Mrs. Mike

by Benedict Freedman

  "Mike," I said, "you can't. He's not your Indian. I mean, he's a Blackfoot."

  The word caught Mike's attention, and the Indian was saved.

  "Blackfoot," Mike repeated, and looked at the man with interest.

  The conversation that took place between them I couldn't follow. It was in a dialect I didn't understand, but every now and then I caught a Cree word. And then I caught a word that meant something more to me. The word was "Cardinal," and what it meant was trouble.

  Mike put an arm around me. "Well, Kathy, I'll be leaving as soon as we can get me packed up."

  "Oh, no, Mike."

  "I'm afraid so, darling."

  "But why?" I said, hanging onto him. "Is it on account of that Cardinal?"

  "Yes." Mike started packing up the vials.

  "You should have put him in jail when I told you. What's he done now?"

  "Same thing."

  We started back through the still-deserted village, the Indian following us.

  "Trap robbing?" I asked.

  "Yes. A refinement of it. He substitutes poor fur for good."

  "Are you going to arrest him?"

  "Yes. This time I've got all the evidence I need against him."

  "But why can't Constable Cameron arrest him?"

  "He's got to stay here and vaccinate these people." There was grim satisfaction in Mike's voice. "If he can."

  "I don't see why you don't finish vaccinating and let Cameron bring him in."

  "Because," said Mike, "if I were betting on who'd outsmart who, I'd bet on Cardinal."

  I sort of agreed with Mike, although I didn't say so.

  When we got to the house I had Oh-Be-Joyful feed the Black-foot while I got Mike's supplies together. Tins of beef and tea and another pair of mittens, an extra buffalo robe, for he was going into the Far North.

  I walked out front and watched Mike strap the things to his horse. He would ride to Peace River Crossing, pick up another Mounty there, and make the rest of the trip north by canoe.

  "When will you be back, Mike?"

  Mike cursed under his breath at a slip knot that for some reason didn't slip. "Two months, Kathy, for sure."

  I reached out a hand and steadied myself against the porch rail.

  "I'll put in a few more tins," I said and went into the house.

  Oh-Be-Joyful was washing dishes in the kitchen, so I closed the door of the storage room behind me. I looked up at the rows of cans, trying to select those that would be most nutritious. But the bright labels blurred and swam in muddy colors before my eyes. I leaned my head against the edge of the shelf and cried silently.

  Months didn't mean anything to him. He'd said it just like that. . . "I'll be away two months." He was going because he wanted to, because it was adventure. He didn't think about me, about us, that it wasn't so easy to have a baby, that maybe I'd be dead even.

  "Mike," I said his name out loud, "Mike, don't you love me anymore? Don't you care that I'll be alone, that I'm scared?"

  I dried my eyes with the hem of my skirt. I had to be getting back. He'd be wondering why I was so long. I took down three more tins of beef, some soup, and more tea. "He's a man," I told the girl in the sunbonnet on the box of tea. "He hasn't even thought about it yet. It hasn't occurred to him. He'll feel awful when he remembers. He loves me." The girl on the label kept smiling. "He loves me," I said again and began to cry.

  "Kathy!" It was Mike calling. I rubbed my tears away and took a deep breath before I answered him.

  "Here I am," I called, "in the pantry."

  I listened to his steps as he crossed the kitchen, and I couldn't help smiling a little because he's such a big man.

  He opened the door. "What are you doing in here, kitten?"

  "Getting more food. It would be awful if you ran short."

  "Darling..."

  "Yes, Mike?"

  He reached out his arms to me. When he was through kissing me, I still stayed there with my head against the red of his jacket.

  "Kathy, if you don't want me to go, I won't."

  "Really, Mike?"

  "Of course, really."

  I reached up my arms and slid them around his neck. "No, I don't trust Cameron to bring him in. You have to do it yourself, Mike."

  Mike held me very tight. "Kathy."

  "Of course," I said, "you're his superior. If he fails, the blame is on you."

  "Remember the other time, Kathy?" He was speaking very softly, his lips against my hair. "Remember I promised you you wouldn't have the baby on the trail?"

  I nodded.

  "Well, I'm going to promise you something this time. I'll be with you. I'll be back. If I wasn't sure that I would be, nothing could drag me away from you now, understand?"

