by Janette Oke
I guess it was simply because I had so much wanted to have one white woman in the area, and it seemed that the Hudson's Bay man was the only candidate. In spite of telling myself that I was being foolish, I felt an intense disappointment. There wouldn't be a woman in the area after all with whom I could share intimacies. No one for little tete-a-tetes over an afternoon cup of tea. No one to understand women's fashions and women's fears. It was going to be a lonely time, the years ahead. They would be sure to get me down if I didn't take some serious steps to avoid allowing myself to be caught in the trap of self-pity.
I wasn't quite prepared at the moment to take those steps or to make future plans. For now it was enough just to sort out my thoughts and to spend some time in prayer concerning my feelings.
I did pray as soon as I got home, and I was feeling much better by the time I went to bring in the clothes and apply the irons to the garments.
As I ironed, I thought,' What might I have to offer these Indian people? What things do we as wives have in common? What could I do to improve their living conditions? I knew Wynn didn't want me rushing in trying to change their way of life, but weren't there little things we might enjoy doing together?
Perhaps a sewing class? I was a good seamstress, though I did admit difficulty in adjusting from machine to hand work. It seemed so clumsy and slow to me, and my poor fingers always seemed to be pricked full of holes in spite of a thimble.
Sewing might be a good idea. Then we could have tea. Maybe Indian ladies enjoyed tea every bit as much as white ladies did. I began to feel excited about the prospects. By the time the ironing was completed, my plans had begun to take shape.
The first thing to do was to make friends with them. At the first opportunity, no matter how difficult it seemed, I was going to speak to the Indian women. Even if I made blunders, it would be a start. I would never learn unless I tried.
But first I had another little project. The open cupboard shelves bothered me. I had lots of material I had brought along; and now, with the help of the tacks obtained from Mr. McLain, I would do something about covering them.
As soon as my ironing was done, I put away the laundry and the makeshift board and went to Wynn's office in search of a hammer. I found one hanging on a nail with the rest of his few tools and went to work. With material, scissors, hammer and tacks, I soon had the opencupboard area nicely draped with curtains. They hung in attractive folds and I was quite pleased. They certainly were an improvement on the exposed dishes, pots and pans, and foodstuffs. I cut matching place mats for the table, hemming them up as I hummed to myself.
I was finished just in time to get busy with the supper preparations. I could hardly wait for Wynn to get home and see how much nicer the kitchen looked. Again I wished for a white woman to share with. She would have understood my satisfaction and pleasure with the accomplishments of the day. Wynn, being a man and troubled with the duties of a law officer, might not be able to fully appreciate just how important this little addition was to me. A woman would, I was sure.
Wynn did notice my kitchen, complimenting me on how nice it looked. I beamed with pleasure.
As we had our evening meal together, he asked me if I had met Mrs. McLain as planned. I did not want Wynn to know about my great disappointment in not finding a white woman, so I tried to make no comments that would give away my true feelings.
"She seems to be somewhat younger than Mr. McLain," I began.
"I understand that he was married before," commented Wynn.
"She has a garden," I said with some enthusiasm. "I would love to have one like it next year. It would be so nice to have fresh things."
Wynn agreed. "You shall have your garden next year," he smiled. "I'll even see that the ground is broken for you. I think fresh vegetables would be a treat, too. That's one thing, I must confess, I miss about Calgary."
"I didn't recognize all her vegetables," I confided, "but she had lots of carrots, beets, potatoes, and onions."
"What's she look like?" Wynn asked, remembering that looks might be considered important to a woman.
I hesitated. I hadn't really looked at Mrs. McLain too closely. I drew from my memory in the brief glances I had afforded her.
"She's dark, not too tall, rather slim."
It wasn't much of a picture; but I couldn't really remember much more.
"Was she pleasant?"
"Oh, yes. Most pleasant," I hurried with my reply.
"That's nice," said Wynn. "I'm glad you have a white woman to-"
So he hadn't known. "Oh," I interrupted him, hoping my remark sounded very offhand and matter of fact, "she isn't white. She's Indian."
I turned from Wynn to get the teapot, so I didn't see if his surprise equaled mine or not. When I turned back to him, his face told me nothing.
"I'm sure she'll be good company," he encouraged. "I hope you'll be good friends."
The next morning I heard some women's voices approaching our cabin on the trail to the west; and, true to my resolve, I went outside so I could greet them. Three Indian women approached me, talking rapidly as they came.
They were dressed in a combination of Indian buckskin and calico purchased at the trading post. Lovely beadwork made a splash of color against the natural tan of the soft deerskins.
At my appearance, things were suddenly very quiet.
I knew no Indian words. I had to take the chance that they might know a few English ones.
"Good morning," I said with a smile.
There was no response.
I tried again. "Hello."
They understood this. "Hello," they all responded in unison.
