Cover

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Half Title, Series Page, Title Page, Copyright

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Contents

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pp. v-vi

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Series Editor’s Preface

Benjamin Lefebvre

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pp. vii-x

Christine van der Mark was born in Calgary, Alberta, on 17 September 1917, of Dutch and English ancestry. While teaching intermittently in rural Alberta schools, she completed an undergraduate degree in English literature and an M.A. in creative writing, both at the University of Alberta, where she also taught composition. ...

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Preface

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pp. 3-4

Be not deceived; God is not mocked; for whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap. ...

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Chapter I

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pp. 5-17

The day was sullen. Dark clouds were banked up on the western horizon. Dust sifted along the rutted prairie roads in a dry, choking wind, which blew teasingly in the hollows and over the rough hills, promising rain, and bringing only gloom. Deserted buildings stared blankly, their loose shutters and shingles flapping, their fences disappearing under the soil. ...

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Chapter II

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pp. 18-21

In the darkening light of his one-roomed shop, Tudor Folkes sat with a saddle on his knee, his hands caressing the worn leather. “It’s been a mighty good one in its time, I’d say.” Through a haze of pipe smoke, his shrewd blue eyes regarded his companion. “It’s good now for a long while.” ...

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Chapter III

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pp. 22-30

Though the spring rains had not yet fallen on the vast lonely bush country, the air had a sweet freshness, filled with the tang of spruce and pine. Down the narrow roads that led to Bear Claw, teams and wagons passed each other, the drivers calling in French, Ukrainian, Cree, and English. ...

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Chapter IV

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pp. 31-43

It seemed unreal, that last long stretch of road down which Jack Two Knives led the way with such assurance. They forded bridgeless streams; they lurched over great stones that threatened to tear off the wagon wheels; they bumped and rattled through the quiet land. The constant movement and jolting had become a part of Lina; ...

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Chapter V

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pp. 44-54

Early one August morning, the fire roared hot in the stove of the stifling kitchen while Lina fished out of the steaming wash-tub, quart and pint bottles of saskatoons and raspberries which she and Benjie and the unwilling Poppy had picked the day before. ...

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Chapter VI

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pp. 55-65

I’ll drive you this time,” Lina said. “I’ll be going by the school anyhow on my way to town. You can come home with Jay. And mind you put on your coveralls over that dress when you ride the horse. What’s wrong, child?” ...

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Chapter VII

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pp. 66-75

Lina stood in front of a little cracked mirror, tidying her heavy hair. The light of the jam-can oil lamp revealed the room under the sloping roof: the rickety-bed, a wash-stand cut roughly from logs, shelves covered by a faded curtain. A curtain also served as a door, and at one side, Poppy’s head appeared. ...

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Chapter VIII

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pp. 76-94

Yes, winter’s coming fast,” Tudor Folkes said. He opened the heater to put in a green poplar log and two spruce logs. The orange flames licked eagerly at the wood as he jammed down the lid. “I lose a good deal of my boot trade in the winter. Nearly everyone goes into moccasins as soon as the snow flies.” ...

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Chapter IX

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pp. 95-109

On New Year’s Eve, Benjie lay on his bed in one corner of the kitchen in the half dark cabin. A hacking cough tore at his chest. He was alone, for Lina had taken Poppy up to Panachuk’s to break the monotony of the Christmas holidays. Though the cabin glowed with warmth, and he did not mind being alone, ...

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Chapter X

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pp. 110-115

While the child still slept, the three women moved Benjie into the bedroom, covering his peaceful face, and darkening the room, drawing the curtains over the window and the door. Putting the sleeping baby beside the little girl, Martha built up the fire and made coffee, while Lina, completely exhausted, still in her outer clothes, ...

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Chapter XI

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pp. 116-124

A gentle wind blew over the silent land; and the breath of the wind was tender for the first time in long months. The new warmth brought a soft shade of blue-grey to the clouds, and tinted the shadows in the snow. The wind stirred the tree-tops where bird cries and whistling and twittering were like the happy exchanging of greetings of friends ...

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Chapter XII

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pp. 125-134

Sym walked down the trail towards home, driving the harnessed horses before him in the cool of the evening. From behind the leafing trees, yellowish grey smoke from a bush-fire rolled up in billows, rising to the sky, making vivid colours in the clouds of the setting sun. ...

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Chapter XIII

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pp. 135-137

It seemed as though he had never stopped riding, that he rode on into the hot noon sunlight, his shirt wringing wet with sweat where the child clung to him, that the night had been replaced by day, of which the morning was a heavy dream. ...

