[Canadian West 02] - When Comes the Spring

by Janette Oke

  I had seen them before at the trading post where Nimmie and I had dished out soup to the storm-chilled. I did not know them by name.

  "Come in," I said. "How is Nimmie? Have you seen Nimmie?"

  One lady shook her head. The others looked blank.

  They pushed the little girl forward. Her face was streaked with soot and wet from tears. She had an ugly burn across her hand. I took off her coat and knelt before her.

  I had no training in treating burns. I grabbed a jar of ointment and read the label. It didn't tell me as much as I needed to know. I felt I should cleanse the wound somehow, but how? I got a basin of water and warmed it to my touch. I did not want to damage the burned tissue further. With a cloth, I wiped away most of the dirt and grime, trying hard not to hurt the child. Then I generously applied the ointment and bound the wound with a clean bandage.

  As soon as I had finished, the mother with the baby held him out to me. She coughed to show that the baby had a problem. She pointed out the window at the fire and coughed again. "Smoke," she said, knowing that word.

  "He choked on the smoke?" I asked her.

  "Smoke," she said again.

  Smoke inhalation. What could I do about that? I had no idea how it was treated and, if I had known, I was almost sure I wouldn't have what was necessary to treat it anyway.

  I took the baby. To put their minds at ease I had to do something. What, God? What do they do to make breathing easier? The only thing I had ever heard of to ease breathing was steam, and it might be the very worst thing I could do. I didn't know.

  I unbundled the baby and laid him on the cot. Then I dug through Wynn's medical supply looking for something, anything, that might help the infant. I could find nothing that was labeled for smoke inhalation. I finally took some ointment that said that it was good for chest congestion and rubbed a small amount on the wee chest.

  I had not finished with the small baby when the door opened again. More women and children entered our small cabin, more from fright than from injuries. A few of them did have a small burn or two but, thankfully, nothing major. The smell of smoke was on their clothing and the fear of fire in their faces.

  Whenever a new group joined us, I asked the same question. "Nimmie? Have you seen Nimmie? The McLains? Are they all right?"

  I got shrugs and blank looks in return.

  The morning sun was pulling itself to a sitting position when Wynn came in carrying a young man who had badly burned a foot.

  I was glad to see Wynn and sorry for the young man. "Nimmie?" I asked again. "What about the McLain?"

  "They're fine," Wynn responded. `All three of them."

  I was greatly relieved.

  Then Wynn began to give instructions as to what he would need to care for the foot, and I carried them out to the best of my ability. After the young man was given some medication to dull the pain, Wynn did what he could for the ugly burn. Then he bandaged the foot lightly and, leaving the young man on our cot, went back again to help fight the fire.

  Before he left he pulled me close, though he did not hold me long; there were a number of eyes fixed upon us.

  "I think well be able to save the other homes. The fire has passed its worst. It shouldn't be long before you can start sending them home." Then he was gone.

  I looked around at the still-frightened faces. "Sergeant Delaney says that the fire will soon be over," I informed them, gesturing with my hands as well, "and then you will all be able to return to your cabins. The rest of your homes are quite safe. You'll be able to go back to them."

  I wasn't sure how many of them understood my words. I still knew only a few words in their tongue and none of them dealt with fire.

  "But first," I said, "we'll have some tea."

  It took a lot of tea that morning, and we had to take turns with the cups. Even so, it seemed to lift the spirit of gloom from the room. Some of the ladies even began to chat. It was a great relief to me.

  I checked on the young man with the bad burn. He seemed to be resting as comfortably as possible under the circumstances. I asked him if he would like some tea, but he shook his head.

  As the morning progressed, the fire died to a smolder of rubble, and two-by-two or in huddled little groups, the ladies and children left our cabin.

  The young man had fallen asleep, whether from medication or exhaustion I did not know.

  I set about doing up the dishes and tidying the small room.

