The Prairie Companions

The Prairie Companions.

David Rory O’Neill.

Published by davidrory publishing at Smashwords.

Copyright. (David Moody) 2013

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Cover art by the author. Design by Samantha at Ebookcoversgalore.com

Thanks go for editorial help and encouragement to Miriam Drori.

Dedicated to Ria who taught me about a father’s mistakes and forgave me.

For Brigitte who showed me what love can be.

David Rory O’Neill. Ireland. 2013.

Published books:

The Novella.

Leotie, Flower of the Prairie.

Animal

Rachel’s Walk

Skellig Testament.

Four Shorts – the novella omnibus.

The Daniel Series:

1 Conflict

2 Challenge

3 Passion

4 Grip

5 Judgment

6 Pyramid

7 Trial

The West Cork Trilogy:

1 Surviving Beauty

2 Beauty’s Price

3 Blue Sky Orphan

4 The West Cork Trilogy Omnibus.

The Historical Saga:

1 The Prairie Companions

2 Beloved Warrior. Published 2015

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I welcome contact with my readers. Information on published and future work can be found on my website: http://www.davidrory.net

Or visit me on Facebook: http://on.fb.me/1myLoRf

If you enjoyed this novel please leave a review on your suppliers website – reviews are the lifeblood of the modern author.

UK English used.

Contents:

Introduction.

Reviews.

Chapter 1. Christchurch, England, 1900.

Chapter 2. London. Preparation.

Chapter 3. 1905. The Leaving of Liverpool.

Chapter 4. Breaking the Sod.

Chapter 5. Harvesting the Riches. 1908.

Chapter 6. The War Years. 1914 to 1918.

Chapter 7. The Family Way. 1918 to 1930.

Chapter 8. The Hard Years. 1930 to 1936.

Chapter 9. War Again.

Chapter 10. Going On.

Chapter 11. Circle.

Introduction:

Pat and Clara have only a vague idea of the hardships awaiting them in the year 1905, as they begin their journey to fulfil their dreams. They soon discover that the world is much wider and much harsher beyond the walls of the boarding school where they first met. Yet, they are steadfast and determined. Pat is seventeen, clever, her ambition is limitless and her drive insatiable. Clara is eighteen, gentle, sensitive, loyal and aristocratic. They will do anything to throw off the conventions that bind them and find a place to build a life together.

This desire for a shared destiny takes the girls over the ocean, more than halfway across the world, to the wilds of north-western Canada. There, on the windswept prairies, they must be courageous and intrepid to establish themselves. Life is as harsh as the winters, and the barren landscape offers no solace. The girls realize that they must rely on their newfound friends and their love for each other to survive, let alone flourish. Along the way, they learn many things no boarding school could have prepared them for: about their world, the possibility of acceptance, and what it means to be pioneers.

David Rory O’Neill. Ireland. 2013.

Review by JAC.

Pat and Clara seek that freedom of the new world that will allow them to live as they choose, together and with the ambition to succeed in an unforgiving landscape of bitter winds, rocky soil, and thick matted grasses barely suitable for sustainment. Despite hardships unnumbered, and with cunning and ingenuity, they start their farm. They do not know what awaits them in this frontier but they do know that, through strength and the virtue of their love, they will persevere. Along the way these two incredible women make friends who teach them invaluable lessons about building a life, about integrity, and about their own amazing qualities. Through the heartbreak of war, ravaging famine, and deep, personal loss, Pat and Clara’s bond grows in depth and richness; it holds them together when all else fails and brings a lightness to the dark Canadian winters.

This heartfelt historical saga is sure to open anyone’s eyes to love’s awe-inspiring possibilities. These characters are human; they bring the past to life. Through the words you will know the barrenness of the great Canadian grasslands, the joys of invention and innovation at the turn of the twentieth century, the realities of world wars and culture clashes. There is hope here, too. That ever-present hope for freedom---the freedom to find and build a better life, friendship, and love of every kind. A truly beautiful story.