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Chapter XIV

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pp. 138-147

It was breathlessly hot. Lina wore a handkerchief on her head, and she had tied up the legs of her overalls at the ankles. Yet the sandflies, swarming round her in dark clouds while she hoed the stunted potato plants, bit her cruelly on the neck and hands. The perspiration ran down her flushed face. She felt tired. ...

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Chapter XV

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pp. 148-159

Out of the intensely blue sky, the sun shone down upon a cold white world. Columns of white smoke rose from the chimneys at Bear Claw; and frost whitened every tree, and post, and wire. Through the glistening front windows of Wong’s General Store, the welcome sunbeams slanted in upon dusty merchandise. ...

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Chapter XVI

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pp. 160-165

By the time Lina returned to the homestead, the weather had changed. A sweet mildness from a chinook wind miles away softened the knife-like cold, and the snow showed wet and dark at the dint of footsteps. ...

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Chapter XVII

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pp. 166-173

Hog day in Bear Claw had been more crowded than usual, and very hot and dusty, but evening brought coolness and a peaceful quiet. Surprising, the number of people who rattled over the wagon roads to town at haying time, Tudor thought, surveying the numerous pairs of dusty, broken-down shoes on his counter....

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Chapter XVIII

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pp. 174-187

Harvesting was done, and once more the leaves were flying. Nine seasons she had seen in this country, Lina was thinking, holding back the new horses, Racer and Sal, as they went swiftly over the trail from Bear Claw. Now winter would soon be upon them again. ...

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Chapter XIX

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pp. 188-203

School had been dismissed when Lina pulled up her team at the gate under the budding trees. Children came flying out of the building, running and shouting as they scattered in various directions through the bush, or went to the barn for their horses. ...

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Chapter XX

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pp. 204-219

Lina slapped the lines on the dash-board, hurrying the horses. “See you get good meals. Don’t let her cheat you. She’s a hard dame, but she’ll see you toe the line. Just as well in that Bear Claw dump.” ...

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Chapter XXI

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pp. 220-232

A person don’t need to get religion, but they should have some notion about church and things like that.” Lina pushed back her chair from the table, glancing round at Mrs. Howe, Olga, and Poppy. “There’s never been no Sunday school close enough for my kids to go to. This seems like a chance to learn something.” ...

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Chapter XXII

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pp. 233-245

It was bitterly cold at Bear Claw. Bands of quivering Northern Lights among far-distant stars, gave the early night a greenish twilight. Sounds echoed in the sharp, frosty, stinging air. Yellowish light shone dully from heavily frosted windows of Wong’s General Store, Wo Ling’s Confectionery, the hotel, and the pool hall; ...

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Chapter XXIII

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pp. 246-261

At the R.C.M.P. Detachment No. 1, Bridgeville, a few nights later, Constable Hicks’ burly figure loomed up from the grey twilight. It was still bitterly cold, and steam poured forth from every chimney in the town. ...

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Chapter XXIV

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pp. 262-267

Didn’t figure you’d come back,” Dizzon muttered. “Not after such a long time. Sure was a surprise when Sym told me what your letter said.” ...

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Chapter XXV

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pp. 268-278

Come on, Poppy, finish up them eggs,” Lina urged. “Benny, get your sister another cup of coffee off the stove there, will you?” ...

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Chapter XXVI

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pp. 279-286

Along the road between Bear Claw and Bridgeville, an unusual amount of traffic moved in each direction. Cars and trucks veered to pass slow-plodding teams; horse-back riders pulled shying horses into the ditch. Clouds of dust rose under the turning wheels, and from the heavy hoofs. ...

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Chapter XXVII

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pp. 287-308

Groaning along in second over the tortuous trail, the big low grey car lurched precariously on the stumps that stuck up in unexpected places, and scraped over the rocks that jutted among the tufted grass between the ruts. Tommy sat behind the wheel. ...

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Chapter XXVIII

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pp. 309-318

Lina woke to hear the rain beating down and overflowing the tubs she had put out under the eaves. Since the children had not yet come home, she thought that they had probably taken shelter in one of the tents, maybe with Jack and Mrs. Two Knives who were camping at the Reserve. ...

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Afterword

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pp. 319-346

In Canada as elsewhere, literary modernism is currently undergoing revaluation from many different perspectives, providing an opportune moment to bring fresh attention to Christine van der Mark’s prize-winning novel, In Due Season (1947). ...

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Acknowledgements

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p. 346

We would like to thank the late Dorothy Wise for permission to republish her mother’s book. As well, we are very grateful to a number of people who enabled the preparation of this afterword. Our list includes Phyllis Wilson and her staff at Oxford University Press for providing access to archival material concerning the production of In Due Season; ...

Notes

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pp. 347-349

Works Cited

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pp. 350-354

Further Series Titles

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