by Janette Oke
“Remember the young woman who had the baby boy about ten days ago?” he asked.
I nodded. The couple was new in the village and I did not know them well.
“She’s not well. I’ve just been over to take her some medicine again. Do you think you could check on her in a short while? Maybe take her something to eat? Her husband is away, and she is all alone.”
I promised Wynn I would go just as soon as I prepared the food.
The young couple had built a new cabin on the edge of the settlement, and I hurried there with my soup and bread. There was no response to my knock on the door, and then I remembered that she likely did not know what a knock meant. I opened the door and went in.
On the corner bed I found the woman, weak with fever. Her forehead was very hot. A tiny baby lay against her, sleeping contentedly. I checked the water pail and found that it had just been refilled. Probably Wynn had done that when he had looked in. I didn’t know whether to try to get her fever down first or to feed her some nourishment. I decided to sponge bathe her.
I spoke to her in her own language, and I could see a response in her eyes.
“How long have you been sick?” I asked her.
“Not know—many days have gone.”
“Where is your husband?”
“In big village.”
“Do you know when he will be back?”
“Not know.”
She didn’t seem to cool much with the bathing, so I gave up and began to spoon some of the soup into her mouth. She was able to swallow the food, for which I was thankful. I then gave her a piece of bread and she fed that to herself.
It was then that the baby stirred and began to whimper. I reached down and picked him up so I could comfort him and check his condition.
There was nothing wrong with him except that he was in desperate need of changing. I took care of that and cradled him for a moment before I placed him back beside his mother so he could nurse.
He did not appear to be suffering even though his mother was ill. He looked filled-out and healthy.
“I will go now,” I said to the young woman, and left her to see if I could find Wynn.
Wynn was not hard to find. He was checking a winter supply list with Ian. Medicines were number one on his list.
“How is she?” he asked as soon as I entered.
I frowned, concerned. “Not good, Wynn. She is so hot. I’m afraid she is very ill. Do you think you should send for her husband? She says he is at the big village.”
“I’ve sent for him. It’ll be three days at best before he gets here, and if he is hard to locate, perhaps many more.”
“I don’t think she should be left there alone, Wynn. Is there a way that she could be moved to our place so I could care for her properly?”
Wynn thought about it.
“That will be a big job, Elizabeth—and what about your school?”
“We’d have to cancel classes for a few days, but that wouldn’t hurt. It’s more important to try to get her well.”
“I think we could find a way to get her there.”
“I’ll go get the cot ready.”
It was not long until the woman and her baby had been bedded on the cot in our living quarters. Most of the time she slept, restlessly tossing about in her fever. I bathed her often, trying to get the fever down. I was afraid that in her tossing she might injure the baby, so I had Wynn bring in a crate and we made him a comfortable bed.
For the next four days all my time was spent caring for the mother and baby. I would just begin to think there was some improvement, and then she would get worse again. At times she could not even nurse her child. I had Wynn bring some canned milk from the store and we fixed a makeshift bottle to supplement his feeding. On the fifth day the worried-looking husband came to our door. He crossed quickly to the side of his wife’s bed without even exchanging greetings with me. She was a bit better, and I was glad she recognized him. He went to the crate and picked up his young son. He seemed pleased that the child fared well. It was only then that he turned to me and spoke, “I take them home now,” he said.
I wanted to protest. The woman was not fit to be moved, but I knew better than to argue. I just nodded my head in agreement.
He left for some help and was soon back with two other men to carry the woman on a blanket and pole stretcher to their own cabin. The baby was crying as they left. He was hungry and the woman no longer had much milk.
I worried about them. For the first few days I would drop by to check on them. The husband always greeted me at the door and said that mother and baby were “good.” He was caring for them. From the smells coming from the cabin I knew that he was doing some cooking and was feeding her. He seemed to be responsible. I would have to leave the matter with him.
One day as I walked to the store I met Big Woman coming from the new cabin. She was carrying a strange-looking leather pouch. I had not seen her with it before.
She gave me a toothless grin, her face softening in wrinkles.
“She get better now,” she said. “I make strong medicine.”
I didn’t know what she had done. Probably one of the chants that Nimmie had spoken of, and it had likely cost the young brave much of his hard-earned money. I felt sorry for the family.
When the days passed and there was no news of the family, I dared to hope that things had improved. Wynn still visited the cabin. He continued to give the medicine he had on hand, but that did not seem to stem the fever either.
One dark evening as we sat before our fire expecting the night to bring the winter’s first snowfall, there was a shuffling at our door. Kip ran to welcome whoever it was, with Wynn close behind him.
It was the young man. In his arms he carried the baby boy. He nodded solemnly to Wynn and crossed the room until he was standing before the cot where I sat.
“You take. Keep,” he said, holding the baby out to me. “She gone now. I go trap.”
He placed the baby in my arms which had raised automatically to receive him, and then spun on his heels and was gone.
I stood staring after him, not knowing what he meant or what I was to do.
The door closed softly and Wynn was beside me.