Review by Marcia Quinn-Noren

The story of Pat and Clara navigates across time and geography, from their girlhoods in Victorian England, to the great Canadian prairie that calls them to break ground on foreign soil. Defying convention, Pat’s ingenuity and pioneering spirit is in evidence long before she and Clara leave their families and rigid cultural restrictions behind.

Together, hand-in-hand, these two very different personalities fearlessly overcome each obstacle that threatens to block their determination to forge a new life. Mutual dependence gives way to inclusiveness, as indigenous locals become part of their ever-expanding, chosen extended family. Embracing tribal rituals, Pat and Clara learn entirely new ways of seeing themselves and connecting with the natural world that surrounds them.

David Rory O’Neill’s compelling characters and finely researched back-story demonstrate how the industrial revolution altered agriculture, how intimacy grows over time, and how the bonds of love allow us to survive the blows that inevitably fall into each life, no matter how well-lived.

The Prairie Companions.

Chapter 1. England, 1899.

Buller dear, please forgive my outburst. It was rude and uncalled for. I really don’t know what’s come over me recently. I seem to be in the grip of a dreadful funk of late. Please do tee off.

Buller was looking pale and a little shaky. He had just had a fiery face full of his little sister at her most scary and intimidating. Pat was little in stature only. She was two years younger than his own fifteen years, and almost two feet shorter. He had always been in awe of her. He wished fervently he had her self-possession and confidence. He took a deep breath and said, No Pat, you were correct, it is you to tee off first.

Buller stepped back and watched as Pat made her little sand pile and placed her ball. He noted how she carefully adjusted the tight bun of coiled fair hair on the back of her head, checking it was central so it would not upset her balance. He noted the way she had rolled up the sleeves of her white shirt so her forearms were bare and showed the sinewy strength so unlike any other girl he’d ever seen. Not that he’d seen many, only his other sisters, Winny and little Mary. Pat’s fierce concentration and determination to do everything she ever attempted as perfectly as she could, was one of the things Buller both admired and was intimidated by. Pat looked up the fairway, jutted her chin in her typical manner, then grinned over at him. The smile was genuine, radiant and full of love and warmth, so he could do nothing but grin back and laugh at his own trepidation. Patricia may have been fierce and quick to anger but she was also happy, high spirited and full of mischievous humour.

It is little wonder so many of my friends want me to introduce them or curry favour for them. They all love Pat’s company. She is in many ways quite ageless; she does not seem girlish and silly like others her age. She seems to have changed so suddenly. Her crowd have been left behind. That gang of boys she used to play with are scarcely ever seen now. Childish games on the beach to a three handicap at the golf in only a few months. Drat! I do wish she’d not been so ridiculously good at it. I feel like a flailing fool now.

The wood sang in the air and the music of the strike told of a perfect hit. The ball soared straight and further than Buller could ever hope to manage without hooking into the rough.

After the game, Buller went into the clubhouse and left Pat fuming about the unfairness of the men only rule. She set off for home, walking at her normal long striding pace that always drew comment from her mother: Patricia dear, that is a most graceless gait. Do slow down. Pat’s response was always to thrust out her chin and lengthen her stride further.

As she came into Christchurch’s main street she heard her name called and saw two girls she knew from school. They were peering at the dresses in Goddard’s Drapery store. Her father’s shop.

Goddard, can you get us a discount on bonnets?

Pat stopped before the two and said, I could but I won’t. I saw you two teasing one of the borders last week. You are a cruel and nasty pair and I’ll not give you the time of day.

One grinned and said to the other in a stage whisper: What can one expect? Her father is only a shopkeeper after all, no breeding.

Pat stepped closer to the speaker and thrust her face close, as the taller girl shied away. Pat spoke softly: Oh I see, so the girl you teased was fair game because she’s too well-bred, too aristocratic and I’m too common. Tell me, what is acceptable? Stupid foolish prattling ninnies like you are the judges, are you?

Ninnies indeed. We shall tell Miss Sweetapple about your coarseness.

