When Breaks the Dawn (Canadian West) (6 page)

So I ran down wooded paths and trails by the river whenever I could work it into my morning schedule, just to make sure Kip’s muscles got some exercise, and in the afternoons when Nimmie and I were busy as storekeepers, I kept him in.

Then even those runs were cut back.

Nimmie and I had been missing our Bible studies together, so we decided that even though we were busy, we would try to work one in each week on Wednesdays. That meant our other duties had to be crowded into the rest of the mornings of the week.

Both the gardens were doing well. We were proud and excited about the growing vegetables. I could hardly wait until they would be big enough to serve. But the garden, too, took work. Though plants grew quickly in the summer sun, the weeds seemed to do even better. It was a big job to keep up with them.

So the summer was a busy one, each day bringing us closer to the first of August. From then on, I wondered if I would be able to sleep for thinking of Nimmie and the coming baby.

One afternoon as I left the house to go to the settlement for the afternoon store hours, my thoughts were busy with Nimmie and the little one she was expecting. When I moved to the door, Kip was there by my side, pushing against me to get out, his eyes pleading as he looked at me and whined. It had been several days since his last run.

He looked so pitiful, his big blue eyes turned to mine.

“All right,” I said, “you can come. But you’ve got to be good. You’ll have to lie quietly in the corner while I do my work.”

Kip’s tail began to wag as he recognized the consent in my voice.

We walked the short distance to the settlement together, Kip managing to get in quite a few side trips. When we reached the store, Kip obediently lay down in the corner I pointed out to him and stayed there.

With the noise of the hammers and hand saws all around us, Nimmie and I often had to raise our voices to one another to get our instructions understood.

The customers did not need to come as often now. The women had organized their households to the point where they had the basics, and many of them were now taking daily trips to the woods for fresh foods. I’m sure they welcomed the additions to their diets as joyfully as I had done.

Nimmie urged me to leave a little early, saying she would stay for a while in case any others came. I called Kip to heel and we started out for our cabin.

I was not paying much attention to Kip as we walked toward home through the late afternoon sunshine. My thoughts were again with Nimmie. She hadn’t said anything, but I thought I noticed weariness about her eyes and slower movements than usual. Was I only imagining it?

As I walked through the settlement, the dogs barked and growled at me, straining at their leashes. I’m sure what provoked them most was seeing Kip invading their territory. I still respected their turf and made sure I detoured a good distance from their tethered ground, but I did not have the fear I once had.

Since there was now plenty of food for the village dogs, they had become round and fluffy again rather than looking mangy and shaggy as they had through the difficult winter months. I decided there was really no reason for their being so aggressive and nasty, so I paid little attention to them. In choosing to ignore the dogs, I tried not to antagonize them. There was no love lost between them and me as they bared their fangs and growled whenever they felt Kip and me getting too close.

Kip ran along beside me, heeling whenever I commanded. We were as yet not far enough out of the village to allow him his side trips. He was still the prettiest dog in the settlement. Wynn said he was now his full height, though he might still put on a few pounds. He was soft and fluffy with the beautiful silver tip to his fur. The children loved him, and even those who had been viciously bitten by a village dog in the past had learned that it was safe to reach out a hand to Kip. Many of the children would wrap their arms around his neck or have a friendly tussle with him on the floor of our cabin.

We were just reaching the last village cabin and I was about to let Kip run free when I saw the hackles raise on his neck. It was not often that Kip responded in this way and I hesitated, wondering what was wrong. My first thought was that some small wild animal had strayed into the village—perhaps a nasty smelling skunk.

And then I saw
him
. Rushing toward us was Buck, lips curled back and teeth exposed. His hackles were up, too, and I knew that this time Kip would take the challenge. With a flash I remembered the long-ago day when Buck had rushed at Kip, then hardly more than an overgrown pup. He had backed off that time in submission to the older dog. But Kip’s pose was not one of submission now. He was a full-grown dog, and he had his pride.

Buck stopped a few feet short of Kip. I called Kip to heel again, but he acted like he had never heard my voice before nor learned what the word meant. He stepped sideways as though to feel out his ground and make sure of his footing.

