[Canadian West 02] - When Comes the Spring (28 page)

Poor Nimmie.

The fires were burning brightly now, and the room was losing
some of its chill. It would be some time until it was really warm again.
The two Indian men left. Mr. McLain brought in a good supply of
wood from beside the door, and then he, too, turned to go.

"You should be just fine now," he assured me. "We'll keep a better
lookout from now on. I don't think it's gonna blow tonight. Sky looks
clear."

"Can I come with you?" I asked quickly. I knew that Nimmie
needed my help. I was torn between going to her and waiting in the
cabin in case Wynn came home. My conscience finally won over my
heart and I reached for my heavy coat.

Kip moved to follow me, but I pushed him back.

"You wait here," I said to him. "I won't be long."

"I don't mind if you bring him, if you like," said Mr. McLain.

"He might get in a fight with a dog in town," I objected.

"He might."

"Well, I wouldn't want him hurt."

"Is that why you used to carry him?"

We had shut the door on the whining Kip and were making our
way across the drifts of snow to the settlement.

My breath was blowing out before me in puffy white clouds. I
didn't answer McLain; he was walking too briskly for me to maneuver
my snowshoes, keep up, and talk all at the same time. I just nodded
my head in assent.

"So you planning on shutting him in all the time now?"

I shook my head.

"What will you do then?"

"I'll walk him out there," I said, waving my arm at the vast emptiness in the opposite direction of the village.

"You won't be able to keep him away from dogs forever, you
know."

I had thought about that.

"Appears to me," said the husky man, "that Kip would likely hold his own pretty good in a fight. You've been feeding him well, and he
has several pounds on some of the village dogs that just forage for their
food. He's had good exercise, so he's developed strong bones and muscles. He's right smart. I think he'd handle himself just fine up against
another dog."

I wasn't sure just what the man was trying to tell me.

"Are you saying-?" I began, but Mr. McLain cut in, "I'm saying
that, with a child or a dog, you've got to give them a chance to grow
up-natural like. You can't pamper them forever, or you spoil them.
They can never be what they were meant to be. Kip's a Husky. Sure,
they are a scrappy bunch when the need arises. And the need will arise
someday. Here in the North, it's bound to. I think you oughta give Kip
the chance to prove himself before he gets up against an animal where
his life depends upon his fighting skill."

I wanted to argue with this man-to tell him that Kip would never
need to fight, that I would keep him away from such circumstances.
But I knew Mr. McLain was probably right. Kip was a northern dog.
He would have to be prepared to live in the North. I hated the
thought, but it was true.

I walked on in silence, slowly turning over in my mind the words
of the man beside me. I would have to let Kip grow up. I would have
to expose him to the rigors of the village and the fangs of the other
dogs.

First, I would talk to Wynn about it and see if he agreed with this
man. Oh, if only Wynn would get home! He had been gone for three
days. Surely his mission shouldn't have taken him this long.

I blinked back tears that made little icicles on my cheeks and hurried after Mr. McLain. Nimmie needed me.

The situation at the Hudson's Bay Store was even worse than I had
expected. People were crowded in everywhere. Nimmie, busy filling
bowls from a steaming pot of thin soup, gave me a welcoming smile.
Mrs. Sam was the only one in the group whom I recognized. A few of
the children I had seen gathered around Nimmie for her storytelling.

Some of the people had bandages on hands or feet, and I assumed
they were being treated for frostbite.

I crossed to Mrs. Sam. "Where's your husband?" I asked her. When
she looked at me blankly, I said, "Sam? Where's Sam?"

"Trap," she answered, making a motion like a trap snapping shut
with her hands.

"What about the others? Evening Star and Little Deer and Anna?
Have you seen them?"

She shook her head.

We stared at each other, recognizing the questions and concern in
the other's eyes. I didn't know if their husbands had been out on the
traplines or not, not sure how much difference it would make to have
them home or away.

Nimmie was relieved to see me. "I'm so glad you're all right," she
said when she had finished serving the last bowl. "That was the worst
storm I ever remember. I was afraid you wouldn't have enough wood."