You do that and don’t forget to include the ‘foolish prattling’ part. Be gone before I show you what real coarseness is and knock your empty head off your skinny shoulders. And leave Clara Fitz-Gibbon alone from now on or you’ll have me to answer to.

Pat’s face was inches from the older girls as she spoke and she could see the fear and shock there. They didn’t speak again and scuttled off arm in arm.

What is happening to me? Everything seems to bother me and I’m forever snarling at people and getting stroppy. That Clara girl seems nice enough but I’ve never even talked to her and here’s me threatening those twits. I wanted to biff that silly girl. I seem to want to biff everybody. What ever has come over me? I feel happy enough but only when I’m on my own. Everybody miffs me. Even Mary and Winny and especially Buller. I think I need a friend. Yes, Clara shall be my new friend. I should have a sensible pal. I do hope she’s not wet like those drips. Yes, I shall speak to her first thing Monday morning. Why do boys get so silly as they get older? All my pals are a pain now.

At six forty-five on Monday morning Patricia ran up the stairs in the large Victorian mansion that was Miss Sweetapple’s Academy for Young Ladies. On the top floor there were three dormitories housing the boarding girls. Pat stormed two and caused much flapping and complaint before she found the room containing Clara Fitz-Gibbon. Clara was sitting at a dressing-table mirror carefully brushing her long ash blond hair with counted strokes. She heard the commotion as Pat came in and said, Oh do give over you silly ninnies, as a few of the five girls Clara shared with objected to Pat’s invasion of their privacy.

Clara swivelled in her seat and peered at Pat through the veil of hair hanging across her lowered head. Pat walked to her and stopped uncomfortable close. Do lift your head, Clara. You are so pretty, ’tis a shame to walk around stooped and hiding as you do. I’m Patricia Flora Goddard and I’ve decided we shall be friends now. Best friends. When do you take breakfast? I shall join you for a cup of tea and we shall begin.

Clara was unable to respond. Pat said, Is this your bed then? pointing to the closest unoccupied bed. Clara nodded and Pat threw her self upon it. Goodness this is a monstrously hard cot. What rubbish. I’d complain if I were you. Fancy paying for this. And no curtains or shades on the windows; what a dump.

Clara giggled nervously because she had in fact complained to the Matron about these things but had got no response. Clara spoke but got only a few syllables out before Pat interrupted: Speak up Clara, I can scarcely hear you. You have a sweet voice. Do not hide it either, dear. Pray continue.

Well, I was going to say I must dress yet and I, I, well I’m not sure what you are intending and I’m sure I don’t really know you and...

Tish-tosh. You will know me soon enough. Do dress now, I don’t mind. Are these others a bother? I’ll shoo them away if you wish it.

Clara tied her hair back and looked at Pat with wide eyes and a hint of a reluctant laugh playing on her face. I’m used to the others. They are not the nuisance.

Pat grinned and obviously got the implication. Don’t fret, dear. You’ll get used to my bold ways soon enough. Now hurry and dress or you’ll miss the first serving.

Christchurch, 1900.

Pat woke at dawn and violently cast the bedding off her overheated body. Confused and with a head filled with images – flitting, lingering remnants of dreams, she felt overwhelmed by the power of her dreams and the unfamiliar scenes that played in her mind. Lips, Clara’s plump pink lips. Grey diamond eyes, dilated and moist with emotion. Long, flowing ash blond hair, so soft, like silk brushing on neck and cheek. And breath hot and cool, scented from Clara. Sweet, almost like liquid, so real now in memory re-tasted.

It was a kiss that lasted only a moment, replayed forever in a dream. Pat filled with an ache. It made her stomach churn and her legs grow weak as she staggered to the window. She wrenched it up and open and sat with her legs dangling out in the cool sea-fresh breeze. Opening her thighs, she let the wind caress the sticky heat and sighed as she felt the soothing tingle. She leaned her head on the frame, forehead pressed hard against it, as if pressing the turmoil away. She opened her eyes wide and looked at the river below. The black rippling water was so inviting. I must swim to cool off and clear my head. Daddy hates it when I go naked but damn it I must, I’ll go mad if I don’t calm myself.

