[Canadian West 02] - When Comes the Spring

by Janette Oke

  Surprisingly, the dog stopped a few feet from Kip and braced himself. From where we stood, we could hear the angry growl coming from his throat. Kip stood rooted, unsure as to what this was all about. Mr. McLain reached out a hand and placed it on my arm.

  "They're going to fight, aren't they?" I said in a tight voice.

  "We'll see," said McLain. "Kip might be wise enough not to take the challenge."

  "Wise enough? But yob said he'd have to fight."

  "Not this one. Not Lavoie's Buck."

  I swung around to look at McLain. "What do you mean?" I threw at him in alarm.

  "He's boss here, Miz Delaney. He's licked every dog in the settle„ ment.

  I looked wildly about me in search of a club or a rock or anything that might stop the fight. There was nothing. "We've got to stop them!" I cried. "Kip might be killed!" I took a step forward, but McLain stopped me.

  "You can't go in there. If there's a fight, you could get all chewed up.

  The Lavoie dog was circling Kip now, fangs bared, his throat rumbling. Round and round he went, and I think he must have said some very nasty words in dog language. Kip looked insulted-angry. I expected at any moment the dogs to be at each other's throats.

  And then a very strange thing happened. Kip's tail lowered and began to swish mildly back and forth. He whined gently as though to apologize for being on the other dog's territory. The big dog still bristled. He moved forward and gave Kip a sharp nip. Kip did not retaliate. The Lavoie dog gave Kip one last look of contempt, circled him once more, and-still bristling and snarling-loped back toward the village houses.

  I didn't know whether to be relieved or ashamed.

  Mr. McLain just grinned. "One smart dog," he said. "But of Buck better watch out in a month or two."

  I didn't know what Mr. McLain meant, but I started to breathe again and hurried on to the village. The day didn't look nearly as sunshiny as it had previously, and I was rather anxious to make my purchases and go home.

  Finally Anna and Mrs. Sam came for tea. I was especially glad to have Anna, because it meant that I could catch up on some of the village news. We talked now of the families and how they were faring. The life in the village seemed to be made up of getting through the winter and coasting through the summer; and the summers were all too short.

  Evening Star and her baby were both doing fine. I had not seen them since I had taken over the new sweater and a container of soup soon after the baby had safely arrived. He was a nice little fellow and Evening Star was justifiably proud.

  We had had another death. An Indian woman in her forties had died from the flu. She had not been well for some years. She had given birth to fifteen children, and each time another child was born she seemed to weaken further. Of her fifteen, only seven were now living. Her body, also, had been blanketed and left in the burying trees. The ritual drums had thumped out the message, and the open fires had gleamed in the night.

  Another baby had been born, too. This time the midwives did not need help from Wynn.

  There had been some sickness, but no major epidemics. Everyone seemed to hold his breath and speak softly when the possibility of an epidemic was mentioned. The people lived in fear of a dreadful disease sweeping through the camp while they sat helplessly by, with no doctors, hospitals, and very little medications.

  Our conversation turned to brighter things. I talked about my longing for springtime. Of learning from the women about finding edible herbs and plants in the forests. Of planting my own garden. Of finding the berry patches. We all looked forward to the days of sunshine and rainshowers. Even the dreaded mosquitoes would be endured when spring came.

  "How is Nanook doing?" I asked.

  "He runs," said Anna, her eyes lighting up.

  "That's wonderful. Good. That's good."

  "I often wonder about poor Mary," I went on. "I don't know how she ever manages to care for her trapline with some of her toes missing.

  "She crazy," muttered Anna, slurping her tea.

  I wanted to argue but instead I said, "I feel sorry for her. First she lost all her children, and then her husband died. Poor thing."

  But Anna only said, very calmly, "Husband not die."

  I looked at her. Surely she knew better. She lived right here and had for years.

  "Are you sure? We were told that her husband was dead."

  "Dead. But he not die."

