When Breaks the Dawn (Canadian West) (15 page)

“Why the long face?” I asked teasingly. “Are you afraid you are back so soon that I will ask you to help dry the dishes?” Susie did not especially like to dry the dishes. Washing the dishes was fun— one got to play in the warm, soapy water. Susie would gladly wash the same few dishes all afternoon.

I turned, expecting to see a smile flit across Susie’s face at the teasing, but instead I saw a silent little girl carefully folding her few dresses and other garments. She was making a neat little stack in the middle of her blanket.

“What are you doing?” I asked. When there was no reply, I answered for myself. “Is your mother now able to care for the family? Is Too Many going home?”

Susie shook her head.

“We go,” she said simply, much like she would have said before she came to live with us and developed such good command of the English language.

“Go?” I echoed. “Go where?”

“To big village—cross the river.”

“What?” I could only stand and stare, hoping I had not heard her correctly.

“Big village. They come in wagon—get us all. Take us to new home.”

“There must be some mistake,” I said, wiping my wet hands on my apron as I took it off and tossed it from me.

“No,” answered Susie in a resigned little voice.

I didn’t wait to hear more. I started for the settlement and the cabin across the little clearing, hoping to discover that Susie was mistaken. Susie was right. There was a wagon standing in front of her house. Two men were busy loading the few cooking pots and blankets belonging to the household.

Maggie sat in her chair watching, a smile on her face.

“See,” she said in her own language when she saw me, “it worked. I prayed, they come. My brothers come to get me and my family, take us home to Father’s house in big village.”

It was plain to see that Maggie was rejoicing in the fact of the move.
But what about Susie? What about me?
I wasn’t prepared to give her up yet. And Wynn?
Wynn is away. He won’t even get to tell her goodbye.
My frantic thoughts tumbled over one another. Who would bring his slippers? Who would listen to his story? I wanted to argue with Maggie but there was nothing for me to say. Instead I said, “I’ll be praying for you, Maggie. For you and each of your family.”

Her eyes sparkled.

“They have church in big village,” she told me. “He said so.” She nodded her head at one of the men who was busy carrying out the last of the cooking pots. They were almost ready to go.

“I’ll go get Susie,” I said numbly, and hurried away.

Susie did not cry. Perhaps it would have been better for us both if she had. She just looked at me with those dark, soulful eyes. The pain and confusion nearly broke my heart. I gathered her to me. “I’m going to miss you, Susie, so very much. I love you. Oh, I—” I couldn’t go on. I knew I only was making it harder for both of us. “They are waiting,” I finally managed.

Oh, why isn’t Wynn here?
Perhaps he could stop them—at least stall them while we sorted it all out. But Wynn was not with us, and he could have done nothing if he had been, my common sense told me.

Kip whined. I know he sensed something was not right. Susie reached out a hand to him and pulled him close, one fist buried in his deep fur coat, her other clasping tightly the little bundle of all her things. Still she did not cry. She held Kip for a moment and then turned and put her arms around my neck. She said nothing, just held me, and then she turned to the door.

She was about to close it quietly when she thought of something. She took one step back toward me, her eyes big and questioning.

“I took the dresses—was that steal?”

“No, no of course not. I made them for you.”

She turned again to go, and then seemed to feel I needed to know something else.

She took a deep breath, looked into my eyes, then lowered them.

“I almost steal,” she confessed. “When you gone, I almost put the book in my pack.”

Her head came up and she looked at me again.

“Mr. Wynn wouldn’t put children in jail. He wouldn’t put me in jail. But Jesus—He would have been sad. He doesn’t want stealers in heaven—so I left the book.”

She turned to go.

“Susie, wait!” I cried, running to my little stack of books. I chose the three Susie loved the best.

“I want you to take these,” I said as I hastened to shove them into an open corner of her little pack. “I want you to keep on reading. To think of us as you read the stories. To remember all the good times we had here.”

Her eyes looked misty then. I thought the tears might spill over, but they didn’t. “I remember,” she nodded.

She was gone then, the door closing softly behind her. Then it opened again, just a crack and a small dark head leaned back into the room.