She got out onto the window ledge, grabbed the drainpipe then scrambled down. Quick and athletic, with practised certainty, she ran across the damp grass enjoying the caress between her toes, and dived in, a graceful arch with little splash as she entered the familiar water, her element. She swam hard underwater and surfaced fifteen yards down stream. It was squealingly cold but she stifled her shout to a grunt. She breaststroked fast with the current under the road-bridge and into the shallows where river met sea. Pat tasted the brackishness that told her where she was. Diving again, she kicked hard through the breaking waves and then she was at the sea. She bobbed, treading water and looked back across the moon-silvered sea to her home beside the bridge. That solid silhouette of the four-storey redbrick terrace houses which had been home for all of her fourteen years. She thought about her dream again and tried to understand why it was so powerful. There had been other kisses but they were with boys. Pat was always bold and daring and wanted to know. She wanted to know everything and she wanted it now. She’d always been impatient for experience and feeling but not for book knowing. Her parents were made nervous by her wild ways. Fights, golf, swimming, riding, running and questions. So many questions that a young girl should never ask, much less have answered.

Clara, too, was having problems sleeping that night. She’d gone to bed restless and was especially disturbed by the night noises of the five other girls in her school dormitory. She always had struggled with the purring, snoring, wind breaking, and occasional outburst of incoherent sleep-babble of her roommates. She had dreaded being boarded at school and had resisted for a time, travelling daily. She was conducted to school and back by her father’s chauffeur on the family Daimler. Her father had ended the practice when he discovered how costly the motoring was in comparison to the reasonable boarding fees. Clara was an only child and had been content to educate herself in the family library. She was appalled therefore by the idea of mixing with other girls, and boarding with them was a prospect too horrid to contemplate. Her first few terms had been quite as dreadful as she had feared, and boarding had proved to be more ghastly than she had ever imagined possible.

Clara was miserable, withdrawn and put upon by bullies until Patricia Goddard had decided to be her friend. She’d had little to say about this and had tried to resist, but Pat swept aside all objections. She had overcome Clara’s shyness and reserve with the power of her personality and a level of single-minded determination that Clara had found shocking but appealing. She’d never met anyone so... so impossible. Extrovert seemed too narrow a term to describe Pat. She was simply irresistible, a force of nature who swept into Clara’s isolated shy cocoon. A tornado of laughter, talk, questions, jokes, impressions, poetry, and startling overpowering physicality, Pat quickly ripped Clara’s carefully constructed chrysalis to shreds. A beautiful butterfly emerged. Clara found her true self and, to her surprise, she found she liked who she’d become. She found a friend and on this night she had found more, a soul-mate.

That knowledge kept Clara awake. It was the kiss. That agonising torture of delight that had been so desired and yet so feared. For weeks Clara had been consumed by the idea of kissing Patty. Pat was always Patty in Clara’s mind, and when they were alone it was what she called her. She said that name aloud sometimes just to hear and feel what it was like, and to conjure the image of her friend the saying of the name brought to her imagination.

Patty, Patty. Lovely, strong, brave, bold Patty who kissed me. Not a goodnight peck but a strong kiss filled with passion and, and what? Lust, perhaps? Lusty she certainly is. Oh yes, lusty and full of... full of everything I want. Clara Rose Fitz-Gibbon, you are shameless and rude. Such pictures you paint. Oh too too shocking but – God I want those. I want all I may be with Patty. Might she want these, too?

Clara looked at her watch and could just make out the time in the silver light of the full moon that flooded the bare-windowed room. Five minutes past four. I wonder, is Patty asleep? I’m sure not. She says she often wakes early and swims naked in the river or sea. How extraordinarily bold. I would love to witness that spectacle. I wonder what her body looks like. I’d imagine it to be tremendously firm and sleek. Do stop it at once, Clara, you are being so rude. Patty, Patty my love. That sounds so right and yet so shocking. I must not speak it until I am sure. Clara, you must not even think it lest you speak it in a moment of high emotion. It might scare her away. No, I think not. That’s my fear alone. Patty knows no fear.

