A Trail of Grace
A Trail of Grace Part two.
The day started out windy. Waves on Lake Sesekinika were white capped and restless. In the afternoon around two o'clock when the south bound NORTHERNER passenger train pulled away from the Sesekinika station, I was aboard. I found an empty seat. I would ride the NORTHERNER along the Ontario Northland corridor between Sesekinika and North Bay many times. From North Bay west I would transfer to The Canadian, Via rail. I pushed my way all the way to the window. I wanted one last glimpse of the remaining view of the place in the world that had been my home for eighteen years. I watched the waves crash up on some rocks a little way out on the bay and rocks along the shore. There were many waves, all topped with whitecaps. I asked myself if each wave were a story from my life, how many more tales could be told? Would the parts I did not write in ever be known? Will my story and interest from readers interested in my life end where these books conclude? Or maybe some one would be interested enough to research deep into my life, find the real me.
The southbound Ontario Northland, Northern
My train pulled away from Sesekinika early afternoon. As the last bay dispersed behind, I was confident this was not the last I would see of my hometown. Despite the treatment of the other residents and students, this pretty little town was in my heart, and would remain there all my life.
During my short life at home, Mom had many times filed a court vase against the man whom she said was my father to get him to give Mom money for food. In spite of seeing the scenery many times before on my way to New Liskerd or North Bay I sat huddled in my seat gazing out the window as the high granite cliffs, thick evergreen forests, bog and lakes went by.
By the time I was past New Liskerd, I had grown tired of gazing at the scenery. Instead I took out a think student’s type of writing book and started adding to what else I had written in the journal. Part of my writing consisted of a book I’d already finished. I’d sent it away to different publishers, but the book was rejected. This didn’t stop me. I kept on, adding, deleting, in general, revising the story. The Asquinn Twins Come to Forest Lake had been born, and pretty well matured in my mind. Based loosely on my life in Sesekinika, I thought it would make a good book, maybe even a better movie. My mind visualized a movie. My mind never did drop the scene of this series turning me into a rich and well-known author. I almost made it. My dream almost came true when I was about to sign a contract with a well known film studio in Hollywood, Ca, USA. But God had other plans for my life.
Grandpa Allen: Joseph Elijah Allen: Grandma Allen: Ellen Acey Mark
My grandfather Joseph Elijah Allen, born September 6th1854, Dorchester, Middlesex, Ontario. Died 14th November 1923, Englehart, Ontario. My Great grandparents, James Allen and his wife. Pioneers of the land opening up to settlers in northern Ontario, close to and around the town of Englehart.
Grandma Shortt (my Mom) holding her fifth grandchild, Esther RoseMary Lauay, Leona and Andy's firstborn.
The southbound train, the Northern.
Mom holding one of her children.
A Trail of Grace
New trails
I will not say a lot about my transition from the terrain in Ontario and the prairies. Many
A prairie sunset after a hot day. Photo by Tandem Visuals.
books and movies have shown this. I will say the traveling from Winnipeg west was hot. I arrived when harvest was over, and the fields were all brown. There was not much difference in colour mile after mile. Up until now I had enjoyed my train ride. Maybe I had been a bit numb at being kicked out of the nest and left to fly on my own. But what nest? Where was my home? What was my home? I did not have a real home since we moved from the rotting house to the white house on the ridge. From there I had been shuttled from home to home. A nice family in Kirkland Lake had tried to adopt me, but I would not have anything of it. I lived in many, but never really felt at home. The place I came to feeling at home, or calling home, was with Leona and Andy. Esther, their oldest daughter, and I bonded and got along well.
At North Bay, The Canadian headed west. I was not feeling anything. Maybe what I felt was happiness at being on my own. As I rode further away from home the numbness disappeared and loneliness overcame me. I reached into my pocket, I was too poor for a purse at that time, for the letter I had received from the sanatorium. I read through it again, and sure enough, someone would meet me at the station.
My excitement grew as The Canadian pulled out of Winnipeg, then Portage La Prairie, and drew closer to Brandon.
Other passengers left me alone. I do not know what they, or the conductors. felt about a lady as young as I, and alone, traveling halfway across the country. The conductors left me alone although I am sure they must have kept an eye on me. I doubt if I looked eighteen. But I had shown my ticket when asked to, so I would not be a run-away. Andy had paid for my ticket. That is all he paid for. I rode for three days in a standard coach car, the seat as my bed. He did not give me enough money for a sleeper coach, or food. I do not know what I ate those days traveling, maybe I was too numb to feel hunger. But as the Canadian approached Brandon, I suddenly felt hunger pains. As the endless fields, now bare and brown as crops had been taken off, turned into more and more houses, I knew the city of Brandon was not far off. I was right for the conductor stopped at my seat.
“Your drop off point is ahead,” he said. “Is anyone meeting you at the station?”
“I---I suppose so,” stammered. “I have a letter with me saying someone will meet me at the bus stop.”
