To frazzle my nerves even more, the little chores I performed daily had been taken away from me, as well. I not only missed, but also needed my routine to keep sane: clean the fish, fry the fish, wash the pan.
Ergh! I was going to have to accept these changes, whether I wanted to or not. I promised myself I would make a concerted effort to be calm and coherent with my new companion. Hmph!
Little Bear was now setting up a campsite for us. He had dragged a fallen log next to the cleared area—apparently our new dining room. He had also amassed a small store of firewood in record time, as well as constructed a little teepee of kindling and dried seedpods in the center of the fire ring. He struck his flint, smacking the implement in rapid-fire succession, and the sparks flew, the mini-tent catching fire quickly. I watched, fascinated by the crackling pumpkin-colored flames, as he added larger pieces of wood, settling the odd shaped chunks together to form a perfect pyramid of timber, the slits of golden light trying to escape from within the self-consuming structure he had just constructed.
“Would you like a cup of coffee with your lunch, madam?” he asked, his dimples enhancing his smile.
“Oh, yes, that would be great. Can I help you get anything?”
“I believe I have everything we need right here. Would you like to read a bit while the coffee is brewing?”
“You have books?”
“Yes and no. I have only one book. Last year I traded for Gulliver’s Travels, but I have gathered a few of the political flyers that blew into the trees along the way. They might be a bit too radical for you, though. I wouldn’t want to offend you with their inflammatory contents.”
“Oh, no, thank you anyway. I think I’ll just wait for lunch. I didn’t know I was so hungry until we stopped moving. I’m ravenous.”
It wasn’t very cold, but I was rubbing my hands together briskly, wanting to do something with them. I looked down and was disgusted at what I saw. It seemed that no matter how hard I tried, my hands got dirty simply from walking through the woods. It was as if the dirt and grime leapt from the ground and bushes onto my hands, even managing to snuggle their filthy way under my fingernails. I was sure my face was just as soiled as my hands. I looked down and saw the little grunge worms I had made by rubbing my palms together. I hated being dirty and grimaced as I wiped them off on my pants.
My pants—I owned two pair of pants and three shirts. I usually wore two shirts at the same time to keep warm. I kept on the spandex and cotton sports bra to help retain body heat. When it got too cold or was windy, I put on both pairs of sweat pants. Ian had returned to wearing his breechclout and leggings again; he had rubbed enough dirt into them that they were clean of the filth from his capture. We still didn’t talk about that subject.
“Ma’am?” Little Bear asked, as if it was not the first time he had called me.
“Oh, I’m sorry; I guess I was off in la-la land again. What did you say?”
“The coffee is ready, and I have your lunch for you.” He pointed to the log that was to be our dinner bench. He had opened up the parcel of parchment and laid it open like a fragile platter. I sat down and placed it on my knees.
“Is this pemmican?” I asked. It looked like powdered meat mixed with dried fruit and fat. I took a pinch of it and didn’t hesitate to pop it in my mouth because, well, it would have been rude not to eat it. Ian told me before he left that it was special, and I was sure Little Bear wouldn’t have offered it to me if it was poison! There was that, and I was also very hungry.
“Yes, it is, but it’s a special blend. I came upon a big stand of huckleberries last fall and picked the dried fruits before the bears got them. Normally, pemmican doesn’t have the berries in it. They’re good for keeping your teeth. Oh, I’m sorry; you didn’t need to hear that. You have beautiful teeth.”
Little Bear was apparently embarrassed that he was being so familiar and talking so much. I doubted he was used to speaking to anyone but his mule. “Would you like your coffee now?” he asked sheepishly, handing me his tin cup.
“Yes, please.” I took a cautious sip. The coffee was bland and slightly bitter. I hadn’t seen him throw away the coffee grounds from this morning’s batch, so I was fairly certain he had reused them. Still, it was palatable and, hopefully, had some caffeine left in it.