Pat ran almost all the way to school, arriving hot, dishevelled and panting with exertion and excitement. She bounded up two flights of stairs holding up her skirts so she could take two at a time. One of the senior girls, a house Prefect, shouted at her as she ran past, Stop running, Goddard, it’s not becoming, but Pat took no notice.

Get lost, goody two shoes, she shouted.

I shall report you to Miss Sweetapple, Goddard. The Prefect heard a breathy curse echo down the hall as Pat disappeared.

The door to Clara’s dorm burst open and Pat erupted into the room, surprising several girls into squeals. Do shut-up you wet ninnies, said Pat grinning across at Clara.

Clara was standing in front of the mirror. She saw Pat’s reflection and beamed in delight as she turned. They stood still for a few moments, oblivious to the stares and giggles of the other girls. Clara suddenly became aware of her own radiant smile and the eyes of her roommates on her. She dropped her head and blushed. Pat walked across and said softly: Tut-tut Clara, I thought we agreed you were going to keep your pretty head up and not stoop.

Clara lifted her head and looked into Pat’s eyes. She got a great surge of warmth and her big grin returned. Their eyes spoke the words they could not give voice to, here. Pat whispered, Hurry Clara, let’s walk in the grounds before morning prayers. I must tell you things.

I’m ready, let’s go.

Pat took Clara’s hand and pulled her trotting out of the room, down the stairs, and out into the orchard. Once again, she was scolded by the Prefect for unseemly behaviour. Pat felt full of unseemly urges and wanted desperately to hold Clara and kiss her. This bubbling, happy distraction protected the Prefect from Pat’s tendency to thump anyone who irked her. The senior girl stared after the running pair and felt both indignation and a surge of jealousy. She had been nursing an agonising crush on pretty Clara for months and loathed Patricia Goddard for her bold fearlessness. Her own status, as Prefect, had not impressed Clara or subdued the feisty Goddard girl.

When they had reached an area offering some privacy, Pat guided Clara so she stood with her back leaning on an ancient Russet tree. She held both of Clara’s hands, looked down and said softly: Such fine, elegant, beautiful hands, not like my clumsy hams. I’ve hands like feet really.

Clara giggled and repeated, You say such funny things, Patty. There’s nothing wrong with your hands, dear. They’re strong and sensitive.

Pat raised her eyes to Clara’s and the look was so intense it made Clara gasp: Oh Patty, what ever is wrong? Did I say the wrong thing?

No Clara, no. It is, well, I scarce know how to begin to say this. I dreamt about you last night and it so unsettled me I had to go for a swim at dawn. Sorry Clara, I just have to get this out. Forgive me if it is bold. Our kiss exploded something in me that is almost unbearable. I, I, oh hell and damnation! I love you and I want you to love me and for us to be... what? What can we be? I’m so sorry to ramble. I thought I knew what I must say but I find I am full of feelings that I can’t describe. I don’t have the words. I’m a simple sort and don’t have your cultured understanding and learning. What? Are you laughing at me, Clara? Oh please don’t laugh at me or I shall die.

Clara released her hands from Pat’s increasingly firm grasp and took hold of her face. She gently swept aside a few errant hairs that had escaped from the tight bun Pat kept her long hair woven in. She bent her legs a little so she came down to Pat’s height. Clara, at five-foot ten, was much taller than Pat. She looked into Pat’s moist eyes and saw the pain and turmoil there. Please Patty, I’m not laughing at you. I am utterly beside myself with joy. I have prayed and dreamed of the day I might hear these words from you. I love you, Patty. We need not have words to say what we are or what we may be. Simply know I love you.

