July 22, 1914, Wednesday
Madeline Williams picks her way through the long grasses billowing sluggishly in the dry July heat. Just a decade or two ago, this area was teeming with prospectors searching for gold. And Madeline had been there, traveling along with families, taking in the sights, pretending that she was one of them, occasionally. She had not wanted the gold, particularly, but gold fever is real, and if she had found some she would have not complained. She is a little north to the town of Fairview. It was built on crown-granted land, and home to five hotels, an impressive jail, and an assortment of stores and houses. Now, though, the once booming town of Fairview is little more than a ghost town. One hotel, the "Big Teepee," burned down almost twelve years ago, and the rubble had never been cleared away. It would be sad, but Madeline knows that the people have moved on, not died.
This is her vacation. Exploring during Canada's short summer, even as she feels like she is dying from the heat. At least this heat is dry, which means less mosquitos. Many many flies, though. This is what she would be doing all the time if she could. Exploring, learning about the different regions of the Dominion.
July is her favourite month, when the heat isn't too bad. It begins with her Dominion Day. Fifty-three years this year. A time of celebration and national pride. Of course, July 1914, had not been without trials-almost half of the Canadian Arctic Expedition had been killed when their vessel, the Karluk, had been shipwrecked near Alaska. And of course, the European trouble dubbed "the July Crisis" was going on across the Atlantic. Honestly, she has not really kept up with most of that. And she has neither listened to the radio nor read a newspaper for several days., and she would like to keep it that way for a while longer.
July 24, 1914, Friday
Her purposeful ignorance lasts for about two more days, until she makes it to the most populated area in the whole valley: Vernon. It is a lovely city, surrounded by beautiful scenery, and orchards of apples in a so far failed attempt at producing enough fruit to export. The weather is almost thirty degrees, and she wants to get out of the sun for a little while. So, she makes her way to the city hall. The city hall here, she believes, has a public reading space that she could go to rest. Also, it is the only location in the Okanagan to have its own telephone.
As she approaches, she sees a man wearing a proper suit, sweating in the July sun, standing in front of city hall, looking terribly out of place. His arms are folded, and his eyebrows are drawn together over his squinting eyes, squinting from the sunlight. After a beat, she recognizes him. John Fowler, the man her Prime Minister and Senate had assigned to Madeline in 1911. He job was generally to keep her on track, as far as she could tell. He was a decent fellow with a spruce moustache and a skill for raising one eyebrow at a time. He was also ravingly fond of blueberries, a trait which they both shared.
"Mr. Fowler!" she calls, waving.
"Miss Williams," he says, raising one eyebrow. "Do you have any idea of the trouble you put me through?"
"Sorry," she answers automatically.
"I have been looking for you for almost a week. I only found you because one of our agents saw you by Fairview and telephoned me. I took the train here and waited for you."
"But I told you I was going to visit the Ukʷnaqín Valley."
"The Okanagan Valley is over 20,000 square kilometers. And that is an enormous area to search for one woman, nation or not."
She stares at him. She has never seen him this upset. It must be the weather.
"Begging your pardon, ma'am," he adds when she does not answer right away.
"I am sorry. But I thought I was supposed to get a vacation? Mr. Bordon is on one."
"Yes, well, foreign politics have gone south. We need you back in Ottawa."
"Ottawa," she groans. "You want me in the city in the middle of July?"
"The end of July, now, Miss Williams. And yes. None of us are too pleased. But at least the others did not have to go trekking through the prairies."
"I would consider that their loss," she laughs. "Let me show you some of what I have discovered around here. The land changes so much every time I make it back to any area that it is like I am discovering a whole new land. You will love the Bear Creek beach. It is by Kelowna, only a ten hour walk from here. We could take the train from there-"
"No ma'am," he breaks in. We have to leave right away. It will take four days on the train to reach Ottawa, and that is if we ride through the nights."
So, Madeline finds herself waiting at the Vernon Canadian Pacific Railway Station. A red brick building, built recently in the typical station design, meaning very rectangular. The only luggage she has was already bound up in a rucksack, so she has nothing to hand off to the uniformed man who holds out a hand. It turns out he wants the tickets, which Mr. Fowler hands over.
Madeline is not a huge fan of any kind of modernized travel. Not for herself, she finds the landscapes whizzing by to be extremely exciting, though she regrets not being able to view them more closely. No, it is the danger that trains, and steam ships and all the rest bring to ordinary people. A fact that the whole of Canada was reminded of when the steamship Empress of Ireland collided with a Norwegian ship in the St. Lawrence River, killing over one thousand people.
"You look nervous," Mr. Fowler says.
Madeline shrugs. "Just thinking about the Empress."
"This is a train, not a steamship. We can rely on our trains."
"Well, steam ships will be what we're relying on, if we go to war."
"I suppose that is true. But I would expect the Empire to pay for that. It is our men they want."
"Our men, our resources, our land," she replies, then falls silent. That was something she had not missed when she was alone in the wilderness. The tensions. All nations have them. But sometimes Madeline thinks hers are worse than anyone else's.