“Show me the letter,” the conductor instructed. The time had arrived. I was on my own. I had to make snap decisions in whom I would trust. In Sesekinika, I had learned not to trust anyone, man, or woman. I made my own friends. This point in time was my test. When I handed over the precious letter, He read through it, groaned, and looked at me. Something was wrong. I could feel it.
“This sanitarium is in Ninette,” he said.
“I know,” I answered.
“You need to transfer to a bus which will take you to Ninette, That will be another two-hour ride and a stay in Brandon overnight.” I was told.
Oh no, I groaned within me. My first complications. And how far away from home? And no money. No food for days. I pictured myself sleeping on a hard bench at the bus stop. What do I do now? I groaned within.
“Do you have money?’ the conductor asked,” For a bus ticket, and a stay overnight in the city?”
I shook my head.
“There is a place where you could stay one night for free.”
‘Where’s that?’ I squeaked. I was starting to get nervous.
After awhile the conductor answered. “I will phone ahead and let them know your story.”
“Who are they?” I asked. Sweat formed on my forehead.
“It’s known as the Young Women’s Christian Association,” I was told.
I breathed a sigh. “The YWCA. I’ve heard of it.”
“I’ll be right back.”
The conductor took awhile to return. The Canadian pulled into the Brandon station and stopped by the station. Quite a few people got off here and I wondered if I should, after all this was by ‘jumping off point’ so to say. Then the conductor appeared, and he had a man and a woman with him.
These two are from the YWCa,” he told me. “Hurry go with them. They will see you get to the YWCA, a room for the night, and food.”
Needless to say, the two ladies looked after me well. After a good night’s sleep and a meal or two the next day, I was escorted to the bus stop and she made sure I boarded the right bus.
‘Don’t get off the bus right in Ninette,” I was cautioned. “This bus will take you right to the door of the building you should get off.”
At seven thirty in the evening the bus left Brandon and headed south. At ten in the evening my bus arrived outside the administrative building at the sanatorium.
It surprised me the amount of people gathered outside the doors to greet the bus. It surprised me how many passengers got off at the sanitarium. I disembarked with the rest of them. I’d barely set foot on the cement platform when a heavy-set man over six feet tall, dressed in a blue uniform stepped up to me.
“You must be the new worker?” he quizzed me.
“Yes,” I said. “My name is Grace Shortt.”
As I always had during my school years, I used the name Grace, although it was my middle name. I’d not encountered any trouble with using Grace. Lots of people used their middle name.
I was shown to where my room was. Room for the out-of-town workers were at the back and the upstairs part of the administrative building. My room overlooked the front lawn. A large room set up for three, but I had one other roommate.
A Trail of Grace
Ninette, Manitoba.
I was shown to my room. Rooms for the out-of-town workers were at the back and the upstairs part of the administrative building. My room overlooked the front lawn. A large room set up for three, but I had one other roommate. My roommate’s name was Joyce. Although we got along well, we did not become good friends. I was to make friends, slowly, as this is how I had come to prefer making friends. In my own time. I easily made friends with the native member of the staff. There was Gladys, a full-blooded Cree. Gladys walked with a limp. I never did learn where this limp came from. Eva and her sister Mary. And I will not forget Merle, a white lady.
The first winter was a memorable one for me, despite, or maybe because of, the raging blizzards that pounded the prairies, and cold days that held the land frozen for many long months. Patients that had recovered from TB enough to be going home in a short while kept busy practicing for a Christmas concert. The actors in the plays and singers were all native Eskimo or Indigenous. Patients did arrive all the way from what is now Canada's newest province, and Indigenous mostly from Northern Manitoba. Communities like Moose Lake, where Gladys came from, and her future husband, Putawagan, and Grand Rapids. I remember one carol. I went to the concert with Eva, Mary, Gladys, and Merle. There were also a few males in the group. I think this tune will always be in my mind. It was sung by a young Inuit girl who recovered from TB. What touched me how the carol was sung straight from the heart. Her falling to her knees to worship the babe was so natural. Merle. Merle and I were good friends. She was a Christian. I give God the glory and praise due Him for always planting a Christian in most places where I worked to be friends. She took me home with her when we had the same days off. Her family and I went to church. Church services were held in a chapel at the sanitarium and I did attend as regularly as I could. But something was uplifting and relaxing being with a family in a church service.
After the excitement of the concert, the rest of the winter settled into its regular routine. But I was in for a surprise. Spring arrived much earlier in Southern Manitoba than Northern Ontario where I had lived most of my short life.
The grounds around the sanitarium were beautiful. Lush, green grass grew in abundance.
"Trails wind through wooded areas," Mary said,
"And Pelican Lake is not far away," Eva said.
“Just follow the trail for five minutes and you will be there," Gladys said.
“Be careful of the ticks,” Merle told me.
Just like home. Almost. ‘But what are ticks?” I asked myself. I had not heard of them in Ontario.
