When Breaks the Dawn (Canadian West)

by Janette Oke

  I felt foolish curled up on the carpet and fervently hoped I would waken in the morning before I was discovered. I was soon asleep.

  The next day was busy. I got out all my stored dresses and admired their beauty as I pressed them ready for use. I had forgotten I had so many pretty things. I did need to do some shopping, however, so in the afternoon I took the streetcar downtown.

  I had felt sophisticated and proper when I left Mary’s house, but I hadn’t been on the streets for long until I realized that my beautiful gowns were now dreadfully out of style. The farther I went, the more evident it became. I certainly didn’t have the funds for a complete new wardrobe, yet it was plain to see that the dresses of today were far different from mine; I stood out on the streets as one who had been clothed from missionary barrels supplied by the castoffs of the rich.

  In embarrassment, I headed home.

  I was hardly in the door when I told Mary, “My dresses are dreadfully out-of-date. What will I do? I had no idea that the styles have changed so much.”

  Then I looked more carefully at Mary. If I had been observant, I would have noticed yesterday that she, too, dressed in the newer fashions.

  “Oh, my,” said Mary noticing my discomfiture, “I should have thought to tell you, Elizabeth, but you always had such pretty things.”

  “Well, they might be pretty, but they definitely aren’t in vogue. I don’t want to buy a new wardrobe for the few days I will be in the city, and I don’t have the money for that even if I did wish to. But I will need something else. Most of the dresses on the street were much shorter, and not as frilly, more—more tailored looking. And my hat—it was all wrong, too.”

  “Why don’t we see what we can do?” offered Mary. “If you don’t mind them being cut, I’m sure we can find ways to change your dresses and make them quite acceptable.”

  “They are no good to me as they are. If you can fix them, even two or three of them, I can make do.”

  We chose three dresses that seemed to lend themselves to change and then dear Mary set out to alter them. They turned out quite well, and I felt that now I could walk the city streets without too much embarrassment. Jon and Mary added a little surprise. They asked if they could take me shopping for a new suit and hat, with shoes and bag to match. I hesitated at first, but when Mary expressed her love and deep desire to do this, I consented, and gave them both a big hug.

  Julie finally arrived, running quickly up the front walk. She was bubbly. She was beautiful. She was in love. And she was noticeably pregnant. My breath caught in a little gasp.

  “I wouldn’t let Mary tell you,” she enthused. “I just had to tell you myself. Oh, Beth, I never knew just how happy one could be.”

  I hugged her close. I was happy for her, too, and no one there knew that the tears on my cheeks were more than just shared joy for Julie.

  We had a lot of catching up to do. Her eyes shining with love, she proudly introduced her young husband. I remembered that Julie had once swooned over Wynn and had asked me if the Force had any more like him. Well, Reverend Thomas Conway was not another Wynn. He was much shorter and slender in build. He had rust-colored hair, with a carefully trimmed little mustache to match. He had laughing deep blue eyes and a kind smile. He looked like just what Julie needed, and I liked him immediately.

  Julie insisted on sharing her wardrobe for the time I would be in Calgary and brought over three dresses that fit me just fine. Actually, she couldn’t wear these particular ones in her condition anyway, she assured me. With six dresses, a suit and proper shoes, hat and bag, I felt quite confident to face the world.

  I smiled to myself as I hung up the garments. Imagine the Beth of old wearing hand-me-downs, made-overs, and garments of charity!

  We called Toronto on Jon’s telephone and I had a long talk with Mother and Dad, their voices bringing back so many memories. They were alone now. With the older girls married and scattered, me up north, Julie out west and, as I had feared, Matthew gone to war, there were just the two of them.

  Mother was worried about Matthew and I’m afraid I was no comfort to her. I was worried about him, too. I thought about this young brother, a man now, who wished to serve his country, and a little prayer went up even as my chest constricted. Why did he have to go? I asked myself. But I knew. He went for the same reason so many other young men were going. Their country needed them.

  After the first few days of flurry and bustle had passed, I decided I was now ready to phone the doctor and make my appointment.

  Mary immediately became concerned when I told her that my real reason for making the trip was to consult a doctor. But when I hastened to explain that, no, I had not been ill, not more than an occasional cold or flu the entire time I had been in the North, she relaxed. I was having a checkup at my husband’s request, I informed her, and she agreed that it was a good idea and Wynn was right to desire it.

  The doctor visits and tests were soon behind me and the day came for my final consultation. With anticipation and fear I went to see him.

  He was a balding, elderly man, his understanding eyes almost hidden behind bushy eyebrows and dark-rimmed glasses. He motioned for me to be seated and cleared his throat.

  I nervously twisted the handkerchief I carried, my eyes studying his face for some clue. I wanted so much to hear good news.

  “Well, Mrs. Delaney,” he said, clearing his throat again, “all the tests are in now, and”—he hesitated for what seemed like forever and then went on—“I find no reason for you not to conceive.”

  I exhaled and let my body relax.

  “That’s good news,” I said in almost a whisper.

