The Survivor (14 page)

John was soon unlaced and allowed to crawl around on a blanket, and crawl he did. Full Moon went on to explain that John spent his day, as did every Micmac child, wrapped in soft beaverskin and safely strapped onto the flat board. A hoop of ash curved over his head as protection. Thus the baby could be taken everywhere, leaned up against a tree, or in cases of danger hung from a high limb. Worn on the back with a tump line around the forehead, the board’s ample width protected the baby from limbs of branches while the mother made her way through thick woods. James noticed several little toys hung from the curved hoop. One particularly attracted James, and he fingered it. The toy hung on a thread, a dogwood loop strung with a web of vegetable fibres.

“Not toy — protection!” One Arm told him. “Trap for evil spirits which come take baby’s spirit. Baby’s spirit weak, easy to be snatched. Many infants get sick and die.” The spider spirits had taught the Micmac how to make these, and in fact, how to make nets for fish too. “Spider spirits very good spirits,” One Arm concluded. James felt happy and relieved they were taking such good care of his son. And only too soon, the pointed question arrived: Would he be coming back to live with the band?

No, sadly, he had to leave first thing in the morning. But he would come back often and eventually might collect his son and bring him back into his own world, to live in his cabin or the larger farmhouse he hoped to build.

This announcement did not fall happily upon his beholders. Take the child from the tribe? What could he be thinking, they asked. Where was the woman, the mother, that every child needed? What about brothers and sisters and other children to play with?

For his part, James was concerned about John during this next winter. What would the band do? How would Full Moon and One Arm survive? One Arm told him they would hunt again as always back on the plateau of the caribou. The Chief had adopted this family for now, and would look after them in his own enclave. After all, he had said, did not the Chief owe his life to James?

“And how did they find you, Sunrise?” James asked in Micmac, stalling for time so he could think about their apparent refusal to give up his son.

She hailed from Listiguj, the main community of Micmac up at the mouth of the Matapedia River where Chaleur Bay began. But she and her young husband had been fishing with a group on the Gesgapegiag River, a salmon river on the far side of New Carlisle. The Micmac communities all along the shore were in constant touch. The disaster of Little Birch’s death had been passed on at once, and Sunrise had canoed swiftly up to the Port Daniel band to feed and nourish the new, motherless baby. She had lost her own baby the week before, and now she and her husband would join the Chief’s enclave back in caribou country until the next spring, when she could go back to her Listiguj band and presumably start her own family over again.

Thus reassured that his son was well cared for, with good plans laid for the winter, James decided he could leave the next morning for New Carlisle, happy. He was intensely worried about how John and he would be reunited. And how he should tell Catherine. Certainly not before they could provide good provisions over the long winter, perhaps a couple of years or more. He had told Full Moon he was “looking for a suitable mother for John.” But had that fallen on deaf ears?

Catherine, with her fiery spirit, would be his main obstacle. Better wait until they had a child of their own, he decided. But then again, would that not make it even harder? Difficult times ahead.

Chapter Sixteen

The cry of the water-driven saw winding down still gave James an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach. He could not for the life of him forget the image of Ben’s blood spurting into the air. But he hurried on down the roadway toward the sound, worried about Ben, and also the lumber Hall owed him for his weeks of work. He was not looking forward to this: Hall had been miffed at James for not helping at the mill this autumn, and had not even attended the wedding.

As the mill came into view, he headed down to find Ben hard at work, sporting the brace of leather round his neck that James had rigged to hold the handle of the wheelbarrow. James watched as Ben wheeled a load of sawdust over to a new white pile. “Ben!”

Ben dropped the wheelbarrow, unhooked his sling, and James gave him a hug as he might his own son. “Well Benigno, how is it all going along? The sling we made seems to be working.”

“Oh yes, James,” Ben said, “and Mr. Hall give me a raise!”

“Did he now? Wonderful news.” Well, that took care of his first problem. But what about the approaching winter, when the mill stopped working? For himself, he was going to Shegouac with Catherine the next morning, and would stay by his brook, trapping, snaring, and fishing through the ice. “I wish I could bring you, Ben, but I don’t know how we’ll make it ourselves; these winters are long.”

“You going up there to that wild place all by yourselves? You think that’s best for the missus?”

James did have his doubts, for sure. “But it’s you I’m worried about.”

“Oh don’t worry, I found me a good place this winter. I get to feed animals, and look for eggs — old Wida’ Travers, her husband died last spring. She says she’ll feed me all winter long. Her children is growed, and they promised to bring us food if we git into trouble. She told me she has three barrels of flour already. Should last us.”

“Very good, Ben! The Lord does look after you. I hope you thank Him properly.”

“I do, James. Every day. Specially fer giving me a friend like you.”

James slapped his shoulder a couple of times, and then headed up the path to the wide entrance of the mill. Pleased at Hall’s treatment of Ben, James shifted focus to his next problem, getting his lumber for his house next spring.

Mr. Hall looked up as he entered, and frowned, pointing to the saw. James saw that he did not have another assistant to run it so stood in wait, confined to his own thoughts.

His son, yes, he longed for his son, but he realized that he’d have a big problem getting him away from the tribe. He was even unsure how he and Catherine would survive this winter. Enough trout in the brook, maybe, but they would need more than that. On his recent stopover, he’d noticed little progress from the turnips and potatoes he’d planted among the stumps in the spring. Most of all, they would need a barrel of flour, which perhaps the Garretts might give them. He could possibly shoot a moose, depending on blizzards, ice storms, and other vagaries of a Gaspé winter. And how would they fare together in just one small room?

In due course Hall stopped the mill and walked over. “Come for your lumber?”

“I have that,” James replied. “But I need nothing until the spring. The logs marked with Garretts’ insignia are half mine, as my father-in-law and I have agreed.”

