Coppermine (49 page)

Creed took the watch in his hand. It had stopped.

“Watch broke. Sun no come,” Sinnisiak repeated.

It took a moment for Creed to understand. “There will be sun. The watch doesn’t control the sun coming up. It’s only a tool to measure. The sun will come up!” But neither of them believed him.

Creed, appraising the old shaman, hated to see Uluksuk suffering, but wasn’t exactly in a position to help at the moment. The dire nature of his own predicament became crystal clear to him in the afterglow of his time with Angi. First, a long, lonely trip back to Belgium. Then a star chamber court martial at HQ within earshot of artillery. And last, a firing squad to make a strong example of him. There’d be no defence witnesses left. Only McFee for the prosecution. Maybe Frank Banes had been right; maybe Creed should have held McFee up to enemy fire. The charges would never have been laid. But Creed had had enough killing at that moment. McFee was just one too many. Or maybe there was more to it. Maybe deep down Creed felt he deserved all this.

Creed suddenly felt very weary. He and Angi had been so close to getting away. So close to the rest of their lives together. What hope had they now? He then heard her inquiring voice in his head. But it wasn’t in his head. It was in the office beyond the door. She was here! He could hear Captain Crosswell’s clipped replies.

“No. No visitors.”

“I am the court translator.”

In the detachment office, Angituk and the little captain stood nose to nose. She wore her trousers, boots, flannel shirt, and suspenders, though today she did not bother to hide or even subdue her gender anymore.

“That trial is over.”

“I translate for the prisoners. I have information for them.”

“They don’t need your services right now. You have no official business here.”

“I have as much official business as you.”

“Superintendent! Would you deal with this … individual.”

Worsley was standing in his doorway, conflicted and rather irritated by the high-handed nature of this junior officer. What hurt could a visit do? But the Commissioner had ordered him to co-operate with the fellow.

“We’ll restrict the visits for now, Mr., eh, Miss McAndrew.”

“I’m staying here until you let me see him.” Angituk sat down on a bench.

Beside Worsley, Cowperthwaite and the police officers who had arrested Creed had been listening to the exchange. The news of the charges against Creed had swept through the ranks like a hot chinook wind.
Creed.
It was difficult to believe. And though each man would have done his duty, if reluctantly, to apprehend him, the news of his capture had spread a deep malaise. The final revelation was Angituk’s true identity. The boy, though he had kept to himself, was well known and liked. The shock was that no man had consciously suspected him. Slender, perhaps underdeveloped—the Natives seldom had much facial hair—and the thin, high cheekbones … but a
woman?
Now, as with any brilliant idea, each man wondered how he hadn’t come up with it. And then thoughts turned to Creed again. Wily old Creed. On patrol for months and months with a now admittedly comely young woman. It all gave the men a lot to think about.

Creed slept a few hours and awoke after the dawn he had promised. “You see?” he told Uluksuk. “The sun has risen. The watch means nothing.”

But the old man merely closed his eyes.

JUSTICE HARVEY AND NICOLE
arrived after breakfast. Angituk still sat on the bench in the detachment office. She and Nicole held each other’s eyes for a moment. Justice Harvey went to Worsley.

“I still can’t believe this is true, George.”

“It does seem to be a legal warrant for his arrest, your Lordship. The Commissioner is aware of it all.”

Harvey studied the paper for a moment.

Angituk stood and spoke. “Justice Harvey? They won’t let me see him. You could let me.”

Harvey looked at Angituk. He had come to think highly of her, of her insightful services during the trial, but by the expression on the face of his niece he knew he had no choice.

“I’m sorry, Miss McAndrew. It is not for me to say. But I would like to see him myself.”

“Of course, your Lordship,” Worsley told him. Captain Crosswell seemed about to object but closed his mouth tight.

Cowperthwaite was opening the door for him when the Justice stopped and looked back at Nicole. “Are you coming in?”

“I’d rather not, Uncle. I’ll be here if you need me.”

THE JUSTICE ENTERED THE CELL
area at the back of the office. He nodded to Sinnisiak and Uluksuk, though the old shaman’s eyes were closed. Then he spoke a quiet inquiry without accusation.