After the cold winter with blizzards and deep snow, spring arrived, and the characteristic of the land changed. Grass started growing, leaves sprang out in the trees.
. I preferred to make my own friends. Joyce and I did not enjoy the same activities. After work, she preferred to go out on dates, or somewhere with friends. I liked to be alone in my room where I could work on my writing....
A TRAIL OF GRACE
Back to Sesekinika
When I wasn’t busy hauling wood, I went for long walks. Sometimes Esther accompanied me. I pulled her on a sled most of the time.
I heard first from the dog kennel in Edmonton. The owner was a woman and she said she was impressed by my enthusiasm about working with dogs. She invited me to work for her. She also told me there would be another young girl working with me. Her name was Linda and from Hudson Bay, Saskatchewan. So, I bought my ticket and packed my clothes. I was now waiting for the train to arrive headed in the direction I wanted to go. Then I heard from the family in New Liskerd only fifteen miles away. They had accepted me to work as nanny for their children. But I was all packed and ready to go west again. The person hiring me told me I could even bring my dog, as I had inquired if it were possible when I applied for the job. I chose the job in Edmonton. I couldn’t tell whether I was starting to prefer the west with its prairies or there was an unseen being nudging me back out west.
“The oldest girl will be offered the promotions first,” said the owner the first morning we gathered in the kennel to go through our duties. From my obversions, it was a nice kennel building where the dogs were housed. It was well kept and always clean. So clean the dogs could eat their meals right off the platforms in their cubicles. The owner trained and owned around fifty dogs of her own, she also boarded other dogs. Her dogs were German Shepherds; beautiful dogs that had won many trophies in the show ring. German Shepherds, my favorite breed. I enjoyed German Shepherds.
"Grace, how old are you and when is your birthday?”
“I’m nineteen, Ma’am,” I said. “Just turned nineteen as my birthday is Oct. 26.” This was two weeks into November.
“I won’t be nineteen until after Christmas,” Linda said. “So Grace is the oldest.”
And I was the older of the two. But the owner didn’t keep her promise about the oldest being offered the best jobs first. I went there to learn more about training dogs; maybe become a certified dog trainer. But I noticed it was Linda that trained the dogs and I was left to clean up behind the dogs. All the dirty dogs. I learned from Linda the owner didn’t think much of me being protestant. I scoffed. I didn’t need her to tell me that. I knew from the way she and her husband treated me.
In the room we shared after work, Linda and I talked some. She was a chain smoker and tried to get me to take up smoking. I resisted, but once I did take her up on her offer and smoked a cigarette. That was the first and only cigarette for me in my lifetime. Linda said she felt sorry for me about the way the kennel owner and her husband treated me. The owner wanted Linda to say and manage the kennel, maybe take over once she was too old to train anymore. Linda said she would refuse the offer, quit, and go elsewhere. The owner had already told me she was letting me go once the warm spring arrived.
The fact of the matter was Linda quit before me. I was the only worker left at the kennel, and with the busy boarding season ahead. I was asked, begged, to stay. Leona had asked the owners of the kennel to find me a job in Edmonton instead of sending me back to Sesekinika. The kennel owner said she couldn’t find anyone else that needed a kennel maid. But I refused. Instead of leaving in the warmth of spring, I was headed back to Sesekinika in the cold winter. With me traveled Gala, a beautiful pitch-black German Shepherd I had acquired from the kennel, and a suitcase of brand-new clothes the kennel owner bought me. She said I needed new clothes, what I wore was ragged and way out of date.
She took me to the train station early in the morning. The train didn’t leave for the east until late that evening. I was left alone to wile away fourteen hours, to find my way, and Gala’s, and to see that my luggage got onto the right the train. But with Gala as my companion, the time went by smoothly. It wasn’t a nice day. It was one of those cool, wet, November weather systems. I did board the correct train and was soon headed east. But someone said something to me on this trip home that left me uplifted. I remember all the other trips; I was left to myself. On this trip, two couples riding in the same coach as me started drinking. They boarded the train at Winnipeg and drank all the time they were on the train. They saw me seated by myself and insisted I join them. I did, but I refused to take any drinks offered me, or cigarettes. We were traveling through some rocky and densely forested area, at night, when one of the women took me aside. All of them were drunk by now.
“How can you do it?” she asked. “How do you have fun without alcohol?”
“Easy,” I answered. “I prefer to leave it alone. I opt for the company of animals over human companionship."
The woman snorted.
"Animals don't do to you what human beings do," I said.
She stood up, "Well, Grace, you certainly have a mind of your own. I hope you feel the same way three years from now."
"I WILL," I said as she moved away.
“I Admire you for that,” the woman said. She patted my shoulder. “Keep it up.”
Soon after that this group reached their stop and got off the train. I was left alone again. But the woman’s compliment rang in my ear. It was the first time in my life I had been complimented for anything, especially not taking to wine and strong drink. I sat back in my seat and enjoyed this ride more than any of the others. I’d been on the train almost three days, in a short few hours I would be home. Back in Sesekinika... Sesekinika? Home?
