LaMeche was there, smoking his cigarette. I wondered where he had found the “fixing.” It was the first time I had seen him smoking since the fire.
He scowled at me and turned back to the sputtering flames. I said nothing but reached for a stick of wood.
“No,” he stopped me. “No use. Very soon now it will go out because of rain. No use to waste wood. We need it more later.”
I listened to what he said, wanting to protest, but I knew he was right. We could not keep a fire going in the rain. Already there was only a small flame, fighting to stay alive, and then as I watched, it too sputtered and died.
So, I would have to manage without even the small comfort of the open fire. I shivered in my bearskin. My feet were sopping wet again, and my dragging skirt seemed to be soaking up the rainwater like a sponge. Soon I would be completely soaked.
I lifted the skirt out of the puddle and tucked it more tightly around me. LaMeche still stared ahead saying nothing.
I deplored the silence. I disliked the black look. I hated being so cut off from another human being.
I tried for conversation.
“I am glad for all your help today,” I said. “I don’t know what I do without you.”
There was no reply.
Boldly I spoke again, softly, because I didn’t know how this man might respond.
“When I get up in morning and look at all people—and I know Sergeant Delaney not here to care for them, I don’t know what to do.” I waited for a moment and then went on slowly, “I pray ... I pray a lot. I ask God what to do—but I ... I ask for something more. I ask Him for help.”
I looked directly at the sullen man.
“He answer me,” I whispered. “He send you.”
I watched his face only long enough to see the muscles twitching in his jaw, and then I dropped my gaze.
We both sat in silence now, the heavy rain falling in sheets around us. I stole another glance toward LaMeche. He no longer had his dark, angry expression. He pulled on his cigarette, sending up little puffs of smoke around him, making him squint his eyes.
I could hardly see his face through the storm, but I noticed little rivers sliding down his cheeks and I wondered if it was all from the rain. I still said nothing.
He brushed a hand across his face.
“You are stubborn woman,” he said, but there was no malice in the words.
“I know,” I admitted quietly.
“You saved village, you know?”
“Not true, I only—”
He broke in, “No one else think. We all run around in circles, and then it be too late to run.”
I did not know what to say, so I remained silent.
“Now you sit in rain while everyone else sleeps.”
I looked around me at the crude dwellings. I was sure not too many of our number were really comfortable where they were. Very few, I guessed, were getting much sleep this night.
But perhaps LaMeche thought—“I not ungrateful for what you do for me,” I tried to explain. “Shelter very nice—best one. I not think to arrange wagons and—”
“But someone else need it more?”
“Yes. Yes. Old folks and—”
A chuckle stopped me. I looked up in surprise. I could no longer see his face through the rain and darkness, so I could not read there what might be making him laugh so unexpectedly.
“Women!” he said, “They are strange creatures. They want most—but they accept least.”
“I beg your pardon?” I asked, not understanding him.
“You. You trim window with fancy curtains, you brush dog like he was toy, you fluff up hair like going to party, and then—this. When there is nothing, you give away little you have to people stronger than you, and you go without.”
He laughed again.
I was afraid I was being mocked. Then his words came softly through the rain, “I had forgotten. It was way of my mother also.”
“I’m sorry—about your mother,” I whispered.
There were a few moments of silence; then he spoke again.
“She Indian,” he said. “She not fuss with curtains or hairdos. But she like pretty things. She make beaded vests and moccasins with beautiful designs. She hunt wild flowers just to study them. She point out to us rainbow, sunset.” He stopped again. “But she was fighter, too. She last to give up when fever took us. She nursed others when she could only crawl. She gave me last medicine when she need it more.” He hesitated again. “She Indian,” he said, “but she much like you.”
I blinked the tears from my eyes. It was the nicest compliment I had ever been paid, and it brought a big lump to my throat.
“Thank you,” I whispered in English, just before the thunder cracked and a fresh outburst of rain came sweeping down upon us.
The night was cold and wet, the fire was out, we sat and shivered in our bearskins that offered us little protection, but somehow a new warmth was stealing through me.
SEVENTEEN
Counting the Days
Uncomfortable in their soggy beds, people began to rise earlier than usual. A steady rain still fell the next morning. Wet and miserable, they crawled from a cold bed to a cold day. Children cried and women hushed them in quiet tones, as miserable as their offspring. I was glad I hadn’t bothered to change my clothing.
A few of the women made attempts to get a fire going. The wet wood smoked and sizzled but produced no flame. There would be no hot gruel, no hot coffee or tea to warm up cold bodies.
I fed my group leftover cold stew from the night before and prayed that the rain would soon cease.
LaMeche asked my permission to use a team and the remaining wagon. I didn’t ask what he had in mind but nodded agreement. I was surprised he assumed that I had the authority to respond one way or the other.
He gathered some of the older boys, and they set off toward what had been our village. I wondered briefly about their mission but was too busy serving stew to ask.
In about an hour’s time they were back. By their cargo and sooted hands and clothing, it was evident they had been rummaging through the ashes of the village. Three small, blackened cookstoves were on the wagon, plus a number of sooted pots and hand tools. My smoke-darkened washtub and scrubboard also were on board. They also had a small amount of charcoaled lumber that had not burned completely in the fire.
With my hammer and the trader’s nails, they began to construct a shelter of sorts. There was not enough lumber to fill in the sides, but at least an overhang was provided. Then skins were thrown over the lumber and two of the stoves were moved under the canopy.
