I'm not as sweet as Mrs. Mike

Mrs. Mike by Benedict Freedman

My rating: 4 of 5 stars


This was a very tender book. I didn't realize until I was about halfway through (when I read the back page) that it was based on a real-life story - which made it even more special. This is the story of the fragile 16-year old Irish girl from Boston who leaves the city to live with her uncle in the remote regions of Western Canada - where she fairly quickly falls in love with a tall strapping Canadian Mounty. If you're thinking it's going to be all schmaltz and romance - you will be sorely disappointed (or pleasantly surprised, depending on your outlook). The story contains a tremendous amount of tragedy - but the ability of the human spirit to soldier on and love in spite of that tragedy is what you'll remember about this book.



Here are some of my favorite passages:



p. 57 - "Flashes of lightning ripped the heavens, and a torrent of rain blinded our horses. I turned my face to the sky and laughed because the things you enjoy can't hurt you."

(Facing fear with laughter)



p. 99 - "I looked at him surprised. Is that what we had done today, taken a walk? A walk here didn't mean around the block on a cement sidewalk, as it did in Boston. It meant wolf track, bear breathings, rivers throwing ice at you, and Indians, and..."

(This reminded me of our hikes in Idaho)



p. 138 - "A bear that will eat grubs off the bottom of a stone will eat anything, I reasoned, and that anything might be me."

(This is exactly how I reason in the wilderness)



p. 153 - "They're mostly wildflowers. They grow in the woods, in swmaps, in very difficult places. She must have spent all day finding them, and then she put them in the ground to make your garden."

(The unbelievable kindness of the far north - although this was the town's insane woman's way of showing it)



p. 158 - "These big things, these terrible things, are not the important ones. If they were, how could one go on living? No, it is the small, little things that make up a day that bring fullness and happiness to a life. Your Sergeant coming home, a good dinner, your little Mary laughing, the smell of the woods - oh, so many things, you know them yourself."



p. 294 - "It is the fear of losing, the knowledge of losting that makes love tender."



p. 302 (the very end of the book):

I tried to tell him. "It hurts a little."

"What hurts you?" Connie asked. "A pin?"

"No," I said. "Happiness."


Did I cry at the end? I sure did. I'm kind of a softie sometimes.

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