“Jack. What do you have to say for yourself?”

“I killed a British infantry officer, your Lordship. It was in defence of my men. But I’m afraid the court martial won’t see it that way.”

“No.” The old Justice shook his head gravely. The silence grew for a moment. “I’ll give you and your lawyers all the advice I can.”

“That’s awfully generous of you, sir.”

“Nicole is taking this very hard.”

“I know, sir.”

“Not just the charges, but the other thing …”

“Yes. Of course. I’m sorry.”

“So am I. You had made us all so proud, Jack. We thought you could very well have become …” The Justice’s eyes searched the distance as he pondered the possibilities now dead. The silence grew again. The old man moved to leave, then turned back. “Well, let us know if there’s anything we can do, Jack.”

“I will, sir.”

“I’ll see you before you go.”

“I’ll look forward to that.”

Justice Harvey stepped out into the office. The other police officers had left except for Cowperthwaite. Harvey approached Worsley.

“Have you seen a copy of the discovery against him, George?”

“No, Horace. It wasn’t provided.”

Captain Crosswell interjected. “They’re working on it in London. We do have a witness statement by the dead officer’s adjutant, your Lordship. If you’d care to come into the Superintendent’s office, you can read that, examine the extradition order, and I can outline the case for you as I know it.”

“All right. You’re leaving on the Tuesday train?”

“That’s correct.”

“I’m sure the Superintendent is giving you every cooperation.”

“Very much so.”

Worsley extended an open hand. “Let me have the cell key, captain. I’ll lock it in the case in my office.”

The captain patted the side pocket of his uniform and offered a thin smile. “Ifyou don’t mind, Superintendent, no offence, but I’ll keep it myself. Just want to make sure he stays put.”

Worsley bristled again at the impudence. He replied as evenly as he could, “As you wish.”

The men all moved into Worsley’s office.

NICOLE AND ANGITUK
had listened to this exchange without a word. They were now left alone together in the outer office. Nicole studied the girl in silence. She could easily see how one might mistake her for a boy. Slender body. Wide shoulders. Minimal curves. Her black hair long enough to conceal high cheekbones in a face that was always averted. Angituk sat very still on the bench, rotating her fedora in her hands, staring at the floor. Nicole moved around the office. She stopped periodically and regarded the girl from different perspectives. What had Jack seen in her? Nicole studied her as she decided exactly how to begin.

“Angituk? That’s your name—Angituk?”

“Yes.”

“You know, I appreciate you have some feelings for Jack. Absolutely understandable. It’s the one thing we have in common. But the truth is, you’re just making this whole thing so much harder for him.”

Angituk looked up at her in alarm. “What do you mean?”

“You are creating such a problem for him.”

“No. I don’t want to do that. I don’t understand.”

“Well, of course you know it was your fault he was arrested.”

“No! What did I do? I didn’t—”

“Jack’s not stupid. He knew the military police were here. Do you think he’d still be in Edmonton if it wasn’t for you? He’d be long gone. He stayed here for you.”

“I … I didn’t want him to stay. I mean, I didn’t know he was in danger.”

“You weren’t worried about him. All you cared about was yourself.”

“That’s not true. He told me he loved me.”

“Of course. They always do. To get what they want.”

Angituk was shaken by this. Her mother had told her the same thing. Angus McAndrew had told Kunee he loved her. But now she knew: people lied about love. “But I love him.”

“All right. I’m glad you said that.” Nicole moved closer, bringing a chair. She sat down, and they faced each other. “You say you love him?”

“Yes.”

“Then help him. He’s in trouble, Angituk. They could execute him. What good are you to him now? You can’t do anything for him. He’s facing a murder trial.”

“I want to help him.”

“Of course you do.”

“How can I help him?”

“The truth is, you can do nothing for him. If you want to help Jack …” Nicole paused. “… you have to get out of his life.” She let this sink in. “I can help him face this thing. I know this world. I can find the finest lawyers, petition the government. I can use the press. My uncle has strong influence, as you know. I can get Jack through this. I can save him. I love him too. Do you understand?”

Angituk nodded.

“I will get him through this. But you …” Nicole hesitated, and then her voice broke as she continued. “You must give him back to me.”