Apparently Mr. McLain had not told Nimmie about the smokeless
chimney, not wanting to alarm her until he had checked further. "Oh,
I had plenty of wood," was all I said now. "What can I do to help?" I
asked her.

"Those people over there-they still haven't had anything to eat.
I've run out of bowls or cups. I don't know-"

"What about Miss McLain?" I asked. "Would she have some bowls
we could use?"

"I hadn't thought of that-"

"I'll go see." I hurried out the door and around to the back of the
building.

A call gave me permission to enter. I found Miss McLain in a
warm room sitting before her fireplace, her feet on a block of wood to
soak up the heat, and her hands folded in her lap.

I stood looking at her in bewilderment, wondering if she was
totally oblivious to all that was going on just next door. I finally found
my voice.

"I came because of Nimmie," I began. "She has two or three dozen
people to feed and she has run out of dishes. We were wondering if we
could borrow some."

She didn't even look at me. "Guess you can," she said flatly with
no interest.

Her attitude made me cross, but I held my tongue.

I swallowed and then said evenly, "Where are they?"

"Now, where do you suppose dishes would be?" she returned with
exaggerated sarcasm.

"May I help myself?" I asked, still in check.

"I don't know who will if you don't," was her biting reply.

I took a deep breath, crossed to her cupboards and began to lift
out dishes. I piled them in a dishpan sitting on a nearby shelf. When I
had all I could find, I turned to go.

"Just make sure they're boiled when you're done with them," stated
Miss McLain, her eyes not leaving the fire.

I swung around to face her. "Do you realize," I flung at her, "there
are people just beyond that wall who are fighting for their lives? Do
you know that some of them may well lose their fingers or their toes?
Do you know that Nimmie has been up half the night taking care of
them? And here you sit, all-all bundled up in your great self-pitythinking only about yourself and your lost love! Well, do you want to
know what I think? I think you were well rid of the man. If he thought
no more of you than to-to desert you because of a whining, accusing
sister, then he wasn't much of a man.

"And do you know what else I think?" I was pretty sure Miss
McLain wasn't one bit interested in what I thought, but I went on
anyway. "I think that if after twenty years, you are still sitting by your
fire and tending your little hurt while people out there are suffering
with cold and hunger, then you're not much of a woman either. And
maybe-maybe the doctor's wife was right. Maybe poor little John is
better off without you."

I left the room, slamming the door behind me. I was halfway back
to the store before what I had just done fully hit me. I bit my lip and
the tears started to flow. I had been praying so diligently for this
woman. I had been trying so hard to show her real love and compassion. Nimmie had been trying to break down the barriers for so many
years-and I had just wiped out any faint possibility of progress in a
moment of anger. I would have to apologize. I didn't expect her to
accept my apology. I would never be able to repair the damage I had
done.

"Oh, God, forgive me," I wailed in remorse. "I should never have
said that."

The apology would have to wait. Nimmie needed me and needed
me now.

We worked all forenoon. The people were fed and looked after to
the best of our ability. Mr. McLain and some of the men made an
inspection tour to all the village houses. It was even worse than we had
thought. Besides the little girl, the storm had claimed five other victims:
an older man and his equally old wife living in a cabin alone at the
edge of the village; a grandmother in the household of our erstwhile
driver on the trip to the settlement; and an elderly gentleman who had
been very sick before the storm struck. The general opinion was that
he would have died regardless because of his weakened condition. Also
dead was a middle-aged woman who had attempted to gather more
wood and lost her way in the storm. Because of the heavy snow and the
cold weather, digging of graves was impossible, so the bodies were all to
be bundled up in blankets and tied up in the branches of the trees to
await springtime. The Indian people had a special stand of trees which
served that purpose-the "burying trees," Mr. McLain called them. But before the bodies could be prepared for the burying trees, they had to
be examined by the Royal North West Police and permission given. So
they were lined up in a vacant cabin to await Wynn's return.

