“The point is, profiling will only take you so far. For instance, there’s this myth that neglect and abuse hardly exist in higher income families. It’s just not true. It may look more palatable on the surface, but sometimes it’s worse, particularly in the muddy realm of what we deem emotional neglect. I’ve interviewed teenagers with every financial resource available to them, virtually every academic or professional opportunity wide open to them, who were completely disaffected, and in some cases, sadistic.
“Personally, I think we put too much emphasis on where a person lives, and how they present themselves on a superficial level. Did Bella Cartwright walk around with a dirty face and knots in her hair? Yeah, okay, she did. Did she lay her mattress on a dirt floor at night? She did—she and a billion other people around the world. Did she face an unusual set of hazards living in the wilderness? Sure, she did. Were they any more damaging than the hazards that might have been waiting for her in town? Who’s to say? Did she sometimes disengage from her immediate surroundings? Yes. Did she have an unusual imagination? Yes. Did she sometimes talk to cats? Apparently so.
“But you tell me how she was less of a person because of it.”
Exposed
Morning arrived unwanted, gray and penetrating, bringing a bitter wind out of the southeast to ravage their crude camp at the base of the bluff. Her dad looked terrible, pale and frightened. His leg looked even worse, swollen and split like a hot dog left too long on the grill. The splint was still holding, but the bloody lengths of rope had begun to tighten against the swelling. The mere sight of it caused Bella to retch.
Bella immediately stoked the fire, feeding it sticks, fanning and blowing it back into a respectable state. With considerable effort, her dad lifted his torso up far enough to support himself on his elbows, where he appraised his leg grimly.
Bella brought him the jug of water and he tilted it up with one hand and drank from it. After he swallowed it down, he drew a deep breath and exhaled in short, punctuated bursts like a sprinkler, the way he sometimes did when confronted with a problem at the workbench, or beneath the hood of the Dodge.
“We need to ice that leg,” he said, setting the jug down. “I need you to gather snow, okay, baby? I want you to pile it up on both sides but keep it away from the wound. We want to keep that part clean.”
Bella complied promptly, gathering unsullied snow by the handfuls, and packing it along the length of his leg, which was beginning to give off a sickly sweet odor, like the kind that wafted up from the garbage disposal at Nana’s.
When the leg was packed tightly in snow all around the wound, Bella pulled the blanket back over him as far as the knee, which she left exposed.
“I’m going for help, Daddy.”
“You can’t do that, baby. The weather, it could change, and it’s too far, and you’re liable to lose the trail.”
She leveled a steady gaze at him.
“I know the way,” she said.
“It’s too dangerous, he said. “I won’t let you.”
“You can’t stop me,” she said.
Before she took leave, she made two more trips to the edge of the meadow to gather limbs, which she piled beside him so he could feed the fire. She set the Winchester beside him, too, along with his pack, and the hardened mass of his uneaten steak. If only she’d been strong enough to drag him onto a tarp and pull him up the hill to the safety of the cave. Instead, she left him there at the bottom of the bluff, exposed to the freezing wind, and practically helpless.
Before he could talk her out of it, Bella scurried off across the meadow in the snow, without looking back.
“Bella, no!” he called after her.
When she reached the tree line she slowed her pace to a brisk walk, her footsteps crunching the snow as she wended her way westerly between the trees, knowing she had hours ahead of her, but convinced she had the stamina to make it to town as quick as usual, with no stops and a good pace. Already she was nearly through the first leg of the journey. Within ten minutes, she emerged from the cover of the forest and started up the bald hump.
Bella sang aloud nervously along her way, little snatches of songs she remembered: “Hot Potato,” “Baby Beluga,” “We Will Rock You,” and a bit of an old lullaby she learned from her mom, half of it in a language she did not understand. She wasn’t even sure if she had the words right. When Bella’s musical memory failed her, she talked aloud to herself, lending voice to her scattered thoughts.
Within a half hour, Bella reached the rocky jumble at the head of the canyon, where she cautiously descended the twenty-foot incline, planting each foot firmly. She had no wish to repeat the grisly spectacle of her dad’s leg. For surely another broken leg would mean death for of them both. Though progress was sluggish and nerve-wracking, Bella reached the base of the steep incline without a hitch and continued her gradual descent into the basin.
The wind picked up as she switch-backed down the canyon. She visualized the path before her, the fork in the river, the crossing of the trails, the long, relatively straightforward path through the bottomlands. Within a few minutes snow began to fall, the tiny flakes harried slantwise by the wind.
“It’s hardly even sticking,” she told herself aloud.
But minute-by-minute, step-by-step, Bella could see she was mistaken.
N’ka
Before N’ka opened his eyes, he heard all at once the burble of water and the hushed chatter of voices. He heard the wind frisking the treetops. When he finally opened his eyes, the first sight to greet him was the kind face of the green-eyed girl looking down on him, her head framed in the swaying treetops against a background of blue sky.
“Amah,” she said.
