CAN West 04 - When Hope Springs New (20 page)
BOOK: CAN West 04 - When Hope Springs New
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“Why?” I asked Wynn. “Why do you think he did that? Was it to protect her for himself? She is very pretty, Wynn.”
“If he wanted her for himself,” said Wynn, “there would be nothing stopping him from taking her right now.”
“I know, but maybe even he realizes she is still too young.”
“Then give him a little credit—even if he does want her for his fourth wife, at least he is willing to give her a little time to grow up. Let’s be thankful for that, Elizabeth.”
Then Wynn continued, “I am more inclined, however, to think that the chief might want Kinook for a wife for his oldest son. He didn’t say so directly—but I caught him looking in the young brave’s direction as we talked. I wouldn’t be surprised if the boy has let his wishes be known to his father.”
I pictured the young brave. Come to think of it, I had seen him strutting past our campfire on more than one occasion. I was sure that Kinook, though she kept her eyes properly lowered, had seen him, too. I smiled.
“That would be nice—sometime in the future,” I murmured.
“In the future,” repeated Wynn. “For now let’s be glad that she will be allowed to grow up.”
Wynn was right. For now Kinook would have a home where she was loved and cared for. At least she would not need to be a child bride. A year was not long, but perhaps by then she would be ready to receive gifts from the young Indian brave.
Wynn told me he would send for a French translation of the New Testament for LaMeche.
“Oh, Wynn, wouldn’t it be wonderful if there was a group of believers here when we return?”
Wynn smiled at my certain “when” and gave me a hug.
TWENTY-FIVE
Leaving
The day the loaded wagons and team of builders pulled laboriously into the camp was one of surprises in more than one way. I never would have guessed that the people would react so strangely. The Indian men strutted about, putting on a show of great bravery in the face of possible danger at the hands of the strange white men. Women fearfully held their ground with lowered eyes and bated breath—you could see them wishing to be able to take to the woods for protection. In fact, a few of them did just that. Many of the little children ran and hid themselves, wild with fright at the sight of all the strange-looking newcomers.
The chief, too, forced a brave front and stalked out to meet the men, but it was clear he feared placing his life in danger by doing so.
Wynn and LaMeche took charge and told the crew where to leave the wagons and tether the tired horses. Then Wynn supervised the setting up of the canvas tents and welcomed the trail-weary men to our fire for coffee to wash the dust from their parched throats.
There were nine of them in the party. All but three would be staying. The Mountie who was to take our place looked very young to me, and I wondered if it was his first posting and if he would be able to handle things if a crisis were to develop.
It is none of my business,
I reminded myself. The Force must know their own men, and certainly all of them had to start someplace.
I reminded myself. The Force must know their own men, and certainly all of them had to start someplace.
And then lovely young Kinook walked by our fire, her tall back straight, her dark hair swinging free, her head supporting a container of fresh water. And I saw the Mountie look after her, his eyes full of wonder as he nearly forgot to swallow the hot coffee in his mouth. I smiled to myself, realizing just how young he really was.
I greeted the supply wagons with mixed emotions. I knew it was best for the settlement that work begin as quickly as possible on the building of the post and the cabins. I knew there was much to be done before the coming of the winter snows. I knew also that LaMeche was anxious to have a home so he might take Silver Star to be his wife. But in spite of all those things, I also realized that in just a few days’ time I would be asked to leave with those same departing wagons, and I dreaded that thought—even if our circumstances here were primitive.
The men spent the evening hours in counsel with Chief Crow Calls Loud. He had to be consulted about his wishes for the site of the new settlement. He also, out of respect for his position, was informed about the new trading post, introduced to the young Mountie who would represent the law, and informed that Wynn and I would be leaving.
Wynn was surprised at the chief’s reaction to that news. He expressed first surprise and then displeasure, asking if it was possible to revoke the decision.
“The home for Golden-Haired One can be built first,” he insisted. “The chief and the people wish her to stay.”
“It seems that you made quite an impression on our chief,” Wynn told me with a grin. “He doesn’t want to lose you.”
I flushed slightly, very surprised at the turn of events. Had the villagers really been so fearful of the evil connected with the site of the impinging witch doctor that the chief was seeing in my departure a possibility that the powers could be reestablished? It was all very strange.
Silver Star stayed close to me the next day. I was glad to have her nearby. But we had very little time to talk in private.
When we went to the lake to wash the evening dishes for the last time, we were finally alone.
“I want to tell you how much—how full of joy I am to know Kinook and Kinnea will be in your home,” I said to Silver Star as I swished sand around in a pot to scour the sides.
Silver Star kept her eyes lowered.
“They are like sisters to me,” she said softly.
“And to me,” I said, a tear rolling down each of my cheeks.
“I will miss you,” I continued. “I am sorry we cannot go to your wedding.”
She nodded silently.
“I hope much joy will share your path,” I continued.
She looked at me then. “I will make him happy if it is in my power to do so; in that I will find joy.”
Yes, I thought, that is the secret. Silver Star’s love caused her to think only of the way that she could bring happiness to the man she loved. She asked nothing except that she be successful at that. Then she too would find her happiness.
Silver Star pushed aside the pot on which she was working. She looked at me and there was no shyness in her now. She regarded me evenly, her eyes not lowering as they met mine. “You will be back when summer comes again?” she asked me.
“That is what I want,” I answered honestly.
“I, too, have much hope,” she said in her soft, flowing voice. “Louis told me about his prayer, and I ask him to tell me more about it. I want to give honor to Louis’ Great Spirit.”