It is almost a relief when the huge mechanical beast arrives, belching smooth and screeching on the tracks. She is still not used to the power of machines, though it has been many years since these railways began construction. They have been seated in a comfortable passenger coach by a steward. Not a sleeper coach, however. They will have to sleep sitting up. Madeline feels a twinge of guilt at the ornate steel coach. After all, hadn't so many immigrant families, her people, been crammed into the spartan Colonialist cars? Well, they were inexpensive, seven dollars to cross the whole land from Montréal!
Mr. Fowler pulls a book out of his pocket. She leans over to look at it. "Is that a history book?"
"Yes, I want to know more about the history of the European situation. Though I am not going to be the one makes divisions that will affect an entire nation, I believe that it is my duty to be as informed as possible."
"That is very admirable of you. Did you bring a book for me?"
"I have a book about the history of the Balkans that I read on the way here."
"Thank you, but I meant something interesting." She grins when he raises an eyebrow.
"I would be disappointed, but I'm sure the majority of Canadians would have the same answer."
"Do not disparage your fellow Canadians," she chides, shaking her head like how England used to. Like a disappointed mother.
Shaking his head back at her, Mr. Fowler pulls another book out-Montgomery's The Story Girl-and hands it to her. Madeline has read before, when it was first published in 1911, but she is happy to read it again.
"Does this satisfy, Ma'am?"
"Indeed, it does, my fine sir."
The train begins to move, and they begin to read.
Thursday, July 30, 1914
Finally, the long train ride is over. It would have been over faster if Mr. Fowler had his way. It would not have happened at all if Madeline had her way. Now they have arrived in Ottawa. Ottawa. Canada's capital city ever since Queen Victoria declared it to be permanently in 1857. Not a place that Madeline spends much time in, though more now that Sir Robert is her Prime Minister. She used to spend a lot more time in Quebec City.
Everything is under construction. Many workers, unfortunate to be out in this plus thirty heat, are beautifying the city as Wilfred had commissioned before his term as Prime Minister ended. Wilfred was right. Ottawa was an ugly city. Very industrial with little real architecture. That of course, can be blamed on the Hull fires fourteen years ago, and the fact that the city was generally home to sawmill running lumber barons. Madeline really does not care for cities in general, but the work that is being done should be impressive when it is completed.
Madeline and Mr. Fowler ride the modern and impressive electric streetcar system which replaced the horse carriage system about twenty years ago. They arrive at Madeline's seldom visited downtown Ottawa house.
"I'm going to leave you here while I go back to the Senate," Mr. Fowler says, handing Madeline a set of keys. "Please do not wander off."
"How long to I have to wait? I would like to check out the Farmer's Market if people are not going to be ready to convene for hours."
"I would rather you did not. But, if you are going to, get some extra blueberries for me."
"Certainly. Blueberries are always a comfort. At least those grow here if rationing gets bad."
"I agree. But please. Stay close to the radio, try to catch up on the news, and listen for the telephone. I expect you will receive a call. I need to find out when Mr. Bordon will arrive here."
With that, he leaves. Madeline goes inside. The house is a mess, filled with papers and boxes labelled with the names of various Senate members. Either they left these here for her to read, or her house was being used as a storage space by the Senate.
There is very little food in her house. Just dry goods. She would like to get out to the Market to buy some eggs, milk, blueberries, maybe a lemon? But she has to stay close to the radio and the telephone. So here she sits, catching up on the news and waiting to be summoned again. But her Prime Minister, Robert Sir Robert, is not even back to Ottawa yet, so she could have been left alone a little longer.
She listens to the radio, hearing the updates about the situation in Europe. Austria-Hungary has declared war on Serbia. By telegram. Russia has ordered partial mobilization against Austria-Hungary. Austria-Hungary have fired the first shots using their navy. And of course, this is valuable information, but it does not affect Canada.
She does have questions. If Russia is France's ally, does that mean France will declare war? now, or only after Russia orders full mobilization? And if France declares, will England declare war? Who else will join? Will the United States? Is this war at all justified? Is this just another European grandstanding? Is the war even a good idea?
She can feel how many of her people think it is a promising idea. And she understands. Isn't this good timing for a war? Canada just got a royal navy four years ago. And immigration is at an all-time high. So many citizens-a population over seven million. And over seven thousand of her boys had volunteered for England's South African war just a few years ago. How many more might volunteer for the second oversees war? Especially since France is involved this time. France and England getting along! What marvels these recent years have brought; the miracle of the telephone, motorized vehicles, radios…
Madeline yawns, fanning herself with yesterday's copy of The Evening Citizen that she found in a stack next to the chair. It is hot out. Extremely hot here in the southern summer. And she wishes she were anywhere but in the middle of one of her biggest cities during this weather. Summer is so short. She could be picking Saskatoon berries, fishing, canoeing down a rapid stream, getting lost in a field of goldenrod, listening to scarlet tanagers sing. In these couple of months, when sunlight stays late into the evening and early in the morning, it is easy to believe the world is well.