Where is home? What is home?
Is it Home?
I can’t say I accomplished anything spectacular the months I stayed with the Lauay family. I didn’t have schoolwork to keep me busy. Lauays lived on the opposite end of Sesekinika than we grew up in. I did not have access to the trails I so loved as a little girl. It was a three mile walk to where I lived while growing up. Once I walked that far I didn’t feel like following woods trails any further. A lot of my time was spent by hauling water for Leona. My sister stood barrels under the house eves to catch rainwater. The water was used mostly for washing clothes, but at times water was scarce she had to use water from the barrels for cooking and washing, and bathing. The barrels were empty of water often. Leona told me it was my job to see that the barrels were full between rains. I faithfully kept the barrels and whatever else held water filled. Bucket by bucket I hauled water from the lake and emptied them into water containers. I had to cross the ONR railroad tracks by the train station during this job. I always worked just before dark as the heat of the day had cooled off. Lots of times passing by the station I smelled cigarette smoke and heard giggles from inside. I knew my old school mates, Helen, Norma, Doug, and Harold were inside, smoking. I pretended I did not notice and kept on with my job.
Mid- afternoon when it was too hot to work, I would spend my time at the beach swimming. One afternoon Leona accompanied me, along with Esther. That afternoon I met Harold and Doug. But no Helen or Norma. The boys greeted me cheerfully and I greeted them back. I did not stand around talking for long, Esther was anxious to get into the water and cool off.
“You go first,” Leona said to me. “I will stay with Esther and Janet first.”
“Okay,” I answered. I was out into the cool water and swimming in flash I swam in this lake, and Mom often told people I could swim before I walked. This afternoon I covered the distance between shore and the diving dock in record time. The dock is set in deeper water far from the shore for older people. Yet when I reached the dock, and climbed the ladder onto the platform, Esther was there with me. I do not know how she did it. Did she grab some part of me and hung on, or did she actually swim. But it was so far. And the water so deep. If she fell off the platform, she might drown. Then Leona joined me.
“I left Janet with a friend,” Leona explained when I glanced questionally at her.
‘How did Esther get here?” I asked her. “She is supposed to be with you.”
‘She started following you when you swam out here,” Leona explained. “I tried calling her back, but she wouldn’t listen.”
“Maybe she will go back with you, If I dive and am out of her sight,” I suggested.
“Maybe,” Leona said.
I dove and zipped through the deep water. I was under water for some time before resurfacing and joining Leona and Esther on the diving platform. Esther? But where was she? She was nowhere on the platform.
“Oh no! Don’t tell me she followed me diving. That water must be ten feet deep.”
Without thinking further, I dove back into the lake. I saw he immediately on the sandy bottom. I kicked my feet, so I’d quickly reach where she sat. I grabbed hold of her swimsuit and kicked back to the surface. Leona waited for me on the platform and took Esther from my arms. Esther did not look any the worse for her adventure. Apparently, she knew enough to keep her mouth closed and not breath water into her lungs. She did look a bit cold. Her lips were blue.
“I will go back with you,” I said.
Back on the sand of the beach again, I picked up by huge beach towel and wrapped it around Esther. Leona did the same with her beach towel.
“Is she all right?” Leona’s friend asked her.
“She’s okay,” I assured everybody. Soon all were back sunbathing or swimming I the lake.
I was entertaining Esther and Janet in the shallow water when Norma joined me. “Hi,” she said. “Doug and Harold said you were back.”
“Hi,” I returned the greeting.; where is Helen?”
When we were schoolgirls, the two were seldom separated during their free time.
“I don’t know,” Norma said. “We go our own ways now.”
After a pause she asked. “How do you like it out west?”
“It’s okay,” I answered. “I’ve learned human nature is the same wherever you are in this world.”
“What’s you job?” Norma asked. ‘What do you do?”
“I worked in a TB sanitarium, the kitchen. I prepared trays of food for the patients on the ward and sent the trays upstairs to the nurses on a hand operated elevator.”
Norma almost scoffed at a lowly job like this. I didn’t say anything, but I guessed she would have a pretty good job now that she’s graduated and held some kind of certificate. In fact, I felt she was here simply to humiliate me. Later I learned she worked as a secretary for some business in Kirkland Lake.
“Come on, Grace,” Leona said. “We have to go home now. Andy’s quitting time is soon, and I must have supper ready.”
“Bye,” I said to Norma. “It was nice talking to you.”
“Bye,” Norma said.
It was as if we were saying our good-byes at that moment. I did not get to talk to Norma again, or Helen. In fact, I learned Helen had died, somehow.
As we talked further, I’d learned neither one of us held any indications about marriage soon.
The summer passed without further rescue adventures. Fall approached, the weather grew cooler and the water too cold to swim in. School started. By now the white with green trim one-room schoolhouse had shut down. Student enrollment was too low to be practical to keep the school open. Lower grade students rode the school bus along with the high school students to schools in Swastika and Kirkland Lake.