I knew my stomach filled up slower than my mouth, so I ate slowly to make sure I didn’t eat too much. The hot coffee would probably swell the dried food in the mix, and I didn’t want to get bloated. I paced myself and took small bites, chewing thoroughly, although the minced blend was fine enough even for the toothless, willing to wait a half hour for the full belly feeling to hit.
We ate in an awkward, slightly uneasy silence. I was curious about Little Bear, but not afraid of him. Was it simply native lore that made him aware of the need for the vitamins in berries to prevent scurvy and tooth loss? I decided to play mental poker with the man to see what he had in his hand, er, head.
“Little Bear,” I began. He jumped a couple of inches when I spoke. He must have been deep into his own little world—I had startled him. “Before you came to live and trap out here, were you perchance a doctor or something?”
As soon as I said ‘or something,’ I could have smacked myself. How rude was it to ask someone ‘were you something?’
“Yes, I was something,” he answered with a smile.
I smiled back weakly.
“I was a student of chemistry and medicine in Glasgow. I learned much from my professor, William Cullen. However, before I could finish my studies and become fully accredited as a medical doctor, I became—how should I put it?—involved in some controversial political discussions that made it necessary for me to change venues. It seemed the Colonies were a good place to come to pursue freedom of thought.”
“You don’t sound like you’re from Scotland,” I said aloud before I could think. Ergh: think first, speak second!
“Um, would you do me a favor?” I asked haltingly. That’s right, ask for a generic favor first, get the okay, and then go for it.
“Yes, I’d be glad to, if I can,” he replied politely.
Phew! He ignored that little bit about not sounding like he was from Scotland.
I refolded the parchment packet, set it down beside me on the log, and stood up. I moved in front of him—he was still seated—and asked, “Since you’ve been trained as a physician, would you tell me what you can about me, just from looking at me? You can touch me, too, like a doctor, if you need to.”
I put my arms out to the side and pivoted slowly in place, like a clumsy ballerina at extra slow speed.
“All right,” he said softly.
I stopped my personal carousel and waited to see what was next. He got up and stood very close to me. Oh, God! He was in my personal space! I shut my eyes to hide any fear that might be spilling out. ‘He’s a doctor, he’s a doctor,’ I kept reminding myself.
I felt his hands on both sides of my face, holding my head, moving it up and down, and side to side, prodding behind my ears. He gently pushed my arms back down to my sides. I felt two of his fingers on the front of my chin. “Open, please,” he said.
I obeyed and even took the initiative of sticking out my tongue. “Aahh,” I intoned without being asked. He paused, then pushed my mouth closed. Next, he pulled down my bottom eyelids. I did the look up, look down, look all around routine, and then closed my eyes again. He moved to my side, tilted my head, pulled back my hair, and looked in my ear, moving around me to perform the same inspection on the other side. He took my hands, turned both of them over, and then dropped the left hand. He was rubbing the fingers on my right hand lightly when I ventured a peek. He was examining my middle finger. He looked up, saw that I was watching him, smiled, and then put my hand down.
“Don’t be afraid,” he said, “I’m not going to hurt you, but I need to touch you a bit more.”
I nodded quickly before I changed my mind. I felt his hands start at my jaw. His fingers felt my glands,
working their way down to my throat and out to my shoulders. I squirmed and giggled a bit when he felt under my armpits. I was ticklish and couldn’t hold still for that part. He patted around my breasts, but kept clear of the nipple areas. I squirmed and giggled again when he felt my ribs and waist. He walked his hands around my abdomen and, almost as an afterthought, slid his hands down the outside of my legs.
I couldn’t feel any more touching, so opened my eyes. He was sitting on the log, sipping a bit of his weak coffee.
“Okay,” I said with mock self-confidence, “first, tell me what Ian told you about me, and then tell me what you deduced from your physical examination.”
Little Bear gestured with his hand for me to sit down on the log. I was starting to shake—from nerves more than cold—so wrapped my arms around my breasts, and tucked my hands under my armpits. I slowly walked toward him and sat down, but further away on the makeshift bench than he had indicated. I was still a bit apprehensive about a man who had just ‘felt me up,’ even if I had asked him to do it, and he had been discreet and performed it in a completely professional capacity.
