Stone Dreaming Woman

by Lael R. Neill

  “The old white healer has not done this, and he has many years and is very wise,” she replied at length. Jenny saw a door slam behind the black eyes.

  In this situation it would not do to challenge Angus MacBride’s competence. It would only antagonize the older woman, who evidently respected him a great deal. “Prevention of disease with medicines is possible, Madame. Doctor MacBride is too old and too frail to come to North Village anymore. He cannot bring you these medicines. I can. Please believe me, they can help. They can save children like Marie Ansiaux and Johnny and Jimmy Richardson.” Jenny’s voice trailed off as the woman slowly shook her head.

  “Such words from one so young. No. We have our own ways of living and dying, Stone Dreaming Woman. Live with us for a while and you too will understand.” Jenny’s excitement gave way to the Old General’s temper, and she wanted to grab Madame LaPorte by the shoulders and shake her into submission.

  “Is it your way of life to suffer unnecessarily? To allow your children to die before their time? Those deaths did not have to happen. They could have been prevented. I can prevent more like that in the future. Just let me have the chance!” The Iroquois elder gave her a look of timeless pity, then rose in one fluid motion, uncrossed her ankles, and left the room. Jenny wanted to run after her and scream that she simply had to listen, had to cooperate, had to give her people a chance; but on a deeper level she knew it would do no good. Then she became aware of Helen Richardson’s eyes on her. Though she had understood little, if any, of their conversation, Jenny had no doubt that the silent woman knew exactly what had transpired. Raging inwardly at injustice, ignorance, and stupidity, she felt that she had to get out of the confines of the schoolhouse or go mad. She pointed from Helen to the three children, then from herself to the door, and Helen, understanding, nodded. Jenny threw on the grey cardigan and strode outside, into the equally grey day that had been sullied by intermittent showers. Still boiling inside, she started briskly up the hill. She did not mean to go to the cemetery, but since the path led that way, she followed it without thinking.

  The steep path stretched perhaps half a mile, and by the time she reached the end, her anger had in large part subsided. She walked around the perimeter of the cemetery, noting a few of the names on the markers. Then she came to the Richardson plot with its two new graves. She stood for some time gazing down at Jimmy’s final resting place. Lost in prayer, she did not realize when Shane came to stand beside her. When she became aware of him, he stood quietly next to her, holding the brim of his Stetson in both hands. They looked at each other.

  “I know. It’s hard, isn’t it?” His question was more of a statement.

  “It is. And those deaths were so unnecessary. I talked to Madame LaPorte about vaccinating the North Village children, and she walked out of the room. And did you know there are vaccines against smallpox, diphtheria, and tetanus now? I expect one for pertussis—whooping cough—will probably come any day.”

  “And scarlet fever?” Shane asked.

  “No. It’s a different breed of cat. It’s bacterial. You really can’t vaccinate against bacteria. The others are caused by extremely tiny things termed viruses. We don’t exactly understand viruses yet, or why vaccines can be developed for viral diseases. There is a lot of exciting research going on. But someday we’ll have medicines that can fight bacteria. One is being researched right now. It’s called, well, sulpha, for short. It was only just discovered, but it will kill bacterial infection when it is applied topically to wounds. It won’t be long until we find a way to administer it orally. It’s going to open the door to a whole new field.”

  Shane shook his head. “Do you really think the vaccines work?”

  “I know they do. The pertussis—whooping cough—vaccine is still experimental, but if I can only have a chance, I know I can enroll these children in a scientific study and vaccinate them so they won’t get it anymore. But Madame LaPorte seemed to think since Doctor MacBride hadn’t already done it, it isn’t worth doing. I didn’t impugn him in any way. I only told her that it’s not physically possible for him to come up here anymore, so in effect they’re stuck with me, but she couldn’t accept that as a final answer.”

  “Even though I’m an outsider I do carry some weight in Council. Jenny, I’d go way out on a limb for these people. If you really want to vaccinate the children, I’ll see that you have the chance.”

  “And can you get them to either move their backhouses or dig a new well and fill the old one in? Uphill from the school would be an ideal location. It’s not so far that hauling water would be difficult, but it’s far enough away that there won’t be any contamination from the backhouses. Clean water will eliminate things like typhoid, cholera, dysentery, and meningitis—all the water-borne diseases. And get them to promise to send for me the minute anyone is ill? I’ll come immediately, no matter what else is going on. The delay is likely what killed those three children.”

  “Oh, Jenny, when you get the bit between your teeth you really run, don’t you?” he asked rhetorically. He walked a few paces, and she fell in beside him.

  “That’s the only way to accomplish anything.”

  “When I was only two years old, the smallpox epidemic that killed my family started here and eventually spread down to Elk Gap. Angus told me I also had it, but of course I was much too young to remember. He didn’t call mine smallpox, though. He called it something else. Some kind of rash. Very…something.”

  “Varioloid rash?” His eyebrows raised.

  “That’s it.”

  “Well, you were fortunate. It’s the least severe form. It’s not disfiguring and it doesn’t even make people that sick. However, you’ll be immune from now on. On the other hand, I’ve been vaccinated. And if I can vaccinate these people, there will no longer be smallpox outbreaks here.”

