When Breaks the Dawn (Canadian West) (16 page)

“I love my babies,” Nimmie said, “and I am glad that another one is on the way, only this time I have been feeling so sick. I hope it passes soon. It is hard for me to care for the two of them when I feel as I do. Especially with the baby so fussy.”

I felt sorry for Nimmie. I would have offered to take the baby home with me for a few days had Nimmie not been nursing him. “I could take Nonita if that would help,” I offered.

“She’s no trouble,” Nimmie answered, cuddling the little girl she held.

“I’ll come over and give you a hand here,” I decided.

And so through the wintry months of January and February, I trudged off to Nimmie’s almost every day where I helped with laundry, dishes and baby care.

On many days Nimmie was forced to stay in bed. She usually took the baby Sonny with her; cuddled up against her, he seemed to rest better. While they slept I did Nimmie’s work and played with Nonita. What a little dear she was, and I found myself eager to get to Nimmie’s each day just so I could spend time with the child.

At our supper table I shared with Wynn all of the funny things she said and did that day. We laughed about them together.

Being with Nimmie’s babies did not lessen my ache for a child of my own but rather increased it. Each day I would petition God’s throne for the child I still did not have. My heart grew heavier and heavier. It seemed I had been praying for a baby forever, and God still had not heard my prayer.

The first of March ushered in a terrible storm. The blizzard raged around us, and Wynn did not leave the cabin. One could not see even a few feet in front of one’s face.

I worried about Nimmie. Wynn reminded me that Ian senior would not be needed to tend the store on such a day, and he would be home to help Nimmie with the children. Although I knew Wynn was right, yet I missed my daily trip over to Nimmie’s. Would Nonita be wondering where Aunt Beth was?

The storm continued for four days. I was sure we would be buried alive by the snow before it ended. What about those who had to get their wood supply daily? What would they be doing to keep warm? Wynn was concerned, too, and in spite of the weather he decided to see how people in the village were faring.

I hated to see him go. It was so nasty out, and I feared he might lose his way in the storm. He took Kip, fastening a leash to his collar. He also took his rifle; he might have to fire some shots in the air, and I would need to reply with his lighter gun if he should get confused in his directions by the storm.

It seemed forever before Wynn was back. The news from the village was not good. Many people lay huddled together under all the furs and blankets they owned. Two elderly women had already died from exposure. In some cabins they had not been able to keep the fires going, and without fires there was no food, so those who were not well were getting even weaker.

Wynn said he was going to hitch up his dog team to haul wood to the homes where it was needed and asked me if I would take my largest pot and make up some stew or soup to be taken to the hungry.

I hastened to comply, my fears for Wynn’s safety uppermost in my mind. It was risky working out in such weather. We both knew it, but under the circumstances it was the only thing that could be done.

It wasn’t long until I heard Wynn and the complaining dogs outside our cabin. I knew Wynn was taking from our winter’s wood supply to build fires in some of the other homes. If only the Indian people could be convinced to bring in a wood supply each fall and stack it by their doors. To them that was unnecessary work. The wood was always right there in the nearby thicket, they reasoned. I added some more sticks to my own fire so the stew would cook more quickly.

I bundled up and went with Wynn. It took me awhile to convince him I should, but at last he conceded. We carried the stew pot between us.

Wynn was right. Some of the people were desperate. While Wynn got the fire going in each cabin, I dished out some of the stew into a pot in the home and put it over the fire to keep hot. As soon as the chill was off the cabin, the people would crawl from under their blankets and sit around the fire to eat.

As we moved from cabin to cabin, we were thankful for each one in which the people had been able to care for themselves. When our rounds were over, Wynn took me back home and then he set off again. He still had the two bodies to care for. As usual in our northern winters, they couldn’t be buried properly till spring.

The storm finally ended and I breathed a sigh of relief, but it wasn’t to be for long. With many people in a weakened condition, sickness hit the village. For many days and nights, Wynn worked almost around the clock. He gave out all the medicine he had and sent a runner out with an emergency call for more.