All this time I had applied for jobs, one in a dog kennel in Edmonton, Alberta, the other I’d be a nanny for a family in New Liskerd, not far from Sesekinika. While I waited for answer to my applications, winter arrived. I spent a lot of my time hauling wood with my dog Teddy. Teddy was mostly Scotch Collie crossed with Chow. His father was pure Scotch Collie while his mother was a Scotch Collie x Chow-Chow. Andy’s house used fire for warmth and cooking, so it was just like being back in my childhood as I hauled wood from the bush on a sled, Teddy harness to the sled, helping me haul. Training dogs was another of my interest and talents. I had trained Teddy to be a fine sled dog. That is why I applied for the job in Edmonton. I loved working with dogs.
During this stretch of time neither Leona, Mom nor me, especially me, heard from David
I did not enjoy my stay with Leona and Andy this time. The family had grown to three girls. Although Andy had sold the log cabin in Sesekinika and moved onto a farm in the village of Tomstown. Tomstown is a small place a little southeast of Englehart. My family’s roots. Leona’s roots. But not Andy’s. Andy came from a small village near Timmins. That is north of Englehart and Sesekinika. Leona and I were in the kitchen one evening after work. Andy watched TV in the living room. The three girls played outside.
‘Where is Mom?’ I asked.
‘She’s staying with Aunt Mary, in Gelert,” Leona said. “Mom is starting to fall a lot. She’s fallen down the stairs quite a bit.”
“I hope she hasn’t hurt herself, seriously,” I said.”
“I worry that someday she will,” Leona replied.
It seems like I spent the winter bonding with Esther, and training Gala the basic obedience commands, more than anything. Esther and I slid down a steep hill not far from where the house stood, a lot. Growing tired of that, I pondered going back west. Leona went to church here more than she ever did in Sesekinika. She took the three girls with her but left me to make up my own mind whether I wanted to go or not. Andy refused to go to church. He never let anyone think he believed there is a God.
You can imagine how surprised Leona and Andy were one evening when I announced,
“I’m going back out west.”
‘Did you find another job?” Andy asked.
“No,” I answered. “I have most of my wages from my other jobs saved up. I can now pay my own way. No one else seems to care about my welfare or be responsible for me.”
“But no one is pushing you to go out there,” Leona said. “And for your information, Mom, the church I attend, and I have prayed for you since the first time you set foot on the Northlander. Our prayers have been with you all the time.”
I hugged my sister. “And here I thought no one cared.” I sniffed and sat back again.” I feel I’m ready to try my own wings and fly. Since my first trip to Manitoba, almost three years have passed. Yes, almost three years. I know, it feels like I should be ninety years old, not a mere nineteen and a half. I’ve traveled many miles from east to west, each time feeling more rejected. All this is starting to take a toll on me emotionally. For three years I would work at a job for a few months, quit, and travel back here only to be nudged back out west. I don’t know, maybe this is where God intends me to be. I feel there isn’t anything here for me anymore. My cousin, Donna, What about her? She’s three years older than me, but we got along well.”
“She’s been out west for a long time,” Leona answered. “Before you, even. She’s married with three kids. A lot of your relatives settled in the Tomstown, Englehart area,” Leona said. You ought to know lots of people around here.”
“But I don’t,” I said. “I miss Sesekinika. I think I always will. This isn’t Sesekinika. Kirkland Lake was the place of my birth, I grew up in Sesekinika. The Englehart area is the roots of my parents, brothers, and you. I am starting to feel less and less welcome at each return. Leona, you make me feel like I am invading your home. Mom becomes angrier and angrier at each return. There’s not much to do here to help earn my room and board. Your wood supply is cut, split, and piled neatly in the shed during the summer. The wood is hauled home by tractor, so is the water hauled by tractor from the spring on Andy’s property.”
“What about your writing?” Andy asked.
“I send out manuscripts to different publishers, only to have then returned, rejected,” I said.
Esther had sat beside me as we talked. “Are you leaving again Auntie Grace?” she asked.
“I hugged my nieces, “I’m afraid so. Perhaps this time for good.”
“How soon?” Esther asked.
“As soon as your Dad can drive me to the train station and I can buy my ticket,” I replied.
“Will you write me?” Esther asked.
“I sure will,” I said reassuringly.
A Trail of Grace
Winnipeg
I gave myself a week to gather all my belongings together. Then I had to figure out what to do with Gala. She would be welcome on the train, as she had been on the ride home. After that, I did not think she would be welcome where I planned to rent a place. I bought my own ticket, so Leona and her family did not know my destination was Winnipeg.
So, I asked my Uncle Wilbert only two miles down the road. He said he knew of someone that liked the German Shepherd breed and wanted one. Gala was a registered pure bred, so they would get a good bargain. So, Gala went to a new home. Her home was in the area, and on a farm. She would be happy there.
