by Janette Oke
Nimmie had just finished checking a swollen hand when I heard her exclamation, "Katherine! Are you all right?"
I swung around and, sure enough, there stood Miss McLain. I knew my apology was overdue and that it shouldn't be put off, but this hardly seemed the time or the place. I wasn't sure what to do.
Miss McLain said nothing, so Nimmie went on, "Did you want something?"
"Yes," said Miss McLain matter of factly. "I want to help."
I don't know who was more astounded-Nimmie or I. We both looked at Miss McLain with our mouths open. Her eyes were red and swollen, and I could tell she had been weeping.
"I want to help," she repeated. "Would you tell me what I can do?"
"Well, uh, well-we are fixing something to eat again. Some of these people have just come in and they haven't had anything to eat for a couple of days. Elizabeth is making stew."
"What can I do?" asked Miss McLain one more time.
"Well, we'll-we'll need the dishes. We haven't had time to wash the dishes yet." Nimmie motioned toward the dishpan filled with dirty dishes still sitting on the back of the big stove. Without a word, Miss McLain moved to the dishpan, rolled up her sleeves, and set to work.
Nimmie looked at me and I just shrugged my shoulders helplessly. I had no idea what had brought about the change. And I wasn't about to ask-here.
By midafternoon we had done all we could for the village people. All had now returned to their homes. Smoke rose from the cabins circling the town clearing. Nimmie suggested we sit down and have a cup of tea, but I said I would rather get back home. Kip was still in and unattended, and I was sure Wynn would soon be home. And by now the fire would have burned out, leaving the cabin cold again. With all these reasons, Nimmie let me go.
Kip was glad to see me, fairly knocking me over with his enthusiasm. I let him out for a run while I rebuilt the fires. It took awhile for the rooms to warm up and for the teakettle to begin to sing. It leaked a bit around the spout, but was still usable. I lamented again over the loss of my teapot. I wanted a cup of hot tea now. I finally dug out a small pot and made the tea in that. Maybe I imagined it, but for some reason, it didn't taste quite the same.
When darkness came, the cabin was quite warm and cozy, but I still felt chills pass through me. Where was Wynn? How long did it take to find a lost trapper? I sat before my fire, reading and praying. Finally I laid aside my Bible and began to pace the floor, letting the tears stream unchecked down my face.
Finally I banked the fire, bundled up in blankets and curled up on the cot again. Kip climbed up to lie on my feet. This time I didn't scold him for being on the cot. I remembered the night before and the fact that Kip might have saved my toes.
There was a full moon and the rays of it streamed through the little frosted window. It seemed ever so bright, reflecting off the freshly blown snow. I was trying to pray again when there was a commotion at the door; and, before I could even worm my way out of the blankets, Wynn was there.
I didn't even jump up and run to him; I just buried my face in my hands and began to sob until my whole being shook. I was so relieved, so thankful, to see him safely home. He walked over and took me in his arms. As I clung to him, he held me for a long time, stroking my hair and patting my back. "There, there, Elizabeth," he murmured as to a small child.
We didn't try to talk. We really didn't need to. Later we would hear from one another all the details of the four miserable days of separation. For now it was enough just to be together again.
Wynn had a busy and rather unpleasant day following his return. Besides the bodies awaiting his investigation, he had also brought one back with him on the dog sled. He had found the man in question, but not in time to prevent his death.
It looked as if the fellow had accidentally stepped into one of his own traps. He had managed to free himself, but, with the mangled leg, he was unable to get to his cabin or to find help. Wynn had discovered the body beside the trail.
I asked -if he had a wife and family. "No," Wynn said, "his wife died in childbirth three years ago."
It was a sad time for all of us. After the bodies had been inspected and Wynn had filed the necessary reports, the Indian people were given permission to bury their dead.