I made soup and stew, kettle by kettle, and we carried it to those who could not manage by themselves. We spoon-fed those too weak to eat alone. The homes were a nightmare of offensive odors, for there were no sanitation facilities and it was too cold, and the people too weak, to go outdoors.

I had to stop, pray and steel myself before entering many of the cabins. It was impossible to clean them up, though we did try, but illness soon had them in the same condition again. I was often glad for the mask Wynn insisted I wear over my mouth and nose. Though it did not shut out all the smell, it helped enough that I could function without getting sick.

The few who remained healthy helped us care for the sick. I don’t know what we would have done without Ian, our faithful standby. He was always there, carrying wood and water and bringing food supplies from his store. And then Nimmie and her family became sick as well, and Ian was needed at home.

I called on Nimmie often. She was so sick I feared we would lose her. She did miscarry the baby she was carrying, but she fought tenaciously for her own life. Both the children were sick. I worried about the weak and sickly little Sonny. Surely his frail little body would not stand this additional illness.

But, strangely, it was darling little Nonita we lost. I would have cried for days had I not been needed so desperately. As it was I could only ache.
Poor Nimmie’s little herb-gatherer, her little sunshine,
is gone.

When the sickness was finally conquered, the village had lost nine of its members. The rest of us were so exhausted, so empty, that we could hardly mourn. The bodies were all wrapped and placed in a shed belonging to the trading post—all except little Nonita. Ian spent many hours fashioning a tiny casket for her to rest in. Again, we would need to wait for spring before the burying could take place.

With heavy hearts we tried to strengthen one another. Nimmie valiantly braved her daily chores, but there was an emptiness in the cabin. She had looked forward to a family of three children, but she now had only one. Little Nonita’s laughter and chatter was only a memory. I think Nimmie was glad even for Sonny’s fussing. It gave her a good excuse to constantly hold him. Nimmie greatly needed her arms full during those difficult days.

TWENTY-THREE

Summer of
’Fourteen

When spring came that year, I greeted the new life like old friends—tiny leaves, the flights of birds. I began to make plans for my garden.

Our classes of the year had been interrupted by the storm and then by the sickness. We missed nearly three months that should have been spent on the books. So we continued our studies a little longer than we normally would have. The village people agreed to it, I believe, out of gratitude to me. I tried not to take advantage of their goodwill and promised I would dismiss the children as soon as I saw that they were needed at home.

And so it was mid-July before we closed our school for the summer. I was ready for the break, too. With classes each morning, helping Nimmie and her little ones each afternoon in January and February, caring for the sick villagers for many weeks following that, and then trying to catch up with the schoolwork we had missed, I was exhausted. No wonder I was not expecting a baby, I told myself. My body was just too tired. In spite of my reasoning, my lack of motherhood still weighed heavily upon me.

I tried hard not to let my feelings show, but it wasn’t easy, especially when I walked through the village and saw so many women who were with child. Why was it that I seemed to be the only one in the settlement who could not conceive?

One beautiful warm summer day, I decided I would fix a picnic lunch and take Kip for a long walk on the riverbank. Wynn was out on patrol and I was restless and lonely. I had just made up my sandwiches when there was a light rap on my door. Nimmie entered, her eyes shining, her cheeks flushed. She hadn’t looked that well or that happy for months.

“Guess what,” she said excitedly, but didn’t give me any time for a guess, “we’re going to have another baby!”

I was happy for Nimmie, really I was, but at the same time my own heart felt a pang of disappointment. Here it was again! I was called on to share the happiness of another when she was given the very thing I longed for so desperately.

I managed a smile and gave Nimmie a hug. I set aside my sandwiches and went to fix us some tea.

“I can’t stay,” stated Nimmie. “I left Sonny with Ian. The little rascal will be pulling things off the shelves. He’s starting to walk now and is into everything. But I just couldn’t wait to tell you. I know you grieved for Nonita almost as much as I did. It was so hard to lose her, Elizabeth. I thought I just wouldn’t be able to bear it. And now God is sending me another child! I can hardly wait. This baby won’t take Nonita’s place, but it will fill a big emptiness in my heart.”