  "Oh, Mike."

  "In the meantime, Oh-Be-Joyful will be with you. And in case you or Mary Aroon is sick, there's always Sarah, thank God. We've very good friends here, Kathy. Don't be afraid to go to them."

  "Mike, it's just you I'm worrying about. Be careful."

  "Listen, girl. Don't come out. It's no good standing and watching a man ride off. It gives you a lonesome feeling."

  I was glad Mike said that because I hated the idea of seeing him swallowed up by the outdoors. Here in my own house I could pretend that he hadn't really gone. I closed my eyes and lifted my face.

  "You're beautiful," Mike said.

  "You never used to say that before we were married."

  "Well, you weren't beautiful then. You were too skinny, and had too many sharp places, elbows and things."

  "What things?" I asked.

  He laughed and seized me. "But you're beautiful now. Ever since the baby, you're softer and lovelier all over."

  His mouth was warm and rough and wonderful. Then he pushed me away from him, looked at me, and drew me back again by the shoulders. This time he gave me a big brother hug that meant, "Be good, Minx, take care of yourself."

  I knew he was going now, but I wouldn't let him, not just yet, just a minute more.

  "Mike," I said, "will you still love me if I say something?"

  "What?" he asked.

  "Damn Cardinal!" And bless Mike, I said. Only not out loud, because men don't like that kind of thing.

  He smiled at me with those blue eyes and ruffled my hair with those big hands. Then the pantry door banged to, and I was alone.

  Mike kept his promise. He was back in six weeks, with Cardinal riding beside him, the same dirty yellow handkerchief knotted around his neck.

  That first evening was a happy one. I'd fed Mike a big dinner. After such a trip I felt that even our criminal deserved a real meal, so I sent Constable Cameron over to the jail with a supper for Cardinal.

  Mike sat in the big arm chair with Mary Aroon on his lap. I curled up on a buffalo robe with my head on his knee. Mary Aroon began to laugh, for Mike was making shadow pictures on the wall for her. He made a rabbit that wiggled its ears, and he made a billy goat that wiggled its long beard.

  "Tell me how it was, Mike."

  "How what was?" And he made a little old woman with a pack on her back.

  "About how you captured him," I said.

  "Oh, that. I just went up to his shack."

  "Did you have to do any fighting or shooting?"

  "No; he saw me coming and beat it. But he didn't go far. I heard him walking around the cabin that night. And in the morning I saw the tracks he'd made. There was still a thin layer of snow up there. Well, there was a night and two whole days that he stayed out with no food and no blanket. But the second night he called to me from outside the window."

  "What did he say?"

  "He said if I didn't go away he was going to shoot me and then burn down the house. I asked him, 'What about the buttons?' And he yelled in, 'What about them?'

  " 'Well,' I said 'they won't burn, and if there's a button left, or a tooth or any part of a bone, you'll hang. Because everybody in Grouard know
s I came to bring you in.'

  "He didn't say anything, so I figured he was thinking that over. I fanned up the fire nice and bright and put on a kettle of tea. As I did it, I was thinking what a good target I made. When the water started boiling, I walked out on the porch and looked into the darkness where he'd been talking. I couldn't see a thing, but I talked as though he was right close by that first pine. 'Come on in, Cardinal, and have some tea. We'll talk it over.' And he did. He stepped out from behind that pine.

  "'You're right, Sergeant, about those damn buttons,' he said.

  " 'Yes,' I said, 'I guess I am.'

  "So we had tea and after a while dinner, and then sat around the rest of the evening. That's all. In the morning we started home."

  Mike crossed his legs and slid Mary Aroon along them until she was sitting on his foot. He held her tiny hands in his big one.

  "Now we're going for a ride." He swung his foot out and back very gently, out and back, and began to chant, "This is the way the ladies go, nimety-pin, nimety-pin." And then, swinging his leg with more force, "This is the way the gentlemen go, gallopy-trot, gallopy-trot." By the time he got to how the farmers go hobbly-hoy, he was wiggling his foot all over, and Mary Aroon was bouncing around as though she were riding a bucking bronco. She shrieked and yelled her delight and got red in the face from excitement.

