[Canadian West 02] - When Comes the Spring (29 page)

I asked -if he had a wife and family. "No," Wynn said, "his wife
died in childbirth three years ago."

It was a sad time for all of us. After the bodies had been inspected
and Wynn had filed the necessary reports, the Indian people were given
permission to bury their dead.

It was a solemn assembly that filed, single form, out of the village
that afternoon and made their way to the burying trees. Wynn and I
joined the somber procession. The sound of mourning sent chills up
and down my spine. I had never heard anything like it before. Not the
sound of weeping, it was a cry, a whine, a deep guttural lament that
rose and fell as the column moved along. It tore at my soul, and I wept
quietly with the mourners.

At home again as twilight came, the drums took up their steady
beat. As they echoed through the settlement, thumping out their message of death, even Kip stirred and whined.

"Will they keep on all night?" I asked Wynn, feeling restless and
edgy with the intensity of the beating.

"Oh, no. They should be stopping any time now."

Out the window, I could see in the settlement below us open bonfires in the central area. Around the fires, Indians moved in a dance
pattern. The drummers sat in the firelight beating the drums with their
hands and chanting a monotone tune that rose and fell on the night
air.

Wynn was right. The drumming stopped as abruptly as it had
begun. I looked out the window again and saw the silhouettes of figures disappearing into the shadows of the buildings. The fires had died
down to a dim glow. The dead had had a proper and respectable burial.

January passed into February. We had more storms but none with
the violence of the mid-January blizzard. For the most part, life seemed
to slip into some sort of a daily routine. We still continued our Bible
studies, and Miss McLain never missed a study. Though she was still
difficult at times, her attitude had changed from the inside out. I never
did apologize for my outburst-not that I wasn't willing to do so. It
just didn't seem like the appropriate thing to do under the circumstances. Thank you, Lord, I prayed, for turning something bad into something good.

When new babies were added to the village families, the Indian
midwives did the delivering. Four were born between the first of October and mid-January. And so far, in spite of the cold winter, we had
lost no children except for the one little girl. It was a shock to me when
I first heard Nimmie and Miss McLain gratefully discussing this fact.

You mean you expect to lose children? I wanted to ask. But their
conversation told me very plainly that in the North death was nearly
as accepted as life. Because of the severe weather, the lack of medical
care and the poor nutrition, they did indeed lose children regularly. I
was appalled. Especially when I knew that medicines and doctors could
have saved a good number of them.

Wynn kept a close eye on the Mary-versus-Smith situation. He had
been out to see Mary many times. She was again working her traplines.
How she managed it, Wynn did not know. The stamina of that little
lady was remarkable. She had lost some toes from her severe frostbite,
but she hobbled along, checking and resetting her traps and skinning
out her furs. She was getting quite a pile, Wynn said. He also said that
all the evidence supported Smith's assessment: Mary was crowding his
territory.

"There must be some mistake," I argued. "If she is cutting into
someone else's territory, she must not realize it. I'm sure she wouldn't
do that on purpose."

Wynn just smiled.

Kip was a beautiful dog. I discussed with Wynn what Mr. McLain
had said, that I had to allow Kip to find his own place in the dog
community of our settlement.

"Do you think he's right?" I asked reluctantly, fearing that Wynn
might agree with Mr. McLain.

"I'm afraid so, Elizabeth," he said. "It will come sooner or later,
whether you want it to or not. Kip will be challenged, and he will
either need to meet the challenge or run."

I couldn't imagine Kip running. I wasn't sure I even wanted him to
run. But to fight? I didn't want that either.

"Do you think he's ready now?" I asked, a tremble in my voice.

I looked at Kip's beautiful, silver-tipped fur and the lovely curve of
his tail. I shuddered to think of him with torn bleeding ears and ragged
scars.

"Don't rush things," said Wynn and squeezed my hand. "There's
plenty of time."