“All aboard, the conductor called. I rushed to the door of the boarding coach, stopped, and looked back.
“Will you write me?” Esther asked.
“I sure will,” I said reassuringly. “As soon as I get a permanent mailing address. Leona, you and the rest of the church, please pray that I will find a decent place to rent.”
I found myself a seat and sat back to enjoy the ride. I’d ridden the Northlander many times between Sesekinika and North Bay. My route was so familiar I knew where we were even going through the remotest, darkest forested area.
There was one lesson I learned with all this traveling. It did not matter where my destination, in the west, southern Ontario, east, or north, whether I rode by bus or train, I always managed to arrive at the station where I would disembark, at six o’clock in the morning.
If the Canadian had not been delayed while traveling through northern and North-West Ontario, we would have arrived at Six in the morning, but after long delays, we arrived mid-morning. I was glad of this. More of God’s grace. Places that rented rooms, etc., would be open.
A Trail of Grace
Winnipeg
I did not leave the Via Union Station immediately. I allowed time for my fears to subside and my stomach to settle down. I rented a locker at the station and left my baggage behind until I looked the place over. Even then I did not leave the security of the train station. I found a quiet place to sit down- no kneel. I prayed to my Heavenly Father He would guide me to a pace to rent and I would not have to wander the streets for the rest of my life. I boldly opened the front entrance door and stepped out into the noise, exhaust smells, and crowds of a city with a population of 300,000.
Timidly, I started walking. I kept my eyes on the signs on the buildings above the streets as much as I could. Then my heart did a double somersault with joy when I saw the sign. The Young Women’s Christian Association advertised in blinking light rooms, and to come inside for more details. I remembered the YWCA in Brandon. The staff, as well as the organization, had been extraordinarily good to me. I swiftly headed for the YWCA entrance and was inside in a flash. I went to the receptionist and asked for a room. I told her I did not know how long I would need the room, but I could give her two months' rent in advance. I asked where the employment office was from here and she said only a couple doors down.
I took my time going to the employment office. After going back to the train station for my baggage, I found my room. I had to ride an elevator to the third floor. I found the number assigned to me, unlocked the door, and stepped inside. I would be sharing a room with two other girls, but neither one was home now. I started transferring my clothes from suitcases to the only empty dresser and closet. The bed was already neatly made up. The room was big and beautiful. It reminded me of my room at the sanitarium in Ninette where I held my first job.
After moving in and seeing all was neat, I sat down at the little writing-table by one window. I looked out the window and quickly drew my gaze away from the scene outside. Tall buildings, a steady stream of cars, crowds of people either gathered at lights waiting to cross or crossing wide streets. How they managed to cross before the lights changed to red, I did not know. For comfort and a little taste of quiet wilderness, I took out my writing and started to write. Then I noticed a city guide booklet on the table. I shoved aside my pages and pulled the book towards me. I must find a good church to attend, right away. I flipped through the pages, only to be discouraged. Winnipeg was a big place, and I was not familiar with the names of the streets. I decided to write to Leona so she would know I was safe somewhere. I also wrote a second letter. This was to the dating service in the Western producer. I had decided to give the organization a try. After mailing the letters, I promptly forgot about the one to the dating service. So absorbed was I in my words, I did not notice the time passing so quickly. Soon the door opened. I stood up as my roommates entered after a day’s work. There were introductions all around. One of the girls saw the city guide booklet open on the table.
“Humm mm, look,” she said to her friend. “A churchgoer.”
“That’s right,” I said. ‘I’m looking for a church nearby to attend.”
“Wait until Sunday,” I was told. “We get enough of church.”
I have no idea what she meant. Just then the phone on the wall rang. My second roommate took down the receiver. She looked at me. “For you. A guy.”
Hello,” I spoke into the receiver. ‘I’m Grace Shortt.”
“My name is Henry,” the voice at the other end said, “I’m answering your ad. Would you care to come to church with me Sunday?”
“I sure would. I’m staying at the YWCA,” I answered. I hung up after we arranged to call around for me at 9:30 Sunday morning.
It was Sunday morning I learned firsthand what my roommate was telling me. I was up getting ready for church. My roommates were asleep after a late night. Suddenly there was awful loud music and trumpets playing outside. I went to the window and looked down at the street. The Salvation Army was marching by playing their instruments to remind those that slept in on the Lord’s day that they should be in church.
1/Exterior of Via Rail Union train Station, Winnipeg. By Jessloso CC BY-SA 4.0
2/Sitting area, Via Rail Union Train Station, Winnipeg. By Ccyyrree Own work.
3/ Interior exit of Via Rail Union Train Station, Winnipeg. Opens onto a busy downtown street. Author unknown.
A Trail of Grace
Winnipeg
I gave myself a week to gather all my belongings together. Then I had to figure out what to do with Gala. She would be welcome on the train, as she had been on the ride home. After that, I did not think she would be welcome where I planned to rent a place. I bought my own ticket, so Leona and her family did not know my destination was Winnipeg.
