Read CAN West 04 - When Hope Springs New Online

Authors: Janette Oke

Tags: #MJF, #Christian

CAN West 04 - When Hope Springs New (12 page)

BOOK: CAN West 04 - When Hope Springs New

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“Trust Me,” again came the words.

I turned and went back to the camp beside the lake, formulating some plans as I walked. Food was our first need, so food would be our first matter of business. When we had been without supplies at Beaver River, Wynn had organized the total village into responsible groups. I would do that now. A hunting party, a fishing party, an herb-gathering party; each member of the village who was old enough to carry a responsibility would be assigned a detail.

LaMeche was at the fire. I was glad to see him, for I was going to need his help.

He had made coffee again and I thanked him as I accepted the cup. My stomach cried for something to go with it.

I set my cup down and dug through the bundle of my belongings, coming up with the pencil and a sheet of paper.

“We need to do things,” I stated, and LaMeche nodded his head.

“Do we have any food?”

LaMeche nodded at the one wagon. It was heaped high with miscellaneous items that he had hurriedly pulled from his store.

“What is there?” I asked him.

“Flour, salt, sugar, coffee, tea, cornmeal, baking powder. Most needed things, I think. Not sure. Like you, I just grab quick.”

I was thankful that we had at least “grabbed quick.” We could have been left with nothing at all.

“We must take it all out of wagon and see it,” I said.

“Now?” he questioned.

It seemed like the proper time. At least the people would realize there was some action.

“Yes,” I said. “Now. Find boys and put them to work. They can put it all in piles on ground.”

We found boys who were more than willing to do our bidding, and I turned back to my list.

“Do we have guns or bullets?” I asked.

“I think I grab bullets. Gun—maybe not.”

“Knives to hunt, knives to cook?”

“I check,” he agreed.

“Fishhooks or nets to catch fish?”

He nodded his head. It did not mean that he had the items; it just meant that he would see if he could find them.

“We now divide people into groups,” I said, “with one person to lead each group. They make fire and shelter. We send someone to hunt and someone to fish. Women go to woods for herbs and roots. Children and older ones carry wood.”

LaMeche looked at me, his eyes getting larger with each instruction, his head nodding agreement to everything I said. When I stopped talking he reached for the paper where I had been hurriedly scribbling down our plan. “I will do,” he said and took the sheet from me. Then he saw it was written in English and handed it back to me.

“I will help,” I assured him.

“You count food supplies,” he countered.

That sounded like a good idea. I headed back to my fire and my heaped-up blanket pack and rummaged for another piece of paper. Then I went to the wagon where the boys were unloading and sorting.

LaMeche had been right. We had a good supply of tea, coffee, and cornmeal, a fair supply of flour, salt, sugar, and baking powder. There were several tins of canned food, some crackers, and a few spices.

There were also matches, shells, a few hunting knives, three fishhooks, a length of fishing line, four axes, and some tins of something.

I reached for one of the tins. It was not labeled and the lid did not want to come off, so I gave up. I told the boys they had done good work and then went on to find LaMeche.

He had rounded up several of the younger children to help him tell the people what he wanted. All along the shore, various ones were laying out for inspection the belongings they had managed to rescue from the fire.

LaMeche and I walked down the line, taking stock.

I was relieved to see a number of pots. There were more knives and fishing supplies, and some had even carried their grinding stones with them to the lake. Many of the women had managed to save containers and baskets with food items. It would not last for long, but it would help with a few meals. There were a number of blankets and skins. Though not enough to go around, still they would help to at least protect the children and the older folk from the chilly night air.

We took our census, assigned our areas for family fires, and called for volunteers for the work details.

It was not a problem to get those willing to fish. Several young boys joyfully took the lines and fishhooks and scampered to the lake. A number of young women volunteered to go into the forest for herbs and greens for the cooking pots.

There were those willing to go to the forest for wild game, but what good were bullets without a gun? Our search had turned up none. We didn’t even have a bow and arrow in the whole camp.

“We send some boys to trap—to snare something,” I said, gesturing with my hands. It didn’t seem possible they would be able to provide meat for so many people in such a way, but there was nothing else we could do.

The whole camp bustled with activity. The empty, despairing faces began to come alive again, and calls and laughter of children rang out along the shoreline. Suddenly we were no longer in the midst of a tragedy but an adventure.

LaMeche and I portioned out basic food for the day for each of the campsites. The women came with their containers for the food staples. Young girls ran laughing to the stream for water, pails in hand, or headed for the woods to bring back plenty of wood for the fires.

Our spirits began to lift somewhat, though we knew the days ahead would be difficult and uncertain.

SIXTEEN

Difficulties

We limited ourselves to two meals per day. We were all so hungry that our breakfast, a thin cornmeal gruel and coffee, was gladly welcomed. Each cooking pot fed a small, family-sized group. At my fire I had ten people of various sizes and ages. There was a young widow with two small children, two teenage girls who had been orphaned, a middle-aged widow who was alone, an elderly couple who had no family members to care for them, and LaMeche and I.

Midmorning the boys returned from the lake with four fish. Though they were proud of their achievement, I knew four fish would not go far among all the people. I smiled when I thought of how many the “two fishes” had fed.
Well, the Lord will need to perform another miracle if we all are to eat today,
I thought.

The snaring had produced nothing. The boys who had tried came home discouraged and ashamed. I assured them they would be more successful the next time, but I did wonder knowing that snaring takes great skill, untold patience, and perhaps a good measure of luck.