“I forgot thanks,” she said humbly, and the door closed again.

I stood looking at the door. It didn’t reopen. Kip whimpered and brushed against me. He wanted to go with Susie, and for one moment I was tempted to open the door and send him, to send the Silver One to take care of her, but reason kept me from doing so.

And then I let the hot tears stream down my face. She was gone. Just like that, our little Susie. Gone with her own people, back to her own world. Would she have a chance to be all the things I had dreamed for her? Would she ever be able to stand in front of a classroom? Would she be properly cared for? Would she have a chance to grow in her Christian faith? All these questions and more pounded in my brain, but all I could manage as I cried for Susie was, “She won’t even get to eat her carrots!”

TWENTY-ONE

Reminders

The silence roared all around me, deafening in its finality. Day after day I tried to adjust to being without Susie. Wynn eventually returned. He understood how I felt and held me as I cried. I believe he shed a few tears too over the loss of the little girl.

“We knew we’d have to give her up,” he reminded me and himself.

I sniffed noisily. “Yes, give her up, but not so much ‘up.’ ”

Wynn looked at me questioningly.

“I thought Susie would go back to her home here,” I maintained. “I never dreamed that Maggie would move her away where we’ll probably never see her again. I thought—I thought she’d just return home and she could still visit now and then, and I’d see her about the village, and she’d still come to school, and we’d work in the garden together, and—”

Wynn stopped me.

“We all thought that,” he affirmed. “No one knew that Maggie had close family in the other village.” He waited for a moment and then went on. “This is better for Maggie and her family. You know that, Elizabeth. They can be properly cared for now. Perhaps Maggie can regain her strength. Too Many tried hard, but she was an old woman. She had too much to do and too little strength to do it. I don’t think they ate well. I—”

But this time I stopped Wynn.

“I know all that. I’m not sorry for Maggie—or—or for her family. It is best for her—and I’ve prayed—many times, for what was best. For Susie, too, I—I want what’s best. I’m not crying about that. I’m crying about me.” The tears gushed out again.

At last Wynn got me comforted to the point where I could function, but I missed Susie dreadfully.

When the house was silent beyond my endurance, I fled to the garden. It was growing well. Susie would have been proud of her little patch. In spite of the attacks of mosquitoes and blackflies, I worked at pulling all the weeds. Then when I could stand the flies no more, I returned to the sanctuary of my quiet house.

Kip missed Susie, too. He seemed to be watching and listening constantly, his head cocked to one side, his ears thrust forward and straining. But Susie did not come.

Now the leaves went tumbling on the wind, wild geese honking as they passed overhead. I took in all of the produce from our garden. I gathered the produce from Susie’s garden as well, sharing her vegetables with the people I knew to be her special friends. The men of the village prepared to leave for the traplines at the first fall of snow. I clanged the big bell and classes began again. This time five students came. The new interest was due to Susie’s summer class sessions of play, I was sure.

We fell into a routine, and I was thankful for all the activities which filled my days. Still I thought about Susie. I thought about Maggie. Had I done enough? Said enough? Did Susie know how a Christian was to live out her faith? Did Maggie really understand about God’s plan of salvation? Had I made it plain that it was for her, too? Had I really done what I could have,
should have,
done? Nagging thoughts picked away at me. I prayed and prayed for the family.

And then one day as I was praying, God spoke to my heart.

“Do you think I am unaware of where they are?” He seemed to gently say. “Do you think I have deserted them? Don’t you think that I care, that my love is certainly as strong as yours? And don’t you know that I, through my Holy Spirit, can go on talking to them, even in your absence?”

I felt humbled. Of course I knew all that. Maggie’s salvation did not depend upon me. Susie’s nurture did not depend on me. It had depended on God all along. Where they lived really had nothing to do with it. Now I committed them totally to God and let the guilt and fear slip from my shoulders.

I was still lonely, but the pain around my heart had eased. I visited Nimmie and some of the other women a little oftener to help fill the hours. Many of them began to drop in for tea again. Even though the fall days seemed to trudge along slowly, the calendar showed that our world was indeed continuing on.