  By the time Wynn came, the young man had awakened and was asking me questions I could not understand nor answer. I was glad to see Wynn, for he would know what the fellow wanted.

  I met Wynn at the door. After a quick look to assure myself that he was all right, I indicated the man on the cot.

  "He's been trying to ask me something," I told Wynn. "I have no idea what he is saying."

  Wynn crossed to the young man and knelt beside him. He spoke to him in the soft flowing sounds of his native tongue. Wynn spoke again and then, with a nod of his head, he rose and lifted the young man to his feet.

  "I'm taking him home," Wynn said to me.

  The young man seemed about to topple over.

  "Shouldn't you-shouldn't you carry him?" I asked anxiously.

  "I would," said Wynn, "gladly. But it would shame him to be carried through his village."

  I looked at the proud young man. His face was twisted with pain, and still he was determined to walk rather than to be carried.

  I nodded my head. "I hope he makes it," I said fervently.

  "I'll see that he does," spoke Wynn softly, and they went out together.

  When Wynn returned, he brought the McLains with him.

  "Do you have enough food for five hungry people?" he asked me. I looked toward my stove. It was almost noon and no one had had anything to eat.

  "I'll find it," I said without hesitation. But before I went to my cupboards and stove, I had to assure myself that Nimmie and Katherine were truly okay.

  They clustered around our door, taking off soiled coats and kicking snow from their boots. Their faces were soot covered and streaked with tears, whether from weeping or the sting of the acrid smoke in their eyes I did not know nor ask. Their shoulders slumped with fatigue. It had been a long, hard, disheartening night. Their home was gone. Their livelihood was gone. In one night they lost their past, their present, and their future.

  I crossed to them, unable to find words to express my feelings. I looked into Nimmie's eyes. My question was not voiced but she answered it. With just a quick little nod, she assured me she'd be all right.

  I turned then to Katherine and put out my hand. "Are you all right?" I asked her.

  Her answer was more as I would have expected. "I have no burns or outer injuries."

  She was, telling me that where she really hurt was on the inside. It would heal, now that she had found the secret to healing. But it would take time.

  I turned back to Mr. McLain. "I'm sorry," I whispered falteringly, "truly sorry."

  Mr. McLain was able to give me a crooked smile. "We're tough, Miz Delaney," he said. "Survivors. We'll bounce back."

  I answered his smile and went to get them something to eat.

  After we had finished our meal, we sat around the fireplace talking in quiet tones.

  "What are your plans, Ian? Is there anything we can do?" asked Wynn.

  Mr. McLain shrugged his shoulders. "I haven't sorted it out yet."

  "You are welcome to stay here until you find other accommodations," went on Wynn.

  "Katherine can have the cot," I hurried to add. "Is there somewhere we can find another bed?"

  Nimmie shook her head. "There are no beds in the village," she said. "But don't worry. I can make all the bed that Ian and I need."

  I looked puzzled.

  "Spruce boughs and furs," explained Nimmie. "I know how to make a bed that even the richest white people of the world would envy!"

  I admired Nimmie's attempt to lighten the situation and bring to us a little humor.r />
  "It's not really us that I am worried about," McLain continued, his shoulders sagging in spite of his effort to keep up his spirits.

  "You know what it's like this time of year," he went on, directing his conversation to Wynn. "It's been a long, hard winter. Most of the families are almost out of supplies. They were depending on the store to get them through the rest of the winter until the new growth brought fresh food again. Why, I'll wager that most of them have less than five cups of flour in the cabin. How they gonna make their bannock without flour? What about salt and tea and-?"

  But Wynn stopped him.

  "We'll all band together to look after them. They're hardy people. They'll make it."

  There was silence for a few minutes. Mr. McLain broke it. "What about supplies for the two of you? What do you have here?"

  Wynn shook his head. "Not enough for a whole village, that's for sure. We'll have to ration very carefully to get through until spring."