We kept the fires going and the pots boiling. I divided the fish among the families who had elderly or sick to feed. I pulled vegetables from my garden and put some of them in my pot. At least we would have vegetable stew for our evening meal.

I walked the line of fires, a handful of vegetables ready to hand out where they seemed to be especially needed. I wanted to be sure that everyone had something to eat. For many it was only gruel again.

I was feeling a bit downcast.
If only someone, somewhere had a gun!
I wished. When the men came back they, of course, would have guns, and Wynn would bring a gun with him upon his return. But we needed a gun
now.
It might be three or four days until any of them returned, and with our limited amount of cornmeal and flour, we had to have meat. With so many to feed, the basic foods would last a very short time.

I was so deep in thought I scarcely noticed the barking of the dogs, which was a constant thing anyway. And then I realized this sounded different somehow, and I looked in the direction from which it was coming.

Others in the village must have sensed the difference, too, for I saw women lift their heads, and children stop in their play, and boys hesitate mid-stride—all looking toward the approaching sound.

And then the most unusual sight met our eyes. The village dogs had formed a pack and were hunting, Kip leading the chase. Stumbling along in front of them, his eyes wild and his flesh seared by the fire of the day before, limped a bull moose. He bellowed his rage and headed straight for the safety of the lake.

I jumped to my feet, waving my arms in a foolish display of excitement. “Stop him!” I cried. “Stop him!”

Of course there was no way we could stop him. As I watched him lope nearer to the water’s edge, I saw the hopes of a meat supply for the next few days disappear with his coming swim.

But just as he neared the water, he stumbled and fell, no longer able to continue. The dogs were fast upon him, and just as fast upon the dogs was LaMeche. He seemed to be everywhere, dragging off animals and pushing them aside, eventually striking a fatal blow to the suffering moose with a blunt club.

Boys ran to help him and claimed their dogs and pulled them aside. With great excitement the people crowded around, exclaiming over the meat that nearly had fallen right into our cooking pots.

The moose was skinned and dressed and portions of meat were handed out to hungry families. I added some chunks of meat to my own cooking pot and sniffed deeply as the fragrance began to waft upward from two dozen fires.

The remainder of the meat was tied and hoisted high in a tree to protect it for the next day’s meal.

I remembered Wynn’s sled dogs. I still had not taken them any food except for a small amount of cornmeal mush. I picked up scraps and bones now, and hurried off to feed them while my stew cooked.

We were all fed to satisfaction that night. By now we were dry, our stomachs were full, and we were fairly comfortable. The families had constructed crude shelters of pine boughs and skins. Some of them even had bits of canvas to stretch across small areas.

I had been too busy to prepare a shelter, but I wasn’t concerned. I would sleep by the fire again if need be. At least I was dry now, and I had a blanket to keep me warm.

I had just washed my dishes in the lake water and set them out to dry when I heard a strange sound. I looked skyward. It had sounded like distant thunder.

To the west, storm clouds had gathered. The storm was moving our way and looked dark and ominous. I pushed back my wayward hair and studied the sky.

“I know we need rain, Lord,” I whispered, “but now doesn’t seem like a good time.”

I looked around me at the makeshift dwellings. Few of them would keep out water.

I was still standing, wondering what to do, when LaMeche joined me.

“Rain now come,” he commented, and I nodded.

“Where you sleep?” he asked, and I broke from my deep thoughts and pointed toward the fire.

“No,” he said, shaking his head, “not tonight.”

He looked around deep in thought. When his eyes rested on the wagons, he stopped and studied them.

“What is under canvas?” he asked me.

I looked at him with wide eyes and open mouth. I had not even stopped to think about what was under that canvas.

“Supplies,” I said. “Blankets, clothes, dishes and pots. Lots of things we need! There are impractical things we cannot use but—”

“Can we take canvas?” he interrupted.

I was surprised that the trader was more interested in the canvas than the contents of the crates.

“Yes,” I nodded vigorously. “Take it.”

He was gone, rounding up three boys as he went. Soon I saw them throwing ropes off the wagon and freeing the canvas covering it. Two wagons were then lined up side by side about eight or nine feet apart and the canvas was stretched from the one to the other, forming a shelter of sorts. Then with axes in hand, the four headed for the pines.

I turned back to replenish the fire and check on my “family” members. The wind was up now, bringing with it the smell of rain. Thunder rumbled across the heavens and flashes of lightning streaked the sky. I hastened to get everything I could under some kind of cover.

Soon LaMeche was at my side again. With him came sprinkles of rain.

“It is ready,” he stated, motioning toward the wagons.

A shelter had been made—the three sides protected by pine branches and the top sealed off by the canvas. It looked wonderful.

“Good!” I exclaimed. “Help me get everyone under.”

“It is for you,” he argued.

I looked toward the poor, makeshift shelter that held the elderly couple. It would do little for them in a storm. Then I looked at the two sleeping babies, and the two girls and two women who huddled around them, their scant blankets insufficient to cover their frames. “Please,” I said to the impatient trader.

With a shrug of his shoulders he followed my bidding.

We got all ten moved just in time. We had no sooner set up under the canvas than the rain began to fall heavier. The rain we had prayed for had come.

There was no room under the canvas for another sleeper, so I wrapped a bearskin rug around me and went back to the fire.

BOOK: CAN West 04 - When Hope Springs New

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