“What did he mean?” I asked, my voice full of wonder.
“He lost his wife,” said Wynn.
“But the baby?”
“He has to go to his trapline. He wants you to keep the baby.” Tears began to trickle down my face. I cried for the young father. His eyes were filled with pain as he handed me his child. I cried for the mother who had fought so hard but had died so young. I cried for the baby who had been left motherless at such an early age. And I cried for me, tears of joy, because I now held a baby in my arms, a baby to love and care for. I held him close and thanked God for answering my prayers.
We named the wee baby Samuel. It seemed fitting. Hannah had named her baby Samuel after God had answered her prayer. The name meant “asked of God,” and every time I said the name I was reminded again of the miracle of Samuel coming to us.
He had lost weight since I had last seen him. I knew that his poor sick mother had not been able to feed him properly. I was not alarmed. He seemed healthy, and I was sure he would gain rapidly when given proper nourishment.
My days were so full that I scarcely had time to have my morning classes. For the first few days I often sat and sewed while the children studied, as Samuel had very little to wear. My pieces of soft yard goods were finally being put to use.
At first Kip seemed a little jealous of all of the attention the little one was getting, but then he too seemed to decide that this little bundle must be pretty special. He took to guarding the cradle, fashioned lovingly by Wynn out of packing crates. Kip did not allow even the ladies who came for tea to go near the baby until I commanded him to let them.
At first Samuel had a great deal of catching up to do. He slept and ate, making up for the time when he had not been properly fed. He soon rounded out and as he regaine
d his strength, he also became more aware of his surroundings.
It wasn’t long until he was smiling and cooing like any normal baby. He was so easy to love. He made our little cabin a place that was alive and warm.
When winter came, I scarcely noticed the storms. I was too involved with my baby. Kip did not get his exercise as faithfully. I was much too busy and Samuel could not go out on the colder days.
Nimmie provided me with a cradle board to fasten Indianfashion on my back with Samuel held securely in place, so when I did take him out for fresh air, it was not difficult for me to carry him.
Christmas was the best one we had ever had. Wynn and I spent many evenings making toys for Samuel. We could hardly wait for Christmas morning to arrive. Samuel rewarded our efforts with squeals and chuckles, and we felt that we had discovered what Christmas was really meant to be.
That Christmas our prayer time was thoughtful and filled with devotion. It meant even more to us now to read that God gave His Son—His Son—to bring eternal life to the world.
We had been so busy enjoying Samuel that I had not thought about his age. Suddenly one day it hit me: I did not know his birthday. I was anxious to ask Wynn. The Indian people in our village paid little attention to the day of their birth. To know the season of the year seemed to be close enough. “I was born at the time of the coming of the geese,” or “I was born at the time of the heavy snow,” but not, “I was born on May 15” or “on November 21.”
When Wynn came in that night and headed right for the cradle and a squealing, arm-waving Samuel, I expressed my concern.
“We don’t know Samuel’s birthday,” I said. “That might be important some day, when he registers for school or—”
“That’s easy to find,” said Wynn. “I keep a record of all of the births and deaths in the settlement.”
We went to Wynn’s office together, Kip trailing along behind. Wynn passed Samuel rather reluctantly to me while he got out a thick record book. He ran his finger down a column and came to “Infant boy born to Little Fawn and Joe Henry Running Deer, August 15, 1915.”
“That’s a strange name,” I said.
“Whose?”
“The father’s.”
“They often combine English and Indian names.”
“Yes, but not with two like that. A middle name. Henry. Joe Henry.”
“Ian said a white trapper by the name of Joe Henry used to live near the big village. He said that the Indians thought highly of the man, and several of the young men were named after him.”
As I looked again at the page and Wynn’s recorded announcement of the birth of our small Samuel, another little pain went through me. Again I felt sorrow for the young man and woman whose home had been struck by such tragedy.
I carried the baby back to the living quarters while Wynn put the record book safely away.
“We’ll try to make it up to you, Samuel,” I whispered. “We’ll care for you and love you, and when you are older we’ll tell you all about your mother and father. They loved you, too, you know.”
I kissed his soft, dark cheek and laid him back in his cradle so I could get supper on. He didn’t stay there for long. Wynn was soon back and giving him horsey rides on his bootless foot.
THIRTY-ONE
Spring Again
Never had the trees looked so green or the breeze sung so softly. With spring, the birds returned, and I held Samuel up to the window so he could see their bright feathers and hear their twittery songs.
He was crawling now and pulling himself up to stand on two rather shaky legs. He no longer fit his cradle, so Wynn again went to the packing crates for more lumber to make a bigger bed. It hardly fit in the small room, and we were tempted to move the cot out. Instead, we squeezed things in as best as we could—there was very little room for walking around.
The men came back with their winter furs, most of them having had a good year. The pelts were plentiful, thick, and brought good prices. I shut my eyes against the vision of the small helpless animals caught in the cruel traps and thought instead of the better food and clothing that the winter’s catch would bring to the families in the village.
