[Canadian West 02] - When Comes the Spring (12 page)

"I'm sorry, Elizabeth," whispered Wynn, "but I guess this will be
your bed for tonight."

I closed my mouth against the protest and the odor that came from
the pile of furs as Wynn settled me gently on the bed.

"You mean this is all there is here?" I asked incredulously.

"This is it," answered Wynn.

"But what about you-and them?"

"We'll stay here, too. At least it's dry, and the fire will have our
clothes dried out by morning."

I looked quickly at the tiny, crowded, overstocked room. Suddenly
it seemed terribly stuffy and suffocating. I wished for the out-of-doors
so I could breathe freely again. But when I heard the howl of the wind
and the lashing of the rain, I closed my eyes and tried to be thankful for the warmth of the smelly little cabin. Wynn patted my shoulder in
sympathy.

When supper was ready, a makeshift arrangement of a table was
dragged up close to the stove. Wynn came to help me to it. I told him
I really wasn't hungry and would gladly settle for just a hot cup of tea
or coffee. He realized then that I was still in my wet clothes and shivering with the cold.

"I'm sorry, Elizabeth," he said. "I was so anxious to get some hot
food in you that I forgot about your wet things. I didn't realize you got
as wet as you did. I guess the slicker didn't keep out much of the rain,
eh?"

"Oh, it did," I insisted bravely, comparing his soaked appearance
to mine. "I only have a spot here and there, that's all."

Wynn reached out to feel my clothing. "You're wet," he argued,
"through and through. We'll get you out of them as soon as you get
some hot soup down you."

I wanted to protest further, but Wynn would have none of it. I
allowed myself to be helped to the chair, and Wynn poured me a cup
of the soup he had made. I sipped it slowly. It wasn't the best meal I
had ever eaten, but it was hot, even tasty in a "canned" sort of way.
My clothing on the side closest to the stove began to steam. I shifted
around some to direct the heat on another section. I didn't really warm
up, although a few spots of me were actually hot. It was a strange
sensation to feel so hot in places and yet chilled at the same time. I
finished my cup of soup and motioned to Wynn that I was ready to
return to the heap called a bed.

"Got a couple of blankets, Charlie?"

Charlie lumbered up from the barrel on which he was sitting and
spit at the stove as he reached up to a shelf.

"Hudson's Bay," he grumbled. "Hardly used."

"They'll still be hardly used come morning," Wynn answered, not
to be intimidated by Charlie's growling. Wynn moved to where he
could screen me from view with the blanket. "Now," he said, "get out
of those wet things."

I looked at him, wondering if he really meant what he said. The
room was full of men.

He meant it. I shrugged, unfastened my wet skirt and let it fall. I
then removed my shirt and my petticoats, casting apprehensive glances
at the blanket Wynn held for me.

• I could tell by the noises on the other side of the makeshift wall
that the four men were now enjoying Wynn's supper soup. There were
slurps and smacking, and I was glad I wouldn't need to see as well as
hear them eat. I wondered if Charlie could eat and chew tobacco at the
same time, or if he actually disposed of his wad while he was dining.

"Now climb up there and lie down," Wynn spoke softly, "and I'll
tuck you in."

He did as promised, using both of the blankets Charlie had provided. I lay there shivering. Wynn went back to the stove, took the cup
I had used, and poured soup for himself. He then got a cup of coffee
and came back to my bed. `Are you warming any?" I thought I was,
though my teeth hadn't really stopped chattering.

Now that Wynn no longer claimed the stove for his meal preparation and I no longer occupied the one chair in the room, the men
moved in closer to the heat. Their clothing began to steam and smell,
not improving the odor in the room. I was glad I had already eaten. I
couldn't have swallowed with that strong, offensive smell in the room.

I tried to move over to give Wynn room to sit down on the bed
beside me, but this was truly a one-man bed. Wynn crouched beside
me and sipped his coffee. I could see the clothes hugging tightly to
him.

"You're still wet," I stated. "You'll get sick."

"I'll dry soon. I'll be okay. Why don't you try to get some sleep?"

I wanted to retort, "Here?" But I knew that "here" was the best he
could offer, so I simply nodded.