"I'm Elizabeth," I said, pointing a finger at myself. That seemed like such a long name to expect anyone to learn. I changed it. "Beth," I said, jerking my finger at my chest.
The youngest woman smiled and nodded to the others.
"Beth," I said again.
She giggled, hiding her face behind her hand.
I didn't know what to try next. I wanted to invite them in but didn't know what words to use. Well, since I only had English, I would use English.
"Would you like to come in?" I asked, waving my hand toward the cabin.
They looked puzzled.
"Come in?" I repeated.
The middle one seemed to get my meaning. She held up a basket she was carrying and said distinctly, "Berries."
I understood then that they were on their way to pick berries and didn't feel they had time to stop. At least, my logic came up with this information.
I nodded, to assure them I understood. The other two women lifted their containers to show me that they were berry-pickers as well.
I nodded again. How did one tell them that she wished them great success in their picking. I scrambled around in my mind for some words; but before I could come up with something, the young woman surprised me by pointing a finger at me, lifting her basket in the air, waving a hand at the trail ahead, and saying, "Come?"
It caught me off-guard, but I was quick to respond.
"Yes," I smiled. "Yes, I'd love to come. Just wait until I get a pail."
I ran into the house, hoping they wouldn't misunderstand and go off without me. I quickly scribbled a note for Wynn in case he should come in while I was out, grabbed a small pail, my big floppy hat and a scarf to ward off mosquitoes, and dashed back out the door.
They were still waiting for me.
They took one look at my hat, pointed at it, and began to laugh loudly. There was no embarrassment, no discourtesy. They thought it looked funny and enjoyed the joke.
I laughed with them, even making the hat bounce up and down more than was necessary to give them a good show. They laughed harder, and then we moved on together down the path to the berry patch.
I had no idea where we were going. I decided to watch closely for landmarks in case I had to find my own way home. I wasn't much of a woodsman, and I would have hated to require Wynn's leaving his other duties to come looking for me.
We had gone maybe a mile and a half when the women cut away from the river and headed through the bush. There was no path now and I began to get worried. I could never find my way home without the aid of a path. I sincerely hoped the other women could. We might all be lost!
We walked for about another mile before we came to the berry patch. The bushes were thick with them, and they were deliciouslooking. The women talked excitedly as they pointed here and there. Then they set right to work.
I couldn't begin to keep up with them. Their hands seemed to flash as they whipped berries into their containers. I tried to follow their examples but ended up spilling more berries than I got to my pail, so I decided it was wiser for me to take my own time and get the berries safely where they belonged.
While the women chatted, I listened intently. I tried so hard to formulate some pattern in their speaking, to pick out a word that was repeated and sort out its meaning, but it was hopeless. As they chatted, they often stopped to double over in joyful, childlike laughter. It was clear they were a people who knew how to enjoy themselves. I wished I could share in their jokes. Then I wondered if I might indeed be the butt of their jokes; but, no, they didn't seem to be laughing at me.
It was almost noon when the youngest one came over to where I was picking. She looked in my pail and seemed to be showing approval on my good job. Then she showed me her basket. She had picked twice as many. She knelt beside me and quickly picked a few handfuls which she threw in my pail. The others came with their full containers. They gathered around me and they, too, began to pick berries and deposit them in my pail. I was the only one who still had room in my container. With four of us picking, the pail was full in no time. I thanked them with a smile, and we all got up and stretched to ease the ache in our backs.
"Ouch," said the oldest lady, and everyone laughed.
We started home then, full containers of berries carefully guarded. It was well after noon when we arrived at my house, and none of us had had anything to eat. I was starving. I wondered if they were, too.
"Would you like to come in?" I asked them, motioning toward the door.
They shook their heads and nodded toward their baskets, informing me that they had to go home to care for the berries. I lifted my pail then. "Some of these are yours," I reminded them, pointing to the berries and then at their baskets.
I began to scoop out berries to add to their already full containers, but they shook their heads and pulled the baskets away.
"Keep," one of them said, the others echoing, "Keep."
I thanked them then and they went on their way, while I went to find something to eat and then to care for my own bountiful supply of berries. Such a delightful surprise! The berries were sweet and juicy and would be such a welcome addition to our simple meals. And the contact with the Indian women had been just as pleasant a surprise.
I wondered where they lived and if I would see them again.
I told Wynn I had a surprise for supper that night.
"Where did you get these?" he asked in astonishment when I brought out the pie.
"I picked them myself-well, at least most of them."
"How did you find them?"
"You'll never believe this," I began enthusiastically. "Some Indian women came by today; and when I greeted them, they said they were going berry picking and they invited me to go along ... so I did. I didn't quite fill my pail on my own. They helped me."
"So you found some women who could speak English?"
"No. Not really."
"Then how-?"
"Oh, they said 'hello' and `berries' and `come."'
Wynn smiled.
"We sort of filled in the rest with gestures. Oh, Wynn, I wish I could understand them! They had so much fun."
