CAN West 04 - When Hope Springs New (17 page)

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Authors: Janette Oke

Tags: #MJF, #Christian

BOOK: CAN West 04 - When Hope Springs New

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I was so tired that I couldn’t even undress, even if we had privacy. Wynn bundled me close in the blankets and then removed his boots and lay down beside me.

I remember his arm drawing me close, and my whisper, “Thank God you are home,” and then I was gone, relaxing in the comforting arms of Wynn and sleep.

TWENTY-TWO

Starting Over

No one wakened me the next morning, and I slept much later than I intended. I was embarrassed when I finally did get up and found the camp a bustle of activity. Silver Star and Small Woman had fed all of our family, and the two girls had carried enough wood for the day. Chief Crow Calls Loud had already sent each of the camp workers to his or her assigned task.

When Silver Star informed me that Wynn had gone to see his dog team, I did not even wait to eat some breakfast but hurried over to the small island to join him.

I found him bending over Franco. The dog was quite steady on his feet but he still breathed heavily, like an old man with asthma. Wynn’s fingers traveled over the dog’s chest and rib cage, seeking out the extent of the damage.

I knelt beside him, my eyes asking questions.

“ ’Morning, Elizabeth,” he said, his serious face breaking into a smile.

“How bad is it?” I asked.

“Pretty bad. It’s a wonder we didn’t lose them all when you see how close that fire came.”

“I forgot to tell you about Tip and Keenoo,” I said softly. I knew how much Wynn’s dog team meant to him.

“LaMeche told me.”

The other dogs were all clamoring for some attention, so I left Wynn and went to pet them, starting first with Flash and then proceeding around the circle. Wynn soon joined me.

“Will Franco still be able to pull?” I asked him.

“I don’t think so,” said Wynn, “but we’ll give him a few weeks and see what happens.”

I led Wynn by the hand to admire my garden. He could hardly believe the plants had survived the heat of the fire. I told him about my extensive watering the day before, and he just smiled and shook his head.

“Have you been back to the village, Elizabeth?” he asked me.

“No. There really hasn’t been time—and I didn’t think I wanted to see it,” I admitted.

Wynn looked down at my shoes. “There’s something I would like you to see—but it will make a sooty mess of your shoes.”

“They couldn’t be much worse,” I joked, looking at the mud-smeared, rain-stained boots.

Wynn helped me cross the stream, and we started for the settlement.

We hadn’t gone many steps until we were in the charcoal remains of what had been trees and shrubs. The path to the village was no longer distinguishable. All around us were charred stumps and fallen trees that had not completely burned. It was an awful sight.

“What happened to LaMeche?” Wynn asked me.

The words struck terror to my heart. “Did something happen—”

“No, no.” Wynn was quick to explain, “I just mean he’s changed. He’s different somehow. Remember how you used to dread talking to him because of his sullen—”

“He
is
different. Oh, Wynn, I don’t know what we would have done without him. He has been so much help. I guess the fire did it.” I was thoughtful for a moment. “I guess the fire changed a lot of things.”

“Well, some changes I don’t like, but LaMeche—I rather like that change,” responded Wynn.

“Me, too,” I agreed. “He smiles and even laughs. Why, he even teases—mercilessly.” I smiled to myself, remembering how I had gotten angry with his teasing, but maybe it helped me to keep my sanity in the process.

“You know what I think?” I went on. “I don’t think he was ever as mean and morose as he tried to appear. I think it was all a cover-up. Look at him. He’s given everything he had left to the people, without a murmur. No one could reform that much, that quickly, unless they were already like that underneath.”

Wynn laughed. “Maybe you’re right,” he said. “Maybe LaMeche was just trying to act tough.”

We came then to what had been the village. It was a sorry sight. Bits and pieces of logs stood crisscrossed where homes had been. True, they had been crude dwellings, but they had been homes nonetheless. Here and there an iron object raised its head through the debris, defying even the fire.

I wanted to shut my eyes to it all, but I couldn’t. I studied it carefully as we walked along, trying to picture in my mind what had been there before. I could see the cabin, could picture which dogs were staked out in front, which women busied themselves around the door, to turn from their work as I passed by. I could picture the children playing in the yard, their eyes big with wonder or fright at the strange white woman.

And now, these same women washed their dishes in the lake beside me, the children ran to me for orders, others cooked over my fire or shared from my stew. How things had changed!

“Look here,” commented Wynn and I jerked back to the present. We were standing before what had been our cabin. Part of the framework of one wall remained, looking like it would topple over with the first breath of wind but still supporting a few feet of roofline. The plank that had been nailed to the roof at a slant to form a crude water channel still swept along the length of it, charred and burned but still visible.

Then my eyes traveled to follow Wynn’s pointing finger. There in front of us stood my “promise” barrel, overflowing with rainwater. I could not believe my eyes. Here and there the protruding rags showed where we had worked on it. The tar discolored much of the outside, but it was holding water!

Tears sprang to my eyes and I could not speak. I felt Wynn’s arm slip around me and draw me close. I looked at him with wet eyes and noticed that his eyes were glistening, too.

“Oh, Wynn,” I finally managed, “He kept His promise. Right in the middle of the fire.”

“He always keeps His promises, Elizabeth,” Wynn reminded me.

Then I looked around at the remains of the village. “But it is so different than the way I expected.”

Wynn’s arm tightened about me. We both stood in silence.

We turned from the barrel and began to look at the scarred wreckage of our cabin to see if there was anything salvageable.