Wynn moved back to the stove where the men were busy eating
and joking.

"Hey, Sarge," quipped one of the boatmen. "Not bad soup for a
lawman."

The other men joined in his guffaw at his tremendously funny
joke. Wynn just nodded his head.

"Much obliged for your home and your bed tonight, Charlie," said
Wynn sincerely.

Charlie looked over to the corner where I huddled. He had finished eating, so he was free to chew and spit again, which he now did.
It landed on one of the boatmen's boots. The fellow did not even
glance down.

"No problem," Charlie assured Wynn. "Me, I ain't aimin' on usin'
the bed tonight nohow."

The other men laughed and I wondered why. I didn't need to wonder for long. The makeshift table was quickly cleared of the few cups
and a pack of cards was produced.

"Ain't got nothin' 'gainst cards, have ya, Sarge?" asked the chubby
boatman.

"Not as long as they're fair and don't cause any fights," answered
Wynn.

"Then I guess thet this here's gotta he a fair game, gents," the man
said to his comrades; and they all laughed uproariously again, slapping
their thighs and one another's backs.

Crates or barrels served as seats, and a couple of bottles soon joined
the cards on the table.

"You wantin' to join us, Sarge?" invited the little dark man with
the French accent and long mustache.

Wynn shook his head.

The four men hunched over the table, and the long night began.
There wasn't much place for Wynn to go. Attempting to dry out his
wet clothes, he pulled a block of wood close to the stove and sat down,
leaning against a pile of crates.

The lamp flickered now and then, and an unwashed hand would
reach out to turn the wick up a bit. The jesting got louder and more
coarse. Wynn reminded them a lady was present, and then for a few
minutes it was quieter in the cabin. As the night progressed and the
bottles were emptied, the commotion grew. Wynn eventually watched
it without comment, seeming to pay little attention to the whole thing;
but I knew he was well aware of every movement in the room.

From my bed in the corner, I watched too. I was no longer shivering-the scratchy Hudson's Bay blankets were doing their job well. I
nearly dozed once or twice, and then laughter or a stream of obscenity
would jerk me awake again.

Wynn rose from his place by the fire to check on me. When I saw
him coming, I closed my eyes lightly. I knew it might be considered
deceitful, but I did not want Wynn to worry about me. He already had
enough on his mind. I did not fool him, however.

'Are you all right?" he asked softly.

I didn't answer immediately. The truth was, I felt very strange, very
out of place, in the room with the cursing, gambling men. I had never
been in such a situation before. It was the kind of thing I had avoided
all my life. If it hadn't been for the presence of my husband, I would
have been stiff with fright. I glanced quickly at the four men in the
room. The big one was taking another long drink from the bottle; and
the dark, little one was impatiently waiting his turn, hand outstretched.
I looked quickly back to Wynn. Concern showed in his face.

"I'm fine," I managed weakly; but then I repeated it more firmly,
willing myself to realize I spoke the truth. "I'm fine."

"Your leg?"

"It doesn't hurt too badly at all."

"Are you warm?"

I merely nodded my head for this one.

He knelt beside me and shifted my blankets some, tucking them
in tightly around me. "I'm sorry, Elizabeth. I planned the trip so you
would have better accommodations than this. If this storm-"

"It's all right," I hurried to assure him. "You're here-that's what
matters.

He leaned over and kissed me, the love showing in his eyes, but
the worried look did not leave his face. "Try to get some sleep," he
whispered.

I smiled at him and he kissed me again, and then went back to his
place by the stove.

It was getting very late and the men were still playing cards, drinking, and cursing. Charlie rose from his crate and went to bring another
bottle. When he placed it on the table, Wynn, hardly moving, stood
slowly, leaned over and removed it. Four pairs of eyes turned to look
at him.

"We've got a long trip ahead of us tomorrow. I want some sober
bargemen. Charlie, you can drink if you want to. It's your liquor, but
don't pass your bottle around."

There was authority in Wynn's voice; and, though there were some
grumbles around the table, no one challenged him.

The card game went on, but it was clear that much of the "fun"
had gone out of it.