  I didn't understand. Anna finished her tea and stood to go. Mrs. Sam Lavoie stood also and began to shuffle toward the door. Anna followed and I followed Anna. When we got to the door, she turned to me.

  "She kill him," she said deliberately and simply. "She kill him for the traps. My Joe see." And she was gone.

  I could hardly wait for Wynn to get home so I might tell him what Anna had said. She certainly must be wrong. Surely poor Mary had not done such a thing. If she had, and Joe had seen her, he would have reported it. Something was all wrong here.

  When Wynn did arrive home, he had news for me instead. Mary was now locked up in the settlement's makeshift jail. Wynn had to bring her in. She would need to be escorted out for trial and sentencing. Not only had she moved her traps onto Smith's territory, but Wynn had found her in the very act of robbing from Smith's traps as well. It was a serious offense and Mary had to answer for it.

  I felt sick. "Where is she?" I asked.

  "There's a little room at the back of McLain's store. He uses it for skin storage when it's not needed otherwise."

  And now it was needed otherwise. It was occupied by Mary.

  "Can I see her?" I asked.

  Wynn looked surprised; then he answered. "Certainly. If you wish to.

  I did wish to. I went the next day, taking fresh bread and stew with me. Mary took the food but did not even look at me. I spoke to her, but she ignored me completely. I could see she really didn't need my food. Mr. McLain or Nimmie had looked after her well.

  I tried to talk to her. She still would not look at me.

  "I want to help you," I said. "Is there anything I could get you or do for you?" She turned from me and went back to curl up with a blanket on the cot in the corner.

  I came home feeling even sicker than I had before I went. I decided to discuss it with Wynn. Surely there was some other way to deal with the situation.

  "Do you really have to do it this way?" I asked him.

  "I'm afraid so, Elizabeth. There is no masking the evidence. I caught her red-handed. She was stealing from Smith's traps."

  "But couldn't she be-be-scolded and given another chance?" I continued.

  "She isn't some naughty schoolgirl. She knows the seriousness of her offense."

  "But surely if she knows that you are on to her, she won't do it again," I insisted.

  "Elizabeth, if I let Mary go, none of the people will have respect for the law. Besides, Crazy Mary would try it again-oh, maybe not right away, but she would try it again, sure. She has an inner drive to accumulate pelts, and she will stop at nothing to get them."

  I thought of Anna and her words. I had not passed them on to Wynn yet. I remembered them now with a sick heart.

  Wynn went on. "She will get a fair trial," he assured me. "They will take into consideration her mental state. She will be cared for better than she would be out on her own on the trapline."

  "But it will kill her," I blurted out. "She couldn't stand to be confined. She couldn't even stay here with us!"

  There was sadness in Wynn's eyes. To lock Mary up, even with tender care, would not be good for Mary's emotional state. She needed freedom. Without it, she might not be able to survive.

  "There is another thing to think about, Elizabeth," said Wynn. "If I didn't handle this properly and carry out the demands of the law, Smith or someone else would handle it in his own way, according to his own laws. Mary could be killed or beaten so severely that she would be left too helpless to work her trapline or even to care for herself. Either way it could mean death."

  I hadn't thought about tha
t.

  Wynn dismissed further discussion. "I was sent up north to uphold the law, Elizabeth. To the best of my ability, I intend to do just that, God helping me."

  I knew Wynn would follow the dictates of the law, not his own feelings.

  Mary was not sent away for trial and sentencing. Two mornings later, Nimmie found her dead on the cot in the corner, where she had died in her sleep.

  TWENTY-NINE

  A'mm,e

  March had crawled by slowly on weak and tottering limbs. I ached for spring to come dancing in with vitality and freshness. I think all the village people ached for it as well.

  For some of the women of the settlement it would mean reuniting with husbands for the first time in many months. Some of the traplines were a great distance from the village, and once the men had left in the fall, they did not return again until the winter snows were melting.

  The men who worked the traplines nearer home came and went, spending some time with their families and some time in the bush.