Caring for the needs of the people in the village helped to some
extent to take my mind off Wynn, though I wasn't able to ignore his
absence completely. Throughout the day Nimmie and I had our hands
full taking care of all those who needed our help. By early afternoon
the store was beginning to empty. Many had now gathered fuel for
their fires and returned to their own cabins. Those who remained
behind needed to be fed again; and so I worked over the stew pot,
getting another all-too-scanty meal ready for them.

Nimmie had just finished checking a swollen hand when I heard
her exclamation, "Katherine! Are you all right?"

I swung around and, sure enough, there stood Miss McLain. I
knew my apology was overdue and that it shouldn't be put off, but this
hardly seemed the time or the place. I wasn't sure what to do.

Miss McLain said nothing, so Nimmie went on, "Did you want
something?"

"Yes," said Miss McLain matter of factly. "I want to help."

I don't know who was more astounded-Nimmie or I. We both
looked at Miss McLain with our mouths open. Her eyes were red and
swollen, and I could tell she had been weeping.

"I want to help," she repeated. "Would you tell me what I can do?"

"Well, uh, well-we are fixing something to eat again. Some of
these people have just come in and they haven't had anything to eat for
a couple of days. Elizabeth is making stew."

"What can I do?" asked Miss McLain one more time.

"Well, we'll-we'll need the dishes. We haven't had time to wash
the dishes yet." Nimmie motioned toward the dishpan filled with dirty
dishes still sitting on the back of the big stove. Without a word, Miss
McLain moved to the dishpan, rolled up her sleeves, and set to work.

Nimmie looked at me and I just shrugged my shoulders helplessly.
I had no idea what had brought about the change. And I wasn't about
to ask-here.

By midafternoon we had done all we could for the village people. All had now returned to their homes. Smoke rose from the cabins circling the town clearing. Nimmie suggested we sit down and have a cup
of tea, but I said I would rather get back home. Kip was still in and
unattended, and I was sure Wynn would soon be home. And by now
the fire would have burned out, leaving the cabin cold again. With all
these reasons, Nimmie let me go.

Kip was glad to see me, fairly knocking me over with his enthusiasm. I let him out for a run while I rebuilt the fires. It took awhile for
the rooms to warm up and for the teakettle to begin to sing. It leaked
a bit around the spout, but was still usable. I lamented again over the
loss of my teapot. I wanted a cup of hot tea now. I finally dug out a
small pot and made the tea in that. Maybe I imagined it, but for some
reason, it didn't taste quite the same.

When darkness came, the cabin was quite warm and cozy, but I
still felt chills pass through me. Where was Wynn? How long did it
take to find a lost trapper? I sat before my fire, reading and praying.
Finally I laid aside my Bible and began to pace the floor, letting the
tears stream unchecked down my face.

Finally I banked the fire, bundled up in blankets and curled up on
the cot again. Kip climbed up to lie on my feet. This time I didn't
scold him for being on the cot. I remembered the night before and the
fact that Kip might have saved my toes.

There was a full moon and the rays of it streamed through the little
frosted window. It seemed ever so bright, reflecting off the freshly
blown snow. I was trying to pray again when there was a commotion
at the door; and, before I could even worm my way out of the blankets,
Wynn was there.

I didn't even jump up and run to him; I just buried my face in my
hands and began to sob until my whole being shook. I was so relieved,
so thankful, to see him safely home. He walked over and took me in
his arms. As I clung to him, he held me for a long time, stroking my
hair and patting my back. "There, there, Elizabeth," he murmured as
to a small child.

We didn't try to talk. We really didn't need to. Later we would hear
from one another all the details of the four miserable days of separation. For now it was enough just to be together again.

Wynn had a busy and rather unpleasant day following his return.
Besides the bodies awaiting his investigation, he had also brought one
back with him on the dog sled. He had found the man in question,
but not in time to prevent his death.

It looked as if the fellow had accidentally stepped into one of his
own traps. He had managed to free himself, but, with the mangled leg,
he was unable to get to his cabin or to find help. Wynn had discovered
the body beside the trail.