CAN West 04 - When Hope Springs New (14 page)

Read CAN West 04 - When Hope Springs New Online

Authors: Janette Oke

Tags: #MJF, #Christian

BOOK: CAN West 04 - When Hope Springs New
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Even the younger children became more cheerful, stopping their fussing and resuming their play. Many of them had been totally stripped of their clothing and were running naked in the summer sun.
The elderly moved or were assisted to places in the sun where they could benefit from the warmth of the rays. They sat steaming in the afternoon brightness as the clothing they wore began to dry out.
The Indian women and children were all walking shoeless, and I decided that it was the smart thing to do. However, I still had on my stockings. They were torn and mud-stained, but there was no privacy for me to remove them. Even as I looked down at them and noted their deplorable condition, I realized that now they were the only pair I had.
I constantly watched the trails for any sign of Wynn. Oh, how I longed for him! Even though our situation was still grim, I felt that things would all work out somehow when Wynn returned.
Even as I watched to the west, I saw many of the Indian women looking to the northeast. Undoubtedly they were longing for the return of their husbands with the same intensity as I waited for mine.
But another day ended and Wynn had not come. With a heavy heart I again prepared the beds under the canvas top.
The Indian wives went about their evening preparations, their eyes just as heavy as mine. They too longed for their mates.
I sat down before our private fireside. The big stoves had done their work well, but with the rainclouds passing on, we were now able to have our fires again. I was lonely. I was weary. Every bone in my body seemed to ache. I was afraid—afraid that LaMeche and I would not be able to get this group of people through another day. Our meat supply was gone. We had no gun. It seemed unlikely that God would drive another injured buck into our camp. But most of all, I needed sleep. It had been many nights since I had had a good rest. I was exhausted.
I was on the verge of frustrated tears when a voice spoke softly beside me. “You sleep now.”
It was Silver Star.
“There not room,” I answered and was quick to hurry on. “But it’s all right. I have dry blankets now. Sleep here by fire.”
“No, you must sleep good. You go to wagons. I sit by fire.”
“But your babies?”
“They will sleep—all night. They sleep good. You go sleep by them.”
I was too weary to argue.
“You take my blanket,” I told her and passed it to her. She did not object but took the blanket and wrapped herself in it. Then she sat down beside the fire.
I worried about her as I crawled carefully into the vacated spot under the tarp, careful not to awaken her sleeping children or the other occupants of the enclosed area. I hated to think of her all alone in the stillness of the night. But I was too weary to fight sleep anymore.
Just as I was dozing off I remembered LaMeche. He had no place to sleep either. He, too, would be sitting by the fire. Silver Star would have company. Good company. Perhaps he would make them coffee and they would chat about the day’s events together. I was content. I let sleep claim me.
EIGHTEEN
The Gift
Excited voices and many tramping feet awakened me. For a moment the haze of sleep kept me from focusing on where I was and what was going on around me, and then I remembered the devastating fire. We were all homeless and we were waiting for the men to return.
Like a bolt I was out of bed.
The voices!
They were men’s voices. Perhaps Wynn was back. I crawled carefully from my bed and peered out into the dawning new day.
All around me men were meeting with their families, and the reunions turned into excited talk. Wives were weeping and clinging to their husbands, trying to answer questions that seemed to have no answers.
I emerged slowly, made an attempt to smooth down my messy hair and looked about the campsite for a glimpse of Wynn. He was nowhere to be seen. Tears stung my eyes. I turned to crawl back to my warm bed when a male voice called to me.
“White woman!” he shouted. I froze in my tracks. Slowly and reluctantly I turned to face him, and I’m sure my face was even whiter than normal.
I did not speak. The man before me was the village chief, and one, especially a woman, did not address him. That much I knew about tribal ethics.
He approached me, his face void of expression. I did not know what he intended to do. Perhaps he had decided that it was due to the ill-placed garden that the curse of the forest fire had come upon them.
I stood where I was, as custom demanded—with my eyes lowered.
I did not look up even when I saw the pair of brightly beaded moccasins standing not three feet from me.
Oh, dear God,
I prayed silently.
Bring Wynn back quickly. Surely he will respect the white man’s law
—
and the lawman
—
even if he does blame the lawman’s wife.
The chief reached a long, buckskinned arm toward me. I shuddered. I had seen it done before. To sentence the condemned the chief placed a hand on the head of the accused and pronounced his judgment.
But the hand did not travel to my forehead. Instead, it rested lightly on my shoulder.
“You do good,” the strong voice declared loudly enough for the whole tribe to hear. A shiver ran all through me. I scarcely could believe my own ears.
“You do good,” he stated again. “You save women and children—our wise old ones and our sick.”
I shut my eyes and breathed a prayer of thanks.
The brown hand dropped from my shoulder. I waited but he did not move away.
“What you want?” he asked me.
I was confused. I didn’t understand what he meant.
My eyes lifted involuntarily to study his face. “What great chief mean?” I stammered in his native tongue.
“Horses? Furs? I give it you.”
And then I understood. The pride of this man would not allow him to be indebted to anyone. In his thinking, my saving the village had incurred a large debt. He must pay that debt or be shamed in the eyes of the people. I stammered for words, trying to find some way to tell him I did not see him as indebted to me.
“Oh, no. No, please,” I struggled, but he went on naming amounts of horses or furs, seeming to think that his price still was not satisfactory.