  Mike stood up and lifted her into the air. "Now you're flying," he said.

  Just then the door burst open, and Cameron stumbled in.

  "He's dead!"

  The shout brought Oh-Be-Joyful from the kitchen. We all stared at the man.

  "Murdered! There's a hunting knife stuck clear through his throat."

  "Just a minute," Mike said. "Who's dead?"

  "Cardinal. That's what I'm telling you. I walked down there with his dinner, and he's sitting on the bench with his head thrown back against the bars. I thought he was sleeping. But when I got close, I see he's been stuck right through the throat. What a mess! And the knife still in him."

  Mike got into his jacket.

  "You should have seen it," Cameron said to me. "He was laughing. His mouth's wide open in a kind of twisted laugh."

  "Laughing?" Mike said, and then, "You said it was a hunting knife. Have you ever seen it before? Do you know whose it is?"

  "It's got Jonathan Forquet all over it, plain as though it was written."

  "What do you mean?"

  "The handle's all carved up. A whole hunting scene winding along. It's Jonathan's work, all right. You know he can't keep from whittling. He cuts designs in everything he owns."

  "All right," Mike snapped and gave a quick look at Oh-Be-Joyful. "Let's not jump at conclusions." He started for the door and then turned back to us.

  "Oh-Be-Joyful, I want you to think hard and answer me truthfully. Have you ever seen a hunting knife such as the Constable describes in Jonathan's possession?"

  Oh-Be-Joyful stared straight in front of her. "No," she said.

  "There's plenty of people around here can identify Jonathan's work," Cameron said.

  Mike opened the door. "Come on, we'll take a look at things."

  Oh-Be-Joyful continued to stare at nothing long after they had gone.

  "Jonathan didn't do it," I said. "He wouldn't kill a defenseless man." But I knew that by tribal law Jonathan had the right. "Besides, he's too clever to leave his knife there." But at the same time I thought: Isn't that just like Jonathan to boast silently with a knife, to leave it as a taunt? I tried to reason myself away from the thought. I reasoned out loud to Oh-Be-Joyful.

  "Even if it is his knife, that doesn't mean anything. Everyone knew of his quarrel with Cardinal. They'd know he'd come under suspicion. So they'd steal his knife and leave it at the scene of the crime."

  I thought myself that that conclusion was a little weak. It would be no easy matter to steal from Jonathan.

  Oh-Be-Joyful said suddenly, "When they bring the knife, it will be Jonathan's."

  I looked at the girl. She stared through the walls of my house. Across a mile of grassy path she stared into the cage. The cage was before my own eyes too. The last time I had been in it was when Baldy occupied it. I shuddered to think that through those bars, the bars I had so often slipped between, a killer had struck. I remembered Cameron's voice. "Through the throat," he'd said. "Clear through the throat."

  "Jonathan didn't do it," I said again, and this time with conviction. Because the picture wouldn't come. I could put the knife in Jonathan's hand, I could even raise it, but I couldn't make him stick it in. Not Jonathan. A shadowy deformed shape took over at that point.

  "If he did," Oh-Be-Joyful said, "if he did do it—" She had to stop. "If he did," she said again, "they would put him in jail forever?"

  "But he didn't do it," I said.

  "He didn't do it," she repeated after me. Saying the words out loud like that helped her believe them.

  I was not surprised that, when Mike and Cameron returned, Jonathan walked between them. The three men entered without a word. Mike took off his jacket and flung it over a chair. All eyes watched his movements.

  "Well," he said, "it's got to be talked out."

  "You've got it," Cameron said.

  Mike reached into his pocket and brought out a carefully wrapped object. He held the paper by a loose edge, and the weight of the knife brought it tumbling out of the wrapping onto the table. I stared at it. The blade was clean now, but a dark spot stained the head of the stag that ran around the handle. In fact, I noticed with a shiver that it stained the stag's throat.

  "Oh-Be-Joyful," Cameron said, "look at the knife."

  So that was why they'd brought Jonathan here instead of to the office. They meant to work on him through Oh-Be-Joyful.

  "Look at the knife," Cameron said again.

  Oh-Be-Joyful looked first at Jonathan. But he made no move, gave no hint. Her eyes traveled slowly, unwillingly to the knife, then back to Jonathan.

