Heart of the Wilderness (12 page)

“Don’t you like it?” she dared to ask, disappointed.

“I guess it’s harmless enough,” he replied carelessly. But Kendra could sense that he was not pleased with the gift.

Still, he had not said that she couldn’t keep it.

Perhaps he just didn’t think it was pretty. Already Kendra had noticed that her grandfather was drawn to things she and Nonie were not; the reverse was also true. She would show the cross to Nonie. She felt quite sure that her response would be quite different.

“Look what I’ve got.”

Kendra had run down the path to meet Nonie. Grandfather was still at the house preparing the dogs for a trip to the bush to haul firewood. Nonie approached the cabin slowly, her ever-present herb basket on her arm.

“Look!” said Kendra again and lifted the silver cross for the woman to see.

Nonie’s eyes brightened. She may not have understood the cross, but she did understand silver jewelry. “Good!” she said to Kendra.

Kendra was quite pleased with herself. Nonie had pronounced the gift as something worthwhile.

“A lady gave it to me,” she explained as she skipped along beside Nonie toward the cabin. “A German lady.”

The old woman stopped short, stared at Kendra with dark, brooding eyes, then said, “German. P-f-f-t.” She spat in the dust of the trail.

Kendra’s eyes shadowed. She did not understand the response. Nonie had liked the gift. Now she looked at it with contempt, spitting out her word with the one angry exclamation.

“P-f-f-t,” said Nonie, and she spit again.

Then without another word to the girl, she resumed her silent steps toward the cabin.

Kendra turned to follow, her eyes troubled with questions, her mind filled with deep confusion and sorrow.

There was something bad about Germans. Maybe she shouldn’t have accepted the gift. Maybe she should take it off now and throw it into the lake as an appeasement to the moon ripples. Would Mother Earth—or some other unseen being—be angry with her? What might be the consequences? Kendra shivered at the thought.

Wordlessly she followed Nonie. When she reached the cabin, she cast a glance at the woman. Noticing that her back was turned, Kendra reached up and slipped the silver chain over her head. She would take no chances.

For a long moment she stood and looked longingly at the pretty cross. She hated to give it up, but she really had no choice. Tonight she would steal down to the edge of the waters, and when the first moon cast its gold over the ripples of the lake, she would cast her gift into the deep. She hoped there would be a loon. If a loon cried at just the right time—the time that the moon first turned the ripples gold—it would be a good omen. Any spell that might have been cast over her would surely be broken.

Kendra hoped that she would never again have to face the curse of a German.

There was a strange crackling sound up on the roof. Kendra wondered if a bird or squirrel was doing something quite out of the ordinary. She listened for the sound to come again.

Nonie had stopped what she was doing and tilted her head to listen too.

The sound came again. This time Nonie’s head jerked up quickly. “Come!” she said to Kendra and reached out to nudge her toward the door.

Kendra frowned in puzzlement—not because of the command but because of the urgency with which it was spoken.

“Come,” said Nonie again, and the two of them pushed through the cabin door at the same time.

It was then that Kendra noticed a different smell. In the air about the cabin a new color of smoke drifted leisurely.

“What is it?” Kendra asked, fright making her voice tremble.

“Fire,” said Nonie. “Fire on roof.”

Kendra lifted her eyes to the sloping roof of the cabin. Sure enough.

The smoke was curling upward, caught by the gentle breeze and spiraling around the chimney.

“Get pail!” shouted Nonie, and after one wild glance at the woman, Kendra ran for the pail that stood on the bench by the door.

“Water,” barked Nonie.

With terror making her heart constrict, Kendra dashed for the stream and scooped up a pail of water.

Nonie had already placed the ladder against the side of the house. Now she took the pail from Kendra’s numb fingers and turned to mount the ladder. Her knees were stiff, her shoulders bent. Kendra feared that the woman would fall in her attempt.

“Let me,” she said, taking the pail back. “I will do it.”

When Kendra looked over the side of the roof line, she could see that the fire had started in the chimney. The flames were now extending beyond the stonework and reaching angrily toward the sky. Kendra pulled herself up onto the roof and struggled with the heavy pail of water.

She crept as close to the flames as she dared and flung the water with all of her might. She heard the sizzle and sputter as the water collided with the fire, but even as she watched, the hungry flames flared up again. The water had little effect.

By the time Kendra scrambled back down the ladder, Nonie was there with another pail of water. They exchanged pails and Kendra remounted the ladder.

Again and again she climbed the ladder—up and down. The flames had escaped the chimney now and were licking at the dry shingles of the roof.

But each time Kendra threw another pail of water on the flames, she seemed to make a small bit of headway. Not much. But as the dry shingles soaked up more and more of the cold river water, the fire seemed to lose a bit of power in the struggle.