“Well, first, Ian told me nothing about you other than that you were his wife. Men are like that, you know—not too much on conversation unless it’s about hunting, fishing, or politics. But he did want me to know you were his.” I raised my eyebrows at this, but stayed mute, waiting for him to continue.
He scooted sideways so he could face me while speaking. His body language, with knees spread open and hands moving while talking, indicated he was opening up to me.
“Now, for the rest of it,” he continued, “I’d say you were born into a good family with at least a bit of money, ate well, possibly went to school, but either way, you learned to read and write, and are still in good health.”
“How did you come to that conclusion?”
“You have all of your teeth and your bones are straight—no scurvy or rickets—so you ate well as a youth. You asked about books, so I deduced that you could read, but that might have been a ruse. You do, however, have a small callus on the first knuckle of the middle finger of your right hand, the type often received from holding a pen for writing. You have a gold chain with gold nuggets attached to it around your neck, so you had at least a small dowry. Your skin is smooth—no swollen glands or sores—your hair thick and shiny, and your eyes are clear, so you’re in good health now. All in all, I’d say you’re a very healthy young woman of about 18 years, and are approximately four months pregnant.”
“Huh?” I gasped.
“Excuse me, which part is wrong?” he asked sincerely, his head canted to the side.
“I’m pregnant? FOUR months pregnant?” I screeched. “How can that be?” Now I was panting, trying not to hyperventilate.
“Well, I suppose the same way all other females got pregnant, save the Virgin Mother. I’m sure you won’t have any problems with the delivery, though. You’re a young, healthy woman with nicely spaced hips. By the way, that fatigue you have is very common in the early stages of pregnancy. It should be ending soon. The middle trimester, that is the middle three months of a normal nine-month pregnancy, is the most comfortable part, I hear. Many women say they feel better and stronger then than at any other time in their lives. Are you all right?”
I was in shock, sitting on the ground now, having slid forward off the log. The rough bark had scratched my back on the way down—through both my shirts. Suddenly I was cold back there, the winter air chilling the dribbling blood.
I knew my eyes were wide-open and staring. I was completely incapable of movement, though. It was as if I had been knocked out cold, except there was a small portion of me—like a wandering eye peering out of a cutout on a painted portrait on the wall—that wasn’t paralyzed. ‘It’ was aware of what was going on with my body. As much as I wanted to move, my carcass had no power of its own. ‘It’ was in control of everything, and movement wasn’t allowed. Blink, blink. That was all I could do, and even that was not a conscious movement.
My mouth was hanging open. I could feel my tongue starting to dry out, but I couldn’t move. Now it was shutting, but not with my effort. Little Bear had gently placed the side of his forefinger under my chin and closed it. He put my palms in my lap and pulled my shoulders forward. He twisted and maneuvered my unresponsive body gently so I was lying flat on the ground. ‘It’ watched as he brought over his daypack and positioned it under my feet. I was aware of him leaving again, and then he was back. He had retrieved his own blanket and was covering me with it.
“It’s okay, little one. I thought you knew. Don’t worry; you’ll be fine. You rest now, and I’m sure you’ll feel better when you wake. You’ve been on this journey for a long time. It’s probably just now catching up with you.”
Little Bear brushed the hair out of my eyes and murmured something I didn’t understand. It felt like he was saying a prayer or a blessing over me. It was in that same foreign language he and Ian had been speaking earlier. Foreign language—it wasn’t foreign at all. It was the native language of where we were now. With that last thought, I achieved total unconsciousness.
I was flying high in the sky, observing the canopy of shimmering treetops beneath me, the wind ruffling the odd-shaped leaves, changing the values of the summer-hued living canvas like bits of yellow and green glass in a kaleidoscope. I scanned the landscape, searching for the hidden paths of the narrow, silvery creeks that slipped through gullies and glades to join their mother, the bloated river, as it sashayed to meet the sequined sea, the pater oceanus. The air smelled clean and brisk. There was no stress in this land, only peace—complete serenity.