It was a solemn assembly that filed, single form, out of the village that afternoon and made their way to the burying trees. Wynn and I joined the somber procession. The sound of mourning sent chills up and down my spine. I had never heard anything like it before. Not the sound of weeping, it was a cry, a whine, a deep guttural lament that rose and fell as the column moved along. It tore at my soul, and I wept quietly with the mourners.
At home again as twilight came, the drums took up their steady beat. As they echoed through the settlement, thumping out their message of death, even Kip stirred and whined.
"Will they keep on all night?" I asked Wynn, feeling restless and edgy with the intensity of the beating.
"Oh, no. They should be stopping any time now."
Out the window, I could see in the settlement below us open bonfires in the central area. Around the fires, Indians moved in a dance pattern. The drummers sat in the firelight beating the drums with their hands and chanting a monotone tune that rose and fell on the night air.
Wynn was right. The drumming stopped as abruptly as it had begun. I looked out the window again and saw the silhouettes of figures disappearing into the shadows of the buildings. The fires had died down to a dim glow. The dead had had a proper and respectable burial.
TWENTY-SEVEN
7>;~~pye eGf
January passed into February. We had more storms but none with the violence of the mid-January blizzard. For the most part, life seemed to slip into some sort of a daily routine. We still continued our Bible studies, and Miss McLain never missed a study. Though she was still difficult at times, her attitude had changed from the inside out. I never did apologize for my outburst-not that I wasn't willing to do so. It just didn't seem like the appropriate thing to do under the circumstances. Thank you, Lord, I prayed, for turning something bad into something good.
When new babies were added to the village families, the Indian midwives did the delivering. Four were born between the first of October and mid-January. And so far, in spite of the cold winter, we had lost no children except for the one little girl. It was a shock to me when I first heard Nimmie and Miss McLain gratefully discussing this fact.
You mean you expect to lose children? I wanted to ask. But their conversation told me very plainly that in the North death was nearly as accepted as life. Because of the severe weather, the lack of medical care and the poor nutrition, they did indeed lose children regularly. I was appalled. Especially when I knew that medicines and doctors could have saved a good number of them.
Wynn kept a close eye on the Mary-versus-Smith situation. He had been out to see Mary many times. She was again working her traplines. How she managed it, Wynn did not know. The stamina of that little lady was remarkable. She had lost some toes from her severe frostbite, but she hobbled along, checking and resetting her traps and skinning out her furs. She was getting quite a pile, Wynn said. He also said that all the evidence supported Smith's assessment: Mary was crowding his territory.
"There must be some mistake," I argued. "If she is cutting into someone else's territory, she must not realize it. I'm sure she wouldn't do that on purpose."
Wynn just smiled.
Kip was a beautiful dog. I discussed with Wynn what Mr. McLain had said, that I had to allow Kip to find his own place in the dog community of our settlement.
"Do you think he's right?" I asked reluctantly, fearing that Wynn might agree with Mr. McLain.
"I'm afraid so, Elizabeth," he said. "It will come sooner or later, whether you want it to or not. Kip will be challenged, and he will either need to meet the challenge or run."
I couldn't imagine Kip running. I wasn't sure I even wanted him to run. But to fight? I didn't want that either.
"Do you think he's rea
dy now?" I asked, a tremble in my voice.
I looked at Kip's beautiful, silver-tipped fur and the lovely curve of his tail. I shuddered to think of him with torn bleeding ears and ragged scars.
"Don't rush things," said Wynn and squeezed my hand. "There's plenty of time."
Wynn spent many hours training his new dogs. They were getting big like their brother Kip, but Wynn did not want to put them in harness for several months, waiting for their bones and muscles to be fully developed. He had chosen another two pups from the second litter Smith had spoken about at the time of our visit. Wynn was very pleased with the new dogs. They were smart and strong and learned very quickly. So far there was no evidence of a mean streak. Wynn had trained them with firmness and kindness rather than harshness. They responded to him with respect and devotion.
