[Canadian West 02] - When Comes the Spring (31 page)

Yes, I knew. Mary, mercifully, was already gone.

My mind was whirling, my heart thumping. What could I say to
the anguished Nimmie?

Did she truly realize the seriousness of her near-crime? Wynn
would have needed to arrest her. She would have been locked up in the
little room at the back of her husband's store. She would have been
sent out for trial and sentencing. She would have been implicated in a
terrible crime.

The horror of the whole thing washed through me, making me
tremble; but Nimmie was continuing.

"I am very unjust," went on Nimmie. "I am a sinner. I thought
before when I heard those verses that it was speaking of someone else.
Now I know that it speaks of me. My heart is very heavy, Elizabeth. I
could not sleep last night. I love Him, this Jesus. But I have hurt Him
with my sin."

I could not have told Nimmie that what she had done was not
wrong; I believed it was. It would have been a terrible thing if she had been party to Mary's suicide. But God had kept her from that. I
thanked God for His intervention and mercy. I said nothing about the
act that Nimmie had almost committed. Instead, I talked about what
now must be done about it.

"Nimmie, when I realized that I was a sinner, that I could do nothing myself to atone for my sins, I did the only thing one can do-that
is necessary to do. I accepted what God has provided for all of mankind-His forgiveness. His forgiveness through the death of His Son,
Jesus. He died for our sins so that we need not die for our own. I don't
understand that kind of love either, Nimmie. But I know that it's real,
for I have felt it. When I prayed to God and asked for His forgiveness
and took His Son as my Savior, that love filled my whole person.
Where I had had misery and fear before, now I have peace and joy."

"And He would do that for me?"

"He wants to. He aches to. That's why He came-and died. He
loves you so much, Nimmie."

Even though Nimmie's eyes remained dry, mine were filled with
tears.

We bowed our heads together, and I prayed and then Nimmie
prayed. Hers was a beautiful, simple prayer, beginning in faith and
repentance and ending with joy and praise.

I reached over and held Nimmie for a moment when we had finished praying. Even Nimmie's eyes were wet now. We spent some time
looking at God's wonderful words of assurance and promise from the
Bible, and then Nimmie rushed home to share her good news with
Ian.

As she left the house that day, my heart was singing. Nimmie was
even more than a very special friend. She was a beloved sister as well.

We had no idea how quickly Nimmie's newfound faith would be
tested. Less than a week after Nimmie and I had spent our time in
prayer, disaster struck. The whole settlement was to suffer the consequences, but Nimmie and her husband would be hurt most of all.

It was about two o'clock in the morning when voices-loud and
excited-reached our cabin. We both scrambled out of bed and hurried
to the window The whole world was lit up with an angry red glow.

"Fire!" cried Wynn before he even reached the window.

"Oh, dear God, no!" I.prayed out loud.

But it was. It looked for a moment as if the whole village were
going up in smoke. Wynn was dressed in the time it took me to understand the scene before me.

"Stay here, Elizabeth," he said. "I'll send people to you if they need
your help. You know where all the medical supplies are kept. Get them
out and ready in case they are needed."

Wynn was gone before I could even speak to him.

I dressed hurriedly, afraid I might be needed even before I could
carry out Wynn's orders. The noise outside grew louder. I could hear
the crackling of the flames now as well. Kip whined and moved toward
the door. His instincts told him that there was danger.

"It's all right, Kip," I spoke soothingly to him. "You are safe here."
I still didn't know what it was that was burning.

After I had followed all of Wynn's instructions and laid out the
medical supplies, the bandages, and the burn ointments I had found, I
put more wood in the fire and set a full kettle of water on to boil in
case it was needed.

Smoke was in the air now, seeping through every air space into our
cabin. The smell sickened me, for it meant pain and loss and even
possible death. I went to the window to see if I could tell just how
much of our small settlement was being taken by the fire. It was the
Hudson's Bay Store that was burning. Wild flames leaped skyward.
Men milled around the building, but there was really little they could
do. There was no firefighting equipment in the village-only buckets
and snowdrifts; and against such a fire, these had very little effect.