In the midst of one of our first winter flurries, two Indian men on horseback approached our small cabin. Kip had alerted me, and I watched them as they came. One of the men dropped down from his horse, handed the reins to the other, and walked up our path to the door.

He bumped at the door rather than knocking, which sent Kip into a frenzy that I stopped by commanding him to go quietly to his corner. When I opened the door, the man reached into his leather jacket and withdrew a folded sheet of paper. He said not a word, just handed it to me, turned on his heel and went back to swing onto the back of his horse. Mystified, I watched them ride away.

The cold wind blew snow into the cabin as I stood there with the door open. Kip whined and I was jerked back to the paper I held in my hand.

I closed the door and went to the table, looking at the unfamiliar thing I held. I finally found my senses and spread it out on the table. It was a letter, just a simple letter written on a sheet torn from a child’s work scribbler. There was no salutation at the top. It began with the message. I flipped it over and looked at the back side. It was signed “Susie.”

My heart began to beat faster as I read. Susie’s printing had improved; she had not forgotten what she had been taught. Hungrily I searched each word, each line.

“How are you. I am good. My mother is good two. We have a church here. I go. My mother gos two. We like it. We have a school here. Many boys and girls go. The teacher is nice, but not as nice as you. My mother feels better she says to say thank you. She didn’t know before to say that. I miss you and Kip and Mr. Wynn. Did my garden grow okay. Susie.”

I read the letter three times before I let the tears fall. She was fine! Our Susie was fine! She was in school, and in church, too. A little voice within me seemed to say, “See, I am caring for her,” and I bowed my head in thankfulness to acknowledge that care.

Though the winter storm seemed to intensify, rattling the windows in its fury, it could not bother me. I felt warm and content. God was taking good care of our Susie.

TWENTY-TWO

Sickness

Christmas came, a cold stormy day, and Wynn and I stayed indoors beside the fireplace, hoping he wouldn’t be called out for some emergency. He wasn’t, and we were thankful.

The next day was just as cold but this time Wynn was called upon. An elderly man, trying to gather wood in the storm, had fallen, breaking his hip. There was nothing much Wynn could do except give him something for the pain and try to make him as comfortable as possible.

Wynn talked to the family about trying to get the man out to the Edmonton hospital, but they would not even consider it. I fought my way through the storm with a pail of hot soup, which they seemed to appreciate.

Since I was out and already in the settlement, I decided to call on Nimmie. She was busy with her two little ones. Nonita, a cheerful little girl with an angel face that broke easily into a grin, was walking and trying to converse now.

Ian junior, whom they called Sonny, was not as cheerful nor as chubby. He had been a fussy baby from the first and did not seem to gain weight as he should. He was crying now as I was welcomed into Nimmie’s home. Nimmie did most of her work with the baby cradled on her back or held in her arms.

Nimmie’s face brightened when she saw me. “Whatever are you doing out in this weather, Elizabeth?” she wanted to know.

“I came to bring some soup to the LeMores, so I decided as long as I was out I would stop by.”

“I’m so glad you did,” said Nimmie. “I needed someone to talk to.” She smiled a bit ruefully and passed me the fussing Sonny.

“He has been so cranky. I think he must be cutting teeth. Nonita gave us no trouble. Even when she cut her teeth. She was such a contented baby, but sometimes I just don’t know what to do with this one.”

I walked the floor, patting his back and bouncing him up and down. He looked exhausted, but he couldn’t seem to settle down to sleep. Nonita wanted her share of attention and ran to get her favorite book to show me the pictures. She jabbered as she pointed and I tried to reply as I walked back and forth across the wooden floor.

I had just gotten the baby to sleep when Nimmie said tea was ready. I didn’t dare try to lay the baby down for fear he would waken, so I held him up against me and drank my tea with him in my arms.

Nimmie looked pale. I asked if she was feeling ill, and she just smiled a weak smile.

“Again?” I said in astonishment. She only nodded her head.

Little Nonita tried to crawl up onto her mother’s lap and Nimmie slid back her chair so she could lift the girl.