CAN West 04 - When Hope Springs New (21 page)

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Authors: Janette Oke

Tags: #MJF, #Christian

BOOK: CAN West 04 - When Hope Springs New
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It was a small settlement, but to my delight it looked quite civilized. There were shops and places of business, and even a small church and a
school! I might enjoy my winter here after all!
I exulted.
Wynn first stopped to report to the North West Mounted Police Office and after a few minutes, came out with a large key in his hand and the directions to what would be our new home.
Pulling to a stop in front of it, I decided it was not a grand place by any means, but it was adequate. Coming from the small cabin of our past winter, to us it looked more than comfortable.
It was made of lumber and painted white, with a bit of black trim, and the windows, real windows, looked so large to me I wondered where I would ever find enough curtain material to cover them.
We entered the attached porch and passed through to a compact kitchen with its own small cupboard, a cookstove, table and chairs. Not only did it have a floor, but it also had linoleum covering the boards.
Off the kitchen was a family sitting room with a large stone fireplace and a couch and chair. A small writing table was tucked up against one wall.
Off the sitting room were two bedrooms! We used the largest one for our own use and set the other aside for storage or a guest room, whichever was needed. Both rooms held beds, and though the mattresses were rather lumpy, I told myself I would be spoiled in no time by such luxury.
A neat little picket fence surrounded the property and in back were three small buildings—one for storage, one for wood supply, and the third for the outside toilet.
Near the door was a well with a pump. I thought of my trips to the stream with my bucket and marveled at all the comforts of the modern world.
After exploring our new surroundings, Wynn and the driver began to unload our wagon. We had very little to unload. We did have the things we had decided were unnecessary for survival when we moved into the tiny cabin at Smoke Lake. In the crates were some of my most treasured possessions, and I was thankful to God they had been preserved for me. If it had not been for their being crated and stored on the wagon, I was sure I no longer would have my books or the pictures of baby Samuel.
With the few things I had managed to grab before the fire, we had precious little.
But “things” don’t seem nearly as important since the fire,
I thought as I looked at Wynn.
The Force had given Wynn an allowance to help purchase items we had lost in the fire. This helped greatly in establishing our new home. Wynn turned the money over to me, and I spent several days searching through the little shops, trying to find the best bargains. I had to stretch the money a long way to make us presentable again.
One of my first purchases was an old treadle sewing machine. It did not work very well, but it did manage to make a seam. With its use, and many hours of work, I was able to sew quite a number of things to help our dollars stretch.
All my dresses, my undergarments, all the curtains, towels, tea towels, cushions, potholders, and countless other articles were sewn on that old machine.
After three weeks of searching for materials and sewing from morning to night, I finally felt that Wynn and I were really “at home.” I had hardly taken the time to look beyond our doors.
Another one of my first tasks was to write lengthy letters to all our family members. It was such a long time since we had been able to write to them. Now we were where mail could be sent out and brought in with regularity, and I was anxious to let them know where and how we were.
The first Sunday we were in the town, I had nothing fit to wear to a berry patch, let alone church. Under the circumstances, Wynn suggested that we have our own worship at home as we had been doing for a number of years. I agreed, though I was anxious to attend worship services again.
The next Sunday I had a dress ready, new shoes purchased and an inexpensive hat I had found in one of the downtown stores. I was not fancy, but I felt presentable. But after walking the several blocks to the little mission, we found a note posted on the door that due to a death in the family, the parson had left town and would be gone for the following week as well. Deeply disappointed, we returned home and had our own time of worship again.
There was no use returning the third Sunday as we already knew the parson would still be away, so we fixed a picnic lunch and walked to the river where we watched the water traffic, had our lunch and then our worship time together.
Now with the fourth Sunday soon approaching, I was looking forward with all of my heart to getting together with those who shared like-faith to sing praises to the Lord and worship Him with a body of believers. And besides, I had an appropriate dress, hat and gloves just waiting to be worn to church!
I cleaned and pressed Wynn’s scarlet tunic and polished my new shoes until they shone. I had put new lace on the plain hat and added a little bunch of velvet violets. It looked quite attractive when I had finished. I dug my best lace handkerchief out of the mothballs along with my woolen shawl, aired them both thoroughly to get rid of the smell, and felt that I was finally ready for the day of worship.
It was a cool day when we set off once more for the little church. I was as nervous and excited as a young girl being courted for the first time. Anxious and frightened about meeting my new neighbors, I wondered if I would still know how to act in public.
About thirty-five people gathered together for worship. Most of them were elderly women and women with young children. A few men were sprinkled among them.
Rather a morose and quiet lot,
I thought as I looked around me.
I wonder if there are any couples our age in the town.
The church had an old upright piano that sat in one corner, but no one played to accompany the singing. My hands ached to try it. It had been so long since I had had opportunity to sit at a keyboard. I wondered if I would still be able to read the music.
The singing did not go well. The preacher himself was unable to stay on tune and the others were not sure what to sing either. It pained me to hear the dear old songs so abused.
We all stood for the reading of the Scriptures. I gloried in taking part in the congregational reading of the Word.
The parson’s sermon was about “choices.” “Ye cannot love God and mammon,” he reminded us. “A choice has to be made.” He expounded on the theme for fifty-five minutes, citing several examples—all on the “mammon” side of the issue that he had encountered in his lifetime.