One cabin, close to the store, was also burning, and I prayed for
the occupants' safety. I began to pick out figures then. There were men
on roofs of other buildings. There were bucket brigades feeding them
pails of snow. Women and children milled around or huddled helplessly in groups. The whole scene was one of despair and horror.

A noise at the door brought me from the window. Three women
stood together against the night. One held a baby in her arms, and one
of the others held a child by the hand.

I had seen them before at the trading post where Nimmie and I had dished out soup to the storm-chilled. I did not know them by
name.

"Come in," I said. "How is Nimmie? Have you seen Nimmie?"

One lady shook her head. The others looked blank.

They pushed the little girl forward. Her face was streaked with soot
and wet from tears. She had an ugly burn across her hand. I took off
her coat and knelt before her.

I had no training in treating burns. I grabbed a jar of ointment and
read the label. It didn't tell me as much as I needed to know. I felt I
should cleanse the wound somehow, but how? I got a basin of water
and warmed it to my touch. I did not want to damage the burned
tissue further. With a cloth, I wiped away most of the dirt and grime,
trying hard not to hurt the child. Then I generously applied the ointment and bound the wound with a clean bandage.

As soon as I had finished, the mother with the baby held him out
to me. She coughed to show that the baby had a problem. She pointed
out the window at the fire and coughed again. "Smoke," she said,
knowing that word.

"He choked on the smoke?" I asked her.

"Smoke," she said again.

Smoke inhalation. What could I do about that? I had no idea how
it was treated and, if I had known, I was almost sure I wouldn't have
what was necessary to treat it anyway.

I took the baby. To put their minds at ease I had to do something.
What, God? What do they do to make breathing easier? The only thing I
had ever heard of to ease breathing was steam, and it might be the very
worst thing I could do. I didn't know.

I unbundled the baby and laid him on the cot. Then I dug through
Wynn's medical supply looking for something, anything, that might
help the infant. I could find nothing that was labeled for smoke inhalation. I finally took some ointment that said that it was good for chest
congestion and rubbed a small amount on the wee chest.

I had not finished with the small baby when the door opened
again. More women and children entered our small cabin, more from
fright than from injuries. A few of them did have a small burn or two
but, thankfully, nothing major. The smell of smoke was on their clothing and the fear of fire in their faces.

Whenever a new group joined us, I asked the same question.
"Nimmie? Have you seen Nimmie? The McLains? Are they all right?"

I got shrugs and blank looks in return.

The morning sun was pulling itself to a sitting position when
Wynn came in carrying a young man who had badly burned a foot.

I was glad to see Wynn and sorry for the young man. "Nimmie?"
I asked again. "What about the McLain?"

"They're fine," Wynn responded. `All three of them."

I was greatly relieved.

Then Wynn began to give instructions as to what he would need
to care for the foot, and I carried them out to the best of my ability.
After the young man was given some medication to dull the pain,
Wynn did what he could for the ugly burn. Then he bandaged the foot
lightly and, leaving the young man on our cot, went back again to help
fight the fire.

Before he left he pulled me close, though he did not hold me long;
there were a number of eyes fixed upon us.

"I think well be able to save the other homes. The fire has passed
its worst. It shouldn't be long before you can start sending them home."
Then he was gone.

I looked around at the still-frightened faces. "Sergeant Delaney says
that the fire will soon be over," I informed them, gesturing with my
hands as well, "and then you will all be able to return to your cabins.
The rest of your homes are quite safe. You'll be able to go back to
them."

I wasn't sure how many of them understood my words. I still knew
only a few words in their tongue and none of them dealt with fire.

"But first," I said, "we'll have some tea."

It took a lot of tea that morning, and we had to take turns with
the cups. Even so, it seemed to lift the spirit of gloom from the room.
Some of the ladies even began to chat. It was a great relief to me.