  Nimmie was well again, so we resumed our Bible studies. Each time we met together, she taught me some lesson. She was a patient, beautiful person with a heart of love and an open mind to truth.

  I talked to Wynn about her one night as we were stretched out before our open fire.

  "I've learned to love Nimmie," I said. "She's a beautiful person. It's strange-when I first saw her, I was so disappointed. I didn't tell you that before, did I?"

  Wynn shook his head, his eyes studying mine.

  "I guess I didn't because I was ashamed of myself. I was prejudiced, you know. I didn't realize I was. I love the Indian people, but I had wanted someone-someone to share things with. And I-I thoughtthat-well that-the person needed to be like me-white. Well, I was wrong. I was wanting a white woman, and instead I found a friend, a very special friend, in Nimmie."

  Wynn reached out to take my hand. I think he understood what I was trying to say.

  As the days went by, Nimmie and I shared more intimately our thoughts and feelings, our understanding of Scripture.

  One day Nimmie came to see me alone. It was not our Bible study day, and I was a bit surprised.

  "Do you have time to talk for a while?" she asked me. Now, time was one thing I did have-in abundance. So I asked Nimmie in.

  She laid aside her coat and took a chair at the kitchen table.

  I pushed the kettle forward on the stove, added another stick of wood, and waited for her to begin.

  "I've been thinking about that verse we studied yesterday," she started, "the one about Christ dying for the ungodly."

  I nodded, remembering.

  "I'm ungodly," Nimmie continued softly.

  "Yes, all of us are without God," I agreed in a near whisper.

  Nimmie's eyes flew open. "You too?"

  "Oh, yes. Me, too."

  "But-?" began Nimmie, but she didn't go on.

  "The Bible says, 'All have sinned,' remember? It was one of the verses we studied a couple of weeks ago."

  "I remember," said Nimmie. "I just didn't think of it at the time, I guess.

  "Well, it's true. The Bible also says that `there is none righteous, no not one.

  Nimmie sat silently. "I remember that, too," she finally stated.

  "It also says that `while we were yet sinners,' He loved us."

  "That is the part that is so hard for me to understand," Nimmie blurted out. "I can't imagine someone dying for-" Nimmie stopped again.

  "Elizabeth," she said, looking full into my face, "I am a terribly wicked person."

  I wanted to protest, but Nimmie went on, "You don't know me, Elizabeth. You don't know what I almost did."

  She did not weep. Weeping was not the way of her people, but her head dropped in utter self-contempt and her eyes refused to look into mine.

  "Do you want to tell me about it?" I finally asked, realizing that Nimmie was deeply troubled.

  "I took care of Crazy Mary. I brought her all her meals and the basin to wash her hands. I bandaged her infected toe that still refused to heal from the freezing. Each time I went we spoke together. I tried to encourage her-to tell her that things would work out. But each time I went she begged me for just one thing. She pleaded with me to bring it to her. Each time, I refused. She wanted her hunting knife."

  I could not understand Nimmie's words. There was silence as I puzzled over them. Why was she wicked for taking such special care of Mary? Nimmie's head came up. "I knew why she wanted her knife. She could not bear to be shut up-caged like-like a chicken."

  I understood then. Crazy Mary had intended to take her own life.

  "Well, I kept saying no, no. And then the other morning I couldn't stand it anymore. She was going wild in the little room, and soon she would be taken far away from her land and her people and locked in another room-forever. It would kill her. It would kill her slowly. Wouldn't it be more merciful to let her die all at once?

  "And so I found her knife and tucked it in my dress and took it to her when I went to bring her breakfast. Only when I got there, Crazy Mary was-was-"

  Yes, I knew. Mary, mercifully, was already gone.

  My mind was whirling, my heart thumping. What could I say to the anguished Nimmie?

  Did she truly realize the seriousness of her near-crime? Wynn would have needed to arrest her. She would have been locked up in the little room at the back of her husband's store. She would have been sent out for trial and sentencing. She would have been implicated in a terrible crime.