I watched, without really admitting it to myself, for Joe Henry Running Deer. I thought he might come to see his son, but he did not. I did not even see him in the village. Wynn thought of it, too, I guess, for he remarked one night that it appeared Joe had returned to the big village and that the cabin was now going to be used by another young man and his new bride. It was an unwritten law in the village that when a cabin was not occupied, it could be used by someone else who needed it.
I took Samuel out more and more as the weather warmed. He loved the out-of-doors. We took long walks with him riding in his special carrier on my back. We went to the river, down forest paths, to the village—all over our home area. And as we went I talked to Samuel, in English and in his own language. Wynn and I both encouraged him to try new words in each tongue.
In the evenings I read to him or showed him picture books. I sang him little songs. First I sang to him the songs my mother had sung to me when I was a child, and then I had Nimmie teach me the songs she sang to her little ones so Samuel would know them, too.
We visited Nimmie and her children often. Samuel loved other children. He would smile with delight whenever he saw Nimmie’s boys. They loved him, too, and they had a wonderful time sharing toys on the floor while Nimmie and I sipped our tea and watched them with eyes of love and pride.
We sent word out to our family and friends, telling them of our son. I suppose I did boast a bit, but probably no more than most new mothers. Back with our infrequent mail came parcels and wellwishes. Now Samuel not only had handmade toys but commercial ones as well.
When it came time for the spring planting, I set Samuel on a fur rug while I worked in my garden. He played in the soil, letting it trickle through his fingers. I watched him carefully for a time, to see if he would try its taste. He didn’t, so I left him happily playing and went on with my work.
When I checked on him only a few minutes later, he had not only tasted the dirt but he seemed to enjoy it. His chin was covered with mud from the mixture of dirt and dribble. He grinned at me happily as though to say, “Don’t get alarmed. No baby has died from eating dirt yet.”
I picked him up, wiped him off, scolded him as a matter of course, and placed his rug on the grass instead.
We closed the little school for the summer and I had more time to spend with Samuel. He was taking a few faltering steps now. Wynn and I spent our evenings together coaxing him to walk between us. He seemed to sense he was doing something pretty special, and he would squeal to be sure he had our full attention each time he took a step.
Much of my time was taken with sewing new garments. Samuel outgrew his things so quickly. I wondered how Hannah ever managed to get by with one small new coat a year. I smiled as I thought of the mother-love that must have gone into that one new coat.
One thing plagued me. Samuel was growing up so quickly, and I would have no pictures of him as a baby. I knew that in years to come the pictures would be very special—not just to Wynn and me but to Samuel himself. I tried to think of ways to get the use of a camera, but I could come up with no good solution. And then I thought of Wawasee. Samuel and I went to see him, and I explained to the young boy what I wanted and promised him all the scribblers he needed if he would draw several pictures of the baby for me.
Wawasee seemed to think this was a strange request. He was used to drawing wild animals and birds, or dog teams, or men fishing. But he didn’t argue. He set to work sketching Samuel. At first he seemed a bit awkward and the pictures did not turn out well, but as he worked he began to get the feel for it. Soon he was producing very good likenesses of the baby.
He came often after that and spent hours sketching the little boy, sleeping in his bed, playing with his toys, burying his face in Kip’s thick fur, feeding himself his mashed vegetables. All of the pictures caught the spirit
of the baby Samuel. As I looked at them, I knew I had a treasure far beyond what a mere camera could have given me.
THIRTY-TWO
The Birthday Party
Samuel’s first birthday was drawing near. I was busy trying to come up with ideas that would make it a special occasion, but I hadn’t made much headway. I decided to discuss it with Wynn. I waited until after Samuel had been tucked in for the night and was sound asleep.
“Samuel will be one on Saturday,” I informed Wynn.
“I remember,” he said. “I’ve already picked out his gift.” My eyes widened. “You have? What?”
“Not telling,” Wynn said with a grin. “You’ll just have to wait and see.”
“Wynn,” I pleaded, “that’s mean.” But Wynn only laughed.
“Well, you’ve already got your gift. I’ve seen you sewing on that stuffed horse for days,” he said.
“Shhh,” I cautioned, casting an apprehensive eye at the bed in the corner, and Wynn laughed harder.
“I would like to make his birthday really special,” I went on.
“For Samuel—or for you?” Wynn said, his eyes twinkling.
“For all of us,” I stated, a bit annoyed at Wynn’s teasing.
“I’m sure the day will be special, just because we are together. But what would you like to do?” Wynn asked, becoming more serious.
“That’s the problem. I still haven’t thought of anything.”
“Then might I give you my suggestion? I think it might be fun to pack a lunch and take our son on his first trip into the wilderness. We could spend the whole day—take Kip, our birthday dinner, and make a whole day of it.”
I loved the idea and began at once to think of the things I would need to prepare for the backpack birthday dinner.
Saturday dawned fair and bright. I went early to the kitchen and began my preparations for the dinner we would carry with us. Wynn had already left the cabin but would be back soon for breakfast.