  McLain nodded. "Right-that's a good idea," he said a little wistfully. "Don't be divying out what little you have. That way it won't do anyone any good. Someone has to stay healthy and on his feet, and seems to me you're elected, Sarge."

  The full impact of our situation began to hit me. Oh, Goa I prayed silently, please don't let it come to the place where I have to turn hungry people away from my door. I would rather give away my last crumb offood and suffer with them. Was McLain right? Would things become so desperate that we would be forced to withold our own in order to have the strength to minister to the community's needs? I prayed not.

  "Well, I think the first thing that needs to be done is a little survey," Wynn said. "We'll go through the village family by family and find out what the situation is. I'll get you a little book, McLain, if you are up to coming with me; and you can record as we go along."

  McLain nodded and rose to his feet, reaching for his heavy, sootcovered coat and his beaver hat, and prepared to follow Wynn.

  Wynn turned to me then. "I would like you to do the same here, Elizabeth, as you find time. It's important to know exactly what we have to work with."

  I nodded. It all seemed so serious.

  After the menfolk had left, I turned to Nimmie and Katherine. "Why don't you try to get a little sleep?" I asked them. "You both really look all in."

  "I'll help you with your inventory," offered Nimmie.

  "No. No-it won't take me long. There really isn't that much to count. You get some rest."

  Nimmie was still hesitant, but I insisted. Finally she was persuaded, and she and Katherine went to our bedroom, removed their soiled outer garments and soon were fast asleep.

  I did up the dishes and straightened the small room again; and then, notebook and pencil in hand, I began to do as Wynn had suggested.

  I counted everything-each cupful of flour, each tablespoon of tea. I sorted and counted every can of tinned food. I measured the salt and the sugar, the coffee, and the beans and rice. Every bit of my kitchen supply and then my storeroom was measured and recorded.

  At first it seemed to me to be quite a lot; and then I began to think of the number of days until the supplies could be replenished, and I realized it was not very much. Mr. McLain was right. We were going to be awfully short of food supplies before this winter was over.

  With a sinking heart, I returned to the kitchen. It would take very careful planning to make things stretch.

  Now late afternoon, Wynn and Mr. McLain had been gone for a number of hours. I looked out the window nervously, willing them to return.

  Nimmie came out of the bedroom looking rested. "Elizabeth," she said, "may I borrow your snowshoes?"

  "Of course, but are you sure you are ready-?"

  "I'm ready," she said with a soft smile. "I will even welcome the exercise and the healing of nature's breath."

  "They are right outside the door," I told her. I could use some of nature's restoring breath myself, I noted in understanding.

  Wynn and Mr. McLain returned before Nimmie. They did not have good news. The tabulation of food in the village was listed on two short pages. The Indians had come to rely more and more heavily on the trading post and did not store food ahead except for the roots and herbs they carried in and the berries they dried. By now, these too were in short supply.

  The future looked even more bleak than it had before the survey. Lord, please send an early spring.

  When it was dark and Nimmie had still not returned, I was becoming concerned. I didn't like to mention my fear because I knew Mr. McLain and Wynn already had enough on their minds. Stealthily I watched out the window. I wished I had suggested she take Kip with her.

  Mr. McLain stopped what he was saying to Wynn in midsentence and turned to me. "If you are worried about Nimmie," he said, having caught me glancing out of the window again, "don't be. Nimmie is as at home in those woods as she was in her kitchen. Whether it's dark or light, Nimmie is in no danger."

  I flushed slightly. "I do wish she'd come," I said rather apologetically.

  Katherine came from the bedroom, also looking much better after her nap.

  "I've nearly slept the day away," she confessed. "I'm sorry. I meant to be up to help you much sooner, but I just didn't wake up. You should have called me."

  "I didn't have anything I needed help with," I assured her. "And, besides, you needed the sleep."

  We prepared a meal. Katherine set out the plates and cutlery on the table. Because our table was small and we had only two chairs, we would fill our plates and sit about the room.