  He nodded. “For the sake of my family I’ll help you, Jenny. Any way I can. As I said, I’m the long arm of the law. I do have some influence with the tribal elders. I’ll speak for you at the Council fire.”

  “I have a suspicion that Madame LaPorte may be the key.”

  “She probably is. In that case… Well, just say I have an advantage. She listens to me.”

  “I do hope so. Well, at any rate, I’ve left the schoolhouse too long. As much as I’d like to stay here with you, I really have to get back. Would you do me a favor and tell the men we need wood this morning?” He nodded in reply, and she started down the trail, leaving him standing alone at the cemetery.

  Oh, Shane Patrick Adair, you liar, he said to himself. You’re no outsider. There are the graves of your whole family: Grandpère, Maman, your sister Louise… Only your father is missing, and nobody ever seemed to know where he went. When are you going to tell her you’re Walker between Water and Sky, a half-breed who actually went on a manhood vision quest and joined the Warrior Society? When are you going to confess your grandmother is a full-blooded Iroquois? When are you going to come clean that you don’t know if your parents were ever married, and that when you needed a birth certificate to matriculate at Royal Dominion, Angus falsified his records to say he had attended your birth? Will you ever be ready for her to denounce and revile you as the filthy Métis bastard you are? You’ve led her on too long. She’ll come to love you, and you’ll break her heart the same way you broke Ruth’s, just by being who and what you are. Dante must have had some special place in his Inferno for men like you. Then hard on the heels of that thought came another: He did. You’re living in it.

  Silently he moved between the graves until he stood above his grandfather’s resting place. It hasn’t been that long. Grandpère, you’ve only been dead, what? Five years now? Going on six? At least I was back from Ottawa before you passed away. You never really saw me in uniform, because you were blind by then, but you knew. You knew and you were proud of me. You wouldn’t be so proud of what I’m doing now, though, by being dishonest with Jenny. But I love her so much it’s painful to consider. I love her more than my o
wn life, and she’s as far above me as the moon. I know her family is rich and aristocratic, and then there’s me. I can’t even really hold my head up in either world, white or Iroquois. Truth be known, I’m the real Stray Dog, not these people. I belong nowhere, to no one.

  With sorrow and desolation choking him, he dropped to one knee next to his grandfather’s grave, took off his gauntlets, and pressed his hand into the soil, as though he could connect physically with the man who had been the pole star of his life since he could remember, the man who taught him to draw and to be a woodsman, the man who laughed, sang, and loved life, as simple as it was. But if life had been simple for Jean-Louis LaPorte, his grandson carried the burden of two worlds upon his shoulders. At the moment he felt crushed by it.

  “Oh, Grandpère, if your campfire is among the stars, look down at me. Tell me what I must do. I can’t walk the white man’s path any longer. It’s too painful, too long, too lonely. I’m not welcome in that world. But I’m not really of The People either. You saw to it that I would move beyond their simple ways, but right now it’s so hard. Please help me.” His words came out in an agonized whisper, and he did not even realize he was speaking Iroquois until he heard his own last sentence. Shane, who had never wept at the loss of his grandfather, finally gave vent to his long-held grief with short-lived, silent tears. He remained on his knees, looking down at the still grave through blurred eyes, while around him the chill, unheeding rain fell.

  Eventually he knew what he had to do. He had to face his dilemma like a man and clear his conscience. When a plan of action became apparent to him, he came back to the present and felt the rain soaking his shoulders and back through the wool of his tunic. He said a mental farewell to his grandfather’s grave and started down the path toward the schoolhouse. After a brief stop at the pump to clean the knees of his breeches and rinse the mud from his hands and the tears from his face, he walked slowly up the steps. Feeling the weight of the world still crushing down on his shoulders, he let himself in. Jenny was there, sitting at one of the long tables, completing her daily records. She looked up at him and smiled. The sweet trust on her face made him wince. When she took in his wet hair and his wet coat, a frown of concern puckered the clear skin between her brows. She capped her pen and stood up, coming over to him.

  “Oh, look at you. You’re soaked. You have to be cold, and right now that won’t do. Come over by the stove and take off that jacket.” In a gesture that seemed impulsive to him she took his hand and led him to the far corner of the room, where the fire still warmed the big, potbellied stove despite the lack of wood.

  “It’s not that cold out,” he protested. “I’m fine. I’m accustomed to this sort of thing. It happens all the time. Besides, wool is as warm wet as dry.”

  She caught both his hands, and a welter of conflicting emotions boiled up inside him. “Well, perhaps you’re right. Your hands are warm.”

  “They’re always warm. If they ever get cold, I’m cold all over.” She kept hold of his hands, an even more unsettling gesture.

  “Shane, I want to thank you for staying here even after I told you not to. I don’t know how I’d have managed without you. You’re so good with these people.” She looked up at him earnestly, and he would gladly have drowned himself in the dark pools of her eyes. He could not maintain contact with them. Instead he looked down at their intertwined hands.

  “I knew what you were up against. You’re a fine physician but you’re still out of your element here in North Village. I had to make it easier for you, if I could.”