I watched in fascinated horror as Buck came in closer and Kip did not back away. His own teeth bared in a snarl and I heard a rumble from deep in his throat.

Slowly they began to circle one another, eyes blazing, throats voicing challenges and threats; and then there was a sudden lunge forward. I don’t know which dog made the first move. I only know they met in midair and shrieked out their rage as bodies clashed and teeth tore.

Both dogs had the protection of a heavy coat. Knowing that, they aimed for throat, for eyes, for face, each time they came together. They struck with lightning fury and then tumbled in the dust of the path, rolling over and over, with grunts and snarls and sharp yips of rage or pain.

I stood rooted to the spot, wanting to stop them, wanting to run, wanting to scream for someone to do
something
! But I did nothing, only lifted my hands to my face and prayed that it would soon be over.

Horrified, I was too dumbstruck to even cry. Would it never end? They would break and circle and then rush at one another again, falling this way and that, striking for each other’s face or a leg in an effort to fell the opponent. I could see that Kip was bleeding. He had a gash on his cheek that was spilling blood as he rolled back and forth in the dirt.

But Kip wasn’t the only one with an injury. Buck, too, was bleeding on his neck from a torn, ragged cut. Still they lashed and rolled. Over and over, their heads whipping this way and that to strike at their opponent and then jerk clear of his counter strike.
This is terrible!
I moaned.

At last, with one quick move, Kip clasped Buck’s leg in his teeth and crunched down hard. The older dog screamed in pain and flipped himself forward to jerk free. Kip held firm and as Buck hurled himself away, I heard a sickening snap.

Again they struck, but it was clear that Buck’s front right leg was held up and that it had been broken.

I found my voice then. I screamed for them to stop. As much as I feared and disliked Buck, I did not want to see him injured further. Nor did I want to take chances on Kip getting hurt any more. In spite of his injury, Buck still was determined to lick the younger dog. With a ferociousness I had never seen before, he struck again and another tear appeared on the side of Kip’s jaw.

“Stop it!” I screamed. “Stop it, both of you! Stop it, do you hear?” But I was totally ignored.

They pulled away and circled again, Buck skillfully trying to maneuver on his three good legs. They were both panting heavily, their tongues lolling and their sides heaving.

“Stop it!” I yelled again. “Stop it! Go home, Buck. Go home. Kip, heel.” But they paid no heed to my words.

It was Kip who jumped first. He aimed another blow at Buck’s already torn and bleeding ear, and the big husky yelped in pain and rage.

And then it was over, as quickly as it had begun. Buck was gone, his tail tucked submissively between his legs, his one leg held aloft as he ran.

I ran to Kip and fell to my knees beside him.

“Bad dog,” I scolded him, tears streaming down my face. “Bad dog. You shouldn’t fight. Don’t you know that you shouldn’t fight? It’s bad to fight. It’s bad to fight unless you really have to.” And suddenly I realized that Kip really had to. Buck had challenged him.

“Come on,” I said, “I’ll take you home.”

I led him to the cabin. He heeled beautifully, just as he had been taught. I walked quickly, wanting to get him to the safety of his rug before the fireplace, where I could check and tend his wounds.

After I had closed the door securely behind us, I knelt beside him again and ran my fingers over his body. He was still trembling. His face was blood-covered from the two ragged gashes on his cheeks, but other than that he seemed to be fine.

I started to cry again as I held him. He must have wondered what was wrong with me. I trembled every bit as much as he did.

“You licked him, you crazy dog,” I told him. “You licked the big bully. I didn’t want you to, but you did. You licked the meanest dog in the whole village.”

I straightened up and wiped my tear-streaked face. My voice became firm. “Now you won’t have to fight again—ever. Do you hear?”

EIGHT

Surprises

A kiss on the nose awoke me. I struggled to open my eyes and focus them properly. Wynn was leaning over me. He reached out and brushed back some wayward hair from my face.

“Do you know what day it is, Elizabeth?” he asked me.

It seemed like rather a foolish question to me, but I struggled to make my brain work so that I might come up with the proper answer.