So, I asked my Uncle Wilbert only two miles down the road. He said he knew of someone that liked the German Shepherd breed and wanted one. Gala was a registered pure bred, so they would get a good bargain. So, Gala went to a new home. Her home was in the area, and on a farm. She would be happy there.
“All aboard, the conductor called. I rushed to the door of the boarding coach, stopped, and looked back.
“Will you write me?” Esther asked.
“I sure will,” I said reassuringly. “As soon as I get a permanent mailing address. Leona, you and the rest of the church, please pray that I will find a decent place to rent.”
I found myself a seat and sat back to enjoy the ride. I’d ridden the Northlander many times between Sesekinika and North Bay. My route was so familiar I knew where we were even going through the remotest, darkest forested area.
There was one lesson I learned with all this traveling. It did not matter where my destination, in the west, southern Ontario, east, or north, whether I rode by bus or train, I always managed to arrive at the station where I would disembark, at six o’clock in the morning.
If the Canadian had not been delayed while traveling through northern and North-West Ontario, we would have arrived at Six in the morning, but after long delays, we arrived mid-morning. I was glad of this. More of God’s grace. Places that rented rooms, etc., would be open.
I did not leave the Via Union Station immediately. I allowed time for my fears to subside and my stomach to settle down. I rented a locker at the station and left my baggage behind until I looked the place over. Even then I did not leave the security of the train station. I found a quiet place to sit down- no kneel. I prayed to my Heavenly Father He would guide me to a pace to rent and I would not have to wander the streets for the rest of my life. I boldly opened the front entrance door and stepped out into the noise, exhaust smells, and crowds of a city with a population of 300,000.
Timidly, I started walking. I kept my eyes on the signs on the buildings above the streets as much as I could. Then my heart did a double somersault with joy when I saw the sign. The Young Women’s Christian Association advertised in blinking light rooms, and to come inside for more details. I remembered the YWCA in Brandon. The staff, as well as the organization, had been extraordinarily good to me. I swiftly headed for the YWCA entrance and was inside in a flash. I went to the receptionist and asked for a room. I told her I did not know how long I would need the room, but I could give her two months' rent in advance. I asked where the employment office was from here and she said only a couple doors down.
I took my time going to the employment office. After going back to the train station for my baggage, I found my room. I had to ride an elevator to the third floor. I found the number assigned to me, unlocked the door, and stepped inside. I would be sharing a room with two other girls, but neither one was home now. I started transferring my clothes from suitcases to the only empty dresser and closet. The bed was already neatly made up. The room was big and beautiful. It reminded me of my room at the sanitarium in Ninette where I held my first job.
After moving in and seeing all was neat, I sat down at the little writing-table by one window. I looked out the window and quickly drew my gaze away from the scene outside. Tall buildings, a steady stream of cars, crowds of people either gathered at lights waiting to cross or crossing wide streets. How they managed to cross before the lights changed to red, I did not know. For comfort and a little taste of quiet wilderness, I took out my writing and started to write. Then I noticed a city guide booklet on the table. I shoved aside my pages and pulled the book towards me. I must find a good church to attend, right away. I flipped through the pages, only to be discouraged. Winnipeg was a big place, and I was not familiar with the names of the streets. I decided to write to Leona so she would know I was safe somewhere. I also wrote a second letter. This was to the dating service in the Western producer. I had decided to give the organization a try. After mailing the letters, I promptly forgot about the one to the dating service. So absorbed was I in my words, I did not notice the time passing so quickly. Soon the door opened. I stood up as my roommates entered after a day’s work. There were introductions all around. One of the girls saw the city guide booklet open on the table.
“Humm mm, look,” she said to her friend. “A churchgoer.”
“That’s right,” I said. ‘I’m looking for a church nearby to attend.”
“Wait until Sunday,” I was told. “We get enough of church.”
I have no idea what she meant. Just then the phone on the wall rang. My second roommate took down the receiver. She looked at me. “For you. A guy.”
Hello,” I spoke into the receiver. ‘I’m Grace Shortt.”
“My name is Henry,” the voice at the other end said, “I’m answering your ad. Would you care to come to church with me Sunday?”
“I sure would. I’m staying at the YWCA,” I answered. I hung up after we arranged to call around for me at 9:30 Sunday morning.
It was Sunday morning I learned firsthand what my roommate was telling me. I was up getting ready for church. My roommates were asleep after a late night. Suddenly there was awful loud music and trumpets playing outside. I went to the window and looked down at the street. The Salvation Army was marching by playing their instruments to remind those that slept in on the Lord’s day that they should be in church.
1/Exterior of Via Rail Union train Station, Winnipeg. By Jessloso CC BY-SA 4.0
2/Sitting area, Via Rail Union Train Station, Winnipeg. By Ccyyrree Own work.
3/ Interior exit of Via Rail Union Train Station, Winnipeg. Opens onto a busy downtown street. Author unknown.
