houses, some with very little yard but here and there were a few bright colors, late bloomers.
My face split into a broad grin as I neared the boxcar. I hadn't seen my folks since my wedding day. A feeling of excitement prevaded me although as a rule I was quite calm about things. I stood near the boxcar, waiting for my father to see me. I was surprised at how aged he seemed!
He glanced up to speak to one of his helpers, then noticed me. For a moment he looked astonished then he returned my smile.
"Why didn't you write," he said. "I would have met the train."