Angituk stared at her. “Back to you?” she repeated. She was slowly realizing that even if all Creed’s troubles went away, she could still never have him. The tears pooled in Angituk’s eyes and her lips quivered as she tried to speak clearly. “He is all I have left.”

Nicole had purged her voice of any emotion. She was all business now. “It is never easy to do the right thing.”

Angituk’s eyes overflowed and she hated herself for showing this emotion, this weakness, to the yellow-haired woman. She lifted her flannel sleeve to her face and aggressively wiped the tears from her eyes. She sat up straight and took a deep breath, and after a moment she could speak with dignity. “How do I do the right thing?”

Nicole took her hand in appreciation and held it in her lap. Angi let her.

“You won’t see him again. That is important. You can write him a letter. I can help you with that. You have to tell him you don’t love him anymore. We can do it now if you like. Then you will go back north, to your own people. He will understand that. That will give him what he needs so he can go on.”

“But I can’t see him?”

“No, Angituk. I can save him, but you have to go away.”

Angituk thought about all this. The right thing to do. A wave of grief washed over her again, drawing her back with it into the darkness.

“If you really love him, Angituk, you will do this for him. Why don’t we write the letter now? I’ll help you.”

Angituk nodded slowly as all hope inside her died.

Twenty-Seven

She filled two burlap sacks with the things she had bought: the dresses and blouses, lacy underwear, the makeup, lotions, and powders. She put them in the garbage barrels behind the hotel. She collected the $974 still owed her from her contract as translator with the Royal North West Mounted Police. Then she went to the court clerk, Ainsley, for another $127 for her work in the courts. She bought a fine three-year-old roan mare at Walpole’s livery, which she named Kannokapfaluk, goddess of the animals. She had learned to ride years ago from some friendly Blackfoot south of Fort Norman and she was determined to bring a good horse up there when she returned. She bought a new Western saddle and generous saddlebags made in Calgary; a .38 Winchester rifle and three boxes of cartridges; two dozen small steel traps for muskrat, beaver, and fox; two real bowie skinning knives from Illinois; and a double-bladed axe forged in Montreal with a maple handle. She bought a couple of iron pots, two boxes of Bluebird wooden matches, three pounds of salt, three of flour, and three of tea. She could hear her mother laughing at the tea and flour. She was going white, she would say. But she wasn’t. She was only taking a few things she liked from them. That’s how her people thrived. By adaptation. By making practical selections. “We absorb some of their things, but they never absorb us,” she told herself. “Never absorb us.” As for the rest of the white world, she wished it would all slide into the muddy river.

She had her plan: to make her soul strong and independent, to learn to live alone, to not offend the spirits of people or animals, to make the necessary offerings, to use the magic words and songs and make the amulets as she had learned from Uluksuk. She would go again and live in Fort Norman, where her mother had died. There was a reason she had lived so long in Fort Norman. It was halfway between her mother’s people and her father’s people. For so long she had been stuck there without the courage to go either north or south. But now she could make her choice. Creed had given her that much, and she was grateful. She would stay in Norman for a while, run a trapline in the winter, fish in the spring, hunt in the fall, and maybe guide white men in the summer months. Then, after a year or two, when the pain of losing Creed had eased, she would go up the Coppermine again. She loved the country and the people. Her people. Slowly she would coax her mother’s spirit north, back to their real home.

At Blowey & Henry department store she bought two fine new soft flannel shirts, green and red plaid, and corduroy and jean trousers, and new red suspenders. She bought long underwear, one pair of light natural cotton and one of thick red wool for winter, each with a buttoned flap at the back. She bought four pairs of wool socks, grey with white and red stripes at the top. She bought a good down-filled sleeping bag, though she knew she’d stitch together a warmer caribou one when she was far enough north to hunt again, and a small, thick-canvas one-person tent. She also chose three newly published books to take with her:
The Shadow Line
by Joseph Conrad,
The Rainbow
by D.H. Lawrence, and Henry James’s last book before his recent death,
The Ivory Tower.
She filled the saddlebags. She had to tie the tent and sleeping bag behind the saddle with leather straps.