I knew the preacher spoke with conviction. I knew the Word was true. I knew it was a lesson every Christian must learn and practice. But my heart felt a little heavy as I walked down the steps of the church that first day back to worship after so many years of worshiping alone in the wilderness. I had so hoped for a note of joy. I wanted to praise. I wanted to worship. I wanted to fellowship. I felt I had not been allowed to really do any of those things. I would have to wait for another whole week for joint communion. My steps were a little slower going home, but I said nothing to Wynn.
Just as we reached the gate to our little abode, he reached out and took my hand.
“After we have our dinner,” he said, “would you mind if we took our Bible and went out alone somewhere for our own little praise service again? Guess we’ve done it for such a long time I have the feeling that the day won’t be complete unless we do.”
I wanted to hug him. I did so need to worship.
After we had read the Scriptures and had our time of praise and prayer, remembering especially LaMeche and his newly discovered faith and Silver Star as she searched for truth, we still lingered on the banks of the Athabasca River. There was very little traffic on this day, though I knew on some occasions it was teeming with life and activity. Perhaps it too was taking the day off.
I sat dreamily, my thoughts wandering through many things.
“Wynn,” I questioned him, “do you think the rest of the Indians at Smoke Lake will be open to the gospel?”
“I would like to think so. They certainly have changed a lot since the fire. They will be watching those two very closely. And I can’t believe the new attitude of the chief. He might be very open to some changes.”
“But he is so superstitious,” I said. “I’m afraid he would just try to make God a part of his pagan worship someway.”
“That’s a danger, of course.”
“How does one get them to understand that it is not like that? It isn’t a bunch of mumbo-jumbo—of appeasing one deity who is the stronger to get him to take your side against the less strong?”
“I don’t know.”
I was silent for a few minutes, thinking over the incident when the chief called me to his fire to commend me.
“I was frightened,” I admitted. “After the fire, the chief seemed to get this strange notion that I had some kind of special power. He ... he acted so ... so different than he had toward me before that.”
“LaMeche told me about it.”
“Did he also tell you that the chief presented me with a gift?”
“You mean the silver fox?”
“No, another one before you came back.”
“You didn’t show it to me that I remember,” Wynn said, looking puzzled.
“I didn’t show it to you because ... because I couldn’t keep it,” I stammered.
“But that is an afront to a chief—”
“I know,” I said with great feeling, “and I was afraid—afraid to give it back and yet I knew I couldn’t keep it,” I admitted.
“What did he do when you gave it back?”
“Well, you see, you had told me about the Indian custom of giving gifts—of how the chief gave a gift to honor a person, and that if the person didn’t accept the gift, it would disgrace the chief. So I knew it might make a problem to return the gift, yet I didn’t know—well, what to do about it.”
“I don’t follow,” said Wynn. “You have totally lost me. The chief gave you a gift. You knew he would be offended if you gave it back—and yet you did.”
“Well, not at first. At first I accepted it and thanked him for his kindness. I even told him that it gave me joy—and it did.”
Wynn shook his head. He reached out and took my hand, giving me his lopsided grin. “My dear Elizabeth,” he said, “you are talking strange riddles.”
“No—” I insisted, “no riddles.”
“So what was the chief’s gift?”
I bit my lip to keep it from trembling. Even now, thinking about the gift brought tears to my eyes. Slowly I lifted my eyes to Wynn’s. “It was his youngest son,” I answered. “Nanawana’s baby boy.”
Wynn took my hand and squeezed it. He was silent for many minutes. When he spoke his voice was soft with emotion. “What did you do?”
I still didn’t look up. “I took him, like I said. I held him for a few minutes.”
Then my eyes went to Wynn’s. “Oh, Wynn! He was so precious. He looked at me with those big black eyes. He didn’t even look frightened. Then he sort of squirmed in my arms and smiled right at me. I could see Nanawana holding her breath in anguish. I knew how much she loved her son and what a hard thing the chief was asking of her.
“I told the chief that his gift pleased me greatly, and then I said that I wished in return to give the great chief a gift, and I ... I gave him back his son.”
“What can I say, Elizabeth,” said Wynn, turning my hand over in his much larger ones. “I had no idea anything like this had happened. I’m sure it made you relive our loss of Samuel. I’m sorry, truly sorry.”
I blinked away my tears.
“No wonder the chief holds you in such high esteem,” Wynn went on.
“Esteem, I think I can handle,” I said soberly. “Reverence—no.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning it frightened me when comments were made alluding to some strange power on my part. I don’t want them to mix me up in their paganistic worship. They attribute everything to some power—good or evil. And it seems to me that good is equated with strength. Whoever wins is the one they follow.”
“Yes,” agreed Wynn, “they are still a very superstitious people. They have been isolated from civilization and from the truth of Christianity. Most other villages have had missionaries, trappers, extensive contact with other people, but this little village at Smoke Lake seems to have been left behind by the rest of the world.”
“I pray there will be some way to reach them. Some way to make them understand the true God—on His terms.”
“Perhaps—” mused Wynn, “—perhaps God has used you to open a door for spiritual understanding.”
My eyes grew wide. It was hard to believe that I could have had a part in such a glorious venture. And then I dropped my gaze again.
“I may have spoiled it,” I admitted.
“Spoiled it? In what way? You said the chief accepted the gift back without offense.”
“He did. But I ... when I found that the chief thought I ... well, that I had power of some kind, well, I decided to take advantage of it. Not for myself, but for all the people. You see, everyone—that is, all of the men except LaMeche—were just lying around camp doing nothing. And after the men came back, then the women didn’t want to do anything either. It was pure chaos, with no one hunting or fishing or getting the meals for their groups or anything. Then when the chief sort of set me up, with authority, I decided to go ahead and make him listen to me. I didn’t mean to take advantage of him—not at the time. But when I got to thinking about it later, that’s exactly what I did.

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