The next few weeks were delicious agony for both girls as they tried to come to terms with their surge of unfamiliar emotions. After their earnest declarations of love, they both recoiled a little from each other. Shy and uncertain about expressing their feelings, they did not kiss again or hold hands when walking. The normally bold and noisy Pat was quiet and withdrawn, fearful that her passionate unrestrained display had frightened Clara. She would sit in class watching Clara intently, trying to read her feelings. Clara seemed even more dreamy and absent than usual. She always seemed separate and a little aloof from the activity around her. Not disapproving or snobbish but unmistakably different. Before Pat attached herself to Clara, this had resulted in relentless bullying and teasing. Now the others whispered and gossiped about the two but made certain such words were never overheard.

Miss Sweetapple became concerned about the abrupt change in the girls’ demeanour and called them to see her. She had reports from the senior girl that confirmed her idea that there was a girlish crush involved, but in particular, Pat had changed so much she could not let the matter pass. The girls sat close on the other side of Miss Sweetapple’s desk. Clara had her head bowed and looked flushed and ill at ease. Pat had her chin stuck out in her usual display of bravado. Miss Sweetapple knew that if she did not tread carefully, the Goddard girl was likely to explode. She looked defiantly coiled.

Well ladies, I have asked to see you, not because you have done anything untoward, but because I am concerned that you both seem distracted, and your work is suffering. I must ask if there is anything troubling you that I may assist you with.

Clara did not raise her head but her cheeks flushed redder. Pat reached across to touch Clara’s hand that gripped her knee so tensely. She brushed it lightly but withdrew quickly when she saw Miss Sweetapple’s gaze. Pat cleared her throat and said, Thank you for your concern, Miss. We are well. There is nothing for you to be concerned about, I assure you. We have had a, a, a small problem. However that will be resolved soon, I promise.

Clara had lifted her head as Pat spoke and she now looked at her with such fondness and love it made Miss Sweetapple blush in recognition. She removed the fleeting smile from her face quickly and said, Very well then. I will trust you to sort this as you must, but I would urge you to be a little more discreet. Please do not give the senior house girl cause for complaint.

As they walked back to the class, Pat took Clara’s hand and squeezed it saying, Clara, we must stop this silly shyness. I am not ashamed of my feelings or what I did and I pray you are not either. So be brave, Clara dear. I will find a way for us to be free of restraint and fear.

Yes, Patty dearest. Let us do that.

Clara celebrated her fifteenth birthday on the 29th of May 1900, at Pat’s home. The family had a big three-storey town house in Stour Road, Christchurch, just near the bridge. Clara had been there to tea many times and they always made her feel most welcome. She liked Pat’s family much better than she did her own. They were friendly, natural and easy. Except for Pat’s older brother, Buller. He was sixteen, tedious and bothersome. He constantly flirted with Clara. Pat was more than a match for him, however, and even though she was two years younger, a foot shorter and a girl, she was not at all averse to fisticuffs or wrestling with her brother to fiercely defend Clara.

During the birthday party, Buller kept his distance. He was ashamed of the rather splendid black eye Pat had presented him with two days before when she’d caught him pawing at the cornered Clara in the sitting room after tea. He did manage a snide remark about the oddity of Clara having her birthday party there instead of at her parents’ home. It was a small revenge. Clara fled from the room in tears as Pat promised to give her brother a matching pair of shiners at the first opportunity. Clara had had no expectation of a birthday celebration at home; her father declared the practice stuff and nonsense after her sixth birthday and had banned parties altogether. It didn’t soothe her pain to watch her schoolmates being pampered and given gifts. Therefore, Pat’s idea of having a party at her own home had been agonisingly sweet, consuming Clara with intense feelings of jealousy that she struggled to contain.