My friends from the village were much too busy keeping the fires going and their families fed to have much time for tea. Occasionally, one or two did appear for a few minutes. The women I had joined in the berry patch sometimes brought new neighbors for me to meet. We still couldn't speak much to one another. Many of the ladies knew some English words, but most often they were words needed for trading at the post, not words that might be used for a chat over a cup of tea. With all of us combining our knowledge, and by using our hands extensively, we did manage to converse some; but often we sat for a period of time without saying anything, just enjoying companionship. It was a new experience for me. I had been used to chatter. To sit quietly did not come easy. However, with time and patience, I was learning.
Evening Star was expecting another baby. I had been waiting daily for the good news, praying that all would go well and that she, too, would deliver a healthy child.
She was a bit vague about the expected time of arrival. When I asked her about it, she just shrugged off my question. I thought she must not understand me, so I put the question another way. Again she shrugged, answering only, "Come when ready," which was Anna's translation.
We were awakened in the dead of night by someone opening our door and calling Wynn's name. Both of us sat bolt upright in bed, and then Wynn reached in the darkness for his clothes and hurried into them.
My heart was in my throat as I listened to the anxious voices coming from the other room. Soon Wynn was back to the bedside, lamp in hand. "It's Evening Star," he said. "She's having trouble delivering."
Wynn completed his dressing and then turned to place a kiss on my forehead.
"Try not to worry," he said. "I'll be back as soon as I can."
I tried not to worry but I wasn't doing very well at it. If the experienced midwives were unable to help Evening Star, what could Wynn do?
I finally got out of bed and went out to put more wood on the fire. I placed the lamp on the little table, wrapped myself in a blanket, and picked up my Bible. I paged through the Psalms, snatching underlined verses here and there of promise and assurance. It was one of those times when I couldn't really concentrate on my reading. Finally I closed my eyes and began to pray. For Evening Star and the unborn little one. For Wynn, that he would have wisdom and guidance. For myself, that God would still my trembling spirit enough for me to be able to concentrate on His Word.
After some minutes, I went back to the Bible. Again my eyes skimmed the pages. My spirit was calm now. My trembling had ceased. I read passage after passage until I came to Psalm 27:14. I stopped and read it through again. "Wait on the Lord: be of good courage, and he shall strengthen thine heart; wait, I say, on the Lord."
Yes, Lora I prayed. All I can do is wait. I picked up the knitted sweater I had nearly completed for the new baby and worked while I waited.
It was almost daylight when Wynn returned. He was weary but his eyes smiled at me the moment he came in the door, and I knew he brought good news.
"She's all right?" I said.
"And so is her boy," Wynn answered me.
I shut my eyes for a moment of thanks, the tears squeezing out under my eyelids. Then I looked back up at Wynn, smiling.
"You must be very tired," I commented. "Would you like a cup of coffee before you go back to bed?"
"Back to bed?" laughed Wynn. "My darling, I do not intend to go back to bed. It's time to start another day."
So I fixed breakfast while Wynn shaved; and then, after eating and having our time of family prayer together, he did indeed go out to start another day-or continue the one he'd already started.
When chopping frozen logs for firewood, one of the children had an accident with an axe. They brought him to Wynn who, fortunately, was at home at the time. One look at the injured leg, and I felt as if I would lose my dinner. We removed the pillows from our cot, and Wynn stretched the boy out on the thin mattress.
His pantleg was ragged and torn and covered with blood. The first thing Wynn had to do was to clean up the area so he could see how bad the wound was. He asked for my scissors to cut off the ragged pantleg and then for hot water in the basin and his medical supply kit.
The Indian youths who had brought the boy stood around help lessly. They understood very little English and they didn't look much less queasy than I.
Somehow I managed to follow all of Wynn's orders-bringing the water and, the sponge cloths, boiling the instruments in a pan on the stove, and handing Wynn whatever it was he needed.