Wynn pulled out the metal teakettle. “Do you suppose it will still hold water?”

“Let’s take it and see,” I answered.

The metal frame of our bed was there, but it was twisted beyond further use. There were a few containers and crocks, most of them no longer usable. But a few things looked like they would merit scrubbing up.

After we had finished poking around, we headed back to camp. I remembered that I hadn’t eaten breakfast and was hungry. I also knew there was much work to do in the camp and, like I had told the chief, everyone needed to work together. Even though I was glad to have Wynn back to shoulder the main responsibilities, I still had tasks that I needed to attend to.

“I must get back,” I told Wynn. “Poor Silver Star has been doing all my work this morning.”

“Speaking of Silver Star,” said Wynn with a twinkle in his eyes, “am I imagining things, or do I see her casting little glances in the direction of our trader?”

“I hope so,” I enthused. “Wouldn’t that be wonderful?”

“If the trader thinks so!”

“I hope he does. Wouldn’t it be wonderful for him to have a wife and family? Oh, Wynn, I hope it works out!”

“Have you turned Cupid?” Wynn asked me with a sly grin.

“No, I have not,” I retorted. “Honestly, I have had nothing to do with it. But,” I admitted more slowly, “if I thought I could influence it, I might try.”

Wynn laughed and helped me over the fallen log across the stream.

We walked on in comfortable silence. As we neared the camp, Wynn said, “I’m to have a chat with the chief this morning. I had to have some time first to review the damage and formulate our needs. I expect to send a runner out as quickly as I can get organized. Will you have time to make out a list of things you’ll be needing?”

“I’ll take time.”

Wynn still looked pensive. “I still haven’t figured out just how to do this,” he admitted. “Nobody can just remember the whole list—and it will hardly do to try to scratch it on birch bark.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“I don’t have anything for writing a letter or making a list,” said Wynn.

I smiled slowly. “You know,” I said, “there is just no way that my head would have worked well enough to think ahead to grabbing pencil and paper—yet that is exactly what I did.”

“You what?”

“I have a stub of a pencil and sheets of paper. When I ran into our cabin, I just grabbed at random, not even thinking—I even got some sticks of firewood,” I laughed. “I thought it strange when I saw the pencil and paper, but I guess there was a good reason for it after all.”

“I guess there was,” said Wynn, giving me another hug.

After talking for several hours with Chief Crow Calls Loud, Wynn spent the rest of the day organizing the needs of the village and making out his list on the paper I had saved from the fire. It wasn’t very official-looking, but it sufficed. When he had finished his task, every sheet of the paper had been covered with the essential supply list.

Early the next morning three braves and LaMeche left on the best horses for the settlement of Athabasca Landing. Wynn had given them instructions as to whom to see when they got there. The braves seemed excited about this new venture but tried not to let it show. LaMeche did not appear to enjoy the thought of returning to “civilization,” but he went without question. I saw Silver Star looking shyly from downcast eyes for one last glimpse of him before they disappeared from our sight. We had many days to wait before the men and the needed materials could possibly get to our campsite.

TWENTY-THREE

Adjustments

Wynn now had great cooperation from the chief on running the affairs of the camp. Though the chief had not been openly hostile in the past, he had been at times withdrawn and rather arrogant. It was much easier to work together with him in his present frame of mind.

The women chatted and laughed as they did their laundry in the lake water or carried their water supply from the swiftly flowing stream. Now that their men were back, the experience of “camping out” was not a difficult one for them—except on the days and nights when it rained. Even with reinforcements to the pine shelters, there was no way to keep all the water out, so people walked around dripping wet, cold, and rather miserable. I feared an epidemic of colds or fever, but they seemed to stay healthy.

Wynn found more canvas in our supply wagon that he draped around our shelter. We
almost
had privacy, a great relief to me. I was able to change my filthy clothes and take a bath of sorts. I did as the Indian women and washed my hair in the lake water. It was cold, and I had no soap of any kind, so it was not a very satisfactory job. But it did wash some of the woodsmoke smell from my hair.

The Indian women now shyly included me in their chatter, even coming to my campfire for a cup of tea.

The children, too, smiled and even waved occasionally when they went by the campsite on their way to gather wood. It helped, I am sure, to have the two orphans, Kinook and Kinnea, at our campfire.

I wondered about the two young girls. I had been told that they had lived alone since the death of their mother, having lost their father several years previously. Now that their cabin was gone, would the settlement people rebuild it for them? Would they be forced to find refuge with another crowded family? Or would they be married off early—too early, in my opinion—to one or another of the village men as a second or third wife?

I wished to keep them with Wynn and me. But remembering our small, one-room cabin and expecting our new home to closely resemble it, I realized there was no way we could crowd them in. I hadn’t yet had opportunity to speak to Wynn about them, but I promised myself that at my first chance, I would do so.

Some of the women found a berry patch to the northwest of us where the fire had not burned, and we all set off one morning with newly woven baskets.

Our spirits were high on this bright, clear, late-summer day in spite of our meager existence. The chatter of the women and the giggling of the young girls swirled around me as I walked slowly, enjoying the outing.

Silver Star dropped back to walk beside me. She had left her two young children in the care of the elderly woman who shared our campfire.

We walked in silence for some time and then she spoke, softly, “Has Sergeant heard from the braves?”

“No,” I replied, “not yet.”

Her eyes looked sad.

“Is Silver Star worried?” I asked gently.

She only nodded her head slightly, lowering her eyes. But not before I could see the concern in them.