  The doctor looked over the glasses. “That depends on how you look at it,” he said. “If we don’t find a problem, then we cannot do anything to correct it.” He cleared his throat again.

  He waited for my reaction, wondering if I had understood what he had just said.

  I understood what he was saying. There is nothing he can do for me. I might as well not have come. It really made no difference. No difference at all.

  The good doctor continued talking, explaining things I did not understand, but then I was not really listening. I had already heard all I needed to know. Now I just wanted to get out of his office.

  I went for a long walk before catching the streetcar home. I don’t really know where I went, I just walked, not paying much attention to where I was going or what was around me.

  I came to the river, and as I stood gazing down on it my mind began to clear of its fog. Perhaps the river reminded me of the wilderness. It was the only thing in the city that looked like home.

  I lowered myself to the grassy bank in the shade of the poplar trees and let the tears flow. I wanted Wynn. With all my heart I wanted Wynn. No one else really understood how I felt. I cried for quite a while before I got myself in hand. Then I blew my nose, dipped cool water for my face and went in search of a streetcar.

  Mary and I had a long talk that night. I told her all about my problem, my aches, my longing. She understood as well as another could understand. She promised that she too would pray that my desire would be granted. I appreciated her love and understanding and encouragement, but I still felt empty.

  Besides, I felt threatened by this strange world I had come back to. All the talk of the war, the daily news of more conflicts, the lists of those killed or missing in action filled the papers and caused an atmosphere of constant fear. I didn’t feel comfortable with this new world. My northern isolation had protected me from all this.

  I got in touch with Headquarters for any information on when I might be able to return to the North. The man with the deep bass voice told me that there was nothing he knew of in the immediate future, but that he had my number and strict orders to contact me as soon as something came up.

  I thanked him and hung up the phone. I did pray, with all my heart, that it would be soon.

  TWENTY-NINE

  Home Again

  Three weeks, and sti
ll I had not heard from the Force Headquarters. At night I thought I could not stay for one more day. The days were a little better. I found many ways to fill them. I went for walks with Kathleen, inspected Sarah’s sewing, took shopping trips with Julie, and had long talks with Mary.

  My greatest joy was the Sundays. I enjoyed more than I can tell being back in a church service. I guess that was when I missed Wynn the most. I kept thinking how much he would appreciate the services, too.

  In spite of my loneliness for Wynn, I was glad to be home again. I even took a trip to Lacombe and spent some time with Mother Delaney and Phillip and his family. I was relieved to find Wynn’s mother doing much better. Wynn would be glad for the news.

  While I was in the area I visited Anna and had coffee and some of her delicious Swedish baking. We drove by the school and I saw they had added another room onto the little teacherage. I was so glad to see that school was continuing.

  As I visited I was often reminded of why I was “out.” Repeatedly, inquiries were made about my “family” and though the questioners were asking out of interest, I found the remarks deeply painful.

  In spite of the delights of the city, I chafed inwardly. I was lonesome for Wynn. I even felt a little homesick for the North. I was beginning to understand how Nimmie had felt. It seemed that I had been out for such a long time. Surely there must be someone from the Force heading north. What if they had forgotten me? What if someone had already left and now I must wait for many weeks more? Should I phone them again or would they think me a nuisance?

  I longed for Wynn. I longed for Nimmie and her babies, for the Indian women who came for tea, for the sound of the wind in the pines and the smell of wood smoke in the air.

  I longed for Kip, pressing his cool nose into my hand, coaxing me to stroke the softness of his beautiful coat.

  I was homesick. I was miserable. And no matter how hard I tried to be agreeable and enthusiastic about all that folks were doing for me, the ache never left me.

  At long last, two men were being dispatched to a post near our area, and they would accommodate me in their travels. I had three days to get ready. I could take along one hundred pounds of baggage, no more, and should be ready to leave on Wednesday’s train.

  I was beside myself. I’m going home!

  The time was spent gathering and packing, weighing and repacking. I wanted to take supplies for my school and books were so heavy. I sorted and pondered, resorted and packed nearly half a dozen times.

  When it came time for me to dress for the train trip to Edmonton, I again had trouble deciding, What should I wear? The new suit would be ideal for train travel, but would not be of use to me in the North. Yet to wear one of the simple dresses I had purchased to take north with me would look absurd.

  Mary solved my dilemma. “Why don’t you wear the suit, hat, and shoes, and when you get to the hotel in Edmonton, just send them all on back to us in this little case?”

  I did.

  I dreaded all the good-byes, but I was so anxious to be on my way that I did not linger over them. I held my little Kathleen longer than the other children, perhaps. It was hard to leave her again, knowing that the next time I saw her, she might be a young lady. Then it was all over and we were on the train, moving ever so slowly toward Edmonton and the river that would take us on the first leg of our journey north.

  I tried to relax, but every nerve seemed to be straining forward. The time would never end.

  The days on the trail were no better. I joyfully greeted each familiar landmark. It was the thick cloud of mosquitoes that first welcomed me back to the northland. I swatted at them and smiled to myself. I would soon be home.

  The men were kind. One of them was a little too kind, I thought, and took every opportunity to offer his extended hand, or assist me up or down or wherever. I avoided him as much as possible.