"Give yourself a little time. You'll soon be joining in. Who were they?"
"That's part of the problem. I don't even know their names. I couldn't ask them where they live or anything."
Wynn reached out and gently stroked my hair. "It's hard, isn't it?" he said.
"I might have found some friends-and lost them-in the very same day," I mourned.
I was working about my kitchen the next morning, wondering how I was going to fill my long day, when a loud call-almost in my earspun me around. There stood the youngest member of the trio who had shared the berry patch the day before. After my initial fright, I was able to smile at her and indicate a chair for her. She shook her head and held up her basket. She was going to pick berries again.
"Yes, I'll go," I nodded to her. "Thank you for stopping for me. It will take me just a minute to get my things."
I thought as I bustled about finding my hat and my pail that she probably hadn't understood one word of what I had just said.
We went out into the sunshiny day and there, waiting at the end of our path, were four more women. Two of them had been with us the day before and the other two were new to me. I smiled at all of them, pointed to myself and said, "Beth," which they repeated with many giggles and varying degrees of success, and we started off. This time we went in a different direction when we came to the river. All along the way, the women chattered and laughed. I could only smile.
We picked berries until noon again. As before, they filled their containers before me and helped me to finish.
We walked home single file, the women laughing and talking as they went. How I wished I could join in. I wanted to at least ask them their names and where they lived. I might as well be mute for all the good my tongue did me.
When we got to our cabin, I again motioned for them to come in. They showed me their brimming pails and pointed to the settlement. I wouldn't let them go without some information. I would try it again. So I pointed at myself and said, "Beth." Then I pointed at the youngest woman who had been the one to walk right into our home. The women looked at one another and smiled.
"Evening Star," the young woman said carefully, and then she went around the little circle pointing her finger at each of the ladies and saying their names. It was a strange mixture. The middle-aged woman was Kinawaki, the older woman Mrs. Sam, and the two new ones who had gone with us were Little Deer and Anna. I reviewed each of the names one more time to make sure that I had them right. The ladies nodded. I turned back to Evening Star, aching to communicate.
"Where do you live?" I tried.
She shook her head, not understanding. I looked at the other women grouped around her. They all looked blank.
"Your house? Where is your house?" I pointed at my house.
Evening Star's face lit up. "Law," she said. She must have thought that I was asking something about my own home.
I pointed toward the settlement. "Do you live over there?" I asked again.
"McLain," said the woman. At least she knew the name of the Hudson's Bay trader.
I knew I couldn't hold them any longer. I smiled and stepped back, nodding them a good-day. They smiled in return and started one by one down the path. Anna, the small, thin woman with the missing tooth, was the last to turn and go. Just as she passed by me, she stopped and leaned forward ever so slightly. "She doesn't understand English talk," she whispered, and then followed the others down the path. I stared after her with my mouth open.
EIGHTEEN
✓eas an cr Cluc`i
We went for berries the following day, too. Anna was there, and I directed my inquiries to her. I would not be cheated again out of conversation. I found out that the five women all lived in the settlement. Two of them, Mrs. Sam and Anna, were married to white trappers. Mrs. Sam had wished to be called as white women are called, by their husband's names. She did not understand quite how the system worked. Sam was her husband's first name; his last name was Lavoie.
Anna spoke English well because she had attended a mission school in another area. Beaver Rive
r had had no school. Anna did not consider herself superior, just different from the others. I found out later that she had had more schooling than her trapper husband, even though it was only the equivalent of about grade four. She was the one who did the figuring when she and her husband went to the trading post.
I also asked Anna about the families of the women. Anna didn't offer much on her own, but she did answer my direct questions. Evening Star was married to Tall One and had four children. She had had two others who had been lost at a young age to dark blood. I wondered what dark blood meant to the Indian. I tucked it away to ask Wynn. Kinawaki had been married-twice. Both her husbands had died. I decided that it would be improper and insensitive to probe for details. Kinawaki had borne nine children, five of them still living. Mrs. Sam had never had children. She had much time to do nothing, according to Anna. Little Deer, the short, round woman, had two boy-children who were always in the way; and she, Anna, had five-two in Indian graves and three at home.
The mortality rate appalled me. The resigned way in which they seemed to accept it bothered me even more. Was it expected that one would raise only half of one's family?
I was learning how to fill my pail more quickly than I had previously, but the women still gave me a hand before we left for home. On our way home, I walked along beside Anna. The path was not made for walking two abreast-now and then we would come to thick growth where I would have to step back, allowing her to go on without me, and then hurry to catch up to her again. I wanted to be sure to let her know that I would welcome any of the women into my home at any time.
"Not today," said Anna. "Today we have much work. We must dry berries for cold. Takes much work."
I agreed.
"Berries almost gone now," she went on. "Bears and birds get rest. Not pick anymore."
"When the women are finished with their berries, then will they have time to come?"