Buller’s remark had pushed her over the edge. She had locked herself in the bathroom for twenty minutes and it took Pat’s threat to kick the door in to get her out. Buller made himself scarce the rest of the afternoon and lived in fear for three days until he realised Pat was unaccountably happy, sweet, and forgiving. She had obviously decided to spare him the embarrassment of explaining a second shiner at the golf club. Their father was a member and sat on the membership committee, the whole family were keen players, apart from mother of course. Pat was by far the best player. She played off a two handicap and thrashed Buller regularly. He now avoided playing with her or even on the same day that she played. That or he hid in the clubhouse where females could not follow—an injustice she never ceased complaining about to her father and anyone else who would listen. She did barge in twice and had to be thrown out. Only her father’s prominence stopped her from being barred from the course, but the threat stopped her from repeating the invasion.

It was as well that having an agonising crush on another girl at school was not terribly notable since Pat’s ferocious temper, once roused, and her willingness to get unladylike would have been uncontainable had the two become targets for teasing. Pat walked Clara back to school after the birthday party. She stopped her in the entrance porch and gave her an overly long birthday kiss that left Clara breathless and profoundly excited. The senior girl witnessed this and issued threats about reporting them to Miss Sweetapple but Pat warned her that any such nonsense would be dealt with severely and painfully.

Pat ran most of the way back home, skipping, singing, and happier than she’d ever felt before. She even decided she would not punch Buller for his indiscretion after all.

That night Pat could not sleep well and in the early hours she went night swimming. During the swim, she found she was experiencing a clarity of thought that would forever change the way she would think about her future. She’d seen an article in The Times that stimulated her imagination and started her formulating ideas that would have a profound effect on the course both her life and Clara’s would take. She began intensively researching, reading all she could find and sending to the Canadian Consulate in London for information and application forms. She did not speak to Clara of this for months. Not until she was sure she could answer all her questions. Pat began to grow increasingly excited and certain she had found a way for her and Clara to be free.

Pat’s parents frowned upon her practice of walking Clara the four miles back to school and declared it, Unseemly for a young lady to be seen out alone walking, much less running. They tried to get her to take the train, but that was too restrictive and forced a timetable on the girls that Pat found unacceptable.

Pat decreed that her father needed to buy a motorcar to avoid the problem. She promised she would both learn to drive and maintain such a machine. She hoped he would either do that or board her. Her father thought it absurd and dismissed the idea. Have you any idea how much one of those contraptions costs, my dear? Three hundred guineas. Why, I could buy another shop for that sort of price. Motors are for the rich and the feckless. They will never be of use to people such as us.

Nonsense, Father. I shall have one of my own soon enough, just you wait. I saw a little Panhard for sale in Bournemouth for just a hundred and twenty-five guineas.

Just! Just, you say. Have you any idea how long it takes us to earn that much, Patricia? Honestly, you have your head in the clouds, my dear.

Well, as it happens, that is a lovely place, Father. And I shall keep it there, if it’s all the same to you.

One day after lessons and before leaving for home, Pat took Clara’s hand and led her to the seat in the orchard. Clara was quivering with excitement as Pat sat close by her side and expected to be kissed. She was therefore surprised when Pat stood and began to pace in front of her talking fast and excitedly. She talked non-stop for a long time until Clara grabbed her hand and said, Yes Patty, I understand. Sit now, be still and let me think, dear.

Pat did as asked. She sat sideways studying Clara’s face.

Patty dearest, that gaze is most unsettling, please.

Sorry, well? Well?

Yes Patty, Canada it will be. I will begin studying immediately to prepare myself. You must bring me all the material you have gathered. Then we must be patient and industrious and prepare well.

Pat kissed Clara, then jumped up and ran around laughing and skipping like a little child. Clara watched astonished and delighted by Pat’s uninhibited expression of happiness.

Over the next year, Pat and Clara became ever closer. Pat failed to get herself boarded at school but never ceased trying. A small consolation to both girls was the fact that, for all but the long summer break, Clara took to spending her holidays at the Goddard house. Clara managed to persuade her parents to allow Pat to come and stay at her home for the first three weeks of the summer break of 1901. Pat was beside herself with excitement when the Fitz-Gibbon family chauffeur showed up on a huge black Daimler in Stour Road to collect her. She was adamant she must ride up front alongside him and she left Clara in the semi-enclosed rear saloon. Clara didn’t mind at all and thought it charming and predictable, being well aware of Pat’s insatiable curiosity. Pat spent the whole journey watching carefully how the machine was operated. She asked questions constantly so that, by the time they reached Clara’s home, she had hounded the chauffeur into promising a few lessons if the Master agreed. It took Pat all of two days to get the Master of the house, Clara’s father, to agree to lessons around the estate roads.