“It’s Friday,” I said, puzzled that he had asked.

He chuckled softly and kissed me again.

“It’s more than Friday, my dear. It’s our first anniversary.” I jerked upright, nearly catching Wynn’s chin with my head.

“Really?”

Wynn avoided my charge. “Really!” he said, laughing at me again.

Anniversaries were supposed to be special occasions—maybe a night out, dinner and candlelight. There would be no such thing here in Wynn’s northland. I didn’t think I could even find a candle. Candles were not necessary when only oil lamps were burned.

“Oh, Wynn,” I moaned, “I forgot all about it. I don’t have anything special planned.”

“I do,” said Wynn. “At least I hope you’ll think it special. Remember that camping trip you’ve been begging for? The one where we will sleep out under the stars?”

I nodded, my eyes wide in anticipation.

“Well, how would you like to take that trip today?”

I squealed and threw my arms around Wynn’s neck. I guess he took that for my answer.

“I have everything packed and ready to go,” he said. “We can leave just as soon as we have our breakfast.”

It didn’t take me long to get out of bed, dressed and have breakfast on the table.

Kip sensed the excitement and whined at the door, fearful that we might go without him. I patted his head and assured him he could go.

As soon as I had cleared away the breakfast things, I gathered a few personal items I wanted to take and placed them with the packs Wynn had made. I knew Wynn was far more knowledgeable than I about what was needed on an overnight campout, but I still couldn’t stop myself from asking, “Did you remember the matches? Are you sure you have all the food we’ll need?”

Wynn just laughed at me and told me to trust him.

We were finally packed up and on our way, Kip frisking on ahead. Each with a backpack—Wynn’s quite a bit heavier than mine—we walked for most of the morning and came to the most beautiful spot beside a small pond made by beavers damming the stream. The fir trees, thick about us, made a canopy over our heads. It looked just perfect.

“Here is where we stop,” said Wynn, much to my delight.

Wynn insisted on setting up camp, and I just wandered about, taking in all of the beauty around me. Wynn cut spruce boughs for our mattress and then spread our furs and blankets to make a soft bed. It looked so inviting when he was finished that I knew I wouldn’t miss our bed at home.

Wynn even fixed our meal, saying that this anniversary was my day off. I laughed and let him humor me.

We washed the dishes together in the little stream nearby and then sat with our backs against a fallen log while we watched the beavers work.

It was our first opportunity to really talk for weeks, so with our fingers intertwined, we talked softly while we watched the beaver couple. We spoke of many things, some little and foolish, others more important and part of our inner dreams and plans for the future.

I learned much about my husband on that camping trip. I had thought I already knew him well, but he shared with me so many new things—about his childhood, about his training, about his desires and goals.

I shared my thoughts and feelings with Wynn, too. I think he guessed part of my desires when I spoke about Nimmie and her coming baby with such wistfulness.

“You’d like a child, wouldn’t you, Elizabeth?” more a statement than a question.

“Oh, so much,” I told him. “I can hardly wait. And here we have been married for a whole year and …” I did not finish the sentence for fear Wynn would somehow think I was blaming him. “God knows when the time is right,” I finished instead.

Wynn nodded and we talked of other things.

Wynn took me for walks and showed me flora and fauna I would never have spotted.

Our evening meal was not by candlelight, nor was it a gourmet feast at a fancy restaurant. But I wouldn’t have traded it for anything in the world.

Wynn fixed it over an open fire, roasting freshly caught fish slowly until done to perfection and serving them with vegetables he had brought from our garden at home. Dessert was berries from a nearby patch, eaten from our hands as we picked them. We both laughed at our stained lips and teeth.

As the sun went down, the air became chilly and Wynn threw more sticks on the fire. Then we wrapped ourselves in a blanket and sat with our backs to a large pine tree as we watched the stars begin to appear.

The evening was astir with the night life of the wilds. Wynn identified each sound for me—the cry of the loon, the swish from the wings of the mammoth owl as it swept earthward to snatch unsuspecting prey, a mouse scurrying through the pine needles, a bull moose bellowing out a challenge.