At length, the men decided they'd had enough. They pushed back
their makeshift seats, cleared a little space around the stove, and
stretched out on the floor to sleep. For a few moments, it was blessedly
silent. Then, one by one, they filled the room with a chorus of snores.

The snoring seemed even louder and more vulgar than the conversation had been. Resigned, I turned my face to the wall and tried to
get some sleep in the little time that was left.

Once or twice I heard stirring as the fire in the stove was replenished. I knew without even looking that it was Wynn.

When morning came, I was still bone-weary. But at least the effort
of trying to sleep was over. The rain was still falling, but the wind
seemed to have died down. I was thankful for small mercies.

At my first stirring, Wynn was beside me.

"How do you feel, Elizabeth?" he whispered.

I ached all over, and my sore leg throbbed with each beat of my
heart. I managed a faltering smile. "Okay," I answered. "Can you help
me up?"

Wynn's strong arms helped me to my feet and shielded me with
the blanket while I fumblingly got into my clothes. They were thoroughly dry now and felt much softer than the blankets had.

The men were still scattered around on the floor, sleeping off their
binge of the night before.

"I need to go out, Wynn," I whispered. "Where do I go?"

Wynn nodded toward the one door.

"Anyplace in the woods," he answered me.

At my troubled look, he glanced back to the men. "Don't worry
about any of them. They wouldn't wake up until next week if they
were left alone. I'll watch them."

I was relieved but still apprehensive about the whole outdoors as a
facility.

"Do you need help walking?" Wynn asked.

I tried my weight on my poor leg to be sure before I answered,
"I'll be all right."

"Are you sure?"

I took an _ unsteady step. "I'll hang onto the cabin if I need support," I told him.

He helped me over to the door and opened it for me. Then he
reached for his jacket. "Here," he said, "youd better use this. It's still
raining."

I wrapped the jacket tightly about me and stepped out into the
misty morning. The nearby river was almost hidden by the fog that
clung to it. Water from the trees dripped on the soggy ground beneath.
Every step I took was in water. I was glad the wind was not blowing.

I took no longer out-of-doors than was necessary. Even then, by
the time I hobbled back into the little, smelly, over-crowded cabin, my
shoes were soaked through and the hem of my dress wet for several
inches. I longed for the stove's warmth, but I hesitated to step over the
sleeping men. Wynn helped me around them, and I took my place in
the one chair and stretched my feet out toward the glow.

"Not very nice out there, is it?" Wynn commented.

"It's wet and cool, but the wind, isn't blowing like yesterday."

Wynn seemed to approve of my healthy attitude. He gave me a
smile and placed a hand on my shoulder as he handed me a cup of hot
coffee.

"Now that you've seen the day, what do you think? Would you like
to get back on the journey or wait out the storm here in the cabin?"

I looked at the four sodden men on the floor. The liquor from the
night before mingled with the other smells. Snores still came forth from
half-open mouths, sometimes catching in their throats in a rugged
growl which snorted to a finish.

I glanced back at the makeshift bed in the corner. It was so narrow
one could scarcely rum over and so lumpy I wondered how Charlie
ever managed to get any sleep at all.

"Where will we be tonight?"

"There's a small post downriver."

"Are there-are there-?" I hesitated to say "houses," for I wasn't
sure if there were any houses as such in the North. "Are there accom modations there?" I finally managed.

"Quite comfortable," Wynn replied.

"Then I vote to move on," I said without hesitation.

Wynn smiled and moved forward to stir the sleeping barge captain.

The man didn't even open an eye, just shifted his position and
started to snore again in a different key.

"Blackjack," Wynn called loudly. "Time to hit the trail!"

The man just stirred again. Wynn knelt beside him and shook his
shoulder. "Time to get up. Get this crew of yours off the floor," Wynn
commanded the man.

Blackjack scowled up at him as if about to argue the point, but
Wynn would take no argument.

"You're being paid to get us to River's Bend, remember? If you
want the pay, then deliver the goods."

The man cursed and propped himself on an elbow.

"Coffee's hot," Wynn prodded him. "Get some in you and let's get
going."