  "Well, it's his, isn't it?" Cameron asked.

  She looked beseechingly at Jonathan, but he only smiled at her. She turned to me. "Mrs. Mike!"

  I stepped up and put my arm around her. "It's all right, Oh-Be-Joyful." I looked defiantly at Mike. "You don't have to answer if you don't want to."

  Cameron got red in the face.

  Mike said, "I think Jonathan will answer any questions about the knife himself." And turning to the boy, he asked, "Is it yours?"

  Jonathan did not hesitate. "Yes," he said.

  Oh-Be-Joyful slipped out of my arms and went and stood by Jonathan. Together the two of them faced us.

  Mike said, after a pause, "Sometimes you make knives to sell, don't you?"

  "Yes."

  "Is this one of those?"

  Jonathan regarded us with that crooked smile. "No," he said. "It is mine."

  "Have you loaned it to anyone recently?"

  "No."

  "Has it been constantly in your possession?"

  "You think I kill Cardinal?"

  "I don't know. Somehow I don't think you'd do it that way."

  "Why wouldn't he?" Cameron asked.

  "My hunch is all the other way." Mike was watching Jonathan closely.

  "In fact, if you tell me you didn't do it, I'll release you and look elsewhere." Mike paused, but Jonathan said nothing. "Otherwise I'll have to hold you on a murder charge. That will mean spending the summer in the cage. I couldn't take you out before the snows next winter."

  We all looked at Jonathan. Mike had given him every chance. Surely, if he was innocent, he would speak now. He didn't.

  I walked over to him, closer than I would if I thought for a moment he was a killer. "Jonathan Forquet, would you have us believe that you cut that man's throat while he slept?"

  "I did not say that."

  "No," I said, "hut you didn't say you didn't, either."

  He didn't answer me. "You heard Sergeant Mike. All you've got to do is tell him you are inn
ocent."

  "Yes," said Mike, "that and an account of your actions this evening will satisfy me."

  Cameron grabbed Mike's shoulder. "Sergeant, you're crazy! What's to prevent him—"

  Mike threw his arm off, and the movement silenced him.

  "Well, Jonathan," Mike asked, "what do you say?"

  Jonathan was not smiling now. He looked coolly at us, one after the other. Then he spoke.

  "When north wind forget he north wind and blow from south—when the mad sickness of the wolf come on me, so that I run in circles and bite my own flesh—then will I make account to Sergeant Mike."

  "That was a pretty speech," Mike said, "and you'll have all summer to sit and remember it. You're under arrest."

  "No!" Oh-Be-Joyful sprang between them. "He did not do it," she said to Mike.

  Jonathan looked at her almost tenderly. "You good klooch. You do not want me spend summer in cage with mosquitoes, with bull fly-"

  "Tell them you did not kill him." Jonathan looked at her thoughtfully. "Did I not?" "No," she said, but her eyes were not on his. "Think," he said. "My knife and my hate. Did I not?" Oh-Be-Joyful stood with her head down, and her tears dropped on the floor.

  Twenty

  There were a lot of things on my mind. Sarah kept telling me to relax. I tried to. I watched the northern lights dance outside my window. They flashed and quivered, forming arcs and ribbons of colors.

  "The spirits are dancing there," Sarah said as she set the kettle to heat.

  Oh-Be-Joyful came to the door with the sweet oil Sarah had sent her for. Her eyes were wide and frightened. Sarah took the bottle from her and chased her out.

  I was very sorry about Oh-Be-Joyful. I had tried to tell her how I felt, but she wouldn't let me. It had lain between us these weeks. She did what I asked her and more than I asked her, but silently, with no words and no laughter. When she was not in the house, I knew she was standing before the cage. She would stand for hours pressed against the bars, but they never seemed to talk together.

  "Take deep breaths, Mrs. Mike. Relax."

  "Mike," I said. "Mike!"

  I felt him take my hand in his. Love is pain, I thought, all love, and I cried out against it.

  I heard the sobs, I felt the tears. I thought they were my own. But in a little bit, when I was easier, I saw that Oh-Be-Joyful had her cheek against my hand, and that the tears were hers.