  The horror of the whole thing washed through me, making me tremble; but Nimmie was continuing.

  "I am very unjust," went on Nimmie. "I am a sinner. I thought before when I heard those verses that it was speaking of someone else. Now I know that it speaks of me. My heart is very heavy, Elizabeth. I could not sleep last night. I love Him, this Jesus. But I have hurt Him with my sin."

  I could not have told Nimmie that what she had done was not wrong; I believed it was. It would have been a terrible thing if she had been party to Mary's suicide. But God had kept her from that. I thanked God for His intervention and mercy. I said nothing about the act that Nimmie had almost committed. Instead, I talked about what now must be done about it.

  "Nimmie, when I realized that I was a sinner, that I could do nothing myself to atone for my sins, I did the only thing one can do-that is necessary to do. I accepted what God has provided for all of mankind-His forgiveness. His forgiveness through the death of His Son, Jesus. He died for our sins so that we need not die for our own. I don't understand that kind of love either, Nimmie. But I know that it's real, for I have felt it. When I prayed to God and asked for His forgiveness and took His Son as my Savior, that love filled my whole person. Where I had had misery and fear before, now I have peace and joy."

  "And He would do that for me?"

  "He wants to. He aches to. That's why He came-and died. He loves you so much, Nimmie."

  Even though Nimmie's eyes remained dry, mine were filled with tears.

  We bowed our heads together, and I prayed and then Nimmie prayed. Hers was a beautiful, simple prayer, beginning in faith and repentance and ending with joy and praise.

  I reached over and held Nimmie for a moment when we had finished praying. Even Nimmie's eyes were wet now. We spent some time looking at God's wonderful words of assurance and promise from the Bible, and then Nimmie rushed home to share her good news with Ian.

  As she left the house that day, my heart was singing. Nimmie was even more than a very special friend. She was a beloved sister as well.

  We had no idea how quickly Nimmie's newfound faith would be tested. Less than a week after Nimmie and I had spent our time in prayer, disaster struck. The whole settlement was to suffer the consequences, but Nimmie and her husband would be hurt most of all.

  It was about two o'clock in the morning when voices-loud and excited-reached our cabin. We both scrambled out of bed and hurried to the window The whole world was lit up with an angry red glow.

  "Fire!"
cried Wynn before he even reached the window.

  "Oh, dear God, no!" I.prayed out loud.

  But it was. It looked for a moment as if the whole village were going up in smoke. Wynn was dressed in the time it took me to understand the scene before me.

  "Stay here, Elizabeth," he said. "I'll send people to you if they need your help. You know where all the medical supplies are kept. Get them out and ready in case they are needed."

  Wynn was gone before I could even speak to him.

  I dressed hurriedly, afraid I might be needed even before I could carry out Wynn's orders. The noise outside grew louder. I could hear the crackling of the flames now as well. Kip whined and moved toward the door. His instincts told him that there was danger.

  "It's all right, Kip," I spoke soothingly to him. "You are safe here." I still didn't know what it was that was burning.

  After I had followed all of Wynn's instructions and laid out the medical supplies, the bandages, and the burn ointments I had found, I put more wood in the fire and set a full kettle of water on to boil in case it was needed.

  Smoke was in the air now, seeping through every air space into our cabin. The smell sickened me, for it meant pain and loss and even possible death. I went to the window to see if I could tell just how much of our small settlement was being taken by the fire. It was the Hudson's Bay Store that was burning. Wild flames leaped skyward. Men milled around the building, but there was really little they could do. There was no firefighting equipment in the village-only buckets and snowdrifts; and against such a fire, these had very little effect.

  One cabin, close to the store, was also burning, and I prayed for the occupants' safety. I began to pick out figures then. There were men on roofs of other buildings. There were bucket brigades feeding them pails of snow. Women and children milled around or huddled helplessly in groups. The whole scene was one of despair and horror.

  A noise at the door brought me from the window. Three women stood together against the night. One held a baby in her arms, and one of the others held a child by the hand.