It was not long until a fire was going in each of them. The children were sent to the woods to bring back sticks to feed it, and the women excitedly moved their cooking pots onto the stoves.
We had to take turns in the shelter. It seemed to take most of the day to get one round of meals cared for. Many of the children wanted to huddle around the crude kitchen trying to catch a little of the warmth from the fires, and the cooks had to constantly be chasing them out from underfoot.
What a day of misery! We never did see the sun, and there was no way to dry any of the bedding for the coming night.
Even the beds under the tarp and the two wagons got wet. The ground was so waterlogged that it ran in under the pine branches and soaked the bedding of those inside.
But no one could accuse the storm of being partial—it treated all alike. No one was exempt from the cold and wetness.
Again we sat huddled in our bits of furs or skins or blankets. Like protective hens, mothers tried to crowd all their children under their outstretched arms. The older folk and the sickly were invited to take turns near the cooking stoves. LaMeche took on the task of feeding the fires.
There was no sleep for me that night either. I was too miserable. I stirred around the campsite trying to check on others. It was more comfortable to keep moving than to sit still anyway.
Wynn should be back tomorrow or the next day,
I kept promising myself. That was the hope that kept me going. When Wynn arrived, I was sure he would put things to right.
Toward morning the rain began to lessen—not quitting entirely, but it did slow down. I took my turn at the woodstoves to get a hot meal for my “family.” I made a big pot of cornmeal, and while it cooked I also cooked my meat and vegetables for the supper stew. I thought it would save time and space to have all my cooking done at one time.
Silver Star, the young widow, came to join me.
“I work now,” she said. “You rest.”
I thought as I listened to her soft voice that she should have been called Silver Tongue rather than Silver Star. Her voice was soft and musical like a gently flowing brook or a trilling songbird.
“If you watch pot, I go feed sled dogs,” I said, smiling at her.
She nodded and I turned the stirring stick over to her and left the enclosure.
LaMeche was busy slicing up meat portions for the day’s supper meal. I asked him for some of his scraps and started out for the small island.
I was reminded that I had not been back to see the dogs since the day the moose had been killed. I had sent some of the boys across with some food scraps for them and had promised myself I would check on them later. I had forgotten. I chided myself for not taking better care of the team. I should have done something for Tip and Franco. I had been so busy caring for the people that the dogs had slipped my mind.
Well,
I told myself,
I have no idea what I could have done for them anyway.
Still I felt that I had failed Wynn in this. I knew how important a good team was to him.
When I reached the stream, I could not believe my eyes. The steppingstones could not even be seen and the fallen log that stretched from bank to bank was under water as well.
How will I ever get across?
I despaired.
I looked down at my clothes. They were already wet. My shoes sloshed with every step I took. I decided I couldn’t be much worse, so without even hoisting my skirt, I waded into the swiftly flowing water.
Unprepared for the strength of the current against the sweep of my heavy clothing, I stumbled, hardly able to keep my balance against it. I finally righted myself and made it to the other shore.
The dogs were glad to see me. I think they wanted companionship just as much as food. They pressed against me, leaving the meat scraps momentarily untouched as they licked my hands and waved their whole bodies.
Someone had removed Keenoo. I had told LaMeche about the dog, and I surmised he had been the one. Another post was vacant also. I saw the leash dangling from the stake where the dog had been tethered. I had to look around the circle and review the dogs in my mind before I knew which one was missing. Tip, too, must have succumbed to the smokey fumes from the fire.
Franco was on his feet, but he looked weak and wobbly. He breathed with a raspy sound, and I wondered how badly his lungs had been damaged. Perhaps he would never be able to pull the sled again.
I fed them all, gave pats where they were welcomed and talked to each dog in turn, and then I pulled some vegetables from my garden and started back to the campsite. I did not want the current to get any deeper or swifter before I made my way back across, and the rain and runoff were still feeding it.
When I got back to the lakeshore, Silver Star had already served the cornmeal. She and Small Woman, the other widow, were washing up the dishes in the lake. They smiled when I came near.
“You eat now?” invited Small Woman as she handed me the bowl she had just washed.
I smiled my thank you and went to dish up my cornmeal. It was hot. That was about all one could credit it with. Though not tasty, it was filling and, under the circumstances, we were thankful to have it.
Kinook, the older of the teenage girls, brought me a tin cup filled with coffee. She smiled shyly as she handed it to me, and ducked her face to avoid eye contact.
“You bring me joy,” I said in her native tongue. There were no words for thank-you.
Her face flushed. She turned from me, but not before stealing one little glimpse of my face.
“Kinnea and I find dry sticks,” she said, and was gone.
By noon there was a break in the clouds, and in midafternoon the sun came out. Its brightness and warmth soon had the earth and the people steaming.
Perhaps,
I thought with great longing,
perhaps we will sleep tonight.
We spread our blankets and furs on bushes and branches all around us. Everything that could be spared off our backs was hung out to dry. The pine branches were stripped away from the dwellings to allow the sun total access into the shelters in hopes that the ground would be dry enough to sleep on by nightfall.
The children rallied to assist in the tasks. Boys picked up the crude poles with their lines and hooks and hurried to the lakeshore. Girls scrambled into the woods looking for dry fire material. Young women left their young in the care of older ones and went into the pine forest for dry branches for bedding foundation.