Wynn spent many hours training his new dogs. They were getting
big like their brother Kip, but Wynn did not want to put them in
harness for several months, waiting for their bones and muscles to be
fully developed. He had chosen another two pups from the second
litter Smith had spoken about at the time of our visit. Wynn was very
pleased with the new dogs. They were smart and strong and learned
very quickly. So far there was no evidence of a mean streak. Wynn had
trained them with firmness and kindness rather than harshness. They
responded to him with respect and devotion.

My friends from the village were much too busy keeping the fires
going and their families fed to have much time for tea. Occasionally,
one or two did appear for a few minutes. The women I had joined in
the berry patch sometimes brought new neighbors for me to meet. We
still couldn't speak much to one another. Many of the ladies knew some English words, but most often they were words needed for trading at
the post, not words that might be used for a chat over a cup of tea.
With all of us combining our knowledge, and by using our hands
extensively, we did manage to converse some; but often we sat for a
period of time without saying anything, just enjoying companionship.
It was a new experience for me. I had been used to chatter. To sit
quietly did not come easy. However, with time and patience, I was
learning.

Evening Star was expecting another baby. I had been waiting daily
for the good news, praying that all would go well and that she, too,
would deliver a healthy child.

She was a bit vague about the expected time of arrival. When I
asked her about it, she just shrugged off my question. I thought she
must not understand me, so I put the question another way. Again she
shrugged, answering only, "Come when ready," which was Anna's
translation.

We were awakened in the dead of night by someone opening our
door and calling Wynn's name. Both of us sat bolt upright in bed, and
then Wynn reached in the darkness for his clothes and hurried into
them.

My heart was in my throat as I listened to the anxious voices coming from the other room. Soon Wynn was back to the bedside, lamp
in hand. "It's Evening Star," he said. "She's having trouble delivering."

Wynn completed his dressing and then turned to place a kiss on
my forehead.

"Try not to worry," he said. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

I tried not to worry but I wasn't doing very well at it. If the experienced midwives were unable to help Evening Star, what could Wynn
do?

I finally got out of bed and went out to put more wood on the
fire. I placed the lamp on the little table, wrapped myself in a blanket,
and picked up my Bible. I paged through the Psalms, snatching underlined verses here and there of promise and assurance. It was one of
those times when I couldn't really concentrate on my reading. Finally I
closed my eyes and began to pray. For Evening Star and the unborn little one. For Wynn, that he would have wisdom and guidance. For
myself, that God would still my trembling spirit enough for me to be
able to concentrate on His Word.

After some minutes, I went back to the Bible. Again my eyes
skimmed the pages. My spirit was calm now. My trembling had ceased.
I read passage after passage until I came to Psalm 27:14. I stopped and
read it through again. "Wait on the Lord: be of good courage, and he
shall strengthen thine heart; wait, I say, on the Lord."

Yes, Lora I prayed. All I can do is wait. I picked up the knitted
sweater I had nearly completed for the new baby and worked while I
waited.

It was almost daylight when Wynn returned. He was weary but his
eyes smiled at me the moment he came in the door, and I knew he
brought good news.

"She's all right?" I said.

"And so is her boy," Wynn answered me.

I shut my eyes for a moment of thanks, the tears squeezing out
under my eyelids. Then I looked back up at Wynn, smiling.

"You must be very tired," I commented. "Would you like a cup of
coffee before you go back to bed?"

"Back to bed?" laughed Wynn. "My darling, I do not intend to go
back to bed. It's time to start another day."

So I fixed breakfast while Wynn shaved; and then, after eating and
having our time of family prayer together, he did indeed go out to start
another day-or continue the one he'd already started.

When chopping frozen logs for firewood, one of the children had
an accident with an axe. They brought him to Wynn who, fortunately,
was at home at the time. One look at the injured leg, and I felt as if I
would lose my dinner. We removed the pillows from our cot, and
Wynn stretched the boy out on the thin mattress.

His pantleg was ragged and torn and covered with blood. The first
thing Wynn had to do was to clean up the area so he could see how
bad the wound was. He asked for my scissors to cut off the ragged
pantleg and then for hot water in the basin and his medical supply kit.