Hall looked at him askance, and then the two of them went through the calculations they had agreed upon. James had counted on being able to draw upon some of the boards that Hall himself owned, as well as some of the Garretts’ supply.

“And what d’ye intend to do with the fact that I trained ye for being a fine mill assistant and you’re letting it all go to waste?”

“You don’t think I gave as good as I got?” asked James.

“Not nearly,” Hall replied. “You could get a job in any mill on the Coast now, with the training you got from me.”

“The only mill I’d ever work for is yours.” James looked the old man in the eye. “I was very happy working here and I know I could be so again. It’s just that now I have got myself a wife. And well you know how I’ve longed to be a real settler with a real family. I’ve never lied to you on that point.”

Hall met his gaze. “No, I’ll grant ye that.” Was he mollified?

“But I don’t want to leave you in a state of dissatisfaction neither,” James pressed. “Why don’t you suggest what would be fair to deduct for my training? I’ll gladly honour your proposal, Mr. Hall, if I can.”

The old man grudgingly got out his pipe, and James watched once more in awe as he managed the tinderbox with deft fingers, getting his pipe alight in a trice. It gave both of them time to think.

“Well, I’ll allow as how ye did work hard, and you did save Ben’s life. And you’re an honourable man. And you served His Majesty well in the Royal Navy. Mr. Garrett’s been telling me, and not only me but the whole village of New Carlisle, how his new son-in-law fought through the great naval battles on behalf of His Majesty. So maybe... maybe I’ll give you all that we agreed on. Providing you honour your word to me that you’ll not work at another mill. And that I can count on ye, if times get a bit hard up my way.”

“I’ll certainly do that, Mr. Hall,” James said. “I certainly will.” And he reached out his hand and the old fellow shook it.

***

Husband and wife should not keep anything from each other, James felt, and regretted keeping his former life a secret. But how should he bring it up? They had only been back on his land a short time. Already he had taught her where wild asparagus grew, and where to find fiddleheads and other edible wild plants. In spring, he would show her how to make maple syrup. Catherine had been impressed with his knowledge gained from the Micmac, and had not questioned him on that aspect. But was it bothering her? Something was definitely on her mind, he could see that. And he wondered how soon he should try and clear it all up.

With the leaves long fallen from the trees, James worked hard at clearing his land by the cliffs. He had just finished felling another tree when he saw Catherine’s supple figure climbing up the trail from the Hollow. He straightened. “Welcome sight!”

Catherine handed him a container of water. “I’ve already caught trout for our lunch, and found some roots for dinner. I also managed a new batch of loaves. So I thought I would come up to help you out.”

“Gratefully received!” He drank thirstily from the container, which he had devised a while back, double-stitching the canvas seams of a piece of old sail, to make it waterproof.

Catherine set to work. “Welcome change from the cabin, being up here in the sun.”

The blue sky above them, flecked only by whorls of cirrus, gave a warm autumn sun full access. No hint of a storm. They worked hard and silently, James felling another tree, and Catherine hauling the brush to a pile at one side.

“I brought up more beach stones for the foundations. See?”

“Hard work,” Catherine commented.

“Gotta be done.”

“Well, you know what we’ve discussed.”

“An ox, I know, but how will we get one? No barn to keep it, no money to buy it, and anyway, who’s got a spare calf to sell these days?” It did look impossible. And without an ox, all hope of making a farm was lost. He added brightly, “Well, it may all happen in good time.”

“I’m sure. But you know,” she stooped, picked up some branches, “chickens don’t need much feed. And ducks. We could have fresh eggs. Then kill the chickens during the winter.”

“Yes yes, good thought. Next trip to New Carlisle.” That night, at supper, James still avoided what was really on his mind, his child and his past. And before they had burned too much of their candle, they got into bed, worn out. But still entranced with the novelty of each other’s bodies, they mostly made love. Afterwards, a deep sleep. Such a good life, he reflected. But unless he faced up to his secret past, this would not, could not, last.

Chapter Seventeen

“That brush pile we’ve been making, we’ll burn it after there’s snow on the ground,” said James a few evenings later. “Maybe Christmas time. Make a nice bonfire in celebration.”

Catherine paused as she was laying out their supper in the semi-dark of the cabin, the trees masking the dying light of the sun.

He caught her look. “Something on your mind, Catherine?”

“I have been giving this winter some serious thought, my dear.” She reached out and touched his arm. “You seem to know so much about how to survive, I see that. Getting it all from those Micmac. But —”

So that was it, he thought. The Micmac. Had the time finally come? “Can you see all right?”

“Not really. But we don’t have a lot of whale oil... Are you changing the subject?”

“Not at all.” James went to the shelf, took down the lamp and placed it by them. Had he better start in? “Well, I do have some things I could go over...”

“Good.” Although she had tried to make that sound casual, James knew a lot would hang on his reply.

He plucked a brand from the fire with tongs. “Well, I did live in the woods all one winter with a Micmac family.” He held the brand to the wick, and watched until, after a few moments, it caught fire. “That’s how I learned to snare small animals, how to trap, even how to shoot with a bow and arrow —”

“You told me all that, James. But you didn’t tell me you lived with a family.” He saw her studying his face. “How about those trout?” he sat back, prevaricating. Made motionless by his story, she recovered and began to dish up their meal. “Of course, sorry.”

“It was the only way to survive. They were a wonderful family, in fact: the mother I called Full Moon, and her brother, One Arm.”

“No husband?” Beside his four fried trout, she added a slab of cornmeal bread.

“Big Birch? Oh, he had died in a fishing accident. That’s the reason I was there, because the brother, you see, had a withered arm, and couldn’t really shoot with a bow and arrow. So the Chief asked me to go with them.”