  We were almost ready to eat when we heard Nimmie. I heaved a sigh of relief. When we opened the door to her, she entered the room almost hidden under spruce branches. How she had ever managed to load herself down so was beyond me. She smiled out from under the load, and Mr. McLain helped her to lay aside her bundles.

  We ate together and then Nimmie disappeared again. When she returned, she had managed to get some furs from somewhere. With these at hand, she began to make a bed at one end of the room Wynn used for his office.

  Wynn led our little group in prayer, and we all retired early. It had been a long, exhausting day, and there didn't seem to be anything more we could do to improve the situation at present. We would have to take our future one day at a time.

  THIRTY

  ~alziny ~o

  During the next few days, Wynn called for a meeting of all the people. They gathered together in front of the pile of rubble that had so recently been the source for the lifeblood of the settlement, anxious eyes surveying the pile of debris. Even the litter, as it had been poked and raked following the fire, had brought forth very little of use in the settlement.

  Wynn stood before the people and spoke to them in their language. Nimmie, standing beside me with her head held high, whispered the translation.

  "We meet together because we are one. We must care for one another. We have lost the trading post and the food it supplied. Now we must find our own way. It is not a new way. It has been done for many moons by our fathers. But it is a hard way. It will take us all working together.

  "You have some flour and salt for bannock. You should watch your supply closely and use only a little every day. It can last for many days if you use it sparingly.

  "We have the forests and the streams. They will not forsake us. They have meat for the taking. We will hunt together and share what we find.

  "We have plants that can be gathered from under the snow. You know them well. We will send out groups to gather them. Those who stay behind will care for the fires.

  "We have traps and snares if we run out of ammunition for our guns, so we will not starve.

  "We have medicines if we become sick, so do not be afraid.

  "And, most importantly, we have a God who sees us and knows that we are in need. He has promised to care for His children.

  "We will live, and we will make it to the time of the flowing of the rivers, and the stirring of the new leaf upon the tree and the gathering of the wild greens."
>
  I felt like we all should have cheered such a speech; but when Wynn had finished speaking, the people of the village filed awaysilently. Yet their shoulders had lifted a little and the look of despair upon their faces had been replaced with silent acceptance and even a glimmer of hope.

  Now Wynn was hardly ever home. He organized hunting parties, carefully distributing counted shells to the sharpest marksmen. He sent out fishing parties to cut holes in the ice and spend silent, long, cold hours at the task of bringing home fish. He sent older women, bundled against the cold, into the forests with baskets to dig for edibles among the roots of trees, while the younger women were assigned neighbor's fires to tend besides their own. Children took on new responsibilities as baby tenders and firewood gatherers. All the village was called upon to work together. Even the ones who were too old and feeble to be actively engaged had a part. They stirred the pots and kept the home fires fed while others were busy with their tasks.

  A previously empty cabin was repaired sufficiently for the family who had lost their home in the fire, and life in the village went on.

  Some of the outlying trappers, who had seen the terrifying red glow in the sky on the night of the fire, came home to check on family. They stood with heads lowered as they realized what the disaster meant to the entire population of the village. I think they too must have been praying, in their own way, for an early spring.

  Nimmie and I were alone a few days later. I knew she must be very sorrowful about losing her lovely home with all the beautifiil handwork from her past. She admitted that it "made her heart sore," but she was able to smile in spite of it all.

  "I still have Ian," she said with great feeling. "If I had lost him, then all would have been lost."

  I thought of Wynn, and I understood what Nimmie was saying.

  "I've been doing a lot of thinking," said Nimmie slowly. "Maybe this was God's punishment for my sin."

  I wanted to protest, but I wasn't sure what to say.

  Nimmie went on. `And then I thought, `No, I think not.' You see, I was a sinner long before I brought the knife to Crazy Mary. I understand something now that I didn't understand before. I did not become sinful because I took in the knife, but rather I consented to take the knife because I was sinful. Do you understand me, Elizabeth?"