The lady of the house, Maude Fitz-Gibbon, took much less than two days to see what was causing her daughter’s reluctance to come home. She also noticed the dramatic change in Clara’s demeanour when around young Miss Goddard. She became coquettish and silly and smiled secret smiles when she thought no one was watching. Maude was neither surprised nor disturbed, but by the time Pat left at the end of her three-week stay, it was evident this was much more than a schoolgirl crush. Pat was charming and well mannered, evidently well brought up—even if she was from a family in trade. But it was equally obvious that she was mannish in her outlook and interests. She played golf well, could drive a car, rode a horse superbly and fearlessly, unashamedly disregarding the riding skirt and side saddle in favour of britches and sitting astride. Maude was in a quandary. She gauged that any attempt to split the couple could be disastrous for her rather emotionally fragile daughter. She decided to ignore the matter and hoped it was a passing fad.

When she sat Clara down for a serious chat, the happiness and lightness that surrounded the girl like a halo was so powerful, she could not bring herself to risk shattering it. She had a most sincere unspoken wish that her daughter was certain of what she was and what she wanted. Maude spoke of the future and the likelihood that the family estate would have to be sold and their circumstances reduced to manageable proportions. This was of some moment, since Clara was an only child, it was her inheritance that would be lost. However, Clara expressed total disinterest in such things. She said it didn’t matter, since she and Pat intended to sail to Canada and take a farm there on the prairies, where they would grow wheat. That’s why Pat needs to be taught to conduct a motorcar. She will need to be able to operate machines and such like.

Maude stared at her daughter, dumbfounded by the matter-of-fact way she had made this startling announcement. Inside, she rejoiced and wanted to hug Clara and say, ’Yes, run now. Escape while you can.’ But instead, she said, And when exactly is this adventure to commence, dear?

Oh, not for several years yet, Mama. We need to save and prepare and learn about wheat production and such like. Did you know, Mama, the article in The Times said they are giving 165 acres of land for free to men, but women must pay up to five thousand dollars? That seems most unjust to us. Pat suggested she would pretend to be a gentleman until we got settled and then they can do their worst. Well, she was somewhat more forceful, she can be frightfully rude and funny, you know.

Indeed Clara, and may I ask what role you shall be playing in this drama? Are you going to be conducting machines and walking behind ploughs and horses and such?

Please Mama, don’t be silly. I shall be running the household, of course.

And will this household have a large staff, do you think?

Mama, you are just being silly now. Do you think I am stupid? We shan’t be able to afford a staff. I am learning skills I shall need. Why do you suppose I have been spending so much time with Mrs. James in the kitchen? And I have been watching Pat’s mother most carefully. She runs their household with only a non-resident housekeeper. I assure you, by the time we depart, I shall be proficient in the skills I shall require. I should inform you also that, since my schooling will finish at the end of this term, I shall be seeking gainful employment of a suitable type so that I may begin saving. I feel that may require a move to London and we shall go there soon to find inexpensive rooms and a position. Pat will be leaving school a little early in order to facilitate this. She is seeking a temporary position on a farm now in order to learn a little before the move to the city. We believe we shall need at least three years to gather sufficient funds for the enterprise and I will of course require letters from Father giving me permission, since I will be under the age of consent.

Maude was now dumbfounded and unable to find anything else to say, so Clara said, I have to help Mrs. James prepare the beef for roasting, if I may be excused, Mama.

Later as they lay in bed, Clara and Pat held hands and she mentioned her conversation with her mother. Pat sat up and seemed most