It was the first Nimmie had really talked to me about losing Nonita. I knew that her heart ached, that she grieved. But she tried so hard to be brave. And now, as she said, the emptiness was about to be filled.

My emptiness remained. I turned so that Nimmie would not spot my brimming eyes and trembling lips.

“Are you sure you can’t stay for tea?” I finally managed.

“I’ve got to get back.”

She crossed the room to give me another hug, and I smiled and told her how happy I was for her, and then she was gone.

I didn’t go for the picnic and walk after all. Instead, when Nimmie left I went to my bedroom. I cried for a long time before I was able to focus my thoughts and form words into prayer. My soul was still heavy when I finally pulled myself from the bed and went to wash my puffy face.

I took Kip then and went to the garden. I had just pulled the few weeds left in the garden, but I searched on my knees for any strays and pulled them with a vengeance.

When I returned to the house I still had not recovered from the heavy feeling in my heart. I prepared the same old supper meal I had been preparing for an eternity, it seemed. The same old blackflies and mosquitoes managed to find their way through any tiny chink in the cabin to plague me. The sunny day had turned cloudy and threatened rain. Wynn was late for supper and the meal sat at the back of the stove getting dry and disgusting. I was fighting hard to keep my emotions under control.

When Wynn did get home and stopped to roughhouse with Kip and then came to greet me, I was rather distant and unresponsive.

“Something wrong?” he asked me, and I struck out at the first thing that came to my mind.

“How come the dog comes first?”

Wynn looked puzzled. “What do you mean?” he asked me. “When has the dog ever come first?”

“Now! Always! You always greet him before you kiss me.”

It was a very silly thing to say. It had never even occurred to me before, but in my present state it loomed like a thundercloud.

Wynn took a moment to answer. Then he said, very softly and not accusingly at all, “That’s because I can’t get past him until I do. He’s always right there at the door—”

I cut in, “And I’m not—is that what you’re saying? The dog thinks more of you than I do?”

There was pain in Wynn’s eyes but he was not to be baited.

“I’m sorry to be late, Elizabeth. I know it makes things hard for you.”

I whirled around. “Do you think I care for a moment how hard and dry these old potatoes and carrots get? Or how cold and— and?” I dissolved in tears, turned from Wynn and ran to the bedroom.

I heard Wynn dishing up his own supper. I heard Kip coaxing for a sample of his food and Wynn telling him not to beg at the table. I heard Kip lower his body to his rug in front of the fire. Then I heard Wynn clear the table and quietly wash up the dishes. Still he did not come to me. Instead he took Kip for a walk.

They returned and I heard the complaint of the overstuffed chair as Wynn lowered himself into it. I heard his boots drop softly to the floor, one, two, and I knew Wynn hoped to be home for the night.

He’ll come for his slippers now,
I thought, and I turned my face to the wall and buried my head in my arms.

Wynn did come to the bedroom, but he did not bother with his slippers. Instead, he took me in his arms and held me close. He made no comment and asked no questions; he just held me and let me cry.

At last I was all cried out. Wynn kissed my tearstained face.

“Want to talk about it?”

“It was silly,” I murmured into his shoulder. “I really don’t care if Kip—”

“No, not that. About what’s
really
bothering you.”

I played for time.

“The supper?” I questioned.

“Elizabeth,” said Wynn, “I’m sorry about the dog; I’m sorry I was late for supper. But I don’t think that is the real problem here. Something has been bothering you for days. I was hoping you would choose to share it with me, but you haven’t. Can we talk about it?”

So it had shown.

“I guess the winter was rather tough—”

Wynn waited for me to go on but I didn’t. Finally he prompted me.

“Are you saying you need a break?”

“Sort of … I—”

The silence between us seemed endless. Then Wynn spoke slowly, deliberately, “I can understand that, Elizabeth. I will see what I can do.”

I jerked upright. “About what?” I demanded.

“About getting you out—back to Calgary for a—”

“I don’t want to go back to Calgary. Whatever made you think—?”