N’ka attempted to rise but couldn’t quite manage through the pain. Seized by a cramping in his chest, an angry fist clenched his spine as the girl coaxed him back down. Both of his arms were caked with a mud-like poultice, half an inch thick. His right arm was splinted, the hand mangled badly, though mercifully, it had no feeling. It could just as well have been somebody else’s hand.
She spoke softly to him, words he could not comprehend, and she gently brushed the hair out of his eyes.
Then she stood and walked away, returning quickly with a shaggy pillow of hide. Gently she propped it beneath his head.
Then she continued her melodic speech, as though he would eventually understand her meaning.
Looking around, N’ka saw that he was stationed on a mattress of hides at the edge of a fire, in the thick of a bustling camp that stretched along the riverbank, running swiftly beneath a canopy of green. The people who busied themselves around the camp were not his own people, but men with hairless faces and broad foreheads, and shorthaired women, lithe and graceful.
The camp was like nothing N’ka had ever seen, orderly and precise, with tidy shelters constructed of limb and hide, and a half dozen cooking fires strung out at even intervals. And there was something else, something beyond his wildest imagination: a sled-like vessel, long and slender, and made of wood, which moved effortlessly on top of the water.
What was this place? Who were these magnificent people with their miraculous water sleds, and their hairless faces, and their fitted hides? But N’ka’s wonder was rudely interrupted when the thought of his mother suddenly took hold of him, and he strained to lift his head despite the pain.
As though she could read his mind, the green-eyed girl cast her eyes down somberly and shook her head.
“She dead?” he said.
Understanding his meaning, she lifted her green eyes briefly and nodded her head.
N’ka’s grief was immediate and complete. How could it end like this, after all that his mother had survived? How could it be that she, who gave him life, she who nurtured and protected him, who had taught him all he had ever known, was gone? How could it be that she was no longer present to adore and instruct him, to mock and tease, to antagonize him?
N’ka could practically count the occasions he’d been out of
his mother’s sight. He had never faced the world without her, nor even envisioned a world without her. Every imaginary road he walked down, his mother was there doggedly beside him; moaning and groaning, and ever hiding her secret smile, lest N’ka deduce that she viewed life as anything more than the unglamorous drudgery of survival.
On top of N’ka’s grief was the avalanche of guilt that immediately overwhelmed him. How did this happen? How could he leave her there at the bottom of the hill, helpless and exposed? How could he toss her life away so thoughtlessly? How could he dare lead her over the ice against her will, for days on end, away from all she had ever known, only to let her be torn to pieces by wolves?
“I am responsible,” he cried out in anguish. “I did this.”
The green-eyed girl tenderly took hold of N’ka’s head and rested it once more on the hides, as wave after wave of the despair washed over him.
Miss Martine; Second-Grade Teacher
“Of course, as far as what I’m at liberty to discuss, there are well-defined perimeters. And they exist for good reasons. So I can only discuss Bella Cartwright in a general sense. Academically, all I can tell you is that at the time of her withdrawal, shortly after mid-winter break, she was performing at or above standard in every category but one. And no, I won’t tell you what that category was. What I can tell you from my own observations is that Bella was a compliant student. She was even-tempered, somewhat reserved, and not very outspoken. She possessed what I would characterize as a shy curiosity. My instinct with Bella was to draw that curiosity out, though usually only in one-on-one situations rather than the group environment. I can also tell you that she responded favorably to this drawing-out process, and possessed a very healthy sense of curiosity, along with a vivid imagination.
“I try to visualize my kids at the best of their potential. I try to guess what they might grow into, what kind of adults they might turn out to be, given the resources and support they’re likely to have. How they will navigate the awkward trappings of childhood in general, along with all the other specific factors, including gender, and upbringing, and financial circumstances, and the various, ever-changing social environments they’re likely to confront.
“Interestingly, with Bella, I found this exercise difficult. But my instinct was that Bella was a strong girl, quietly willful and observant, and that somehow she would find her way, whether or not she was set up to fail.
“But then, my instincts weren’t always right.”
No Small Wonder
Shortly after the snow began its sideways assault, the trail opened up and then promptly disappeared in a small clearing where Bella halted her progress. While she could guess at the general direction, she knew that the wooded landscape would obscure her path. If she calculated wrong, even slightly, it could mean miles of backtracking, or worse, death. She must reach the fork in the river soon. From there, she would know which way to proceed. Having not yet strayed from the path, she knew the river must be near at hand. From this very clearing she’d heard it running high in spring. But it was no longer surging in the dead of winter. How could she ever locate it with the whole world blurred by this gauze of white?
In that instant, Bella nearly hunkered down in the gathering snow, and surrendered to despair. But wiping the tears from her eyes, she instead gathered resolve. Had she not known greater perils on the ice sheet? Had she not survived worse conditions in all her lives? Had she not heard the very whisper of death in her ear? It was no small wonder that she clung so dearly to this life.
With three star-breaths, Bella managed to allay the stampeding progress of her anxiety. If life through the epochs had taught her anything, it was that our senses were not the root of consciousness, our brains not the true seat of awareness. There were many ways to hear, and many ways to know.
And so, face to the stinging wind, Bella closed her eyes and listened for the steady progress of water somewhere in the howling white world.
