Outcasts of River Falls Read Online Free PDF Page B

on, filling the chinks and smoothing it over the logs, let it dry, then top coat it with straight clay, again letting it dry so we can fill in any cracks, then finish it off with whitewash. Voila! You’ll have a room fit for a queen, or at least a princess, as nice as any back in Toronto. I want you to feel at home.”
    Gingerly, Kathryn reached into the bucket with a trowel and tried to mimic her aunt’s actions. The clay fell off the wall with a disgusting splat.
    “Add a little water to keep it sticky,” he aunt instructed.
    Kathryn poured some water in and tried again. This time the gooey mixture stuck. Trying not to gag, she filled in the spaces between the logs, then scooped out more and spread on a thick layer, making a flat surface, or at least as flat as she could with the uncooperative mud. She felt like she was building one of houses for the Three Little Pigs.
    “Good! That’s perfect.” Her aunt encouraged.
    Kathryn’s stomach quieted as she figured out the exact consistency needed to prevent the muddy mix from falling off. The work was messy and her arms ached, but she was bound to keep up with her aunt. Before long, she had gobs of muck in her hair, straw chaff on the inside of her shirt and the ugly dungarees were coated in drying clay.
    “Wonderful!” her aunt said with satisfaction as she in spected her wall. “Once this is done, we’ll let it dry and then put on the smooth coat in a couple of days.” She smiled and added, “That one we put on with our hands, Katy.”
    “You want me to actually touch the vile stuff!” Kathryn sputtered.
    “The clay is good for your skin. It pulls out all the im purities, like those fancy mud baths in Europe.”
    Wincing, Kathryn thought of how the squishy mud would ooze between her fingers and felt nauseous again. The straw mix had the consistency of fresh dog droppings and felt like cold sludge. What must the smooth coat feel like – slippery, slimy?
    She swallowed as her stomach told her that it had had enough for one day. But there was no way Kathryn would show discomfort to her aunt and these strangers. She knew the old woman called Kokum had been watching her, judging her. With as much enthusiasm as she could muster, Kathryn went back to applying the clay straw mixture, smearing it over the wall. Now she was grateful that her new room was so small.
    As they worked, a succession of Aunt Belle’s neighbours stopped by, dropping off various food items. One, Aunt Belle said, was lii torchiyer , which Kathryn would have called a meat pie in Ontario; and another dish had the im probable title of li rababoo di liyev , which turned out to be rabbit stew. Kathryn’s face hurt from the fake smile she kept stitched to her lips as she greeted each visitor politely. She felt like a side show attraction at the circus. Aunt Belle flew through her wall and was soon finished, dropping her trowel into the bucket with a finality that worried Kathryn.
    “I’ll step over here, out of your way,” Kathryn said, backing up so that her aunt could take her place. Their eyes locked for a split second and Kathryn had the sinking feeling that she was being cut adrift on a mud raft in the middle of the ocean. A rogue wave washed over her tiny craft when her aunt rinsed her hands, drying them as she stood in the doorway of the half-built room.
    “You’re doing fine. I’ll sit with Kokum while you finish up.”
    “Me? But, the logs and the wall and...” She protested, but saw she had no choice. Was this what it was like to be a slave under her master’s cruel whip? This was indeed a Grimm fairytale. She continued fighting with the clay, listening with one ear to Pierre and Joseph talking while they nailed up the last of the rough-sawn boards.
    “I’m telling you, it was him!” Pierre said stubbornly.
    “You saw him?” Joseph mumbled, holding several nails in his mouth with his teeth.
    “ Oui .” Pierre assured his workmate. “He was très formidable with a black hat