Kendra’s face burned. Her arms ached. Her back felt as if it were broken, and with all the trips up and down the ladder, her legs seemed like jelly. She wondered if she would be able to fight on.

But she did. She climbed and dumped every pail that Nonie dragged up to her. And finally the flames flickered, struggled, then ceased.

Kendra was ready to collapse. What if they had lost their cabin? What if they had lost their home? The traps? Her books? Their supplies? Everything they owned was in that cabin. What if they had lost it all?

She climbed stiffly down the ladder for one last time and collapsed on the cool ground beside Nonie. Both were exhausted, soot-covered, both flushed from the heat of the fight.

“Mother Earth angry,” said Nonie between gasps for breath.

Kendra immediately thought of the silver cross given to her by the German. Her grandfather had said that it was harmless. But Papa Mac had not understood about Nonie’s gods. Had not realized how angry they could be.

She had thrown it away. Given it to the gods of the lake. She had been careful that the first light of the moon was tinting the ripples of the water. But no loon had called. There had been two loons on the lake. Kendra had pleaded in her heart for one of them to call to the other, but they had stubbornly refused. Was that the problem? Were the loon brothers also angry?

Kendra buried her head in her arms and began to weep. It was so hard. So hard. So hard to keep all the spirits happy. She hadn’t meant to make them angry. Had tried so hard to undo the damage. It seemed there was just no way to live at peace with the spirit world.

George McMannus spent the next two days patching the roof of the cabin, and as he worked he often shook his head in wonder. How had the elderly Indian woman and his young granddaughter managed to save the structure? He couldn’t imagine the number of trips she must have made up and down the ladder. Again he was thankful that he kept the tall pines and spruce from encroaching too closely on the space around the cabin. If the fire had spread to tree branches, they would never have saved the cabin. There would have been a forest fire that might have taken a large sweep of the area. He might even have lost his little girl to the flames.

He should not have been so careless. He knew well that chimneys need frequent cleaning. He knew that a buildup of soot and wood tars could be disastrous. Why hadn’t he paid closer attention? Why hadn’t he checked it sooner?

It was another reminder to George that his cabin, miles from civilization, was really not a proper place for a young girl. He pulled out the letter he had penned a few weeks earlier and went to the post to send it off to the head mistress of the girls’ school. He had to make proper arrangement for Kendra. He could put it off no longer.

Chapter Ten

School

“Why do we need to go to the city?”

He was sure Kendra already knew the answer to her question. He had explained it carefully to her before they left the cabin. But he answered her again, “So that you may go to school.”

“But why do I have to go to school?” she argued. “You teach me.”

“Yes—I have taught you—some. But there is so much more to learn than I’ve been able to teach you. You need to learn about lands and peoples and discoveries and inventions. I can’t teach you all of those things. I don’t know about them—and I haven’t got the maps or charts or books that tell about them.”

Kendra was silent. To his relief she had not resisted the trip when he had first told her about it. But he did wonder if she was feeling the change more deeply than she dared to let on.

“You will like it at school. There will be other girls of your own age. You will make many friends.”

“I already have friends,” said Kendra stubbornly.

“What friends?” He wondered if Nonie had been sneaking her off to the village when he wasn’t around.

“Nonie,” said Kendra. “Nonie and Oscar.”

George McMannus smiled, but he also felt sadness. He should have brought the young girl out earlier and let her have a chance at being a part of the real world.

“When do I go to school?” she asked him. “How many more days?”

“We’ll have a whole week before school starts,” he answered, trying to put some enthusiasm into his voice. “Mrs. Miller is going to help us get you ready for school. She knows how to shop for young girls. We might even pay a visit to Mrs. Weatherall—if you’d like. Remember her?”

Kendra did remember. Slightly. She had liked the woman well enough. But she wasn’t sure she wanted to pay a visit.

“Would you like that?” her grandfather pressed.

“I don’t think so,” Kendra replied simply, her head turning from him. He did not push the subject further.

“We will do your shopping then,” said her grandfather. “That should be fun.”

Kendra looked down at her soft buckskin garments. Her feet were still comfortably shod in her moccasins. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to shop or not. Oh, she supposed it would be nice to have new things instead of the clothing that Nonie had sewn for her. But she just wasn’t sure she wanted to give up the things with which she was familiar.

“Who is Mrs. Miller?” she asked instead.

“She is a friend of mine from many years back.”

Kendra knew that. What she really wished to know was what kind of a person the woman was. Was she old? Young? Kind? Difficult? Talkative or silent? Who was Mrs. Miller?

“You will like Mrs. Miller,” her grandfather continued. “She never had a family of her own but she . . .” He hesitated. They had not talked of Mary for many months. At last he willed himself to continue. “She loved your mother very much,” he said softly. “Almost like she was—was her own daughter. After your—your grandmother died, Mrs. Miller helped your mother with her clothes and—and even her wedding.”