N’ka
There was life here hitherto unknown, including waters teeming with the miracle of fish, shimmering, silver grace incarnate. Fish hurrying upstream, fish whispering beneath the water. Fish, beautiful, reliable fish that did not gore, or trample, or disfigure. Fatty, meaty, oily fish, guileless and nutritious fish that practically surrendered themselves to the people, sustaining them through the seasons.
And for their trouble and sacrifice, these fish were worshipped.
There were forests, thriving green forests not forever frozen in the grip of ice. There were green, grass-bottomed valleys cut through with murmuring streams. There were canopies alive with birdsong. The world brimmed with possibility. The forest, like the river, like the grass-bottomed valley, was alive with spirits. Not gods, or ghosts, or creators, but allies, and teachers, and ancient reminders.
The world was not a frozen wasteland, but a vast, living thing.
Here, at last, was paradise.
Farther to the west, where the mountains began to taper, folding themselves into the flatlands, the river grew wider and flatter, until it emptied itself into the sea, a frothy, undulating expanse more vast than the ice shelf, a vastness the likes of which N’ka could never have previously imagined. When he first set eyes on this miraculous sea, tears welled up at the thought that his mother would never gaze upon its grandeur.
And then there were the magnificent people, those noble souls that saved N’ka and took him in, those who nurtured him back to health, who sheltered him, and taught him how to live in this new world.
There was Reka, the young man with the jagged scar upon his cheek, Reka, who was tasked with the job of teaching N’ka to weave a fish trap and paddle a canoe. Good-natured, patient Reka. Quiet, companionable Reka, like the older brother N’ka never had.
There was Alma, a strikingly tall, breathtakingly beautiful, dark-eyed woman of indeterminate age, placid of face, with impeccable posture. Alma, minister to those who ailed, tender to all wounds and maladies. Alma, mistress of mud and magic. Alma, who blended so seamlessly into the natural world that one did not hear her coming, she simply appeared.
There was Amon, to whom everybody except old Olta, the muttering man, deferred. He won their deference without trying. He won it not because he was the biggest, or even the wisest, but because Amon inspired confidence and engendered cooperation. How could there possibly be a more competent leader than Amon? Strong, thoughtful, even-tempered, and never quick to judgment. He who could be trusted to measure and weigh all considerations, to navigate any scenario. Amon the fair, Amon the practical.
There was muttering Olta, the white-haired old man, stooped but irrepressible. Stubborn, impatient Olta, who would accept no help, nor bow to any directive. Olta, who consented to live among them, but not without misgivings, who foraged his own wood, and hunted his own game, and tended his own traps downriver, invariably sharing the resulting bounty without reservation, while accepting nothing in return. Of all the people, Olta reminded N’ka the most of his mother.
There was Iku, and Ando, and Elay. There was Tiam, and Tanta, and Rami.
Finally, there was Bayla, kind and fearless, wise and playful. Bayla, who saved N’ka from the horrible fate that claimed his mother. Bayla, who was the first to grasp his language, to glimpse his experience, the first to penetrate his isolation, and the first to welcome him into the fold. Bayla, the green-eyed girl.
Extremities
After crossing the clearing, Bella plodded blindly through the snow, groping her way between trees, late into the afternoon. Still, the river eluded her. Harried by the fear that time was running out for her dad, Bella doubled her pace until it felt as though her lungs would burst.
Pausing to catch her breath, despair once again began to crowd in on her. They would die alone in this white hell, both of them, separated by miles. Bella could not think of a worse fate. As she began to lose feeling in her extremities, a profound sorrow took shape in the hollow of her chest. There was no end to the loneliness of the world. It stretched
across time and space like a boundless sheet of ice.
Just as her eyelids began to feel heavy, something flashed through the trees to her left. Straining her eyes against the wind and snow, she glimpsed it again.
Could it be, at last? Was it . . . ? Yes, yes, it had to be!
Lungs cramping, Bella galloped toward her savior, giddy with relief. Within a quarter mile, she met the river, two hundred feet downstream of the fork. She wanted to drop to her knees and weep with gratitude, but there was no time to spare.
Minutes later she picked up the trail again and began the final stretch through the bottomlands, pushing her pace to the limit. Never in all the trips she’d made between the cave and town had this stretch of forest seemed so long. As if to taunt her, the trail just went on and on. If she didn’t reach the highway soon, it would surely mean the death of her father. Though it seemed that every muscle in her body was ready to give out with each step, Bella hurried on toward town.
By the time she arrived at the deserted highway, her hands and face were numb, her feet frozen. It was already dark when she jumped the culvert and began bounding toward town through a half-foot of snow.
Sheriff Harlan Dale
“When that little Cartwright girl came dragging into the Sheriff’s Department around 8:00 pm that night, all wet and half-frozen, with her hair all matted, and her face scratched up, one look at her and I knew we were dealing with a dire situation, whatever it was. Poor thing nearly collapsed right there in the lobby. When I scooped her off her feet and carried her to my office, she didn’t weigh but forty pounds, seemed like. I set her on the sofa and fetched a cup of water for her.
Legends of the North Cascades Page 27