Wynn cleaned the wound thoroughly, managing to stop the bleeding, and then put in several sutures. The boy's only indication of the pain he must have been suffering was a pale face and clenched jaw. I looked only when I had to. Most of the time, I was able to keep my eyes off the leg and look at my hands or the floor or Wynn's face. It seemed to take forever but, in actuality, it was all taken care of rather promptly. I sighed when Wynn said, "That's it." Now I could collapse.
But I didn't. Somehow I managed to stay on my feet. The two Indians moved forward to pick up the brave boy; he was pale and exhausted from the ordeal. I stepped forward, too.
"Perhaps he should stay here for a while," I suggested to Wynn. "He's too weak to move now, and I'll care for him."
Wynn, surprised, turned and spoke to the Indian boys who had carried in their friend. After a brief exchange, they nodded and left. Wynn made sure the young lad was comfortable and then picked up his hat.
"I'd better go see his mother," he said. "I want her to know exactly what's happening."
In about fifteen minutes Wynn was back with a worried-looking woman.
She crossed to her son and spoke some words softly to him. His eyes fluttered open and he answered her. She spoke again, nodded her head to us, and left the room.
The young boy's name was Nanook. He stayed with us for five days before he hobbled home on two clumsy sticks. I had enjoyed having him. He could not speak to me, but he could laugh. And he could eat-my, how that boy could eat! His leg didn't become infected, for which we were thankful. Wynn watched it very carefully, dressing it morning and night. By the time Nanook left us, it was beginning to heal nicely.
Before he left, I gave him a loaf of fresh bread to take with him. He tucked it inside his coat, his eyes twinkling. Then he patted Kip, whom he had grown to love, and hobbled out the door.
TWENTY-EIGHT
S7Marc~
When March came, I began to think spring, but Wynn warned me that this was much too premature. No one else in the whole village was looking for spring at this early date. I chafed. Winter had been upon us for-for years, it seemed to me.
I was restless and I was lonely. My Indian friends had been too busy to come for tea for quite a while. Nimmie had been down with the flu, so our Bible study together had been missed. I still didn't feel very much at ease with Miss McLain, though I had now been given permission to call her Katherine. I could have talked myself into visiting her, but she was busy nursing Nimmie. I would have liked to have been Nimmie's nurse myself, but I knew it was important to Katherine to be able to do this. So I stayed home.
There was no sewing to be done, my mending was all caught up. I had read all my books
over and over. It seemed that the extent of my day's requirements was to get three meals and do the dishes.
I was tired of the meals as well. It seemed as if I just fixed the same things over and over-from tins. Tinned this and tinned that. We did have fresh fish and fresh wild meat. But I was tired of them also. I really didn't enjoy the wild meat and craved even one taste of beefsteak or baked ham.
I longed for spring. But in the North, spring is slow in coming.
I decided to take a walk to the store. Maybe I would find some food item on the shelves that wouldn't be too expensive and would be a delightful change for our daily menu.
I bundled up and pulled on my mittens. Kip was already waiting by the door, his tail wagging in anticipation.
"You want to go for a walk?" I asked him, an unnecessary question. I struggled into my snowshoes and started out. It was a bright sunny day and I dared to hope that maybe this once Wynn was wrong. Maybe spring really was coming.
We walked through the morning sunshine, Kip frolicking ahead or running off to the side to check out something that only dogs knew or cared about. I was feeling good about the world again.
I had not given even fleeting thought to the village dogs, so intent was I in getting out for a walk again. Had I thought about it, I might not have proceeded any differently. I had finally made up my mind that Mr. McLain and Wynn were right: I could not go on protecting Kip against real life.
Mr. McLain greeted me heartily about halfway into the village. I asked how Nimmie was, and he seemed relieved and said she was coming along very well now.
We were walking toward the trading post together when there was a rush and a blur at my side as a dog ran past me. I jumped slightly with the suddenness of it; then a yip to my left whirled me around.
Kip had been busy poking his nose into a rabbit burrow, and this dog from the village was heading right for him. I gasped, my hand at my throat.