I dropped altitude for a closer look, but then couldn’t rise again. I was falling slowly, like a hot air balloon that had lost its fire. I was trying not to become tangled in the high overhead power lines that were quickly cropping up where the trees had been. I turned my head and realized I was trapped by those same electrical wires that were all around me, writhing like snakes in a fire. I couldn’t move without being electrocuted. Now the power lines were smoking, emitting the smell of apple pie and corn bread. I was trapped in a sweet-smelling hell, falling, frustrated, and scared.
A fly landed on my nose and I swatted it away, bringing me out of my nightmarish nap. I realized I wasn’t paralyzed at all, but was safe on the ground without any wires threatening me. That tantalizing aroma was still here, though. At least the good part of the dream had remained. I rolled over and saw the back of Little Bear, busily cooking something over the fire.
“Eh, what’s up, Doc?” I asked brightly.
“Eek!” Little Bear squealed like a little girl, nearly tumbling forward into the fire. I hadn’t meant to startle him, but I had. These frontiersmen were all so tough and proud of their keen sense of hearing, so my ability to surprise my host was extra sweet.
“Doc?” he asked.
At first, he was unsure of my use of the title, but then he realized I was making some sort of joke, and regained his composure. “Oh, I’m just putting together a bit of dinner. I hope you weren’t expecting much. I had some dried apples and decided to add them to the cornmeal. We’ll have sweet cakes for supper. How are you feeling after your little nap?”
“I feel fine, thank you. Dinner smells great.” Reality started to come back, with uneasiness and frustration on its heels. “Oh, dear, I just remembered; you said I’m pregnant.” I put my chin on my fist. “Are you sure about that?” I asked, giving him the ‘sad, puppy-dog eyes’ look in hopes he’d change his diagnosis.
“My dear, only you can know for sure. But, whether you are or are not, you’ll need to eat to keep up your strength. Now, it looks like Ian won’t be back tonight. We’ll be fine here, though—water at hand, plenty of firewood, and clear skies. We should stay dry, even without a roof o’er our heads. Come, let’s eat.”
The two of us ate a quiet, spartan dinner together. I was glad I didn’t feel awkward around him since he had been ‘touching me’ earlier. That subject n
ever came up again.
“How far are we from New Bern?” I asked, just trying to make conversation. It was a moot point really, since we were now heading away from it and toward Uncle Jody’s home.
“New Bern? Oh, at least a hundred miles, I’d say. Why do you ask?”
I swallowed hard. So, that’s why Ian has been so antsy—we’ve been going away from New Bern the whole time. He’s wanted to go to his aunt and uncle’s home since we left, but didn’t have the nerve to tell me.
“Oh, it’s just a town where Ian has some relatives. Please, don’t tell him I asked. He’s a bit sensitive about that part of his family.”
I didn’t want Ian to find out I was onto his switch—last minute or otherwise. It was bad enough that I knew he was intentionally deceiving me. I was sure he was only doing it so I could see his aunt, the healer, sooner—but why did he feel like he had to lie to me?
Rather than get moody, I decided I’d get distracted. Since I didn’t have much of a history to share—and didn’t want to tell Little Bear about what I did recall—reading would be a great diversion for both of us. “Would you like me to read?”
He gladly accepted my proposal. He brought his saddlebag over to the bench and took out a carefully wrapped, leather bound book, placing the tome in my hands genteelly, sharing his gift with aplomb.
I sat next to the fire, using its warm brightness to supplement the fading daylight. I soon became wrapped up in the story, forgetting my plight and becoming immersed in the fictional hero’s. I had forgotten how interesting ‘Gulliver’s Travels’ was.
I saw Little Bear’s eyes close, and a smile settled on his slightly bearded face. Actually, I think he was enjoying the sound of a woman’s voice more than the story. He had admitted earlier that he hadn’t seen a female human in nearly six months.
Naked in the Winter Wind Page 18