A Trail Of Grace
I didn’t have to wait long for Henry in the lobby. He took my arm and escorted me to his car, opened the door and helped me inside, then closed the door again. His gentleness and mannerism impressed me. He was rather good looking, but I expected a much younger man. He must have been somewhere around thirty years of age.
He didn’t say anything about my age. I noticed the street he drove to was only one street away from Portage Avenue where the YMCA was situated. He drove up to a huge building on a terribly busy corner, a junction of Portage and another busy street. I saw the sign CALVARY TEMPLE on the outside of the building. I was surprised when he parked and came around to help me out of the car.
“Are we attending a service here?” I asked.
“We sure are,” Henry answered. “This is my home church. The people are friendly. You will like them.”
He took me by the arm and guided me inside. The building was massive. On the main level ordinary church pews, but also with balconies on three walls containing places to sit. This building could hold thousands of people. I looked around. There were thousands of people waiting to worship. Some smiled back at me. I relaxed. An usher approached, welcomed us to church and led us to empty places.
The minister walked up to the podium and the service began. I really enjoyed the singing and the service. A sense of love and belonging flowed through me. “Oh, please God,” I prayed. “Let me attend this church forever.” After, Henry stopped by the entrance and introduced me to the minister, Pastor Barber.
Henry took me out to lunch after church, then drove me back to my room. At the entranceway, he left me, saying he would pick me up for the evening service.
He kept his promise. I basked in the love and acceptance of many again that evening. When Henry drove me home after the service, he didn’t get out of the car immediately. He turned off the car engine and turned slowly to me.
“I’m sorry to say this, Grace, but I can not go on with this. You must see the age difference between us?”
“Yes, I do,” I answered. “And I feel the same way.”
‘I can assure you, my darling young Grace, you would my choice if we were nearer the same age.”
I nodded.
“So, it’s good-bye,” Henry said. “Find a man more your own age. But please, continue coming out to Calvary Temple.”
‘I will,” I said.
“We have much more to offer,” Henry said. “There’s mid-week service and young peoples.”
Henry and I parted good friends. I did continue attending services at Calvary Temple. I glimpsed him now and again. Usually, he was with another woman. This was how this dating service worked, if one wasn’t satisfied with a date, then he/she was free to move on. Henry and I kept our distance. At that time, I wasn’t dating anyone. I’d dropped out of the game for awhile. But the letters and phone calls kept arriving. I ignored them all. For now.
I didn’t have a problem finding a job. I went to the unemployment and filled out an application. Finished with the form, I handed the paper to the interviewer.
“I see you did not finish high school,” she said. “You are a long way from home. Ontario? Why are you here in Manitoba?”
‘I wanted to get away from home and see the world,” I replied. “Lots of siblings in my family. I want to support myself.”
“I do have a job you might try for,” I was told. “It’s in a coat factory. You will be helping sew together winter parkas, to be exact. Interested?”
“Sure,” I said.
What would you like me to do?” she asked, much to my surprise. “Do you want me to keep your name active in case something more exciting for you shows up?”
“That would be nice,” I agreed.
“What would you call, “something nicer”?
“A job in the country,” I answered instantly. It seemed odd, me jumping in like this, making my own decisions. But I was alone, thousands of miles away from home, who was there but me to decide what to do? I quickly got used to being independent. “Something like the job at the sanitarium at Ninette.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” she said. “I will notify you if a job in the country is available.”
She handed me some papers and told me to go straight to this address. I learned the coat factory was not a long walk from the YWCA..
I wasn’t long inside the factory doors and I could tell this was going to be a hot, stuffy job. I handed the paper over to the supervisor who came to meet me. She led me to a sewing machine. “You will be sewing pockets on the coats,” she explained. “After cutting the threads, you slip this paper into the pocket and take the finished coat to the inspector at the front to find out if the coat passes the usable test or not.”
So, I became a sewing machine operator in a coat manufacturer. I didn’t mind. The pay, as all my jobs, did not pay a lot. Workers received the minimum wage, which was quite a bit in those days.I had a job, an income, a place to eat and sleep. I was blessed by God. Slowly the fact of life was starting to sink in. I slowly realized my mistake earlier. Number One, I wasted many precious years worrying, and questioning God, why he made my life the way it was. Couldn’t He have given me an easier course? Why did those schoolmates back in Sesekinika have to be on the same planet as me? Why was I born into the Shortt family? Couldn’t he have given me a more loving family? The fact that a loving family had tried to adopt me had completely slipped my mind.
Through the heat of the summer, I toiled in the parka factory. I collected my checks and deposited most of the money in bank accounts I opened.
One day I did receive notification from the employment office to come to their office immediately. I did. I learned about a job in the country, but it was near Portage La Prairie. I would help look after the elderly in an old folks home just outside the city. Was I interested? Interested? I certainly was.
I handed in my resignation at the parka factory, collected my last paycheck, did what else I had to do, and climbed aboard the train bound for Portage La Prairie.
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