“Oh, Silver Star,” was all I could manage right then. I wanted to hug her, but since that was not the Indian way, I squeezed her arm instead. “Someday He be your Great Spirit too. I pray for you every day,” I promised her.
“I see you pray after time of fire, like talk to a real person,” Silver Star told me with wonder in her voice.
Then she said, “I wish to plant your garden. Louis has promised to help. I know not the way of the seed, but he has planted before. You will need your garden when you return.”
I was deeply touched. I reached out to take Silver Star’s hand. She returned my brief squeeze ever so gently.
“That would please me,” I said. “I will bring you seeds.”
Such a small thing—yet it brought me so much joy. When I returned—if I returned, I reminded myself—I would be coming not to a village where hostility and isolation awaited me; I would be coming back to dear friends—friends who thought of me while I was gone. Friends who welcomed me back. Friends who cared for my garden. Friends who would be ready to be introduced to the God I knew and loved. I swallowed away the tears in the back of my throat and smiled at Silver Star.
It was a sad parting the next morning at sunup. I wanted to take Silver Star and her dear babies in my arms and hold them before I bid them goodbye, but that was not the way of this people. I looked tenderly at beautiful Kinook and longed to hold her, too. Then I turned to her younger sister, Kinnea. She would be just as beautiful as her pretty sister one day soon.
I said my goodbyes in the proper way, all the while aching inside. Would it really help the pain to be able to embrace them? I supposed if I could put my arms around them, I would also cry. But even crying might bring some relief.
Just as we were ready to step up into the wagon, LaMeche came. He held out his hand to Wynn and shook it firmly. Then he extended his hand to me. I took it, saying nothing but feeling so much. This hostile man whom I once feared had turned out to be my friend, my burden-sharer-and now a fellow believer!
He must have read my thoughts—or else shared them, for without a word, he stepped closer to me and gave me a generous, brotherly embrace. My breath caught in my throat and just as I expected, tears began to flow.
I was busy wiping them away when a voice from behind made me turn around. It was the chief, dressed in beaded buckskins and flowing feathers, his entourage trailing behind him. All three wives, his children, his councilors stood in their respective positions.
He approached slowly, his arms extended toward me. In his hands he held a beautiful silver fox fur.
“The chief gives gift to Golden-Haired One as token that village is her home, and we will wait for her return when meadows again bring forth their blossoms,” he said.
I was deeply touched. In my confusion, I almost forgot to lower my gaze. Just in time I caught myself and dipped my head respectfully; then I stepped forward and without looking up, extended my hands.
“Great chief and his people honor me,” I said in an unsteady voice. “I, too, will watch for time of meadow flowers and my return to village of my people.”
Then I stepped back and Wynn helped me to climb aboard the lumbering wagon where our few belongings were piled in behind us.
The driver shouted a command to the horses, and the slow wheels started to grind forward. We were on our way.
I dared not look back. Even if it had not been a native custom to never look back when one took to the trail, I could not have done so. The tears were freely falling down my cheeks. I did not want to see the strange little campsite beside the lake. I did not want to look at those who stood there, those villagers who were now my friends—including one who was now part of our spiritual family and another who was very close to God’s kingdom. I did not want to see the little area off to the side on the small island where my garden, now almost bare, had provided many meals for our fellow survivors. Nor did I want to see the charred remains of what once had been the village.
I forced myself to look ahead, to gaze at the winding trail, the rutted roadway that would lead us over the next hill, and many, many, more hills before we reached the small settlement of Athabasca Landing.
What awaits us there?
I wondered. Surely it could not be better than what we now left behind.
I wondered. Surely it could not be better than what we now left behind.
Then I brought my thoughts under control. Did not the same God still have His hand upon me for good? In my sorrow over having to leave friends, had I forgotten that He was still traveling with me? I wiped the tears and blew my nose. Surely, if He had something better than all of this for me, it must be good indeed.
TWENTY-SIX
Athabasca Landing
As was my custom, I walked and rode interchangeably, partly for my own comfort and partly so I would be company for Kip.
Most of our time on the trail we had decent weather, although the mosquitoes and blackflies were hard to endure. It rained most of one day, which did not totally stop our progress, though it certainly did slow us down. I think I was as glad as the horses to stop that night.
Wynn pitched our tent under the shelter of the tall spruce and pine trees, and it looked as if we had a good chance to stay comparatively dry for the night. But in the night a strong wind came up and uprooted a tree. As it fell, one of its branches caught our tent and ripped a large tear all along the right side.
I was so thankful the tree itself hadn’t fallen on us that I couldn’t complain over a little rain. We did have to get up and dress and try to keep dry by wrapping the remaining piece of canvas around ourselves.
The next day it was sunny again, and as we traveled Wynn stitched the tent the best he could. The patch wasn’t very attractive, but it did manage to give us some privacy on the rest of the journey.
I had given up even thinking about Athabasca Landing when we dipped over a sharp hill, and there stretched out beneath us was the shimmery ribbon of the river and the little town tucked on its south shores.
What a relief! Even in my weariness, my heart beat extra fast with excitement.
We had to cross the river by ferry. It was a large, flat barge that took one wagon at a time, horses and all. The horses were distrustful of the conveyance and snorted and plunged about, rocking our boat and causing me to nearly panic, lest they upset us midstream. It was all the drivers could do to hold the horses in check.
When at last, wagon by wagon, we docked on the other side, we set out, Wynn reading the map to our driver so he could find our new location.
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