  At last we left the river, too, loaded the waiting wagon and started up the trail that would lead to the Post.

  We camped for the last time, the men setting up my tent before building the evening fire. I was walking about, studying the clear night sky and wondering how on earth I could endure another day on the trail before I would see Wynn when a figure moved toward me in the semidarkness. I would have recognized the stride anywhere, and with a glad cry I ran to meet him.

  Wynn had heard we were coming and had come to meet us. We held one another tightly while the tears coursed down my face. Oh, how I had missed him! I would never be able to tell him just how much. For now I was content to be held closely. For the first time in weeks the little gnawing pain was gone from my heart.

  Proper manners demanded that Wynn greet the other Mounties and spend some time catching up on the outside news. I wanted him all to myself but I held myself in check. There would be many days ahead for us to catch up on everything.

  The next day as we walked along behind the wagon, Wynn and I talked about all the things that had happened to each of us while we had been apart, except I said nothing about the doctor’s report. I was afraid it might bring tears with the telling, so I wanted to be in the privacy of our own home before I reported to Wynn. He, wisely, did not ask. Instead, we talked about the family, the villagers, the war, and what we had seen and done during the weeks apart.

  Many people from the settlement came out to meet us. I was deeply touched that they should care so much. I greeted them by name and was pleased to discover I had not forgotten the difficult Indian language I had picked up over the years.

  We trudged on the last mile together. A warmth and close-knit feeling seemed to hang in the air all about me. As we neared the settlement the smell of the wood smoke hung in the air. I sniffed deeply. I had missed it. In the distance I could hear the gentle roll of the river, and nearer at hand the soft whispering of the wind in the pines. I put my hand in Wynn’s.

  “You wouldn’t believe,” I murmured, “how wonderful it is to be home.”

  Wynn squeezed my hand and pulled me closer to him. I could see by the shine in his eyes that he was just as happy as I.

  THIRTY

  Settling In

  The little cabin we called home looked tiny and simple after being in Mary’s lovely home. But I looked around at the bearskin rug before the fire, the shelves that held my dishes and supplies, the table where we sat to partake of venison stew and biscuits, the homemade pillows on the cot, and I felt at home again.

  The first day was a busy one. Though I was tired from the trip, I could not rest until I was sure that everything was spotless and orderly.

  As soon as the sun was up I ran down the little path leading to my garden. Wynn had kept it weedless while I had been away. I couldn’t believe how much it had grown. The rabbits had been raiding again. I could see where they had nibbled off many of the plants.

  My next errand was to get Kip. Wynn had left him in the care of Jim Buck. He seemed as pleased to see me as I was to see him. I thanked Jim, and Kip and I ran the short distance home together.

  During the morning Wawasee came, bringing his most recent drawings for me to see. I smiled my approval, and spoke very slowly in his native tongue so he could follow me by lip-reading.

  “I like your pictures, Wawasee. I brought you a picture book from the city. You must come back to look at it as soon as I get unpacked. In the morning—in the morning I should have it for you.”

  He beamed and I knew by his shining eyes that he would be back in the morning.

  In the afternoon several ladies came for tea. They did not all come together but in twos and threes. I would no sooner clear away the cups from one group than another would be at my door. I was soon caught up on all the village news.

  I had seen Nimmie briefly the night before, but I was longing for a good chat with her. My first day was too busy to arrange for that chat. I still needed to unpack my things so the book would be there as promised when Wawasee came the next morning.

  I cooked Wynn a special supper that night. It wasn’t stuffed chicken breasts and cre
amed broccoli, but I took special pains with what I had on hand.

  I settled back into the routine of village living with a light heart, except for the news from the doctor that I shared with Wynn.

  I continued to argue with God. Didn’t Hannah receive the child she had prayed for? Weren’t there numerous women in the world who had children which they did not really want nor care for? Did the whole thing seem reasonable? Why shouldn’t those who would love and protect the child be the ones to give birth? Why not me? Why should I be denied?

  I tried to push the thoughts from me, but daily they nagged at me, eventually making me nervous and listless. I lost weight. I did not sleep well. I found no answers.

  I had been home for two weeks. I felt again the peacefulness of the little settlement, but I had been wrong about one thing. I had thought that in leaving behind the newspapers, the radio, and the war-talk, I could shut out the fact of the war. With Matthew somewhere in the fighting, that was impossible. My thoughts and prayers often were of him and the other sons who had gone to fight. I thought of the parents, the wives, the sweethearts whom these men had left behind and I prayed for them also. Especially did I pray for my own mother and father as they waited out the long, long days for Matthew’s safe return.

  It was beginning to look like fall again. The sun spent fewer hours in the sky, the leaves turned to yellow-gold on the poplars, the birds gathered in the trees, calling to one another. Our garden was full-grown and tasty. It would soon need to be gathered into our storage room. We started our school again.

  One day Wynn came to the cabin in the early afternoon. I looked up from the bread I was kneading. He had not planned to be back until the supper hour, so I knew something had happened to change his plans.