  She moved a step closer. “I’ve learned a few things about you over the last few days. You’re a very concerned, caring person. I admire that.” She was near to him, so very near. He felt his heart hammering in his chest. It had to be now. He had to tell her, to come clean and unburden his conscience, or he would never have the gumption for it again.

  “But there’s something I need to tell you…” He broke off, frozen between languages and half immobilized with fear. If I tell her now, it’s over. I can’t. I just can’t.

  “What, Shane?” She cocked her head a little, her voice softly concerned.

  “Um, I have to go back outside. With the funeral this morning, I forgot to feed the horses. I also have to tell the men about the wood.” Abruptly he dropped her hands and almost fled from the room. In his head, the derisive little voice that had called him Métis now added coward.

  Once outside, the cool air and the rain calmed his racing mind. He went to the small corral where Midnight and Fleur stood under the shelter of a makeshift half-enclosed loafing shed. It had a small loft to store a limited amount of hay against the times when he stayed in the village. He climbed the ladder to the loft and forked down fodder enough for both horses, then checked their water. Midnight came up to him, wanting attention, and lipped at the front of his tunic when it was not immediately forthcoming. Shane scratched his poll and down the top of his neck, stroking his mane. He vowed to give the gelding a good grooming as soon as the rain stopped and he dried out. After talking to the horse for several minutes, he felt his anxiety ratchet down several notches.

  The routine tasks gave him focus to the point at which he could consider the very big question of Jenny more objectively. If he could not tell her about himself and his background now, the right time would come. Or perhaps it would not. The situation might just resolve itself. For the present he would simply wait, let things ride, and see what happened. Much more composed now, he gave Midnight a final pat and went back toward the schoolhouse.

  The last four days of the quarantine went quietly. The remaining three children recovered unremarkably and went back to their families, although Jenny resolved aloud to give the oldest girl a hearing test as soon as she had time to regain her strength. Then, on a day that hinted at the first blush of summer, they rode down the steep trail from North Village, Jenny eager to reclaim her life and Shane, still dodging the question he had asked his grandfather, not at all eager to reclaim his heart.

  Chapter Eleven

  It had become Shane’s habit to go to North Village early so he had a reason to stop by Richard Weston’s house on the way back. The gentle late June morning, so quickly warming after the ending of fickle Canadian spring, was soft with the promise of summer. When he arrived at Richard’s ranch, he put Midnight in the barn, hopped over the three steps up to the porch, and knocked on the door, which Jenny opened immediately.

  “Well, you look like the cat that swallowed the canary. Come in!”

  “Hello, Jenny. Mavis.” He waved at Toby, who was sitting at the table, obviously in the midst of a reading lesson. Toby smiled and waved back, then made a tactful retreat to the barn. “I do have good news, Jenny. I spoke to the North Village Council again last night. You can vaccinate everybody, and they agreed to move the well—in fact, the digging is supposed to start today. I know it took a while. There were some holdouts that needed convincing.”

  “Oh, how wonderful! You’re a real miracle worker!” She wanted to hug him but, mindful of Mavis, restrained herself.

  “And I have something more.”

  “Oh? What’s that?”

  “In all that mountain of paperwork I had to take care of while Paul was on holiday, there’s an invitation to a formal ball. It seems Adrian Beaufort is giving a reception for the Governor. It’s Saturday after next. Would you like to go with me?” The invitation came at her like a high fly to left field.

  “I don’t know…”

  “Please? I have to go. His big shindigs are obligatory for us. There’s no easy way for me to get out of it. So please, become a New York debutante for me for an evening and go as my guest?”

  “A formal ball? The only gown I brought with me is a winter one.”

  Mavis cocked an eyebrow at her. “Winter gown? Phooey. Nobody in River Bend will know the difference. Go and have a grand time.”

  Jenny knew the advantage of giving in gracefully. “Very well. I’d love to go with you.”


  He broke into a wide smile that could have lit the room. “Thank you so much. Now I won’t have to spend a long, boring evening being gracious to all the widows and wallflowers in River Bend. Instead I’ll have the privilege of being gallant to you.” He paused long enough for her to smile back at him. “As I said, it’s Saturday after next. I’ll come for you early in the morning, weather permitting. It’s about a three-hour ride to Bob and Marie Shepherd’s home. It’ll be much more interesting than taking the train. We’ll stay there overnight and come back Sunday, with your permission, and of course, Richard’s.”

  The next week and a half passed with all the stately speed of a homesick snail. Jenny had never immersed herself in anticipation of a social occasion before, but now, even despite her medical practice, she found herself counting the days. And when Saturday eventually did arrive, it was hard for her to believe it came no faster or slower than any other Saturday since the beginning of time.

  True to his word, Shane rode up to the house just in time to share breakfast. In spite of herself, Jenny was so excited she could scarcely eat. Everything she needed had been packed in her saddlebags, ripped out, packed, repacked, and packed again. Finally they were ready to leave.

  “Have a lovely time,” Richard said, accepting Jenny’s farewell kiss. “I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Thank you. I know we’ll enjoy ourselves.”

  “Take care of my girl, Shane.”