The Indian youths who had brought the boy stood around help lessly. They understood very little English and they didn't look much
less queasy than I.

Somehow I managed to follow all of Wynn's orders-bringing the
water and, the sponge cloths, boiling the instruments in a pan on the
stove, and handing Wynn whatever it was he needed.

Wynn cleaned the wound thoroughly, managing to stop the bleeding, and then put in several sutures. The boy's only indication of the
pain he must have been suffering was a pale face and clenched jaw. I
looked only when I had to. Most of the time, I was able to keep my
eyes off the leg and look at my hands or the floor or Wynn's face. It
seemed to take forever but, in actuality, it was all taken care of rather
promptly. I sighed when Wynn said, "That's it." Now I could collapse.

But I didn't. Somehow I managed to stay on my feet. The two
Indians moved forward to pick up the brave boy; he was pale and
exhausted from the ordeal. I stepped forward, too.

"Perhaps he should stay here for a while," I suggested to Wynn.
"He's too weak to move now, and I'll care for him."

Wynn, surprised, turned and spoke to the Indian boys who had
carried in their friend. After a brief exchange, they nodded and left.
Wynn made sure the young lad was comfortable and then picked up
his hat.

"I'd better go see his mother," he said. "I want her to know exactly
what's happening."

In about fifteen minutes Wynn was back with a worried-looking
woman.

She crossed to her son and spoke some words softly to him. His
eyes fluttered open and he answered her. She spoke again, nodded her
head to us, and left the room.

The young boy's name was Nanook. He stayed with us for five
days before he hobbled home on two clumsy sticks. I had enjoyed
having him. He could not speak to me, but he could laugh. And he
could eat-my, how that boy could eat! His leg didn't become infected,
for which we were thankful. Wynn watched it very carefully, dressing
it morning and night. By the time Nanook left us, it was beginning to
heal nicely.

Before he left, I gave him a loaf of fresh bread to take with him.
He tucked it inside his coat, his eyes twinkling. Then he patted Kip,
whom he had grown to love, and hobbled out the door.

When March came, I began to think spring, but Wynn warned me
that this was much too premature. No one else in the whole village
was looking for spring at this early date. I chafed. Winter had been
upon us for-for years, it seemed to me.

I was restless and I was lonely. My Indian friends had been too
busy to come for tea for quite a while. Nimmie had been down with
the flu, so our Bible study together had been missed. I still didn't feel
very much at ease with Miss McLain, though I had now been given
permission to call her Katherine. I could have talked myself into visiting her, but she was busy nursing Nimmie. I would have liked to have
been Nimmie's nurse myself, but I knew it was important to Katherine
to be able to do this. So I stayed home.

There was no sewing to be done, my mending was all caught up.
I had read all my books over and over. It seemed that the extent of my
day's requirements was to get three meals and do the dishes.

I was tired of the meals as well. It seemed as if I just fixed the same
things over and over-from tins. Tinned this and tinned that. We did
have fresh fish and fresh wild meat. But I was tired of them also. I
really didn't enjoy the wild meat and craved even one taste of beefsteak
or baked ham.

I longed for spring. But in the North, spring is slow in coming.

I decided to take a walk to the store. Maybe I would find some
food item on the shelves that wouldn't be too expensive and would be
a delightful change for our daily menu.

I bundled up and pulled on my mittens. Kip was already waiting
by the door, his tail wagging in anticipation.

"You want to go for a walk?" I asked him, an unnecessary question. I struggled into my snowshoes and started out. It was a bright sunny
day and I dared to hope that maybe this once Wynn was wrong.
Maybe spring really was coming.

We walked through the morning sunshine, Kip frolicking ahead or
running off to the side to check out something that only dogs knew or
cared about. I was feeling good about the world again.

I had not given even fleeting thought to the village dogs, so intent
was I in getting out for a walk again. Had I thought about it, I might
not have proceeded any differently. I had finally made up my mind
that Mr. McLain and Wynn were right: I could not go on protecting
Kip against real life.