His oldest wife slipped up beside him and spoke to him in a quiet voice. He looked at her, his face becoming grim. He answered her as though questioning what she had said, but she lowered her eyes and determinedly shook her head.
He looked defeated, but he squared his shoulders and called to his youngest wife. She slowly moved to his side. In her arms she held her baby boy, her eyes never leaving his tiny face. She clung to him as if her life depended upon it, but even as I watched she straightened her shoulders and her chin came up. She stood beside the chief with the proud look of her people.
The chief spoke to me again.
“I give you best I have. I give you boy child.”
I gasped as I looked from the proud man to the timid wife who held the small child in her arms. He was a beautiful baby. I longed to hold him—to cuddle him. With all my heart I wanted to embrace him. The very thing I wanted more than anything else in the world was being offered! I sent up a quick prayer and stepped back a pace.
“Give him,” commanded the chief, and the young woman stepped forward and held the baby out to me.
For a moment I held him close, the tears beginning to slide down my face. His somber black eyes studied me closely and then a chubby hand reached up and brushed carelessly at my cheek. I could feel the silence of the onlookers, all eyes on me. The minutes ticked by as I enjoyed the warmth of the baby in my arms. Then I took a deep breath, willed away my tears and lifted my eyes to the chief.
“White woman has glad heart because of gift. He is beautiful boy child. It give me joy to hold him.”
I looked up then, directly into the eyes of the chief. I breathed deeply and took a step forward.
“Now I give chief a gift.”
I did not flinch as I faced him. His eyes in his brown, comely face gave no indication of his emotions.
“I give you boy child.”
With the words I passed the baby back to his father.
“The debt is paid,” I said simply. “You owe me no more.”
Then lowering my eyes with the proper respect, I stepped back as a sign to the chief that he could dismiss me if that was his pleasure.
I heard his guttural exclamation, a sign that the little ceremony was now over and had ended satisfactorily. I turned, my eyes still downcast, and made my way back to the shelter under the wagons.
I was glad I was alone. I buried my head in the blankets and cried until I could cry no more. In my arms there was still the warmth of the baby I had just held. Oh, if the chief only knew what he had just offered me!
Oh, if only Wynn would come!
And then as quickly as I began my sobbing, I brought it to an end. There was a lot of work to be done. I took myself in hand and crept down to the lake to splash cold water on my face. Then I went in search of LaMeche. With the men now back in camp, I decided it would be wise for a man to be organizing things.
I found him sitting on a rock smoking a cigarette. He pushed the stub into the ground when I joined him and then placed the remaining butt in his shirt pocket.
“You look for me?”
I flushed some. I wasn’t sure just how to approach the subject.
“Yes, I ... I’m not sure—men—now back, I not need to ... to tell what to do.”
He nodded in agreement. -■
“But we need meat,” I went on. LaMeche nodded.
“And they have guns.”
“Yes,” he said. “I give them shells—tell them to go hunt.”
I heaved a sigh and smiled slightly as he nodded.
I turned to go but he stopped me with his words.
“You like papoose?”
“Oh, yes,” I admitted before I could even stop myself.
“Then why you not keep? Chief would keep his word. Would not take boy back.”
Tears stung my eyes again. “It not right. A child belongs with parents. You see his mother? Too big price for anyone to pay—to give up child.”
“I see,” he said, and I felt he really did. “Then why not ask for horses? Or furs?” he questioned.
“But they don’t owe me anything. I do what Wynn do if he be here. Not for pay.”
“You think not?”
“Of course!”
“There is nothing you ask in return?”
“No, nothing,” I shook my head, and then I stopped and my eyes filled with tears in spite of my effort to stop them. “Only ... only to be a friend—one of them. A friend. I ... I ...” I could not go on.
“It has been hard for you, this past year?”
My lips were trembling so I didn’t trust my voice. I nodded my head, wiping the tears from my face with an unsteady hand.
“You shame us,” he said softly. “You give—but not to get. From now on, it will take whole village to hold your friends. You will see.”
NINETEEN
Misunderstanding
It was hard to get to sleep that night. All the Indian men were now back in the camp, and it should have been a great relief to me. But for some reason they still seemed to expect me to be in charge.
Around each family fire were a number of additional people to feed.
The men did take the bullets LaMeche provided and went out on a hunting expedition. The result was two small deer, five squirrels, three rabbits, and four grouse for our supper. It hardly stretched to all the cooking pots. I again added some of my vegetables to my stew pot. It improved the taste, added nutrition, and made the meat go further. Many of the Indian families ate the meat with a sort of flat bread cooked over the coals.
The returning villagers made more to feed, more to sleep and less room to move. I knew I did not want to sleep out by the campfire, but there was no room for even one more body in our shelter under the wagon.
Again Silver Star came to my aid. She approached me quietly as I added a few sticks to the fire. Her soft voice sounded like the rippling of water. “The children sleep. I watch fire—you sleep now. ”
I argued with her but she insisted. LaMeche, coming to the fire with an armload of freshly chopped wood, overheard our words and joined Silver Star’s urging.
“You must sleep,” he said. “You work hard.”
“But Silver Star work right with me all day,” I continued.
“But I sleep better at fire than you,” she maintained.
“She is right,” said LaMeche, “you need some privacy.”
I chuckled inwardly at his words. How strange that sleeping under a canvas with two children, two teenagers, a widow, and an elderly couple could be described as “private.”

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