I checked on the young man with the bad burn. He seemed to be
resting as comfortably as possible under the circumstances. I asked him
if he would like some tea, but he shook his head.

As the morning progressed, the fire died to a smolder of rubble, and two-by-two or in huddled little groups, the ladies and children left
our cabin.

The young man had fallen asleep, whether from medication or
exhaustion I did not know.

I set about doing up the dishes and tidying the small room.

By the time Wynn came, the young man had awakened and was
asking me questions I could not understand nor answer. I was glad to
see Wynn, for he would know what the fellow wanted.

I met Wynn at the door. After a quick look to assure myself that
he was all right, I indicated the man on the cot.

"He's been trying to ask me something," I told Wynn. "I have no
idea what he is saying."

Wynn crossed to the young man and knelt beside him. He spoke
to him in the soft flowing sounds of his native tongue. Wynn spoke
again and then, with a nod of his head, he rose and lifted the young
man to his feet.

"I'm taking him home," Wynn said to me.

The young man seemed about to topple over.

"Shouldn't you-shouldn't you carry him?" I asked anxiously.

"I would," said Wynn, "gladly. But it would shame him to be carried through his village."

I looked at the proud young man. His face was twisted with pain,
and still he was determined to walk rather than to be carried.

I nodded my head. "I hope he makes it," I said fervently.

"I'll see that he does," spoke Wynn softly, and they went out
together.

When Wynn returned, he brought the McLains with him.

"Do you have enough food for five hungry people?" he asked me.
I looked toward my stove. It was almost noon and no one had had
anything to eat.

"I'll find it," I said without hesitation. But before I went to my
cupboards and stove, I had to assure myself that Nimmie and Katherine were truly okay.

They clustered around our door, taking off soiled coats and kicking
snow from their boots. Their faces were soot covered and streaked with tears, whether from weeping or the sting of the acrid smoke in their
eyes I did not know nor ask. Their shoulders slumped with fatigue. It
had been a long, hard, disheartening night. Their home was gone.
Their livelihood was gone. In one night they lost their past, their present, and their future.

I crossed to them, unable to find words to express my feelings. I
looked into Nimmie's eyes. My question was not voiced but she
answered it. With just a quick little nod, she assured me she'd be all
right.

I turned then to Katherine and put out my hand. "Are you all
right?" I asked her.

Her answer was more as I would have expected. "I have no burns
or outer injuries."

She was, telling me that where she really hurt was on the inside. It
would heal, now that she had found the secret to healing. But it would
take time.

I turned back to Mr. McLain. "I'm sorry," I whispered falteringly,
"truly sorry."

Mr. McLain was able to give me a crooked smile. "We're tough,
Miz Delaney," he said. "Survivors. We'll bounce back."

I answered his smile and went to get them something to eat.

After we had finished our meal, we sat around the fireplace talking
in quiet tones.

"What are your plans, Ian? Is there anything we can do?" asked
Wynn.

Mr. McLain shrugged his shoulders. "I haven't sorted it out yet."

"You are welcome to stay here until you find other accommodations," went on Wynn.

"Katherine can have the cot," I hurried to add. "Is there somewhere we can find another bed?"

Nimmie shook her head. "There are no beds in the village," she
said. "But don't worry. I can make all the bed that Ian and I need."

I looked puzzled.

"Spruce boughs and furs," explained Nimmie. "I know how to make a bed that even the richest white people of the world would
envy!"

I admired Nimmie's attempt to lighten the situation and bring to
us a little humor.

"It's not really us that I am worried about," McLain continued, his
shoulders sagging in spite of his effort to keep up his spirits.

"You know what it's like this time of year," he went on, directing
his conversation to Wynn. "It's been a long, hard winter. Most of the
families are almost out of supplies. They were depending on the store
to get them through the rest of the winter until the new growth
brought fresh food again. Why, I'll wager that most of them have less
than five cups of flour in the cabin. How they gonna make their bannock without flour? What about salt and tea and-?"