Of course, it is not. War was simmering and is now boiling in Europe, and any day now she could be dragged into it. Tensions are everywhere. Many internal, as well, which she tries to ignore more often than not. Isn't it better to smooth the surface than to dig deep an unearth what has been buried for a reason? At least, not yet. After the potential war is solved. After the beautiful summer is over, when the temptation to live out of doors has lessened. Every nation has tensions. Canada's are not the worst. It is beautiful here. People are happy. Maybe not the Indigenous peoples. Definitely not, if she is being honest. But the schools are going to help them learn to fit in the modern world. This is a world of industry and enlightenment. And the beautiful days of peace and tranquillity, interspersed with violent but quick battles are over. Everything is fast and growing, and moving, and producing. And the suffragette movement is going strong. So many women pushing to vote. And if Madeline had been an ordinary human woman, she too would wish to vote, no doubt.
The banging and drilling from the construction work draws her attention. She looks out the window where mosquitoes sluggishly are banging into the netted screen. If she were an ordinary woman, Madeline would be out in the wilderness today, cooking freshly caught salmon over the coals of a fire, right next to the stream. Hopefully under a tree. The bright summer light streams through the window. Or she would be working as a domestic in a city home. Pure drudgery, as far as Madeline knows. Or working on a farm, harvesting, watering, lugging the water, back breaking work. Or she would be at a summer garden party. Or at home with the children-children? No. She can never have children. Why think on it? She is an independent country, now, but she is still part of the empire. She does not mind. Really. It is for the best. For now, at least. For one thing, England will supply the money for weaponry and wartime supply shipments, fulfilling the duty of a motherland.
The telephone rings. Dropping the newspaper, she runs into the hallway where she keeps the telephone. She grabs the mouthpiece off the candlestick piece and yells into it.
"Hello? Bonjour? Madeline speaking?"
"Madeline. It is Robert. I am sure you have heard the news?" It is her prime minister, speaking loudly and slowly. He sounds like a radio announcer.
"Hello Robert. I am glad to hear from you. Yes, I heard the news. I have been sitting by the radio since I got to Ottawa. When will you be here?"
He sighs. Madeline smiles in sympathy. She knows he feels the same way as her. Caught between duty and the call of the wild beauty of the lakes in summertime.
"I will be there as fast as I can. Laura and I are taking a train to Toronto. We should be able to transfer to Ottawa and be there on the first. Any word from the other nations? Do you hear from them at times like this?"
She laughs. "Honestly, not usually. The States and have been distant lately, and he is the only one who could telephone me. And he and I are not used to having telephones, so I did not even think of that until you mentioned it. And England…well, she is going to do what she chooses. I had hoped that would change after our overseas distinction, but nothing has changed yet.
"I understand, though if you do hear anything important, I request that you inform me."
"Will do. How was Muskoka?"
"The lakes were breath-taking. You would have loved it. I invite you to accompany Laura and I, should we have an opportunity to visit again."
"I do so love my lakes," she says. "But you and Laura need some alone time, no doubt."
A static-laced laugh comes though the line. "That is indeed the truth. Though I doubt we shall find the opportunity for time together any soon." He sighs. "It is a pity the Senate blocked the dreadnought funding. I am sure those would have helped in the war."
"We have our own navy now, though, and England has the best navy in the world. I am sure as long as we're fighting on the sea, we'll be fine. It is the land that worries me. Prussia-the Germain Empire's army is notorious. I never fought them. But I have heard so many stories. But really, Robert. You think it will be war for certain?"
"I do not know, but I intent to be ready for it, whatever happens. I have worked hard on the relations between us and Britain. If they declare, of course we will too. That is no question. But it is my worry whether the people will accept it."
"The general feeling I am getting from my people is excitement for those who are thinking about it with any depth. The English-speaking citizens are generally eager to assist England. They do not see this as a threat, really. More like potential glory. The French side is less excited. They do not see this as our war. But it is, still, since we all but promised to send England our Navy if needed. I have fought wars before. And they are not pretty. They never are. But our boys will do fine if that is what happens."
"I believe they will, as well. And I have another consideration. If we assist the Empire again, as happened in the Boer War, then we have a much stronger claim to having a Canadian voice in forming Imperial policy."
"I hope that is true. But knowing England, she will drag her feet as much as she can with this. We have dominion, but we are still her little colony. Whose land mass is about forty times bigger than hers…I should let you go now. We will talk more when you arrive. You should rest before the train comes. Try to salvage a bit of your vacation. We will all be exhausted soon enough."
"Thank you, Madeline. I will see you on Saturday."
"Goodbye Robert. Sir Robert, I should say."
He chuckles, then the line goes dead. She smiles and replaces the mouthpiece.
Now she has received her call. There is no sense in staying by the telephone any longer. Or by the radio. How much more can happen in a couple of hours? And it is still summer. She should follow her own advice to salvage some of her vacation. So, she is going to visit the Farmer's Market, buy fresh ingredients, and then she is going to make Lemon Snow with custard sauce. This will be delicious with blueberries. And she will make enough for Mr. Fowler for hen he comes back to check on her.
It is not so bad. She and all her people are safe for now. She is not the aggressor in the war. The war will be a distraction and a united front for her people to smooth over the cracks of internal tension. This could be a good thing.
Whistling a logging tune, she steps into the end-of July heat.